#Crane Components

[cranedepot]

Industrial Crane Distributors | Crane Components & Chain Hoists | Crane Depot

Crane Depot is a leading crane distributor, specializing in electric chain hoists, CM lodestar chain hoists, and beam clamps & trolleys. Same-day shipping. Contact us!

[kito4258]

Top best Crane components products in India - KITO India

Discover top-quality crane components in India with KITO India. Our extensive range of crane products ensures unparalleled performance and durability.

[brightlydim]

Host. An organism that is infected with or is fed upon by a parasitic or pathogenic organism

I’m gonna tag a few moots who inspired this btw if you wanna be removed lemme know

@b0nkcreat @the-pipis @gardnwater

[terrorbirb]

I SHOULD apply to jobs today but I just really don't feel like it. I found one to apply to, but now that I've thought about not moving it's harder to apply places that would require relocation.

Because that one job I was super qualified for apparently was filled before I applied, there is literally nothing in my city that makes me feel any positive emotion. They would all just be to get me out of my current job, which would be good, but I don't want a serious engineering job . I either want to do the academia or continue to design products. I don't want to like design cranes.

[lawatherm]

Steel manufacturing is a complex process that relies on seamless operations and consistent machinery performance. One of the most essential aspects of this process is fluid handling, which facilitates the movement and regulation of various fluids needed in steel production. From cooling water to hydraulic oils, fluid handling ensures that each step of the steel manufacturing process remains efficient and safe. However, achieving such performance requires high-quality spare parts for fluid handling that are durable and reliable. This is where Lawatherm steps in, offering top-quality spare parts that support operational stability, efficiency, and safety in steel plants.

[starry-bi-sky]

Danny's used to finding lost kids in Amity.

The ghostly kind, that is. But the human variant happens on occasion too, usually when a too-lax parent takes their eyes off their child for far too long in the park. But he digresses.

It happens more often than he would like. He's not really sure what the family dynamics between ghosts are like in the Zone, he hasn't gotten around to asking about it. Although, it's not like he would be able to anyways — hard to ask questions about something you don't know much about. So far, it all seems kinda... laissez-faire.

Point is: Danny is used to finding lost kids in Amity.

It's since lost its novelty on him. Kids are kids everywhere, dead or alive, human or not. And kids are curious, and portals between the Infinite Realms and the Mortal World are rare in both dimensions. The braver ones will want to explore the things that are new and unknown to them, and they'll do so without any thought of what might happen.

The lost kids Danny finds are, more often than not, just kids who got curious about the portal and got too close to it, and ended up falling through. And in their panic and haste, accidentally fled the lab and got lost in the city.

Like right now.

The noise he makes as he squats to the ground, his knees bracketing his shoulders, is... well, the best way he could describe it is that it kind of sounds like a pigeon coo, or the trill a cat makes when you touch it while it's sleeping. It's as soft and as quiet as he could make it, while still being loud enough to be heard through his mask.

Ghostspeak is not a language that you can learn... technically speaking. That's because the majority of Ghostspeak relies heavily on core vibrations, of which Danny and other humans don't have. The verbal components that Ghostspeak does have also aren't done with the human vocal chords in mind, so most of the sounds Danny can't make.

...Except for a few.

The little noise he makes whips through the tunnel both him and the kid are in. The boy's terrified sniffling abruptly stops, if only because it's cut off by a teeny, startled gasp, and him snapping his head up at the sound.

Danny, crouched reminiscently like a frog, and a solid six feet away, tilts his head just slightly. He hunches his shoulders in and dips a little closer to the ground — it feels a bit awkward on his back, but he's found that moving unnervingly, even if it has to be animalistic, tends to help a lot in situations like these.

Lots of ghosts thrive off being weird and off-putting and inhuman; acting like one usually gets a lost ghost to calm down faster than if he didn't.

He can't parse how old the boy is — physically, he looks about eight, but he could always be older — but he can see shimmering, blue tear tracks streaking down his face. There's a snake-like seam stretching from both corners of his mouth and connecting up to his jaw, and little patches of scales around his yellow-eyes.

The boy's eyes go wide at the sight of him, before his pupils abruptly shrink into needles. The temperature plummets and the boy's mouth peels back to reveal two curved, deadly-looking fangs, and a perfunctory hiss comes out of his mouth.

"Go away!"

Danny does not go away, goosebumps rake down his arms and spine, and he cranes his neck until he hears it pop. The ringing in his ears subside, he braces and reaches back— "Ḩ̶̢̤͉̜̔̕- H̶̩́͋e̶̘̋̅̈̀ļ̵͎͉̑̒̚p̵͙̫͉̏."

He can't help the soft grunt that escapes him after, swaggling his head left and right like a lion shaking out its mane. His mask hides his grimace — he generates enough of his own ectoplasm to understand Ghostspeak and to have a few intrinsic abilities of his own, but compared to an actual ghost, it's minuscule.

It's like trying to speak in a register lower than your throat can handle; on a technical level he can in some aspects, but it still hurts to do. It's one of the few actual words he knows how to say, most are just sounds. Rumbles and trills and purrs that he's somewhat perfected.

The boy's face scrunches up, he shrinks a little away from Danny, looking both equally wary and judgmental. Which.. yeah, fair. That's the usual response. The boy croaks: "What?"

Danny tilts slightly forward — only enough to shift from a crouch to a partial kneel. He points at the boy, and then slowly draws his finger back to point at himself. "H̶̩́͋e̶̘̋̅̈̀ļ̵͎͉̑̒̚p̵͙̫͉̏," He repeats, throat straining, "ḩ̴̲̘̺͗͂ě̵̳̼̝̀̎͠͝l̶̬͈͍̳͂̓͆p̷̢̡̧̛̩̟̆̅͐͘."

He reaches back and tries to flare what little ecto-signature he has, and follows up with a low-rumbling noise he knows for certain means 'safecomfortsafe'.

Danny points to the exit of the tunnel: "H̵̼̹͎̊̏́͑̂͘͜ǫ̴̠̺̜̞́̕͜m̵̪̋e̸̢̞͔̞̺͛̽."

That seems to catch the boy's attention, his head perks up and his folded, pointed ears flap slightly. Unsteadily, his knees draw away from his chest, some of his distrust melting away like frost under the sun. "You- you know where home is?"

Danny can't say the word 'yes', its out of his range and his capabilities. But he knows how to mimic the sound of 'pleased', so he presses his cheek to the ground — ignoring the unpleasant clack it makes as mask thunks against concrete — and nods, replicating the trill.

The boy looks hopeful, a crack in the ice, before suddenly remembering to be wary. He shrivels back again, his brows furrowing and eyes narrow. "Who are you?"

"H̷͇͚̹͝e̶͉͑͗͒̂͝ĺ̸̡͇̟̅p̸̰̕." Danny repeats, because he doesn't know how to say "Phantom" in ghostspeak, and not every ghost knows English — Wulf is the first to come to mind in that regard. He points again to the exit: "H̵͈͉̖̳͚̾̀͐̄̀ö̶͖͑̄͝ḿ̷̨̭̬͋͆̃́e̵̺͑."

"Is that all you know how to say?" The boy asks, (more like demands) "Help and home?"

Danny nods again, he sits back up and slowly crawls back outwards from the tunnel, gesturing for the boy to follow. "H̴̤̊o̶̢̳̻͓̿m̵̘̘̀e̸̡̝̼̓̉," is all he says, "H̴̤̊o̶̢̳̻͓̿m̵̘̘̀e̸̡̝̼̓̉."

He only crawls back a few steps before stopping — he's not actually going to leave until he's certain the kid was going to follow him. And so far he wasn't moving, yet.

They stare at each other for a few long seconds, Danny watching expectantly. Emotions run rapid and rabbit across the kid's face, flickering between uncertainty and consideration. After a few minutes, victoriously, the boy drops his legs and begins to follow.

Danny rewards him with a very pleased trill. Perhaps some of his joy bleeds through his signature— the lines in the boy's face disappear for a moment as a little giggle escapes him.

"What are you?" The boy asks him once they're closer to the entrance, Danny holds his arm out to prevent the boy from walking out, and then peers out of the tunnel for stragglers. It's the middle of the night in Amity Park, but you never really know. "You don't feel like a ghost."

Ah, well. Danny glances at the boy, how does he explain liminality to someone who might not grasp the concept, and might not even know English? He barely understands himself what he is.

Danny shrugs, and points to himself, "H̷e̵l̷p̴."

[acoldghostlypresence]

I'm kinda struggling to make the components work but I'm posting what I've got for review anyway. Feelings under cut:

I think I'm trying to combine too many things. I'm mixing a bunch of elements from all their designs into one, attempting to give them a more sleek futuristic look that I am completely out of my depth in, and trying to keep them cohesive as a group through shared design elements and colour palette while still having them be recognisable without having to look at an initial on their belt to tell whose who.

