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backmuscles21 · 2 months

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In The Open

Recoms x Reader

Summary: Literally a few small blurbs of the different times your lovers have caught you being fucked by your other lovers. I want to start writing for poly recoms cause I've been reading that and there isn't enough and it's a hyper fixation so imma flood the market, I love poly shit. I wanted to get a feel for them first so this is just a short guy and I'll hopefully write something much longer and more detailed soon.

Warnings: Smut, semi-public sex, explicit language, public sex

You were on the bench in the recom-only gym, your knees and elbows resting on the bench as Lyle held your hips and fucked into you. He was relentless too, your head hung low as you moaned out loudly. Lyle stared at the large gym mirrors to watch as he fucked you, it only made him hornier, somehow. He lifted his one leg up to rest on the bench to thrust into you harder.

Then the door opened and some other recoms walked in.

“Dude what the hell,” Lopez said.

“You started the show without us?” Walker laughed out.

“Hell yeah,” Lyle chuckled.

Prager who stood there shocked, finally moved, he moved in front of your face.

“That good baby? Is Lyle fucking you good?”

You nodded.

Lyle grabbed your braid and pulled your head back and you cried out.

“Words buttercup.”

“It feels so good. Lyle’s cock feels so good, so deep.”

Prager’s hand caressed your cheek, “you look fucked dumb baby. Think you can handle another after Lyle?”

“Maybe. She’s cummed four times already.”

“Explains why she can barely hold herself up,” Lopez laughed.

“Just wait till the Colonel sees this,” Walker chuckled sitting down on a different bench.

Funny enough even though you were dating all of the recoms, you did still enjoy a semblance of privacy. However, that is thrown out of the window with the number of times you are engaged in sexual activity in public spaces and your other lovers enter. Like the time Zdog decided that eating you out on the canteen table was a great idea. They all knew what they did was no secret, they were worried about privacy when places they were doing these things were in recom only areas.

Your hand was gripping onto the hairs of Zdog’s mohawk as her face was pushed in between your thighs. Your back was resting on the corner of the table and your legs were resting over Zdog’s shoulders and onto her back. Your head was thrown back and pressed into the silver metal table, it would’ve been freezing if you were sweating currently. The door opened to Lyle, Miles and Ja, they stopped in their tracks, you didn’t hear a thing until you heard Lyle snicker.

Your tired eyes opened and you used your abs to slightly lift your head and shoulders off the table to see who entered.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Miles chuckled.

Ja’s face was a bright purple, the blush was so deep on this poor boy, he’d never walked in on one of his lovers in the act. He knew about it, he knew it was happening around the base, and his lovers talked about it. He had just never experienced it and this poor innocent little boy couldn’t take it. He had watched his lovers fuck you before and had fucked you while the others watched but that was all planned, it was never like this.

Lyle clapped his hands on Ja’s shoulder, “too much for you baby boy.”

Ja shook his head, “just caught off guard.”

“Mhm,” Miles said as he came up to you and squatted down by your face and you moved your head over to look at him.

Zdog knew exactly what she was doing, she was playing a game, and she was holding you back until the right moment. As Miles brushed some hair out of your face and went to speak, probably something very degrading. Zdog made you cum, your eyes squeezed shut and your head moved closer to your body. Your hand gripped Zdog’s hair harder and gripped the side of the stainless-steel table, Miles smirked at your reaction, all the boys did, they knew what just happened.

“You really know what you're doing Z. Always waiting for the right moment,” Miles said.

Zdog pulled away from your dripping pussy and smiled at Miles before she went to kiss you, forcing you to taste yourself. Your hands wrapped around her neck as you kissed her, your tongue licking up her chin, you only now can hear the sounds of Ja’s sweet soft moans. You open your eyes to look at what is happening, Zdog moves from your mouth to kiss down your neck.

Currently, Lyle had his hand down Ja’s pants and was stroking him to heaven, the poor boy was so turned on and very hard but couldn’t bring himself to touch himself, so Lyle did it for him. Zdog sat you up and removed your RDA standard issue tank top and helped you take your tight sports bra off.

“So, which one of you boys wants her first?”

Better yet, everyone's favourite time was when you were all going on your first mission as recoms and you all agreed that there was to be no funny business. But Lopez can’t keep his hands to himself and as they are taking off, he already has two fingers in you. Some looked at him with a ‘really?’ face and others, Lyle, had the biggest smirk.

Lopez leaned into your ear, “better stay quiet, don’t want any of the little guys to hear.”

His snicker and his command made you squirm and he knew it too, he knew that’d get you going, he wanted the human pilots to hear and see. He wanted those humans to see that he could get pussy on the reg and they were still fucking their fists at night.

“Colonel gave us strict orders to follow and you can’t keep your hands to yourself for five minutes?” Mansk said from across Lopez.

Lopez stared at his fanged smile in the reflection of Mansk’s glasses, “she’s just sitting here, lookin’ all pretty, what did you expect me to do?”

“Listen to direct orders?”

“Like he wouldn’t fuck her now if he could?”

“We all would, but we have responsibilities. Did you not get enough of her last night?”

Lopez’s fingers still curled within you as your hips thrusted to make his fingers move more, your eyebrows were pressed together as you could feel pleasure building.

“Look at that, I’ll never get enough. How could any of y’all stay soft seeing this.”

“Because we fucked her last night.”

“I mean so did I, but this face never leaves my thoughts.”

“Geez, you guys are worse than Lyle,” Walker spoke up with a laugh.

“Hey, I mean it is nice, I’ll side with Lopez on that. I’ll always get bricked up for that.”

“You know, as much as I enjoy this and getting off is amazing. We have a job to do and I’d rather not be horny all mission,” you panted out.

“Fine, you win,” Lopez pulled his fingers out and pulled his mask down enough to suck his fingers before placing the mask where it originally was. “But this ain’t over when we get back ooo boy.”

Even better that time you all had a whole bunch of medical appointments after you first woke up but decided that fucking was a great idea before that. You were all so used to it as humans that waking up in your Na’vi bodies didn’t change anything. Going to physicals with multiple bite marks and hickies and bruises, made all the scientists nervous, they questioned you all about it. Of course, none of you told them what actually happened.

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dysthanasia-series · 9 months

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Apophenia 0.5 Pt. 4

Patreon | Ao3

Summary: Beware.

Words: 2598

Content Advisory: Supernatural horror, brief body horror, knife/blade violence, gun violence, threats of bodily harm/torture, pursuit, escape gone wrong

Isaac knew he should get up. Make a break for the door without looking back. Do something geared toward escape. The rest of his body disagreed. Hair trigger tension thrummed in his muscles, waiting for the predator sitting next to him to pounce.

