#savage surfaces

[savagesurfaces]

Discover the Benefits of Hiring a Trusted Concrete Flooring Company

Expertise and Experience

Concrete flooring installation requires a specific set of skills and extensive knowledge. A trusted concrete flooring company, such as Savage Surfaces, brings years of experience to the table. Our team understands the intricacies of working with concrete and can handle everything from surface preparation to the final finish. This expertise ensures a flawless installation that will stand the test of time.

Quality Materials and Equipment

A reputable concrete flooring company uses only the best materials and state-of-the-art equipment. At Savage Surfaces, we source high-quality concrete mixes and finishes to provide you with durable and attractive flooring solutions. Our advanced equipment ensures precision and efficiency, resulting in a superior finished product.

Customized Solutions

Every space is unique, and so are its flooring needs. A professional concrete flooring company offers tailored solutions to match your specific requirements. Whether you need a sleek, modern look for a commercial space or a durable, easy-to-maintain surface for an industrial area, Savage Surfaces can customize the design and installation process to meet your exact specifications.

Cost-Effective

While it might be tempting to cut costs by hiring a less experienced contractor, this often leads to additional expenses down the line due to poor workmanship and subpar materials. A trusted concrete flooring company like Savage Surfaces ensures the job is done right the first time, saving you money in the long run. Our competitive pricing and commitment to quality provide excellent value for your investment.

Time Efficiency

Time is money, especially in commercial and industrial projects. Hiring a professional concrete flooring company ensures that your project is completed on schedule. At Savage Surfaces, we pride ourselves on our ability to adhere to timelines without compromising on quality. Our efficient workflow minimizes downtime and disruption to your operations.

Safety and Compliance

Concrete flooring installation involves heavy materials and specialized tools, which can pose safety risks if not handled correctly. A trusted concrete flooring company prioritizes safety, ensuring all work is conducted in compliance with industry standards and regulations. Savage Surfaces is fully licensed and insured, giving you peace of mind knowing your project is in safe hands.

Long-Lasting Results

Customer Support and Satisfaction

Customer satisfaction is a top priority for any reputable concrete flooring company. At Savage Surfaces, we believe in building long-term relationships with our clients. From the initial consultation to the final inspection, we provide exceptional customer service and support. Our team is always available to answer questions and address any concerns you may have throughout the project.

Conclusion

Investing in concrete flooring is a smart choice for both residential and commercial properties. However, the key to maximizing this investment lies in hiring a trusted concrete flooring company. With Savage Surfaces, you get the expertise, quality, and customer service you deserve. Contact us today at (440) 538–1119 or email us at info@savagesurfaces.net to discuss your project and discover the benefits of working with a top-tier concrete flooring company. Your floors deserve nothing but the best!

[alexbutrandomthoughts]

Frieren's magic system is brilliant in it's simplicity and i cannot get enough of it. Istg i haven't been this invested in magic system since nen.

[beyondthesurface]

[wowwforever]

Mythbusters is great because Adam Savage will be like “Could Sir Arthur have built a surface to air missile with Middle Ages technology? Probably not. Anyway here’s how to make a bomb.” And Jamie will be like “If all goes well this will not blow up instantly and kill us.” And the three other guys are trying to see if you could kill a person by throwing an egg really fast.

[leatherbookmark]

congratulations to all music listeners who can ignore stupid lyrics and vibe to the music, especially if the song is in a foreign language. i do not have this ability

[magnetic-rose]

i guess my gripe with people who are just writing off the tv show as lore-breaking and bad without watching it is that the show itself actually addresses a lot of the complaints that fandom always makes and people are instead taking information out of context to rage bait about it.

"why isn't civilization advancing" it WAS advancing! shady sands was a beautiful city with thriving crops and a bus system. it got burned down because vault tech is not interested in letting civilization advance on their own terms.

"why can't fallout ever be hopeful" the season ends with infinite renewable energy being implemented into the world so that society can finally start healing and advancing. it's just currently at the hands of the wrong people.

"why does bethesda hate the NCR and have such a boner for the brotherhood" this one makes me laugh because the show portrays the NCR as ultimately the ones who are really trying to help the world in meaningful ways and it portrays the brotherhood as these big cultish losers who are obsessed with the past. the show even points out that their obsession with the past makes no sense.

"why was shady sands nuked in 2277" it wasn't. it started to DECLINE in 2277 and eventually it got nuked at a later date.

"why is everyone on the surface portrayed as savages" because lucy is the POV character and that's how she initially sees them. she was literally raised to be a colonizer and her view eventually gets challenged first with the inhabitants of vault 4 and then when moldaver explains to her the real history of shady sands and her father's involvement with the state of the world.

[savagesurfaces]

Unlocking Durability: Epoxy Floor Coating Essentials in Ohio

Epoxy floor coating in Ohio offers durability and aesthetic appeal for residential, commercial, and industrial spaces. Understanding its composition and benefits, including superior durability, safety, easy maintenance, chemical resistance, and aesthetic versatility, is crucial. Factors affecting durability include surface preparation, environmental conditions, substrate quality, application technique, and traffic. Proper surface preparation and application techniques, along with regular maintenance, are essential for longevity. Professional services like Savage Surfaces ensure optimal results and offer tailored epoxy solutions for Ohio spaces

[cerastes]

I still think it's really cool how Amuro starts as the shittiest pilot alive (because he's a 15-year old) that only gets carried because he's in the biggest, fattest stat stick in-universe at the time (a few retroactive additions made in the future notwithstanding), enough that even its crappy vulcan guns are tearing Zaku IIs apart, and when he starts getting a bit too cocky, Char and Ramba Ral show up in objectively inferior pieces of junk and absolutely deliver his pizza, they just drag his face across every available surface in Planet Earth like he's a Yakuza mook, all because they are simply that much better at piloting, and the thing is, Amuro takes that very seriously.

He goes from shitass kid in an unfortunate situation that doesn't want to get in the robot to the most unwell child soldier in the war, which is really saying something, but most importantly, becomes so good at piloting the Gundam that the Gundam physically cannot handle Amuro's piloting. They need to apply "Magnetic Coating" to its joints so they don't fucking snap away from the main frame because Amuro, one, moves too damn well but also in too extreme a way for the frame to handle it, two, despite being equipped with two sabers, a shield, a beam rifle and vulcan guns, Amuro is a stern believer in introducing most everyone in thagomizer range to his Rated Z for Zeon hands, the single most official pair of hands in the business, tax free. He KEEP going Ip Man on these dudes, he does NOT need to do a Jamestown on these mother fuckers but he INSISTS. Somehow even the Gundam Hammer, which is a giant Hannah Barbera cartoon flail-- Ok, look at this thing, words do not do it justice

Even this god damn Tom and Jerry prop is less savage that whatever Amuro decides to do the moment he's done throwing his shield to get a free kill on someone and it officially becomes bed time forever for the unfortunate sap at the business end of his ten-finger weapons of mass destruction.

