#High efficiency crane

[avonengineering]

Electric Overhead Travel (EOT) Cranes

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Key Features:

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[deviousdeliciousness]

Jarred Pt. 1

A tiny is rude to a giant, so the giant decides to teach the tiny a lesson - one they'll undoubtedly remember.

Time-out can gain a whole new meaning when you're four inches tall. (And a jar can feel claustrophobic even if you can so easily fit inside.)

Next: Pt. 2

~~~~~~~~

"-Yeah? Well I think you're stupid!" Tee shouted back up to Jack, stomping his foot on the counter for added emphasis and crossing his arms over his chest with a huff.

Jack's expression turned blank, then darkened. His jaw clenched, and there was an audible grinding of his teeth.

Tee couldn't help but falter, physically taking half a step back as a dark scowl settled on his giant friend's face. Suddenly, yelling at the much larger being didn't seem like it'd been such a good idea.

"H-hey-" Tee started to stutter, raising his hands in front of himself in a placational manner, but he cut himself off with a surprised squeak as Jack's hand shot out above him, ripping open a cupboard door with far more force than necessary and snatching up something inside.

Tee craned his neck up to see what, and his heart stuttered in his chest as he saw-

A jar.

A jar.

Jack was holding a large glass jar, one of the tall ones nearly twice Tee's height, and he was unscrewing the lid with vicious efficiency. Tee nearly jumped out of his skin when Jack slammed the lid onto the counter, and fight or flight mode finally hit the tiny like a train as he saw the giant's hand menacingly swoop forward in his direction.

Tee wisely chose flight.

He spun on his heel and bolted, his heart all at once hammering up from his chest and into his throat and his legs pumping frantically as he darted across the counter, the back of his neck practically burning with the undoubted glare of the furious giant behind him.

Tee barely made it ten steps.

He let loose a blood-curdling scream as Jack's palm collided with his back, giant fingers curling inwards around him like a Venus flytrap.

He thrashed wildly in the grip, any semblance of rational thought having abruptly fled his mind in place of pure, unadulterated terror, but he just as quickly froze - as still as death - when the fingers around him squeezed just shy of making his bones creak with the pressure, the threat as clear as day and all the more sickeningly petrifying for it.

He whimpered - a short, aborted sound - as his feet lifted up off the the counter, and he had to forcefully repress the urge to uselessly wriggle like a caught fish as the movement came to a stop with him aloft in the air, knowing - dreading - without having to look that he was being held above the opening to the jar.

He sent a desperate, pleading look to the giant - to his friend - but Jack's expression was closed off and so, so cold.

Tee's tentative hope that this was all a sick, twisted joke to get back at him withered and died a horrible death.

In the next moment, he was dropped. He landed awkwardly, barely catching himself from twisting his ankle as he landed hard onto the cool glass bottom of the mason jar, gasping out a shocked breath. He flinched backwards into the glass behind him as the jar was set none-too-gently onto the counter, and he craned his neck up high to stare with uncomprehending, fear-filled eyes at Jack.

The giant peered down at him dispassionately from the open lid of the jar. As if he hadn't just obliterated the carefully built, more than just tentatively hopeful trust a tiny had fully placed in his giant's hands. A gift so rarely given. A gift that was now destroyed.

There was movement in Tee's peripheral, and in the next second, his line of sight to the giant's face was blocked by a solid black lid, one that clacked gratingly against the glass before it begun to be twisted, Jack screwing it back onto the jar with what Tee could only perceive as a detached sense of finality.

"No," the tiny whimpered, sliding down the side of the jar and curling his knees to his chest, arms wrapping around his calves and gripping tight. This couldn't be happening. His - Jack wouldn't do this to him. He wouldn't.

But he had.

The tiny's head smacked into the back of the jar when he flinched as the giant's hand suddenly wrapped around the container, lifting it once more and making Tee's stomach drop into his guts with the too-quick movement.

There was a squeak of the cupboard hinges, and Tee had to quickly blink his eyes (which stung with tears that he refused to acknowledge or dare let fall for fear of them never stopping) as the light around him suddenly dimmed. He peered muzzily at his surroundings, which were ever so slightly distorted through the thick glass.

His breath froze in his lungs as he took in the cold, empty jars all around him, lifeless and covered in a thin layer of dust. None showing any sign of use, of ever - or only the rarest of occasions - seeing the light of day.

He snapped his neck forwards again and frantically scrambled to the front of the jar from where he saw Jack looking down at him, one of the giant's hands already loosely gripping the cupboard door's knob.

Tee shook his head, slightly at first, then with more desperation as his panic renewed with a stomach-dropping vengeance, his palms pressing up against the glass and his eyes wide and irrefutably pleading. He knew the giant wouldn't be able to hear him through the container, but a litany of frantic pleas and cries fell past his lips anyway.

"Please - please Jack don't do this. I'm sorry - I - I won't yell at you, or-or call you stupid or- do anything bad ever again. I was- I was wrong. I was wrong - please! I - you - you were right! About everything! I swear I'll listen to whatever you say, I'll- I'll do whatever you want - j-just - just don't leave me here!"

Jack just continued to stare dully at him, stony expression unchanged except for the briefest flicker in his eyes as hot tears abruptly spilled over Tee's blotchy cheeks.

They weren't enough.

(After all, Jack would have to care for him for his cries to matter.)

Slowly, inexorably, the cupboard door began to shut, and, tone foreboding and so, so sickeningly empty of anything close to concern, consideration, Jack finally spoke in the moment before Tee's world was pitched into terrifying, solitary darkness.

"You'll learn your place."

~~~~~~~~

OOooohoohooohooooo~ a lillll' angsty I know ;33

This one kinda got away from me, but I had fun hehehe

Also I'm posting this sleep-deprived and with exactly zEro brain matter present at the moment, so fingers crossed that it's actually decent *finger guns*

Next: Pt. 2

[probablyasocialecologist]

There are enough highways, apartments and offices, malls and hotels, restaurants and theme parks—this despite an ongoing crisis of housing affordability. In the over-carbonised economies of the world’s wealthiest countries, maybe we don’t need to build any more, or only do so in a very targeted manner: hospitals and archives, cooling centres, housing and amenities for climate refugees. Even in these cases, there is often the capacity to reuse and redistribute what we have—to reconsider the role of design as one of maintenance, repair, and adequate comfort.  Some buildings are needed. Class A office space and luxury condominiums, not so much. After the Covid lockdowns, the vacant office space in New York City could fill twenty-six Empire State Buildings. Seems like enough. Yet there are still cranes in the sky, still new towers on the boards—indeed, the production of the built environment (and not only in New York) is essential to a growth economy. Any form of enough-ness goes against this premise of relative economic strength being measured by growth, or really by the growth of growth—how much has the GDP gone up, and at what rate? To suggest that, individually or collectively, we already have enough goes against the very foundation of consumer culture. Many life worlds are organized largely, if not exclusively, around accumulation, wanting and getting more—more stuff, more space, more savings.  The health of the US economy in particular is measured by rates of consumer spending, and through this measure implicitly directs the global supply chain. What, for example, is the carbon cost of the resurgence of interest in Barbie? The plastics, the shipping, the advertising, the repainting of houses. And given the carbon intensive energy regime that hums beneath this always-growing global economy, all of this—stuff, space, savings—is dripping in oil, vibrating with carbon intensity, keeping the arrow of emissions pointed inexorably upwards. The Austrian/Puerto Rican economist Leopold Kohr referred to this as Skyscraper Economics—how high can we build? How much can an economy grow? Is there a measure of health, or wealth, that is not about this competitive increase, but about a horizontal redistribution? At last year’s Beyond Growth Summit in Brussels, this was framed as a distinction between “ecologically harmful growth competition and well being cooperation.” Architecture’s fealty to growth, investment, and financialization is caught up in this distinction, and faces the challenge of finding opportunities for creativity within a new set of constraints. Why, when a new building is announced on Instagram or in a glossy magazine by some proud firm or client, do we see square footage, a few swanky features, but no mention of the estimated carbon emissions of the building’s life-cycle?

