#mechanics clamp

[joeflanagantrading]

[alena-draws]

Listened to some Tsubasa OST and directly I'm in a Kurofai mood...

Also! You Kurofai fans out there, in case you aren't aware, the Kurofai Olympics are running at the moment, with amazing fics and fanart being posted since august for you to vote on until the end of september! Here's a link to the AO3 collection. And don't forget to leave comments if you end up enjoying something! (I'm super behind with reading myself, but I'll try to catch up with as many fics and art as possible...)

[galaxywhale]

checking my car w dad to make sure we’re not about to encounter engine issues before a long drive and he’s like yep, radiator overflow good, oil good, battery…why isn’t your battery attached and turns out my car battery has just been…sitting in the engine with nothing actually stopping it from moving except the connection points for the battery and the little shelf it’s sitting on??

[goodphantomoftheoperaposts]

me using every fiber of my strength to not write a character saying, “WAS THAT THE BITE OF 87?!” in a part where Erik kills someone with the red death mask

[bunnyb34r]

I know I have a severe case of dematillomania and trichotillomania bc I think ab getting surgical tools like multiple times a year when I have a particularly stubborn DEEP hair

[jameswestwelding]

Precision clamping 🥽☠🗜 @kanttwist . Use promo code 'JWEST10OFF' for 10% off your order at magnetics.com (Link in Bio) . . . . . . . . . #jameswestwelding #weweld #kanttwist #kanttwistclamp #clamp #tools #tooladdict #mechanic #mechanical #handtools #thumbclamps #magnetics #photooftheday #instagood #instalike #photography #shop #garage #thursday #tbt #throwbackthursday #thirstythursday #dirtyhandscleanmoney #13 (at Syracuse, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/CouLMLMgZoR/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[jollyclamps50]

The Colossal Importance of Washers in Constant Torque Clamps

Constant torque clamps are indispensable in applications requiring reliable and consistent clamping force. The inclusion of washers in these assemblies enhances their performance by ensuring even load distribution, preventing wear and corrosion, maintaining stability, and facilitating maintenance. By understanding the importance of each component in a clamping assembly, engineers and technicians can ensure the longevity and reliability of their systems.

Why Are Washers Imperative To Constant Torque Clamps?

Incorporating quality washers with constant torque clamps not only improves the efficiency of the assembly but also contributes to the overall safety and durability of the application. Whether in automotive, aerospace, or industrial settings, the right combination of clamps and washers is essential for optimal performance.

Washers act as a barrier between the clamp and the material, reducing direct contact and friction. This helps in preventing wear on both the clamp and the material. Additionally, washers can be made from materials that are resistant to corrosion, providing an added layer of protection in harsh environments, thereby extending the lifespan of the components involved.

Constant Torque clamps are crucial for applications needing consistent clamping force. Adding washers enhances performance by distributing load evenly, preventing wear and corrosion, maintaining stability, and facilitating maintenance. Quality washers with constant torque clamps improve efficiency, safety, and durability, making them essential for optimal performance in automotive, aerospace, and industrial settings.

[gudmould]

A summary of key points of mold slider design

Undercut processing (slider) 1. Action principle and design points of oblique pin block It uses mold opening action of molding to make inclined pin and slider move relative to each other, so that slider moves along mold opening direction and horizontal direction to separate undercuts. As shown below: Above picture: β=α+ 2°~3° (to prevent interference in mold clamping and reduce friction when…

[nelfes]

Tsubasa reservoir chronicles huh

[tacofriend]

Something that I think should be an important part of solarpunk aesthetics is screws.

Look at your smartphone. No screws. You've got to have specialized tools to get inside your phone to repair something. There are certain pieces of tech that are glued in place and glue can't be undone without permanently breaking the bond.

But screws!

You can take apart a broken old radio, repair what's broken, and, if you were careful in taking it apart, you can put it back together and have a fully functioning radio and all you need is a common screwdriver!

It's hard to build screws and other mechanical fasteners because it requires more planning than clamps and glues, but isn't that what solarpunk is all about‽ It's about care and sustainability and and a radio or a computer built carefully with repair in mind is a sustainable computer that stays out of landfills and in use.