But Dimas only smiled, leaning back on one hand and playfully swinging the ring of keys on a finger of the other. “Oh? Would you rather stay a little longer then? Enjoy some more hospitality?”

The anxious paralysis broke. A fangtip peeked out from between the bloodborn’s lips while he watched Isaac lurch to his feet, bowl still in hand, and back away. More teeth when he bumbled into the wall. By the time Isaac fumbled his way out the door, he was closing it on the sight of Dimas’ full-blown Cheshire grin.

Then…then he found himself alone in a dark hallway. The thud of his pulse in his ears was the only sound. Isaac’s eyes shifted to the right and left. Faint illumination from the latter. He counted to twenty. Not a peep from the opposite side of the door. He sidled away a step. Nothing. A creaking floorboard under his next one made him flinch, but it provoked no other reactions. Splitting his attention between watching his back and where he was going, Isaac made it to the end of the hall. Flipping the switches on the wall there flooded the area with light and his entire body with relief.

Through an arched doorway on one side, he saw the gleam of stainless-steel kitchen appliances. Could he find a knife or other weapon in the drawers? Doubtful. Best to keep moving. Straight ahead, the path opened into a cavernous living room devoid of any furniture or lurking horrors. No shelves, art, or traps decorated the adobe-tan walls, but the open shudders of the wide windows looked too silver and shiny to be wood. Metal, to guard against the sun and daylight intruders maybe. Isaac’s stomach bucked when he spotted a blue tarp rolled up in one corner with a pair of shovels resting on top. He quickly looked elsewhere and was rewarded with a more heartening discovery: his travel bag sitting next to what had to be the front door.

Isaac was done hesitating. He rushed across the polished hardwood floor, not caring how loudly his bare feet slapped against the floor. His bag was unzipped, everything jumbled after having been searched. Images of claw traps flashing in his mind, Isaac gingerly picked through his stuff until he found his tab. It still had plenty of charge when he turned it on, just no signal. Fine, he could contact Director Khang and the enforcers as soon as he escaped the house-turned-slaughter-pen. He had the foresight to pull on two pairs of socks. Then he stuffed the tab into his back pocket, fished his keys out, and slung the bag crossways over his shoulder to keep his hands free.

After some deliberation, Isaac grabbed one of the shovels from the corner. Caked dirt and what he prayed were just flakes of rust coated the blade, but its weight reassured him.

The front door unlocked and opened without a hitch. He stepped out onto a porch showing the first signs of age in its cracking white paint. The steps sagged and groaned under his weight but held. Goosebumps sprung up across Isaac’s skin on contact with the night air. He scanned the yard for any signs of impending death or dismemberment. Nothing except a few clustered colonies of cacti and succulents broke up the barren expanse of packed, sand-colored dirt. He couldn’t smell any sign of a dog or other guard animal. Beyond the post fence decorated with cow skulls that marked the property boundary, Isaac could see his humble yet reliable car waiting next to the bloodborn’s fancy model. Only the rocky hills and open dirt road waited for him after that.

Too easy. There had to be a nasty catch somewhere. Crosshairs from a rifle trained on him through a window. Landmines buried in the yard for all he knew. He’d been worried about being chomped, but someone as sadistic as Dimas would probably find killing him in a totally unexpected way even more thrilling. Which was why Isaac wound up tossing the shovel on the ground ahead of him every few paces before moving forward.

About fifteen feet from the fence, the bloodborn’s trap sprang.

A tiny shockwave rippled through the earth, making gravel jump. Isaac froze in his tracks, every sense alert. The grinning skulls hanging on the fence posts chattered their teeth, vibrating from some cause he couldn’t detect. He finally spotted the Beware sign nailed to the crossbars of the gate. A sign that would face anyone on their way out, not in. His heart froze over.

He had to try, though. If there was any hope of escape, no matter how slim, he needed to go for it. Isaac gazed back at the single-story ranch house. Empty, dull windows, no movement. Dimas could’ve set up cameras to watch remotely. Probably wouldn’t do much good to go looking and break them, not when the bloodborn could just come outside and grab him. Better to play along then.

Isaac faced the fence again. Gripping the shovel tight, he reached out to poke the nearest trembling skull with the tip before jumping away. No explosion. No poison darts. Nothing. Emboldened, he stepped forward and took a proper swipe. The skull tumbled from its perch, landing on its side with one curved horn stuck in the dust.

Movement in the corner of his eye. Water gushed up from around the bases of the gate post. No, something thicker, like gelatin, oozing from the cracks in the earth and forming a mounting pile. Shovel clutched to his chest, Isaac retreated as the thing reached waist height. Backed away a few more steps when the column of slime—towering over him by at least two feet now—reached down with a long tentacle to scoop the skull off the ground and place it on top of its mass. Thus crowned, the gel monster gave a little quiver but made no further move.

Well…shit. No field guides Isaac could remember had ever mentioned something quite so weird. He took a cautious step to the side, stare trained on the cow skull serving as the creature’s head. Could it see him? He started to sidle closer to the gate. A clatter brought him up short. The other skull had fallen from its mounting and goo bubbled from the parched ground to pick it up. Isaac pressed one sleeve to his nose when a breeze hit him with the reek of spoiled meat and damp, moldering leather. He glanced at further sections of fence along either side. More bones, about every ten yards or so.

He wasn’t turning back. Dimas could laugh all he wanted from wherever he was watching. But Isaac wasn’t going to give up—not with his car, with escape, so close. Magic wasn’t his wheelhouse, but he still knew a few basics. What did he have that might disrupt whatever had activated the pair of guardians? Salt? Not unless he went back to the house and searched the kitchen. Silver? Dimas had taken the pistol from his bag, of course, but what about…yes. Isaac found the handful of silver rifle rounds he was authorized to carry in one of the side zipper pockets. Holding one like a dart, he aimed a bit above center of the left jelly-mold horror’s undulating mass. A flick of the wrist and the bullet struck its target, sinking in halfway down the casing.

The creature twitched, then sucked the round into itself with a faint slurp. The bullet sat suspended in its gelatinous bulk but otherwise unaffected. So much for silver then. Iron? Isaac glanced at the end of the shovel. Steel probably wouldn’t pass muster. Anyway, the thing would likely yank his only weapon right out of his hands if he stabbed it. Time for another approach. How did the creatures sense him? Stomping provoked no reaction. Neither did waving or whistling. It wasn’t until he edged around to a neighboring section of fence and put his hands on the top rail that they took notice.

