#construction claims management

[john-smith0105]

Understanding Risks in Construction and Engineering Procurement:

Supply Chain Risks: Disruptions in the supply chain can impact project timelines and costs.

Contractual Risks: Ambiguities in contracts can lead to disputes.

Market Risks: Fluctuations in market conditions, can affect project budgets.

Environmental Risks: Environmental concerns can pose risks to project execution.

[zappedbyzabka]

Reminds me of something…

[pejasurveying1]

Discover how quantity surveyors play a crucial role in resolving construction disputes. From cost management to mediation, their expertise ensures efficient conflict resolution, saving time and money. Learn the benefits of involving these professionals in your projects. Contact PEJA Surveying for expert services today.

[bachassociates1]

The Importance of Hiring a Building Inspection Consultant in Seattle

In the bustling city of Seattle, where innovative architecture and stringent building codes meet stunning natural landscapes, the role of a building inspection consultant becomes paramount. Whether you’re a property buyer, developer, or homeowner, understanding the importance of hiring a building inspection consultant can make all the difference in ensuring safety, compliance, and peace of mind. https://bachassociates.com/

[plusthree1]

Key challenges faced by expert witness in construction litigation

[molsno]

Another hallmark of "just asking questions" coverage of detransition is a tendency to focus on individuals who were assigned female at birth. Similarly, proponents of "ROGD/social contagion" often claim that the supposed condition disproportionately impacts "young girls," especially those with autism or mental health issues, although the statistics and rationales they cite in support of such claims are deeply flawed. This emphasis on "girls" and "mental illness" appears to purposely play into traditionally sexist and ableist presumptions that these groups are inherently fragile, susceptible to persuasion, and incapable of making informed decisions about their own bodies and lives. After all, the "cisgender people turned transgender" trope is most effective when its imagined "victims" are constructed as "innocent" and "vulnerable." Perhaps the most illustrative example of this tactic can be found in Abigail Shrier's 2020 book, Irreversible Damage: The Transgender Craze Seducing Our Daughters. The book is focused squarely on protecting "our girls" from "ROGD/social contagion," relying heavily on the aforementioned traditionally sexist and ableist sentiments. Trans female/feminine people are largely absent from the book, with the exception of one chapter (featuring interviews with Ray Blanchard and J. Michael Bailey) that depicts us as sexually obsessed "autogynephiles." Given that chapter, in concert with the book's provocative subtitle, readers may be left with the impression that it's trans female/feminine people who are responsible for this "transgender craze seducing our daughters" (emphasis mine; other anti-trans activists have argued this more explicitly). While Shrier's book never mentions "grooming," its subtext conveys deep connections between "social contagion," the "cisgender people turned transgender" trope, and imagined sexual predation.

—Julia Serano, Whipping Girl (3rd Edition), p 380-381

this passage illustrates so clearly how even the transphobia aimed specifically at afab trans people nearly always comes with the quiet implication that there are more nefarious forces behind it. in misgendering trans people who were afab, reducing them to helpless and sympathetic victims, shrier still manages to evoke the image of the transfeminine sexual predator "grooming" these victims into identifying as transgender. she never makes this connection explicitly, but the subtext of the work leaves the reader to draw that as the only obvious conclusion. when trans women name transmisogyny as the basis for many other forms of gendered oppression, this is what we mean.

[opencommunion]

The Stop Cop City movement has sought to prevent the expropriation of part of the Welaunee Forest for the development of an 85-acre police mega training center: a model town to prepare the state’s repressive arms for the urban warfare that will ensue when the contradictions of their exploitation and extraction become uncontainable, as they did in 2020 after the APD murdered Rayshard Brooks.  That murder, and all those that came before, were the lodestars of the Black-led movement during the George Floyd uprisings; their demands were no less than the dismantlement of the entire carceral system. Unable to effectively manage or quell the popular street movements, the Atlanta Police Foundation set out to consolidate and expand their capabilities for surveillance, repression, imprisonment, armed violence, and forced disappearance. One result is Cop City, which has been racked by militant sabotage, land occupation, arson, and popular mobilizations, in an attempt to end the construction and return Atlanta to its people.  As the Atlanta Police Foundation was unable to contain the 2020 Black rebellion, so too have they been unable to quell the resistance against Cop City. The press reports that the project is hemorrhaging money and is mired in delays and difficulties. For their part, the city, the state, and the federal government, have in turn employed every tool in their power to destroy the movement. Last week, the Georgia State Senate passed a bill to effectively criminalize bail funds in the state; RICO charges have been contorted to target networks of support and care that surround the fighters; and last January, APD assassinated the comrade Tortuguita in cold blood while they rested in their tent in the forest. It is clear that Stop Cop City represents one of the conjunctural spear tips for expanding the existing systems of counterinsurgency that span Africa, Asia, and the Arab world.  Today the system’s belly rests atop Gaza, whose rumblings shake the earth upon which we walk. Through its Georgia International Law Enforcement Exchange (GILEE) program, the APD has sent hundreds of police to train with the Zionist occupation forces. And in October 2023, after Tufan al-Aqsa, the Atlanta Police Department engaged in hostage training inside abandoned hotels, putatively intended to “defeat Hamas,” in an advancement of tactics for the targeting of Black people. With every such expansion, the ability of counterinsurgency doctrines to counteract people’s liberation struggles grows. The purpose of counterinsurgency is to marshal state and para-state power into political, social, economic, psychological, and military warfare to overwhelm both militants and the popular cradle—the people—who support them. Its aim is to render us hopeless; to isolate and dispossess us and to break our will to resist it by any and all means necessary. This will continue apace, unless we fight to end it. Stop Cop City remains undeterred: on Friday, an APD cop car was burnt overnight in response to the police operation on February 8; yesterday, two trucks and trailers loaded with lumber were burnt to the ground. An anonymous statement claiming credit for the former, stated: “We wish to dispel any notion that people will take this latest wave of repression lying down, or that arresting alleged arsonists will deter future arsons.”  As the U.S. government and Zionist entity set their sights on the Palestinian people sheltering in Rafah, as they continue their relentless genocide of our people in Khan Younis, Jabalia, Shuja’iyya, and Gaza City, the Stop Cop City movement has clearly articulated its solidarity with the Palestinian struggle. They have done so with consistency and discipline, and we have heard them. Our vision of freedom in this life and the next requires us to confront and challenge the entangled forces of oppression in Palestine and in Turtle Island, and to identify the sites of tension upon which these systems distill their forces. This week, as with the last three years, the forest defenders have presented us one such crucible.

(11 Feb 24)

National Lawyers Guild, Stop All Cop Cities: Lessons For a National Struggle (video, 1 hr 45 min)

[cleo-fox]

Unraveled

Summary: It was all fun and games until Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering, godly refractory periods, kitchen sex, semi public sex, Loki in a sweater.

A/N: My explanation for this one is that I saw too many pictures of Tom Hiddleston in a sweater and it gave me thoughts.

Being an Avenger has made you pretty good at rolling with the punches. After your third or fourth encounter with some alien/wizard/android bullshit, your perspective is fundamentally altered and real life seems manageable in a way that it didn’t before. You have to call your insurance company to dispute a claim? Big deal, you’ve negotiated with terrorists; you can handle Garth from Member Services.

The thing is, having that kind of perspective means that the things that do get to you can rattle you a lot more than they should. Natasha had warned you about that, but you were riding high on the thrill of successfully conquering Blue Cross Blue Shield and you kind of got to thinking she was exaggerating.

And then the seasons started to turn and Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

You can recognize when someone is out of your league. When you first moved into the Tower, it had been relatively easy for you to assign Loki to that category: he was a god. He’d been featured in last month’s GQ. You were mortal and your most recent press had been a TMZ story featuring unflattering paparazzi photos of you leaving a bodega in your pajamas at seven o’clock in the morning, a bagel halfway into your mouth. You were clearly not the same.

Up until the sweater, you’d managed to keep your cool around Loki and keep your attraction confined to daydreams and the occasional surreptitious lustful glance. Hell, you’d even had the nerve to be proud of yourself for keeping your shit together in front of him.

The sweater lays waste to all of that.

On the surface, it doesn’t seem like a sweater that is capable of completely destroying your carefully constructed composure. It’s a fairly standard crew neck in a deep green so dark it almost looks black at a first glance. But on Loki it just…does things to you. The fabric is well fitted, clinging to his biceps, pulling taut across his chest, emphasizing the line of his pectorals. It somehow accentuates how muscular he is while also still making him look lean and lithe.

The first time he wears it, you find your eyes just trail to him of their own volition, like an incredibly horny moth to the flame. It’s a day of catching yourself staring, panicking, pretending that you were actually looking at something else, and then repeating the process five minutes later when your gaze inevitably wandered again. It almost would have been funny if it didn’t put your blood pressure into the stratosphere.

To make matters worse, at the end of that day’s debriefing, he rises from his chair and raises his arms to the ceiling in a long stretch. The hem of the sweater creeps up, exposing the firm, flat muscles of his stomach, lightly dusted with a trail of hair that meanders in a tantalizing path down to his belt buckle.

You promptly choke on your own spit. Clint claps you hard on the back and asks if you’re okay, which is a question you don’t know how to answer (ultimately, you stick to a thumbs up and mumble something about dust getting caught in your throat). Loki is too preoccupied complaining about the entire concept of office furniture to notice. Or at least you’re pretty sure he doesn’t notice.

You might have been okay if that had been the only incident, but the sweater makes a repeat appearance on Friday. The following Tuesday features the deadly combination of the sweater with a pair of tight, dark wash jeans that nearly send you into cardiac arrest. Your fantasies suddenly become much more frequent and detailed.

You are not really sure what to do about this—it’s not like you can talk to anyone about it, nor can you ask him to stop wearing it without prompting some very uncomfortable questions. The idea that you’ll get used to it is laughable. 

You look at your calendar and note that spring is six months away. At least.

Fucking hell.

*

It’s a Saturday afternoon and in a strange quirk of scheduling, almost everyone is out of town for a mission or a personal obligation, leaving the Tower unusually quiet. As much as you enjoy the daily clatter and chaos that comes with living here, you find a lot of comfort in these moments of quiet, however infrequent they may be.

You intended to make yourself a late afternoon snack. That was the plan, anyway. But as you’re standing at the kitchen counter and cutting up the fruit you just washed, you realize that you’re not entirely alone. From this vantage point, you can see Loki lounging on the couch in the next room and reading.

He’s wearing the sweater. Of course he’s wearing the sweater. And the so-tight-they-should-be-illegal dark wash jeans.

Goddammit.

You have the sense to set the knife down at least. The last thing you need is a trip to the hospital because you got too distracted by your hot colleague while handling a knife.

You let your gaze travel along the firm muscles of his chest. It’s just a sweater. It shouldn’t look this good. It shouldn’t prompt these kinds of thoughts. And yet…

He shifts on the couch and the hem of the sweater creeps up. His hand drops to his belt buckle. It’s entirely appropriate, but the way his long, long fingers are splayed against his stomach makes your mind drop straight to the gutter and wonder what they’d look like wrapped around his rock hard co—

“You know, it’s rude to stare.”

His voice comes from behind you and adrenaline surges through you like an electric shock. The Loki on the couch looks up at you and smirks before disappearing in a shimmer of green.

You wonder if it’s possible to die of embarrassment and a heart attack all at the same time. It certainly feels like you’re about to.

You take a deep breath and try to collect yourself, which feels largely futile. Come on, get it together. You’ve negotiated with terrorists and insurance companies. Shake it off.

You slowly turn around, cheeks burning. Loki is standing right behind you, arms folded across his chest. You swallow.

“I um. I was—I was just…” Words escape you as your brain fires in every direction except a helpful one.

“You were just what?” His expression is intense, but you’re not sure that he’s angry.

“Spacing out,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with confidence that you absolutely do not feel.

He places his hands on the counter behind you, intentionally caging you in with his body. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him—a masculine, wintery musk that makes you want to bury your face against his chest.

“Try again,” he says. His voice is deep enough to rattle your bones.

You swallow. Everything you could possibly say seems wildly inadequate.

Loki has never been one to be at a loss for words, though, and after a moment of terrified silence from you, he continues speaking.

“I’ve noticed something curious over these past few weeks,” he says. “When I wear this sweater, you can’t seem to take your eyes off of me.”

Your heart is pounding. Fucking hell. Have you really been that obvious?

“Now why is that?” he asks, his voice a low purr.

You briefly consider trying to lie again, but the piercing green of his eyes instantly makes you rethink it. “I um…” You swallow hard. “It’s just…it suits you. You…you look good.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I look good?”

You nod.

“Interesting.” His lips twitch in a slight smirk as he looks you up and down. “And how does that make you feel?”

Your heart thuds in your chest, your stomach contorting with a strange combination of fear and desire. You’re still humiliated, but the sound of his voice and the dark intensity of his gaze is intoxicating and incredibly arousing.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to answer that question.”

“Oh, I think you do.” There’s a rawness in his voice that makes your cunt clench.

You shake your head, eyes wide. You’re pretty sure he’s not really mad, but you also don't know where this is going. Surely he’s not making a pass at you…right?

“How does it make you feel to see me in this sweater?” he continues, his voice a low whisper. He pauses for a moment and when you don’t answer, he continues. “Does it…arouse you, perhaps?”

Holy fuck.

This can’t be happening.

You try to think of something clever or sexy, but the bluntness of the question and the fire in his eyes kills whatever remaining brain cells you have left. Mutely, you nod.

There’s that smirk again as he licks his lips. “Are you wet right now?”

Your cheeks burn. You give the tiniest nod possible.

“Hmm.” His hand alights on the button of your jeans. “I believe you Midgardians have a saying that is appropriate here: trust, but verify.” He slips the button free and your heart pounds like a war drum in your chest. 

You cannot believe this is happening.

“You haven’t been entirely truthful in this conversation.” His palm presses flat against your stomach, the tips of his fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. “So I’m afraid I’m going to have to see for myself.”

His hand is achingly slow, creeping lower and lower. He watches you intently as his hand cups your sex, seemingly cataloging the way your breath hitches and all the little shivers that run through you.

His middle finger finally slides between your folds and you can’t help but moan.

“Oh, you did lie to me,” he growls, his index finger joining his middle, both sliding up to circle your clit. “You’re not wet, you’re soaked.”

Your legs are already starting to tremble and you grab on to his shoulders to try and steady yourself. The fabric of the sweater is softer than a cloud against your hands.

“Sopping wet,” he continues, trapping your right leg between his thighs and the counter, the heavy weight of his erection pressing eagerly against your hip. “And this is all for me?”

Wordlessly, you nod. There’s no point in denying it—and you don’t think he wants you to, either.

“What am I going to do about this?” he muses. His index and middle fingers lightly circle your clit again and you whimper.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he says. His tone is one of light curiosity, like you’re just chatting casually about the weather. “But if I continue, you’re almost certainly going to come.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please.”

“Oh, you want me to make you come?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “Right here in the middle of the kitchen?”

You nod.

“Anyone could walk in, though,” he purrs. “Anyone could come in and see me with my fingers buried in your dripping cunt. What would they think if they saw you so utterly debauched and at my mercy, begging for me to make you come?”

“Don’t care…” you gasp. How are you already so close?

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t care what they’d think if they saw us like this?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, you must be desperate.” He adjusts his hand, his thumb taking up the rhythm on your clit while his index finger sinks into your slick channel, making you gasp.

“Loki, please—”

“Begging already,” he says, not letting up in his rhythm. “Has it been a long time, sweetheart? When did you last feel this good?”

It’s not a question you can answer. You don’t know that anyone ever has made you feel like this. You moan, your hips bucking hard against his hand.

“Poor thing,” he tuts. “You’re clearly desperate for it. What kinds of filthy thoughts have you had about me?” he purrs. “I’ve seen you staring, I’ve heard your breath hitch. Have you touched yourself while thinking of me?”

You manage a nod and his smile turns feral. “When was the last time?”

“Last…last night,” you gasp.

“How many times did you come?”

“F-Four.”

“Filthy girl.” His free hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tips your head back. “Next time, all you have to do is ask.”

His mouth covers yours, his tongue pushing past your lips as he slides a second finger into you. You moan into his mouth as the pressure in your hips increases.

“Oh yes, let me hear all of those pretty noises,” he murmurs. “Are you going to let me fuck you against the counter after I make you come?”

You nod, whimpering.

“Good girl,” he purrs. “I think you need to be fucked properly and hard. Is that what you need?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

“Mmm, that’s what I thought. This cunt is just too wet and needy for any other treatment.” He draws back to look at you more fully, giving you a lazy, hungry smile. “You’re about to lose it all over my fingers, aren’t you?”

Your orgasm is cresting, the tingling pressure in your hips becoming unbearable. You nod, lost for words.

With one more smirk, he curls his fingers inside of you. “Come for me, pretty girl, let me see you.”

Your cunt spasms around his thrusting fingers and your whole body shudders as your orgasm overtakes you, your head tipping back as you cry out.

“Oh, that’s it,” he murmurs, “there’s my good girl.”

A shiver runs through you at his words, your hips still moving against his hand, trying to draw out every last ripple of pleasure.

He kisses you as you come down from your high, and you take the opportunity to run your hands over his chest and tentatively feel the hard planes of muscle that you’ve been staring at these last few weeks. But after a few moments, he takes your hand and guides it to his cock.

His preference for leather pants or those sinfully tight dark wash jeans made you suspect that the size of his ego might actually be proportionate to the size of his cock and your initial assessment seems to confirm that theory. You rub your fingers over the denim that covers his thick shaft, feeling yourself grow even wetter at the low groan he makes in the back of his throat.

