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maoam · 3 years ago

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WHY HINATA IS NOT A GOOD CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

I wanted to take a deeper look at Hinata’s character, considering there are a lot of claims about her out there, that she’s strong, that she’s kind, that she’s complex and relatable, that she’s the perfect woman and that she’s at least better than Sakura. I don’t really think so, and I’ll explain why. I’ll be focusing on canon, so no fillers or novels will be included in this post. I’ll say this as a warning, if you’re a fan of her character this probably won’t be something you’ll like. This will be tagged with the anti tags and put under read more so please do not complain if tumblr somehow puts this in the normal tags, it is not intentional. Also Sakura stans please don’t write lengthy comments about Sakura under this, I’m not a fan of her either and I’ll write about her later. Make your own post instead.

”HINATA IS STRONG AND THE BEST KUNOICHI”

Hinata is generally really bad as a shinobi and I’m not sure where the claims that she is strong come from. Hinata's entire character revolves around her being weak. This could have been fine if she actually developed, or if she found some other area for herself, yet she's mediocre at best and a waste of panels at worst, because she never becomes good or strong at anything. She’s not only physically weak from start to finish, but she’s also the equivalent of a damsel in distress. Everytime Hinata attempts to do something, she ends up failing, getting beaten up and having to be saved. She lost to her sister who is five years younger than her, which is what marked her as a failure in her clan. She tried to fight Neji in the chunin exams and ended up coughing up blood and losing her consciousness, and Naruto had to beat Neji for her. After Kabuto heals her fully, she spends the rest of part 1 either sleeping or missing in action. Very underwhelming.

If this had been only the beginning, it would have maybe been fine, but it’s a reoccuring pattern with her character. She throws herself in front of Pain, managing to do nothing but get one-paneled and almost killed. Even at the start of the war she had to be saved by Naruto. She tried to run to Naruto and tripped over a rock. Actually, she’s so weak she got Neji killed, when he had to jump in front of her so she wouldn’t get impaled. Why is she even in the front lines when she can’t fight? Even in Naruto the Last movie she had to be saved multiple times. In Boruto the movie she is still useless and reckless, leaving her daughter’s side to help Naruto, ending up defeated and having to be healed by Sakura once again.

I can’t say she’s mentally strong either. She has the personality of someone who hates conflict and tries to avoid it as best as they can, to the point of agreeing with others on everything, as Neji pointed out. Even without him saying it out loud, most of Hinata’s moments that aren’t her thinking about Naruto are her doing exactly this. This is not the personality of someone who is strong mentally. It’s the personality of someone who is too weak to have their own mind, someone who will go with the flow and is easily led and convinced. It can be dangerous the more you think about it. Hinata is also the bystander who never stands up for Naruto despite liking and admiring him. If she’s a compassionate girl, why isn’t she showing this by reaching out to Naruto and befriending him? Why doesn’t she show he’s not alone? Why is she only drawing inspiration from him? I don’t normally watch fillers, but there was one filler scene unrelated to Hinata where this girl says if you only look at the loser and do nothing, you aren’t much better than the oppressors, which probably wasn’t meant to be a call out for Hinata, but ended up being so anyway. Another thing that’s annoying is how she is berating herself often, yet doing nothing, it comes off as self-pity. Even in the Last movie, she is talking about how she must be a bad sister for knitting a scarf when her sister is in danger. Then why are you doing it and not stopping? Of course everytime this happens Naruto must cheer her up because she just can’t stop moping around and doing something herself.

Aside from all this, from the very beginning Hinata’s honor needed to be defended by Naruto because she couldn’t stand up for herself. Of course, after Naruto’s words she did stood up for a moment, and that was good, but it should have been a wake up call which altered her course. Instead, she kept doing the same she always did. If we take the Last movie into consideration, she’s still not strong enough to do anything even about her crush on Naruto. She needs genjutsu and Sakura to do the work for her. So even when it comes to the only thing she cares about 90 % of the time, which is Naruto-kun, she can’t do anything about it. That’s really sad.

”HINATA IS KIND AND SELFLESS”

There’s one mistake I see people make often, and that’s assuming characters that are quiet and shy are automatically kind. I wouldn’t say Hinata is as kind as the fandom makes her out to be. She simply comes off that way because you don’t really see her have her own opinions or disagree with the other characters. Hinata’s shyness on the other hand is most of the time a fetishized quirk to appeal to certain subset of fans. Her shyness doesn’t stop her from taking exams or hanging around Shino and Kiba, or talking to characters other than Naruto. She also has enough attitude to rub Neji’s status as a house slave in his face during their match, but because she stutters Naruto-kun every five minutes she’s supposedly kind. Kindness is shown through actions, not through standing around and stuttering. For comparison, we see Ino befriend an unpopular kid like Sakura, and give her confidence. That’s an act of kindness. Did Hinata ever cared about helping the branch members in any way? No.

She's supposedly "kind" but like I mentioned before she never shows this kindness by standing up for Naruto, or reaching out to him. She simply stares at him behind a tree and draws inspiration from his suffering. The only time she can actually stand up is to selfishly confess her love and die. She even said she felt like being selfish, and like I said she knew there was nothing she could do, she was told she’d only be in the way. She came there only to confess and commit suicide. This actually reminds me of another anime where this female character, after being unable to receive a male character’s love killed herself in front of him and said ”now you’ll never forget me”.

In the end, she cares about nothing but her own hormonal urges. Hinata tried to help Naruto cheat to pass an exam at the risk of disqualifying her whole team. This is the first individual action we see her character take. Did she consider Shino and Kiba during that moment? No, she didn’t even have an inner conflict on whether she should do this, whether it’s right towards her teammates. Even Naruto considers he might get Hinata, Sasuke and Sakura all in trouble if he accepts Hinata’s offer, which is why he doesn’t do it. Then when Hinata wonders if she can cheer for Naruto during his and Kiba’s match, she thinks Kiba might get mad. It’s more about how Kiba views her rather than whether she should cheer for Kiba because they are in the same team and should support each other. During the Pain attack, she left an injured shinobi, who couldn’t move, to go to Naruto, even when said shinobi told her she would only be in Naruto’s way. She didn’t try to save people, she simply wanted to confess and act in front of Naruto. This is about a threat to the entire village, which includes her comrades and her sister and she’s thinking only about her romantic feelings towards a guy she had maybe two conversations with and who barely remembers she exists. How is she better than Sakura? War arc really was the icing on the cake that Hinata’s character is only about Naruto. We should not forget the infamous ”Naruto-kun’s hand is so big… so manly...” is that really the right time to be thirsty? When Neji just died? Shikamaru mentions that he could help out Naruto as a right-hand man and then Hinata thinks “I-I want to be by Naruto-kun’s side too.” Then there’s of course the scene where she starts running to Naruto, leaving her post and teammates, even when Naruto is a mile away and already in the hands of medical ninjas, and even that ends up her pathetically tripping over a rock. Kiba has to remind her to use her byakugan because she is too busy gushing about Naruto. Eventually her only last line is “Naruto-kun”, when everyone is put into IT. It’s like a parody by this point. She doesn’t have any concern for her sister, her father, her teammates, Kurenai or her baby. It’s just “Naruto-kun” like it always is. Even in the Last movie, she is knitting a scarf for Naruto during the mission where they’re supposed to save her sister. Who brings a scarf on a mission? Why is she thinking about her romantic gift to Naruto so much she has to take it with her on a mission which focus is saving her sister? She even looks more devastated when Toneri tores the scarf apart than she ever does for Hanabi’s sake. It’s just silly and selfish.

”HINATA IS A COMPLEX CHARACTER”

Is she complex though? Her development goes from standing behind a tree looking at her crush she never talks to, to committing suicide for feelings that could never be reciprocated, to… waiting that a genjutsu and Sakura guilt trip Naruto enough for him to be with her? Like I already mentioned her character revolves entirely around Naruto, she has no hobbies or interests we know of aside from him. She has no motivations aside from being by Naruto’s side. She once had an interesting goal and backstory, but that was never fully explored, and it turned into her wanting Naruto’s attention and thinking about him. Her clan plot was irrelevant, she showed no interest in wanting to be a leader or even wanting to make things better for the branch members. It’s funny because immediately after the ending, no one cared about the Hyuuga branch and how the storyline was dropped and had no resolution. It was only when Hinata was being attacked for not showing to care did her fans start to over-analyze all the panels looking for the tiniest little clue that might hint at some changes.

It’s possible to be both shy, anxious and quiet and also to be strong, motivated and have interests and dreams. Hinata is never strong for herself, she’s only strong to be with Naruto, to die for Naruto, to motivate Naruto, to have Naruto look at her even for a moment. All the while Naruto doesn’t pay much attention to her unless she’s literally dying in front of him or she slapped him. Even when a big climax is happening, what’s on her mind is always her romantic feelings and her crush. I saw someone say if she were a male character, and she pulled this pointless sacrifice and theatrical confession in the final fight of an arc, she would’ve been universally mocked. Actually, I think even if it was Sakura who did this instead of Hinata the former would have been mocked, because their stans are unable to see the same flaws in their own fave as they see in the other girl. Naruto is a battle manga, characters are supposed to contribute to the defeat of the villain in some material way. The only reason people praise Hinata for what she did in the Pain arc is because they either pity her or because they’re men who think women killing themselves for a man is great because it boosts their ego.

I also notice many Hinata fans don’t notice the vanity in their own fandom. They call Hinata “princess”, ”heiress”, ”Konoha’s first lady” and draw fanart glorifying these concepts and how it makes Hinata good, because they like the superficial status, what they don’t care is the titles are unearned. I thought Hinata’s appeal was that she’s the underdog and a loser? Or maybe her real appeal is the idea of getting everything you want without doing much in order to get it? Another claim is that Hinata is the perfect woman, which you might see from men. This is what I might dislike the most. Men judge Hinata’s worth and whether she’s a good character based on what kind of woman they want and think is the right kind of woman. Hinata has big breasts, she’s submissive, she has no other interests than the man she likes, and she’s the only girl in her class who didn’t go for the popular guy. Many men hate Sakura, Ino and Karin for being fangirls but praise Hinata for being a fangirl. Basically to them if a character is a fangirl of the wrong guy, she’s a stupid slut. If she fangirls their self insert, she’s wife material and the ideal woman. If Sakura has to be saved, she’s useless. If Hinata tries to kill herself for Naruto, she’s ”so kind”. Rin is a one-dimensional character, but Hinata saying Naruto-kun for the 50th time is depth. Hinata is also claimed to be better than the other girls because she had more kids and thus is more ”fertile”. It’s like feminism never happened and we are back to the 16th century. Why are we judging women’s worth on how many kids they have and how much they can please a man?

I could also talk about how Studio Pierrot turned Hinata into a hentai bait for otakus, which also plays a part in her popularity, but I don’t think it’s necessary, so I will just offer this picture which speaks for itself.

END NOTE

Hinata is simply just a sexist stereotype, a shadow of a real woman, with not much depth, and who is certainly not better than Sakura either. Both of them are fangirls whose characters revolve around men. It’s wild to me how there are women who genuinely act like one must be a misogynist if they reject Hinata’s superficial, one-dimensional and boy crazy character. Her character itself is misogynist for crying out loud. And honestly, what does it say when even the creator himself assumes that Hinata is someone’s favorite character because he must like big boobs?

#anti hinata #anti hinata hyuga #mp #I'm not sure if I'm satisfied with this #but there's just not much to talk about when it comes to her character #it would just become repetitive

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thenightling · 3 years ago

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The menu of a Dreamlord

I have decided to compile every instance of Morpheus eating and drinking in The Sandman comics that I can recall. Some of this is assumed and we’re not directly told he ate it.

First: The binge after the seventy-two-year fast.

After Morpheus escapes from his near century of captivity, the very first thing he does is seek out food in someone’s dream. This food is likely made of the same substance as dreams and as Morpheus is the embodiment of dreams it could be assumed that every time he eats in The Dreaming he is actually re-absorbing some of his own power. But it induces in him a sense of satisfaction similar to, or identical to, physical food digestion. It seems unlikely that he would or could starve to death but he clearly feels hunger. Now let’s analyze what he ate of that dream feast when he escaped.

1. Frog legs (probably uncooked) in a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken (KFC). In a later panel we see what look like actual chicken legs in his hand, along with a hero (also known as a sub or grinder) consisting of a long loaf of bread with tomato, lettuce, and what may be American cheese. There’s a slice of pizza falling loose from his hands. He may have already eaten one. There’s something in there that looks like it might be a rabbit or deer’s leg. He’s not picky and this was a buffet in someone’s dream, there’s some random things here.

2, Water in The Soft Places. On his way home Morpheus got lost in The Shifting Zones before being rescued by Gregory. While here he ran into Marco Polo, who had wandered in from The Waking World. Marco Polo was kind enough to give Morpheus some of his Waking World water. Morpheus was thirsty but too proud to admit it. In gratitude Morpheus used his last bit of strength to send Marco Polo home.

3. Mystery meal.

While Morpheus is recovering at The House of Mystery Cain prepares him a meal. We never see what that meal precisely consists of... It’s a mystery. But I imagine it was some kind of breakfast. But metaphorically the keeper of mysteries did feed him a mystery. So after his years of starvation he had food made of dream-stuff, waking world water, and a mystery.

Based on the dishes, I think it’s safe to assume part of that meal consisted of a soft boiled egg (see the smaller dish) and the glass might contain some kind of juice. I’d think orange juice but the color isn’t quite right. Perhaps apple juice? I’d wager a guess possibly non-alcoholic sweet apple cider (clouded apple juice), a popular Hallowe’en / autumn drink in the US that can be served warm or chilled. Cain is still very much a Hallowe’en-y character.

It’s possible he also had tea while recovering at The House of Mystery. Cain and Abel love to serve tea and biscuits or cake.

Cain also seems to like bottled soda like Coca-Cola and Ginger Ale. We see him drinking from a glass soda bottle while Morpheus is heading toward his castle.

4. The next time we see Morpheus eat or drink anything it is during Men of Good fortune. Here we see him drink ale and wine respectively.

5. In the sixteenth century, though Hob has ordered wine for them both it also appears he had a full meal brought for them. It’s in the middle of the table so probably not just for himself. They’re to spilt a roast chicken (or goose) and perhaps some sort of salad or other green vegetable? Boiled cabbage (or Spinach), maybe? There’s also apparently some sort of bread (or dinner roll) or meat pie but Hob might be eating that for himself.

So we have ale, wine, and probably some sort of poultry in The Waking World.

They also had white bread but Hob may have hogged it.

6. In the nineteenth century Hob and Morpheus appear to be having tea.

7. Later when Morpheus meets up with Hob in Season of Mists it’s wine again. This time not of the waking world though. But he does leave the half-finished bottle in the waking world for Hob.

Chateau Lafitte 1828.

8. Near Morpheus’ “Nightmare throne” we see what may be wine and apples and bananas.

9. Morpheus is apparently drinking red wine again while watching Emperor Norton.

10. Now for the first meal we actually see Morpheus specifically pick the dishes of, which makes this one significant because it suggests these are foods he definitely likes. An omelette (probably with cheese), a light salad, and white wine. This is while Morpheus is grieving his breakup with Thessaly. Probable confirmation: Morpheus likes omelettes.

11. Morpheus wanted dark mead but settled on Scotch. By the way, Hob, Dark Mead still exists so WTF, man?!

12. A vegetable dish and plain rice.

13. Sausage? I don’t know what he’s roasting here but based on the context of the scene I’ll say either the alien equivalent of sausage or hotdog. Some sort of space knockwurst? Though he might be preparing it for Hope.

Bonus: He’s also conjured bread, and for the children in The Kindly Ones, he produced ice cream and exotic fruits.

#The Sandman #Sandman #Morpheus #Dream of The Endless

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stingslikeabee · 2 years ago

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@cwarscars . from here

It was strange - to be away from the windows which were increasing the overall temperature thanks to the blazing hot sun outside should have made it a little better; a small refreshment to her senses in the shade of a cage of metal, traveling through the building in a dark tunnel with nothing but air above and below the cabin.

But to Melissa, it felt as if she had left the greenhouse to step into a frying pan; the reduced space between Heidegger and herself, the details about each other that were now so evident, the slight haze that the heat seemed to be inducing in both of them - the secretary had half a mind to drop the folders and papers to the ground, to rip whatever clothing remained on her body apart, to throw herself at him.

That was what her body wanted - was it not?

As much as the brunette had attempted to be professional about the entire AC crisis - it had highlighted the painfully obvious attraction she felt for her boss. It had been there from day one, from their infamous job interview with so much innuendo one might have expected sexual harassment charges to be sent to Shinra’s HR instead of personal documents for an onboarding process. And yet, nothing had happened - both director and secretary had played by the rules beautifully, slowly but steadily growing familiar but always within reason and decency.

Until that boundary began to be eroded - and Melissa couldn’t tell when it happened; at some point, the woman had just stopped trying to reinforce something she didn’t want to be in place. Magnar Valerio Heidegger was a married man, yes - and the brunette frequently dealt with checks for his wife, spoke to his daughters on the phone, handled some family matters for him and even got gifts for his spouse... But she knew his heart wasn’t into it; the jokes they shared about it told her as much.

