#distilled water machine

[labotronicsscientific]

Dual distilled water distiller

Dual distilled water distiller is a laboratory grade dual electrical distillation unit with a water output capacity of 5 L/hr. Copper heating tube yields high efficiency heating rates for optimum distillation of impurities. Stainless steel composition facilitates high tensile strength, durability, corrosion and heat resistance.

[marshbarks]

my grandma had TWO special rolling backpacks for her oxygen tanks. one was a dora backpack and the other one was barbie- because backpacks for young kids are the perfect size to drag oxygen tanks around in. except they had too-short of handles, so we had to remove the tops of the handles and attach wooden dowels to them to lengthen them for her ;w;

switching the oxygen thingy is also super interesting, i got really good at swapping her active tank in like a minute flat because i was trying to be as good and cool as a grandson as i could be, and then if we were going somewhere bigger, i'd be the one who moved around her big tanks for her <3

[catreginae]

Sleep apnea can add more steps to the bed routine that I'm not always in the mood for.

[dumb-coward]

I regret to inform you that my friends think I act more like a cat than anything due to my impulsive nature and ability to not think about a situation before jumping on board

[cryptotheism]

The city was drowned slow, its ankles tied to the moon as the tide rose to meet it.

Blind and reaching, its tongue cracked and split with thirst, its thousand iron throats burning with salt and pollution, desperate to drink, the head of Teleth Avaris sank deeper beneath the waves. A hundred more hydroelectric dynamos. A thousand. Ten thousand. Breathe in, let the sea flood your lungs. Let it pressed its weight upon the sternum of Teleth Avaris, and beat upon it with a tidal rhythm to spur its thousand hearts. Breathe out, feel the salt burn as it escapes your lungs. The sea staunches the atomic piles, distilling itself on the city's fever heat.

There was an impulse to abandon the low places, to cast the unwanted and unworthy into the dark, to climb higher, to build on their corpses. But not here. The pumps refused to die. As the great sprawl of Teleth Avaris was cast to the sea, the pumps continued. Time would march on. The low places were scoured of their materials, their technology, their working masses. Yet the pumps continued. The city built higher, piling itself above the waves, sealing its orphaned thralls in its cast-off shells. Yet the pumps continued. For all the filth the high places cast into the dark, the pumps continued.

The gates were sealed, the old blocks quarantined. Networks of communication died. Diagnostic panels went dark. The nature and structure of the deep was lost to history. Yet the pumps continued.

Time passed. Records were lost. Official inquiries into city infrastructure returned only ancient blueprints and useless maps. Inquiries became expeditions, surveyor teams sent deep to explore the abandoned cargo shafts. The roots of Teleth Avaris became unmapped places. Theories turned to stories. They said the old machines are still running, whole automated armies of maintenance drones. They say legions of lobotomite husks keep the water-wheels turning. Stories turned to legends. They say the deep is a lost nation, a rouge state that lives of the trash from the city above. They say it is a bunker, a guarded enclave where the old lords are cloistered in paranoia. Legends to myth. They say the deeps are a holy kingdom, a paradise where life is long and beautiful and the old world never died. They say it is a city of ghosts, a hell where sinners turn the dynamos for all eternity. Expeditions became pilgrimages. Yet the pumps continued. There was something in the deep.

Slaves combed through the runoff. Prisoners and lobotomites on stilted prosthetics picked life debts in the processing basins, minds mirrored along cybernetic proxies under careful watch. They worked without rest, their hands whittled into probes for testing the value of bodies and machines. Rigged overseers in military armor scanned for mechanical faults and disobedience as field techs kept watch over minds and circuitry.

Time passed. Peasants worked the processing fields. Children born with tall shins and smooth dense flesh sang as they trawled the processing basins. Plumber-knights patrolled the far marches. They returned with songs of strange beasts and great hunts. Irriation-sages tended to the forest reefs where the bodies necrosed to crops. The abandoned processing basins bloomed with lilies in the summer, roots tangled with old bones and neurocircuitry. The king was dead.

Lay-clerics divined wisdom from the bodies in the water. Salt-spoiled bones and corroded motherboards became syllables of the divine hymn. Discarded knuckles were whittled to dice for children's games. Bloated stomachs were dried and tanned for ballgames. It was winter in the deep and the water was cleaner, cooler from snow-melt on high. The Holy and Sacred Order of Water Treatment wore cloaks woven from synthetic furs and reclaimed silver wire. They did not need to, but it helped fight the chill. The druids built shrines of pseudo-driftwood and terracorals about the diagnostic stations. They would sit in silent meditation beneath the wireless towers, relay-staves thrust into the wires in communion with the diagnostic spirits. It would be a good harvest this year. Long live the queen.

