#durable cranes

[wimaccrane]

Industrial Solutions: our Latest Project - 32-ton Gantry & 5-ton Overhead Double Girder Cranes

Introduction:Manufacturing Process of the Cranes:Cranes Applications:Introducing WIMAC CRANE:Why WIMAC CRANE? Introduction: In the world of heavy-duty machinery, the ingenuity behind the design and application of equipment can make a profound difference. Today, we’re thrilled to share details about our latest venture – a project delivered to a leading general trading company. This project…

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#affordable cranes #crane applications #crane manufacturing #crane parts #crane provider #double girder crane #durable cranes #europe quality standards #gantry crane #heavy-duty cranes #high capacity cranes #industrial solutions #overhead crane

[dilemmaontwolegs]

What a Mess || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader Summary: After the disastrous start to the Brazilian GP, Charles needs an outlet Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, oral, rough sex, choking WC: 1.3k

Charles didn’t say a word as he navigated his way through the garage to you. His team patted his back and offered words of consolation but he didn’t feel them, he didn’t hear them. All Charles needed was an outlet for the blood pulsing through his body with all the rage of an inferno.

You were on your feet as soon as you saw him round the corner and though you couldn’t see his eyes through the visor of his helmet you knew that they would have darkened with the storm of emotions ravaging him. He didn’t stop as he reached you, merely reaching out after ripping the glove off his hand and grasping your upper arm to tow you along with him.

“Charles, I’m so sor-”

“Don’t,” he spat, the tone clipped and acerbic. “Don’t say another word.”

You kept your lips closed and nodded as you let him guide you out of the sight of his team. The garage wasn’t as permanent as some of the other tracks, with temporary walls erected from thin materials, so silence was needed when he shut the door to his driver room. You watched as Charles grabbed a chair and shoved the metal back up under the door handle before testing its durability. 

Your fingers were already reaching for the zipper at the side of your dress as he tugged his helmet off his head and let it fall to the concrete floor with a crack. He tugged his balaclava off next and dumped it next to your dress at your feet as you reached for him. For a moment he closed his eyes and let you cradle his face, the lack of crease lines on his cheeks showing just how little he spent wearing the protective gear. You would do anything to see Charles race again - really race, like he did last year. 

Somehow he still had hope for next year.

But what he needed now, well, Ferrari couldn’t give that to him. Only you could give him what he needed. An escape.

“Turn around,” he whispered as he caught your hands and pulled them away from his face. “Bend over.”

You complied in an instant, eager for the pleasure he promised and the high he was chasing. Your hands spread across his massage table as you pressed your front down onto the cold black vinyl and heard the velcro snap of his collar before the zipper was dragged down his race suit.

“Don’t make a sound,” he breathed across your skin and you shivered with delight as dropped to his knees behind you. “Fuck, you’re already so wet for me.”

His palms grasped your ass, roughly massaging them as he watched you squirm on the table impatiently. Next came his teeth, a chuckle following the bite to the sensitive skin at the back of your thigh as your back stiffened with the sounds you barely suppressed. His strong hands pushed your stance wider and his breath was heavy at the sight before him.

Finally. Finally, he buried his head between your legs and dragged his tongue along your slit. You couldn’t hear his moan when he tasted you but you could feel the vibrations on your core and your nails nearly pierced the vinyl at the sensation.

Charles worked you into a frenzy with his lips, his teeth, his tongue. He wasn’t happy until your legs could barely hold you without buckling and your silence was broken with a muffled cry. One orgasm rolled into the next and you lost yourself in the heady feeling, your mind empty save for the man who rose to his feet behind you.

“You’re a mess,” he whispered in your ear as he draped his body over yours, pride thick in his tone. You relished the weight that pinned you in place and the warmth of his skin on yours, barely being able to remember when he had stripped his fireproofs off. Charles’ hand fisted your hair and turned your head to crane back enough to see his green eyes jaded. “You’re a mess, just like me.”

Whatever argument you might have put up was swallowed by his kiss and it was just as messy with teeth and tongue. You melted at the growl he gave as he won the fight for dominance as he always did and a hand slipped between your bodies as he lined himself up with your entrance. 

“Putain,” he swore as he reverted back to his native tongue. Your neck was still strained and the ability to talk or even swallow was almost impossible but still a strangled sound escaped as he snapped his hips and filled your cunt with one hard thrust. “Shhh, ma chat.”

You tried, you really tried, but your brain was no longer connected to your body as he fucked you into a mindless state. Your eyes rolled back into your head with each long stroke and your ability to breathe was lost when he bent his knees and somehow found a deeper angle. 

There was no hope of keeping quiet when he found the sweet spot deep inside you and whatever he saw on your face had his hand curling around your throat. The sound that was building deep in your chest was choked with his tightening fingers and your heartbeat began to throb in your ears. 

Your head spun and your body reacted, your hips bucking and your core tightening. Just when you thought you were going to have to reach for his hand, his fingers loosened and your lungs gasped for fresh air before it was stolen again. He knew what you could handle, and you knew you could trust him. He needed this as much as you did. He needed to be in control of something when it seemed everything was out of his reach. You were more than willing to let him control you. 

This time when your orgasm came your cunt clenched tight around his cock and he trembled at the feeling. He called you his vice, in every sense of the word, and he relinquished the control he had yearned for as he lost himself in his own blissful release. 

For a few moments he just lay there, draped across your body like a comforting blanket but all too soon the noise of the world around returned to your drumming ears and reality drew him from you. 

“Why the fuck am I so unlucky?” he asked as he swiped his clothes from the floor, but you weren’t sure if he was asking the universe, himself or you.

“There’s no such thing as luck, Charles,” you answered anyway. His eyes flicked to you and watched your skin disappear beneath the dress you pulled back on. “Ferrari is unreliable. If you want to change your ‘luck’, start with changing your team.”

“You know I can’t do that,” he sighed. He kicked the chair aside that blocked the door before opening it and brushing his sweaty hair back into place. “I’ll see you tonight?”

He shouldn’t have had to ask and his insecurities only made you sad as you stepped closer to him. You caught his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tipping his head down so you could see your reflection in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

His smile almost chased away the shadows on his face before he kissed you, soft and gentle this time. “I should go.”

“You smell like sex.”

He froze and realised he hadn’t even been thinking clearly enough to wash his face and after running his tongue over his lips he could still taste you. A real smile grew on his face and his head fell forward to touch yours with a laugh. “Oh my god, I told you I am a mess.”

“Yes, you are,” you agreed with a laugh as you closed the door again. “But this is a mess that I can help with. Come on, take a seat, it’s my turn to boss you around.”

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1 rpf #f1 smut #charles leclerc smut

[shandongletuholdinggroup]

#Tower Crane Mast Section #1. The standard section is all processed by the overall sandblasting process. The surface is smoother and more beautiful. It is treated wit #with strong adhesion and longer durability. #2. All chord connections are gas-shielded and welded. All the products are tested by weld inspection #x-ray and UT ultrasonic inspection. It is more secure.

[dollwritesarchive]

𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 ⎹ 𝓑.𝓗.

fandom horror / brahms masterlist / @dollshorror-library

featuring brahms heelshire x chubby nanny!reader ( f! )

rating none of my work is meant to be viewed by minors (anyone under the age of eighteen), and i will happily block any that interact with my posts or my blog.

content warning dubcon, mention of head injury, rough fingering, squirting, brahms uses his little voice

summary you finally meet your ward

word count 3.1k / one shot

attention do not repost or translate, even with ‘credit’. just don’t do it. reblog instead of like. leave feedback if you enjoyed.

thanks so much @theluckychemist for another commission! ❤️

commission info & contact

you were locked in a fierce staring match with the open window. the window that hadn’t been open when you had just come downstairs to retrieve your laundry from the machine. it was the same window that had been plaguing you for days. you would close it, only to have it open again the next time you walked by. it must be the vicious winds during the past week’s merciless thunderstorms that were forcing it open at first, but today didn’t make any sense.

today, there were no storms.

the sun was shining, and there was a gentle breeze; nothing strong enough to force the old window as wide as it was.

just looking at it now made you feel queasy; now that you knew it couldn’t have been the storm.

both hands tight on the grips of the laundry basket filled to the brim with your freshly washed, wet clothes, you had to crane your neck to look up at the latch. you wouldn’t be able to reach it, not even on your tip toes. if you stood on top of one of the chairs from the dining room, and still pushed yourself up on to the balls of your feet, you might be able to stretch and reach, but you weren’t chomping at the bit to test the durability of an old, wooden chair that has been around nearly as long as the manor itself.