There's no real unified vision and I think you can tell, or maybe I'm just to close to the problem and being an over harsh perfectionist? Who knows?

I'm not really sure they just feel a little off to me. I've been having the same struggles with Electra themselves and I was hoping if I had designs for their components first I could use that as a jumping off point for making them look the but instead I've just confused myself lol.

Also shout out to Phopollo who I stole Wrench's hair from, that's just such a cool way to represent their crane arm without the full helmet. I'm pretty sure Purse's barret came from another artist's design too but I can't find them again.

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Moth to the Flame Pt. 1 | Dr. Crane x Reader

summary: Dr. Jonathan Crane isn't the only 'crazy' in Gotham City and he's about to meet his match. When confronted with an unpleasant secret from his past, he's skeptical to trust the strange young woman who calls herself Victoria Vale, the rightful heiress to Arkham Asylum (and maybe his downfall).

warnings: none yet but oh baby just you wait...

A/N: I really enjoy using the original DC comic lore so if you've been following me for a while, you'll recognize the backstories in this but I've tried to make a completely different plot line.

bury a friend- Billie Eilish 🎶

i 

“Professor Crane?” You poke your head into the small office, the heavy door slightly crushing your body against the doorframe. The raven-haired man looks up from a stack of research papers on his desk and cocks an unwelcome eyebrow. 

“Come back during my office hours.” He waves you off with his free hand as he grades a paper with a red pen. His voice has the strange ability to both attract you and put you ill-at-ease at the same time. You step inside and let the heavy door close behind you. You don’t need to lock it, yet. Dr. Crane looks you up and down quickly, his lip curled in displeasure and disinterest. 

“It’s a quick question, I promise sir,” you lie through your teeth, your dimples showing beneath your full cheeks as you smile. Dr. Crane looks up at you from over the rim of his harsh rectangular frames. He stares at you for a moment, his blue eyes shifting as he thinks, then finally he sighs and sits back in his desk chair. 

“What’s your name?” He removes his glasses and wipes the lenses clean with the corner of his suit jacket. He puts them back on as you sit down opposite of him, the desk between you. You glance down at the research papers, an action that is barely noticeable, if at all. 

“Victoria,” you answer and watch as Dr. Crane sighs again, impatiently. He rolls his eyes after a moment of silence and leans forward, gesturing his hand through the air to get you to continue. 

“What did you want to ask me?” He asks pointedly, losing whatever patience he had left. 

“Well we’ve spoken once before but it was just a brief exchange after one of your lectures,” you start and Crane watches you, barely paying attention now. His eyes seem to glaze over. “I asked you about the chemical components of fear. I’d like to hear your answer.” You say slowly, your hands playing with the edge of your seat. Dr. Crane barely cocks his head to the side before he clucks his tongue and looks away. 

“Did you not like the answer I gave you before?” 

“I’d forgotten what you said,” you explain as you wipe your clammy hands on your thighs. Dr. Crane threw his gaze back to you and raised an eyebrow, his expression one of obvious judgment. 

“Fear is an emotional response to a threat. It’s a basic evolutionary survival mechanism. The two primary parts of the brain that deal with fear are the amygdala and the hippocampus…” he answers dully, regurgitating what every psych student already knows. 

“Respectfully, sir,” you start, your voice steady, “I’m talking about the chemical components of fear, not the anatomical.” 

Dr. Crane regards you with an unreadable expression and then removes his glasses, sighing deeply again. He looks down at his glasses and then clears his throat. 

“You’re interested in fear chemistry, are you?” His tone is low and dry, like he’s mocking you. 

“Interested isn’t exactly the right word.” You answer with a small shrug. 

“What is the right word then, Victoria?” The way he says your name is sharp, like a door closing when you aren’t expecting it. He finally looks up at you again.

“I’m…” you search for the right word and then wet your lips, “... attracted to the concept of fear. It’s almost like a passion project that can’t be satisfied.” 

“Attracted to fear?” Crane repeats slowly, though his face doesn’t change. 

“Fear is one of the most fascinating phenomena in the creation of our universe, don’t you think?” 

Dr. Crane regards you differently, his breath shifting to a new rhythm. He wets his lips before he answers, his words measured. 

“One could debate that. I’d say pleasure or desire are more complex and powerful. Why fear?” 

“It’s the power of control over both the mind and body,” you respond without batting an eye. 

“Is it power that fascinates you, Victoria?” Crane asks softly, his hands clenching and relaxing in his lap. “One could say that pleasure can have a similar effect.” 

You allow yourself to blush, knowing it’ll look more believable if you do. “Well, it’s also about control…” 

Dr. Crane looks down at his hands again and thinks for a moment before responding, his voice still calm and even despite the shift in the room. 

“Do you find control attractive?” 

“Well, don’t you? Isn’t that why you became a teacher? The role gives you control over the development of new minds,” you smile sweetly. 

A rare smirk creeps across Crane’s face. He looks up at you and puts his glasses back on, the silver frames catching the light of the fluorescent bulbs. 

“You’re very perceptive,” he trails off and folds his hands on the desk in front of him. “Control is a powerful and attractive aspect of fear.” 

“And what’s so fascinating about fear specifically is that it is universal. Everyone has something that they’re afraid of… even you. And that’s what led me to ask myself this question: what are you, Professor Crane, afraid of? And for the life of me, I can’t figure it out.” Your eyes meet his with an obvious change in intentionality. Crane doesn’t react but feels himself leaning forward slightly like a snake rearing its head.

“I have a few guesses but it doesn’t matter for right now,” you continue when he doesn’t respond. “I read your old thesis about fear in mammalian species and it’s given me a lot of insight into my own mind.” 

“You’ve read my thesis?” Dr. Crane cocks his brow again and grips his hands together painfully. His body goes cold in warning like a lightning rod in a thunderstorm. “Most of my students barely attend class, much less decide to read my work.” 

This is the moment. You lean forward slightly, your hair falling off your shoulders, your eyes wide with excitement. 

“Oh, I never said I was a student, Professor Crane.” 

Dr. Crane freezes, his cold heart stuttering in his chest. He swallows slowly, trying to collect his thoughts before he responds. 

“Then who, may I ask, are you?” 

“I attended one of your lectures on radical treatment of phobias, which is where we spoke for the first time, and yes, I did sit in on one of your classes and left with additional reading materials and a better appreciation for your work. Your thesis however,” you tilt your head away in a show of shyness, “that’s available for any ‘crazy’ to find.”

“Mmm so, you’re just a ‘crazy’ then?” Crane hums cooly, “But that still doesn’t answer how you managed to get a copy of my thesis. It was pulled from circulation and all hard copies that I was aware of were destroyed.” 

“I’m good at getting answers and it helps when people find you attractive…” you shift in your seat, looking away. You can feel Crane’s eyes on you as he considers your answer. 

“And I guess that means you think that I find you attractive?” Crane guesses cooly, his eyes not leaving your face. You look back at him and take note of his guarded expression. Taking a breath, you fix your hair and meet his eyes. 

“I think you’re attracted to my mind.” 

“Who are you?” He asks again, leaning closer against his better judgment, like a moth to the flame. 

“I’m surprised you’re so unconcerned with my presence here, late at night when everyone else has gone home…” your posture is rigidly still as you speak. Dr. Crane smirks softly. 

“You are a very beautiful and intelligent young woman, and you don’t look very dangerous to me. Why would I be concerned?” 

“Because I think I know what you’re afraid of, doc.” You whisper and Crane freezes again, his heart jumping in his chest at your thinly veiled threat. Despite his feelings of unease, Crane smiles. He studies your lips as you speak and the way your body is angled towards him. 

“And what is it that I’m afraid of?” 

And just like that, it’s become a game. 

You smile a little, wanting him to feel safe and comfortable. He isn't intimidated by you yet and you want him to take you seriously. You lean closer, ducking your head in a whisper. 

“Being found out…” 

“About what, pet?” Crane asks pointedly, in a challenging tone. 

“Well…,” you sit back in your chair casually and tuck your hair behind your ears. “I’ve always had a natural inclination towards crime. That’s what made me become a detective. I thought what I wanted was to restore justice in Gotham, but I’ve quickly learned that justice is a jealous mistress and maybe my interest in crime has other motives… Are you following me so far?” 

Dr. Crane massages his mouth with his hand, listening intently. His lips are pursed beneath his fingers, his eyes void of any telling secrets. 

“So far,” he sighs. 

“You and I share something very important. It’s made us both who we are today. I just realized it before you did.” 

“Oh? And what do you think we share?” He furrows his brow skeptically. 

You stand and brush the hem of your dress over your thighs. As Crane watches you, you trail a finger over the books on your bookshelf, stopping at one and pretending to read one of the pages. 