Both skulls snapped to face him, teeth clacking. The nearest guardian rushed him in a slithering charge. Isaac yelped and stumbled back as it reared up between him and freedom. The other wrapped itself around the fence like a python, head bobbing and weaving in agitation. Isaac continued to retreat from the first’s steady advance. The house. It was fucking herding him back toward the house and the bloodborn waiting for him inside.

Shoving his hand in his pocket, he fumbled for his keys. Hit the button to unlock his car. The responding chirp and flash from the headlights didn’t go unnoticed. Lunging, the guardian snapped its jaws inches from his face. Isaac gasped, hopped back, and swung the shovel with all his terror and desperation behind it. The skull went sailing. Its mandible detached on impact with the ground, horned cranium skipping and rolling across the dirt. Isaac didn’t wait to see if the creature would go after it. As soon as it recoiled, he sprinted for the gate. He tossed the shovel over the fence before jumping the rail, but didn’t stop to pick it back up. The driver’s door opened without a hitch and he threw his bag into the next seat. His first press of the ignition button lit up the dashboard.

Impact smashed in the back window just as Isaac threw the gear into reverse. Stinging bits of jagged safety glass pelted his neck and shoulder. He met a pair of glowing eyes in the rearview mirror. Not sea-blue but the dull, smoldering red of dying coals set deep in sunken sockets. A gruesome smile, teeth filed to points, cracked open across a pale, craggy face. Isaac had no idea what the creature crawling, spider-like, into the backseat was, but it terrified him more than anything outside the car. He stomped on the emergency brake and scrambled out.

The gaunt thing inside kicked open the rear passenger door. Isaac turned to sprint back to the yard, but skidded to a stop, his escape blocked by the two guardians. He decided to face the bigger threat stepping out of the car. In the evening light, the creature’s skin looked mottled, even its bare scalp. A patchwork of various tans, browns, and whites just like the cloak hanging on its tall frame was a mix of different hides and furs. A swell of nausea rolled through Isaac’s middle when he noticed dimpled scars from stitches outlining each individual patch on the thing’s body..

“What—” Isaac started.

Drawing a stained hunting knife from inside its cloak, the grinning creature closed the distance between them in a single leap. Isaac let out a strangled squawk and backpedaled. The blade still opened a horizontal gash in his shirt. Pressing an arm over his belly, Isaac tripped, his heel catching on something long. Falling on his ass saved his life—the creature brought the knife down in a wind-splitting arc right where his head had been half a second before.

Partway through scrabbling away, he spotted the shovel that had made him fall. Isaac didn’t think twice. He dove for it, angling the blade end up at the stitch-skin monster as it lunged. With its handle braced against the ground, the shovel bit in deep just below his attacker’s jutting ribs. The red eyes flared huge and bright, blazing at Isaac above a snarl while he crab-crawled away as fast as he could, tiny stones cutting into his palms.

“Annoying whelp.” The creature had a voice like dead leaves rasping along the abandoned streets of a ghost town. “I’ll peel you slow, starting from the soles of your feet. Let the ants go to work on you while you’re still alive.” Taking hold of the shovel handle, it yanked the blade from its torso. Not a trickle of blood fell from the smiling wound. Armed with two weapons, it took a step toward Isaac.

Rolling thunder broke over the desert. One side of the advancing creature’s head exploded. It reeled in the same direction, mouth hanging open in a silent scream. Or no. Not silent. Isaac just couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears.

Movement to the left drew his eye. He watched Dimas, service pistol in hand, finish crossing the yard and open the gate. Gaze trained on the flailing creature, he said something Isaac didn’t catch. Same went for the small object the bloodborn threw into his lap. A key fob. He finally understood, at least enough. Snatching the key, Isaac got his feet under himself and made for the stylish black car. His hopes of taking off alone were crushed by Dimas slipping into the passenger seat.

“Go, go, go!” the bloodborn shouted in a distant, tinny voice.

Better the monster he knew than the one he didn’t. Maybe. Either way, Isaac figured he didn’t have much choice. He stomped on the accelerator and swung onto the narrow dirt track with as much speed as he dared.

It wasn’t enough. In the rearview dash display, the creature with quilted skin charged after them, mouth open in a howl and eyes blazing in the bloody glow of the taillights. It pulled its fur cloak around it like a cocoon and…changed. An unsettling ripple rolled through the garment, a patch expanding and crawling up, then over the creature’s wounded head. With a twisting leap, it became an enormous, mangy coyote bounding down the road. And gaining on them.

In no apparent hurry himself, Dimas rolled down his window and leaned halfway out of it. Isaac had the sense to shield at least one ear with a hand before the pistol went off. Once. Twice. Three times before the beast jerked and stumbled. It hit the ground face-first, tumbling end over end. Darkness swallowed it as they left it behind.

Dimas slid back down into his seat. He used the sun visor’s mirror and the hand not holding a gun to comb his wind-ruffled hair into place again.

“Slow down,” he said, voice muffled by Isaac’s damaged hearing. “We’re in the clear for the moment.”

No, actually. Nothing was clear. Though Isaac eased his foot off the accelerator, his heartrate didn’t drop along with the speedometer.

“What,” he panted, “the hell was that?”

Dimas slapped the sun visor closed. “You know, I thought I was a great liar. But your commitment is impressive. Fucking annoying, but impressive.”

Isaac hit the brake, bringing them to a complete stop. He found the pistol pointing at his chest when he looked over. The lenses of the bloodborn’s eyes caught the dashboard lights, shining almost the same cold, nocturnal shade of green.

“I’m not lying,” Isaac said.

“Oh? So, you weren’t sent out here to the edge of nowhere about the mermaids?”

His mouth snapped shut, ears burning. “How did you—”

A corner of Dimas’ mouth quirked up. “Same as you and that Ouroboros who almost added your hide to their collection. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“But—”

Sighing, the bloodborn turned his stare and weapon away. “Drive. We should reach the interstate in about twenty minutes. I don’t want to be ambushed out here a second time.”

“And then what?”

“Then…maybe you convince me saving your skin was worth it.”

#dysthanasia #urban fantasy #vampires #fantasy #writblr #I'm working on a beginning chapter that explains the mermaid thing a bit

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jaws-and-canines · 6 months

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The Birds: 1-1

Previous - Next

This whole series contains body horror and themes of mental illness, self harm and suicide.

Finally getting this started. Progress will be slow. Having trouble doing anything creative since I had the seizure but I'm giving it a go.

