#Workability of concrete

[shashipundir]

What Is The Role and Scope of Civil Engineering?

Introduction To Civil Engineering  The infrastructure that sustains our daily life is shaped by one of the oldest and most significant areas of engineering: civil engineering. Plan, design, build, and keep the built environment—from Highways and Bridges to Skyscrapers and Water Supply Systems—is the responsibility of civil engineers. Choosing civil engineering as a career is a great decision if…

[emmaameliamiaava]

Explore the workability of concrete, including factors influencing it and techniques for optimizing it in construction projects.

[cera-chem]

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[ressichem]

Revolutionizing Construction: Unveiling the Latest Breakthroughs in Concrete Admixtures

Introduction:

As the construction industry continues to evolve, innovation plays a crucial role in driving progress and shaping the future. Among the many advancements that have revolutionized the field, concrete admixtures stand out as a game-changer. These additives, when incorporated into cement mixtures, offer enhanced performance, durability, and sustainability, making them indispensable in modern construction practices. In this guest post, we will explore the latest advancements in concrete admixtures and how Ressichem, a leading manufacturer of building and construction materials, is at the forefront of this transformative journey.

Understanding Concrete Admixtures:

Concrete admixtures are chemical formulations added to concrete or cement mixtures to modify their properties and enhance performance. They are primarily used to improve workability, strength, durability, and curing time. By fine-tuning the composition of concrete, admixtures allow for greater flexibility and customization, meeting the diverse demands of various construction projects.

Enhancing Workability and Flowability:

Ressichem has been instrumental in developing cutting-edge concrete admixtures that significantly enhance the workability and flowability of cement mixtures. With the incorporation of high-range water reducers, commonly known as superplasticizers, the viscosity and slump of concrete can be adjusted to suit specific construction requirements. This results in easier placement, reduced labor, and improved finishing, leading to substantial time and cost savings.

Improving Strength and Durability:

Concrete admixtures have opened up new avenues for enhancing the strength and durability of concrete structures. Ressichem's innovative cement admixture solutions, such as high-performance water-reducing agents and pozzolanic materials, enable the production of high-strength concrete with reduced water-cement ratios. This not only improves the compressive strength but also increases resistance to chemical attacks, weathering, and abrasion, resulting in longer-lasting and more resilient structures.

Promoting Sustainability and Environmental Responsibility:

As sustainability becomes a key focus in the construction industry, Ressichem recognizes the importance of eco-friendly solutions. Through extensive research and development, the company has formulated concrete admixtures that contribute to reducing environmental impact. These include admixtures that incorporate industrial by-products like fly ash and slag, which enhance the workability and strength of concrete while reducing the consumption of natural resources and lowering carbon emissions.

Meeting Specialized Construction Needs:

The evolving construction landscape demands specialized solutions to address unique challenges. Ressichem's concrete admixture portfolio includes a range of products designed for specific applications. From self-leveling and self-compacting concrete to underwater concreting and corrosion inhibition, their offerings cater to a wide array of construction requirements, ensuring optimal performance and long-term sustainability.

Conclusion:

Concrete admixtures have ushered in a new era of innovation in the construction industry, offering remarkable advancements in workability, strength, durability, and sustainability. Ressichem, with its state-of-the-art manufacturing facility and commitment to research and development, has emerged as a leading player in this domain. By continuously pushing the boundaries of concrete technology, Ressichem is contributing to the development of safer, more efficient, and environmentally conscious construction practices. As the industry continues to evolve, concrete admixtures will undoubtedly play a pivotal role in shaping a sustainable and resilient future for construction projects worldwide.

[pastafossa]

"From A Squirt Gun, With Love" (Bucky Barnes x F!Reader, Fic)

Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 5's prompt: water gun fight. It's also been a while since I've written for my favorite super soldier, so today's prompt is for Bucky Barnes! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! Side note, once I've got more these will all be edited a bit more and placed on my AO3, so if you lose one, just keep an eye out over there!

Ship: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: some suggestive dialogue and innuendo

You couldn’t afford another mistake. 

He’d been hunting you for at least an hour now, stalking you determinedly through the corridors of the compound and the manicured gardens outside. He’d already nailed you half a dozen times. And much to your disbelief, one of those times was because he’d somehow managed to find his way up into the air vents where he could track you unseen. You’d done your best to at least make it a challenge for him, relying on a variety of traps you’d managed to set up ahead of time, but it hadn’t done you as much good as you’d hoped, your hit count a measly two against his six. And now? Now you were running low on ammunition, and just as low on workable options. What was worse, he’d cornered you in the garage. You’d been able to tuck yourself beneath an SUV before he could see you, but there was only one exit—one currently being monitored by your annoyingly precise marksman of a boyfriend. 

You held your breath at the quiet scrape of heavy combat boots scuffing against the concrete floor. If you had to guess, he was wandering around about two rows over and off to your left. He could have bent over and just scanned beneath the cars immediately, but he was enjoying this far too much to let it end that easily. He was toying with you, dragging things out now that he had you boxed in. 

“I know you’re in here, doll,” came his low chuckle. “Come on out, and I’ll go easy on you. Besides, you gotta be soaked by now, and not in the fun way. But I can change that for you if you want. All you gotta do is pop that pretty head up for me.”

Not a chance. 

You weren’t going down without a fight. 

You clutched your water gun tighter, checking the glowing tactical display—you hadn’t even known high-tech water guns existed until Bucky had dropped one into your hands with a grin. “If my girl wants a water gun fight, we’re gettin’ a water gun fight.” 

And what you saw wasn’t good. 

Shit. 

You were down to eighteen percent tank capacity. Anywhere else in the compound, you might have had a chance to reload with one of the buckets you’d both scattered around, but you’d forgotten to put one in the garage. If you didn’t get him with your next shot, you were done. 

“The fact that you’re not out here shootin’ at me like before tells me you’re low.” His voice sounded different now: higher up, and a bit more distant. Had he… climbed on top of the cars? “You need more practice. I’ll admit, I was proud of you when you got that ass shot in, but that ain’t happenin’ again. My turn to get your ass now, darlin’. You gonna give me what’s mine?”

You sucked your lower lip for a moment before carefully edging your way forward, water gun held in front of you just in case he decided to pull a horror movie move and drop into view. It wasn’t easy. The goddamn water gun was shaped more like a shotgun than a super soaker, clunky and a bitch to drag around. The upside was it had an automatic reload so you didn’t have to worry about making any noise while pumping the gun. Its range was good for a water gun, around twenty feet, but not good enough that you could shoot Bucky at distance. You’d need to get close.

One of the cars down the row creaked, tires groaning, presumably as your massive super soldier of a boyfriend strolled along the top of the cars like they were paving stones. That he wasn’t bothering to be silent was… unusual.

“Here, kitty kitty,” he purred, his voice growing fainter as he wandered down towards the other end of the garage. “Where’s my pretty girl gone?”

On the one hand, you enjoyed hearing that tone from him, playful and relaxed, warm and content. He’d grown pretty comfortable with you, open and affectionate, over the time you’d known him. That comfort, that openness with you had only blossomed further as your relationship had morphed into something romantic. But even so, it was still unusual for him to let go like this just so he could have fun. It was progress, and that knowledge filled your heart with a sparkling warmth. 

