#honeycomb heat exchanger

[sakkiichi]

FROM ME TO YOU.

Because good things take time and it’s not too late for happy birthdays.

ft. Albedo x gn! reader.

cw/genre: fluff, birthday special, reader is an amateur painter.

this is just something spontaneous that I came up with… I just… kinda gave free reign to whatever flashed through my mind once I was before the blank document, parting from a very vague idea I had haha.

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

Autumn’s cold always arrived early in Dragonspine.

The faraway rays of a molten copper halo fuse with the peaks outlined on the horizon.

Magic is the word you’d use to describe such scenery; seconds that seemed to both be suspended in the helpless passage of time, and slip between your fingers; like golden sand inside an hourglass too small to savor every snapshot brought by the incandescence of crepuscular skies.

On instances like this, you wished your painting skills were better; if only to capture the glow of early dreams threaded through the asters of twilight.

For now, however, this will have to do.

Why did you wait until so late for this, you are unsure.

True, wishing a happy birthday to someone as the clock strikes twelve is not an uncommon occurrence.

And you’re kind of doing just that, more or less.

Except…

Well, it’s usually when the special day starts that calls are made, starlit whispers are uttered between lovers, and secret kisses are exchanged.

So you can’t help but wonder… is it too late?

For this? Or to back out now?

A sigh escapes your chapped lips, into the dimness of dusk, the stillness of frozen peaks, the stars.

Stars.

Your gaze is drawn to the easel you’ve set before you, fingertips delicately trailing over the four-point asteroids decorating a heaven made of brushstrokes.

Gold pinpricks, almost aglow beneath the darkening penombre of sundown, over a backdrop of ultramarines and indigoes, akin to sunlight over the depth of a frozen sea; a mirror image of the sky now hovering over snowy plains.

Looking up, you find a firmament of constellations. Stories, sketched in the silver flames of light years away suns, above an infinity of obscurity.

Those tales, however, had a tendency for lighting up paths that fell victim to the constant fluttering snowflakes.

“Hello, dearest.” A voice, smooth, liquid dawnlight over dewed cecilia petals, greets. “Am I late?”

The sound of crunching snow fills the fire-lit silence, the torches from his camp casting him in tepid hues.

“Albedo!” You call him, turning around.

And when you do, you swear he alone outshines every galaxy you could ever dream of rendering on canvas.

Tendrils of midnight sun and honeycomb seem to meld together in the blonde locks framing the alchemist’s porcelain-like face. Spotless, argent light from distant stars kisses his skin, fading into flecks of sparkling acacia blossoms to halo his gaze.

Summer skies.

That’s the image his eyes always evoked: clear skies, endlessly blue, over meadows to lie on, the low grass soft beneath your forms, as hands entwined and fingers pointed above, determining the shapes of the occasional cottony clouds.

What a paradox, how someone who spent his days surrounded by ice could make sparks ignite in your heart, cheeks heating up like the embers that remained after the coziness of a homey hearth.

“Is there anything you needed my help with, love?” He asks, gloved hand running its thumb over the back of yours.

Your gaze flits from your intertwined hands to his smiling lips, taking in his features in full.

“Not exactly your help.” You offer, your own lips a moon shaped brushstroke of vermillion. “I just… would like you to see something.” Your hand squeezes his, as you swing your linked hands between the both of you. “It’s your special day today, after all, isn’t it?”

Your rhetoric is met by the alchemist’s windened gaze, followed by one of his subtle smiles.

Tugging him along, you guide him to the candle lit spot where your easel is propped up.

Why are you feeling nervous all of a sudden? You internally chide yourself, biting the inside of your cheek.

Relaxing your shoulders, you turn to face your lover, gaze averted when you mumble:

“It’s not much but…” You scuff one of your boots on the dirtied snow. “I just… I remembered your painting, ‘You and I’ and… well… you know… I…” Your lids close, your nose scrunched up in that way he always found utterly endearing. “I wanted to make a painting for you too!” You finally sputter, stepping aside so he can see your masterpiece.

From that moment on, Albedo would forever believe no starry night could ever come close to capture the sheer magic of your art.

Gilded speckles abound in your make-believe heavens, each of them a shade slightly different than the previous one. They rest against a backdrop of cyans, accentuated in baby blue around your handmade constellations, the piece’s finale, a violet horizon. Outlined against it, two figures seem to dance, their happy ending created by them, rather than foretold by the celestial bodies staring in envy at a proximity that doesn’t burn, but warms and completes.

“I know it’s not the best but-“

“It’s perfect.” Is the kreideprinz’s awestruck answer, as his svelte hands hover over the frame. “You’re perfect, [Y/n].” He blurts, still staring at your work.

Then, he meets your eyes again. Your face is in his tender hold, a fleeting frosted kiss landing on your lips.

“I love it.” He assures. ‘I love you.’ His dilated pupils confess.

“‘From me to you’. Its title.” Your hand reaches up, resting on top of his. “You know… I hope you didn’t think I had forgotten about today… I just… kinda wanted this to be your last memory of your day.”

With that, both your gazes fuse in a watercolor of each other’s lips, of the anticipation of feeling them against your own.

“Happy birthday, Bedo.” You utter, before leaning in.

And then, the night, the snow, the starshine, all fade away, in a myriad of rose colored frenzied blazes. Your hands lost in the ash blonde strands at his nape; his, pulling you closer by the waist. Your kiss is a nebula of pulsating light, undimmed by even the most ruthless blizzards, lighting up the ebony of the pines obscuring the moonlight. Frozen air is exhausted in your lungs, but you don’t care right now, not when you’re kissing your prince charming under the lights of an aurora that’s still hours away.

A few moments pass, with the stars orbiting marking the approach of midnight.

A snow-kissed breeze caresses both your faces when you part, causing a shiver to rake through your body.

Your prince’s arms wrap around you.

When you look at him, matching chuckles fill the night air.

Moments like this were worth waiting all day for.

[writtenonreceipts]

A drabble for Day One of jilytober! @jilytoberfest

A Picture and A Smile

“Smile!”

Her voice is bright, carefree, and utterly at ease.  Before James knows what is happening the young woman next to him slings an arm around his neck and draws him in close to her side.

Immediately, he’s enveloped by the warm scents of vanilla and honeycomb and Lily Evans is there.  She’s leaning into him with a smile and a laugh as one hand extends out holding a polaroid camera.  The picture snaps before James knows what’s happening. 

They’re in the shadows of the ice cream parlor, one of the tables nestled close to the wall and away from any prying eyes.  It doesn’t stop the heat of the late summer day though.  The sun is high in a startling blue sky and makes for a 

When Lily pulls away she narrows her eyes at him. “You did smile, didn’t you?”

“Warn a guy next time, yeah?” James tries to scowl, but it’s Lily and she’s the sun incarnate that he can only grin cheekily at her.

“That’s why I yelled smile, Potter,” she says.  She takes the picture as it’s ejected from the camera.  

It takes him a moment to realize that the camera is muggle, not wizard.  He can tell by the winding noises it makes, the worn edges, and the flash was just a little too dull to be from a wizard's contraption.

They’re in Diagon Alley just days away from the start of seventh year.  Barely two months ago they’d been saying good-bye, hesitantly exchanging hugs.  But there had been a change in their friendship.  Something new and tentative.  And now that they’re friends.

Lily sighs and looks over the picture as it slowly takes form.  “Well, I guess this is acceptable.”

“Of course it’s acceptable, it’s a picture of me,” James says.  He snatches the photo, ignoring her gasp of protest.

“James!” she reaches across him and tries to snag the photo back.  

He easily keeps her at bay.  She’s smaller than him and his long arms put plenty of distance between Lily and the photo.  

James takes a look at the photo.  It still has a pale white sheen to it, but the vibrant red to Lily’s hair is hard to miss.  And the grin on her lovely face oozes joy as she leans into James.  He’s blurry as he’s trying to look between her and the camera with hardly any time to prepare.  But it’s him.  His wild hair and askew glasses.  

Just the two of them.

“I’m smudged!” he says.

“Because you moved.”  She manages to pluck the picture from him and sets it before her on the table.

They’re just outside Fortesques, ice cream long since eaten.  They’re supposed to be discussing how they’ll approach being Head Boy and Girl together.  They’re supposed to be preparing patrols and speeches and ground rules.  They’re supposed to be making this year easier for professors and students alike.  

Instead, they’re eating ice cream.  They’re laughing.  They’re talking.  They’re--

“One more,” Lily says.  She leans into James again and holds the camera aloft. “And try to behave.”

“I always behave,” he replies.  Her narrowed eyes and slight tilt of her head tell him that she doesn’t believe him.  James can only laugh as he slings an arm around her shoulder to pull her close.  So close that it’s distracting.  That maybe this could be more than just a picture, that this could be a new normal for them.

Hell.  There’s just something about her he can’t get over.  And if he were the same person he was even two years ago he would have tried to steal a kiss.  

He grins as the camera flashes.  Maybe one day he’ll get that kiss.  For now, he laughs as Lily scowls and waits for that little polaroid to develop.  He already tried convincing her to get a spelled camera, but she refuses.  Some things are meant to be mundane.

James thinks he’s beginning to understand what she means by that and is more than willing to accept it for himself too.

...

i hope to share more throughout the month, but for now, here’s this!

[travelpointturkey]

Travel to Turkey: A Comprehensive Guide

Travel to Turkey: A Comprehensive Guide

Turkey, a transcontinental nation spanning Asia and Europe, is a captivating blend of rich history, vibrant culture, and stunning natural beauty. From the bustling streets of Istanbul to the serene beaches of the Mediterranean coast, Turkey offers an abundance of experiences for travelers of all interests. Whether you're seeking cultural immersion, historical exploration, or simply relaxation, Turkey has something to offer everyone.

Planning Your Trip

Visas: Citizens of many countries can enter Turkey without a visa for stays up to 90 days. However, it's always advisable to check visa requirements with your nearest Turkish embassy or consulate before departure.

