#this is like. four or five chapters crammed into one | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hellishjoel · 2 years ago

Text

slow shift

7k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Next Chapter

series summary: Tommy’s Diner is where dreams go to die and burnouts clock-in for work. Waitressing would be boring without the flirtatious distractions of line cook Frankie Morales.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), swearing, talking about w33d, alcohol consumption (not by reader or frankie, but discussions of alcohol), oral (f! receiving), discussions of periods and Plan B, frankie having a fat d!ick, slightly public sex, unprotected p in v (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), you know how I roll

A/N: welcome to the first part in my linecook!frankie series! It's all just going to be chaos!! enjoy dirty dishes, cussing, and decent food made by the hot linecooks. I’ll have a title as soon as I stop putting it off <3 enjoy! let me know what you think! also how LIT is the banner

here's my masterlist!

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“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle. You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight.

Welcome to hell.

A makeshift building somehow still holding up four walls that housed a small restaurant inside.

This wasn’t some secret treasure that belonged on an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives or a hidden hole-in-the-wall five-star Michelin Restaurant. This was Tommy’s Diner.

The locals had different names for the run-down dump you called your place of employment: the Hometown Heartburn Hut (true), American Pie ( ha-ha funny), the Rusty Spoon (some guy OD’s behind the place one time, and no one ever forgets), or Tumbleweed, your pothead coworkers liked to call it. It was a tumbleweed because the restaurant was barren, emphasis on the weed to accommodate the faded line cooks that lurked in the back of the restaurant.

Don’t let today’s slow shift fool you; there were times when Tumbleweed was cram-packed. Friday night football games were busy with tailgaters, bustling with teens after a championship game. Other times, it was when a Greyhound bus or a similar cross-country vehicle drove through and took a stop for the passengers.

The most popular time of year was in the summer. Tommy’s Diner hosted Saturday night Cruise Nights. The town would flood with classic cars and hot rods, and the diner would transform into a drive-in. Their engines revved through different cities from far and wide to be at Tommy’s. That’s when the place felt the most alive, bustling with people and their laughter, little kids running with their milkshakes and flipping quarters into the rigged claw machine.

But it wasn’t a Saturday in August. It was a Monday. You were stuck with the misfit motley crew that did everything from dishwashing, cooking, bussing, running the register, being half-ass managers, and, of course, the token pretty waitress. You.

You will admit that each character working at Tumbleweed had a unique story etched into their grubby hands or baggy-eyed faces. They’ve weathered years of late-night shifts and condiment, grease-stained aprons.

Tonight there was Lou, the jaded by heartbreak teenage busboy. He walked with a shuffle, always sniffling about an ex-girlfriend. He worked slow and god damn, did that piss you off.

Then there was Tina, the aspiring singer stuck in a small-town type. She was newer, still learning how things worked since she had never waited tables a day in her life. She had that fresh twinkle of stardom in her eye despite being in her late 30’s. You were training her and trying not to let her drive you up the wall whenever she started singing different songs on the jukebox. Note to self: Put a sticky note saying it’s busted every time you work together.

Paul was the do-it-all guy. Toilet clogged? Get Paul. Dishes piling up? Ask Paul to do it. The cashier on a bathroom break? Paul can run the till. He was useful, just complained and grumbled a lot.

Tommy of Tommy’s Diner hasn’t worked a day in years. He’s older, so it’s understandable. Last thing you heard was he was down in Florida, living out retirement in a cheap home with a gambling addiction. Sounded like he was doing well for himself. But now his idiot son Rudy ran the place. Tommy’s picture was still on dusty display, toothy smile and all at the front door that people huddled in and out of—speaking of.

Your head lifted to attention as the bell above the door chimed, sighing in annoyance as you leaned back onto the counter. It was just Frankie.

“It’s fifteen after. You were supposed to be here on time today because we have to set up for Carla’s thing.”

Frankie breezed past you, aviators and stupid ballcap on, his smile lifted in a sneer. He was smacking on pink bubble gum as he neared your part of the counter and purposely shuffled past you with his hips against yours in an attempt to get into the kitchen. You couldn’t help but lean into him with a little smirk.

“Tommy said it was fine I was late.” He joked once he ducked into the back, your arms crossed as you followed him aimlessly.

You sigh and lean back against the locker next to his, watching him shuffle off his jacket.

“You disappoint me, Frankie.” Your face held a teasing pout.

“Never meet your heroes, baby.” That stupid fucking cocky smirk painted his face.

You opted to roll your eyes and look away as a defense tactic against Frankie’s flirty moves. Frankie calling you baby made your guts twist.

He was an ass ninety-nine percent of the time, but you two were hired the same summer a few years back and were the only ones who stayed once summer had run its course. You supposed it was bonded trauma after that.

New workers had come and gone, but you and Frankie were still at Tommy’s, still working crappy shifts on crappy hourly pay. Despite Frankie being a douchebag, he made the place bearable. He was comfortable. You knew each other.

“Can you just meet me on the floor like you were supposed to fifteen minutes ago and help with the banner? Carla’s going to be here at five, and you still have to make her special-”

“Jesus fuckin’- yes, I’ll be out in a few.” Frankie playfully groaned, shoving the brim of his hat into his mouth to hold it, his hands busy as he tied a tattered red bandana around his forehead before he replaced the cap back on. Okay… hot.

He took a deep breath once he finished, and leaned against the locker beside you, arms crossed, mimicking you as your shoulder brushed his bicep. You looked up at him, so many inches taller than you, as he looked down. Maybe too far down. He started at your eyes, but those eyes of his tended to wander right down to the cut of your shirt.