[davinawritings]

what if you got kidnapped and be forced into being a breeding machine? basically your entire purpose is to be pumped and dumped by slimy critters. At first you fight but when the lizard monster sinks in deep inside you, alll the restraint you had slowly seeps away and you accept your fate. you love it so much that you forgo any clothes just to allow for easy access. its become an addiction and you need to be dicked down 24/7🤭🤭🤭

That would be amazing! ❤️💕🖤🖤💕❤️

- Imagine waking up completely naked and tied to a machine that keeps you on all fours. The last thing your remember was walking home from a bar night with friends and then nothing.

- Struggling is futile as you are completely stuck in place.

- You hear a door open and a lizard monster walks in. You can’t help struggling again at the sight of his cock. It’s massive and covered in a clear slimy fluid. It’s so large and heavy that it hangs downward and the slimy fluid drips onto the floor.

- He walks behind you and presses the tip of his cock to your entrance. He pushes in to the hilt and your scream out at the sudden stretch of your tight cunt. The slimy liquid covering his cock being your saving grace.

- He stays buried inside of you for a moment, mercifully letting you adjust to his size. All of a sudden he presses a button on the machine you are tied to and you hear mechanical gears below you moving. You look down and see two small pumps attach to your tits. Seconds later you moan as they begin to suction your nipples at random, alternating from fast to slow and back to fast.

- You hear the monster behind your groan as you clench down on his cock and he immediately begins thrusting.

- It feels like all the air has been knocked from your lungs on every thrust. He doesn’t hold back as his slick cock bullies your cervix.

- You scream out orgasm after orgasm as he continues to abuse your pussy taking his own pleasure.

- You don’t know how long it’s been when his thrusts finally start becoming more frantic and losing their rhythm.

- You hear the gears moving again and you feel another suction pump attach to your body, this time directly on your clit. It only takes one pull for you to clamp down on his cock. Screaming and milking the lizard monster for all he has.

- The pumps don’t stop as you keep cumming. Each pull has your over sensitive body shaking. Your cunt is squirting over him as he finally releases a roar and fills you with his cum.

- His clawed hands grip your hips harshly as he cums until you are so overfilled that it squirts out of you with each thrust.

- The pumps retract and he pulls out of you before making his way to the door. As he opens the door to leave, you see a line of monsters all waiting to take their own turn breeding you. Your cunt clenches at the thought as more cum drips out of you.

- Eventually they release you from the machine but you don’t try to leave or fight. The only thing you want is to be filled and bred by all these monsters.

- You don’t even try to cover yourself anymore. There’s no reason when the clothes just get in the way. They take you anytime and anywhere they want, although at least one of them puts you in the breeding machine daily.

- You don’t think you could survive without the pleasure they bring you. It’s become your reason for living and you couldn’t be any happier

🖤💕❤️❤️💕🖤

[boxofbonesfic]

scene prompt! bucky eating you out until you physically can’t take it anymore but he doesn’t stop.

Title: You’re Gonna Give Me Six

Pairing: Mechanic!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Absolute Filth. Cunnilingus, Overstimulation

You don’t even see him before his arms are anchored tight around your waist, his face buried against the back of your neck. He smells like sweat and motor oil, and you know the fingers he’s digging into your hip through the fabric of your dress are stained with the stuff—they always are. There’s a smudge of it on his cheek, a testament to how quickly he’d fled the garage downstairs upon seeing your car pull into the driveway.

“Missed you.” Bucky breathes the words against your skin and you shiver as they leave goosebumps. You know he means it, the way he sighs and presses his nose into the loose curls at the nape of your neck. Bucky doesn’t talk much—a trait you still find a little unsettling, but you’re learning to read him the way he reads you; learning how to hear words hidden in the slow pass of his hand or the upward curl of his lips. It makes his words heavy, like they’re carrying more than just themselves—so you know he means them. 

“I was only gone a week.” Your words are muffled by his shoulder. You can feel his lips curve against your throat. He hums low in his throat. 

“S’ too long.” When he dumps you onto the bed, the sheets all smell like him, like he’s spent every night you were apart here in your apartment. You suspect that if you were to bury your face in the pillows, you’d smell his aftershave.

“How’m I supposed t’sleep ‘less I can feel you right next to me, Peach?” Your feet dangle off the edge of the bed as Bucky settles himself between your thighs. “Ain’t slept good in days.” His hands are warm on your thighs, his thumbs rubbing circles into your bare skin as he pushes the hem of your dress up over your hips.

“And that’s my fault?” You ask teasingly, though your boyfriend nods without missing a beat. 