The fact he looked at her differently over the last two months, too. And instead of feeling offended, Melissa merely... Experimented. Different types of clothes, changing colors, testing a new perfume or hairdo; and unless she was reading Heidegger very wrong, he was evidently following his secretary’s progress. A compliment here and there sounded innocent enough, acknowledgement of her good taste in shoes or a particular item of jewelry - but to the woman, it sounded like he preferred it when she wore a shirt and skirt (instead of dresses), combined with a particular type of black heels (without stockings) and left her hair loose and free.

It was precisely the case on that morning - or rather, it was until a pencil was snatched for a makeshift hairbun in an attempt to mitigate the feeling of being immersed in a jacuzzi with clothes on. Their closeness was playing tricks on her mind - Melissa was on the edge of saying something ultimately stupid, but the lift saved her. The emergency lights coming on, the panel with the error message - it distracted the secretary enough to focus on the fact they were trapped in the elevator, which could ordinarily make one panic.

But from the moment the general took charge and then proceeded to slightly open the doors with his bare hands - her mind was immediately back to the same track as it was before. A couple of folders slipped to the floor and the shock on Melissa’s face was clear, a few strands of hair sticking to her skin thanks to the droplets of sweat in the same fashion her gaze couldn’t be moved off the general and his incredible strength.

Oh fuck - perhaps she wouldn’t make it to the one year mark in the job; maybe Melissa was about to be fired, but not because Heidegger was insufferable and a tyrant, but because she very much wanted to kiss her (very married) boss senseless in the middle of a company crisis.

“It’s okay, sir - we tried our best,” the assistant found her voice at last, but it had a drier edge to her tone - as if she was thirsty for something (or someone), “I am sure the repairs team will know we are stuck here, Shinra constantly monitors the status of all employee facilities and to have the head of the Public Safety department missing would surely cause a lot of con-”

But the words were never finished; although she was properly reciting the guidance from one of the many employee guidebooks which were mandatory for new hires, Melissa felt terribly faint and dizzy the moment she moved to bend over and catch the papers which had been dropped to the floor earlier. She went silent all of a sudden, vision growing dark - the only reason she did not hurt herself by crashing horribly against another wall of the lift was because the secretary was cushioned by Heidegger’s hands, catching her before anything ugly happened.

#cwarscars #v: FFVII ; secretary AU #t: out of the frying pan and into the fire #look at me being cheeky with the thread name #when the events mean the OPPOSITE sdjfnkdjsfn

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deadbiwrites · 4 years ago

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hey, for the ask thing, can you do #9 under random: “You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.”

This one was so fun!!

Kara doesn’t drink, usually.

It’s not like, a thing, that she doesn’t drink. Some sort of moral or religious blah blah whatever, it’s just that she… doesn’t.

So when she’s dragged out to the bar for Nia’s 21st birthday, she expects it to be more of the same- her friends will get drunk, Brainy will dominate at the trivia game that’ll inevitably be crawling across a screen at the bar, Nia will flirt with Brainy, Alex will stare and sigh at Sam all night, James and Mike will inevitably get at each other’s throats (how they manage to play on the same team without killing each other, Kara will never know), Mike will flirt with her and be hurt when she shoots him down, James will pull out his camera and take candids that Alex will doubtlessly demand to see and then delete immediately, and Kara will eventually wrangle them all into her minivan and drive them back to campus.

A typical Thirsty Thursday with her closest friends (and also Mike, for some reason).

Except that tonight, instead of Al’s, the dive they usually flock to, they’re at some martini bar downtown. And though the reasoning makes sense (Nia can’t really openly celebrate her 21st at the bar she’s been frequenting for the past 2 years with a fake ID), and it is her birthday and she wants to go someplace-

“Swanky,” Alex murmurs as Sam lets out a low whistle behind them.

This is barely a bar, it more closely resembles a set from a 30’s noir movie, with the large chandeliers dripping crystal overhead and the rich, polished wooden floor underfoot. For crying out loud, there’s a live jazz band- not a quartet, a full band- across what is clearly a dance floor, and the waiters and waitresses are all dressed in vests and ties (and not the cheap kind Kara had to wear for the week she worked at the catering company).

In short, it’s gorgeous, and glamorous, and she’s infinitely glad she’d asked Nia what she should wear because her usual jeans-and-a-sweater combo surely wouldn’t fly here, but the suit she wore to her cousin’s wedding this past summer definitely does.

They’re greeted by a friendly but slightly harangued-looking hostess, who quickly ushers their group to a large booth in the corner. Each of them peruses the drink menu, and quickly realize that they have no idea what any of the cocktails listed actually are.

"Yeah, great, this is- I love doing a Google search to get drunk," Alex grumbles sarcastically as she scrolls through her phone, pulling a face at something or other. "How many of these have absinthe in them? Jesus."

Kara laughs. "What, no green fairies for you tonight?"

"It was one time!"

"Aw, we still like you even though you're afraid of the mean, scary alcohol," Sam coos at Alex, smile tinged with an edge of teasing and Alex melts like so much wax before a flame.

Ridiculous.

"Make out already," Nia jeers. When they both flip her off she turns to Kara, seemingly confused. "That was a legitimate suggestion, though?"

"I know. One day," Kara hums, throwing her arm around Nia’s shoulder and pulling her into a half-hug.

Their waiter appears, smooth and charming and managing to get Winn firmly under his spell in a matter of seconds. But in Winn's defense, he has a perfect smile, great hair, and a British accent.

Poor boy never stood a chance against all that. They each place their orders for a fancy drink, and when the waiter, Jack, turns his attention to Kara, Alex interrupts with, "She wants a Potion D'Amour."

"Oh, a love potion," he muses, smiling at Kara. His eyes catch on something and his smile widens. "I know just the lady to make it for you. Back in a tick."

And he's off before Kara can protest. Resigned, she turns to her sister. "Why?"

Alex rolls her eyes fondly. "Just take a sip. If you don't like it, one of us will finish it for you.”

“Fine, fine.”

So, as it turns out, Kara likes the love potion. A lot.

“It tastes like berries,” Kara marvels.

“We know, Kara, you told us when you were drinking the last one,” Alex chuckles.

“And the one before that,” Nia adds.

“You guys are so nice. I love you all so much.”

“Well at least she’s a happy drunk,” James chuckles.

“‘m not drunk,” Kara insists. “‘m always happy, ya butts.”

“Sure Kar, and the sky is red.”

Kara frowns as her friends all laugh. “Rude. Who wants another one?”

They all raise a hand, and Kara moves off in the general direction of the bar.

Or, well, she does her best.

“Hey there! Did you need something, luv?”

It’s Jack-the-waiter, looking at her with some bemusement.

“Yeah! Hi, sorry. Um, they all want more drinks, and I just, um…”

“Needed a break?”

She slumps in relief. “Yeah. Is that bad? Like, I love them and all, but I think I’m kinda drunk and they’re… a lot.”

Jack chuckles. “Trust me, I understand. If you want a minute of quiet, there’s a stool on the end of the bar that no one ever sits in. Got your name on it.”

“Thanks! You’re a very good waiter. Hey, d’you have any drink recommendations? Maybe one a little, um… lighter?”

“‘Course I do luv. Really fancy, too. C’mere, I’ll tell ya,” Jack says, motioning her close. When Kara is a few inches away, he tells her the secret. “It’s called ‘coffee’.”

Kara laughs as he winks and moves away to another table. She spots the empty barstool he’d mentioned and ambles over, dropping into it with a sigh. From here, she has a view of approximately nothing, given its location behind a pillar, and she leans back against the wall, the cool wood paneling chilly even through her jacket and shirt.

“Long night?”

Kara’s eyes flutter open (when did they close? Maybe she is drunk…) and across from her is quite probably the most beautiful person she’s ever seen in her life.

“Wow.”

The girl smirks, quirking a brow upward. “You okay there?”

“Yeah. I um, I think I just had too many love potions.”

“Oh, so it was you ordering those,” the pretty, pretty girl drawls. “They’re a pain in the ass to make, you know. Mostly the garnish, but still, I’m tempted to be annoyed with you, for being so high-maintenance.”

“Oh, Jack said he knew the girl for the job!” Kara says. “They were really good, I usually don’t even drink, but those were great.”

“Well well, keep talking, I thrive on flattery,” the girl jokes. She extends a hand. “Lena.”

“Kara, Kara Danvers. Wow, your hands are big.”

Lena barks a delighted laugh. “You have all the subtlety of a hand grenade, Kara Danvers.”

Kara flushes. “Oh, that’s- wow, sorry.”

“You’re fine. Like I said, I thrive on flattery,” Lena says, throwing her a very cute two-eyed wink. She turns suddenly, fixing a polite, professional smile on her face. “Good evening, sir. What can I get for you?”

“Another round for my friends. And your number, gorgeous.”

Mike.

Lena remains polite, face impassive even as Kara hastily ducks out of sight under the bar. “What drinks did you and your friends have?”

“I dunno, fancy stuff. The waiter guy probably knows- my friend was supposed to come get us another round, but she probably bailed.”

“Oh yeah? Not much of a partier?” Lena asks, eyes darting to (hidden) Kara.

“Nah. Don’t get me wrong, Kara can be cool, but she’s a little… uptight. Needs to relax every once in a while.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So what’s your story, beautiful? You come here often?”

There’s a beat of silence before Lena drawls, “Well I work here, so… I’d have to say yes…”

Kara claps a hand over her mouth to muffle the laugh she can’t keep inside.

This obviously throws Mike off whatever game he thinks he has. “Oh, that- right. Um. That was a joke.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll ask your waiter what your order was- do you know who he is?”

“Um… he has a beard?”

“Jack, his name is Jack,” Kara mutters under her breath.

“Right. I’ll ask him. Did you need anything else?”

“No, thanks.”

There’s an extended silence before Lena says, “You can come up for air now, Kara Danvers.”

Kara peeks over the edge of the bar, flushing again when Lena snickers at her.

“Good friend of yours?”

“No. He’s- I don’t even know why he’s here? Like one day we all hated him and then the next he was always around. Nia doesn’t even like him, and it’s her birthday.”

“Really? Good that she doesn’t- seems like a douche.”

Kara barks out a laugh, smothering in quickly and grinning behind her palm as Lena grins slyly over at her without turning her head. “He is a douche. He always asks me out even though I’ve told him no, like, a million times.”

Lena frowns at this, turning her attention fully to Kara. “Does he?”

“Yeah. My sister hates his guts, and so does our friend James, but somehow he just… sticks around.” Kara shrugs. “He’s pretty harmless, just really annoying.”

Lena hums, gaze narrowed. “He’s not worth your politeness, Kara.”

“Eh. Besides, I’m kinda doing the same thing to you, right? Just like, demanding all your attention?”

Lena bobbles her head side to side. “I’d say it’s a bit different.”

“Why, because I’m drunk?” Kara laughs. “‘m sorry about that, by the way.”

“First off, I don’t think you’re all that drunk,” Lena confides, leaning over the bar so . “Those drinks really aren’t all that strong. And secondly, there’s a difference because I am actually enjoying your attention, Kara Danvers.”

“Oh. Oh, okay. Cool,” Kara mutters to herself.

Lena smirks. “So, Kara Danvers- even though I already know the answer to this-, do you come here often?”

“Um, no. But I think I might start…”

Lena’s sly grin morphs into a broad smile, dimpling her cheeks and making her eyes shine in the low bar light. “Good.”

#supercorp #lena luthor #kara danvers #ask response #prompts!#my writing #i just apparently really love restaurant/bar aus okay?#let it happen y'all

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rattlerinthewheel · 4 years ago

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Fruit Bat: Scud/Reader

He should know better than to irritate the vampire that’s already pissed, wounded, and starving—so you teach him.

For the Kinky Things Happen bingo square: vampires and discipline, at @pandoratriestowritestuff’s request for some Scud. Credit to them and @phoenixblack89, who talked about Scud getting spanked and choking on a donut, for the respective scenes.

- - -

You’re still pissed at him.

But it’s hard to give him the silent treatment when you need to get at the junk around the tables. Move, pass me that wrench, throw me that wire, is dry and distant, work-related; but turn that shit down, quit spewing crumbs, stop grabbing me, and other growls that aren’t related to the tech you’re fiddling with get read as some sign—to keep doing those things, but that’s sure not what your glares should be saying.

Well, it isn’t a surprise that he’s being a dumbass about it. A moron about a lot of shit, lately, the bandage on your arm can vouch for that. And it was an accident, sure, you wouldn’t usually blame him for aiming that UV flashlight at anything that swarmed at him on a job; but he’d been high and you’d called out a warning, dammit, and he still got you with it. Burned like a motherfucker, like acid.

His apology was huffed, high-sluggish, and rank like the shitty weed he’d been toking.

Maybe he’s realizing you’re really pissed, content with just your hand as company for a few days, because you haven’t taken a break even once from this group project—a net of UV panels you can drape over the van; they stay off for now, obviously—to get your hands down his pants, or his down yours.

But Josh—Scud’s dumb, and it pisses him off to be called Josh, so of course that’s what you call him—is definitely high, not as sharp as he’d otherwise be, and his logic is coming from his dick today. His brain would be screaming at him to not agitate the vampire that’s wounded and pissed.

He’s prodded at you the whole damn night so far, brushing your groin to grab a tool there’s fifteen more of scattered around that he can get to, angling his head in a way that makes the churning veins under too damn tempting, flat-out groping your ass when his first two tactics don’t get him anything more than warning hisses.

Except when he decides he doesn’t like a particular hiss you give, too much teeth for his liking, because when his hand drops from where it’s gotten in a squeeze it claps right back down across the ass cheek it grabbed. Fucking hard, too; "make peace, not war" your ass.

You whirl where he’s scrambling back to his side of the room, giggling, hands raised with his palms out like he can call a truce. Like he hasn’t been doing this shit all night and your hisses and menaced fangs are supposed to be equals, or something.

Well, they aren’t. And you feel like cashing in some payback.

"C’mon, baby, lighten up!" trails his getaway while you give chase. You don’t run after him, but Josh stumbles and darts around like you are. It’s one of the oldest hunting tactics, just following, while the prey tires itself out trying to get away. Vampires don’t need to use it, you could just as easily catch up, even with a bandaged arm.

But Josh wants to goddamn play, so you’ll follow suit. For now.

Smoker’s lungs, stoner’s, don’t let him keep it up as long as a guy his age could. Josh staggers, stumbles a last time like his clothes weigh fifty pounds, and drops on the steps up to another part of the workshop. By his couch and TV, the little nest he’s made for himself, and you don’t think that’s accidental; but you don’t plan to move things to that shitty couch, not anytime soon.

You walk right up to him, and Josh goddamn grins, leaning back on his hands and spreading his legs like he’s offering himself up like a damn meal. He’s still got one of those shitty donuts, and he takes a bite, still grinning, and flicks a crumb at your leg.

"You’re a child," you growl, getting a whiff of syrup lactic acids, probably burning his calves like battery; iron thumped in and out of his heart, jumping in his throat, flushing his face; that damn weed turning everything earthy, chalky like loam, but still good.

"I’m a delight," spews more crumbs with another giggle. "Besides, baby, you love it."

You do—when you aren’t pissed at him. "Love to kick your ass," you huff, toeing the step by his foot.

His hum makes you swallow. Fucking thirsty, you are, and that’s just the worst kind of trifecta for Josh to be near right now: starved, pissed, and wounded. Your nerves are shot, and his chase didn’t tire you, but it sure as shit reminded you of what hunts are supposed to take care of. And his hum, that sounds vaguely like a dying, helpless churr from a punctured throat...

Shit.

But the hum bubbles into a chuckle, as you’re stepping away to beat it and get back to work—so Blade doesn’t have you to stake and Josh to mend, or a drained corpse to bury—when you get a lazy kick to your calf and a teasing, "The little fruit bat running away? Afraid I’ll smack him again?"

You’re starving, agitated, and your arm throbs. It’s not a nickname you hate, but it sets off something.

You stop, turn back slowly, and flick your eyes to either side to make sure you won’t be skewered by stray junk out of place. All clear, so you skulk up, schooling your face into a careful, bland look that puts Josh on edge more than a scowl.

"Ain’t my ass about to get smacked, boy," is throttled with a snap of fangs and a low pounce, and Josh can only drop the fucking donut and yelp as you tackle him.

He gets a bit of ground, because his hand clamps right down on the bandages, making you bark at the bolt of pain. It’s been longer since your last drink than you admitted to Blade, before he left, and that doesn’t help. But Blade would’ve had you come with, otherwise, and you figured dealing with Josh was worth getting the panels for the van closer to field testing.

Because as much as you want to skitter up the wall and drop Josh from the rafters, most days, you don’t want to get back to the van and find a drained, stoner-sized juice box.

So it’s a little ironic that he’s sprawled over your legs, when the scuffle’s over. It’s not what you intended—to pin him to his stomach, straddle, and give a few smacks before letting him go—but you sort yourselves out. First Josh, and you wrap an arm over his waist to keep him down; then yourself, and you sit up properly so his ass is right where you want it.

These days, child rearing isn’t what you were accustomed to, and Josh doesn’t figure it out until he feels your hand settle across the seat of his cargo pants. "No fuckin’ way," is half telling, half laughing, and the weed probably has something to do with that second part.

Because the first part’s not amused, but just in case he doesn’t get it across that he’s not thrilled to be pinned this way, Josh starts trying to buck off your lap.

