Prompt: Write Tevie some smut that way she is inspired to continue with her smutty drawings of Slater and Mia.
Slater let out an exaggerated sigh of relief as hot water rained down upon him. He hadn’t taken a shower in more than a week; now that he was finally washing away the jungle grime, he swore he would never take hygiene for granted again. Thankfully Amara had been merciful when the team reached Cartagena; instead of making them all sleep “inconspicuously” in the vehicles or in abandoned buildings, she got them all rooms at a luxurious hotel by the waterfront.
So here he was, running his fingers through greasy, dandruff-peppered hair with coconut shampoo and scrubbing the dirt and mud away with pineapple body gel. By the end of waterworks, he would smell like a fruit cocktail.
Oh the jokes Amara would make.
After an hour of washing, he got out of the show, snatching a freshly pressed cotton towel off the rack. He dried his hair, his face, then his upperbody before wrapping the towel around his waist before leaving the steamy bathroom. Hot mist poured into the room, leaving the air warm and crisp even after it evaporated.
The Angeleno was about to drop his towel and get dressed when he noticed that his clothes, which he had left right on the bed, were gone. He looked around to see if maybe he had put them somewhere else but the only thing he found was a fancy cart with covered serving tray and ice bucket innocently set upon it.
Quietly, he grabbed the arbiter off the bedside table and scanned the room for any signs of intrusion. There was nothing: no sign of forced entry, no sign of vandalism.
He took a cautious step towards the cart. The teen tapped the cover of the serving tray with his gun, weary that it might be a Mad Mario assassination attempt. When nothing happened he slipped the nose of the arbiter under the handle and lifted it up, expecting to find the head of one of his friends.
No longer worried that the food was a threat, Slater yanked the bottle out of the ice bucket, wondering what poor bastard’s romantic evening was being ruined by the lack of bubbly.
Suddenly, the slueth Pink Panther theme began to play.
"No worries, my Angeleno," purred a familiar voice, "it’s just fancy lemonade."
Prompt: Inspired by the cover art done by Richard Hescox for Alien Blues by Lynn S. Hightower.
The suns were already far in their descent below the horizon. Agent Kratos rapped his fingers against his leg anxiously. His repeated exploits against the illegal laundering had gotten the attention of Xerx, the planet’s biggest crime lord; any minute now the mobster and his goons would appear, thirsty for revenge.
Kratos kept glancing at clock. It was five minutes till the appointed meeting time. Was he ready? Would he be able to pull this off and save the city from its tyrannical criminal overlord?
Or would he end up like his brother, another statistic, another one of Xerx’s victims?
Have no fear, this time you’re ready.
The agent looked over at his partner, smiling gratefully.
He couldn’t believe that once upon a time he and the phantom-like being had been trying to kill each other. It felt like another lifetime, someone else’s story. Now he and Zser were inseparable; the androgynous being had proven time and time again that they were a loyal friend and someone that could be counted upon when you found yourself in a sticky situation.
So much so that the chief had given Zser an honorary badge.
Now Kratos’s friend was no longer a vigilante but a citizen soldier with the blessings of the city’s justice department.
But the companionship didn’t erase the nagging feeling in the pit of the agent’s stomach. “Bad things always happen in these showdowns, Z.” A memory of Kratos and Chase playing tag danced through his mind but then it was abruptly interrupted with an image of the last time they had been together: his brother, a gory mess, dying in the agent’s arms.
“My brother would know.”
Zser draped a cloak-like hand over his human friend’s shoulder. We will avenge our siblings, their deaths will not be in vain. The phantom gave the agent a reassuring squeeze. We’ll make sure of that.
A pack of mean looking vehicles approached the bridge from the north. They arranged themselves so that they blocked any forward advancement from Kratos. Before the two officers could react, more of the goon cars flanked them, blocking any escape attempts.
That is, unless Kratos and Zser were willing to throw themselves off the bridge which was an effective death sentence.
“Well, here goes nothing.” Kratos whipped his gun out of its holster and popped open the door of the police car. He exited his vehicle and position himself at the front as Zser gracefully joined him.
The city’s scum came out of their cars too, an assortment of weapons (both legal and illegal) were trained on the duo, daring them to make a move.
“Do you see him?” Kratos asked his partner, scanning the crowd of criminals.
No, not yet.
The agent cursed. “Of course not. The coward!”
Look! Look! There he is! I see him. He’s on top of the-xsen resx!
“What?” Kratos could never hope to understand Z’s language but it didn’t take him long to realize Zser had just uttered the foulest words in their language.
A giant armored vehicle rolled up behind the front squadron, it had an enormous plasma cannon strapped to the roof. And there was Xerx, the green globby gangster was at the controls, training his dangerous toy on the lawmen.