But you also couldn’t help but be the least bit suspicious, because it would be absolutely like him to use his voice and playful tone to distract you from something. 

You froze again when a pair of boots suddenly appeared on the concrete in front of you, landing without a sound—you’d been right; all the sound a minute ago had been to try to lure you out, make you think he was farther away than he really was. You didn’t dare move, not when the slightest sound might give you away. Slowly, the boots shifted on the concrete as he turned one way, and then the other. Waiting for you to make a run for it. 

But he’d taught you better than that. 

There was the softest, quietest little huff of amusement, or maybe pride, instead. But instead of heading off, he began to kneel. 

Shit, shit, shit—

He was going to duck down and look under the car. He knew you were here, he had to. He had to. Could you shift the angle of your water gun before he leaned down and saw you—

Fortunately for you, it became clear a second later that he was only lowering himself into a crouch. You stilled again in the shadows beneath the SUV, your gun still aimed cautiously at his legs.

Speaking of which, you had a really good view of his thighs at this angle. With him crouched the way he was, his thighs looked even thicker than usual, deliciously hard muscle covered in old denim. The round curve of his ass looked just as good where he filled out his jeans, though the dark splotch on the tight fabric made you grin. It was a testament to one of the only two shots you’d managed to hit him with. Sure, he’d shot you twice in the ass in retaliation, but it had been absolutely worth it. 

He settled onto the balls of his feet, rocking a little back and forth. You heard a soft whir, before his metal hand appeared in your view. Your heart skipped a beat, a droplet of maybe-water-maybe-sweat rolling down your temple. Only… his hand didn’t appear to be going for you like you’d expected. Instead, it slipped down to the concrete. One metal fingertip gleaming in the fluorescent lighting, it brushed lightly at the droplets of water drying on the concrete. 

Fresh droplets. 

From you. 

Crap. 

His head appeared beneath the SUV as he leaned over to meet your eye. Then he flashed you a feral grin. “Hi doll,” he said smugly. “Hi Bucky. I love you,” you said fondly, and shot him in the face. 

His head reared back as he spat out a curse, frantically swiping the water away from his face. It gave you just enough time for you to squirm out from under the SUV and take off down row between the cars, your sneakers slapping against the concrete, the wind blowing your hair back. If you could get to the door before he did, you could turn around and lock him in. It wouldn’t keep him here forever, but it might buy you a few minutes to reload. 

Based on the rapidly pounding footsteps behind you, though, you weren’t even going to get close. Not when it sounded like he was charging after you with every last bit of super-soldier-powered speed he had. You needed another plan, or else—

Something slammed hard against one of the cars behind you, startling you enough to make you stumble. In that brief moment of distraction, Bucky had vaulted himself up off the car and over your head. 

His broad form landed smoothly in front of you in one easy motion, dropping into a crouch. He rose slowly, powerful muscle gradually uncoiling inch by inch, until finally he loomed up over you, water gun held ominously in one hand. His pale eyes had gone dark with heat, pupils blown wide as he fixated on you: his prey. He took one prowling step forward, a flash of pink from his tongue as he lazily licked the droplets of water away from his mouth.

“You shot me,” he rumbled hungrily. “I should be mad. But damn, doll. That was hot.” “Hot enough to stop you from shooting me back?” you asked hopefully.

“Not a chance,” he said with a smirk, before firing a blast of cold water directly at your abdomen. You let out another shriek, turning to sprint away from him, a trail of damp footprints left behind. And if your shriek was half laughter, well, his playful growl was just as full of joy as he took off after you. 

[mightyflamethrower]

In the last 20 years, the Left has boasted that it has gained control of most of America institutions of power and influence—the corporate boardroom, media, Silicon Valley, Wall Street, the administrative state, academia, foundations, social media, entertainment, professional sports, and Hollywood.

With such support, between 2009-17, Barack Obama was empowered to transform the Democratic Party from its middle-class roots and class concerns into the party of the bicoastal rich and subsidized poor—obsessions with big money, race, a new intolerant green religion, and dividing the country into a binary of oppressors and oppressed.

The Obamas entered the presidency spouting the usual leftwing boilerplate (“spread the wealth,” “just downright mean country,” “get in their face,” “first time I’ve been proud of my country”) as upper-middle-class, former community activists, hurt that their genius and talents had not yet been sufficiently monetized.

After getting elected through temporarily pivoting to racial ecumenicalism and pseudo-calls for unity, they reverted to form and governed by dividing the country. And then the two left the White House as soon-to-be mansion living, mega-rich elites, cashing in on the fears they had inculcated over the prior eight years.

To push through the accompanying unpopular agendas of an open border, mandatory wind and solar energy, racial essentialism, and the weaponization of the state, Obama had begun demonizing his opponents and the country in general: America was an unexceptional place. Cops were racist. “Clingers” of the Midwest were hopelessly ignorant and prejudiced. Only fundamental socialist transformation could salvage a historically oppressive, immoral, and racist nation.

The people finally rebelled at such preposterousness. Obama lost his party some 1,400 local and state offices during his tenure, along with both houses of Congress. His presidency was characterized by his own polarizing mediocrity. His one legacy was Obamacare, the veritable destruction of the entire system of a once workable health insurance, of the hallowed doctor-patient relationship, and of former easy access to competent specialists.

Yet Obama’s unfufilled ambitions set the stage for the Biden administration—staffed heavily with Obama veterans—to complete the revolutionary transformation of the Democratic Party and country.

It was ironic that while Obama was acknowledged as young and charismatic, nonetheless a cognitively challenged, past plagiarist, fabulist, and utterly corrupt Joe Biden was far more effective in ramming through a socialist woke agenda and altering the very way Americans vote and conduct their legal system.

Stranger still, Biden accomplished this subversion of traditional America while debilitated and often mentally inert—along with being mired in a bribery and influence-peddling scandal that may ultimately confirm that he easily was the most corrupt president to hold office in U.S. history.

How was all this possible?

Covid had allowed the unwell Biden to run a surrogate campaign from his basement as he outsourced his politicking to a corrupt media.

Senility proved a godsend for Biden. His cognitive disabilities masked his newfound radicalism and long-accustomed incompetence. Unlike his past failed campaigns, the lockdowns allowed Biden to be rarely seen or heard—and thus as much liked in the abstract as he had previously been disliked in the concrete.

His handlers, the Obamas, and the Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren radical Democrats, saw Biden’s half-century pretense as a gladhander—good ole Joe Biden from Scranton—as the perfect delivery system to funnel their own otherwise-unpopular leftwing agendas. In sum, via the listless Biden, they sought to change the very way America used to work.

And what a revolution Biden’s puppeteers have unleashed in less than three years.

They launched a base attack on the American legal system. Supreme Court judges are libeled, their houses swarmed, and their lives threatened with impunity. The Left promised to pack the court or to ignore any decision it resents. The media runs hit pieces on any conservative justice deemed too influential. The prior Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer whipped up a mob outside the court’s doors, and threatened two justices by name. As Schumer presciently put it, they would soon “reap the whirlwind” of what they supposedly had sowed and thus would have no idea what was about to “hit” them.