Best Time to Visit: Turkey enjoys a diverse climate, with warm summers and mild winters. The peak tourist season is from June to August, offering pleasant weather and lively atmosphere. Shoulder seasons (April-May and September-October) provide a more relaxed experience with fewer crowds.

Transportation: Turkey boasts a well-connected transportation network, including extensive domestic flights, comfortable buses, and modern trains. Istanbul serves as the major transportation hub, with direct flights connecting to major cities worldwide.

Exploring Turkey's Treasures

Istanbul: Immerse yourself in the captivating history and culture of Istanbul, where ancient Byzantine and Ottoman landmarks seamlessly blend with modern life. Visit the awe-inspiring Hagia Sophia, stroll through the bustling Grand Bazaar, and admire the breathtaking views from atop the Galata Tower.

Cappadocia: Discover the otherworldly landscapes of Cappadocia, a region renowned for its unique rock formations, known as fairy chimneys. Take a hot air balloon ride to witness the mesmerizing sunrise over the valleys, or explore the underground cities and cave churches that honeycomb the region.

Mediterranean Coast: Indulge in the sun-kissed shores of Turkey's Mediterranean coast, where turquoise waters lap against golden beaches. Relax on the renowned beaches of Antalya, explore the ancient ruins of Side, or embark on a boat trip to discover the picturesque coves and islands.

Pamukkale: Marvel at the surreal beauty of Pamukkale, a natural wonder adorned with cascading travertine terraces and azure pools. Bathe in the mineral-rich waters, renowned for their therapeutic properties, and explore the ruins of the ancient city of Hierapolis.

Cultural Delights and Culinary Adventures

Turkish Cuisine: Embark on a culinary adventure by savoring the flavors of Turkish cuisine, a delightful fusion of Mediterranean, Middle Eastern, and Central Asian influences. Indulge in succulent kebabs, aromatic mezze platters, and mouthwatering desserts like baklava and Turkish delight.

Hamam Experience: Immerse yourself in the traditional Turkish bath ritual, known as hamam. Experience the soothing heat of the sauna, followed by a rejuvenating massage and invigorating scrub.

Turkish Bazaar Shopping: Delve into the vibrant atmosphere of a Turkish bazaar, where a kaleidoscope of colors, scents, and sounds awaits. Haggle for unique souvenirs, handcrafted goods, and traditional spices.

Additional Tips

Learn Basic Turkish Phrases: Learning a few basic Turkish phrases will enhance your interactions with locals and add a touch of authenticity to your trip.

Respect Local Customs: Be mindful of local customs and dress modestly when visiting religious sites.

Bargaining: Bargaining is common practice in bazaars and smaller shops. Embrace the experience and enjoy the art of negotiation.

Currency Exchange: The Turkish Lira (TRY) is the official currency. Money exchange services are widely available, and major credit cards are accepted in most tourist establishments.

Tipping: Tipping is not customary in restaurants, but small tips are appreciated for exceptional service.

Turkey beckons with its rich tapestry of history, culture, and natural beauty. By following these tips and planning your itinerary carefully, you can create an unforgettable Turkish adventure that will leave you yearning for more.

[coltgroup]

Plate Type Heat Exchanger Maintenance

Maximizing Plate Type Heat Exchanger Performance through Comprehensive Maintenance

Are you having problems with your gasket plate heat exchanger? Are there leaks outside or inside the unit, or are there unexpected drops in pressure? If you need further support, experienced and qualified troubleshooters are at your service. They will offer you immediate on-site and off-site support to resolve any issues relating to your equipment. They will pinpoint the cause of unplanned shutdowns, ensuring you get the best possible performance from your equipment. Furthermore, they will be able to identify and prevent dangerous situations, to improve the working conditions of staff.

Rely on Colt Equipment’s (p) Ltd for high-quality heat exchangers and Water Cooled Compressors. Their top-notch products ensure optimal performance and reliability in various industrial settings.

What leak problems are you experiencing with your gasket plate heat exchanger?

You may experience various leakage problems with your heat exchanger units. It is essential to identify the causes of your problems in order to get them resolved in time. Here are the possible problems you may experience:

Gasket leaking due to aging

Fluids leaking externally, while seals are partially visible on the side of the plate block, fluids are leaking externally, seals are cracked and leaking from the side

External leaks and seals are loose when opened

Swelling or melting of the seal

Maintenance Procedures for Plate Heat Exchangers

One of the peculiar characteristics of plate heat exchangers is easy maintenance. In fact, looking at the matter from a theoretical point of view and on paper, it would seem so, how do we proceed in practice? After determining that the exchanger is not performing as it is "dirty", there are two ways to clean it:

CIP (cleaning in place) or chemical washing

Disassembly and complete washing (regeneration)

The first system cleaning in place or chemical washing is decidedly simpler but does not always allow you to obtain the desired effect it may not address deeply embedded or inaccessible residues and contaminants, leading to incomplete cleaning outcomes. In such cases, during Plate Type Heat Exchanger Maintenance work, disassembly and complete regeneration is a must.

The cleaning and maintenance procedures for plate heat exchangers (disassembly/reassembly) may vary depending on the various models, but fundamentally they are quite similar.

In any case, the maintenance process involves meticulous steps to ensure optimal performance post-cleaning or regeneration:

Honeycomb: once reassembled, the plate pack must have a honeycomb pattern on the side, otherwise it means that the pack has been assembled incorrectly.

Shifting: be careful when closing the plate pack to respect the sequence of the tie rods, otherwise, you run the risk of shifting the plates, which can lead to leaks and poor pressure resistance.

Tightening Dimension: you don't need a torque wrench to close a plate exchanger, but a simple measuring tape. Measure the internal distance between the two drums, it must correspond to a height indicated by the manufacturer, which is always given by:

Molding depth + plate thickness * number of plates

Conclusion Regular maintenance is the key to ensuring the longevity and efficiency of plate-type heat exchangers, especially in systems involving water-cooled compressors. By identifying and addressing common issues like leaks promptly and following proper Shell Tube Type Heat Exchanger in indiia, you can optimize the performance of your equipment. Whether choosing cleaning in place or disassembly and regeneration, prioritize thoroughness to guarantee the continued reliability of your plate heat exchanger. Remember, a well-maintained system not only reduces downtime but also enhances the overall working conditions for your staff.

[shantnusingh]

Elevate Your PC Experience with the Cooler Master K380

A robust and well-ventilated enclosure is essential when constructing a PC. A case that is becoming more and more well-liked is the Cooler Master K380, which has a sturdy appearance and excellent performance. We will examine the reasons for the popularity of this mid-tower cabinet among PC builders in this post.

The Appearances:

Style and substance are the key features of the best Cooler Master K380. It is elegantly colored midnight black and has a cool mesh and honeycomb design on the front to improve cooling. Not only can you install a fan to keep your graphics card cool, but the large glass on the side panel is also functional.

Keeping Things Calm:

Your PC will stay cool a lot longer with this case. Up to four fans may be added, which is ideal for keeping your PC cool during extended gaming sessions or demanding workdays. A 120mm red LED fan that looks good and cools is already there on the front. If you'd like, you may add a fan to the back. Additionally, you may put one at the bottom and one on the side panel if heat is still a concern for you.

Space Loads:

There will always be room for your belongings. There are two additional spaces for 3.5" drives and three spaces for optical drives (such as DVD or Blu-ray). The best part is that there are three hidden 2.5" bays for your SSDs in addition to five hidden 3.5" drive bays. You have no trouble storing all of your programs and data.

Increasing Your Choices:

With the Cooler Master K380, you have space for upgrades and spare components. Micro-ATX and ATX motherboards are compatible with it. You may expand your PC's storage with seven available slots. Furthermore, because it has lots of room, it doesn't care whether you have a large graphics card, such as the AMD HD 7990 or NVIDIA GTX 690. Your CPU cooler can have a maximum height of 6.1 inches, and your graphics card can have a maximum length of 12.5 inches.

Easy to Use:

It's very simple to use the K380. Fast record exchanges and fast charging for tablets and smartphones are made conceivable by the USB 3.0 connector on the front panel. Moreover, headphone, receiver, and USB 2.0 connectors are present. There's no need for tools for the speedy and straightforward establishment of drives. The casing is solid and long-lasting since it is made of high-quality materials, including steelwork, polymer, and SGCC.

Conclusion 

Cooler Master is so beyond any doubt of the K380's quality that it offers a three-year guarantee. The Cooler Master K380 Ace mid-tower case is great. It is the encapsulation of style and functionality. It performs phenomenal work of keeping your PC cool, grants upgrades, gives a ton of space and is exceptionally user-friendly. Its tough structure, modern design, and extraordinary cooling capabilities make it a top alternative within the computer case to advertise and improve your PC-building involvement.

Source: https://techplanet.today/post/elevate-your-pc-experience-with-the-cooler-master-k380

[donsvgfile]

Honey Bunny svg files Cricut Silhouette Cameo Honeycomb Rabbit Ears Flowers PNG Sublimation Easter

Honey Bunny svg files Cricut Silhouette Cameo Honeycomb Rabbit Ears Flowers PNG Sublimation Easter

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[neonponders]

Here’s a prologue for my The Mummy AU!

This all started because of the moodboards above, created by @memes-saved-me and @harringrove000 . I just couldn’t help myself.

Here’s my original post about this au (it includes links to the moodboards) ~

And @hoegrove I know you wanted to see this so 🌹

Read on ao3 ~

• • • • • • •

The overhead bulbs and candlelight cast harsh shadows and warm light throughout the grimy bar. Everyone glistened with sweat from the desert heat. The night brought with it gentle, cool breezes over the Nile, but in this packed place, the occasional thworp of paper and silk fans being thrown open could be heard. Even the swish of luxurious ostrich feathers swayed to cool people off.

Steve moved his legs to cross his knees, the papyrus green trousers brushing against the military beige breeches of the man sitting opposite him at their small, round, gambling table. They had gathered quite an audience; the messy pile of money had long since included bets beyond Steve and this man’s wagers. Steve hadn’t caught his name, but he felt the heat of his body through their trouser fabrics, and more than once caught himself staring at how the light gleamed in that dark blond, honeyed hair.

