#being in the nature of a general inquiry on the goddamned WHY of people | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

harlot-of-oblivion · 4 years

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What’s Your Pleasure?

You're hanging out at your favorite bar when Dante walks in and offers you a drink. There's just one problem though...you're a vampire and he's an infamous mercenary known for dealing with supernatural threats like you. But his charming grin and persistent flirting starts to stir an insatiable hunger, and you wonder if this handsome devil wouldn't mind being the drink he so kindly offered you.

I got a request for this awhile back and now it's finally finished! Hope you enjoy this late holiday gift of vampire spice! 😘

When most people think of vampires, they usually envision alluring pale creatures dressed all in black, enticing mortals from within their grandiose castles so they can slake their insatiable need for blood. And well, you cannot fault a couple of those points: you are pretty pale and no vampire in existence can sustain themselves without blood…but fuck that notion of always wearing black and living in decrepit castles. You much prefer the comfort of your brown leather coat, cowboy boots, and the rabble of a rowdy bar.

The smell of strong booze, along with the distinct stench of drunkards, never fails to bring a nostalgic smile to your face every time you walk into your favorite local watering hole. Times may have changed, but the enjoyment of excessive drinking certainly has not faded in the last century. You tip your brown gambler hat at the barkeep before taking your usual seat in the corner of the bar near the back. They know you are a regular here…they also know to leave you alone since you never order anything to eat or drink.

Fuck, I miss whiskey.

That is one crucial drawback about being a vampire that always gets on your nerves…well, there are many more debilitating costs. But hanging out at a bar just does not feel right without a bottle of liquor. You could always feed on one of the poor souls stumbling around the poor excuse of a pool table, but denizens such as yourself have to be careful of hunting in this city. A few mercenaries specializing in the supernatural work in this area, so your instincts say to lay low and stick to the shadows or the blood packs anytime you want a meal for the night.

A smirk curls on your lips as one of those mercenaries you have the good fortune of meeting comes to mind: Dante, The Legendary Devil Hunter and owner of the shop known as Devil May Cry. You remember the night he first entered this bar, how the very air about him instantly set you on edge. The patrons whispered about him being the Son of Sparda and that alone told you that he was just as dangerous as you are…which is why you thought for sure he was there to end your undead life.

What really kicked your paranoia into high gear was when he swaggered right up to your table with a cheeky grin, asking if the other chair at you table was taken and if he could join you for a drink. Not wanting to lose face, you let him sit with you that night…and a few more nights after that as well. You determined that if he really wanted to destroy you, he would have done so by now. And the more you chat with him, the more you got to know the laid-back mercenary.

After a while, you stopped being on high alert around him and started to appreciate his company. He is a riot of entertainment, quick witted and always willing to share one of many colorful stories about his exploits. It also does not hurt that you find him quite attractive. Something about that long red jacket really catches your eye every time he steps into the bar. The sway of his white hair when he combs his hand through it, the white stubble on his rugged face, and that constant glint of mischief in those striking blue eyes. All of that together is a sure-fire cocktail of desire…just add the scent of leather and the smoke of gunpowder as garnish to really stir the hunger for a taste of-

“Speak of the devil…” you mumble quietly to yourself as a familiar face walks through the door.

Dante scans the modest crowd until he spots you in the usual corner at the back of the bar. His lips turn into that captivating grin you have grown accustomed to every time you are around him. He nods at the barkeeper as he approaches your table, signature red jacket blowing slightly away to reveal a couple of impressive guns strapped to his back. The more insidious part of your nature always nags at you to be more vigilant every time you see those beauties, but you are able to suppress that annoying instinct just as he finally arrives at your table.

“Howdy, Darlin’.” Dante nods his head with a wink as he greets you, using the oh so charming nickname he gave you after spending a whole night imitating your unique accent.

“Evenin’, Cowboy,” you greet him right back with a small smirk, drawing out his own charming nickname as you tip your hat at him.

You push the only chair left at the table out for him with your foot. Dante sits down and scoots the chair closer to you. There is just barely enough room to breathe between you two, which reminds you to not face him fully or else he might notice that you do not have breath. A waitress comes over and places his usual drink, a whiskey neat, on the table before scurrying off.

Dante lifts the old-fashioned glass up to his lips and takes a sip. The hunger for his blood returns as you glance sideways at him as he swallows the dark brown liquid. You cannot stop your greedy eyes from traveling down his neck as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in the most delicious way. Your subtle display of yearning does not get past Dante though; he puts down his glass and shoots you with a knowing smirk, leaning in closer as his mischievous gaze bores into you.

“What’s your pleasure?”

Aaaaand there it is.

That simple question is part of his usual greeting ever since he started coming in here more frequently. He always insists on buying you a drink even though you always decline. But the subtle teasing tone of his husky voice this time around has your eyes squinting in suspension.

Does he know? If so…is he still hunting me?

You push aside your wary thoughts as you tell him your usual response. “It’s nothing they serve here, Dante.”

Dante lets out an exaggerated sigh as he lazily leans back against his chair. “So! How’s your night been so far?” he inquiries, sticking to status quo of how most of your conversations start off, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he gives you his undivided attention.

“Eh,” you sigh with a shrug of your shoulders. “Watching them drunk idiots over there play pool without an 8 ball has been kinda entertaining,” you point out with a nod of your head towards the pool tables. The highly intoxicated group around the table are now crawling on the floor, presumably searching for the ball they need to actually finish the game. “But other than that,” you finish with a shake of your head while rolling your eyes. “It’s been borin’ as hell.”

“Hey now!” Dante loudly interjects. “I’ve been to hell,” he brags, pointing a finger at the drunken display unfolding before him. “And I can say, with all confidence, that it’s nowhere near as lame as that sad excuse of a pool game.”

“Hmm, I’ll take your word for it,” you concede with a tip of your hat in his direction.

Dante pulls you into the typical talks that happens on nights like this soon after he finishes off his first glass; it usually involves a lot banter, quips, and a heaping amount of storytelling about his most recent jobs. At some point, you both start ranting and raving about how those idiots can easily finish their game of pool. He never fails to make you feel like you are on the brink of tears as you laugh at his stupid jokes and cheesy one-liners.

That is one thing you miss since accepting your fate in this solitary life: letting loose and having fun for once instead of just constantly stewing in your own self-loathing. It is why you did not go to another bar after your first encounter with Dante. You are just so grateful for his rousing company and his unforeseen ability to somehow coax genuine laughter out of you.

“You know,” you begin as the inebriated group decides to use a tennis ball someone found in the bathroom to replace the missing pool ball. “If they weren’t as drunk as a fiddler’s clerk…they would’ve figured out by now that the damn 8 ball is still in one of the pockets.”

Dante chokes on his third glass of whiskey. “Whaaaaat?” He looks at over at you skeptically as you point to one side of the pool table with a glass panel where the pool balls collect at the end of every game. And there, at the very end of the closed panel, is the source of all the drunken group’s woes. He blinks for a moment before a hearty laugh bursts from his mouth, gloved hands waving wildly towards the missing 8 ball shining brightly in the artificial light of the lamp above the pool table.

If I still had a heartbeat…it would skip every time I hear that infectious laughter.

“Well, Darlin’,” he starts as soon as his boisterous laughter dies down. “What if I told you that people generally go to bars to get drunk?” Dante tilts his head as he peers down at you playfully. “Clearly, you missed the memo on that one,” he quips with a quirked brow as he dramatically swirls his whiskey.

“I did not miss a goddamn thing, Dante!” you sneer back in agitation. You make a point of looking around the entire bar before adding an afterthought. “And I don’t go here to get drunk…I like the atmosphere.”

“Riiiight,” Dante draws out as he takes a swig of his drink.

A moment of silence passes. “...it still doesn’t change the fact that they’re also as dull as dishwater,” you tack while watching the epitome of human ingenuity unfold before your eyes. Someone in the group has found a black marker, and they are now writing a big number 8 on the tennis ball. Dante snorts into glass and you cannot help but smile at the sound.

You both watch the haphazard pool game for a few more minutes, curious about whether or not a tennis ball will actually work as a good substitute. “Man,” you sigh longingly, “I miss playing pool.” Your finger taps on the table as you look up at Dante from under your hat. “Wouldn’t mind playing a game with you if they ever finish,” you offer with a smirk.

Dante stroke his scruffy chin in thought. “I can do ya one better,” he proclaims as his arm comes around and rests on the back of your chair, leaning in real close until you can make out his gleaming blue eyes that are usually hidden behind his unkempt hair. “I just got a new pool table for the shop.” You can smell the fine whiskey on his breath as he boldly stares down at your lips. “Wouldn’t mind breaking it in with you,” he counter offers with a devilish grin as his eyes dart back up to meet your gaze.

“A private game of pool with the famed devil hunter himself, huh?” you wonder aloud while mulling it over in your head. The constant paranoia that always hounds you rears its ugly head for a moment, but you are able to stomp it out before it makes you flee from the bar. Everything from feeling the closeness of his body to the way his eyes openly stare down at you as they spark with desire rekindles your previous hunger for the dangerous mercenary. It begs you to accept his tempting invitation, convincing your obsessive mind that you may finally find out if this irresistible devil tastes as good as he looks.

You never break eye contact as you lean up closer, pausing when you feel both of your noses barely brush each other. “Well, mark me as a damned sinner cos I’m gonna need forgiveness after I kick your ass!” you exclaim with a cocky smirk.

Dante’s devilish grin widens into full blown smile. “Alright, you’re on!” He turns away to down the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, signaling the barkeep to cut him off for the night before pointing a finger at you. “But don’t think I’ll take it easy on ya, Darlin’,” he warns as you scooch your chair away from the table.

“Wouldn’t even dream of it,” you chortle as you stand up and walk around the table, pausing when the now tennis 8 ball shoots through the air and bounces across the floor. You are about to comment on it when your keen sense of awareness detects the sudden presence of Dante pressing in close behind you. The scent of leather and smokey gunpowder is strong as it wafts up around you and effectively rattles all thoughts about that ridiculous pool game out of your mind.

“And maybe now I can finally have a drink with you.”

All of your attention immediately focusing on his warm lips brushing against the shell of your ear. The titillating timber of his voice sends shivers down your spine as you wonder once again if he really knows what you are. If he really does, then he’s making this one giddier than a school girl, you mentally avow as your head turns slowly to meet his eyes. The hunger deep inside you starts to simmer as you see that hint of desire in his eyes from earlier unabashedly shining now. Your eyes linger down and openly admire all the rugged contours of his face as you reply in low and sensual purr.

“Only if you’re lucky, Cowboy.”

You feel a sudden rush of heat blast by you in waves. Either someone turned up the thermostat or I just turned on the devil, you surmise as Dante smirks in approval. He leads you out of the bar, and just as you are about to ask if he has a ride…he literally pulls one straight out of his pocket. You tip your hat up so you can get a better view of what looks to be a fiendish motorcycle.

Dante just hops on like it is most natural thing in the world and gestures you to take a seat. “You better hold onto your hat if you don’t wanna lose it,” he informs as you swing your leg over and sit snugly behind his back. You lift one hand and grip your hat firmly while Dante takes your other hand and encircles it around his waist.

“Am I holding you down too?” you tease as your fingers trace the outline of his belt buckle.

“Sounds like someone's eager to play,” Dante teases back, revving his motorcycle a couple of times before taking off like a bat out of hell.

