#Roller shutter parts

[rollershuttersandsteeldoors]

Enhancing Building Safety with Fire-Rated Shutters

Fire-rated shutters are unsung heroes in the field of building safety and protection, discreetly protecting buildings from the destructive power of fire. These specialist barriers provide a line of defense that can make the difference between small damage and catastrophic loss, and they are essential parts of containment and prevention measures for fires. Let's examine the importance of fire-rated shutters and how essential they are for protecting people and property. Strong materials and careful engineering are combined to create fire-rated shutters, which are made to withstand the extreme heat and pressure of a fire. These shutters are designed to withstand intense temperatures and are composed of fire-resistant materials like steel or aluminum. This helps to effectively compartmentalize fire-prone regions and prevent the rapid spread of flames.

Partitioning spaces within a building and limiting the spread of fire and smoke is one of the main purposes of fire-rated shutters, helping to control the damage. These shutters reduce the possibility of a fire spreading across the building by erecting barriers between distinct zones. This gives residents enough time to safely leave and gives emergency personnel a clearer path to fight the fire. Moreover, fire-rated shutters are essential for protecting expensive assets and vital infrastructure. Containing fire outbreaks is critical to maintaining operational integrity and reducing downtime in buildings housing sensitive equipment, such as data centers or industrial complexes. Since, most of them are fitted with best roller shutter parts, it becomes easy for the businesses may reduce the danger of data loss and equipment damage by installing fire-rated shutters in key areas, guaranteeing continuity.

In addition to providing containment, fire-rated shutters are essential parts of passive fire prevention systems, which work in tandem with active measures like sprinklers and fire extinguishers. These shutters serve as barriers in the case of a fire, halting the spread of smoke and flames and buying crucial time for emergency responders to efficiently intervene. Furthermore, a new era of customization and integration has been brought about by developments in fire shutters. Features like automatic activation, remote monitoring, and synchronized operation with fire detection systems are becoming more and more common. By streamlining maintenance and compliance procedures and improving the efficacy of fire prevention measures, these advances guarantee that fire-rated shutters will continue to be dependable safety guardians in contemporary building environments.

[retailbritannia]

Here at Britannia Retail we stock all the products you need to keep your home or business safe and secure, to give you peace of mind. We provide various roller shutter parts such as Handsets, Locks, Switches, Remote Units etc. For the full range of roller shutter products visit our website now.

[ezyfitshutters]

Shop Only Premium Roller Shutters Parts Online

If you’re looking to buy window roller shutters accessories, check out EzyFit DIY Roller Shutters. We offer premium Roller Shutters Parts online that are the best developed, engineered, and built roller shutters in Australia. We have a top-quality range of 9 European roller shutters to suit both residential and commercial applications. From the long-lasting motors from Italy to the pelmets from Spain, each and every part is specially crafted to provide maximum safety to every property. And all of these shutters are available in 13 colours.

[mhedemag]

In the automotive field, Mhe-Demag is a trusted brand today for all types of commercial and industrial vehicle needs. We are providing intercontinental lifting leaders in Konecranes and working in this field for 50 years. We are especially known for material handling. Furthermore, we maintain a complete range of industrial cranes and hoists and warehousing equipment such as lift trucks and dock revellers. To get free quotes, visit the website.

[sonicskullsalt]

English:

Image 1:

The first wasps are flying [in Germany]: They're queens looking for a place to build their nests.

There's a single wasp at your place that keeps flying at the same spot?

Image 2:

Bother them: Spray them with water, move the window shutters or roller blinds, there needs to be activity. (Hopefully), the animal should realise that it has picked a bad place for its nest and should leave.

Yet, humans and animals can also live well as neighbours. A little distance of about 2 meters is sufficient. Contrary to their reputation, wasps aren't aggressive, they can even recognise human faces.

Image 3:

Not every wasp

- creates a colony

- is interested in your Cola or meat from the barbecue

No wasp

- is aggressive

All wasps

- are important pollinators

- are part of the ecosystem

- are protected animals [in Germany]

If you have any questions, you can contact your local wasp expert [applies to Germany].

[bloomingdog]

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 — 𝐇𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

data: your basic florist au, bit of angst, identity reveal, all that stuff. 4k words, no use of Y/N.

You know him, you know what the looks like at the very least. Once a week—the day never stays the same—him and a group of other instrument-carrying people go into the small venue in front of your shop at nine in the evening, an hour after closing the shop, when you’re about to head home. One early morning, out of curiosity, you checked the schedules adhered and covering the roller shutter in a poor attempt to find who this mysterious guy was. You found no useful information in that regard, you did foind, however, that the club opened at ten and most concerts held there started at least half an hour later. With that new gathered intel your best guess was that they came early to get everything set or a rather quick sound-check.

The venue is on one of the corners that limit the four way pedestrian crossing, the two corners on either side both hold pubs, and diagonally there’s you. “For the Roses” is a name given by its old owner, a sweet lady—and Joni Mitchell fan—you had worked for since you were seventeen, and four years later she had decided it was time to retire. For the last five months it’s been just you, it was easier to take care of it when you were two people working, that much is true, but having to close the shop has given you staring privileges. Years ago, when you first started working here the placement of the shop seemed rather odd, between clubs, pubs and the many other forms of amusement, this, however, was a strategical position. A big part of the clientele consisted of repenting boyfriends and enamoured halves of a first date, and they kept the business afloat.

You recognise him the moment he walks in.

“Hello! How may I help you?” The clock ticks away the last minutes before closing as you try to put on your cheeriest voice.

“Hi, sorry about comin’ in so late. My mate’s playing a gig, I just want some flowers to throw on stage, whole dramatics and all.” His voice is smooth with only the slightest rasp to it. He’s a fun last client.

“Do you want the classic roses then?”

“Nah don’t bother, give me the leftovers.” There are one or two extra cuttings and a bouquet that never got picked up you wouldn’t mind getting rid of. 

You excuse yourself to pick out the best leftover flowers you could in an attempt to make a half-decent bouquet. He’s oggling your shop, he’s particularly eye-catching inside your light coloured, slightly old-fashioned establishment. He likes it there, it’s cosy, the floors are filled with different types of flower arrengements and the walls display an amalgamation of different decorations gathered throughout the years, his inspection is only interrupted by your coming back behind the counter.

“Here, I tried to make it as cohesive as I could.”

“It’s alright, love, it’s gonna get thrown anyway.” Oh, that pet name went straight to your chest.

“It felt unprofessional not to give you at least a small sample of my usual, better, quality.” He gave a side smile as a response.

“How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house, no worries, I wouldn’t make you pay for only scraps.”

“That’s quite nice, take this as a tip, then.” He slid a twenty pound note on the counter, right before turning around a saying his goodbyes with a single wave of his hands.

Spinning the sign at the glass door so it reads “Closed” you turn to sweeping the floor and leaving your workplace as neat as possible, you hum along to the song playing from your phone on the counter. The 20 dollars he gave you felt a bit too much, not that you’re going to complain, not with the cost of everything, a flower shop isn’t a luxurious job to have, so it’s much appreciated. 

Drawing the curtain-like metal you spot a group of people walking into the club, one of them must be his friend.

A mere day later, he’s back, making the dainty bells above the door chime.

“Hello! Got another show you need to throw flowers at?” You quip and he chuckles.