“Say your prayers, you insolent fools!” the crime lord shrieked in his pig-squeal voice.
Kratos’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit!”
“Excuse me! Watch your damn language!”
Kratos was startled. The agent turned around to see his father standing behind him.
“Did I just hear my little girl use my language?” his father asked.
Agent Kratos dropped his arms to his side and stomped his foot, angrily. “Dad! You like, totally ruined the immersion!” the agent whined.
The futuristic city melted away into a child’s bedroom, the bloodthirsty goons morphed back into a pile of stuffed animals, and Zser, the loyal and brave hero, reverted back into a baby blanket draped over a plastic chair.
Slater arched an eyebrow. “Immersion? You’re six, how do you know that word?”
His tiny daughter crossed her arms. “I read it in a gaming magazine.”
“You can read?”
The young father chuckled and looked around the room at the battle scenario his daughter had created for her game. “So what’s the story?”
Suddenly, the pouting girl transformed into the battle-hardened agent from the year 2999.
“I’m Agent Kratos,” he exclaimed, posing with his gun. “And this is my partner Zser, Z for short.”
The blanket on the chair took the form of Z again.
“And we’re fighting the biggest criminal ring on the planet,” the stuffed animals mutated into some of the ugliest lifeforms imaginable. “We’re gonna save the city and avenge our loved ones!”
Slater nodded approvingly. “Attagirl! But the city’s going to have to wait. The boss has another mission for us.”
“The boss? Oh, you mean the chief.” She knew Slater was actually referring to her mother but she wasn’t keen on ruining her immersion again. “Why does the chief always give me missions when I’m in the middle of one! Does he want the agency to stay in business or not?”
“Well, c’mon. We’ll make it quick. We just need to go get some milk from the store.”
“Ah yes, medicine for the orphans!”
Prompt: Beginning of Chapter Four.
Di-di-beep! Di-di-beep! Di-di-beep!
Slater reached out from underneath the mixture of blankets and clothes on his bed and slammed his fist down on the off button on his alarm clock. He needed to re-adjust his alarm settings that way he woke up to the smooth jams playing on the morning radio instead of irate nagging.
The reluctant student grabbed a clean pair of jeans and the flannel he wore yesterday. Like an automaton, he went through the moves of the morning routine that had branded itself in his brain over the past twelve years: get dressed, brush teeth, gargle mouthwash, pack backpack, grab the untouched homework off of the kitchen table, and eat breakfast.
But as he searched through the usual hiding places of tasty edibles, there was nothing that looked remotely appetizing. If Slater did find something breakfast-y, it was something he had to cook. Unfortunately, no matter how hungry he was he lacked the motivation to prepare a meal that was more complex than cereal.
Requested by Alenimakeko
Prompt: A gift for Feuerkind since she talks so much about the characters.
Mia stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. She had never worn a swimsuit like this before today and she certainly had never won a beauty contest. And to win a swimsuit beauty contest in Los Angeles of all places?
What would her parents think of it?
They’d probably be having a fit, yelling at her, screaming about immorality and the need for modesty if a young woman was to have any worth. Then she’d get grounded for a couple of weeks and repeatedly shamed for actions throughout the entire duration of her incarceration.
But what did she think of it?
Now that was a thought. Did she enjoy being all dolled up like this? The attention she was getting made her beam and Slater’s playfully lewd looks were amusing.
But her own feelings on being dressed this way were an enigma. She wasn’t sure herself. Having this new found freedom from her parents was confusing; the teachings they had pounded into her head fought still tried to dominate her thoughts and opinions.
But she was getting there.
She was finding herself under all that taint.
Suddenly, the Pink Panther theme crept its way out of the locker room speakers. Mia looked up at them, confused.
Something in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she turned to see Slater leaning up against the wall, his eyebrow arched and a come-hither smile beckoning her.
"Oh God." Mia growled.
Requested by AlternativeRocker
Prompt: Write a hypothetical romance scene between Kumi Kobayashi and Mattie Inscoe.
No one would’ve guessed that someone was in the dance room if it wasn’t for Michael Jackson being blasted from a boombox.
Mattie, without slowing, skillfully maneuvered the hoops off the high gloss hardwood floor and artfully arranged them into a ball. He playfully mimicked a basketball player, smiling like a child as he twirled the sphere in the air.
Still not slowing his lightning steps, he broke apart the ball and formed a chain-link which he slipped his arms through to create the illusion of articulated wings. It really did look like the young man was flying as he hopped and spun around the dance floor.
Dancing was the only place where Mattie felt that he was free, the only place he felt brave and confident that nothing could stop him, that he was strong and could conquer any conflict.
As soon as the music starts, he’s in a different world.