[whumpshaped]

anon asked:

A villain that's being tortured by the hero, because the hero thinks they had something to do with the death of their teammate. But villain didn't have anything to do, it was all supervillains plan, but hero doesn't listen to them. Even if they beg, scream, or plead, the hero doesn't... doesn't behave like a hero. Where did all that mercy go?

---

tw death mention, murder mention, interrogation (sort of), torture, burns, revenge (directed at the wrong person)

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Villain screamed, tears streaming down their face from the utter agony Hero had put them through so far; and which they showed no signs of stopping. “I had nothing to do with it! Do you think I even know all your dumb fucking friends? Do you think I spend my day hunting them down? I barely care about you!”

Hero didn’t seem fazed. They didn’t even seem angry, really, and that was the scariest part. They seemed cold and detached, devoid of all the good parts of their public persona. All Villain was left with was everything else, the things Hero cleverly dressed up in flourish and respectable morals: brutal efficiency, a calculating mind, and the terrifying ability to pinpoint others’ weaknesses. 

They would’ve made a vicious villain, a fact Villain liked to taunt them with every now and then. Hero always came back with some ridiculous monologue about how all the wealth in the world was nothing compared to the worthy cause of helping others. Villain really, really wished they’d launch into a monologue like that right about now.

“Say, does fire hurt you at all?” Hero asked instead, unfeeling eyes boring into their soul. “I know it doesn’t kill you. Does it hurt?” 

“Hero, listen to me. I’m not the one you fucking want! You’re torturing the wrong guy! Do you not care about it at all? Are you just torturing me for the sake of it? Because if so, maybe we’re on the same fucking team!”

Hero didn’t answer. They grabbed a lighter from the table next to them and put it right under Villain’s chin, and they couldn’t do anything except crane their head to get as far away from it as possible. “I suppose it does, yeah? You wouldn’t be squirming so much if it didn’t.”

“Please!” they blurted out, their angry facade crumbling under the threat of third degree burns. “Please, I’m telling the truth! I had nothing to do with it! I don’t know who did it! I would tell you, I swear I would! Hell, I can help you hunt them down, just listen to me! You’re supposed to be the good guy! You’re supposed to be just!” Their voice was getting more and more desperate, and while they weren’t proud of it, they wouldn’t be proud of several burn scars on their face and neck either. At least the memory would fade away.

“Just?”

Hero flicked the little thing on, and the flame started licking at the sensitive skin of their throat. They could withstand the heat better than regular people, but they couldn’t take it forever — an inhuman scream was eventually ripped from their chest as it became too much, too painful, too hot. Hero didn’t seem to care. They continued dragging the lighter along their jawline, grabbing them by the hair to steady them when they started thrashing too much.

By the end of it, Villain was a sobbing mess, unable to even let their head hang. It hurt too much. It was ironic, the fact that they’d be forced to walk around with their head held high, because putting it down would be all too painful. 

“It wasn’t just when I lost my friend to your little scheme.” Hero tossed the lighter back onto the table. Some of their anger was seeping through their words, now, and Villain would’ve grovelled and apologised at the sound of it, had they been the one responsible for the murder.

When they saw Hero grab the can of gasoline, they decided it didn’t matter whether they were responsible. “It wasn’t! It was unfair, and I’m sorry! I– Do you want me to say it was me? What do you want? What do you want from me? Even if I was responsible, what would this change? I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do to help you, but I’ll– I’ll do anything! I’ll be a spy, I’ll be a fucking rat, I’ll help you catch whoever did it! I’ll stop with my little schemes! Please!”

None of their pleas were heard. Hero completely doused them, not caring whether the liquid would make the previous burns worse. Villain supposed it didn’t matter, not when they were about to do something so much worse. 

They coughed and sputtered and tried to get the disgusting taste out of their mouth at least, but they couldn’t get it off their face enough to open their eyes and see what was going on. In the end, they didn’t have to. They could hear it very clearly when Hero lit a match.

And the rest? The rest they could feel.

[lily-radiance]

Random fic headcanons and ideas:

TWD season two Daryl Dixon with an S/O who's in trouble

Both loners

MC is not from Georgia

Early 20s MC dating mid-30s Daryl

She knows how to shoot archery bows but not crossbows

Touch-starved

Andrea considers MC like another younger sibling

Everyone advises Daryl not to go for you and vice versa

When Rick, Hershel, and Glenn go to the bar, MC accompanies them. Daryl only goes when Lori tells him that you are in danger.

Carol gives him advice

Andrea and Lori warn him if he breaks your heart, he's a dead man.

RE4 Leon with a high school best friend who became an Umbrella Scientist.

MC was initially training for the force with Leon but dropped out to find another passion

She wants to help people but gets pulled into Umbrella’s dark research

Leon caught a glimpse of her at the end of RE2 but couldn't be sure if it was her.

Ashley doesn't trust MC, but Leon ignores it

Both have combat experience and have undergone physical conditioning

MC does not have Las Plagas

Krauser spars with MC, causing Leon to jump in.

Krauser asks Leon to choose between you and Ashley.

IDK if Leon would be sweet here or a Yandere.

Arkham Movie Trilogy Jonathan Crane, Harley Quinn, and Poison Ivy x Psychiatrist reader

This story is currently in progress!!!

Reader works at Arkham Asylum

Friends with Bruce Wayne

Knows about his alter ego and occasionally helps him solve cases

Reader believes Bruce should do more with his money to benefit Gotham

Combines Heath Ledger’s Joker with Margot Robbie’s Harley Quinn

The reader was in the same major as Harley in college, and the two dated briefly

Harley constantly teases the reader when she catches wind of a new crush

You try to ignore her, but eventually can't as she warns you that the doctor is deadlier than he lets on

You brush it off, too fond of your coworker to accept the notion that he can hurt you

Bruce doesn't like your new counterpart, picking up a destructive energy that screams guilty

In defiance, you decide to bring your beaux to one of many parties and get on your friend’s last nerve.

A kiss is shared in front of the crowd, some murmuring complaints while others smile. You wish to stay in Jonathan’s arms, but the moment is interrupted as Bruce pulls you aside

Naturally, two upper-class socialites fighting in front of an audience calls for bad publicity, but not on your part

“If you keep this up, you'll become a sewer rat criminal just like the rest!”

Luckily, you decided to wear a few rings to accentuate your outfit. Not only do you look stunning, but you reel back and land a brutal slap on his cheek. Yet that doesn't hurt as much as your following words.

“How dare you, Bruce. How dare you scrutinize what you can never understand. Thomas and Martha would be ashamed of you, and you, of all people, know they were difficult to rattle. Next time you need anything, ask someone who gives a shit.”

Your friend has to watch in shock as you exit the home, arm linked with a man he despises. Even in disagreeable situations, you manage to exhibit grace and elegance. It's the beginning of a new era and the opportunity to forget the complex life of the wealthy.

“Is your hand alright, (Y/N)? Better yet, are you okay?”

Never underestimate a psychiatrist to get into your head. He walks you to the car, watching your lips tremble in the darkness. You meet his stare, and one thought crosses your mind: kissing him sounds lovely. The doctor is efficient at picking up social cues, leaning down to meet your lips, and extinguishing the frigid temperature.

“As long as I'm with you, Jonathan. I can do anything with you by my side, no matter the risks.”

I want to make the reader an anti-hero vigilante with the “Grim Reaper” theme. Supernatural powers in Batman don't really occur so I will brainstorm. Most villains are the work of genetic experiments gone wrong so maybe I'll work with that?

JD(Heathers 1989) dating the reader

You are friends with Veronica and the despicable Heathers

Instead of going along with their charades, you often argue and challenge Heather Chandler

She constantly threatens your social standing but knows that the campus would easily choose you over her.

Purple color coded

JD can't help but admire your tenacity as you begrudgingly follow Veronica to the table, attempting to stop the girl from doing Heather’s bidding.

When you walk over, he seems uninterested in the girl speaking to him, instead transfixed on your disinterested attitude. Unknowingly, you lick your lips, tasting lip gloss and wiping some glitter away. When you lock eyes, you swear your heart stops beating, drawn to his carefree attitude.

Veronica says a few words to you, trying to convince you to let her administer the lunch poll

As she talks, you playfully roll your eyes, causing the delinquent to smirk in your direction. He hides a chuckle from breaking out, finding your careless joking funny given the circumstances. When Veronica walks off, it allows you to sit across from the newcomer, albeit a little too eagerly.