“Ugh- Frankie!” You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, readjusting your top as he playfully threw his hands up on the defense.

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous today, by the way!” He shouted as you exited the locker room, smiling and shaking your head with your back to him and throwing up your middle finger before the door swung closed with your exit.

---

You stood on the top of a dining table in your sneakers, attempting to hang a shitty banner you had painted for Carla’s birthday. You glanced down at the table and made a little face about the scuff you put in it. Oops. You can try and scrub it later.

There was no other person you or Frankie would do this stuff for. But it was Carla’s birthday and she was a diamond in the rough at this dump.

Carla's position at Tumbleweed is a mixture of human resources, accounting, decent management, and a mother figure to not just you but the entire staff. Besides Carla, we could all care less about everyone else's birthday. You were burning this ‘Happy Birthday!’ banner as soon as the clock struck midnight.

You let out an exhausted huff as you attempted to tack the final hanging string into the wall, but it was just out of reach. That’s when you heard the smacking of his stupid pink bubble gum. You didn’t even have to look.

“Are you gonna help me or not, Morales?” Your voice seethed in annoyance, not only to Frankie but also cursing your short legs and your just not long enough arms.

He didn’t say anything. Just crossed the differential space between you and took the tack and string into his meaty fingers.

You glanced down, watching his teeth capture his lower lip in concentration, checking to see if it was straight. Pushing the pin in, he backed up to where you stood on the dining table and crossed his arms in observance.

It was incredibly crooked. But it was the thought that counts, right?

“Good enough for me. You?” You glanced down at Frankie, and he was biting back a smile.

“What?” You pushed, narrowing your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good.” Distracted by something else. “D’you paint this?” The warmth of his hand slowly crept onto the back of your calf, your chest tightening as he slowly skated it higher with no interference from you.

You gently nod, avoiding his eye contact as you look at the sign. Now, his hand was on the back of your thigh, and you had to take a breath. A mhm was all you could muster up.

His fingers delicately skimmed the skirt of your uniform, knuckles brushing against your backside. You used to hate these 50’s style waitress uniforms, but now they didn’t seem so damn bad because Frankie’s movements were making you lightheaded. Snap out of it!

“Need help down?” Frankie asked, hand at the ready on your hip.

You shook your head despite using his assistance anyway. You squatted on the table, black lace panties peeking out as you used Frankie’s broad shoulders as leverage. You put one foot down onto the linoleum and then the other, wiping your hands cleanly down your uniform as you both returned to look at the lopsided sign.

You hoped it was enough. You hoped she appreciated it, especially all that she’s done for you over the years. Covering your shifts, leveling out the register when you accidentally gave someone the wrong change, tucking extra tips into your apron when she knew your rent was coming up. Everyone needed a Carla, not everyone was lucky to have one.

“She’s gonna love it,” Frankie seemed to sense your nerves as he lifted his cap to bring some air to his sweaty dark curls before putting it back into place. “I’ll start workin’ on her special. Mushroom Swiss patty melt?” He said before disappearing into the kitchen again, only leaving once you gave him your little nod of assurance. You liked that he remembered.

---

“Happy birthday, Carla!” Uncoordinated voices cheered as Carla entered Tumbleweed right on time for her shift.

Her face lit up, and she looked beautiful. She packed a little extra blush and eyeshadow to commemorate the special occasion.

“Oh, shit- oh my- You guys! Thank you!” Carla made special eye contact with you, knowing you were the only one caring enough to orchestrate this shindig.

Carla has this soulful charm about her. Raised in Louisiana, she loved to cook family recipes and bring the leftovers to work for you and Frankie to fight over. You remember she had three kids at home, so she had this curvy mom's body that put a proud sway in her walk. A playful and confident woman at heart, she was all the regular’s favorite to see. And she knew everyone. And she knew everything. She put Tommy’s back in business during the slower seasons. People would come to see her face on Sunday mornings over their coffee and runny eggs.

“Oh, baby, thank you.” She cooed as she cupped your cheek and squeezed, making your face tick. “This the red velvet?” Her voice hummed as she observed the cake in your hands, pushing her finger lightly into the frosting to taste it.

You had pulled one of the cakes from the display case and shitily piped it with chocolate sauce ‘HBD!’.

“Of course, your favorite... Right?” You pursed your lips and snuck a nervous glance at Frankie before you set the cake down on the countertop.

Carla looked beyond touched for something you’d consider a bit lackluster. “It’s my favorite ‘cause you made it. Thank you, baby.”

You glanced around for the cake cutter, watching as Tina pushed a quarter into the jukebox and got the party started. Everyone was doing shitty dance moves, even the one or two customers that had filtered in for a cheap dinner.

You sighed as you looked behind the counter for the cake cutter, grabbing the cake and its stand to haul it to the back.

You thrust your shoulder blades into the swinging door, setting the cake stand on the counter as you started sifting through the different drawers to find the serving knife.

Half a carton filled with cigarettes; Frankie’s. Matches from an old jazzy gentleman’s club; Rudy’s. Hair ties; yours. Where’s the fuckin’ cake cutter?!

The music from the jukebox was more faded in the kitchen. The serving window, professionally called the pass, was just big enough to see faces and hand plates through from the kitchen to the front.

You made a face when you found the cake server inside a large pot-- how, no, why? Jesus Christ. Fucking idiots.

The swinging door to the kitchen wooshed in before slowly creaking closed, seeing Frankie coming to stand beside you in your peripheral.

You carefully plunged the slicer into the soft sponge of the cake, carving a piece for Carla and setting it on a plate. You reached forward across the counter for another small plate, the short skirt of your uniform revealing the curve of your ass to an overly curious Frankie. You could feel his heat burning through his chest.

