#Induced Draft Fans

[ddocpl]

Best Practices for Selecting Bag Filter Manufacturers for Your Industrial Needs

Introduction

Bag filters are essential components of many industrial processes. They are used to filter out impurities and pollutants from gasses and liquids, helping to ensure the safety and efficiency of various manufacturing processes. When it comes to selecting bag filter manufacturers for your industrial needs, there are several best practices to keep in mind. In this blog, we will explore some of these practices and how they can help you choose the right Bag Filter Manufacturers in Pune

Following are the Best Practices when Choosing to Bag Filter Manufacturer

Look for Experience and Expertise:

When it comes to bag filter manufacturing, experience, and expertise matter. Look for manufacturers who have been in the business for a long time and have a track record of producing high-quality filters that meet industry standards. Check the manufacturer's website to see their experience and expertise in bag filter manufacturing.

Consider the Manufacturer's Capabilities:

Different industrial processes require different types of bag filters. When selecting a manufacturer, consider their capabilities in terms of the types of filters they can produce. Choose a manufacturer that can produce a wide range of filters to meet your specific needs.

Quality Assurance:

Ensure that the manufacturer has quality assurance measures in place to ensure that their filters meet industry standards. Look for certifications such as ISO 9001:2015, which indicate that the manufacturer has implemented a quality management system.

Customization:

Look for manufacturers that can customize bag filters to meet your specific needs. Customized filters can help improve the efficiency of your industrial processes and minimize downtime.

After-Sales Support:

Select a manufacturer that provides after-sales support, such as installation, maintenance, and repair services. This can help ensure that your bag filters continue to perform optimally over their lifespan.

Conclusion

In summary, selecting the right bag filter manufacturer is critical to the success of your industrial processes. When selecting a manufacturer, consider their experience and expertise, capabilities, quality assurance measures, customization options, and after-sales support. By following these best practices, you can choose the right bag filter manufacturer in Pune that can meet your specific industrial needs.

[ankitawal]

The induced draft fan helps to control air pollution by removing the contaminated or polluted air from any enclosed space. Almost all industrial sectors that aim to control air pollution generally use the Induced Draft Fan to remove pollutants from the air. Read the blog to find out more about the deals that induced draft fans offer with various impeller designs.

[ventilair108]

Are you looking for Induced Draft Fans Manufacturer in India

 Induced Draft Fans Manufacturer From Faridabad, India:

“VENTILAIR INDIA PVT.LTD.” offers High efficiency induced draft fans with Mild Steel and Stainless Steel construction. Our Fans are suitable for even toughest of the Industrial conditions and are used in various industries such as boiler, chemical, dust collection, pharma, marine, packaging, etc.

Ventilair India has vast experience as an induced draft Fan manufacturer, supplier & exporter. Our fans are widely used by manufacturers of boilers, furnaces, dust collection, and ovens with their equipment. All the impellers are statically and dynamically balanced on the machine. A balancing and fan performance certificate is provided along with the blower. Ventilair makes Induced Draft Fan and Forced Draft Fan are designed to run at high efficiency thereby giving considerable power savings to our customers.

Features of Induced Draft Fans:-

1. Less Power Consumption

2. High Impeller Life

3. Less Maintenance

4. Low noise

5. High Bearing Life

6. Good after sales service

About Us:

Our team of skilled professionals keeps a strict vigil on the manufacturing process to make sure that only faultless products reach our esteemed customers.Established in the year 1988 in Faridabad (Haryana, India), “Ventilair India Private Limited” is amongst the leading Manufacturers and Exporters of a wide variety of air pollution control systems and equipments. Our product range includes Air Cooling System,   

Visit Us: Induced Draft Fans Manufacturer

Contact Information:

No. 11/7, Mile Stone, Mathura Road, Faridabad - 121003, Haryana, India

sales@ventilairfans.com

+91 9971026641

[teral11]

Teral stands out as the Induced Draft Fan manufacturer in India. With a commitment to excellence and cutting-edge technology, Teral has consistently set the industry standard. Their Induced Draft Fans are known for their superior performance, durability, and energy efficiency. Teral's dedication to quality and innovation has earned them a reputation as the best in the business. Whether it's for industrial, commercial, or residential applications, Teral's fans ensure optimal air circulation and ventilation, making them the top choice in India's fan manufacturing landscape.