---

The corridor is long, low and windowless. Every man held there is awaiting his own death. The walls are painted a particularly sickly shade of pink, more suited for a nursery than the condemned block.

The guards can be heard before they are seen. Their keys rattle on their chains. A woman carrying a folder under her arm walks a few steps ahead of two black-shirted men escorting a prisoner. The prisoner between them can barely walk. They have to drag him. His feet slide along the floor- cheap white trainers. Cuffed hands hang loose in front of him, bruised fingers with broken nails taped together, and the grey jumper barely grazes his wrists, several sizes too small for him. He has forgotten how to close his mouth- his tongue is pale but marked with angry red where he has bitten it. A thin string of saliva twists from his beard and drips onto the floor. His glasses, held together by tape at the hinges, seem to barely cling to his face.

With a moan, he tries to swallow his own spit and coughs and splutters. The woman reaches into the pocket on his trousers, taking out a balled-up tissue and wipes his mouth. He dribbles onto the tissue, and tries to focus on what’s in front of him, bloodshot eyes tinged a pallid pink flicking across the corridor. Briefly, he takes a few steps, before collapsing again under his own weight. They continue to drag him.

The woman stops in front of the grey doors and unlocks it with one of the keys from her belt. The cell smells of bleach, whitewashed walls and grey lino floor. There is nothing in it save for a stainless steel sink and toilet unit in the corner next to the door, and the bed in the far corner. There are no sheets on the bed, just the flat sheet over the mattress.

The man lifts his head a little to stare into the cell. The officers on either side of him take most of his weight. He pitches forwards, unaware of his own centre of gravity. He furrows his brow. “Where’sit,” he slurs, gesturing weakly with cuffed hands to the empty room.

“Where’s what?” she asks. “Your belongings?”

He grunts in agreement. “My pencils. Photographs, m’ books.” His worried eyes flick over the room as if he is expecting his belongings to suddenly jump out at him, to materialise in an empty corner. They don’t. Tears start to well up in the corners of his eyes.

She puts a hand on his shoulder, leans over and undoes his handcuffs. His wrists are marked, patterned like crumpled paper with indents from straining against much heavier restraints. “Shall we go and sit down on the bed?”

He ignores her for a moment. His hand goes straight to his neck, to the angry red and black bruises, before the heaviness of his own body becomes too much for him to bear, and the hand drops, fingers getting caught in the collar of his jumper on the way down. He tries to say something and it comes out as an incoherent groan. She puts a hand in the small of his back and tries to push him forwards a little. “Shall we go and sit down on the bed?” she asks again.

“Mmm.” He takes a step, supported by her, locking his knee and dragging his left leg. His hands go out to keep his balance, but he takes another, limping in the same way, and sits down on the edge of the bed. Still he does not shut his mouth, the trail of spit starting to drip from his beard again. He looks down and rubs the fabric of the flat sheet between his fingers, utterly absorbed in the way the fabric brushes against itself. He tugs it up a little more, and something beneath the mattress catches his eye. He tugs at it, once, twice, three times, until a little more of it comes loose. He studies the heavy fabric with holes punched through it for a moment, before he holds it up to her, that same anguish-tinged look of open-mouthed confusion on his face. He says nothing, just looks at her.

“Those are restraints, Anton.” She sits down beside him, putting a hand on his arm. “To keep you safe. But we don’t need those right now, do we?”

"Don't know." He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

She keeps her hand on his arm. "You're safe. You won't hurt yourself again. That's for your own good."

There is a pause as he turns it over in his mind. “I don't know anymore,” he breathes, and holds his own shoulders tightly. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to BE this anymore.” He looks at her with eyes full of tears. “I want to go home,” he says, slurring his words. “I want to see my wife, my daughter, I want to go home,” he repeats, and a tear rolls down his cheek.

“That’s not possible right now. You sound very tired.” She takes the tissue from his pocket again and wipes his mouth, and then the salt-stains from his cheek. “Are you going to sleep?”

“Yeah,” he says, sniffing, and lies down, lifting his left leg up onto the bed with a hand underneath his knee. He pulls off his jumper and tucks it under his head as he rolls onto his side. He fumbles with his glasses with taped-together fingers to take them off, and hooks them over his lapel. She sits there for a few moments, watching the rise and fall of his chest. When he starts to snore she gets up with a hand on her keys to stop them rattling.

She locks the door behind her.

“Jesus Christ,” says one of the men, arms folded across his chest. “What a fucking mess.”

The woman tucks her hair behind her ear. “Some of them drool like that with the sedatives, some of them don’t.” Sifting through the folder under her arm, she pauses for a moment on the full audit record of his injuries. “He’s probably too sore to swallow that amount of saliva.”

The photographs were all taken with flash in the early morning. The motion is evident from them, someone having to pull his fist apart to straighten out his fingers, tension in his arm from tugging against the leather limb restraint around his wrist. The next few are of his bloodshot eyes under a pupil torch, three photos in quick succession, his face twisted into a picture of childish distress as someone gently opens his eyes with nitrile-gloved fingers despite him fighting to keep them shut. The rest are all of his neck. He is sat up for those, co-operating, turning his head this way and that, someone brushing back his mousey-brown hair from his neck to show the ligature marks around his throat, the deep red and black bruising. She wonders how the nursing team managed to get him to play along, and turns to the next page in the folder, her order form for an adapted diet. “I’ve signed off on a soft diet for the next week. Make sure he gets that or he won’t be able to eat. He’ll need a minder for a while.“

There’s a loud tut from the man in the black shirt. “That’s a member of staff I’ve got to waste on watching a single man who’s just tried to top himself.” He bristles, expression souring, rocking back and forth on his heels. “How long are we expected to do that?”

She smiles, knowing he can’t weasel his way out of the responsibility. “You can stop assigning a minder to him and watch him on the camera when he’s not doped-up enough that he might choke on his own spit in his sleep.” She turns another page in the folder and comes to the form she filled in giving them the option to keep him restrained for the maximum of six hours. “If he gets agitated you can use the Pinels under the mattress. I’ve signed off on them already for the grace period. If you can’t de-escalate enough to de-restrain him in the six hours, call me. I’ll get a court order to keep him restrained or I’ll send someone down to sedate him again.”

The officer shakes his head, arms still folded. He looks at the locked door, and then back to the woman. “I’m not happy about being lumped with your headcases, Marie. This is the condemned unit, not psych. My guys generally don’t try to speed things up when it comes to being dead.”