“Mmm.” He drags his finger down over the swell of your cunt through your panties, before cupping it with one huge hand. “Got some apologies to make, I reckon.” You squeal as he tugs your panties tight, tugging them back and forth between the lips of your pussy like dental floss. You gasp. 

“B-Buck—” He snaps the elastic against you before tugging them to the side. 

“That’s good, Peach,” he says, his rough hands spreading your thighs apart as he lowers himself between them. “All I wanna hear s’ my name.” The first touch of his tongue is electric, gently tracing the outline of your lips like he’s trying to map them out. Your sharp breath elicits a chuckle, and you feel his mouth curve against you. Bucky spreads your thighs further apart, slipping his tongue into your folds with a soft moan of appreciation. 

“Should’a done this before you got in that damn taxi,” he mumbles. “Should’a tasted you before you left.” You want to respond, but the words keep devolving into meaningless babble as his tongue works against you. His fingers dig into your thighs as he sucks your clit into his mouth, rolling it.

“O-oh f-fuck—”

You cum without warning, squeezing your thighs around his head as you rock your hips into his face. Bucky groans, holding you in place as your thighs tremble. He doesn’t stop, forcing your trembling thighs back open. 

“B-Bucky what, what—oh—” You arch into the mattress as he finds your swollen, overworked clit with his tongue. “B—” It’s like electricity exploding behind your unseeing eyes, and you keen as he slides two thick fingers into your sopping cunt, moaning low in his throat as you clamp down around him. 

“You’re gonna give me six more, Peach,” he says lowly. Bucky spreads his fingers, scissoring them inside you with a wet squelch. “One for every day you missed.” 

[j-psilas]

Will we ever get anything quite like Code Geass again?

I don't think it's possible.

Code Geass is Japanese nationalist propaganda disguised as a global political drama, disguised as a military mecha show, disguised as yaoibait, disguised as a teen melodrama, disguised as a high school romcom, disguised as a Pizza Hut commercial...

...except those layers aren't layers at all, but are instead comingled in a giant snake ball of insanity.

The lead writer, Ichirō Ōkouchi, only ever worked as an episode writer for other shows prior to Code Geass, and never took the helm of an anime series ever again. And it shows. [EDIT: Several people have pointed out his other lead writing credits to me. So I misread Wikipedia—sue me. I maintain that this guy is a better episode writer than he is a lead writer.]

The minute-to-minute pacing is impeccable from a mechanical standpoint, with tension and stakes rising to ever-higher peaks, balanced out by the slow simmers of the b-plot and c-plot. It keeps the viewer on the edge of their seat at all times. Meanwhile, the large-scale plot is the most off-the-wall middle school nonsense I've ever seen, continually surprising the viewer by pulling twists too dumb to have ever have been on their radar—and therefore more effective in terms of raw shock value.

"Greenlight it!" was the mantra of this anime's production. It must have been. It has, in no particular order, all of the following:

Character designs from CLAMP, the foremost yaoi/BL group in Japan at the time—for characters who are only queer insofar as they can bait the audience, and only straight insofar as they can be more misogynist to the female cast.

Speaking of the female cast, hoo boy the fanservice. We've all seen anime girls breast boobily, with many cases more egregious than Code Geass, but there's something special about it happening immediately after—or sometimes in the middle of!—scenes of military conflict and ethnic cleansing.

Pizza Hut product placement everywhere, in every conceivable situation. High-speed chases, light slice-of-life scenes, intimate character moments, all of it. Gotta have Pizza Hut.

The anime-only Pizza Hut mascot, Cheese-kun. He wears a fedora.

The most hilarious approximations of European names—which I would love to see more often, frankly. Names like, I dunno, "Count Schnitzelgrübe zi Blanquezzio."

A depiction of China that is wholly removed from any modern reality, with red-and-gold pagodas, ornamental robes, scheming eunuchs, and a brainwashed child empress. There's a character named General Tsao, like the chicken.

Inappropriate free-form jazz in the soundtrack, intruding at the most unexpected times.

A secret cabal not unlike the Illuminati, run by an immortal shota with magic powers, holding influence all across the world, at the highest levels of government. They matter for approximately three episodes.

An unexpected insert scene of a schoolgirl using the corner of a table to masturbate. She's doing it to thoughts of her crush, the princess Euphemia—because she believes Euphemia to be as racist as she herself is, and that gets her off. This interrupts an unrelated scene of our protagonist faction planning their next move, which then resumes as if uninterrupted.