with a huff, you drop the basket by your feet and careen around it, stomping over to the window. you push it closed with both hands, applying pressure until you hear a faint creak, and a soft click. “Now, stay shut.” you mumbled under your breath, wishing that it was sentient and would obey your orders. you take a step back, looking over the glass for another moment. it’s streaked with dirt from the outside, which has turned to mud and caked itself in place. you should probably wash it next, you thought as you hoofed it back to the basket, hauling it outside to the clothesline.

you had been worried that this gig would be boring— watching an old house, a porcelain doll, and being alone all the time, but you had severely underestimated how much there would be to do. it was as if the manor was a living being, always needing to be tended in some way. you found peculiar messes here and there that you could swear hadn’t been there only days before, and your list of chores never seemed to end.

and, to tell the truth, you didn’t feel all that lonely, either. surprisingly, you felt like sometimes the little doll that was upstairs at this moment could actually understand what you were saying when you rambled on to it. you told little Brahms everything about your life, and how relieved you were to have some peace and quiet here for once. the faux child had become so comforting that you had eventually stopped putting him to bed in his own room, and opted for cuddling with it at night. your bedroom was also where you would put him down for naps, as strange as that may sound to anyone but you, and that’s where he was now. lying on your pillow with a soft throw blanket tucked in around him.

you thought about the little thing as you stretched a skirt, clipping the hem to the line. you were only supposed to watch him for a few days, but it had already been well into the following month, and still the Heelshires hadn’t come home. the strangest part was that you hadn’t heard a peep— not a phone call, nor a text, not even a note. and yet? yet, every Friday, there was an envelope on the floor by the front door, appearing to have been dropped through the mail slot, containing your pay for the week. how they managed to be so punctual and still so eerily silent was beyond your comprehension.

a particularly pesky blouse had you wishing that you had another pair of arms as you wrestle it on to the line, a pair of clips clenched between your teeth, and as you were clipping one sleeve, you catch a glimpse of something, a blur fading over the window. it startles you, and with a gasp, you drop the other sleeve and the clips into the basket. it was just a bird, you tried to tell yourself, a healthy crow had flown in front of the glass and you’d only caught the reflection. however, when you squinted against the harsh sunlight, you see the window— that damned window, is open again. “You’re shitting me.” you expel in a scoff with a shake of your head.

that was it.

you were locking that damn thing.

your footsteps were thunderous as you practically leapt up on to the porch and flung the screen door open. it slammed behind you, a loud testament to your annoyance with only you there to witness it. you hooked your arm under the backrest of the chair in the dining room and dragged it across the flawless, wooden panels in the floor, the legs hissing as if they were displeased to be treated so carelessly. unfortunately for the furniture, you couldn’t care less. you were at your wit’s end with this fucking window.

you slammed it shut. determined it would be the final time.

angling the chair in front of it, you grasp the back to pull yourself up on to it, and the legs creak. you were certainly not confident that the rickety thing could support you, but you thought it best not to think about it. get up there, lock the window, get down.

standing on the very tips of your toes, you had to stretch your arm until it nearly ached, and even then, only your fingertips could brush the lock. “Come on,” you whisper, before biting down on your lip.

the chair creaks again.

“Dammit…” even trying to bounce, you couldn’t grab the lock. “Almost…” cautiously, you push yourself on to one foot, hoping to propel yourself high enough to push the rusted bolt into place, but you were unsteady to say the least, and the chair had reached its limit. one leg cracks under the weight, throwing you backwards like a bronco that had just bucked you off. you hadn’t even the time to scream before you felt the back of your head connect with the hard floor, a white, hot shot of pain, the wind knocked from your lungs, and then… nothing at all.

complete.

utter.

blackness.

the first thing on your mind is how much your head hurts.

“Ah…” you groan, squinting as you reach for it. something pushes your hand away, and it falls limp. you expect it to hurt when your arm smacks against the floor, but that doesn’t happen. it hits soft, familiar warmth. your mattress? eyelids fluttering, you feel fingers, big ones with roughly calloused pads holding your chin, keeping your head angled. “Who…?”

“Shhh.” comes a soft voice. your lids part, your vision blurred, and you stare at a mass of red and white on the bedside table. it takes a moment for the haziness to fade, and you realize what you’re looking at. a bowl of water, tinted red, and a rag tossed over the rim, littered with red blotches. blood.

your blood.

your attention snaps from the bloodied rag to the body hunched over you. you smelled him long before you could make out his shape. it wasn’t an unpleasant smell, but the rather strong scent of sweat. you could feel his warmth— he was, after all, close enough to your limp frame.

“Who are you?” you blink, eyes trailing over the trousers, the damp, white undershirt strapped down with black suspenders. there’s a furious tufting of dark hair that sprouts from under the neckline, and it’s sparkling with beads of perspiration. “Who—“ you start to ask again, but your jaw hangs open as your eyes coruscate, higher and higher until you see his face.

no, not his face.

the doll’s face.

“Brahms?” it came out as a question, an incredulous one, although you already know it to be true, and the massive figure hesitates, before giving a little nod. he seemed to be inspecting the back of your head, you expected he had also cleaned the wound that must’ve been back there, if the bloodied water was any indication. “But… how—“

“It hurts?” you blink, startled. the voice is soft, childlike, and not at all what you would’ve expected from the mountain of a man lingering over you. “It still hurts?”

you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, chewing on it uncertainly, but shake your head, glancing to the bowl again. “No… Brahms, it doesn’t hurt anymore. Did you tend to it?” another, shy nod. Brahms gently poses your head back on the pillow, and you resist the urge to wince. then, his rough digits fall to your neck, where they rest. “Thank you…”

he doesn’t answer, but he also doesn’t move. he’s still hovered over you, fingers trembling against your throat, and you’re starting to notice how his chest rises and falls with heavy, muffled breathing behind the mask.

“Have… have you been hiding?” you ask, heart pounding against your chest, “All this time?”

“Mhm.” he answers, his fingertips dipping just under your neckline. they were timid to a certain extent, you could tell by the way he shook, but something else drove him to act beyond his sheepishness. starvation, perhaps? years without another person to touch. “But I don’t have to hide anymore.” he says, matter of factly, “Not from you. You didn’t leave me.”

“Brahms, I—“

“You’re mine.” those words sank deep into your bones, resonated like a pounding drum. his hand pushes deeper into your shirt, cradling your breast in his palm, and he lets out a blissful whine. you gasp, and reach for his wrist to stop him, but his other fist finds yours and pins it to the pillow above your head. “Mine.” he says again, this time much more desperate as he kneads your breast, snorting like a wild animal already. “Mine.”

you don’t want to moan, but you can’t help yourself. it feels good, despite Brahms’ roughness, and you whine as you squirm under his weight.

“Mine…” he moans, too, only fueled by your soft, heavenly sound, and squeezes harder, pulling at your nipple with his thumb and forefinger, “Mine!” only a moment later, he has your shirt ruffled up over your chest and tucked under your chin, exposing both of your breasts, and he’s straddling your legs to keep them down, both hands now focused on your heaving chest.

you’re confused, lost, because you know that you should fight back— try to push him off, at least, but you don’t. your arms stay where they are, up by your head, and your back arches when he gropes you particularly roughly. it had been a while since you’d been touched like this. “Brahms!” you gasped, breathless, “Easy, I’m sensitive…” but that only seemed to spur him to grab you more roughly, squeezing your supple skin in palms that felt like sandpaper until you’re writhing.

and his shoulders are bunched together, leaned forward to rub the porcelain mask against your bare flesh, inhaling deep so that he may smell the sweet aroma of your flesh through it, nesting the nose in your cleavage. “Please…” you mumble, but now you’ve soaked through your panties, just letting this strange man grab on you, and you no longer knew what you were begging for.

“Beg me,” Brahms grunted, husky, as he scooted off your legs, grasping the waistband of your pants and panties simultaneously to pull them down, too. “Beg me again!”

with your head spinning, you start to bring your knees up in defense once you’re bare from the waist down, but he grasps your ankles and pulls them straight, spreading your thighs with his knees to give him enough space to sit in between them. “Bra—hms—“ you stutter, uncertain, your hands shaking against the pillow behind your head. “P—please…”

he moans again, pathetic and soft, as if just hearing you say his name was edging him, and he cups your sticky sex with one, large paw. his movements are uncouth and base, driven by instinct alone. he forces one, thick finger into you without so much as a bat of an eyelash, and he whines into your chest, feeling just how warm and wet you are on the inside. “Feels good…” before you could even protest, another finger has joined the first, stretching you open. your nails dig into the fabric of the pillow and you cry out, squinting against the sensation. “So good!” Brahms mewls, pumping both of them knuckle deep. he doesn’t bother with being gentle— in fact, you didn’t think he could even if he wanted to, because every sound that you make is driving him crazier and crazier. “You… sound…. So pretty. Wanna hear more. I need more.” he’s mumbling to himself as he drives his fingers into you deeper, harder, trying to force the sounds from your throat.