The RX-78-2, "Gundam" for its friends and family, even has a top of the line cutting edge Learning Computer that 'learns' alongside the pilot and their habits. This data extracted from it was so absolutely fucked up that it completely revolutionized Mobile Suit combat afterwards, which is a wholesome thing to think about when The Best Combat Data Ever came from a really angry, really stressed 15 year old that doesn't even like piloting. He was 15! He made Haro with his own hands! Amuro literally just wanted to make funny cute spherical robofriends! Amuro was out there trying to make Kirby real, but fate had other plans for him. His cloned brain put in a pilot seat is one of the setting's strongest 'pilots'.

They made fucking Shadow the Hedgehog with his brain, god damn.

By the end, Zeon is rolling out Gelgoogs out of its mass production lines. These things are in the Gundam's ballpark in terms of overall specs (or "power level"). Amuro is bodying them as if they were episode 1 Zaku IIs.

AND THEN HE GETS FUCKING PSYCHIC SPACE POWERS. Not that he needed them, he bodied a couple Space Psychics without any of those powers before awakening to them. But heaven's most violent child was not done evolving, whether he liked it or not.

Char bodied him in a souped up Zaku II at the start, a machine objectively inferior to the Gundam. Amuro more or less one-sidedly beats the shit out of Char when he's in a custom Commander-type Gelgoog that you could consider to be equal spec-wise to the Gundam. Amuro is the embodiment of Finding Out. He is Consequences. You tell him he better make it hurt, better make it count, better kill you in one shot, buddy, he needs half a fucking shot. The complete transformation. One could consider the central 75% of the show as long drawn out training montage turning a kid into the Geese Howard of giant robots.

[sassypossumm]

Just Sex

The make out session that changes your friends with benefits relationship... [🔞NSFW]

Geto Suguru x Reader / Miguel O'Hara x Reader

In the beginning you'd had a good thing.

Or so you thought.

Casual sex with your best friend. After all of the shitty exes between the two of you, it seemed like a logical solution.

At least, that's what you told yourselves the morning after your first drunken hookup.

You'd woken with the worst headache of your life, covered in hickeys and bruises. There'd barely been enough time for you to bemoan the tatters that had been a very expensive bra, before he knocked on the doorframe, slipping in sheepishly with a lopsided smile and a cup of coffee.

That was just the first of many more mornings of tattered bras, shockingly savage love marks, and coffee.

It was just sex.

At least, that's what you told yourselves everytime you stumbled together blindly towards the nearest flat surface that he could twist and bend you against like a pretzel before fucking you senseless.

It was just sex.

At least, that's what you tried to tell yourself when he thrust into you lazily, mouthing at your neck and moaning in your ear as he laced his fingers with yours.

It was just sex...

It was just sex...

Another night, but this time there was no stumbling through your apartment in a haze of lust and animalistic need.

You'd somehow ended up astride him, exchanging languid kisses. His tongue had parted your lips, that large hand gently held your throat, tilting your head to better explore your mouth with his.

Hot, breathy kisses led to soft moans which led to the way you were rolling your hips into his, twitching when the rough denim of his jeans caught your clit through your flimsy leggings.

You'd leaned back to unfasten his jeans when you noticed-

The plush head of his dick poking up past his waist band.

Your eyes met his. Dilated pupils, clouded by lust and... pure adoration. How hadn't you noticed?

"I love you." More breath that words, but he'd heard them.

It was just sex...

Until it wasn't.

[solbaby7]

Forbidden Fruit

cassian x rhysand’s sister!reader

[ part one ] you are currently reading part two

[ masterlist ]

warnings: smut babe, swearing, probs typos, underlying tones of some predator/prey kink but it’s super mild, fucking your brothers best friend, unprotected sex (lol don’t do that), minors DNI

summary: The General Commander of the Night Court finds himself falling for the High Lords precious little sister.

—

Cassian was a handsome male.

Not to be cocky or arrogant but he knew his face was appealing—knew that females lusted after him and his body in a way that had become utterly natural to him. Easy even.

This. You—were anything but easy.

You were complex. Intricate. Delicately woven by caring hands that added an abundance of brains and wit. You were enigmatic, drawing in even the most prickly of persons with your attentiveness. A balm that soothed over vicious wounds and angry scars. You were the sun and the moon and all the air between it; free and malleable, warm and waning. Cassian had never met a female so cunning—so effortlessly everything.

The awareness of such a rarity instills a certain pressure on the General’s shoulders. One that felt more stressful than war. Truly, he’d endured battles that hadn’t even begun to set his stomach in such a state of fluster.

It’s nerve-wracking, so much so that Cassian had already wrestled through half of his closet, changing shirt after shirt because one fit too tight which seemed a little too eager. But, the other shirt was too loose and make him look like he wasn’t putting in enough effort. Black shirts were too plain. Red was too out there. Blue didn’t feel like him and he’d be an idiot to arrive at a party wearing his leathers.

Wings ruffle in frustration, inky hair unbound and falling at his shoulders as he stares at the mess of cloth loitering his floors.

He nearly gives up, fully intent on marching over to wherever you were naked from the waist up before hazel eyes catch on the fluttering red ribbon in his peripheral.

A breath escapes him, the beginnings of a smile curling onto his face when taking in the outfit hanging from his door, perfectly tied with your taunting crimson beacon. Stress dissipates as if it never was there in the first place, the lingering notes of your scent stuck to the fabric and Cassian wastes no time putting in on, fingers still fastening buttons as he all but stumbles from his room.

He’s acutely aware of the house he lives in more than he’d ever been before, honeyed irises tracking every nook and cranny until he watches sight of fluttering red dangling from the chandelier. It’s too high to collect but once he notices it, the ribbon disappears in a puff of darkness before reappearing a few feet away.

Anticipation builds the further he follows, palms sweaty and heart hammering against his ribcage in excitement as he’s ushered to your wing of the mansion, led down a flight of stairs and nudged towards a hallway he doesn’t remember ever seeing before.

Your scent seeps through the cracks of thick set of double doors, ribbons righting the way closer and closer to you and Cassian’s heart echoes like a drum. Sweaty palms rub against his pants, tongue licking along the seam of dry lips as anticipation swells, throbs, aches its way to the surface until the handle of the door is all but ripped from the frame in his attempts to get to you.

It’s savage. Carnal. Animalistic in the way he trudges through the sea of bodies, the thick scent of mirthroot and tobacco, sweet perfumes and musky colognes, insence that burns strategically around the space—yet still through the thick of it all, he finds you.

Sweet almond. Warm vanilla and brown sugar. Pleasant in every way; captivating, luring him closer and closer with flashes of your face through the crowd. With sounds of your laughter cutting through the musics deep bass. With fluttering red ribbons that vanish before calloused hands can find comfort in the silky indulgences you offer.

Cassian knows he's nearly got you. Especially once you've figured out a way to slip from his view, the onyx curtain of your hair fading in and out; drifting between the fray, camouflaging in your surroundings--just as prey would once they realized they're being hunted. "Excuse me," He mutters, righting drunken bodies that stumble into him without so much as a glance. He's sturdy, stance firm and steps sure when following that tether; the gleaming line that thrums alive as if you've plucked it; strummed at it like those gifted muscians and their carefully tuned instruments.

