#dust collector cages

[cliponindustries]

What Are Transmission Belts?

Transmission belts are continuous loop belts set between two ‘pulleys’ to transmit power through the transmission belting into the machinery the belting is situated.

Transmission belting is used across an array of industries, from automotive manufacturing and performance through to industrial belting production and manufacturing, as well as a source of motion

Positive Drive vs Friction Drive Transmission

Fundamentally there are two forms of transmission belting for power transmission. These are either friction drive or positive drive. Friction drive belts utilize the belt’s and pulley’s friction to transmit power. The friction drive belting requires balanced tension to maintain the right friction levels. These are traditionally flat belts.

Positive drive belts will rely on the engagement of what is referred to as ‘teeth’ on the belt within the grooves on the pulley(s). There is no slippage with this transmission belt unless the teeth between the grooves’ jump’.

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[uniquefiltec]

Andrea Paint Booth Filter Manufacturers - uniquefiltechindustries

Andrea Paint Booth Filter Manufacturers is a company that specializes in the production of paint booth filters. Their products are designed to protect workers from the inhalation of paint fumes and other pollutants. They offer a wide range of filters, including those for large and small paint booths. Their filters are made from high-quality materials that can withstand the rigors of extended use.

They also offer a variety of customization options to ensure that their filters meet the specific needs of their customers. There are many benefits of using Andrea Paint Booth Filters. Some of the benefits include improved air quality, increased production, and reduced costs. The filters help improve air quality by trapping and removing particles from the air. This helps keep the paint booth clean and the air quality high. The filters also help increase production. They help keep the paint booth clean and the air quality high, which allows the painter to work more quickly and efficiently.

Finally, the filters help reduce costs. They help keep the paint booth clean and the air quality high, which means that the painter needs to spend less time cleaning the booth and the air quality is not as likely to be affected by the painting process. There are a few things to keep in mind when choosing the right Andrea Paint Booth Filter for your business.

 The most important factor is the type of work you will be doing. Different filters are better for different types of work. For example, if you will be doing a lot of spraying, you will need a filter that is good at trapping particles. Another thing to consider is the size of your paint booth. You want to make sure the filter you choose is the right size for your booth. If it is too small, it will not work properly. If it is too big, it will be more expensive and take up more space. Finally, you need to think about your budget. Filters can be expensive, but there are a few affordable options available. It is important to find the right filter for your business and your budget.

[visionfilter]

vision filter

Our industrial filter media factory in China is a leading supplier of high-quality filter products that are used in various industries worldwide. With a commitment to quality, innovation, and customer satisfaction, we are dedicated to providing our customers with the best products at competitive prices.

[akjindustries010]

The Importance of a Dust Collector Filter Cage in Industrial Applications

Dust and other particles are created as a byproduct of many industrial processes. These particles not only degrade the final product's quality but also endanger the workers' health. This is why having a dependable dust-collecting system in place is crucial. The Dust Collector Filter Bags is an essential element of this system. We'll examine a dust collector filter cage's characteristics, operation, and significance in industrial applications in more detail in this blog. Read more :https://writeupcafe.com/understanding-the-importance-of-a-dust-collector-filter-cage-in-industrial-applications/

[phillycheesesteakcore]

So there's this famous quote from Trevor Noah:

“The way my mother always explained it, the traditional man wants a woman to be subservient, but he never falls in love with subservient women. He's attracted to independent women. "He's like an exotic bird collector," she said. "He only wants a woman who is free because his dream is to put her in a cage.”

And if that isn't Trucker Trout to a T.

Trudy was studying physical education, she wanted to start women's sports teams. That is not a traditional woman, especially for the time. By their standards she was probably very much a tomboy, maybe even to the extent of being described as mannish. But that's the woman Tucker decided he wanted, the woman he had have, to own. To beat (figuratively, as far as we know) into submission and mold into the perfect housewife. Why? Well to prove he could I suppose.

And when she left him, oh that had to hurt. The woman that he had so meticulously chained to his side deciding he wasn't worth being with and having the nerve to do something about it. Even the son he gave her, the son that, according to her (or at least the part of her that is Rosie), was her crowing achievement, wasn't enough to keep her with him.

She leaves him, and she shouldn't survive. A single woman all on her own with no friends or family to speak of in the 1950's? She should've come crawling back to him within days, throwing herself at his mercy, begging him to take her back. But she doesn't — she flourishes. She makes her way to California, gets a job, starts a relationship, makes a life for herself, leaves him in the dust.

Tucker could have just counted his losses, made the best of the situation and moved on. He's a strong man, strong enough to carry a robot in his arms up a hiking path and into a mine. He's incredibly intelligent and has a steady government job. He's a catch. He could easily find himself a new woman eager to fulfill the role of doting wife and stepmother. But he doesn't want just any woman, he wants Trudy.

So he tracks her down, gets all the way to California. He lures her back to his hotel, not even for him, but with the promise of info on the son she left behind, likely another blow to his ego. And he kidnaps her. Drags her all the way back to Peachyville. Takes her apart. Literally molds her into his perfect bride. Less of a modern day Prometheus and more of a modern day Pygmalion with his Galatea. She is made of steel rather marble, and he calls on science rather than the goddess Aphrodite to bring her to life. But it's the same idea, isn't it?

He didn't need to do that, did he? We've seen Lil' Tuck and Tiffany, he can clearly create near-perfect facsimiles of life. He could have just as easily made himself a new Trudy from scratch, without all the messiness of kidnapping the original and actually using her brain. He could have made a version of her that would never truly gain sentience, never disobey, never step out of line, always love and care and nurture. If anything, he'd at last never have to risk anything as potentially scandalous as being seen dropping his wife down a mineshaft.

But it wouldn't be the same, would it? It wouldn't be the woman he once conquered, the woman he caged, the woman bested him and did in the end manage to escape. She got the last laugh.

And Tucker Trout strikes me as a sore loser.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Here's a 2007 home in the middle of the Montrose, CO desert. Gee, it must be pitch dark here at night. I see only a few fixtures on the outside of the home. It looks like there's a garage that accommodates a truck or RV. 2bds, 3ba, 4.108 sq ft, $1.775m. Let's go inside.

In the entrance hall there's a large staircase straight ahead, surrounded by faux finished walls.

Open concept family room/kitchen. The family room is in the corner with a corner fireplace. The beamed ceiling runs throughout the home and there are large windows with a view of the terrace and desert in this main living area.

The kitchen and dining areas are very large.

Nice wood cabinetry and quartz counters. I like the arched pantry door. (We will see that I was wrong and it's not a pantry.)

There's a display shelf above the cabinet (dust collector). I like the arched ceiling over a staircase next to the kitchen.

Facing the family room.

The dining table. Oddly, there doesn't seem to be a formal dining room.

So, my "pantry" door opens to a very large TV room off the main area and it has French doors to the terrace, plus a big mural that I think is a tribute to the old Bird Cage Theater in Tombstone, AZ.

This is kind of nice, the way these room arches are staggered. The rooms look like dens and children's play rooms, etc.

And, here we have the very orange primary bedroom. It has a mini kitchen w/a large display niche above.

There's a multi-room en-suite. (Can you imagine how many gallons of gold paint they used on this interior?) Got 2 niches up there. You'd have to get a rolling ladder to dust this place.

The terrace around most of the home has a view of the vast desert. It has a 36.50 Acre lot.

Here we have an Astro Turf yard and patio w/a fountain.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/19754-Dave-Wood-Rd-Montrose-CO-81403/111204477_zpid/

[whoreforhorror]

Kinktober Day One: Hunter/Prey with Asa Emory (The Collector)

He had cameras everywhere, and he knew every corner, nook, cranny, and speck of dust that moved about in his bastardized hotel. So when you proposed your idea to him, that he try and chase you down while you ran, he'd almost laughed. There was no way you were getting away from him. You knew it, he knew it. Still, his held-back laughter morphs into a grin under his mask as he runs the idea through his head. He liked this.