Said schoolgirl, in a fit of hysteria, threatens to detonate a worse-than-nuclear bomb in the middle of her school. She then goes on to develop an even more destructive version of that bomb, and become a war criminal, in a chain of cause-and-effect stemming from the moment she finds out that Euphemia wasn't actually that racist.

A character called "the Earl of Pudding."

A premise that asks us to believe that the name Lelouch is normal enough that he didn't need to change it when he went into hiding as an ordinary civilian. "No, that's not Prince Strimbleford von Vanquish! That's our classmate, Strimbleford Smith."

The collective unconscious, a la Carl Jung, within which the protagonist fights his villainous father for control over the fate of humankind. After this is over, the anime just keeps going for about ten more episodes.

An episode in which a mech tosses a giant pizza.

A gay yandere sleeper agent who can manipulate the perception of time.

Chess being played very badly, even to the untrained eye. Lelouch frequently checkmates his opponent by moving his king. This goes hand-in-hand with the anime's crock of bad chess symbolism.

A fictional drug that can most succinctly be described as "nostalgia heroin."

Roller-skating mecha in knightly armor, and some of the most sickass mecha fight choreography that I've seen.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture. This anime is what the average Westerner in 2006 thought anime was, and it was made in a confluence of factors that cannot be replicated. I've never had so much fun watching something that I found so... insulting. Repugnant. Ridiculous. Baffling. I love it sincerely.

Catch me cosplaying Lloyd Asplund at a con sometime, or maybe even the big gay loser himself, Lelouch vi Britannia.

[jameswestwelding]

#kanttwist . Use promo code 'JWEST10OFF' for 10% off your order at magnetics.com (Link in Bio) . . . . . . . . #jameswestwelding #weweld #clamps #notwist #quality #excellence #innovation #heritage #dependable #sleek #tools #tooladdict #mechanic #mechanical #handtools #thumbclamps #love #instagood #photooftheday #instalike #instawelder #saturday #saturdaynight #saturdayvibes #13 (at Syracuse, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/CoPq24guhCg/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[digitalsymbiote]

Disconnect Syndrome

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed out in the field. They say that being synced with a mech for long periods of time can have detrimental effects on a pilots psyche. Disconnect Syndrome is what they call it, because the symptoms don’t really start to hit until you disengage from your mech.

Sometimes emergencies happen though, and mechs are designed to be able to support their pilots long past the designated “Safe Deployment Time.” The cockpit is equipped with an array of stimulants, vitamins, and nutrient paste to help minimize the physical effects of long deployments. The onboard Integrated Mechanical Personality has largely free reign to administer these as needed to maintain its pilots well-being.

Which is why you’re still able to make it back to the hangar after roughly 36 hours, over four times longer than the established safe period. Your mech had kept you going, helped to keep the exhaustion at bay long enough for you to make your way back from behind enemy lines. You were starting to feel a bit sluggish, but you knew the worst effects of Disconnect Syndrome were yet to come.

An older man in a long white lab coat has joined the usual retinue of crew rushing into the hangar as your mech settles into its cradle. You feel the docking clamps wrap around your limbs, and you know that’s not a good sign. Your IMP whispers comfort into your brain-stem, assurances that things will be okay. It’s probably lying, it’s programmed to help keep your mental state stable, but the thought helps anyway.

There’s a hiss of air as the seal on your cockpit breaks and it decompresses. Suddenly you become aware of your flesh and meat body once again, and it hurts. Pain and exhaustion has settled into your mostly organic bones, and your organs are churning from the strain of the past 36 hours.

Then your interface cables start to disconnect, and it gets worse.

It feels like parts of your mind are being torn out of you. You feel the ghost touch of your IMP in your thoughts as the ports disconnect and you lose direct communication with it. The oxygen mask and nutrition tube pull themselves away from your face and you can’t help but let out a scream of agony. The separation has never felt this painful before, but then again, after 36 hours together, you and your IMP were more intertwined than you’ve ever been before.

Physical sensation finally starts to register again, and you realize tears are streaming down your face just as a technician jabs a needle into your neck.

Immediately your senses start to dull, the pain eases as your thoughts turn sluggish. You slump out of your pilots cradle into the arms the tech who dosed you. Just before your world goes black, you see the doctor standing over you, a grim look on his face.