Under the pretense of Covid fears, balloting went from 70 percent participation on election day in most states to a mere 30 percent. Yet the rates of properly rejected illegal or improper ballots often dived by a magnitude of ten.

Assaults now followed on hallowed processes, laws, customs, and institutions—the Senate filibuster, the 50-state union, the Electoral College, the nine-justice Supreme Court, Election Day, and voter IDs.

Under Biden, the revolution had institutionalized first-term impeachment, the trial of an ex-president while a private citizen, and the indictment of a chief political rival and ex-president on trumped up charges by local and federal prosecutors—all to destroy a political rival and alter the 2024 election cycle.

Biden destroyed the southern border—literally. Eight million entered illegally—no background checks, no green cards, no proof of vaccinations. America will be dealing with the consequences for decades. Mexico was delighted, receiving some $60 million in annual remittances, while the cartels were empowered to ship enough fentanyl to kill 100,000 Americans a year.

“Modern monetary theory,” the Leftist absurdity that printing money ensures prosperity, followed. It has nearly bankrupted the country, unleashed wild inflation, and resulted in the highest interest rates in a quarter-century. Middle-class wages fell further behind as a doddering Biden praised his disastrous “Bidenomics.”

Biden warred on fossil fuels, cancelling federal leases and pipelines, jawboning lending agencies to defund fracking, demonizing state-of-the-art, clean-burning cars, and putting vast areas of oil- and gas-rich federals lands off-limits to drilling.

When gas prices predictably doubled under Biden and the 2022 midterms approached, he tried temporarily to lease out a few new fields, to drain the Strategic Petroleum Reserve, and to beg the Saudis, and our enemies, the Iranians, the Venezuelans, and the Russians, to pump more oil and gas that Biden himself would not. All this was a pathetic ruse to temporarily lower gas prices before the mid-term elections.

Biden abandoned Afghanistan, leaving the largest trove of military equipment behind in U.S. military history, along with thousands of loyal Afghans and pro-American contractors.

Biden insulted the parents of the 13 Marines blown up in this worst U.S. military debacle since Pearl Harbor. He lied to the parents of the dead that he too lost a son in the Iraq war, and when among them later impatiently checked his watch as he seemed bored with the commemoration of the fallen—and made no effort to hide his sense that the ceremony was tedious to him.

Vladimir Putin summed up the Afghan debacle—and Biden’s nonchalant remark that he wouldn’t react strongly to a “minor” invasion of Ukraine if it were minor—as a green light to invade Ukraine.

When Biden did awaken, his first reaction was an offer to fly the Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelenskyy out of the country as soon as possible. What has followed proved the greatest European killing ground since the 1944-45 Battle of the Bulge, albeit one that has now fossilized into a Verdun-like quagmire that is draining American military supply stocks and killing a half-million Ukrainians and Russians.

Suddenly, there are three genders, not two. Women’s sports have been wrecked by biological men competing as women, destroying a half-century of female athletic achievement. Young girls in locker rooms, co-eds in sororities, and women in prison must dress and shower with biological men transitioning to women by assertion.

There is no longer a commitment to free speech. The American Civil Liberties Union is a woke, intolerant group trying to ban free expression under the pretense of fighting “hate” speech and “disinformation.”

The Left has revived McCarthyite loyal oaths straight out of the 1950s, forcing professors, job applicants, and students applying for college to pledge their commitment to “diversity” as a requisite for hiring, admittance, or promotion. Diversity is our era’s version of the Jacobins’ “Cult of Reason.”

Race relations hit a 50-year nadir. Joe Biden has a long history of racist insults and putdowns. And now as apparent penance, he has reinvented himself as a reverse racial provocateur, spouting nonsense about white supremacy, exploiting shootings or hyping racial tensions to ensure that an increasingly disgusted black electorate does not leave the new Democratic Party.

The military has adopted wokeism, oblivious that it has eroded meritocracy in the ranks and slashed military recruitment. It is underfunded, wracked by internal suspicion, loss of morale and ginned up racial and gender animosity. Its supply stocks are drained. Arms productions is snail-like, and generalship is seen as a revolving door to corporate defense contractor board riches.

Big-city Democratic district attorneys subverted the criminal justice system, destroyed law enforcement deterrence, and unleashed a record crime wave. Did they wish to create anarchy as protest against the normal, or were they Jokerist nihilists who delighted in sowing ruin for ruin’s sake?

Radical racial activists, with Democrat endorsement, demand polarizing racial reparations. The louder the demands, the quieter they remain about smash-and-grab looting, carjacking, and the swarming of malls by disproportionally black teens—even as black-on-black urban murders reach record proportions.

In response, Biden tried to exploit the growing tensions by spouting lies that “white supremacy” and “white privilege” fuel such racial unrest—even as his ill-gotten gains, past record of racist demagoguery and resulting lucre and mansions appear the epitome of his own so-called white privilege.

This litany of disasters could be vastly expanded, but more interesting is the why of it all?

What we are witnessing seems to be utter nihilism. The border is not porous but nonexistent. Mass looting and carjackings are not poorly punished, but simply exempt from all and any consequences. Our downtowns are reduced to a Hobbesian “war of all against all,” where the strong dictate to the weak and the latter adjust as they must. The streets of our major cities in just a few years have become precivilizational—there are more human feces on the sidewalks of San Francisco than were in the gutters of Medieval London.

The FBI and DOJ are not simply wayward and weaponized, but corrupt and renegade. Apparently the perquisite now for an FBI director is the ability either to lie while under oath or better to mask such lying by claiming amnesia or ignorance.

Immigration is akin to the vast unchecked influxes of the late Roman Empire across the Danube and Rhine that helped to finish off a millennium-old civilization that had lost all confidence in its culture and thus had no need for borders.

In other words, the revolution is not so much political as anarchist. Nothing escapes it—not ceiling fans, not natural gas cooktops, not parents at school board meetings, not Christian bakeries, not champion female swimmers, not dutiful policemen, not hard-working oil drillers, not privates and corporals in the armed forces, not teens applying on their merits to college, not anyone, anywhere, anytime.

The operating principle is either to allow or to engineer things to become so atrocious in everyday American life—the inability to afford food and fuel, the inability to walk safely in daylight in our major cities, the inability to afford to drive as one pleases, the inability to obtain or pay back a high interest loan—that the government can absorb the private sector and begin regimenting the masses along elite dictates. The more the people tire of the leftist agenda, the more its architects furiously seek to implement it, hoping that their institutional and cultural control can do what  ballots cannot.

We could variously characterize their efforts as destroying the nation to save it, or burning it down to start over, or fundamentally transforming America into something never envisioned by the Founders.

Will their upheaval  succeed? All the levers of the power and money are on the side of the revolutionaries. The people are not. And they are starting to wake to the notion if they do not stop the madness in their midst they very soon won’t have a country.

A perfect metaphor for what the progressives have done to America.

[sunshinesmebdy]

Navigating Dynamic Shifts for Strategic Growth (May 7, 2024)

We are entering a period of compelling astrological movements that offer unique opportunities for strategic development and transformative growth within our organization. Let’s take a closer look at these transitions and align our efforts accordingly.