Oh, he liked this.

He took the liberty of disarming his dangerous traps, the ones that could hurt or kill you. After all, he couldn't let his little bug get injured or squashed before he got to have his real fun. At eight p.m. on the dot, the door to your room unlocked, and the game was on. 

You got fifteen minutes to run before Asa left his control room and came after you. Taking off running, your goal was to get to the exit and out of the hotel before he caught you. Did you know where that was from the room? No. Still, you ran, choosing directions at random, guided only by your intuition and luck. 

Your heart was already pounding, even before you took off running. The thought of Asa coming after you, his six-foot form charging ever closer as you tried to beat him at his own game, his eventual capture of you, and just what he'd do to you after. It all went to your head, sending adrenaline through your system and making you unimaginably turned on. Asa accepting the proposal was like Christmas day, and you were going to take full advantage of this and make him want it over and over and over.

The halls split into countless other hallways, sharp turns and left or right splits making the place a jumbled nightmare to try and remember as meaningless doors fly past. You were still on the upper floor, having not found any sign of stairs yet when a loud beep sounded through the halls. Fifteen minutes had flown past far faster than you'd thought and Asa was on the hunt. What floor his command center was on was just as much a mystery as what side of the building it was on, meaning you could have just a few halls or the entire building between you two.

Your mind was wrapping itself up in where Asa was, taking your mind off of processing the halls you ran in and out of, meaning you hadn't even seen the tripwire before you were flat on the ground, stomach first. Instinct forces your muscles to clench and your eyes to squeeze shut as you roll to the side. A loud metal slam makes your eyes shoot open, landing on a metal cage that'd fallen. The first of many traps that were left active that, while they wouldn't harm you, would mean you were stuck in place until Asa came and got you.

You were stunned as you just lay on your side, on the ground, staring at the metal cage as you panted from exertion. The sound of heavy, rapid footsteps is the thing that breaks your attention and snaps your brain back into action, and you're on your feet and running again. Asa was on the same floor and he'd definitely heard the smashing sound of the cage hitting the floor, maybe even the sound of you hitting the ground and the air being forced from your lungs if he was close enough.

More halls, more sharp turns, and the sound of your heart practically breaking your ribs with the force it's pounding in your chest serve as the only consistencies throughout the first floor of the building. You're running so quick you almost run clean past the stairwell door. Stumbling to slow down enough, you grab the handle and yank the door open, sprinting down the stairs two at a time. When you round the landing onto the second cluster of stairs, you catch a glimpse of all-black clothing and the signature black mask he wears as he hunts down his victims. Asa is just a flight of stairs behind and flying down them. 

The instinctive yell of surprise worms a way out of you as you scramble for the door to the next, lower floor. Your breath picks up as you take off sprinting down the next floor's halls. They feel more narrow, the turns tighter and the layout less and less sensical, but you can't tell if it's the adrenaline or a genuine layout change. The loud, pounding footsteps behind you ring out in your head, consuming far more of your mind than they had any right to.

It's all your mind can truly focus on. The fleeting doors and the confusing layout were fickle in their grasp of your attention, but the footsteps, the slamming of Asa's feet as he races to catch you, to grab you and slam you down and take his reward. That's the only thing that truly stuck with you. You start to feel less and less like a person running from another person, and more like a rabbit running away from a wolf chasing after its dinner. The fear is delicious, not just to you but to Asa as well. 

His legs are longer than yours, his endurance and speed more fine-tuned and practiced than yours. His whole life revolves around finding his victims and hunting them down. A little bug like you, unafraid of losing their life and running for the sake of the chase, he'd have no problem with you. He gains on you, inch by inch, as you turn more suddenly, push your legs to go just a little faster with a stride that's just a little longer. 

You can hear the stomping getting closer, louder. His breath fans over the back of your neck but you can hardly tell if it's really him or a figment of your imagination brought on by the fight or flight instinct.

And then, nothing. The footsteps stop dead as Asa suddenly stops chasing after you. It sets off alarm bells in your mind but you're more focused on using this to your advantage and getting distance between the two of you. You reach for the door in front of you and wrench on the handle but it doesn't move. Locked. The door on the wall to your left. Locked. To the right. Locked. You'd run yourself right into a dead end and Asa stood about ten feet back, down the hall and the only way to go. You don't feel like the rabbit running from the wolf now. You feel like a rabbit that's been backed into a trap with nothing to look at and nowhere to go but the wolf. You freeze, staring at him, your mind racing a million miles a minute to come up with any possible solution to get out of this. You'd only made it down one floor, with at least another floor to go if not two or three more. You're nowhere near the exit, and you wanted to give him a run for his money; a sentiment that was proving way harder than you'd originally thought. 

Your eyes fall to the little bit of space by his legs, either side of him, the biggest opening between him and the hallway walls. You hardly think about it, you don't have time, and you run right back towards him, ducking down and twisting to slip past him. Your head gets past him, shoulders too before he shows any signs of reacting.

But for as fast as you are, he's faster. His gloved hand shoots around your waist and he grabs your shoulder with the other hand, grabbing you from behind and using the momentum to turn and slam you up against the wall. You struggle, trying to push off the wall or worm out of his grip to no avail. He moves his hand on your shoulder so that his forearm goes across both your shoulder blades, and he leans his weight on that arm to keep you pinned. His head comes to be just next to yours, mouth centimeters from your ear as he breathes, somewhat heavy and ragged but nowhere near the exhaustion in your breath.

"Little bug." Asa says lowly in your ear "Did you really think you'd get far? Truly?"

You couldn't come up with much to say back. You wanted to be smart, you wanted to be clever and say you had a plan, but you didn't. You knew you wouldn't escape and you didn't want to. You knew that, and you'd brought this up, and it'd gone just the way you wanted. And you were sweaty, panting, and horribly horny. His firm forearm across the backs of your shoulders, his tight grip on your waist, this body pressing up against yours to hold you up against the wall. It's all so much, fear and adrenaline rushing through you in waves. Your pupils dilate, your knees grow weak, and a lump forms in your throat.

"Didn't think so." Asa's hand moves from your waist now to your chin, forcing your head to the side and making you look at him as he says lowly "You, my bug, my prize. I deserve my reward for capturing you. You, my finest specimen." 

Words escape you still and your breath comes out in pants from the exertion, the only thing you can manage to do is let out a soft, rather pathetic whimper and give a nod as you keep eye contact with him. His hand leaves your chin as he whispers "Look away from me and I'll really give you a reason to run." His gloved hand trails back down, around your waist, and to the waistband of your pants, fingers resting just under the waistband.

Fem:

"Be a good girl and stay still" Asa says, lips grazing against your ear. He lets up the pressure from his forearm on your shoulders, hand going to your stomach, fingers hooking the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up as his hand trails up to your chest. He pulls you back, off the wall but still pressed up against his back. He brings the bundled bottom of your shirt to your lips and speaks again. 

"Hold." He says it short, with no room for argument. It's absolutely a command to be followed and you do, talking the fabric between your teeth as his hand comes back down to rest on your stomach, keeping you against him. The cold air of the hotel fanning over your breasts and stomach, spreading goosebumps across your sweat-covered skin.

His hand in your waistband pushed in further, fingers just barely brushing over your clit over top of your panties. Your stomach tenses as you bite down harder on the fabric and a moan wracks you.

His fingers ghost over your clit, around it, with no pressure at all. He's teasing you, just barely touching you knowing it would drive you crazy and it does. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, breath heavy not from the running anymore but from the arousal and desire taking over your senses. He's the only thing that exists, his voice, his touch, his predatory and commanding posture and hold. He continues to tease, grazing and circling but not giving you what you want. 