[teral232]

https://www.blowers-fans.com/forced-draft-fan.html

Teral stands at the forefront of Induced Draft Fan manufacturing in India, renowned for establishing industry benchmarks in both quality and performance. With an unwavering dedication to innovation and unwavering customer-centricity, Teral has cemented its position as the foremost authority in this domain. Their production facilities, staffed by proficient experts, guarantee the creation of inducement draft fans that excel in efficiency and reliability. Be it for industrial applications, HVAC systems, or power generation plants, Teral's product range consistently delivers the ultimate in airflow and cooling solutions. When it comes to Induced Draft Fan manufacturing in India, Teral stands unrivaled in excellence.

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[teralreport]

At Teral, we proudly stand as India's premier manufacturer of Induced Draft Fans manufacturer in India. With a commitment to innovation and excellence, we lead the industry by providing solutions for various applications. Our advanced fan systems are engineered for optimal performance, energy efficiency, and reliability, ensuring seamless operations across diverse sectors. Backed by a legacy of trust and a team of skilled professionals, Teral continues to set the standard for superior quality and unmatched performance in the field of Induced Draft Fan manufacturing.

[bonefall]

Clan Culture Illustrations

So I've been mentioning this in passing, and I think now is a good time to start collecting info from people who are interested!

I'm seeking artists who want to draw stuff for my Clan Culture series.

I often write very large guides for things like tools, ecology, medicine and treatments, etc, which then get held up by the fact that they're big blocks of text without any fun pictures. I usually collaborate with friends and family, but I could put out more quicker if I had some artists on standby.

If you're an artist who would be interested in illustrating, here's the details;

Everything I make on this blog is tailored towards WC fans, but free for anyone to use and reference for their xenofiction worldbuilding projects. You do not have to be intimately familiar with the Warrior Cats books. This offer's open to anyone above 18.

Fans of Better Bones are preferred, because Clan Culture and BB often intersect. I might ask for help with some BB stuff at some point, too. (for example i have a guide on types of StarClan spirits that needs illustration)

To re-iterate, please only inquire if you're 18+

Price range is 20 - 50 USD and turnaround time can be up to 6 months if you just keep me updated. (I am sorry that I can't offer a higher price for these, but this is coming from my own pocket. In return, this is meant to be low pressure)

Half payment upfront, the rest after completion.

I will never "assign" you a surprise mystery topic (unless you ask for that I guess?), I'll either present you with a list of posts that need illustration (yes this means you get to read stuff early), OR float some ideas that play to your strengths and interests. (for example: if I'm approached by Spider-Enjoyer-9000 who's willing to draw a ridiculous number of spiders, I will draft, write, and research a Clanmew Expansion in the style of Deer and Co or Moths and Butterflies.)

Either way, there's usually a lot of creative freedom here unless I need a specific technical drawing, which I will discuss with you and provide references for. (As an example, if we were talking about a post on declawing, I might ask for you to illustrate the muscles within the paw.)

The nature of Clan Culture means you will probably be asked to draw plants, food, objects, and/or scenery

Still interested?

I'm hoping to make a personal "list" of people I can call on, so send me your commissions info or details in a DM, an ask, a reply to this post, or anything else you'd like. Tell me about stuff you like drawing, topics you're interested in, if you can draw backgrounds, etc

Also, please tell include in that message if you're comfortable with illustrating these particular sensitive topics. These are opt-in only;

Medical Gore (Woundcare, stitching, blood, vomit, urine, parasites and bug bites, etc.)

Reproductive Care (Abortion, birth, pyometria, inducing lactation, possible revamp of the HRT guide including simple surgeries, etc)

Hunting and Butchery (Humane killing of prey, skinning, disembowelment, cutting meat, making sausage and blood pudding, etc)

Funerals and Animal Death (Sad kitties, dead battle cats, scavengers and grave desecration, tombs and burial rituals, concealing decay, etc.)

The end art will always stay tasteful, but I might need to give you references in the form of real images or tutorials that might be upsetting if you're sensitive to these topics-- so it's important to me that I consider those four things "opt-in."