Moon in Aries Conjunct Mercury in Aries: This powerful alignment in Aries ignites our collective drive and sharpens our communicative abilities, making it an ideal time for brainstorming and initiating new projects. The fiery energy of Aries encourages bold, innovative thinking and swift decision-making. Let’s leverage this assertive energy to tackle challenges head-on and to promote clear, direct communication across all departments.

Transition to Moon in Taurus: Later today, as the Moon enters the steadfast sign of Taurus, our focus will naturally shift toward stabilization and practical application. This transition from Aries’ high energy to Taurus’ grounding force is perfect for refining the ideas born from today’s earlier enthusiasm into workable, sustainable plans. It’s a time to focus on the details, ensuring the feasibility and logistical grounding of our initiatives.

Moon in Taurus Square Pluto in Aquarius: As we settle into the Taurus phase, we must be prepared to address the challenges posed by the Moon’s square to Pluto in Aquarius. This aspect may bring to light issues related to power dynamics and resistance to change, especially in how we integrate innovative practices into our established systems. This is a critical moment to exercise resilience and adaptability, using the tension to drive breakthroughs rather than setbacks.

Action Steps:

Capitalize on the Aries Energy: Quickly initiate discussions and set actionable goals while the energy is most conducive to starting new ventures.

Smooth Transition to Taurus: Begin to solidify ideas into concrete plans by this evening. Utilize Taurus’ practical energy to build on the day’s dynamic start.

Address Potential Conflicts: Remain vigilant and flexible, ready to tackle any resistance or transformational challenges that arise with the square to Pluto. Emphasize teamwork and open dialogue to navigate through these complexities.

By mindfully transitioning through these astrological phases, we can harness each sign’s strengths — Aries’ initiation, Taurus’ consolidation, and the transformative pressure from Pluto — to foster growth and innovation while maintaining stability and order.

Let’s embrace these transitions with enthusiasm and a strategic mindset.

[dead-rabbit-comics]

i have found the problems i was anticipating or maybe they have found me.

sidenote: was hoping this colour would be a little more olive and a little less military, i'll see what i can do about that. that'll be interesting.

anyways since everything was going very well i decided to change the tie-up to a satin - because i can weave that now!! exciting!!

as you can maybe tell from the photo, it works. but i have trouble with the last shaft, which wants to have its neutral position lower than everyone else. it's pulling down. i suspected this might be correlated with the cords of the last shaft/last treadle holes being taught, while all others have progressively more slack towards the front. so in rest position, these last cords are what hold the treadles up from the floor, the treadles rest on these cords, ergo the last shaft pulling down.

my non-weaving friend suggested yesterday that this might be an issue of me being perfectionistic and having reached a workable shed, to work with what i have achieved. that this tie-up may in fact be impossible to improve. however, i strongly feel it is not good enough to have a solution that: has a single treadle sticking up too high (making it difficult to operate) as well as a shed that is just barely workable. countermarch looms became widely used because they could do the exact thing i'm trying to do here (says allen fannin)

He also describes the issue i'm having quite nicely when talking about the balance required for the countermarch system and then he says this:

"[...] the weight of the treadles equalizes the pull on the ties to both the riser and sinker lamms, thereby canceling the resultant movement of a differential force between risers and sinkers."

when talking about how the treadles need be ≥ the weight of the harness.

overall i still don't feel like i quite understand. i suppose i can try taking out all the connections to the last shaft and see what happens. ok have tried that, 1 is still hanging low, 2 has joined it. uhm. conclusion?

the way i understand the countermarch system now, or try to picture it, is as a scale. the sinking and rising of each shaft is related to a piece of wood with a hole in the middle: when at rest, it should be horizontal. when you pull down on one end, the other rises and vice versa. to control this, both ends are attached to an upper and a lower lamm - one will raise the shed, one will lower it. which is pretty cool! because now you can make connections between these lamms and the treadles to store any combination of rising and sinking shafts. once i have done that tie-up, i can now step on the treadle, which will pull down the combination i have selected, which in turn brings up the remainder of the unconnected combination of lamms. yay, shed!

so anyways, i'm spending a lot of time sitting and staring and contemplating pivot points and feeling how much force it takes to lift pieces at different points and sighing a lot and generally feeling a little like the worlds dumbest creature. but we'll see.

in a way i am also happy to run into this issue, because if it just works, there's nothing to fix and i always feel like i don't really understand what's going on when that happens? i genuinely do prefer trying to work through issues rather than gliding along seamlessly (because that's where the learning happens yes, but also) because that is concrete, then the things i don't know take form and i can prod at their edges and try to get an idea of the shape of what i don't know. whereas if i'm unaware of not knowing something i certainly won't be able to do anything about it.

[midnightactual]

I don't know if you're kept up with the anime adaptation or not, but can I ask if you have any opinions on the new "lore" drops?

I don't watch the anime, but I hear some things, so I'll offer some thoughts:

First, I find it utterly hilarious that the people who, for 20 years, have said the anime is not canon, are now suddenly acting like it is, when it still isn't; and no, Kubo's involvement does not change that. People who think that when an author retcons, it isn't a retcon, or that an author cannot write their characters out of character, are inherently and literally authoritarian-minded bootlickers incapable of thinking for themselves.

Second, I adhere to something like the old canonicity ranking system for Star Wars. The manga is the highest canonicity, then the novels, then Klub Outside answers, and far away is the anime, then the movies, then games. So, to me, Kubo's involvement with the anime doesn't mean anything except when it doesn't contradict with things that were already known.

Third, I will assume this is about Yhwach, and I will take this opportunity to go off on my own rant. This morning I saw this:

And I honestly have to ask: why as a group are Bleach fans the dumbest shōnen fans that there ever have been? This guy's entire argument is impossibly stupid primae facie. Let's review. Chapter 565:

We are told, by the narrator, not by same fallible character, that YHWH was a name given to Yhwach by the people around him, not one that he picked out himself, and was given in honor of the god of those people. This pretty clearly suggests Yhwach was around Jews who were using the Tetragrammaton.

(This makes Yhwach's connections with Nazi Germany, through having a unit named the Schutzstaffel, extremely icky, but I don't think Kubo really knows much about WW2 in general or the Holocaust in particular, and I don't think this was deliberate.)

The point is, though, Yhwach didn't pick the name YHWH, and doesn't feel any connection with it. So the argument by "The Senpai" that maybe he has some relation to the Soul King, who was named Adnyeus, which comes from Adonai, on the basis of his name, is complete nonsense.

Because that's not Yhwach's name. In fact, his name isn't YHWH, or Ywhach, or Yūhabahha, and anyone saying the last (like "The Senpai") is an idiot because that's not how katakana works. Katakana are for rendering foreign words into a format that is workable to Japanese people. If you aren't Japanese, or don't have a thick Japanese accent, you shouldn't be pronouncing things per their katakana reading.

His name is ユーハバッハ. Knowing that he speaks German, we can therefore determine what his real name is.

ユーハ is either a stylistic rendition of Johan (normally ヨハン) or it's Juch as in Juchheim as in Karl Juchheim, a guy who introduced baumkuchen cake to Japan. You can see this by flipping his Wikipedia page to Japanese, where his surname is given as ユーハイム.