“You trying to distract me?”

“No,” Steve smirked, “I’m trying to get comfortable.”

“Stressed?” the man crooned.

Steve removed his gaze from those pin-made waves of his hair. They had long since given up their shape to the day’s heat, but a tress outright curled over this handsome bastard’s forehead. Steve dared to think he looked better unkempt. “Not one bit. Play your cards. You’re dressed like you have somewhere to be.”

“I’m in no rush,” he replied lethargically, like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

Steve let his eyes wander him a little more. “You sure? You look like a military man.”

“Honorably discharged.”

“Congratulations.”

Steve knew his eyes were blue, but in this lighting they looked like clear glass over onyx pupils when he tilted his head to look at Steve curiously. The latter retaliated before he even spoke. “Is that a strange thing to say?”

The blond shrugged with a gentle shake of his head as he plucked at his cards, rearranging them in his hand. “Only if you worship at the alter of hyper patriotism and military imperialism.”

Some chuckles sounded around them as harlots shared long, cigarette filter stems with their johns, and the barkeeps made glass clatter. Steve exhaled in a huff. “Whatever that means. I’d like to win, already. Play your cards.”

“You first, dear.”

He did, laying down his fan of cards underneath the row of cards from the dealer. The Madame of the place listened to their exchanges with amusement but kept it professional as she narrated, “Full house. Always something to brag about. And you, Mr. Hargrove?”

Hargrove, huh? Steve mused as he watched for any amount of discomfort on the man’s face. He didn’t get it.

“Straight flush,” the Madame said, aligning the winning cards with those from Steve’s and her own line. Steve had practically given him that win. And more of his father’s allowance than he would ever admit.

Hargrove moved a stack of chips to the Madame’s side of the table for a substantial tip, and then offered that hand to Steve. “Good game, Mr…?”

His eyes lolled under a slow blink before he accepted the hand. “Just Steve. It’s what I get for losing.”

“Let me top off your drink, at least, Steve.”

He took his loss with grace and stood to follow Hargrove to the bar. The crowd separated for him apart from a random slap on the back and long fingers stroking his hair in consolation. Hargrove reached the bar first, and watched all this while leaning back on his elbow. A light overhead moved across the exposed skin of his chest, just as honeyed as the rest of him, and the sparse hair there. Steve discretely lowered his gaze as if to not trip over the tiled stair raising the bar from the regular floor.

“Do you come here often?”

Steve snorted a quiet laugh and lifted his gaze. “You’ve already got me here. Ask me a real question.”

Hargrove smiled as the barkeep approached. “A bottle of red, please. Two glasses. It is a real question. People respond to you as if they know you here.”

Steve mirrored his stance and leaned into his elbow on the bar. “My sister and I come here sometimes. When we want to get away from…all of it.”

Hargrove hummed deep in his chest as the sound of a cork popping briefly diverted their attention. “Sister?”

“Stepsister, if you want to get specific, but she’s not here. You’ve only got little ol’ me.”

The barman poured two glasses without stopping, holding the vessels together with a practiced hand before he set them and the bottle on the bar. Hargrove paid him as he replied, “I have one of those. A stepsister, I mean. Although I don’t know how much it counts if you haven’t seen your so-called family in years.”

Steve reached for his wine and asked before he meant to, “Do you miss her?”

It was a bit too personal of a conversation between strangers. Hargrove’s pause made him quickly add, “You don’t have to answer that.”

“I’ll miss you, depending on how the rest of this night goes.”

Steve coughed on his wine. Hargrove chuckled as he offered a pale blue handkerchief to wipe his mouth. “Are you always this generous to people who’ve lost money to you?”

“Only the ones who are pretty enough to be a prize themselves.”

Steve’s eyes lolled in his head despite the rouge blooming in his cheeks and dusting across this throat. “If I’d known you were so used to winning I might’ve spent my money better.”

Hargrove’s eyes held steadily on him. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

* * *

Steve’s back pressed hard enough against the wall to break the kiss with a huff. He craned his face towards the sky as Hargrove made him shudder with soft lips and prickling stubble on his throat. They could hear the bar’s goings-on just on the other side of the exterior wall, but leaving the humid interior was refreshing on their wine-flushed skin. The darkness of the Cairo alleyway freed Hargrove’s hands to massage Steve’s backside.

As Steve caught his breath, he managed to slip his own hand between them, feeling the muscle of that chest for himself before he ducked to taste Hargrove’s skin. Salt and the neutral sweetness of a man’s skin. He liked the little sounds that Hargrove hummed while making a mess of Steve’s hair.

“I want this hair all over me. Better than silk.”

Steve lifted back up to frame Hargrove’s head in his hands, claiming and tasting and licking into his mouth. The way Hargrove kissed—like Steve was an oasis and honeycomb. Delicious and all his. It made Steve want to have him right here. Better than wine and cigars—intoxicating, having this kind of attention all to himself.

Hargrove hummed again, this time to get Steve’s attention. “Put your arms around me. I’ll do the rest.”

He didn’t fully understand until his trouser buttons slid free with ease. Steve openly moaned in the wake of Hargrove’s hand massaging his front, finding which direction his erection stood and easing it out into the night air. As his warm palm pumped him to aching readiness, Steve’s hands continued to wander Hargrove’s body. The man kissed him in a rush, almost brutally plundering his mouth before releasing to latch onto Steve’s collarbone.

One of Steve’s arms remained anchored around Hargrove’s shoulders. The rest of him rocked gently against the man intent to take him apart in a back alley—not that Steve minded one bit. His other hand pushed aside that half-open shirt to squeeze a nipple. Hargrove groaned deliciously and lifted his head to give Steve’s ear the same tantalizing attention—

Steve frowned a little at the hard and heavy rock of a thing knocking against his hand. It didn’t take much to pry the thing out of Hargrove’s jacket breast pocket. Steve didn’t have the time or the lighting to see what it really was. He had half a mind to hold onto it just out of petty spite. A token for taking so much out of his own wallet.

A reason for Hargrove to find him the next day.

Except a voice made Steve chirp, “Huh?”

And then Hargrove faced him with the same curiosity. They realized together that neither of them had spoken. Gas and oil lanterns were quickly moving through the alleyway, held aloft by harsh voices.

“Shit!” Steve hissed, rapidly putting himself back in his trousers. He yelped a choked sound as Hargrove yanked him out of the alley by his arm.

“We gotta go!”

“No shit!”

“Split up!”

“What?”

“GO.”

With that, Hargrove shoved him right into the vaporous air of a crowded hookah restaurant. Steve could only dodge and duck around rapidly standing patrons as the police flooded inside. The kitchen staff only reacted after he’d already dashed through the room, and by then, the police were too held up to catch up with him. Steve didn’t stop running. He heard yelling and whistles in the streets behind him, but he kept going—Hargrove’s strange stone clutched tight in his hand.

Only once he’d finished a very round-about path back to his lodgings, did he sneak quietly past his sister’s room and light a lamp to see his prize. The octagonal…thing…fit well in his palm. On one face, jagged lines had been finely carved, but all around its edges were familiar hieroglyphics.

“Oh. What the hell—better yet, what is a handsome American in Egypt doing with you in his pocket?”

Steve went over to his writing desk to find his glasses in a drawer. He popped them on and recognized a cartouche when he saw one. “Seti. Pharaoh Seti, huh? Well, Robin’s going to be all over this when she sees it.”

A shrill whistle outside startled him enough to drop it heavily on his floor. The whistle sounded far away, but he remained very still in case the wrath of a woman awoken before dawn barged into his room.

If Robin woke up, Steve remained blissfully unaware. He quickly undressed, washed as much of himself as he was able with the washbasin, and collapsed onto the bed. With Hargrove’s fancy artifact on his bedside table, Steve let the memory of sharp beard stubble and firm hands guide his own down to his cock. He got himself back to standing and finished what Hargrove started quickly.

But it was soft lips, open arms, and steady eyes that eased Steve to longing sleep. A slumber so deep that had his stepsister threw a pillow at him the next morning for oversleeping on her way to work at the National Library.

[damnit-samnit]

this is just a twitter thread i wrote up earlier. i hope you all have a wonderful holiday, guys. sending you all my love ♥️

- - -

gifts had already been exchanged when you stopped all might from leaving to toss away all the torn wrapping paper

“i have one more,” you said, scratching at your nose. “one last gift for you”

his face lit up — he couldn’t help it, the man loved receiving just as much as giving

curiously, he watched you disappear from the living room and return with a brown paper-wrapped lump that was tied closed with light blue twine

you were hesitant to hand it over to him

“it’s just... a little something i made,” you mumbled, glancing away. “for you”

you made him something? eagerly he took the gift from your hands but restrained himself when it came to opening it, thick fingers possessing an uncanny deftness as he untied the twine and pulled away the brown paper

inside was a mass of a dark, mossy fabric

it was a sweater, he saw as he held it up to examine it better. the kind models in western catalogues would wear along craggy coastlines, alluding to warmth on rainy, cold days

“it’s a fisherman’s sweater,” you said, unsure how to read his face. “an aran sweater.”

“you made this?” he asked after a bit and you nodded. he let out a impressed breath. “this is... incredible!!”

he jumped up to try the sweater on, grinning as he pulled it over his head before turning to you for approval.

he looked amazing

“this is great,” he said, earnest and giddy. “and you made this!”

you were pleased and slightly embarrassed, watching him as he admired himself in the small moon mirror on your wall.

“you know what’s special about these sweaters?” you asked and he looked at you expectantly

you approached, fingers trailing along the honeycombed fabric at its center. immediately, he leaned into your touch

“the patterns are unique to the person who makes them,” you said. “it’s one-of-kind.”

“and you made it for me,” he rumbled. you could feel the vibrations of his chest with your fingertips.