“S—slow down, please!” you cry in desperation, eyes wide and focused on the dark ceiling. all of the tenderness of your skull fades to make room for the brutal finger fucking you’re getting. one of your hands flee to grab his wrist and try to force him into a slower rhythm, but he refuses, pumping even harder. “Too much!”

“I can’t.” Brahms whines, laying against your body until the smooth mask is smushed against your cheek. you can hear him now, breathing ragged and moaning, soaking your body with his sweat. “I can’t… Need to hear you…!”

if he hadn’t been pressing you into the mattress, you would’ve been thrown about the sea of blankets like a lifeless, rag doll with just how powerful his barrage to your sex was. your knees come up again, digging into his sides, trying to push him off, but he’s so much stronger than you that you can hardly believe it. the primal beast curls his fingers and you nearly come out of your skin. they’re just lengthy enough, and reach deep enough, to caress your sweet spot. you whimper, mouth hanging open. “That’s—“ you try to speak, but your mind goes blank.

that’s the spot.

keep going.

you don’t say the words, but luckily you don’t have to. the muscles in his arm tightens, and he drives those cruel fingers into the same spot, relentlessly, until you’re practically in tears. there’s a hard, thick lump in his trousers that he’s rubbed against you until he starts to soak through them, moaning and pleading, calling for you. you can imagine he’s already cum himself, just from fingering you. the thought alone is enough to turn your stomach, and somehow push you closer to your own downfall.

he wasn’t skillful, not in the slightest, but he was eager, and he knew the jackpot when he found it.

you can hear the sound of your cunt gushing before he’s even pulled back to marvel. a whiny, “Wait!” escapes your swollen lips, as if begging yourself not to come undone, but it was much too late for that. you were already swept away, your pent up frustration exploding in the form of a waterfall that drenches him from chest to groin when he sits back on his calves. you imagine it’s to marvel at you as you squirt for him; you can’t imagine he’s ever seen that before, and even through your slitted lids, you can see his eyes in the dark holes of the mask, as big as saucers. staring. your countenance scrunches in humiliation, but he’s still pumping his fingers, pushing your buttons from the inside, so you just keep spewing. “Brahms!” you cry, nails digging into his wrist, your body pushing itself in an arc off the bed, levitating, trying to escape him. “I— can’t—!”

you’re spent when he finally slows down, and you fall back against the bed and struggle to catch your fleeting breath, your whole body a sea of shivers and shakes. his head dips with a happy whimper, and he smears the expressionless mask over your dripping cunt, coating the porcelain in your cum. “Do it again.” he whines, amazed, nuzzling. you can hear his lips smacking, and you assume he’s managed to lap at some as it finds its way beneath the mask. “Please do it again. It’s… so yummy…” mortification begins to overtake the temporary bliss of your powerful orgasm and you’re stunned with it, face on fire as you listen to him beg for you to cum again.

“I… I can’t…”

“Why?” he sounds heartbroken.

swallowing hard, your shaking hands rest against the top of his head, digits combing through wild, chocolate tendrils. they’re damp with sweat— and, maybe your slick, as well— when you pet them, he seems to croon into your caress. “B—because… doing that makes me really tired.” you try to explain, convincing yourself that you’re not going to simply pass away from embarrassment. but gods, you felt like you would. “I have to… rest before I can do that again.”

his head snaps up at that, so abruptly that you jump, too, pulling your hands back. you were worried you’d done something he didn’t like. “But you will do it again, won’t you?”

you considered that question.

your stomach bunched up in knots.

“I—“

he nods, as if answering for you, snaking both big and powerful arms around your waist as he hugs your midriff tight, resting the side of his head against your navel. “You can only do that with me from now on. Until forever. Do you promise? You have to promise.”

“I… promise…”

#brahms heelshire x reader #brahms the doll #brahms smut #brahms #brahms heelshire imagine #brahms heelshire smut #brahms heelshire x you #brahms x you #brahms x reader #brahms heelshire #the boy #the boy 2016 #slasher #slasher fandom #slasher imagine #horror

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Wile E. Weston

"The Coyote could stop anytime — if he were not a fanatic. (Repeat: 'A fanatic is one who redoubles his effort when he has forgotten his aim.')." — Chuck Jones' third rule of creating Road Runner cartoons.

For the Prompts: Wes knows that Danny is durable and heals quickly. He decides the best way to reveal Danny's secret is to publicly orchestrate an "accident" that would kill a normal human. [from @maxattax], Iced out [from @faeriekit], and GRAVEYARD PLAYGROUND [from @ashspecter]

Read also on AO3

[Warnings for cartoon violence and obsessive behavior]

The plan was foolproof.

The school was moving a piano out of the upstairs music room using a crane to take it out through the window, rather than trying to get it up the stairs. That whole area was cordoned off for the safety of the students, but of course there were gonna be gawkers wanting to see everything. And Danny had been out fighting a ghost when the announcement was made to steer clear, so he didn't know about it. 

Wes had spent several hours the previous night reading the crane's operation manual, and he had a free period right before lunch, which he used to lure away the workers and remove all the caution tape and warning signs.

Every student knew not to get too close except Danny.

Danny was durable. He didn't get hurt easily, and when he did get hurt, he healed quickly. Wes had observed this phenomenon on multiple occasions, and thoroughly documented it, so he knew exactly how much Danny could handle, and that it was more than enough to kill an ordinary human. So he decided that the best way to expose Danny's secret would be to orchestrate a little "accident" where everyone could see.

They would watch the accident, something that would kill a normal person, and then, they would watch Danny walk away from it completely unharmed.

The bell rang for lunch, and Wes climbed into the cab of the crane, snickering at his own cleverness. As expected, most of the students were giving the crane a wide berth, but Danny didn't seem to notice, and walked right into the danger zone. As soon as he was in range, Wes swung the arm of the crane toward Danny, lined it up, and dropped the piano right on top of him....

Or... it would have landed right on top of him... if it weren't for conservation of momentum. The piano swung on the ropes when the crane's arm moved, and Wes hit the release when it was mid swing, causing it to move a few feet in the air, and land completely clear of Danny.

Danny looked alarmed only for a moment, then looked up to where the piano had fallen from, followed the arm of the crane, and met Wes' eyes through the windshield with a smirk.

Wes could only sit there, turning red with anger, as Danny ran over to him, climbed up into the cab of the crane, and reached for the horn with a shit-eating grin.

Beep beep, sounded the horn.

Danny laughed with abandon as he left Wes to make his escape before school faculty found out what he'd done.

—

Okay, so the piano plan had been a bust, but Wes wasn't gonna give up that easily. He just had to account for things like physics and gravity this time.

It had been snowing lately, and the pond in the park had frozen over with a thin layer of ice. Signs warning that the ice was too thin to walk on were posted all around the pond, but they were easy enough to remove. 

Danny cut through the park on his way home from school, and when the pond was frozen, he never hesitated slide right over it. After school, it was crowded with younger kids playing in the snow, and parents an nannies keeping an eye on them, so there would be ample audience. 

This time, Wes hid in the snow-covered bushes so Danny wouldn't see him and be tipped off to the scheme.

Right on schedule, Danny started through the park. As soon as he saw that the pond was frozen over, he got a running start, jumped right onto the ice, and let himself skid across the slick surface to the other side before continuing on his way home.

Wes shot up out of the bushes, looking aghast. There was no way the ice became thick enough to walk on in the five minutes between pulling the signs and Danny's arrival. Wes trudged over it through the snow and cautiously stepped on the ice.

Not even so much as a crack.

He took a few more steps, still cautious, but increasingly frustrated. Danny had jumped onto this ice full force and slid right across without issue. Wes jumped, angrily, and with a sickening crunch, the ice gave way underneath him. He was quick enough to reach out his arms to keep from falling all the way through, but the shock of the sudden cold was intense.

Danny had apparently noticed him and came his way carrying a bright yellow sign. With a smug grin, Danny pushed the sign into the snow next to the pond.

Thin Ice, it read.

Danny laughed as he walked away, and he left no footprints in the snow.

Wes had, of course, known that ghosts could ignore the pull of gravity, and he was definitely paying for his lapse of consideration now.

Thankfully, someone came to help pull him out a little bit later, and he had to go to the hospital to get preventative treatment for frostbite and hypothermia. Ultimately, nothing was hurt besides his ego, but his ego was badly bruised.