You zoom through the city at breakneck speed, hair whipping wildly in the wind as you clutch Dante’s waist. The thrill of riding dangerously fast through the city streets is similar to the rush of adrenaline you feel while riding a horse at full gallop. And much like those old days you take off your hat and let a howl of excitement. Your sensitive hearing picks up Dante’s rowdy laughter over the blistering wind and you cannot stop yourself from squeezing his waist tighter, pressing your body closer to his back as you enjoy the rest of the ride all the way to his shop.

The devilish motorcycle, which is called Cavaliere if you heard him correctly, comes to screeching halt in front of a building. The red neon light from the sign that reads Devil May Cry glows like a beacon in the night above the door. Dante lets you hop off first before following suit, storing his ride wherever the hell it keeps it. You follow him up the stairs and step into a very messy office. Old pizza boxes are strewn about the floor and stray magazines cover a desk while a rock music blares from a jukebox in one corner of the room.

Such a sight of disorder does not deter you though as you continue to follow him up another set of stairs. He opens a door which leads to the aforementioned pool table. You can tell by the plastic debris littering the floor and the large box in one corner that this pool table is indeed very new. Dante picks up some of the plastic that is in the way and throws it all into the box before heading over to a rack of pool cues. He grabs two cues and hands one over to you, pointing out a couple cubes of blue chalk as he starts to place all of the pool balls onto the table.

“You want solids or stripes?” he inquires as you pluck a cube of chalk from one corner of the pool table.

“I’ll take stripes,” you reply while rubbing your pool cue tip with the blue cube, blowing any excess chalk off before asking your own question. “Want me to flip a coin to see who breaks first?” He gives you an absentminded nod as he uses the triangle rack to assemble all the balls at the racking end of the table. You reach into your pants pocket and take out one of your old coins.

Dante’s brows shoot up as you take out a worn gold dollar coin. “Whoa!” he exclaims as he snatches his own pool cue. “That’s some coin you got there.”

“It’s my favorite coin,” you explain with a shrug of your shoulders, hoping that he pins you as a collector instead of a vampire that cannot let go of sentimental items from your past. “Heads or tails?” you ask, clenching your fist and positioning the coin between your thumb and forefinger.

“I’m a tails kind of guy,” Dante reveals confidently as he rubs his pool cue tip with a cube of chalk.

“Huh. Figured you’d like heads,” you remark as your eyes slide down his form suggestively.

“Oh, believe me,” he chuckles as he moseys on down to your side of the table and stands beside you. “I enjoy heads…” His words trail off for a moment as he leans back and makes a big show of checking out your ass. “…but nothing beats the view of tails.”

You roll your eyes at his crude attempt at flattery…which oddly enough works since it does make that feeling of giddiness bubble up in your stomach again. A naughty smirk pulls at your lips as you decide to really give this devil a good view. You bend down until your hands rest on the edge of the pool table, which pulls your leather coat away just enough to really show off every curve and crevice of your ass in your tight blue jeans.

With a flick of your thumb you flip the coin, and as it spins in the air you sensually sway your hips to the rock music playing downstairs. Dante hums in appreciation as you look over your shoulder and give him a flirty wink. He bites down on his clenched fist as you turn around, holding out your hand just in time for the coin to land right into your open palm. You quickly snap it over the top of your other hand and reveal the results of the coin toss.

“Looks like I break first, Cowboy,” you announce smugly, moving your hand closer to prove that the coin landed on heads.

Dante waves his hand with a flourish as he gives you a dramatic bow. “You may be going first, Darlin’…but I feel like a winner already,” he declares with a flick his wrist and presents you with a single red rose.

You quirk a brow at the romantic gesture, but still reach for the rose after you pocket the old coin. If he’s still hunting me…then it must be in another sense now, you deduce as you bring the lovely flower up to your nose for a sniff. Dante’s lips form that same captivating smile you remember back when you first met him.

Damn, he’s good, you mentally praise him as you feel the fierce pang of desirous hunger overwhelm your mind and body. You fasten the rose to your hat before making you way to the racking end of the table to break. As you line up the shot, you glance up at Dante and slowly lick your lips, giving him your best come hither stare while you draw back your pool cue and break the balls.

The pool balls scatter and one of your balls goes straight into a side pocket. You relish the lustful look in Dante’s eyes as you walk around and line up for another shot. And that is pretty much how it goes for a few turns: blatant stares and bawdy conversation as both of you drive each other crazy with all the pent-up tension hanging in the air. You make sure to take it easy on him, mostly because you want this game of seduction to last. Well, that and the fact that playing too perfectly might tip him off of your true nature. You actually suspect he sees through this though, but he never points it out as he succeeds in sinking two of his balls.

You are just about to sink your third ball when Dante lets out an exaggerated yawn. This distraction causes you to scratch as the stripped ball flies off the table. He does not even try to stifle his laugh and you stare daggers at him while retrieving the stray ball. You give it him since he gets to place it anywhere behind the foot spot before taking his turn.

“Wanna make this game more interesting?” Dante abruptly asks as he casually tosses the ball in his hand a couple of times.

You squint at him, leery of whatever crazy nonsense he has up his sleeve…but then again, you are rather curious. So, you throw caution to the wind and take the bait. “I’m listening.”

“Every time I sink one of my balls,” he begins as he saunters on over to the racking end of the pool table, “you have to take off one piece of clothing.”

Your entire face falls flat. “Really, Dante?”

Dante brandishes the stripped ball and places it randomly behind the foot spot. “I’ll also take off one piece of clothing every time you sink one of your balls,” he finishes with a lewd smirk.

You perk up at the intriguing prospect of literally stripping Dante for all he is worth. He’s really upping the stakes…why though? That damn paranoia tries to make you see reason, but your lust for the rugged devil currently waggling his eyebrows at you wins out in the end. It may be a foolish endeavor, you thought as tip your hat at the man who may very know that he has stirred the voracious appetite of a vampire.

But how can I refuse such a naughty wager with the devil?

“You better prepare yourself for the ass whoopin’ of a lifetime, Cowboy.”

Dante laughs. “Oh Darlin’…I wouldn’t mind getting my ass kicked by you,” he replies to your taunt as he lines up his shot. “Especially if we’re both naked while you do the ass kicking,” he adds before cracking his pool cue against one of his balls, sending it straight into a corner pocket. He crosses his arms and gives you an expectant look.

“Lucky shot,” you mutter as you remove your coat.

Both of you continue to play with higher stakes now. A few turns later, you finally sink your third ball and now you get to stare expectantly while batting your eyelashes at Dante. He beams at you confidently as he removes his red jacket with style. You smile in satisfaction as a little bit more of his skin is revealed, admiring his robust arms as he takes off his guns and puts them down on his jacket.

As you walk around the table and search for a good shot, Dante rakes his hands through his white hair, combing out a few tangles before taking out a hair tie from his pocket. He gathers up most of his unruly hair and ties it into a small ponytail. Your eyes trace his chiseled jawline as you fully appreciate his scruffy face in all its rugged glory. But what really gets your attention is his very…bare…neck.

Dante turns his head as he stretches out his arms. The simple gesture shows off a very prominent vein below the skin of his neck. Your vision instantly zooms in on that point, eyeing his neck with scrutiny as the desire coiling below your belt begins to be pulse in time with the vein. You feel the urge to strike shiver all the way up your spine as your fangs begin to tingle and ache for a bite. The need to feed is palpable now and you start to regret not sneaking a sip of the blood pack in your coat pocket as the haze of hunger starts to cloud your mind.

“You know, I might have to charge you for the meal if you keep staring at me like that.”

The sound of Dante’s rather salacious innuendo snaps you out of your lustful daze. You look up to see the sassy devil staring at you with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Your eyes narrow at him as you bend down and line up a shot. He’s gotta know, right? you wonder as you draw your pool cue back and crack the ball towards the side rail. It ricochets off the side rail and unerringly rolls across the table until it drops into a corner pocket. Now you are the one grinning like the cat who got the cream while Dante lets out an exaggerated sigh and takes off his gloves.

A couple of turns later, Dante sinks another one of his balls and you have to decide which piece of clothing will join your coat on the floor. Your hat would be the most obvious and tamest choice, but you want to get back at him for teasing you earlier. So, you unbutton your shirt, letting him have a peek of your green cotton bra as you reveal more and more of your skin. You arch your back a bit to really accentuate the curve of your breasts, which earns you a wolf whistle from Dante as you remove the shirt and toss it over towards your coat.

You give him a pleased grin. “Maybe it’s me who should charge admission, Cowboy.”

The spark of desire in Dante’s eyes begin to crackle as he shamelessly checks you out. He walks around the table to line up another shot, ardent gaze never breaking away from your body as he draws back his pool cue. None of his balls make it to any pockets, so it is your turn to take a shot. It only takes you a few seconds to line up a shot and skillfully sink one of your balls.

Dante rubs his chin in thought before resting his hands on his belt. He taps his fingers on his belt buckle, teasing you for a moment before hooking then under the hem of his grey shirt and pulling it up over his head. The heady hunger you reigned in earlier threatens to take over again as your brazen eyes trace every line and curve of his muscles. You especially enjoy the sprinkling of white hair on his chest. Your fingers itch for the chance to stroke every inch of his broad chest as you sink your fangs into-

“Something the matter, Darlin’?”

Once again, Dante’s playfully smug tone knocks you out your thoughts. He is leaning against the pool table with that self-satisfied grin again. “Pff! No!” you scoff before bending down low until your eyes are about level with the table. “Just wonderin’,” you tack on while carefully accessing which way to strike your ball.

Dante quirks an eyebrow. “About?”

You line your pool cue up for a shot. “Well, you know what they say about a cowboy with a large belt buckle…”

“Bold of you to assume that you’ll get the chance to find out.”

You crack a smile at Dante’s saucy remark as you take your shot, cursing softly when the ball stops just a few centimeters away from the targeted pocket. He chuckles softly as he steps around the table and stands next to you. “Shut up, Dante,” you grumble as he lines up and easily shoots his ball into a side pocket. “Ugh,” you sigh while bending down to remove your boots, earning you a deep grunt from the handsome devil currently biting his lower lip as he ogles your behind.

“Something the matter, Cowboy?” You smile as you repeat his playful question right back at him.

“No.” You hear him pause for a moment. “Just wonderin’,” he echoes your exact response to the playful question. You hear his own heavy boots move around behind you, probably trying to spot his next move on the table while you throw your boots over to the side.

“About?” you urge him to continue as you straighten back up, only to feel an intense heat warm your back as a pair of strong arms entrap you against the table. He leans down and whispers smoothly by your ear.

“What’s your pleasure, Darlin’?”

You feel those lips curl into what is most definitely a sinful smirk against your ear as he leans himself even closer to your body. The scent of leather and gunpowder is back and stronger than before as it turns your mind completely into mush. You subconsciously seek more of his body heat by leaning back into his chest. This causes you to feel the distinct outline of his strained cock press against your bottom. The distinct rhythm of his heartbeat drums in your ear and your insatiable hunger for this shameless devil rears back, getting ready to charge headlong through the last barrier of your control.

“Alright, look,” you begin before babbling on as you try desperately to wrangle in your desire. “We both know what I am. I know it, you obviously know it. Let’s just clear the air, shall we?” You turn around to face Dante, still trapped in between his arms as you gaze up into his now triumphant face.

