#Low voltage wiring | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

drnikolatesla · 9 months

Text

The Evolution of the Tesla Coil

Nikola Tesla invented the Tesla coil as part of his exploration into lighting, wireless power transmission, and radiofrequency experiments. He developed the coil to produce high-voltage, low current, high-frequency electricity. The Tesla coil consists of primary and secondary coils that are inductively coupled, and the circuit is designed to resonate at a specific frequency. This resonance enhances the efficiency of energy transfer between the coils, enabling the generation of high-voltage, high-frequency alternating current.

His first Tesla coil was a bipolar coil created around 1891, and was demonstrated before scientific institutes from 1891-1893. His patents reveal that they were essentially intended for light production using both high frequency and high voltage at the same time. He also mentions in his patents how he discovered that a single wire could be used to light a light bulb. Generally, light bulbs require two wires to operate – one for the positive (live or hot) and one for the negative (neutral). He also discarded wires completely lighting bulbs wirelessly. Tesla improved upon the bipolar coil over many years using them for gas engine ignition, wireless, ozone production, and to create undamped waves.

In 1893, Tesla developed the bifilar spiral coil, which is a type of coil wound with two parallel wires, known as bifilar winding. The wires are wound side by side in a spiral pattern, maintaining close proximity throughout the coil. It was built in an attempt to avoid the employment of condensers, which are expensive and difficult to maintain. The coils themselves were meant to accomplish the same ultimate object as the condensers.

In 1894, Tesla evolved his coil into a conical coil. A conical coil refers to a coil or winding in the shape of a cone. These coils were sometimes employed in his wireless power transmission experiments and other electrical investigations. The shape of the coil can influence its inductance, capacitance, and resonance properties, impacting its performance in different applications. This coil allowed Tesla to reach tensions of 1 million volts.

In 1897, Tesla developed the flat spiral coil, similar to his bifilar coil. This type of coil forms a flat, spiral pattern. The specific shape and dimensions of the coil can influence its inductance and other electrical properties. The main reason Tesla started using flat spiral coils was because they were relatively safe, since the highest potential terminal is at the center, and also because they better suppressed the sparks, which were essentially losses in the circuit, allowing him to achieve higher voltages:

Another version of his coils was his Helical coil. A helical coil is a coil wound in the shape of a helix or spiral. The helical coil configuration is characterized by the wires being wound around a cylindrical form in a continuous spiral pattern. Tesla utilized helical coils throughout the late 1890s and in his Colorado Springs Experiments. The coils were used in his wireless transmission experiments, and he employed helical resonators to investigate the behavior of electromagnetic waves. The helical shape offers specific electrical properties and can influence the resonance and performance of the coil in certain applications.

Finally, the Tesla coil would eventually evolve into his Magnifying Transmitter. Tesla designed it as part of his wireless power transmission experiments. The magnifying transmitter was intended to efficiently transmit electrical energy over long distances without the need for wires. The system involved a large coil, often called the magnifying transmitter coil, which could produce high-frequency, high-voltage electrical currents. Tesla believed that this technology could revolutionize global communication and provide a means for delivering electrical power wirelessly by using the earth itself as a conductor.

The magnifying transmitter would become his Wardenclyffe Tower. Unfortunately, Tesla ended up lacking the investments and funds to finish his work in its entirety. Some say he failed because his idea didn’t work, but that’s not true at all because his Colorado experiments proved that they did. In his head, the transmission of energy was a matter of engineering. If he had a machine that could send energy 20 miles, then he could build a machine that could send energy a thousand miles. As long as he understands the motive power, he could build a machine that will do all that he requires of it. He simply underestimated the cost of his system. His failures to finish his work would leave him with the public persona as being the mad scientist who had unrealistic ideas for the future.

Ultimately, Tesla would not realize his dream of providing humankind with cheap, unlimited energy in his lifetime; however, his legacy forever lives on through the incredibly impactful experiments, and the evolution of the Tesla Coil.