I have plenty of other posts that need illustration, it's just a huge plus if you're able to do these too.

(You should also mention any other specific triggers or phobias you have, so I don't unwittingly come at you with something else upsetting)

"I still have questions!"

Putting a big list of answers beneath the cut;

"Would everything have to be colored?"

Nope, as long as there's pictures to break up the text, you can do sketches, black and white, flat colors, only put color in the header, etc. We'll discuss expectations with the post in front of us, and then agree on price.

I have ONE requirement; it's gotta look good on Tumblr darkmode. Because I use Dark Reader.

"Do you have a Discord?"

I do, I just try to be exclusive with who I give it to! When we're discussing details, we'll probably move over there if you'd like. This is a reason why I only want to work with 18+ artists, I'm not always SFW on main.

"Can we do an entry together about (specific topic)?"

Probably yes, so feel free to ask! The worst that will happen is that I say no, or maybe later. For example, I've got a post on Sweetness Tolerance reserved for my partner (they like to draw sweets), so I would say no if you asked.

Just keep in mind that researching, outlining, and writing is unpaid labor I'm doing completely for free. I have posts mostly done that just need art, and topics I've done some research on. Please only ask for special collaborations from scratch if you're serious 🙏

"Does it have to be digital?"

You'd have to have a WILD idea for me to say yes to anything non-digital, but I am a queer of whimsy. If you can whimsify me with an idea, hell yeah.

"Will I be compensated if you need any changes?"

Yes. If I spring anything on you after the details we agree on, I will first ask you, then ask how much that change would cost, and then compensate you for it.

As fair warning though, I am trying to stay within a budget and writing the posts themselves is unpaid work I do (plus occasional helping hands during research stages, I consulted a friend who is an irl wetlands expert for ShadowClan's environment). I can't pay more than what we agree on.

"Can I link my info in the post?"

Yes. "Guest Artist" is going to be named in the opening paragraphs, along with any fundraiser, shop info, carrd, etc, you want there.

"Boosty?"

Yea I got Boosty. Paypal, too.

"I have some other question about pricing"

Feel free to ask, but my hard budget is 20$ - 50$ US. Please only inquire if you're willing to charge within that range.

"What if I'd do it free or I want to do this anonymously?"

I'll donate to a charity of your choice and link to it in the post. If you have no charity preference, I will link to RAINN, Anera, or The Trevor Project.

(Naturally this comes with an anti-ghoul caveat or two. If you try to get me to donate to something like Autism Speaks I will rotate every bone in your body by 45 degrees.)

"I like checklists, can you give me a checklist of info you want in a DM?"

Sure!

Your info; socials, carrd, shop, etc

General interests and strengths. Stuff you'd love to work on, or have insight to. If you like fishing or drawing bugs, I want to know that. If you particularly want to practice flowers, tell me. Be as detailed as you want so I can pair you with a relevant subject!

Your examples

General asking price (or charity)

Which, if any, of the four Opt-In Subjects you're opting in for.

Anything else I should know (triggers, phobias, things you dislike drawing, if schooling or disability means you need a particularly long turnaround time, etc)

[whizzinpast]

drop the second iteration of ivantill lore please

Buckle up buttercup because this is not going to be a happy story. It’s not even going to be a ‘sweetly tragic in a hot yaoiful sense’ story. It’s just what it is.

For the uninitiated: the first iteration of IvanTill was incorporated into the beach scene that I’m certain the majority of fans have seen by now (if not, you can see a glimpse of it on this post or just check out Ivan’s page on the wiki). The storyboards were drawn up by Qmeng as far as Round 3 during its production phase.

However, it was drastically changed in the second draft. Qmeng and Vivinos most likely wanted to explore different variations of tragic relationships because they mentioned the first iteration ‘overlapped too much with MiziSua.’ So, they decided to focus more on the toxic aspect of their relationship and the one-sidedness of it.

Cue second iteration.

Ivan is a lot more sinister. He uses his knowledge of Till’s trauma to intentionally provoke him, and it works. Till gives a rage-induced performance that assures his victory.