“and i made it just for you,” you repeated. “only for you.”

how could he not sweep you into a heated, engulfing kiss after a statement like that!?

and you melted in his arms

eventually, after an additional flurry of kisses across your face and neck, you were set back down on the ground. he looked so giddy, beaming, casting another glance at his reflection

“it looks good on you,” you hummed and he swelled in delight

he hadn’t had a better christmas

[thrillingdetectivetales]

2020 Creator Wrap

2020 Creator Wrap: Favorite Works

Okay, okay, I know I’m late with this but the incredibly sweet @irolltwenties and the utterly delightful @anthrobrat were both kind enough to me in this bad boy and it seems really fun, so here we are!

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

According to my AO3 statistics page, I wrote just over 100K of fiction this year, across 17 different fandoms, a few of which won’t actually go live until after the New Year because they’re part of a gifting collection that hasn’t been revealed yet... Anyway, I picked my faves for a variety of reasons, listed briefly after each link. If you have any questions about works I’ve shared (or just in general) feel free to ask!

1. Front Row at the Gongshow

The Pacific, 16K, Rated G  Andrew ‘Ack Ack’ Haldane/Edward ‘Hillbilly’ Jones

Aside from being the longest completed work I produced this year, this is also the first fic I’ve ever written using the “found document” format. While there are parts of it I feel really conflicted about, I’m still incredibly proud of it and think it’s one of the better fic I’ve written...possibly ever. Which is doubly funny because I don’t usually do modern AUs of period fiction, but the hockey angle was enough to tempt and lo, here we are, lol.

[Excerpt from Deadspin]

"You all remember Eddie Jones, right? The corn-fed captain of the New Orleans Rougarou so wholesome he belongs on a box of Malt-O-Meal? The gentleman bruiser who spends his free time playing country tunes for kids with cancer?

Our favorite dapper D-man led his team to 97 points last night in a shut-out victory against the Los Angeles Kings, clinching a playoff spot for the first time in franchise history. Oh! And he also got caught on camera at the after-party, sucking face. WITH A DUDE."

2. Entremets

Hannibal, 8K, Rated E Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter

I have...so many Hannibal fic that I’ve started writing and haven’t finished because all my ideas lead to long plotty epics and also big name fandoms scare me. I did this one up for Eat, Drink, & Make Merry, and I’m really, really pleased with the way it turned out, considering it was my first foray into establishing new character voices and also a successful exercise in writing explicit content, which can be a bit of an Ordeal for me, so overall I’m incredibly happy with it. Plus! My deep and abiding love of writing characters cooking/eating/otherwise dealing with food finally paid off!

“The pâté was supposed to be more of a gesture,” Will explains, spreading a golden sliver of honeycomb out across a slice of sopressata with the blade of his pocket knife. “You don’t actually have to eat it. I’m not even sure if it’s any good.” He smears a healthy dollop of chȇvre across his meat-and-honey concoction and pops the whole thing into his mouth without ceremony.

“What better method exists by which to convey one’s appreciation of a gesture than to indulge it?”

3. An Ode to Matty Big-Time

The Good Place, 2K, Rated T Jason Mendoza/Original Male Characters, Pillboi

This one was actually a request made by my very dear @thesummoningdark, who wanted to see some bisexual Jason per that one fantastic Tumblr post about how everyone in TGP should be bi, and I’m really, really proud of the way it turned out. I love writing comedy and I very rarely get to lean into it as hard as I’d like, so delving into the whole wild craziness of Jacksonville, as explained in the show was really fun. I also love writing original characters, and this was a great excuse to indulge.

“We probably shouldn’t do any butt stuff,” Jason warns, with as much gravitas as he can muster. “I had two of Stupid Nick’s Disaster Buckets when I got here.”

“Yeah, your face is still kinda orange,” Mateo agrees fondly, bringing his other hand up to brush his thumb over Jason’s lower lip. It stirs a little frisson of heat in his belly that Jason is 68% sure isn’t just indigestion. “No chemical burns, though, so I think you came out on top.”

4. This and Who I Used to Be

The Tick (2017), 3K, Rated G Arthur Everest/Superian

Another new fandom I haven’t written in before, this was a fill for the Rare Male Slash Exchange that turned me on to a pairing I’d never even thought of before I wrote it and am now low-key obsessed with. It is also, to date, the ONLY Arthur/Superian fic on AO3 at all, which is a cool weird honor and fairly indicative of my life’s goal to eventually write my way into smaller and smaller fandoms until I come out the other side with original works. It was really fun to explore these characters, and to figure out some world-building for Superian’s backstory that fit within the tone and established canon of the extant Amazon!Tick universe. Also featuring an original character that nobody asked for but I’ve come to love unconditionally.

Arthur glances down to where Superian has one cheek pressed against his shoulder, humming something off-key and unintelligible with his eyes closed. Arthur sighs. “Let’s get you inside.”

He hauls Superian in until he can prop him against the wall while he shuts and locks the door behind him. When he looks back over, Superian is smiling at him, soft and lazy. He swings a finger in Arthur’s direction, a broad, sloppy motion, and announces, “I knew you’d say yes.”

“Technically I said fine,” Arthur rebuts. He gestures down the hallway toward the kitchen—which leads on to the bedroom, as Superian well knows—and sighs, “Come on. I don’t know what those handcuffs did to you, but you should probably lie down and have a glass of water or something.”

5. Rain in Its Season

Band of Brothers, 12K, Rated G Edward ‘Babe’ Heffron/John Julian

Oh boy. What to say about this one. It’s maybe not as polished as I might have preferred, but I feel that way about mostly everything I write and at the end of the day I do really love what I managed to do with this piece. Written for the Heavy Artillery Rare Pair Exchange, I managed to lean heavily into both my love for needlessly granular period research and original characters, which are abundant herein. Frankly, based on the very little we see of him in the show, Julian himself is practically an OC, but I digress. This was another of the longer pieces I’ve ever finished and I’m proud of it even if I’d’ve liked to write another 15K or so, time constraints notwithstanding.

“Tell me. Please. Why’re you here?”

Babe flinched, gaze dropping to the floor. His heart was a raw, swollen welt in his chest. He swallowed and licked his lips, slow and pained.

“Come on, Julian,” he rasped, low and quiet. “You know why.” He laughed, soft and hoarse, and shook his head, once. When he looked back up, Julian had taken a careful step into the center of the room. His eyes were very dark, his mouth very red, hope and fear warring in his every feature. Babe fisted his fingers in the cotton sheet underneath him, halfway to pleading as he insisted, “You gotta know.”

Julian sighed and came over to hover at the edge of the bed. Babe spread his legs to accommodate the intrusion.

“That was - ” Julian started. His voice failed midway through the protest, and he swallowed, took a breath, and regrouped at a lower volume. “You said that was just buddies, what we did over there. That it didn’t count. That you didn’t want it to.”

The TL;DR of this all being that while I didn’t write as much I wanted to this year in terms of volume, I feel like my quality has been improving consistently and hope it continues to do so into 2021 while I try to finish out some of my years-long WIPs and get into longer completed pieces.

I’m not sure who all to tag, so I’ll say @thesummoningdark, @blahblahblahclintnickiscanon, @thisbadge, @incognito-insomniac, and anyone else who’d like to join in and hasn’t been tagged yet! (If you’re the latter, feel free to @ me so I can see what you’ve written!)

Happy New Year everyone May the fanworks you create this year be prolific and soul-affirming!

[nichefpp]

https://nichefpp.com/blogs/what-are-fluoropolymer-products/

A Fluoropolymer is a fluorocarbon-based polymer with numerous carbon-fluorine bonds. It is described by high protection from solvents, acids, and bases.

The most popular fluoropolymer is polytetrafluoroethylene. Fluoropolymer is the sole material utilized when designing products for exclusively corrosive and ultrahigh purity applications.

Niche Fluoropolymer Products include shell and tube heat exchangers, immersion coils, tubing, and pipe manufactured for high purity and corrosive applications. Niche is the original and has been the leading manufacturer of Fluoropolymer Heat Exchangers for over 55 years. We have extensive, global experience in Chemical Processing, Surface Finishing, Pickling, and Semiconductor industries which allows us to solve customer’s corrosion and high purity heat transfer challenges. 

Our Fluoropolymer material solves the typical problems which plague heat exchanger equipment used in those industries. Our heat exchangers offer the following characteristics: No Fouling, No Scaling, No Thermal Shock, No Differential Expansion, and No Corrosion. 

Our heat exchangers can be made with FEP, PFA, or our proprietary “Q” resins which we extrude in our plant in Nesquehoning, PA. Although fluoropolymers are insulators and do not transfer heat as well as metal heat exchangers, our patented honeycomb design tube-to-tube sheet joint allows us to maximize the number of tubes we can put into the shell diameter and offer more surface area. Our “Q” tubing doubles the thermal conductivity or is 2x FEP and PFA and offers higher temperature and pressure ratings.