バッハ is Bach, as in Johann Sebastian Bach. You can again see this by flipping his Wikipedia page to Japanese.

Yhwach's real name is either Juch Bach or Johan Bach.

Now, I hate to tell "The Senpai" and everyone else this, but German wasn't around 2,000 years ago, let alone 10,000 or more years ago, and has nothing to do with anything Biblical. I will also note that "The Senpai" got it wrong in that Yhwach was not around 2,000 years ago anyway. Chapter 631:

We first hear of him from Bazz-B's flashback as having been active for maybe 200 years, which puts him as active around 600-700 AD at the earliest. The "progenitor" of the Quincies" thing is clearly wrong, because chapter 632:

Quincy like Jugram were born every few decades, until a few centuries ago—when Yhwach was born. So the Quincy long predate Yhwach. We know this also from Pernida having "always been a Quincy".

So, the Yhwach present with the Soul King in the primordial sea or whatever, is most likely a visual literary allusion, not a concrete entity that has existed this entire time. Why? Because that would contradict a higher tier of canon—the manga. And not just Bazz-B, a fallible character, but the narrator of the manga.

We also know stuff can occur in Bleach in a nonlinear way with regard to time. We know this because of interacting with the Kōtotsu sending people back in time:

We know this because Ichibē can steal energy from the future:

And we know this because Ichibē named Bankai thousands of years ago, using a meaning for a kanji that wouldn't come about until the 1990s as teen girl slang, and even he still doesn't fully understand why he himself named it that:

So in other words, the Yhwach that you see in that anime-only scene, based on everything that exists in the manga, is a kind of premonition or manifestation of Yhwach from outside of time. It does not mean he has always been around. That is the only thing that squares with all the actual lore.

Everyone rushing to assume new contradictions is a fool who has no actual respect for the lore that we have already been given, and apparently has no way of properly contextualizing it.

I'll spell it out very simply: if the anime contradicts manga narration, then the anime is once again its own timeline. The manga is the original work, and the anime doesn't 'patch' it; it's not software. The manga is the overriding correct take. If the anime retcons, then it's either wrong or it makes a new continuity: so either anime-only scenes must be squared with the manga's authoritative stance, or it must be accepted that the anime has nothing to do with the manga. One or the other must be picked. Anyone who doesn't understand this must either be new to media analysis, or is just media illiterate.

So, just like fake fans rushed out to say Ichibē was lying about the Soul King's binding, when that scene was 100% consistent with what Ichibē said in CFYOW, I think this is another instance of fake fans misinterpreting a scene. Yhwach's origins were given in the manga. What are the odds the anime comes up with a completely different origin for him? Low. And if it does, it's anime-only.

[miscfandomwrites]

Mama: Chapter Five

A/N: Hey Y’all! Been awhile since I’ve uploaded. Let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist for this series or any that I write. My inbox and messages are always open for requests and criticism, as well as questions. Long author’s note at the bottom for a few explanations about the guns and stuff I’ve written about in this chapter. This is more team building and reader getting used to things, I promise Natasha will definitely make more of an impact in the next chapter or two.  I am aware that the text in the collage is blurry.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Mom! Avenger! Reader

Warnings: 

Words: 1.7k

Tagging:  @tyler-t0t

After breakfast, it was decided that Lillith would stay with Wanda  and make cookies while some of the others would show me my workspace. 

I didn’t even know that I’d have a workspace, let alone something as massive as what I was given. It turns out that Stark had several floors under the tower as well, and I was on the fourth floor below the ground. It was an entire floor, and it was massive. 

It was a huge parking garage pretty much, with ramps for vehicles and other sorts of transportation up to the surface. My truck, jeep, motorcycle, and car were already there, parked and waiting. 

Despite living a somewhat simple life, S.H.I.E.L.D paid me well and with the various odd jobs I’ve picked up over the years, I had quite a sum of money that I could do whatever I wished with. 

“There’s a range right over there, and the benches have the boxes on the. You’ll just need to arrange things how you like them, and then it’s more than fully workable.” Stark told me as I entered the main area of the workshop.

Lit up with several overhead lamps and taking up the majority of the floor, this was by far the best workspace I’d ever had. 

Several benches were scattered around, one backed to a wall between three metal gun cabinets and metal cases holding dozens of ammo cans. That was the gun area, and judging by the boxes around it they didn’t mount anything or store anything yet. I preferred to take care of all of the organizing for the weapons and such by myself because I had my systems for finding things, and as Clint liked to joke; I turned borderline Hulk if someone messed up my systems. 

I noticed mainly the divot along the back wall, like a large ramp running nearly from the center of the room to the back end of it, heading down. All of the walls were concrete, and there was no door there. 

“That’s the range. Four feet of concrete, not counting the steel targets you’ll be using, but it’s more than thick enough to stop the majority of bullets. I didn’t know what you wanted to do for the Archery stuff, so I didn’t mess with any of it.” Stark spoke again, by side. I nodded and continued looking around. 

A lounge area, with a sink and what I assumed was a bar, was sparsely decorated with the occasion box or sheet. Some couches and what looked like a futon were around it. I noticed a TV mounted on the wall, and a fridge. The main area had a bench with what looked like my archery things on it, but I was more excited to find out that the benches moved. They all were on a wheel system, which meant I could combine or place them anywhere I deemed necessary at the moment. 

I was so focused on looking around, already imagining where I’d place everything and how it would all fit together that I didn’t notice Sam, Steve, and James heading to the reloading bench. 

I walked over as they tried to open the metal gun cabinet, quietly discussing amongst themselves the password for it. 

“2641996012340 is the passcode. It’s thirteen digits, so it’s unlikely someone will enter the right code.” I said as I squeezed between Sam and Steve, shooing them away as I punched in the code. 

“Why the hell would you have a thirteen digit code for a gun safe?” James asked me, eyebrows raised. 

I shrugged, and instead of finishing punching in the code I just gave the locker and hard yank and the door came open. 

“The passcode section broke a long time ago. It taught me to keep a gun by my side at all times.”  I replied, opening the lower doors as well.

“What happened?” Steve asked.

“Someone broke into my old dwelling a few years ago when Lillith was still a baby. I kept all my guns locked up so she wouldn’t get hurt when she wandered, but I broke the door to the cabinet to grab a gun. That’s why it doesn’t work.” 

“A true mom.” Sam grinned at me as he grabbed one of the rifles in the case. 

I stepped away and allowed the boys to look at my guns, and started rummaging through the boxes on the reloading bench. 

“Where’s the ammunition?” Sam asked as he held my old revolver Colt 45 in his hands, the hammer already back and waiting for a magazine to be loaded. 

“In the ammo cans to my right. Find the Revolver Colt 45 label. There should be ready bullets in there..” I replied, not looking up from sorting through some of my notebooks. 

“Hey, Stark!” I called out over my shoulder, looking towards him. He quickly looked up from the wrench kit he was going through. 

“Yeah?” He yelled back.

“Are my AIs incorporated into the tower yet? I talked to Pepper about it a few weeks ago.” I said as I turned towards him, still holding my notebook. 