It's only when your whines and whimpers grow and you start to twitch and writhe in desperation that he moves his fingers directly onto your clit, separated by the thin, soaked fabric of your panties, rubbing slowly and increasing his pace in a gradual but unhurried manner. The pleasure that courses through you makes you writhe and moan louder and louder. Asa's hand moves again from your stomach to your throat now, holding with enough pressure to hold you still but not enough to restrict your breathing. 

You want more, want to feel him bend you over and slam inside you, but you can't verbalize it because of the shirt in your mouth. His fingers work magic, applying pressure that's just right with practiced, fine-tuned, and rapid movements. Your brain goes fuzzy as your muscles tense in pulses. You get closer and closer, Asa's hand on your neck moving one more to hold your chin and make sure you stay looking at him as you climax.

Your whole body tenses entirely as your vision goes white. You're breath stops entirely for a moment before it resumes, coming out in short pants now as you come down from your high, going slack in Asa's hold. He brings his hand out from your pants and takes your shirt gently from your mouth, covering you once more. Letting you go gently, he helps you down gently so you're sat on the ground. He stands above you now, adjusting his gloves.

"Make it further next time and just maybe I'll give you more, little bug." He turns and walks off without another word or another glance, leaving you there to recover. Several clicks sound off around you, the traps now rearmed. All of them.

Shit.

Masc:

"Be a good boy and stay still" Asa says, lips grazing against your ear. He lets up the pressure from his forearm on your shoulders, hand going to your stomach, fingers hooking the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up as his hand trails up to your chest. He pulls you back, off the wall but still pressed up against his back. He brings the bundled bottom of your shirt to your lips and speaks again. 

"Hold." He says it short, with no room for argument. It's absolutely a command to be followed and you do, talking the fabric between your teeth as his hand comes back down to rest on your stomach, keeping you against him. The cold air of the hotel fanning over your chest and stomach, spreading goosebumps across your sweat-covered skin.

His hand in your waistband pushed in further, rubbing with barely any pressure over your hardened cock. Your stomach tenses as you bite down harder on the fabric and a moan wracks you.

He keeps up with the soft, barely there grazes and caresses, intentionally not giving you enough to give you real pleasure, intending to drive you crazy and it does. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, breath heavy not from the running anymore but from the arousal and desire taking over your senses. He's the only thing that exists, his voice, his touch, his predatory and commanding posture and hold. He continues to tease, grazing and circling but not giving you what you want. 

It's only when your whines and whimpers grow and you start to twitch and writhe in desperation that his touches grow firmer gloved hand wrapping around your dick, separated by the fabric of your pre-cum soaked underwear, his rubbing slowly and increasing his pace in a gradual but unhurried manner. The pleasure that courses through you makes you writhe and moan louder and louder. Asa's hand moves again from your stomach to your throat now, holding with enough pressure to hold you still but not enough to restrict your breathing. 

You want more, want to feel him bend you over and slam inside you, but you can't verbalize it because of the shirt in your mouth. His hand works magic, applying pressure that's just right with practiced, fine-tuned, and rapid movements and twists. Your brain goes fuzzy as your muscles tense in pulses. You get closer and closer, Asa's hand on your neck moving one more to hold your chin and make sure you stay looking at him as reach your peak and cum, pants and underwear still on. 

Your whole body tenses entirely as your vision goes white. You're breath stops entirely for a moment before it resumes, coming out in short pants now as you come down from your high, going slack in Asa's hold. He brings his hand out from your pants and takes your shirt gently from your mouth, covering you once more. Letting you go gently, he helps you down gently so you're sat on the ground. He stands above you now, adjusting his gloves.

"Make it further next time and just maybe I'll give you more, little bug." He turns and walks off without another word or another glance, leaving you there to recover. Several clicks sound off around you, the traps now rearmed. All of them.

Shit.

[izuke-the-zombie]

Ok you can’t just leave us hanging! What happened to pocket monkey wukong the poor little thing.

✨Ooooh hohohohoh hohoOOOooo~

Well, my dear anonymous, since you're so interested, let me ease your mind of such curiosity.😼

shall I~😈✨

Are Poor Little Peaches' sad story begins with a neglectful collector, a JTTW fan, and a not-so-great owner, who didn't see him as a companion but more as an object to be owned and not cherished.

Unfortunately, peaches happen to be the last piece in his collection.

In a cramped little cage, peaches learn very fast to keep to themselves around angrier and hungrier creatures of his kind, especially if he's the youngest collector's item in the group.

and that food won't always be fairly divided between him and his new unkindly friends.

When the small cage starts to stink, the fan collector would merely drape over a small cloth cover so he wouldn't have to endure the stench of the unkept cage he neglected to keep up with its cleanliness.

The collector didn't see why he should be bothered with maintaining the storage box that contained his collection—it'll only gather dust and emit an odd odor at moments

There will be plenty of time to clean it when he gets around to it ultimately... And unfortunately one night he needed to clean it badly

Poor peaches thought it was his chance to voice out his hunger and his need for water to his not-so-loving owner. But unknown to Peaches, his owner has never once had any contact with a living collection in his life, especially one that needed so much attention.

His owner was startled when he came in contact with a tiny soft paw. The collector staggered back and gripped his glass storage box, breaking all but one of his new and prized possessions.

Peaches does not understand the sudden drop and new feeling of his location at all, but he is too worried about the growing pain in his tummy and his very parched throat.

All of a sudden, a horrible screech emanated from his owner, one that he'd never heard from his owner; not once in his life did Peaches hear such a sound come from him. and he didn't know what to do.

He understood a few things his owner was saying, but they started speaking rapidly, sounded more confusing, and became unhinged. The last thing Peaches really understood was, "Do you have any idea what you did!?" "I spend so much money on you; did you know that!?" "My collection, it's all broken, broken, brokeaaaaAAAAAAAA!!!!" Peaches was so scared out of his mind that he did the one thing he could think of, which was to run; he didn't know where he'd never run out of his cage out of this room, his world, and he wasn't going to stop until he couldn't hear the screaming.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire he goes.

I hope this answers everyone's curiosity about his backstory I might try to do mangoes probably be less dramatic for the spoiled pocket monkey.

[currebunz]

Ch.2 Run as fast as you can (Trigun x reader)

Buy me a coffee

//Paring: Vashxreader

Multiple drones had appeared, swarming the control room of the tower. They were like insects as they moved in droves and were fluid as water. From the looks of it, they were running independently. There was probably some internal network feeding them directions. As of right now, you couldn’t really focus too much on that. Vash was on the offense, shooting them down with one bullet. Roberto and Meryl had hid behind cover, leaving you to throw your knives at the drones.

“You think they turned on with the generator?” Vash asked.

“Yep, these things don’t run independently. Watch” you replied.

You waited for a group of drones to get close, striking the floor beneath them with a knife. As the floor collapsed, none of them attempted to divert their direction.

“Hey old man! Shorty! Use the control panel and divert the power to utilities!” you shouted.

“How are we supposed to do that?” Merly squeaked.

“Just press anything” Roberto grunted as he covered Meryl.

As the two worked, you and Vash were pushing back the drones. You were nearly out of knives, leaving you no choice but to get serious.

“Vash, give me your shoulder for a second” you said.

“Huh? My shoulder?” Vash asked.

You didn’t answer him, running behind him and jumping onto his shoulder. Using him as a spring, you jumped over the gunfire and closed the distance. The armor you wore on your shoes was strong enough to damage the drones with a kick. You could still hear the gunshots as Vash switched to covering you while you fought. In between hits, you managed to pick up and pry out your thrown knives. Eventually, the drones stopped. They powered down and ceased to move. You dusted off your shoes and put your knives away. Vash also put his gun away, staring at you in awe.

“You’re pretty good” he said.

“So are you, you’d make a good partner” you praised him.

Vash had a slight blush on his face, laughing awkwardly. You weren’t sure why but you weren’t about to ask. Now that you got what you want, it was time to go.

“Well, it’s been…. Interesting. But there isn’t anything left in this tower. I’ll be on my way” you began.

“Uh wait, where are you headed?” Vash asked.

“The terminal, why?” you asked.

“Well, if you don’t have a ride. You could come with us” he offered.

You glanced at Roberto and Meryl, not that they could see your face.

“What about them?” you asked.

“They’ll understand,” Vash reassured you.

Although you weren’t convinced, you would rather ride in a vehicle for once. You agreed, sitting in the back of the truck with Vash. He appeared relaxed, not minding the large space between you both. You could see Roberto looking at you through the rear view mirror.

“Does it ever get hot with that mask on?” he asked.

“Nope, it’s actually relaxing” you quipped.

It started as an awkward ride, but the group easily fell back into their own conversation. You found it odd they could be so relaxed around a stranger. Weirdos didn’t last long out here, that wasn’t your problem.

The first stop was at Jeneora Rock, no one had anything to drink so you were all thirsty. The town was better off than most, but it wasn’t anything impressive. The moment you had stepped into a dinner, Vash was recognized right away. You had stood aside while they talked, looking down when you felt someone pull on your cloak.

A little boy with a cage was looking at you, holding it up for you to see the insects inside. You squatted low, poking at the insects.

“You are quite the collector,” you said in a playful tone.

“Yep!” the boy grinned.

He scampered away quickly, leaving you back to your brooding. You noticed Vash was looking at you with a kind smile.

“We’re going to have a seat, if you want to drink with us,” he said.

“Only if you are paying” you mused as you brushed past him. While eating, you learned more about Vash’s reputation.

It was hard to believe he was such a strong force of nature despite being so meek and good natured. He had such a good boy vibe you weren’t convinced he could hurt someone. The people in the dinner could agree as they only had good things to say about Vash. They were obviously struggling as the water wasn’t clean.

“Oh, also Vash. Could you see the plant?” Rosa asked.

He had agreed, leading your group to approach the plant. It was red, you’ve seen it before. Whatever Vash was going to do, he was stopped by some policemen. They didn’t pay you any mind as they dragged Vash away and beat him.

“Not going to intervene?” Roberto asked.

“Not my problem” you told him.

Roberto sighed, stepping in to suggest the policemen challenger Vash to a duel. Well, it sounded more like a threat the way he said it. Either way, the leader Chuck Lee agreed to the duel. They chose the highest point, making it easy for everyone else on the ground to watch.

“Where are you going?” Roberto asked as he caught you walking away.

“I’m gonna go higher up, the VIP seating” you joked.

He made an unagreeable sound but he didn’t argue. You had gone higher up, standing on top of some kind of tower for electricity. You reached under your cloak, taking out your bag. While the duel was just starting, you used this time to mount your sniper. If things went south, you’d have to intervene. To your surprise, things turned south quickly.

Chuck had fired a cluster shot into the air, something you wouldn’t have even imagined to do. There were too many to shoot them all down and you didn’t have anything to combat this. You looked at Vash, he had easily taken down Chuck and was aiming his gun at the cluster of missiles.

“No way…” you were in awe, was he really going to shoot them all down?

“Eh? I’m out of bullets?!” Vash shouted.

Your hopes were quickly dashed. He shouted for someone to give him a spare bullet, crying loudly and sniveling. Meryl had managed to find a bullet and tossed it to him, but Chuck had shot at Vash and the bullet bounced out of his reach.

“You’ve got to be- ugh!” you lined up your sniper.

Just when the bullet reached the edge of the cliff, you fired off. Your bullet grazed the edge of it, knocking it back toward the cliff. Vash caught it just in time, loading his gun. He had thrown a rock into the air and shot it, each fragment hitting the missles. You were still amazed even though you were annoyed.

“He really is trouble” you sighed as you put your sniper away.

By the time you reunited with everyone at the dinner, a gun was drawn on you before you could get through the doorway. You recalled Chuck had talked about the bounty, so it wasn’t too shocking that they wanted to turn Vash in. What was shocking was how fast Vash could run. He took off with incredible speed, but it looked more like he was barely holding on as he tried to jump around the town.

“Shouldn’t we help him?” Meryl asked.

“Can we count on you to not try and take the bounty?” Roberto asked.

“I’m not interested in turning him in. But it’s kind of funny watching him like this” you laughed.

“I’ll take that as a yes” Roberto sighed.

His plan was to pull Vash somewhere to hide. You guys waited until he passed through an area high enough the others wouldn’t be able to follow so easily. You managed to pull him up, avoiding the people long enough they searched somewhere else.

“Thanks, I owe you one,” Vash smiled at you.

“Actually, two,” you said.

You noticed he had the same stupid grin on his face as when he first met you. Although, Roberto began speaking and you looked away from Vash. The plan was to sneak out without alerting the townspeople. That was the plan but they had caught you all at one of the exits. You reached for your knives but Vash grabbed your wrist.

“Hands up where I can see them!” Rosa ordered.

You sighed, he really was trouble. You complied with her demands, sitting on your knees with your  hands behind your head. They didn’t take your weapons since you couldn’t reach them without getting a bullet in your head. You weren’t concerned with their talk on morality, tuning them out as you noticed a truck in the distance. Oh, it was definitely headed your way. You waited for it to get close, preparing to jump out of the way.

Vash had protected Rosa and her son despite the threat she posed. Roberto had saved Meryl and you had backed into the dust. You tried looking for Vash, but he had snuck away to steal a Thomas. It was obvious he was leading the assailants away from Jeneora Rock.

“Come on, we have to go after them!” Meryl shouted.

Although you would have normally left them alone, you still had a goal to pursue.

“Fine! Let’s get them!” you ran to the truck.

Meryl drove while Robert held on for his life. The ones who had been driving the truck earlier were the Nebraskas, there had been a report earlier that they escaped prison. Vash was dodging them, but not fighting back. The ride was too bumpy to get a clear shot, so all you could do was watch. But Vash never fired back at them. Their truck eventually ran out of power, stalling in the sands.

The bigger one, Gofsef still grabbed Vash’s Thomas. The chase wasn’t over yet. It wasn’t until the pack Gofesf grabbed slipped from it’s belts and ended up making the giant smack him in the face did Vash get away. He continued to run, until there was a great distance from the Nebraskas.

Of course, everyone’s first question was why he hadn’t fought back. Even though Vash answered, it wasn’t satisfying to hear. Not wanting to kill and choosing to run.

“There is always going to be conflict, so how long do you plan on running?” you asked.

He didn’t look up, but you could see he was conflicted.

“You’d be surprised how long I can run,” he joked.

“You can run for the rest of your life for all I care, but the people you meet are put at risk too. How do you plan on taking responsibility for that?” you said coolly.

Vash finally looked up, his eyes staring at your mask.

“I-” he began.

The radio from the truck began to buzz loudly as an emergency report came in. Jeneora Rock was under attack by the Nebraskas. Vash gave you one last look before jumping on his Thomas and turning back to Jeneora Rock. You grabbed Meryl and dragged her to the truck.

“He’s not going to wait for us to cause trouble,” you mused.

Luckily, you caught up to Vash and arrived back at the town. You ran with him where the Nebraskas were dragging the plant away.

“Don’t hurt anyone!” Vash said in his haste.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you argued.

Vash had saved Rosa, but the Nebraskas weren’t going to just leave now that Vash was back. Gofesf’s punches weren’t difficult to dodge, there just wasn’t a lot of space for two people to jump around. Vash dodged skillfully and ungracefully, bumping to you at one point.

“Oh, sorry” he said as you both were chest to chest.

His hands were up as if he was being held at gunpoint. You had your hands on his coat, holding on due to the sudden contact.

“Don’t be foolish” you said as you pushed him back to dodge the fist coming at you both.

Vash caught himself, ducking down as the fist retracted. It came at you again and you leapt forward, turning as you expected it to recoil. Vash grabbed your hand and waist and turned you out of reach.

“Don’t grab me like that!” you yelled.