[battleshot]

intimacy   /   non   cringy   nsfw   prompts.             [ accepting ] 

@ravusnightblossom​    ‘  𝑖 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑖’𝑚 𝑖���� 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢. ‘ 

𝑨𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏   𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈   𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆   𝒂   𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆 ,  𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉   𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆.    Deep passion shared ,  a sheltered flame burning bright.   For Prompto ,  Ravus was that small window of light hidden in the darkness ,  the one he could reach to in his nightmares  --  everything would be okay.   𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒚  𝒂  𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕  𝒉𝒆  𝒍𝒂𝒚  𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 ,  sighing soft into the caring touch of his tender digits through blond strands.    Quickly ,  he became attached ,  but was this romantic evening to be bittersweet?   The couple had been dating a while and no stranger to making it known.   Fate had brought them together  --  or a very bad storm  --  But as time progressed ,  the sharpshooter became anxious.   Did this have an expiration date ?  𝗡𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 ,  these were the thoughts that plagued him.   The only constant he has in his life is   𝑁𝑂𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑆.   A miracle that someone could make him shine that little brighter and Prompto wasn’t so secretly pleased that he managed to do the same for his partner.   Making Ravus smile had quickly become a favorite hobby of his. Ravus was the perfect gentleman ,  insisting he organizes this night.   A fancy meal at a well-recommended restaurant ,  a moonlit stroll ,  𝒔𝒏𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒅  𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉  𝒂  𝒉𝒐𝒕  𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆  𝒕𝒐  𝒆𝒏𝒅.   His ,  a caramel honeycomb ,  Ravus’   something - something   strawberry.       ❝    Mmm …   ❞      He sighed content ,  enjoying the cool evening breeze as it   𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝   through his hair ,  the heat of the drink giving him needed body temperature  --  despite the closeness ;  he shared with the royal.   Upon a bench they sat ,  hand in hand ,  exchanging fond stories as they indulged in the sweet treat.   Kisses shared ,  somehow more  𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆  than usual  --  save the night they confessed that they both wished to be more than just a casual hook up. Being with Ravus undoubtedly made Prompto feel special.   Like this beam  --  a glow ,  the sunshine he was often referred to  --  The prince gave it a meaning.   Flutters every time he looked at him in a way saved just for the sharpshooter ,  𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒖𝒏𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅.   And ,  it all felt natural.   Prompto had zero regrets about this path that had led him here.   Admittedly ,  if he thought he would’ve fallen for royalty  -  this wouldn’t have been the prince others may have pegged him on choosing.   It was a genuine yet  𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑡  surprise to both. Lingering from a kiss ,  blue-aqua flicking between orbs that looked back ,  and the lips he so adored placing his own upon.   A smile so fondly there for this special exchange.   But instead of leaning in for more ,  the white-haired male utters words betwixt them that caught the sharpshooter by surprise.   The L-word.   But what did the blond expect ?  Once spending enough time with another ,  it was only natural.   It's not like he hadn’t considered this himself ;  in fact  --  he definitely had a few nights of such a thought.   His eyes widened an audible gulp.   Suddenly ,  clamming up ,  his palms were hot ,  𝙖𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙚𝙠𝙨    --  something akin to the rose described of their relationship.  He's back to resting against the cold metal bench ,  back sinking into it ,  gaze only averted for a moment  -  looking to the takeaway cup cradled between his palms  -  and a short.      ❝     Uhm.    ❞      Offered. 𝑆𝐻𝐼𝑇.    It certainly wasn’t something he expected   -  not so soon when they were still able to be very much present in each others’ company   -  which both knew would soon be coming to an end ,  thus then stood the test of compatibility  --  would they be able to return to normal life and balance their relationship ?  And truly ,  had Prompto thought about what he was getting into when he accepted to be his partner  --  despite all of this  --  Mayhap not.   Had he toyed with his feelings ,  perhaps led him on ?  𝑯𝒆  𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚  𝒅𝒊𝒅  𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕  𝒉𝒊𝒔  𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕  𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅  𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆  𝒉𝒊𝒎  𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔.   With Ravus it wasn’t a single thread that connected them that kept such a tight hold.   Nay ,  it was a thick neverending rope with twists and knots ,  pulling him out of the deep well of anxiety which was all he’d ever known.   Even the strongest shears would struggle to even scrape a mark upon it.   So ,  why now does he doubt himself?

As he returns that look ,  still very much shocked  -  he gives a high-pitched  -  extremely awkward       ❝     Thank you.    ❞      And rises from where he sat ,  making a quick pace to walk away.    Why ?  He wasn’t too sure.   But he couldn’t allow himself to be present any longer.   Not only embarrassing.   It felt   intense  . Prompto and intensity on any level  -  ‘less you were describing him  -  didn’t usually go   𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙  𝙞𝙣  𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙   . Never had he been in such a fulfilling relationship ,  one where he felt equal ,  cared for ,  and upon reflection  …  Loved. Certain the other would be hot on his heels ,  he evades by taking a route down an alley  -  all the while trying to gather his thought process.   How exactly   does   he feel ?  He certainly cared deeply for him ,  and the time they had spent together had no doubt left many fond memories.   But how far would this relationship go ,  𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 ?  Prompto often thought with his heart before his head ,  and was that fair to Ravus ?  He knew he wouldn’t be able to just let him go ,  to drop this and move on after so much time and dedication deep within, but … 𝗔  𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗱  𝗲𝗻𝗱.   A groan ,  turning on his heel ,  looking down to absorb some more of the beverage clutched tightly ;  to be expected that Ravus would be not far behind.   He gave him room ,  but the blond knew he would be seeking answers  --  or at very least ,  to ensure Prompto was okay.   A flash of indigo swimming in his eyes ,  the light of the moon reflecting upon them ,  possible it gave them a sort of ethereal light.      ❝    ...  Sorry ,  𝐼 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡  …    ❞      With nowhere to run ,  and probably a man who was growing concerned and confused by the minute ,  the sharpshooter knew that he had to confront this head-on ,  despite wanting to bury his head in the sand.       ❝     It’s  …  It’s just   𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗜   …    ❞       Feeling a wave ,  a panic ,  wash over him.   No ,  not now.   He had to remain calm.   The hand that holds the barely luke-warm beverage begins to feel tingly.      ❝     I do care …  like ,   𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙩 .    ❞       A beat.      ❝    But I’m scared   𝗥𝗮𝘆 …    ❞      Finally looking at him ,  unsure if he was conveying the right message.      ❝    This …  Us ….  It’s great ,  You’re   great …  I won’t stand here and lie to you  …    ❞       Shake of blond hair to blind peripheral vision ,  the one time he may be thankful for that.

      ❝    It’s not that I don’t feel  --  like the way you are  …  But I don’t want to hurt you …  𝙄  𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩  𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩  …     ❞      Deep breaths.   Inhale ,  exhale.   One hand thrust itself inside the pocket of his jacket ,  hoping some warmth may bring back a feeling.   Taking a step closer to him ,  less than a meter away.       ❝    You  …  You lead an entirely different life ,  to me.   I’m  …  lucky.   That’s all I ever was ,  𝙡𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙮.    ‘Don’t take for granted the chances Noct gave me ,  but  …  I’m just a photographer who  --  after a bitta trainin’  --  happens to be pretty sharp with a gun ,  and you …   𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚     ❞        his free hand gestures shakily to Ravus’ form.      ❝     …  I don’t   𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄   what I’m trying to say  …    ❞      Liquid would prick in the corner of his eyes.   Dare he fall into his arms and confess something he knew to be true ?  Or would it hurt them less if Prompto played the bad guy and watch him   𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞?

[ecochoiceorg]

Energy Efficient Window Attachments

Window covers can lessen energy misfortune through the windows, lower warming and cooling bills, and work on home solace.

About 30% of a home's warming energy is lost through windows. In cooling seasons, about 76% of daylight that falls on standard twofold sheet windows enters to become heat.

Most sorts of window medicines will bring about energy investment funds, however the specific investment funds will rely upon the kind of connection, the season, the environment, and how the connection is utilized.

Notwithstanding the window medicines examined beneath, storm windows with low-e coatings are successful at working on warm execution of windows and lessening sun oriented warmth acquire.

Operable Window Coverings

Operable window covers give you the adaptability to pick whether to keep your window covers open or shut for security, and to augment normal light, exploit heat from the sun in the colder time of year, and lessen heat acquire in the late spring. Alternatives incorporate shades, blinds, curtains or drapes, and a few screens. If you are looking for more details then visit ecochoicewindows.ca/windows-and-doors-oakville/.

Activity of Window Coverings

Not all window covers are operable, but rather of those that are, one examination tracked down that 75% of private window covers stay similarly situated each day. In the event that this portrays your propensities, be key about which covers you open in the first part of the day.

In case it's colder time of year and liable to be radiant, open the blinds or window ornaments in the first part of the day to permit the sun to warm your home as the day progressed—particularly those that get immediate daylight.

In the mid year, you might need to keep certain window covers shut to lessen heat acquire. For normal light, open those covers that don't get immediate daylight.

You may likewise need to have a go at exchanging the ones that are opened and shut during that time to augment light and warmth from the sun when you need it.

Some window covers offer computerized alternatives. Become familiar with the advantages, downsides, and establishment of robotized window covers

Inside Window Treatments

Protected Cellular Shades

Protected cell conceals are made of creased materials that are intended to overlap up, accordion-like, generally at the highest point of the window, however once in a while at either the top or the base. Protected shades contain at least one air layers in a honeycomb cross-segment. Some can be changed from the top or the base.

Protected cell conceals are regularly considered to have the most noteworthy R-upsides of all window covers. The air pockets in the honeycomb cross-areas go about as separators, expanding the R-worth and lessening the conduction of warmth through the window.

Protected cell shades can be a decent decision in case you are searching for huge energy investment funds from their window covers, just as solace, security, and expanded home resale esteem.

In warming seasons, firmly introduced cell shades can diminish heat misfortune through windows by 40% or more, which likens to about 20% warming energy investment funds. In cooling seasons, cell shades can decrease undesirable sun based warmth through windows by up to 80%, lessening the all out sun powered addition to 15% or less when introduced with a tight fit.

Cell conceals that work on diverts best at expanding the R-worth of windows, and those that open from both the top and base permit clients to most successfully control light entering the home.

Some cell conceals incorporate the alternative of mechanization, permitting the blinds to open and close on a set timetable. The timetable can be occasionally upgraded to lessen warming and cooling loads while augmenting normal light and home solace.

Window Quilts

Window blankets have a sheet of sewed material that can be opened by rolling and shut by unrolling. They regularly fit cozy against the trim, either on tracks or with a connection like Velcro or snaps.

In light of their cozy fit, window stitches offer R-esteem builds like cell shades, and they regularly cost less.

[seblaineaddict]

Seblaine Week 2020: College

With a bit of a ficlet (part one is below this video), to go with each day!

My Seblaine Week graphics all depict their journey to... well you all have eyes! I'm using the prompts College, Power Couple and Dalton. This one sets the story and yes, it has a spoiler, but if you know me at all, you'll know they were always gonna end up together.

Backstory is that they met at Dalton, and felt the spark, the undeniable sexual attraction, and the insane chemistry between them - and maybe even more than that. But then their friendship was viciously torn apart by both Sebastian and Kurt's jealousy, and after Kurt gave him an ultimatum, Blaine cut all contact with Sebastian.