“Well then,” she says. “You better hope he agrees to testify, or you’ll be stuck with him until they take him out to shoot him in the back of the head.” She picks out a stapled booklet of papers from the folder and slots the papers into the clipboard beside the door.

The first is a blood-red sheet, bold capitals across it - ANTON ELLMENREICH VON FENNEC - SUICIDE RISK - MANDATORY 5-MINUTE CHECKS.

Beneath it, on a second clipboard, his photo stares into the hallway- dishevelled, confused, with cracked glasses. If you asked him, he’d say he couldn’t remember when it was taken. He forgot several months ago.

#cw suicide #the birds

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augment-techs · 1 year

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I wish you would write a fic where... Skull gets obsessed with one of those stress-busting smiley balls. NOT nsfw. FLOOF.

Hmm, let’s see if this will upload this time.

[11am, Angel Grove High School] "....So, what's it like to have a thigh gap?" This was not the subject change Billy had meant, and it really showed in the lines of Skull's face as the genius readjusted the linen V-neck he'd fished out of the back of the punk's closet to go with the faded sky blue skinny jeans and clunky, bouncy, comfortable clogs that really just highlighted the problem Billy was finding more and more that he couldn't cover up. He'd put on an elk skull necklace, two stainless steel chain necklaces, a black choker, slipped on those spiked wrist guards that were actually really dull on further inspection, and added some of the creepier earrings in Skull's collection to the look--lots of black metal that looked like they had souls from the underworld trapped in the textures, as well as two drop earrings that Trini had flinched away from on closer inspection because they looked like two rotted ram heads smiling out at her--before coming to school (thusly discovering Skull had way more than just two piercings; four in each ear, the right with three of them in the upper shell) but still, still... For all he and Bulk used to give people a hard time, Skull had never actually come off as scary. This was not a problem Billy had in this body. Indeed, Kim figured absently as she straightened away from one of her best friends in different form; he kind of got the exact same look to cross his face as a serial killer in movies in the mid-80s: cold, but absolutely willing to murder with the cops right around the corner. (Zack was not ashamed that he put his phone on silent and kept the camera on for this exact reason. Plus, with Billy dressing Skull's figure, he kept meandering between unquestionably adorable, and so incredibly hot that Zack was sure all of Billy's friends were getting whiplash and aroused by accident. He needed records for posterity.) He was murderous, and his voice was frost, but Billy still answered the question. "Horrible. Trying to get dressed to hide it is a chore, and when I make a token effort to sleep, I have to keep a pillow between his legs because he's constantly cold and the sound of his knees knocking together makes me both irrationally angry and so sad I have, in fact, cried." To further emphasize his disapproval with the ridiculous assumption that Kim seemed to have that it was nice to reach such a disgusting beauty standard, Billy crossed legs and started tilting left and right, blowing a breath up into black hair he hadn't tried to add gel to, because he was of the mind that Skull looked much better this way (which Zack agreed with, mentally); "Also, he has no ass, and no padding, and I hate it." Looking reasonably ashamed of herself, Kim sipped from her drink and looked over to the table Tommy, Jason, Bulk and Skull were sitting at so as not to draw too much attention to their awful situation. Neither Bulk, nor Jason, sitting precariously in each other's bodies, looked especially pleased with literally anything happening. Jason had never been as big as Bulk, and had been utterly blown away that the more antagonistic punk was actually hella strong underneath the excess plush. He'd accidentally ripped his own backpack in half with those big hands and had to change twice because he'd underestimated the fat-to-muscle ratio of Bulk's entirety and Bulk in Jason's body was looking pretty pissed that Jason had ruined two of his favorite pants and one of his favorite shirts. (None of the others knew, but Jason was also freaking out that he absolutely could not get aroused in Bulk's body, or the already very large appendage in his boxers made him wish he were dead from the constriction.) Kim had to give it to Bulk, though, the guy was showing a tremendous amount of restraint and responsibility towards taking care of Jason's body. He hadn't dressed him up weird, he hadn't done anything to his hair, he'd chosen one of the dozens of red shirts to go with jeans that looked comfortable, and he was eating as balanced a meal as the high school cafeteria could offer. A fruit salad and chicken sandwich that was stacked with plenty of protein and iron, as well as nothing but water; none of which he'd try flicking at anyone, or had gobbled up like he clearly wanted to so he wouldn't have to talk to anyone. Truly, the weirdest people from a distance, from an outsider's perspective, would probably be Tommy, with the way he kept looking at Skull in Billy's body. As if he were a five year old at risk of running off into the street if someone wasn't keeping an eye on him at all times. …Which was probably not that far off the mark. Skull might have been the friendlier of the punk duo, but he never quite gave off the vibes in his own body that he was giving off like fairy lights in a black forest in Billy's. He was wearing comfortable clothes from Billy's closet--but they were from the waaaaay back of the closet, which Billy had probably forgotten had even existed. Black denim bootcut pants, black boots with cute little blue dragons sewn into the laces, a black button up Skull was wearing with all the buttons undone, and a dark blue shirt with the words-- *

* [7pm, The Youth Center] "Usually in the Direction of Increased Entropy." Apart from the little head spin, the add lack of gravity, and then falling back down to earth once transferred from one body to the other, Skull didn't miss a beat from one moment to the next. He easily snatched the little ball from the air in front of Billy that Bulk had given him the other evening at the onset of the bodyswap. A cute little orange ball with a smiley face, stopped from landing in the malt Billy had been sipping across from him, as Skull also found himself admiring his handiwork. "You really do look much better with contacts," was the first thing out of his mouth, back in the trappings of his own body and familiarity of his own voice, before he started rolling the ball back and forth across their shared nook table as he glanced over his shoulder to get a look at the little crash that had to be Bulk and Jason. Billy had to hide the full body heat encompassing him as Skull looked away by sipping at the malt he hadn't been drinking moments before; it had a slip of whipped cream down in the bottom that he twitched at, but it gave him something to focus on other than... Jason had tripped with a waiter's platter full of food Bulk had bought up from Ernie's bar--moist ham and cheese on rye, volcano cakes bubbling with dripping fudge syrup, apricot jelly on crisp toast, two malts much the same as Billy was sucking on, though one was quite obviously full of red cherry syrup for Jason and one was half white from vanilla bean--but seeing as Bulk had been nearby spotting Tommy at the weights (making sure everyone was slightly less curious about they two) it wasn't a far stretch once he was back in his own body to reach out and catch. Both Jason and the food were safe in hand, a little spin and a tuck, strong and deft hand and fingers at the tray, a smooth, muscled arm pulling Jason up from a freefall like he was little more than a stuffed toy. Billy thought they looked quite the picture, almost like a campy musical number was about to take place--and Tommy was the one that caused the crash of metal on the floor with the drop of his large barbell. Skull let out one of his more flittering laughs at the look on Tommy's face, that little ball in hand spinning around his fingers like a trick coin and Billy had not been so pleased to hear that sound since he was twelve. Perhaps it showed on his face for the rest of the Juice Bar to see--for Zack to see with his little camera phone--but he didn't really care as Skull looked back at him. Billy slid the malt over to the punk, raising his hand with an open palm and pleased to find Skull smiling at him--really smiling--as he caught the request. The smiley ball was caught and Skull tucked into the malt with a hum as Billy tried his hand at the spinning. (Trini and Kim had Zack send them the video of this event. They traded for the one Trini was taking of Jason being flopped onto the weight bench, red as a beet, glowing like Mars in the sky, and completely unprepared for Bulk to huff and hand him the cherry malt like nothing was worth mentioning.)