“Sorry!” Vash squeaked.

He didn’t let go, lifting you up as he jumped over the fist once more. When your feet touched the ground, you grabbed Vash and dipped him low as the fist recoiled in an upward motion. Vash made a nervous sound, almost like a giggle as he held onto you.

“I’ll drop you” you warned.

Another fist later you lifted him up and he spun you again. When Nebraska had grown tired of you both, he had Gofsef aim and fired his RPG at you both. Vash threw you to the opposite side, he fell over the edge of the platform.

“Vash!” you shouted.

When the dust cleared, Vash pulled himself back up. Not a scratch was on him. You let out a sigh of relief. You were still annoyed Vash refused to fight, that was until he drew his gun to shoot Nerbraska’s bullet. It was the first time he had shot towards someone.

“You could have done that a long time ago” you sighed.

The platform started to shake, reminding you of all the damage Gofef’s arm had done. It started to sink, breaking off a little ways back. Nebraska had made it to the safe side, but Gofsef was slowed down by the plant. The giant was trying to carry it back to safety. He chucked it into Vash’s arms as the platform collapsed. Luckily, Gofsef’s hand had shot back onto the part you were standing on.

“Dammnit!” you grabbed it, feeling it pull you toward the edge.

Vash dropped the plant, grabbing you to keep you from going over. Although you had him, the giant was too heavy for you two to pull up.

“We’re gonna fall!” you groaned.

“Rosa! Please! I need your help!” Vash yelled.

She rallied the others to help pull, enough that you could hold the cord instead of being a human chain. Once Gofsef was safe, you wanted to get way from the crowd.

“Ah, thanks for that. You jumped to help him” Vash stopped you.

“It wasn’t anything special” you argued.

“But you still did it” he insisted.

Damn, he had caught you there.

“Come to think of it, I never got your name,” he said with a chuckle.

“Just call me Seven, it’s the only name I got” you told him.

It was true, you were called seven for as long as you could remember.

“Okay, well, thank you Seven” Vash sounded a bit happier.

You wanted to comment on it but Rosa invited you all to beers. No one could deny her, at least to have something to drink. Meryl was gone after one drink, ranting to Roberto while he barely listened to her. You stared at the drink in front of you, seated with Vash and the Nebraskas. It wasn’t that you couldn’t drink. But the mask made it a bit difficult.

You turned toward the wall, tilting you mask back enough to drink some. When you turned back around, Vash was staring at you again.

“Pervert” you scoffed, earning a pathetic whine from him.

Gofsef looked at you and then to his drink. You recalled he was the “son”. Although he looked big, you figured he was still young at heart.

“I got you big guy” you said as you poured his beer into your mug.

“Gof” he grunted.

You took that as thanks.

At some point, Vash had left. You stayed behind a bit since he wasn’t the one who owned the car. Roberto excused himself for a smoke, Rosa wasn’t going to let him smoke with her son in the room.

“Why do you wear that mask?” Meryl asked after sobering up.

“It’s part of my orders to,” you said plainly.

“What a strange order. Why would they make you wear that?” she sighed.

“I… I don’t know. I just know I’m not supposed to show my face” you said wistfully.

You were distracted a bit as you recalled the orders given to you when you first met your partner.

‘Wear this, I don’t want to see your face’ he had said.

You never got an answer why, you never knew what was so wrong about showing your face.

“That dumbass” you sighed.

Gofsef got up, approaching you quickly. You didn’t move but you were mildly concerned with his urgency. He picked something off you, glaring at it. You looked at the strange machine, your stomach dropping.

It was a small drone. Lost Technology.

Soon a bunch of them came in, swarming Gofsef. Meryl shouted for Vash and Roberto to come back to the dinner. As the two entered, the drones turned red and began to beep. Gofsef pushed past everyone and ran outside, jumping to the ground as they exploded. Despite the tragic scene before you, your mind was stuck on who the devices belonged to.

“It’s too late, we’re too late…” you muttered.

[jaysworlds]

Kinktober 2023 Day One

Stealing from wizards is kinda really fucking stupid, but also wizards’ stuff is always cool as hell, so as long as you can get in and then get out again without getting turned into a rat, or a slime, or something equally as unpleasant then it kind of balances out.

Sprite isn’t exactly in the business of stealing from wizards, except when he is. And right now he’s in the is, because he’s looking for something specific and what else is he gonna do, just buy it?

That would be ridiculous. Sprite never buys things he can steal.

And anyway, there’s not really any danger in this particular situation. He has it on very good authority that the wizard who lives in the tower he’s currently midway through breaking into is a very, very long way away right now, and so as long as he doesn’t walk into any magical traps like some sort of amateur then he’ll be fine.

Which he doesn’t. Because he’s not some sort of amateur, and this is not the first wizard’s tower he’s broken into.

And, okay. Sure he’s here for a reason, but breaking into wizard’s towers is fun. They’re all set up kind of the same way, with the important bits at the top (or the bottom, sometimes, if the wizard in question is particularly fond of caves), and the staircase is always full of traps, and if you poke your head into any rooms off the staircase you’re liable to get it bitten off. Or to inhale some sort of funny gas. Or to see the kind of thing that will scar you for the rest of your life.

So, maybe Sprite has a bit of a warped idea of fun. He thinks it’s fun, at least.

He makes it all the way to the top without getting exploded or set on fire or turned into something nasty, and pushes the heavy wooden door open, looking around.

This room is a little smaller than the ones he’s used to, but set up mostly the same. Desk in the centre, shelves on the walls. Ugly, patterned rug on the floor

Sometimes he wonders if wizards are all part of some weird subspecies which happen to be partial to ugly rugs. The way dragons all hoard gold, or something.

Anyway. That’s not what he’s here for. He’s pretty sure the wizard would be more angry if he stole the rug than the magical object he’s actually here for.

He’s not entirely sure where the object would be, though. That’s the one major difference between all the wizard towers he’s broken into, none of them have the same organization system. Most of them don’t seem to have any organization at all.

Still. He’s determined.

He flicks over the shelves, and then through a cabinet full of spell papers, and then moves onto the desk.

It’s mostly covered in papers, which is pretty typical but also pretty annoying. There’s every chance what he’s looking for is under the papers somewhere.

There are a few other things on the desk, too. A scrying ball (typical), and a funny looking iron cage that distracts him for a moment.

It’s a dust collector, he realises, after a moment. Fairy dust, specifically, because everything in a wizard’s tower collects the regular sort, he’s pretty sure. This one specifically is one of the old, archaic sorts which he isn’t even sure are legal anymore.

It’s just an iron cage with a mesh floor and a collector beneath it. The idea, or what Sprite is pretty sure the idea is, is that whatever unfortunate pixie you put in there has to stay airborne as much as possible or else burn their feet. And in theory flying pixies produce more fairy dust. Works great until the pixie runs out of energy and dies a slow, painful death against the iron of the cage.

Lovely.

Sprite leans down a little to see into the cage and finds that the pixie in this particular one already seems to have succumbed to that fate. He’s laying on the floor of the cage, and doesn’t seem to be moving.

Unfortunate.

It’s kinda soured the whole experience of breaking into this place, actually. Sure, Sprite isn’t exactly a good person, but he’s not cruel for the sake of it. And he doesn’t like people who are.

He unscrews the lid of the cage anyway, reaching in to carefully pick the pixie up. Dead or not, it seems unfair to leave him in there.

Sprite nearly drops him again when he moves, startled. Maybe not as dead as he’d thought.

He does drop him when he bites him, and then nearly slams his hand into the desk catching him again. He can hear him cursing faintly, wings fluttering, though they’re too tattered to actually get him airborne.

It’s a close thing, but Sprite does manage to catch him, lifting him up so he can look at him properly. “That was a dick move.”

To be fair, he feels for the guy. He looks like shit, burns covering the whole side of his body where he was laying against the floor of the cage.