“Mind if I ask for a smoke? I'm dying from boredom.”

“Sure, I could never say no to a girl like you. I’m guessing you’ve been trying to break from those devils all day.”

He lights your cigarette as you take it between your teeth, enjoying the visual more than he lets on.

“It's all thanks to you, my knight in obsidian armor.”

[sallowsdiary]

Now, I’m not one to brag—okay, maybe a little—but my extensive knowledge of the library's many secret nooks is unrivaled. Plus, I am taller than most fifth years, which obviously made me the perfect candidate for this high-stakes retrieval.

Anyway, she wandered over to the bookshelves and craned her neck at the topmost shelf, where all the really good books are stashed away. Typical. She's like 5'2" on a good day, so there's no way she's reaching that shelf without a broomstick or some serious stretching spells. Naturally, being the kind-hearted man that I am, I thought I'd help her out.

"Could you reach that book for me?" she asked, pointing to a tome that was so high up it was practically in another zip code.

"Of course," I replied smoothly. "Anything for a fellow student." I didn't mention the part where I might have also been trying to impress her with my impeccable hair and ability to reach tall things.

So, I did what anyone with a pragmatic streak would do: I cast a simple Levitation Charm. The book floated gently down into her hands. She looked at me, surprised, and before she could say a word, I’m already grabbing the book. It was a hefty tome titled “Advanced Dark Arts for Beginners”—very reassuring, right? I’m sure it’s just a friendly primer on turning your homework into a toad.

Anyway, she smiled—a real smile, like she'd just found out house points were being given out for noticing my freckles. I felt a rare flicker of something warm inside, right in the spot where my ambition usually lives. Maybe it was pride, or maybe it was the knowledge that I could now casually mention this heroic deed in passing. Probably both.

She thanked me, and we shared a brief, awkward moment where I might have winked. Or I might have had something in my eye. The details are hazy. I think she called me a "gentleman." The joke's on her; we both know I was up to no good. But hey, it felt nice to be the hero for once, even if it was for something as mundane as reaching a book. But as she walked away, I felt quite accomplished. Not only had I helped someone, but I’d also managed to do it without breaking a sweat. Classic Sallow efficiency.

I think I’ve earned a spot in the unofficial "Guys Who Aren't So Bad" club. Or at least until the next time she needs a book from the bottom shelf. Ah, the sacrifices one makes for chivalry.

P.S. I think I deserve a chocolate frog for this. Preferably one with a Salazar card. It’s all about house pride, after all.

—S.S.

[agent-calivide]

Having some swap au brain bees, so, enjoy

Solaris and Fabricator

Solaris is an abstract artist that likes to make elaborate laser displays that show the sheer power and beauty of light refractions. Unfortunately, she was ostracized due to her art having the unlucky side effect of semi-regularly burning down the museums they were displayed in. She now works for Crane as an engineer so her lasers can be truly appreciated in death traps

Fabricator is a total physics nerd that is passionate about the logistics and running the numbers that making death traps entails. Her favorite part of working on a new death trap is figuring out how to calculate the perfect angle to lob an agent’s head clean off- OH- or maybe she could try that one trap that goes for an artery in the legs to see how efficient death via bleeding out is- OR OR- Oh la la- so many options! So many tests!

Prism and Juniper

Roxana Prism is a Hollywood practical effects star, she’s known for her amazing inventions that have revolutionized film stunts for decades to come! Rather than actors being shot at by firearms specialists (yes that’s really how they did that for a window of time) they now are able to safely do stunts with harmless pyrotechnics and simulation devices, all with the help of her test dummy companion, CrashBot! But eventually, her device’s improvements weren’t being appreciated. As she tried to advance her techniques, she was told that the originals worked well enough, and now she was just being greedy. A scam. A one-trick pony that contributed what Hollywood needed and could go back to her corner now. This filled her with indescribable rage, and when Crane approached her with the chance of a lifetime, to show people just how good her inventions were on an international broadcast, well. How could she refuse?

John Juniper was once a high ranking EOD agent, known for his special skills in deceit and espionage. With his charming charisma and having lying down to an art form, he was integral to the EOD’s ability to work eyes and ears into secure facilities all around the globe. Unfortunately, he was too good at playing the game, to the point there was lack of trust in him to tell the truth when it came to work. This stung, as he had done nothing but give to the EOD, and when he was gently let go, he found Crane more than willing to put his… assets to good use. It was only when he realized that switching sides was getting many of the very people he personally trained up killed that he realized this wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to be respected, acknowledged, but not at the cost of hundreds of thousands of others.

Caliente and Hivemind

Caliente is a passionate pyro, his favorite past times consist of experimenting with how he can develop more potent lighter fluids and made flames burn hotter than ever before. He has a massive collection of lighters that he meticulously maintains and is not above a good arson pun before killing someone. He doesn’t think much of Crane, so long as he has stuff to burn he’s happy.

Hivemind is gruff, harsh, and will kill you if you make a bee pun around him. He uses killer hornets and views them as simply a means to an end, he’s much more interested in the control aspects of the creatures as tools than he is raising them like animals. While he is interested in his hornets more than other creatures, he understands that his bee research is merely a means to an end to Crane, and respects that as such.

Zor and Crane

Zor is a handler that’s been at the EOD for a while. They’re rather cynical, but in truth it’s a way to hold people at an arm’s length away. They don’t like people getting too close or knowing too much about them, they actually use a voice modulator when talking to their agents to keep things from getting too chummy. They were good friends with Juniper before he betrayed the agency, but even despite his betrayal they trusted that he wouldn’t reveal their secrets. He wasn’t like that. Of course, their walls only work for so long, as eventually a certain someone worms past their defenses and reveals the heart of bronze underneath. Not gold, they’re not that nice, but they care and that’s all that matters.

Crane is a renowned corporate billionaire who is known for his corporation, Cranaxis. Despite the fact the EOD is well aware of his legal name and full identity, they have a hard time pinning him down. Between his cheery disposition and reflective humor, people are inclined to trust him even to their own detriment. He’s very fatherly, giving support to people who had their passions rejected and giving them a new chance to forge the life they want. Of course, this is all an act. He couldn’t give a damn if they live or die, he just wants results. And if he doesn’t get them, well, he always has another operative lined up on the chopping block.

Ulanova and Ollie

Anna Ulanova joined Cranaxis in hopes of making a difference! While she struggles with juggling her passions with work, Crane pushes her to try and do both. She mostly works on Cranaxis’ image, vocally supporting them whenever she’s asked what’s helped her journey with her music the most. Crane is just such a kind, patient man after all.

Ollie is an exhausted marine biologist that was forced into shackling the giant squid. He didn’t want to, the actions were abhorrent, a crime against nature, and he knew in that moment he had to get out. Unfortunately, when he tried to defect he was locked away in an underwater lab and left to rot. It was only with the help of an EOD agent that he managed to escape.

Sans and Phoenix

Phoenix is Crane’s right hand op, they’re known for their knowledge with not only arson, but infiltration. EOD buildings burn down overnight with not a scrap of evidence left behind on how it started, defectors vanish without a trace, somehow Crane knows things that only EOD agents should be aware of, and it’s all thanks to a little Birdy telling him. Phoenix really truly sees Crane as their father, but it is unclear if the feeling is mutual.

Sans is an elite agent known as the Chemist. His innate knowledge with not only chemistry, but biology makes him quite the unique force in the field, able to start fires with compounds that nobody would think of and having the capabilities to subdue an operative with attacks he has innately honed to go for weak spots in the body. His unique approach to problems got him to be a top-ranked field agent, even though he really wonders if he should have gone into forensics. At least they have dental… his dynamic with his handler is a strange one, an odd, cold distance between them that made it hard to communicate. But over time, Zor opened up to him, and to this day he’s one of three people who know Zor’s real voice.