#boom! comics power rangers #mmpr #ggpr #Mighty Morphin Comics #go go power rangers comic #billy cranston x eugene skull skullovitch #jason lee scott x farkas bulk bulkmeier

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fussyalma · 2 years

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𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘪𝘹 · 𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘉𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳

𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 2

𝗚𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗿.

It took on a new meaning with her.

It meant being a good girl for her. It meant submitting myself to her whims and desires. Inside and out of the sheets.

She was building a slow burning, steady, and sturdy devotion. A devotion that would be tested. A devotion that would see loyalty beyond reason.

All in the name of earning the praise to be good enough. To be sufficient. All in the name of good behavior.

It would be that very devotion that would change me. Encourage me into who I am today. It was her that drew out the darkness she could see coiled within me. Coaxed into the forefront of my person with each whispered praise and tender kiss.

Some might mistakenly say that Kamille made me who I am today.

But that’s not entirely true.

She simply angled the light into my shadowed corners so that I could see myself for who I truly am. She brought forth the truth of my desires and inhibitions.

She revealed who I always was, deep inside.

She was everything I had ever wanted and for a year inside those walls, I worshipped her. I did anything and everything that she asked of me. I began helping her with 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴. Moving contraband and paying off guards.

𝗚𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗿.

The concept was out the window now. My loyalty to Kamille was unmatched. Proven with risk after escalated risk… until one day.

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭…”

“Oh god. What have I done?”

Blood covered my hands… dripping onto the concrete floor…

ᴅɪɴɢ ᴅɪɴɢ ᴅɪɴɢ ᴅɪɴɢ

My Apple Watch vibrates and a pinging sound wakes me from the nightmare. The memory. The reminiscent image a crimson soaked blade clattering to my feet fades behind my eyelids as I sit up in bed.

I had forgotten to take the band off while I slept and a notification had sounded, warning me of a spiked increase in my heartrate. I can feel it now, thundering behind the cell bars of my ribcage as Petra and Archie glance up from Troy’s side of the bed. Both of the pups snuggled together and after a minute of me resting back against the headboard to catch my breath, they lay their heads down to go back to sleep.

My swiping away of the notification on the little screen tells me that it’s 3am. It would be noon in Greece. Troy would be in the middle of lunch meetings or coffee with someone.

The thought of him, his broad hand wrapped around a flimsy paper cup, brow furrowed in concentration while he hooked a finger into the noose of his tie, makes me ache.

Rubbing my palms over my face, realizing suddenly just how dry my mouth is, I swing my legs out of bed and pad barefoot into the wide penthouse kitchen. The lights of the city shine in through the large windows and reflect off of the stainless steel appliances.

After filling a glass of water from the port in the fridge, I sip generously, the ice cold liquid soothing a parched throat, raspy from the heavy breathing that accompanies nightmares. I can still see my hands, dripping in blood and I’m unsure if I’m drawing the image from my memory or my dream.

Suddenly, I freeze.

I’m not alone.

Slow, steady footsteps are making their way towards the kitchen.

I move silently but swiftly, setting my half full glass down and grabbing a chef’s knife from the knife block on the counter. Turning around, I clutch the knife at my side, holding my breath as the footsteps grow closer.

Thud… thud… thud… thud…

She’s here. She’s found me.

She’s in the penthouse.

Thud.. thud… thud… thud…

The footsteps round the corner, the perpetrator entering the kitchen …

But it’s just Archie.

He gazes up at me with tired eyes, pausing only briefly before thump thump thumping over to get some water himself from the shared bowl on the floor nearby.

Oh god.

What is wrong with me.

The knife is replaced into the block with a trembling hand as I try not to laugh, humiliated at my own foolishness.

So tense. Terrified.

I need to get out of here.

She hasn’t tried to contact me since I took up residence here. The security is insane. But I know it’s only a matter of time before she finds a way.

I can’t stay here. Alone, and paranoid.

Before he had left, Troy and I had talked about me going to Greece with him. He was concerned about the stalking, he could see the fear in me, but I couldn’t just leave work with no notice. I was due to fly over in two weeks to meet him at the tail end of his business trip.

But I can’t stay here any longer. Alone and paranoid. So, I’ll go now. Surprise him. Work has had a two week notice of my vacation, they’ll manage.

Troy will be busy for the rest of the month, no doubt, but that’s fine. I can explore the country alone during the day and we can explore together at night.

But most importantly. I’ll be with him. Near him.

The one place I’ve felt the most safe in my entire life… beneath the weight of his arm.

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realferro · 12 days

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Stainless Steel Expansion Joint

Real Ferro Projects Pvt. Ltd. Is a Stainless Steel Expansion Joint Manufacturer in Ahmedabad, Gujarat, India. Real Ferro Projects Pvt. Ltd. are Specialized Industrial Projects like Gratings, Turnkey Projects, Expansion Joints, Custom Fabrication, and SS Corner Guards. We meticulously craft our stainless steel expansion joints to ensure durability and optimal performance, offering effective solutions for managing thermal expansion and contraction in piping systems. Utilizing high-quality materials and precise manufacturing processes, our expansion joints exhibit exceptional resistance to corrosion and wear, guaranteeing long-lasting reliability. Whether your project involves industrial, commercial, or residential applications, we provide tailor-made solutions to suit your specific needs. Count on us for premium stainless steel expansion joints renowned for their unparalleled performance and durability. Expansion joints facilitate controlled movement, expansion, and contraction of materials in various structures, effectively preventing damage and maintaining structural integrity. Using state-of-the-art forging technologies, engineers craft these stainless steel joints, esteemed for their flexibility. Used in pipelines, these components effectively compensate for contraction and thermal expansion induced by rotational and transverse motion. Real Ferro Projects Pvt. Ltd. Is a Stainless Steel Expansion Joint Manufacturer in Ahmedabad, Gujarat, India, and Supplier in Jharkhand various locations like Bokaro, Chaibasa, Deoghar, Dhanbad, Dumka, Giridih, Hazaribag, Jamshedpur, Jharia, Rajmahal, Ranchi, Saraikela. For additional information, please feel free to contact us. Read the full article