“Yeah, well,” he says, struggling to sit up in Sprite’s hand. His voice is very faint, and somewhat scratchy. “Thought you were someone else.” He eyes Sprite for a moment, suspicious. “The fuck are you?”

“Sprite.” Sprite gives him a mock salute with his free hand. “I’m robbing the place.”

“Ah,” the pixie tells him. “In that case, carry on.”

“Thanks.”

The pixie nods. “I’m Mercy. By the way.”

“Good to meet you.”

The pixie – Mercy – gives him a crooked smile. “Yeah. You too.”

Sprite pauses for a moment, looking around. He really needs to find what he was looking for and get out of here, but he’s not sure what he’s going to do with Mercy in that time. He’s pretty sure hey, can I put you in my pocket for a few minutes is kind of rude, but given as he doesn’t really have any other ideas that’s what he says.

Mercy blinks at him for a moment and then shrugs. “Sure. As long as there’s nothing sticky in there.”

Sprite’s pretty sure he’s got at least one empty pocket, but he checks anyway. There’s a handkerchief in one of them, but it’s clean (and stolen), and he figures Mercy won’t mind.

“Nothing sticky, I promise.”

Mercy nods, and Sprite shifts his hand down to his waist so Mercy can climb into his pocket. He can feel him wriggling around in there for a moment (which feels weird as hell), but then he settles and goes still.

Sprite’s just gonna have to remember he’s in there, and not walk into anything.

It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s here for. It’s just shoved haphazard into one of the desk drawers. Sprite takes it and shoves it with equal care into his pocket.

Getting out is a lot easier than getting in, as always. He goes out a window, bypassing all of the traps in the process.

Technically he could get in through a window too, but it’s a lot more complicated to get a rope to the top of the tower if he’s on the ground. And not nearly so much fun.

Mercy’s quiet the whole time he’s getting down, and for a good while after that. Sprite keeps having to resist the urge to shove his hands in his pockets.

It’s not until he’s back at camp that Mercy starts wriggling around again, eventually poking his head out of Sprite’s pocket. His hair seems to be in more of a state than it had been before, and he’s running his fingers through it, clearly somewhat annoyed.

“Is this where you’re living?” he asks, when he notices Sprite looking at him.

“For the time being,” Sprite tells him, sitting down (carefully) by the embers of the fire.

Mercy wriggles out of his pocket, wings fluttering weakly, and climbs down to sit beside him. He’s still entirely naked, but he doesn’t seem to care and so Sprite just kind of pretends he hasn’t noticed.

“I appreciate you bringing me with you,” Mercy tells him, laying back on the grass and resting his head on one arm. He’s keeping the other (the burnt one) close to his side.

“I thought you were dead,” Sprite says, and Mercy tips his head a little, raising a tiny eyebrow at him.

“What were you planning to do with my body? Nothing salacious, I hope.”

Sprite rolls his eyes. “Oh, yeah. Many strange and unethical things.”

Mercy laughs, quiet and tinkly. If there’s one thing to be said about pixies, it’s that they’re exactly as pretty and musical as everyone says. “Is that why you dropped me?”

“I dropped you because you bit me.”

“I did do that,” Mercy agrees. “I thought you were the piece of shit who put me in that cage.”

“Nope,” Sprite tells him. “I’m just the piece of shit who got you out.”

“As long as I’m not going back in another cage I have no objections,” Mercy says. “You could be a murderer, for all I care.”

Sprite laughs. “Well, that’s good to know.”

He sticks his hands into his pockets, just for something to do with them, and finds the pocket Mercy had been travelling in is full of fairy dust. Which on the one hand, makes this the most expensive jacket in the world. But right now it mostly just means that pocket is uncomfortable to put his hand in.

He pulls his hand out again, pulling a face and doing his best to shake it off. Mercy looks over and laughs, tipping his head back.

“You’re welcome,” he says, once he’s finished laughing himself sick at Sprite trying to get rid of the dust. It’s not working, leaving a thin glittery layer all over his fingers.

“I’d be more appreciative if I thought it was ever coming out of this jacket.”

“It won’t,” Mercy says, rather gleeful.

Sprite pulls a face. “Great.”

“You should be grateful. That shit’s expensive.”

“Great. Guess I have the world’s most valuable jacket. Shame I’m not planning on selling it.”

He’s not actually mad. He can definitely make money off the lining of dust in his pocket, and the glittery sheen is actually pretty cool. But Mercy seems to find it hilarious, so he’s a little salty about it, maybe.

He manages to get most of the dust off his hand, wiping it on the grass, and in the process remembers that he’s supposed to be lighting the fire. He gets up, somewhat reluctantly, and goes over to his small pile of firewood. He’s so glad he remembered to collect some before he went, because half the time he forgets.

The fire doesn’t take long to crackle back into life. It was still pretty hot, so it only takes a little encouragement.

Mercy stays mostly quiet while he’s lighting it, except to laugh at Sprite when he nearly burns himself.

He does crawl closer once it’s lit, though, stretching his tiny hands out towards it. He is still naked, and it’s not exactly warm out here.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, while Mercy gets warmed up. He keeps shifting closer to the fire.

Wizards are usually total shitbags, but it takes a special kind of shitbag to just abandon someone to die like that. If he hadn’t been killed by the iron of the cage he would likely have starved to death, and either would have been pretty horrible.

“You want a snack?” Sprite asks, rather than expressing any sort of sympathy.

Mercy snorts, looking over at him. “Pretty sure any snack you have would be a whole meal for me.”

Sprite rolls his eyes. “Do you want something to eat or not?”

“I could eat,” Mercy agrees. Sprite pulls himself to his feet and goes over to his bag.

He’s not really sure what pixies actually eat, but he finds an apple and brings it back over to the fire.

“Can you eat this?”

Mercy gives him a deeply unimpressed look. “Can I eat an apple?”

“You’re such a dick,” Sprite tells him, and gives it to him.

He probably should have cut it before giving it to him, actually, but it’s a bit late for that now. Mercy doesn’t ask him to and so he doesn’t offer either. Watching him do his best to eat it is also kinda funny, and Sprite never claimed not to be a dick.

He doesn’t eat all of it, but Sprite didn’t really expect him to. It’s like half the size that he is.

“Thanks,” Mercy tells him, after a long moment of silence.

Sprite shrugs. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Can I pay you back somehow?”

“For the apple?”

Mercy rolls his eyes. “For saving me.”

Sprite shrugs again. He’s kind of tempted by the offer, actually, except he doesn’t really know what he’d ask for. He’s already got a pocket full of fairy dust. “How?”

He’s more than aware the noble thing to do would be to tell him no, of course not, I just did it out of the goodness of my heart. But he’s never claimed to be noble.

Mercy regards him for a moment. “Could suck your dick.”

Sprite stares at him. “What?”

Mercy shrugs, giving him a lopsided smile. “You heard me.”

“I’m pretty sure my dick is bigger than you are.”

Mercy snorts. “I’m dedicated.”

Sprite really, really wants to take him up on that. If only to find out if he actually can. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

This is, objectively, kind of a shitty thing to do. The guy’s still hurt, and also fucking tiny, and agreeing to fuck him (even in the loosest sense of the word) is kind of a dick move.

Sprite’s never claimed to be a good person. And even if he had, he’s pretty sure all the blood in his body has gone south, thinking about Mercy’s pretty mouth on his dick, so. Not a lot left for thinking.

“Okay,” he says, probably way too enthusiastic. “I want proof.”

Mercy grins. “Take your pants off.”

Sprite complies, making himself take his time with the laces. He refuses to look too eager, even a lot of it is just sheer curiosity.

And he wants to get his dick sucked. It’s been a while, sue him.

He manages to get out of his trousers, tossing them vaguely in the direction of his bedroll.

“C’mere, then,” he says, and spreads his legs.

Mercy’s still a little unsteady on his legs as he picks his way over, though he seems to be able to stand well enough. Sprite doesn’t comment.