Maybe its by chance but Cassian boyishly prays that its fate; a divine intervention that allows you to fall right in his arms, too occupied in checking your back to notice the male standing right in front of you until contact ensues. "Got you."

He's won.

He's finally got you in his grasp, eyes bright and lips soft. The slow blink you offer when you peer up at him is utterly feline and entirely too cozy; almost as if you'd purposefully wandered in his crosshairs.

Who cares? Cassian supposed the semantics off it all doesn't matter as long as your hands remain on his arms, the polished shine of your manicure the perfect contrast again the dark shades of his shirt. "Should do that part outside next time. Make it last a little longer." You muse, voice a little slower than usual and it takes little time for the Commander to acknowledge the tinge of liquor on your breath.

“Next time?” He barely notices the plethora of bodies around him, tunnel vision taking over until he’s too ensnared in your trap to acknowledge familiar faces if their features weren’t yours. Soft cheeks, sharp eyes. That inviting mouth and the pressure of the power that emits when you use it. Makes him want—makes him crave and yearn until he feels drunk on your touch and high on your aura.

“I said once you’ve found me you can have me.” It’s a dangerous game. Waving food at a starving animal. Making demands and delaying the inevitable just for the sake of having the desire to do so. His gaze is weighted; calculating, determining just the amount of time it’ll take to lure you away from wandering eyes long enough to get his paws on you. To sink his teeth in supple flesh and leave his mark; letting everyone know that you were his by right—after all, he’d earned it. “What are you waiting for?”

Desperation lives in the grip Cassian has on the back of your neck, leading you through the crowd and urging you towards the left—towards your personal quarters—neatly tucked away from others and yet the wards welcome Cassian without question. “You knew I’d find you.”

“I’d hoped,” You confess, shamelessly leaning into the possessive grip he has on you, the calloused bite of his fingertips applying just the right amount of pressure to the throbbing pulse below your ear. Your composure waivers; takes a second too long to refortify itself before facing the object of your desires. “Figured if you wanted to, you would.”

The door to your room closes behind him, lock twisting in place and he’s not subtle in the way he takes in the new space. Admires the way it’s filled with you. Lit with candles smell like you. The distant bass of the music just down the hall sounds just like your defiant soul. “Oh, I want to.”

“So does everybody else.” Goosebumps loiter Cassian’s skin from the soft drag of your lips against the curve of his ear. “But you, you can keep this a secret, can’t you?” Teeth tug at the lobe, a grin growing at the grip that tightens around your waist in retaliation. “Won’t go running your mouth to anyone who’ll listen after I’ve had my way with you?”

“No,” His knees all but buckle when you press a kiss to his neck, your pleased hum rumbling against his chest. “I won’t say anything.”

“Good boy,” A shiver rakes down his spine, nerves on overdrive by the gentle assault of your nails tickling along the expanse of Cassian’s bare arms, the thick of his muscles caging you in and knowingly or not, his hips press harder into yours at the crooned compliment. “And you found me so quickly,” Your cadence goes breathy, brows furrowing in pure delight when you feel the hard length of his cock straining through his pants. “Surely that deserves a reward?”

“Please.”

“Well, I did ask for you to hunt me.” He’s driven by the pure lust you emit, fueled by your hands tracing over every divot you could reach. “And predators usually eat the prey they catch.” His mouth salivates at the very suggestion, hundreds of memories of that same fantasy flashing behind the back of his kids with each blink.

Mischief burns to life in your eye, a beautifully cruel smirk plastering itself across your face as you use that nifty daemati ability of yours to skid past the crumbling barriers of Cassian’s mind; breaching the poorly guarded threshold.

And much to your delight, the only thing filling the General’s brain was you.

You, bent over the edge of the training ring with your tight training leathers shoved down to your ankles and Cassian’s face stuffed between your thighs. You, sitting on the kitchen counter in your nightgown, it’s silky material tucked between your teeth and a brick wall of an Illyrian absolutely feasting on your pussy. You, a million other ways, in a billion other places twisted into a trillion different positions.

“Eating seems to take up a lot of your thoughts.” A downright desperate groan rips free from Cassian’s throat when lean back on your elbows, knees dropping to the side and a glossy red manicure beams against your skin as a flimsy thong is exposed. “Lucky for you, a good host always provides for her guests and I’ve added something special to the menu tonight.” You don’t even have to ask—he just hoists your hips up to his face, hands cupping the fat of your thighs, fingers digging in the sensitive flesh and you swear you can feel his breath through the fabric.

“Fuck,” The swear drawls out, his honeyed stare fixated on the way you nudge your underthings to the side and present yourself to him with that fucking look in your eye and your teeth biting into your bottom lip. “You're pretty everywhere.”

Every carefully curated response melts into the puddle of arousal that the Night Courts General laps at like a godsdamned dog in heat. One massive arm rests at the soft part of your belly, large hands keeping a firm grip at your thigh to hold you open for him as his tongue eagerly explores the sodden mess of your sex. Each of your moans are rewarded with soft suckles to your clit, the flat of his tongue firmly tracing out the letters of him name over and over until your tugging at his hair—too push him away or shove him in closer, you can’t tell. “Cassian,” you whine, cupping at your breasts, tugging on pebbled nipples and fighting your soul to stay in your body when two thick fingers are eased into you.

So full. So full and thick and you're sure you've been scooped up by the tide and jostled about the sea when his fingers curl, blunt nails rubbing against the gooey spots inside you.

Pleased grunts vibrate against your bundle of nerves, sending sharp shocks of pleasure shooting up your spine; tugging and tugging and tugging at the coil buried in your gut. “That’s it,” Arousal drips from his chin, smearing at his cheeks and coating the soft hairs of his trim beard. “Say my name.”

“Cassian,” Hips buck up into his mouth, all but riding his tongue and fucking yourself on his fingers until the dam breaks and your release gushes on his hands, down his arms, dripping on the floor by his knees but he doesn’t stop for a second. “O-oh fuck!” Experimental scissoring of his fingers forces your eyes to squeeze shut, a blush burning across your cheeks and down your chest as he watches the way you clench around them, cunt sucking him back in for more. “Gods. Cass—Cassian.” You all but sob, brows furrowed and toes curling from the stretch; from the slight burn that bleeds into raw satisfaction.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about you like this,” Thighs shake by his ears, sliding along the line of his shoulders and loosely hooking along the defined taper of his waist as he wastes little time in undoing the confines of dark breeches, separating the material just enough to show off the thick bulge straining against his boxers. “How long I’ve waited to finally get my hands on you.”

Except, you did.

Cassian was a loud thinker; projecting this perverted little fantasies like arrows cutting through the wind and they always hit their target. It was impossible to ignore, just like the leaky erection that’s revealed from thin fabric and tap, tap, tapped against the sloppy mess of your pussy.

“I’ve got an idea,” You barely get the syllables free, heart racing and blood pumping as the Illyrian slots between spread legs like he was made to fit there, melting into your warmth and exploring every inch you allow. “But, I tend not to believe things unless it’s showed to me.”

“I can do that.” He’s so gentle at first it makes you squirm, hips writhing for more already, cunt clenching on the fat tip of his prick as arousal leaks down your asscheeks. “Mother help me, you’re fucking soaked—this all for me?”