“Take my cock out.” His voice is so deep and his eyes are so smoldering, it feels like the command goes straight to your cunt. You are practically trembling with anticipation as your shaking hands  make quick work of the button, buckle, and zipper.

You can’t help but suck in a breath when his cock comes into view. He’s long and deliciously thick—big enough to be a little intimidating, but not overwhelmingly so.

He guides your hand to wrap around his shaft. He barely fits in your hand. “Look at what you’ve done to me,” he says, his voice raspy as he guides your hand to stroke his cock. “Feel how hard I am for you, feel how much I want you.”

His cock practically pulses with need, the tip slick with pre-come and you grasp him more firmly, your cunt pulsing as he gives a deeply satisfying groan.

You stroke him from base to tip, squeezing lightly. He groans again. “They told me to stay away from you, you know,” he says.

You aren’t so far gone that you can let this information slip by. “What? Who?”

“Stark. Rogers. Romanoff. My brother.” He reaches behind you and shoves the fruit and cutting board into the side, the knife clattering into the sink. “They saw how I looked at you,” he says. “They saw that I wanted you. They told me you were too good for me. Too sweet.”

You feel your jeans and underwear melt away in a shimmer of green and he lifts you easily onto the counter.

His eyes flash with desire. “I wonder what they’d say if they knew you’d let me fuck you raw in the middle of the kitchen?”

For a brief moment, frustration almost wins out over your lust. “We could have done this sooner?”

His gaze turns serious. “Darling, we could have done this the moment we met, but I’m told a handshake is more appropriate.”

You take a breath, about to embark on a rant about the individuals he’d named and how they hadn’t even asked, they’d just assumed, but Loki puts a hand up against your mouth.

“Don’t make me wait any longer,” he says. There’s a sincerity and a need in his gaze that you’ve never seen before and it’s enough to calm your anger for just a moment.

“Okay,” you say, wrapping your legs around his waist and angling your hips toward his, “but clear your schedule because I’m gonna need you to fuck me a lot to make up for all that time.”

His grin is feral as he pushes into you.

You shiver at the blunt stretch of his cock, your hands gripping his broad shoulders. He indulges in a low groan as his hips press flush against yours.

“If I’d known they were keeping me from this tight cunt, I would’ve done something sooner,” he rasps. “You feel absolutely perfect.”

“Please,” you breathe, “I need—please.”

His hips snap hard against yours and you moan, your head tipping back.

His eyes glitter as he pulls you close, pressing his mouth against your ear. “The next time I have you, I will be sweet and soft.”

“And this time?” you ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“This time—” His mouth presses against the curve of your neck, teeth scraping just this side of too hard against the tender skin. “—I’m going to utterly ruin you.”

His pace is fast and rough—the word possessive comes to mind. You twist the luxurious fabric of his sweater in your hands as his cock hits that sweet, aching spot inside of you, pressing against your sensitive cunt in a way that makes your muscles spasm and clench around him. You moan, a shiver rolling through you as you inch closer to release.

“I’m…fuck, I’m getting close,” you gasp.

His pace abruptly slows and his grin is wide and his eyes are dancing with mirth when he raises his head from your shoulder.

“That was unnecessary,” you say with a scowl.

“Oh, I just want to savor you for a little longer, my love,” he purrs as he settles into an easy and slow pace that still makes your toes curl. “You’re going to take me right over the edge with you and I’ve waited so terribly long to have you.”

“I feel like you’re probably omitting the fact that you like being a tease,” you say.

He grins again, increasing his pace ever so slightly. “Both things can be true.”

He does this a few times—taking up a wicked pace that almost sends you hurtling over the edge, only to slow at the last possible moment, silencing your whimpering protests with a deep and slow kiss that is good enough to make you forgive him until a few minutes later when he does it all over again.

You hold out for as long as you can, but eventually, the ache in your hips overwhelms you.

“Loki,” you breathe when his pace again begins to increase. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he rasps, somehow finding the concentration to raise an eyebrow. “You’re quite sure?”

You nod.

“You want to come all over my cock?”

Speech is slightly beyond you at this point, but you manage to gasp a desperate plea as you hurtle into the final plateau, right before the fall.

Loki regards you with that same playful look as he fucks you. You wait, unsure of what he’s going to do, your body desperately crying out for your release.

His lips curl into a smile. “Come for me, sweet thing.”

At the sound of his voice, every one of your muscles is tensing and releasing, the slick walls of your cunt clamping down hard on the thick girth of his cock as you shudder and moan.

The remnants of Loki’s composure are fraying, his eyes closed and his jaw slack as he chases his own end. His brow furrows and he throws his head back, letting out a low groan as he comes and you think it might be the best sound you’ve ever heard.

You sag against him as you both come down from your respective highs, his heart beating hard under the soft fabric of his sweater. He reaches for your face, tilting your head back so he can kiss you, impossibly slow and soft.

You’re in the middle of the kitchen. You understand this. In a wholly rational world, you would be quick to hop off the counter, quick to try and negotiate the return of your jeans from whatever pocket dimension he’s sent them to.

Instead, you find yourself wanting to stay in this moment, with his arms wrapped around you, his cock still pulsing inside you as he kisses you breathless.

You count to ten, then twenty. At forty, you draw back slightly, only to have him pull you back into the kiss.

It’s somewhere after one hundred when he trails his lips to your neck and you manage to say what you intended: “We should probably…” you trail off as he sucks at your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine.

“We should probably what?” he murmurs against your neck, before tracing a lazy figure eight with the tip of his tongue.

It takes you a moment to find that sentence. “Get dressed and such.”

You feel the sharp press of his smile against your skin. “I think not.”

Before you can open your mouth to say anything, the kitchen is fading in a shimmer of green to an unfamiliar bedroom and the two of you tumble into a bed draped in green silk.

“I’d like to stay like this for a while,” he says, a smile playing at his lips as he slowly rolls his hips against you, somehow still impossibly hard. “In fact, I think I need to have you again.”

“I can live with that,” you say. You tug at the fabric of his sweater. “But this is going to have to go.”

His gaze is smoldering and his bare skin is suddenly pressed against yours as the sweater and the rest of your clothes disappear in that familiar shimmer of green.

“Will you like me as much without it?” he asks, rolling his hips against you.

You drag your fingernails up along the firm muscles of his back. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Good,” he says, leaning in to kiss you, “because as I understand it, we have quite a lot of time to make up for.”

[dredgesnails]

stardew valley au where joel and skizz are new residents to pelican town (hermit town?). joel just inherited a large farm from his late grandfather and skizz is moving in with his old friend after reconnecting with him and wanting a fresh start. and the townspeople are like, kinda weird.

bdubs is fine enough - he’s a sweet man with a fun personality and he’s the local builder, but it’s almost frightening how fast he constructs new buildings when joel needs them. pearl, their resident postmaster, is also pretty normal other than the fact that skizz never seems to be awake early enough to catch her delivering mail. scar is lovely but he’s never available when joel wants another chicken. the mayor, xisuma, is pleasant too, if a little eccentric at times, but he doesn’t really seem to do much in town.

for the most part, skizz is settling in well. he’s moved in with impulse, who runs the local blacksmith in town, and he gets along well with most of the local townspeople. he’s started spending his evenings at the local saloon listening to ren regale the patrons with fantastical tales while he and stress serve up food and drinks, and he finds himself growing close with cleo, the local sculptor. he even gets a new wardrobe from hypno free of charge, and sometimes helps cub out with his totally scientific studies and creations.

skizz also joins forces with beef (who helps to supply the local general store that xb and keralis run) in terrorising the local manager of the corporate chain grocery store that no one likes. doc is a terrible manager but would make a fun supervillain (according to joe hills, the bookseller who appears once in a blue moon but seems to know doc more than anyone in town).

joel, on the other hand, seems to only be interacting with the strangest residents in town. he discovers the adventurer’s guild after only a couple weeks, and is only somewhat irritated by iskall’s refusal to pronounce his name correctly. false promises to give him prizes if he can kill enough monsters, which is not something joel had expected to be doing when he pictured farm life, but here he is. he stumbles upon a travelling cart one day, and the man inside insists he’s a knight from a faraway land, that he risked his life to make it all the way here to sell his wares. it’s all stuff joel can get cheaper elsewhere.

he’s pretty sure the local doctor has no real medical training, but then he passes out while fighting monsters and he wakes up completely fine, so zedaph probably knows what he’s doing. maybe. when joel isn’t passing out he sometimes makes trips to the library-slash-museum, which is probably almost completely empty because mumbo, who begs joel for anything to display, looks like he’s never fought a duggie in his life. eventually mumbo gives joel a key to the sewers, which are way cooler than they have any right to be, and that’s where he finds jevin’s secret sewer shop. jevin lives in town. he just also has a shop hidden underground. joel has stopped asking questions by now.

and then there are the three who live by the beach. etho spends most of his time tinkering around the fishing hut or hovering around bdubs, but sometimes he drives the bus to the desert. only sometimes. there might be something under his mask. no one knows for sure. gem runs the fish shop most days and she claims she’s a sailor, but joel has never seen a single working boat around despite all the ocean. she can also hold her breath underwater for an uncannily long amount of time, like, scarily so, and will sometimes disappear for a few days and return with an abundance of treasures. joel has never seen her leave by boat. grian fishes a lot and runs the shop when gem can’t, and he sometimes talks as though the sea can speak to him. skizz has caught him staring into space for extended periods of time. one time he waded into the water and just stood there, head down, muttering to himself.

apparently there used to be a lighthouse but “it’s gone now”. gem says if they ask bdubs nicely enough maybe they can build another one, but she and grian are banned from build requests after the last incident with their pet snails (joel has never seen the snails, but scar complains about them enough to convince him they’re real).

there also might be some kind of wizard who lives in the creepy tower in the woods. skizz has heard he’s the one who helps maintain the power in the valley, and joel’s convinced he hallucinated seeing him once until he recieves a letter from the wizard himself, and visits him only to find that the strange fire-creature he saw that one time was, in fact, tango, who is human for the most part, he just sets himself on fire sometimes.