“I’m a vampire,” you admit while staring him right in the eyes. “And you look,” you inhale deeply, “and smell fucking delicious,” you sigh in pleasure, letting your control slip a little as you bare your fangs. Dante continues to stare down at you, totally not blindsided by your confession. His eyes widen at the sight of your fangs as fascination melds harmoniously with the toothy grin on his face. You clear your throat and gather your thoughts before going on.

“Now, unless you’re being a big ol’ tease on purpose with the whole showing off the neck and chest thing…” Your hands gesture frantically at the culprit of your growing hunger. “Please stop tempting the bloodthirsty beast in the room, okay?” You cross your arms and puff up your chest, glaring at him predatorily as you give him one last warning. “Because if you don’t, I’m gonna have to take a chunk outta ya.”

Dante leans in close until both of your noses are almost touching, lively blue eyes never straying from your intense gaze. “Show me whatcha got, Darlin’,” he cajoles with a wink.

Your instincts snap into action as soon as you hear his flirtatious taunt. You are a blur of motion as you quickly pull Dante onto the pool table, sending a few of the pool balls flying off the table on impact. “Whoa!” he exclaims as you hop on top of him and straddle his hips. He lets out a husky chuckle as his hands begin to wander up your thighs. “You’re a lot stronger than you look, ya know?” he points out as he grabs a handful of your pert bottom.

The sight of such a dangerous man sprawled beneath you is positively sinful. Your fangs elongate in anticipation as you playfully tip your hat at him. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Cowboy,” you purr lowly as you grind your hips against the impressive bulge in his leather pants.

Dante hisses as his hands squeeze your butt, thrusting up to meet your hips as you take off your hat. Your hands slowly slide up his chest as you hone in on the pulsating vein that caught your attention earlier, this time letting it beckon you to come closer, closer…until you are suddenly burying your face into the crook of his neck. You hear his heart beat faster as you scrap your fangs against the vein beneath his tender flesh. “And to finally answer your question,” you growl darkly against his neck.

“You’re my pleasure.”

You hiss softly as you sink your fangs into his neck. Dante grunts at your bite, but you are barely aware of your surroundings as soon as his devilish blood touches your tongue. Your hands begin to rub every inch of his chest of their own volition as you slake your needy thirst, savoring his unique red nectar with every pull of your lips. It tastes a little like caramel with a slight hint of cardamom, and…you moan in pleasure when you recognize the flavor of well-aged fine whiskey. The smooth smokiness of your once favorite drink evokes memories of a life long ago spent in bawdy saloons.

While you are lost in the taste of his hybrid blood, Dante carries on with his exploration of your body. His hands sensually stroke your back while his hips meet your every grinding thrust against his clothed erection. He hums in delight as his sneaky fingers find the clasp of your bra. It takes him no time at all to undo the pesky clasp and gently coax your arms down so he can completely remove it from your body. You whimper against his neck as the hair on his chest tickles your nipples.

“Mmm, sounds like I’m pretty tasty,” he murmurs sinfully by your ear, fingertips gliding over the sides of your breasts while the intense heat emanating from his body burns like a furnace.

You throw your head back from Dante’s neck and force yourself to sit upright on his hips. An ecstatic gasp bursts from your mouth as you gaze up at the ceiling, letting the high from feeding wash through you. You feel his succulent blood drip down your chin and smell its redolent scent in the air, setting your more wanton desires ablaze. His blood sprinkles onto your chest and atop of your breasts as you shift your gaze down to the delectable devil.

“Fuuuuuck,” Dante groans as you smack your lips at him.

The simmering desire gleaming in his eyes ignites as he pushes himself up and slams his lips against your bloody mouth. A gratifying moan rips though your throat as his wicked tongue wastes no time slipping through your teeth, poking and prodding every inch of your mouth like a man starved. You wrap your arms around his neck and deftly untie his ponytail before combing your fingers through his messy white locks.

Dante’s guttural purr thrums against your mouth as he begins to fondle your breasts, smearing the drops of blood as he teases your nipples. Both of your bodies rock against each other, working each other up until one of you inevitably cracks…which happens to be you. You are tired of just feeling what he has packing down below his belt buckle, so you use some of your blood to boost your speed before getting to work. You ignore Dante’s yelp of surprise at you move supernaturally fast, ripping off his boots, leather pants…

“Mmm, going commando, huh?” you tease with a raised brow, admiring the very generous length of his cock as you hastily remove your pants.

Dante chuckles as he scoots closer until he is sitting on the edge of the pool table. “Thought I might surprise you if you did happen to win our little game,” he explains, grasping his cock and giving it a few strokes as he watches you take off your green cotton panties.

“Tricky devil,” you quip back playfully, wiping some of the smeared blood off your chest and sucking it off your fingers as you strut over to stand in between his legs. Your other hand cups your slick center, fingers sliding between your slit as you slowly rub your clit. Dante’s mouth opens in a silent moan as he watches you play with yourself. You release your bloody fingers from your mouth with a pop and trail them up the inside of his thigh. His steady breath turns harsh and erratic as your teasing touch gets closer, closer…

“I can sense your blood…rushing to your cock,” you moan, baring your fangs as your wet fingers move faster against your nub. You bend down in a flash and lick the vein along the underside of his cock from base to tip, dangerously teasing him with one fang as it barely grazes his soft skin. He grunts and curses under his breath as his cock twitches against your tongue.

When you straighten back up Dante wraps his big arms around you. “Remember what I said earlier?” he recalls as he rubs your back. You tilt your head at him as you ponder what he is referring to. A raunchy grin pulls at the corners of his mouth as his eyes dart over to your hand, which is now gently caressing the underside of his cock. “I enjoy heads.” He slides his hands down and cups both of your ass cheeks. “But nothing beats the view of tails.”

Dante pulls you up on top of him again as he lies back down on the pool table. He grabs your hips and prompts you to turn around until you are face-to-face with his girthy cock. Your legs adjust themselves on either side of his head, lowering your hips until you feel his hot breath on your aching sex. Both of his hands knead your bottom thoroughly as gives your slit a tentative lick, making you whimper in need before fully dipping his tongue inside you.

You gasp out in euphoric pleasure as he wastes no time devouring every inch of your cunt. A deep rumbling hum resounds from between your legs as you begin to grind against his face. You rest one hand on his thigh for support while the other grabs his cock and begins to steadily stroke it in time with your hips. This only spurs Dante on, encouraging you to pick up the pace as he presses his face closer against you. His scruffy stubble scratches the inside of your thighs in the most maddening way and you feel yourself leak and drip all over his face as you moan in ecstasy.

But this is not your first time at the rodeo though, and you're not about to be out done so easily.

You lower your head and gradually take as much of him as you can into your mouth, using your hand to cover what you cannot reach at the base of his cock. Your head bobs up and down as you begin to suck him off, languidly dragging your fangs against his shaft on the upstroke and flicking the head with the tip of your tongue before sinking back down. This makes him moan and groan against you as he licks you with renewed vigor.

The corners of your mouth twitch around his cock as you suck him a couple more times before taking him out of your mouth with a satisfying pop, noting that his cock tastes just as delicious as his blood. Time to show the devil what it really means to flirt with danger, you decide as you eye a particular spot on the inside of his thigh. Your hand at the base of his cock continues to stroke him as you kiss a path down to his balls. You lightly nibble on them with your fangs for a moment before moving on towards his inner most thigh.

Dante twitches in your hand just as he pulls away from your slick sex with gasp. “Whoa! Easy there!” He pokes his head around your leg. You raise your head and look over your shoulder, batting your eyelashes at him innocently as you circle the head of his cock with your thumb. He shakes his head and gives you that charming smirk that always stirs your non beating heart. “You know I’m a pretty open-minded guy, but-”

“I’m just messin’ with ya, Dante,” you reassure him with a soft laugh. “Besides…” you trail off as your eyes flick down, letting the silence linger before finishing your thought. “That’s not where I want to feed.” Your eyes snap back up to meet his eyes, now gleaming with intense arousal as his brow raises in interest.

“There’s this vein in your thigh,” you elaborate while sliding your other hand still resting on his leg to the appropriate spot. “Close to the groin,” your fingertips brush along the vein delicately, feeling his cock spasm in your other hand at the touch. “That is particularly…juicy.”

An impish grin curls on your lips as you lick one of your fangs seductively. “I hear it feels really nice to the one being bitten, especially when you pleasure them while drinking their blood.” You emphasize the pleasure part by giving his cock a few hard strokes, which makes him bite his lower lip as he desperately thrusts up to meet your eager hand.

“Whaddya say, Cowboy?” you ask with an enticing glare.

“Jackpot!”

Dante does not hesitate to splay his thigh out onto the table, grinning from ear-to-ear as he presents that wonderful vein for your feasting eyes. You nuzzle the inside of his thigh, purring in pleasure as his talented tongue goes back to lapping your wet heat. The coveted vein pulses against your ravenous mouth as his cock twitches in your hand, no doubt in excitement and anticipation. Your fangs gently nip the skin over his vein, slipping into a rapturous stupor as you begin to jerk him off in earnest.

You pause for a moment, taking in the sounds and smells before indulging in what is quickly becoming one of your favorite vices. This moment will be engraved into your mind for centuries to come. You will never forget the tingling sensation that flows through your body as you sense his blood running through his veins. Dante groans impatiently as he grinds his hips up to meet every downward stroke of your hand. You smile at his enthusiasm and decide to stop teasing…and start pleasing.

A tender kiss, a soft hiss…and then you strike. As soon as you sink your fangs into his thigh, Dante groans loudly in relief, hips stilling for a moment while you gulp down a mouthful of his delectable nectar. Your grip on his cock tightens as you slide your hand all the way up the shaft. You swipe some drops of precum with your thumb and spread it around the head of his cock, feeling his soft skin harden at your erotic touch.

Dante’s hips start to fidget, silently urging you to go back to jerking him off as he begins to moan with abandon. His tongue slips down and rapidly flicks your clit, doing what feels like his damnedest to make you come before him. Your hand sets a fervent pace, stroking him in time with every deep draw of his intoxicating blood. It does not take long for his cock to become impossibly rock hard, slowly swelling in your hand as you gorge yourself on his blood with gusto. His throaty moans increase in volume when you pick up the pace, secretly trying to push him over the edge first.

But it seems Dante has other plans. You feel his mouth leave your dripping wet heat and replace his tongue with two of his fingers. He pumps them with fervor inside you as he nibbles the inside of your thigh with his teeth. A passionate moan escapes your throat while your cunt twitches around his fingers in anticipation.

“Mmm…you like that, Darlin’?” he murmurs gruffly against your skin. You sob and nod your head eagerly as your sopping wet core quivers around skillful fingers. He chuckles softly and teases you couple more times with his lips and teeth on your thigh, letting the tension build up inside you as it climbs higher and higher and higher…

Then, with no hesitation as all, Dante bites down hard on your inner thigh. You pull away from your luscious feast as a gratifying yelp of pain leaves your lips, but then a litany of enraptured moans fills the air as exquisite pleasure courses through your body. Your hips begin to hump against his relentless fingers, fanatically seeking release as your blood pours into his mouth. You hear him smack his lips and growl softly before licking and sucking your thigh with zeal.