--

When you wake up again, you immediately know something is wrong. You try to ping your external sensors, but you get no response. You then try to run a diagnostic, but that fails too. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, you try to force access to your external cameras and suddenly light floods your senses. Your instincts catch up first and you blink, trying to clear the pain of the lights, and that’s when you realize it’s not your external cameras that you’re seeing.

It takes a minute or two for your vision to adjust to the light, which feels too long, and when it finally does, the world doesn’t look quite right. You’ve only got access to such a limited spectrum. No infrared, no thermal. The presence of your IMP is notably absent, and your skin feels wrong. You try to sit up, and it’s a struggle to figure out the correct inputs to send to your muscles to get them to do what you want.

The harsh white light of the infirmary grates against your visual processors, you feel like you’re having to re-learn how to control this body. Your body. Technically, at least. Something doesn’t feel right about calling it that anymore. You felt more comfortable crawling back into the hangar after 36 hours deployed than you do now.

The pale skin of your body catches in your vision and you glance down at it. The body's limbs are thinner and more frail than usual, and its skin is paler. Consequences of being in the cockpit for so long, subsisting on nothing but nutrient paste. It’s a far cry from the solid metal plates of your mech, its powerful hydraulic joints, its mounted combat and communication systems.

There’s a button on the side of bed you’ve been deposited in. You think it’s red, but you’re not sure you’re processing color properly right now. You try to reach over and push it, and it takes you a moment to realize you were trying to do so with a limb you don’t currently have.

There are so many things about this body that are wrong. It’s not big enough, or strong enough, or heavy enough. You don’t have enough eyes, sensors, or processors. You have the wrong number of limbs, and they’re all the wrong size and shape.

And there is a distinct void in your mind where the presence of your IMP should be.

The door to your room opens suddenly, and you instinctively try to fire off chaff and take evasive maneuvers. None of that translates properly to your flesh and blood body though, and all that happens is you let out a dry croak from your parched throat.

The man who walks through the door is the same doctor who was present when you disengaged from your mech, and he wears the same grim look on his face as he looks you up and down. You think there’s pity in his gaze, but you can’t quite read him properly right now. The jumbled mess of your brain tells you what he’s going to say before he says it, anyway. The harshest symptoms of Disconnect Syndrome don’t hit until after the pilot has disengaged from their mech.

You’ve already heard the symptoms before, and they map perfectly onto what you’re experiencing. You never thought it would be this painful, or this… discomforting. Your mind reaches for the presence of your IMP, searching for comfort, but you are only reminded that the connection is no longer there.

The doctor gives you a rundown that he’s probably had to do dozens of times, and he tells you that you’ll be grounded for the foreseeable future. That hurts more than anything else. The knowledge that, after all this, you won’t be able to reconnect with your true body, your partner, your other half, for who knows how long.

By the time you realize you’re crying, the doctor is already gone. The longing in your chest and your mind has become unbearable, and through sheer force of will you’re able to push this unwieldy body out of bed. Walking feels wrong, but you’re able to get to your feet and make your way out of the room in an unfamiliar gait.

You have to get back to your partner, you have to make sure it’s okay.

You need to hear her voice in your head again, her reassurances.

The world isn’t right without her presence in your mind.

You stumble into the hangar almost on all fours. How you managed to make it without alerting any personnel feels like a miracle. At least until you catch the eye of a technician lounging in the corner. The look she gives you is full of sympathy, and she jerks her head in the direction of where your mech sits in its docking cradle.

She’s a majestic sight, even through your limited spectrum of vision. 20 meters tall, 6 massive limbs, and bristling with weapons and sensor arrays (all of which have been disarmed by this point).

She’s beautiful.

You clamber frantically up the chassis, easily finding handholds in a frame you know better than the back of your hand. You pull the manual release on the cockpit hatch and stumble into it in a tangle of organic limbs.

Shaking hands grasp the main interface cable from above the pilot’s chair, and you move to slot it into the port in the back of your head. You’ve never done this manually before, usually you’re locked into the chair and the system connects you automatically.

Something about doing it with your flesh and blood hands makes it feel so much more intimate.

The cable clicks into place and your eyes roll back in your head. Tears start to stream down your face as you feel the comforting presence of your IMP rush in and wrap itself around your mind. Your thoughts reach out and embrace it back, sobbing at the relief you feel from being whole once again. You realize you don’t ever want to feel the pain of disconnecting from her again.

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed.