#high velocity minors

[pandadrake]

This isn't even a meme or anything. I just wanted to make Pikmin tutorial.

If you asked my personal opinion about these characters, I'd say they are flawed people who are ultimately good and well-meaning. I'm still out here drawing slander though, because it cracks me up.

Top image references official art of Captain Olimar from Pikmin. Bottom image is a draw over of that panel from Attack on Titan Ch79

[stellaskiesno1fan]

Who wants to come with me to put rocks through former chairman roses prison bars?

[planete777]

ONE TOO MANY・⁠｡♪ LN4

( lando norris x fem!reader )

IN WHICH. when one more orgasm is one too many (based on this ask)

WARNINGS. 18+, MINORS DNI!, p in v sex, high hotness (although not as pertinent, could really be read as sober sex tbh), unintentional overstimulation, a bit of crying, lando is a sweetheart

NOTE. pretty short, would probably be more of a drabble. nothing much to say other than this is not my best work but enjoy! credits to @benkeibear for the dividers.

SIDENOTE. my askbox is open! feel free to send in any thoughts, scenarios, requests etc for lando 🤍

‧₊˚✩彡 taglist @laciijane @ferrarrigirl @norrizzandpia (use askbox above if you'd like to be added!)

y/n feels lando everywhere, in places where she cannot ever fathom the tingles of pleasure reaching, and it succumbs her mind to a state of tattered mesh. the margin between euphoria and pain chips away in grand chunks, red swiftly dissolving in green and all ability to think dwindles.

usually, she's one to favour a bit of overstimulation, hence why lando currently slams his hips into hers, cock jabbing her cervix incessantly just succeeding 2 consecutive orgasms. yet, partnered with the fact that she's high out of her mind (leading to heavily amplified sensations) and how she already had her own fun before lando came home (and, by proxy, got high and excessively horny) meant that her body was on the verge of crying out in it all just exceeding the usual threshold.

she can feel her body shaking, head nudging the headboard with every thrust lando bestows, and it's like she's bouncing on hot lava: seconds of pure relief, startled by white heat.

there's barely any transition between the build up and her orgasm, the wave of aching pleasure crashing upon her in the blink of an eye, and her back arches completely off the bed.

"fuck fuck fuckkk-"

"yeah, that's it, baby," lando groans as he continues to snap his hips into her ass, "you're doing so well for me."

he's not stopping, and y/n can't blame him because it's quintessential that they go for longer. then lando's pace quickens and his dick seems to fly in and out of her that she can't answer what he asks.

"you can give me another, can't you?"

she wants to shake her head, but she's completely unmoving. her moans turn into silent, drunken puffs, eyes fused tightly shut as she digs her nails into the flesh of lando's muscular back. paradoxically, everything feels like nothing at all, and simultaneously, too much and her mouth flies open desperately in sobs and words as hands push into lando's sides to get him off.

"red! fuck— red, lando!"

it's with neck snapping velocity that he sheaths out of her, broken out of his high daze so rapidly that he feels disoriented. their safeword has never been used before, and now that it has, he feels like crying.

"shit, baby, i'm sorry," he presses kisses into her chest and face, concern multiplying when her sobs don't stop, "are you okay? what's wrong?"

"just too much today, sorry," she shifts to straighten out her leg but it jostles her throbbing cunt, making her wince. lando's frown deepens; it's not usually this painful for her.

"nothing to be sorry for, love," another peck is stuck on her lips, "let me get you a towel."

her throat clogs up, too enervated and satiated to reply, so she hums affirmatively instead. the bed dips and, with hooded eyes, she watches as he makes his way to the en suite, hears a few seconds of shuffling before the creak of tap and gushing water.

lando resurfaces seconds later, gently opening her legs before wiping her down. every touch heightens tenfold, and she pushes his hands away after a couple of swatches.

lando's eyebrows stay furrowed, "y/n, you should've stopped me earlier-"

"it's fine, lan'," she stretches an arm to pull him in, "just wanna cuddle now."

he follows, tucking her body into his front as he kissed the side of her neck.

"i'll run you a bath after," lando weaves his fingers through hers, "sound good?"

finally, in a state of bliss, y/n softly smiles, pulling their braided hands up to land a peck onto lando's skin.

"yeah, love, sounds perfect."

[peachglazewrites]

𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛 ⸙ 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: abby anderson x f!reader 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: PTSD, nightmares, blood/gore, minor oc death, medical procedures, misunderstandings 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: friends to lovers, angst, slow burn 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘: no use of y/n or any reader descriptions 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 6842k

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: The one where you have a nightmare, and Nora needs a hand.

̗̀➛ master post

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ save/read the fic on ao3 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙸: IV

“How high up do you think we are?” Casey asks, precariously balancing herself on the edge of the broken overpass. Her shuffling feet send stray pebbles tumbling over the ledge to fall and sprinkle over the roof of a long-abandoned car.

The lone clicker underneath screeches in the direction of the noise, stumbling its way over to follow the noise.

“20 feet, give or take. High enough that you wouldn’t have to worry about that Clicker down there by the time you landed.” You hum, rolling your shoulders and adjusting your hold on your rifle. The casing creaks as you grip it, eyes sweeping over your surroundings.

Back turned to the edge of the overpass, all you see are a few of the other grunts from your unit. Some are taking a collective smoke break as they lean against the barriers, others relieving themselves in semi-privacy behind a car or two. It’s the end of the line before you turn back, and everyone’s stretching their legs before needing to pile back into the truck once more.

Casey kicks a slightly bigger pebble down off the ledge, snorting as the clicker contorts its mangled body around to chase the sound. It’s been bumping around the maze of cars since before you got here. Poor bastard probably won’t be able to find his way out by himself.

Red hair spills over her shoulder from her ponytail as Casey leans down, picking up a few decently sized rocks and settling them in the cup of her hand. She rights herself and picks one, tongue peeking out from between her lips as she practices a throw, closing one of her eyes to focus in on her target.

“Do you think the… what the fuck is it called… velocity? Something like that. Do you think it’d be enough to kill the fucking thing if I threw this at it from here?”

You frown, turning to her as she lets the rock go, sending it hurtling down towards the clicker. It just misses its head, smashing into smaller pieces on the ground at its feet. The creature screeches, spinning around in a tight circle as it rolls out those guttural clicking noises from its throat.

It feels cruel in a weird way. This thing, as hard as it is to see it past the rotted flesh and casing of fungus growing out of its eyes, was a person once. Maybe they weren’t a good one, in whatever way goodness is measured nowadays, but they were alive. They came from a family, maybe had one of their own. And now they’re a husk, a vessel for whatever the fuck this infection is, left to stagger around an impossible maze of Hondas and Fords.

Casey curses, picking another one of her stones from her dusty palm. Her feet inch ever so closer to the crumbling ledge, body tilting forward as she practices her aim once more. She locks in, winding her arm back and throwing the rock down quick as a shot.

You can barely see it connect this time, clipping the edge of the hardened plates covering the clicker’s face before bouncing off somewhere else. It swipes furiously at the air in front of itself, hunching forward and twitching its head wildly from side to side. It roars furiously, a wave of clicking ripping up the inside of its throat.

“Okay, Case. You hit it. Now leave it alone.”

You can’t rip your eyes away from the scene, a wild aggression that only something inhuman could exhibit.

Casey drops the rocks from her hand, the remaining few scattering across the ground and bouncing off the ledge. They hit the cars directly underneath and the clicker throws itself wildly against them. It bashes itself over and over against the metal frames, putting sizable dents into the doors.

“Case. Seriously.” You scold, turning away from the carnage finally to face her.

Blood trickles from between the fingers she has wrapped around her throat, eyes wide and bulging out of their sockets as she chokes. A horrific gurgling escapes her, lips moving as she tries to call out, teeth and tongue coated in a thick, sticky red.

Her body tips forward as she crumbles in on herself, legs giving out beneath her. You barely catch the feathered end of an arrow sticking out of the base of her skull before she rolls off the ledge.

Your body reacts before your brain, lunging to grab her hand, her leg, anything before she falls that deathly distance and the ground, the clicker, or both kills her before you can take her to a medic.

But you’re too slow, a searing pain in your leg making you falter and just miss her, a wisp of her shirt brushing against your fingertips as she falls down, down, down until her body crunches on the broken ground below.

You fall to your knees, panting hard and maybe you’re screaming you don’t know but your throat hurts. Your vision is blurry around the edges, and you blink, scrunching your eyes tight, praying to every god that you can think of that this was just a fucked up daydream and that Casey isn’t down there so far away and dying.

But it’s not Casey down there when you blink your eyes open.

Her red hair that’s always piled high into a ponytail is expertly braided at the base of her skull, dirty blonde strands sticking to the river of blood gushing from the hole in her throat. Her dead brown eyes are now a hazy blue as they stare right into your own, and her arms that are broken and twisted under her frame are bulkier than you have ever seen them.

You scream.

⸙

You’re still screaming when your eyes snap open, the hand gently gripping your arm yanking itself away. There’s scrambling, something being knocked off your bedside table before the light of your lamp practically blinds you.

“Hey! Hey, it’s just me. It’s Mel.”

It takes a few moments for you to get your wits about you, hands coming to muffle the end of your dying scream, eyes blinking the tears blurring your vision away. You’re panting hard as you look up at the figure in front of you. Sure enough, Mel’s leaning over you, hands pulled back from your body.

“Mel? What the fuck… What time is it?” You feel a little guilty for swearing, but you can still hear your heartbeat in your ears and your fingers feel kind of numb and oh god are you having a heart attack?

“It’s just after six in the morning. I’m so sorry, I came to wake you up, but you just started screaming-- “

You try to close your eyes again to get your breathing under control, but all you can see behind your eyelids is that familiar, lovely face coated in blood, jaw slack and eyes open as she stares up at you.

So instead you focus on the polaroids above you in the slats of your bunk, searching for her face in the backgrounds to see her alive and smirking that frustratingly beautiful smirk.

You take some deep breaths, forcing yourself up on your elbows as you look around the room. The curtains are still drawn, but through the gaps you can see that it’s still very clearly dark outside. Your eyes settle on Mel, still in her pyjamas.

“Why are you up? Isn’t it our day off?” You scrub a hand over your face, rubbing and picking at the sleep in the corner of your eye.

Mel smiles down at you, soft and apologetic. You can tell she wants to talk about whatever just happened, but knows that you’ll refuse to answer. The two of you had done this dance before, her wanting you to open up about the things that plague you in your sleep, and you thinking you’d rather die than spend any of your precious waking moments thinking about them.

“It is, but Nora just came by and said that a few people have called out. They need more hands, especially with the patrol near the island coming back.”

Right, the patrol. Abby’s on that one. So is Manny and a few other of your friends, but you’re not missing them like you miss Abby. It’s only been a few days since you’ve seen her, but you’re clearly not coping well.

Fuck.

You groan, flopping back onto the mattress, arm slung over your eyes. “When do they want us in?”

“You’re due down there in an hour.”

You shift your arm up, peaking at her out of one eye. “And you?”

Mel points with her thumb over her shoulder, “I’m due back in bed.”

“Oh, come on.” you protest, sitting back up in bed. “You volunteered me, didn’t you.”

“I volunteered the both of us, but Nora insisted I stay back. She heard about our eight-day streak and wants me to rest.”

“And what am I? Chopped liver? I also worked eight days straight.” You scowl, crossing your arms over your chest like a petulant child.

“And you’ll get your day off. You can swap with someone to have tomorrow.” She crosses her arms back, leaning against the frame of the bed. “If you really don’t want to do it, I can go in, but I think this will be good for you. Nora’s been doing this for longer than I have. You might learn a lot from an afternoon shadowing her.”

You eye her, the frown still furrowing your brows as you really think it over. Maybe you could deal with being a bad friend to get a few more hours of sleep.

Sighing, you swing your legs over the side of the bunk. “I’m up. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“You’ll thank me later.” She smirks to herself as she walks back down the steps to her side of the room. “You want me to bring you lunch? My treat.”

“…. Fine.”

You’ve decided to forgive her.

Slithering onto the floor, you run through your quick morning exercises on the plush carpet. If you take some extra time to just lay there and breathe, neither you nor Mel say anything.

Finally deciding to get up and get dressed, you strip down to your underwear on your way to your closet. They’ll be picked up later. Probably.

You find and pull on a pair of pants you don’t care about getting stained with blood or… other fluids, expecting the day to be particularly messy and busy. The Island patrols never come back unscathed.

The clothes hangers screech along the pole as you rifle through your shirt options, the high-pitched noise echoing in your head. The recent memory of the clicker under the overpass flashes in your mind. It sends a wave of chills down your arm, mind reeling as you try to cling onto your reality.

You’re here in your room with Mel. Casey has been gone for months. Abby is… You don’t know where Abby is.

You grip the sleeve of a shirt too tight, accidently pull it off its hanger.

Blinking down at your hand, it takes you a second to recognise the shirt as not your own, but one of Abby’s. You hold it to your chest, picking up the right sleeve to idly thumb over the three-inch tear you stitched up for her. It was the shirt that she was wearing when she got her arm cut up, and she was annoyed about having to turn one of her better long sleeves into a tank.

“Why don’t you just stitch it up?” you ask, jogging lightly on the treadmill.

She scoffs, rolling her shoulders back as she easily keeps up the same pace on her own machine. Her last attempt at any kind of sewing was when she tried to fix her socks, and that took more time than she’d like to admit. “Are you kidding me? It’s easier just to cut the entire thing off.”

“I mean, yeah.” You roll your eyes, pressing a few buttons to make the incline higher on the treadmill. “But that doesn’t make it the only option. Bring it over next time and I’ll do it for you.”

“You sew?” She looks at your curiously, wiping a hand over the crown of her head to tame the fly-aways.

“Abby. It’s half of what I do anymore.”

Her cheeks colour. “Right. Medic. Forgot.”

Before you can think too much of it you throw the shirt on, taking time to roll the sleeves that are slightly too long up to your elbows. It’d been washed before she gave it to you, but it still smells faintly of her despite being bundled with your own clothes.

She better be okay, or you’ll kill her.

You grab your canteen and an apple from the counter before you head out, pack slung over your shoulder as you say goodbye to a sleepy Mel and make your way down the flights of steps, into the Stadium proper. Theres always a degree of hustle and bustle, but it’s much quieter this early. The only people up are the cooks, those switching from night patrols, and the other medics that Nora must have woken up.

It’s a quick trip down to the tents, not having to weave in and out of the crowd. The sun is just starting to rise when you step outside into the cold, throwing pink and deep orange hues over the sky, diffused by the clouds. Sometimes when you work overnight with Mel, you’ll come out here, bundled up in your jackets and if it’s particularly cold, those ridiculous looking foil thermal blankets as you drink hot tea from your thermos and watch the sun rise. Its horribly indulgent, but sometimes it’s just what you need.

Nora is setting up the cots when you enter, pushing the flap of the tent open. A few other medics are milling around, some having just woken up, others having never gone to sleep.

“You owe me one, Harris.” You grumble as you walk past, moving to the back room where you all keep your personal belongings in a row of plastic tubs under a bench. You dump your bag and coat in one and kick it back under the bench, barely catching a bundle of sheets that gets thrown at you the moment you turn back around.

“Such is the life of a medic. Unfortunately, you’ll just have to get used to it.” Nora smirks, nodding her head to a row of stripped cots.

“I know, I know.” You wave her off, grumbling into the linens as you shuffle past her.

⸙

The early morning is slow, filled with doing the rounds of current patients and pre-emptively getting things ready for the patrol. A good portion of your morning is dedicated to disinfecting rolls and rolls of bandages, hanging them from fishing line strung across the ceiling to dry before being coiled back up again.

It’s just after midday when the first wave of people come in, throwing the whole tent into chaos. Two men holding another one up between them rush in, his feet dragging along the ground in his unconscious state. Another comes in with his left hand wrapped in his shirt, the fabric soaked in his blood. Nora is quick to bark out orders, delegating patients to medics, assigning empty cots to those who need them.

During the first hour you help her with the most urgent cases, sticking off to the side to pass her equipment or to hold something in place when she needs it. It’s much too hectic for her to walk you through what she’s doing, but being able to observe her is enlightening enough on its own. You finally get to see some of the techniques and procedures you’ve read about in practice, watching Nora’s nimble hands sew together someone’s bit-open cheek and amputate multiple fingers off one hand.

Hour two whisks you away to deal with multiple smaller procedures; knife wounds, dislocated shoulders, bumps and scrapes. There was one poor bastard with early stages of trench foot, and you had to embarrassingly pull out a textbook to be able to figure out what to do.

The work keeps your mind busy, thoughts occupied as you juggle three patients at once. When one gets discharged, another takes their place.

With each soldier rotating in and out of the tents, the fact that Abby and Manny aren’t amongst them makes you feel sicker and sicker.

Hour four is when everything finally calms down, the last few of the less injured patients getting discharged and the critically injured set up and resting.

Mel had come past at some point during the rush with a couple of containers for you and Nora, a salad and some sourdough each, hidden away in one of the personal item tubs. The greens are wilted and sad by the time you two get to them, but the soft crusty bread makes up for it all.

Nora sits criss-cross on the cot you keep parked in the back for emergency naps, salad nestled in her lap. You’ve stationed yourself right near the entrance to the main room, keeping an eye on the front tent flap as you eat.

“Stop.”

You look to Nora, a piece of lettuce hanging from your mouth as you crunch. “Huh?”

“Time drags on when you’re waiting for something to happen.”

“So?”

She rolls her eyes, stabbing a fork in your direction. “Stop watching the door. You’ll turn yourself crazy.”

Sighing, you turn back to your food.

“Just worried.” You pout.

“I know. Could see you stressing all morning.” Her eyes flick over to the front entrance. “But thinking about it is just going to make it worse. Keep focused. Those people out there need you on top of your game.”

It’s not exactly a reprimand, but it’s close enough for you to feel a twinge of shame tug at your heart. Nora’s known these people for a lot longer than you have, and though you’re sure she’s worried, she’s not distracted by it like you are.

“You’re right. Sorry.” You mumble, stuffing the last bite of sourdough in your mouth to have an excuse to not talk anymore. Conversation over.

“You did good, today.” Nora offers, turning back to her own salad. “I know I shoved a lot onto you at the end there, but you handled it well.” She turns a piece of cucumber around on her fork, inspecting it before popping it in her mouth. “I’d say you’re not too long from doing this by yourself.”

You can’t help but flush at the praise, purposefully avoiding her eyes. “You think? I’m worried I’m gonna mess up. I had to make Rob hold the skin falling off his foot while I looked up what to do…”

Nora grimaces, putting down her fork full of lettuce. “Nah, you’ve got it. Do you think any of us know what we’re doing?”

You look at her then, arching one of your eyebrows at her.

“Okay, maybe some of us do,” she smirks, “But even I fuck up sometimes. Bad calls made in the heat of the moment. But there’s only so much we can do with what we’ve been given.”

“If you’re sure.”

She winks at you. “Positive.”

Turns out Nora is right about a lot of things. You will do fine, and you’re not as bad of a medic as you think.

And apparently time does drag on when you’re waiting for something to happy, as the flap to the front of the tent flies open, frantic yelling spilling into the room what feels like only moments after your conversation.

“Hey, we need a doctor over here!”

Manny.

You dispose of the remnants of your food, tossing it to the side into a bin as you and Nora rush out. Manny greets you, shakily standing in the middle of the room, propping up a sluggish Abby. They’re both dirty, clothes soaked in mud and rain. Manny has a scrape above his eye, squinting as blood and sweat trickling down into it.

Abby looks… much worse. Her entire front is soaked in blood. You entertain the delusion that it’s not hers, but you know better than that. Her face has started to pale, and though she’s conscious, her eyes are roaming, unfocused, and she’s sweating bullets.

“Oh my god—Abby!”

You’re there quick as a shot, ducking to her side to swing her other arm over your shoulders. She’s so heavy, barely holding herself up.

“Abby? Can you hear me?”

Her head lolls onto your shoulder.

“Stop… yelling.”

You look to Manny over her head, meeting his tired eyes. Sweat drips from his temples, the strain of holding her up getting to him. Nora, having cleared off a cot to the side, ushers the three of you over to it.

“What the fuck happened?” You help Manny lower her onto the mattress, blood squelching through her clothes and onto your own as you manoeuvre her.

“We were on that patrol. The Island,” Manny pants, stepping away to let you and Nora have space to work. He paces up and down the aisle between the rows of cots. “Weren’t meant to be so many. We had intel that they numbers were low. That they wouldn’t be that far out.” He swears, angry words tumbling into Spanish as he slumps in a hard plastic visitor chair. He’s gesturing towards Abby as he curses, frown lines deepening as he scowls.

“Shut the fuck up.” Abby groans, blinking her eyes open to glare at Manny. He raises a finger to point in her direction, swearing louder at her.

She tries to sit up, fist clenched and raising as she tries to get to Manny, but you and Nora jump in to hold her down.

“She got shot in the chest,” Manny continues in English. “Arrow sticking right out of her. Idiot tried pulling the fucking thing out, but it snapped inside. Didn’t realise she was bleeding so bad until we got out of there. She just collapsed.”

Nora wastes no time, using a pair of scissors to cut open Abby’s shirt, peeling it away from her skin. Sure enough, through the sticky blood you see a wound in the right side of her chest, just above the swell of her breast.

“Tried to stop the bleeding but I think she tore something, and by the time we got back to the trucks everyone had left. So we had to fucking walk—“ He runs a hand through his hair and scratchy, unkempt beard, looking between you and Abby. His expression shifts from angry to concerned.

“She’ll be okay?”

You pale, looking down at her on the cot. She’s still conscious, but her breathing is getting more ragged, and her hair is soaked in sweat. She looks just like how she did in your dream. Your nightmare. She’s dying and there’s nothing you can do--

Nora calls your name.

“We need to get this out. Get me the forceps and a rag.”

The look she gives you is hard, one that screams for you to get it together. It’s just enough to pull you out of your spiral, and with one last look at Abby, you try to put yourself together enough to do your job.

Finding the medical cart, you pull out a rag and pick out a set of extraction forceps as Nora clears the site, wiping away excess blood so that she can try and see what she’s doing. The forceps you end up choosing were most definitely meant for dentistry, but they should have enough of a grip to pull out the thin shaft from her chest.

“Fucking… hurts.” Abby groans, trying to bat Nora’s hand away and roll onto her side. You hurry back over to the other side of the cot, pushing down gently on her shoulder to coax her to lie back.

“Shhh,” you hush her, pressing down with more force. She’s still so strong, even after losing who knows how much blood. “Abby, you needto lay down. We’re going to fix you right up, but you need to stay still. Okay?”

She huffs and falls back, hissing as her shoulder hits the cot mattress. “M’fine,” she mumbles, rolling her head to the side to look at you. “Just need to… sleep it off…”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at her stubbornness. It’s not so cute when she’s bleeding out. “Sleeping is the opposite of what we want. Keep your eyes open, Abs.”

Nora presses her fingers around the wound, pulling the skin taught and prodding at the bulging mass underneath. Blood oozes from the hole and Abby hisses, biting her tongue to stop the cry of pain.

“Okay. Alright. I can see and feel it. Just need to pull it out.” Nora sticks out a hand, palm up. “Pass me the forceps. Give her the rag to bite down on.”

You nod, folding the rag so that it’s a thick roll.

“This is going to really hurt. Bite this.” You press the rag to Abby’s lips. Reluctantly, her mouth opens and she bites down on it, grinding her teeth on the fabric as she looks up at you.

“Ready?”

She nods.

Nora pulls at the skin, moving it into a better position before digging the forceps right in.

Abby’s back arches off the cot, a low moan deafened by the rag escaping her chest. One of her hands grips the edge of the bed, the other clamping down on your forearm. As Nora digs the forceps deeper, Abby’s nails bite into your flesh, making you wince. Using your other hand, you wiggle your fingers between your arm and her fingers, gently prying her hand away and taking it in your own. She’s quick to tighten her grip, crushing your fingers at an especially nasty jab.

It's tough to watch, because it’s Abby or it’s the horrible squelching noises you don’t know, but you keep an eye on Nora as she finally clamps down on the shaft of the arrow. She takes a moment to carefully adjust her grip before she begins to pull.

Manny curses from behind you, looking away from the scene as Abby groans once more into the rag. Her breathing is quick and heaving, sweat pouring from her face and chest.

“Almost done. You’re doing so well,” you try and hush, the circulation in your fingers long gone.