He pauses for a moment when he actually reaches Sprite, leaning against his thigh.

“You’re so fucking tiny,” Sprite tells him, because he’s an asshole.

Mercy rolls his eyes. “You’re just fucking huge.”

He flicks Sprite’s dick, and Sprite yelps. “Fuck off.”

Mercy rolls his eyes again. “Don’t think you actually want that.”

“You’re such a dick,” Sprite grumbles. “Get on with it.”

He kind of expects Mercy to be a dick about that too, but apparently he’s also kind of impatient, because he doesn’t. Just reaches out to run his hands over Sprite’s dick.

It feels. Well, it feels kind of weird, actually, having tiny hands on him, but also really fucking good. He bites back a low moan, but from the smug look Mercy shoots him he heard anyway.

Mercy seems to know what he’s doing, and Sprite wonders vaguely if he’s done this before.

He has to stand on tiptoes to lap at the head of his cock, and that shouldn’t be nearly as hot as it is.

Sprite isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with his hands. His brain wants him to grab at Mercy’s hair, but there’s no way he can do that without hurting him, so he just fists his hands in the grass and tips his head back a little.

He can’t resist looking back down after a moment. Mercy is still on tiptoes, pressing his body against Sprite’s cock as he mouths at the head, and Sprite wants to make a mess of him so bad.

He’s way too goddamn pretty.

He notices Sprite looking, grinning up at him and leaning down to take the whole head of his cock into his mouth.

Sprite moans, low. His cock kicks, leaking into Mercy’s mouth. Mercy hums, eyes fluttering closed.

He seems to be enjoying this almost as much as Sprite is. And something about that feels really fucking good.

Mercy moans softly as he pulls off, going back to licking at him and running his hands up the length of his cock. Sprite’s pretty sure Mercy’s grinding on him, which is hot as hell. He wants to know what he looks like when he cums.

He’s close, quick enough that’s it’s kind of embarrassing, but whatever. It’s been a while, okay? And this is a very novel experience. He has plenty of excuses.

He’s tempted not to warn Mercy, wanting to know what he looks like when he’s taken by surprise, but he doesn’t want to risk accidentally choking him. That would make this situation a lot less sexy very quickly.

“Close,” he warns, and Mercy looks up at him again, licking the tip of his cock and then pulling away a little.

“Cum on me,” Mercy tells him. He was kind of planning on doing that anyway, but getting permission is hot too.

Sprite wraps a hand around himself, and it doesn’t take him long to cum, spilling over Mercy and the grass between his legs.

Mercy just laughs softy, sticking his tongue out to catch some of it in his mouth. It’s so gross, and Sprite finds it so hot.

He’s got it in his hair, and all over his body, and he’s definitely gonna need a bath after this, but right now Sprite is mostly just interested in making him cum as well.

“I wanna touch you,” he says, holding a hand out for Mercy to climb onto.

Mercy stands on wobbly legs, shaking cum out of his hair (and that shouldn’t be quite so sexy), and climbs onto his hand, collapsing in his palm. “Be my guest.”

There are actually a lot of things Sprite would like to try, like seeing if he could actually fuck Mercy on at least one finger, but he doesn’t want to actually hurt him, and he doesn’t want to push his luck either.

Mercy’s hard, Sprite’s pretty sure, and he carefully works a finger between his legs, running it over his cock. Mercy whines, tipping his head back and spreading his legs wider.

Sprite’s careful with him, gentler than he wants to be, and his reward is coaxing pretty, musical noises out of his throat.

His whole body tenses up as he cums, whining and tossing his head to the side. Sprite keeps stroking him until he starts squirming, kicking at his hand, and then he (reluctantly) stops to let him rest.

He does stick his finger in his mouth to see how he tastes, though.

Mercy laughs, breathless, and sits up, leaning against Sprites fingers. “You’d better have a bottle of water or a river available. You’ve made a real mess of me.”

Sprite grins at him, making no move to get up just yet. “Wasn’t that my reward? Getting to make a mess of you.”

Mercy rolls his eyes. “Well, congratulations.”

He squeaks as Sprite stands up, grabbing at his fingers for stability. “Warn me, why don’t you!”

“Thought you wanted a bath,” Sprite tells him, carrying him towards the river. Mercy huffs at him.

“I do.”

“Then stop whining.”

He puts Mercy down by the riverbank when they arrive in order to strip out of his remaining clothes. Mercy wastes no time disappearing into the water, and Sprite pretends he’s not a little disappointed about it. He liked Mercy being covered in his cum.

Still, it would be a bit unfair to expect him to stay like that, and Sprite is feeling kind of sticky too, so.

He climbs into the river as well, screwing up his face at the cold and doing his best to wash most of the stickiness off.

Mercy resurfaces every so often, and after a few minutes he drags himself out of the river, laying back on the bank.

Sprite watches him, rather shameless. Mercy seems to be aware, though he doesn’t look over.

Sprite has no idea how long he’s planning on staying. He kind of hopes it’s at least a few days (because he wants to try and fuck him again at least once), but he won’t be too torn up about it if he wakes up in the morning and Mercy’s already gone.

He doesn’t ask, and he doubts Mercy will volunteer an answer. Still, he’s not too bothered. Either Mercy stays or he doesn’t.

[mightaswell-whump]

Backstory

Finally, that story about my silly little ocs.

Pet whump and dehumanization (?) ahead, if you think I need another warning, give me a shout

“WAKE UP!”

Samson sat up instinctively at the barked command. He put his hands in his lap as he looked up through the bars of the cage. Sebastian took a breath and calmed down.

“Sorry, Sammy, it’s just -” he fumbled for the right words, “I want you on your best behavior. Someone’s reserved an hour to himself and I don’t want you messing it up.”

By the tone in his voice Samson knew who he was talking about. Caecilius Voyd, a notorious collector of strange and unusual pets, was all Sebastian ever talked about. Voyd was known to pay a pretty penny for an extravagant pet like a phoenix or a minotaur, and was practically a legend throughout the vendors of Winterwood. Sebastian had seen him walk through town every so often and was absolutely transfixed. 

And of course Voyd would want the whole shop to himself, no other customers, for the whole time he was in here. Of course a man who pays for pets more expensive than, perhaps, the king’s castle - he’d never want his day out to be ruined by commoners.

Sebastian wrung his hands together, his tail swishing wildly. He paced the back room for a minute or so longer before sauntering to the front again.

In the front, surrounding the register, tinier creatures were displayed. A small dragon lay curled around its perch, the fairy sat in her fishbowl, and the phoenix’s tail feathers spiraled to the floor from its place on high. Sebastian gave the display room one last sweep/dust before the door opened.

In stepped the tall man, with dark clothing and dark eyes. The way he carried himself was so elegant, Sebastian nearly swooned then and there. Sebastian gripped the stranger’s hand in his own.

“You must be Mister Caecilius Voyd,” he said, pointed ears going pink as he gave his hand one pump, then two. The other man gave a wry smile. “So, you’ve heard of me.”

Heavens, his voice is deep. Sebastian wanted to shoot back a witty remark about How couldn’t he have? Caecilius Voyd was the most famous person in his industry, the most notorious customer many pet-vendors had seen. He wanted to explain how he’d heard all about him, and even thought he saw him walking past on a few occasions. He wanted to do that, but the only thing that would come from his throat were high-pitched, excited giggles. His ears now red, he tried to collect himself. “Wh-hah-what are you looking for today?”

“Well,” Caecilius started, “I’ve had many a pet in my time. I’ve turned the most violent creatures into docile servants who obey my will alone. I’ve seen what it takes to make the mighty fall, I’ve broken each of them one by one. Frankly, I’m utterly bored now.”

“Aww,” Sebastian offered a small noise of sympathy. 

“What I crave is novelty. Give me something I’ve never seen before, something new, something…exciting. And you better make it count.”