“Oh fuck…Dante…” you manage to choke out as you stumble over the edge before your orgasm comes crashing down. His fingers continue to pump you for all your worth, prolonging your pleasure as you gush all over his hand. Your hunger begins to stir again when you feel his scruffy chin nuzzle your trembling thigh as he partakes of you. In a matter of seconds, your fangs are sinking back into his thigh and the hand still grasping his cock starts to jerk him off fervidly.

Dante groans harshly against your thigh, hips rocking up to meet your hand as you drink more of his blood. He becomes impossibly hard again before letting out a roar of satisfaction as you feel his seed surge up his cock in the palm of your hand, spurting out in hot ropes as his release rips through him. You feel drops of his cum sprinkle your back as you continue to stroke his cock, gradually slowing the pace when it starts to dribble down your hand.

Both of you writhe against each other for a while, riding the waves of blissful pleasure together before it sadly comes to an end. You detach your fangs and inspect the bite mark on his thigh before licking it clean. The wounds fully heal after a couple swipes of your tongue and you hum in contentment as you look back over your shoulder to see Dante lazily sucking your thigh. You shimmy your hips, trying to get his attention, but all he does is wiggle the fingers still embedded deeply inside you.

You groan and spasm around his slick fingers before leaning your hips away, shaking your head at Dante and giggling when he grunts in irritation. He sighs and gives his bite mark one last lick before letting you pull your hips away. You release his softening cock from your hand as you sit up on the pool table next to him. “Now that was one helluva rodeo,” you declare, grabbing your forgotten hat from one corner of the table and bringing it back to its rightful place on your head.

Dante laughs as he sits back up. “Yeah, it was,” he concurs as his hand cups your cheek. “Thanks for helping me break in the new table,” he murmurs with a bloody smirk, blue eyes glowing warmly as he leads you into a gentle kiss. You open your mouth and press your tongue forward, moaning softly as you taste your blood on his lips. His tongue quickly sneaks out and both of you lavish each other with slow passionate kisses for a moment before breaking away.

“So,” Dante begins as he stares deeply into your eyes. “How’s the drink?”

“I haven’t tasted anything like your blood for looooong time,” you divulge with a genuine smile, raising one hand up to his neck. “It’s been well over a century to be exact,” you add as you gently caress the spot where your bite mark should be, but the wounds have miraculously healed itself.

Dante tilts his head. “What do I taste like?”

“Like the finest fucking whiskey I’ve ever had,” you boldly confess with a happy sigh. “What about me?” You draw your hand away from his neck as you turn the question back to him. Dante’s mouth lifts into a toothy grin.

“Like strawberry ice cream!”

Your face goes deadpan as you blink in disbelief. “Really, Dante?”

“Yep!” His expression turns pensive as his voice drops down to that titillating timber again. “You taste niiiiice,” he compliments as he raises a hand and shows off the slickness of your orgasm on his fingers with a beckoning gesture. “And creamy…” He sucks and licks you off his fingers as those brilliant blue eyes glint with desire.

“Like the best damn strawberry sundae I’ve ever had,” he imparts with a genuine grin as soon as he is done cleaning you off his fingers. You swoon over his honest admission and fling your arms his neck, pulling him down for amorous kiss. Both of your tongues clash against each other while his hands roam over every slope and curve of your body, reigniting your insatiable need for his blood and lustful touch.

“Say,” Dante utters in between your heavy kisses, “are you a cowgirl?”

“I was when I could still breath,” you reveal while getting up on your knees.

“Oh shit!” Dante gasps as he draws his head back. “Really?” He gives you a look of astonishment as his eyes gaze down at you in awe.

You nearly bust a gut as his expression, but manage to just let a bark of laughter while nodding your head. “Yep! I was in fact a cowgirl if my attire wasn’t a big enough hint for ya,” you jest with a tip of your hat.

His jaw drops as he shakes his head in amazement. You chuckle at his silent admiration as you lean in close to his ear. “I believe your next line was gonna be,” you whisper, trailing your hand down his chest and over his abs. “Because I can see you riding me…amiright?” He takes stuttering breath as your fingers brush along the length of his reinvigorated cock. Dante quickly recovers from his shock, quirking an eyebrow as he shoots you with the charming smirk that always spells out trouble in all the right ways.

“Ready for round two?”

You grin and wiggle your brow at him before straddling his hips as quick as a flash. “Now, you saddle on up, Cowboy,” you boast playfully, pushing him back down to the table before adjusting your hat with dramatic flair. “I’m about to take you for a wild ride.”

As Dante grabs your hips, you start to warm up to the idea of not walking the endless night alone. You howl in amusement when he bounces you against his twitching cock with enthusiasm. He gives your ass a playful slap and as his eyes gaze up at you with searing admiration he gleefully exclaims:

“Giddy up!”

A warm smile creeps up on your face and you cannot help but feel beholden to the devil-may-care mercenary. There was a void in your lonesome existence until Dante waltzed across the bar and right into your life. He made you laugh with his care-free attitude and awful pick-up lines. And now, you are looking forward to having another tantalizing drink with the renowned devil hunter as you mount his cock and have the best damn ride of your undead life.

Read on Ao3

My Masterlist if you want more ❤

Tagging: @exsultry @bettybattaglia @drusoona @dvdenlioon @daemongal @ceruleanworld @tehrevving @veenus-ow @shadowbearing @thenightgazer @queenmuzz @a-midsummer-nights-odyssey

#dante #dante x reader #devil may cry #dmc5 #vampire prompt #request #vampire bites #strip pool with a lot of flirting #what's your pleasure?#cowgirl vampire reader #yeah you read that tag right #so saddle on up #because its gonna be one helluva ride in this rodeo #harlot writes #vampire spice #blood

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nickireadstfc · 6 years

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The King’s Men, Chapter 2 – Welcome Back, I Guess

In which the squad is reunited in the usual heartfelt fashion, Andrew has inquiries about learning curves, we finally find a hashtag for Abby, and Neil gets a makeover.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The King’s Men.

Hello hello hello! It’s been almost exactly three months since I last updated this trainwreck of a blog, holy shit. I have no one to blame but my own lazy ass.

But none of that matters because – here we are! The hellride continues, fucking finally.

In other news: We hit 1,000 followers during hiatus!

Wowzie. I’m still stunned by the number of people who want to read my bullshit antics.

So, if you’ve only found this blog during my hiatus – welcome! If you’ve been around for this shitshow since the beginning – welcome back!

Here’s to the rest of the series.

(Oh boy.)

[Neil] needed his teammates to think he was okay. That meant going about the day as if Christmas had never happened. He bought himself time to lock his thoughts down by going for the world’s slowest run down Perimeter Road.

Neil, I love you, I truly do. You are a brave, defiant, proud soul, armed with a battalion of wit and a truly unbreakable spirit.

But you are also an absolute, absolute cockhead.

DO NOT JOG WHEN YOU JUST HAD EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY BROKEN, YOU MASSIVE FUCKING SHITBRAIN.

Neil’s body is apparently an inkling smarter than his mush brain, because it immediately punishes him by making him fall asleep in the library. Serves him right.

And how does he wake up? By my absolute, absolute favourite line in this book so far.

Fingers digging into the back of his skull startled him awake. (…) “Is your learning curve a horizontal line?” Andrew asked. “I told you yesterday to stop making my life difficult.”

IS YOUR LEARNING CURVE A HORIZONTAL LINE, holy shit. Andrew, my boy, my man, never ever ever let me doubt your sass capabilities.

(Not that I ever did, because honestly.)

This may not only be my favourite line in this book so far, but also my favourite line Andrew has ever let past his small rage-filled lips. Is your learning curve a horizontal line.

Tattoo this on my body, paint this on my walls, print this on a blanket and bury me in it.

On a more somber note – this is how our boy Neil wakes up, en detail:

Fingers digging into the back of his skull startled him awake. He grabbed for a gun, for a knife, for anything close enough to buy him room to flee, and sent the computer mouse skidding across the table.

Does that violent, alert way of waking up ring any bells? Like, any?

The Neil/Andrew parallels are real, you guys, and I am so here for it.

Andrew and the gang fetch Neil to drive to the stadium for fun Fox reunion times, and in the car, Neil makes an interesting discovery:

A car key was fastened to the adapter head with a rubber band. (…) Either Andrew had confiscated Nicky’s copy or he’d gone out and gotten Neil one of his own. Neither option made much sense to Neil. He’d only used Andrew’s car because Andrew needed a second driver in his absence.

Oh… my… actual… fuck. How can anybody be this OBLIVIOUS. Harry Potter who?

Whether Neil realizes it or not, they are now Car Sharing Boyfriends™ and I am loving the fuck out of this development.

Upon arriving at the Foxhole, Abby confiscates Neil in order to look him over, meaning we’re in for some good good healthy Abby lovin’ in this time of stress.

“You won’t ask [about the contact lenses and the hair]?” Neil said.

“I’ve seen you scars, Neil. I’m not as surprised as I should be to find out they’re not the only things you hide. I want to ask, but you told me once already not to pry.”

Excuse me, why is Abby such an actual angel descended from the heavens. We do not deserve her and her absolute kindness. No one does.

(Lies. Neil does. Neil needs that shit.)

And because Abby is a kind and responsible woman with her head screwed on, she benches Neil for a week until he is at least marginally better – which of course, Mr Dramatic Cockhead over here does not enjoy.

“A week,” Neil echoed. “That isn’t fair.”

“No,” Abby said, and cupped his face in her hands. “This isn’t fair. None of this is.”

The pain in her voice killed Neil’s argument in his throat.

Ouch.

“Sometimes I think this job is going to kill me,” Abby said. “Seeing what people have done, what people continue to do, to my Foxes. I wish I could protect you, but I’m always too late. All I can do is patch you up afterward and hope for the best.”

Oh, ouch.

And then –

Abby folded her arms around him and pulled him into a hug. (…) The only people who’d ever hugged Neil were his teammates, and those were quick squeezes throughout a good game. His mother had pulled him close before, (…) but she’d never held him like he was something to be sheltered.

Abby, I have never loved you more than in this very moment.

I wanna make a joke about any of this, but I can’t. I’m crying.

Just – #hugsoutforabby

We’ve been searching for three books, and now we finally found a hashtag. Excuse me while I dry my tears with it.

And not enough with that – the Best Hug Ever also makes Neil think on some important stuff:

[His mother] was gone. Even if she was here, she wouldn’t have comforted him for this. She wouldn’t have held him like he was a hard breath away from shaking apart. She’d have cleaned his wounds because they couldn’t risk being slowed by infection, but she’d hit him for choosing the Foxes over his own safety.

Breaking news: Mama Josten is an actually awful human being, and Neil finally experiencing what real motherly love feels like makes him realize that.

To that, I have nothing to add.

(I do have some hands that Mama Josten can catch if I ever come across her.)

As Neil is released from Abby’s care, he finally meets up with the Foxes, and the usual heart-felt greeting formalities are exchanged – that is to say, Andrew punches the fuck out of Matt for hitting Kevin (Neil intervenes and easily stops Andrew, because, well, obvs), Nicky has exactly 0% sympathy for Matt, Matt calls Andrew crazy and Nicky a monster, and the goalie BFFs have a warm reunion by means of a curt two-second head nod.

So, you know, same old, same old.

Wymack quirked a brow at Matt, then looked to Neil and Andrew.

“Didn’t we have a talk about not killing your teammates?”

When. When has a talk like that ever worked, David.

“[Allison] is not crying,” Neil said.

Nicky grinned. “Five bucks says she is.”

Neil should have brushed it off. Maybe a month ago he would have. (…)

Neil kept the edge out of his voice, but barely. “Don’t you dare bet on someone’s grief.”

HECK YES.

My boy Neil’s development of Not Taking Any Bullshit Anymore has already begun last book and continues to grow, and I am so here for it.

Shortly before Wymack can commence his usual motivation talk, a lil unexpected something happens: As Andrew takes out a knife (which is not unexpected), Neil has War Flashbacks to his father (which is neither), but as he makes a comment about it – Renee drops in.

“I’ve never understood why he likes knives.” (…)

[Renee]’d stopped mid-sentence to stare at Neil, but the Renee studying him wasn’t the Foxes’ redeemed optimist. Her sweet smile was gone and the too-blank look in her face reminded Neil of Andrew. (…)

[Renee and Andrew] stared each other down, soundless and still, oblivious to the bewildered looks their teammates sent between them.

Uhm. What?

I thought we were done with backstory on Renee’s part. Don’t tell me my sweet murder princess has past beef with Mr Chop Chop himself. DO NOT.

What is happening.

But, alas – the moment passes, and Wymack finally starts giving them the ol’ Listen Up, Fuckers, Here’s How We’re Gonna Not Die This Season Speech.

Heads up: They’re most definitely gonna die this season.

The good news: The only reason they’re only most definitely gonna die is because the USC Trojans, the Edgar Allan Ravens and U of Penn – you know, the Three Main Fuckers – are up against each other before semi-finals, meaning one of them will bite it before they have a chance to bite the Foxes.

Yoo-fucking-hoo.

Neil “I’m Fine” Josten, of course, tries to make his case for being let off the health leash once again, but is quickly silenced by, well, every present person with half a brain.

Also – this.

“A fierce season and ample tragedies means we’re the talk of the town, and this year people might actually root for the underdog. The board want us to encourager that fever with more publicity. Expect more cameras at games, more interviews, and more nosiness in general.”

Oh yeah, because that has always worked out so goddamn well.

Let us reward your charming talent for attracting death threats every time you do so much as smell a camera by supplying more cameras.

“If I could ban some of you from ever opening your mouths in public, I would, but this is out of my hands.”

At least Wymack agrees.

And last order of today – Mission How To Get Neil To Look Less Like An Actual Punching Bag, which is elegantly solved by everything that solves every problem in a good high school/college movie:

A makeover.

Yup, you read that right, Allison swoops in like an makeup goddess descended from the high Sephora heavens (which, like – she is) and covers up Neil’s bruises like an absolute badass.

10/10 would learn how to contour and colour-block again.

Neil took [the mirror] from her outstretched hand but let it rest glass-down in his lap. Allison motioned for him to take a peek. Neil shook his head. (…)

“Not scared of Riko, but scared of your own reflection?”

Clearly, Allison has never looked into the mirror after a night spent getting thoroughly fucked up.

Or like, she just looks naturally flawless even after partying her brains out, which is honestly the more plausible answer.

Also please give me all the fanarts of Neil getting makeup tips and talking about boys with Allison, Renee and Dan, please and thank you.

Neil was tired and sore and not at all looking forward to his week off the court, but for a moment none of that mattered.

“We’re okay,” he said to the empty hall. “We’re going to be okay.”

And I’m not.

Happy fucking holidays to all of us! No matter what you’re celebrating - if aynthing at all - I wish you a wonderful time and I hope you’re all well.

Updates will - this time for real - continue in the new year. It’s my resolution, and for once I’m actually set on pulling through with it.

Have a lovely time everyone, take care.

And as always: If you like what I do here and you want to help me continue writing fun things for you, please consider buying me a coffee. Every lil bit helps, getting me through uni and all that jazz. Thanks so much!

#tfc #tkm #aftg #nicki reads tfc #I UPDATED #IT'S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE #no seriously - I wanted to have this up before the holidays as a sort of early present for all #thank you for sticking with me through this #I love you

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zenosanalytic · 7 years

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DS9: Season 2 Doldrums

DS9 S2E 5-7(Cardassians, Melora, Rules of Acquisition) are Infuriating.

Their Premises aren’t actually bad:

Cardassians is about Cardassian war-orphans left on Bajor because 1)Cardassian culture takes a “fuck ‘em” approach to anybody unfortunate enough to lose/get separated from their parents and presumably 2)they’re interspecies children; this doesn’t get mentioned in this ep, but I can’t imagine the Cardassians would have taken half-Bajoran kids when they withdrew

Melora is about a scientist from a “low gravity” planet(that idea bugs me because it assumes life-bearing worlds are generally earth-sized, and thus, earth gravity is “standard”, but idk what else you’d call it |:T) assigned to DS9 for a survey mission in the Delta Quadrant.

Rules of Acquisition is about a female Ferengi masquerading as a male to escape the misogyny of Ferengi society and pursue a life in business who happens to be working for Quark when the Nagus brings him a unique opportunity.

And their execution isn’t universally terribly, either, but each has something about it that’s so frustrating/off-putting that it soured whatever was enjoyable about the episodes for me.

Caradassians is probably the best of the bunch. It’s built around this Cardassian boy named Rugal, who was left during the withdrawal and adopted at a very young age(4-6 it seemed like) by Bajoran parents, who raised him as a Bajoran(aside from the obvious Talks about how he looks different and how to deal with people who are mean to him for his heritage, obvsl). In summary, Gul Dukat plots to have him brought to the station to create a diplomatic incident to be used as an excuse to repatriate the boy as a way to embarrass his Cardassian “father”, Kotan Pa’Dar, of the Civilian government, thereby short-circuiting an investigation into crimes committed during the Occupation and discrediting the Civilian government in general. The plot’s very convoluted, but Bashir and Garak get to be sleuths and that’s super-fun to watch. It ends up being the case that Rugal was kidnapped by Gul Dukat from his family’s home after a resistance attack on it(raising the question of what, exactly, Dukat knew of that attack, and if it was carried out by Bajoran resistance at all or simply made to look as such; there’s an implication that Pa’Dar was opposed to the Occupation even when he was part of the colonial government there. Questions never examined further, unfortunately) and placed in a Bajoran orphanage, leaving Pa’Dar to think he had also been killed. Since he wasn’t dead, Pa’Dar leaving without him would be considered abandonment in the eyes of the Cardassian public given how much they care about Family(who, again, don’t give a single shit about all the Cardassian kids with no living relatives willing to claim them they left on Bajor), and that’d end his political career.

What annoys me about it is the transparent insincerity of the Starfleet officers’ concern for Rugal‘s opinion about the whole thing. There’s alot of platitudinizing that what ultimately matters is what Rugal wants, regardless of what the inquiry discovers, but the ep literally ends with a voice-over of Sisko saying his Cardassian “father” is “obvsl the real victim in all this”, and Starfleet handing him over to Pa’Dar with zero input from Rugal. Rugal’s real parents, the Bajorans who raised him, are nowhere to be seen and, iirc, don’t even speak at all in the second half of the ep. The Bajor government has zero input in any of this. So yeah, it’s just really offensive.

The thing is, if this was presented as Sisko just coolly making the politically expedient and strategically correct choice(save the moderate’s career by preventing the case from going public while doubling his debt to you by handing over the son he thought was dead and wanted back) regardless of what Rugal wanted, it wouldn’t bother me as much; It’d be a good early example of the cold-blooded political and strategic savvy Sisko would become known for. What really bugs me is that the sheer duplicitous sanctimony of their protestations to care about what Rugal wants are never presented or treated as such, even as they, in the end, hand him over like a poker chip. Oh, and also there’s this scene about O’Brien’s hatred of Cardassians and Keiko’s wrong-headed awkward do-gooderism ham-fistedly squashed in there that they really didn’t need.

Melora presents Melora’s natural lower-gravity biology as a disability and illness, which right off the bat was annoying. She’s not sick, she’s just from a different density planet from everyone else. Usually she uses a servo-harness and anti-grav chair to get around that won’t work for some McGuffiny reason so they have to put her in a wheelchair instead. But here’s the thing; why wouldn’t she just be in an anti-grav harness? The Fed uses Synthetic gravity Fields, so one could imagine a harness which generates a “filter” field around her, lessening the gravitons she’s exposed to to natural levels for her and thus allowing full mobility. Hell, depending on how Synthetic Grav fields work, I wonder if one could not simply program the central computers to weaken the field as it applies to her or her surroundings, keying the reduction to her comms badge or lifesigns. Or, given that there’s at least one whole planet of Federation members for whom low-grav is natural(and realistically if there’s one there’s gotta be more low grav worlds), why don’t they, IDK, have low-grav-exclusive crews? I mean, they clearly have the tech to not have to segregate like that, but it’s another solution that the writers choose to avoid by just deciding Melora’s species generally has no desire to leave their homeworld(so how’d they become warp-capable, DS9 writers???)

The show does a good job, for it’s time, presenting ableist-induced frustrations(from Bashir modifying her chair without informing her or asking her consent, to Jadzia implying Bashir knows “her condition” better than she does, to Sisko treating her desire to have her agency and opinions respected like those of any officer as essentially ridiculous, to stupid unnecessary frames jutting out every-goddamn-where in the station due to absurd Cardassian architectural tastes in Bulkhead design, to people assuming she must be sheltered and ignorant of galactic cultures because she’s “fragile”, to people babying her for the same reason, to random do-gooders wanting to “fix” her, to ect ect ect). The problem is, almost invariably, the show comes down on the ableists’ side, presenting her objections as unwarranted acts of rudeness meant to keep the world away(again: she grew up in a frigging low-grav culture where EVERYONE IS JUST LIKE HER! YOU GUYS ARE THE WEIRDOS TO HER!!! WHY WOULD SHE HAVE THESE PERSONALITY TRAITS!X4). It even has this weird pixie-dream girl element where she’s super-agile and strong and able to “fly” in low-G(which, if everything on her planet is evolved for low-g, why would they have the muscle mass to fling themselves into the air and stuff as Earth-G people do on the moon? Idk, maybe this makes sense scientifically, but it bugged me), which she teaches Bashir how to do because, of course, he immediately starts hitting on her and she totally goes for it once he proves his “brilliance” by jerkily eviscerating her distancing techniques. So you can see why I disliked it.

Then it ends with the survey being accomplished in a single ep(like, 3 or 4 days at most), which is stupid. And there’s this sub-plot about a partner Quark betrayed seeking revenge, which inevitably ties into the main-plot and I’m meh about that. And, of course, Bashir never mentions this deeply intimate romance, for the sake of which he developed an entirely new “treatment” for gravity intolerance off the discredited theories of an obscure medical researcher -which insultingly locates her physical difficulties in her brain rather than lower-density bones and muscles, a low-grav body plan, and a metabolism, equilibrium, and body-chem adapted for lower-g- ever again. Yeah.

Rules of Acquisition, of course, makes the female Ferengi, Pel, fall in love with Quark. This is the first ep she’s ever been in, and no reason is ever given for why she’d feel this way about him. Everything she does is, of course, driven by her love for him, and not a desire to gain profit, or prove herself, or any other personal ambition. The ep is filled with lines written for Jadzia to say justifying, excusing, or treating as a joke, misogyny.