“Technical invention is akin to architecture and the experts must in time come to the same conclusions I have reached long ago. Sooner or later my power system will have to be adopted in its entirety and so far as I am concerned it is as good as done. If I were ever assailed by doubt of ultimate success I would dismiss it by remembering the words of that great philosopher, Lord Kelvin, who after witnessing some of my experiments said to me with tears in his eyes: ‘I am sure you will do it.’”--Nikola Tesla

#nikola tesla #science #history #electricity #invention #wireless #energy #power #Tesla coil #quotes #ahead of his time #ahead of our time

208 notes · View notes

springhillspeedyelectrician · 2 months

Text

1 note · View note

the-magpie-archives · 3 months

Text

Tma characters as hyperspecific non-categorised experiences. Part 2

Gertrude: The scratchy cough you get in the back of your throat after opening a book older than you are and breathing in the dust

Agnes: That moment after putting your hand on something hot when you realise you're about to get burnt but it hasn't started hurting yet

Peter Lukas: Getting your head dunked underwater and feeling the pressure in your sinus mixed with the bliss of the silence

Gerry: Licking coaldust off your lips after you've assembled a fire.

Micheal distortion: The shape of a bright neon sign burnt into your vision that becomes ever so clear when your eyes are closed

Micheal crew: The nagging insistence of brushing up against a low voltage wire but being unable to tell where it is to avoid it.

Maxwell rayner: Being handed a pamphlet for a religion that isn't yours as a child that's been convinced yours is all that's right.

#I wrote this for my beloved partner who is the irl Agnes Montague #Other people are allowed to enjoy it too I guess #I'm hoping we're all just as unhinged as eachother about these characters 😌#tma #the magnus archives #the magnus institute #tma headcanons #tma avatars #tma meta #gertrude robinson #Agents Montague #gerry keay #peter lukas #micheal shelley #micheal crew #maxwell rayner

100 notes · View notes

glorious-spoon · 5 months

Text

your way or nothing at all [9-1-1 | Eddie Diaz | 1/1]

In the quieting dark, Eddie lingers by the tables, the empty chairs pushed together in a cluster for a conversation long since abandoned. It's late enough that people are starting to filter out into the night, and pretty much everybody left is crowded at the open bar or swaying on the dance floor. At the high table, Maddie has Buck's suit jacket draped over her shoulders and her cheek tipped against Chim's shoulder, and he's looking down at her with a dopily besotted expression that Eddie can clock even from here.

It makes him feel like—something, some kind of nostalgia for the wedding he never got to have with Shannon. That whole day felt like being hustled through a play that he never learned his lines to. Shannon was three months pregnant and deep in the throes of vicious morning sickness that was not improved by the catering or the stress of the day, so he spent their wedding night holding back her hair in the honeymoon suite his parents paid for and trying desperately to feel like he had a single fucking clue what he was doing. Trying to feel like a man and a husband and a father-to-be and mostly feeling like a complete fraud.

They deserved better. Both of them. Now, in this moment, after this day, it soothes more than it stings to watch Maddie and Chim hold onto each other so easily.

The song changes, and he watches a swirl of motion on the bar side of the dance floor, the particular energy that's easily identifiable as Buck even before he emerges from the crowd. Normally, maybe Eddie would gravitate in, but Buck's got a hand linked together with Tommy's, and they're laughing, and so he stays where he is. Just watches.

It's sweet, a little fumbling as Buck very obviously tries to figure out the logistics of slow-dancing with another guy. Tommy says something in a low voice and settles a palm on his hip, and Buck ducks his head, laughing, and leans into him.

It's sweet. It is. Eddie's throat fucking aches.

He doesn't know why, not really. Maybe it's the smile on Buck's face, wide and giddy and almost embarrassingly bright. He never smiled at Natalia like that, or Taylor. Maybe Ali, but the truth is that back then Eddie wasn't looking for it. Back then, he was so caught up in everything with Shannon, and he and Buck were barely more than friendly coworkers, as strange as that idea seems now.

He probably smiled at Abby like that. Eddie wasn't around for that relationship, only the aftermath, but he can imagine it. You don't hurt that badly when someone leaves you unless you really fucking loved them.

"You would not believe the line for the bathroom," Marisol says from behind him, and Eddie jolts like he just grabbed a high-voltage wire. He tries to spin it into something graceful as he turns to face her, but he's pretty sure it doesn't work, and also pretty sure that he shouldn't be feeling quite so jumpscared at the sight of his girlfriend. His heart is pounding. He rubs his knuckles against his sternum, and Marisol asks, "You okay?"

"Yeah," he says. "Sorry. You startled me."

"No, it's fine." She smiles at him, and it's pretty. She looks pretty, in a blue dress that looks black in this light, little metallic threads picked through and glittering. It hugs the curves of her body in a way that Eddie feels obligated to notice, and so he does, and when he looks her in the eye again she's smiling wider, and that's pretty too and Eddie—

Eddie still feels like a fucking fraud.

"I got you a beer," Marisol says. She's got a glass of wine in her other hand. White wine, lipstick marks on the rim.