“Ooh, you’re gonna want something from the back room,” Sebastian suggested, before grabbing Voyd’s hand again, “Come with me.”

The back room was more like a warehouse, with cages and tanks and other means of securing the prizes lined up in rows. Sebastian dragged him to the first pet, telling him “I think you’ll like this one.”

A faun sat cross-legged (cross-hooved?) on the dusty floor below. In its hands, it held a pan flute. Around its neck was a chain that continued on and fastened the creature to the ground.

“I actually had one of these as my last pet,” Caecilius reminisced, “She was meek and gentle, it didn’t actually take long to break her.” Sebastian started stuttering, slightly embarrassed at offering Caecilius Voyd a pet he’d already had. He looked around for anything else, and his eyes fell on a griffon.

“What about this one?” he offered, “Betcha never seen something like this before!”

“Fascinating.” Sebastian was sure he saw a glimmer in Caecilius’s eyes briefly. “But it’s far too large for my taste. E - ooh! What do we have here?”

Caecilius sauntered over to the mid-size cage containing an ordinary human. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one of these before!”

Sebastian bit his lip as he rushed towards them. “Oh, uh, that’s Samson. He’s…he’s a human.”

“Those are normally hard to get in this country,” Voyd mused.

“He, uh,” Sebastian stammered out the explanation, “He came here willingly. Sold his freedom for a better life, for food and shelter. I’ve…I’ve tried to give it to him, as best as I could.”

Voyd gave a delighted gasp. “A willing participant,” he exclaimed, “those are even rarer.” He smiled, turning to his vendor. “I think I’ve found what I’m looking for.”

Sebastian stood in silence for a second or so, processing what just happened, before stammering out an “O-okay!” His suddenly shaky hands fumbled to open the cage. 

Samson confusedly took Sebastian’s hand as he led him out of the cage. 

Samson kept his head down the entire transaction, for one to not let the unmerciful eyes of his buyer bore holes straight into his soul, and for two not to meet the eyes of his betrayer. Their voices faded into the background noise to the symphony that was Sammy’s heart pounding in his ears. His vision blurred from the tears welling into his eyes. He shut them tight to not let any pass through.

“Hey, Samson,” Sebastian pointed the man’s face towards his own. His eyes were just as wet with tears. “I’m sorry. I guess this is goodbye. Stay strong for me, okay?”

“Who said this was goodbye?” Caecilius laughed. With a snap of his fingers, a heavy iron collar curled tightly around Sebastian’s neck, with a chain appearing magically, stretching its way to the other man’s hand. “I’m taking you along with me.”

[cliponindustries]

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Office

Corkish & Layne India Pvt Ltd 209 AJC Bose Road, Kolkata 700 017

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[uniquefiltec]

Best Performance Shot Blasting Filter Cartridge Manufacturers - Uniquefiltechindustries

Uniquefiltech industries is  a crucial industrial process Shot Blasting Filter Cartridge Manufacturers for cleaning and surface preparation, generates a significant amount of dust and debris. To ensure worker safety and environmental compliance, effective filtration systems are essential. At the heart of these systems lie the humble yet critical shot blasting filter cartridges.

Choosing the right manufacturer for your shot blasting filter cartridges��can be overwhelming. This guide delves into the key factors to consider, introduces prominent manufacturers, and equips you with the knowledge to make an informed decision.

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Address : Sr No – 27 Sambhaji Nagar Near Sun Radiant Building Kondhwa BK – PUNE -411048

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[monsieurblueberry]

Monsieur Désiré Mort Blueberry's body jolted alive with a sudden cold and electric shock, much like the Toledian celery man he remembered seeing in the movies once. Some kind of Franken-celery, or in his personal case, some kind of Frankenberry.

The taste of the jungle's hot, humid air mixed with the tinge of blood on his tongue had vanished, and he stared at a sky so clear and beautiful that he knew he was home.

Well, Bumblyburg, anyway. It was the last place he remembered being. His memories were as if they were dreams that faded now that he was awake. However, he was without a doubt on familiar concrete: the bowling alley's back alley.

Yes, of course! The terrible jungles of Jumanji were a silly nightmare! In retrospect, it made sense. It was still the 1980s, and after a short disagreement with his somewhat difficult diva of a wife, he had decided to travel to Bumblyburg, where he often went on work visits, and headed straight for his old friends at the Bumblybowl Bowling Alley.

Art Bigotti, that old scamp, welcomed him to game night with open, invisible arms. And Doug Bumblybowl, who seemed a little less pleased to welcome him to game night, though for Art's sake, agreed. And... was someone else there? For some strange reason, Désiré couldn't recall. Most of the night was a blur. There was a lot of snorting coke off old Art Bigotti limited edition collector's plates, two rounds of Polish Jenga, a round of Cards Against Vegmanity, and...

Yes, a very horrible board game called Jumanji, which had been buried far back in the closet and did not have a speck of dust on the box. Tensions were high at this point. He remembered wayward confessions, threats, and bets, but most of all, he remembered the game's first roll.

Suddenly, the building felt so small, like a cage they had all been trapped in, and then...

He rolled first. Art and Doug had been arguing, screaming at each other. He just wanted to change the subject. He was starting to miss Megan. He made a note to fly back and apologize immediately for the argument.

He rolled first.

A gunshot, a scream, and... the jungles. He was in the jungle.

No, he must have fallen asleep and dreamt of being in the jungle. The gunshot must have been someone bowling. The scream was a cheer.

Of course. Well, don't do drugs, kids. You may end up in Jumanji.

He stood up and shook himself off, and still a little dazed, he began to wander the streets of Bumblyburg, unaware he was legally a dead man.

Unaware that in order to have returned from Jumanji someone somewhere had to to have rolled the dice again...

[akjindustries010]

Dust Collector Manufacturers: A Crucial Process in Industrial Applications

Dust collection is an essential process in a variety of industrial applications, including woodworking and food processing. Dust Collector Manufacturers help to control air pollution by capturing particulate matter generated during these processes. The collected particulate matter is then safely disposed of, helping to keep the air clean and healthy for workers and the environment. Read more : https://akjindustries.blogspot.com/2023/02/dust-collector-manufacturers-crucial.html 

[monstrous-tournament]

Igor² vs. Igor⁷

Well of courth you know which Igor ith which - ithn't it obviouth? Oh, all right, if you feel you mutht, you can peek under the readmore and read the footnoteth.

²This Igor is the loyal servant of Bela de Magpyr, a vampire aristocrat of the old school. Igor knows that the true way of life for a vampire nobleman is to be a good sportsman, and so he assists Count Bela De Magpyr in making Don'tgonearthe Castle a good place for adventurous young men from recently attacked towns to have a good time hunting for the Count. Igor is in charge of making the doors creaky, making the candles dribbly, and making the dungeons dusty and full of cobwebs, taking dust to scatter on the floor and whipping the spiders into work when necessary. When Count Bela De Magpyr goes to sleep and his nephew takes over the Count title, the Castle, and decides to be a modern vampyre, Igor becomes very disgruntled. This Igor, like others, is a good transplant surgeon. He has a dog named Scraps Thcrapth who has parts of different dogs, including two tails. Other than being loyal to Count Bela De Magpyr, Igor's deepest emotional attachment is to Scraps.

⁷This Igor enjoys his work at the Lady Sybil Free Hospital, and aids in many operations. He has been able to set up a lightning collector that can retain the charge for a day after a thunderstorm, to give a life sustaining jolt to dying patients. When he recognizes the nature of one mortally wounded patient who is rushed in but recovers before Igor can even treat him, Igor warns his friend Trevor that "many strange things come from Überwald" and that he should expect to hear screaming in the near future if Mr. Nutt (said patient) stays around. His case is not helped by Trevor pointing out that Igor also comes from Überwald. Another blot on this Igor's record would be a disturbing rumour that a few of his experiments have gone wrong in the past, including a winged hamster bending the bars and escaping its cage…