You’re already nodding along, muttering pleasant words wrapped in raw sugar and tied with rich satin bows in varying shades of crimson and ruby; deep vermillion and deep mahogany—fluttering symbols of the burly man before you and the victory he claims between supple thighs. “There’s more where it came from if you’d just stop teasing me.”

“My heiress is impatient,” Cassian teases, his voice deep and cock even deeper as inch after inch is fed to you. His gaze tracks your every response, marking the pout of your mouth and the furrow of your brow as he reaches places you hadn’t realized existed within you. Soft mewls accompany the bite of your nails in his biceps, the dark fan of your hair teasing down your shoulders as you watch where he begins and you end. “How rude of me to keep her waiting.”

Your stomach clenches with a burning need, pussy slick with fresh arousal when realizing Cass isn’t really addressing you but more so the mess between your legs.

Inch by inch is fed to you tortuously slow, whines and pleas shushed away by a deceptively comforting voice that promises to give you what you want if you just allow him his fun first. His cock splitting you open makes it easy to comply, lids lazy and arms flexing with the effort it takes to stay raised enough to watch. “Look at you,” Cassian mutters, thumbs spreading slick lips to watch the way your cunt gobbles him up. “Just made for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” It’s not nearly enough friction, the slow rock of his hips as he commits the sight of both of you together to memory. Every line and curve, every stretch mark and mole, scars and swirling tattoos of endless obsidian. The heave of your chest and the wrecked moan that escapes you when the pace picks up; when curious touches become confident caresses. “Cassian—please.”

He’s too far gone for words. Hips smacking against the back of your thighs as every ounce of his weight is put into making sure the shape of his cock carved its way into your womb. The firm way his lips slot over yours mid-thrust is everything; like finding water in the desert. Like sun on a cloudy day. Like being given food after enduring starvation.

His touch is claiming. The taste of him branded on your tongue, the shape of his teeth carved onto your shoulder. Warm palms drag along your curves, fingers leaving their mark on every inch; like those rabid dogs that piss on their territory. Throaty moans spur his possessive streak, fingers rubbing circles against a puffy clit just to chuckle at the involuntary jerk of your thighs and the slutty spit of your cunt.

Over and over and over again you’re brought to the precipice, that coil in your belly stretched taut until Cassian willed it to release. “That’s my girl,” He kisses into your neck, nosing at the slope of your shoulder and all but growls in pleasure at the smell of you and him combined. Together at last. A dream come true. A prophecy falling into place. Fate forged into fruition. “All mine,” He huffs into your hair, rhythm going sloppy and thrusts pressing just a touch deeper. “All of you belongs to me.”

It’s a horrible idea. Feeding this beast. Granting it exactly what it wants now and expecting it to wait patiently for its next meal. To go against its very nature to take and take and take until it had its fill.

Screw it. Consequences be damned when Cassian felt so good. When his want was so palpable with every orgasm he coaxed from you.

All yours; you agree in the way you allow him to suck marks along your collarbone. Every inch of me belongs to you; you comply with every demand he utters—with every rope of cum that paints your walls.

You almost think it’s over until your chin is gently pinched in his grasp, guiding you to face him, to look him in the eye while disheveled and sweaty; cheeks rosy and chest heaving as you caught your breath. “I could start fires with the way I feel for you.”

“I can handle the burn.”

[dhampling]

both free gn!reader, 2.1k

The first thing Astarion notes is that the blood scent weeping from every pore of your broken body is no longer familiar. It rots. 

A burning stench, charred and sour as it licks the back of his nose. 

A few moments of petrified silence before his feet carry him to you. 

-

you reject bhaal's greatest gift and pay with your life. to this, your horrified love bears witness.

word count: 2,105

a massive THANK YOU to @scarstothepast for sending this request my way - i hope it does your idea justice <3

as always, read the tags and decide your fate!

-

Mutilation. 

Reduced to nothing but a flaccid gasp of your former self; a marionette in your father’s horrid hand.

Mangled beyond recognition. Bhaal’s rotten plaything. His prodigal children, both dead. 

Far past any conceivable beg for reconciliation. 

Naught but a smack as your carcass plummets to stone.

-

The Bhaalist temple is ripe, unsurprisingly. 

The smell of a weeping wound seeps from every porous surface. Infection in the mortar, decay in the miry ridges lining the floor; burning flesh amidst flame torches and wails in the middle distance akin to an abattoir. 

Yet, Astarion finds comfort there solely in your confidence. Your conviction. Your will to want for better, to reject your savage bloodline. The power you command over that innate desire to harm. 

You’ve prepared well for this encounter. You’re aware of the risks, you’ve scoped out the entrance to Orin’s rancid shrine; and you’ve gathered appropriate accomplices from your rooms in the Elfsong to assist you in rescuing the one of you held in her clutches.

He should be a little wary. A little skittish. Observant, always; but there should be a little rattle in his brain telling him to hold back from the rest of you. 

The self-preservation instinct developed over two centuries in captivity simply isn’t there.

He’s free, because of you. 

He wants to rip the windpipe from the changeling’s throat with his bare teeth. 

Stalk her chanting cultists from the shadowy ledges surrounding their sacrificial altar and shoot off innumerable Arrows of Many Targets at their vile heads. He - personally - wants to eviscerate any Bhaalist visage presented to you with brutal slash upon brutal slash until he is positively covered in putrid god-guts and wailing in victory.

A twirl of his dagger. The easy click of his disarm tools. A wink in your direction.

Astarion will save you the way you saved him.

He remembers the way you looked at him with the most hells-bent fury during the Ritual of Profane Ascension, ripped from your side and thrown aloft by Cazador’s wicked pact magic. The resolute wrath with which you slashed your way through the monstrosities between you. Pulling him from Cazador’s circle, his daggers returned; a rage so formidable in your eyes he almost wanted to sink to his knees and propose to you there and then. 

You wanted better for him. Better than perpetuating the vicious cycle of abuse starting all those centuries ago with Eravask the Forebear to his very own master.

Master.

He is better. 

He is capable of so much more than the brief wavering moment in that foulest of Dungeons, in which he wanted the most grossly depraved of powers for himself. Every single moment of agony, terror; torment, hunger - the way with which you so effusively confronted his paralysing fears and talked him from the brink; from becoming that very same monster in his moment of sheer dread.

You hop with a determined gait down the towering stairs to the walkway. Entrance in sight. Astarion stalks ahead and moves to disarm the trapped plates in your path.

The two of you have spoken about this moment many times, sequestered away in a corner in the Elfsong by candlelight. A bottle of Firewine and tears threatening to brim in your eyes.

You once were a master. Your freak of a demon butler cast in role seemingly as your very own Godey. You have no recollection of it, those you killed in your father’s name, nor how you did it; but the weight of those souls indeterminate in number is abject torture. There is no forgiveness for you. No hope, no conclusion. Just a wide and wavering path to redemption you can never be sure you’ll justly earn.

That awful, plagued creature you were. The night you softly awoke with Scleritas above you and that primal urge to kill the one closest to you through your whole adventure so far. Holding back. Warning him.