“Could you be less obvious?” Your voice held teasing notes, putting another piece of cake on a plate and pushing them away to make space for more.

He had tried this a handful of times with you, and he had yet to be successful besides that one time when you both drunkenly made out at the last December holiday party. You were pretty sure he had been hung up on you ever since. You enjoyed watching him try.

Your eyes flitted over to his, observing his body and facial features.

He looked gross, honestly. The two meals he cooked including Carla’s special before she came in for her shift made his face and neck sweaty and his hands greasy, his apron to match. It was white at one time, a long, long time ago. His stupid red bandana was still tied around his forehead, catching the spare sweat droplets, as the kitchen became unbearably hot in the middle of August.

You probably didn’t look much better. Hair all over the place with makeup you put on in the morning probably half smudged off by now. Your hands were checkered in pen ink, a spare papercut from snagging a receipt from the register. But still decent. He was still decent.

His hand was back in dangerous territory, lingering low on your waist. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. You could feel warmth flooding your body, heat from the heart of his hand burning into your hip. He was admiring your body, slow and appreciative as he cupped the curve of your ass. And then he squeezed.

Your shaky hands barely got the fourth slice you cut onto a small serving plate. The cake cutter clattered onto the metal counter as Frankie shifted his body behind yours, his watchful eyes on the pass. No one was watching, stupid and oblivious. You swallowed a lump down your throat, your small hands clenching the rim of the counter. His hips were flushed against yours. Worst of all was that you really fucking liked it.

“This okay?” You’re flattered he asked after the fact.

You leaned back into his touch, quietly humming on the brink of a little moan. You were a little desperate for touch, maybe you’d be on your period soon. “Mhmm..”.

Frankie was a douchebag, but you two have been flirting back and forth with one another for years like an ongoing tennis match. He was older, he had years on you. Not an obscenely amount, but enough to make people raise an eyebrow. You were surprised he had the balls to actually make a move on you like he was right now.

“Like you in black.” Frankie’s voice was cut down to a murmur, low and all-enveloping. You weren’t sure if he was referring to the black in your waitress uniform or your black panties. Probably the latter.

His fingers brushed past your goosebump-covered ass and slipped between your legs to your clothed pussy. You softly gasped, eyes shifting closed as your hips involuntarily leaned into Frankie’s touch. You didn’t look subtle at all. You looked like you wanted to be touched, manhandled, kissed, fucked…

“Open your eyes, baby girl.” He purred, your chest already heaving. “Act normal.” You forced your eyes open, looking back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Needy pupils connected with his blown-out ones. The back of your head brushed his shoulder, setting it there for just a moment before he looked straight ahead.

Frankie nodded back to the pass, your eyes following his eye line to everyone distractedly dancing and sipping coffee mixed with bourbon on the floor.

You bit down on your lower lip, knuckles cast over in a milky white with the iron grip you held on the metal rim of the counter. Frankie’s body heat had disappeared from your back, and now you felt it cast against the back of your legs. You glanced around, seeing him on his knees behind you with his mouth now latched to the back of your thighs. Oh, fuck. His kisses sponged up higher, towards your heat.

Your eyelashes fluttered, Frankie’s act normal echoing through your hollow head. With distracted hands, you resumed cutting the cake. You probably looked slow and stupid, but feeling his patchy beard hair nestle between the sweet skin of your inner thighs had you in a haze.

Frankie’s big hands reached under your skirt, lining the black panties that sat snugly on your hips with his forefingers. He slowly peeled them down, feeling the material roll as he stopped them to rest halfway down on your thighs.

Your shoulders shuddered as your warm pussy met the slight chill of the outside world, panties adorning a little soaked spot.

“Frankie,” Mm? “Someone’s gonna see.” But you weren’t stopping him. You weren’t telling him to fuck off. You weren’t kicking him right in the gut like you probably could. In fact, you were leaning into him.

“Such a pretty pussy... Can’t stop, baby.”

A helpless whimper left your lips, thighs shaking at his affectionate, warm kisses.

Frankie’s hand swatted at the inside of your right ankle and then the other, hinting for you to spread yourself for him. You pursed your lips and shakily sighed, parting your legs as your sneakers lightly squeaked on the checkered floor. Fuck me, Frankie.

You didn’t know how much longer you could be patient. The waiting was tantric, hypnotizing you into seduction.

Spread for him and dripping, Frankie’s mouth finally attached to your slit. Your knee lightly jerked up and smacked a bus tub filled with dirty dishes, a few eyes on you through the pass as you nervously laughed. “S-Sorry!”

Frankie couldn’t help but let out a warm puff of laughter against your cunt, and you swore your insides were twisting at the sensation.

“Easy pretty girl… Don’t need us gettin’ caught. You want me to stop?” Frankie’s voice was husky, warm palms spreading your thighs, your body lightly bending over to lean on the counter. You tried to look busy with something, stupidly polishing a random fork. With the extra exposure, he had full access to your sex.

“Does it look like I want you to stop?” You finally punched out through air-abducted lungs, anxiously chewing on the skin of your lip. “Frankie.” You said in a hushed warning tone, wanting more and not knowing how to ask nicely for it. But that’s what he liked about you. You weren’t nice.

His lips finally attached properly to your pussy, his devilish tongue lining the center of your cunt and flicking off your clit. Your head dropped, ears ringing at the sensation.

You wondered how good he would feel if he could take his time instead of giving you head quick while all your coworkers were distracted. Maybe he could run his thumb over the front of your panties, trace the seam of your pussy, and feel how soaked you were for him and his attentive fingers. You thought Frankie had always been so down bad for you. He probably dreamed about getting this opportunity. He finally got you when you were just as horny for someone with a pulse. But this wasn’t all the time in the world; this was a slow shift at Tommy’s.

You rut your hips back into Frankie’s face, hot pants fanning fog onto the cool metal of the counter.

Frankie put his mouth where you needed him most, his tongue dedicating a poem to you. He flattened his tongue and licked a wide, wet strip up through your core, taking in all your juices. His tongue lapped at your weeping hole, thighs shaking against his head as you stifled a moan into the counter.

He was good, manipulative, a fucking menace.

Frankie’s tongue made precision flicks against your bundle of nerves, a gasp a bit too loud leaving the kitchen as you whimpered broken fragments of his name.

You weakly looked up, seeing Tina pluck another quarter in the jukebox, cranking the volume to some seventies soul music. Fuck being quiet.

Concealed by the groove of Stevie Wonder singing We Can Work It Out, your moans were hidden by the shake of a tambourine and plucks to an electric guitar.

“Goddammit, Frankie, mmm, so fucking good,” a gasp and a moan followed suit, lazily smirking with your eyes closed. “So fucking… hot.” You murmured.

Frankie’s mouth was a welcome wonder, dedicated to making you cum. He was swirling his tongue around your clit, weakly flattening your front over the counter again and pressing your cheek against the cool metal. Don’t be a douche right now, Francisco Morales. Make me fuckin’ cum.

The kitchen door swiftly swung open, and your body flew up to stand straight as Carla waited in the doorway.

“What’s taking you so long to cut my cake, baby? I know that bitch is stale as hell, but that don’t mean I don’t want it.”

Your eyes were wide, lips parted in an attempt to speak, but Frankie’s movements didn’t cease despite Carla’s unexpected intrusion. You bit back a whimper as he lined his tongue just barely into the tight entrance of your walls, his greedy fingers piercing into the flesh of your thighs to keep you spread. Thank god the counter covered your waist down.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll be out in a sec.”

Carla looked you up and down, curious but ultimately not giving a damn. You could feel Frankie’s dirty smirk against your thighs.

“Alright... Hurry up. I’m tryna get my dessert.”

And with that, the door swished closed, and your back slumped at the relief.

Frankie’s unexpected voice made you jump lightly, his words echoing against you. “Gotta make ya finish fast, princess. Want my dessert, too.”

You whimpered but willed yourself to stand up straight and turn around to face him. He looked like a mess. Lust-filled black eyes and a cocky smirk to match. Your juices glistened on his lips and chin. Frankie would be incredibly hot if he knew how to keep his mouth shut.

“Taste as good as you look, princess.” Frankie stood up, tall and broad body making a white hot spot form in your stomach. Fuck,�� you couldn’t do this right now. Not right here.

He could tell. He took a few cautious steps away, you watched him carefully like a rattlesnake. He knew when not to push you and when to let you make the decisions. He also knew how to give you orders when you were too pussy fucked to think straight.

“Serve that cake and meet me out back.” He was looking over you, enjoying the few times you looked totally fucked like you did right now. He stepped back into your space and pulled your panties back into place, a sobby whimper leaving your lips as he gently cupped your aching mound with a smirk. “So fuckin’ needy, huh?”

“Fuck off.” You mumbled, fixing the bottom half of your uniform.

You watch as Frankie grabs the beer bottle you all used as a makeshift door prop and his half-carton of cigarettes you had brought out of a drawer in an attempt to find the cake cutter. He disappears out back into the alley. Shit, the cake.

You hurriedly sliced the remainder of the cake, placing a few stray candles into the slices. You lit them once you greeted the group waiting on the floor, singing a shitty rendition of Happy Birthday. Paul lights his cigarette from one of the candles, puffing smoke across the frosting.

The crowd hastily grabbed one of the small plates and a fork. Most of you only tried a bite or two. The cake had been in the display case for far too long.

---

Anxious and impatient, you slip into the back with everyone’s dirty dishes and sneak back into the kitchen. You do nothing more with them than chuck them into the sink for Lou to wash up at some point or another. Your eyes stare at the beer bottle keeping the back kitchen door ajar. You take in a deep breath, leaving a shaky sigh before following Frankie out into the alley.

The air was warm, a welcome breeze passing over you. The alley was everyone’s hideaway, littered with crushed beer and soda cans, two large garbage dumpsters, and a large one for recycling. You could see the highway in the distance. The sun was setting, and the sky was turning purple and blue. You’d watch those cars drive right past your little town, paying no mind, probably off going to somewhere bigger and better. The only people from the highway who stopped to visit Tommy’s were people who didn’t know any better.

A flick of a lighter crackled, dividing your attention. Frankie was smoking his cigarette, his back leaning against the brick wall of the diner. He was trying not to smirk. Seeing you out here was way too much power for him. He took a drag, the end of his cigarette lighting up in a glowing orange haze before he pulled it from his mouth. The smoke he exhaled was taken by the breeze.

“Happy to see me?” His goading tone asked.

“No.” A challenge. A pause.

“So, you want me to go back inside?”

“No.” Another beat. A step closer to him, arms crossed. He’s smart enough to let his cigarette land on the ground.

“So, you want me to stay out here?”

Silence. Staring. Gauging each other’s reactions. Your tight jaw meets his cocky smirk. Too stubborn to ask meeting too stubborn to give without begging. Fuck.

Maybe it’s because you’re both desperate. Maybe because Frankie knows you. Knows you’re too stubborn to ask for him to fulfill your needs. Your inaction meets his unwillingness to waste another moment that he could be inside of you.

Stomping on his cigarette before closing the distance between you two, he envelopes you in a kiss that robs you of your breath. He tastes musky and bitter. The smoke that recently captured his lungs was hot on your lips.

Your heart was beating with excitement, happy to lose control for a moment as Frankie walked you blindly backward into the brick wall. Ouch.

Your tongues danced in a rhythmic motion, seducing you into letting him take the power as the kiss deepened. The flavor was subtle but distinct. The Marlboro’s held an acrid undertone, an unexpected layer of the kiss you sort of liked. If he tasted like spearmint gum, it might have turned you off.

It was like you were his cigarette now, breathing you in and clinging to you in addiction. It was his bad habit, but who were you to judge. You had a closet full of skeletons you weren’t open to anyone seeing. Maybe this was one of his.

His hands were a welcome guest, feeling his warm palms explore a body he had probably fantasized about.

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle.

You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight.

Frankie guided you further from the backdoor, hearing voices enter the kitchen. Probably Paul and Lou to start working on closing chores. He took you behind the dumpsters and hiked up your dress. You decided to be useful and push your panties down. He rounded up the material that was tying you up at your ankles and shoved them into his pocket. You were not letting him keep those.

You pushed his apron aside, fingers fussing over his belt buckle. He watched, amused, unwilling to help. He liked seeing you so desperate for his cock. Unbuttoned. Unzippered. Black boxer trim peaking out now. You made slight eye contact with him before you shoved his pants and boxers down to his thighs. Your heart clenches at how girthy he was. Fuckkk, this was gonna feel good.

He didn’t take his apron off, merely shoved it to the side as it haphazardly swayed on his hip. He closed the distance between you again, a greedy kiss, a kiss to mark you with. You pulled away to spit into your hand, taking him by his base and squeezing.

Frankie’s eyes shuddered closed, his head dropping as you took his manhood in the small of your hand. He was.. more than a handful. He was so meaty, not even able to wrap your fist fully around him.

You purred out a little moan as you worked your hand over him, feeling him grow heavy in your hand as you lubed up his tip, slowly circling your thumb teasingly around the pulsing head.

“Enough.” He muttered. He didn’t like you toying with him.

Frankie hiked up your leg by the underside of your calf, hooking around his hip as you leaned your back against the cold brick wall. It wasn’t comfy, but when you fuck against a run-down diner, you don’t get many options.

Your chest shuddered as you felt his cock heavy against your folds, erect and brushing up against where you needed him most. He was running his hand up and down himself now. You watched as he put down another line of spit from his mouth to his cock before his knuckles shuffled up and down his shaft a few more times.

The sight made you reel your head back and stare up at the sky. As eager as you are, you’re worried about feeling how thick he is. He knows.

“M’gonna go real slow.” He punches out, setting his forehead down against yours, and you shakily nod. Please don’t fucking split me in two, Frankie Morales. You still have a shift to finish, after all. You’re thankful he at least acknowledges his girth. It’s sort of the elephant in the room.

You both look down at your centers, your dripping one and his angry, pink head meeting in unison. It’s sort of fucked up the way that you’re two horrible people. But you knew horrible people always seemed to find each other.

You wet your lips and bite down. Hard. You weren’t a fresh spring virgin, but this wasn’t any other half-decent dick.

You lay your head back against the wall as Frankie guides himself into your welcoming entrance. Your wetness lubes him up well, but he’s still large.

You clench your eyes close and smile. The pain is always pleasure. “Fuck,” you mutter, your head wanting to come back down and watch.

Frankie’s being gentle, an odd word you’d never describe him as. He’s grunting and impatient, but patient for you. He fills you up to the brim and your head is flooded with clouds. You’re in the sky, lightheaded, but so fucking horny.

His hips meeting yours are a gentle greeting, both of your lips brushing as you shared pants of desperation as well as relief. Your stomach was tight, recoiling with the pressure he was providing to the inside of your walls.

“God-

“Jesus-

“-fucking damn.”

“Christ.”

The two of you moaned in unison.

Your nails are piercing into his shirt, bunching around the tops of his shoulders. You move to grip his apron for some sort of control. There is none.

One of his hands is still supporting your leg wrapped around his hip, the other flattened against the brick wall beside your head. You took solace in his arm, resting your forehead against it weakly.

He was cocky for a reason. His length in inches was his amount of reasons.

“Fuck me.” You finally mustered up enough strength to demand. He shakes his head against yours.

“Give it a minute.” He mutters, barely coherent. You’re scrumptiously tight around him, and you know it. You both do.

“We don’t have a minute.” You feverishly bite back, attempting to shift your hips against his. He retaliates by planting his hips against you, fucking the final few inches of his dick into you as you both fell deeper into the wall.

A hot moan rolled off your tongue, hiding your face away in his forearm and shuddering your eyes closed. Frankie’s hand slipped from your leg, cupping the globe of your ass in his warm hand. He squeezed and it made you smile as he reeled his hips slowly back.

He grumbles something.

“What?” You asked with a dopey grin. He pushes back inside you and wipes the smirk clear off your face.

“I said… you’re so fuckin’ impatient.” His voice was tattered with grunts, your tight little pussy making it hard for him to breath.

Now he was creating a rhythm, fucking you into the wall in steady thrusts. You were already feeling your insides tug eagerly in excitement, the hot pool he had created in your guts simmering to a boil.

“Mhmm, mhm, mhm,” you moaned in silent begs, moans you had to read between the lines to understand. Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck you feel good, I-I can’t think of anything other than fuck! Fuck me, Frankie!