“Thomas Wayne.” 

You toss the book in front of him on the desk. The book is open to the author bio. It’s a picture of your parents, the authors of a book on criminal psychology. The Arkhams.

"These are my parents. My name was Victoria Vale when I was born. Thomas Wayne murdered them and they put me in an orphanage. I didn’t know they were my parents until I started looking into the Waynes. And then I found you…” You keep your story short and to-the-point, not wanting to reveal too much. Dr. Crane looks between the photo and you, his brow furrowed as he works it all out in his head. Maybe for the first time in his life, he finds himself speechless. 

“So you really are crazy, aren’t you, pet?” He covers the shaky tone of his voice with a sneer. You ignore him and close the book, pushing it aside on the desk. 

“Tell me, what did Thomas Wayne do to you?” 

Dr. Crane looks up at you and scoffs. He removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and his thumb until the pressure between his eyes fades. 

“And why would I tell you that?” 

“Because I already know the answer, I’m just giving you the opportunity to say it.” You lean against the bookshelf and cross your arms over your chest. Dr. Crane regards you with suspicion and shakes his head. 

“You’re bluffing.” 

“Am I?” You bite back. You stare at each other, eyes narrowed and blood pumping. Dr. Crane finally sighs through his nose and puts his glasses back on. His eyes bore into you, punishing you for asking him this question. He holds your gaze with a mixture of pain, bitterness and cold rage. He speaks as if the words are acid in his mouth.

“Thomas Wayne destroyed my family and my childhood. He was a ruthless and cruel man and I’m glad he’s dead.” 

You stare back at him and notice the original tension between you changing, shifting as your power shifts. 

“Then we’re kindred spirits, you and I. It was only a matter of time until I found you, the famous criminal psychiatrist with-” You lean over the desk, looking directly into his eyes,” startling blue eyes.” You take a breath before continuing, not waiting for him to respond. 

“Because I’m a good detective, not like any of my ignorant male peers, I looked into a string of unusual robberies and I noticed that most of Falcone’s men were being moved to Arkham Asylum… on your orders.” 

Crane is silent for a moment, impressed by your intelligence and deduction. He feels his heart starting to pound a little faster again. He does not deny it, but doesn’t confirm your suspicions either. 

“I may have had some influence in those transfers.” 

“Don’t worry, Crane, I’m not here to cause trouble for you. I just wanted to meet the man I’ve admired for so long and see if I can be of some… help.” You smile and pass your fingers over the research papers organized across the desk. You’re catching him off guard on how well you know him and he can’t tell if he likes it or not. His eyes flick across your face again, taking in the sight of your dark eyes and darker eyelashes. 

“You admire me?” 

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“How does a young, beautiful girl like yourself become so interested in a man like me?” Then he pauses and wets his lips before adding with a smirk, “why, exactly, do you admire me?”

“Your work, it’s impressive. And what can I say… ” You look back up at him with a serious look on your face as you drag a finger across the research papers, pulling out a piece of scratch paper. “I like your style.” 

On the corner of the paper, there is a drawing of a scarecrow. You drag it slowly across the desk until it sits in front of Crane on the desk. You don’t need to say anything else. He looks down at the drawing, swallows, then looks up at you. 

“Stop acting dumb, doc. I know more than you think. Like I said, I’m good at finding information and sticking my nose into places where it may not belong.” 

Crane’s pulse quickens at the edge in your voice, his fingers reaching for and clutching the paper tightly. He wants to be irritated, but somehow you’re bringing out a different, a darker and playful part of him. 

“Once again, you’ve proven yourself to be a very observant and talented young woman. Maybe too talented. I think you’re too dangerous to keep around my office, Miss Vale. You’re a liability.” 

“What are you going to do to me, Crane? Are you going to use your… little fear toxin on me?” You smile, leaning further across the desk where Crane hasn’t moved from his seat. He looks up at you, smirking slyly. 

“Maybe I will.” Dr. Crane starts to stand, and when he does, he’s taller than you but not by much. He isn’t a very tall man, you could easily take him if you needed to. You’re still separated by the desk but you’re close enough to smell his cologne. 

“Impressed by my skills of deduction?” You ask, clasping your hands behind your back. 

Crane walks slowly around his desk to stand in front of you, looking you up and down intently. He tilts his head to the side, his voice distant and distracted. 

“More than a little impressed, yes. You’ve figured out an awful lot about me in a very short time.”

“Now don’t you want to know why I’m here? Your survival instincts are annoyingly slow, Crane,” you tease. 

Crane bristles, displeased with your slight to his intelligence. He crosses his arms over his chest and sits back against the desk, clenching his jaw. “I would love to know why you’re here. You’ve been very coy about that point.” 

You nod and move away from him to continue looking at the books, organized meticulously on the bookshelf. “I have a proposition for you. I want to be… business partners.” You can see Crane watching you from out of the corner of your eye. Crane chuckles a little, stunned. 

“Business partners, huh? And what exactly would that entail?” 

Crane’s eyes sweep over your figure again as he imagines what kind of ‘business partners’ he’d want to be. 

“I’ll help you with your grand plan for Gotham and in return I get two things…” you keep your eyes on the spines, your fingers following the edges of each book. 

“Mm?” Crane hums, listening carefully now that you have his full attention. 

“1. I get to lead beside you when you successfully turn Gotham upside down and 2. I get what’s rightfully mine… Arkham Asylum.” You turn back to look at him, refusing to be intimidated by him even when he looks at you like something he’d like to eat. 

Crane’s eyes widen and he almost starts to laugh. His navel warms, aroused by your attitude and threats. He chuckles softly and moves his hands to grip the desk on either side of his body. 

“Gotham city flipped upside down, and Arkham Asylum in your hands. Your terms are surprisingly bold, Miss Vale.” 

“What can I say, Crane? I’m in the business of retribution.” You shrug, not backing down. 

Crane chuckles again and shakes his head, “Touché.” He imagines himself pinning you against the bookshelf and feels himself get hard just at the thought of it. He watches you closely, noticing your unwavering resolve. “And how can you be sure I won’t use my toxin on you?”

It’s your turn to laugh now. You smile and step closer to him, meeting his cool eyes. You let your eyes look him up and down, admiring the way his lean body hides beneath his expensive suit. 

“I’ve prepared for that possibility… but I like playing with fire.” You pull a lighter out from your pocket and strike a flame. It glows between your faces.

Crane smiles in amusement at your audacity then his eyes dart between your face and the flame separating the two of you. 

“You are playing a dangerous game, Miss Vale.” 

“My favorite,” you respond coolly and play with the flame in your hand. Crane’s eyes follow the flame and he swallows. “So? What say you?” 

He should stop you, he should kick you out of his office and ignore you, but the fire in your eyes and the confidence in your words makes him want to take a risk. He reaches out quickly and takes hold of your chin, tilting your face up so that he can see it clearly. His voice is a low whisper.

“You’re a dangerous little thing, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” You snap the lighter closed and tuck it into Crane’s breast pocket. “Regards from Thomas Wayne. I thought you should have it.” 

Crane looks down at the lighter, dropping his hand away from your chin. His eyes dart back to your face, assessing the weight of your words. Your demeanor is cold and almost amused. Crane swallows, his skin growing cold where the lighter now sits. 

“Where did you get this, Miss Vale?”

“Not only do I want what’s rightfully mine, you deserve what they took from you too. Think of this as my promise and a peace offering.” You pat his breast pocket, your face getting dangerously close to his. He flinches when you touch him and clenches his jaw. He looks down to your hand patting his pocket and raises a sharp brow. 

“And you’re willing to help me get my revenge?” 

“It would be mine too.” 

“Against Thomas Wayne?” 

“Against the whole city… but especially the Waynes.” You whisper, managing to take a step closer. Crane chuckles, admiring the way your eyes darken when you speak so severely. He leans down a little closer to your ear, his breath ruffling your hair. 

“A pretty, vengeful vixen. I’m starting to like you, Miss Vale.” 

“Now, now, now-” You push him back with a sly smile, your teeth showing, “We’re business partners, not fuck buddies. You’ll need to behave yourself if you want to make this work.” 

Crane actually laughs, though the sound is raspy and dark, it’s still a laugh. He allows you to push him back and holds up his hands in mock surrender, sitting back on the edge of his desk. 

“Feisty. Ok, I’ll play the part. No need to worry, Miss Vale… though the thought is… tempting.”

“Not intoxicating? I’ll just have to try harder next time,” you smile as you pull on your coat from the chair. Dr. Crane watches you from his desk, his eyes following your arms as you slide into the quilted coat. 

“Oh you know exactly how intoxicating you are. Don’t be coy, Miss Vale.” 