Just: either get rid of Jadzia’s excuse-making for Ferengis, or make Ferengi misogyny less pervasive, as they do in much later eps with Rom and(to a lesser extent) Quark.

Pel really should have been intro’d earlier and been a recurring character for a time, with her gender being revealed in this ep. I also don’t get why Ferengi women would have such softer, more melodious, non-scratchy, non-nasal voices compared to the men. Having her natural voice BE her Male!Pel voice, or at least very close to it, would have made the point about gender equality far better.

If there was going to be a romance in it that needed to be developed(preferably over many eps); Pel needed to have a reason for being drawn to Quark, even if it was just “I think he’s sexy”. Personally, I’d like it if -behind his sleazy bluster- Quark(and Rom) was actually less misogynistic and creepy towards women than most Ferengi men as a result of his mother(though still with lots of room to grow), and willing to take hits to his business to stand, in evasive ways, for those principles, and that this was at least in-part why Pel found him endearing.

Pel’s primary motivation ought to be that of any Ferengi -making profit to achieve social status and personal power- with any attraction to Quark coming second, though still personally important enough to prevent her from betraying him.

Pel is responsible for nearly every success they achieve in this ep and Quark really needs to be written as less hapless, which is honestly a problem with his characterization in general. In one ep, Quark is dealing hard-nosed and unflinchingly with the worst kinds of galactic scum(though he hates violence and tries to prevent it, which is a consistent characteristic I love for him, and which Shimerman does a wonderful job of both presenting, and presenting Quark’s attempts to hide and feelings of ambivalent pride/shame over it), and the next he’s grovelling and incompetent before the merest aggression and resistance. I’m not saying he shouldn’t be a physical coward(that’s an important bit of his character and it works), he just needs to have a tolerance for menace appropriate to the line of work as a black-market Fixer and Mastermind that he’s chosen for himself. Plus, I don’t really buy that Pel as presented, with her intense dedication to the Rules of Acquisition and business acumen, would find someone as out of his depth as Quark in this ep attractive. Of course she shouldn’t have to, since Quark is SUPPOSED to actually be a good entrepenuer, hampered by his occasionally quixotic bouts of ethical behavior, but the writers just can’t help writing in these “funny” scenes of Quark being useless.

The plot is actually sort of decent for this one, though Rom’s rather immediate jealousy doesn’t make any more sense than the other things which needed long-term building up to work in this ep. Maybe the discovery of her gender could be accomplished some other way? Perhaps have the Nagus screw them at the end of the deal and have Pel throw her lobes in his face out of rage as he’s compligloating at them about their acumen in realizing his true objective and brokering the meet? Or maybe have Quark accidentally discover her gender in this ep, decide to keep it quiet, then have them both present in a later ep for the Dominion negotiations and have the Dominion agents reveal it out-of-hand half-way through, without realizing the difficulties they’ve put her in(maybe as bred merchants, they have an acute sensitivity to biochemistry or something and can just smell that she’s very likely female). I really like that possibility, because it’d put the Nagus in the position of having to keep her on to finish the negotiations, both for her aptitude and the chance that kicking her off would offend the Karemma, and it’d set up an exit for the character that would be a clear step-up for her; maybe the Nagus, to avoid personal embarrassment and because the Karemma connect with her so well during the negotiations, decides to make her his Delta-quadrant-side silent factor, working through Quark; an effective exile that hides the importance of a female to one of his greatest deals, but still leads to huge profits and a notable position of importance for her. This would also give a good reason for her to pop up as a guest character in later episodes.

#Star Trek #ST: DS9 #DS9 S2 #DS9: Cardassians #DS9: Melora #DS9: Rules of Acquisition #zA's Outside Viewing #zA's Trenchant Literary Criticism #Long Posts #DS9 Rewrite

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years

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Summer in the City - Chapter 3

Fic: Summer in the City - Chapter 3 (AO3 Link) Fandom: The Flash Pairing: Mick Rory/Barry Allen

Summary: Barry Allen is a good CSI, but this whole stupid Heatwave serial killer thing is just killing him.

Or, you know, people around him.

Luckily for him, he’s always got Mick to complain to…

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"I'm starting to think you're cheating on me with another pizza place, you call so late," Mick chuckles.

Barry smiles, phone tucked into the crook of his neck. "My job keeps me busy," he replies. "I wasn't sure you'd still be open."

"For you, I stay open."

Barry snickers. "Send me something I'd like, then," he says, suddenly feeling spontaneous.

"Not the usual?"

"Nah. I trust you."

"You're a trusting type of guy - and also a jerk, since you've given me no time to prep anything."

"Sorry," Barry laughs. "I promise to order the same tomorrow, how's that? Tonight just get me something fast."

"I'm holding you to that. Delivery'll be in twenty."

"You're the best. No desserts this time!"

"You're too skinny."

"You've never even met me!"

"You sound too skinny. Are you telling me you're not skinny?"

"Well, no," Barry concedes. He's not underweight, but he is, admittedly, a little skinny. "I just wouldn't say too skinny..."

"I bet," Mick says smugly. "Dessert tomorrow, then."

"Something with fruit involved, at least?"

"Can do."

"Thanks, Mick," Barry says, then hesitates. On one hand, he doesn't want to make this weird. On the other, he's been thinking it for a while. Might as well. "Is it sad that talking to you is a highlight of my day?"

"Not any sadder than the fact that talking to you's a highlight of mine," Mick replies immediately. "We're both very sad; just accept it."

Barry smiles. Mick's the best. "Good to hear. I'd better hang up - I'm going to eat then go straight to sleep, since I've got a busy day tomorrow."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, interviews. We're following up on some things with some of the big labs in the city: Palmer Tech in the morning, then STAR Labs in the afternoon. Ramon Foundation tomorrow unless something comes up. Can't give you details, of course..."

"Of course. Have fun on your busy day, Barry."

Barry really likes hearing Mick say his name.

The food that shows up ends up not even being pizza, which Barry fully expected, but a medium-cooked ribeye with béarnaise sauce and some asparagus. One of the stalks looks like it's been nibbled on, like Mick grabbed the steak off of someone else's plate, but that's silly. Barry's sure Mick just grabbed whatever was available.

Honestly, he hadn't even remembered that this place did non-pizza stuff. They must have transitioned over to regular Italian as well.

It's delicious, as usual, which he reports to Mick with a smile (he vaguely thinks he hears someone yowling about having their plate stolen out from under them because someone can't man up about their goddamn crush, but Mick assures him it’s just the radio), and he sleeps well but still manages to wake up to his fourth alarm, so he even makes it to the front door of Palmer Tech on time.

Barry's not sure how he feels about Palmer Tech. The guy in charge of it - Raymond Palmer - was a player in Starling City politics and business for a while, which made everyone wonder why he was opening a branch in Central. The more generous said it was a natural expansion, taking advantage of the generous state interest in funding laboratories and scientific development generally; the less generous whispered about the corruption of the business class in Starling - that awful earthquake - and the slender gap left in the Families' supply of good money laundering operations after Snart had started his little meta crusade against them.

From what Barry's seen of his interviews, Ray Palmer seems like a pretty decent, upstanding guy, but Barry's more cynical side points out that the guy thinks of himself as an inventor - even humanitarian - first, businessman second, and that doesn't tally with his business' recent ruthless rise in market share, so either Ray Palmer has a hidden cold streak or he's got a second in command that's the real head of the business, someone with a real killer instinct.

"Barry, you're on time," Joe says, smile firmly affixed onto his face and on Eddie's. "Great. We're just waiting to see Mr. Palmer himself."

"What, personally?" Barry asks, frowning. "He's coming all the way from Starling?"

"Already arrived. Be nice, okay? We'll talk with him a few minutes and move on to the serious questions once he's assured us he had no idea what was going on, there'll be serious inquiries, the usual crap."

"Got it," Barry says. "Morning, Eddie."

"Good morning," Eddie says, looking tired. Then again, he recently got moved high enough up that he gave the media announcement this morning - the regular update on the Heatwave case, i.e. “Nothing yet but we’re working on it” - and he looks like he's been savaged by a bunch of media wildcats. But Iris’ boyfriend still has time to smile warmly at Barry, because he's always been incredibly sympathetic to Barry's plight (once Barry indicated he was getting over it and after one punch-in-the-face incident which Barry totally gets).

Just at that minute, Ray Palmer himself, recognizable from the fact that he's as tall as Barry and from the broad white-toothed smile you could see on all the advertisements, comes through the door, flanked by two blonde women.

"Detectives West, Thawne," he says, hand outstretched, seeming actually pleased to see them, not like he's secretly annoyed by these people trampling all over his lab at all. "I heard you'd called. And this is..?"

"CSI Barry Allen," Barry says, shaking Palmer's hand. "I'm accompanying the detectives today."

Palmer brightens like Barry said something incredibly interesting. "Wow, it's really great to meet you!"

"...really?"

"He watches too many police procedurals," one of the blonde women cuts in smoothly. Her smile is just a bit wicked. "Welcome, all three of you."

"This is Sara Lance," Palmer says. "She's my VP of Operations. And this is Felicity Smoak; she runs our R&D/Tech side."

"You didn't have to bring all the big brass, Mr. Palmer," Joe says. "We told you, we're just following up on the theft that you experienced a few months back."

"Naturally," Palmer says. "And please, call me Ray! I just wanted you to know how seriously we've been taking this issue. Sara and I will be taking you on the tour ourselves."

Everyone's smile gets a little more fixed onto their faces, because that's...great. If by great you mean absolutely awful. It's a careful balance in Central City between investigating with the full power of the city and state behind you, and not pissing off the politicians who count on the political donations and economic stimulus that rich people like Palmer brought with them when they expanded into Central.

Palmer was the politician's second favorite type of rich guy: spends a lot of money in Central building his business, but mostly concerned about politics in Starling and therefore no threat to their positions.

(Their first favorite type of rich guy being the kind that is willing to give them personally a lot of money.)

"We're delighted to have you as guides," Eddie says, even managing to sound partially sincere. "Thank you for taking the time. Ms. Smoak, you won't be joining us?"

"No, I just came here to see - uh, the investigation. How the investigation was. Was going! I'm R&D, you know, so I care a lot about theft. I mean, about investigations! Investigations into theft. Also in general. " She covers her flushing cheeks and closes her eyes. "Please pretend that made sense."

"Perfect sense," Barry assures her. "I do it all the time."

She opens her eyes and grins at him. "You're nice!" she exclaims, sounding a bit surprised. "I wouldn't have thought."

"The cops aren't all bad," Barry says, suppressing a smile. "Don't believe everything you see on TV."

“I’m glad we got the nice cops,” Felicity says, grinning at him.

“You have the luck of coming first in the alphabet,” Barry says, giving up and returning her smile. “So you get to go before STAR Labs this afternoon.”

This was true except for the Ramon Foundation, which started in the phone book somewhere after ZZ.

“Thank you, alphabet,” Felicity says with a laugh.

"We’re very thankful indeed," the other woman - Sara Lance, Ray had called her - cuts in smoothly. "Shall we begin our tour?"

Barry can feel the exchange of glances behind his back at the neat, careful people management, and he concurs entirely. Sara's too young to be behind Palmer Tech’s initial rise to prominence, which was mostly based on the sheer creativity of Ray Palmer’s inventions, but Barry would bet dollars to donuts that they've just met the brain behind its recent cutthroat expansionism.