[john-smith0105]

Managing construction projects effectively requires attention to key principles. Here are six essential tips for successful project management in construction.

[kartoshinki]

writing my intro after two beers is a fantastic idea, there is absolutely zero possibility of me just falling into emotional, polemic rants about anti-scientific reactionaries and other transphobes being dickheads AND stupid

[heich0e]

suna recently moved into a new place.

the building he's in now is much nicer than the last one he lived in, and in an even better part of town, too—it's a newly built place that's still only half-occupied, leaving him with so few neighbours on his floor that he claims sometimes it feels like he's got the whole building to himself.

living in a new-build (a half-build, technically, since there's still active construction happening in some of the units on other floors) presents its own unique challenges, though. since no one's ever lived in his unit before him, he's sort of like the guinea pig; the first to discover which of the design elements are functional and which aren't. like how the tap in his bathroom had accidentally been installed backwards, so the hot and cold water markers were switched—a realization he regrettably only came to after stepping into an ice cold shower for the first time.

or how the intercom system in the building isn't quite up and running yet, so every time he has guests over he has to come all the way down to the lobby to let them in himself.

"wow, what are the chances of running into you here?" rintarou drawls as he opens the building door for you, allowing you to step in out of the cool night outside.

pretty good, you'd wager, because he knew you were coming and had to be here to let you in.

you're too tired to make any sort of snarky remark though, shooting him a pointed look instead as you step past him in the doorway and into the lobby's warmth. coming to suna's place had been a last minute decision made late in the evening when a poorly-timed (or well-timed on his part) text landed in your inbox; you weren't dressed for the weather, but had been close enough to walk from the little bar where a few of your friends had gathered that evening.

"cold out?" he asks you as he lets the door swing shut, turning and following along behind you as you begin making your way towards the elevator.

"freezing," you reply, still holding your coat tightly around your frame. you're narrowly fighting back the way your teeth threaten to chatter.

"sorry, I came down as soon as you called to tell me you were on your way," rintarou frowns a little as he takes in the way you have your arms wrapped around yourself for warmth.

"no, i know," you wave off his concern, pressing the UP button on the panel next to the elevator in the lobby. "i should have called sooner but i didn't want to take my hands out of my pockets since it was so cold on the walk here."

you'd only fished your cellphone out of your pocket when the building was in sight a few metres down the road, preserving every little bit of warmth you could for as long as possible.

"you know, you wouldn't need to wait for me to let you in if you'd just let me give you a key fob."

the elevator doors slide open to take you both up to rintarou's floor, and your glance over at him from the corner of your eye as the two of you step inside.

you don't want one of suna's key fobs. firstly because he'd already broken the only spare he had thanks (indirectly) to you—having once tried to toss it down from his third floor balcony while you were waiting out front in the middle of the night. it had landed on the pavement underfoot and shattered into approximately a million pieces—leaving him down to only the one connected to his own key ring. he'd told you it really wasn't that expensive to get his building manager to replace it, but you'd vehemently spurned the suggestion, which brings you to the second point—

having a key to rintarou's place (however temporary) just feels too... serious.

too serious for you and him, and whatever this decidedly unserious thing between you is, anyway.

"who's to say you won't destroy that one too?" you brush off his suggestion as the elevator doors slide closed.

the inside of the elevator still has those thick, padded blankets hanging up to protect the mirrored walls while they finish construction, and still have people constantly moving boxes and furniture and whatever else into the vacant units units. it makes the already confined space feel even smaller, and you try to ignore it as suna presses the button for his floor on the panel off to the side of the doors.

"fine, freeze then," rintarou shrugs, but you can feel his eyes on the side of your face.

"the cold wasn't even the bad part," you sigh, wincing a little as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. "i haven't worn these boots out before and my feet are killing me."

suna glances down at your feet, taking in the knee high boots you have on your feet.

"oh," he says, his tone a bit different now in a way that makes you look at him suspiciously. "those are nice."

"you're such a freak," you laugh under your breath and he peeks up at you without a hint of guilt on his face.

"i mean it," he insists.

"i know you do," you snort.

the elevator dips slightly as it arrives to rintarou's floor, and it makes you wobble a bit unsteadily. rintarou wraps his arm around your waist to steady you without missing a beat.

"they really hurt that bad?" he asks, peering down at you curiously.

from this close you can see just how unfairly long his eyelashes are, and how they flutter as he blinks down at you. you hate how nice it is to feel his warmth seeping into you when he holds you like this. you hate the thought of him stepping away again even more.

"yeah, it's my own fault though," you answer quietly.

the elevator doors slide open, and you move to step out, but rintarou rushes ahead of you. you watch, confused, as he crouches down just on the other side of the threshold of the sliding doors.

"really?" you ask him with a laugh, rolling your eyes as he waits for you to climb up on his back.

but it's late, and you're tired, and your feet hurt.

(and you really like how warm he is, even if you'll never say it.)

so you carefully hop on, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, and let him carry you off in the direction of his apartment—endlessly grateful for how few units on his floor are leased, and therefore how your chances of running into anyone in your current state are lowered.

you can only see the slightest bit of rintarou's profile while he carries you like this, but you can tell even from the glimpse you get that he's looking awfully smug as he carries you to his door.

"don't look so pleased with yourself," you mutter, squeezing your legs a bit tighter around his waist in warning.

rintarou's hands slip down from where he was loosely holding you behind your knees until they grasp your thighs and the leather upper of your boots.

"these really are nice you know," suna remarks quietly, his thumbs brushing along some of the stitching at the sides.

"i'm not keeping them on in bed," you warn him flatly, his apartment door now in sight at the other end of the hall.

"why not?" suna sounds so plaintive it almost makes you laugh. his grip slips all the way down to your ankles now. "it's not like they can hurt your feet while you'll be on your back, anyway."

"rintarou!" you hiss, slapping one of your hands over his mouth to shut him up, scandalized at what he's said in the middle of the hallway—lack of neighbours or not.

you feel his lips spread in an obnoxious grin under your palm, but you don't dare pull it away.

"keep it up and you're getting thrown off the balcony next, pervert."

[sprout-fics]

Tag, You're It: Part Two

(Poly 141 x F! Reader) 18+

Masterlist

Rating: Explicit, 18+ WordCount: 6.3k Tags: F! Reader, Minors DNI, Chase/Takedown, Hunter/Prey, Anal sex, Anal fingering, Dirty talk, Consent checks, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Semi-Public sex, Edging, Orgasm delay, Orgasm Denial, PriceGaz, Phone sex by technicality Warnings: Mild Consensual Non Consent

You manage to avoid Gaz and Price- up until you don’t.

It’s after sunset when you finally pause to take a breather, hidden in the shadows of the empty drill area. Darkness shrouds the shanty buildings and hastily constructed walls, slanting shadows through the distant flood lights that illuminate the rest of the base. 

You had caught some strange looks from some of the recruits earlier in the day, looking a little disheveled from your earlier encounter with Soap and Ghost. You can still feel the mess between your thighs, the drip of Johnny’s spend oozing from your entrance into your panties. You had managed to scrub most of Simon’s cum off your face, enough so it isn’t noticeable by anyone who you pass. Just as long as they don’t look too closely. It makes your skin shiver, a little embarrassed, shamefully turned on that you’re walking around with an ever-present reminder of their claim on you.

Cold air seeps into your lungs as you breathe, doubled over after your short sprint past the guards. The damp mist of it curls away from your lips like smoke, legs trembling a little with exertion. Yet beneath the fatigue there’s still a low, thrilling excitement at this game you’re playing, knowing that for now- you’re winning.

Price and Gaz have yet to find you. You gave them the slip earlier as they stalked you through the outer perimeter of the base, their forms slipping through the trees in search of you. They had been hard to spot, you hadn’t even noticed them sweeping the forest for you. Not a word had been spoken between them as they searched for you, and with your heart racing in your throat you had prayed simultaneously that they would pass you by and discover you hiding.