“Yeah, they should be running right now. You can check, though.” He told me, turning back to the kit. 

“WAR, are these notebooks recorded?” I asked out loud. 

A male mechanical voice responded, telling me that they were, and asking if I wanted to know anything specific from them.

I politely dismissed it, tossing my notebook back on the counter. 

Bruce glanced at me as I walked past him, heading for what I’d make into my archery bench. 

“You created AIs?” he asked me, a look of surprise on his face. 

I nodded, moving some boxes off the table. 

“What does WAR stand for? I hope it’s a good abbreviation.” Stark said as he walked towards me, holding the notebook I’d discarded on the reloading bench only moments before. 

“WAR stands for Weapons Ammunition Recorder. It records all information I need for my weapons, and formulates things for me if I need them. I’m working on another right now as well. It’s still in the starting steps, so it doesn’t have a name beyond ‘Digital Assistant’ right now.” I replied, unpacking a box holding my bow press. 

“What do these stand for?�� Another voice rang out. Natasha was looking over Stark's shoulder, and as soon as he noticed her he jumped, almost dropping the notebook. 

I grinned, leaning over the notebook, looking at what page they were on. 

“Looks like designs for my Creedmoor. One badass gun, I’ll give you that.” I replied, looking up at Natasha. 

“Creedmoor?” Stark questioned. 

“It’s more the name of the bullet it takes. I built most of these guns by hand, and that was the most expensive, fun, and stressful one I’ve ever done.” I replied. 

“How much?” Natasha said as she looked up from the notebook at me. I fought off the blush rising on my cheeks from the intense stare she was giving me. 

“Almost ten thousand dollars. It’s worth it, though.” I replied. 

I walked over to the gun side of the room (I really will need to have a decent name for this side of the floor) and pulled a large plastic gun case away from the wall. The boys looked over in interest, following me to one of the workbenches where I laid it upon. 

I cracked open the several snaps, before pulling open the lid. 

“Holy shit.” Sam whispered. 

I nodded, and grinned as I pulled the gun up from it’s designated spot in the case. A massive sniper rifle, my creedmoor weighed nearly twenty pounds. 

I rested the butt of it upon the table, and mounted the bipod on the front of it. I took it off the table, shouldering it and checked to make sure the gun was clear. 

“Mom!” A yell came from behind Natasha. She turned, and moved aside so Lillith could run up to me. 

She stopped right in front of me, her mouth open. 

“You got the creedmoor!” She exclaimed, almost jumping up and down with excitement. I laughed at her antics, and squatted down, still holding the gun.

“Wanna hold it?” I asked her.

She grinned and nodded with such force her hair whipped up and down. 

“What are the three rules about guns?” I questioned, sliding the bolt back until it locked in place.

She closed her eyes, grasping her hands into fists at her sides. 

“Be aware of your target and beyond….”

“That’s one.” 

“Never point the muzzle anywhere you’re not going to shoot….”

“One more.”

She scrunched her eyebrows together, a look I called the ‘Focus headache’ because whenever she did it, it usually ended up with her hurting her head. 

“Something about the trigger?” She questioned, opening her eyes. 

I nodded, and spoke slowly

“Never put your finger on the trigger-” I started

“Unless you’re ready to shoot.” she finished, grinning. 

I lifted the gun from my grip, holding it out to her. 

“Careful it’s heavy.” I warned, but she took it and cradled it against her chest. It was almost as tall as her, even holding it diagonally the barrel was above her head and the butt of the gun was below her knees.

 Her mouth was agape in awe as she ran her hands over the gun. She tilted it down, checking down the barrel and the scope. 

“I didn’t know there were rules to guns.” James told me, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s more common sense than anything. She taught the same to my kids and Laura.” Clint replied, taking photos of Lillith. 

I nodded, and noticed Lillith was struggling a bit with the gun. 

I gently took it from her, and set it back on the table. 

Wanda rounded the corner in a sprint, stopping once she found Lillith. I noticed she was covered in what looked like...flour?

She bent over, gasping for breath. In between her gasps, she breathed out that she found Lillith. 

I looked over to Lillith, who shrugged and tried to give me her best innocent face. 

“What? I wanted to make cookies!” Lillith exclaimed with a huff, crossing her arms.

~~

A/N: So I was born and raised around guns, and I kinda implemented that into this series. I’m also doing archery right now. My dad reloads bullets (has been since before I was born) and I’ve helped him with it since I could remember. I work on guns with him-mostly ARs-and our bows. I’ve reloaded bullets and made my own arrows, and still do. All of the information is correct, at least in the way my dad raised me. The Creedmoor that is mentioned is a rifle that my dad made a couple years ago (real gun is worth about 8k) and it one fucking gun. It’s hyper-accurate, and there’s not much recoil on it. It’s also heavy, weighing in at about 17 pounds. I’ve edited some information because the Creedmoor in this series is a little different. My dad made his with some expensive parts, but not necessarily the parts he would have had if he had more money. I’ve shot it dozens of times, and I still love it. I’m cutting this chapter short because it’s getting long, and I figured I’d end with showing a little bit more of Lillith’s personality. I really expect this series to be over 20 chapters, just so y’all know. 

Any questions or comments? Send an ask!

[notwiselybuttoowell]

The hair that drops in clumps on the floors of some salons in Kiel, a port city in northern Germany, is swept up to be turned into fabrics that filter oil from water. Parents who want to buy their children cloth nappies instead of disposable ones can apply for grants of up to €200 from the local authorities. At the city’s biggest festival last year, the organisers got rid of single-use cutlery and replaced it with a deposit system.

Germany is famed as a world leader in recycling – and Kiel, as I found out during a visit this summer, has some of the most weird and workable plans in the country to deal with its trash. It is the first German city to be declared “zero waste” by the environmental campaign group Zero Waste Europe. The certificate does not mean it has already stopped throwing things away – far from it – but rather that it has a concrete plan for how to do better.

“It’s one step in the right direction,” says Bettina Aust – a Green party politician who was elected president of Kiel city council in June – over a glass of juice made from apples that had been saved from landing in a supermarket bin. “You have to keep thinking further … You cannot stay still.”

Germany has a complicated relationship with waste. Despite its status as a world leader in recycling, Europe’s biggest economy is also one of its dirtiest. In 2021, the average German generated 646kg of waste, while the average EU citizen generated 530kg. Only in four EU countries – Austria, Luxembourg, Denmark and Belgium – did people throw away more.

Dino Klösen, a manager at Kiel’s waste management company ABK, says trends in the country’s consumption can be seen in its bins. Paper recycling bins that would have once been full of newspapers are now bursting with cardboard from delivery packages. “The weight of paper waste has dropped but the volume keeps rising from online shopping,” he says.

Awash with waste, cities like Kiel are exploring ways to throw away less and recycle more of what it does chuck. The city council has announced projects ranging from a ban on single-use items in public institutions, to installing more public drinking fountains, to teaching schoolchildren about waste. It is also encouraging people to make simple changes to their behaviour such as using solid bars of soap instead of buying plastic bottles of the stuff.