"Yes fucking way," you hiss, and your hand cracks down over his right cheek.

It’s loud, even for his human hearing, and goes off like a shotgun blast. Josh twists his head back, huffing. The scowl he tries to give doesn’t have the kind of impact he hopes for, when it twitches at the second swat you land, right over the same spot. Harder than the first, because you won’t have him scowling at you, goddamn brat.

"Hope you know how to sleep with one eye open," cracks when you get a handful of flesh, quieter when he hangs his head. The pants are thin, and you feel the warmth from the swats, hell, hear the blood fizz under the surface. "Get you back for this."

You frown, not at the threat, but another rush of blood you hear. Feel, even better, in your lap.

You growl and throw a withering look his way, because fucking seriously? "You gettin’ hardover this?"

You hear the bones grind, Josh gritting his teeth, when you give the spot you’ve hit twice now a slow rub. Christ, he is, and he’s halfway there by the time you’ve rubbed enough circles into the warmed skin that you have to strain to hear the fizzing blood. You should’ve guessed he was into this, not like he doesn’t rile you up to pin or chase him anyway, this even makes sense.

The swipe to his left thigh is sudden, vampire speed but not strength because you aren’t that cruel. Your ears perk at the sound it gets, when the crack settles again, but before you can ask if he’s fine you feel his thigh rise up into your hand. You can’t help but scoff, because Christ’s sake, you weren’t trying to get frisky with him—and that ship’s goddamn sailed, because you’re helping him get hard.

You’re getting hard, too, can’t be a hypocrite about that. Josh feels it, pushing up into his side, and when he twists his head back again he’s flushed and his mouth’s open. His eyes are glazed over, brow’s furrowed, you think, but it’s hard to tell with the mop of hair in the way. Dammit,and you get a handful of his shirt in your striking hand to keep him from toppling over, and unwrap the other to push the hair off his face.

You can hear his sigh just fine, but it thrums into your fingers where you keep them pushed into his scalp, warm, damp from work and running from you. "Done already, baby? Maybe we can switch," buzzes up your arm.

Shit. You aren’t excited for that, because if he’s going to get you back he’s damn well working for it. But you can feel him reacting to you, swamping your senses; a whine when your fingers curl in the bangs before combing out, his hips shimmying when your arm loops over again, the muscles of his hide clenching as you drag down his pants and boxers.

That last one gets a sharp breath that’s followed up with a sharper swat. You suck in a gasp yourself and tighten your arm, giving your hard-on friction to grind off of, as you run your fingertips over the barely-pink skin. Warm, hot, without the fabric, and it fizzles louder like damn fireworks, when you drop your palm over the left cheek.

"Baby? Not getting any, uh, urges? Know I look good ‘nough to eat normally, but—"

"Shut up," you snarl, and then you’re smacking him again.

It’s anger at this bullshit, your injury, your arm throbbing as Josh twitches against the hold you just double down on when you start laying down swats quick and hard. He could’ve killed you, and he was too damn high to realize it, to apologize, still hasn’t.

But it’s some twisted fascination, too, watching the barely-pink go hot pink, white in the beat after a blow before it blooms darker, then red. You hear the blood fizz, pop, and simmer with each shade the flesh darkens to. Ass goes slower than the thighs, more meat to them, and that reminds you that there’s something to grab so you do. Not after every swat, just to give you both a breather, and you groan when you peel your hand off each time and a five-fingered print flares white before reddening again.

"Hope you choke on those damn donuts," you groan, throaty, when you realize your aim goes off because Josh is rutting into your damn lap. "Quit moving, lemme."

He goes rigid when you grab a hot thigh and spread him open, shift him right so his cock isn’t snug against your leg, and start to stroke. Cruelly slow, but it’s not like he’s getting out of this without some discipline. But you wouldn’t exactly mind doing this again, either...

"No one’s dead, then?"

Josh yelps and finally does buck off your lap. You let him, falling in a heap with his pants still down to his knees, because you’re too busy cringing back from the circle of UV light pointed at the floor. On concrete, not too close to the steps, but you’ve had enough of that wicked light as it is.

Blade doesn’t look bothered by Josh’s undressed, red ass, or the wet spot he left on your jeans. Neither of you finished, just pre-cum, but you’re not keeping a nose or ear out to scent or hear if Josh does by accident in the scramble. You’ve got something else on your mind, that wicks away the lust and anger and drags hunger up your throat so fast you’re dizzy.

The IV bag’s tossed to you, torn into and drained in the time it takes Blade to fish out another from his bag. You hear the flashlight go off and pounce out onto concrete to burrow into the second one he gives over, then growl for the third you can smell when he doesn’t offer it.

"There a problem?"

Your growl sputters, and Josh must’ve gotten his pants back up because he draws attention to himself now. "All good, B. Just looking for some shit for the panels."

Blade doesn’t ask what shit required Josh’s nose being two inches from the lowest step, or being over your lap while he looked, but you go deaf to what they do talk about when the third bag’s thrown your way. By the time you finish, wiggling the puncture marks over your yawning mouth to get the last drop, Blade’s gone and Josh’s face wrinkles.

"Oh, now you don’t want to bother me?" you purr, all fangs, your arm hardly aching and your throat good and wet.

"Shit, dude, would table manners kill you?"

You purr louder, a chuckle, as Josh turns away and goes to hide on his couch with his TV. Close to dawn, anyway, and it’s better to have two pairs of hands for the panels. At least that’s what Josh will tell Blade, probably, if he asks why he isn’t working on it in the morning when you’re sleeping. You’re betting on Blade either calling him out, saying a sore ass doesn’t mean a day off, or just letting it slide. He’s not stranger to vampire strength, even if it’s never been applied to his ass.

Well, Josh can tell him all about it, and you wipe the blood off your face, purr throttling in a real laugh, as Josh decides to lay down on his stomach while he fumbles with the TV.

"Gonna get you back," he reminds you.

In the dim, barely-lit room, with just some cartoon to flick pale tones over the dark space, you lurk over and crawl up onto the back of the couch, balancing on your side, so you can lick your fingers clean and run them through his hair. You tune out the shitty TV to hone in on his blood, calming down, still sputtering around his warm ass. It’s white noise you lose yourself in, purring at his swears when he shifts and agitates the flesh.

#blade 2 #scud #scud x reader #male reader #vampire reader #prompt request #bingo fill

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onyour-right · 4 years ago

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Grief

Summary: A fic based on the aftermath of episode 3.

The last episode hit me with a lot of unexpected feelings and this is the product of it. RIP to Hank though. Comments are always welcome!

Word count: 1.6k

Kory waits up for him long after everyone has disappeared to their rooms for the evening; the air in the manor too raw and stifling in the devastation and grief to linger in it for too long.

Dawn had been inconsolable when her and Dick had eventually made their return, with her face that was tear-stained and blotchy, and had barely been able to utter a word in midst of her denial and sorrow – as if there were any words to truly express the magnitude of what it meant to unknowingly pull the trigger on a loved one – and Dick, he had only stayed long enough to see Dawn to her room, change out of his Nightwing suit and then leave the manor altogether.

As for Connor and Gar there had been a deathly silence that had struck them all immediately after. One filled with disbelief, as if it was a nightmare they would eventually wake from, and with guilt that if only they had been just that more quicker. Krypto, the treasured gift that they had never truly expected but appreciated all the same, had gone sniffing around each of them in turn, had nudged his body against theirs as means of offering comfort.

A key turning into the lock pulls Kory away from her melancholy, and she stays where she is in the armchair as she waits. Quick, light footsteps sound against the wooden panelled floor, and Kory can tell the exact moment Dick realises she’s in the lounge because his steps falter just outside the door and he shifts from one foot to the other like he’s unsure whether to stay or go.

“You’re still up?” he says from the door, his voice and expression a mixture of concern and tiredness.

The corners of Kory’s lips twitch softly and she glances up at him.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

His nod is full of understanding, and he must come to a silent decision because he enters the room and settles near her on the couch, a distance between them but one they could easily breach should they simply reach out. At first he says nothing and Kory is quite happy to leave him be, it allows her time to inspect him closely for any injuries in a way he might not allow if she were to ask. She thinks that he might realise what she’s doing anyway though, because by the time her green eyes reach his he is already focused on her, a curious intensity to his gaze that she can’t quite figure out.

She tilts her head to the side questioningly and slowly he averts his gaze.

“How are the others doing?”

It’s safe. Typically and frustratingly so.

Kory lets out a faint huff, licking at her lips.

“They’re devastated, Dick. That Hank died and it was Jason who had orchestrated it. Connor more so because he was so close to reaching him in time. Dawn has refused to come out of her room ever since she got back. I-” she breaks off, her eyes closing as she gathers her thoughts and runs a hand through her hair, she opens them again and lets out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know how we’re going to get through this.”

Dick shuts his eyes and scrubs a hand over his mouth, his body wound so tight his fingers tremble. It makes her think of the spot on his neck she knows will loosen him up if she were to press her lips against it, but then they haven’t known each other intimately like that in quite a while and she doesn’t want to overstep. There is a weight on his shoulders that the others will truly never understand or recognise, so many expectations and demands of him that she’s half surprised he hasn’t turned out another way, and the last thing she wants to do is pile on to that in any way.

“What are you feeling?” she asks instead, her voice gentle and coaxing.

He looks to her instantly and in that second of a moment he appears so vulnerable and unsure, she sees an echo of a younger him – the little boy, afraid and broken, when he lost his parents tragically, who sought proper care and guidance and got given violence and vengeance in return - it lasts no longer than a heartbeat, but that he should feel comfortable enough to let his guard down in her presence, even just for a moment, makes her heart ache in the best way.

Dick shakes his head with an exhale, a deep furrow set between his brows. Lost in his own disbelief.

“You should have seen him, Kory, there was no remorse. None. I mean I know he had his problems, but I never thought…”

He trails off at the end but she still hears what he hadn’t been able to say. She also doesn’t miss the fact that he hasn’t actually answered her question, but she won’t push him too much just yet; she understands him better than he realises, knows that pushing at him will only make him retreat or get defensive, besides now isn’t the time for it.

“Do you think he could be on something?”

At the questioning look that passes across Dick’s face she continues.

“He was dead and now he’s not, for all we know he could have been brought back by a procedure that has skewed up his judgement somehow, made him thirsty for chaos somehow.”

He’s sitting up straighter by the time she’s finished, his expression contemplative as he mulls over everything she’s just said, a bit more energised now that they might have struck out against something significant.

“Maybe it happened before he died and his death just exacerbated it.”

“Maybe,” Kory agrees. “But then what could be responsible for doing such a thing?”

“We’ll have to check in with Barbara, she’s the only one who might be able to get us access to his medical records. If we get those then we’ll be able to figure out.”

She nods, a surge of pleasure flowing through her at the way he had implied her involvement, at the idea of the two of them working together in a way that they haven’t for quite some time. As much as it delights her however there’s also a sting there at having to close a certain kind of door on the Jason they used to know. Or perhaps they never did, not really.

“It won’t in any way change what he’s done or make it forgivable, but maybe it will influence how we deal with him from now on.”

“I know,” Dick replies in a let out breath, and like she saw in Connor she sees the guilt in him now, except his is born of a completely different kind. His guilt from this will shape his decisions and thoughts through this moment in time and way after it too. It hurts now but he’ll be all the better for it.

She leans over then and takes his hand in hers, their palms brushing against each other as her thumb strokes the back of his hand lightly before pulling back. Or at least trying to. Dick refuses to let her go, instead interlacing their fingers and squeezing her hand with just the right amount of pressure.

It’s a feeling she wants to bubble wrap and keep safe so that in the moments where she’s at her weakest she can take it out and relive, can bask in this new level of intimacy that they’ve stumbled upon. For a long while its just the feel of his hand in hers, the sound of the fireplace crackling in the distance and the tick of the clock while minutes pass on by.

“I never asked how you’re feeling,” Dick says, watching her with a gaze that is penetrating, that is as comforting as it is exposing.

Kory hums gently in thought, feeling a lump in the back of her throat and tears pricking at her eyes when she tries to sum up what the loss of Hank means to her. She finds she can’t and gives a little shake of her head.

“I’m tired of losing people I care about.”

Dick squeezes her hand again, and it is an act of comfort just as much as it is one of agreement. His gaze is on their joined hands when he speaks, a frown on his face as the words fall from his lips like he’s startled by the sincerity, or that he’s still figuring out just exactly how he feels.

“I couldn’t do this without you, Kory.”

I don’t know what I’d do if it were you.

Her lips curve upwards into a smile at his words, and for as sad and angry and scared as she feels they are like balm to her wounds. Similar thoughts had entered her mind at several points of the day, but she had tried not to entertain them for too long, knew that if she had she wouldn’t have been able to remain as strong as she has, so that he should feel that way and be so open with it too…

She rests her head against her shoulder and watches him, tugging on his hand when he won’t meet her gaze so that he’ll look up and over at her. For as much as Kory knows she can’t make such a promise, that none of them are given to prophecy and have no idea how the twists and turns of their lives will go – especially with the irregular episodes she suffers from that she has no control over but knows deep down that they’re a forewarning of something more, she feels an urgency to offer him whatever reassurance she can. Perhaps though it’s for herself, so that she can say she gave herself fully to someone no matter the consequences.

“You have me, Dick Grayson.”

#dc titans #titans season 3 #dick grayson #koriand'r #dick x kory #dickkory #dickkory fic #it's been a minute #G writes #my fanfic

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busywhizz2077 · 4 years ago

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Here is my one chapter story with V and Goro - Goro and V are safe and, more importantly, together. V isn’t dying, Johnny is still with her, and they are working towards the dream of getting back to Japan.

I’m new to tumblr so need to go and read around the fandom a bit to see how stuff is posted!

—-—

Goro wearily swiped his hand over the panel at the door and, once it swished open to him, trudged inside. He was tired, hungry, thirsty, but most terrible of all, disgustingly dirty. The job had been an easy one, sure, but at what cost? He dismally looked down at his favourite shirt, now ruined. At what cost!?

Eyes finally adjusting to the dark he looked up and saw her. Well, he saw part of her, a single leg sticking out from underneath the cosy duvet, a shock of red curls tumbling onto a pillow.

Valarie. His V. She was the one light he had left now, but the brightest he’d ever known. He sighed, all at once feeling better but the need to find her warm arms and get much needed rest growing.

The journey together had been long to say the least. But right now, she was no longer dying, she was overjoyed to still have her Johnny firmly along with her, and he had left Arasaka behind to stay with her. He had seen them for what they truly were - dishonourable. They weren’t sure where their future would take them, but it would be together that was for certain. First step; earn enough Eddie’s to get to Japan.

Wearily he headed into the shower, peeling off the remnants of a once favoured outfit - no amount of washing could save this so it was bagged up for the trash. He stepped under the hot water and stood, eyes closed, until he felt the grime and god-knows-what had washed away. A proper scrubbing following as he ensured he felt cleansed and renewed, finally wrapping himself in a towel and heading back to the main living area.

He’d picked up noodles on the way home - he was too hungry to care about taste and didn’t want to wake the sleeping V by clattering around making something decent. The noodles were demolished in seconds, a water from the fridge downed in record time, and he sat back.

V had fidgeted a little in her sleep, the duvet over her had raised, and so had the oversize T-shirt she was wearing, showing more of the leg and the delightfully erotic area where her thigh and ass met and began a delicious curve. He felt a stirring, and pushed back his long wet black hair, tinged with grey. If he was told a year ago that he’d defect from Arasaka, give his heart to some thief, he’d have laughed himself sick. Now he could think of no where he’d rather be.

He finally stood, fetching clean boxers from his drawer and dragging them on, before clambering into bed by V’s side. She instinctively put her arm around him and nuzzled her face into his arm. He moved it to put around her shoulders, and immediately fell in a deep happy sleep.

—-

He woke up the next morning to an empty bed beside him. He immediately panicked - he always did no matter how many times he woke long after her - but was soon relaxed but the sound of her chattering. V had been only recently become comfortable enough to talk to Johnny out loud in his presence, and there was something about it that he found incredibly endearing, even if it did mean there were technically three of them in the relationship. He laid his head down and listened.

“No......Johnny I said no for fucks sake.....because i don’t want pancakes for breakfast all we ever eat is fucking pancakes!”

Goro giggled, and Vs head snapped round, smiling, before turning back to the empty sofa.

“....yes i know he’s awake.....NO HE DOESNT WANT PANCAKES EITHER!”

“Actually pancakes would be very acceptable.”

V frowned playfully, pointing a finger at him as she made her way over “Dont you take his side!”

As soon as she was within reach Goro wrapped V in his arms and pulled her onto his lap, “Never my love. But maybe if Johnny had his pancakes we may be permitted some time alone?”

V tilted her head, considering her options before glancing to the sofa again. “He says you’ve got a deal.” she sighed, heading back to the kitchen to make the same damn pancakes she’d had 6 times this week.

They ate lazily in bed together, Vs legs swung over his lap and he stroked her shins softly.

“Where on earth did Wakako send you last night, Goro? That trash bag smelt like you’d brought in a rotting cadaver. Don’t worry it’s out of the apartment now, thank fuck.”

Goro groaned, “I sincerely apologise, I had meant to dispose of it before going to bed....”

“Don’t worry babe, it’s far from here now!”

“I ended up not only in a sewer, but it emerged at a landfill.”