“Nah. Only wanted to get actual flowers to have a good reason to ask you out.” He’s confident, maybe overly so, and Hobie is well aware of that, it’s not often that his confidence fails him, though. You look surprised before laughing, it’s ridiculous.

“And what were you thinking of getting?”

“I was hoping you could recommend me something.”

“Roses are usually the go-to flower, although I much prefer freesias.”

“Sick, I’d like a single freesia, please.” He says it in an overly polite manner, the whole situation is laughable.

“That’ll be two pounds.” You say as you hand him the flower.

“Here you go.” You mutter a thank you for an answer. “My band’s playing tonight, at ten, just on the other street, you could come and we could get a drink after.”

No way you’re attending a club on a Wednesday night, with a stranger nonetheless. 

“Sure.” 

“Sweet, I’ll see you. My name’s Hobie by the way.”

And it sounds like proper fun, really.

You’ve managed to avoid the biggest wave of people going home during rush hour and, thankfully, your ride home is as pleasant as the tube allows it to be and yet, you’re restless. His invite plays around in your mind. He’s handsome, that’s for sure, and it would satiate your curiosity on the other side it would also make you tired for work the next day, you’re too old for that, you think and softly laugh at your own joke. The walk home gives you time to ponder on wasted opportunities and the best years of your life, your flat instead greets you with the promise of a reheated dinner and an eight-hour-long sleep which for a moment makes you think about ditching him. 

The commute back feels longer than it usually does. You ate in a rush and got ready far too fast after your flatmate complained about needing to use the bathroom. Your phone marks 10:05PM, fashionably late. You’re thankful the show hasn’t started by the time you sit by the bar, ordering a beer. You still haven’t decided if it’s brave or cocky to ask someone out to your own show.

The whirring of a guitar being plugged signals the beginning of the show.

“Hello, we’re The Spider-Slayers! One two three!” Is your only warning before they start playing. They’re quite good, you have to admit, Hobie, as you’ve recently learned he’s named, exudes power and confidence while on stage, he’s rather skilled. It’s enjoyable, half of the audience is too plastered—it's only ten in the evening—to pay attention to the actual music and are merely glad to have a loud noise playing for them, but they’re well-liked, no doubt an established part of the community. It passes faster than you had anticipated, not even an hour later he’s walking your way while another band prepares to play.

He’s sweaty as he sits down and orders a rum and coke, he looks at you questioning if you also want one. “Make it two.” He indicates the bartender. “Did you like it?” 

He’s tall but not intimidating in the slightest, the metal in his face a contrast to all of his warm side smiles. 

“Yes!” You’re quick to answer. “It was really nice, you guys are good.” He fully smiles at the compliment, he’s got a pretty smile.

“Thanks. I forgot to ask your name earlier, sorry about that.”

“No worries, it’s Y/N.”

“Pretty.” It’s flirty. 

“Did your mate like the flowers?” You ask as the man behind the bar hands you your drinks.

“Totally, made a mess on stage and everything. She was grateful, seriously, funny and praising in equal parts, the bouquet was beautiful too, such a shame it ended like that.” You laugh at that. “How’s it working at a flower shop?”

“Good, actually, better than one good expect, I’d say it’s one of the better retail jobs out there.”

“Seems hard.”

“It is at the beginning, you should’ve seen some of my first arrangements, they were bloody awful, I’m still wondering how we didn’t get any complaints.” It’s Hobie’s turn to laugh.

“You’ve made some improvement then, your shop’s beautiful.” You beam and thank him, you’re proud of the way it’s looking these days. “How’d you end up working there? Do you need a degree to be a florist?”

“Not really, no. I’ve taken a couple courses but for the most part I was trained by my old boss.”

“Hm.” He nods. “Strange place to set up a flower shop, innit? I see you closing all the time and wonder who in their right mind would think of opening it at a nightlife epicenter.” Good to know you’re not the only observer.

“You’d think so! We get a lot of our clientele thanks to that, not all flower shops open until eight either way. Flowers make both great apologies and gifts, you can only imagine the kind of people who walk in there.”

“What, like me?” 

“No way, I’d put you in the normal bunch.” He quirks an eyebrow, an invitation to tell him more about yourself. And that you do. You talk for the two hours that the club remains open, he’s fun, you’re both chatty, you’ve got a multitude of things in common, he tells you about his bandmates, you exchange numbers, he’s a cat person by the way. 

“You want me to walk you home?” The underground closed an hour ago, it wasn’t that big of a trek to your place, you could say yes if not for the stranger—acquaintance—danger middle school talks flashing in your memory. The bus, though taking longer than the tube, was still an option.

“It’s fine, really. I’d rather take the bus.” 

“Got it, I can wait with you if you’d like.” Yeah, yeah, you’d like that. The two of you walk close to each other to the nearest stop. The pavement is damp, it gives you another reason to be glad that you wore your trusty old, slightly dirty, converse instead of a more sophisticated option.

“Thank you for inviting me, I had a nice time, you’re fun.”

“So are you, love.” How could an overused term like that have such a big effect on you when he says it remains a mystery.

You sit in a comfortable silence until the right bus gets there and as you bid your goodbyes you’re unable to contain the big smile you give him, blame it on the drinks. You send him a quick text noticing him that you got home safe and sound before falling into deep sleep.

Your phone rings and vibrates from the bedside table, it always goes off at the same time and yet today it manages to scare you awake. The trip to the bathroom and coffee making is accompanied by a string of curses: music, bad choices, the opening hours of your business and pretty boys all fall victim to your vulgarities. The lack of proper sleep makes your day go by twice as slowly, nodding off and almost missing your stop and doomscrolling during work hours to pass the time, even turning to reading an article from The Daily Bugle, it’s laughable, it’s says something something Spider-Man, something juvenile delinquent something menace for the city.

The chime of little bells half an hour before closing wakes you up better than your alarm had done earlier in the day. Looking up from your phone you spot the same bright eyes and confident stroll that kept you company last night.

“You need to stop coming in right before closing.” You scold him. You’re confident he’s aware that it’s an invitation for him to keep showing up.

“My bad. Do you like food?”

“I-What?” Indeed, what? “I like food, yes.”

“Peng. You want to grab dinner?” And he also needs to stop proposing last-minute plans.

“Where?”

“What do you fancy?”

“Thai?”

“Sure.” 

“I close in half an hour, you can stay here if you want.” Not that you’re expecting any more costumers.

He asks if he can help with anything and you hand him the broom and dustpan that hangs in the back of the shop, he laughs and takes it as payment for having you get out earlier. The floors aren’t dirty per se, it’s mostly leaves and bits of cutting that have fallen. He sweeps while you get everything ready for tomorrow and put away what’s been used today. Half an hour later you hang your work apron and close the shutters. 

There’s a nice restaurant a couple blocks away you’ve got food to-go from before. You order a spicy noodle soup, khanom jeen nam ngiaw, and he settles for stir-fry noodles. It’s good, warm and comforting, you take a bite from his plate and he follows suit with a spoonful of your broth. The conversation picked up while cleaning and it has yet to die down, he tells you about his hobbies—you can't help to make fun of him by saying Hobie's hobbies—and you share your love for museums with him, ‘We should visit one.’ he says to which you agree in excitement. 