He filled you up to a brim you had yet to discover you had. His tip tickled your cervix with each snap of his hips. He was getting greedy, a little sloppy. You’d judge him on this short-lived fuck later, for now, it was perfectly timed to get back into work without anyone noticing.

Your eyes widened and met his murky brown ones as he moved the hand he had against the wall nudged between your thighs, circling your clit. It was messy at first, but he found what made you tick and adjusted. Now he was running tight circles around you, and you were finding it hard to stay silent.

“Feel so fuckin’ perfect for me.” He murmured, his lips ghosting over yours in a teasing motion. You actually wanted to taste him again, so you leaned into it, your tongue lining his mouth and tasting his old cigarette with a moan.

Now he was filling you up, no hesitancy in his hips as he snapped the full extent of his length into your cunt. Your head flew back against the orange and red brick, a fucked moan leaving your mouth. Neither of you cared. Frankie’s face was nuzzled against your jawline and neck, sloppy kisses tasting old perfume as the circles on your clit intensified your impending orgasm.

“F-Fuck, Frankie, shit, I’m gonna-” You gasped and closed your eyes, clutching your arms weakly around his shoulders and holding him to you. His body enveloped you like a shield protecting you from anything in your surroundings.

Your orgasm crashed over you, coursing through your body like a million volts of electricity as you whimpered and moaned into his neck. Your eyes were clamped closed, your walls clenching and fluttering around his sensitive cock.

His moans were heavenly, guttural and deep, a little shaky even as he puffed them into your neck and shoulder. His hips twitched against the inside of your thighs as he came undone inside of you. It felt like he was cumming for days, filling you up with white rope after white rope of his semen and painting your insides with only remnants of him.

You couldn’t think. You just focused on the distant sound of the highway, creating a bustling amount of white noise for you. You gently held his head to keep him close, your shaky hand winding into his hair as the two of you reconciled over your orgasms.

He was the first one to move. He slipped himself from you and gave you a few lazy kisses. Your stomach fluttered before you shook your head.

Stop it, Frankie.

‘M not doin’ anything.

Teasing smiles. Hands softening their holds on each other’s bodies. Fixing hair. Fixing undergarments.

He would have held onto your panties. He probably hoped you forgot about them. You tugged them from his pocket and attempted to slip into them with ease, but you ended up having to use the brick wall as a support to lean into.

You steadied his apron straight, and he pulled the skirt of your uniform down. Teamwork.

You don’t really talk, just clean yourselves up, nod, and dart back inside before anyone can really notice or give a damn that you were missing in action. You kept having to excuse yourself to the bathroom, feeling Frankie still seeping from you. It made your chest hot, an embarrassed smile on your face.

Fuck it. That’s what Plan B is for. Or you can just wait to see if you get your period in a few days time.

---

You and Frankie danced around one another during the closing shift. Carla went home and took the cake in a to-go container to give to her kids. It was shitty that she had to work on her birthday, but she said that getting to see your gorgeous face was a present of its own.

You tiredly yawned, seeing it was a few minutes past ten. You helped Tina even out the cash register, putting today’s earnings in an envelope, then putting it in the safe for Rudy to take to the bank at the end of the week.

“You sure you don’t mind cleaning up on your own?” Tina asked, giving her a tired smile and a soft shrug.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you Wednesday.” Despite her annoying singing, Tina wasn’t that bad. She gave you a big grin before she hopped off the stool and left out the front door. Lou and Paul had already left at the start of closing. You didn’t know if Frankie snuck out the back early.

You did a double take to the jukebox, watching Frankie flip his baseball hat backward and push a quarter into the machine. Your face softened, seeing him flip between the different records before landing on one.

Something by Fleetwood Mac started playing. You watched him reach up and untack your banner from the wall easily. You nodded softly before grabbing the spray bottle filled with disinfectant and began wiping down the counters, seats, and tables.

He walked up to you once you finished cleaning, handing you your folded-up banner. You twisted your lips in thought, rolling the banner around in your hands.

“Wanna help me burn this in the burn barrel out back?”

Frankie sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Fuck it. Got nothin’ better to do.”

---

With Frankie’s lighter, both of you watched with glassy eyes as the Happy Birthday! banner burnt to ashes. His face was lit up in orange and yellow hues. He haphazardly tried to lean into the flames with a cigarette dangling between his lips, a stupid laugh leaving you. He shrugged and put the cigarette behind his ear.

“Fuck it.” He huffed, both of your eyes transfixed on the fading flames.

There was a beat of silence.

Frankie’s eyes met yours. “We should do that again sometime.”

Half of your mouth quirked up into a smirk. “Do what?”

He cocked his head to the side in annoyance. “You know what.”

You shrugged and shoved your hands into your jacket pockets. The hum of the highway in the distance made you flashback to just a few hours ago with Frankie railing you against Tumbleweed. A black and purple-streaked night sky submerged the two of you, making you feel tiny. You sigh and shift on your feet, keeping your eyes on the flames that licked up the ay! in Birthday!

“Maybe.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Maybe?”

“Mhm.”

Frankie teetered on your half-ass decision. Even the notion of having an open door left for him to sneak in was enough to make him happy. “Okay. I’ll take a maybe.”

God, you were bluffing so hard. Maybe it wouldn’t be sooo bad to throw him a bone every once in a while.

Your fantasizing was cut short as ashes of the banner spewed up from the depths of the barrel and fluttered up into the air between you and Frankie, both of you taking a preemptive step away.

His lighter clicked again; he had to do it a few times before the end of his cigarette caught a flame. “I’ll see you when I see you.” He murmured. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was trying to walk you to your car, wanting to leave, but not until you started heading home, too.