The way he sat and spoke with you, smoothed your hair as you bit furiously at his wrists and spat his name with such evil spite. Unafraid of you, no matter the threat. 

Two beasts in tandem.

-

Orin is horrifying in appearance. Pale, skin writhing with blue vein-like whips across her white flesh; armour of crimson jerky and eyes empty.

Lips smacking in wily delight. Bloodkin. Bloodkin. 

Astarion watches your confrontation prior to the conflict he knows is to come. He’ll get his moment to brutalise every single one of these sadists, but this is yours.

The ritual sacrifice is spared through your recollection of Bhaal’s terms - you were the one challenged, not your accomplice. 

These terms also mean your fight will be one on one. You versus her. 

Astarion’s face falls.

Fuck.

However, he takes solace in the fact that he’s come to know your expressions well through your adventures together. Your innate ability to stay one step ahead is what has carried you so far in the first place. 

She taunts you, yapping, pointing, aggrandizing; at one point even shifting into you. If the circumstances weren’t so dire he’d probably make a joke about what a fun evening could be had with such a skill. 

You remain stoic, mapping out the environment and taking stock of what you can use as leverage. He simply watches you with a mixture of trepidation and admiration resting uneasy in his gut.

"Come to me, Father. Set my flesh to your unholy purpose."

The most grotesque monstrosity replaces Orin. The Slayer. 

Astarion watches on as the duel begins.

In light of having prior defeated the undead Visage of Myrkul, Orin alone isn’t a formidable enemy. Your battle-strengthened dexterity is unmatched and with each attempt the current favoured of Bhaal makes to injure you, you simply strengthen your position and hit her harder.

It’s almost enjoyable to watch the two of you dance.

While not easy, it certainly isn’t difficult to gain the upper hand with each attack you make. 

The Slayer is almost… clumsy?

Too large to aim her lunges with precision, you dodge her at most turns. Your party watches with baited breath, but small smiles begin to edge onto their weary faces.

The rabid dog and the acrobat. 

Each hit you strike weakens her substantially. While she does get some vantage on you and causes a little damage by the sacrificial altar, her limbs in this form are too spindly and make for stupidly easy targets to focus your attacks. 

Within minutes, the imposing figure is reduced to little but a pile of gore on the floor.

Among the foetid viscera that once was the changeling you immediately drop to search for her Netherstone-jewelled dagger. Bloodthirst. Hands heavy with still-warm organs as you retrieve your winnings, blood soaking every inch of exposed flesh on your arms. You throw your spoils to the side and hold the altar key to your chest.

A pair of arms wraps around you from behind, startling you for the briefest moment.

Astarion.

“Gods. You idiot! You are positively deranged! You knew that would happen, didn’t you? Did you bring us along just to watch?!” He grins.

Your own smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You turn to embrace him fully. 

The rest of your party traipse across the tides of blood toward you.

“I had a feeling it might.”

You rest your head on his shoulder in the newborn silence of the temple, tossing the altar key in the vague direction of your party as your hands bloody his armour in a reverent grasp. 

“I love you. I just - I love you! You insane thing. You did it!” He laughs loudly, ecstatic.

You see your friends behind him, your eyes meeting theirs in a downcast stare. A nod of understanding.

“I love you.’

You sigh into his chest, splaying your fingers as if to hold more of him.

‘It’s not over yet.”

He pulls away and looks at you, lifting your head softly so your eyes meet his. His neck juts a little.

“Hm?”

His brow quirks inquisitively. The wail of victory depletes into a quivering hum.

-

The first thing Astarion notes is that the blood scent weeping from every pore of your broken body is no longer familiar. It rots. 

A burning stench, charred and sour as it licks the back of his nose. 

A few moments of petrified silence before his feet carry him to you. 

The Visage of Bhaal is gone. 

Your flesh operates as little more than a bag of broken bones, skull cracked and limbs fractured almost beyond recognition. Eyes wide open but unmistakably dead.

He hears your two accomplices bicker in the background as the multiple Scrolls of Revivify retrieved from your pack fail to glow near your remains. They don’t make sense. This doesn’t make sense. Their shouts are crisp in the silence of the temple. Brash. Disturbing. 

There should be more noise. There should be shouting, screaming, crying. Crowds of those you’ve saved should be here petitioning whatever God sickens of their stream of bitter tears to bring you back to them.

To him. 

He can’t take his eyes off your own. Empty.

If he’d gone through with the ritual, maybe he could have saved you. Turned you. Revived you as his and kept you safe from a fate like this for the rest of eternity.

You’d have despised him for it, but it’d be ok. You’d be awake. You’d be capable of feeling with which to despise him. 

No, he mutters. Not that. Not ever. 

He is better than that.

He shifts to sit cross legged next to your corpse as your accomplices’ shouting turns to unbridled wailing. Toys with your hair gently so as not to disturb the broken skull below the flesh and whispers to you softly.

“You silly thing. I know you’re still in there, aren’t you? I hope you know how much I love you.’

A quiet, heavy wracked sob.

‘You are so magnificent, little dove. So smart. You did so, so well. I am so very proud of you.”

He doesn’t notice Withers, not until he speaks.

-

You’re fuzzy as you stand.

He’s frozen on the floor, cross legged and round-eyed. Sharp ears pinned back. 

“No.” Astarion chokes.

Your eyes are heavy. They search for him in the blur and you stumble trying to feel for him.

“Astarion?’

Your companions are paralysed. 

The stages of grief begin to unravel. 

“Astar- Astarion, I can’t see. Where are you?” You sob, reaching out blindly in front of you to search for him in the fog. 

“Oh. Oh, my love -’

He looks up at you and blinks away a flood of tears as they threaten to spill. 

‘My love. I’m here. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

His feet carry his fraught body to you once again, mindless in their pursuit of you. You’re here. You’re warm, speaking; sobbing, and here. 

Name stricken from the archives. Pulled gently into his arms the second he stepped within reach and wrapped the tightest within them you ever have been.

Your party swaddles you in the biggest hug you’ve had in your life.

Astarion doesn’t let go when they do. He buries one hand in your hair, keeps one tightly around your waist. Shakes with sobs.

“You scared me.” He mumbles, letting out a small laugh into the crook of your neck.

You neglect to mention the patch of snot and fresh wet tears now adorning his shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He whispers, playing with a lock of your hair. 

“No. I am. I am so, so sorry.”

“Seeing you like that ruined me, you know.’ He smiles shakily. 

You sob once more. 

‘I wondered why the whole of Toril wasn’t screaming for you at the moment of your death.’

He moves his head to look at you. Brings his forehead to yours. Kisses you so gently that you wonder if his lips have always felt this soft and his forlorn eyes glisten. Alive and in the arms of your lover.

‘They gave me nothing. Two hundred years of nothing. Useless wretches.’ He laughs and rolls his teary eyes. Sniffs. You smile at him with the dopiest eyes - you think - that have ever existed across the Sword Coast.

‘But the Gods listened to me this time because they knew.’

Astarion coughs. 

He smells like home - warm, spiced; familiar. Your eyes meet his now, his grasp on you still firm.  

‘You defied your father. You resisted your cruel destiny.’