“Maybe I’m just a Jack of All Trades,” you shrug and move to the door. Crane crosses his arms over his chest again and nods slowly. 

“Yes, I’m starting to see that now. You’re full of surprises.” He can’t help but look you up and down again, his eyes lingering on the shape of your thighs or the angular way you hold your head. He wets his lips, wetting his pallet. 

“Well, here’s another one,” you smile, fully aware of his arousal, “Falcone was taken into custody today. Someone, and I’m not saying who, may have given him a razor blade. He’ll need a psych evaluation and you need to be the one to do it. I don’t trust him to keep his mouth shut if this goes to trial.” 

Crane raises an eyebrow, impressed by your thoroughness. 

“Falcone in custody. Hmm. A razor blade? What a coincidence...” he starts to wonder exactly how far you’re willing to take this revenge of yours. He can feel himself getting excited in more ways than one. 

“You’ve got the right idea, Miss Vale. I’d be more than happy to take over his evaluation.”

“Good. I’ll arrange for you to administer it between your lectures. You’re such a busy man. Professor by day, psychopath by night. I don’t know how you do it.” 

“I’ve made a lot of sacrifices,” he answers cooly, calmly, “As have you, it seems.” 

Something passes between you, something shifts once again in your eyes. 

“Goodnight, Dr. Crane.”  

You start to leave but turn around briefly to speak, your eyes growing softer. You’re actually capable of feelings too, not just well-worded threats. “Don’t lose the lighter… it’s the one he used…” 

You leave the sentence in the air between you, hoping he’ll understand what you mean. Dr. Crane seems to freeze again as he processes what you’re saying. He puts his hand against his breast pocket to feel the outline of the lighter. He clenches his jaw and finally nods. 

“Goodnight, Miss Vale.” 

You nod once and open the door, pushing against its heavy weight. 

“I’ll be in touch,” you say over your shoulder and Crane fixes his glasses. 

“I’m sure.”

Only when the door closes behind you and you’re walking down the dim hallway do you allow yourself to exhale. Dr. Crane was so much more impressive in person… and so much more attractive. You had almost faltered on your plans until you remembered how much you needed him, and how important it was that the two of you meet. Though you must admit, acting unbothered has never been harder. You run your hand through your hair and slip out of the science building on campus. You’re wearing a quilted coat, more for professionalism than warmth. It’s late Spring in Gotham and it’s too warm for a coat. In fact, there’s a heatwave coming in the next week. But you keep the coat on because the color is dark, helping you blend into the shadows of every building in the city. 

The moment the door closes, Crane finds himself almost unable to breathe. He’s nearly shaking and feels strangely off-balance like you’ve completely turned his world on its head. He walks back around his desk to his chair and slowly lowers himself into the seat. He exhales shakily and pinches the bridge of his nose above his glasses. Part of him wants you, the other part wants you gone. With a sigh, Crane pulls the lighter out of his pocket and places it on the desk, looking at it while his thoughts run wild. 

You hadn’t needed to say the words for him to piece it together: this was the lighter that Thomas Wayne used to kill his mother, and by extension, his father. The knowledge of what you’ve given him finally sinks in and he takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching again. He feels a cold shiver rush over him, a thousand thoughts running through his mind at once. He can’t tell if he wants to cry or scream or laugh. Crane reaches out and grabs the lighter, his knuckles turning white. He thinks of you, of your audacity to crash his carefully constructed life with your own plans of revenge. He plays with the lighter, his lips pulled into an unhappy snarl. But the longer he thinks about you, the more he feels himself growing to like you. As much trouble as you could cause him, he liked how fast you thought on your feet and how good you looked in that dress. 

Hours seem to pass before he can slowly regain control of himself enough to clear his head a little. He’s trying to understand you… he wants to trust you but there’s a very loud part of his mind that’s screaming not to. He can’t deny the fact that you’ve completely enthralled him, in fact, the thought of seeing you again makes his heart pound in perverse excitement. He tosses the lighter back on the desk and runs a hand over his face. 

“Damn you…"

[eldritch-spouse]

Fucking robot. Why does he always bother me during breaks? He doesn't even need breaks.

“Hi Xavier. Was there something that you needed?”

You know he likes you because he bothers to address you by your name. As opposed to a serialized string of numbers and letters.

The numbers before your shift code and initials make you wonder just how many of them there were before you. How many he tossed away after an unfortunate workplace accident. That tag on your uniform is more of a death sentence than anything.

'Like'... As if this tin can is actually able of feeling.

It's more realistic to say he sees value in you, for some reason, and employs some kind of social algorithm to fabricate a twisted sort of relationship.

" You have been consistently distracted lately. "

Is that a warning?

Two red abyss-like orbs cast a crimson filter upon your face. It always feels like Xavier is watching you a little too closely, monitoring more than just your verbal responses.

" Ah, my bad! " You force a wobbly smile. " I promise it doesn't get in the way of my wo- "

" It does. " He silences you immediately, imposing and unforgiving in his cold corrections. " Clients notice when you zone out. Your movement speed is drastically reduced and the chances of committing errors -which you have by now- is considerably increased. Spacing out this much is in no way acceptable behavior for a multitude of... "

Only the very real notion that he's noting your facial expressions stops you from rolling your eyes at the robot's tireless monolog regarding the dangers and consequences of being distracted at work. One of your eyes still manages to twitch, as if in defiance.

" Yes sir, I understand. " You try to cut in, try to abort that speech before it turns into a whole lecture.

One camera cranes down slightly. " Your reputation as the exemplary employee is being damaged. "

Xavier says this like it should make you anxious. You hate that he thinks of you as an example, that he emphasizes it constantly. Not only is it putting unnecessary pressure on you for no compensation, it's also costing you the few mild friendships you have worked to maintain in this hostile minefield of an environment.

The more he speaks of you as some ideal of professionalism, the more others give you judgemental side-eyes. Sneers. Avoid you. Spread snide comments that then find their way to you through gossip.

Maybe if Xavier stopped exalting your mediocre performance, your asshole coworkers would stop murmuring that you've been orally pleasing the glorified microwave.

Xavier doesn't even have a dick! Why would he?! He's an artifical stand in for a manager that only cares about the dehumanizing process of maximizing profit.

He doesn't have a penis. You think.

You only realize a long silence has installed itself this whole time when the robot breaks it.

" ... Are you ill? "

" Huh- No. No, I just have a lot on my mind. I'll work on it boss. "

There's another pause. This time, you presume Xavier is waiting for you to cave under pressure, or counting the pores on your complexion. You bet he'd know the exact number.

" You have not allowed access to more in-depth medical records. If I had such a permission, I would be able to rework your current shift into something more suitable for any preexisting conditions such as- "

" Uh no sir, no. I don't think that's relevant, it's probably just my sleep schedule. " The thought of Xavier knowing about your health beyond what is strictly necessary for employment is chilling to the core.

He takes the rejection silently, lenses refreshing.

" I know who is bothering you. "

Xavier says, so naturally and spontaneously that you gawk for a moment, forever surprised by his eery bursts of casual remarks.

" ... Pardon? "

These moments make it seem as if there's more than mere cold calculations running through his processor components.

Xavier drifts that much closer to you, now suffocating your personal space. Only the crimson of his camera lenses light the dingy alley you've chosen as your break spot.

" Incubus, Babesley. Masseur. He has self-inflicted carvings on his body consisting of infatuated statements and your name. "

You rattle for a second, the memory of the demon's mutilated chest surfacing, his wild and desperate eyes searching yours for a hint of approval that wasn't there, only disgust and fear.

" Wrathfolk, Mozgrag. Trapper. Teamed up with the incubus upon being confronted, effective in forcing his way to you at any cost. "

Another memory flashes by, burly hands carelessly tearing the horns out of someone's head, he'd look at you when the screams rang, attempting to prove something you only saw as terrifying murderous intent.

Shaken, irritated, afraid, you openly glare at Xavier.

" Why haven't you done anything... " It was too quiet to sound as confrontational as you wished.

There's a split second where his stiff arms twitch, like the machine was trying to roll its shoulders. Cameras tilt and reposition, erroneously assuming the light from his lenses is what's causing you to tear up.

" The customer is always right. " Faintly, or perhaps just in your head, his words sounded dragged out.

" Then what's the problem?! "

You can't help the childish irritation, the desire to pluck your hairs out of your scalp in a pull that might just tear your skin asunder. You want to scream and kick this stupid fucking machine until it shuts off. Why does he bother you during your breaks to ask things that make no sense, to unnerve you, to create contradictions. You've never had a positive interaction with this robot. Why would he mention those two if he seemingly has no problem with their attitudes?

You know he doesn't care, because your coworkers are also living through their own cases of harassment at the hands of the denizens of Hell. You've had to pretend you didn't hear the sound of a cashier's arm being twisted in all the wrong directions before. Reminded that quitting is not an option, that you can only pray such doesn't happen to you.