You don’t let go of his hand until your bedroom door is closed and you softly push him into bed. Taking only a short break to take off both of your shoes you don’t waist time in straddling him, his hands on your hips as you return to kissing. Soft moans mark the tempo for your exploring hands and you stare at his bare abdomen with much less shame than you think you should have. His hands are slightly calloused and scarred, it doesn’t matter with how skilled they are. It feels like you’re drowning in him, you hope he feels half as good as he’s making you feel, if his breathless mutters of ‘fuck’ and ‘good girl’ are any indicator you can pat yourself on the back after it’s over.

The dinner is paid for, the night chilly compared to the warmth inside the restaurant. He offers to walk you home again, this time you agree because you’re no longer strangers, right? You make it half of the way before puts his hand on your lower back, you don’t make an effort to move it, it’s comfortable.

You make it three quarters of the way until you start kissing, your back against the wall of a mildly busy street, you feel like a horny teenager. You climb up the stairs to your flat two-steps at a time, your hand holding his and praying that your flatmate has confined herself to her room so you don’t have to introduce one to the other, not right now at least.

The morning after your alarm not only scares you awake but it also makes him sit up in bed with a jolt.

“Sorry.” Sleep is still evident in your voice.

“S’okay.” He replies before giving you a chaste kiss on the lips, you don’t think either of you wants to deal with each other’s morning breath, it’s a tad early for that.

You offer him breakfast. Your flatmate has left for work but she won’t forgive you if you don’t tell her of last night’s events. At least it won’t make this morning awkward, or more awkward than it already is, it happens with first breakfasts: sleepy, a mess, cranky from waking up, it’s not anyone’s best look. 

You take the underground while he chooses to walk home, it’s not crazy far away from yours, apparently. In the meantime, the work day is spent looking up frantically every time the bells over your door chime, hoping that it will be him at some point. He does come over, at ten past eight, and he has to knock on the door to catch your attention. Your strange arrangement goes on for the better part of the next two months, he comes over when you’re about to close, you eat together multiple times per week, he’s quite a skilled at making exactly seven different dishes, he invites you to his shows and you’ve met his bandmates, you’ve had every cliché date imaginable: the park, the cinema, the natural history museum, markets, the full deal. You don’t call them dates though, you’re not a couple even with all the kissing and sleeping together—literally and figuratively—he’s told you he doesn’t like labels, but he’s being exclusive with you so you’re okay with it. 

He shows up with little cuts and bruises, you attributed to being clumsy at first but it’s become more common lately, he excuses it as a protest that went south, a moshpit or just a friendly scuffle with his mates. It doesn’t ease your nerves. But you're soon to forget all about it once you’re outside, walking hand in hand and sharing headphones, he’s incorporated bits and pieces of your music to his playlist and he makes sure to show you the songs he thinks you’ll like first than anything.

Your phone lights up with a text notification from Hobie, he’s coming over soon. It shouldn’t be, but it reads as ominous, he doesn’t usually tell you in advance and would rather showing up unannounced.

“Hey pet.” He greets, it’s his latest nickname for you, you’ve always thought it ridiculous but he’s making you grow fond of it.

“Hi Bee” An animal-related nickname you gave him after he tried calling you ‘duck’ that has stuck. “You want to do something or should we head home?”

“Home’s fine, I’m tired.” It’s fair, he’s always running around doing things, you’re okay with a night in. 

He sweeps the floor, it’s his assigned task, you feel bad but he says he doesn’t mind and likes helping you. The ride back to your place is quieter than usual, he seems pensive. You’re about to open the door to your building when you notice him stuck a meter away.

“Are you okay?” Your heart is picking up speed.

“Listen, love.” Oh no. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to come up.” You’re on the second and final step of the stairway while he’s at ground level, he looks smaller than he’s ever been. “I’ve had a lot of fun, really, but I don’t think I can go on with our thing, you know? I’m not good at commitment anyway.” Your lack of a response get’s him speaking again. “I’m truly sorry, I just don’t wanna go on with this and end up hurtin’ you.”

“Okay.” Is the only thing your brain is able to formulate.

“Okay.” He replies. “I’ll be leaving now.” He says as he kisses your temple, turning around and giving you a single wave of the hand for a goodbye.

You feel the tears beginning to fill up your eyes, your vision blurry, at least you were able to hold them until he left, it’s already embarrassing as it is. You don’t bother re-heating dinner that night, choosing to go straight to bed and waking up with puffy eyes in the morning. For the first time in a while you’re sure you won’t have any visits at work, it’s terrible. You feel stupid. He told you enough about himself to know that the two of you weren’t in for a long-term relationship and still you held onto some sort of hope of being an exception. 

That was two weeks ago. You’ve seen him two times since, while leaving for home. He waves your way and you wave back, out of politeness more than anything. Two weeks of radio silence that break your established routine and fill you with a sense of expectation during the last hours of work. 

It’s nine-twenty on a Sunday, it’s usual for you to stay until late at the end of your work week, Hobie knew that and would make sure to keep you company and take you home those days. The early November weather has made it so it’s already been dark for hours, the city is rather calm, you don’t suppose there’s much to do on a cold November night. A series of knocks on the door alerts you of the presence of someone outside, it startles you as you hold the broom you were using against your chest.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight outside the door. Spider-Man was doubling down and leaning against the glass of your shopfront, electric guitar strapped across him and hanging in his back, clad in his usual metal decorations while his suit had been torn. You let him in a hurry, it’s not ideal to have an idol of the working class dead on your welcome mat. He limps to the back of the shop, in your current state of panic you don’t stop to wonder how he knows the way so well, until he’s sitting on the floor and leaning against one of the walls, guitar forgotten besides him. You follow him and crouch at his side just in time for him to take off his mask. 

“Fuck off.”

“Hi pet.”

You were so excited to be done with work and head home to watch a film, lucky for you, your ex-situationship still has a habit of coming in right before you leave. 

“Bloody hell Hobie.” 

“Please don’t be shocked right now, we can talk about it tomorrow.” He can’t be serious. “I’m knackered.” I wonder why, you think. He looks like proper shit.

“Hobie you’re bleeding.” You’re trying your best to be helpful and not panic.

“It’s fine love, it’ll heal in no time, I kinda have superpowers.” You’re choosing to ignore that and get up to retrieve your first aid kit, it’s far too basic to be useful right now, only equipped to help with cuts and minor injuries.

You can feel his eyes on you and your whole body is shaking as you kneel by his side. You try your best to keep your hands steady while pouring rubbing alcohol into a cotton pad.

“You don’t have to, I’ll be fine.”

“Let me clean it, please, so it doesn’t get infected.” He lets you, wincing at the alcohol making contact with his open injuries. He knows you're doing it more for yourself than him. “Sorry.” He shakes his head as a way of saying ‘no worries’.

You reach for his face with your bare hand once you’ve considered him clean enough, you cradle his cheek and can’t hold your tears from spilling.

“This is why I cut thing off with you, you know? Don’t wan’ you getting hurt.”

“I don’t care.”

“Don’t say that.” He pleads. 

“What about you getting hurt? Does that not matter?” He laughs and winces right after.

“You’re a sweet thing. I don’t have a choice but you do.”

“And what if my choice is to stand by your side?”

“You can’t.”

“Yes I do!” You’re reaching tour breaking point and can’t help but raise your voice. “I didn’t know I loved you as much as I do until these last weeks without you. It’s been torture.”