He swung his body into the driver seat of his beaten-up pickup truck. You decided to follow suit, sliding into your car. You saw Tommy’s fade away from the rearview mirror in the distance. But the thoughts of Frankie between your legs, fucking you into oblivion, and begging to serve your aching center would sit with you until your next shift at Tumbleweed. Sorry. Tommy’s Diner.

---

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movingmusically · 4 months ago

Text

What Are Friends For? - Chapter 4

Word Count: 1.2k

Masterlist

Monday hit like a freight train.

The reality of thirty hyperactive Year Fours wiped out any lingering thoughts of poker games and smirking Americans. It was a day. My desk was buried under marking, playground duty was a nightmare, the printer jammed right when I needed it most, and the staff meeting at the end of the day dragged on for what felt like a century.

By the time I finally got home, I was exhausted. I threw my bag on the floor, kicked off my shoes, and immediately put the kettle on. It was a normal night. Completely ordinary.

Until my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I frowned, picking up my mug as I unlocked my phone.

Unknown: Callum says you made it home in one piece. Can confirm?

My fingers hovered over the screen.

It didn’t take much guessing.

Me: Who is this?

A beat.

Unknown: Wow. Brutal.

I snorted, despite myself. The tone was too familiar, too dry. Only one person came to mind.

Me: Austin?

Austin: Was starting to think you forgot me already.

A small flicker of amusement warmed my chest, entirely unwelcome.

Me: Didn’t realise we were at the texting stage.

Austin: Guess we are now.

I stared at my phone for a second longer than necessary.

Then, before I could think about it too much, I tapped ‘Save Contact.’

AUSTIN BUTLER.

It looked ridiculous sitting there in my messages.

I locked my phone, set it down.

Then, five minutes later, unlocked it again.

Just to check.

By Wednesday, the messages had become a thing. Nothing major, just a bit of fun. Casual. But… consistent.

And I was getting used to them.

Too used to them.

It was just a bit of banter. That’s all.

Not like I found myself checking my phone at lunch, half-expecting another one.

Not like I cared.

Austin: Do people in London actually eat beans for breakfast or is Callum lying?

Me: He’s not lying. Full English. The best meal on earth.

Austin: Horrific.

Me: Uncultured.

I told myself I was just being polite. That’s why I replied. That’s why, when I saw his name pop up, I didn't roll my eyes. Not really.

Still, when my phone buzzed a few hours later, I didn’t check it right away. I let it sit there on the counter while I finished my tea. I even washed up my mug, dried it, put it away. Like a perfectly normal, detached person.

…Then I picked up my phone anyway.

Austin: I’m rethinking my entire impression of this country.

Me: That’s fair. But you should know, Callum’s probably going to force you to eat it before you leave.

Austin: I’d rather play you in poker again.

I smirk at my phone.

Me: That sounds like admitting defeat.

Austin: Or strategy.

It wasn’t flirty.

Not really.

But it was easy. Too easy. And when my phone buzzed again—

Austin: How’s your week been?

My stomach did something it shouldn’t.

It’s been a while since I’ve had a proper night out. Work, life, general exhaustion—things had been getting in the way. So when the group chat started blowing up with plans, I said yes without overthinking it.

And honestly? I needed this.

The pub was packed, warm and lively, the hum of conversation filling the space, the occasional burst of laughter cutting through. We were a few too many drinks in, crammed into a booth, laughing over disastrous date stories.

“I’m just saying,” one of my friends declares, waving her glass dramatically, “if a man ever suggested a ‘walk’ as a first date, I’d block him.”

“I went on a walk date once,” I say.

Three pairs of eyes snap to me.

“And?”

I shrug. “It was fine. Until he took me to a cemetery.”

They gasp.

“NO.”

“Was he going to bury you?”

“I—what??”

I’m crying with laughter as I try to explain, but then the conversation shifts, and suddenly, I’m the target.

“So, Ange.” One of my friends leans in. “You’ve been suspiciously quiet about your love life lately.”

I roll my eyes. “Because there’s nothing to tell.”

“Lies,” another friend sings. “You’re hiding something.”

They grill me. I dodge every question. I don’t mention Austin. Because—why would I? It’s not a thing.

Right?

One of my friends heads out for a smoke, and I tagged along just to get some air. The air outside was sharp against my skin, a welcome relief after the heat of the pub. My friend lit her cigarette, exhaling with a sigh as I leaned against the railing, rubbing my arms against the chill.

"Too hot in there," I murmured, half to myself.

She hummed, distracted by her phone, so I pulled mine out too. Just a glance. Just checking.

A message from Callum at the top of my screen. Nothing from—

"Didn’t think I’d see you here."

I jumped slightly, nearly dropping my phone. A voice—low, familiar, lazy with amusement.

Austin.

Standing just a few feet away, casual as anything. A cigarette between his fingers, the glow faint in the dim light.

I stare. “What the—? How are you here?”

He smirks. “You don’t own Hammersmith, Angie.”

I sputter. “That’s not an answer.”

He nods over his shoulder. “Having dinner next door.”

I glance toward The River Café. Posh. Famous. Not where I’d expect him.

“Fancy.”

He shrugs. “Callum kept going on about it. Thought I’d check it out.”

A pause.

Then—he tilted his head slightly. “You following me?”

I scoffed. “Yes. I tracked your location just to bump into you here.”

He exhales smoke, eyes glinting with amusement. “Knew it.”

And just like that, the air shifted.

The pub noise faded. The streetlights hummed softly. The world felt smaller.

Austin took another slow drag, his gaze steady on me.

I was aware, suddenly, of the way he stood—relaxed, easy, but entirely present.

And I felt it.