V screwed up her nose, no only at the sewer but the memories of landfills weren’t pleasant ones for V and Johnny alike.

“Hopefully the Eddie’s made up for it then?”

“One or two more contracts like that and we shall be out of this stinking city. Ah, I can almost smell the cherry blossoms.” He smiled, closing his eyes.

V grinned and drank in the smile of Goro. She saw it so often now and it never got old. To see him so relaxed, so free, it made her heart burst. He was still rigid and stoic in so many ways, but not with her. Together they were always free to be just Goro and Valerie.

V finished her plate and leaned over to place it on the floor, “There you go now fuck off for a few hours!” She smirked at the sofa, her eyes obviously tracing what must’ve been Johnnys movements as he walked. “Yeah to you too, asshole!” She laughed, bringing her attention back to Goro. She straddled his lap, tucking his loose hair behind his ear.

“I think we’re alone now...” she sang, then laughed with a shrug, “Some antique song Johnny sings a lot.”

“He certainly has a ... varied taste.” He smiled, placing his hand behind her head to bring her in for a deep kiss. She put up no resistance, weight fully on him, hands at his chest. It didn’t take long for her to feel is hardness against her.

“You still get hungry for me?” She whispered

“I am never satiated...” he growled back, pulling the shirt up over her head and hungrily pawing at her breast.

They were too ravenous for satisfaction for foreplay, just locking eyes sent them into a frenzy. With deft and practiced movements V had pulled aside her panties, freed Goro from his underwear, and had slid him into her. The fullness he gave her always took a moment or two to get used to, but their kisses never stopped.

Goros hands found her ass and moved her slowly, tantalisingly, up his shaft. She wriggled a little, drawing out a low groan from him before she slowly enveloped him once more. He couldn’t wait any long, he’d been wanting, needing, her since the night before and had no intention of taking it slow.

With the movement of an experienced martial artist, she was placed on her back and he was above her, kissing her neck.

“I need you, i want it hard and fast Goro.” She panted, nibbling at his earlobe, and he was going to oblige. His hips took control and thrust into her with ever increasing ferocity. Sweat gathered in his brow as his teeth clenched. He thumb found her clit and demanded an orgasm from her before finding his own release with deep guttural moans.

Panting, he stroked her breasts loving, teasing her now highly sensitive nipples, before easing himself out and collapsing beside her. His fingers traced along her stomach and chest as she watched his face, both basking in the glow.

“Earlier, were you and Johnny fighting?” Goro finally broke the silence. He seemed a little trouble.

“Well, no. Not really. We bicker but that’s how we show affection i suppose. Why?”

“I do not wish you to be unhappy.”

V laughed and kissed his head, “I am not unhappy Goro. He just finds having a lack of agency hard going sometimes. He wants to do his own thing and acts out when he doesn’t get it. It’s like having a toddler around. An 80 year old terrorist rockerboy toddler.” She laughed

Goro looked into her eyes, “A toddler? A child?”

“Yep that about sums up the fucker.”

“And how...would you feel about a real child?”

V’s face drew serious, “...What are you asking Goro.”

“When we are back home, away from here...I would like us to have a child. Would you.”

V looked up at the ceiling, thinking.

“I wouldn’t be able to call them a cunt will I?”

“Indeed not.”

“Hmmmm... well i suppose ...yes i would!” She finally smiled, and Goro kissed her deeply.

“Looks like I’m going to be an Uncle!” Chimed in the reappearing Johnny.

“Fuck off cunt.”

“Valerie!!!!!!”

#cyberpunk 2077 #Cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #goro takemura #takemura goro #johnny silverhand

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victorusolano · 4 years ago

Text

FYD Series

It was one evening of summer. Anyone's skin can be steamed when exposed to the open air of the night. There, perched like a bird on his writing desk, contemplating seriously in a small dimly lit room was - Xenon. His family was all disturbed by the climate condition, so they went out of town to some nearby beach resorts. Xenon on his volition stayed alone, in which he likely enjoyed making love with the old typewriter resting in a great silence. He thought that this is what he needs to write a story tonight and the deadline of his paper is tomorrow before the sunset.

Two weeks ago, the writing task was assigned to him, by the chief editor of the literary magazine he is working with; and till this night it had remained untouched, and unmarked, though the time left was enough to say generously to finish one short story. However, catching up the race between him, and the ongoing moments is now useless. Words and meanings ran away and went to a place nowhere to be found. I should eat a dictionary, He murmured to himself. He took a glance at the old wall clock and looked away at the open window, stared blankly across the survey of height and to the dark space outside.

When he reconciled his thoughts; he gave a sweeping look at the old pictures of the family photos and old framed certificates of academic achievements of writing contests. He nailed his attention to a class picture of his college.

It was before the day of graduation; like a dreamy shot, his recollections swirled in a throwback changing a milieu; a trance to a memory. He can even smell the old odor of the room where he was in the picture: the blackboard with the doodle half-erased drawings of impish boyhood, girls prepping up in a rush as the bell rang when the class was announced dismissed. “Wait for me at the powder room, just need to fix this” the president of the class pointed at the board trying so hard to erase the drawings. “Come on here now Xenon!” The tall pale boy invited him to take his place for picture taking along the corridor. The boys, in a disorganized choreography, set themselves like a tableau; rowdy as they were. They were teasing, joking, thumping in harsh horseplay. “It's the last day!” Declared joyfully of one of the boys.

His consciousness lurched back into reality like a warp of time; he put his palm on his face. Now, he began carelessly to at least write something. The editor will kill him flat tomorrow; I need to finish at least one tonight.

He took a glance at the old wall clock which struck exactly twelve-thirty midnight. He returned to his writing desk, wiped out apple cores and peels, and decided to transcribe anything that comes first into his mind, a short story must be short and should have a story, he said to himself. But what story should I write? desperate he was, hope suddenly became absent; tomorrow I'm dead! Misfortune has taken its form now: all he accomplished about writing have flown away, he began to think that all structures of narratives are bogus, workshops and seminars he attended are all hoaxes. No formula could teach someone how to write. He then remembered a book called Under The… What? It’s something ahm… He tried it with difficulty to remember. Suddenly, he remembered Tree - then he told himself, all writing may be divided into two groups, good writing, and bad writing; good books come out of good writing while bad writing produces failures, again and again, he scanned the line like an X-ray of that passage from a book which was a foreword by RK. A failure He exclaimed silently; not even of Montes’ Of Fish… and etcetera, What would I be writing about dogs or flies? Then he recalled Peter's Touch Move. I am no longer a kid! That conviction made him more worried there, he is now sure that a block along the streamlines of thoughts is hampering him to be productive and creative. No is now a strong resistance, to be Noel’s Games is something, and to finish a writing task today is a different thing. He remembered it all well; call me Tina or Fanny – No one calls me! He snorted.

It was almost three in the morning and no matter how hard he tried to have an idea and flood an ink in the paper, it just equated to frustration. A scrap of papers had been spilling off the bin and onto the floor, so he decided to take a walk outside for a while and jog. The objective of his motivation was like a plan, he thought that maybe he needed to activate an endorphin from his brain, in a matter of two minutes he got changed his clothes, he wore that unlaundered navy blue jersey shorts, he wore the other day; he paired it with a billowy old white cotton shirt, and put on his ash-colored rubber shoes which was a birthday gift, and went to the plaza.

He went on jogging around the track field. Quickly, it made him asphyxiated on the sixth round, but he decided to run two more and two rounds of walk to complete the set; good enough for an hour jog today he thought. Thirsty as he was, he wanted to look for water, so he went to an all-day convenience store to quench his dried throat. “Good morning!” a sweet greeting of the store staff, he smiled back and padded to the panel doors of chillers; grabbed a bottle of water, he opened it right away and in a spur-of-the-moment, he drank it all without thinking that he hadn't paid it yet; he remembered, so he went to the counter, and scanned the bottle, he grabbed some chips, and instant coffee, pay the total, and left.

At the park, He again tried to process what was going on with him. The situation of being a writer seemed to change from what he has believed for the past years; beginning from his aspiration to be a writer someday which now has been achieved. Now is a challenge against himself, am I just being lazy? He rebuked the thought hastily, laziness is a big word, he would like to think that he is more of a selective participant rather than being the word lazy… these thoughts wire loomed in his mind. He walked toward a wooden bench at the park but at that moment, an answer did not come; he decided to sit for a moment while looking at the cadastral and being engulfed by the tranquility. When suddenly an old man spoke, “What are you looking at?” the old man asked, breaking the silence. Astounded Xenon was; as he did not realize the presence of the old man sitting next to him at all before. Xenon tried to find a complete grasp of how it could happen?

“Nothing sir” he answered back at an instant without an inch of hesitation.

“Thinking?”

“No, sir”

“What exactly do you have in your mind and how would you like to describe it, before you sit here beside me?” The old man asked. “Well I am thinking of so many things, I am thinking of my article, a short story of some sort, it’s my deadline today, and I need to submit it this afternoon” Xenon responded as if caught in a corner with the question.

“Excuse me, sir - you've been here all the while?”

“Yes”

“I… did not see you’re here, I am sure of that!”

“Well I am exactly”

“Exactly? like how? I’m sorry sir!”

The old man gave him an artificial laugh before he uttered another word. “There so many things we trouble so much in this life – we don’t see now details of why we’re here or how did we get there, time runs too fast, we don’t see that - I like this place,” An eminent pause before Xenon was able to respond, “I'm sorry for the intrusion, sir!” What he wanted to mean in that is like a stop.

“Are you alone or waiting for someone? I'll just then look at another bench around.”

“No,” the old man said.

Without a second the old man said, “You can sit here, I don't own it anyway - I am the same, like you…” he turned a look to Xenon “I as well wanted to take a walk and free the mind of so many things.”

Xenon did not believe the words, like the same he tried to process the thought, it cannot be possible for two people to do something the same or thinking completely parallel at the same point of time at exactitude, and meet. He’d like to dismiss the idea with a general conviction. “Yes, I am thinking if this is appropriate to have your autograph?” The old man said, Xenon wondered very oddly. The old man was very well informed, he thought as if he was under surveillance. “Hold on a second, sir - How did you know that...? I am… ahm” He can’t find the words again. “Writer?” The old man responded so very quickly to help him grasp the words. “Yes! You've already told me, I think no less than a minute before the whole sentence that I have calculated.” - “What?” He was surprised by the old man’s precision of thoughts. “You see now my friend, It seems that you're not paying much attention to the details, you’ve just told me that; this day is your deadline of a narrative to some sort that you needed to submit later this afternoon.” He repeated it like a backmasked vinyl recording to him.

He did not answer back and noticed something which he cannot sham his feeling. he thought it was talking to some kind of a prophet; an oracle, the old man gave him a creep but it was never of fear he felt that time, when the old man said, you're not paying much attention to the details: and it provided him a connection, an impulse releasing the secret of his lingering dilemma. It seemed that the old man had known him before and was reading his mind in silence. And before he could say another word, the old man got on to his feet and walked slowly in the distance. “Where are you going, sir? I thought you wanted my autograph?” He replied instantly. “I was about to do that” he slipped his hand on the pocket of his shirt and brought out a pen. The man moved close to him and said, “maybe after you finish the story you are about to submit today – I want surprises, I love that. It sounded more of a challenge to him. “I'll just wait for it once it’s out,” the old man continued, “I'm expecting that one will be good too, like the others.” Xenon felt being seized. Then in no time delay, he asked, “Sir, may I know your name please” The old man looked away and replied with a serious note. “I never had one.”

“I grew up in a home,” the old man continued, Xenon did not understand what he meant by the word home.

“I never knew who my parents are”

“You mean you're an orphan, sir?”

He sounded that question as an inquiry, not a statement or a report; he could not completely believe when the old man said, never had one. He assumed, while the slightest of what he can accept, that someone in his infancy had given him any name at least any among the common names, like Peter or Jeff.

“Yes, may I?” The old man was demonstrating to take a seat, he snatched the opportunity, and released a deep sigh before Xenon could make his reply.

“Yes! Surely, sir”

“I would like to tell you a story – may I?” Without averseness he agreed — this is what precisely he doesn’t have at this very moment — He felt a pity to himself that the old man at least has something to tell a story. He thought resentfully. “Now, what is your nearest happy memory? – something that may be a remarkable one?” The old man asked. “Well, I can still remember my days when I was in college, you know a scholar of some sort, a nerdy bookworm student and sometimes nasty. I enjoyed the friends and their all varieties of personal attitude, the mentorship and all; that experience gave me a feeling of a second home too,” he ended his recollection with a ruminating smile.

The old man started after his last word and said, “home Oh yes! I grew up in a home too, you know. But it was different, — there are all sorts of people from all diversities you know? minor age killers, thieves, abandoned children, and those who escape from their hostile relatives and parents — there is one thing that is common among all of us resident mates. We are all looking for someone who could give us genuine love; so to every opportunity of adoption; though we don’t want to go away from home, we grab it in hope for a foster parent. On the contrary, after a week or so; most of us go back and never want to go out. The result rather turned worse, trust became more absent.”

“That must be interesting – go on please” Xenon eagerly butt in. “We didn’t have a good foundation of education there.” Xenon in his skeptics let the old man claim his privilege of a good start of his story, “though a mother staff is there to attend the everyday needs of the operation of a foster home, there is always a lacking that only a real parent could provide the never-ending emptiness lingers every day. When you were being born and grew up in a home you’ll never find a name in your birth identity, the space in the paper reads either baby boy or baby girl, or at least a consolation part is you have your last name written on your birth certificate, then at your legal age, you will then be advised and go on a series of counseling to condition your mind that you are now ready to be set free and join the outside world. On the other meaning, you will now look for your own. All years of staying there, all favors of your daily needs are all in the form of a plea and request, it’s like a nauseated chick being asked to walk or run.” Xenon, unconsciously now conceded and pondering deep to the part brimming inside him, the visual in his mind provided a still picture that speaks a thousand and more ideas to write.

He felt like hanging on a cliff and wanting more. “Go on, please!” He said. “Very well,” the old man continued. “Overwhelmed you are now huh? - There was an incident that night when everybody was all sleeping in our respective quarters; the boy’s place was on the east of a pavilion near the high walls while the girls’ was just near the lobby entrance. I never got an interest of why is that because I never asked, I am always like that timid among other orphans, I was very young then, not even that I know what an introvert means but I enjoyed my solitude; they often think that I am weird, but I have my way of covering, a defense mechanism, mostly I pretend; which always sets me in a situation turned more difficult at the end. It was an unforgettable experience that everybody there will never forget. A fire, a huge one that killed one group of orphans in quarter D at the corner pavilion, maybe fifteen or twenty souls in there burnt alive.” Xenon’s shoulders twitched at the mention of being burnt alive! But he remained silent, leaving the old man to continue.

“How did it all happen, sir?” he went on curiously. “I expected that would be your most obvious next question” As the old man continued - “The mother staff on duty that night left the door locked and she brought the keys with her and stride past for a moment to meet someone outside, but she never calculated it right that a kettle in the kitchen was also left on a stove, she enjoyed the romantic rendezvous with the guy she has been seeing for the past weeks, the next series of event happened so fast as the fire spread all the rest of the quarters, I happened to escape quickly and help the young ones to get out, well I would like to say thank you for my insomniac.” The old man paused there for a while. “Investigations went on afterward but of course, the subject of the incident died just like that; an isolated one. But the tremor lives like a resurrection and even to this moment whenever I recall the experience I can still feel the trauma.”

His feelings were automatically snatched. “Pitiful souls,” Xenon added, “true, indeed!” The old man replied. “Well just like other closed call stories, the ending was still unknown and then life just went on, I finally said goodbye to the orphanage and faced a life of my own.” The old man got up on his feet and walked away slowly. “Where are you going, sir?” xenon asked. “Home,” the word gave him a sensation like a blank white paper inked with lots of things and images of a scene scribbled in no exact direction; he imagined an abstract picture that was difficult to understand from that story.

Unexpectedly, it gave him a feeling of freedom. A unit of work that he is required to finish a story from that conversation. And the task is waiting for him now at home. “Sir, could I just at least have your name?” The sun had shone its glimpse in the sky. The illumination gave a picture of cucoloris lighting patterns of shadows of the old man’s face, like a mirror from afar. “Could you please tell me your name?” Xenon asked garishly. The old man stopped, and said, “You should fix the ending.” He tried to catch the sounds from afar. “Will you?” The picture of him was already filtered out of the blinding lights.

THE END

This is a work of FICTION. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright Statement This work is the intellectual property of the author. Permission is granted for this material to be shared for non-commercial, educational purposes, provided that this copyright statement appears on the reproduced material. To disseminate otherwise or to republish requires written from the author.

#xenon

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tobi-the-crazy · 5 years ago

Text

Wisdom teeth

Seeing as my stitches finally got removed and how popular my two thirst posts for transformers has gotten I decided to write my first fic, and not even on my writing blog because everyone needs to know hoe serious I am about robopussy

There’s three options after the beginning, the three bots mentioned in the og post... Enjoy you thirsty robofucker.