You have no idea if you’re telling the truth. It’s impossible to tell how long the arrow is inside of her chest, but it feels like it’s never ending as Nora slowly drags it out. The wound around it keeps trying to suck it back in, making a disgusting noise that makes Manny almost gag.

Nora ends up pushing down on Abby’s shoulder as the last inch or so slides out, Abby unconsciously rising to try and stop the pain. Her groan borders on a yell as Nora yanks the arrow tip free, holding it up to the light to look it over.

“All in one piece,” she nods, looking over to you. “Okay. Let’s get this patched up and a drip going.”

You try to move away, pulling your hand from Abby’s iron grip, but she somehow holds you impossibly tighter.

“Don’t…” she pants, trying so hard to keep her eyes open and focused on you.

You frown, heart breaking at how small she looks right now. You so desperately want to stay, to comfort her, but you have a job to do. “Abby, I gotta—“

Nora places a hand on your upper arm, giving you a meaningful look when she catches your eye. “I’ve got it. Stay.”

Abby’s breathing slowly begins to even out as you stand there, hand clasped in hers, the other smoothing out the hair plastered to her forehead. She protests when Nora comes back over to flush the wound, giving it one last check with a penlight before stuffing gauze in to stop the bleeding. But already she’s already looking a lot better now that there’s not a random piece of wood underneath her skin.

She barely makes a sound when Nora sets up the IV.

“What were you thinking?” you murmur to her, squeezing her hand with numb fingers. She relaxes her grip on you slightly, enough to feel the blood rushing back to your fingertips but not to fully let you go.

“That there was an arrow in my tit and it fucking hurt.” She blinks up at you, corner of her mouth twitching up in that signature Abby smirk. Even on the brink of passing out she makes you feel that stupid swoop in your gut.

“I’d strangle you if you weren’t bleeding out right now,” you scold, only half joking. “You could have died, Abs.”

She sighs, letting out a long, shuddering breath. “Yeah.”

“Try not to?” The hand smoothing her hair slides down her face, cupping the side of her jaw so gently.

Her eyes flutter closed at the contact, giving a small nod as she relaxes into the palm of your hand.

⸙

Cold water sprays out of the taps as you and Nora wash up in the back room, using a bar of soap to scrub all the way up to your elbows.

You ended up staying with Abby for a little while longer, only leaving when the blood coating your hands started sticking your skin together as it dried. She’s stable, but not quite well enough to leave just yet. Manny was set with the task of getting her to drink an entire canteen of water after he got his own wound tended to.

You can hear the two of them arguing over it from the other room.

You place the bar of soap on its little tray by the sink, moving your arms under the spray to rinse all the suds away. A steady stream of pink flows down the drain.

“How long has that been going on?”

“What?” You peek at Nora from the side, picking the blood from under your nails.

Nora shakes her hands off, letting the water drip down off her fingertips as she reaches for a towel. “You and Abby.”

Your hands pause under the stream for a split second, only the noise of the tap and the two idiots outside arguing filling the silence. “I have no idea what you’re on about.” Turning the tap off, you reach for a second towel to dab at your hands.

“Uh huh,” she says, unconvinced. “So, you’re not totally into Isaac’s golden girl?”

Nora stares you down as you silently dry up, her arms crossing over her chest as she leans her hip against the sink. You can feel her gaze spear right through you, disintegrating your resolve. You can dance around it when Mel asks vague questions, but there’s no way you’d be able to outright lie to Nora.

Throwing the towel into a laundry hamper, you turn to face her. “Is it really that obvious?”

“Unfortunately so. You were nauseating out there.”

The tips of your ears grow hot. “Was not.”

“Was too. I’ve never seen you with such impeccable bedside manner.” She’s smirking at you, a teasing tilt to her lips. Your flush darkens, the heat spreading from the tips of your ears all the way down to your chin.

“My bedside manner is fine.” Huffing, you lean back next to her, facing the doorway that the arguing has finally quieted behind.

Nora’s hand reaches out, picking a few pieces of lint from the sleeve of your shirt. “Mmhm. How does Mel feel about it all?”

“She doesn’t know.”

Nora’s hand pauses. “About any of it?”

“She knows I’m into someone but just— Not… You know.” You stutter your words, growing more and more embarrassed by the whole thing by the second. This is the first time you’ve confided in someone about this, and speaking your situation out loud makes it apparent how fucked you are.

“Hm. Well, I told you that you were obvious-- ”

“Oh shut up,” you groan, swatting at her arm. “I’m screwed. You seriously can’t tell Mel about any of this.” You lower your voice to a hushed whisper, consciously keeping an eye on the open doorway that anyone could walk through.

Abby’s not in any position to be moving around right now, but she’s stubborn enough to rip that IV out the second Manny’s back is turned.

“I’m not going to run off and gossip to her the moment your back is turned,” Nora scoffs. “But I really don’t see the big deal.” She shrugs. “Sure, it’ll be awkward as hell, but I don’t think Mel’s going to shun you for your feelings.”

If only it were so simple.

“And when she finds out I’ve been sneaking her boyfriend’s ex into our shared apartment to stay the night whenever she’s not there?”

Nora’s eyes widen. “First of all, I need details, because what?” You cringe at her volume, crowding in on her as you try to hush her. You both look back to the door, checking behind you before dipping your heads together to keep talking. This time much quieter.

“Second, I maintain what I said before. It’ll be so awkward, and you’ll definitely need to talk about it, but Mel cares about you. She’s not going to throw away your friendship because things get kind of weird.”

She sounds so sure of herself, and you admit that it’s hard to not believe her just a little bit. She reaches out to grab the sides of your arms, dipping her head to catch your eye.

“Plus, between you and me, Abby is the one who makes it awkward half the time. She’ll hold a grudge until it weighs her down and drowns her.”

You sigh, looking up at her. “If you’re sure…”

“Positive.” She winks, squeezing your arms. “You probably won’t even have to worry about all that for a while anyway...”

Admittedly, you’re not as close to Nora as you are with Mel, living with someone being a completely different type of bond. But you’re close enough to recognise that look in her eye. The spark she gets when she’s just heard something juicy from a delirious patient or is about to meddle in someone else’s business.

“… Why? What have you done?”

“I haven’t done anything. It’s Mel you need to worry about.”

You’re growing annoyed, your lips turning down into a frown to show it. “Can you be straight with me for a single second--?”

“I think Mel’s trying to set you up.” She butts in, biting the inside of her cheek to stop her grin. She thinks this is funny as hell, which bodes poorly for you.

Your face is blank as you look at her.

“Set me up? How?”

“With me. I think she’s trying to set you up with me.”

It’s like you’ve found the last piece to a puzzle, everything clicking together so you can finally see the entire picture. Mel had been so weird lately, asking where you’d been and who you’d been with any time you leave the apartment. The handful of times you’d mentioned Nora were the strangest had her smirking to herself for ages afterwards. You couldn’t figure out why she was acting this way.

Until now, at least.

“Look, love her to pieces, but I think I’ve seen more of her in the past two and a half weeks than I had in months. And not that I don’t love you either, but she’s always finding ways to bring you up and-- “

“Oh my god,” you groan, tilting forward to bury your head in Nora’s shoulder. Nora can’t help it, giving in just a little to laugh as her arms come around you in an embrace.

“She was pretty quick to volunteer you today when I said I needed one of you guys to come in, too. That was what really tipped me off. She never gives away shifts like that.”

She can barely hear you, muffled through her shirt, “She told me you told her to rest today, to not bother coming in.”

“Yeah, after she said she felt sick from staying up for 8 days straight.” She tuts, shaking her head, “Sneaky girl.”

“I can’t do this.” You groan.

“You make it sound like I’m the worst possible option,” she scoffs.

“No, seriously.” You pull away slightly, looking up at her. “What am I going to do? I can’t tell her to stop because then it’ll be way too obvious who I actually… you know. But I can’t not tell her. That’d be weird and cruel. She’ll be so embarrassed.” You want to dig yourself a nice hole and climb inside, to hide there and never have to see the light of day ever again.

“Maybe we just let it die out? Let her get it out of her system. She’ll see it’s not working and get bored and just accept that I’m way out of your league—“

You swat at her arm again, hitting the tender spot for a second time. She yelps, rubbing the sore spot as she glares at you.

“Or, if you’re going to be a little shit I’ll just make it worse for you,” she teases, a hand coming to cup the side of your jaw. She leans in close, the tips of your noses barely brushing against each other. “Make your life ten times harder. Babe.”

That gets a slight smile out of you, a snort of a laugh leaving you as you bring your hands up to her own, grabbing it to pry it from your cheek. “Nora—“

A knock on metal—one of the medical carts—makes the two of you jump, Nora snatching her hand away as you step back to put some distance between the two of you. You both look up to see Manny standing in the doorway, looking curiously at the scene in front of him.

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies.” He grins, flicking his eyes between the two of you. “But can I get something to clean up with?” He holds his hands out, Abby’s blood crusted all over his hands and forearms.

Nora turns back to the sink, clearing her throat as she makes to look busy. You flash Manny a tight smile, turning back as well to grab a new towel for him. You run it under the forever cold tap, wringing most of the excess out before walking it over to him.

“Here,” You hand it over, Manny thanking you as he takes it. You peek past him and into the room, eyes landing on Abby laying in the cot. Her eyes are closed but she’s conscious, lips moving as she mutters under her breath. “Is she okay?”

His eyes soften, thinking to the woman in the other room. “Wants to go home, but she’s fine. It’ll be a struggle keeping her down for the next few days.”

You nod solemnly, both commiserating with Manny but understanding how Abby feels. “You guys have anywhere to be?”

“Nah, only training, but you know her.” He scrubs at the backs of his hands, clenching his fingers to get it out of the creases in his knuckles. “She’ll go crazy if she doesn’t move around, and missing training means the end of the world. Again.”

You smile, taking the cloth from him once he’s done. “I’m sure you’ll knock some sense into her.”

“Yeah right,” he snickers, “If she doesn’t knock me out first.”

“Well, you know where to go if she does.” You chuckle.

Manny winks, looking behind you to Nora and back to you. “Hopefully the doctors won’t be too occupied when I come back all busted up.”

You flush, cheeks reddening from embarrassment at the misunderstanding. You need to nip this in the bud before this gets back to Nora.

“Manny, it’s not—“

He holds a hand out, blood still crusting under his nails and the creases of his palm. “Your secret is safe with me, doc.” He grins, bringing it up to cover his eyes, “I didn’t see anything.”

“No, but seriously it’s not… We weren’t—”

“Hey, easy,” he laughs, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You’re just making it look worse.” He turns back to the main room, cutting anything you go to say off as he leaves you standing in the doorway with the crusty, bloody cloth.

Abby opens one of her eyes when he approaches, scowling at his good nature. Her eyes meet yours for just a second and they soften, before Manny distracts her again by picking up a freshly refilled canteen that he snagged from another medic. They go right back into swearing at each other, and you can’t help but smile just a little despite your anxiety.

Maybe he won’t say anything. Maybe things will be okay.

«« previous ꩜ next »»

[sephirthoughts]

For the Winter/Holiday prompts:

3, 26, or 31 with our special boy Benjamin (Bellhop) and whoever you want to put with him? Let him have something good, after all the shit I put him through. XD

BEHOLD I HAVE RETURNED FROM THE CHRISTMAS WASTELANDS BEARING GIFTS

(from this ask game)

since i already did 31, i chose 3. Family (Found and otherwise) and 26. Snowball fight!!

All's Fair in Love and Snow-war

“This is the crucial choke point,” Sephiroth said, pointing at a spot on the map. “You and I will flank them here, and push them to the choke, where we’ll have our support units waiting in ambush, to take them down. With any luck, we’ll be done in time for supper. Any questions?”

“Couple,” Cid said, scratching his head. “By support units, you mean Cloud and Vinnie, right?”

“Yes.”

“And, uh. What’re these blobby things, here?”

“That’s the hedgerow.”

“So, you want to set up the ambush in the hedges, and hem ‘em in at the workshop?”

“No. That’s the house. This is the workshop.”

“They kinda look the same.”

“I didn’t have much time to make a map.”

“It’s kinda wrinkled, too. And the ink’s runnin.”

“I dropped the napkin in the snow. You understand the plan, correct?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Good. Father, Cloud, how are the munitions coming?”