[kermiomi]

nsfw | sakuatsu | autofellatio | voyerism / exhibitionism | sub / dom undertones

atsumu was always a little aware of kiyoomi's flexibility, however he wasn't fully aware to the extent of just /how/ flexible he truly was, or it's potential. until now, that is.

they had been dating for not too long when they started getting more intimate. it was maybe a couple months after kiyoomi first joined msby, and then another couple months into seeing each other when they finally couldn't keep their hands to themselves any longer.

it should have been a fairly awkward first time together, but a little liquid courage made it one of the best firsts either had ever had.

tipsy and bold, the sex was so good that both of them knew they were probably going to be hooked for life. whether or not they would admit that at this point in their relationship though is still up for debate.

so, even though they haven't quite gotten to the 'i love you' stage of their dating adventure, atsumu very much loves his tall, bendy boyfriend.

kiyoomi's wrists are soft and pliable, his legs thick and articulate, and his spine almost like a fluid reed at times. it isn't until a good bit into their sexual explorations would kiyoomi bring up /how/ he would sometimes pleasure himself when alone.

atsumu hadn't even realize the potential of his boyfriend's flexibility until one early

saturday conversation.

"yeah, i've sucked myself off before."

kiyoomi didn't look up from stirring milk into his tea, but he could feel atsumu's wide eyes burning into the side of his head.

it was so casual atsumu almost didn't register what kiyoomi actually said.

"you…

kiyoomi was now beginning to think he's going to regret his confession. he looks up from his mug and atsumu's eyes are intensely dark, his face and neck overcome by a deep flush.

every person who happens to have a dick has tried to, or at the very least thought about it before. this certainly includes atsumu himself, though the attempt left him with a bruised ribcage and ego.

and now here before him was the love of his life in his kitchen casually admitting to be living one of his ultimate fantasies.

atsumu's breathing picks up and he moves forward to place a hand on the table next to kiyoomi's tea. his veins bulge and muscles tense up as he leans down to look closer into his boyfriend's eyes. a small blush blooms high on kiyoomi's cheeks.

he cranes his neck a little to look up at atsumu. his mind was racing with filthy visons and kiyoomi could see it in his gaze. the breath against kiyoomi's lips is hot and heavy.

'show me. please."

kiyoomi feels like he might not regret this after all.

///

"sit there," kiyoomi gestures vaguely to an upholstered arm chair. it faces towards the side of the bed, placed with intention. kiyoomi looks over to his golden boyfriend and smirks,

"and for a little fun, no touching yourself until i come, hm?" what a fucking menace.

atsumu obediently sits; still fully clothed in nice black jeans and a loose plain shirt. nothing fancy is really needed anyway. kiyoomi however strips out of his clothes fairly efficiently; all until his boxer briefs are so slowly pulled away from his long legs and atsumu flushes. kiyoomi's cock is long and rosy pink, and it suddenly feels all too real. this is really happening.

atsumu is looking at his boyfriend with new eyes and he can finally see how this might be possible. with a cutting side glace from kiyoomi, atsumu is very quickly becoming /very/ hard in his pants. kiyoomi flushes and looks away. god his boyfriend is pretty.

kivoomi kneels onto the bed and moves forward until he's facing the wooden headboard. he lays back and pulls his legs up above his chest with his hands against the back of his thighs keeping him up.

awkwardly scooting forward a little using his strong arm and back muscles, kiyoomi settles on his upper back, shoulder blades cutting into the bed. the back of his hips rest against the cool, flat headboard and his pretty cock head is kissing the skin of his torso just above the navel.

his strong, muscular stomach looks delicate and soft as it folds into itself, layers of flesh and fat giving way to lower his hips closer to his face.

a push of his hips forward and his cock bobs above his face, a breath away from his lips and usually where most flexible people would have already reached their limit. but atsumu's beautiful, bendable boyfried takes a deep breath in... then out...

relaxing his muscles further and using his stupid, sexy flexable hands to put more pressure against the back of his thighs.

atsumu holds his breath as he watches, knuckles turning white against his thighs.

the dewy tip kisses his bottom lip, then pulls away just a hair. precum keeps him connected to himself by a thread, but it is broken when kiyoomi pulls his cock back down to his mouth again.

his soft, wet lips engulf the rosy tip, licking against himself with short pets of his tongue. atsumu can't hold back his raspy breath,

"fuck, omi."

his dick is so hard it starts to feel good pressed up into his pants.

it's only a little, no more than two or three inches into his mouth, but it's more than enough to get kiyoomi worked up. a small blush pinkens his cheeks and chest as he takes a deep breath of his own musky scent.

kiyoomi lets out a short whine, muffled by his own cock on his tongue. it's as if he is slowly drowning himself into submission.

taking away one hand from his thighs, kiyoomi slowly strokes the shaft of his cock, giving needed stimulation to what he can't pull into his mouth.

atsumu echos his groans. neither of them really know how he's managed to stay still in the chair as long as he has. kiyoomi drags his hand lower on himself to massage and softly pull his balls as he continues to suckle himself into his warm his skin tastes clean, he notes; if not a little bitter and salty.

atsumu feels like he hasn't taken a breath in hours, eyes unable to move from kiyoomi's body, his lips, the shiny head of his cock against his own tongue.

kiyoomi's hips jolt, pushing himself another inch into his mouth and his whine makes atsumu leak a little into his boxers.

"fuck omi yer so hot."

atsumu's rough voice makes lightning crackle up kiyoomi's spine and his own whimpers gently vibrate against his skin, only helping to further push himself towards orgasm. his cock feels hot in his own mouth. his mouth feels so, so soft around his own cock.

it's so different when there is someone else watching him. all of his senses feel heightened, almost painful. but it still feels all too good to stop

his hips jolt again and the muscles in his abs tighten. he can feel it coming already.

he releases himself from his mouth with a small whine, bringing his hand back around his cock to quickly stroke himself right up to the edge.

his thighs are twitching, hips bucking down into his hand as atsumu watches sweat run down his temples to his dark curls. between pants and moans, atsumu can hear sighs of his name from kiyoomi's messy mouth.

"fuck- atsu, atsu astuatsu-" his belly tightens, abdomen rippling, balls drawing tight. cum beads up from the slit and finally spills over to drip down into his mouth. a ragged moan is ripped from his lungs, and savory, lucid cream pools onto his pink tongue as the muscle hangs limply from his parted lips.

heavy, wet breaths and hips that just wont stop fucking into his hand make his aim falter a little. some of it catches on his chin, slowly dripping down his neck to his collarbones. a small bit goes too far and splatters thick threads high onto his flushed cheeks.

as his high wanes, kiyoomi's mouth is thoroughly covered in his own cum. he lays in his afterglow prettily, displayed like a violent painting of lust.

atsumu can't fucking take it. his hard cock cuts against the seam of his jeans too deliciously.

as kiyoomi spills onto himself, atsumu gives in and presses his rough, burning hand over his hard on. with a few firm strokes against himself, he's spilling an embarrassing amount of cum into his underwear.

he lets out an animalistic groan that kiyoomi responds to with his own soft whine. atsumu's body is flushed warm from his belly to his face. his release seeps through his pants. a deep warm smudge, fully visible and shameless in his lap if kiyoomi were to look up for a second.

but kiyoomi is a little too preoccupied making a mess of himself to notice.

as the last threads of cum drip from his slit kiyoomi brings his tip back into his mouth, sucking the last of his release down his wet throat with many consecutive, little swallows.

he doesn't move his lips away from his burning red cock for a while, continuing to lick and tease his tip well past whimpering and gasping overstimulation. atsumu can't believe he is lucky enough to witness his boyfriend milking himself of every drop like a dying man.

he could probably die happy right about now.

finally, kiyoomi lets go of himself with a sharp whiny inhale that devolves into breathy moans as he lets himself fill his lungs with the cool air of the bedroom. they both don't move from where they sit for a while, just trying to catch their breath enough to see straight again.

atsumu moves from his seat for the first time since he was ordered into it. he crawls forward onto the duvet and leans down, breath tickling the curls lying against kiyoomi's forehead.

looking back up at him, albeit still upside down and his lower back against the headboard, kiyoomi suddenly feels a rush of embarrassment that twists his gut.

atsumu either pretends not to notice or truly doesn't care, and leans in to press wet kisses to kiyoomi's mouth, tasting him from his own lips. his tongue is ravenous, licking deeply into kiyoomi until he just might pass out from a lack of sufficient air.

when atsumu releases him, kiyoomi is a little cross eyed as he tries to focus his vision on atsumu's face. they both just breathe in each other for a moment.