Another kiss.

‘And now we’re both free.” He whispers.

Time stops for a few precious moments, a silent promise. 

No more. 

[nemesyaaa]

beautiful madness. mean!stepbro!rafe x reader.

warnings : rafe cameron. dubcon. toxic behavior. pet names. stepcest. dark content. smut (minors DNI).

“ where have you been?”

you had just come back from a night out with the pogues, honestly, the best night of your life. you were having so much fun that you didn't notice the time passing. and now you were dealing with that. well no, with rafe. your stepbro.

“ outside. sorry.”

he chuckled lightly, playfully stroking his jaw as he smiled at you. it wasn't reassuring, especially since he seemed to have had a bad day.

“rafe, i’m sorry okay.”

“no, you’re not sorry but it’s okay, sweetheart.” he said as he came closer, gently caressing your cheek. “absolutely, no problem.”

and you believed it before he threw you against the wall, your back slamming against the white surface.

“you’re so damn mad!”

“i thought you already knew that, princess, but i guess i overestimated you.”

you slapped him so hard that his face moved a little, before you started running around the huge Cameron house.

" i fear, you need to slap me better if you want to hurt me, sweetheart. " he said with a smirk. "do you really want to play ? it's my house, so not a good move of you to play hide&seek in this. i know all the rooms. be smart little bunny or the mad hunter will kill you. “

you just wanted to sleep, you were tired. you had alcohol in your blood and you found yourself in ward's office, a - normally forbidden room trying to escape your stepbro.

you covered your mouth with your hand, trying not to make a sound. you were afraid of the slightest noise you heard. you could hear his footsteps in the house, the way he was getting closer. his shadow moved so quickly.

when rafe had found you under the desk, a playful smile on his lips, his hand had savagely grabbed your throat. it was so violent that you had trouble breathing, you could feel his fingers tightening like a necklace around your skin.

“don’t run away from me. you like to be chased but you're afraid of being find, look at me princess, kill your mean stepbro with your lovely bunny eyes. not fun anymore ? no more playing ? ”

" i just hate you. i just want you to leave me alone."

" cry harder, and you will probably make me cum in my pants. see ? how you make me so hard. "

you spat in his face, you hated him so much and you just wanted him to go to jail.

"you want to spit so badly? ok, now my turn. open that mouth."

you kept your mouth shut and he laughed.

“you really want to see me mad. i try to be cool with you but now, i had enough.” he had tightened his grip around your throat.

he had used the desk to lay you down on it, forcing your legs apart to slide between them.

you were so small compared to him, disappearing under his big beefy body hidden in a suit.

“since you really want to be tamed, let me tame you. time to be a good stepbro and educate my dumb stepsista on how to be a good girl. ”

he had removed his belt, before making a necklace around your neck with it.

“i beg you, leave me alone!”

"so cute when you beg like that but it's already too late, bunny. next time, don't be such a dumb brat. "

you tried to push him, kicking his stomach. but he had grabbed your foot, and hooked you by the jaw, forcing your lips to open.he spat in it, his fingers digging into your cheeks.

“you better swallow.”

you swallowed under the pressure of his hand.

" the more you play, the meaner i will be, understand that ? “

he had pushed his fingers even harder into your jaw, forcing you to nod.

“ i’ll tell your father everything!”

“don’t forget the part where you came on my dick, squirting all over me, because you are anything but the innocent girl you pretend to be. now open those legs. your big stepbro is going to take good care of your pussy.”

you couldn't argue with him, he was stronger and heartless.

“ let me kneel for you princess, see how nice i am to you ? yes, tell me how i am nice to you “

“ i hate you so much, with all my heart. “

“ you're too nice to hate someone. now let's see if you hate me as much as you like to say.”

you could tell rafe had changed. ever since he got his buzzcut, he wasn't the same. he was a different man, even more dangerous.

he knelt down at the level of your pussy, while you were still lying on the table. he loved the sight of the soaked fabric, the shape of your lower lips through the underwear. he had placed his nose on your wet area, inhaling your part's scent.

he had started to insert two fingers in you, wanting to prepare you for what came next. he was surprised to see how tight you were. his fingers moved quickly, forcing the access inside your sopping hole. as he diving into it, he felt your walls contract around him. and he loved it. you arched your back, your hips moving as he scissored you. soft moans left out the corner of your dizzy mouth.

“ rafe…”

“ yes, don't forget who makes you feel this way, who owns this pussy better than anyone. i can't wait to put my dick inside you.”

you let out a cry on the third finger. you could feel your hole widen slightly, forcely opening as the fourth was inserted. he didn’t wait before fingering you harder, your clit buried in his mouth. he pulled it, pinched it, teased it between his teeth, before rolling the cap around his tongue.

“ not a brat anymore, must feel so good. you loved to be fingering by your stepbro ? “

he had slapped your pussy with his hand, before spitting inside. when he stood up, his huge body hovering over yours, he took off his shirt. his muscles were massive, there was no point in fighting against this man.

he had taken off his pants and boxers, pulling them down to his feet. he was completely hard, the tip of his cock pointing against your cunt.

“put a condom. i don't want to be pregnant."

“you wanted to act like a brat, you have to take responsibility to the end, sweetheart. see? your consequences have an impact.”

" i'm serious ! "

"and me even more. now, shut up and take this cock. see ? how hard am i for you."

he was tired of hearing you. he had covered your entire mouth with his huge veiny hand.

he was big, and your hole had a hard time taking him. you were in pain, terribly in pain, you gritted your teeth every time he managed to enter a little more.

“it will fit, even if i have to force it.”

the feeling was hell, tears were streaming down your cheeks. when your pussy had finally opened up, your lower lips completely parted around his large size deep inside you, you had started to feel better. he thrust, his hips slamming against your body, his balls slapping your ass. your mascara was running down your face.

he was fucking you roughly, your body pressed against the table, your throat disappearing under his hand.

“ should i take a picture ? in case, you forget the whore you are for your stepbro. “

he kept hitting your spot with his big cock, while looking at your tits boucing.

he had forced fingers into your mouth, turning your moans into babbles. you were drooling and dripping, your lips circling around him.

“ i can't worship you, you already such a big slut. all this fighting for nothing, princess. you're just a girl who wanted to be fucked so bad. tired of your useless sextoys ? you wanted something better and bigger, something that can make you fulfill you. i got you. after all, i'm your brother. nobody can understand you better than me. “

you were making a full mess, spitting and whining on his fingers, while your body arched every time rafe moved inside you.

“ i really want to take a picture of you. “

seeing that you didn't answer, he continued

"every time you don't answer me, i will pull out my dick. let's see how long you last"

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry”

"yes, i know you're sorry, you already said that. try something else."

“yes, take a picture of me”

“should i send it to your friends or keep it for myself? maybe, it's time for you to show me how grateful you are. “

all his thrusts harsh, making you moaning so loud. his heavy length driving into your walls, while he recorded with his phone.