You’d pressed yourself flat against the dirt, shielded by ferns and through some miracle, they had passed you. That had been hours ago. Now, with darkness fallen, you know there’s no holds barred the closer the clock ticks to midnight, counting down the minutes until the end of this game. 

You hear it then, as you heave an exhale against the side of the hastily constructed buildings, intended for sweeping houses and sniper shoot outs. It’s distant, an unintentional crunch of boots against gravel, and it has your ears attuning to the smallest noise in the distance- a low voice that murmurs into a radio. 

“Roger, Cap.”

Gaz.

Instantly the air in your chest seems to freeze, and you barely stop yourself from sucking in another breath that the sergeant might hear, close as he already is. He sounds like he’s on the opposite side of the building, slowly circling to your position. With every heartbeat he creeps closer, tracing the scent of you through the evening darkness.

For a moment you consider a mad dash to freedom to escape Gaz’s slow but silent pursuit. Yet if your previous instance with Soap and Ghost is anything to go by, you know exactly how that will end. 

Then again, that’s the fun of it all.

A murmur, quieter this time, and you’re unable to make out the words. Yet it’s closer, and your heart hammers louder in your chest in response. You wonder if maybe he’ll hear it, hear your unsteady breathing, might somehow smell the arousal on you that rises with every shaky inhale. 

It’s no good. You’re too exposed where you stand, just on the outside of the building, out in the open as moonlight streams onto your wide eyes, your back plastered to the wall. If Gaz walks by he’ll spot you instantly. You can almost imagine the smirk of self-satisfaction at having found you, eyes twinkling with victory. It makes your eyes narrow, your blood rising with determination. 

You sink, crouch and listen to the subtle shift of him in the near distance. You think you hear Gaz’s footsteps somewhere behind the building, but it’s unclear which direction they’re headed. A gamble then, to make sure you flank him and escape. 

Your movements are slow, like a puma stalking through the undergrowth. You’ve learned your lesson from earlier- more careful where you put your feet, gentle with your breathing, ears attuned to every whisper of sound that comes from Gaz’s direction. As you round the corner of the edifice there’s only silence, and a peek reveals he isn’t there either. So, you stand, slowly, press yourself to the wall and slink along the exterior. 

A crackle of a radio. A huff. 

Gaz blinks abruptly into existence in the path ahead, nothing there until you suck in a breath and he’s just there. His form coiled, ready and before you can even finish processing that damned smirk he launches himself at you. 

You yelp, bolt in the direction you came, but surprise dulls your movements, has your feet skid along the dirt. It takes mere moments for Kyle to seize you by the back of your shirt, spin you off balance and push your front up against the outside of the building. 

“Target captured.” He huffs into his radio, pleased, and there’s a pause and a crackle before an answering huff of laughter greets your ears. Price. 

“Good work sergeant.” The captain praises and oh. That makes sense. No doubt Price is somewhere nearby, watching, observing, reporting your movements as Gaz does the dirty work of stalking you through the training area. You should have known. 

“Hi Cap.” You breathe, torn between annoyance and amusement. You hear Price chuckle on the other end of the radio, and you know that sound. Know the feeling of it rumbling through you with his chest pressed against yours, his weight pushing you down into the mattress. It melds with the scent of Kyle clouding your senses, making your eyes flutter and your gut stir with a silky, slick desire. 

“Made it easy for us, didn’t you love?” Price taunts, and you grunt at that, wiggling in Gaz’s grip with little success.

“Ah ah.” Kyle scolds, tightening his hold on you until a hiss of pain threatens behind your teeth. “You’re not getting away. We’ve been tracking you since we saw you escape the warehouse.”

You pause at that, blinking as you process Gaz’s words. That had been hours ago, you thought you’d shaken them more than once, but now you realize the game they’d been playing the entire time. Getting close enough to drink in your scent and then smiling to each other, letting you escape out from under them, if only to prolong the excitement of the chase just a little longer. 

Toying with their food.

You go lax in your surprise, and Gaz’s hands soften on you as a result. It’s a split-second decision on your part, entirely instinctive as you thrash and somehow shake him off, boots skidding as you bolt.

Gaz yelps with surprise, reaching for you and coming up only with air. You hear Price bark an order at the sergeant, but Gaz is already moving, giving chase. 

You manage to make it around the corner, and not weighed down by the same gear Gaz is wearing you manage to put valuable distance between you both. Yet Gaz is still hot on your heels, huffing a gritted little “Why you little-” somewhere behind you. It makes an almost hysterical laugh bubble up your throat, breathless, choked on a toxic combination of delight and adrenaline.

You weave between the shanty buildings, taking sharp corners and trying desperately to shake him. Yet it seems every time you manage to get just enough of a gap on him, Gaz manages to close the distance, Price chattering in his ear and informing him of your every movement.

It’s the captain’s words, then, that pilfer away the remainder of your luck.

You run around a corner and run straight into Gaz’s chest with a breathless little ‘oof’, reeling backwards a moment too late. Gaz reaches out, catches both your wrists in his fists, hauls you off balance so he can press your back up against a wall, his knee wedged between your thighs. 

“Going somewhere?” He asks cheekily, panting past the delighted, thrilled smile that spreads across his face.

“Trying to.” You answer, equally breathless. Gaz huffs a laugh at your reply, and raises his knee just an inch higher, enough to make you shudder a gasp of sensation as it grinds against the apex of your thighs.

“Atta boy, Gaz.” Price rumbles in Gaz’s radio, and he also sounds pleased, drinking in the easy victory.

You crane your head a little, unintentionally baring the bare flesh of your neck to the sergeant- a mistake. Gaz leans forward abruptly, mouth pressing against the skin there and letting his tongue go flat over the spot he’s seized before he seals his lips over the spot and sucks.

Your knees tremble under you unexpectedly, and you moan at the bite of pain and pleasure as Kyle sucks a dark hickey into your neck. His entire front is flat against yours, bracing you against the rough brick of the wall behind you, allowing you no escape from his onslaught. The wavering, licking flame of need inside you blazes brightly at the sensation, shuddering as the heat pulses low in your core, slick and warm and empty. It only grows when Gaz shifts just enough for him to expertly roll his hips into your own, teasing you with just a moment of dizzying, needed friction.

“Let’s take our captive somewhere…a little more intimate.” Price encourages darkly as Kyle parts from you. You shudder at the tenor of his voice, with Kyle pressed flat against your front, your hands caught in his, his breath fogging against your shoulder. You’re already panting, a little dizzy off a few touches alone and it’s unfair how Gaz can do this to you when he’s this wound up, laying his intentions into your sensitive skin until you puddle into his touch.

“The building to your right, with the window and the desk.” The captain goes on, and Kyle grunts as you hauls you to him, your feet skidding as you attempt to thrash him off. It’s useless, and the thought that maybe you’ll manage to evade them again dims quickly into nothing. 

It doesn’t take long for Gaz to bend you forward over the desk, forcing your hands up above your head so they grip the opposite side. His lips trail the shell of your ear and you shudder, containing a sound of want that bubbles up inside you. 

“Keep them there for me, won’t you, doll?” He breathes, and gods, the lust in his voice is so evident it renders you soft, malleable under him, a quick and painless surrender that forces the air from your chest in a sigh. 

“Good. I can see you.” Price’s voice filters through the radio, and Gaz takes a hand to tilt your head towards the window, to the rise in the distance from which the moon hangs low in the sky. 

“Smile for the captain, pretty girl.” Gaz taunts, and you feel heat rise to your face at the realization Price is going to watch, going to tell his sergeant exactly how to defile you before he drags you to his captain like a prize.

It’s as if Price can read your mind, can see your expression through his scope in the distance, for you hear his voice rumble through the static with a chuckle. 

“That’s right, love. Gaz here is going to warm you up for us, and then bring you in like a proper soldier. Isn’t that right, Garrick?”

“Yes sir.” Gaz breathes, and before you can even make a sound his hand seizes the waistband of your trousers and drags them down over the swell of your ass in one quick movement, baring your bottom to the cold night air. You suck in a bright gasp of air but make no motion to try and stop him as you did with Soap and Ghost- Gaz is gentler, more tender, might mistake your feigned protests for genuine distress. Instead, you levy him a look over your shoulder with heavy, lidded eyes, a wordless temptation in your gaze.

C’mon then, soldier.

Gaz grins.

“Looks like Ghost and Soap had their fun already.” He teases as a finger trails through your cum-slicked folds and you jerk a little at that, automatically trying to squirm away a little in embarrassment. Yet Gaz merely hums at the mess he finds there, finding the smeared drip of Johnny against your hole and pressing it back inside.

“No moving.” Price admonishes when you squirm, press back towards Gaz in a mild attempt to try and get his fingers a little deeper. You try to heed your captain’s warning and stay still but you can’t- not when Kyle’s fingers circle your entrance and find a fresh wave of arousal coating his fingers, his murmur of “Oh, good girl~” makes you whine and squirm, flush with the praise.