“It’s been torture for me too.” His words soften you, and it’s only then you realize what you said, you don’t dare acknowledge them, maybe he didn’t notice or the head trauma will make him forget it.

You’re crying now and it feels awful because you should be the one comforting him, he’s hurt not you. He holds you as you shake and places a kiss to your head.

“Can we sleep here?” He asks once you’ve calmed down. The tile floor is anything but comfortable and still you nod yes.

You fix a make-shift bed consisting of your bunched up jumper and apron for pillows and your big coat, that barely covers his upper body, for a blanket. Not that it matters, you chose to turn the radiator up and it’s hard to get cold while curled up to a human heater. You’re careful while laying with him, both out of fear of hurting him and prudence of this hurting you even more. He doesn’t care and brings you closer, your head on his chest and his hand drawing shapes on your back over your clothes, you can’t help but worry about the state of his back in the morning. 

You find sleep easier than you have since your “break-up”, his rhythmic breathing lulls you and his caresses calm you down. You’re in the before-falling-asleep-limbo when you hear his voice, he says “I love you too” like a confession secret, you’re not sure if you were even supposed to hear it. It’s too late for you to react, his words mix with the beginning of your dreams into a spiralling nonsense.

🕷 i really enjoyed writing this! i was thinking of maybe doing a part 2? tell me your thoughts if you dont mind too! i haven't written anything that isnt academic in years and i feel rusty

[running-in-the-dark]

it's been a month since we moved into the new apartment -

I'm so stressed. everything is stressful. we're still not done building the kitchen but it's getting there (slowly). mostly we just need to wait until we get a couple parts that weren't in stock when we ordered the rest. I'm hoping it'll be done by next weekend.

some of it is very frustrating with my brain specifically. I'm so bothered by all the tiny little things that no one else would even notice - like, some of the handles on the drawers are very slightly crooked (as in, less than a millimeter higher on one side) - but for me it's so obvious that it's impossible to ignore. my husband didn't even know what I meant when I pointed it out to him. there's also been a few slightly bigger issues, but we've solved them now (I think).

my eye has been twitching for like three to four weeks. not all the time obviously, but every few minutes. it's very, very annoying.

we still have no new info about when we'll have internet finally. it could take a while still.

on Monday a guy has to replace something in the electric roller shutters in one room - but we don't know which one yet. so either I'll have to let him into my room (awful, uncomfortable, will have to tidy up tomorrow so he could even get to the window), or I'll have to get both our cats into their carrier if it's the one in my husband's room (awful, difficult, one of them doesn't like that so he'll be scared and I'll feel bad).

also on Monday the electrician will install our stove (if he has time). then we're getting two ikea deliveries. and I've got an appointment with my (new) GP because I need a prescription, and I'm very (verrry) nervous about it.

I miss watching TV. I miss tumblr and YouTube and messaging my friends whenever I want and sending them photos all the time. I miss order and structure and (some level of) routine. I miss using real cutlery (we still haven't found ours lol).

when I was finally starting to get used to the noises in this place, the family above us moved in with their baby that cries all the time very very loudly and most of the time right above my room. so now everything is different again and I'm not adjusting well and once again I can't sleep.

but, I've listened to 14 audiobooks since we moved! that's been nice. it was the same way when we moved the last time (just over a year ago..). my favourite by far was The Thursday Murder Club. I've got the other ones in the series but I'm trying not to listen to them too quickly, so I'm gonna listen to three other books first (one is done already, so I should get there on Monday or Tuesday hopefully).

[allhallowsthemepark]

All Hallows - County Drakul

At last we come to All Hallows's final themed area (for now). County Drakul is actually the largest part of the park by area, much of it to accommodate the massive Gothic castle and associated ride at the back. The bulk of the space takes the form of an Old European village in a non-specific time period, with design elements spanning from the Middle Ages all the way up through the Victorian era. The streets are cobbled, the buildings mostly half-timber construction, and once off the main walkway the area seems to consist entirely of narrow, winding dead-end alleys. Sharp-eyed guests may notice strings of garlic hanging in the upper-story windows, holy symbols scratched on the shutters, and other evidences that the townsfolk have something to fear at night.

Besides the castle, prominent locations in County Drakul include a small rundown cathedral, a pub, and the town square with its ornate fountain featuring statuary of angels and demons. The area music loop consists of spooky classical pieces, orchestral music from appropriately Gothic horror film scores, and similar.

Characters

The people of County Drakul are suspicious of outsiders and fearful of the creatures of the night—don't expect to get to know any of them. The only named character of significance is of course The Count himself, who appears in portraits and on posters around the town, and on the Castle Drakul ride in animatronic form, but not as a walkaround character. However, you may encounter some of his courtiers at night. It is unwise to approach them for photos without plenty of witnesses around (and they might not show up in the photos anyway).

Attractions

The Grim Procession: A nightly performance in which black-robed people (monks? specters?) holding candles emerge from the cathedral, slowly march around the town square, take up positions around the fountain, and begin a low chant. They are answered by eerie wails from white-shrouded figures that emerge on the rooftops around the square. The spooky counterpoint continues for a few minutes until the apparent ghosts sink back out of sight, at which point the robed figures march around the square once more and then return to the cathedral. Direct explanations for what just happened are not forthcoming.

2. Danse Macabre: The cathedral is the theatre for this grim but lively show, in which the interior crypts open up and the bones of the dead emerge to dance to the strains of the chapel organ. As the show progresses, the images of the saints—stone statues and stained-glass windows alike—also join in the romp.

3. Into the Catacombs: At the far side of the graveyard attached to the cathedral is a massive mausoleum housing County Drakul's maze attraction: a dismal house of the dead featuring skull-lined passageways, dripping water, shuddering sarcophagi, and other such gruesome sights and sounds.

4. Castle Drakul: The most elaborate ride in the entire park, bar none. It begins as a slow trackless dark ride through the corridors of the castle, but at the halfway point (in the grand ballroom) transitions into a mag-launched roller coaster as guests escape a horde of vampires after inadvertently interrupting their masquerade ball!

5. The Laboratory: A long-form dark ride celebrating the Gothic tradition of mad science. Bubbling beakers, crackling Tesla coils and strange creatures in chains are just some of the things you can expect to see as the ride builds toward its lighting-infused climax!

Shops and Eateries

6. The Wolf's Head: A pub-style restaurant facing onto the town square—low lighting, wood furnishings, and hearty food that doesn't skimp on the garlic.

7. Tomes of Mystery: A hole-in-the-wall bookshop focusing on classic Gothic lit in hardcover, including rare editions. Leather-bound blank journals are also available.

8. La Masquerade: County Drakul's costume shop features archetypes from Gothic literature (and its many film adaptations), elegant period costumes, and religious imagery. Specific examples include: angel, demon/devil, French court, gargoyle, ghost, Grim Reaper, mad scientist, nun, priest, skeleton, steampunk, vampire and Victorian. Individual costume pieces such as masquerade masks, velvet capes, and Goth jewelry are also part of the stock.

9. The Lord's Feast: Situated in a wing of the castle (but not sharing space with any part of the ride), this full table-service restaurant offers a menu of sumptuous food fit for nobility. Reservations for large-group catering can be made in advance.