Frame 2 of video grid:

Years later, during their college years (Bas is at Columbia Law School, and Blaine attends Tisch), they find their way back to each other, after Blaine's divorce, when serendipity steps in. Bas is out with some friends from Uni, trying to unwind pre-exams, and he suddenly spots a head of hair he knows all too well (just kidding - obviously it was Blaine's ass he recognised right away!) Blaine is also out with some friends, acting cute and a bit goofy, and Bas' heart starts racing.

Fast-forward eight months; Seblaine have been dating exclusively for the past 6 months after a couple of false starts. It's going brilliantly and Sebastian has stopped trying to deny (to himself and everyone else), what he feels for Blaine. He's even taken to wearing his boyfriend's (too small) NYU hoodie. What? It's cosy, and smells faintly of raspberries, coffee and expensive Cologne. Of Blaine... Oh! So yeah! He has a boyfriend! Who would have seen that one coming? Certainly not Bas, but who knew? He actually loves being in a relationship, and he really loves Blaine...He just hasn't told him that yet! Baby steps, people.. 😂😉

Out of the blue, Kurt contacts Blaine, and asks if they can meet for a "friendly" coffee and a catch up. Blaine tells Bas right away, and understandably, Sebastian is super sceptical. He scoffs, telling Blaine he's being incredibly naïve, but Blaine defends Kurt (which goes down about as well as a lead balloon), saying he knows Blaine is with Sebastian, and they are divorced, in any case! They have a slightly heated exchange, ending when both decide they don't want to fight about Kurt. Again...

Blaine heads to meet Kurt, still smarting a bit from the minor tiff he had with Sebastian, as he feels like his boyfriend doesn't trust him. Sebastian however, made it very clear it wasn't Blaine he didn't trust...

Blaine enters the coffee shop, and spots Kurt right away. He's enveloped in a bear hug as soon as he reaches the table, and is a bit taken-aback. Their divorce was far from amicable, and Kurt dragged it out to painful lengths, truth be told.

After they both order (Blaine has to tell Kurt he doesn't drink Medium Drip any more, when his ex tries to order for him), and explains that Sebastian introduced him to the wonder that is a Honeycomb Mocha Latte (because of course Sebastian knows all the best coffees! He's French, after all!) Blaine's mind wanders a bit as he thinks about how he's also now partial to a Marshmallow Pumpkin Latte in the Fall, thanks to his boyfriend..

Pretty much because Bas actually giggles whenever Blaine gets the whipped cream all over his nose - then leans over and licks it right off his face... in public, in private - wherever! Yeah..so Blaine might get whipped cream accidentally-on-purpose all over his nose for that very reason, but Bas doesn't have to know that..

Blaine pulls himself out of his daydream, trying to focus on what Kurt's saying. But it's like the teacher in Charlie Brown. All he's hearing is "Wop, wop, wop." He can't wait to leave and rush back to climb his 6'2 boyfriend like a tree, then give him one hell of a make-up blowjob!

But wait, what? ...What did Kurt just say? Oh, he must have misheard, he thinks. No way did Kurt just say the words, "When we get back together." He shakes his head to clear it, but nope. There it is again... Blaine very carefully and deliberately, crosses his arms across his chest to ensure Kurt knows this conversation is not something he welcomes.

Gnawing his lip, he takes a deep breath and says, "You do realise we're divorced, yeah? I mean it took twice as long as it should have, because you insisted on making it as difficult as possible for me - after you filed in the first place!"

Kurt blinks a few times, opens and shuts his mouth like a goldfish, then waves a dismissive hand, as if Blaine is talking gibberish. "Divorces can be dissolved, Blaine," he petulantly tells a now incredulous Blaine. "The Meerkat will never love you like I do, and he's only gonna cheat on you the first chance he gets. He. Will. Hurt. You," he punctuates, viciously. "Come back to me and I'll forgive this momentary lapse in your better judgement."

Now it's Blaine's turn to resemble a goldfish, and as he hears his ex-husband's spiteful words about Sebastian, his eyes narrow dangerously... 'Pious bastard," he thinks to himself. No more holding back. All bets are off! "Don't you dare speak about Sebastian like that! You don't know him - you never did, and..." Oh, wait. Blaine is about to say that Sebastian does love him, but although he is pretty sure he does, they haven't actually said the words to each other, so...better not go there - yet.

So, instead he smiles in a completely fake, saccharine-sweet way, and says, "...and Sebastian is very supportive of me. HE happily "Sits on stools listening to me perform!" The jibe instantly hits its target, and Blaine gets a bit of smug satisfaction from seeing Kurt's face crumple like a deflated Concertina.

They glare at each other, before Blaine casually tosses enough coins on the table to cover his half of the bill, and gets up to leave.... until Kurt suddenly lunges across the table, grabs his lapels, and...kisses him... What the fuck?

Blaine can't even think straight. Sebastian was right. "Oh, fuck!" Bas was right, and if they can get past this (nothing like thinking positively, Blaine), he's gonna be dining out on this one for months!

"What the hell d'you think you're doing, Kurt? Get your hands (and definitely your lips, he shudders internally) off me!" Kurt just grins, and replies, "I knew you still wanted me!" Blaine just sighs, shaking his head. "You're delusional, Kurt," he mutters, rolling his eyes. "We're over, I'm happier than I've been in years - oh, and now I have to go and tell my boyfriend that he was right all along. Great. Cheers for that one, Kurt. Seriously. Awesome judgement!"

With a huff he leaves the coffee shop, almost tearing the door off its hinges in his frustration. He has to call Bas right now... before some other asshole gossip gets there first!

In frame 3 of the video grid, you can see just how well that goes. Poor Sebastian is feeling both frustrated and vindicated, but most of all, he feels broken... His heart is entirely in this beautiful boy's hands, and now he feels like he's losing him before they've really even got started...

******

And that's what you missed on glee! Kidding... My rewrite would have wayyyy more Seblaine, than we got. But don't worry, better times are coming for our beautiful boys! Come on - you've seen the 4th frame! You know exactly what's coming on Friday! 😉 So just enjoy their journey to getting there, between now and then.

Please note this video has no sound.

@seblaineaffairs

[madamhatter]

how lucky it was for these two girls to spy sophie in passing! it was as if the universe had heard the two friends speak so highly of the visitor who would occasionally swing by emile’s class for show and tell. it had been a while since they had last seen sophie, so one could imagine their excitement in recognizing the other from a distance, little feet pattering against the ground as they ran towards the woman, a basket of flowers in each girl’s hand. their voices call out to her to get her attention, and almost immediately, two outstretched hands offer sophie a blossom each as gifts. “do you remember us? will you be visiting us again soon?” 

Have I gotten familiar to the floating island above? Inquiries of conformity frequented my mind, a yearning and craving they were, hinged to me as if a shadow. Have I finally anchored myself to such a place? Adaptability was once a trait I believed to possess, yet two years proven me a fool to think positive of myself.  Cries of seagulls above, not one eye needs to glance in that direction to confirm their habits. 2, 3, 4, … ., 10, 11, 12 … . . Circling overhead for opportunity, they salvage for impressionable and giving folks or food - - either of which would be found with both decision. Unfortunately, this place where I meander, in this current time, is not a place where morsels may be handed out. 

My finger waved side-to-side, a metronome to the workings of the world around me. Up to two, it was a scale of my own design that mimicked the original; dexterity may be a particular of mine, but a human I am and matching a metronome isn’t (normally) physically possible. However, what the body may lack is refined by mind; what my body precedes only the possibilities of what happens underneath this unremarkable form. 

Compulsory movement, life regulates itself to streamlined performance and rituals. Contrasting the fluidity and bind of the human spirit, that is what everyday life comes down to. Just like how the backdoor of the bakery behind me swings open at the 6th measure, pitter-pattering of feet and store restocking go on from the 7th to 10th, before the door closes at the 11th, and silence resumes. Sometimes, the the baker’s assistant rushes out earlier, breaking the pattern, but it remains relative – earlier at the 5th or rushed at the 10th.

And, again, the measure restarts, but only for that particular event. Recognizing the numbers that conduct the procedures of mundane living, notwithstanding the strange when it rears itself unceremoniously in, that must’ve been the trait of mine.  Still, a useless one. It never did serve any benefit of others, even in the workshop. All it did was aid me in orchestrating and working with or around others, quick to my feet or hands, or anything that was needed of me, appearing like a summoned ghost to their unspoken or voiced commands. 

Between the valley or above the clouds, tumultuous life continues fixed to the course of the sun and moon, creating a shift that man, who once saw it indescribable and unnamable, to time, which then was domesticated to years, seasons, months, and days. Tumult… Haha. Foolish of me to even determine that I’ve grown accustomed to this place. 

I adjusted my recline, my hand flat against my cheek and my elbow resting on top of a wooden post that belonged to a longer winding rail system. It separated this level of the district at its ledge and from below, the port.

I mindlessly pick at the wicker basket rest at the crux of my other arm. Scarred and calloused tissue brushes and accounts the wintery flowers in my collection. 

A sigh. 

Life goes on, I repeat that to myself so often, as should I. Yet, why do I feel myself hanging with uncertainty with only a line of spider silk around my ankle? Dangling yet expectant of the prey.  “Hm?”

A scratch in the pattern I’ve memorized. A pattering from behind greets my ears. A set of two pattering, to be exact. 

I turn my head, brows raised at the sight.

White dyras, they grew in a place whose name has been recently burnt from history. A collection of snow white single-petaled flowers grouped together, the pistils having honeycomb yellow stems that reach out. At the time of maturity, their pollen spreads into the wind like their perennial cousins that often mistaken as flowers, dandelions. 

Flowers of innocence, it is the first image that comes to mind when you see them. A pair of two young schoolgirls approach with pep in their feet and recognition in their eyes.

Phoebe, ruby eyes and dark brown hair, thick and intricate cornrows worked from the left side to ride, creating an elegant ponytail with teal, orange, and white beads fastened to the end of each of the braids.  Elena, orange eyes and moose hair, her head is covered mostly by a orange beanie that matches the same shade as one of the beads in Phoebe’s hair, and all that can be seen are relaxed fringes.