You yelp, however, when there’s suddenly a hand landing sharply on your exposed asscheek, fingers gripping the corner of the desk just as Kyle settles his weight behind you, the growing hardness in his crotch bumping against your ass. 

“You heard the captain.” The sergeant reprimands smugly, soothing the area with his palm. “Stay still for us.”

There’s a pause then, over the radio, and you wonder if Price is trying to collect himself at the sight of you splayed forward, out in the open, with his sergeant gently stroking your pink asscheek as he rocks into you from behind. You whimper.

“Color.” Is all Price supplies after a moment, and your answer is ready, face hot, limbs trembling, need coiling sharply in your stomach at the strain in his voice. 

“Green.” You breathe. “Green, fucking green, cap, god- please, I- ah!!”

You gasp loudly when Kyle’s hand lands in the exact same spot, body jolting as the noise trails off into a groan, low and heady, head falling forwards in surrender. 

“That’s no way to talk to your superior officer.” He laughs, and you glance over your shoulder at him accusatorily, only to catch the playful bright glimmer of his eyes.

Price hums over the radio, the sound smoky and gritty in the best of ways and the sound alone has you moan, unable to contain yourself despite the lecherous shame of being so open, so ready for them.

“Where did Soap and Ghost leave their mark?” Price asks smoothly, and once more Gaz’s fingers dip into the mess of your cunt as you struggle to keep yourself upright against the desk.

“Her pussy, sir.” Gaz answers perfunctorily, and for some reason it’s so arousing the way they’re talking over your head so casually, like you aren’t even there.

“Open her up then, sergeant.” Price orders, and you hear how his voice is caught in his throat with a dark, yearning hunger, wanting to sink his teeth into you and take, take whatever you can give him, and then somehow demand more.

“Yes, sir.” Gaz breathes, and he shifts so he can pull something from his vest, a little pop as the thing opens. You remain where you lay, legs trembling a little, breathing uneven and dizzy with desire, eyes blinking hazily as the aphrodisia of them both washes over your senses, muffles them in a spinning, avid want that boils low in your stomach, needing more. It tightens across your hips, sears inside your chest and when Gaz’s hand smoothes over the sting of your ass you hiss at him to just get on with it-

Another smack, this one gentler than the one before but still enough to make your voice rise abruptly, fingers clenching at the edge of the desk. 

“Shh, shh, shhh.” Gaz hushes sweetly, and before you can regain your bearings there’s the cold, wet drip of something against your asshole so sudden it makes you flinch.

“Easy, doll.” He tries again, pressing low and warm over the arch of your spine, craning up so his lips flutter on your nape. “Gonna make you feel good, promise. Just be good for us. Yeah?”

You force yourself to breathe as Gaz’s finger circles your asshole, spreading the slick of the lube salaciously there, not yet pressing in, gentling you to his touch.

“Yeah?” He asks once more, nose buried in your hair as the hot, shuddering breath of him blankets across your nape. It draws you down heavy into omnipresent need, sinks you further into his touch until you’re limp, lost to him. 

“Y-yeah.” You whine back, voice high and reedy as you feel him smile into your skin. 

“Good girl.” 

You feel him press his finger against your hole, and despite the resistance there he manages to wiggle the slicked digit inside, making a moan drop against the metal surface of the desk. It’s a little bit of a stretch at first, but Gaz is gentle as he gently pushes in, pulls out, bit by bit as he gets you used to the intrusion. 

“You need to relax, gorgeous.” He reminds you, a hand reaching over your head to tangle his fingers between yours as an anchor as you force yourself to breathe, relax, legs weakening under you. “There we go, that’s it.”

“Doing well, love.” Price murmurs over the radio, and that sends a flash of something that purrs low and hungry in your core, the praise that your captain gives you, more toxic than any other. Yet then his voice turns wolfish, dragging low across your senses as he adds “Such a good captive for us.”

You brace your head on the desk and whine.

“Oh, I know.” Gaz hushes you, raising off you so his warmth vanishes from your back, his hand settling on your nape instead and keeping you pinned to the desk. “I know it feels good, doll.” As he draws his finger back, squirting more gel between your asscrack so he can gently press a second one beside the first.

“F-fuck, Kyle, please-” You beg, not even sure at this point what you’re asking for. It’s just so much- being out here in the open, bent over for him as his captive, his endless endearments and praise, the lewdness of him fingering open your ass while Price watches-

You moan, loud and long, shameless, not caring if any lingering rookies around the training grounds hear you. It’s met with a sound of delighted disbelief from Kyle, a “That’s it, that’s the way-” as Price’s rumbling, pleased hum crackles through the radio. 

“God, you should hear yourself.” He tells you, his own voice wrecked at the sound of you, at the obscene squelch of him drawing his fingers out, only to push them back in. “Sounds like sin, doesn’t she, Cap?”

Price growls, and the drag of the noise from his chest is only accentuated by the radio’s echo, making you grip the desk and look to the hill where you think he is. 

“Keep your eyes up here, soldier.” He tells you, and you can hear the ravenous hunger in his voice. You wonder if he’s palming himself through his pants, getting himself off to the sight of Gaz fingering you open and smoothing his hands over you like he’s admiring a prized weapon. 

“W-wouldn’t have them anywhere else, sir.” You manage between breaths, and you can imagine his smile tugs at his lips. You wonder if he’s smoking, imbuing himself with the taste of tobacco and the sight of your debauchery.

Then Gaz presses low across your back, his warmth pressing into your spine just as his teeth skim over the shell of your ear. You shudder, try and arch under him prettily, encouraging him to touch you more, to lose the restraint he clamps onto with a soldier’s resolve. There’s a low, pleased tenor vibrating low in his chest, and with his other hand you feel his fingers press at your lips with a small “Open.”

You do, and without prompting your teeth secure on the material of his glove, securing it as he tugs free. It drops onto the desk beside his other one, and soon his thumb presses down on the cushion of your bottom lip, loosing a little shivering exhale as you take it in, begin to twirl your tongue around the digit shamelessly. You can hear his bitten back little groan above you at the sight, your eyes half lidded, mouth parted so your uneven exhales spill onto his open palm. 

“Bloody hell-” You hear Price bite over the radio, voice snappish, strained. It startles a barked little huff of laughter from Gaz above you, pinning you down to the desk with his full weight, preventing you from moving. 

“Like what you see, Cap?” He asks smugly, and Price hums low and dark over the radio like approaching thunder. It’s a warning, a reminder. Kyle may be touching you, may be lighting your skin on fire with smooth little touches and honey sweet praise, but it’s Price who’s making the calls here, watching you be taken apart piece by piece by his trusted sergeant until you have no choice but to surrender completely. 

“Let’s give Price something to really look at.” Gaz whispers in your ear, low and sultry, and you whine as his fingers retreat from your ass. Before you can try to question him his arm snakes under you, hauls you up against his front as he stands. You toss your head back against his shoulder as bare palm snakes under your shirt to grab the hem, pushing it up past your collarbone. You shiver at the chill of the air, feel Kyle roll the swell of your naked breast in his hand, fingers dipping into the supple flesh there. 

“Kyle-” You try, hands reaching up to secure on his forearm, trying to find an anchor as he kicks your legs a little wider apart under you. Gaz nuzzles up against the underside of your jaw, affectionate with dizzying desire, nudging it to the side so he can teeth over your pulse. “Kyle, please-”

“Please?” He asks, just a little mocking as he grinds his erection into your ass so you can feel the full length of him press into your form. “Please what?”

“Fuckin’ hell Kyle-” You manage as he revisits the bruise he’s sucking into your skin. “Just touch me already, fuck-”

“Have to ask the captain for that, doll.” He tuts, rolling his hips into your back with a grace that feels effortless. You teeth your lip, eyes scrunched shut, feeling the drip of lube between your asscheeks, feeling slick pool low between your legs as you clench around nothing. With the absence of Kyle’s fingers, you feel the emptiness inside you intensify, build upwards with a need that has no satisfaction.

“Please Price, please let him fuck me.” You plead, voice cracking with just a hint of desperation that you try to choke back, to no avail. 

“Think she deserves it?” Price asks Kyle, ignoring your little whimpered plea as he doesn’t answer you, fixing his scope on the sergeant instead.

“Dunno.” Gaz pants, rolling a nipple between his wet fingers. “But you’re gonna have to give me something here, cap. Getting a little impatient.”

“At ease, sergeant.” Price replies silkily, and how he appears so in control of himself despite the circumstances is beyond you- a concentrated focus driven from years and years of experience, an unwavering fixation on the mission before him. “Go on then.”

“Thank you sir.” He manages, using one hand to quickly pull at his pants, shoving them down just far enough to free his cock. You hear him fumble with a wrapper for a moment before rolling a condom down over his length. Yet even then he strokes it a few times, up and down against the swell of your back.

“Bleeding Christ, Gaz-” You snap, twisting just a bit to try and look at his half-lidded smirk, eyes cloudy with lust. “Get on with it.”