Other proposals are more systemic. The city is trialling a “pay as you throw” system where people are charged only for the rubbish they throw in the mixed waste bin. A report from the European Environment Agency last year found only about 30% of Germany is covered by such a scheme, even though areas that were covered saw an average drop in mixed waste of 25%.

“General waste is the most expensive form of rubbish there is,” says Klösen. “We are trying to motivate citizens to throw less waste in the bin by making them pay less for doing so.”

Even though waste-cutting efforts like Kiel’s are fairly novel in Germany, recycling is firmly rooted in the culture. In 2021, Germans collected more than two-thirds of their municipal solid waste to be repurposed – more than any other country in Europe. They burned most of the rest for energy, and dumped just 1% in landfills (the EU average is 16%).

[pokemon-teacology]

I get to shadow a masters student putting up audiomoths today! She's researching how urban sound pollution affects the behaviour of bird pokemon (and also, hopefully, bat pokemon like noibat and swoobat lines). We won't get any concrete data right away, itll probably take a few weeks for her to get a workable dataset, but I'm excited to learn :)

[qldqueerboy]

You have had enough of people giving you abstract ideas of what you should be doing today. Now is the time to turn these ideas into something more concrete and workable. There is no quick fix in doing this today. It will be a journey of trial and error until you can start seeing these abstract ideas turning into a solid foundation that will provide you with a sense of direction and purpose in what you should be doing.

[quirkwizard]

It's been a while since anybody has asked anything Jujutsu Kaisen. Could you do a Quirk either based off either Sukuna's Dismantle & Cleave or Curtains?

Do you think the spell Sectumsempra from Harry Potter could work as a quirk?

Normally I dislike the idea of an instant maim move like that, doing massive damage with no real way to counter, but I think I can make it workable.

I see it working as a Transformation type Quirk that allows the user to alter their fingertips, turning them into shimmering silver claws. These claws are quite sharp, easily capable of cutting through concrete and metal. Whenever the user slashes their hands, damage will appear on whatever is in front of them up to five meters, as if the user attacked it directly. This effect stops once it hits a target. For example, flicking their finger at a camera would cause the camera to be suddenly destroyed, but not the wall behind the camera. This gives the user a unique combat Quirk, capable of cutting through their foes without giving them a chance to counter it. They can slash through enemy defenses, carve through attacks before they land, cut through enemy equipment, surprise foes with sudden damage, or simply edge their name into the wall. Aside from being limited to the fingers, the claws do not cut that deep, making it difficult to apply serious damage outside of flesh wounds, especially to massive targets. Precise uses of the Quirk can be difficult to apply, especially from further ranges, and people can still predict the user's attacks to avoid them. A possible name for the Quirk could be "Claw Marks".

[khan-trashbin]

Snippet 11: Learning to Trust

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Male OC/ Reader

What is This?: I write snippets of interactions between my male original character, Nine "Spartan", and Simon "Ghost" Riley, some I use in my supposedly longer story but all of them are to practice my writing and to document my progress. So any constructive criticism or even questions are appreciated!

This one doesn't have any defining physical features so, if desired, you could insert yourself as Nine and be the man who Ghost is lowkey (so lowkey he doesn't even realize he is doing it) pining after.

Short Synopsis: Ghost is learning just how much he can trust and lean on Laswell's loaned operative. He just might find a bit too much comfort in what he learns compared to if it were anyone else though, but he won't think about that. At all. Nope.

Word Count: 837

Ghost held up his sidearm, a solid and reliable standard-issue Glock-17, matching his attacker’s own stance as they circled around each other, sizing the other up in their stand-off. Ghost’s weapons could only be more reliable if it wasn’t missing one vital component. Ghost knew there were no more bullets left in the clip and the chamber was empty, already having been spent, the casing lay somewhere on the floor below from an earlier fire-fight.

But the target didn’t know this, for as long as he thought Ghost would still kill him if he fired, Ghost had a much greater chance of staying alive, or at least prolonging the time before his death until the rest of the 141 could pick up where he left off. He just had to keep up the facade for as long as he could, hold the target here until one of the others lined something workable up and were given the go-ahead for the shot. But, the comms had already gone dark, giving Ghost no way to know if someone was set in a sniper's nest or if they were even right outside the door behind the target. So, he knew he wasn’t right fucked quite yet, but hell if it felt like it. However this was no matter, if he could get the target in front of the tall windows placed just a little behind them then, Ghost hoped - trusted - that a sniper would fix this FUBAR mess of an assignment and subsequently let Ghost pack up and out with the laptop intact and the target dusted.

Ghost began to slowly and carefully back up, and the target, none the wiser, followed his footsteps forward. Walking backwards, Ghost clocked the start of the floor-to-ceiling windows knowing he was going to stop as soon as the target broached the view of the outside. As he stopped, Ghost’s eyes darted towards the buildings he could see adjacent to the one the two were occupying catching onto a glimmer of light flashing twice on the rooftop of one of the taller buildings around, what must have had at least a five-floor height advantage to the level Ghost stood.

Two flashes.

Satisfaction and a touch of relief climbed up Ghost’s face before he could temper it down, despite already being hidden from view by his iconic mask. Confidence scraped across his bones as he lowered his handgun, holding eye contact with the other as his attacker’s face changed, believing he had outdone the infamous Ghost.

“Spartan,” he addressed to someone not in the room, drawing confusion from the only other person in the room. The target’s brows furrowed as his eyes scanned the room again for any of the Ghost’s compatriots and found nothing, no one.

“You got me?” Ghost inquired, keeping eye contact with the target. Barely a beat later, the window shattered and the target slumped forward onto his knees before his torso leaned away from the window, his head following to the side with a thud and crack onto the concrete floor, blood pooling around the gunshot wound in the side of his head.

“I got you,” affirmed a calm voice from the radio attached to the front of Ghost’s tac gear.

Ghost took a breath in and slowly sighed, feeling the adrenaline start to seep out of his body, replaced with a warmth that came with the feeling of knowing he was right to place his trust and life within Nine’s hands. Something he might have known peripherally, but hadn't yet been proven. But now it seeped into his head that Nine had him, that he could trust him to have him.

“Bloody good shot,” Ghost said admiring the straight shot through the temple of the target’s head.

“You were watching, had to impress you a little bit,” crackled the radio.

“You feeling impressed, Lieutenant?” Just when Ghost was thinking that the warmth would be smothered, Nine just continued to fan it into bloom.

“If you missed your shots, we wouldn’t be keeping you around, Operative.”

“Guess it’s good for you that I never miss.”

This time Ghost let a small smile crack his face, not fighting the warmth as it continued to pour into his chest. He leaned his head back knowing that as long as Nine’s sights held him he just might be safe enough to breathe, to feel, to pause and be human for just a moment (for a moment, just a moment, to think of being Simon instead of Ghost). And maybe he was thinking too much, but Simon couldn’t help but think that as long as he had Nine, he might…

He cut off that train of thought, looking back up at where he knew Nine must be holed up. He radioed into the Captain, confirming the death of the target and the successful retrieval of the laptop, data undamaged. After the succinct conversation clicked to a close, he looked back up to the same building before he quickly exited the room, leaving Nine’s sight.