At the root of the pumps were the mourning stacks. Where bodies and machines were piled for processing. Work lines became necropoli, morgues for holy burial. Here augments were cut from flesh, metal sorted by its alloy, organs preserved and reclaimed. At the north lay the tomb of the old king, his body embalmed in resin lest he rise again one day.

Above bloomed the sanctum. In a time now lost to history, it was little more than offices and residences. Old-world bioconcrete melded with terrestrial coral, cut and shaped by secret geometries into a cathedral of municipal irrigation. Verandas of sea-green fan corals, colonnades of deep blue staghorn, great arches of maroon finger coral, all carved over centuries into a living basilica of the pumps. Within, beside an empty throne, sat the queen.

(more)

[hushhushchild]

—NSFW Imagines—

Gender neutral reader, spicy, not smut

I seem to have picked up a slight fascination for… “rare” monsters in monsterfucking. Of course, the odd werewolf or minotaur fills my need most times. But there’s something so delectable about something novel, a unique flavor to sate my appetite. I might even elaborate on them later…

Needless to say, I’ve compiled a few of these, from savory to sweet. I hope you enjoy, my lovelies.

~Witch~

A new bakery just opened down the block! In a rather slow part of the city, any new development (let alone a bakery) catches your eye. It’s a quaint little shop. A chime greets your entrance. Ivy drapes from pots, indie music wafts through the air. And the owner herself, looking every last bit of the manic pixie dream girl.

Maybe she thought you were cute… slipped something into a pastry or some of the coffee served…

Maybe you just keep seeming to run into her. Grocery stores, banks, your own job. As if by fate.

Her spells could trap you, tempt you, tangle you up.

And the worst thing is… you don’t seem to care.

>Robot<

Ladies and gentlemen, the future of innovation has finally arrived! Our top scientists have managed to distill complex artificial intelligence into that of a physical form! With a simple at-home setup, you too could have an android! Whether it helps out in cooking or cleaning, teaching the kiddos, or being a good friend, our machines will do anything in their power to make you satisfied.

Suppose the robot you got was… mildly defective. It never got an update patch, which was designed to prevent the AI from learning too novel of behaviors.

Suppose it determined that what would make you happiest is fulfilling your deepest, darkest fantasies.

Suppose that this robot never slows down. Never needs to eat, or sleep, or even breathe. Spending all its time making your life a hellish heaven.

“Mimic”

Did you… always have two water bottles? Or, for that matter, two of the same stewpots? For some reason, it seems that instead of things going missing, you’re getting duplicates. And it’s getting worse.

When did your things start to move around the house without you noticing? You could’ve sworn that you left them one place, and you’re not the forgetful sort. It’s not like you have a roommate…

Say, when did you get a second vibrator? And why is that one oh-so-more intense?

%Fungus%

The air, deep in the forest, has a different smell. Not exactly floral, not exactly woody, not exactly earthy. It’s sweet, but the asphalt-sweet that reminds you of summer.

It’s growing thicker, more pungent. While it once was a gentle note in the bouquet of the forest, it slowly grows to overtake the moss and leaves. You don’t even notice when you wander off the path.

Your brain feels like it was dipped in sparkling water. It’s not hard to think, per se. It just… refuses to. The request never loads. A hazy static hangs over anything else.

You’re a perfect prey for the spores, before you even realize what you’re inhaling,

[apilgrimpassingby]

Magic School Follow-Up

Answering @roses-red-and-pink's questions about this post. Also tagging @arcenciel-par-une-larme, @cryptidsaints and @merthwyn, the people who've been following this school, because I'm dropping new lore.

How Magic Works

Alchemists: These work by distilling things into the four primal elements (earth, air, fire and water), and adding and rearranging this - hence, they can transmute any physical thing into any other physical thing.

Conjurers: They work by binding the forms of words and numbers (written as hieroglyphs) onto objects by writing them onto things in ritualised manners, giving or removing certain properties to those objects.

Cunning Folk: This is an inherent gift, which is brought out by using various rituals to find hidden knowledge - where things are, the future, the culprits of crimes, the presence of invisible spirits and o on.

Illusionists: They tap into the various potential futures - specifically, the friction between them that, if linked to by ritual, can allow you to do various otherwise-impossible things.