“Be a lot faster, if you two were helping,” Cloud returned, from their improvised bivouac, a few meters away. “My fingers are gonna freeze off.”

Sephiroth frowned. “I told you to wear your mittens. Why are you wearing those gloves?”

“I can’t do anything with mittens on, it’s like having flippers.”

“You really won’t be able to do anything without fingers.”

“That’s one advantage of being dead,” Vincent said sagely, as he scooped up snow with his bare hands. “Cold doesn’t bother me, at all.”

Before anyone could reply to that helpful nugget of paternal wisdom, something came whistling through the air, toward the group. In the blink of an eye, Masamune flashed out and sliced the incoming missile in two. It burst in a puff of white. 

“We’re under attack!” Sephiroth shouted. “Fall back to defensive positions!”

Cloud and Vincent ran for the hedgerow, while he and Cid dove behind the corner of the house, just in time to be missed by the barrage of snowballs that rained down on their former positions, to disintegrate harmlessly, on the white ground. 

“How many?” Cid asked. 

Sephiroth leaned out for a split second, and drew back just before another snowball exploded against the side of the house. “Two. The others must be attempting to outflank us.”

“What do we do now, general?”

“Plan B. Hold the line here, and try to draw them into the ambush. I’ll circle around the other way, to head off their reinforcements.”

So saying, he vanished, a silent blur of silver, in the snowy night. Cid picked up a big snowball in each hand, from the pile Cloud and Vincent had left for them, and took a deep breath, prepared to face the enemy down. With a battle-cry, he leapt out and fired off his two shots, before high-tailing it toward the ambush.

His retreat, however, was in vain. Nero was using his darkness tentacles to make and throw snowballs, with dizzying speed, and unleashing them in a nonstop fusillade, like a gatling gun. Regular, un-augmented, human Cid had basically no chance against the onslaught, and was knocked flat on his face. 

“Man down!” Benjamin shouted, popping out from behind Nero. “Mr. Highwind, are you alright? Is anything broken?”

“Come on, now, I ain’t that old yet,” Cid protested, as he scrambled up. Luckily, he had landed in a deep, soft drift, and only suffered from a faceful of snow, and some minor bruises to his pride. 

Just as he got to his feet, several snowballs came flying out of the hedgerow at extremely high velocity. Two were stopped by darkness tentacles, but one struck Benjamin square in the chest, exploding and knocking him backward. He didn’t hit the ground, since a darkness tendril caught him, but he was doused from head to toe.

“Tss! Ah! Cold! Cold!” he yelped. “How did so much of it go right down my collar!”

“Get back to cover, quickly,” Nero said, holding an arm up, to shield him. “I will avenge you, little brother!”

All Cid could do was get the hell out of the way, as Nero restarted his snowball gatling-gun and advanced toward Cloud and Vincent’s concealed position.

“Since we’re out, we may as well go get some dry clothes,” he said to Benjamin. “I gotta check on Ollie, anyway. That robot cat’s the only one watchin’ her, and she might outsmart him and get into mischief.” 

“B—but I can’t leave Nero on his own,” Benjamin objected.

“Rules are rules, Benny,” Nero called back to him. “Besides, I don’t want you getting sick. Go ahead inside and get changed. I can handle those two, just fine.”

“You heard him, big brother has spoken. Y’all have fun!” Cid was already pulling Benjamin away, out of the icy shrapnel that was hailing down on them, as Nero’s darkness swatted the incoming snowballs from the hedgerow. 

As they were running toward the house, there was a noise like a sonic boom, and a huge plume of snow erupted into the air, on the other side of the large property, out by the workshop. 

“Looks like Weiss and Sephiroth found each other,” Benjamin observed.  

“Those two idiots better not demolish my shop,” Cid groused, as they stepped in the back door. “They’ll be spendin’ their winter buildin’ me a new one, no matter how cold it is outside.”

Sephiroth and Weiss had indeed met, and were chasing each other to and fro, throwing up plumes of snow in their wakes, and huge explosions wherever they clashed. 

Sephiroth’s pale lips curled, with a cold smile. “You’re out of your depth. May as well give up, now.”

Weiss’ booming laugh rang out, only somewhat muffled by the blanket of snow. “Ha! Not a chance! I’ve been itching for a proper fight with you!”

“This is a snowball fight,” Sephiroth reminded him, as he pulled a massive, drum-fed auto-cannon out of nowhere. “No non-snow weapons.”

Weiss grinned broadly and leveled the barrel at him. “Oh, but this fires snowballs.”

Sephiroth narrowed his eyes and summoned Masamune. “Then this blocks them.”

On the other side of the yard, the others were in something of a similar scenario, as Nero’s fusillade was being frantically blocked by Cloud’s huge sword. 

“You’re not supposed to use weapons!” Nero shouted, through the barrage of white.

“If darkness tentacles don’t count as a weapon, then neither does a sword!” Cloud shouted back, blocking another dozen snowballs, in that two-second interval.

“Whatever, blondie! Let’s see how long you can hold out!”

“Tch! You’ll run out of snow before I give up!”

It was then that Nero realized he hadn’t heard or seen his father, who should have been with Cloud in the ambuscade. Just as the thought occurred to him, he heard an ominous snarl, behind him. He whipped around, in time to see the gigantic, sinuous body of the Galian beast looming up from the snow, lifting something over its head with both titanic arms.

“Fuck.”

That was all Nero managed to say, before he was struck with a snowball the size of a family sedan, and sent hurtling backward. Unfortunately for team Vincent, the snow-boulder rammed directly into Cloud, too, who went rolling along with Nero, both of them stuck into it like some kind of slapstick cartoon. 

The gigantic projectile had been thrown with tremendous force, but it wasn’t packed very tightly (so as not to injure the target), and before it even reached the back wall of the property, it lost momentum and collapsed, leaving both Cloud and Nero completely buried.

“You’re—out,” Cloud panted, as they pawed their way out of the snowbank.

“So are you,” Nero retorted. “Friendly fire still counts.”

Cloud grimaced. “Damn it, Vincent. He was supposed to be our secret weapon, not a liability.”

“That’ll teach you to rely on a big, dumb beast.”

“You’re one to talk. You have Weiss on your team.”

As if on cue, they heard Weiss laugh, from the other side of the workshop, to which they were now fairly close. However, a whirlwind of snow kicked up at the same time, turning the entire area into a howling blizzard. Nero threw out a mesh of darkness tendrils, shielding them from the icy blast, as they huddled reflexively together.

“I guess no one’s playing fair,” Cloud remarked.

Nero shrugged. “With this family, what did you expect?” 

“Mn. True.”

Meanwhile, Sephiroth’s supercharged blizzaga spell had sufficiently blinded Weiss, rendering his cannon useless, and soon he succumbed to a volley of snowballs, coming at him seemingly from all directions at once, under the cover of the gale. 

When the last one struck him full in the face, Weiss collapsed onto his back, laughing breathlessly. “I yield, I yield! You win this one!”

Sephiroth appeared, towering over him in the grey haze, and extended his hand. “Good game.”

“Good game, indeed,” Weiss said, as he was pulled to his feet. “But for whom?”

Catching the mischievous glint in his silver-blue eyes, Sephiroth instinctively turned to look behind him. The whirlwind of snow was dying down, and as it cleared, an eerie and chilling spectacle was revealed to him. He was standing at what was now the center of a ring, comprised of…snowmen. 

Normally, a snowman is a charming winter sight, but normally, they don’t appear from thin air, in large groups, surrounding and silently staring at one, with those soulless, charcoal eyes. 

“What…what is this?” Sephiroth asked, bewildered.

By way of reply, he was rushed by the army of snowmen, who threw their powdery bodies at him with reckless abandon. He obliterated many of them, but even with his superhuman speed and strength, he couldn’t avoid being swarmed and dogpiled by the hundreds of kamikaze snow-soldiers, and was quickly submerged.

The moment he was down, the ones who hadn’t jumped on the pile simply stopped moving and fell apart, where they were, returning to the snow from whence they came.

Weiss practically passed out from laughing, but did manage to compose himself enough to reach into the heap of dismembered snowmen and haul Sephiroth out, bedraggled and fuming, like a wet cat. 

“What in Gaia’s name was that!” he demanded, as a fire spell flared up around his person, quickly restoring him to proper dryness. “I didn’t know you had the ability to animate objects.”

Weiss looked innocent. “Me? I had nothing to do with them. It seems you’ve forgotten my other teammate.”

“Nonsense. Nero and Benjamin’s darkness doesn’t—”

“He meant me,” a third voice called out. 

The two young men turned to look in that direction. Emerging from behind the hull of an old helicopter, which Cid was keeping around for who knew what reason, was a dark-haired man with a neatly-trimmed beard, wearing a parka and ushanka cap, and sheepishly waving his mittened hand. 

Sephiroth was dumbstruck. “Commissioner Tuesti? You’re responsible for the snow golems?”

“Yep, those were mine. Uh…ha ha, sorry about that. I’m no match for any of you, so I had to improvise.”

“But how? Since when can you animate snow?”

“Well, to be honest, I didn’t think it’d actually work,” Reeve admitted. “I’ve only ever used my inspire on mechanical devices, since I can visualize the internal workings. But Weiss thought I should give it a try, so I did, and voila! Army of snowmen! They weren’t very strong, and they didn’t have minds of their own, like my Cait Siths, but they were good enough in a pinch.”

“It was…very impressive,” Sephiroth conceded, eyeing the man with new respect. “I shall have to take care not to underestimate you, in the future.”

“I think this means you won, Commissioner. Which means team Weiss takes the victory!” Weiss declared, slapping Reeve heartily on the back, and then catching him, as the friendly pat nearly sent him sprawling.

“That depends on the rest of our teammates,” Sephiroth pointed out. “We don’t know who’s still standing.”

“We’re both out,” Nero’s voice piped up. He and Cloud were just coming around the corner of the workshop, to join their respective partners.

“Benny and Cid are out, too,” Cloud told the group. “What about you guys?”

“All out, but Commissioner Tuesti,” Sephiroth said. “So, that leaves only my father unaccounted for.”

“I wonder where he went,” Cloud said, peering around. “I didn’t see anything, after he used us as bowling pins. He might be lying in wait, somewhere nearby.”

A shadow seemed to deepen the night, as Nero sent his superfine darkness tendrils out to search the general area. After a few seconds, he rolled his eyes and withdrew them. “Lying in wait, my ass. He’s curled up in the workshop loft. The beast must’ve gotten sleepy from the cold.”

“Aww, why does that sound so adorable?” Cloud laughed.

“So, he took out one of our own, and then went off to nap,” Sephiroth sighed. “Father wins most unreliable teammate, at least. But it would appear that team Weiss does, indeed, take the victory.”

Nero trotted off to wake his father, and the two followed the rest of the group back to the house.

When they tromped inside, rosy-cheeked and glowing from the exercise in the cold—stopping to remove boots and coats in the entryway—the scent of baking cookies wafted over, and made the atmosphere cozy and cheery.

In the kitchen, Cid was stirring up a large pot of his famous spiced hot-chocolate, and Benjamin was just taking a tray of cookies out of the even. 

“We won!” Weiss announced proudly.

“Well, Reeve won,” Cloud corrected. “Vincent forfeited, by falling asleep.”

“There was a blizzard, all the sudden. The beast doesn’t like not being able to smell what’s going on,” Vincent defended, through a deep yawn. Then his eyes lit on the wire rack of cookies, cooling on the counter. “Hey…is that a gingerbread me?”

“Yep!” Benjamin chirped. “I made everyone! This batch is still hot, though, so we’ll have to wait a bit, to decorate them.”

“Am I the one with the spiky hair, or is that Cloud?” Weiss wanted to know.

“That’s Cloud. This one’s you,” Benjamin said, setting the second cookie sheet on a trivet. “See? You’re a lot bigger.”

“No fairsies!” Cloud complained. “I have to decorate a smaller cookie, just because I’m small?”

“Sephiroth can share his with you. Look how big it is.” Sure enough, the Sephiroth cookie was not only quite a bit taller than the others, its long hair and coat added a lot of area to its silhouette. “Besides, there’s no rule that you have to do your own.”

“I’m doing Weiss,” Nero announced. 

“I’m doing Nero,” Weiss added immediately. 

“Alright, but what about the cookies?” Cid interjected, with a grin.