—

Third time was the charm, Wes thought as he set up his latest scheme.

Near the edge of town, there was an elementary school that had been built next door to an old, disused graveyard. When it had first been built, there had been a rotting fence between the two of them, but after a few years, it was gone, leaving nothing between the mossy headstones and the playground in the schoolyard.

The place was, as one might imagine, a hot-spot for minor ghostly activities. Weak ghosts like shades and blob ghosts liked to hang out in death-adjacent places, and they sometimes crossed over to the school to play with the elementary schoolers during recess. It was relatively safe, as long as there didn't get to be too many ghosts gathered there.

The chance to see ghosts with minimal danger, as well as the unique aesthetic, made it a popular tourist spot. 

Danny went there every other Saturday to capture some of the ghosts that hung out there to manage their numbers and keep things safe for the tourists and the school kids. Since it was such a simple operation, he didn't even bother to transform, just went out there with a Fenton Thermos and sucked up the ones that had been hanging around the longest, and any that seemed too unruly. 

It was the perfect place to enact a new scheme to expose Danny with a terrible "accident."

Wes had woken up early and spent his entire Saturday morning setting various traps. He put pressure pads all over the place, covered them in leaves and dirt, and set slings in the nearby trees and bushes to shoot rocks at them when they were set off.

Wes could recognize that it was probably excessively elaborate, but dropping something on Danny hadn't worked, and dropping Danny into something hadn't worked, so Wes was left to throw everything he had at Danny and hope that worked, even if it cost him a good chunk of his savings.

He had just finished setting everything up when he realized he'd inadvertently cornered himself in a graveyard full of traps, and he... didn't remember where he'd put all of them.

Then he heard Danny approaching, and quickly hid. he could cross that bridge when he came to it. This was gonna work.

Danny bent over to soup a ghost right as the firs rock flew at him, and it missed by a mile. The second one was too heavy and didn't have enough momentum to reach him, and the third was poorly aimed, so that one was on Wes. But the fourth one flew true. Danny wasn't moving and it was heading right for him. Unfortunately Danny noticed and turned intangible before it hit him, so to onlookers it would look like the rock had simply passed behind Danny instead of through him.

Wes stepped out of his hiding place to shout in frustration at Danny, but the words froze in his throat as he felt something move under his foot and his eyes widened in realization just in time for a heavy rock to hit him right in the chest, knocking the wind out of him, and he fell back into the bushes. 

He could hear the quiet beep beep of the Fenton Thermos indicating it was almost at max capacity taunting him. It meant that Danny would be leaving any minute, and Wes was no closer to exposing him than he had been that morning when he'd first set ll these traps. When he caught his breath and sat up, rubbing his sore chest, he was glad he hadn't gone with poison darts, even though an ordinary human could totally survive being hit with a rock or two.

Granted, he had only decided against the poison darts because of budgetary restraints, and laws that restricted the buying and selling of poisonous substances, but that didn't mean he couldn't be grateful for it. Wes sighed, stood up, and started to disassemble the sling mechanisms. Maybe he could still return some of this stuff and get his money back.

—

Wes swore to himself that this would be the last time.

This time, Wes would have to activate the trap manually by pulling a cord. It wouldn't accidentally backfire on him the second he stood in its range. The trap had no gravity powered elements, and he'd triple-checked that all the moving parts were perfectly aligned. There was no way this would fail.

Wes had set everything up downtown on a day he knew Danny would be hanging out there with his friends.

Stealthily, he followed the three of them until they got to the place where he'd laid the trap. Just as planned, Danny volunteered to get the three of them snacks from a food cart. It was go time.

Wes pulled the cord and everything was set in motion.

Ten. Nine. Eight. 

Danny turned around to look at something.

No! Wes wouldn't let himself fail again.

Five. Four. Three.

Wes ran out and shoved Danny hard, pushing him onto the right spot.

Two. One. 

BOOM!

Wes was blown backwards and knocked on his but, but he wasn't hurt this time.

And it had worked! The explosion went off exactly as planned, hit Danny head on, and when the dust settled, Danny was still standing there, a little singed, but no worse for wear. At worst, he looked slightly annoyed, but not the least bit harmed. Any normal human would have been severely injured by an explosion like that.

Excited and triumphant, Wes got to his feet and turned to see all the shocked faces of the people downtown. But no one was looking.

Across the street, Wes could see a stage had been set up, and Ember was putting on an impromptu concert. No one in the square could look away from her mind-controlling music, but he'd been so focused on Danny that he hadn't even noticed her.

He looked back at Danny, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Danny gave him a smug smirk, transformed into his ghost form right in front of Wes' eyes, and still no one else saw! 

There were hundreds of people right across the street. Any one of them could have turned around and seen Danny surviving that explosion, or transforming in broad daylight in the middle of down town, but none of them did.

Danny floated up, and gave Wes a sarcastic salute as he flew off to shut down Ember's concert before anyone—besides himself—got hurt.

Wes could have torn his hair out in frustration. He could have screamed! He didn't care about his promises. This wasn't over!

#danny phantom #dp #danny fenton #wes weston #phic phight #phic phight 24 #crack treated seriously #looney tunes references #fic #things i wrote

[deusvervewrites]

Saiyan AU: So, what would you say the various “enhanced” members of the class are capable of at the start of the school year?

Let's see... First of all I can say they're all superhuman in terms of physical ability to save time.

Midoriya is a half-Saiyan with all that implies (including advanced senses), plus about a decade or so of martial arts and Ki training. He has access to his Ozaru form and control of it, and he's skilled at reshaping his Ki in various ways.

Ashido is a biodroid with multiple Quirks, meaning she has shapeshifting (and an extremely pliable body), regeneration, the potential to learn Ki (like all people but especially notable here) and can turn people into pastries/candy that she can eat to absorb them and gain their strength. Plus combat training from fighting Noumu.

Todoroki, like his siblings, is a cyborg who never runs out of stamina, can absorb energy (including Ki), and is especially durable. This also means that he does not suffer the downsides of his Quirk because his augmentations deal with the excess cold/heat. All that plus his intensive training.

Asui is a mutant Namekian. In addition to the enhanced hearing, regeneration, and body stretching, she'd also inherit King Piccolo's Ki control and flight powers. Also she might be telepathic, that's neat.

Hagakure learned from the Crane School for assassination, giving her better Quirk control, in addition to their signature techniques, like the Dodon Ray, Solar Flare, and the Crane School specific flight technique. She also has martial arts training based around pressure points and instant kills.

Ojiro is-- Ojiro?? Ha ha you fools! I figured out what to do with Ojiro weeks ago but nobody asked since then so it never came up! Ojiro learned magic from Fortuneteller Baba! That gives him telekinesis and telepathy, and the ability to magically produce whatever he wants. Plus shapeshifting, and probably some other neat tricks

#asks #saiyan au

[serickswrites]

Will you do another part of rain check? Please!!!!

Here’s a token of my love: 🍭

Absolutely I can continue this for you! I hope it is what you are looking for, Anon!

Part 1

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, unclear character status

Team Leader was exhausted. They had been trying to break out of their restraints for what felt like days, but in reality they knew it could only be a few hours. Their body ached, their throat was raw, they were bruised in more places than they cared to admit, and their skin was raw at their wrists and hands.

But it didn't matter. They had to keep fighting.

Whumper had yet to return after Teammate One fell silent in the other room. Had yet to return dragging Teammate One back. Whumper had to return. Had to return with Teammate One.

Just as Team Leader was about to open their mouth to start shouting again, the door to the back room opened. Team Leader craned their neck to see what lay beyond inside, but couldn't get a good view.

Whumper stood in the doorway, wiping their hands on a towel, humming to themself as they wiped. They tossed the towel to the side and continued to hum as they shut the door behind them. Where was Teammate One?

"What have you done to them?" Team Leader rasped out.

Whumper smiled. "A little of this. A bit of that."

"Let them go, Whumper, please," Team Leader begged once more.

Whumper smirked. "Why would I ever do that? They're such a wonderful toy." Whumper stopped just short of Team Leader. "Jealous?"

Team Leader growled as they surged forward once more, the ropes keeping them bound uselessly to the chair. "I'M GOING TO RIP YOUR FACE OFF!"

Whumper chuckled. "That's the fire I like to see. Don't worry, you're still my favorite. And it'll be your turn soon I imagine." They glanced back at the door. "This toy isn't very durable."

Team Leader's mouth went dry as Whumper left them. Durable? What had Whumper done to Teammate One? How were they going to get the both of them out of here before it was too late?