"fuck yer so pretty."

"god, i love you

the heavy, warm air between them is silent for a beat.

"huh?!?!?"

"if you missed it the first time you're out of luck, i'm not going to say it again.

"nuh uh, no way did ya just beat me to the first 'i love you'!"

"do you have to turn everything into a competition???"

"with you babe? always.”

"and i really love you too."

"mm, good."

"now, teach me how to do that too!"

"never."

[adhdnursegoat]

Daughter of Fear

Chapter 5 has officially been posted! Hope y'all enjoy!

Here's a snippet! Go to the link at the bottom for full access to the chapter!

“Desdemona, are you paying attention?”

The young woman blinks rapidly, her mind reorienting to reality. “Sir?”

“I asked you a question,” her father grumbles in his raspy tone. “What has gotten into you?”

Edward Nigma.

“Nothing, I’m sorry, Father.” She gives him a polite nod in apology. “I must not be feeling myself today. What did you ask?”

Jonathan Crane fixes her with a piercing stare, his round glasses reflecting the harsh fluorescent light of the room. His mouth tightens into a thin, disapproving line. His scrutiny is almost suffocating, a silent reminder of the high standards he expects. This lack of focus is unlike her—she is usually the epitome of discipline and composure, meticulously absorbing every detail of their strategies and plans.

Years of painstaking effort have gone into molding her mind to align with his own rigid standards. He has refined her to embody the qualities he values: unwavering loyalty, steadfast dedication, unyielding submission (to him), and a relentless focus. Yet, today, that focus wavers alarmingly so. This is the second time today she has required redirection, the umpteenth time in the last few days – absolutely nothing like her.

Jonathan’s disapproval is heavy as he scrutinizes his daughter. The light of the study casts long shadows across his face, accentuating the steely resolve etched into his features. His adherence to the motto "see one, do one" reflects his belief in the self-sufficiency and competence he demands from those around him. He is a man who values efficiency and clarity, and Desdemona knows that the thought of having to expend energy on repeating himself—particularly with his own flesh and blood—fills him with a deep-seated frustration.

His eyes, cold and calculating behind his round glasses, lock onto Desdemona with a penetrating gaze. Her previously unwavering focus has faltered, and the disappointment etched on his face is unmistakable. Jonathan's discipline has always been unforgiving; every action has a purpose, and every error is a reflection of one's inadequacy. The idea of his daughter failing to meet his expectations is a blow to his carefully constructed world.

“Do I have your attention now, Daughter?” he demands, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “Are you sure you are ready to attend to me?” His words are laced with a disdain that cuts deeper than mere reprimand. It is an affront to his authority and his methods—a personal betrayal, if you will.

Desdemona’s shoulders slump, but only just so as he values a good posture. Her eyes fall to the polished surface of the table in front of her, unable to bear the weight of his disappointment. The table now seems to mock her failings. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment and frustration as she struggles to maintain her composure.

“Yes. Apologies, Father,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. The words feel hollow, an inadequate response to the gravity of his displeasure. Her usually resolute demeanor is marred by the sting of his critique, and the internal conflict she is experiencing only exacerbates her sense of inadequacy.

Jonathan’s expression remains hard and calculating. Pursing his lips, he nods once, a gesture of reluctant acknowledgment.

“As I was saying, tonight we will be meeting with some of the Rogues once more. I expect you to actually be present this time and not be distracted by the others’ jeering.” His gaze hardens, the implication of his words clear. “I do not want a repeat of last time. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Father,” she offers immediately.

As Jonathan’s cold eyes scrutinize her, Desdemona holds her breath. His assessment is thorough, and the silence that follows feels like an eternity. When he finally utters a curt “good,” it is the highest form of affection he can offer—a minimal acknowledgment that still holds immense significance for her. That fleeting approval warms her with a deep sense of pride, reinforcing her determination. It is a rare moment of validation, a brief glimpse of the esteem she yearns for from him.

This approval solidifies her commitment to his legacy. Desdemona is not merely an extension of her father’s will; she is to be an usher of his vision. She will not taint his name or betray his mission. Her path is set: to walk by his side and, eventually, to follow in his footsteps. The promise of their future, once his revenge is wrought, fuels her fortitude. They will change the world’s relationship to fear, turning it into a force to be confronted, succumbed to, and ultimately overcome. In their vision, fear is not just a tool but a pathway to invincibility.

“Now, after this meeting, if you perform adequately, then I will let you serve as my proxy thereafter.”

Desdemona's breath catches as her father's words sink in. The prospect of being granted the role of his proxy—an honor she has long aspired to—dawns upon her with a mixture of shock and elation. Her eyes widen with a flicker that is quickly snuffed.

She lifts her gaze to meet her father's unyielding eyes, which, despite their sharpness and coldness, now hold a hint of approval. The gaze is as keen and discerning as ever, but it is now tempered with a grudging acknowledgment of her capabilities. This approval is not easily won; it is a mark of her progress, of her ability to meet his exacting standards. The cold, sharp regard he holds is a testament to her perseverance and dedication.

For Desdemona, this moment is profound. The pride in her father’s eyes, even if subtly expressed, is the highest form of validation she can receive. It is the closest thing to affection he is capable of showing—a rare and precious commodity. She thrives on this approval, finding deep satisfaction in knowing that she has earned his respect and trust. The idea of serving as his proxy is more than just a professional advancement; it is a personal triumph, a vindication of her efforts and sacrifices.

“Thank you, Father,” she inclines her head to him in reverence. “I’m honored that you would give me this chance.”

“Now go get ready. Leave me be.”

With that, she turns on her heels and walks away steadily, climbing the steps of their basement lab. She makes for her room in the dark, dilapidated home. Retiring to her private quarters, she rests, considers her father’s words, and mentally prepares for the evening.

The thought of finally being entrusted with a significant role within his operations fills her with a quiet pride. It signifies not only her competence but also her place within the intricate web of his plans. To be chosen as his proxy is to be seen as worthy of representing him, of carrying forward his directives and vision. It is a role that carries immense responsibility, but it is also a mark of his belief in her capabilities.

Her father’s approval is a powerful motivator. It is the affirmation she has long sought, a sign that her years of disciplined focus and adherence to his teachings have not been in vain. Desdemona is acutely aware of the load of this potential responsibility. She knows that to serve as his proxy is to be the embodiment of his will, to act as his direct representative and execute his plans with precision and loyalty.

As she absorbs the significance of his words, she feels a surge of determination. This is her chance to prove herself worthy of the role, to demonstrate that she can uphold his legacy and advance their shared goals. The promise of this opportunity propels her forward, sharpening her focus and reinforcing her resolve.

His directive is not just a reminder but a mandate as well. The gravity of the situation is not lost on Desdemona. The meeting with the Rogues is a crucial part of operations at times, and her ability to navigate this world with the same precision and focus her father demands is imperative. The previous incident, where her attention was swayed by the jeering and antagonizing of the Riddler, has evidently left a mark. To Jonathan, such distractions are unacceptable, a sign of weakness that he cannot tolerate.

Desdemona’s eyes, once clouded by the distraction of Edward Nigma, now shine with a steely resolve. She stands straighter, her posture more rigid as she aligns herself with his expectations. The pressure to perform flawlessly is palpable, and she embraces it with an unspoken determination.

Every word her father utters reinforces the high bar he sets for her. Desdemona knows that to falter is to risk not only her father's disapproval but also her place in the world he has meticulously crafted. She understands that each mistake is not merely a personal failure but a misstep in the grand design of their shared mission. Her lapse in attention and her distraction are signs of weakness that she cannot afford to indulge. Each misstep, no matter how minor, is a step away from the disciplined prowess he demands—a trait she must embody fully to meet his rigorous standards.

The challenge before her is both clear and daunting. She must reassert her control, not only over her own actions but also over her place within the dynamic of their partnership. To regain her father's respect, she must demonstrate unwavering focus and dedication. The personal conflict she faces with Edward Nigma is momentarily pushed aside as she steels herself against the demands of her role. Her father's expectations are a heavy mantle, but they are also a beacon guiding her path.