Despite their initial fears, Ray actually proves to know something about the tech side of his business and is able to answer questions, rather than regurgitating a set of talking points crafted by a set of lawyers in a dark room somewhere.

"This is our Dynamite lab," he says. "That's a little joke, you see -"

"Thermodynamics," Barry says with a grin. "That's funny."

"You sure you want to keep up with this CSI stuff?" Ray asks. "We're always looking for good science people."

"And I haven't even pulled out my mad skillz yet," Barry says.

"No one says that anymore," Sara says, looking amused. "Assuming they said it, ever."

"It's definitely a first for a police investigation," Joe says pointedly.

Barry zips it.

Well, he tries. Ray's actually really nice - sure, he gets distracted sometimes and goes on tangents involving the possible uses of a dwarf star alloy, but that's super interesting to Barry's mind.

Just - maybe not that relevant to the investigation.

"So where exactly did you say the - ah - 'heat gun alloy' was?" Joe finally says.

"Over here," Ray says, gesturing at a set of shelves.

"You just let it sit out there?" Eddie says, frowning. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"It was only a model," Ray says. "We had eventually intended to make it into a gun, but we hadn't gotten anywhere near that point yet. Honestly, it was really just a lump of metal and some plans to show how it could be shaped to deal with the heat. The design of the alloy was meant to let it go up to as close as humanity has yet reached to absolute hot - which is to say, very, very hot - in a logistical manner, assuming you could fashion some source of energy that could get you the power you'd need to get there. The designs were suggestions on how to strengthen the metal so that it wouldn't melt by itself."

"That’s why the dwarf star alloys!" Barry exclaims. "If you make metal in part out of stuff that's been exposed to stars -"

"There's nothing on earth that should be able to melt it," Ray says, beaming. "Exactly! Are you sure I can't offer you a job?"

"Quite sure," Barry laughs. "But thanks for the offer. Can I examine the area?"

"You're welcome to, but it's been cleaned. And, well, a lab..."

"Industrial strength cleaner," Barry says, nodding. He's not going to find anything. But he'll look.

"While Mr. Allen does that, can you take us to your security system?" Eddie asks. "We'd like to look at the logs of who might have been able to access the alloy over the last few months."

"Sure," Ray says, though he looks longingly over to where Barry is unpacking his kit. "Follow me."

Barry's working by himself when there's a noise from outside. A crash, then barely audible cursing.

It's totally none of Barry's business.

Besides, it's a lab. If he wants to look out a window, he'd have to stand on a table, and that would be super unprofessional.

Naturally, Barry finds himself on his tip-toes on one of the sturdier-looking tables in under a minute.

He'd get down and scrub it off before anyone notices.

There's a guy in the alley outside, big guy, bald, shoulders round with muscle that's apparent under his cloth jacket even from Barry's vantage point. He looks pretty hot, though Barry can't see his face.

He's talking to Felicity Smoak, who seems to have knocked over a trash can and is waving her hands emphatically and bouncing a little on her toes in excitement.

Maybe he's an employee?

But if that's the case, why are they talking in an alleyway instead of indoors? He wouldn't have pegged Felicity as a smoker.

Huh. Weird.

There's a noise from the door and Barry has to scramble to get down from his perch in time to play it casual by the right table.

The table next to the right table. Damnit!

"Oh, good, you're done," Ray says, beaming as he sweeps into the room, luckily not noticing Barry’s unusual placement. Joe looks tired of Ray's sunny optimism already and Eddie's got his thinking face firmly fixed on. "Any chance I can take you all out to eat? I know a great Italian place..."

"Sorry," Joe says, only barely managing sincere. "We can't be seen to be influenced by someone even peripherally involved in an investigation."

"Well, maybe when your investigation is done, then," Ray says.

"We'll review department policy," Joe says, meaning hell no.

Ray and Sara then proceed to bustle them out in a haze of overwhelming good cheer that explains why Joe is looking like he's on the verge of murder. There's nothing like someone being aggressively, cheerfully unhelpful when you've running on three cups of coffee and no sleep.

Felicity's in the lobby, waving goodbye, and as Barry passes her, he notices the faintest smell of smoke lingering on her clothing.

Guess she is a smoker after all.

Though, that mention of Italian has him craving dinner...

#my fic #flashwave #mick rory #barry allen #summer in the city

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blacknighted-blog · 7 years

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@blasteredged @grotesque-puppet

play this at my funeral so everyone knows who killed me

i know i’m Weird but one of the most painful parts of ff vii: dirge of cer.berus is WHEN VINCENT CALLS HOJO “DOC” ? LIKE HE’S PISSED OFF AND TERRIFIED AND HE’S STILL LIKE “DOC” (edit: don’t get me wrong it also makes me laugh, bye) also xyz years ago i was high on painkillers after getting my wisdom teeth removed and because vince calls hojo ‘doc’ and also switches from ‘lucrecia’ to ‘doctor crescent’ bc he’s trying to be Serious (he’s a turk...he’s not gonna just...casually fuck up) that the nibelheim crew was lowkey #nibelheim squad bc even if no one approves of hojo’s actions / of hojo as an individual he’s still wicked smart (alarmingly so) and they’re cooped up in a huge mansion up in the goddamn nibelheim mountains and [cri.sis core voice] a mako reactor usually means: nothing else out there.

plus the thought of people (shinra employees and/or nibelheim townsfolk) calling pre-seph hojo “doc” is both hilarious and terrifying.

remember when everyone’s like ‘what the actual shit’ : hojo joins the LOVELESS chat

“these examples are particularly shocking because they involve educated doctors and scientists (professions we are brought up to trust) performing unethical experiments or operations. let’s assume (generously) that these doctors were not being cruel for the sake of it -- that the scientists doing [the] experiments wanted to contribute to medical knowledge, to know, for example, how to help victims rescued after being shipwrecked in icy seas. [they] too, were presumably following their scientific impulse...” the science of evil: on empathy and the origins of cruelty, simon baron-cohen ( a.k.a.: a gag gift from my best friend in 2011 )

note: what the hell this was supposed to be a short post / sarcastic quip what happened

“this book isn’t for people with a sensitive disposition. you can’t write about human cruelty in a cheerful way, so if you’re looking for a fun read, proceed no further. in this book i attempt to re-define “evil” in terms of empathy and look at why some people have more or less empathy than others and what happens when we lose it. distressing and even shocking as the material may be, the nature of empathy is (to me, at least) endlessly fascinating.” ( acknowledgements )

“when i was seven years old, my father told me the nazis had turned jews into lampshades. just one of those comments that you hear once, and the thought never goes away. to a child’s mind (even to an adult’s) these two types of things just don’t belong together. [i knew] our family was jewish, so this image of turning people into objects felt a bit close to home.

“i realized there was a paradox at the heart of human nature -- people could objectify others -- that my young mind was not yet ready to figure out.

“hearing about this unethical research retriggered that same question in my mind: how can humans treat other people as objects? how do humans come to switch off their natural feelings of sympathy for another human being who is suffering?

“what these scientists lost sight of, in their quest for knowledge, was the humanity of their “subjects.” it is an irony that the human sciences describe their object of study as “subjects” because this implies sensitivity to the feelings of the person being studied.

“evil is treated as incomprehensible, a topic that cannot be dealt with because the scale of the horror is so great that nothing can convey its enormity. the standard view turns out to be widely held, and indeed the concept of evil is routinely used as an explanation for such awful behaviors: why did the murderer kill an innocent child? because he was evil. why did this terrorist become a suicide bomber? because she was evil. but when we hold up the concept of evil to examine it, it is no explanation at all. for a scientist this is, of course, wholly inadequate. what the nazis (and others like them) did was unimaginably terrible. but that doesn’t mean we should simply shut down the inquiry into how people are capable of behaving in such ways or use a nonexplanation, such as saying people are simply evil.

“as a scientist i want to understand what causes people to treat others as if they were mere objects.”

#cas shut up #holocaust cw #holocaust mention #body horror cw #i don't even call my fam doctor 'doc' bro #let alone the head/vip of shinra's sci dep #and in my experience when you're pissed off / demanding answers #people ? usually use full names #in a sort of 'so you understand the depths of my rage/terror' capacity #bb vince bb turk he's just ' doc D: '#tbd