Tags: @itsjustgoingon @the-angstening-returns @cpt-winters @whatiswhumpblog @goureblogs @reds-whump-prompts @whump321 @st0rmm

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw captivity #tw restraints #tw torture #tw unclear character status #requests #queue #team whump

[eris-snow]

𝐅𝐢𝐱 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫

Tags: bakugou x gn!reader, fluff, tiny droplets of angst,

The world is broken. Bakugou knew that ever since he was a tiny brat. If the world was perfect, villains wouldn't exist. If the world was perfect, heroes wouldn't exist.

Everything gets broken from time to time. His gauntlets have been smashed to smithereens countless times. His Hero costume ripped to shreds, hell even he had to admit that he fractures bones and breaks skin every day.

For a while, he always thought that it was his own baggage to carry. When he made it to U.A., he realised that that burden could be shared. When he was in U.A., he met you.

You were in U.A.'s Hero Support Department, right in the class alongside Hatsume in Class 1H.

On one of the school days back when he was still in high school, he'd stormed into Power Loader's office to demand a new set-up for his gauntlets, only to stop short when he saw you. You were tinkering with scraps of metal, talking with Power Loader about mechanics Bakugou could barely grasp.

On the work table, was a half-built model of his exact gauntlet. "Bakugou Katsuki from the Hero Course, correct?" Power Loader's voice snapped him out of his reverie. He follows Bakugou eyes to you working busily at your workstation and sighs. "Don't mind her. Y/n's here a lot. It's good hands-on experience."

"That's my fucking gauntlet." He strains, and it makes your head whip towards him as if he brought you down from a fever dream. You pause for a while, shooting him a shy smile before getting back to work. "Y/n's the best in the level, alongside Hatsume." Power Loader explains. "I gave her the challenge to try to recreate your complex support items."

Bakugou watches you with piercing red eyes. He knows already, how to distinguish who's the pretender and who has their shit straight.

So when he lays his eyes on you, he knows with unquestionable certainty that you are the real deal.

"I assume you need a replacement and increased durability for the gauntlets you just destroyed?" Power Loader predicts, snatching the blueprint out of his hands. "You really need to stop trying to get killed."

"Well, maybe I wouldn't be here every damn weak if you didn't build these out of fucking glass." He lashes, ripping his eyes away from you.

"These were made of steel, Bakugou." Power Loader says, unfazed. "We're doing the best we can."

"Then try harder!"

"You could try this, if you'd like."

Bakugou whips his head to you, seeing you screw in the last screw to hold everything in place. Finally, you look up at him, flashing that pretty smile again before holding out your version of his iconic support items.

"You can take them out on a test run, if you'd like."

Bakugou raises a judgemental eyebrow, "And how do I know that this won't completely break apart the moment I set of a minor explosion?" He asks, setting tiny sparks flying in his hand.

You fold your arms, craning your head to meet his gaze steadily. "I'm the best at U.A."

A smirk plays itself onto his lips. Yep, he likes you.

--

Since then, you were the one making his support gear and costume. Power Loader was against it at first, but seeing how your items were so professionally designed, he quickly whisks you off to get a license so that you could keep this up. Wearing your gear just felt so...right.

Everything was thoughtfully crafted and tailored to him, and each new version kept getting better and better. Your first set of gauntlets for him had lasted him 3 weeks, which was a record holder considering they barely lasted in any serious fight.

"Bakugou, I told you, your new hero costume's on the way! In the meantime, just use the backup I made for you the last time," You lash at him, running a hand down your face.

"I know. But it's fucking winter! I can't go out in this!" Bakugou fires back.

"Red Riot's shirtless," You deadpan.

"Shitty Hair can fuck off!" Bakugou snarls, slamming the table.

Years later, Bakugou hired you as his agency's Head of Hero Support Gear.

This wasn't the first time you both had argued over such things. In fact, Bakugou was sure this was how you go about most of your conversations. Screaming across tabletops and staring at each other with unblinking glares. The other 15% of the time was used for making up to each other, before reaching a solution that would satisfy both your issues.

Bakugou would often work late into the night at his agency with you. It surprised him the first time when he saw you with a wild bun keeping your hair out of your eyes as you drew out the latest design of one of his sidekicks' helmets. He'd just gotten back from patrol and was finally about to go home, but he stopped short when he saw you.

"Oi, Dumbass," He called out. "What the hell is this about? Go home."

You roll your eyes at him, finally peeling your eyes off the drawing board. "I'll go home soon. You should too, you know."

"I WAS JUST GOING TO."

Whether it was him walking in after patrols in the wee hours of the morning, or if he was staying back to do paperwork, you would always leave the office at the same time as him. It was nice actually, not having to be there alone in the dead of the night. Sometimes, you'd talk. And even though Bakugou hates to chit-chat, blowing off steam with you was something he never refused to do.

He'd buy take-out sometimes, too. You'd sit on the floor with that damn smile that has him smiling too. Your hard work, talent and passion are a stark reflection of himself, and it makes him feel understood because you always seem to be the one who got him the best.

One night, he'd brush it off. He was having a rough day, Uraraka had just left him for someone else and he couldn't think of anywhere else to go. "I shouldn't talk about these things with you." He sighs, running a hand down his face. But that's when you stop him.

"Shit can suck sometimes," You hum in agreement as you munch on some yakisoba bread with him. "But I'm sure you already know that. I'm not just your Supports Gear Head, I'm your friend too you know. Maybe it's because you're Number Two and everyone probably expects you to fix everything and save the day, but you're allowed to feel sad sometimes."

Bakugou glances at you from his seat, eyes narrowed. "And?"

"I have eyes." You reply. "It's like when Denki gives me his bashed-up earpiece and expects me to fix it. Some things are broken beyond repair."

Bakugou huffs. "I'm not broken."

"I'm not saying you are." You reply. "But you're human. You have flaws, Dynamight."

Bakugou can't find a sentence to refute that. "So don't blame yourself if you wanna complain about stuff to me. You're not perfect. You're human, Bakugou."

Oh, god. He really likes you.

Bakugou isn't broken. He isn't like the world, he doesn't need to be fixed.

And you...you're not a hero. You don't fight crime or appear on the news.

But whenever Bakugou's hurting, whenever things get too much to bare, he finds himself always coming to you. You're like a healer, a remedy to all his problems.

You fix everything in your own way, just like how you stitch up his ruptured heart.

#mha #mha fanfiction #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugō #bakugo x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katuski x reader #my hero academia #bakugou fluff #fluff

[whatwouldvalerydo]

Took some liberties with the ask from @drinkyoursoupbitch but I hope it's alright.

I couldn't go on describing Talia without Akira and well, here we are I guess. Been a hot minute since we had seen these two in any shape or form. Akira belongs to @cursebreakerfarrier

Akira Crane, a name not his own, a shadow passing through the darkness of each moving second, years not on borrowed time, but on the souls of others, layers upon layers snuffed out, hallowed from their very chests, erased, never allowed to cross over to where others waited for their loved ones.

Centuries cascading from his dark mane, a lone wolf, restless, never in one place for too long, never letting time catch up to him. Not touching unless it was to cause harm, blood soiling his body, a sea of crimson to wash him in.

Those he saved would not live long to even remember him, mortals faced with the dauting concept of time.

Akira, a face that blended, always watching the world through cold dark eyes. You would never hear him coming, feet steady and agile, body flexible and durable. Chiseled to withstand, molded to be precise. Like a blade. Sharp, cruel, vindictive.

The immortal assassin.

A bystander, rarely taking a step into the light to mix with never lasting events, such was his existence.

And then life decided to play by its own rules and not his, tipping the scale an imperceivable bit, enough to cause the smallest ripple.

It introduced him to her, the fable of immortality born out of the obsession of a cruel father and a mad mother, a child of fire and rage, the ultimate sacrifice. He met them first, mind not even grasping or wondering what they managed to produce together. All he knew of Constantine and Josephine carried little weight. One allowed to live for his invaluable take on immortality, one allowed to exist for she cared little of what destruction lay in her wake. Soldiers of little morals.

Yet he met their child of wonder, Talia Crane.

Dead on the cold Ministry marbled floor, bloody and lifeless, a girl who decided her own fate, took her life, dancing too close to death until finally death leaned in, placing a kiss against full lips and the story of her came crumbling down.

But when her fire erupted and voice broke out like a Phoenix rising from its ashes, curious wide eyes took him in, lips asking for his name and the world tipped further when he granted her the reply in a low, deep voice.

They stood face to face, through years finding each other, be it by coincidence or by cruel fate, both never changing, forever young, yet so broken and raw.

Delicate pale fingers traced his scars, pushing limits and boundaries, turquoise jewels always curious, snatching from him another piece and then another. For she was a cruel vixen, shaped from crueler intentions, scars gathering like a fortress around her heart.