Desdemona’s motivation is deeply rooted in her desire to make her father proud. She is acutely aware of her origins—a perceived accident in his life, an unwelcome burden after her mother’s disappearance. Her father's disdain for her as a child has been tempered by his relentless drive to mold her into something of use. He has shaped her into the intelligent, mindful, and polite individual she is today, a reflection of his own values and aspirations. The thought of her role as his protege, his assistant, and eventually his successor fills her with a sense of purpose. She will oblige because he is all she has.

Daughter of Fear - Chapter 5 - adhdnursegoat - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

[bump1nthen1ght]

may i request a drabble of a reader (any gender or lack therof that you please) with a goblin partner, maybe with a meet cute in a research/academic setting? Thank you so much :)

Of course Anon! We need more goblin stuff in the world. I also loooved doing stuff in an academic setting, as y'all can tell my inner nerd came out in some parts of this piece. Hope you enjoy!

Gender Neutral!Reader x Nonbinary! Goblin: Meet cute

You have a complicated relationship with your University’s library.

On one hand, you love it. It’s big, close to your apartment, and astoundingly beautiful. The architecture feels like it's ripped straight from the 20th century, with vaulted ceilings, dark wood and stained glass windows. The dustiness and history is perfect for setting the studying mood, the library never getting too rowdy even during its most crowded time.

On the other hand, it’s so fucking old that nothing is done efficiently. The bookshelves are all stretched up to the ceiling with no regards to the non-flying species students and the categorical system is ancient enough that there are no computer versions of anything. If you’re looking for a book you just pray it's been properly shelved, low to the ground, with big obvious letters. Otherwise you have to flag down the librarian or one of her many assistants.

Today is one of those days where your complex feelings come to a head. Yeah, the atmosphere has certainly stirred you to read those archived experimental reviews you’ve been procrastinating. And yes, you have no idea where to find it because the First Last Name in the paper starts with an X and you’ve got NO clue where it is. You’ve been wandering 20 minutes; spending 15 minutes trying to convince yourself you don’t need help and another five trying to find an assistant to guide you.

You finally come upon a step ladder, ridden by a small figure around 10 feet above you.

“Excuse me!” You whisper-scream. The assistants' large, green ears perk up, and one swivels back to better hear you. “Do you perchance know where I could find articles by a Dr. Xander?”

The assistant’s tail fidgets back and forth, ears turning back before they finally lean back and look down at you. Even from so far up, their yellow eyes seem to glow in the shadowed ceiling.

“Sorry, what was that?” The goblin assistant whisper-screams back.

“Um, Dr. Xander-” You say at your normal tone, promptly shushed by someone another bookshelf over. You huff and go back to whispering. “A Dr. Xander? It’s a scientific article but I couldn’t find the X section-”

“What?” The assistant says again, now speaking normally, craning their back and pointing their ear downward.

“Dr. Xander-” Another shush. Jeez, why can they speak normally but not you? “Dr. Xanders article about in the most recent Science?”

The assistant leans down further, mouth opening for another “What?” When the step ladder begins to shudder and shake. Your brain goes into bullet time, seeing the assistants flailing arms trying to regain their grip in slow motion as you grab the bottom of the step ladder to steady it. But the momentum forward only makes the goblin’s feet slip off the sides, throwing them backward and falling down.

Your heels scuff against the carpet as you propel back as well, arms thrown out in your own attempt to balance yourself. The goblin screeches at a high pitch and you yelp, realizing how fast and far they are coming at you. But as if possessed by a cheerleader, You outstretch your arms, bracing your stomach and clenching you legs.

The colors are all a blur, but you somehow keep your eyes open, only coming back into focus when looking down.

The goblin breathes heavily in your arms, bright yellow eyes wide with slitted pupils. A dark green blush paints their cheeks, your arms having scooped them down in a bridal position, faces a romantic distance away from each other.

You feel your own face get hot with embarrassment and adrenaline, still shocked you were able to catch them at all.

“Uhm, you can let me down now.” They whisper.

You bumble through a “Oh yeah, of course”, bareky making sensible words as you let them down. Blood pumping so hard you can practically feel it in your veins.

The assistant straightens out their vest, brushing their hair back into it’s combed style and taking a deep breath. If not for their thrashing tail, you wouldn't have thought the fall barely phased them.

“Thank you very much for..catching me. I imagine that would’ve been quite the injury if you had not.”

“Oh yeah! No problem, no problem.” You mutter, fiddling with the hem of your T-shirt. Their eyes are so bright, their demeanor so smart, it only adds to your flustered state. “Happy to help.”

“Indeed, it is most appreciated.” They tuck a loose strand of hair behind their ear. “Now that I’m down here, what can I help you with?” Utterly shocked by their resounding professionalism, you stammer out the Last Name your looking for. “Ah, that should be in the fourth stack back there, on the 5th shelf. I’ll lead you to it, the lights are busted in that section so it can be a bit difficult to navigate.”

“Oh, thats alright. I don’t want to be a bother-”

They hold out their palm, just the slightest bit indignant.

“I insist.” Their pleated shoes click as they shuffle past you. You pull up the strap of your backpack, trying to brush back your own hair to seem as put together as they are.

The two of you scurry past several larger than life bookshelves, taking several sharp turns in a random order. You become thankful on the assistant insiting they help; you definitely would’ve gotten lost.

“May I ask what your researching? If it is not too invasive a question.”

“Yeah, of course! I’m actually interning in Dr. Close’s lab right now, working with hummingbirds.” The assistant takes another sharp turn, leaving to follow their tail as a waypoint. “This paper has some interesting data, so I’m trying to see if it can inform my future research. I’m trying to dive more into torpor.”

“Fascinating.” They murmur, finally stopping at a bookshelf, gazing upwards towards a higher shelf. “And what got you interested in it?”

Your lips curl up in a smile, that giddiness when talking about your field.

“Well, hummingbirds already have a crazy metabolism, so the fact they can just slow it and their heart rate down is fascinating. I mean, their eggs are barely bigger than a pea yet they burn through so much nectar and use it so efficiently, all while hasically dropping into a coma for part of they year. It’s just- how did they even evolve to do that? Its such brilliant machinery-” You realize your rambling, the assistant’s big yellow eyes looking intrntly at your gesticulations, paused in their search for a book. “Sorry, I bet it seems silly, getting worked up over such a tiny thing.”

But the assistant just smiles, wirey and relaxed. Their ears flicker in amusement and you can feel your nerves ease.

“Don’t be. All pursuit of knowledge is admirable. Those who look down upon the little things often are ignorant of what the big things even mean. Plus-” they turn back to the books, standing up on their toes to reach for your article. “-you eloquate so expressively, it’s hard to not get excited as well.”

Your face groes hot, twirling a baby strand of hair.

“Thank you. You s-speak rather eloquently too.”

“I read a lot.” They lean up again, jumping just a centimeter off the ground, but their fingertips barely graze the end of the book. Their cheeks flush that embarrassed green again, but they don’t look to you for help.

“I can get that.” They nod, brushing their hair back again in what must be their nervous habit. The book is farther back on the shelf, making you perch on the balls of your feet, but you are able to grab the cover with little issue.

(The bottom of your shirt rises as you do, exposing a small bit of your stomach. You don’t notice, but the assistant does, forcing their gaze away as they feel their ears grow hot.)

The scientific journal has a bright picture of a bird on the front, the name of the article you're searching for flashing as you flip through the pages.

“This is perfect, thank you so much!”

“It was no problem, dearie, all in a day's work. Here, I can escort you to the main stacks, this back area is like a dungeon.”

You nod, still thumbing through the journal. There are some interesting articles in here, maybe you’ll find more interesting data to look at.

Once you reach the lighter part of the library you tuck the journal into your side bag and try to match pace with the assistant.

“I can’t thank you enough for the help. I seriously would have never found it without you.”

“It is no problem, if anything I’m repaying you for catching me.”

You rub the back of your neck, eyes darting upward to avoid contact. You’d been trying to push that to the back of your mind, forcing yourself not feel awkward about it. “O-oh that was nothing. I was just at the right place at the right time. Honestly, I’m usually pretty clums-”

With a squeal and dose of irony, the tip of your shoe catches on a raised patch of carpet. You arms flail outward as you try to catch yourself, but instead a small hand pulls you back by the wrist, grip leveraged by their tail now wrapped around one of your legs. You stumble backwards, but a hand lies on your lower back, steadying your posture.