You can request shit on my other blog! @tobi-or-not-to-be

WARNING: NSFW CONTENT AND MINOR KINKY SHIT... Idk what counts as minor anymore tbh.... BUT NOT UNDERAGE MINOR.

~~~

Ten days, it took ten days for those damn holes in their mouth to heal enough to get their stitches removed, but the satisfation of being told they could begin doing hard physical labor was music to their ears, because they had a certain bot in mind they wanted to spoil rotten.

Walking down the halls of the lost light numerous bots made their best effort to avoid them and go the opossite direction of where they were headed, as the smile on their face said it all, and no one wanted to be around for what would happen.... Poor Ultra Magnus’ audio receptors still haven’t recovered.

But as they got closer to thier target, the grin on their face took on an almost evil look to it, as they planned to more than make up for lost time.

Swerve:

Swerve was not expecting this. When his dear human had come to him after getting the stitches removed saying they wanted to celebrate he though a movie night was planned, or maybe a cute date.

But here he found himself strapped to the berth, blindfolded and interface panel open, his dear human stroking his thighs lightly.

“I missed this so much baby, seeing you be such a good boy for me. Look at how wet your little valve is for me. Such a pretty valve, does baby want me to play with his tight little valve?” Shivers ran through his entire body. He knew the rules. He knew he wasn’t aloud talking yet, and he was supposed to wait, but dear primus did they make it hard.

“Such a good boy, following the rules... Good boys get rewards.” He didn’t have time to process what was said, the only thing he could proces was the feeling of his partner eating out his valve like a starved man.

They were merciless, and unlike usual, they held back nothing. His first overload hit him like a crashing wave, as he was used to having to wait for it. His fourth overload left him shaking without an end in sight, and they still showed no sign of stopping.

Swerve know they could go for a long time, their session usually lasted a long time, but he didn’t realise that when not denying him of an overload they could draw more from him that he though possible, pain or no pain.

By the time he finally came to he felt nearly raw, every part of him on fire due to over stimulation. He didn’t know what day it was, where he was or his name. But he did know that he was in for a lot more, the deep chuckle that came from his partner told him as much.

Fort Max:

Fort Max was never the one to start anything in the relationship, not even the relationship itself. That job would go to his human partner, who was much smaller and much more confident. So he was used to taking a less dominant role, but this was something new.

“Look how pretty you are, so perfect for me. Does baby want me to touch him? Touch his pretty little tight valve?” The strained moan he gave was answer enough for his human lover because they were on him in an instant.

But this time something was very different. He was used to them going slow and praising him every single moment they weren’t eating him out slowly and lovingly. But this time they were intense, not that he minded, pleasure clouded his senses to quickly for him for form an opinion.

“Look how wet you are, baby you could almost drown me with how wet your pussy is.” That was also new.” Please... Please don’t stop.” His human did not need to be told twice.

He was so overwhelmed her hardly even noticed his first overload hit, it was the second one that hit him so hard he was sure he was going to offline, and as much as he would hate to admit it, he tapped out before he could reach his third.

“Too much?”“ G-give me a moment.”“ hmm, ok. If you think you can go on then I should warn you I plan on using my new toy on you, and you won’t be getting a wink of sleep tonight.”

Fort max had a choice to make, and he wasn’t sure what was scarier, the fact he knew he would likely pass out, or that he was actually considering it.

Rung:

Rung would like to say that he was good at picking up on a person’s intentions, but when his beloved human walked into his habsuite he was terrified, as their face betrayed nothing.

When a grin broke out on their face and they announced that the stitches had been removed... Well Rung knew then and there what he was in for. What he did not know was just how intense it would be.

They had agreed before that bondage was ok, they had agreed sensory deprivation was ok, they had agreed that dirty talk was most definitly ok... Rung did not take into account what it would do to him if his partner used all three at once.

“So good, you’re so good for me Rung. But you’re making a mess, look how much your pretty valve is leaking everywhere. Am I gonna have to clean it up for you?”“ P-please.” He could hardly get a single word out but his partner just hummed.

“Please what? You have to use your words Rung. What do you want?”“ Your mouth... Use your mouth on my valve.”“ I’d be happy to.

The feeling was amazing, after being teased for so long the near instant relief he felt was amazing, and his first overload took him... But then they didn’t stop. They kept lapping at his valve, laying kisses and sucking, he felt his head dizzy, and soon enough his second overload took him.

It may have been at overload 6 or seven that he had to call it quits. He was an old bot, and he was nearly sure that his spark would give out if he reached another overload. but the moment he had uttered the semblance of the word ‘stop’ all contact ceased, and the blindfold was taken off.

“You ok babe? I didn hurt you did I?”“ N-no... Just intense.” His human lover slowly undid the binding and went about getting him some energon.

“Wanna stop for the night? We can cuddle and watch Legally blond again?” As they came back with a small ammount of energon and the proposal to indulge in his guilty pleasure he couldn’t help but agree.

He would have to keep in mind how intense his human could get.

#MTMTE #tf mtmte #Rung #SWERVE #fortress maximus #FORT MAX #transformers #Robophilia #Thirsting over robots #maccadam

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salutmonmec · 6 years ago

Text

EVEN THE DEAD DESERVE A SONG

an Elu Hunger Games AU

ao3 link

Lucas has been in love with the same boy since he was five years old.

Now, he will be forced to fight him to the death.

What a fucking nightmare.

CHAPTER 5: BABY, YOU’RE LIKE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

“FUCK!”

Lucas’ vision blurs as he tries to jerk away, but Alexia’s surprisingly strong hands have a vice grip around his left leg, rubbing lotion in furiously before Lucas can kick her in the face. She lets him go as she turns to throw away the wax strip.

“That was the last one, you’re fine!”

“I think I’m bleeding.” He examines his leg for any sign of injury, positive that she ripped all the skin off.

“Oh shut up, why are boys always such drama queens?”

Arthur laughs as he sweeps up the bits of Lucas’ hair from the floor where he gave him a haircut earlier. Alexia smirks at him, freckled cheeks flushing. “I’m serious! You never hear the girls complain.”

Lucas slowly sits up on the padded table, groaning. He shoots Alexia a glare.

“I can hear everything you’re saying.”

Alexia raises her eyebrows at him. “That’s sort of the point.”

Lucas’ mouth twitches up into a small smile as he slides off the table, stretching his legs out. He bounces on his feet, rubbing them together. He feels like a newborn seal. He turns to glance at himself in the mirror. His black tie-back gown is all rumpled, but his legs, much to his surprise, don’t look too strange. The lack of hair makes his muscles stand out more. He’s not complaining.

Arthur sets down the broom and walks over to stand next to Lucas in front of the mirror, turning to pick at some pieces of his freshly trimmed hair. He hadn’t cut too much off, leaving it on the longer side, styling it into a side part that tamed a bit of the ridiculous volume. Arthur runs his fingers through it, breaking apart some of the gelled pieces, letting some strands fall softly across Lucas’ forehead. He sighs, tilting his head and looking into the mirror with a frown.

“Of course your hair looks perfect now, right before we have to style it for the parade.” Arthur purses his lips, hands settling on his hips. He looks at Alexia over his shoulder. “Do you know when Imane’s getting here?”

Alexia shrugs casually as she wipes down the waxing table. “I think soon? The fittings usually take a while.”

Right on cue, a knock on the door startles them all a bit. A Peacekeeper opens it, backing up to reveal a woman who Lucas assumes is Imane. Her face is serious, dark eyes rimmed with black liner, gold eyeshadow a stark contrast to her brown skin. Her hair is wrapped up in a black headscarf, ears glistening with multiple piercings. She’s wearing a baby blue high-necked sweater, tucked into flowy, high-waisted black pants. Pretty and supremely intimidating, all at once. She walks over to greet Arthur and Alexia, the ends of her pant legs flitting upward to reveal spiky gold boots, sharp enough to do some serious damage with a kick. Lucas swallows down a nervous gulp.

After quick hugs and greetings, Arthur and Alexia shuffle their way out the door, throwing Lucas a wave and mouthing see you later. He sends them a small smile before turning his attention to Imane, who is standing with her hands on her hips, looking at him with an unreadable expression. He pushes down his nerves, walking up to her with a hand out to shake.

“I’m Lucas.”

Her face warms with an amused smile, shaking his hand with a firm grip.

“You don’t think it’s my job to already know your name, Lucas?”

He meets her brown eyes, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, sure.” He pauses, moving to lean his back against the waxing table, crossing his arms. “I’m sure you’re paid to find out everything you can about me.”

Imane smirks, hands settling back down on her hips. “Is that so?”

“Make me feel comfortable, spill my guts out to you, all the while you listen and report back everything. So everyone in the Capitol knows who to place their bets on.” He knows he should probably just shut up, but it’s been a long morning. His legs can attest to that. “Isn’t that how this whole thing works?”

Imane shrugs, bracelets on her wrists jingling as she moves. Her amused expression turns serious, eyebrows lowering to furrow over her eyes. “Sure, they’re paying me. A big, fat paycheck actually.”

Lucas narrows his eyes at her questioningly. She meets his stare head-on.

“Doesn’t mean I’m here to work for them.” She steps closer, lifting a finger to push lightly into his collarbone.

“I’m here to work for you.”

Lucas almost barks out a laugh, but he holds back, breath whooshing out in an unamused huff.

“Pretty sure I have no say in any of this.”

Imane smirks. “Maybe not.”

Lucas looks away, a small smile pushing its way onto his lips. At least she’s honest.

He turns back to her, uncrossing his arms to lean back on his hands. “Arthur said this is your first year. Is this how they punish the newbies? Assign them to District 12? God knows I would have no idea how to make mining look good.”

Imane lets out a bright laugh, breaking through the tension in the room. Lucas smiles with her, feeling the pressure in his chest loosen slightly. She moves next to him, mirroring his lean as her giggles die out. She turns to look at him, grinning. “Believe it or not, I actually chose this.”

Lucas snorts before he can stop himself. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Maybe black is my favorite color?” She shrugs again, a smile still twitching on her lips. “Maybe I like a challenge?” She pauses, turning her head towards him, meeting his eyes. The smile is replaced by something softer, her eyes wide and warm. “Or maybe I just have a soft spot for underdogs.”

He breaks the eye contact, looking straight ahead, not focusing on anything in particular. His chest tightens as reality creeps its way back in. “Underdog implies that we have some kind of chance.”

Imane sighs, looking forward, rocking back on her palms. It’s a minute before she speaks, a heavy silence falling between them.

“I’m not here to make you look pretty Lucas.” He brings his hands forward, presses his nails into his palms, trying to quell his sudden anxiety. “I’m not here to turn you into a Capitol play-thing.” She turns towards him, expression fierce. “I’m here to make you look like a competitor.”

His head snaps up to meet her gaze, and she nods, giving an answer to a question he had no idea he was asking. She pushes off the table, moving to stand in front of him. “You’re smart Lucas, anyone who spends ten minutes in a room with you could figure that out. And… rumor has it that you have other skills as well.” Imane gestures a bangled hand to the corner of the room, where covered outfits hang on a rack. “The outfits? The look? I have the easy job. I make sure you’re noticed. The rest is up to you.”

He inhales deeply as the dark voice in his head makes its presence known.

Do you really think you can handle that?

He grits his teeth, shoving the voice back where it belongs.

I don’t have a choice.

He doesn’t speak for a moment, and Imane moves to sit back next to him. She hesitates, before lightly laying her arm across Lucas’ shoulders, pulling him gently into her side. His eyes burn as he tries for a smile.

“Guess there is no avoiding the frilly costumes, huh?”

He feels Imane shake with a silent chuckle, air whistling out her nose as her face slowly breaks out in a soft grin. She rubs his back lightly before hopping up and walking over to the clothing rack, unzipping the garment bags in a flourish.

“Who said anything about frilly?”

----

Three motherfucking hours.

He’s tired. He’s thirsty. His foot itches, but he can’t scratch it without messing up the pins that Imane is currently painstakingly placing around the hem of his pants. Maybe this is the actual games, how long you can sit still without going mentally insa-

“OW!”

“Shit sorry!”

Imane carefully places the pin she just stabbed him with into the hem, patting his leg reassuringly. She gestures for him to remove them. “Last adjustment, I promise.”

Lucas wiggles the tight black pants off, careful not to poke himself again. Arthur and Alexia burst their way into the room, a huge stack of hair and makeup supplies tipping out of their hands and onto the table. Lucas looks on, concerned. What are you going to do to me?

Imane had covered up the single mirror in the room, saying that it was more fun for the final reveal to be a surprise. Lucas on the other hand, wasn’t so sure.

----

“Are you ready Lucas?”

Arthur and Alexia are practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on their toes on either side of the covered mirror. Their energy makes Lucas smile, but he can’t ignore the fact that he feels slightly ridiculous. His feet are clad in thick-soled lace-up black boots that have to make him at least three inches taller. The leather had been rubbed with black powder, mattifying the finish, like he had been walking through one of the coal mines. He thought they looked cool, but he can’t ignore the fact that every step feels like he has bricks strapped to his feet. The rest of the outfit is black as well, a somewhat simple pant and shirt set. The pants are skin-tight, but made of a thick, ruched fabric that mimics the ridged texture of rock. Surprisingly soft, though. The shirt is matte black silk, thin enough to make Lucas feel almost naked. The neckline is low and wide, exposing his collarbone, while the hem skims the top of his thighs, asymmetrical and flowing. The back has a single shiny silk panel that runs down his spine, and trails behind him a bit as he walks. The sleeves are tight, hitting him at his wrists. Alexia had taken time to paint his nails black, which he already accidentally chipped when trying to drink from a glass of water. She would have smacked him on the back of the head, if Arthur hadn’t just finished styling his hair.

As for his face and hair, he had no idea. Alexia had come at him with handfuls of black makeup. He has a feeling that he looks like a little kid that got into a finger paint set while his parents weren’t paying attention.

Let’s just get this over with.

He nods at them, and they tug the sheet down off the mirror.

…

Holy shit.

The breath he didn’t know he was holding whooshes out, eyes wide as he stares at his reflection. A thin band of black covers his face from temple to temple, running across his eyes, contrasting with the blue and tempering the child-like roundness into something more… adult. Below that, a black handprint had been pressed to the left side of his cheek and jaw, smearing down across his throat and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. He reaches up a tentative hand to touch it, still not quite sure that he was actually looking at himself. The sides of his hair are softly slicked back, black paint mixing with it at his temples. The top is a mop of tamed waves, which had been painstakingly styled to fall subtly over the right side of his forehead.

He looks… older. Almost feral. Like he would have no problem burying an axe in someone’s back. I guess that’s the point.

Alexia squeals, clapping her hands in joy as she jumps over to stand beside him. Imane walks over and brushes an invisible piece of lint off his shoulder, smirking, clearly pleased with herself. Arthur is practically beaming at him, which quickly turns into a frown as he shoos Alexia’s hands away from his handiwork. Alexia laughs, twirling away from Arthur to give Lucas a quick kiss on the cheek. His cheeks blush furiously before he can process what happened.

“You look amazing!”

“The black makes your eyes look so blue.”

“What can I say, I’m a genius.” Imane gives a dramatic bow as Arthur and Alexia clap loudly, laughing and hollering. Lucas drags his eyes away from his reflection, smirking to himself.

“So what now?”

Imane smiles at him. “We go grab Eliott, and Daphné will come to escort you over to where the other tributes are being lined up for the parade.” She turns away to start packing up her supplies.

Eliott. Oh, fuck.

He shuffles over to help, grabbing her measuring tape and bringing it over. “So, uh, what’s Eliott wearing? For the parade, I mean?”

Imane shoots him a strange look out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t comment on the clear stutter in his voice. “The same thing. Idriss and I wanted you to look like a team.”

Lucas nods, pursing his lips. “Okay.” Shit.

She gives him a questioning look. “Is that not okay with you?”

He blanks, scrambling for words. “No, no, it’s fin-”

A knock on the door saves him, and Manon pokes her head inside. “Everyone ready to head out over here?”

Imane smiles at her, gathering her supplies up in her arms. “Yes, ma’am.” Arthur and Alexia head out into the hallway first, Lucas and Imane following behind. The door slams behind him, and he takes a slow breath before turning to look down the hallway, but that he could never be prepared for what was waiting for him.

Eliott was standing casually, conversing with a tall dark-skinned man that Lucas could only guess was Idriss. The all-black ensemble contrasts starkly with his pale skin, making the moles and freckles scattered around stand-out sharply against his neck and jaw. The thigh-skimming hemline of the shirt makes his legs look a mile-long, the wide-neck highlighting the surprising broadness of his shoulders. Lucas’ eyes roam up his right arm, the silk clinging to his lean muscles, and his heart jumps into his throat, pressure moving through his stomach to someplace lower.

Jesus, get it together.

He has a handprint mark mirroring Lucas’ twisting across his throat, the black makeup bending sensually over his collarbone. The band across his eyes makes him look like a sort of dark fantasy prince, his normally messy hair combed back away from his face, tame and tightly controlled. He looks like a stranger, intimidating and cold. Eliott turns his face toward him, noticing the influx of people coming out into the hallway. His grey eyes find Lucas and they widen, a slow, bright smile breaking across his face. Suddenly, he’s Eliott again. Lucas tilts his head, matching his grin with a shy one of his own.