Two girls from Mister Claire’s class. Goodness, it’s been a while…

“Do you remember us? Will you be visiting us again soon?”  “Of course I do. Good morning, Miss Phoebe and Miss Elena. I promise to visit as soon as I can.” 

My expression softens from its rigid and tensed look, I even felt the muscles of my cheeks and shoulders relaxing at what is the first nonobligatory conversation someone holds with me today.

“How are you both doing today? Isn’t the incoming spring breeze just refreshing? Not as shiver-inducing like the ones that passed a week ago.” 

Expectant eyes, however, now look befuddled, leaving a young woman like myself puzzled over why two young students looked at me in such a way. Had I spoken too vaguely again? Had I dictated myself like an old maid again? Had I spoken too carelessly, making my accent slip out? 

Far too many questions, far too little time. Damn social interactions! 

Something catches my eyes.

“Huh?”

I look down, now to fully perceive the dress of the two young girls. As expected, in their casual wear. Had either been in their uniforms, then this Sunday would’ve been an odd day.

Ah, they carry similar baskets to my own, and just like them, the weight of the baskets had been filled with flowers. Their variety was the typical ones that grow naturally in the city, compared to the others in my clutch, being from the rooftop garden.

And, in their hands were…

“Oh, goodness! How terribly daft of me.” 

Heat coats my cheeks. Immediately I squat to the ground, an ungracious move that was covered by my long skirt. 

They had been holding out the flowers. For inspection, no doubt. That’s why they recall me so well, I was a spectator to their show and tells often. However, the events of these past weeks, and ‘late night’ shifts left me more battered and wearier than what I expected from the work. 

“These look wonderful! Are you planning on sharing this with Mister Claire and the class tomorrow? Your teacher would adore the idea and for all you have, you can even adorn the classroom! How fitting for spring.” 

I hold my closed fists in front of me, nodding my head, drinking in the image of a flower-covered classroom from floor to ceiling, embracing the change of season. I heard countless times from my peers in education that decorations were of the norm, since they had to deal with my blank expression from time-to-time about such customs.  My mind remains wrapped around the idea, but the silence itself is deafening compared to the replies that, at this point, should’ve been exchanged. Should I be worried about the gaze that still hasn’t changed? Phoebe glances to her friend and back at me. Elena remains with her eyes on me Both of them possibly doubting someone of my age and the things I’ve said. Which, still, do not come to me. And, too, which isn’t surprising or even insulting. 

Until one of them stares with such resolve, even pity, at the social barrier, finally addressing the lost elder: 

“These are for you, Miss Hatter.” A courteous inflection but bewildered expression from Elena. 

“Huh?”  The confusion remains thick, but my mind vocalizes it.  “They’re for me…?”

Relieved heads nod at the movement in conversation, silently happy at the wall was overcome.

“My apologies..–” I clear my throat. “Today is ..” Index finger taps the back of my hand, putting together the words. “Valentine’s Day.” 

A supportive nod from Phoebe.

“Ah…”

Polite obligations sets in, despite the hesitation and discomfort growing in my mind, and it is my responsibility that I must uphold. To take these flowers were necessary, no matter how I felt on the exchange. Yet, most importantly, it would make them happy – which I would not deny young children any joys they could feel.

“Both of you are so generous and kind for your ages!” 

Despite the frigidness trailing down my spine, the cold making my hands wanting to curl up, the shudder that comes with taking in this reality, I remain with some dignity in this shambled body I known as myself.

But, its name…… That depends on who needs me, requires me. I am whoever they wish for me to be. And today, I am Miss Hatter. 

“Coral bells and marbled poinsettias, what beautiful spring colors with the blushing pinks and pale whites. Ever fitting the season and the holiday, you two have such a spectacular selection.” 

Carefully, I retrieve each flower, naming any fact from my insignificant lips. I settle them into my basket. 

“Thank you.” I clap my hands together, bowing my head momentarily.

 “As well, excellent timing for I have something that’d interest you as well. ”

Their expressions of curiosity lights an already bright day. Inquisitiveness has them almost on their toes, inching closer without any qualms to how anyone would perceive it; a child’s whimsical mind, always unprejudiced and welcoming on its own.

I search through my basket and I pinch the selection I had in mind that perfectly match both Phoebe and Elena’s color coordination.

“Please have this.”

Tied together by a red ribbon is a bouquet crafted and arranged by my own hands. Sunset orange plumerias and white spider lilies bunched together, the plumerias at the forefront while the spindly spider lilies were in the background, embellishing the size of the bouquet altogether.

Two of beautiful bouquets for two beautiful spirited girls.

“I promise again that I’ll visit Mister Claire’s classroom. Tomorrow is the perfect day to do so and it would be only fair to share something for once.” 

Though softer than a whisper, both girls remain attentive of each word and their eyes wider and now dazzling. What has caught their attention away from the arrangements? 

Perhaps it was the moment of surprise that overtook them. It is a swift change in mood and something unexpected from this interaction. 

I’m not sure why but my face feels a little tired. Ignoring it is the best choice, my body falters in how ‘healthy’ it feels already.

My hand rests above my chest.

This feeling. Like when the sun hits my back whenever I set laundry on the wire for my sisters, and when the rays awaken me from my workshop bench when the shop is idle midday, and when the light grants me sight to read during the terribly rainy days back in the house between the valleys.

My cheeks are warm.

( Most unknown to her, Sophie Hatter smiles.. Had she known, she’d called herself spry in the moment, her body and mind feeling far too aged to consider it normal for her. Yet, for those witnessing,  it was something else. Not delicate like how she performed duties, not crafted as she trained it to be.

Unrestrained, exquisite, a true look of beauty underneath all she found unremarkable and felt apathetic towards. )

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

( She smiles, genuinely and simply, as Sophie Hatter. Something she should do more. )  

[wander-yet-wonder]

Parting the veil - Spaus

Fandom: Hetalia Pairing: Spaus, (Spain / Austria) Word count: 2319 Rating: All audiences Warnings: Historicised attitudes towards Islam do not reflect the author’s views.  Summary: Roderich isn't the best at travelling. Still, he'd gladly do so in order to spend time with his new husband. The Spanish landscape betrays things about Antonio he'd rather keep silent himself. It seems like Antonio has separated himself from his past through a sheer curtain and when visiting Roderich feels like he can almost see through it, see the ghosts that move on the other side. Everything is so foreign to him, will he be able to eventually harmonize with Antonio? Read on AO3: X

I was requested to write a Spaus drabble, apparently, I can’t write drabbles and instead put out a whole ass fic. So um- have this? @fandomghost I hope you like it. Special shoutout to @katemarley  for recommending me Innsbruck ich muss dich lassen when I was nerding to her about German renaissance music <3

At least there were mountains. Roderich was grateful for the snowy peaks of the Pyrenees that decorate the horizon visible from his window. They were the only familiar sight because he was in all other aspects “fast entheimt”. Unfortunately, now that they had reached Zaragoza, a city with a name so foreign that he wouldn’t have discredited as the name of an ancient Persian magician in a novel, the mountains were far more distant and only visible on clear days. The name of the city wasn’t the only thing that was foreign to him, when he and his consorts had crossed the mountains he had felt like the very bedrock that Spain was made of was unlike his own, down to the small crocus like flowers that bloomed in the meadows that their guide had explained to him were rare ‘false saffron’. In Zaragoza, he’d been given a room in the palace of the catholic monarchs that had taken residence there after Isabel I of Castile had married Ferdinand II of Aragon but that in the streets was still referred to by the people as the palace of Aljaféria. Though that royal marriage had unified Spain and was the reason he could stay there to visit his Antonio, Aragon was by no means gone. Her belongings and her culture were still found all over the province. However, he wasn’t to meet her until later that month. He felt like in a way, simply by travelling the land he already had met her. She wasn’t the only shadow of a nation that he felt. Besides Spain, that is to say, Castile and Aragon, there was a third presence within these castle walls, an invisible presence, a ghost from the past.

 Roderich had never fully realised the reality of the occupation by Arabic forces in the peninsula. When he had Antonio in front of him in Aachen, a fierce proprietor of Christendom, speaking Latin with a quintessentially Romanesque tongue… He had somehow thought that as the occupiers left the peninsula, Antonio was a roman again. That when they left, they took everything with them, left no traces, that whatever was left was carefully purged by his new husband. Yet these walls told a different story. In a moment where he’d been free to roam the halls, he’d let himself be spellbound by the strange arabesque masonry, the ever-spiralling geometrical decorative patterning in the friezes, the archways, the capitals. One gallery from where he could reach the stonework, he had secretly pressed his fingers against it, half expecting it to give way like bee’s wax due to how much it resembled a honeycomb. He let out a quivering breath and whispered the name: the Umayyad dynasty, the caliphate of Cordoba. That strange shadow that seemed to hide in the corners in the palace. Had he made a mistake when marrying Antonio? How much of his husband was still Moorish?

 Antonio was always secretive and defensive about his time isolated from the rest of them. Roderich never pressed him for answers. He’d lie in bed next to him and watch Antonio’s quiet breathing and think to himself that Antonio must’ve suffered a lot. Yet he looked at how his own hand looked like porcelain against Antonio’s chest, and he wondered.

 These thoughts were tumbling over each other as he was staring out the window, his letter to the bishop abandoned in front of him as his quill was resting idly between his fingers. He felt sick to the stomach again, he’d always get such bad Heimweh, if only Toni could just always visit him in Austria… that would be a perfect world.

“Ah, there you are!”

Antonio snapped him out of his reverie by materializing in the doorframe and looking at him like he was trying to figure him out, like studying a puzzling little flower, like a false saffron, and wondering whether it was edible or not.

“Have you truly been cooped up in here all-day writing? Come, this won’t do, come out and catch some fresh air.”

He’d already strode over and made to pull Roderich along by the arm despite the young man’s protests that it was too hot outside and that he’d tan.

“I gathered some courtiers, we’re going to play music in the courtyard. If you sit in the gallery you won’t tan. Just join it’ll be great. Did you play that Viol a lot?”

 ‘That viol’ was the lovely Soprano viol that Antonio had given to Roderich when they parted ways after their second visit. Roderich had been familiar with the more European Vieille already and had taken to the instrument like he’d never played anything else. It helped that it was a gift from Antonio, so whenever he missed him too much he could take out the viol, lovingly caress the little wooden face that was carved into the end of the neck with incredible craftmanship, and then by playing and studying bring Antonio a little closer. He’d carefully press down on the strings and would imagine Toni listening and smiling. He’d been playing it when sad or lonely so often he started to feel like he expressed his feelings better through music than through words. So to Antonio’s question, he gave a firm affirmative nod and looked at the case that contained it when he brought it with him here.

“Well bring it! I want to hear!”

Roderich’s heart quickened. He had fantasized about what would happen if he’d play in front of Antonio, that Antonio would listen and understand- that he could say what he wanted to say without words. That Antonio instantly recognised that he’d studied hard just to please him. But now that the moment was here, he felt suddenly nervous.

“Ah, very well, I’ll play for you. But not for your court.”

Antonio looked a little taken aback but then agreed with a smile

“We’ll have fewer instruments then, but it agrees with me.”

 Roderich tried to read Antonio and see if he wasn’t upset but he couldn’t tell. He took the dear instrument and tagged along, all the while trying not to be deafened by his heart nervously pounding in his ears. Antonio retrieved his vihuela de mano from the group of courtiers and declared they wouldn’t be joining them until later. They seemed a little disappointed, but Roderich observed from the doorway that the confident way in which Antonio declared he wouldn’t be present, rather than asked to be forgiven for not joining made no one even think of questioning him. He smiled; this is what he adored in Antonio.

 Antonio took him to one of the palaces many open courtyards and sat him down underneath the strange honeycomb arches on a railing. With just the two of them in an enclosed garden Roderich thought of the many courtly romance novels he’s read and blushed a bit. Antonio caught on and with a grin took his hand and kissed it.

“So, are we going to play music? Or was this all an elaborate plan of yours so we could exchange kisses?”

Antonio was already scooting a bit closer and his smirk grew. Roderich frowned as his blush deepened but couldn’t hide a smile.

“Don’t tease me, Antonio.”

He leaned in and gave Antonio a small kiss on the cheek.

“I had every intention to play music for you."

 Antonio nodded and sat back a bit and gave Roderich a tender smile that sent a warmth spreading through his chest. Roderich got in position and put the viol between his legs. He took a deep breath and took the bow to the strings. He took a deep breath and started to sing. It was the song he’d been singing ever since Innsbruck’s precious valley had been swallowed between the pine trees as they had crossed that fateful bend in the road that meant saying goodbye. Roderich had never been good at travel, he was in his essence a very rooted person. He needed the mountains, the pine trees, the fresh crisp winter air, he needed his home. At first, he had thought that this crippling nervousness that took hold of him when he was in unfamiliar territory had to do with the type of creature that he was: wouldn’t it make sense for countries to have to be close to their lands? But the more other’s he met, the more he learned that isn’t necessarily the case. He sang the first tender lines of ‘Innsbruck ich muss dich lassen’, which he had been practising to bring him solace ever since he had left. He had adapted the original choral piece by giving the higher register to his viol and himself singing a fragile tenor second voice.

 “ISbruck, ich muß dich lassen ich far do hin mein strassen in fremde land do hin mein freud ist mir genomen die ich nit weiß bekummen wo ich jm elend bin.”

 It had every property of a learned piece of music, despite its secular subject. In his opinion, the choral harmonies showed a Pythagorean harmony and evoked the harmonies of heaven. It was in every aspect a thing of technical ingenuity. But it was out of place. Singing about Innsbruck and his land in the Spanish summer heat just fell flat. All the emotion he could usually put into it, about missing home and struggling with travel didn’t seem to communicate either.

 “Groß leid muß ich yetz tragen das ich allein thu klagen dem liebsten bůlen mein ach lieb nun laß mich armen im hertzen dein erbarmen das ich muß von dannen sein.”

 The second verse, about parting from your lover was yet another thing very recognisable for him, as he and Antonio often spent large stretches apart from one another. Antonio, however, seemed more concerned with picking dirt out from under his nails than listening. He knew Antonio didn’t know much German, but he hoped he would at least get the gist of it. His voice wavered slightly as he tried to keep Antonio invested in the music all through the last verse.

 “Meyn trost ob allen weyben dein thu ich ewig pleyben stet trew der eren frumm nun muß dich Gott bewaren in aller thugent sparen biß das ich wider kumm.”

 A pledge of faithfulness to the one you’re leaving. It was silent for a moment between them after he finished and Roderich felt like he’d swallowed a brick. Antonio perked up again and took his vihuela.

“You did not enjoy it.”

He must’ve looked hurt because Antonio winced and reassuringly pet his hand.

“Ah no! It was good! I could tell it was technically perfect.”

Antonio was a terrible liar though and with one stern look, Roderich managed to get him to sigh and tell the truth.

“It was just- all the same. And a bit sad, but mostly just that it was the same thing three times, and all the rhythm stayed the same and the distance between the cords stayed the same… It made me feel like I was either at church or just- really bored.”

Roderich was confused, “But- isn’t that what music is supposed to sound like? With regular harmonies? I read in a book-”

Antonio cut him off: “That’s exactly it! It sounds so learned, so lifeless! Shouldn’t music be sweeping? To slowly build and make you feel this- this- Ecstasy! wait, I’ll show you what I learned!”

He started strumming the vihuela. “Ok, you clap along.” Roderich uneasily started clapping, a little off-beat because of the strange rhythm Antonio was creating.

“This is an old one Roderich so you might know it. Hmm, maybe not the words it’s easy, you just sing the refrain with me I’ll do the stanzas. Ok, it’s Santa María, Strela do día, Móstra-nos, pera Déus e nos guía. Got that?”

Antonio was tapping his foot to the rhythm and slapping the wood of his vihuela in between the plucking. Then he suddenly stopped and took a ring of keys of his belt and handed it to Roderich. “Here, shake this- hmm this would be better if we had more players.” But he kept playing until Roderich got the hang of it. Then he started singing with it, the refrain was relatively straightforward but once Roderich got it, Toni started to make strange variations on it that threw him of again.

“No, it’s ok Roderich, you just keep singing the regular version and I’ll vary upon it. Also, the rhythm is rha-pa-pa-pa, rha-pa-papa-pa-pa. Yes, like that.”

Once they sang together like that for a while Antonio inserted stanzas between the refrains where the end of the sentences ended in long drawn out undulating notes. They were unlike anything Roderich had ever heard in a church at home or even at the fair! Though they were singing about Mary, about asking god forgiveness for sins, Roderich felt strange with what was happening. He wasn’t very good at it, but it felt like Antonio was pulling him along in a wild dance. Just as he’d gotten the hang of it, Antonio sped up and harmonized with him. Roderich could feel his body sway from side to side, almost without his will and they moved in perfect unison, rising and falling. He felt his sadness slowly fading and he smiled while singing. The thing Antonio had said about sweeping you away, about ecstasy, he was starting to understand it now. This strange rhythm, and the way Antonio intuitively reacted to what he was doing… it was almost sensual. When they finished his cheeks were red and he was slightly out of breath. Any passer-by would’ve suspected them of exchanging kisses in the garden after all. Perhaps he might as well… He enthusiastically threw himself forward, wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed Antonio on the lips. Nothing as chaste as before, the vihuela awkwardly between them. Antonio was clearly surprised but not complaining.

 Hi! Welcome to this fic exploring the musical differences between Antonio and Roderich (and perhaps, by extension in their personalities). The music, however, isn't the only historical reference going on in here.

 This fic is set very shortly after their marriage so anywhere between 1520 and 1525. They're still trying to figure each other out and getting to know the other's culture. Or at least, Roderich is.

 The Moorish occupation of the Iberian peninsula was in that time seen as a very dark page in Spain's history and after the Reconquista Spain was portraying itself as an extremely Christian country (perhaps overcompensating slightly?). The time in Al Andalus, however, was a time when music, poetry and science flourished in Spain and the land and culture are still very influenced by it. The palace they're staying in is evidence of that. (Look up a picture it's gorgeous).

 Roderich is starting to notice these Islamic influences in his new husband. And as a Christian man living in the 1500's they make him warry (not to speak of the attacks of the Ottoman empire on Austria in that time). However, the thing he ends up enjoying immensely about Antonio in this fic, his music, is something that is extremely Moorish.

Moorish music was seen as highly skilled and highly superior music even after Christianisation and Moorish musicians were still employed by the court a lot for special events.

 There are two characters in here that aren't canon: the kingdom of Aragon and the Caliphate of Cordoba. The Kingdom of Aragon is a fierce lady that's the bane of Antonio's existence even though right now they're unified.

 The pieces that both of them play are from their respective countries, and links are included in the lyrics. Roderich's is a contemporary piece by Henrich Isaac. If the lyrics look strange that's because that's the original 16th-century german. Antonio's piece is older, It's one of the many cantiga's de Santa maria. These canticles were written for King Alfonso X, who made a great contribution to early Spanish Christian culture. They're in the Galician dialect of Spanish that's super close to Portuguese.

 As for their instruments, there are three instruments mentioned. The first being Roderich's viol. This is a predecessor to the modern-day violin, but also to the cello. It belongs to the family of the 'viola da gamba'. it was developed in 15th-century Spain. They are played upright in the lap with a bow. You can see one in use here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLgJPBDzS6o

 The viol bore some resemblance to the vielle, an older and more northern European relative to the instrument, that is actually played underneath the chin. The experience with the vielle is what made it easier for Roderich to learn the viol.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pdps64D-u-g

 finally, Antonio is playing the vihuela da mano. While this seems yet another instrument of which the name resembles 'violin' it actually resembles a guitar more!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=duHMeCndpjo

 And let's not forget about the important percussion instrument: Antonio's keys.

 Have any questions about historical things I forgot to explain? please don't hesitate to shoot me a message or comment on this fic and I'll gladly elaborate.