“ look at the camera, show how pretty you are when you take your stepbro's cock.”he lifted your thighs, before slamming hard into you, and sliding back and forth.

he pulled out his dick, rubbing the leaking tip against your ripped slit, while you begged him to not play like that, and just take you fully. you cried harder, your tears against his large palm.

he had entered you again, one hand gripping your tiny hip, he held you in his big hands while he fucked you so hard.

he opened his mouth, slow spit falling onto your clit before he rolled his thumb over it. he had started to tease the little pearl, forming circles, taking it between his fingers, toying with it. you had starry, pleading eyes. you squirmed, but still stayed under his hand.

“ don't be such a crybaby. you can't act like a child when i’m fucking you like that, princess. “

“ rafe…rafe !”

“ yes, say my name again and again. this dick deep ball inside you really makes you so dumb. still hate me ? because i bet, this pussy loves me so much, the way it squeezes me. “

he was getting close, so close to cumming. your vagina spasmed around his cock, contracting more and more until he let out a groan. you had known he had spilling into you. he had continued to move within your walls, even though you had reached orgasm and so had he. you could feel his cum dripping from your abused slit.

when he stopped, you sucked him on your knees, licking his leaking tip, he had released his last drops into your mouth. your tongue had cleaned everything. you had also licked his balls, knowing that men loved it. you tugged them between your lips, lapping each one. you released one of them with a loud pop. you pressed it between your hands.

“ and you tell me you were so afraid of me ? you're just an actress, princess. but don't worry, i will make you the top 1. i have such a nice video of you taking my cock. “

“ keep it to yourself ! “

“i think you can beg better than that, especially when i fuck you so well. “

“ why are you doing this ? "

“because i can. and besides, there are cameras in this office. so i really think you're going to have to learn to beg better than that if you want those precious videos back.”

[pasteilian]

Does Leo ever get cannibalistic urges like Raph and Donnie do? I'm pretty sure red-eared sliders will occasionally eat other turtles in the wild if they have the opportunity to, ESPECIALLY when they're young! I'm curious if those urges show up for him at all :OO Or even in his turtle hybrid children? this whole cannibalism thing is just such a fun concept to play around with omg

Actually, I'm pretty sure Mikey's species of turtle (ornate box turtle I believe) is the only species out of the four bros that won't eat other turtles? So, does that put him at risk of getting bitten by his brothers at all? Do Donnie or Raph (or even Leo) ever go after him by accident? I can imagine undercooked/baby leo biting undercooked/baby mikey, since that's the age where red-eared sliders can be cannibalistic if they aren't fed properly.

Did Raph ever try to eat/bite any of his brothers? Either when he was younger, or now that he's older?

Just to be clear, "Undercooked" and "Year of the Rabbit" are two different AUs, so they would never meet each other unless I do a crossover.

Regarding the urges, Leo wouldn’t have any desire to hunt Mikey because the ooze nullifies his urges. The issue with Raph and Donnie is that they are primary predators, and the ooze couldn't completely nullify their natural behaviors. This is where the feral/savage behavior comes from when their natural behaviors surface for some reason.

Raph has gone after Leo before and has hurt him, but this was in their childhood. As an adult, Raph has his savage behavior under control. Essentially, the problem with Donnie is that his feral behavior shows itself when he's already an adult, giving him disadvantages in controlling his urges and behaviors.

At some point, I will delve into the ooze and Draxum's experiments on them.

[wordslikesilver]

I am once again thinking about Hoarah Loux, the only man Marika ever trusted and the only man she ever loved. It’s such an insane thing to think about the fact that the second last boss of Elden Ring is Some Guy. He is literally just A Human Man. Marika looks at this fucking raving barbarian man and decides to My Fair Lady him into a Lord like the deranged woman she is by assigning him a babysitter to perpetually gnaw on his neck whenever he’s in public. As insane as all that sounds, let’s break down that imagery a little because it’s actually really good! His babysitter is the king of beasts, a lion named Serosh, who digs his claws and his fangs into Hoarah Loux’s body to keep him suppressed and restrained enough in temperament to now be fit to be named Godfrey, The First Elden Lord of Queen Marika.

Serosh is frankly quite mysterious as far as what he actually is goes but as far as story themes go, he’s a really interesting symbol of lordship. The lion basically IS Godfrey’s crown, it’s what makes him Godfrey. The symbolism is essentially stating in a very overt way that this man is more savage than all the beasts of the world. In Elden Ring, beasts with five fingers indicate an enlightened or elevated intelligence, blessed by the greater will. It’s fascinating how it’s basically stating that Serosh is more intelligent, refined and noble than Hoarah Loux, that this man is more wild and savage than the greatest of all the beasts in the world. That only a beast king could teach this man to be a Lord. Godfrey can rip him apart anytime but he doesn’t. It takes more than strength of body to wear a crown and he knows it. He needs Serosh to honour and do right by Marika. He is showing his opponents a courtesy, as he puts it. Morgott takes after his example and so too is Radahn inspired by him. It’s really wonderful imagery.

There’s more to the symbolism. My knowledge of alchemy is, I completely admit, too surface level to elegantly speak at length but I’ve done some light reading online to back up my confidence in what I’m saying. We know Miyazaki loves dark edgy anime like Berserk and I posit that he also gained inspiration from the anime/manga Hellsing, in which the main character recites the line “I am the bird of Hermes, eating my own wings to make me tame.” This line comes from the Ripley Scroll and is theorized to have many meanings but popularly is presumed to mean giving up higher philosophy and knowledge to live normally on the earth as a human. Miyazaki uses lots of alchemical symbolism in his works, Elden Ring especially (go watch Quelaag’s videos!) so I could be totally full of shit about hellsing but I’m completely confident that Godfrey is meant to be an inversion (like literally everything else about his character) of what the Bird of Hermes represents. Godhood is a prison, a shackling. The entire plot is Marika (and Ranni tbh) trying to escape that imprisonment. Godfrey loves Marika enough to chain himself down, to eat his own wings, to pull out his own teeth and claws for her to make himself tame and ascend to lordship.

What’s especially fascinating about him is that he carries Serosh out into the badlands with him, as the opening cutscene shows. Cut dialogue indicates he already knew the Elden Ring would shatter and the tarnished would be beckoned to return. That Marika told him her plan in full before she took from him and his warriors the grace of gold and sent them away. A line from him saying to trust in gold, always, that it will guide our fates to our true destiny has wonderful implications I would certainly love to expand on in another post maybe. Hoarah Loux was just a human man and Marika trusted him enough to tell him everything. Trusted him with her gambit to escape the shackles of godhood. This is the fascinating part about taking Serosh with him. Keeping himself disciplined enough to remain a Lord when he returns. To hold back his aching heart just enough that he could follow through on this dark plan and allow his wife to protect him from the machinations of the greater will by sending him away. Also note that in that opening cutscene, he’s being crucified, with a lion about his shoulders and spear buried in his abdomen. They could not be milking the Jesus imagery harder if they tried. The Bird of Hermes is also thought to represent Christ, more points for that symbolism.