Idriss turns to chat with Alexia, freeing up Eliott, and Lucas walks slowly over, holding his gaze. Eliott bites his lip, eyes moving languidly up and down Lucas’ body. A shiver moves through his spine under the intensity of his stare. Is he…?

He reaches him after what feels like an eternity, cheeks aflame with the heat of a thousand suns. He swallows down his nerves, plastering a smirk on his face. He keeps his voice low, so Eliott has to lean down a bit to hear him.

“Please tell me they waxed you too.”

Eliott bursts out laughing, reaching down to lift up the edge of his pant leg. Perfectly smooth. Lucas snorts, shaking his head. He glances back at Eliott, who is still grinning, eyes crinkled up into half-moons, swallowed up into the line of black. Lucas can’t help but stare.

“Of course you manage to pull this,” he gestures at his own outfit, “nonsense off.” He huffs out an exaggerated sigh. “Me on the other hand… on a scale of 1-10, how fucking ridiculous do I look?”

Eliott’s grin gets replaced by something softer, and he gazes at Lucas for an excruciating beat.

“Zero.”

“Well, that’s a lie, you’re just trying to make me feel better.” Lucas looks down at his boots, shuffling his feet, trying to hide the smirk on his face.

“You think I’d lie about something like that?”

His head snaps up so fast he gives himself whiplash, turning back towards Eliott with wide eyes. Eliott had leaned in to say the words, and Lucas almost goes cross-eyed with the effort to not stare directly at his lips. Eliott huffs out a quiet laugh, breath tickling Lucas’ face, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. Lucas’ lips pull up into a small smile at the sight. Eliott Demaury. Blushing.

The sound of clacking heels makes Eliott look up, eyes focusing on something behind Lucas. He turns around to see Daphné strutting her way down the hallway, all done up in a brand new red dress, the huge collar folding back around her chin like a giant flower. Lucas coughs into his hand to suppress a laugh, which makes Eliott grin down at his feet. She pushes past everyone, coming up to pull the boys into a tight hug, squealing like a dying animal.

“Don’t you two look fabulous! So…” She shakes her head, seemingly at a loss for words, “... dark!” Lucas catches Imane grinning into her hand behind her. He smirks.

“Thanks Daphné.”

She flashes him a bright smile, patting his cheek like a little kid. She spins around, just as quickly. “Alright, off we go boys!”

She starts walking back the way she came, Lucas and Eliott falling into place behind her. Lucas turns to wave at Imane, who winks at him while Arthur and Alexia grin and give him an enthusiastic thumbs up. He smiles to himself, turning back to face forward, matching Eliott’s stride. He can feel Eliott’s eyes on him, and it takes all his strength not to turn and meet his gaze. Keep it cool, Lucas. They walk in silence the entire way to the parade grounds, Lucas occasionally allowing himself a glance at the beautiful boy next to him. He catches Eliott sending him a look a few times in his periphery, and he feels his skin prickle with every passing glance.

It’s going to be a long night.

#WASSUP MECS #LMAOOO #god its been a little while since ive updated #shit's been crazy #this was a fun one guys #chapter title taken from 'Electric Love' by BØRNS #now imagine lucas and eliott checking each other out while this song plays in the background #you're welcome guys #even the dead deserve a song #my fic #elu fic #elu #skam france #skamfr #skam fr #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant

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uzumaki-rebellion · 6 years ago

Text

Forty-Seven G [Part 2 of 3]

"Hot thing, barely twenty-one

Hot thing, looking for big fun

Hot thing, what's your fantasy?

Hot thing, do you want to play with me?"

Prince – "Hot Thing"

Summary: Erik Killmonger runs into his favorite flight attendant again. Payback is not always a bitch...

Mature Content. Smut.

Fa'aana stood in the aisle of the business class section of the plane watching passengers board at a snail's pace. She scratched the back of her neck while keeping an eye out for people who needed help.

The last few days had been a breeze with the flight team she was working with. Mark, Mavis, Lucy, and herself were in sync and had the uncanny ability to anticipate what they all needed from each other at any given moment. The long haul they were about to embark on from Italy back to Atlanta was going to be packed. When she checked the passenger manifest, there were only about seven open seats available.

She and Mark were able to catch a fantastic brunch at the hotel they stayed overnight in while on a layover in Rome. Munching on a croissant with a thick smothering of Nutella and the best espresso ever, she detailed the birthday dinner she had with Hugh back in the states.

Mark didn't seem impressed, and after sharing the deets, she realized it was a pretty poor date. They visited the Atlanta aquarium first because she loved the place, but Hugh gave off bored vibes so they left early. The restaurant he made reservations for had pretty bland food despite the expensive menu and all the hype she had heard about it. The strip club he took her to afterward that she was excited about going to wasn't as impressive as she had hoped. The exotic dancers were athletic and did amazing things on the pole, but all the music sounded the same and all the women looked cut from the same cloth: Ultra-colorful wigs. Overly injected ass cheeks and breasts augmented into unnatural sizes and shapes that looked uncomfortable. Plus, all the bored facial expressions.

She wanted a sexy good time that would lead to some amazing sex with Hugh, but instead, he served her mediocre peen. Bad food, bad company, and bad sex. Ugh.

The only highlight of her birthday was finding herself on the lap of a stranger getting fingered on the back of the plane almost a week ago. Forty-Seven G. Erik from Oakland. Thinking of him made her nipples perk up. She hadn't cum like that since…wow, when had she ever cum like that? It was explosive. Primal. It felt like he was introducing her to her own vagina for the first time.

She sighed thinking about him.

After he made her cum, she had to go into the lavatory and change her panties from the fresh pack she had in her carry-on stored in the galley. She wanted to reciprocate the pleasure back to him, but Mark had woken up and they had to prep for the breakfast run before landing and serve a few early coffees and juices. She felt bad because his erection was something she wanted to see and touch.

Before Erik left the plane, she had given him her number because he had promised to send her a picture of himself at the wedding he was attending. Two days later, as promised, a number she didn't recognize popped up on her phone with two attachments. One was a picture of Erik smiling with a bride and groom, and the other was a candid shot of Erik straightening his bow tie.

He was disgustingly photogenic, and she wished she had never asked for a picture because now she would be stuck with a memory of a man she would never see again. He knew how to wear a tux, and he knew how to serve face for the camera. And those damn dimples. Yummy.

She texted the number back thanking him for the picture and she was so glad that she hadn't sent anything else beyond that message because the response she got back was not from Erik, but from a woman who said he asked her to send the pictures. So much for that. He didn't want her to have his number apparently.

She did catch herself staring at the pictures every now and then, and then she would get a shiver up her spine thinking of his lips and his fingers…

"If there are some open seats available, do you think I could move to one of them?"

Fa'aana was broken from her thoughts of Erik and found herself staring into the eyes of a pink-faced older man who seemed disgusted that he had to sit next to a couple with a small child that looked to be about five.

"Once everyone is seated and we know our final headcount, I will let you know," she said.

"Thank you," he said glaring at the couple.

She was tempted to ignore him and pretend they were full even if they weren't. The child had been nothing but quiet and polite since she was placed in her seat. Some people just hated children for no reason.

Fa'aana saw Lucy waving to her from the first-class section. She made her way up the aisle to see what Lucy needed.

"Do you mind taking this and storing it in the back? All the bins up here are filled up."

"No, problem," Fa'aana said grabbing a small roller bag.

The hairs on her neck stood up when she saw Erik walk aboard. The same round black shades, a magenta jacket over a white t-shirt and gray jeans, and that same swagger. He was with a light-skinned Black woman and a white man waiting to head into the first-class section.

"Fa'anna, one more small bag, please. Thanks," Lucy said.

Erik turned his head when he heard her name. She couldn't see his eyes behind the dark frames. There was no hint of recognition really, not even a smile. He heard her name, turned to look at her and then kept it moving up into first.

Oh, it's like that?

Fa'aana headed to the rear of the plane with the bags feeling a bit vexed. The least he could've done was given a head nod or even a "W'sup." Nothing. Nada. Zilch. A cursory glance and then he was stepping. That's why she didn't fuck with young dudes. That man had played all up in her pussy, watched her face and thighs have an intense orgasm too, and he walked by her like he didn't know her.

Well. Be honest. He didn't know her. He probably didn't expect to see her again either. And if the roles were reversed, what would she say to him?

Let it be.

Fa'aana found space for the bags and went back to Lucy to inform her of the aisle numbers so the passengers would know where to retrieve them. She saw the back of Erik's head in first-class. He was seated next to the light-skinned woman who was having a heated conversation with the white man who came with them and was seated behind them.

"My oh my," Lucy said giving Fa'aana a look.

"What's up?"

"A little lovers spat," Lucy said glancing back over at Erik and his companions.

"The Black guy and woman—"

"No. The woman next to him is with the white guy behind her. She made the Black guy switch seats with the white guy."

Fa'aana saw Erik talking to the woman and she was shaking her head and pointing her finger at the man behind her. It was difficult to hear anything from them clearly, but it sounded like Erik was saying "Not my problem."

"Hopefully they simmer down soon," Lucy said.

Fa'aana nodded, but her eyes were still on Erik's face. Mark strolled up to them.

"So we have seven open seats available, three in the back, and four in business," he said.

"Be discreet, but if two of you want to fill in the seats in the back, do it," Lucy said.

"Cool," Fa'aana said taking one last look at Erik, then heading back to her station.

Turbulence.

They hit some on the way out of Italy and had to endure more as they passed over France. Fa'aana and the other flight attendants had to wait to do snack and beverage runs. By the time they were halfway over France, the airstream was smooth again.

They made swift work of giving out snacks and libations. She moved the pink-faced complainer to another seat and helped an elderly passenger up to the business class restroom and back. By the time the dinner run was complete two hours later and cleaned up, she was able to kick back for a moment and rub her feet. She snagged an empty aisle seat in fifty-seven G but had to keep getting up for some wine thirsty passengers.

She was mixing a Bloody Mary when she heard a soft "Hey."

Glancing up she saw Erik leaning against a panel next to one of the lavatories. Dark glasses off, his face looked soft and open. She stared at him for a moment.

"Just a sec," she said moving past him to deliver the drink in her hand.

She felt her heart do a little double time. When she turned to walk back to the galley, he was watching her approach. She stepped past him and moved further into the galley. Mavis was in a seat in business class and Mark was sitting on the other side in seat fifty-two A. She had the galley to herself. Normally she would tell passengers they couldn't be near the galley. But this was different.

"Thanks for the pictures," she said trying to figure out the best opening.

"The wedding was great," he said.

Standing near him was so different than when they had been sitting next to each other, and when she had been sprawled across his lap. He towered over her…

"When you came aboard, I thought you didn't recognize me," she said, "is it the hair?"

She twirled a finger into her thick twist out hairstyle.

"Nah, I wouldn't forget you, trust," he drawled out, "I was just caught up with some drama."

"That's what I hear," she said.

"Whatchu hear?"

"The woman you were with seemed upset about something. You had to switch seats."

"Yeah, Chloe. My Ex."

"Who is the guy with you two?"

"Her boyfriend."

"What? Oh, I need to hear this," she said. She gave him a friendly smile. He moved in closer so that he was no longer near the two lavatories. She could really feel his height now. The vibratory hum of the plane masked their conversation.

"Nah, this shit is boring—"

"To you maybe. You go to friend's wedding and your ex-Girlfriend is there with her current boyfriend…and now the three of you are bosom buddies riding in first-class together. Yeah, total dullsville."

He laughed.

"Ain't no bosom buddies—"

"Speak then. How long ago has she been your Ex?"

"A year—"

"Wait, how old is she?"

"Twenty-four."

"How old is he?"

"Thirty."

"So, what happened?"

"First of all, it wasn't a surprise that she was going to be at this wedding. My boy already let me know that she was going to be there with her new man. She and I been cool for a minute, so it wasn't like shit was going to pop off when we saw each other. She introduced me to her man and everything was cool breezy y'know, mellow and shit. Wedding was dope as hell. But I notice that her man is making these reckless comments about her that I don't think is cool. Like he's saying shit to try and fit in because the majority of the people there are Black—"

"What was he saying?"

"Dumb shit not even worth repeating. So I pull her aside and tell her that I think her man is only with her because she's Black, but the type of Black that white guys like—"

"Which is?"

"Ambiguous Black women. Light bright, wavy hair…but this dude has a thing for big asses too….which I can understand…but still, I was getting fetish vibes. She and I have always been 100 with one another so I felt comfortable giving her my opinion. She didn't believe me so I just let it go."

His voice was getting heated telling the story. His facial expressions were interesting to watch.

"We're all doing the wedding party stuff and having a good time for four days. But then last night, she gets drunk and they start arguing over some personal shit, and my name gets thrown in there and he accuses her of wanting to sleep with me. I have no interest in her whatsoever. She's an Ex for a hella good reason…"

He shook his head.

"You don't need to hear all this boring ass shit. They got issues and I'm not going back up there until they go to sleep or something."

"You better go back up there and enjoy your first class—"

"I didn't pay for that. She upgraded my ticket, and that just added fuel to the fire. I was hoping to eat my fancy food and mind my business, but they kept at it."

"You can't stand for seven hours."

"Any open seats back here?"

"There's an aisle seat that's open. There's a man in the window seat—"

"Show me," he said.

She moved past him and pointed out the aisle seat that she had vacated.

"Yo, my man, you want to switch seats? You can have my first-class spot."

The passenger who had been trying to get comfortable against the window looked shocked.

"Are you serious?" he asked.

Erik handed him his first-class ticket receipt. Fa'aana nodded to the passenger.

"Wow, thanks a lot buddy," the man said as he stood up and took the ticket stub.

"Enjoy," Erik said.

"That was nice of you," she said.

"Be right back, I need to get my computer bag."

She watched him walk the long trek up to first-class. A passenger requested her assistance and she tended to them, bringing another blanket and a bottle of water.

She was making herself a cup of tea when Erik slipped back into the galley to stand near her.

"All good?"

"They sleep. Didn't even see me leave."

"Nice."

"How was your birthday dinner with your boyfriend?"

"Trash."

He laughed and she laughed with him. She ran it down for him without mention of the bad sex and he shook his head.

"You went to the wrong strip club, Ma. I know some places down there you should go to."

"You going to take me?"

"Next time I roll through."

"Hit me up then."

She waited to see how he would react to that.

"I got your number, girl."

"Alright. We'll see," she said.

She turned and sprinkled a sugar packet into her tea and she felt him get close behind her, his body heat radiating into her back. He leaned down to her ear.

"I ain't forgot about the last time I saw you," he whispered.

She closed her eyes and put down the tea. Sweet cornrowed Jesus.

"Erik, I'm working."

"You were working last time too—"

"Erik!"

He jerked back from her when he heard the shrill female voice.

"Chloe," he said stepping out of the galley and back into the aisle.

Fa'aana ducked her head out and sipped on her tea. Chloe's face was flush, her lank dark hair swept to one side of her left shoulder. Her thick lips were curled up into a scowl.

"You just let some strange man come sit next to me?" she hissed to Erik.

He pulled her closer to the lavatories and the galley.

"I'm not tryna hear your bullshit, Chloe. I said what I had to say and I'm done—"

"No, we're not done. Come back to the front—"

"Nah—"

Chloe clutched at Erik's arm.

Fa'aana stepped forward using her trained de-escalation voice.

"Ma'am, I'm going to need for you to go take your seat."

"You just mind your damn business. Go serve some coffee or something," Chloe said with a clipped voice.

"Don't talk to Fa'aana like that—"

"You know this bitch?" Chloe said stepping toward Fa'aana like she was ready to throw hands.

Fa'aana felt her neck tilt.

This heffa could catch some hands…

Erik stepped in front of Chloe.

"Take your ass back to your seat."

Fa'aana and Chloe both heard the rumble in his voice. It made Chloe's face switch up real quick and Fa'aana's knees quake.

"Erik, baby, I just want to talk…"

Chloe's tone had shifted. Coquettish. Soft. Pacifying. She was trying to wrap him around her finger. Fa'aana wanted him to wrap his hand around her own throat and choke her slowly while talking forcefully like that again. She imagined him bending her over—

Erik's eyes swept back to look at her.

"Sorry about this," he said. His face looked tired like he had been dealing with Chloe and her boyfriend all day and he was just weary of it. A passenger light signal went off and Fa'aana was happy for the distraction.

"I'll need you both to return to your seats please," she said in her professional voice. She left them to go tend to the service call.

A woman with a French accent wanted water for some aspirin she was taking. Fa'aana went to retrieve it and across the aisle, she saw Erik walking back to first-class with Chloe.

Sitting in the aisle seat, Fa'aana started a game of Blackjack on the vid screen in front of her. The cabin had quieted down and she could finally rest her feet after completing several walk-throughs checking on passengers. Most were asleep or trying to sleep.

"Mind if I sit in my seat?"

Erik watched her face as her finger lingered on the vid screen. She started to scoot over.

"I want the window," he said.

She stood up and let him haul his body over to the window. He took off his jacket and sat it on his lap.

"Sorry about that Chloe shit," he said.

"Already forgotten," she said starting a new game on the vid screen.

He reached for her hand on the screen and held it.

"Nah, for real. That wasn't cool."

"So that's the type of women you go for?"

"Chloe is a little hot-headed—"

"Entitled—"

"That too sometimes."

"What did you ever see in her?"

"She's fine—"

"Typical—"