But much to his horror, it’s exactly what Ivan wanted. Everything occurred exactly as he planned. And through a set of flashbacks, it is revealed that their whole lives, Ivan saw Till as a plaything he could puppet to his will, and he did. He got him into trouble on purpose. He got him hurt on purpose. All because Till was something he believed he owned.

The ending to Round 6 wouldn't be tragic because Ivan couldn’t convey his feelings properly. It would’ve been tragic because Till was never able to break out of Ivan’s control. He was never able to escape his grasp.

In other words: “Till looks down at Ivan’s body and despairs, realizing he will never escape from the burning red sky and the falling meteor (Ivan).” (literally quoted from the draft)

And then the third iteration happened, the one we all know and love, and it’s more like a combination of the two. A lot of Ivan’s actions were left vague specifically because Q & V wanted it like that. They said it themselves, Ivan wasn’t certain of his own feelings for Till, what was their nature and how deep they went. That’s why he fumbled so badly. He had no idea, so neither will we.

[ddocpl]

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[mairaiscarrierofthepaperclips]

My (Maira's) fics!

Updated for 2025! Find me here on AO3.

If you'd like to be notified when I post tidbits, snippets, or full fics, interact with this post! 😊

9-1-1 (Buddie)

Current WIPs:

The Mummy AU - pretty much what it says on the tin, with some fun change ups just because I can - (currently 42k words, and we're maybe halfway done? 🙃) - hoping to publish during hiatus, i.e. before season 8b.

in aqua sanitas (vicissim) - currently 6k, almost complete. Since the Texas decision Buck is pulling away, and when words are exchanged about it Eddie unintentionally makes some poor, tequila induced choices.

vampire one-shot - inspired by a tumblr post about a love letter found in a museum.

Star Trek quote + indulging my hatred of the Elder Buckleys

Gravedigger AU - fans of Bones will know all about this one.

Accidental three words - Eddie says something out loud instead of in his head, and decides that the best way to handle it is to say the Q word.

Completed:

for I cannot, cannot go - Eddie's world is (briefly, horrifically) ripped apart.

each note a chapter - Buck is having trouble finding the perfect scent. So, he tries to think of his favourite scent, instead. It goes about as well as expected. (Written for Flufftober 2024)

no others, before thee - Eddie is kidnapped. It does not end well for the idiots who thought he was the most powerful one. (Written for @summerofbuddie 2024)

let the bough break, let it come down crashing - Buck breaks up with his soulmate on a Tuesday. (Written for @summerofbuddie 2024)

the clarification of equilibrium - or, the one where Eddie gets jealous about a conversation, and attempts to explain how body positioning works. (Written for @summerofbuddie 2024)

leave it out there, no regrets - Or, the one where Buck is completely oblivious to Eddie declaring his love, and Eddie (briefly) contemplates leaving the country forever because of it.

Buddie Flufftober 2023 Collection - accidental kiss, answering the wrong phone, proposals, idiots in love... We have it all, folks. For a complete fic breakdown, see this post.

i opened my eyes (and all i saw was you) - the Meddie friendship fic inspired by a Tumblr post.

paradise under a pine tree - speed run friends-to-fiancés Valentine's Day 2024 fic - why, yes, I based this one-shot around a pun, thank you for asking.

take my hand (take my whole life too) - magical realism fic. Contrary to what he believes, Buck is not actually allergic to Eddie.

take this life and make it yours (take this heart and let it love again) - . . . or, the one where Buck finally figures out he's in love with Eddie, only for things to not go as planned. (inspired by A Scene from s4 of Supernatural (IYKYK)).

wild again, beguiled again - or, the one after the (7.04) Buck/Tommy kiss. Nothin' but fluff. 💖💜💙

when deeds and words are in accord (my whole world is transformed) - Or, the one where Eddie sings his feelings, and Buck loses his mind.

hard kick, slow burn - Or, the one in the bar with the dancing.

TBD WIPs:

take this life sequel - Eddie's POV. A truly ridiculous level of angst.

Past Lives Soulmates AU - my muse is not letting this go, but I don't see it being up any time soon. RIP.

locked room fic - inspired by That Kiss from New Girl. Partially drafted.

deeds and words sequel - partially drafted, established relationship cuteness

And so many more

[dynamic-power]

I'm hoping to maybe clear out my drafts between now and the new year. Here's another one.