Eddie smiles back and takes the bottle she hands him. "Thanks."

"I wasn't sure what you'd want." She grins at him, flirty. "You'll have to tell me if I made a bad guess."

He sips the beer. It's a lager, hoppy and astringent in a way that leaves a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. He takes another drink and smiles around the grimace his mouth wants to make. "It's perfect. Thank you."

The pleased relief in her smile doesn't make the lie feel any better. He takes another sip and sets the bottle down, and Marisol settles her hip against his chair, close enough that he can feel the warmth of her body. Close enough that he could wrap an arm around her thighs and pull her into his lap, if he wanted to do that. He shifts forward instead, leaning his elbows against the table, and she lets out a quiet sound and sets her glass down to sit in the chair next to him. The music switches over from Christina Perri to what Eddie is pretty sure is Savage Garden, and on the dance floor Tommy says something that makes Buck laugh and pull him closer.

"They're cute together," Marisol observes. "Buck and, um… Tommy?"

Eddie's fingers twitch on his beer bottle. "Yeah."

"I didn't know that he was, you know…" she trails off. Eddie looks over at her, and she adds, "Not that there's anything wrong with it! I just, I thought he had a girlfriend."

"They broke up. He dates guys too," Eddie says, more emphatically than is really necessary. Like this is a truth that he's always known instead of something Buck told him two weeks ago in the loft, quiet and careful like he was afraid of how Eddie would react. Like he was afraid of Eddie.

It was a date, we were on a date.

So it's new for Buck, too. Not just him. But still.

It feels like something he should have known.

"Okay," Marisol says. The corners of her mouth tighten, and she takes a pointed sip of her wine. "I didn't know that, is all."

I didn't know either, Eddie imagines saying, but the words strangle themselves in his throat just the same as, Actually, I don't like lagers, and, I don't really want company tonight, did. He wonders how the hell Buck does it—just opens his mouth and lets the truth spill out. Eddie can only manage that when it's for other people. Never for himself.

"Sorry," he says out loud. "It's been… a day."

Marisol's face softens a little, and he feels like shit about that, too. It has been a day, is the thing. He woke up in a bathtub, more hungover than he's been in at least a decade, and after that was a wild goose-chase through the desert to retrieve Chim in time for the wedding, and all that is plenty of reason for him to be off his game now. It's just that somehow it also feels like a fucking lie.

On the dance floor, Buck has his cheek pressed to Tommy's. He says something, and Tommy's shoulders shake with laughter, and then they both turn, moving easily together into a kiss. It's quick and tender, and Eddie abruptly feels like the worst kind of voyeur for watching it happen. He turns his head away and finds Marisol looking at him.

The music changes again. TLC, he's pretty sure, because Chim is deep down a very basic Gen X music kind of guy. Or maybe it was Maddie's pick, who knows. Anyway. It's a little more upbeat, but still slow enough to dance to.

"You, uh." He clears his throat, and finds a smile that feels almost right. "Come on, you wanna dance before they close it all down? They're playing our song."

"This is our song?" Marisol asks, but she's laughing. "I don't even think I was born yet when it came out."

Eddie shrugs and holds out a hand. "It could be our song. Maybe for tonight it's just a good song to dance to."

That must have been the right thing to say. She smiles, sets her wine down, and slips her hand into his, letting him tug her to her feet. They wind their way through the chairs to the dance floor, and under the string lights she settles easily into his arms.

I know you're gonna have it your way or nothing at all, rasps the singer in a sweetly smoky voice, as Eddie closes his eyes, and sways, and breathes, but I think you're moving too fast.

I think you're moving too fast.

He breathes in, and out, and opens his eyes. Marisol smiles up at him, and he smiles back, then cuts his eyes away. There are still a handful of people left on the dance floor with them: Athena and Bobby, swaying together like they're in their own little world, a couple of Buckley cousins with their dates. Buck and Tommy are gone, though, and Eddie almost cranes his head through the crowd to see where they got to before he catches himself.

"To tell you the truth," Marisol says. "I really don't think this is our song."

"Alright, well, we can find another one," Eddie says, and she laughs and sways into him, and he holds onto her, and when he closes his eyes, it's fine; it all feels fine.