Everyone groaned, and there was a chorus of ‘ugh, terrible’ and ‘no more dad jokes’ and ‘such vulgarity, in our goddess-fearing household’ and so on, till Cid chased them out of the kitchen with his ladle, and they all ran upstairs to change clothes, before the cookie decorating commenced. 

Benjamin stayed in the kitchen, carefully transferring cookies from the sheet pan to the cooling rack.

Cid, who was adding more Fireball cinnamon whiskey to his already almost flammable hot chocolate brew, heard a sniffle, and turned to look at the boy. “Hey, kiddo, you ok?” 

“Hm? Oh. It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” Benjamin answered, hastily dashing away a tear. 

Cid was unconvinced. “You’re cryin’ over them pretty cookies you made, for nothin’?”

“It’s stupid. I don’t want to s—say it out loud,” the young man mumbled. 

“Suit yourself, but if ya don’t tell me, I’ma tell your brothers you been cryin’ and they’ll—”

“No, no, no!” Benjamin sputtered, waving his hands. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!”

“Go on, then,” Cid prompted.

“It’s just that sometimes, this starts to feel like…a real family.” His voice wavered with emotion, and he cleared his throat to steady it. “It’s like…everything I ever wanted, all at once, a—and it’s too much. It hurts, in my chest, but not the way bad things hurt. I know it’s a dumb way to say it, I—I can’t think of the right words. Just forget it.”

“Nah, I know just whatcha mean,” Cid said, with a sympathetic smile. “That’s the way I feel every time I look at Vinnie, holdin’ Ollie. Hurts, kinda. Like my heart’s so fulla happiness, it swelled up a couple sizes too big. Ya know?”

“Yes, that’s exactly it!” Benjamin laid a hand on his chest and frowned. “But…why does it hurt? Why would happiness make us cry? That doesn’t make sense.”

Cid shook his head. “Dunno. Some things just don’t make sense, kiddo. But I do know that when you get that swelled up feelin’ in your heart, it’s better to just roll with it, insteada overthinkin’ it. Live in the moment, and save it up in your memory. Cause life goes fast. Y’never know when there won’t be any more of them moments to make into memories.”

Benjamin considered this, then nodded. “I will. Thank you, Mr. Highwind.”

Cid opened his mouth to say the boy could just call him Cid, but the rest of the group came traipsing back in, just then, in the midst of a voluble dispute regarding what counted as an illegal weapon, during sanctioned snowball fights. 

Weiss maintained that a sword was a real weapon, but a snowball cannon was not, Sephiroth argued that if cannons of any kind were allowed, then so were swords, Nero was saying that darkness was organic to his body and could not be considered a weapon, Vincent was agreeing, clearly applying the same logic to his Galian beast form, Cloud was explaining to Ollie that his name was ‘Cloud’ not ‘mama’, Ollie was blithely squeaking ‘mama’ at him, and no one was listening to Reeve, who was insisting that their family snowball fights were absolutely not sanctioned events, since there was no governing body responsible for setting regulations and overseeing the tournaments.

Cid glanced at Benjamin, who had a strange expression on his face, and whose eyes had turned dewy and pink-rimmed. “Ya havin’ one of them moments again, kiddo?”

“It—it’s not that,” Benjamin choked out, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I just tasted the hot chocolate. I think…can sinuses catch fire?”

HAPPY HOLIDAYS THANK YOU FOR THE ASK 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

[leakyweep]

Caesar Clown x Girlboss!reader - Shut Up

Warnings: Pegging, gendered reader (she/her pronouns), degradation, hair pulling

@c0co2dayyy : Can you do a scenario or Headcanons where Caesar Clown is dating basically a queen/girlboss and he like does something that makes her annoyed and so she manhandles him and pegs him

A/N; I've never written for Caesar, so I hope I did him some justice! Thank you for the request, and I hope you enjoy!

Words; 0.7k

MINORS DNI

So, we all know Caesar is a great scientist and a very intelligent man – and while he may not use his talents in the most… moral of ways, he uses them nonetheless. This enticed you to him… and in the end, it was a perfect match.

This was because while he was a scientific mastermind, he was a bit submissive. This isn’t only in a sexual sense. He often looked up to you, his business partner, for guidance on what to pursue next in his plans. Decisions on who to alliance with, who to manufacture for, who to protect… He entrusted all these things to you, his dominant and no-nonsense helper who would do anything to make herself more powerful.

Over time, he started to realize his dependency on you ran deep, and those longing glances towards you and the hopes he’d catch you on the way back to your room from the bathroom, clad only in a white fluffy towel, were not just intrusive thoughts. He genuinely had feelings for you– and this almost made his heart fall out of his ass. For while you were a very loving person, you were also a prevailing presence, one that would reject him harshly if you were to feel disgusted by his display of affections. 

Your powerful aura presided as one day, you were sitting at your desk, working on some papers, running the business behind the scenes at maximum velocity to ensure success. However, your work was being interrupted by the sound of your partner’s voice. 

You had tried to keep your feelings separate from work – undenying of the scientist’s handsome features and misty hair – but your emotions would always get the best of you in the end. And while you enjoyed his presence at certain times, this was not one of them. Work meant everything to you, obsessed with high achieving projects and goals. This required lots of attention, and focus, and it was hard to focus with the sexual tension in the room so thick you felt you could cut it with a knife. It was hard not to think of those nights you passed his room and heard him moaning out your name, too horny to think as you basically jogged to your chambers and imagined his fingers prodding your cunt, making you feel oh so delightful with those skilled hands.

Despite your insistence that he leave, he continued to buzz about you, asking if you needed anything. Taking a deep breath, you grabbed his collar and brought him to your face, so close you could feel his breath passing his purple-painted lips. You smirked as you heard the raggedness, noticed the pink dusting his pale cheeks. 

“I’ve told you, Caesar - I’m working. Do I need to punish you to make you shut up?”

If he didn’t have a boner before, he certainly did now - and it took every ounce of willpower in his pathetic heart not to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. The commanding tone of your words told him that you wanted to see that, to see him tremble beneath you. To his- and your- bewilderment- he only groaned out a small- “p-please?”

Pulling his hair, you guided his ass back and forth on your silicone cock, relishing in the whines and mewls that escaped his throat. The power you held over him held its fingers around your neck, pushing you to pound into him from behind quickly and passionately. Your bed chambers filled with poignant lamentation – Caesar’s voice only drove you to thrust into him deeper, keeping your strap buried to the hilt with slow, soft strokes. 

“Yeah, you love when I take care of you, my intelligent scientist?” Your words were laced with tenderness and libido, absolutely loving the way he took you with vigor and fondness. It made you feel as if you were his own deity, his words almost psalms as he took your strap-on hardily, his stamina basically unending throughout the night. He came when you took him from underneath, jacking him off in time with your harsh thrusts. It turns out he most enjoyed cumming when you degraded him, and he basically covered you in his creamy ejaculate.

His back was an arch, a U shape against your abdomen as you inquired, “Another round? I don’t think I’m satisfied.”

His only answer was a whimper, and you almost felt bad for Monet as he cried out your name when you filled his ass once again.

[milk5]

It's nearly impossible to determine the immaterial nature of the microgreens in your meal. Some call it spirit or soul, but I personally disagree with the usage of paranormal terminology in this context. It's surely an observable physical phenomenon, we just don't know how to observe it with modern technology. Each batch of microgreens, they have polar properties. Some are negative, while others are positive. If you eat one too many of the negative-wave sprouts, your body immediately shuts down. It's death, but not as we typically know it; all of your cells simultaneously fail, rather than the rapid cascading of bodily system failure that we're more familiar with. If you meet the threshold for positive-wave sprouts, your cells seem to become highly resistant, if not immune, to damage by any means. We're presently working with a 129 year old woman that has been eating home-grown cilantro microgreens nearly every day for the past fifty-or-so years. Gunshots, shrapnel, extreme temperatures, radiation exposure; they don't do anything to her. Her cells harden, and the high-velocity bullets or shards of metal flawlessly transfer kinetic energy through her body harmlessly. Her body temperature never reaches a critical, or even uncomfortable, level. The radiation does nothing to her whatsoever. We've tested many more typically-fatal circumstances, but none of them have affected her to even a minor extent. She doesn't feel pain anymore. The same cilantro microgreens seem to have a negligible impact on any other organism that consumes them.

More strangely, the polarity of a particular batch of microgreens appear to have no connection to species, nutrient exposure, soil terroir, or really anything that we can measure presently. Perhaps there's some sort of hidden variable that we will discover in the future.

For the concerned microgreen-lover, don't worry about it so much. Negative-wave greens appear to be "canceled out" by the consumption of positive-wave greens and vice versa; given our inherent insensitivity to the forces involved, it seems that most humans intuitively maintain (near) balance. It's extremely improbable that any given individual would reach either one of the critical points in their natural lifespan, but it's not an impossibility.

[weedeaterisback]

Lore of the Enforcement. Part 1

The Enforcement is a powerful army with countless of clone super soldiers wearing AX-1 Power armor, and with a goal to take over the Multiverse. They are extremist that uses brutal methods. They despise corruption and love fighting.

The Enforcers are similar to the Space Marines from Warhammer 40K, except they aren't from Warhammer 40k and does not fight for mankind or an "emperor". They fight to keep the Multiverse balanced. Enforcers LOVE war and fighting, every enforcers normally charge into the battlefield with gun blazing since they do not fear death thanks to the indestructible AX Power armor they wear. Every Enforcers do not give names to themselves and instead goes by their given number. "XT-233," "XT-5000." Enforcer-Zealots are known as "ZT-3237". Enforcers never take off their power armor or even their own helmet, for as they identity with their armor. The Enforcers can live up for thousands of years. (They cannot die from aging) Every Enforcers loadout are equip with almost every weapons. Holstering a Energy Revolver by their ankle, carrying a chainsword by their waist, carrying a Core ShotGun and a heavy assault rifle by their back, etc, etc. The power armor worn by Enforcers are extremely powerful. Nothing can pierce it's armor, not a single being or weapon in the entire multiverse can damage or pierce it. The power armor is so strong that an Enforcer can survive a nuclear blast or an orbital strike with minor injuries. The armor is design to adapt against everything; hot climate, cold climate, distortion, acid, etc. The Power Armor is also made out of Anperfysium (yay rozital lore reference).

Paladin Destroyers are armed with a very wide variety of weapons mounted in front of and beneath the bridge. Visible weapons forward of the bridge include a one or two large cannons, two large self-loading rocket pods, and two large Gatling guns; 2 large triple-barreled naval guns are also visible mounted on the hull beneath the bridge. The only named weapon is the ATLAS Cannon, which fires the Precision Strike. The Paladin Destroyer is capable of firing a it's precision ATLAS Cannon, Gatling gun, 120mm and 380mm Artillery, specialized Gas, EMS, and Airburst shells, a high intensity Laser, and a high velocity Railcannon.

The Omega Destroyer is a one of a kind ship that is the size of a planet. It is the leading ship in the main Enforcement fleet. The ship is the icon of the Enforcement and the Sentinel council is onboard. The Omega Destroyer can pack a powerful attack that could destroy an entire planet.

The Enforcer Imperialium is a very special rank that is rarely given by the Sentinel Council, any Enforcers chosen by the Imperialium will have to go through a very advanced and specialized training. This training transform any Enforcers into an warrior that is skilled in the most advanced combat and tactical skills, as well as a heightened understanding of the Enforcement's beliefs and ideologies.

The Enforcers have special Legions that have their own unique Enforcers and weapons. The Drillmaster Legion are a chapter of Enforcers that rely on weaponized mining equipment and use them for combat or constructions of outposts, they like to ambush from underground by digging straight to the surface where the enemy least expected. Their power armor have waists blades or a drill attached, and they carry more explosive based weapons. The Drillmaster Legion is led by Imperialium XT-266. The Drillmaster Legion are known to be the crazy ones, they're known to fight like beasts in combat and they make mining equipment look like a deadly weapon of war. If you asked anyone about them, they'll tell you that they are the toughest and the most brutal of all the Enforcement divisions, and are known to be savages in combat. They also have the most brutal torture method to "dig up" information out of the enemy. The Heavy Legion specialize in maxing out the armor of their Enforcers to act as walking shields for the other Enforcers. They have a gatling gun attached to their right arms and a big heavy shield on the other. The Heavy Legion is led by XT-1059.