He only laughs, a little wicked, a little daring in the face of your impatience wearing thinner than his. 

“Since you asked nicely, darling.” He supplies before scooting you forward, helping you lift a leg until your boot plants on the table, spreading yourself as he lines up the head of his cock with your ass. Yet then his voice dips low, a little more serious as he offers “Deep breath.”

You do as instructed, and with a little whine and a press, the flushed head of his cock manages to pop inside the ring of your asshole. He gives you a moment to adjust, kneading gentle circles into your hip as encouragement before pressing a little further, a little deeper, his voice a long, low, muffled groan against your bare shoulder. 

“Y-yeah, that’s it.” He pants, hauling you back against him so he can angle himself just right. You can feel the pulse of him inside you, warm and slick as he presses further into you. “F-fuck I’m not gonna last long with you wrapped around my cock like this.”

“Describe it to me, Kyle.” Price purrs over the radio, and Kyle’s sweaty forehead drops against your nape as you shudder and gasp under him. 

“Tight.” Kyle strains, fingers now digging into the meat of your thigh, fit to bruise. “Hot, tight, f-feels good.”

Yet then he braces his chin over your shoulder, letting his fingers wander to your front and grasp lightly at your neck to hold your head upright. 

“You good?” He asks gently, so different than the mocking, teasing tenor of him just moments ago. No, this is your Kyle. Sweet, indulgent, adoring and focused entirely on you and nothing else. You nod against him, biting back the small amount of discomfort before he achingly rolls his hips into you, a slow, drawn-out motion that allows you to adjust to his length buried inside you. There’s a little whine of something, caught between pain and pleasure that you don’t choke down in time, and before Gaz can react you hear Price’s voice pressing up into your ear, Kyle’s radio close to your face.

“Give her something to distract her.” Price suggests, and wordlessly Kyle’s hand falls to the spread folds of you, his slick thumb rolling, searching as you buck your hips with the slightest amount of pressure that spikes electricity sharp in your veins. 

“There it is.” He huffs smugly as his thumb presses down on your clit and you jerk reflexively at the bright, searing spark of pleasure there, clenching down on him and forcing a cracked little moan to breathe across your nape. He presses a kiss there, tender and sweet, before he begins to grind the pad of his finger in neat little circles, finally giving you the friction you so desperately desire.

It feels good.

Gaz has a certain mastery with his fingers that comes with his adoration of weapons. He caresses you the way he would a prized rifle, traces his fingers along the joint of your thighs, feels the kickback of you as you moan and writhe on his cock. His forefinger presses down featherlight on the trigger and you feel yourself ready to release on his hand. Yet he keeps you at bay, refuses to take the shot. 

Instead, he ruts into the swell of your ass, uses one hand curled around your hip to fuck you forwards into the other, fingers delving between your folds and collecting arousal between the pads. His nose buries against your nape, where he chants an endless litany of yearnings that sets fire to the underside of your skin. The slick, wet, coiling pressure of your desire spills across his hand, drips wet down the inside of your thighs as the hilt of his hips presses deeper every thrust. You open up for him, sweet and gentle, until at last you feel his pelvis lay flat against the curve of your ass. 

You can’t stop making noise, too gone to care about some base patrolman out after dark ensuring no recruits are skulking around the training area. Your voice drops heavy and long from your chest, rising into high little keens with every passing graze of Gaz’s fingers on your clit.

Unexpectedly, Gaz groans loudly into your ear, his hand on your hips clenching down with bruising intensity as his voice asks: “Enjoying yourself, Sir?”

You blink glassy eyes forward, not sure how you didn’t hear it until now, the lewd shlick shlick shlick barely audible over the radio as Price tries to time his thrusts with Gaz. You buck forward into Gaz’s hand at the reminder you’re being watched, that Price is enjoying this just as much as you are, at Kyle burying himself inside you while you rock your hips forward onto his hand in search of release. 

“Affirmative.” Price grunts, and you can hear the gritted arousal in his voice as he strokes himself to the sight of you broken apart on Gaz’s cock. Gaz rolls himself with a sensuous mastery of rhythm, his front plastered to your back with every deep, slow, unyielding thrust into you. Every rock forward has him pressing his fingers down on your clit, drawing you back with every retreat, keeping your orgasm at bay as you grip at him blindly, trying to seek purchase against the unfurling warmth in your core. 

“The sight of you both.” Price growls over the radio, and you can’t even begin to imagine yourself. Bare, legs spread, the glisten of your arousal dripping between your thighs, head thrown back and lip swollen from your teething. Behind you Gaz pants in low, ragged exhales that trickle down your spine, brow scrunched in pleasure and concentration. There’s a thin sheen of sweat that covers you both, has you glowing in the moonlight like nocturnal, wild animals. 

It’s ruinous, Gaz plays you like a fiddle, breathes in your desire like it’s his own. It rises in you like the crest of a wave, but every time you think your climax will break he pulls his fingers away just in time, sending you hurtling back down into nothingness. You whimper your protest, trying to find the breath between words to plead with him.

“Kyle, Kyle please. I just- I’m so close.” You beg, voice cracking high in your throat.

“Not yet.” He grunts into you, and picks up his pace with little warning, chasing his release to match yours. 

“That’s it, Kyle.” Price drawls over the radio. “Get our girl nice and ready for what comes next.”

You buck forward reflexively at the spike of pleasure that thought summons in you, the reminder that after this there’s still more. The day, despite its low hanging darkness, is far from over. The wild chase that began at dawn doesn’t end with sunset. No, it’s only at the midnight hour that you’re finally released, set free into the gentle embrace of their arms. 

Besides, Price hasn’t had his way with you yet.

“P-Price.” You whimper in a plea as Kyle’s fingers retreat again, and the pressure boiling inside you flattens into a low simmer once more. Kyle’s forehead presses into your shoulder, and for a moment he adjusts his grip on you, pausing before he resumes his pace faster, little shallow thrusts that have you choking on every cracked inhale. “Price-”

“Pay attention to your sergeant, love.” He reminds you, but his breathing harsh too, as you can hear the wet slide of his fist over his cock on the radio. 

“I-I can’t.” You try, grinding yourself down on Kyle’s fingers as they touch you once more, for only a few meager moments as your breath rises-

And your climax is taken away again with no end guaranteed. 

“Please.” You sob with a watery gasp, but Gaz is too lost to notice your pleas, his cock dragging with precise little punches of his hips as he groans a shuddering gasp into your back.

“Fuck this was a good idea.” He snaps unexpectedly, and you feel him twitch inside you, a little grunt swallowed as he tries to contain himself. “Can’t wait to have you again after this, doll. Watch everyone else have their way with you-”

His words are interrupted by Price, his own want echoing sharply over the radio with a crackling, forced exhale. 

“The things we have planned for you, darling.” He tells you wickedly, and you force yourself to breathe, mind running wild with imagination of what they’ll do to you, how they’ll fracture you down and down and down until there’s nothing left except wordless gasps of pleasure and the slick feeling of your release onto their waiting hands. 

“Getting close, cap.” Gaz announces quietly, his hand anchoring to your front clenching and releasing, trying to hold himself back until his captain gives the order. 

There’s a few moments of silence that have your breath hitch in your chest, wondering if Price is even listening, if he’s considering or just trying to chase his own release. Then-

“Go on sergeant, fill her up.”

“Yes, Sir.” Kyle enunciates, and gives a series of rapid, brutal thrusts before his hips stutter against you, his cock twitching inside you with his imminent release. You hear Price grunt a feral, broken sound, and it makes the rising pressure of your orgasm flare higher inside you at the thought of his own pleasure spilling across his closed fist at the sight of you both.

“Please please please-” You choke, trying to rock onto his hand, trying to chase your own orgasm with fervent desperation, rendered to nothing more than a blind instinct to find the end of yourself against his touch. 

Gaz presses his hips flush with yours with a loud, groaning sigh as his orgasm at last washes over him. He offers a few final, parting thrusts, gentle rolls of his hips forwards as he presses down on your clit wrong- intentionally staving off your climax. 

“Fuck-” You snarl at him, waspish, trying to close your hips, to press back, forward, something to find your release. “Gaz, Price, fuck. Just let me-”

“No.”

You feel the world shatter around you as Price’s voice cuts through the fog, blinking your hazy eyes open to look to the rise where you think he is, hoping he can see the confusion and devastation on your expression. Before you can protest Gaz is withdrawing his fingers from you completely, gently steadying you as he extracts himself. Whatever words you have next are interrupted with a little whine of discomfort from the motion, but Gaz only shushes you gently,  laying his hand flat against the underside of your thighs as he lowers it back to the ground.

“No-” You try, feeling your pleasure begin to simmer into nothingness, desperation clawing at your throat. You grasp blindly at Gaz for a moment before snaking a hand down to your clit to try and finish what he started.