#911 #911 fic #eddie diaz #buddie #bucktommy #my fic #i actually have no idea how to tag this pairing-wise lol #it is somehow both all and none of the above

139 notes · View notes

chadillacboseman · 1 year

Text

Pairing: Phillip Graves x GN!Reader (no actual pairing between them tho) Word Count: Idk man. Like 1.5k. Warnings: Graves being pathetic, masturbation, pillow humping, reader is in a relationship with Alejandro. Summary: The MW2 timeline is fluid, and brother, I'm hooked up to an IV. Graves is in Las Almas with 141 and Los Vaqueros, sharing space with them as the hunt for Hassan continues. There's only one thing he wants while he's there. You.

Phillip Graves isn't used to not getting what he wants.

Contractor money can buy almost anything, can sway almost anyone. Being denied isn't really in the handbook.

The first time Graves laid eyes on you, he knew he had to have you. You were bent low over a map, contemplating alongside Rudy and Alejandro.

You took his fucking breath away.

Graves and his Shadows have been with the 141 and Los Vaqueros for weeks now, searching for Hassan and the missiles with no progress. No end in sight.

He's done his yelling at Shepherd, spent countless hours on the phone begging for a way out of the contract or a base of his own in Las Almas.

"What is the problem, Graves?" Shepherd is frustrated, taking his call in between meetings and debriefs, "Can I not count on you to get this done?"

"Sir-" Graves is flustered, pacing the hallway outside the base's shop, "Their base isn't equipped-"

"Get the job done, Graves, and don't call me until you do!"

The line goes dead.

"Shepherd giving you a hard time?" you're leaning against the wall, your head cocked to the side as you observe him.

"You could say that," Graves shoves the phone back in his pocket and avoids your gaze.

Alejandro stuck Graves with you when he first arrived, tasking you with giving him a tour of the base and getting him familiar with the operations. You were radiant, effortlessly funny and undaunted by his power or his position.

The obsession is insidious, starting slowly, with Graves missing the sound of your voice or the way you smelled when you weren't around. He finds himself making excuses to be close to you, to take details that have the two of you alone.

He tries to hide it, tries so desperately to make sure no one notices the way he trails after you and stares at you with wide, pleading eyes whenever you speak.

Graves wants to have you so badly it hurts.

But he can't.

You're Alejandro's, and he makes that abundantly clear at every turn. He always keeps a protective hand on you, steals small kisses from you when he thinks no one is looking.

Oh, how Graves despises the Vaquero. He wants to see him bleed. To see him crumpled in a heap on the floor of some jail cell he'll never escape.

For now, he settles for watching from the shadows, pining like some lovesick schoolboy as he watches Alejandro enjoy what should be his.

He imagines what you must feel like, what you must taste like; he thinks of how soft your hair would be, splayed out over his pillow, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

The need burns hot in Graves' chest, pooling and dark, so strong that it scares him. He's never wanted anything so badly in his life, never felt the hopeless, burning and inescapable jealousy he feels now.

He finds himself avoiding you. Avoiding your sun-bright eyes and infectious laugh. When you approach him, he turns heel and flees like a coward.

You notice. Of course you do. You're so fucking smart. Too smart for Alejandro, that brainless lout.

Graves takes to hiding in a server room at the base, some hole in the wall full of wires and blinking lights. It's loud, hot, and stifling, but it's mercifully free of you.

Until it isn't.

"Phillip, what the hell is going on with you?"

Your voice jolts him from his work, and he nearly sends his laptop clattering to the floor.

Phillip. No one ever calls him that- just you. It sends a burning, sizzling, hot lead of high voltage straight through his chest that makes his ears flush red.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Graves nearly has to spit it through his clenched teeth. He's a shitty liar, he knows it and you know it too. It's the reason he never joins in on poker nights with the 141.

"You're avoiding me," there's resentment and accusation in your voice, but there's something else too, something that makes his heart drop. Sadness.

Graves has been avoiding you. Even being in your presence makes him feel like he's losing control. Seeing Alejandro steal little touches, hearing the way you laugh when he whispers something in Spanish. It drives him mad.

"I have work to do, princess," he tries to soften the edge in his voice, but it doesn't work- the cutesy nickname instead feels like an insult lobbed at you.

You open and close your mouth a few times, processing what he's just said to you. You look hurt and he's spiraling. He wants to jump to his feet and cup your chin, to tell you to run away with him. Run back to the States and leave this shithole behind.

"Fuck you, Graves," you turn on your heel and disappear from the doorway. The use of his last name stings- it takes everything in his power to not race after you, to apologize and beg for your forgiveness.

It's your turn to avoid him now. Graves expects relief, but he doesn't get it. You're so deeply embedded in his brain that he can't seem to shake himself out of his obsession.