Mystics: They focus on aligning themselves with the primal universal mind through asceticism and good deeds, granting them psychic powers as their mind grows more powerful due to detachment from the body.

Necromancers: They invoke the dead through ritual, either making zombies to do various tasks, raising shades to acquire information or talking with angry ghosts to allow them to pass on.

Observers: They channel the planetary powers through a combination of astronomy and ritual in order to transport things - thoughts, people, souls, objects - over long distances instantaneously

Occultists: They're similar to observers, but invoke the planetary powers of other solar systems, and hence focus on summoning weird creatures from there.

Shamans: They focus on using drumming, dance, drugs, fasting and other means to access humanity's collective unconsciousness, the Dreamland, in order to achieve things by visiting other people's minds and talking with the things that live in the Dreamland (night hags, machine elves, wendigos, etc.)

Sorcerers: They use rituals (surprise!) to invoke the powers of the Abyss, the force of degeneration and destruction within the universe, either in disembodied or embodied form (for an example of the latter, look at Black Shuck) to destroy various things, either for good or evil.

Witches: They channel the universal life force by, you guessed it, rituals, allowing them to do things such as talk to animals, perform healings and create new life forms.

Wizards: They summon the angels, each associated with some facet of human culture and experience (for example, there's an angel of democracy, and an angel of revenge), with rituals, most involving copious amounts of incense and chanting.

[tarnishedspark]

Thinking about some ideas for the sort of ecosystem things that would need to exist on Cybertron for Transformers to have access to oil for joints, oil baths, etc. because of oil being an organic compound.

puttin in a show more thing bc this got Long

I'm thinking there's probably several different ways it comes about so its not like. Everything relies on the existence of the 1 magical oil machine.

Forged oil

When you think about it, bots don't immediately need an oil change as soon as they stumble out of the Well or a hotspot. The forging process probably synthesises oil for them the same way it creates the glass for their optics, liquids for their hydraulics, and whatever squidgy possibly-silicone bits they need for their internals to function. And if we assume all life on the planet is made this same way, then some of the supply woukd be made that way.

Microorganisms

What if there was some bacteria or something that could distil atmospheric carbon and water into complex hydrocarbons and eventually oil. Maybe it is a multi-stage process with a few different varieties. I imagine this would grow in gross-looking slime slicks, possibly floating on energon rivers or in places like the rust sea. Then simple mechanimals would consume the slime as part of their diet to supplement their oil reserves and it would progress through the food chain.

Cyber plants

Cybertron has some plant-like mechanical things, like seen in the Wastes in the idw2 Halloween special. There could be varieties of cyber plant that have processes to produce oil. Something at the nanotech level they have instead of photosynthesis and biological processes. If there's cyber plants that can produce oil, that would likely be tge most renewable/farmable source. and I need to move on from this before i start considering the chemical processes too closely

Mining

If Cybertron is the body of Primus and Primus is a giant transformer, then there's bound to be some oil in there somewhere. Don't ask me where it came from but he's gotta need it. Wherever Primus came from, I guess. There may be subsurface reservoirs of oil that modern transformers mine to meet the needs of the populace, much like our own oil mining

now i wanna use the plant and bug ideas for smth but i don't have anywhere it is Relevant atm

[labotronicsscientific]

Tower steam water distiller

Tower steam water distiller is a laboratory grade distillation unit with a water output capacity of ≥ 50 L/hr. Distillation combined with filtration, ammonia drainage and gas-water separation operations. High temperature boiling steam generated used lowering energy consumption. Coiled heating tube and shell tube heat exchanger facilitate high thermal efficiency and optimum cooling rate within the system.

[agirlandherquill]

the troublesome typewriter

introducing rust bucket!

she’s an olympia sm2, and also my summer project, i got her mid-july and ive been working on her for about three hours nearly every day ever since

now when i got her, she was a mess, and i mean a mess - what im assuming is decades worth of grime, dust, rust, and i dread to think what else came off of her - hot soapy water was a life saver in terms of cleaning, then pure white vinegar (not the distilled kind, ive been using the elbow grease brand since that’s all i could find in my local supermarket) to get rid of the rust,

waging a war with rust, im fairly certain its surface rust, has been a nightmare - ive removed as much as i can, it takes a long time with pure white vinegar since its not the strongest thing in the world but since it doesn’t seem to harm the machine itself i don’t mind, its a bit of a trade off rather than risking using harsher chemicals, but of course rust adds character (is that my way of excusing the little bits of rust here and there that i can’t quite get off? yes, yes it is) so i decided to call her rust bucket,

she’s not completely good to go yet, she’s had a bit of an oil and a clean to free up the keys and the carriage because let me tell you, when i first got her, those did not want to move one bit,

then i had to spend a few hours tinkering with the drawband, working out how to adjust the tension and use a wire with a makeshift hook to thread it back to where it’s supposed to be and attach it to the carriage to make it move while typing - which before i sorted it out, it did not do, at all - and i finally managed to sort that issue today!