"Typical? Men like fine women. Physical beauty is what we see first. Straight up."

Fa'aana rolled her eyes.

"Women do it too. Don't act like y'all don't check for fine niggas," he said.

"Why did you break up with her? That sparkling personality of hers didn't keep your interest?"

Erik's eyes dropped to his hands.

"She's looking for a husband, picket fence, kids, all that rah rah. I felt like she was grooming me to take home to her parents. I'm too young for all that. I got shit to do and I have my own timetable for how I want my life to proceed. She didn't respect that. Got a little pushy so I bounced."

"What's your timetable?"

"Finish grad school. Then I'm going into the Navy. Become a Seal—"

"Wait, grad school and then the Navy? You don't strike me as a military man."

"I graduated from Annapolis before going to M.I.T. Been training for this life for a minute."

His eyes were so focused when he talked about his plans. She noticed a silver chain around his neck with a heavy and expensive-looking silver-black ring on it. She reached out and touched it and his hand shot out to pull it away from her.

"Sorry. I should've asked to touch it. It's beautiful."

His hand released her hand and she turned the ring with her fingers.

"It belonged to my father. He was killed when I was younger."

"Sorry to hear that, Erik. What language is this writing on it?"

"Wakandan. East Africa. My father was from there."

His demeanor became somber. This was something painful for him. She released the necklace and he tucked it inside of his shirt. They were silent together for a moment. She stepped away from her seat to go check the galley and to see if any passengers made any service calls. There were none and hadn't been any for a long time. The people in front of them and across from them were knocked out with headphones on and movies playing.

Back at the seat, Erik had fired up his own game. When she plopped down next to him, he seemed more cheerful.

"I didn't think I would run into you again," he said.

"Me neither, but there was always the small chance."

"You were hoping to see me, huh?"

Her lips curled up in a sly smile.

"You can admit it. I wanted to see you again myself. You been on my mind the whole time I was in Rome…"

She felt herself getting warm again. His voice was low and he was giving her bedroom eyes that she couldn't resist. He lifted up the middle armrests.

"C'mere," he said reaching for her.

"Erik, there are too many people—"

"Give me those pretty lips, girl…"

Her body ignored her brain, and she was scooting over to him and giving up her mouth freely.

"Hmmm, you taste so sweet," he said. He sucked on her tongue, the cranberry and apple tea was still strong on her breath. His right hand reached up and touched her blouse, his fingers feeling for her left breast. He tweaked her nipple and then his whole hand squeezed her plum-sized breast. He released her lips from his and his forehead pressed against hers.

"Open this up," he breathed out to her.

She didn't move.

"We're good, no one is paying attention. I want to touch you. Let me touch you," he whispered. His full lips were taunting her. He was nothing but trouble. Good trouble.

She allowed her fingers to open only four buttons, just enough to let him get his hand inside. He opened a fifth button himself and thrust his warm hand down on her. The thin silk of her bra cup was forced aside so that his fingers found her pebbled nipple. He pinched it and she gasped.

"Erik…"

His fingers went to her other nipple and plucked at it. His mouth found hers again and he pulled her closer to his side. He tongued her down until her toes had curled and uncurled several times. He released her lips and she felt breathless. His hand reached under his jacket.

"You owe me," he said. She saw him tugging on himself under the jacket. She squirmed in her seat, her hips rotating slowly from need. He pushed his jacket aside and unfastened his jeans.

"Play with my dick."

Her hand slid down and reached for his pants.

"I want to see you pull it out."

She used both hands, one to pull back his boxers, the other to release the bulge that waited for her. When she gripped his erection, he let out a soft groan.

"Soft ass hands…"

She pulled out his dick. It was so heavy and so full of heat. Fuck. The weight of it made her mouth water. She stroked him.

"Ooh, yeah, just like that. Keep doing that."

She circled the head with her fingers and he widened his legs pulling down on his boxers so that his balls were accessible for her too. His fat sack was so hot to the touch.

"Stroke that shit. Make me feel it, Ma."

She whimpered, fisting him just under the mushroom head, hitting his frenulum and twisting her fingers a bit.

"How you know my spot already, girl?" he gasped, shifting in his seat. Beads of pre-cum seeped out and dripped on her fingers. She played with it and rolled it across the wide head. His slit leaked more. "You want to taste me? Go 'head, put your mouth on that shit," he said.

She lowered her head and licked the clear fluid. More spilled out and she gobbled it up.

"Stick your tongue on that hole…yeah…just like that…I got some more for you."

She squeezed the head and his natural lubricant trickled out onto her wet tongue. She smacked her lips and looked up at him.

"Let me stretch that mouth," he said. She moaned. She cared about nothing else at that moment. They could fire her for all she cared. She just needed this man's fast ass cock in her mouth.

He thrust up his hips and the bulbous head touched her lips. She opened as wide as she could and took him in. His lips pressed together tightly as he swallowed a deep groan. Her head bobbed in his lap and his left hand hovered above her hair, touching her head and pushing down when he wanted her to go deeper...harder.

When she raised up to catch her breath after she started gagging, he pulled on her hair. He gripped his dick and squeezed the head so that his wide slit opened.

"Spit on my dick," he said.

She swirled her tongue in her mouth collecting saliva and spit on the head making his dick sloppy wet.

"You like being nasty, huh? Spit on it again, bitch."

She felt her stomach twist up and a strong pulse made her pussy throb from his words. She spit on his dick again and then he was shoving it back in her mouth. He reached for his jacket and used it to cover her lower half. His left hand frantically raised up her skirt and then shoved down into her stockings. She wiggled her hips so that his fingers could reach her panties and soaked folds.

"Damn…you know how to suck dick…swallow this shit baby…yeah… keep going…keep going…"

Her folds were so wet and her pussy so engorged, he was able to slip his fingers in and out with ease. He flicked her clit in a delicious rhythm and she felt an orgasm building. He was making her work her neck out as he fucked her face trying his best to keep quiet. He was beginning to inhale with harsh sounds.

"I'm 'bout to feed you, girl. You betta swallow this nut—"

That's all it took. Her release was tight on his fingers, her walls throbbing with intense pleasure that made her skin tingle.

"Ohhhhhh…" Erik groaned, his legs seizing up tight as a hot load of cum shot up into her mouth. His dick swelled in her mouth and she felt it spasm several times. She swallowed what she could and then had to let him go because she was choking on his girth.

"Damn, girl, damn."

She held onto his cock as a final stream of creamy white spilled out from him. He looked down at his dick.

"Clean me up. Lick all that shit up."

She did what she was told to do. His fingers were still inserted in her pussy. And she was grateful for his touch.

"Fuck, that was a lot," he said.

She giggled and sat up. He re-fastened his pants. She fixed her skirt and buttoned up her blouse. He stuck two of his fingers in her mouth.

"You suck dick like a champ. World class head game, baby."

She circled her tongue around his fingers then pulled them out, licking up and down each digit.

"You should be ashamed of yourself. Sucking dick on the job…"

"That's good customer service," she quipped.

"You right, Ma. Serving excellence. I'ma tell your boss to give you a raise when I leave."

She felt her face flatten.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head and pulled back from him. Passengers around them were still knocked out.

"Hey, Fa'aana, w'sup?"

Stupid. It was stupid. She was catching feelings.

"I need to freshen up," she said.

He pulled her in tight and fast.

"I'm feeling you too, Ma."

When his lips pressed into hers and she gave into his tongue and the heat of his mouth, she knew he wasn't lying.

Forty-Seven G [Part 1] Forty-Seven G [Part 2] Forty-Seven G [Part 3]

Tag List:

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#black panther #blackpanther #erikkillmonger #erik killmonger #killmonger #killmonger fanfiction #njadaka #n'jadaka #eriklives #sluttyerik #erik killmonger smut #erikkillmongersmut #erik stevens smut #erikstevenssmut #n'jadaka smut

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spacemilkies · 6 years ago

Note

Bart Allen x reader

summary: He’d ran to the past purely by the determination to unselfishly prevent the future from fallling into ruin.

For that for that act of valor, wasn’t he allowed this one selfish want ?

Notes: It took me awhile to come up with something. Sorry for the lateness. Here’s a little snippet drabble thing.

When he’d first appeared he wasn’t quite sure who was more surprised. Naturally he managed to send the premature flock of superheroes into a mild panic.

That wasn’t entirely intentional. So far into the future calculations were somewhat accurate at best. Nathaniel had planned for the when, but the where was more abstract in nature.

So yes, Bart was equally as astonished to not only find the machine in working order but to find himself at the center control panel of Mount Justice?

Now that was crash.

All his idols were in attendance.

The creative and instinct driven Beast Boy.

The premature and determined Robin.

And oh man, the notorious Nightwing in the flesh.

And then there was you.

For a moment Bart wished for nothing more than looser suit to drag away the spandex from red itch crawling up his neck. The poster on his wall had depicted you as an older hero, matured in both your talents and prowess. But there had been plenty of opportunities for him to imagine what it might have been like to fight beside you.

Share the excitement and spoils of victory.

If only he’d been born a few decades earlier.

If only you hadn’t-

The time capsule hero jerked in response,“Careful now, watch the claws!”

As part of the infamous Allen lineage, all speedsters relied on that split second decision where time slowed to their advantage.

It separated life from death.

Freedom from capture.

“Now that would have not been crash. Seriously Robin ? I have your action figure man. “

Bart shook a non threatening fist from his perch atop the massive screen. He’d narrowly managed to avoid quick shot of cable. The young hero hadn’t even been aware of his speed inclement yet smartly chose to go after his legs.

He couldn’t put it past the detective.

It was obvious that his window of opportunity would have dwindled. During his fanboy episode the startlement had worn off.

And now he was outnumbered.

… yet still a little crash.

Yeah, he expected to feel the mode shortly after.

But damn did he enjoy going head to head with the best of the best.

Sure, they were still in their youth and nothing compared to what they would be in the future but damn wasn’t it still a thrill.

No one could blame him for at least attempting to shift out of the bindings. His vibrations only managed to encourage the current Robin to tighten the ropes further.

Bart wasn’t entirely certain that he hadn’t taken a bit of pleasure in the act.

“You’re from the future? Ha, right dude.”

Bart’s attention whipped over to the green meta human, taking in the distinctively furry texture of his skin. Funnily it had been a small detail the cameras managed to miss when capturing his likeness.

“Oh man, Beastboy if only I could get started on you.” Unfortunately, Bart had seen enough movies depicting the consequences of speaking so openly about what was to come.

No, he would need to be sensible here.

Regardless of how easy it would be to drag these chump- eh- heroic deities.

“Look, no hard feelings. I’m one of you!” His hand twitched from the desire to bring it to his chest in emphasis. “ Name’s Bart Allen. You know, of the Barry Allen legacy? Really, the speed should have been an indicator.”

Among the skeptical faces it was yours he kept darting to the most. He couldn’t help it. You were just so young and so here.

And right in front-

Oh well … was right in front of him before Robin had taken the initiative to cut in between, effectively severing the point of contact.

Bart would have been more baffled had he not understood the root of the protective stance.

It didn’t help that bat family was incredibly rich.

They just had to be eligible bachelors to boot.

Speaking of the family, where had the older bat flown off to?

“Dude if you’re honest we can figure this out. And then you can go.”

Bart tried extremely hard not to roll his eyes but it was painful. The littlest bat really needed to brush up on his interrogations. The summation of this little group was only the junior leagues.

Once he really got started talking they were going to have to draw out the majors.

“What if he is? It wouldn’t be the craziest thing to happen here,” your voice trilled over silence.

Okay, maybe crossing spacial dimensions was a little different but it was the future! He obviously shared some connection to the Flash- grandson did he say?

All you were saying is that you couldn’t rule out the impossible without considering the possibility.

Your gaze flickered uncertainly to the bulky machine sitting like a quiet observer.

Beside you Robin scuffed I’m firm disbelief. Granted it too a lot to get the junior detective to think outside of the realm of possible. You were starting to think he was being a bit close minded.

The two of them had barley known one another for twenty minutes and you could already feel the bad blood thrumming under the veins. It was obvious that Bart knew something they didn’t but was it so inherent that Tim would react out of instinct ?

“Not you too,” he groaned. He caught your eyes from the side. “A tourist ?”

Okay, that was an odd thing to call oneself given the situation. It was hard to determine what was more concerning.

That fact that a kid would travel so lightheartedly into the past without considering the consequences or how easily accessible it was for him to do so.

Beastboy settles his arms across his chest,”I don’t know man. I mean, yeah, I’m green but from the future? That’s a little crazy.”

“Batman will deal with him,” Tim reasoned under his breath.

As subtly as you could, you reached for him, finger tips just skimming the callouses of his own. While his face didn’t portray emotion, your loose grip tingled with the ripple of calm you were trying to make mutual.

Unbeknownst to you, the red haired speedster followed the minuscule movement with a grimace.

“Easy, Robin. If he travel from the future he must have accumulated quite the thirst. Barry’s grandson, right? That’s quite the journey.”

Bart watched Nightwing with interest as he reapplied with a glass of water in hand. Bringing his tied hands up, he accepted it with a shallow nod. He was a little thirsty but more in the lack of proper clean water kind of way and less of a time travel exhaustion.

It wasn’t until he’d taken a few sips before the subtle insinuation of the offer became apparent.

Now he was realizing how one graduated out of the Robin role.

“Ah, you’re not really worried about the culprit. You just want this.” Bart probably added more of the wanted specimen than necessary when he spit heartily into the glass much to the grimaced disgust of some of the observers. “There you go. Authentic DNA of the Allen family. Just don’t go cloning anyone.”

His gaze widened comically at the thought. “Oh man, that’d be so crash though. Surely Dick Grayson could figure out the proper cloning sequence. Just ask Connor.”

It had started off as a joke and tumbled horridly into a snowball effect after that. What could he say? Once he got started talking, it was just downhill from there.

To say the hero was affronted would be putting it off lightly.

“I know all of you guys? Future guy remember ?”

He gestured to each member individually.

“Dick Grayson.”

“Garfield Logan.”

“Newly appointed Robin, Tim Drake.”

And then there was you. Your eyes were already comically wide by this point as if already knowing your fate.

It didn’t matter really. He was immediately overshadowed by Beast- Garfield was who didn’t find it very crash to be the last one to get he knowledge party.

By the end of it all, he’d left the heroes more confused than the moment he’d arrived.

His ride had unfortunately arrived before he alleviate some of their obvious worries. The tell tale sound of the dimensional portal gate called out the name of another rememberable hero, but he was already shaking past the restraints before the computer could finish the introduction.

Besides he had his own history to change.

And somehow managed to alter his own future in the midst of it.

With the current Flash properly save and hopefully alive in his future, he was more than ready to return to a brighter more lively lifestyle.

When he returned, you were all better prepared for his arrival. Not so much for the older man that ‘Impule’ had hastily referred to as his great grandfather with no little excitement and current Flash and Kid Flash in tow.

It was like a backwards family reunion.

Nightwing’s analytical results had proved the impossible, well possible. Bart Allen was a direct descendant of the Allen family.

The red haired future superhero seemed to take the news with the strongest stride, not doubting his truth for a second. Part of you felt for him, this had to be his only chance to properly meet the senior Flash.

Regrettably, the meeting was cut relatively short as his urge to go home out ran the present desires. He was still an erratic variable of the future and had no place here.

A few hugs were exchanged amongst family, the current leagued Flash expressing his anticipation on meeting him again in a proper timeline.

You found yourself longing for the same. Eager to see his origin and watching the child become what you’d witnessed today.

“Well this has been crash, but gotta run.”

God, were you not looking forward to the puns though. A mutual groan rumbled amongst the gathered crowd in agreement.

Impulse had nearly disappeared into the awaiting machine before his body staled as if forgetting something. After saving the life of a hero you couldn’t imagine what other time altering event he could have on his agenda.

Then his gaze locked with yours.

Your hair fluttered behind you from the sharp gust of wind from, a noise of shock barely escaping your lips before his swallowed it down.

Somewhere behind you the sound of Tim’s shock tried to reach you but it was lost to the soft press of lips molding against your own.

Then it was over.

And you were left wading in a pool of soft baby blues.

“Oh man, I wish you could have married me instead of Drake.”

And left you stranded.

“Now I should really get going. Be nice to me in the future!”

He raced back to the machine with a sloppy salute, before sliding inside the machine. The only sound it gave was a clank of metal as the latch sealed.

And then the silence stretched on for several seconds.

“Isn’t he supposed to be in the future by now,” Garfield asked unhelpfully.

“He better be.” You felt Tim appear at your back, his growl echoing a darker intent.

There was a drawn out groan, as the metal protested the slow opening of the door. It was likely the slowest you’d ever seen and of the speedsters move as Bart reluctantly stepped out of the machine.

Something told you he wouldn’t be returning home anytime soon.

A sheepish smile pulled at his lips as his gaze darted across the room.

“Anyone else feeling the mode?”

#Anonymous #young justice imagines #bart allen x reader #bart allen imagine #bart allen fanfic #young justice x reader #yj imagine #bart allen

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let-them-eat-rakes · 5 years ago