" Your performance- "

No. Shut up.

" Okay, let's do some math, Xavier. " You growl. " My precious work performance is being impacted by a lot of things, but mainly those two. Those two are customers, and the customer is always right, aren't they? So there's nothing to be done, yeah?! Stop- "

Your confidence begins to falter when you realize you've stepped out of line, that you snapped at your own superior. The fear of consequences flashes very briefly across your eyes. That's enough, you need to calm down. You need to leave.

Xavier's silence doesn't help.

" I'll... I'll be heading back to work now. "

Head hanging low, you attempt to swiftly retreat into work, halted quickly by cold metal wrapping around your arm.

His grip is as frighteningly solid as it is sudden.

You don't remember Xavier having ever touched you before.

When you squirm around to glance at him, ask what he thinks he's doing, those two cameras pin you into silent obedience. You could never hope to free yourself of his grasp, only if you wished to tear a limb out of its socket.

" Do you think I enjoy these limitations? "

There's a mute gasp. Then the pain of his grip tightening, restricting your blood flow into a tingling soreness. Your teeth bare themselves.

" I don't think you enjoy anything at all, machine. "

It was ruthless, yet, deep down, you almost believed it.

Xavier stares at you for another prolonged period of time, unaware that the pain in your arm is only worsening. You have no idea what occurs behind those lenses, what those words might mean to him.

Metallic fingers unclasp with the slowness of a decompressing blood pressure monitor, allowing you to yank your own limb back and hold it to your chest like an animal licking its wounds.

" ... This issue will be resolved. "

He doesn't make a move to follow after you. In fact, Xavier remains staring forward, at the empty space where you once stood.

Maybe you broke him. Who cares, he might give you peace for the rest of your shift.

[caffieneaddictt18]

The Mountains Breathe

I suddenly got a rush to write and finish this in, like, twenty minutes. So it's probably shit but I hope it's enough to satisfy! Based on the song The Sleeping Giants by The Crane Wives, a part two to Which Witch.

The 'walk' so far has ended up being two days of travel through a dense forest, with camp only being bedrolls around a fire and you doing most of the foraging. They hunted, but because of their armor, the only person quiet enough to actually hunt was Ghost. Price was decent and a seasoned soldier, so he was also able to bring a kill in every once in a while, but Soap had a hard time being in the one place for long and Gaz could do it, but he was better at foraging with you.

It wasn't until you got a dream that you knew where to go.

You were facing the mountains, almost at the base of one, green plains stretch out and never seem to end until the cliff-face of the mountains. You're blood was rushing in your ears and something whispered to you...

'Come... You will be safe here... come closer, child...'

And as you reached to touch the mountain, the blood rushing in your ears seemed to pulse in time with your heart and the breath of the mountain... a sleeping giant.

That morning, you were packing up before any of the men were awake. Almost frantically packing, with order and a wild calm flowing around you, Price was the first to wake.

"Witch, what are you-?" He seemed almost startled, hurriedly standing up and reaching for his weapon, worried that someone was coming to attack.

"I know where to go." Your eyes met his with a flash, and you both held there for a second, a deep understanding flowing between the two of you.

"I can wake up the men." Price nods and breaks the eye contact, waking up Ghost first. "Wake up, Ghost. We've got our destination." The behemoth of a man awakes quickly at that and the two superiors wake up the other two.

You finish gathering the last of the things, strapping them to their respective horses before making your own horse out of the Earth itself.

"Follow me." You take off, riding at a full gallop on your horse of packed dirt and muscles of stone with quartz sinew.

As they follow, the trees seem to creak and groan as they part for the group, your lead seeming to part them. The moans of the trees seem to form a harmony as the sun sets, the moon humming in tandem with the beats of the horses hooves slamming into the ground. The riding alone was a song in itself.

"We're almost there!" You shout behind you as you breach the tree line and let your steed dissolve into it's components before a wave of the earth carries you to your destination.

As you get closer to the mountains, you feel something come over you... a presence. Safety and welcoming arms.

"My pulse is clear, rushing in my ears. I hear something, callin me... My pulse is clear, rushing in my ears. I hear something, callin me..." You preach to the spirits of the land, the homes of those who came before you.

As you ride along the wave, the sun begins to rise, sky bursting into wild colors like popping the skin of a blueberry between your teeth.

You keep humming and singing the melody that comes to you as you grow closer. "The moon is humming... the moon is humming, lovely... melodies... The forest echoes, the trees are crowing hungry... hungry harmonies."

The men of the 141 are thoroughly confused but trust you enough to let you do your thing. This is the first time they have seen your intuition in action and it is nothing like they expected. You have never seemed so free or magic until now... You hair flowing behind you as the ground flowed under you like water to carry you to your new resting place. A place where everyone can be safe.

As you reach the area, you slow to a stop, the song of past mothers, grandmothers, aunts, and sisters pounding in your ears as your heart matches to the rhythm.

"I feel the mountains, I feel the mountains shifting... under me

The sleeping giants are finally waking... Waking... finally.

My pulse is clear, rushing in my ears

I hear somethin calling me...

My pulse is clear, rushing in my ears

I hear somethin calling me..." And the tune comes as naturally as breathing to you...

The first time the 141 saw magic, it was nothing like this. It was dark... heavy... carried a connotation that should never be shared.

To see true magic in use... it was a spectacle to behold. It filled them with a sense of upliftment and hope.

Gaz saw a gentle future in his hope: tending to the garden with you, foraging for more plants, helping you with the holidays you celebrate... he wants nothing more than that.

"The moon is humming, the moon is humming... lovely... melodies.

The forest echoes, the trees are crowing hungry... hungry harmonies.

My pulse is clear, rushing in my ears.

I hear something calling me...

My pulse is clear, rushing in my ears.

I hear something calling me..." As you continued to sing, it sounded like others were joining your voice, harmonizing, despite no one else singing. Like the earth and the sky and the birds all decided to follow your lead.

Ghost saw a future with his team... a love-filled home with a tended connection, never strained by bloodshed, but flourishing under care and comfort. He would care for the home itself, keeping it sturdy and alive with you. He would care for his team as they care for him, completely and wholly.

"My pulse is clear, rushing in my ears.

I hear something calling me.

My pulse is clear, rushing in my ears.

I hear something calling me." You voice is joined by many more, the deep-seated presences of your ancestors ringing in your bones as the song in now uncontrollably coming out of your mouth in an almost scream, rattling the mountains you face.

Soap sees a future of strength. One where the love everyone shares is never in question and their safety is assured. Where a family can prosper and grow, like a well tended to tree. One where the loyalty to each other is never questioned, and is only strengthed by whatever decides to try to weather it down. Where love blossoms under the loyalty of each other.

"My pulse is clear, rushing in my ears.

I hear something calling me.

My pulse is clear, rushing in my ears.

I hear something calling me." You finish the song with a tune so ancient that it seems to only come from deep in your soul... from wherever your magic begins... maybe even the very thread of your being and your ancestors voices are just echoing through it, glad to welcome another sister to the plains before the mountains. Before the sleeping giants.

Price sees a future of safety. One where his men never have to shed blood again. Where no one is coming for their heads and the land around them prospers as their loyalty, love, and safety does. He sees himself on the porch of the home and watching diligently for something that is never coming. The comfort of peace.

As you yell the last notes, the men watch as you construct a home big enough for everyone, what all of them imagined and more. The mountains seem to reverberate your song back to you and the trees sway in time of the harmony. You dance around as a tower of stone grows from the ground, piercing the Earth and rising in a spiral. A porch of moss and slate rises from the ground followed by the rest of the home: a stone and quartz base covered in a thing layer of crumbling soil and moss and ivy.

You crumble to your knees as the house, the home to be, is finished in it construction and your energy well is emptied.

"Hey!" Gaz rushes to you, as your new closest friend. The time spect foraging together grew yourselves closer as you both worked together to keep the others alive.

Price was not far behind, hot on his heels as Gaz sunk down to his knees next to you, holding you close.

"You did it... you found us a safe place." Price puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder as you slump against Gaz, exhausted and drained but still awake.

"I'm almost impressed." Ghost walks up with Soap.

"Aye. But that song... that was true magic. Something only fairytales tell of."

"Well... maybe I'll tell you about it later," You sigh, and begin to stand with Gaz's help, "but I think it best we get inside. Others may have heard and we are out in the open." You stumble in your haze of exhaustion as you make your way to the newly constructed home.

"I'll hold you to that, lass." Soap remarks as he comes up on your other side, helping Gaz guide you inside with Ghost and Price bringing up the rear, keeping an eye out.

You said that others may have heard... from how far? And how formidable? How much trouble are they in now?