it’s around 85% working, perfectly fine writing a5 wise since that’s about halfway through the ruled scale, but going past halfway for a4 seems to require me pressing the shift button to give it a bit of a wiggle so to speak so that the carriage shifts on and i can type the next letter, so doing that between letters is the only slightly annoying part, but given the fact that it didn’t even move at all before i started working on it I’m more than happy with how it is,

all i have left to do is give her a final scrub, a bit more sanding down (might do that before the scrub im not too sure), then painting!

i know it’s not the usual stuff i post on writeblr, not at all, but i figured if i’m going to try and write on this thing when it’s all sorted out then it’s worth sharing,

and it’s also a way for me to remember that i actually made this decades old machine work again, and it’s the first time ive ever tried anything like that, so im super happy with how its gone so far!

and considering ive only spent about £20, including the machine itself then with supplies, it’s really going to pay off for future me and future writing (i hope!),

so hopefully in a couple of weeks i’ll be able to show you all rust bucket when she’s all finished!

[inkwell-passion]

The Writing On The Wall

Months later, and I'm still trapped in this timeless hell, my work has only gotten a thousand or so words in it, I've broken all my coffee mugs in fits of rage, and my anger keeps piling. The room I was in kept bringing up distracting memories, I found myself drifting off into the past time and time again, and so I moved, I'll return when I finish this book.

I changed to drinking water and tea, coffee leaving a rancid taste in my mouth, and also the coffee machine broke in the fourth month. Every word I put to page feels like I'm tearing apart my soul, and forcing it onto paper, extracting my pure essence and distilling it into a work of art only the devil can appreciate.

I tried to make a wish for time to resume, but I'm thinking that due to the phrasing of my original wish "I wish time to freeze until I finish my work." stops me from doing so, I long for my boyfriend's touch, my mother's laugh, my brother's advice. I long for anything to distract me from this empty void of a life I have built for myself, and the monuments to my hubris that work as the foundation.

I sit now in an empty room with only a desk and a bed, along with scrap paper and a few pencils and pens to write notes down. I have outlined the story, reworked it, and outlined it again, every 'day' I mull over the details of this accursed story, trying to make sense of it in my own head, an every 'day' I am met with the same result.

In the months I waited, I had proven my credentials, and had made several smaller stories, yet this book eludes me so, the blank walls of the room torment me, mock me even. I started this book with pride and joy, but every time I stare at the rough draft, it feels like I'm pulling teeth, and nothing can help me escape from it.

I look up from my computer once more and look around at the blank walls of my room, staring at the bed devoid of any sheets, just a few pillows and a blanket, I sleep when I need escape from this hell, but even my dreams torment me, more so the lack of them, I stopped dreaming a few weeks in, and yet I still sleep more out of habit than anything.

Tears well up in my eyes, I try to fight them back but they have found how to overpower my will a year ago, I just want to escape, I want to get out of this timeless void and return to my life, I want to see family, friends, hell anyone again.

I curl up in my chair, arms wrapping around my legs and hugging them close to my chest, sobbing into them, I sobbed for what felt like hours, draining myself of tears.

I finally look up to look at the blank walls of my prison, and that's when I see it, the writing on the wall. The text is repeated time and time again, and yet I don't recall ever writing it, all it says is,

'This Is My Fault'.

[durgewyll]

i finally did it... i finished the OC associations game that @bladeofavernus tagged me in 😭

i'm so late to doing this so anyone who wants to do this, consider yourself tagged!!!

i'll be doing this one with my durge ajax, half-elf vengeance paladin! (this made me realize i don't have a lot of screenshots or gifs of him solo LMAO)

Animal: big dogs… woof... idk what breed specifically, i'm open to suggestions ;_;

Colors: pink and blue

Songs: Laughing with a Mouth of Blood by St. Vincent, Bird Song by Florence + the Machine, WTF? by OK Go, Human by Daughter

Number: multiples of 4

Plants: bougainvillea, hawthorn, touch-me-not (makahiya)