Other

County Drakul has walkways connecting with both Goblin Woods and Ghoul City.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

There were great, round, pot-bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the street in their apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy, brown-faced, broad-girthed Spanish onions, shining in the fatness of their growth like Spanish Friars, and winking from their shelves in wanton slyness at the girls as they went by, and glanced demurely at the hung-up mistletoe. There were pears and apples clustered high in blooming pyramids; there were bunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers' benevolence, to dangle from conspicuous hooks that people's mouths might water gratis as they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, in their fragrance, ancient walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through withered leaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, squab and swarthy, setting off the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great compactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseeching to be carried home in paper bags, and eaten after dinner.

The Grocers'! oh, the Grocers'! nearly closed, with perhaps two shutters down, or one; but through those gaps such glimpses! It was not alone that the scales descending on the counter made a merry sound, or that the twine and roller parted company so briskly, or that the canisters were rattled up and down like juggling tricks, or even that the blended scents of tea and coffee were so grateful to the nose, or even that the raisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely white, the sticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so delicious, the candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten sugar as to make the coldest lookers-on feel faint, and subsequently bilious. Nor was it that the figs were moist and pulpy, or that the French plums blushed in modest tartness from their highly-decorated boxes, or that everything was good to eat and in its Christmas dress; but the customers were all so hurried and so eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that they tumbled up against each other at the door, crashing their wicker baskets wildly, and left their purchases upon the counter, and came running back to fetch them, and committed hundreds of the like mistakes, in the best humour possible; while the Grocer and his people were so frank and fresh, that the polished hearts with which they fastened their aprons behind might have been their own, worn outside for general inspection, and for Christmas daws to peck at if they chose.

I love this passage so much! It’s partly that no one in our day wites like this any more, and I love the richness and delight of all the descriptions, and it’s partly that virtually no one in our day would think of rhapsodizing about the things Dickens does, because they’re so taken for granted. Most of these are things you would see in your local supermarket! Sone of them are my particular favourites (filberts, aka hazelnuts, are always a treat), but who of us would imagine rhapsodozing about onions? Apples and oranges aren’t generally treated as anything special either. (Norfolk Biffins, if you’re wondering, are a dessert apple - I’d never heard of them outside A Christmas Carol.) Tea, coffee, raisins, almonds, cinnamon - Dickens make us see the wonder in things that would otherwise be commonplace. A good challenge for me is to go to my local grocery store and try to see everything through Dickens’ eyes.

I wish that we could get the mood of Christmas back to one he describes, and not one of hurry and stress and frustration!

[theyungihven]

Hum Aapke Hain Koun! (who am i to you?)

pairing : yunho (prem) x nisha (reader)

word count : 1.6 +

genre: strangers to lovers

synopsis: your visit to your sister's new family turns into a series of unexpected moments which incudes falling for her troublesome brother-in-law

ATEEZ x Bollywood series masterlist

Main masterlist

taglist : @riboism @fireheaurt @xddjoong @seongwin @fictionlover100 @davoraciousreader

The sun shines sweetly as it casts lovely shades of pink and red in the sky, nearing the horizon while you skate through the pavement of the lodge, making your way into the manager’s office. Your current stay has been at your mother’s favourite religious site, which is also a famous rest stop for travellers. The stone pavement underneath your shoe clinks at every concrete patch as you skate past residents of the place who are used to your presence, eventually turning around the corner into the office.

Ah! There he is, your favourite staff member of the place, the manager. A customer occupies him in the place as he leisurely chats with him in the study while you slip off your roller skates on the bench beside his chair. “Dad asked me to give these library books to you and pass a ‘thank you’ from him.”

“Nisha, love, can you sum these expenses while I visit the storeroom?” the manager asks, and you happily accept his request as he exits the room with the customer. 

You search the table for a pen to get started with the accounts and find his turban along with glasses left behind. To get in character as you sit in his designated seat, you decide to slip the white clothed turban on your head and slide on the glasses before beginning to sum the bill. 

The pit-pat of footsteps against the hard floor echoes in the room as someone enters, but being too busy in your counting, you fail to acknowledge their presence. “Excuse me? Is this Ram Narayan Dharamshala?” A young boy asks, worry plastered on his face, as if he’s lost in this huge place. He looked well-off, judging  by the choice of clothes and his style, but something about the slick parted hair falling over his eyes screamed the lead of a romance film. 

“Didn’t you read the board outside? I forgot my sums. Where was I ? 75+9” you sigh, muttering to yourself as his arrival had interrupted your calculation or was it his gorgeous face that entranced your mind. He takes a seat on the chairs placed in front of your table.

“84” the boy says, and you give him a confusing look. Is he underestimating your maths skills? Red flag no.1, no, no.2. Rich guys are always a red flag.

“What do you want?” you question him as your irritation builds up, almost giving up the accounts left to sum up.

“Can tell me which room Prof. Chaudhary is staying in?” he says leaning across the table as he nears your face. Flirty bastard. Red flag no.3. 

“And why do you need to know?” you slide your glasses down, setting them on the crook of your nose as you look at him in the eye.

 “That I- ……. I have some work with him.” shuttering mid-speech? Definitely suspicious. Another red flag. Can you even trust him?

“I get it now.” you mutter under your breath.  

“What?” 

“Get up!”  

“Why?” 

“Get up!” he startles at your raised pitch and gets up from the seat, ankles hitting the chair in the process, and ends up in a whining mess. 

“Dekhiye, aap log saal bhar tho padhai karte hai nahi. (Look, you guys don’t study all year along)”

“Me?” he asks, confused at your accusation. 

“Yes you. You don't study every year, and at the time of exams, you scurry here to increase your marks.”

“Madam, you’re the one who needed to test their eyes. The manager’s post has you thinking, you can say whatever you want.” 

Taking a deep breath, you gather your shattering patience. “Look, gentleman!” 

“Nisha!” the faint yell of your sister reaches your ears.  “Oh no!” you hurry to pull off the hideous props, untangling your hair in the process, but the boy’s eyes catch yours. “What?” you ask him as his gaze still lingers on your face, but your sister’s presence interrupts the moment.  “I'm here, Didi (sister)”

“What were you doing?” she asks, pointing out your hair which was all over the place. “UMM, Didi, this-” A rough clearing of the throat interrupts your interaction as the manager comes back, someone seemingly of much higher status than the residents of the place.

“You were looking for Mr. Chaudhary’s daughter’s right? Here they are, Pooja and Nisha. Pooja, love, this is Mr. Kailash nath, your father’s dear friend. They want to meet your father.” Your sister trails along with the guest to accompany them, and you join them, but remember the summed up accounts in your hand.  “Oh I forgot, here, I’ve summed up the bill. ” He thanks you for the work and gives you a chocolate bar as a reward, but before you could head out of the office, the boy complains, “You should recheck the total because they say beautiful women often make mistakes while counting. ” 

“What did you say?” you say, turning around. Is he determined to ridicule your existence? 

“You like chocolates, Nisha ji (miss)?”

“Don’t ever take my name!”

–

 “God, you're so lazy. yunho will be here soon” The past few weeks have been a turn of events in your life as the boy you encountered that day in the manager’s office has been successful to make your heart swoon over his mere words. Later that evening you found out he had come over to your place with his family to talk about the engagement of your dear sister with his elder brother, and the meeting of two old friends had been just a facade. Time brought you two closer, along with cute banters and secret meetings with sweet words exchanged in the closed rooms. 