I love Godfrey so much as a character. He loved his sons and he loved his wife. The tenderness that he holds Morgott with is enough to make me cry. How he wished he could’ve seen him sooner, I’m all too sure. He’s the only other character we see guided by grace in the entire game. Marika guides you and her beloved husband, that’s it, that’s how much she trusts him. When he rips Serosh from his shoulders, you understand how Marika felt such faith in him. In Elden Ring, it is through battle that you face the true self of an opponent. Godfrey reveals to you Hoarah Loux, Warrior Chieftain of the Badlands. It is a test. Are you worthy to free her? Can you do what I could not? I have shown you courtesy enough as a Lord. You served me well, Serosh. I relieve you of your burden and feel only gratitude for your service. Now begins the test. Are you, tarnished, stronger than the only man who was strong enough to bear the burden of Lordship? Are you stronger than the only man that Queen Marika ever trusted? Are you stronger than the only man she ever loved?

[savagesurfaces]

Where to Find the Best Coating Services in Ohio: A Comprehensive Overview

In the vast expanse of Ohio, where industries thrive and innovation reigns, finding the right coating services can be pivotal for businesses aiming to protect their surfaces and enhance their durability. Among the myriad of options available, one name shines bright – Savage Surfaces. Let's delve into why Savage Surfaces stands out as the prime choice for coating services in Ohio.

Why Choose Savage Surfaces?

Savage Surfaces isn't just another Ohio coating company; it's a beacon of excellence in the industry. With a track record of delivering exceptional results, Savage Surfaces has earned the trust of countless clients across Ohio. Here's why they're the best in the business:

Unmatched Expertise: Savage Surfaces boasts a team of seasoned professionals who possess extensive knowledge and expertise in coating technologies. From epoxy to polyurethane and everything in between, they have the skills to handle diverse coating needs.

State-of-the-Art Facilities: Equipped with cutting-edge technology and top-of-the-line equipment, Savage Surfaces ensures precision and quality in every project they undertake. Their advanced facilities enable them to deliver superior coatings that exceed industry standards.

Customized Solutions: Recognizing that one size doesn't fit all, Savage Surfaces offers personalized coating solutions tailored to each client's specific requirements. Whether it's a small-scale project or a large industrial application, they have the flexibility to accommodate diverse needs.

Commitment to Quality: At Savage Surfaces, quality is non-negotiable. They adhere to stringent quality control measures at every stage of the coating process, ensuring flawless results that endure the test of time. When you choose Savage Surfaces, you're investing in uncompromising quality.

Exceptional Customer Service: Beyond their technical prowess, Savage Surfaces is known for its exceptional customer service. They prioritize clear communication, timely delivery, and unparalleled support, making the entire coating experience seamless and hassle-free for their clients.

Also read:- Tips for Choosing the Right Concrete Flooring for Your Space in 2024

Where to Find Savage Surfaces

With multiple locations strategically situated across Ohio, Savage Surfaces makes it convenient for businesses to access their top-notch coating services. Whether you're in Cleveland, Columbus, Cincinnati, or any other part of the state, Savage Surfaces is within reach.

To locate the nearest Savage Surfaces facility and discuss your coating needs, visit their website or contact their customer service team. With their widespread presence and commitment to excellence, Savage Surfaces is your go-to destination for the best coating services in Ohio.

Conclusion

When it comes to coating services in Ohio, Savage Surfaces emerges as the undisputed leader. With their unparalleled expertise, state-of-the-art facilities, customized solutions, commitment to quality, and exceptional customer service, Savage Surfaces sets the benchmark for excellence in the industry. If you're searching for the best coating services in Ohio, look no further than Savage Surfaces – where quality meets precision, and satisfaction is guaranteed.

[ninibeingdelulu]

His biggest fan ✧

Plot: You’re Michael’s girlfriend, cheering him at one of his games.

A/N: It’s so bad I hate it😓

The roar of thunderous cheers flooded the stadium as Michael unleashed another stupefying display of lethal precision and brute physicality that defied mortal comprehension.

You watched with breathless awe seated front row as that signature blue mohawk wove a hypnotic cyclone of calculated ferocity carving apart the helpless defense trailing hopelessly in his wake.

Each savage yet eerily choreographed burst from Michael's heavyweight strides reverberated across the pitch warping the boundaries of space and time itself directly proportional to his gravitational soccer supremacy.

Until the entire cosmos distilled into that infinite singularity split-second with just your striker boyfriend, the ball and the yawning maw of the goal awaiting its inevitable oblation.

You bit down hard stifling the visceral shudder trying to escape as Michael's rocket-powered thunderbolt smashed past the defenseless keeper and ignited the back of the net in a blaze of cosmic glory.

Celebrating with that bone-chilling sovereign roar staking his unchallengeable dominion once more before this mortal realm of sporting conquest still so far beneath his transcendent plane of greatness.

Even after the final whistle sounded you remained spellbound observing Michael bask in those rapturous post-coital moments savoring his ineffable feat.

Utterly transfixed upon the hyper-masculine sculpture of your man still slicked with the spoils of carnal supremacy while casting that chiseled nordic profile against the floodlit heavens he reigned sovereign over.

Until his peripheral laser focus abruptly snapped in your direction lancing directly through your aura with a telepathic tractor beam manifesting into actual physics-warping forces.

Almost like each molecule surrounding Michael compressed and bent inward before being shunted aside clearing his path towards you with terrifying inevitability.

You barely had a chance to brace yourself as the unstoppable tsunami slammed into your front row section without mercy or resistance.

The concussive shockwave blasting through your senses while those titanium bulwarks materialized around you scooping your diminutive frame against Michael's furnace-stoked musculature with crushing intensity.

"My sweet empress…I could only hear your voice back there. It motivated me, thank you.”

His rough-hewn bassline resonated against every nerve ending vibrating at some untapped primordial stratum while you strained to surface through the endless whitenoise overloading your synapses.

Only Michael's low gravitic pulses penetrating the oblivion flooding your faculties from that unholy cosmic union now peeling away every layer keeping you distinct individualities during submersion into this event horizon state of indistinguishable polarities collapsed together.

Until finally resurfacing from that singularity after an eternity compressed into nanoseconds - though still deliriously consumed by the aftershocks rippling across your intertwined vessels smoldering in the embers of rapturous conflagration yet still ravenous for more extreme escalations eternally rebirthing from the expended remains!

Only the roaring crescendos from those frenzied supporters still filling the stadium slowly penetrated the vacuous void reverberating between you both savoring that suspended infinitesimal post-orgasmic bliss together.

You felt Michael's stern facade gradually reassemble while withdrawing from your interiors just fractionally enough to restore individuation-yet sense his alpha dominion expanding throughout your reconstituted synaptic matrices cementing his reign over your fused polarities once more.

Then with a subtle shift his smokey granite stare cleaved directly through the veil drawing your reawakened senses under that spellbinding trance spellbinding instantly.

A hushed imperious rasp now caressing your essence from that primal domain where all worldly laws bent to his sovereign decrees:

"Why don’t I reward you tonight, huh, meine liebe ?”

Just experiencing the infinitesimal microcosm of his supreme essence bleeding into your rematerialized corporeal vessel already whiplashed your senses through multiple clinical deaths and resurrections beyond this plane's dimensional limits.

His seismic vibrational frequencies triggered endorphin avalanches detonating every neurotransmitter into frenzied paroxysms anticipating the ineffable escalations still awaiting together...