Smells: metallic scents, sterile alcohol, the scent of good food cooking, flowers

Gemstone: garnet, rose quartz

Time of day: midnight to dawn

Season: autumn

Places: open wide fields, mountains, the underdark

Food: he loves a good hearty beef stew (and it's also his go-to recipe), anything savoury

Drinks: distilled liquor, orange juice

Element: water

Seasonings: oregano, cinnamon, nutmeg

Sky: sunset when the sky turns pink and gold

Weather: a cool and sunny day

Magical power: divine smite, lay on hands

Weapons: SWOOOOOOORDS BABYYYYYY (sometimes with a shield)

Candy: sour candies

Method of long distance travel: walking (everywhere is walking distance to him)

Art style: thick lines and big shapes

Fear: claustrophobia

Mythological creature: werewolves, gryphons, dragons

Piece of stationery: tape

Three emojis: ⚔️💥🌺

Celestial body: a comet hurtling across the sky

[thornsent]

I genuinely hate it here it is making my mental health so much worse.

bc I had to get rid of all my furniture when I moved (I was quite literally forced to<3) I still haven't been able to fully unpack and we moved back in july. I can't unpack my art supplies bc now I have nowhere for them to go and I haven't been able to find something to replace what I lost... so making art becomes a very frustrating process. I can't even just go dig through boxes because I had to bring my bike in for the winter so it wouldnt rust so now it's in the closet blocking access to everything and bc it is an ebike it's heavy so it's just. not an option to "just work around it"

I have to keep my curtains closed most of the time because the gas station is loud and bright, so I don't get "real" nights. It was darker when I lived in the city. the machines and maintenance they do on them will keep me up at night. I can't really use my own living room without having a misophonic crisis, because on one side is my neighbor who is an abusive shrieking bitch and on the other side are two old people so I go down there and have to hear my neighbors and yes I have a sound machine but it doesn't help. "wear earplugs" I get blisters inside of my ears if I wear them as often as I would need to. "wear headphones" it gives me migraines. so realistically I'm cooped up in my room with the curtains closed and literally nothing to do but deal with bureacracy, fight not to have my benefits taken away, and stare at a screen.

I can't take a bath because they haven't repaired the tub, and the water is so hard it's given me severe eczema for the first time in my life. I have to buy distilled water and I bathe out of a fucking bucket, guys. My joints hurt and I'm tired and I don't bathe as much as I want or need to because having to do it this way is so fucking exhausting, but if I don't, the eczema immediately worsens and spreads. In october I had painful eczema on my eyelids and sometimes I couldn't fully open my eyes because of the pain. My right hand is being overtaken by it, because I still have to wash my hands with this shitty water.

Also we don't have ANY control over the water temperature, it reaches over 166 degrees and my gf and I have both been scalded many many times but even though the health department measured the temp at 166 they basically went "well just don't turn it up all the way silly!" despite us repeatedly telling them we can't control it the temperature spikes at random

My mental health legitimately has not been this bad and not taken this shape since I was living in my abusive parent's house and I don't know what to even do about it anymore. I don't have the energy to plan to move, I feel constantly sick. Constantly. It's probably the mold exposure, but I had the health department gaslight me about it, gaslight me about our sagging ceiling, just. Completely make me and my partner look fucking crazy. "What mold" they say as if literally the first day we moved in I was not calling to complain about the fact that my apartment was overrun with mold.

[starship-you]

can we reschedule the boycott? i need to buy distilled water for the machine that i sleep with to prevent sleep apnea and id rather support capitalism for another day than jury-rig a distillery in my kitchen when i have to go to work and support capitalism that way anyway

[assiconicillnesschronic]

Alright, so... life can go sideways really quickly when I don't have all my medicines in stock. While I was at Target restocking, see last post, we also placed in an order with Kroger delivery and for the first time in weeks they fulfilled the meds all correctly. So now my basic first aid and allergy kit has entirely too many pills, which I will take anyday over running out.

We got 140 Kroger brand Cetrizine at 29.98. My two-thirds of that comes out to $20.00. I take at least two a day. Sometimes during peak allergy season I'll take a third pill if needed. That dose has been doctor and pharmacist approved so don't take that much unless you've talked to someone about it.

3.00 for two distilled water for my CPAP machine. I usually buy one or two jugs a month but they're is a shortage of distilled water where I am so I can't always get it. It's suppose to make your machine last longer using distilled over tap water but I haven't noticed any difference

2.49 for ibuprofen (100)

This brings my out of pocket medical expenses to 2018.75