You would have never thought that when they walked inside a room, confidence radiating off their skin like a luxurious perfume, that they have spent most of their existence chipping away at their humanity until there was almost nothing left.

But time was patient if anything else, uniting them again and again.

And when she stood in front of him once more, hair of fire brushing against bare, milky shoulders as she leaned in and asked him to take her life for the reward far outweigh her tortured existence, the scales tipped in her favor.

And it was not out of friendship that he slowly backed down, it was not for love that he refused to go through with it, but something more that managed to calm the beast inside his soul. An innocence he wished to preserve.

She would see in him the last slither of humanity buried deep within and he would find in her the last spark that was the flame of her existence. And he would fan that spark until a raging fire erupted and she would grow to love him for what and who he truly is, not what the world sees him as.

Perhaps they are both monsters, immortal beings with savage tastes and ravenous hungers.

Then so be it, said fate once satisfied, so be it. Let them be a while longer, together finding something more. Mysterious creatures, wearing their scars with pride, like weapons branded just for them.

#takira #talia crane #akira crane #hphm future #future era

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

No you talk to me about Frankie’s watch. Pretty please 😊

Frankie's Watch

What's this? A watch post not instigated by myself, but by someone else? 😱 I know I promised you an essay @imaswellkid, but it's degenerated into one of my rambling gif compilations. Happy Frankie Friday!

I originally thought that maybe Santi sourced the watches for all the guys as part of the gear for their mission, but from the gif above (excellent, excellent choice btw), the other person in the frame is wearing a different watch. You can also see Frankie wearing the same watch at the boxing match before the mission.

I love this because it means Frankie chose this watch himself. And it's just like him. It's solid, sturdy and practical. It looks like it's waterproof and made of durable stuff - just the kind of watch an ex-military guy would wear. Not to mention that it goes with both civilian and military clothing.

I'm a whore for glimpsing the underside of watches so here's a gif of that.

Look at the details of that watch. I love that it's chunky. A big boy needs a big watch. I also love the grooves on that strap, they lend a really sporty look to the watch.

I was surprised that there are two pushers on the side of the watch, so my guess while it's a digital watch, it's not a smart watch like the Apple Watch that can be controlled by an app (idk is that how Apple Watch works?). Of course Frankie wouldn't buy into that kind of nonsense.

And then... the watch in action? Restraining some guy, staring down the barrel of the gun. Lord have mercy. I can't quite catch what's on the display screen, but it looks like a classic digital watch that shows several categories of information. Because our guy is nothing if not a no-nonsense decision-maker, and he needs stone cold facts to do that.

I was a bit sad Frankie wasn't wearing the watch in the end, but to be fair, it wouldn't have quite gone with that deliciously half-buttoned shirt with the crane print. I hope it made it though - I mean it did go through a helicopter crash, lots of trauma and crossed the ocean in a speedboat (am I talking about Frankie or the watch? Not sure).

One last gif because I've never seen this before - I love that he's wearing his watch for this glamour shot.

I could've put some of this post under the cut, but I decided to subject you all to the full extent of my watch kink. Thanks Maddie for this super fun ask 😉

Related posts:

Javier Peña's watch

Guns and watches appreciation post

Frankie Morales crossing his arms

#fuckyeahpedroboys #fuckyeahfrankiemorales #frankie morales #triple frontier #pedro boys #watch kink #frankie friday

[evilwriter-originals]

Wing Grooming

Rated: teen

Warnings: none

Relationships: Anaria/Girad

Word Count: 992

Summary: Anaria asks Girad to groom her wings.

Girad had never done anything remotely like this before. Never in his life had he groomed even a bird’s wings, never mind a Nessari’s.

But now, here Anaria lay on her stomach before him on her grand bed, her wings spread out to either side. She wore loose, comfortable clothing that bared her back to him in the summer heat. 

And she wanted him to groom her wings for her.

There was some tension in the way she lay; he could see it in her shoulders. Undoubtedly a human had never touched her wings before, and Nessari had a long history of humans disrespecting their wings. This was a big show of trust.

Anaria fluttered her wings a little. 

“You’re staring,” she said.

“Just because I’ve never done this before,” Girad responded. “Where do I, uh…?” 

“You can straddle me,” Anaria said. She craned her head over her shoulder to peek at him. “It’s okay.”

“And you’re sure you’re fine with this?” Girad asked. He clenched and unclenched his fingers.

Anaria sighed, resting her head back down. “Girad, we are to be married, and married Nessari groom each other’s wings. It would only make sense for us to try it.”

Girad nodded, and then was climbing onto the bed, being careful not to get any feathers stuck under hands or knees. Once he had her straddled, he let his hands hover over her wings, not sure where to begin. 

“Start from the base near my back,” Anaria instructed, sensing his trepidation. “And don’t worry if it feels a little oily. Our feathers produce it to help keep us clean.”

“All right.” 

Girad swallowed, gently lowered his hands to Anaria’s wings. He couldn’t help being nervous about this; he didn’t want her to lose her trust in him. 

Girad was amazed at the feeling of her wings under his fingers. They felt strong, durable, real. The feathers at the base of the wings, where black and white melded together, were soft and a little oily like she’d told him they would be. 

Anaria hummed happily as Girad moved his fingers over her feathers. He wondered if it was anything like combing hair, and so very gently raked them through the feathers. Some small, fluffy ones came off, and he paused.

“Is… this okay?”

“Yes,” Anaria responded, sounding a little bit in bliss. “Loose feathers will come out. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay. Let me know if anything does hurt.”

“Girad, you are being more gentle than you have to,” Anaria said with a laugh that shook her shoulders. He noticed a distinct freckle on her right shoulder blade. “I promise.”

So, without another word, Girad continued to groom Anaria’s wings.

---

Anaria liked this. She liked it a lot more than she thought she would. She’d been so nervous about having a human of all beings touch her wings, but Girad was being careful. 

Anaria could have asked Hali to do this, as they often groomed each other’s wings, but she had wanted to try with Girad. If they were to be married some day, then this was something the both of them should get used to.

She found it slightly amusing that Girad was more nervous than she was. She kept having to coax him to touch her, and instruct him on what to do. Wing grooming was second nature to her, not him.

Anaria let out a happy groan as Girad groomed the base of her wings. The small feathers there tended to get messy much easier than the bigger ones in the rest of her wings. The muscles here could get tight as well, given that they were always working. 

“Now what?” Girad asked, still massaging the base of her wings. “The feathers here look good.”

“Spread the oil out through my other feathers,” Anaria told him, shifting slightly. “Scratch around a bit too to get loose feathers out.” She liked that part of grooming very much. It felt good to have her wings scratched, especially when it dislodged any loose feathers that could be causing discomfort. 

“Okay.”

Girad’s touch was gentle, and Anaria could sense reverence in it as well. He truly did respect her wings, something she didn’t know could come from a human. Humans were envious of the Nessari’s wings, and could do anything from tearing out feathers and breaking them to cutting them off. She’d heard too many horror stories of the latter.

The tension loosened from Anaria’s back and shoulders as Girad continued. There was a comfortable silence between them.

“Mm…” Anaria shifted into his touch as he began scratching. “Ooh, yes, right there.” There was a spot on her right wing that really needed it.

Girad chuckled. “This isn’t sexual for you, is it?”

“Not at the moment,” Anaria told him. “It can be sometimes.” She knew one of her erogenous zones was at the base of her wings, which was very common among Nessari. This wasn’t sparking any sexual feelings in her at the moment though. It was just a show of intimacy and trust without any of that. 

“This isn’t sexual for you, right?” Anaria asked Girad.

His voice was a little choked when he answered: “It might be.” 

Anaria couldn’t help but laugh and playfully smack him in the face with her left wing. He grunted, nearly fell off of her, laughing as well. 

“So, you think my wings are pretty?”

Girad, still laughing, answered: “Very much so.” 

That made Anaria feel good. She thought her wings were plain, boring. They weren’t ugly, but they weren’t the most beautiful either.

But, to a human who never got to see Nessari until recently, they were beautiful.

Anaria relaxed against the bed again, letting Girad continue his work. The teasing between them stopped, and they just murmured quiet things to each other, comfortable in the other’s presence. 

Anaria felt like she could get used to the feeling of her human’s hands running through her feathers.

#Anaria #Girad #fantasy #fluff #original characters #original writing #OCs #fiction #writing

[glitterpensupremacy]

So what are your powers for the original miraculous and your oc firefly?