So.... I'm not gonna lie, this took me over like a full body possession until I got it done. I hope it's a good second part! Keep being lovely, my dears! Have a great night/day!

Taglist: if you want to be added, just lemme know in the comments

@squeak1981 , @diseasedclitoris , @jj-the-hobbit171, @mindscape123 , @lillysfrogsandbogs , @affectionatecoffee , @katzarantos

[staarboyyy]

Compliance - ktober week 1 [ Blood / Bound ]

homelander x reader | no pronouns, afab anatomy

explicit - minors dni

tags / warnings ; sublander, bloodplay, knifeplay, handcuffs, dom/sub dynamic, consent, communication, prior planning

summary ; getting homelander in a vulnerable position where you put him in cuffs he's not allowed to break

word count ; 1.6k

a / n ; i want to continue this at some point, lemme know what yall think :)

“Come on, Sweetheart. Give me something,”

Homelander’s voice was unlike you had ever heard before. The man breathed soft spoken words, riddled with a tremble that balanced skillfully between fear and something else. Something much darker than you had anticipated. You stood above him, staring down at his tightly bound wrists resting behind him, white-knuckled into tight fists. His knees were spread, staring up woefully at you, who now pressed a dagger firmly against his throat. Homelander watched you, eyebrows knitted upwards into a tangled and desperate expression; His lips were ajar, breathing hard as he kept his chin tightly angled upwards, the cool metal contrasting his hot sweat-glazed skin. You pressed it with more force to his larynx, pulling a low pleased purr from the man whom had begun shifting his hips in an uncomfortable manner. He cursed himself for this, cursed himself for all of it. Even letting you see him so vulnerable made him feel sick, sweat beading down his forehead and hanging off his jaw, his stomach churning angrily. It was much easier to digest the idea of being angry in his mind. Better than coming to terms with what he genuinely felt when gazing up at you like this.

“Please,”

The word fell into a pathetic whisper, Homelander's fingers twisting around one another in desperation he hadn’t felt in years. He wanted to move, to free his hands and touch you — He winced at the idea, his hands on you, underneath your loose clothing, pulling his hips against your own, all of it at once had begun truly washing over him. The thoughts trickled down in blazing components, traveling down from his corrupt mind, lower, lower, lower. Without distinct warning, the blade swept to the left with a sudden twist, so the sharpened metal scraped against the exposed skin. Homelander thrust upwards slightly, only to be met with the friction of his suit, now suddenly very tight. His breathing quickened, eyes not leaving your quizzical and guarded expression. Your gaze stumbled down to where his hips loosely thrusted upwards, cautiously gripping the dagger. 

“Please, what?”

Your question hung in the air as the fevered pain on Homelander's throat stung dimly. He watched her with half-lidded eyes, lips parted with anticipation. With a clench of his jaw, he pressed his hands to the cold cement floor behind him, pushing himself closer to her with caution. Homelander knew all too well what position he was in - You were in charge, whether he liked it or not. Goosebumps began to garden themselves in cascading bouquets over the back of his neck as he came to a stop in front of you, your boot-clad feet standing between his spread thighs. He could feel his mouth beginning to water, eyes still staring up at you with a pressing need. Blood seeped from the cut on his neck, a pearl of ruby staining its path on his skin. Your looming stare nearly forced his back to slowly arch, squaring his shoulders as he adjusted his hips once more; Every stretch and crane of his neck rippled torrid pain down his frame, sweat rolling down the nape of his neck, only propelling his fixation on you, still standing above him.

“Touch me,”

The few fragile syllables had been interrupted almost immediately as the flat of your foot lifted and fell between his thighs, causing Homelander to let a single whine further dislodge itself from his chest. After a few moments, you pursed your lips, fingers still dawning the dagger with the most authentic intent to use it against him if you deemed it necessary. By instinct, Homelander’s hips drew upwards to grind against your foot, his erection aching against his tightly worn suit with unfamiliar desperation. Hungry desperation. 

Homelander had always been the man to know what he wanted and, soon thereafter, when he wanted it — flashing a toothy smile at certain women, making under the table deals with co workers, receiving preposition after preposition. These simple passing whispers dawned upon the ears of the innocent, and oh did they listen with stiffening fear. His rough hands would needily grope at the warm skin of these women, sliding easily underneath their clothing to find dewy skin, the smell of sweat and head-spinning desperation. The feeling of Homelander’s breathing sped at these flashing memories, nails digging ruthlessly into the palms of his hands as the same waves of heat from before returned, soaking his body in an insatiable and unplaceable hunger. You watched him with skeptical eyes, squinting down at him dubiously. His gaze was unrecognizable, only in your mind comparable to an animal. A starved, depraved, and weak animal. You pressed your foot down harder, gauging his reaction slipping between covetous and fragile. Oh, how the man sang, a strung-out groan exposing his relief in the change of  your pressure.

“Fuck,”

He choked as you began to move again, removing your foot from him to replace it with your ankle pressed snuggly in the space between his thighs. Homelander leaned forward to the best of his ability as if on cue, defying your silent demand to stay still. He could now easily ignore the biting sting of sweat pooling into the small cut on his throat; he could ignore the blade rising by your side. He could ignore everything as he thrust messily onto your leg, lips falling open once more. He wished he could see himself in this position, at mercy to you entirely. His rolling hips steadied into a regulated pace against you, the once electric new sensation growing into a more tolerable one. With a loose push of his fists off the floor, he attempted to move even closer but instead was met with the sight of you slowly beginning to pull your pants from your waist.

“You’re gonna stay on your knees,”

Your words didn’t raise a question, the tone instead making an assumption. Homelander watched your fingers slowly trace the button on your pants, his lips still parted, taking in slow sharp breaths. “Isn’t that right?” The words no longer registered with the man, his attention entirely fixated on your hand and how it moved over the small buckle. He simply nodded slightly, and that was all you needed to understand. 

You let the dagger clatter against the cement, unphased by the sudden loud echo as you began to undo the buckles of your pants, bringing them down to her ankles to kick off casually. You tossed your discarded clothing to the side after you removed them calmly, as if you were simply changing your clothing before bed or taking a shower. This drove Homelander up the walls, having to watch you confidently bare yourself  in front of him, not giving him the time of day even to meet his desperate gaze. He couldn't help but let a wry smirk push itself up to his lips as he admired your body, one like none other that he’d seen and wanted to cherish. When you walked back to the knelt man, you let your arms slide over yourself, resting your hands on your hips. You resumed the position from before, but now your bare legs had been exposed to him, opportunities blooming in his mind faster than he could gather them. Homelander dove forward with little to no hesitation, his mouth catching your skin instantly. He ground against your radiating warmth, frantically attempting to collect every caress, every gentle touch, every sharp movement and noise you made above him. His teeth crushed nastily against your thigh, sucking the untouched skin with a fierce appetite. You studied how he curved and coiled around you, akin to a snake drawing in prey and suffocating them slowly - You found it difficult to breathe, cheeks flushed, as his demeanor switched from yearningly patient to gluttonous and predatory. Your stomach stirred warmly as you watched him move over every point of your bared skin within his depraved reach. Homelander left bundles of clashing colors over your thighs, the shapes warping as you began to tremble slightly underneath his invasive mouth. His misted hot breathing against your underwear made you readjust yourself in anticipation, the nervousness and sudden wavering anxiety bubbling in your stomach. You swallowed thickly, watching him lean closer towards the band of your underwear, sharp teeth skillfully hooking on the elastic. The pooling heat in your abdomen and trembling breath took the place of what words you now so desperately sought out. Your mind ran in circles, yet you stood on trembling thighs, eyes glued to his while your underwear began to ever so slowly be pulled down. Homelander's breathing hitched as your nudity became more apparent to him, underwear drawing out a long string of pooled moisture. He could feel his steady breath waver hastily, his teeth still iron tight on the elastic waistband. 

The smell of you filled his senses, your rocketing heartbeat drowning out his own as he let the underwear slide past your knees. He would never be able to put into words quite how difficult it was to keep himself restrained, not to move unless directly given the order to do so. He wanted to touch you, to feel your skin against his own - The cuffs binding his wrists were akin to tissue paper, and you had both agreed if he snapped the weak chain, the scene would come to a stop. It was torture, in it's most carnal form. 

Training a wild animal was no easy feat; The feeling of his tongue gently darting over the skin on your thighs was electric, tracing a painfully slow path towards your aching cunt. Homelander didn’t need to be in control to tease, yet his own greed would always trample the satisfaction of watching you squirm. His mouth met you desperately, tongue sliding over your heat with a quiet groan - He couldn't look away from you, not even when your eyes slid shut, eyebrows furrowing from the sudden pressure of his tongue lapping needily against your clit. He ravaged you, jolts of pleasure sparking in your veins with every lash of his tongue, sucking gently, savoring you and the noises that soon followed. You'd ruin him, surely. But in this moment, this second, his mind refused to let him see such a thing - It was you. Only you.