“Yeah, that’s more like me.” You half joke, slimy embarrassment running down your spine.

Behind you the assistant chuckles. Their tail unwraps from your leg, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You turn towards the exit, trying to leave some dignity intact, although you can see yourself screaming about this in the car.

“Thanks again. You’ve been a huge help, in more ways than one.” You brush some imaginary dust off your shirt, trying to seem cool, calm, and collected.

“It’s no issue. Could I get your name?”

“Oh! Y-yes, it’s ____.”

“Pleasure to meet you, ____. I’m Revike.” They step back, adjusting their suspenders. “And I hope to see you again.”

“Me too. Though helpfully I won’t need so much help next time.”

“Like I said, it’s no issue.” They give you a tiny smirk. “I’m a librarian after all, its my job to look after priceless works.”

You’re sure you look like a cartoon character, eyes bulging out as Revike leaves you with a wink, trying not to giggle like a middle schooler.

Welp, seems like you’ll be going to the library more often.

[hiparks]

Which Warehouse Does Your Business Need?

You need a warehouse.

You have pinpointed the most optimal location and finalised on all the high-tech equipment and machinery to function with ease, but how do you decide which warehouse building is best suited for your operations and functions? Let’s find out.

The Standard Warehouse

For operations that only need basic walls, a roof and some clear space, the standard warehouse is the way. These warehouses can be made in any size required and are extremely versatile.

It is possible to fit them with skylights and windows as well as with multiple gates, ramps and docks. They are a popular solution for almost every industry, providing storage for machines, raw materials and equipment, and products in production; serving as transshipment points in logistics; storing goods for retailers and wholesalers; acting as distribution centres for e-commerce; and even housing donations and relief supplies for non-profit organisations.

A standard warehouse can be easily adapted to specific equipment and spatial requirements by the warehouse developer and are extremely cost effective for businesses that require minimal retrofits to get going.

The Container Warehouse

This is a specific kind of storage warehouse is a stopover for goods coming or going from freight transport. These warehouses are used to consolidate or deconsolidate freight goods to prepare them for the next legs of their journey. Or in other words, it is a temporary storage for the goods to wait a little for other goods to come and fill a container up, before they can be shipped off. The challenge here is to have a system that allows storing, tracking and retrieving the goods easily and efficiently.

Container warehouses need to be located close to ports, airports, or major railway hubs. These warehouses can be designed for efficient cross-docking and provision can be made for ample parking space for holding trucks even in case of demand surges. These warehouses are also equipped with stacking racks, crane systems, container frames, floor anchors, proper lighting, and robust security systems.

The Open-Air Warehouse

For large and heavy items that are difficult to move in and out of warehouse dock doors, open-air warehouses provide an efficient storage solution. Custom-designed racks for open yard storage can offer protection from atmospheric elements and play a key role in keeping the goods safe. Typically, the warehouse is an open area with space demarked and fenced in with walls with a high level of security to safeguard the assets.

Depending on the sensitivity of the goods and the extremities of the climate, storage can be covered or partially roofed. Goods are also protected by covering them in plastic wraps or tarps. These warehouses are commonly used to store vehicles, spare parts, machines, and raw materials for construction, metalworks, or timber sectors. The design of open-air warehouses focuses on shielding goods from harsher natural elements like direct sun or snow but may not address milder elements like humidity, wind, dust, and temperature fluctuations.

The Industrial Warehouse

This is the modern-day factory which may span across multiple halls and floors and can be tailored to integrate advanced technology and equipment. The industrial warehouse can be designed to have spacious loading and unloading areas; ample space for machinery, equipment, goods, and workplaces; high ceilings and large doors for the transporting of goods and large machines, even indoors; bright administrative and office areas; parking spaces for delivery and staff vehicles; pleasant social and relaxation areas for the workers; strong load-bearing floors; a reliable energy supply and ventilation; independent lighting systems for each work area and fire protection measures like fire alarms, smoke detectors, and fire extinguishers.

These warehouses are especially popular for manufacturing companies, energy and utility companies and businesses in the food and beverage industry.

The Custom-Made Warehouse

When your business needs are too complex to be housed in a pre-made standard warehouse, you need a warehouse designed around your requirements. These are called built-to-suit warehouses. They provide a high degree of customisation and can be made to create the ideal environment needed for your operations and goods.

Need a cold storage with consistent temperature and humidity, immaculate hygiene and protected electrical circuits? It is possible. Need a chemical warehouse with good ventilation systems, fire containment measures and specialised storage? Also, possible. Retail warehouses with space for smart racking and processing machines, auto warehouses with complex assembly lines or heavy industry that need tall lifting equipment and sturdy densified floors, a custom-made warehouse lacks for nothing.

The Automated Warehouse

If you are a business that uses machines to do it all, then an automated warehouse is what you are looking at. These are computer-controlled environments with automated racking and shelving, conveyor and retrieval systems. While the investment cost is definitely high, the efficiency is unmatched. These warehouses are sought by large trading companies, global e-commerce giants, logistics parks in India and manufacturing behemoths.

At the end of the day, you know your business needs better than anybody. It is crucial thus, to find a warehouse developer who is proactive in understanding your functional requirements and who works with you to overcome any infrastructural challenges in a collaborative way. At Horizon Industrial Parks, our teams specialise in delivering custom-made warehouses as well as providing swift plug-and-play solutions that can get your operations running in no time. To learn about what our customers like about us, click here, and visit our website to connect with us for exploring collaboration opportunities.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Mike Luckovich

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

April 5, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

APR 06, 2024

Today offered yet more evidence that Biden’s rejection of the Republicans’ supply-side economics in favor of investing in ordinary Americans is paying off with high growth, low unemployment, and strong wages. 

Today’s jobs report from the U.S. Department of Labor for the month of March showed higher job growth than analysts anticipated. Instead of the 214,000 jobs expected, the U.S. added 303,000. The government also revised its estimate of job growth in January and February upward by a combined number of 22,000. President Joe Biden noted that this report meant that the administration had created more than 15 million jobs since he took office.

The unemployment rate was also good, dropping slightly to 3.8% in March. According to economist Steven Rattner of Morning Joe, the United States has now had 26 consecutive months—more than two years—of unemployment under 4%, the longest stretch of unemployment that low since the late 1960s. 

Rattner pointed out that immigrants have helped to push U.S. growth since the pandemic by adding millions of new workers to the labor market. As native-born workers have aged into retirement, immigrants have taken their places and “been essential to America’s post-COVID labor market recovery.” 

Heather Long of the Washington Post added that wage growth has been 4.1% in the past year, which is well above the 3.2% inflation rate.

“My plan is growing the economy from the middle out and the bottom up, investing in all Americans, and giving the middle class a fair shot,” Biden said in response to the new jobs report. That system, which resurrects the economy the United States enjoyed between 1933 and 1981, has been a roaring success. 

Biden was in Baltimore, Maryland, today, where he flew over the remains of the collapsed Francis Scott Key Bridge, spoke with the response teams there, and met with the families of those who died when the bridge fell. Apparently trying to demonstrate that government can be both efficient and effective, the administration has emphasized speed and competence in its response to the bridge collapse of March 26, 2024.

Kayla Tausche of CNN reported today that the U.S. Coast Guard was onsite within minutes of the collapse, and that Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg was working the phone as soon as he heard. He had spoken with Maryland governor Wes Moore, Baltimore mayor Brandon Scott, and White House chief of staff Jeff Zients by 5:00 a.m. Biden was briefed early that morning, before he began to reach out to state and local leaders. 

Baltimore County executive Johnny Olszewski told Tausche: “[Biden] demonstrated a clear understanding of the importance of the port, had a real empathy for myself and all the individuals impacted…. And he was unequivocal that he was going to do whatever he can, legally and within his power to expedite a response.”

The collapse of the bridge not only affected traffic around Baltimore, but also shut the Port of Baltimore. For 13 years, that port has led the nation in carrying cars and light trucks, as well as tractors and cranes, handling more than 847,000 vehicles in 2023. In that same year, the port handled more than 444,000 passengers and $80 billion worth of foreign cargo. The damage to the port is of national significance. 