Sorry for the late answer! Let’s see if this suffices:

(To save time, I’ll be only go into detail about the changes made to kwami’s powers. Wayzz, Trixx, and Kaalki stay the same, so I won’t be mentioning them. Most of the other kwami have only minor differences, but there are a few major ones.)

Tikki - Loses the ability to purify akumas, retains Lucky Charm, and retains the ability to create protective items (though it takes a bit of time to unlock this power) which will be referred to as amulets. Retains the ability to use Miraculous Ladybug, but due to… a new aspect of the power… it will be used more sparingly past the midpoint of the first season.

Plagg - Gains the ability to purify akumas (destroying the evil in them), but doesn’t unlock the power immediately, retains Cataclysm, and gains a new power called Wildcat, which powers up the user and allows them to be more powerful in combat (think obligatory super forms). However, like Miraculous Ladybug, this power will only be used sparingly from the second half of the first season (for… similar reasons as the Miraculous Ladybugs).

Pollen - Instead of tagging an enemy with their hand (or the top thingy, I forget), the bee holder can create a special trap that, if triggered by their opponent, will contain them until the bee holder detransforms (still working on a title for the power, but it might have something to do with honey/being sticky, as that’s the trap will likely resemble. Maybe Amber (the tree sap that sometimes traps insects)?

Nooroo - I imagine the power is mostly the same, however HM will have a tighter grip on his akumas than in canon, breaking free from an akuma will only be possible in extremely specific circumstances. This level of control over his victims isn’t natural though; instead, it’s a result of his years of knowledge and experience of using the miraculous. Lastly, it will be possible for him to create an akuma while another one is out there, but he can’t make one while controlling an akuma villain, and the multiple Stonehearts or an equivalent with a different akuma won’t be possible (essentially, the consequence of not purifying an akuma is different in MTS).

Duusu - Again, the same-ish power, but with a few new mechanics. Firstly, the peacock holder cannot destroy a sentisapien without being in possession of their item. The peacock will be able to suspend (recall a sentisapien back into the peacock miraculous) and sent them back out again. (I also imagine that a senti’s amok would be far more durable than when it was a normal item. Maybe they can only be destroyed with magic?)

Mullo - Technically the power is the exact same (split into multiples, the size of the multiples depending on how many are there), but it would have a different name like Array, Divisor, or Quotient. Something more division-related.

Stompp - I might keep the name Resistance, but the power is pretty much the opposite of what it is in the original show. The ox is now immune to all physical attacks but not immune to magical ones. (Ex: Style Queen can turn Minotaurox into gold, but if she were to hit him with a crane, he’d be completely unharmed.)

Roarr - The power might still be called Clout, but it has the ability to energize the holder’s entire body instead of making a single large punch. (Theoretically, the tiger holder can choose to concentrate most of the energy in a single body part, like the arm or leg, but that isn’t the default.)

Fluff - Still Burrow, but the rabbit miraculous cannot change/alter other timelines, just the one they’re from. They can change the timeline in a certain way, but they usually restore it to the status quo in the end, as the results of tampering with the timeline tend to be… unpleasant. (The concept is preservation, and the bunny miraculous is usually used to ensure that certain events happen as they’re supposed to.) Maybe there is a miraculous out there that deals with alternate timelines, but it won’t be this one.

Longg - Still the three storm elements (wind, rain/water, lightning), but instead of resembling the holder turned into the element, they’d look more like a dragon. (Purely an aesthetic difference.)

Sass - Pretty sure the power is going to be called Deja Vu, and is more of a seeing the future power than a turning back time one. (Oh, and he can’t use it infinitely like he can in canon.)

Ziggy - The goat’s power will be to turn intangible (and turn tangible again) at will. (I’m thinking the name will be something like Poltergoat or simply Goatst. Or I might just have one of the names without the silly pun.)

Xuppu - Still Uproar, but like with Longg, there’s an aesthetic difference. Less focus on comedy, more on chaos (but still cancels/sabotages an opponent’s power, just not with the goofy gimmick aspect of it).

Orikko - The rooster’s power will be sound oriented (think Black Canary from DC). As for the name, probably something like Screech or Squawk (perhaps with an adjective in front of it).

Barkk - (I ended up giving this one a complete overhaul too.) Primary Care has the ability to heal any living thing, (I’m still in debate with the other person working on this thing on whether it can continuously heal the person until deactivated, or if it immediately heals them to a set amount upon being used.) Either way, a person will be healed more if the dog holder has an especially strong attachment to them, and they need to be in contact with someone in order to heal them.

Daizzi- Quite similar to canon, the pig can incapacitate people by showing them one of their desires. Only now, the power is called Daydream, and will cause those under its influence to fall asleep.

And now… my OC!!!

Flicc: The power will either be called Highlight or Spotlight, and will reveal something important to the holder by lighting up relevant information. (Ex: If she’s trying to find someone and uses her power, magic glowing footprints will appear wherever they’ve walked. I could also see it being used to descramble or translate messages and other stuff.)

Oh boy, this was a long one… Anyway, thank you for your ask and I will clarify anything that came off as confusing or vague (unless I was being mysterious on purpose… MUHAHAHA!!!)

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous reboot #miraculous: the series #ml ladybug #miraculous kwamis

[sunblonderealtors]

How Technology Is Impacting The Mumbai Real Estate Market

Properties in Mumbai, from small residential or retail spaces to large industrial or commercial business complexes, offer a wide varieties and constantly launching new projects. Technology is playing a significant role in both the residential and commercial sectors of Mumbai. Many developers are introducing smart home technologies into their new projects, allowing residents to enhance their lifestyles and fulfill their expectations. Here are the major types of technologies used in Mumbai's real estate industry:

Reliable Power & Internet Services

With a population of around 21 million in 2024, Mumbai faces a high demand for electricity, internet, and other services. Developers in Mumbai have introduced partnerships with private sectors like Reliance Electricity, Tata Power, Airtel Internet, and Jio Fiber to meet these demands. This reliable supply of energy and services ensures residential needs are met and allows Corporates & Industries to function at their full potential.

Go Green Technology (Reduce, Reuse & Recycle)

Over the past two decades, Mumbai has become India's most visited city and a growing population hub. This rapid growth has put a strain on resources like water and green spaces. To address this, many Mumbai projects are incorporating green features. These include the development of artificial mangroves, large-scale gardens, and lakes to preserve nature and provide a fresh environment for residents. Additionally, property developers are introducing rainwater harvesting, Water filtration plants and garbage restoration services to their communities, promoting sustainability through reduction, reuse, and recycling.

Connectivity & Transportation Infrastructures

Mumbai is known for its fast-paced lifestyle, and large-scale property development is a constant feature. To improve connectivity, new infrastructure projects like the Worli Sea Link and Atal Setu Bridge connect major parts of the city to suburbs and prime locations. Additionally, Mumbai's new metro lines, mono trains and the prime railway network provide greater comfort and convenience for daily commuters. Modernization of the railways with new trains reduces congestion and offers safer journeys.

Modern Engineering & Luxurious Architecture

High-volume investors demand luxury and spacious living environments. Modern designs present a challenge ie. building architectural marvels in fast-growing areas with limited land. Technologies like heavy mobile cranes, temporary concrete plants and high-speed elevators facilitate the construction of modern real estate. In the luxury segment, glass-finished projects dominate central Mumbai areas like Parel-Worli to SoBo areas Dadar-Juhu. These buildings, constructed with modern glass manufacturing technology, add a glow to the city skyline. This lightweight and durable material is low-maintenance and withstands various weather conditions. Many engineering marvels include rooftop amenities like infinity pools, helipads, and vertical parking systems, catering to the luxurious needs of residents.

here's a Conclusion Technology giving boosts to mumbai's real estate market, by growing investors attentions towards good services, modern amenities, fast transportation & Smooth Connectivity. Providing Comfort & safety to Residents & sustainablity to limited Resources.