#StainlessSteelExpansionJoint

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24x7newsbengal · 25 days

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kickplatedirectus · 30 days

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Keeping Up with the Flow: Kick Plates for High-Traffic Areas

High-traffic regions are harsh on doors. These entryways take a lot of abuse, from scuffs from carts and baggage to continuous foot activity. This is when kick plates come into play — unsung heroes guarding the lower part of the door, which is its most susceptible area. However, not every door kick plate is made equally. Selecting the appropriate material, design, and supplier is essential in high-traffic areas.

Why Kick Plates Matter in High-Traffic Areas

Doors in high-traffic areas face several challenges:

Marks and scratches: Because the door is frequently in touch with shoes, luggage, and trolleys, it may have unsightly marks and scratches on its surface.

Dents and Dings: When large objects strike a door, they may compromise its structural integrity and cause dents and dings.

Grime & Dirt: Excessive traffic causes dirt to accumulate more, giving doors a dull, disorganized look.

Kick plates serve as a defense, keeping the door safe from these common attacks. They shield the underside of the door surface from harm by taking up the majority of the impact. This prolongs the door’s life and improves its appearance, ultimately saving you money on replacements.

Choosing the Right Kick Plate Material for High-Traffic Areas

The ideal kick plate material for high-traffic areas should be:

Robust: Able to tolerate ongoing abrasions without displaying symptoms of harm.

Simple to Clean: Even after extensive usage, keep everything looking tidy and sanitary.

Visually Appealing: Go well with the room’s general style.

Here’s a breakdown of some popular kick plate materials and their suitability for high-traffic areas:

Stainless steel is an excellent choice because to its exceptional durability, scratch resistance, and sophisticated appearance. Stainless steel kick plates, such as those offered by Kick Plate Direct, are perfect for high-traffic areas due to their strength and ease of cleaning.

Aluminum is a strong, lightweight, and cheaply priced material. Nevertheless, metal is prone to dents and scratches in high-traffic areas.

Brass: It provides elegance but needs more maintenance than other materials. Since brass tarnishes more readily than other materials, it might not be the greatest choice for heavy-duty use.

Kick Plate Design Considerations for High Traffic

Beyond material, consider these design factors for your high-traffic kick plates:

Thickness: Opt for thicker kick plates (around 1.2mm or more) for better impact resistance.

Height: Choose a kick plate that covers the high-impact zone, typically extending at least 12–18 inches from the floor.

Surface Texture: Kick plates with a slightly textured surface can provide better grip and prevent slipping, especially in high-moisture areas. Consider options with a brushed finish or raised patterns for enhanced traction.

Rounded Corners: Opt for kick plates with rounded corners to minimize the risk of injury and snagged clothing.

Kick Plate Direct: Your Partner in High-Traffic Door Protection

Kick Plate Direct is a leading supplier of high-quality kick plates designed for various applications, including high-traffic areas. Their extensive selection includes:

Kick plates made of stainless steel come in a range of sizes, thicknesses, and finishes to meet your requirements.

Aluminum Kick Plates: An affordable choice for regions with moderate traffic volume.

Customized Kick Plates: To guarantee a precise fit for your entrances, Kick Plate Direct provides unique dimensions and configurations.

Installation and Maintenance Tips for Kick Plates in High-Traffic Areas

Proper Installation: For maximum safety, make sure the kick plate is firmly affixed using the right screws or adhesives.

Frequent Cleaning: To keep your kick plates looking neat, clean them sometimes with a moist cloth and a small amount of soap. Stainless steel kick plates may be cleaned using a stainless steel cleaner to keep their shiny look.

Replace as needed: Even the toughest kick plates may eventually begin to exhibit indications of deterioration. Any severely broken, warped, or loose doors should be replaced to preserve the integrity of your design.

Conclusion

Kick plates are an easy-to-use but reliable way to protect doors in high-traffic areas. You can guarantee your doors will be beautiful and useful for many years to come by selecting the appropriate material, style, and provider. Door security can be both functional and fashionable with kick plate choices from companies like Kick Plate Direct that are particularly made for high-traffic areas. Hence, spend money on kick plates; one kick at a time, they’ll maintain your heavily trafficked doors looking their finest.

#door kick plate

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solargolfnet4 · 7 months

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What to know about the Best bracket for golf net?

Installing nylon netting to protect solar panels is a proactive and effective measure to ensure the efficiency, safety, and longevity of solar panel guards. By carefully selecting the right nets, planning the installation meticulously, securing the nets properly, and conducting regular maintenance, solar panel owners can maximize protection and optimize energy generation. The benefits of protected solar panels extend beyond financial returns, contributing to a more sustainable future and supporting the global transition to clean and renewable energy. When choosing a bracket for golf net, it is essential to consider factors such as the net's size, weight, and the intended location of installation. The bracket's design, durability, and ease of setup are also important considerations. Here are some of the best bracket options for golf nets:

Solar Module Mounted Brackets: Direct attach brackets are ideal for securing golf nets to corners and sides of the solar module frames. They typically come with pre-drilled holes for easy installation and can support a variety of net sizes. Look for heavy-duty, weather-resistant brackets that are made from durable galvanized steel, and have black powder coated finish for corrosion resistance from the elements.

Roof-Mounted Brackets: Roof-mounted brackets are suitable for installations where solar system owners have concerns about solar module warranty being impacted if brackets were secured directly to the module frames. These brackets should have sturdy anchors to the roof in order to support the weight of the net, wind uplift and any impact from golf balls. These are frequently the strongest support brackets.

Carport Edge Brackets: Edge mounted brackets are designed to extend from the sides of the carport structure, and hold the net above the solar modules. They hold golf nets independently without the need for support on the solar frames. They are perfect solar carports located near school athletic fields and sports centers.

Tensioners for Brackets: In order to prevent netting from having a sag that would reduce the net height above the solar panels, tensioners are required between the netting and the support brackets.

Commercial-Grade Coating for Bracket Hardware: In order to avoid corrosion due to salt water and moist environments, all hardware should be corrosion resistant. Screws and eye-hooks should at least have a galvanized coating, but stainless steel would be the best.