Corroded Coffin releases a ballad. It's emotional in a visceral, anger-inducing way; the subject of the song has left, and Eddie Munson, the writer and singer of the song, is clearly struggling with self-loathing over the fact that he still loves him. It's the first time Eddie has ever used gendered pronouns in a love song. He uses he/him exclusively and confirms in an Instagram post a week after the songs release that it's because he's gay.

A year later, actor Steve Harrington does an acoustic cover of the ballad. It's also emotional, but in a different way. Instead of leaving the listener angry, it leaves them feeling every ounce of heartbreak that the song was written with. Fans are pleasantly surprised to find that Steve has kept true to the original and not changed any of the pronouns, instead singing about being spurrned by a man, just like Eddie had intended.

Rumors begin to spread about Steve's sexuality, but he never comments on it. What he does comment on, though, is Eddie's impressed response. They start interacting on Twitter, and then on Instagram. One day, Steve posts a screenshot of them facetiming, Steve on set in California and Eddie backstage somewhere in Europe, and the internet becomes obsessed with their friendship. They start to appear in each other's photos. Steve attends Corroded Coffin concerts. Eddie crashes Steve's sets. They are seen together at random events throughout the next year.

The internet, being what it is, begins to speculate that they might be dating. Steve hasn't been seen with anyone significant outside of Eddie for nearly 18 months and Eddie has begun to drop hints that he might be in a new but serious relationship.

Nothing is confirmed until they post a video of a new song. Unlike the ballad, this is clearly a love song. And at the end, as they are sitting beside one another, grinning like idiots, Eddie grabs the back of Steve's neck and pulls.

The final frame of the video is them. Eyes closed, wearing lovesick smiles, foreheads pressed together. The caption simply says "E+S".

[substantial-gains]

So many months later, how is Anna doing, I wonder?

"D-do you really need to ask, dumbass? Nrrgh...I don't have time to be dealing with this shit, just, hff, get me another can of Monster from the fridge already..."

The morbidly obese, surly manga artist will be doing her best with whatever swill she has at the bottom of her last can in the meantime, just praying that a certain someone will finally make themselves useful as she fiddles with a writing utensil... Trying to finish up her remaining manuscripts with pen in one pudgy hand, metallic drink container in the other...

...She's very lucky that she's only in her black panties and bra at the moment, since the pizza grease would definitely be showing up on anything else it her weeb-ass heavy metal wardrobe. The undergarments are in a definite need of an upsize, considering the fact that her pale flesh looks akin to rising dough overflowing from it's designated pan in the oven, with a massive midsection to match her oversized tits and decadently bloated derriere. A long, unkempt silvery white mane curtains the back of the reinforced rolling chair she reclines in.

Yes, Anna has hit over a quarter ton, from sheer subconscious stress eating. The pain of overindulging is her way of punishing herself for missing deadlines; every gorge a reminder that she's inconveniencing editor, publisher, and fan alike for not delivering on all the promises she made with her special dark fantasy pitch... of gore and pleasure, and of madness...Sometimes the gluttonous urges get to the point that she just wants to forget it all and undergo a temporary ego death via food coma, since a hog slut like her deserves nothing but the shittiest and cheapest 10 boxes of pizza from down the block as her only fuel.

Today is one of those days as she just can't seem to be able to think for herself, so at this point it's a 50/50 on whether she goes into autopilot and drafts up her latest masterpiece in a state of hellish calorie induced delirium, or pass out cold and maybe ask for yet another extension later while risking getting the series axed. Taking that last hearty swig of energy brew in the wee hours of the morning, the witchy lookin' woman beats at her fat chest, finding the pressure building in her cauldron of a gut and chest unpleasant, to say the least.

“Buur...BrrruUUUUUUuUuuUup!!”

"F-fucking hell, that one hurt..."

The acidic aftertaste of such a guttural belch left on the tongue combined with the exhaust exhaled from her nostrils certainly woke her up a bit, but how much punishment Anna's overburdened heart can take both emotionally and physically is something only time can tell--

She's just gonna, lean her blubbery backside even further into her well-worn seat, and rest her glazed over eyes for a bit if that's okay...

[teral11]

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