You hurry to get off your bed, which takes no effort at all, as you get excited at the thought of getting to spend time with him on the way to your sister’s baby shower. Walking down the stairs, you search for him, but to your luck, he’s nowhere to be seen.

“*boo* I’m at your service” he jumps out, startling you in the process, as he had been  hiding behind the curtains of the living room.  “Hi” he whispers, but unable to meet his eyes, you greet his fluffy pet dog instead, “Hi Tuffy” and turn back on your heels, heading towards the refrigerator. 

“Nisha ji (miss), thank you so much” he says, propping against the dining table as you dig out a bottle from the refrigerator. 

“Why are you thanking me?” 

“Because you waited for me.” he leans in, enough for anyone to assume a romantic relationship between you two.

“But I wasn't waiting for you.” he steps forward, forcing you to take a few steps back, which ends up with you pressed against the fridge door as he then whispers, 

“So you were counting stars on the terrace? They say pretty girls look prettier when they lie” 

-

“Can I ask you something? Why did you give me the flowers?” The lush green hills are a beautiful landscape but he is an eye candy against the backdrop.

“Because every time we’ve met, we’ve always fought. What could be better than flowers as a gift to make up?” his sweet voice lightens up the mood, soothing the excitement bursting inside you.

“You’re not like I thought you were?” you say, bringing the flowers closer to your face, bathing in their sickening sweet fragrance.

“What do I mean to you?”

“I’ll take my sweet time to think about it.”

-

The moon gleams in the dark sky as it enlightens the space you’re currently seated in. The pool in the backyard had been the location of many secret meetings, the space where meaningful words were shared, and core memories were created in the span of just a few months. 

 “You think it's good to watch girls secretly?” you say, facing the pool as you sit on the bench and you are accompanied by Yunho, whose eyes linger on your figure.

“What's the point if I don't see you dance? Now I am a fan of your dancing too.” He replies in a relaxed tone, enjoying the cold breeze of the evening.

“Hum ne aapka itna mazaak udaya, aapko bura nahi laga?(Don’t you feel offended that I made fun of you?)” you ask, turning around and facing him. Your eyes meet his, and a smile spreads across your lips while your heart doesn’t fail to beat faster. 

“Aaj Kal aap ki koi bhi baat hamein buri nahi lagti (Nothing you say offends me these days)”

“Kyun aaj kal aisa kya ho gaya hai?(why? What happened these days?)”

“Bas(just),...” he trails, searching for something in your gaze, an approval perhaps?  “jo bhi aap kehti hain, jo bhi aap karti hain (whatever you say or do), hamein sab accha lagta hain (i like all of it).”

“Phir aapne hamain gullair se kyu maara?(then why did you hit me with that slingshot?)” you turn around unable to look him in the eye anymore. “It is bad manners. Agli baar kisi aur ladki ko maarne se pehle (Next time before hitting some other girl), do baar socheye ga (think twice). ”

“Kisi aur ke baare me sochne ki fursat kise hai(who has the time to think about other girls)? Aapse(you), sirf aapse hi toh hum yeh gustakhi kar sakte hain(i can only misbehave with you)”

“Hum aapke hain koun(who am i to you)?”

[rollershuttersandsteeldoors]

Fire Shutters and Their Usability in Various Commercial Landscapes

Within the domain of industrial and commercial safety, fire containment and prevention are critical issues. The fire shutters are one essential tool in this regard. These specialty shutters are essential for protecting people and property because they divide areas and stop fires from spreading. Let's examine the relevance of fire shutters and how they improve safety in different settings.

By acting as barriers, fire shutters efficiently limit fires inside of assigned regions and stop them from spreading quickly throughout a building. These shutters protect property and lives by helping to contain the spread of fire damage by partitioning off the area.

It is crucial to evacuate safely in the event of a fire. Because they stop smoke and flames from spreading, fire rated shutters aid in the protection of escape routes such stairwells, hallways, and exits. This reduces the chance of accidents or fatalities by enabling people to leave the building securely.

In addition to ensuring the protection of people, fire shutters in commercial and industrial settings also aid in safeguarding important assets and infrastructure. These shutters lessen the amount of damage to merchandise and equipment by limiting the fire to its source.

Commercial and industrial establishments must adhere to fire safety rules. Because they offer reliable fire protection, fire shutters are essential to fulfilling these legal criteria. By installing certified fire shutters, companies can protect themselves from potential legal ramifications and penalties by adhering to building laws and requirements.

In an emergency, modern fire shutters can be easily linked with fire detection and suppression systems, increasing their efficacy. When a fire is detected, automatic activation mechanisms like heat or smoke detectors cause the fire shutters to close, guaranteeing prompt containment and response. Fire shutters can be found in a range of materials and configurations to meet the unique requirements of various settings. Commercial kitchens, retail establishments, or industrial warehouses can all benefit from specialized fire shutter systems that can be made to meet specific operational and architectural needs. Installing fire shutters a big deal but with roller shutter parts, they can be maintained well and can assist you to safeguard the property for longer time.

[retailbritannia]

Here at Britannia Retail, we stock all the products you need to keep your home or business safe and secure, to give you peace of mind. To know more about Roller Shutter Parts visit us now. 

[ezyfitshutters]

Tips for Roller Shutters Parts Maintenance

Be it urban or rural area, roller shutters are a must. And similarly, regularly cleaning roller shutters and roller shutters parts is also very important. Cleaning means removing dust and debris and checking its functionality helps in its longevity. Instead of ignoring its cleanliness, make sure to wash it every three or four months. EzyFit roller shutters offer premium roller shutters which need less or no maintenance.

[scenekidfancams]

4 Cool Gay / queer artists and for pride this year (2023)

I wanted to help some queer and ally musicians boost their songs. As a trans-woman I think its important to understand that pride is important as much as change. Focusing on the hardships we have faced is very important but our victories are much more. So here are some (4) artists I (rose) recommend for pride.

Mikie mayo (any/all pronouns).

Mikie mayo (aka bunny boy) is a definitely hard to pin down Philly musician and occasional roller-coaster content creator. Mikie can be seen dabbling anything from indie pop, easycore, scene metalcore with bay area and internet rapper legend Lil B, scene electropop hyperpop, eurodance and dance pop about roller coasters and go karts, to beach pop, generally being pretty much a banger machine. Mikie's music is like ice cream w/ your favorite toppings on a warm summer day, very good and sugary sweet.

(photos by cam.i.z on ig)

these are my favorite songs / music videos by mikie mayo

Mikie has requested I let you know they have a new song about their partner and the couch they have.

click here to pre-save.

(photo by @ h0t_t0xiic on IG, couch and art by mikie's partner @ HoneyHatCompositions on IG )

FFO: eichlers, falloutboy, I set my friends on fire, dynasticc, dreamrats, cedar point amusement park, glaive, 100 gecs, etc.

(photos by rae mystic)

We Are The Union

I'm gonna cut to the chase on this one. If you want an emotional experience as a trans woman / transfemme or really any trans person to make you not feel alone and like ska / ska punk listen to Ordinary Life by we are the union. the first time I heard morbid obsessions I was working a part time (as full time really) at home depot in my small hometown in pa. I felt like as a trans woman and generally depressed person I couldn't be myself and go back to school. My boss there was the most transphobic piece of shit, and he always misgendered me and but me down. it wasn't until I quit that job and when I shifted to being myself inspired by my thoughts at the time that I accepted that I was fully a trans woman. I really related and still relate to Miss Reade Wolcott and her struggles with gender identity and be a trans woman in a transphobic world but also like her I am who I am. I would also could relate to jer and their struggles of being boxed in music genres and having what they love constantly undermined and diminished / not taken what I have to say seriously as a queer person.

FFO: New Tone, hoity toity, catbite, Eichlers, Bad operation, Kill Lincoln, etc.

Genres: ska pop, ska punk, alternative ska.

(photo by jtphotos)

Jisei (leda xo its/its and alexis she/they)

Jisei are the best queergrind band I have ever heard. the most raw queer emotions I have ever heard. Some of the best riffs I have ever heard. Imagine deathcore for the girls and the gays. The duo also make the most real lyrics I have heard in a while. For example one of I think the most topical songs they have had is "Pull Yrself Up by Your Pleasers". Pull Yrself Up by Your Pleasers being about christian nationalism and the alt-right abusing and tearing away the seperation of church and state without seeing a hint of irony. I hate the "Just asking questions" transphobia , and even though that might seem like solely a usa proving that Jisei hailing from vancouver proves that transphobia is a worldwide issue and if so called "cis allies" aren't for us 100+ %, fuck 'em.

FFO: Thotcrime, Sissy xo, hopscotch battlescars, Suicide Silence, and a lovely day for bloodshed.

Genres: Cybergrind, cyberdeath, deathgrind, deathcore, queercore and queergrind

seeyouspacecowboy.

(band photo by shutter happy jose)

last on the list here we have the one of the most popular queer scenecore bands ever. see you space cowboy. the most gay and hard band at the same time they well as sass as much as hardcore. Picture if saosin, the devil wears prada, or thrice, and/or attack attack! were queer and trans and say exclaimed faggot as fun mosh call. That would be see you space cowboy, started by brother and sister connie and ethan, seeyouspacecowboy is one of the most popular bands in screamo, metalcore and hardcore, and scenecore all at the same time. will excellent songwriting and angsty queer lyrics complimented with crushing riffs and piercing panic chords, seeyouspacecowboy will worm your way into your heart and crush your rib-cage at the same time. As a fan of vocalist connie sgarbossa, she was one of the people who helped me come out as a trans woman in the first place. The fact that a queer trans woman who screamed and force herself to the front inspirational. Yeah the fact we have to be forced to be heard kinda sucks, but it can be done and her presence in the scene made that very well known. Also it kinda helps that they spread the word on trans liberation and mental health from and trans and queer perspective and what can be done to combat transphobia in a very passionate and heartfelt way. I highly recommend their whole catolgue from their sass/whitebelt eras, to their metallic hardcore stuff, to mall scenecore era currently.

Genres: Scenecore, sasscore, whitebelt, queercore, "screamo", mall screamo, metalcore, scene metalcore, hardcore, metallic hardcore.

FFO: attack attack!, tdwp, i set my friends on fire, lacerated, thrice, norma jean, and underoath etc.

pride should be celebrated.

one last thing from a trans woman,

gender doesn't always equal sex.

gendered pronouns / pronouns in general have existed since the beginning of time.

drag queens aren't always trans.

trans people don't care about where you pee and where you are, they just wanna pee in their gendered bathroom.

cis isn't a slur.

terf isn't a slur.

leave trans people alone.

[publicdomainbooks]

THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS. (2)

The house fronts looked black enough, and the windows blacker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs, and with the dirtier snow upon the ground; which last deposit had been ploughed up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and waggons; furrows that crossed and re-crossed each other hundreds of times where the great streets branched off; and made intricate channels, hard to trace in the thick yellow mud and icy water. The sky was gloomy, and the shortest streets were choked up with a dingy mist, half thawed, half frozen, whose heavier particles descended in a shower of sooty atoms, as if all the chimneys in Great Britain had, by one consent, caught fire, and were blazing away to their dear hearts’ content. There was nothing very cheerful in the climate or the town, and yet was there an air of cheerfulness abroad that the clearest summer air and brightest summer sun might have endeavoured to diffuse in vain.

For, the people who were shovelling away on the housetops were jovial and full of glee; calling out to one another from the parapets, and now and then exchanging a facetious snowball—better-natured missile far than many a wordy jest—laughing heartily if it went right and not less heartily if it went wrong. The poulterers’ shops were still half open, and the fruiterers’ were radiant in their glory. There were great, round, pot-bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the street in their apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy, brown-faced, broad-girthed Spanish Onions, shining in the fatness of their growth like Spanish Friars, and winking from their shelves in wanton slyness at the girls as they went by, and glanced demurely at the hung-up mistletoe. There were pears and apples, clustered high in blooming pyramids; there were bunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers’ benevolence to dangle from conspicuous hooks, that people’s mouths might water gratis as they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, in their fragrance, ancient walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through withered leaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, squat and swarthy, setting off the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great compactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseeching to be carried home in paper bags and eaten after dinner. The very gold and silver fish, set forth among these choice fruits in a bowl, though members of a dull and stagnant-blooded race, appeared to know that there was something going on; and, to a fish, went gasping round and round their little world in slow and passionless excitement.

The Grocers’! oh, the Grocers’! nearly closed, with perhaps two shutters down, or one; but through those gaps such glimpses! It was not alone that the scales descending on the counter made a merry sound, or that the twine and roller parted company so briskly, or that the canisters were rattled up and down like juggling tricks, or even that the blended scents of tea and coffee were so grateful to the nose, or even that the raisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely white, the sticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so delicious, the candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten sugar as to make the coldest lookers-on feel faint and subsequently bilious. Nor was it that the figs were moist and pulpy, or that the French plums blushed in modest tartness from their highly-decorated boxes, or that everything was good to eat and in its Christmas dress; but the customers were all so hurried and so eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that they tumbled up against each other at the door, crashing their wicker baskets wildly, and left their purchases upon the counter, and came running back to fetch them, and committed hundreds of the like mistakes, in the best humour possible; while the Grocer and his people were so frank and fresh that the polished hearts with which they fastened their aprons behind might have been their own, worn outside for general inspection, and for Christmas daws to peck at if they chose.

But soon the steeples called good people all, to church and chapel, and away they came, flocking through the streets in their best clothes, and with their gayest faces. And at the same time there emerged from scores of bye-streets, lanes, and nameless turnings, innumerable people, carrying their dinners to the bakers’ shops. The sight of these poor revellers appeared to interest the Spirit very much, for he stood with Scrooge beside him in a baker’s doorway, and taking off the covers as their bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from his torch. And it was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when there were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, he shed a few drops of water on them from it, and their good humour was restored directly. For they said, it was a shame to quarrel upon Christmas Day. And so it was! God love it, so it was!

In time the bells ceased, and the bakers were shut up; and yet there was a genial shadowing forth of all these dinners and the progress of their cooking, in the thawed blotch of wet above each baker’s oven; where the pavement smoked as if its stones were cooking too.

“Is there a peculiar flavour in what you sprinkle from your torch?” asked Scrooge.

“There is. My own.”

“Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?” asked Scrooge.

“To any kindly given. To a poor one most.”

“Why to a poor one most?” asked Scrooge.

“Because it needs it most.”

“Spirit,” said Scrooge, after a moment’s thought, “I wonder you, of all the beings in the many worlds about us, should desire to cramp these people’s opportunities of innocent enjoyment.”

“I!” cried the Spirit.

“You would deprive them of their means of dining every seventh day, often the only day on which they can be said to dine at all,” said Scrooge. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I!” cried the Spirit.

“You seek to close these places on the Seventh Day?” said Scrooge. “And it comes to the same thing.”

“I seek!” exclaimed the Spirit.

“Forgive me if I am wrong. It has been done in your name, or at least in that of your family,” said Scrooge.

“There are some upon this earth of yours,” returned the Spirit, “who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us.”

Scrooge promised that he would; and they went on, invisible, as they had been before, into the suburbs of the town. It was a remarkable quality of the Ghost (which Scrooge had observed at the baker’s), that notwithstanding his gigantic size, he could accommodate himself to any place with ease; and that he stood beneath a low roof quite as gracefully and like a supernatural creature, as it was possible he could have done in any lofty hall.

And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing off this power of his, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature, and his sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge’s clerk’s; for there he went, and took Scrooge with him, holding to his robe; and on the threshold of the door the Spirit smiled, and stopped to bless Bob Cratchit’s dwelling with the sprinkling of his torch. Think of that! Bob had but fifteen “Bob” a-week himself; he pocketed on Saturdays but fifteen copies of his Christian name; and yet the Ghost of Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed house!

Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit’s wife, dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and getting the corners of his monstrous shirt collar (Bob’s private property, conferred upon his son and heir in honour of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the fashionable Parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker’s they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own; and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these young Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he (not proud, although his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, until the slow potatoes bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled.

“What has ever got your precious father then?” said Mrs. Cratchit. “And your brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha warn’t as late last Christmas Day by half-an-hour?”

“Here’s Martha, mother!” said a girl, appearing as she spoke.

“Here’s Martha, mother!” cried the two young Cratchits. “Hurrah! There’s such a goose, Martha!”

“Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!” said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet for her with officious zeal.

“We’d a deal of work to finish up last night,” replied the girl, “and had to clear away this morning, mother!”

“Well! Never mind so long as you are come,” said Mrs. Cratchit. “Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!”

“No, no! There’s father coming,” cried the two young Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. “Hide, Martha, hide!”

So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at least three feet of comforter exclusive of the fringe, hanging down before him; and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame!

“Why, where’s our Martha?” cried Bob Cratchit, looking round.

“Not coming,” said Mrs. Cratchit.

“Not coming!” said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high spirits; for he had been Tim’s blood horse all the way from church, and had come home rampant. “Not coming upon Christmas Day!”

Martha didn’t like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into his arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper.

“And how did little Tim behave?” asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart’s content.

“As good as gold,” said Bob, “and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk, and blind men see.”

Bob’s voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty.

His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister to his stool before the fire; and while Bob, turning up his cuffs—as if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby—compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and round and put it on the hob to simmer; Master Peter, and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in high procession.

Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course—and in truth it was something very like it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn’t believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn’t ate it all at last! Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone—too nervous to bear witnesses—to take the pudding up and bring it in.

Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back-yard, and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose—a supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of horrors were supposed.

Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook’s next door to each other, with a laundress’s next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered—flushed, but smiling proudly—with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.

Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit’s elbow stood the family display of glass. Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle.

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed:

“A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!”

Which all the family re-echoed.

“God bless us every one!” said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

He sat very close to his father’s side upon his little stool. Bob held his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child, and wished to keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him.

“Spirit,” said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt before, “tell me if Tiny Tim will live.”

“I see a vacant seat,” replied the Ghost, “in the poor chimney-corner, and a crutch without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, the child will die.”

“No, no,” said Scrooge. “Oh, no, kind Spirit! say he will be spared.”

“If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, none other of my race,” returned the Ghost, “will find him here. What then? If he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.”

Scrooge hung his head to hear his own words quoted by the Spirit, and was overcome with penitence and grief.

“Man,” said the Ghost, “if man you be in heart, not adamant, forbear that wicked cant until you have discovered What the surplus is, and Where it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? It may be, that in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless and less fit to live than millions like this poor man’s child. Oh God! to hear the Insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry brothers in the dust!”

Scrooge bent before the Ghost’s rebuke, and trembling cast his eyes upon the ground. But he raised them speedily, on hearing his own name.

“Mr. Scrooge!” said Bob; “I’ll give you Mr. Scrooge, the Founder of the Feast!”

“The Founder of the Feast indeed!” cried Mrs. Cratchit, reddening. “I wish I had him here. I’d give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he’d have a good appetite for it.”

“My dear,” said Bob, “the children! Christmas Day.”

“It should be Christmas Day, I am sure,” said she, “on which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is, Robert! Nobody knows it better than you do, poor fellow!”

“My dear,” was Bob’s mild answer, “Christmas Day.”

“I’ll drink his health for your sake and the Day’s,” said Mrs. Cratchit, “not for his. Long life to him! A merry Christmas and a happy new year! He’ll be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt!”

The children drank the toast after her. It was the first of their proceedings which had no heartiness. Tiny Tim drank it last of all, but he didn’t care twopence for it. Scrooge was the Ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a dark shadow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes.

After it had passed away, they were ten times merrier than before, from the mere relief of Scrooge the Baleful being done with. Bob Cratchit told them how he had a situation in his eye for Master Peter, which would bring in, if obtained, full five-and-sixpence weekly. The two young Cratchits laughed tremendously at the idea of Peter’s being a man of business; and Peter himself looked thoughtfully at the fire from between his collars, as if he were deliberating what particular investments he should favour when he came into the receipt of that bewildering income. Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a milliner’s, then told them what kind of work she had to do, and how many hours she worked at a stretch, and how she meant to lie abed to-morrow morning for a good long rest; to-morrow being a holiday she passed at home. Also how she had seen a countess and a lord some days before, and how the lord “was much about as tall as Peter;” at which Peter pulled up his collars so high that you couldn’t have seen his head if you had been there. All this time the chestnuts and the jug went round and round; and by-and-bye they had a song, about a lost child travelling in the snow, from Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it very well indeed.

There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a handsome family; they were not well dressed; their shoes were far from being water-proof; their clothes were scanty; and Peter might have known, and very likely did, the inside of a pawnbroker’s. But, they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another, and contented with the time; and when they faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit’s torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny Tim, until the last.

[marsnolias]

Wish I could draw so I could communicate this top-tier tf oc idea to you all

you know what, here it is anyway

Garadon, a female mini-bot (same size as g1 bumblebee). she's mostly white, with light pink and light green accents. she has a visor that looks like 80's shutter shades. lotsa pointy triangles in her design.

she has a transparent window in her chest and a ton of spherical, green and pink gacha capsules in there. Garadon has a dial (? whatever you turn to make it dispense) on her upper chest and the dispensing mechanism where a human's belly button would be.

she doesn't have rocket boosters on her feet and so can't fly, but she does have roller blades. her alt-mode is a normal-sized gachapon machine.

Garadon's capsules contain pretty much anything and everything for nearly any feasible situation - spare parts, tools, snacks for her human pals. some are actually shrapnel or smoke bombs in disguise

she's a bit of a ditz, and loves to party. ironically, Garadon herself is addicted to gacha machines, arcade games, and fairgounds.