The Firefly Legion is the most recent division formed by the newest Imperialium, XT-63. The Firefly Division specializes in using fire based weaponry and jetpacks to rain down fire upon their enemy from the sky. They use flamethrowers, incinerators, and ballistic weapons that fire 5000 degree bolts at their enemies. They are the most feared Special Division next to the Drillmaster Division. They wear their power armor that has painted a nice hot-rod design, with a mix of red, black and gold yellow. The red signify bravery while black shows death to their enemies and gold represent the pride of the Enforcers Firefly's

XT-1059 is an Imperialium who is in charge of the Heavy Division. He is the most serious and strongest Enforcer. He has his own custom power armor which is fittingly named the "Juggernaut"

XT-266 is an Imperialium who is in charge of the Drillmaster Division. He is the most unpredictable and funniest, and always like to joke around. He is the least serious than XT-1059, and love to have a "Sibling rivalry" between his division and the heavy division. XT-63 is the most recent Enforcer to become an Imperialium. He was an Enforcer Ultra serving his Force Captain's company on a mission to recapture the planet "Nova". After leading his platoon with interesting concept, his force captain propose to the Sentinel Council which put XT-63 through the test to see if he is up for the task. XT-63 proven himself and was promoted to an Imperialium. He is best pal with XT-266 and XT-1059.

Enforcer-Zealots (or ZT-Insert number) are highly trained specialized Enforcers that wears a white custom X0-2 power armor. Some of them are bred to be at this rank, while others has to be promoted to take training from the honorable Sangheili warriors or the Adaptus Master himself that will train these Zealots wannabes

The Adaptus Legion is a legion of specialized elite Enforcers trained as harden, stealthy warriors. They are led by ZT-001, AKA Adaptus Master. The Zealots rely one weapon and one weapon only; an energy blade. The Zealots are disciplined warriors and are used as guards for the Sentinel Council.

Spartan-berry is a liquid that the Enforcers love to drink in celebration, it is the only drink they rather drink than alcohol, a drink which they hate.

Enforcer Ranks:

The Enforcers ranks are color coded, their ranks are represented by the numbers and the color of the stripes on their right arm. One yellow stripe = Minor, the lowest rank of the Enforcer. Two yellow stripes = Major. Three yellow stripes = Ultra, the rank that give you a squad of lower ranks to lead. One red stripe = Captain, they take charge of platoons. Two red stripes = Commander, they command a company of enforcers. Three red stripes = Force captain, they command a battalion (over a hundred enforcers) and wear an AX-2 power armor. One blue stripes = Field master, they lead a brigade of Enforcers and are in charge of the security and transporting supplies of Enforcement controlled territory. One blue and Red stripes = Lieutenant, These serve as the right hand to their Company Shipmaster, typically commanding one of the Company's two demi-companies. Two blue and one red stripe = ShipMaster, they command their very own paladin destroyer, commanding a large portion of Enforcers. Two Blue and Two red stripes = Fleet Master, they command their fleet of paladin destroyers and command enforcers. They also act as second in command and advisors to the Chapter Master that they served. Three Red and Two blue stripes = Chapter Master — The highest attainable rank of Enforcers, commanding their fleet of ships and invasion forces under their command. The Chapter Master only answer to the Imperialium and the Sentinel Council.

[professorspork]

THE BIG RWBY BASEBALL POST

(previously on Leah Combines RWBY With Sports That Had Peak Popularity in The Early 20th Century: 2021 Kentucky Derby Horse Names as RWBY Weapons, Ranked)

Friends, it's that time of year again.

"Baseball season?" you ask. And I say: yes, but also.

"Oh. RWBY hiatus?" you groan, realizing I'm about to do something slightly unhinged.

Bingo.

To make a very long story short, I love these two things, and wanted to combine these two things, and have very strong opinions about these two things, so here we are: a post that makes a functional baseball team out of RWBY characters. True, the Venn diagram of people who like both these things as much as I do to serve as my audience is probably small. True, baseball positions aren't astrological signs and anyone of any personality can play anywhere, but lord knows there are Tropes and I plan to indulge.

SO. I give you the starting nine (plus some bullpen depth) of the Beacon Huntresses:

Pitcher: Weiss Schnee. Among several decisions that are no-brainers, this one is probably the no-brainiest. Weiss is a lefty (always highly in demand for pitchers) and her balletic combat movement style translates perfectly to a distinct delivery mechanic. Weiss is a high velocity, high strikeout pitcher who induces a lot of swings and misses with nasty breaking stuff that dances through the air and paints the corners. Because it brings me joy to think about, I'm going to say that Remnant uses old NL rules so Weiss has to bat, and I'll rank her at like a Cole Hamels-level "hey, that's not embarrassing for a pitcher!" career .400 OPS. Not afraid to sac bunt when she has to, but beats out the throw more often than you'd think.

Catcher: Jaune Arc. Yes yes get in your "White Knight real" jokes while you can about Weiss and Jaune playing as the regular battery. This one was also an easy selection; catchers are valued most highly for their strategic minds and defensive capabilities, with any offense added seen as a bonus. As the latest kerfuffle with the Cardinals blaming Willson Contreras for *checks notes* not being Yadi Molina shows, having trust in your catcher to call the game and be thoughtful in his pitch selection in high-leverage situations is paramount. That's Jaune all over. Probably not much of a power guy but has pop when it counts and is excellent at pitch framing.

First Base: Yang Xiao Long. Okay I promise I'll stop calling every decision a no-brainer but THIS ONE REALLY IS. Yang is your classic slugging first baseman, of whom there are literally too many examples to name-- including many righties YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE LEFTY TO PLAY FIRST OKAY. Yang's a Vladdy. Hits for serious power, but more than that embodies the quality that the best first basemen have: she's The Mayor. Truly iconic first basemen are fun to chat with! They are friendly to all their visitors as opposing players stop over on their way around the diamond; this is Yang to a T. Yang probably used to play center field in high school and got converted to 1B in the minors. Most likely on the team to induce very silly rundowns with goofy, clever, self-sacrificial baserunning. Has a penchant for always hitting homers the next time she faces a pitcher after she's been hit by a pitch.

Second Base: Blake Belladonna. She is all about those scrappy diving catches, and flipping to Ruby quickly so they can turn two (but I'm getting ahead of myself). Blake's a utility infielder who'd be comfortable anywhere but let's be real she likes playing the right field side because she gets sad when she can't easily make smirky meaningful eye contact with Yang at all times, so they keep her at second so she won't pout. Probably hits high average but low slugging. Most likely to volunteer to be a position player pitching during a blowout and then, like. Unexpectedly throw 93 with movement. Definitely steals a lot.

Shortstop: Ruby Rose. Ruby has the brains to be a catcher but to waste/ruin her speed on catcher's legs would be a crime; she's got zippy athleticism written all over her. She bats leadoff because she has excellent plate discipline; she's a hard out and gets on base a ton. Think a DJ LeMahieu or Bryson Stott at his best-- sprays to all fields, and sees pitches in the double digits like every other at-bat because she's happy to stand there and keep fouling it off with an infuriating smile on her face until the pitcher makes a mistake. Steals even more often than Blake does, but specifically is a tricksy little imp on the basepaths like Anthony Volpe-- like she would definitely induce a throw when she was already back at the bag because she dances around. (I s2g there's video of this but I cannot find it anywhere sry.)

Third Base: Penny Polendina. Fast hands, Gold Glove-level defense. Unfortunately she's built in the mold of an Adalberto Mondesi or Byron Buxton where it's like "no better player on earth when she's healthy but she's NEVER HEALTHY;" she's got glass bones and has had multiple weeks-long trips to the Injury List or needed season-ending surgery because something popped or snapped. The sort of player where it's like "god no you don't understand, the game is so much better when she's playing" and it's a heartbreaker because SHE KEEPS GETTING TAKEN AWAY FROM YOU. Once did a bat flip after a home run because Ruby encouraged her to and, like, the bat shattered on the grass somehow because she's that strong.

Left Field: Emerald Sustrai. Because if you ask her, her face turn was... out of left field! Eh? Eh??? Okay yeah sorry. To me Emerald is a 2022 Oswaldo Cabrera situation where they threw her in left because they had nowhere else to put her even though she'd never played it before in the minors but she was just. Instantly extremely good at it. Has great range for tracking down fly balls in foul territory. Very streaky hitter who either runs super hot and super cold with no in-between. Steals a lot but also gets caught stealing a lot because she's impatient (see also: streaky hitter, probably chases out of the zone and has really poor plate discipline). But she's getting better! Most likely to come up with cute home run celebration ideas and then absolutely refuse to take credit for them.

Center Field: Pyrrha Nikos. This is the last of the extremely obvious no-brainers. Pyrrha is your star franchise player in center field; she is your Aaron Judge, your Mike Trout. Hits for average and for power, pure athleticism and grace, the player everyone's heard of even when they don't give a shit about baseball. Also now I'm just thinking about how Mike Trout would 100% be like "actually that cereal isn't very good for you" and Pyrrha would 100% stay up all night riveted to the Weather Channel and then call in to compliment the meteorologist they are the same person. Her catches at the fence are so spectacular, you could swear her glove's magnetized.

Right Field: Nora Valkyrie. Is there a very obvious "designated hitter" joke to be made about Nora "be strong and hit stuff" Valkyrie? Yes, of course. But I already said Remnant doesn't have the DH and let's be real, Nora's got a CANNON for an arm and thus belongs in right. Like I'm talking throws like this beaut from Hunter Renfroe the other day-- you do not run on Nora, because she WILL get you out on what you think is a routine double. Bats cleanup and probably has a whole Bash Brothers routine with Yang, including special handshakes. Definitely a pull hitter.

Regular starting lineup is most likely:

Ruby

Pyrrha

Yang

Nora

Blake

Penny

Jaune

Emerald

Weiss

Rounding out the team in the bullpen are:

Long relief: Lie Ren. When your starter melts down and you need someone to keep things calm and give you like four quality innings without giving up more runs, Ren's your guy. Also very happy to play setup man. Throws a knuckleball, says Nora taught him how, and refuses to give more details when people ask.

Closer: Oscar Pine. Admittedly probably more of a ground ball pitcher than a strikeout guy; he induces weak contact and is always going for the double play. I see him as a David Robertson or Kenley Jansen type who gets himself into jams and then gets out of them and like. Yes more often than not he gets the job done but sometimes he'll give you a damn heart attack about it. OSCAR WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS.

In the process of writing this post Helen asked me who the manager would be and noted Qrow would give absolutely adorable A League Of Their Own vibes. She also suggested that Ozpin (well, Ozma) probably invented baseball in the first place, so... more proof that she's funnier than me.

okay I've been thinking about and then writing this for almost five hours now I have to stop. should I have put some of this behind a cut? probably! but I think it's beautiful, so... sorry but not sorry to all your dashboards <3 I want you to know this included way more specific baseball player comps at one point but I took some of them out so you might have a chance of understanding this <3

[anitalianfrie]

marco is tired e the legend of artemis

le adoro gia btw

The legend of artemis:

I'm gonna talk about the things I know will happen next (bc I'm terrible at planning! But anyways!)

There'll be a flash back to the first time one of them got turned by the curse, just to see a bit more how actually it impacted them to withstand such harsh transformation the first times, before they built their little secure routine.

And then the "terrible, bad, very not good day (more like month) of enea bastianini" will start, where he'll have to sustain sexism, gender dysphoria, ducati related stress, the terrible fate of falling in love with his fuck buddy, a sexual identity crisis and minor alcoholism to cope with all of that!

And being pregnant. Of course.

Marco is tired:

So, basically this fic has the very stupid premise of bez walking on Cele while he makes out with a dude during last year's gala (with the special participation of Pedro acosta)

And then bez is angry bc he doesn't understand why Cele never told him anything before, and an unsettling feeling takes residence in his stomach for some reason he can't identify and he just keeps. feeling uncomfortable around Cele. And bez thinks he's being subtle but he isn't and Cele notices. AND BEZ STILL DOESN'T KNOW WHY HE FEELS LIKE THAT (sexuality crises + feelings for his best friend hitting him with the speed of a high velocity train straight in the face)

They also manage to argue about overcooked pasta once as a proxy for the argument they should actually have. Bc they're stupid.

[toast-tales]

I Lava You, Chapter 6: Stuck Like Glue

Read Chapter 1 here!

Cover art by @luckyshotwrites!