He wants to apologize- no, he needs to apologize to you. You're hard to find, though. Making yourself scarce in areas you know he'd be in. Maybe you won't forgive him. Maybe you'll tell him to fuck off and that will be enough to snap him out of it.

Graves finally finds you in the shop. It's late, later than you have any business being there. Alejandro went off-base hours ago.

"Hey-" his voice sounds small and threatens to crack, dropping like a dead weight in the tense air.

You don't look up from what you're working on, merely offering him an almost imperceptible nod to acknowledge his presence.

"What do you want, Graves?"

To apologize. To tell you the truth. To pin you to the wall and-

"If you haven't got anything to say to me, then please leave me alone," you sound annoyed, but there's something else to it. You don't want him to leave, but he doesn't know that.

"Look, I'm..." he trails off, the words aren't coming out. It's like they're stuck just behind his tongue. Suddenly, he's fifteen again, stuttering in front of the third new classmates he's had that year.

"I'm sorry," the apology finally falls out of his mouth, almost as one word in his hurry to say it, "For the other day."

You finally look up at him, and he feels his heart leap into his throat. In the dim light of the shop, your features are even more striking. Your eyes glimmer under the yellow incandescent bulbs, and there's a smudge of grease on your cheek.

God, how he wants to reach out and swipe his thumb across your skin.

"Phillip," there it is again. It makes his heart hammer against his rib cage, "What's going on with you?"

He could tell you the truth. Maybe a slap across the face would change his opinion of you-

"Phil?" you reach out and tap gently on his vest, rapping your fingertips against the flag badge that adorns it, "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

Just say it. Say it! SAY IT!

Your phone rings and Graves jumps, his confession coming to a stop just behind his teeth. He glimpses the contact name on the screen and feels his nerves be replaced with a wave of jealousy.

Alejandro.

Your conversation with him is a blur, Graves catches words here and there, "soon" "in the shop" "I'd love that".

"Phil, we'll continue this conversation tomorrow, okay?" you cock your head and try to read his expression to no avail.

"Sure," he swallows, hard, and watches as you walk away.

While the others are crammed together at the base, Graves is in private lodging, paid for on Shadow Company's dime. He tosses his bags to the floor and sheds his tactical vest, letting it drop haphazardly in a heap by the door.

The shower is calling his name, but he doesn't have the energy to do it, instead dropping onto the bed and cradling his head in his hands. There's no telling how long this assignment is going to last, how long he'll have to contend with his feelings and try not to make a fool of himself.

Graves thinks of your face, of the way you had looked up at him in the shop. You'd look so good with your lips wrapped around his cock, staring up at him with those beautiful fucking eyes of yours.

He groans, feeling the familiar tightness at his zipper, almost painful until he frees himself with a hiss.

"Fuck-" Graves grazes his fingertips over his length, pausing at the tip to swipe the pad of his thumb over the beads of precum collecting there.

He moans your name, hips bucking into the friction of his own hand, his mind conjuring up all the ways he would fuck you; all the ways he would make you his.

His hand isn't enough.

Graves rolls onto his stomach, the waistline of his jeans just low enough to expose him entirely. He grasps desperately, hands fumbling until he finds a pillow and jams it roughly between himself and the bed.

"Fuck, baby, that's it," it's not you, it's not the same, but the sensation is enough for now.

Graves grinds himself so lewdly he should be embarrassed, humping his pillow like a horny teenager, thinking of you. He moans loudly, the sound echoing in the empty room, as he ruts into the fabric like an animal.

He thinks of you. Of your scent, your smile, the way you say his name. He'd give anything to hear you cry it out while pinned beneath him, to have you come undone entirely because of him.

Graves braces his hand on the mattress, panting as he fucks into the fabric, his hips rolling in rhythmic thrusts as he chases his peak.

"So good," he's babbling now, his mind racing to envision you taking his cock, tight and fucking perfect, "m'gonna- gonna cum-"

Graves tumbles over the edge, crying out your name as he spills hot spurts of cum onto the pillow; his hips stutter out one final thrust until he's spent, panting into the mattress in the pressing quiet of his hotel room.

Graves rolls over, laying an arm over his chest as he tries to catch his breath. He stares at the ceiling, trying to imagine what it must be like to have you in an intimate moment like this, to have you soaked in sweat and curled into his embrace.

He tries to make peace with never knowing.

#phillip graves x reader #ns/fw #phillip graves #cod mw2 #holy shit did i write something???

344 notes · View notes