[danpuff-ao3]

The Making of: Orange Blossoms

HP Flowers, Spring Round, 2022. A prompt event with weekly prompt choices inspired by the language of flowers. Of course, I was intrigued! After all: I really love Harry Potter. And I really love flowers. And symbolism. Not to mention this would take place in May, my birth month!! This fandom event seemed tailor made just for me!

Sadly, when I get excited, I get really excited.

And this was all happening in a time period when I was busy. And thus: stressed. And I do not work well under stress.

May 2022 was not only HP Flowers, but also Snarry-a-Thon. Leading up to May, I was pulling out my hair to finish my Snarry-a-Thon fic, Contempt. Not only was I bound and determined to participate in Thon at least once, brilliant me decided it was the perfect time to write the story of my soul. But that's another story (which you can read about here.)

I so had my heart set on writing for HP Flowers. Not just a story in May for HP Flowers, but I had my heart set on posting a Snarry fic for Flowers on my birthday. Which is earlier in the month (the 8th, to be exact.) I was losing hope I'd be able to finish Thon and pop out another fic in time for my birthday. Thon was driving me batty as it was! Surely when I was done I would need a nice, long break from writing.

Fun fact, but I did sneak some of the HP Flowers prompts into Contempt. Week 1, option 4 gave:

4. Ivy- Fidelity or Attachment

If paired with: >> Dahlia- honours a long-lasting relationship OR >> Hellebore- says nothing will ever come between you and your partner

Which directly inspired:

Harry doesn't know exactly where Snape's quarters are, but Snape's name on the map leads him down to the dungeons and a door with no handle. Engravings in the stone, of serpents entwined with ivy and dahlias. No lilies, Harry is pleased to note. A speech bubble appears on the map, helpfully suggesting "hellebore" as a password.

If I couldn't properly write for HP Flowers, I thought that would have to be good enough!

But you're not here to listen to me babble about Contempt yet again. You're here for Orange Blossoms.

Well, I finished and submitted Contempt and there was time left before my birthday. I kept a notebook where I scribbled various ideas. There was plenty I wanted to write for HP Flowers. I had the whole month's prompts written down, going over various combinations and ships and ideas. Above all else, I needed a Snarry, and I needed to write it for May 8.

For Snarry, I was mostly drawn to the Week 1 prompts, though my birthday fell at the start of Week 2. The "ivy" prompt drew me in more than anything, though I dabbled with others. What to do, what to do. I had too many options and too many paths available to me. Few concrete plans.

It was frustrating, not to be swarmed with actual ideas. I'm forever plagued by story ideas, but having to form ideas on command, to fit within a framework? Not my usual style. Only for love of Snarry + flowers was I wracking my brain for any workable idea. C'mon, brain, you can do it! You do this all the time, popping out story ideas!!

It's hard to really lay out a step by step of how it all came together. I made list after list. Threw down Merlin knows how many random thoughts. I stared at the prompt lists. I did Google Image searches for all the flowers. And bit by bit it came together.

It was the language of flowers, after all. How perfectly that lends itself to courtship! And the Week 1 prompt list had an option for: "Use all of the flowers/plants listed above to either celebrate Beltane or to incorporate them in a magical garden." Beltane was too tempting not to include, but it also gave me the idea of looking to the other sabbats, and how to entwine paganism with the Wizarding World.

That birthed The Old Ways; an idea that various pagan traditions began with magical folk, and is part of Wizarding history. And how history and traditions can be sources of structure and comfort. Wartime drove people to marry. (Bill and Fleur, Arthur and Molly; Molly's comments about people eloping "left, right, and center.")

How would it feel to be away from your family, living at school while war rages on outside? A strange sense of safety (being at Hogwarts) while aware of how dark and dangerous the real world (outside of Hogwarts) is. Think of how hard it would be on children and teenagers. Think of how people turn to faith in difficult times; or even find faith in difficult times.

All of this sort of inspired the trend at Hogwarts, of learning about and following The Old Ways.

All of that was background, of course, and my very convenient excuse for love confessions via flowers.

At some point, I had to decide who would be courting who via flowers. If Severus sent them, Harry would need an outsider source (probably Hermione) to point out that "hey, flowers have meaning!" If Harry sent them, well, I can see Severus having floriography knowledge, but Harry would need a valid excuse to start it in the first place (hence the trend.)

There was also a need for secrecy, I think, if Harry was going to do this. He's our bold Gryffindor, remember? In ideal circumstances, he would make his move in other ways. (Though, in fairness, getting through Severus' thick skull is no easy task, whichever way you go.) And isn't it fun for a student/teacher romance, exchanging intimate confessions in whatever method possible? And this is the language of flowers. No letters to be found and studied and traced back to the sender.

I always love a good student/teacher, I won't lie. And there's something quite sweet about Severus being courted. And by a student, no less!

And I do love Severus. And he deserves nice things. Let the man be wooed, dang it!

So, the jumbled mess in my head more or less sorted itself out along the way. "Floriography...courtship...who courts who?...what reason would each have for sending flowers?...Beltane, the Old Ways, traditions and trends...wartime, student/teacher..." At last, I was getting there!

Elsewhere in my notes, I'd had vague ideas of handfasting at Beltane.

And looking at my more solid plan, it occurred to me. The taboo nature of their love, the darkness of the war around them...but the light of their love, and the sweetness in the method...

I often rely on sex to get Snarry together. There is so much explosive passion between them, and so much baggage, so much of who they are as individuals, how others see them, and their complicated and antagonistic history...It takes a lot, I think, for them to see their connection for what it is. To accept it in themselves, let alone revealing it to the other. All of that aggression and intensity unleashing itself in a physical manner. And all of my headcanons about each of them, and their loneliness, and their trauma, and the desire for affection and physical touch. And how much easier it is to communicate via touch. How difficult words can be, how difficult thoughts can be. All this to say, there is a reason for it.

But here, I had a perfectly constructed a scenario excluding touch almost altogether. A time of war, a time of desperation. People being driven by fear, and clinging to what they can. Two men who found love in the most unlikely of places, in an unfortunate time.

It seemed wasteful to bring sex into a situation where it wasn't needed.

So: it's rated T. And I indulged in my more romantic side for this. It's still easier for these two to communicate without actual words, but instead of physical touch, I relied on gift giving. It was a fun change of pace. And I leaned into the language of flowers a lot. I used the HP Flowers prompts, yes, but I also went outside of it, too.

A whole courtship without sex, and hardly talking at all. A whole courtship under the noses of all of Hogwarts. A secret they dared not breathe aloud, even to each other.

I have a lot of feelings about Snarry as a ship. The incredible power of their connection, and their love. How it bleeds into everything. And being able to express that in a whole new way was such a beautiful experience.

So with my plan more or less in place, I began. I used two prompts: Hawthorn (hope) and Ivy (fidelity.) So I opened with flowers.

1. Hawthorn- Hope

If paired with: >> Orange blossom- shows hope that the recipient will return your affection

When I began, I was content to have any Snarry + flowers story. I figured I'd get a drabble out of it, if nothing else. I didn't expect a love story that would bring me to tears. I ended up with a story that was so dear to me. The best birthday gift I could have given myself, truly!