Adjustable Bracket Placement: Look for brackets with adjustable features that allow you to customize the placement of the brackets. Supports that attach to solar module frames are fixed by necessity, but roof mount supports can be placed freely, at the best location for optimizing the net support.

Quick-Release Bracket Connections: Some brackets come with quick-release mechanisms, making it easy to set up and take down the golf net quickly. This feature is particularly useful for those who need to remove the nets for cleaning or solar panels.

When selecting brackets for your golf net installation, prioritize safety, durability, and ease of installation. Consider the intended use, location, visual appeal and overall longevity objectives.

#Nylon netting #solar panel guards #solar panel protective cover #solar panels protection #solar panel golf ball protection

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wtfcraigslistnyc · 8 months

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GILBERT CROCKETT

AKA

GILBERT KILL BERT*

Putting the banana pepper in the butthole

GARGLING

THE SPUNK OF NEPTUNE

WHILE

ROLLING IN THE CØDY

It’s a web we try to explore with brave hearts

FEEBLE KNIEVEL RIDES AGAIN

BUSTER KEATON IS EATING PEOPLE IN A LAVISH PALATIAL CABOOSE

THE WHISTLE BLOWS

CUZ THEY ALL KNOW

WHAT TIME IT IS

WHOSE LINE IS IT?

WHO’S KEEPING TIME?

WHO’S RUNNING LATE TO THE STARGATE?

WHO ZIG ZAGS IN PARALLELS

LESS OBVIOUS

BOBBING FOR APPLES

IN A TUB FULL OF PYTHONS

EYES ON THE PRIZE OR YOU

COLLIDE WITH THE SERPENT’S TAIL

AS THE CYLONS BEAM UP SCOTTY

AND FEED THE PEOPLE

A STILL TWITCHING BODY

TO DEVOUR

A SIGNIFICANT SHIFT IN

ULTERIOR MOTIVES

BBQ’D SUPPLE FLESH

AND FRAGRANTLY FRAGRANT

SCENTED VOTIVES

LIT WITH VILE INTENTIONS

Sucking the fart out of a dog’s asshole then blowing it out over the flame

Casting

DOG FART FIRE ZILLA BREATH

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

Cheese and Tobacco breathe

Words are whispered through broken teeth

More jagged and haggard

Devoid of vowels

Extinguishing the spark

Leaving only the watchers

To wander like old

Moles in the dark

Squares are made then

Paved and laid in

fabergé gelle’

Epoxy and left to set

For years as a

Decrepit security guard

Protects the slab

From feet and incursion

Salivating like a basset hound

Splashing murky puddles

Of drool too cool

To forget but too

Wet to penetrate

The undulating membrane

THE STUDENTS ENTER

THE THEATER OF PAIN

OR OPERATING CHAMBER

TO BOLDLY BEHOLD

THE MEDIEVAL DENTISTRY REVIVAL

The DR enters the space

And claps his hands

Dropping the soiled ether soaked rag

He had entered gasping at while

Desperately strutting

To build the dynamic tension

Required to summon

The frenzy

The sadist BERT who would

Be the subject and star of the ritual that

They had all paid handsomely

And eagerly awaited …

THE DR BEGAN

TO MAKE ANIMAL NOISES

BECAUSE HE COULD HEAR

THE VOICES COMMAND

HIM TO FIRE UP THE BUZZ SAW

AND DIVE RIGHT IN

BERT lumbered

Through the chamber’s doors

And belted out a roar

Like the king of the PRIDE

Cornered and ready to strike

The DR faced BERT

Whose eyes were disguised

Beneath his full face

Leather mask

Exposing only his mouth

HE DREW A DEEP BREATH

AND EXHALED A ROAR

THAT CONTAINED THE WHOLE

OF HIS BEING

The students joined in

As they had been instructed

The sonic human

Dissonance coalesced into a

Thick slurry of sound that

Made BERT sleepy and

Eager to lay down

With BERT in his

Throne and the room bathed

In screams the DR proclaimed

That the moment of truth was here

From a shiny steel tray

He removed a stainless steel

Pair of pliers

And proclaimed his

Blood right to commence

The RITUAL

BERT nodded in agreement

AND the crowd began to COO

The DR thrust the pliers

Into BERT’s wide open maw

And clutched a rotten molar

Like he was reaching elbow

Deep into the River bank

OKIE NOODLING for a giant CATFISH

He struggled and sweat reaching

Further still

into his hyperextended face

BERT’s eyes glazed and calm

In a trancelike state of NIRVANA

The DR squeezed with all his might

And looked wildly through the crowd

Searching for the look of approval

He required to proceed

When the moment was prime

He let out a scream

And violently ripped

The tooth from the

Joyously twitching BERT

Who whimpered and snickered

In excruciating pain

BERT was an

UBER-SADOMASOCHIST

BERT felt lost prior

To stumbling into the good DR’s life

The DR had promised a whole new

Universe of pain

That BERT had been

Quite eager to experience

At first the DR refused to remove ANYTHING

He insisted that he needed to

Earn the privilege of EXTRACTION

The drilling and scraping

Would appease his pain

Temporarily but soon enough

He would wallow in his own filth

Making the DR vomit

Directly into his mouth

Like a Momma bird

When dinner is served

Eventually though his discipline

And undying dedication to the

Vicious pain he craved so desperately

Was rewarded.

The DR took an old rusty drill

And bore deep into his corroded

Gum line like an OIL RIG’s diamond

Tip bit penetrating the cold

Calm earth beneath our feet

HUNGRY TO STRIKE THE BLACK GOLD BELOW

BERT was happy that he’d

Been set free from the shackles

Of desire and pain

Free to dream of screaming

And twitching but never bitching

Because the pain was all he knew

As the the DR thrust the gleaming

Steel pliers skyward

And proudly exclaimed

BERT’s name.

At first quit gentle but

Rapidly escalating in

Volume and fortitude …

DR GILBERT CROCKETT was

The master of ceremonies

In the the universe

He presided over

In terse verse

THE MEDIEVAL DENTISTRY REVIVAL

WAS A SUCCESS

BERT

Noun;

a submissive persons who demands depriving treatment and generally will pay for the pleasure.

BOTTOM

EARNING

RESPECT

TODAY!!!

GIMP is dead. BERT LIVES!! Hear BERT roar the glorious battle cry for inclusion and respect SUB culture globally.

8.10.23

Follow for more work — IG: @UZIEGO | TUMBLR: @WTFCRAIGSLISTNYC

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