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indiedream89 · 7 years

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NaruHina AU

This story is so great. My favorite author Yuhikoi. You can find her on ao3 or fanfiction.net. This NaruHina story is dark and funny. Chapter 1: Books and Covers Chapter Text They say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. He didn't know just who the hell theywere but, they weren't fooling anyone with that crock-of-shit proverb, least of all him. It was human nature to look at something and either give a whole shit about it or pass it up with little to no consideration. Although these days people liked to straddle the fence and pretend to be open-minded. And he gusssed...who could blame them? Everyone was so goddamn sensitive regarding personal preferences these days. He sighed. That must be where that stupid trope came from. One big proverbial bandage for the uglies of this world, to make things equal. 'You can be pretty on the inside, since your outsides look like it's been run through by a train comprised of grenades and aids.' Internally he was smirking. He thought he'd look like an idiot smiling in front of the class for seemingly no reason. "Uzumaki Naruto?" He inhaled deeply. A deep breath was all it took for him to adapt to almost any situation. The intake of breath felt as though he were giving birth to the new him or the him that he wanted to project most. He almost felt he was morphing into something less heavy of the burden he bared daily. A metamorphosis was taking place, whether the people around him knew it or not. He unclenched his teeth from impaling the inside of his cheek, the raw and coppery taste of blood excited his dullened taste buds. "Yes sir, that's correct." He stared blindly into the blurry mass of his classmates. What was this fuckin' class anyway? Anatomy or something? He didn't take enrolling seriously. And from the looks of it, neither had anyone else, no one looked particularly stoked or attentive. Continuing to play the part of expectations he rolled his shoulders back and stood with the perfect posture he almost never used when he was alone. Being lazy had been his default mode but for the sake of appearances, he had to leave bad habits behind. Though there were some habits he just couldn't shake, his posture was easily the basic of the bunch. The more-- bestial habits simply wouldn't allow him to be cleansed of them. Some habits clung to every aspect of his life and wove themselves tirelessly through every joint in his body. But standing up straight, he could do. "Mr. Uzumaki is joining us all the way from," the professor looked at the blonde student beside him in silent inquiry, a sheen on sweat over his brows. He was standing behind an official looking podium, reading over Naruto's tidy student file or the altered version of it anyway. At this point, Naruto had already revealed this piece of information to professor Iruka more times than he had beat his meat just this very morning. However, he felt inclined to reiterate, if only to be over this whole ordeal and take his seat. Being singled-out as the new student never made the tiniest bit of sense to him. It hadn't been desired by him nor his new classmates; who regarded him with seemingly thoughtless faces. Who gave a fuck about some guy transferring in the middle of the semester anyway? Everyone would acquaint themselves with him eventually. Why did teachers want to make a spectacle of this particular event? Did it get them off? He felt personally attacked and frankly, agitated that he had to repeat himself. "Kyoto, Japan." He stated in a raspy baritone to his peers, his voice reached further than the first row of cluttered students. He could feel the deepness of his tone rumbling in his chest, almost like a growl trapped in his throat. "Kyoto!" Professor Iruka sang abruptly, shadowing Naruto's words and in a horrifyingly toneless voice. The sound seemed responsible for why people often died without reason. "Getting too old for this remembering-thing, sincerest apologies Mr.-Uh-hmph-Uzumaki." He babbled snapping his fingers, as though the light bulb in his head had finally decided to click on and return the memories of the last ten seconds when he had a similar conversation with Naruto. The blonde offered thin grin and held the strap of his messenger bag securely. This fuckin guy! He couldn't help but to look at Iruka's unkempt appearance and believe the teacher had lived a desolate and god-awful-boring life, which had led him to his current career path. Around his late thirties, no wedding band, a horrible sense of fashion and easily forgetful. Iruka was clearly someone who got in where they fit in and forgot to check-out, regrettably, it seems. He embodied nothing of what teachers were conditioned to look like, in fact, of all the faces that looked like they didn't want to be there-Irukas face was in the top five of those. Judging from the emptiness of his beady eyes, Naruto could tell nothing-as of late- seemed to impress the guy. It's like he's one bad day away from blowing his brains out on the chalkboard, after first flipping the class off and maybe fucking a few student. Maybe. Who knows how long it's been since the guy had ravaged someone's goods. If his looks were any indication, it's been centuries. Iruka needed pussy like, yesterday. Hopefilly Naruto would still be attending the school to catch his untimely meltdown. It may very well be the most exciting thing Iruka has ever done with his life. A hand suddenly clasped his shoulder faintly and Iruka came into view with what tried to be a smile but turned into something slightly mortifying. Maybe a grimace? The face that came during a heart attack? He couldn't be sure. "Welcome to Leafli University, we trust that you'll succeed in all your academics this year and," he droned in a practiced trans of some sort. "contribute to the livelihood of our vibrantly thriving community. This is our mission statement. That being said, I'll have you take a seat beside," he craned his small neck to squint into the masses before pointing a finger to the second row of three long desks. "the vivacious Rock Lee." The teacher smelled like he ate the coffee grounds right out of the bag and washed it down with its liquid form. It was so potent it nearly gave him a migraine standing this close to the guy. Caffeine had no effects on his dull personality what-so-ever. Finally, he shuts the hell up. With a noncommittal grunt, Naruto sauntered forward having no idea what the fuck a Rock Lee was, even less of what it looked like. He peered towards the faces that examined him with either boredom, unfiltered curiosity or immediate regret for having looked at him too closely. Girls shied away from his icy blue eyes, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He flashed his most debonair smile and climbed the elongated steps at the side of the classroom. He navigated towards the second row and stood conflicted for a moment or two. He could hear Iruka already giving instructions about completing something in a workbook, his voice still monotone though it managed to raise an octave to override a few whispers that began to disperse. "Hey new guy, Psst!" Someone hissed in a whisper. Naruto's eyes flickered towards frantic hands waving over someone's head. They were located in the middle table of the second row. By the look of excitement displayed on the guy's unearthly face, he could tell this was what a Rock Lee looked like and boy was it a treat. No part of it good either. Holy fuckin-fuck. Are those eyebrows or the world's deadliest caterpillars? It took several seconds for his legs to function. So, not only had he been put on the spot but he also had to sit next to a potential faggot with a bizarre haircut and some sort of green spandex turtleneck. The guys eyes were as big as saucers for fucks sake. Fuck you Iruka. Rock Lee rose out of his seat noisily, beckoning the befuddled blonde with the sweep of a gloved hand. Naruto moved with an urgency just so everyone wouldn't be looking at them and drawing conclusions like; they knew each other, fucked each other or shared brow grooming tips with each other. He didn't associate with people like faggot brows and he had no intentions of starting. It wasn't that he was homophobic or anything, he just steered cleared of flamboyant types in general. He always had a blatant way of expressing himself that some found sickening. The truth never seemed a valuable concept in a world full of people who wanted their feelings to be spared. Everyone seemed to be a victim of something, one way or the other. An arm suddenly lashed out to prevent him from reaching faggot brows. He paused and examined the shiny red coat on someone's fingernails, it reminded him of the bloodied talons of a hawk. His eyes swept over a girl with pink tresses of hair cascading over one of her eyes. A visible emerald orb pierced him intently before a smile touched the swell of her plump glossy lips. If the class resembled book covers (for the sake of this whole, judging books by covers segment), she would be the book embellished with silky ivory feathers with the words, 'It's free, come hither' bedazzled on the front. She looked like a grinning cliché as she chewed around a pen cap. He could see the word, short and straight to the point. Whore. It flashed welcomingly over her head like some type of marquee in front of a cheap theater. A faint smile etched itself over his lips. "No need to go any further, there's a perfectly hot seat right here. Lee won't miss you and there's a reason he's in that desk alone soooo you can just thank me later." She stated flirtatiously, skootching towards a person who refused to accommodate their unsanctioned pairing. Oh, is that right? "Hinata, move over," The pink haired girl uttered viciously under her breath when it became clear the girl beside her wouldn't budge. The figure beside her was so small that he didn't understand how the pink haired girl's hefty ass hadn't knocked her over. Her emerald eyes were sharper than daggers as they turned on the smaller girl beside her. Even he knew the desks weren't designed for three people to cram into one booth, so he could understand why the smaller girl hadn't been in a hurry to comply to the scowling girl beside her. The smaller girl, he decided he would call her, The Hoodie. The Hoodie's wispy bangs obscured most of her face, she was hunched forward over an open workbook not saying a word and possibly tuning the girl beside her out. That seemed to peeve the whore even more. "Are you freakin kidding me right now? Just go sit with Lee," She pressed to the girl beside her, the sneer on her lips made her look rabid, "don't make a scene Hinata, you'll regret it." Surrounding eyes began to dart towards the conflict. The chatting escalated. Great. Now I've got to defuse this. He really didn't need the hassle. This situation was more trouble than it was worth and on his first day. Although he wouldn't mind it if shit got sour. It could be the highlight of his first day. A real milk fight. He mentally chastised himself for what he was about to do because he did enjoy catty fights. Maybe someone's tit got misplaced in the brawl, maybe hoodie girl could be packing a thicc body underneath her heaps of hood. "Hey, thats alright, she can keep the seat. I'm a big boy I can take care of myself sweetheart and besides, I wont be too far away, if that's what concerns you." He teased in his most velvety voice. The pink haired girl snapped her neck towards him like she would protest but then resignation dawned on her face. Her brows unfurled but he could tell she was still slightly miffed about the stunt the hoodie girl had pulled. "Mmmhm, you're funny! How about I make it up to you after class?" She suggested. You'll do more than make it up to me, you just don't know. You shameless, shameless whore. He didn't miss the way her tongue subtly swirled over the chewed-in pen cap. It sent a jolt of tremendous pleasure to his groin and he couldn't pass up this opportunity of communicating that with a single longing stare. He felt his tongue rolling against the swell of his inner cheek deliciously, he could still taste his blood. She stared right back at him, her lips quirked up with unsaid determination. "Sounds like a plan beautiful," he says knocking his knuckles against her desk to demonstrate his enthusiasm of the idea. "See you then." I'm going to skull fuck those tonsils out of that filthy mouth and after that, who knows. Way too easy, he was almost disappointed. To some degree he knew it would go that smoothly. This was to be expected from girls like her, they fed on attention and admiration. He had an eye for these types of women, there was nothing particularly compelling about them, except their expertise in giving damn-good sloppy head and things similar to that nature. In some ways, he supposed that was the talent he valued in them. Everyone could be useful in some way. He hadn't had any fun in two weeks and for him, that was a record; one he didn't wish to advance any further in. Though, advance he must-as far as penetrating goes. He had rarely sullied his cock on strangers who right away wanted to give it up to him. It just seemed like it held no challenge to him-even though getting head from said stranger was arguably the same concept. Arguably! He thought sex was too good a fate for the stuck-up bitch in front of him, he was certain she'd crave more after he force fed her his pulsing cock. He wanted to play the long game so he'd have something to occupy his time while he settled into his scheming lifestyle. It wouldn't hurt to know at least one person. She'll have to suffice, for now. He continued sidestepping towards his seat. Lee was peering down the aisle mouthing a question he couldn't make sense of, he wouldn't try to either. He intended to approach Lee like someone would an estranged cousin they had no intentions of knowing. "You do that again, I'll slit your throat you dirty bitch." He could hear the pink haired girls voice threaten lowly, her tone darker than the bellish one she attempted to enchant him with before. He knew she had been talking to the hoodie girl. She said it so matter-of-factly that he knew it definitely hadn't been the first time she threatened the girl. It never surprised him, the lengths most girls would go through for the attention he just provided to her. It hadn't even been long but it was enough for her to realize she wanted it. She wanted him. Nothing was ever complicated about that type of girl, they only flaunted their tits and financial superiority over everyone else. From what he could see, she didn't have tits to flaunt but her hips were bountiful. He could work with that. He desperately needed to indulge in something sexual before he lost his fuckin' mind or whatever was left of it. Just this once. He just hoped she wasn't the type to downplay her experience or else things would get sickening fast. If he had a dime for how often someone sucked his dick and begun with, "I don't normally- ", he would be leaving campus on his personal jet. He slid into the booth with Lee and began to unload a composition notebook; the only thing he remembered to pack after arising from a deathlike stupor this morning. "Hey man. I'm Lee, Rock Lee." "So I've heard." He sounds too proud to be the owner of such a shitty name. "You know Sakura, Sakura Haruno?" The voice was uneven, like the guy had just begun the early stages of puberty and his tones hadn't synced. Naruto didn't turn to address him; he shook his head and idly drummed his own against the table. "Should I know them?" he asked irritably. "Pink hair, really nice dsl's." Lee described with several concerning breaths. Naruto scoffed out a chuckle . Maybe he isn't a faggot after all. "The girl over there, what about her?" "She talks a good game but she'll paint your balls blue all night long. She's a tease, man, like it's a hobby." Hmph. "Is she?" he asked feigning disinterest, he blandly stared at the chalk board that Iruka approached scrawling almost dramatically over its surface as though he were hashing lines in a jail cell. "Mhm. Just thought I'd give you the heads-up buddy. Bros before hoes, right." Rock Lee commented in too expressive of a whisper. The guy could have just as well been talking normally. It was clear to him that this faggot Lee (he had already gotten used to calling him a faggot) had been rejected by the obnoxious whore Sakura. Sakura? That was her name, for real? She even had a cute-whore name to go along with her future profession. Four years from now, provided she hadn't perished at the hands of himself or someone else, he'd be sure to visit the local strip club and pay his respects. "Thanks bud, I uh-appreciate the tip." He said back to Lee, hearing the humor in his own voice. It was evident Lee couldn't distinguish the tone, his face lit up in an outrageously smug grin, he even held up a thumb proudly like he had just done Naruto a solid. Like he had just dutifully told his best friend his wife was fucking the mailman. Naruto felt his brows raised involuntarily, caught off guard by the dramatic reaction. He returned the thumb salute, hoping the freak would go back to normal. When Lee finally got back to work he noted to himself to never praise the guy again. Genuine or not. A guy like Lee to a girl like Sakura had probably been about as desirable as gizzards were to most people; you looked at gizzards, you take a whiff of them and then you realized you shouldn't have to tolerate this type of food. There must be something more out there...

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