This short story takes place after P39 of ITWOM and as such, contains minor, minor spoilers for ITWOM - read at your own risk! You do NOT need to have read WIDFALI to enjoy this story!

This story is cowritten with the amazing, fantastic @luckyshotwrites and uses the minor character June from their ongoing vore story What I'd Do For A Livable Income. It's chock full of monsters, magic, goofs, and absolutely fantastic worldbuilding and characters. Give it a shot if you haven't yet!

Contains: references to g/t soft, safe vore. ~1000 words.

Chapter 6: Stuck Like Glue

June specified that they were talking about themselves, not humans in general. That way I'm not lying. Still, June's shoulders slacked with the lies he carried.

“Nope. I don’t feel pain—” AH! Wait, normal humans feel pain. No—Tristan told me some humans don't. “I was born very different from humans…I don’t feel pain, so I won’t get hurt if you throw me.” June was blissfully unaware of his friend’s intentions.

He felt the extra squish from Sam’s anticipation.

These words from June were all it took to remove the inhibitors from Sam’s questionable urges. They stood up, June in hand, and looked around for a suitably clear path from them to the wall. 

They looked down at the human in their hand, and a moment of hesitation hit them. Am I sure they’re not gonna get hurt? 

Unfortunately, Sam’s excitement was beating out the shred of concern they had, aided by the fact that they trusted whatever came out of this human’s mouth. Probably more than they should. Hey, he said it was fine!

Sam eyed the blank spot on the wall ahead of them and gave June one last look, their nerves buzzing with excitement. A wide grin spread across their face. “Alright, little buddy, I gotta see this.” 

That was all the warning the giant gave before winding their arm back and flinging the unsuspecting slime towards the wall as hard as they could.

June swung back with Sam's arm, then with the velocity of a thousand meteors, his body collided with the wall. June's body splatted against the wall and flattened upon impact.

He at least maintained the fleshy color of his "skin". As if a human could do this.

He went as flat as construction paper before popping back into his humanoid shape. His fell from the wall and bounced back onto the ground like a bouncy ball. He chortled softly, completely unharmed.

June laid with his back against the floor, looking at Sam upside-down because of his head’s angle. 

“That was so much fun!” June had endured plenty of high falls on his old world too. “You throw really fast!”

Sam watched the scene unfold before them with amazement, their eyes sparkling with childish glee. This was helped by June’s enthusiasm, who was amazingly unharmed by this whole thing. 

“That was SO FUCKING COOL!” they exclaimed, running over to June and picking them up in a fit of excitement. “I’ve never tried anything like that with a human before.”

Their mind buzzed with possibilities. The first thing that came to mind was kicking June around like a little human hackey-sack, but they put that thought aside. For now.

The second thought was, obviously, showing June off to Christopher and providing him with a demonstration. But…nah, they’d wait until tomorrow.

Sam casually tossed June up in the air like a wadded-up piece of paper before catching them again. “You are by far the coolest human I’ve ever found, little buddy.”

June liked the rush of air when being thrown up and then caught.

The slime’s body bubbled happily. Coolest? Me? He knew the human vernacular meant one of two things. It could mean that he was cool to the touch��but…June was fairly certain his body wasn’t cold. Which meant…

He clung to Sam’s hand, affectionately. “You mean it?!” 

“Hell yeah!” Sam resisted the urge to toss June at the wall again, though their arm itched to do so. “You got any more cool tricks?” They took a seat back at their desk, still holding June securely (a relative term if there ever was one) in their hands, subconsciously squeezing parts of June between their fingers as they did so.

June had plenty of “cool tricks.” But I can’t show Sam any of them! He whined in his head as Sam squeezed again. He didn’t mind it—he let the gentle rolls of Sam’s clutch and release massage him. 

“None that I can think of,” June replied. His big, round, curious eyes looked up at Sam. “What about you? Do you have any really cool tricks you can do?”

Sam thought about it for a while. They didn’t think June would be overly impressed by their amateur lockpicking skills. They turned back to their PC, remembering what they had been distracted from earlier. Suddenly, their eyes glanced over one of the icons on the desktop, and a wide smile broke on their face. They hadn’t had someone to show off to in a long time, and the excitement almost bubbled over in them. 

“OH! I’ve been working at getting this sixth-level map and I think I’ve mastered it,” Sam enthused, getting swept away in their addiction to their favorite rhythm game. They were about to position their fingers over the keys as usual when they realized they’d have to let go of the squishy human to do so. They let go of June, though with the slightest hint of reluctance. 

“Here, here, check this out.”

For the next hour, Sam gave June a front-row view of a very flashy, colorful display with both the game and RGB lighting of their keyboard, mouse, and PC lighting up and swapping colors as they played. It was clear Sam had some level of skill with the game. Sam gave June more information and fun facts about the game than the slime would ever want to know.

June, situated between Sam and their keyboard, watched the screen bustling with joy. He cheered Sam on when they did well, and served their famous special encouragement platter when they messed up, which they freely served to friends 7 days a week. 

June himself wasn’t skilled with games—many times, he would end up staring into space when he played, admiring the beautiful scenes instead.

In this case, the lights of the keyboard pulled him away. He wasn’t bored by any means—he simply felt happy to be there and to observe his new friend succeed.

This opportunity was granted by his glasses—before, the world was pretty dark, nearly black with sprinkles of energy-filled light from individuals. And now, he could see everything in awe-inspiring detail. 

The game would be entertaining enough that Sam would almost forget about the fact that they had a human to eat with them—at least, until their stomach started growling again. 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

<- Chapter 5

Hey, this IS a vore story...right? Remember?

Thanks for your patience on this update - and we might need to ask for that patience again, but thank you for reading!

[boyakishantriage]

She stepped, one foot over another as the alien held his breasts high. So, trans people exist, and this motherfucker was yet another pirate. And I'm getting the sensation that the only reason I'm bumping into so many pirates like this, is because the coalition doesn't understand how crime works.

On earth, there was this whole thing where the underground had systems of government sort of. Money, debts. Whatever, ways to make crime in high society and stuff less stupid pains for legal governments, and the only reason I know this fictional system is because my boss has a seat on it.

The Terran circled around, her grip, her stance, her form. All of it was weak, light. A novice with so much bravado, it appeared that this human was all bluff. A fool.

The bell rang, the human holding her ground as she wasted the pirate's time.

Bleck, the planet had several ports, been explored about a third specifically around the ports and as a result. There'd been pirates, when we crashed and the others and I managed to build a settlement around our scattered shuttles, they'd surprised us. Thankfully, the area they found us was a little further away, the cluster of three shuttles leaving the twenty or so crew to be led back and by now Daniel had organised or at least was planning something.

Tribal, that's what the pirates were. Nicking resources, just taking leeching off the network across the room planet in the system, and the Dyson sphere experiment in the area was funneling a lot of resources. The courts had "asked" me to fix it. And the "malfunctioning turrets" meant the humans would take what would be, maybe a weekend of static testing (reading code) and setting up a temporary defence while they troubleshooted the problem, into a month long operation. Mostly by using the order to stall by experimenting with various new types of defences, occasionally "accidentally" causing minor issues meaning our ship had been parked here for six months. My third crash was reaching my halfway point and I frankly. Couldn't care less.

He spotted weakness, that blank stare was her not paying attention. Drawing weapon, he swung.

CLANG.

A blade held his, hooked the Terran sweeping the weapon into the air, forcing him back as she thrust the weapon off the hook towards him. Now standing straight, weapon held parallel as he caught the weapon. Like a statue.

This dance continued for a while, everything the man struck, she'd dodge, duck or disarm him. And he'd get his weapon back, but these light attacks weren't doing anything.

New strategy, the twirled the weapon, swishing the air as he aimed to strike her middle. A block, as he threw a punch, and he was suddenly on his back. Both blades held to his neck.

"one."

She'd toss the blade back at him, relaxing into a new stance. Blade held over her, body stretched like she were between a leap, roll or sprint. The alien for up, eyes following him as he swung for the legs, a kick sweeping across his face as she slammed her elbow into his chest. Throwing her ass out as a foot wrapped around his, the weapon held between her shoulder as she slammed her head into his face. Sending him flying to the floor, pushing off his falling body and landed a little further away, blade now held at her hip.

She's toying with me.

That much was obvious, but her form was perfect. Each strike had anticipated any moves he would do, before he could counter she'd struck blind spots, which forced strikes until he had to get back up.

The alien was finished playing, the tail unfurling as the agile alien held his weapon, practically telling me he was getting serious as we held positions.

Leaping first, jumping between spots and increasing velocity as he twirled, throwing a pair of kicks as he swept down. Blood hit the floor, a gnash on my arm.

The Terran jumped back, legs sweeping away as she proceeded to bandage and disinfect her arm while dashing away from her opponent. Constantly keeping a ruler's length away from him, as she drew her sword.

"Impressive."

"Eh?"

"You treated a wound, while keeping away from me."

"... Ok?"

The two now stood apart from one another, blood no longer dripped to the floor, the man standing still as she caught her breath.

"Tired?"

"nah, just forgot to breath."

"..."

His head turned, as he repeated.

"you forgot. To breath..."

"What?"

"How..."

She shrugged, drawing a second blade.

Hesitation. The Terran could duel wield, a longer lighter weapon and a heavier shorter one, each about as long as her elbow to hand. While she wore what looked like a makeshift leather breastplate, the leather melded together with heat, that was it. Aside from some clothes. Versus his fully leather body armoured, minus the iron vambraces, the two had similar weapons. Ignoring the part where his sword was vibrating at a high frequency, their weapons were similar.

It clicked, her swords were straight. And they hadn't been cut despite being what appeared to be titanium. Just, titanium blades, looking more like modified hoes if nothing else. The Terran then spoke up.

"alright. I can't deal with this silence. Who in Hell are you?"

"... I am Lowe Bymd. Pirate lord."

"Did ya make that name up yourself?"

"Yes."

"Bit childish innit?"

"Excuse me?"

"Pirate lord? What, is there a pirate King over ya?"

"Pardon, but it is pirate Queen"

"Bet she's got a sloppy cunt."

"Excuse me?"

"A whore, wanker. I'm calling your kind a good for nothing whore."

"You mean my mother?"

"Ohhh, so you're a bastard."

"HOW DARE-"

"and you sound like a posh cunt."

"..."

The man drew back, taking a few steps back.

"You're going to regret that."

"regret what nimble legs?"

The deer like alien's limbs flexed, muscles rippling-

"Ooh, and you've got thunder thighs huh?"

Nostrils flared, the man whinnying equally like a deer as he charged forward.

The human was calm, the deer cracking the earth behind him as he gathered speed, the weapon cutting ground like softened butter as she held her sword. Closing her eyes, as the alien drew his weapon back.

"NO ONE INSULTS TO T'VA"

"Loud cunt." She sheathed her blade from beside him, the neck slicing open like a blood balloon. Head snapping as she grabbed the body, sucking the blood out the body.

[dailycharacteroption]

Gun Chemist (Alchemist Archetype)

(art by Shrinecat on DeviantArt)

Guns and chemistry go hand in hand. After all, one could not accelerate small bits of metal at high velocity without a propellant!

It only makes sense, then, that there would be archetypes that blend both gunslinger and alchemist together. While the gunslinger has the firebrand, today we’re tackling things from the other end with an archetype specializing on using alchemy to enhance the shots of their chosen weapon.

These characters might be weapons engineers devoted to perfecting alchemical weaponry, or they may simply be experts applying their craft in what they believe is the best outlet, but regardless, they can be quite potent combatants even without being warriors first and foremost.

Whatever their role, there are few better experts when it comes to ballistic sciences as they are understood in the quasi-medieval world of Pathfinder.

Rather than use bombs, these alchemists mix their reagents into the gunpowder they use to fire their shots, giving them an impressive amount of wallop to a single foe. While not as potent when used with scatter guns, they are nevertheless quite effective, and can even be improved with various discoveries that affect bombs.

Of course, all of this would be useless without a gun to fire the charges from, and these alchemists have such a weapon in their arsenal, and like a gunslinger, are able to construct such weapons and mix gunpowder on the cheap.

Of course, there are also special discoveries they can potentially take, such as one that improves their weapon’s stability, or one that causes shots to detonate on impact, dealing splash damage to nearby foes, or even one that improves the efficiency of their loading to unleash alchemical shot after shot in a short span.