#real estate technology trends #mumbaiproperties #mumbairealestate #mumbai #dreamhome #propertyfinder #luxuryliving #mumbai infrastructure #tech used in architecture #technoloy in modern construction #sunblonde realtors #sunblonde realty #realestate

[keikuri]

funny pjo hc based on the god's sacred animal

children of athena have owlish features and have on more than one occasion turned their head 360 degrees to look at someone. annabeth does it when she wants to scare someone into doing something

children of posiedon can kick. really hard. like "i will trample you to death beneath my ratted converse" hard. (horse)

children of zeus sometimes look bald until you get close to them. (based on the bald eagle) children of hades can eat anything. sometimes they vibe with satyrs and nom on tin cans. it freaks percy out whenever nico just pulls a wad of grass out from the ground on a quest and eats it. (black ram)

children of apollo sometimes have bright red hair. some of them are like abnormally strong too. some could best an ares kid in a fight. (apollo's red cows)

Ares kids are really good scavengers, like scarily good scavengers. usually hermes kids work in tandem with ares kids to smuggle things into camp. when one arrives at camp, they usually prepare for some kind of war. (boar)

hermes kids are actually really durable and can withstand a lot more than the average demigod (turtle)

dionysus kids can be brutal. you truly do not want to fuck with a dionysus kid unless you have a death wish (tigers)

hephaestus kids are extremely loyal and surprisingly graceful too. beckendorf used to do ballet. (crane and guard dog)

whenever an aphrodite kid arrives at camp, it's taken as a sign of goodwill and peace. (dove)

#pjo #pjo headcanons

[turkey-korvid]

Standswap September day 19: automatic/independent stand

Superfly would definitely be a Shoebill.

[alternate version and some info about this standswap under the cut]

Morris (named after the superfly song) was an escaped shoebill stork from a zoo not too far away, that landed in the sunflower fields in Morioh to rest until it got hit by the arrow. Later, reports of dead cranes and birds of prey scattered around the fields sprouted, alongside sightings of “an oddly shaped bird statue”

Its stand (calling it They Might Be Giants for now) is insanely fast and durable, able to withstand multiple punches from any short ranged stand, but has one major weakness: he cannot move when someone looks at him, similarly to SCP 173 or the weeping angels.

This weakness does not make They Might Be Giants easy to defeat, as time passes, clones of him will appear from the ground. These clones are as fast and deadly but not as durable as the original. However, once they fully step out of the ground they look exactly like They Might Be Giants.

It won’t take long until the target is completely surrounded.

#turkeykorvidart #jjba #standswap september #ohhh boy this one took a while #i am never drawing sunflower fields ever again.

[charlieeenby]

paid my sins in blood, but i ain't done

dick grayson throughout the years to become a talon

and

after his rescue, dick retired talon, but when his family is threatened, he'll do what ever is necessary to bring them home.

warnings and tags: dick grayson is a talon, non consensual body modifications, murder, torture, suicidal thoughts, blood, gore, injury, angst

title from i ain't done by the crane wives

notes: the first part is my 2023 whumptober day 4

Dick is nine years old.

They inject him five times with a serum that makes him stronger, faster, more durable. It burns for hours after and leaves him withering in pain. They strap him to the cold metal of the table and gag him when his screams and thrashing become too much.

Dick is ten years old.

He is led into a room with a man on his knees in the center. He is blindfolded and gagged, but he does not struggle the way Dick thinks he would have. They instruct him to kill him. Dick fights and fights and he gives in. He takes the dagger they offer him and steps in front of the man. He apologizes to someone and plunges the sharp blade into the man’s throat.

Dick is eleven years old.

His training is rigorous and exhausting. He wishes for death. The serum they gave him does not allow him to be injured. It heals him in seconds, and leaves his body numb. He is more weapon then he wants to be, but he still fights when he can.

Dick is twelve years old.

They strap him down to the cold table again and inject the serum five more times. It burns more going in but the pain subsides quickly. They still gag him and keep him bound. He lies for hours in muted agony.

Dick is thirteen years old.

They start making him kill on a daily basis. They tell him that the people he kills are bad and evil. They are rapists and killers and abusers. They are the scum of Gotham City. Dick now knows that he is in Gotham City, but he does not let his captors know that. He stops fighting them when they ask him to kill.

Dick is fourteen years old.

When they strap him down to the cold table and gag him, he expects more of the serum. That is not what they do. Instead, they hook him up to a machine that takes his blood and replaces it with inky blackness. He screams and cries and begs, though the gag stifles most of it. His body and mind burn and he again wishes for death. Death does not come.

Dick is fifteen years old.

The electrum worked, and now he is indestructible. For a while he thinks he will not be strapped down again. He is and this time, his head is strapped down and his eyes are pried open and inject the electrum directly into them. He screams and cries, bloody-black tears running down his face.

Dick is fifteen years old and they tell him that he is their talon. He will kill those who threaten them.

Dick is no more.

Talon is sixteen years old.

Grandmaster sends it on its first mission. A politician stepped out of line. He must be handled. Talon slips into his house in the dead of night and slits his throat so deeply that he is nearly decapitated.

Talon is seventeen years old.

It meets the Batman for the first time. Batman is strong and fights well, but Talon is not human and fearful. Talon gains the upper hand but does not kill. It does not know why. When Grandmaster asks why, it lies and tells him that Batman was a better fighter.

Talon is eighteen years old.

It is happy to kill for Grandmaster and the Court. Grandmaster made Talon, of course it will kill for him. Talon would do anything for Grandmaster.

Talon is nineteen years old.

Talon meets Batman again. This time it is because it is supposed to kill Batman. But Batman has a small child with it, Robin, and Talon can not kill the Batman and orphan a child. Talon thinks it might have been an orphan once. Batman offers to help Talon but Talon doesn’t know what that means so it rums away.

Talon is…

It doesn’t matter. The court is gone. Grandmaster is dead and Talon is free. Talon wonders if Batman would still help it. When it finds Batman, it gets on it’s knees and submits, then it begs for mercy. Batman kneels in front of Talon and tells it that he’s happy to help, but it doesn’t need to beg. Batman helps him up and takes him home.

Dick is twenty-nine years old.

Talon is still there, electrum still runs in his veins and his eyes are still that eerie gold the court made them, but Dick does not kill, does not fight. He is safe and loved. Dick had brothers and sisters. He has a father and grandfather. He is happy.

He is Dick Grayson, the last Flying Grayson and he is alive.

One day, the Red Hood is kidnapped, somehow, and no one can find him, not even the Justice League.

Dick is angry and scared, but he believes that Bruce will bring his brother home. He has to, otherwise, he will lose control, and then he will be Talon again and he will take the head of anyone who tries to keep him from his little brother.

But then, a week after Jason is taken, Bruce asks Dick if he’d be willing to be Talon, and find Jason. He tells him that all their leads were dead ends and that he couldn’t lose Jason again, so if Dick had to kill someone to get Jason back, Bruce would look the other way.

That night, Talon returns to the streets of Gotham, and floods them red, strikes fear into the city herself and he leaves no stone uncovered.

He finds Jason, tied up, beaten bloody and terrified, left to relive those moments in a warehouse years ago and Dick rages.

Once Jason is home, he tracks down the people who did this and tears into them, quite literally, tearing limb from limb, flesh from bone, and he doesn’t stop until they’re all dead.

Only then does he go home, so he can crawl into bed with his little brother and hold him, keep him safe.

The next morning, the Justice League is in their home, in the cave and they are angry. They are angry because Dick killed. Because Dick killed so many people, so violently.

Bruce claims that they’re wrong, that Dick was at home the whole night, with Alfred, and when Alfred is questioned, he tells them that he and Dick were in the library for the entire night, haven fallen asleep on one of the large sofas in there.

Superman accuses him of lying. Then he threatens to arrest Alfred and Bruce. Dick, who had been sitting on a ledge high in the ceiling of the cave, jumped down at that, teeth bared and eyes glowing an eerie gold.

He informs the Justice League that regardless of his location last night, he will not let them take his family away. The people that died last night found out what happens when you hurt his family and the League will too, if they push too hard.

There is silence in the cave, and Dick knows that the more human Leaguers are weary, hesitant to approach, let alone fight him.

But Superman, Wonder Woman, they’re not. And Dick knows this. But he also knows that electrum still runs in his veins, still keeps him alive and brings him back, even hen he should be dead.

He also knows were the kryptonite is.

So he stands his ground, eyes locked on Superman. He doesn’t move, or flinch, his breathing is even and his heart does not beat, it hasn’t in years and it never will again, but he is unafraid.

Superman does not kill, but Dick, Talon, does. His family had been threatened and he will not allow them to be harmed or taken from him ever again.

Then, in an act that surprises Dick, Superman steps back. He is still watching him, but he steps back and relaxes, sort of.

He tells Bruce that if Talon is ever allowed to roam the streets again, there will be consequences and the league will have to intervene.

Dick hates that Superman calls him Talon. It’s not who he is.

Bruce agrees because he knows that Talon has not truly existed for years, and that the person who was on the streets last night was not Talon. It was Dick Grayson, who tortured and killed those people.

It was Dick Grayson who went out and brought his brother home. And it is Dick Grayson who stands before the League.

Talon will never go out because Talon is dead. But that doesn’t mean Dick Grayson won’t.

#dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne #angst #tw blood #tw murder #tw gore #tw body modification #tw torture #tw injury #tw suicidal thoughts #my work