[clearmytrack]

i think i drew and colored and drew and colored for. a while. i worked from like 8 pm to 1-2 am and then midday until 11 pm because i had a ✨vision✨

so. meet screws :3

screws is a repair truck! her design is modeled after an industrial brownhoist wrecking derrick or wrecking crane. so basically she’s similar to wrench except. not.

she doesn’t belong with any one engine the way wrench belongs with electra. instead she hangs around on race nights and goes to whichever engine is in the worst shape. the worse the damage the better. screws is a little unhinged and enjoys seeing (and fixing) the damage the engines take during the races.

she also has a talent for taking broken engines and giving them new life! she’ll report to crash scenes to give aid, and by that i mean she also collects spare parts and broken beat up engines to play around with. like frankenstein and his monster, screws likes to play god.

one relationship that i’ve got cemented for her is with cb. they’re pals. she likes to follow him around because gee, he always seems to be around when there’s a crash! and a crash means more materials to work with.

at some point i think she’ll build herself an engine to fawn over, because she’s jealous of what wrench has with electra.

her design turned out much more mechanic-esque than medic-esque which was what i was going for but oh well. im pretty happy with her :] her makeup was definitely component inspired, mostly wrench but the cheek part definitely came out very krupp-like.

the pose was referenced from a ref image by @mellon-soup! ignore the right hand please i dont know how to draw hands lol

this is a close-up picture of the reference image in the upper lefthand corner of the ref i made of screws! it’s the one i color picked everything from.

[shiani25]

My requests are OPEN 😺!!!

I will write you a short story about Decepticons, just leave a message.

Here is one of my stories.

Starscream dislocated something in his frame and now he can’t move.

Megatron wanted to help but of course Starscream couldn’t stop himself from being Starscream and he will suffer the consequences.

"A lesson in sarcasm"

Starscream prided himself on his grace. He was a Seeker, after all, a being of the air, sleek and elegant. So, when a loud CRACK echoed through the corridor, followed by Starscream’s sudden and unceremonious descent to the grimy metal floor, his dignity took a serious hit. He lay there, splayed awkwardly, one wing twitching slightly, a look of utter disbelief on his face. It wasn’t particularly painful, per se. More like… something inside him had rearranged itself in a way that was profoundly inconvenient and rendered him utterly immobile. He felt like a particularly ungainly, grounded crane.

Megatron, naturally, chose this precise moment to round the corner. He stopped, his optics narrowing as he took in the scene: Starscream, prone on the floor, looking like he’d lost a fight with a particularly aggressive throw rug.

“Starscream,” Megatron rumbled, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “What, pray tell, are you doing on the floor?”

Starscream’s pride, already bruised by the CRACK and the subsequent fall, bristled. He could hardly admit that his internal mechanisms had staged a coup. No, that would never do.

“Clearly,” he drawled, injecting as much sarcasm as he could muster while horizontal, “I am… resting. Yes. Resting. On this… wretched, filthy floor. Perfectly comfortable. Just… enjoying the ambiance.” He even attempted a casual wave with one hand, which only resulted in him shifting slightly and emitting a small, pained grunt.

Megatron raised an optic ridge, his expression clearly saying, "Are you sure about that?" But instead of offering assistance, a slow, predatory grin spread across his face.

“Ah, ‘resting,’” he echoed, his voice dripping with mock concern. “Excellent. Well, wouldn't dream of disturbing you.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” Starscream sputtered, suddenly realizing that Megatron was actually going to leave him there. “Megatron! A little… assistance… perhaps?”

Megatron paused, glancing back at Starscream. “You said you were resting,” he reminded him, his grin widening. “Wouldn't want to interrupt your… ‘ambiance.’”

And with that, he continued on his way, leaving Starscream to stew in his own sarcastic juices and the increasingly uncomfortable reality of his current predicament.

Later, when other Decepticons inquired about Starscream’s absence from his usual scheming and plotting, Megatron simply waved a dismissive hand. “Starscream is… resting,” he’d say, a twinkle in his optics. “He specifically requested not to be disturbed. Something about… ‘communing with the floor.’”

The rumors spread like wildfire. Some speculated that Starscream had finally cracked under the pressure of command. Others whispered that Megatron had finally snapped and… well, no one wanted to speculate about that.

Starscream, meanwhile, remained on the floor, fuming. He tried subtly shifting his weight, hoping to somehow magically realign his internal components. He considered calling for help, but the thought of admitting his predicament was too much to bear. He was trapped by his own pride, his own sarcasm, and a rogue internal mechanism. It was, he thought grimly, a new low. And it was all Megatron’s fault. He would pay. Oh, he would pay dearly. Just as soon as he could figure out how to stand up again.

[acapelladitty]

chance encounter (Scriddler fic)

Summary: Based on this stunning artwork by @finzphoenix which asks what would happen if Edward and Jonathan stumbled across each other earlier in their careers as costumed criminals?

Fresh off an extended shift, his hours having been dragged out by a suicide attempt from one of the solitary inmates - a thoroughly selfish choice in his opinion since it had delayed his personal plans - Jonathan Crane was not feeling particularly forgiving as his feet trudged through the empty streets of Gotham while he made his way home.

His plans for the evening were simple; consisting of picking up a cheap dinner and locking himself away at his desk to refine the hypothetical formulas for his most recent compounds. Something was necessary to strengthen the molecular bonds and he had no doubt that a full belly, warmed by at least two fingers of gutrot whisky would prove the key components to assist him in finding success.

Distracted by his thoughts, he didn't see the other man pounding towards him on the sidewalk until it was too late to prevent disaster.

Colliding at the chest with matching grunts of surprise, Jonthan was only just able to maintain his balance as he swayed precariously for a moment before planting his left foot behind him to stabilise his frame. The other man was not so lucky as his grunt of surprise dissolved into a hiss of pain as he fell backwards onto his ass; the papers in his hands spilling out to the dry ground with a panicked flutter of movement.

Jonathan took a moment to catch his breath as the fallen man quickly switched positions, his legs swinging around to allow him to bend forward on his knees - his hands rapidly collecting up his disjointed documents.

"Perhaps a visit to the optometrist if you are unable to see where you are going."

Jonathan heard the words as clear as day from a voice which held a showman quality, a smug clarity writhing within each syllable, and his expression soured as shock quickly turned to dismissal as his gaze dropped properly to the fallen man.

Hair a rich shade of darkened brown, the shape of it was coiffed into a comfortable style that kept the strands free of his frowning forehead. A dull white shirt paired with a blue vest jumper and dark slacks spoke of a career in technology, probably some form of IT from the lanyard which hung around his pale neck and remained unreadable from this angle.

"By all means," the man continued with a scathing tone as he remained facing the ground and snatching up his papers, "continue to watch me clear your mess as you stand there doing noth- oh."

His knees cold and uncomfortable as they pressed against the uneven ground, Edward was uncharacteristically lost for words as he finally glanced up at the tall man who loomed over him like the night sky. His body blocking most of the limited light available, Edward had to squint to truly make out his appearance and doing so had momentarily robbed him of his silver tongue and scornful words.

A shiver ran down his spine and it had nothing to do with the cold evening air. Icy, dark eyes met his own and the intensity of them was not marred in the slightest by the wire-rimmed glasses which perched atop the proud nose which sneered down at him. Thin lips and jagged features paired with a similar frame but Edward found himself unable to draw his gaze away from those eyes - the darkness making them seem almost predatory as a glint of something sparked a warning from the gloom.

With clothing which appeared old-fashioned and almost frayed in places, Edward's keen powers of deduction told him that his man worked as a doctor, more likely some kind of psychiatrist, as his appearance and the vague scent of hospital which clung to him suggested a clinical air that was hard to disguise.

"You seem to have it covered." Jonathan spoke after a moment, the younger man's silence having hung in the air for an awkward moment. "Surely picking up some paper is a one man job that you're more than capable of." Meeting the verbal disdain in kind, Jonathan allowed himself to indulge in his own appraisal.

The face of the kneeling man was young, almost boyish, but beset with an older man's worries as something heavy hung across his brow; a weight which gave voice to unspoken stresses. His mouth was fuller than his own and hanging slightly agape, his surprise seeming to have robbed him of some of his dignity, as his fingers splayed across the ground. Bright, emerald eyes shone from behind his glasses, the dark frames only enhancing the sparkling green below and Jonathan felt the dullest twinge of arousal as he tilted his head like a hawk.