Less than four hours after it received an official request for funding for repairs on March 29, the Department of Transportation authorized funds to begin to address immediate needs, which officials say is a record. The Army Corps of Engineers says it expects to restore a narrow navigation channel for use by the end of April and to have the port reopened fully by the end of May. Until then, the federal government is improving the infrastructure at nearby Sparrows Point to enable it to handle more ships. 

But the Republican Party remains committed to the idea that the government must be kept small and that private enterprise must be privileged over public investments. Today, the far-right House Freedom Caucus announced that it would not consider funding the bridge repairs until foreign shipping companies had paid in all they owe (Biden has called for funding the bridge immediately rather than waiting for insurance funds, which will come much later).  

They also say that they want the repairs to come out of money Congress has appropriated for other initiatives they dislike, that any new funds must be fully offset by other cuts, and that “burdensome regulations” such as labor agreements must be waived “to avoid all unnecessary delays and costs.” 

They are also demanding that Biden reverse the administration’s “pause on approvals of liquified natural gas export terminals” before Congress will consider any funding for the bridge reconstruction. In January, under pressure from climate activists, Biden paused the construction of such terminals. Liquid natural gas is a valuable export, but it is also made up primarily of methane, a greenhouse gas significantly worse for the planet than carbon dioxide. Oil and gas interests are strongly in favor of developing the liquid natural gas industry while ignoring its effects on climate change.

One of the proposed plants affected by the pause would have been the largest in the U.S. It is planned for Louisiana, the home state of House speaker Mike Johnson. Johnson has already tried to tie funding for Ukraine to lifting the pause on liquid natural gas export terminals, and the White House refused. Now, apparently, extremist Republicans are trying the same gambit with repairs to the Francis Scott Key Bridge and access to one of the nation’s most important ports, although slowing repairs at that key juncture will directly affect many of their constituents.  

Indeed, despite the solid demonstration that government support for ordinary Americans is the best way to build the economy, Republicans continue to maintain that the way to promote economic growth is to concentrate money among a few men at the top of the economic ladder. The idea is that those few people will invest their money more efficiently than the government can, and that the businesses they create will employ more and more workers. To that end, Republicans since 1981 have focused on tax cuts and deregulation in order to give those they see as job creators a free hand. 

That system, so-called “supply-side economics,” has never actually worked, but it has become an article of faith for Republicans. It is a system that is popular with the very wealthy, and Biden called that out today in a video he recorded with Senator Bernie Sanders (I-VT).

In the video, the two men comment on a video clip in which former president Trump, speaking at a private event, promises wealthy donors another tax cut. Biden says: “That’s everything you need to know about Donald Trump. When he thinks the cameras aren’t on, he tells his rich friends, ‘We’re gonna give you tax cuts.’” 

Sanders chimes in: “Can anybody in America imagine that at a time of massive income and wealth inequality—billionaires are doing phenomenally well—that he’s going to give them huge tax breaks? And then at the same time, he’s going to cut Social Security, Medicare, and programs that our kids need….”

“That makes me mad as hell, quite frankly,” Biden says. “There are 1,000 billionaires in…this country. They pay an average of 8.2% [in] federal taxes. So…we have a plan: Asking his good buddies to begin to pay their fair share.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[silens-oro]

Spoils of War WIP #2

Aemond Targaryen x F!Targaryen!Reader

Spoils of War Masterlist

Synopsis: This is a snippet from an upcoming chapter of Spoils of War.

Warning: None.

AN: Chapter 3 should be out at some point this weekend. Until then, please enjoy a snippet of Chapter 5.

No "y/n"

The rain blinded you, its droplets hitting your face like shards of glass with the speed that Maestron reached. Arrax struggled to match with Luke on his back. The beast, still so young, did not have the strength he needed to fly as efficiently through the storm. 

Whipping your head from side to side to try and locate Vhagar, you only saw black clouds and strikes of lightning. As you looked up, a shuddersome shadow moved overhead. You wanted to sob at the sheer vastness of Vhagar as she flew overhead, a mere puff of cloud separating her from you and Luke. 

Luke looked up when he saw your neck craned and the fear that enveloped your entire being. 

The foul beast swooped down in the flash of a second, her razor-clawed feet stopping just short of grazing your brother’s head. 

“Stop this!” You screamed to Aemond, who only laughed as Arrax dropped in surprise. He quickly righted himself, but the dragon was very much frantic. Vhagar flew up into the darkness, making your head turn on a swivel. 

“Stay steady!” You called to Luke. Just as you turned forward, Vhagar broke from the clouds ahead of you, flying at break-neck speed straight for the two of you. She growled dangerously, mouth open. Luke split from you, Vhagar gliding through the space he once was.

“Aemond!” Your words fell on deaf ears. You tried not to cry, but the fear of what could possibly happen was just too much. 

“To me!” You shouted to Luke. His head turned to find you, steering an erratic Arrax to your side. “You will head for that break in the clouds!” You ordered, pointing above you. He nodded. “You push Arrax as hard as he will go, no matter if I follow or not you will continue on to Dragonstone!” Luke shook his head, ready to argue.

“I will not leave you!” 

“You will do as I say! Now!” Luke shot you a sad look before pulling Arrax to ascend near vertically towards the opening ahead. 

Aemond’s cruel laughter was heard over the thunder, taunting you. The great beast had turned around, getting closer and closer to chomping her massive teeth through Maestron’s tail. 

“Still see me as weak, my love? 'tis you who is fleeing!” Aemond shouted to you, standing from his saddle to welcoming the rain. You turned and saw the maniacal grin that nearly split his face. “I ride the largest, fiercest living dragon in the world!”

“Seems you are overcompensating, my Prince!” You couldn’t help yourself. You would not be treated as prey by anyone, him least of all. His anger seemed to push Vhagar even closer, causing Maestron to bail to the side to avoid her jaws. Every muscle in your body screamed as you held on for your life. “Stop this at once, Aemond!” He responded with a slew of taunts in High Valyrian that you could not discern over the blood rushing through your ears. 

A weight lifted from your shoulders as the last of Arrax’s tail left your view. He made it out of the storm and to the clear skies above. 

@jasminecosmic99 you responded to my post, so I figured I'd tag you! Let me know if you'd rather not be.

[mit]

MIT design would harness 40 percent of the sun’s heat to produce clean hydrogen fuel

Conventional systems for producing hydrogen depend on fossil fuels, but the new system uses only solar energy.

Jennifer Chu | MIT News

MIT engineers aim to produce totally green, carbon-free hydrogen fuel with a new, train-like system of reactors that is driven solely by the sun.

In a study appearing today in Solar Energy Journal, the engineers lay out the conceptual design for a system that can efficiently produce “solar thermochemical hydrogen.” The system harnesses the sun’s heat to directly split water and generate hydrogen — a clean fuel that can power long-distance trucks, ships, and planes, while in the process emitting no greenhouse gas emissions.

Today, hydrogen is largely produced through processes that involve natural gas and other fossil fuels, making the otherwise green fuel more of a “grey” energy source when considered from the start of its production to its end use. In contrast, solar thermochemical hydrogen, or STCH, offers a totally emissions-free alternative, as it relies entirely on renewable solar energy to drive hydrogen production. But so far, existing STCH designs have limited efficiency: Only about 7 percent of incoming sunlight is used to make hydrogen. The results so far have been low-yield and high-cost.

In a big step toward realizing solar-made fuels, the MIT team estimates its new design could harness up to 40 percent of the sun’s heat to generate that much more hydrogen. The increase in efficiency could drive down the system’s overall cost, making STCH a potentially scalable, affordable option to help decarbonize the transportation industry.

“We’re thinking of hydrogen as the fuel of the future, and there’s a need to generate it cheaply and at scale,” says the study’s lead author, Ahmed Ghoniem, the Ronald C. Crane Professor of Mechanical Engineering at MIT. “We’re trying to achieve the Department of Energy’s goal, which is to make green hydrogen by 2030, at $1 per kilogram. To improve the economics, we have to improve the efficiency and make sure most of the solar energy we collect is used in the production of hydrogen.”

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