Text

RED REALITY (part 1)

(my longest post yet.)

Item #: SCP-3001

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: To prevent further accidental entries into SCP-3001, all Foundation reality-bending technology will be upgraded/modified with multiple newly developed safeguards to prevent Class-C "Broken Entry" Wormhole creation. While knowledge of SCP-3001 is available to personnel of any level should they wish to learn about it, research and experimentation with SCP-3001 and its associated technology is strictly limited to personnel of Level 3 and above, with special clearance designation granted from Sites 120, 121, 124, and 133.

Description: SCP-3001 is a hypothesized paradoxical parallel/pocket "non-dimension" accessible through the creation of a momentary Class-C "Broken Entry" Wormhole.(1) While believed to be an infinitely extending parallel universe, SCP-3001 is almost completely devoid of any matter and has an extremely low Hume Level of 0.032,(2) contradicting Kejel's Laws of Reality with the relation between Humes and spacetime. This phenomenon causes matter inside it to decay at an extremely low rate, and damage that would otherwise prove fatal does not impede any biological/electronic function; simulations suggest an organism can lose more than 70% of their body's tissue and still operate normally, as long as at least 40% of the brain remains. However, prolonged exposure will cause said matter to gradually approach SCP-3001's own Hume Level, resulting in severe tissue/structural damage as the matter's own Hume Field begins to disintegrate.

SCP-3001 was initially discovered on January 2, 2000, at Site-120, a facility dedicated to testing and containing reality-bending technology. Dr. Robert Scranton and his wife Dr. Anna Lang were Head Researchers at Site-120, and were developing an experimental device, called the "Lang-Scranton Stabilizer" (LSS).(3) Dr. Scranton was transported to SCP-3001 after unexpected seismic activity damaged several active LSS in Site-120 Reality Lab A.

Initially presumed dead, Dr. Scranton has survived in SCP-3001 for at least five years, 11 months, and 21 days. During this time, he was able to record his experiences and observations within SCP-3001 through a somehow still functioning LSS control panel, which was also brought into SCP-3001 with him through the Class-C "Broken Entry" Wormhole. These recordings were later recovered upon the panel's sudden return, an unexpected side effect from testing improved reality-bending technology; these logs are the basis of SCP-3001 study. Despite new technologies being developed, retrieval and re-integration of Dr. Scranton has been unsuccessful. His current physical and mental states, if he is still alive, are unknown. [Further information on Dr. Scranton's possible retrieval is under Ethics Committee review.] Transcripts of Dr. Scranton's logs are below.

[No discernible/coherent dialogue can be heard from Dr. Scranton for the first eight days. He cycles through periods of panic, confusion, and anger throughout, and it seems he was attempting to navigate SCP-3001 to find a way out. He finally moved close enough to the recording log on the eleventh day, though did not notice it was operating for several more hours.]

…

Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, September 19, 1961.

Favorite color, blue.

Favorite song, "Living on a Prayer."

Wife… Anna…

Anna…

Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, September 19, 1961.

Favorite color, blue.

Favorite song, "Living on a Prayer."

Wife, Anna. She has green eyes. I love her very much.

Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, September 19, 1961.

Favorite color, blue.

Height, 178 cm.

Weight, 85 kg.

Wife, Anna. Anna, I'm sorry.

Name, Robert Scranton. Age, 39. Birthday, September 19, 1961.

Favorite color, blue.

My wife's name is Anna. We got married August 12, 1991.

I hope she got out okay.

Please let her be all right, please let her be all right.

Robert, Scranton. 39. Anna, blue, wife. Please… please, God, please…

Anna… Anna… Anna bo banna… Anna bo banna…

What the… what the hell is that? [It is assumed at this point Dr. Scranton noticed the flashing light of the recording module.]

What the fuck, this thing's actually recording?

[Metallic clang heard.]

[Voice is highly agitated and panicked.] My name, is Robert Scranton. Yeah, yeah, my name, is Robert Scranton, former researcher at Foundation Site-120. It has been… I don't know, actually, I… I can't remember. I… I estimate it's been ten days, but, I-I-I don't, I can't… Oh God, can anyone hear me?! I-I-I don't know what's happened, I-I don't know where I am, and-and, please, please is anyone there?! Hello?! Anyone?! ANYONE?!

No one can hear me. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.

Why the hell is this thing even working, it can't be working, it SHOULDN'T be working, so what the hell?! I need to — God, I need to, I need to… see, how… long can I talk here, I think there's a-a-a cap or something on the recording log, and I-I-I can't see anything, I can only see the red light blinking on and off, I can't see any of the switches next to it…

I'm really hungry.

Thirsty, too. I think I should be dead from dehydration by now, but… I don't know.

Hi, little red light. Can you talk to me? Can you talk to… Anna, for me? Hello?

I found the controls.

Two weeks, three days, forty-seven hours, and fifty-eight minutes.

Two weeks, three days, seven hours, and fifty-eight minutes.

Oh… Jesus.

ERROR WITH PLAYBACK, ERROR WITH PLAYBACK. ERROR WITH PLAYBACK.

Wherever the hell I am, I'm pretty sure now that… I don't need to eat to stay alive. It hurts… a lot, but… at this point I don't think I'm gonna die… So… I'm gonna… I'm gonna take my time… I guess. I… Maybe some sort of miracle will happen and I'll get out. Heh. Keep dreaming, Robert. Yeah, I'm… I'm tired, I'm gonna sleep.

Three weeks, four days, nineteen hours.

I have a picture of Anna in my pocket. I almost forgot. Little red light, let me see her face, please? Just a little bit, I just… I just want to see her a bit.

Hi, Anna, I'm still here, I'm still here. I'm coming back, okay?

Two months, four days, three hours.

… Hi. Robert here. Yeah, I-I haven't really recorded much to hear in the past few weeks. Ha. Hahahaha… Hahaha… huh… huh…

Sorry, gotta keep it together. Breathe.

I've been… I've been busy. Trying to learn more about the place I'm in. My prison. My kingdom all my own. Heh, King Robert. God, I stink. Is there even air in this goddamn place? Stinky King Robert, king of GODDAMN NOTHING FUCK.

…Sorry, sorry. I, I gotta keep this professional. I'll… I'll come back when I'm feeling rested.

… Okay, here goes. [Inhales then exhales deeply.]

My name is… Robert Scranton. I am a former Head Researcher of Site… 120, a Foundation facility dedicated to studying various reality-bending SCPs, for the purpose of developing more advanced countermeasures towards such threats.

For the last… red light, speak to me,

Two months, eight days, sixteen hours.

What red light said. I have been trapped in what I believe to be an empty pocket dimension. Alone. Yeah… alone. All alone.

I'm calling this place SCP… I don't know, I can't remember where we are, screw it. I don't know what's happened in the past… red light, please, again.

Two months, eight days, sixteen hours.

But… no one else is around to argue, and at this point… I'm just talking into this control panel to keep myself together. I… I need to keep a record. There might be some poor bastard in the future who ends up like me, and… if this ever actually makes it out… maybe, maybe I can help stop that from happening. That's all I have going for me right now, and I really need something to go for, hahahaha…

…So, yeah, Robert… Scranton… documenting a new SCP for… future research purposes. That'll have to do. Here we go!

- Close.

…

Two months, eleven days, ten hours.

Item number, SCP I don't fucking care.

Object Class, Euclid, I guess, but I don't know, I might update this in time. I need to explore more.

Special Containment Procedures, god I sound so much like a shrink right now… Um… I don't know if we could… contain wherever I am. It's… definitely not on Earth. To be honest I don't know where it is. I… I think it has do something with the Stabilizer prototype… I'll explain that more later. Okay… um… yeah, wherever I am, I don't think it can be contained much as… created. No, no, that's not the word I'm looking for. Um… entered. Yeah, entered is better. I came into this place because of some really bad reality-bending accident and… no, no, Robert, don't be like that yet, you don't know if there's no exit yet. Ooooh… livin' on a prayer… halfway… there. Ahem.

Two months, eleven days, eighteen hours.

So… wait, no, Description, Robert, stick to the format… This place… It's some sort of reality gap, I think. It's dark. Really dark. As in, this little red light that shows my words are actually being recorded is the only visible light in this entire place. I can't see my hands, and I can barely see the control panel here. I've had to basically use the light as a center, and remember how many steps I take and in which direction. I haven't gone past a hundred yet. I'm too… I'm too scared to. Heh. I wonder if my hair is turning white, right now? I can't even see what color it is anymore. Speaking of which, my head has been a bit itchy recently. If I don't concentrate on it, it's fine, but I feel this… tingling all over my face. I'm not sure why.

Two months, fifteen days, four hours.

Okay… hoooo… I-I need to relax for a minute, Jesus, god, shit. Holy… shit, shit, shit… I… just discovered a new property of this place. All this time, I've been thinking I might be walking on… some sort of… flat ground, if you will. I kept eye contact with little red as far as I could see, and it seems I could walk in a straight, flat path. Jesus, my head is buzzing right now, I think the adrenaline is still kicking… But, if my hypothesis is correct, and this really is some sort of reality… void, then there shouldn't be anything to walk on. Now that I think about, the whole time I've been in here, it's felt like… I'm walking, but I'm also swimming through something. And this something is thick, and form-fitting, it has this… pressure, which I know isn't the correct term, but goddamn it, this place makes no damn sense and I'm doing my best to understand it, okay?!

God… Sorry.

So, the best analogy I can come up with is… it's like I'm walking through really thick black gel. There's enough tension to keep me on a… "surface", but if I… imagine myself pressing down hard enough, I can descend. Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, I think… I think I need to test this more, I'll be back.

Two months, seventeen days, two hours.

Navigation is largely affected by… conscious impulses to travel in a certain direction. So, this definitely isn't a complete reality gap, at least according to mine and Anna's theories. If-if it were I wouldn't have been able to move at all, since space wouldn't have existed. Holy shit, okay, okay, this makes a lot more sense than it did before, great, great job, Robert, you're getting there. …Come to think of it, I should've realized that sooner when I was able to move in a flat plane to and from little red. It also explains why I'm not dead from dehydration or hunger yet, time barely passes in here. Okay yeah, so, I stood right next to little red, and went straight… "down." Okay, from here on out, imagine little red as the origin of a 3D space. I went straight… down, right, yeah, and then… and then I was then able to come back "up" to little red again. I've also been able to "fly" above red. Movement in here is slow, like I said, gel analogy, best I can describe it by.

Two months, twenty-two-days, three hours.

Reporting back for another update, red, SIR! Hahaha, come on red, lighten up. Ha! Pun not intended… Come on red, crack a little smile, it's funny!

…

… Fine, whatever. Ahem.

This place still seems like it barely follows Kejel's Laws of Reality Parameters. And by barely, I mean, really just barely. I'm pretty sure my math is right, but… hold on, I'm gonna check again…

Jesus. Yeah, yeah, pretty sure it's good still. Okay, this place… if we're using the standard Hume scale, I'm pretty sure I'm in a reality where the Hume Field is… point zero… four… ish. Yeah, really, really, really fucking low, so… Like I said above, space-time exists on a very minuscule scale, so my biology is not getting shot to hell and back because of any malnutrition, but that also means… I… I'm actually not sure what that also means…

…

Adding on from the last entry. I'm… I'm not sure how my biology will react in such a low Hume concentration, actually. I mostly worked with higher than average Hume Fields, and the reality benders we tested never had a Field lower than 0.8. This… this is gonna be a first. An all-time first. I remember Site-133's "Prommel Killer", they called it that because it broke the previous theory about the lowest limit of Hume concentration. Really expensive, really weird machine that brought down a small area to 0.4. 0.05 is… yeah.

I was lying. I was lying, last log… I… I'm lying to myself. My own body, and… little red here too… We're about the realest things in this place. And that means… over time… the Hume field's going to want to… equalize, and… I'm… I'm gonna go for now, I have some… some calculation to do again. Red, Anna, take note I'm using Kejel's Second, Third, and Fourth Laws, got it? Use… use 0.05 as the surrounding, my external field as… somewhere in between 1 and 1.4, use the Second Law's error estimation correction, and my internal as… as… as… shit. I'm not done yet.

I am real. I am super-real. Super duper real. Ultra real, the realest guy in a world of no-real.

You have no sense of humor as usual, red. I'm talking about the LSS, red. When we got sent here, I think… I think our reality got cranked up a notch. Red, didn't you pay attention in class? Hey, don't get fucking smart with me, red. Okay, the point is, the LSS surge got us up to… to…

Two months, eighteen days, seven hours.

No, red, not even fucking close, you must've converted Kejel's Third Law equation wrong. Because of the malfunctioning LSS we got blasted by, we're somewhere in between 2.2 and 3.6. Yes, that's good red, that's very good, because that means we have more time than we thought to… to… yes, red, before we fucking DIE, okay?!

Two months, twenty four days, five hours.

About three years. Four, if… If I don't interact too much. If… If I had had an LSS here, I could maybe stretch it out to… eight, maybe, that's best case scenario… But I have… I have to… I… know… but… but… three years. Three years, then it's past the point of no return. Ha. Hahahahaha. I should… I should definitely figure something out by then. I think I still should be pretty good for a while… At least… no, no, I won't be in here that long… I'll definitely figure something out…

Anna, what would we do with a case like this? I need your help, honey. That… that tingling I've been feeling… That's my Hume Field diffusing… My… my reality fading… Three years. I need to stabilize myself within three years.

I've been thinking… Anna and I, we had this theory… Even though the Hume Field is low, it's still a Hume Field. And precisely since it's so low, Hume diffusion should take quite a while. Now if… if I could… contain… recycle the fields, keep the diffusion from spreading too thin, I could… And I could also maybe… it's only a theory, but… It's worth a shot. But that means…

Hey, red. I… I'm gonna have to go for a bit. I want to test something, and you can't come with me. I… I'm sorry. No, no, red, I'm really, really sorry, I want you to come, I do, but… if we're together the diffusion will increase faster… We both need as much time as possible. I need to figure this place out more, and you need to make sure you keep all that info in your head. It's… red, come on. You- you'll be fine red, I know you will, you're tough. A lot tougher than me… it'll only be for a bit, red, but I need to see if I can find a way to keep us alive a bit longer. Maybe even get us out of here. If I can contain enough field, I can… I can maybe even get us out. No, no I'm not sure, but I need to find out. Red, we're talking about possibly escaping, okay? Yeah, it's a gap. A gap should have an end, like a… like the walls of a canyon, understand? I need to find a wall, and then, and then I can…

…

I'm sorry, red, I hope we're still friends when I come back.

…

I'm… I'm going now… I'll see you soon.

…

- Close.

Six months, ten days, five hours.

Hello again, little red. It's been a while.

You know… thinking back… I don't know what the hell I was so excited about. This place is… god, this place. This place is is fucking… hell.

There's no end. It just goes on. And on. And on.

I traveled in one goddamn direction for two, damn, months. God, I'm so fucking stupid, why did I think I could get out? I'm thinking like those old European shits that thought the end of the world was at the horizon. Fucking stupid, Robert, stupid, just-just- GAAAAAAAAAAAH—

If I let myself fall down long enough would I eventually hit a bottom?

Ten months, 28 days, 15 hours.

There's no bottom. And fuck you, red.

I'm sorry, red, don't go out, I'm sorry I turned you off, come back, come back, please—

… I turned 40 today. Happy birthday, Robert.

I was adopted, did you know that? Yeah, my parents left me in a box on the side of a street. Got picked up by some American couple, which explains my not-so-Chinese names. I don't even know my original last name. Just thought I'd share. How about you, red?

Anna and I met on-site in 1988. God she was beautiful. She still is. It was our eyes. She has beautiful eyes. My eyes are grey, they're boring, but hers… God they're beautiful. Do you think… Do you think she's still worried about me, little red? Is she looking for me?

You know, red, you're a great listener. But I never hear you talk about yourself. Come on, don't be shy, there's no one else around, right? Hahaha, right? Hahaha… hahahahaha…

"I'm sorry, Robert, I'm afraid I can't do that." Hahaha, red, you're hilarious.

Were you married? Kids? Any family at all? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Come on, red, I won't judge, just… talk to me, please. God, my head hurts. And my feet feel like they've been asleep for forever.

I worked at a comic store as a kid. So much cheaper back then, and I got free stuff at the end of each week. I liked Spiderman the best.

I was in a box, side of the street.

I… what the fuck… no. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, red, have you seen my picture? The picture red, Anna's picture, where is - come on, come on, where-where- Anna! ANNA! ANNA! Where did - no, no, no, no, no, please, please no, anything but, PLEASE.

It's fading, she's fading, she's fading, please, Anna, no, please, come on, sweetie, stay here, it's too soon, it's TOO SOON, my math isn't wrong, it's NOT WRONG, YOU SHOULD BE FINE. ANNA, ANNA, I can't hold you, come back, Anna, sweetie, honey, Anna please, I need you, I need you, please, please, don't go, I'm here, I'm still here. RED GET HELP. Anna, please, please, don't go, don't -

Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. Black hair, green eyes, 160. [Dr. Scranton repeats this for three hours.]

Anna and I got married in '91. We couldn't really get the nicest suit and dress we wanted because of work, but, damn, we both looked great. Anna looked better, of course. We just danced, and danced the whole night, got the whole week off. Even a job like mine lets you enjoy your honeymoon… So, come on red, open up, put 'er there, high five. Come on. Come on, red.

One year, two months, twenty-seven days.

…

AAAAAAA—

[The next recordings only play the control panel's automated voice giving times, with intervals of one to three days, with several month-long gaps in between as well; also intermixed are Dr. Scranton's sobbing, screaming, and mumbling. These recordings continue until the time reading reaches two years, seven months, and 28 days, after which they cease to pick up any sound until two months later.]

#scp #SCP 3001 #red reality #scp fandom #scp foundation #part 1 #posted from a pile of leaves #let them eat rakes

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