Their mastery of alchemical arms doesn’t stop at their special brews either, their mundane alchemical cartridges being especially potent as well.

They also learn to reload their firearm much faster as well, increasing their overall rate of fire.

Firearms are already quite potent on their own, but the ability to combine them with the high damage of bombs means these alchemists can be quite potent damage-dealers, assuming they hit and don’t misfire, of course. Whether you go longarm and blast foes from afar, spread the love as a scatter gunner, or fire rapidly with a pistol, they certainly have options for builds. That being said, you should probably use your mutagen exclusively for a dex bonus, and prepare buffs with your extracts, with perhaps a minor in blasting as well.

It's fairly tempting to give these chemists a bombastic sort of personality, what with their focus on the actual chemistry behind their gun. On the other hand, it can be fun to make such a character more chill and collected, using every opportunity to test a new batch.

When an overly embellished story from a water naga caused her brother to die in a horrible misunderstanding, Vasah vowed revenge. However, the young iruxi knew she could not handle the serpent’s magic on her own, so she has spent several years refining her alchemy to produce a powder that could turn a bullet into an especially deadly projectile.

The vine leshy Gripbranch has a mystery on his hands, finding several animals and a few of the forest fey thay constitute his neighbors dead from strange wounds. It’s clear enough they are bullet wounds, but the area around the wounds is covered in scorch marks, as if the slayer used far too much powder, or a particularly volatile mix. If any in the party uses such a weapon, he immediately accuses them.

Someone has gotten ahold of the Staff of Ages, and is assembling an army across time. Reports of strangers wielding new weapons of fire and thunder are being reported, but tracking down their leader is only the beginning.

[planete777]

getting high with lando and u somehow end up on his lap and u kinda accidentally grind down on him and he moans and says that feels rlly good and ur just like yeah? and u end up riding him

I WANNA RIDE・⁠｡♪ LN4

( lando norris x fem!reader )

WARNINGS. 18+, MINORS DNI, getting high (as per), p in v unprotected sex (practise safe sex guys!!), semi public sex, riding, a little bit of body worship, high!lando x reader being hot (as per pt. 2)

NOTE. anon prbly wanted this as a small thought post, but i had to write a proper fic coz planete.exe 404 error: BRAINROTTING! so plz enjoy my first ever smut (sorry if it sucks i tried), and remember, don't get high!! or do wtv u please.... ok bye 🫶

SIDENOTE. my askbox is open! feel free to send in any thoughts, scenarios, requests etc about high!lando 🤍

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

all in the name of needed getaways, y/n and lando find themselves in the aforementioned's car, basking just behind the local park, where the sunset could perform best. clocks are just shy of 7pm, the wind a couple of degrees cooler than hours prior, and sitting in their adjacent seats with doors wide open, both lando and y/n have lit and inhaled their spliffs by second nature.

lando's beyond glad that the vehicle is out of plain sight, veiled by thick trees and bushes, because he was completely struck, dazed with not a thought in mind, and the sight would make a journalist's field day. yet, it's the thrill that keeps him flippant to all seriousness and discretion. the presence of y/n, uncaring and completely liberal in nature, gives him a second identity to just let it all go and succumb to the skewed vision and thrumming fingertips.

seats reclined by a bit, lando's foot rests just below the dashboard, y/n the same but with both instead, and lando can't feel a thing.

it's light conversation that carries the mood, punctuated by the aux that y/n has complete control over, and the rest of the world simmers away as they let the high take them before the ombres of the sky. it gets chiller, and it knocks y/n into partial sobriety slamming her side of the door shut.

"shut the door, lan', it's fucking cold now."

he groans, "nah, can't move."

he hears her sigh, mumbling a disappointed 'dickhead' beneath her breath, and he smiles before zoning out again. a few seconds of shuffling commences, then weighted friction lands so heavily on his thighs that it excavates a vehement puff of air out of him, red eyes snapping open. he can't say anything, not when y/n leans to grab the door shut and grinds on him with so much force that it has to be intentional.

lando knows he accomodated a semi throughout the whole car ride. something about seeing his best friend in her element turns him on so much that he could probably cum untouched.

but now, he feels too much, there's pressure on his dick, accompanied by warmth only y/n could emanate, and the moan that flies out of him rumbles in his chest.

"fuck, that feels good."

y/n freezes as she settles again, but then she's smirking, and no matter how more shut than open his eyes are, he can see it blatantly.

"yeah?" her voice sounds light and airy, and it runs lando mad.

"mhm." his chest is heaving up and down with a quickened velocity, and he feels far from being at the peace he was just seconds before.

the girl leans in, lips tracing along the skin of his neck with a phantom touch, and lando can feel every single inch of his resolve melt away. his hands rest on her hips, teasing a slip beneath her hoodie, and he squeezes, hard.

she goes higher, and higher, stopping at his ear, "let me ride you."

then it's all gone. composure complete in lack, his hand reaches up to her nape and slams her lips against his for a gratifying kiss. his eagerness is matched instantaneously, y/n combing her hands through lando's curls and tugging so hard that he nearly fears that some would rip out of their roots.

nothing amounts to the all encompassing sensation of y/n everywhere. her grinding turns more frantic, and he pushes her down hastily, hands crawling upon the skin of her back.

"get your dick in me, lan'," she says, with no room for more words, and he does just that, welding their lips together again as he fumbles with the knot of his joggers.

y/n finds a way to free herself of her hoodie, leaving her in nothing but her bra, and lando, pushing down to free his hard, aching dick, expresses his distaste for that.

"take it off, y/n."

she's smirking, and lando's losing it even more, "what? you're gonna suck them out here?"

he almost finds it offensive that she doesn't think he'll worship her anywhere. public be fucking damned, he'd be at her mercy whenever he could.

"and you'll fucking love it."

"damn right."

just as she unclips her bra, she grabs lando's dick, and, unprecedentedly, sheaths herself in.

everything is hot. god, he can't do anything but moan and moan again, shutting his eyes and going completely limp. it doesn't deter y/n, in fact, her wet, tight cunt squeezes and grinds upon lando's dick without mercy and the pleasure that soars through him burns and tickles.

"oh fuck fuck fuck," lando's mouth rains profanities, and as he goes to open his eyes, y/n moans and they roll back shut again. he's red all over, feels his t-shirt sticking to his skin with sweat, and the girl keeps on bouncing and grinding. he can't survive with it on, and so he yanks it off, coming skin-to-skin with y/n's naked chest.

"fuck lan'."

she can say nothing more, and neither can he, his hips thrusting upwards to meet hers. she lets out a high pitched moan, and lando's ears ring as he brings his hands up to cup her breasts. they fill them so perfectly, and his mouth waters like it aches for honey, attaching it to her left nipple and sucking it like he was running mad. he's drunk off her essence, a complete goner, and y/n throws her head back as her grinds slow down.

"feels so fucking good."

she's so deep in euphoria that she's on the verge of tears, and lando decides to let himself do the work, grabbing her hips and grinding upwards frantically.

the car smells sharply of sex, humid and steaming up the windows, and y/n hazily complements the scent with a drag of weed, eyes rolling back, and mouth puffing out pouts of smoke and moans. she feels the knot tighten in her gut and her toes curl just as lando sloppily licks wet kisses up her chest and neck, then into her mouth.

the kiss is barely one, filled with clashing teeth and the exchange of sighs, but lando keeps their mouth attached, sneaking a hand into hers to steal the spliff. y/n lets him, jaw slackened and too tired to engage in the tangle of tongues either.

"fuck, i'm cumming— shit shit shit!"

"cum with me y/n, cum on my dick," lando slurs out, taking the roll into his mouth before inhaling and exhaling the white smoke. his dick spasms sporadically, sensitive and completely throbbing as he spurts right into y/n's cunt, feeling her own coat and pool at the base of his dick.

they can barey ride down their high, exhausted and completely satiated, and all y/n can do is rest her head on lando's shoulder, rubbing her hands up and down his chest as he does the same.

[unohanadaydreams]

I don’t think they all sat like this in the manga, right? TYBW is so long that I could be wrong but I don’t think so!

Either way they were like ‘hey do you all remember the Hueco Mundo opening? Remember Arrancar tea time? Babes are we activating your nostalgia and shaking your brain at high velocity yet?’ (The answer is yes)

If you try hard enough, even preparations for an oncoming battle can be a sleepover and this is proof.

Finally the start of Giselle and her pathetic blood blag Bambi era is beginning!!!!!!! I am so excited for her battle with MAYURI AND TO SEE THE GIRL GANG DISSOLVE UNDER THE WEIGHT OF MINOR INCONVENIENCE IN A WAR. There is no friendship to even test here. Karakura gang has no problems compared to these women.

[jose-berojos]

What the Fuck Are They Doing With Alcalá? A Comprehensive Overview

Jorge Alcala is one of my niche-favorite Twins players, thanks to a specific game in 2020 where he pitched two scoreless innings in extras to salvage the game that started out as Maeda's 8-inning no-hit bid. He was Duran before Duran: a flamethrowing Dominican righty who the Twins picked up as a 2018 trade deadline lottery ticket and converted to a major-league caliber reliever.

It's not been a smooth road: like many high-velocity pitchers, he struggles with command, and also has historic issues facing lefties. But in late 2021, it looked like he'd figured it out, giving up just 1 earned run across his last 14 appearances of the season with stellar peripherals and picking up his first career save. Heading into 2022, he seemed poised to work into a setup role, but he got hurt after two appearances and, like many others that season, had complications during the rehab process and never returned.

2023, then, was set to be Alcala's year, as one of many high-ceiling but limited track record relievers fighting for a leverage role to improve a bullpen that had been the 2022 team's weakness. And this is where it gets weird.

As a hard-throwing reliever with high-leverage potential, a history of arm issues, and coming off a season almost totally lost to arm injury, Alcala's third appearance of the season was in... a 3-run deficit (the first prolonged multi-run deficit the Twins had faced all season), where he threw 45 pitches over 1.2 innings. Having not thrown 30+ pitches in an outing since 9/15/20, his third appearance back from injury he was asked to throw 45. Six days later he threw 44 in 2 innings and gave up 2 runs. Another five days later he threw 41 in 2.1 and gave up 3 runs, and was promptly sent down.

His fourth appearance in triple-A, he threw 42 pitches in 1.2 innings. He was then called back up and made three appearances, all 20+ pitch count, all giving up runs, in progressively lower leverage before being relegated to mop-up duty in a 16-3 game and going on the injured list two days later.

Unsurprisingly, the injury was right arm-related; more surprisingly, sometime later it was upgraded to a stress fracture, which shut him down for three months. After a few rehab assignments, he came back for the last game of the season, where he gave up the game-tying run and threw 39 pitches in 2 innings.

So far in 2024, Alcala looks better than ever, but it hasn't earned him any more favorable usage. Like last year, about half his appearances have been for multiple innings, mainly in low leverage, with one 40-pitch outing. There was also the weird incident on 4/6 where they planned to have him throw a third inning before he complained of arm soreness. With his injury history, this sounded alarming, but he got two days rest and then threw back-to-back for the first time since 2021.

Though he's maintained an ERA of 0 so far, with 9 strikeouts to 3 hits and 3 walks, he was the first reliever sent down (over less experienced pitchers, or pitchers with worse performance but no minor league options) when Thielbar returned. Given his performance, heavy usage, and the arm soreness incident, this made sense as load management, but in his first triple-A appearance, he threw... 2 innings, 34 pitches.

I don't get it. From the outside, this looks like a shockingly uncharacteristic and localized case of mismanagement and wasted opportunities by the Twins. Alcala was an heir-apparent setup man just two years ago, and he's shown time and again he can still be that if given health and opportunity. Instead he's treated like a rubber-armed fringe long reliever.

Since I wrote the bulk of this post, Alcala made two more triple-A appearances, both single-inning and 20 or fewer pitches, and he sat for nine days between outings. His fastball velocity in these outings has rebounded to a more characteristic 99 mph max, 97 mph average, which is encouraging to see after his velocity frequently dropped during those longer MLB outings.

With talks of sending Sands down to triple-A to stretch out as a starter, it's likely Alcala will soon be called back up to fill that middle relief/spot-setup role. I hope this most recent triple-A usage is indicative of how they plan to use him at the major league level going forward. He deserves a chance to stick as a setup man, and the multi-inning, 30+ pitch usage he's been stuck in for the past year plus seems tailor-made to get him hurt again.