Gaz’s hand only smacks yours away with a chiding little ‘tsk’ and you sob in dismay, clench your thighs and rock forward against nothing in a frenzied bid for release. 

“Sorry love, captain’s orders.” Gaz tells you, and at least there’s some sympathy there, just not enough to summon back your imminent climax. 

“You asshole-” You bite at him, spinning on your heel to face him. Gaz is ready for it, and he presses you back so your bare ass hits the edge of the table, forcing you to lean back. Your eyes dart down to where he hangs between his hips, his cum collecting in the rubber sealed over him. 

“Well, yours really.” He snarks back, and you frown severely up at him, trying once more to reach down to yourself in protest. Gaz snatches your wrists before you can, grins down at you with a dark mischief you’d forgotten he possessed. 

“Best secure her hands.” Price suggests idly, and you want to snap at him too, at the way his tone is so unbothered by your ruined orgasm. Without another word Gaz reaches down to his belt and produces a set of zip-ties. With practiced alacrity he spins you, forces your hands behind your back and secures them, far away from your pulsing core. A curse bites on your tongue, and you allow it to slip through before you can stop it. Kyle looks bemused at your voice, but it’s Price’s voice that speaks up next.

“That’s no way to speak to your superiors, soldier.”

You pause, muscles going rigid at the displeasure in Price’s voice, the stern, heavy rasp of him over the radio. It’s the same tone he uses when you’ve done something wrong, and it shudders shamefully through you as you realize you’ve made a fatal error in judgment.

You still have to face Price.

“Time to bring in our captive, sergeant.” The captain announces abruptly, suddenly all business again, brushing aside his orgasm from only moments ago. It whiplashes through you, the way he can just turn on his heel like that, have you whimpering for him one moment and then issuing orders the next. 

“Wh-wha-” You try, failing to find the axis on which to balance as Gaz goes about getting you dressed once more, taking off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders, pulling your pants on one leg at a time but stuffing your panties in his pocket with a devilish smile. You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, face warm and skin itching with unsatisfied need and annoyance. His eyes merely twinkle at you, delight and lust dancing clear across his gaze.

“Let’s go, pretty girl.” He tells you darkly, reaching for some strange, soft material in his back pocket and stretching towards you. “I think our captain has some questions for you.”

Darkness covers your sight.

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[bachassociates1]

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[flawseer]

Jade Mountain Academy students

#5 - Mudwing chapter

This entry might feel a bit less diversified than the ones before it. These are two sets of siblings who shared their respective clutch, so there are a lot of physical elements that are shared between them (I try to keep siblings from the same clutch relatively similar-looking, see Winter and Icicle in part 2). I hope these Mudwings still look different enough. I also gave them light-colored jaws because Clay had it on the cover of his book and I think Mudwings look cute like that. It helps their faces stand out in the graphic novel style.

Umber

Tribe - Mudwing

Winglet - Jade

Color - Burnt umber red

Relatives - Clay (brother), Sora (sister), Marsh (brother)

Clawmate(s) - Turtle (Seawing)

Favorite subject - Anatomy

Least fav. subject - History

Physical characteristics - curly horns; scar across snout; smallish stature, wiry with well-defined musculature

Other characteristics - socially outgoing and confident; mediative/soothing personality, eager to resolve conflicts

Sora

Tribe - Mudwing

Winglet - Gold

Color - Caramel brown

Relatives - Clay (brother), Umber (brother), Marsh (brother)

Clawmate(s) - Icicle (Icewing)

Favorite subject - Anatomy

Least fav. subject - History

Physical characteristics - curly horns; average size with well-defined musculature; slightly darker and broader than her brother Marsh (do not confuse)

Other characteristics - socially withdrawn (keep monitoring for now, suggest counseling if no improvement); appears to be suffering from post-traumatic stress (was approached, insists she is fine); avoidant behavior around Icewing and Seawing students (keep monitoring, discuss with staff how to approach); left academy grounds for a day without giving notice, claims to have needed to "clear [her] head", no further questioning at Clay's request (monitor future behavior, ask siblings to keep an eye on her)

Sepia

Tribe - Mudwing

Winglet - Silver

Color - Sepia brown

Relatives - Newt (brother)

Clawmate(s) - Fearless (Nightwing)

Favorite subject - Literacy

Least fav. subject - Science

Physical characteristics - horns with feathered edges; light neck scales; stature broad, heavyset, with well-defined musculature

Other characteristics - good work ethic, very motivated; bit of a temper; very argumentative (try to channel into constructive outlets)

Marsh

Tribe - Mudwing

Winglet - Copper

Color - Tawny brown

Relatives - Clay (brother), Umber (brother), Sora (sister)

Clawmate(s) - Coconut (Rainwing)

Favorite subject - Anatomy

Least fav. subject - Exercise

Physical characteristics - curly horns; average size with well-defined musculature; slightly narrower frame and lighter color than his sister Sora (do not confuse)

Other characteristics - fidgety, difficulty sitting still, habitually touches his talons; socially anxious (suggest relaxation seminar, maybe counseling); Bigwings reported allergy to walnuts; concerned about "ghosts" (suggest assembly to put persistent Stonemover rumor to rest for good)

Newt

Tribe - Mudwing

Winglet - Quartz

Color - Moss green

Relatives - Sepia (sister)

Clawmate(s) - Ermine (Icewing)

Favorite subject - Cultural Exchange

Least fav. subject - Exercise

Physical characteristics - horns with feathered edges; light neck scales; smallish stature with average build

Other characteristics - appears to enjoy preparing and sharing food (unobjectionable, but suggest seminar on allergy awareness); occasionally belligerent, anger-management issues (suggest counseling); clawmate reported incident of untoward aggression (suggest monitoring, counseling)

[waokevale]

The Overlapped AU [Aka Superhumans disguisted as Dinner Theater workers]

The Owners

The Managers (Engineer & the HR person)

The Waiters

The Security

The Performers (Wes is mostly on cleaning duty though)

The Kitchen staff (the others are usually tasked to help, though very few are actually trusted at all times to be there)

The Bartender and the Host

The Dishwashers

The Clerk & The Supplier

So this AU came to me upon a dream, and I just had to make it real...

The synopsis below:

The event of April 17th 1906 does happen, however instead of Charlie and Maxwell being kidnapped into the Constant, the Constant overlaps with the real world and spreads itself onto Earth.

Charlie and Maxwell in the process become corrupted and have to hide away temporarily. Both of them soon began to hear strange voices, source of which neither is quite sure, telling them, compelling them to hide the corruption's effect from the publicity, for the time being.

They come to a mutual realization they have to fix this mess somehow and hunt down any and all corrupted by the tome, by any means necessary.

(Maxwell still has codex umbra, but it is sealed shut for the time being until he's sure it won't spread more if Their influence. )

But the corruption didn't just appear out of nowhere, it's been leaking way long before Maxwell found the Codex, if to a less prominent extent.

Thus, in few years passing, they form a Dinner Theater, a rather inconspicuous establishment from the first glance. Very quickly they began "hiring" employees, which in reality means tracking down and blackmailing those who have been corrupted but not fully lost themselves to its effects, in order to hunt those who had.

Winona was against the idea at first, as she found out. But seeing the effects of corruption first hand, she quickly had a change of heart and integrated herself into Charlie's new environment.

Eventually they gathered a rather generous amount of people. Once a person's proven to be trustworthy to a point, they're give higher positions in the company.

However those who aren't, are likely to be shunned or "fired" which...you could probably guess what that means.

Many of these people gradually come to terms with the reality of their situation and accept their newfound purpose, being thankful that at least they still have a roof over their head and a warm meal, instead of being viewed as monsters or outcasts to the greater society.

(Wilson though, can't quite accept this notion. He keeps claiming that "this is just a big misunderstanding, I'm just a normal guy!" Yet the truth could be far from it.)

When Maxwell and Charlie hear of the danger looming, they immediately inform their "staff" of the matter. Those who are more experienced in combat come along to face whatever opponent may cross them, while those who aren't, stay behind, to be an additional aid or a medic in case the battle gets too intense.

Whenever any suspicion arises in the town about the shady business going on in that particular building, the two owners alongside their employees practically gaslight anyone and everyone into believing they're but the most regular entertainment center.

The characters who have either willingly or unwillingly lost their humanity, mostly in the physical sense, are given special devices constructed of Thulecite and bits of nightmare fuel (made by Winona, Wicker and the main two), which effectively hide away their true identity, or surpress the effects of their ailment.

There's also a few other people important to this story, especially the One, which even Charlie and Maxwell refer to as "The Boss", though what many most recent hires don't know, is that there's someone who's in a position much higher than the owners themselves, controlling their every move.

Correlating to that, another person, or rather, a set of people per se, working for a much different cause. Though most of them are "people" in only a visual sense of the word.

And while, there might be someone inside the well-known around town diner, who just might be more than what appears on the surface, literally and metaphorically this time.

__________

If you're interested to learn more about this AU, do let me know. If you have any questions, I'm happy to hear and answer them!