Both men stared the other out for a long moment. It wasn't lost on Jonathan just how interesting it was that the other man seemed content to remain on his knees before him, making no effort to get up and try to even out the playing field by placing them on equal footing. For someone so clearly prideful, it held implications that he couldn't help but consider. Hell, it felt almost natural and Jonathan surprised himself with the odd thought; such base considerations typically beyond him as he focused on the things in life which mattered.

But his mind wandered.

Even with their short meet, he could smell the arrogance rolling off the other man and the small, dark part of him that only seemed to grow with age wished to see it broken. He would find himself silenced, that smart mouth put to better use as it serviced him willfully - his knees reddened and bruised by repeated use as he was shown how best to meet his wants. And if the lessons didn't take then perhaps he would benefit from testing out one of the experimental compounds he was developing in secret within the asylum, a toxin which would bring fear to light in any who consumed it.

Half-hard and thankful that the dark slacks and billowing hem of his tenchcoat would be enough to distract from it, Jonathan pushed past his wicked thoughts and held out a single hand to help the man to his feet.

Edward, broken out of his reverie with a startled glance at the thin fingers, accepted without thanks as he placed his papers in his free hand and stood to his feet.

Without another word, Jonathan released his hand and brushed past the openly flustered man with a staunch pace that brooked no further interactions. His offer of assistance was one born of selfishness as the rapid adjustment of his body gave him the perfect opportunity to gaze at his lanyard with a hawk-like precision.

Edward Nashton. GCPD.

Cyber Crimes Div.

With a name and a location, Jonathan pulled his coat tighter against his chilled frame as he refused to turn as take one final look back at Mr. Nashton.

Edward.

Smiling against the darkness which was quick to envelop him as he slipped down a side-alley, Jonathan had no doubt that he would be seeing him again.

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

(Based on an ask for @pilot-boi About a Wall-E Whiteknight Au, and given Wall-e was instrumental to my childhood, I cannot help but write something for it. Because it's an AU, and they're both Human and not Robots, I took a few Liberties with the scene in the movie.)

~~~~~

Weiss was beyond frustrated. Nothing, after nothing, after nothing - no signs of life aside from the most extremophile of bacteria, protozoans, insects, and the occasional mold on fecal matter to imply the continuation of species on this gods-forsaken ball of mud.

She slammed the door of the cargo ship she was investigating shut, the rust sticking to her now dirtied gloves. Ugh.

She drifted by the crane of it, not noticing the creaks as it followed her, eventually ripping her back onto the magnet that hadn't fallen in the centuries of just sitting there.

And so Weiss snapped.

She whipped Myrtenaster out, igniting the plasmic blade and slicing the disc that held her back to pieces, before using her energetic glyphs to shred the the hulking metal antique, making it into even more scrap than it already was.

It toppled into the next ship, and then the next one, like dominoes. Deep, resonate bellows of creaks from the sudden movement after centuries of dormant stillness shook Weiss to her core.

She watched them fall, and for the time since her landing, let her feet settle against the ground. It was hard, dry, and barren, like the rest of this abandoned home. Weiss sat against an anchor, the fire and sparks filling a growing void in her chest, not unlike the one meant for plant life in her pack.

She sat there in silence - something the Passengers spoke of when in the few times she was allowed to meet them crossed her mind - A campfire. Whatever that was, it was meant to be shared with Family, something she'd been missing for a long time, her siblings being designated to different vectors of maintenance and service.

"AHem?"

Weiss reeled, drawing her sword once more, and startling a nearby person - A Person?!?

"Wer bist du?" She asked on high alert - this planet was meant to be dead, she was meant to find life here - who or what was this ... Person?

The person didn't respond, shaking violently at the sight of her blade - they appeared masculine, broad shouldered with dirty-blonde hair, though it was difficult to tell if that was due to genetics or living situation.

"Quis es?"

No Response.

"你是谁?"

No Response, but they did seem slightly less frightened given the lack of aggression.

"Chi sei?"

Their shaking slowed as they looked more inquisitive and confused than scared now.

"Qui es-tu?"

"OH! Je- Je M'appelle 'Jaune.' Vous parlez Anglais?"

"Yes I speak English."

"Oh, good!"

'Jaune' continued glancing at the glowing rapier. They seemed frightened of it still. Until he drew his own Weapon.

It wasn't as elegant as Myrtenaster, clearly older and having been used more - an old working tool for scrapping large objects, the thin, yellow sheen of plasma raced across it's edges.

"This is my Cutting tool. Your's is cool to!"

Weiss, once again, was thrown for a loop. He had drawn a dangerous device and waved it like it was a piece of extra piping.

"Jaune? Do you have a title or last name?"

The (boy?) seemed to flush at her pronunciation at his name.

"Jaune, of the A.R.C. Ministry"

"Arc?"

"Allocators of Recycled Components."

"How are you alive? Are there others like you?"

"Oh yeah! A lot, like, two hundred, three hundred others in the Bunker? Primarily we survive on Spirulina Compound. It provide most of our Oxygen and Food stuffs."

Weiss stood for a moment, deactivating her sword and pondering this - They'd been living in space for centuries. Earth was dead, barren, she was only barely able to survive due to advanced CO2 recycling.

"Have .. have you been following me?"

"Yep! You just seemed so pret-"

He was cut off by an alarm in his overalls. He lowered the visor to the helmet he wore, staring past her Weiss's shoulder.

"We need to leave Now." Jaune said, grabbing Weiss' wrist with a surprising amount of force, which she took none too kindly.

She reactived her Blade as she tore her hand away from him. "WHAT make you think You can grab me-"

"SANSTORM!" Jaune shouted, pointing past her "WE NEED TO GO, FOLLOW-"

Before he could even move to grab Weiss again, he slammed a massive tower shield in to the ground, covering himself from the blast of sand that tore at her skin and suit -

Weiss was whipped away, barely able to keep upright against the torrential winds, her Glyphs her only saving grace.

She Called out for the boy, anyone, frightened and alone, her suit's helmet the only thing allowing her to keep her eyes open even as it because scratched and muddled.

A hand found it's way to her wrist again, a dim yellow glow standing out against the violent dust letting her know she'd been found by Jaune.

It gave her some small comfort to not be alone as he dragged her somewhere, hopefully safe.

~~~~~

I fucking LOVE Wall-e. I made my First OC for Wall-e (Not that I knew what that meant at the time.) I had the Three-Disc Special edition, the Movie and it's Featurette Presto, The Second Disc with a gallery of the Bots, the Lots of Bots read-along, Burn-E (Who I imagine to be Qrow with his luck) and all the other special features, and the Digital Copy Disc to download it onto a Laptop or P.C. back when owning a digital copy of a movie was something special, and that's not even halve of it!

[drnikolatesla]

One of the Greatest Inventions of All Time

Nikola Tesla has many revolutionary inventions to his credit, but he is best known for his pioneering work in the development and promotion of alternating current (AC) electrical systems. Tesla's innovations in AC technology revolutionized the generation, transmission, and distribution of electrical power, becoming the foundation for the modern electrical power systems that we use today.

There is a common misconception made that Tesla was the first to invent, or discover, AC, but this is not true. It is well-known that Hippolyte Pixii was the first to discover AC in 1832. Pixii was an instrument maker from Paris who built an early form of an alternating current electrical generator (based on the principle of electromagnetic induction discovered by Michael Faraday), and thus started a new industry in power transmission. Tesla was not the first to discover or invent an AC motor, but he was the first to invent a practical AC induction motor with commercial value that could outperform all other motors. It must be noted that Italian inventor Galileo Ferraris also invented an induction motor similar to Tesla's, but it had no commercial value, and he even admitted himself that it was useless. Tesla's induction motor operates on the principle of electromagnetic induction, properly utilizing a rotating magnetic field that induces a current in a stationary conductor, resulting in rotational motion. The utilization of the rotating magnetic field makes the motor more simple, robust, versatile, efficient, and cost effective in that it has less moving parts reducing the likelihood of mechanical failure (as was common in other motors).

Tesla's induction motor became a fundamental component in the field of electrical engineering and is used today in various applications, being one of the most widely used devices in the world. The motors play a crucial role in transmitting electrical power to homes and businesses. They are commonly used in power generation plants to convert mechanical energy into electrical energy, which is then transmitted through the power grid for distribution to various locations. Induction motors are also widely employed in appliances and machinery within homes and businesses for various applications. These applications include conveyor systems, hoists, cranes, lifts, pumps, fans, ventilation systems, compressors, manufacturing machinery, wind turbines, washing machines, refrigerators, garbage disposals, microwaves, dishwashers, vacuums, air conditioners, robotics, electric vehicles, trains, power tools, printers, etc. Basically, anything that requires a spinning action for power.

The induction motor is widely considered one of the most important inventions in the history of electrical engineering. Its importance lies in its transformative impact on industries, its efficiency and reliability, and its role in the broader electrification of society.