The door behind me swung open.

“Ange?” My friend poked her head out. “You coming back in?”

I hesitated.

Austin smirked. “Don’t let me keep you.”

I looked at him for a second longer. Then—“Enjoy your fancy dinner.”

I turned to go, but—

“Angie.”

I glanced back.

His voice was softer this time, like he just wanted to say my name again.

“Good seeing you.”

I hesitated. Just for a second.

There was something different about this moment, and I knew it. Something I couldn’t quite name.

I swallowed, forcing myself to keep it casual. "Try not to lose any more poker games."

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Not making any promises."

His eyes lingered on me for just a second too long.

I turned before I could react to it, pushing the door open, stepping back into the warmth of the pub.

Laughter, music, the clink of glasses—it all rushed back, but something about it felt distant, like I was slightly out of sync.

I slid into my seat, nodding along to whatever my friends were saying, but my thoughts weren’t on the conversation.

They were outside.

Standing in the cold.

With Austin Butler.

I took a slow sip of my drink.

Yeah. Something had shifted.

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sukunatoes · 2 months ago

Text

Sanguine

Chapter 7: What Lies Beneath The Surface

True Form Sukuna x Fem Reader

18+ ONLY, MDNI

Chapter Index

It was quite the somber sight — your once bustling neighborhood was now nothing more than a ghost town. As the evening drew close to midnight, its sky was nothing more than a black abyss. Thunderclouds blocked off the light of the moon, with the only source of illumination coming from your headlights and the seldom street lamp.

You applied pressure on the brakes, allowing yourself to slow down enough to effectively weave through the debris that littered the barren streets. As you drew closer to your apartment, the scene in front of you only grew more bothersome. Your neighborhood had been in bad shape since the Culling Games first started, so this was nothing new that you were bearing witness to. Regardless, it still struck a nerve to see your colorful, lively neighborhood be reduced to such a state.

Many of the surrounding buildings and homes were in ruins, with only an occasional one still intact. The area was completely evacuated. However, it seemed to remain a hotbed for cursed spirits. You could sense hundreds, if not thousands, within just a couple of kilometers. Albeit most of them seemed to be incredibly weak.

You cut your eyes over to Sukuna, who was crammed into the passenger’s side of your car. His seat was reclined partially. Otherwise, he’d have to duck to avoid hitting his head on the roof. Two upper arms were folded across his chest as his two lower ones rested in his lap.

Both of his legs were ramming into the dash despite the seat being fully pushed back, and he was shoving the left side of his body into the door to avoid intruding across the center console into your space. It was likely not out of consideration for your comfort, but more so he truly did not want to interact with you if it was avoidable.

Sukuna’s head was angled toward the window, with all four eyes gazing out of it. Every time he had been in your car so far, his discomfort was obvious, though you knew he’d never voice it. This current world was not built for someone like him.

Then again, was it ever?

As far as sorcery goes, Sukuna was the ideal being. He possessed both exceptionally large amounts of cursed energy and the capability to wield it with razor-sharp precision. However, even if he did not have that, he still would be a force to be reckoned with.

His sorcery abilities were unfettered largely in part to his remarkable physical form. A second set of eyes gave him enhanced perception, while two extra arms allowed him to weave hand signs more efficiently. Plus, an extra mouth afforded him more opportunities to chant incantations. It was as if he was specially evolved to be an unsurpassable sorcerer.

Without a doubt, his body gave him advantages in fighting that no other human would ever be able to achieve. In the world of jujutsu, Sukuna was perfect.

But what of the world outside it? The parts of one’s world where sorcery did not matter — the parts where one just existed. How had Sukuna fit into that world in his previous life?

You snapped your head back to the road in front of you before giving it a soft shake to rid your mind of such a ridiculous question. He was your enemy and, upon finding the divine weapons, would soon become your opponent as well. There was no room to offer a being such as him any empathy, no matter how fleeting the thought may be.

Ryomen Sukuna was considered to be the most vile, evil human to ever walk this planet. He was cruel and sadistic. Bound by no code of honor and lacking absolutely any morals, he lived solely only for himself. Upon returning home, you would plot out a new course in your hunt for the weapons, and once acquired, you would rid this world of him once and for all. You’d allow yourself just one month to do so.

A familiar building began to come into your sight. Just five stories tall and made from concrete, it was simple. No frills or amenities, just basic and reasonably priced apartments. Regardless, it was your home, and considering everything you had been through the past few days, you had never been happier at the sight.

You pulled into your usual spot on the side of the street and shifted into park. Reaching behind you, you grabbed your bag before swinging the door open and jumping out. The lights at the bottom of the stairwell were lit, which meant your building still had electricity.

Excellent.

Wasting no time, you quickly ascended the stairs all the way to the fifth floor, where your apartment was. The wind was beginning to pick up as you fumbled with your keys in the breezeway. Slipping the key into the lock, you turned it counterclockwise and pushed the door open. Holding the door open with one hand, you ran the other across the wall until it settled on the light switch.

You kicked your boots off to the left of the door and immediately entered the kitchen. As much as you wanted to shower and change into clean clothes, cooking came first. You had been five days without a decent meal, and it was at the forefront of your mind.

With a soft thud, you let your backpack fall from your hand onto the tile floor. You pushed it aside with your foot before sliding your keys across the granite countertop.

Making your way to the refrigerator, you bent down, reaching for the handle on the bottom drawer. You pulled the freezer door open and began examining the contents, seeing what your options were. It was limited, as you knew you’d be on the road and hadn’t been shopping since you had been assigned your mission.

An unopened bag of frozen tuna steaks, a singular salmon fillet, and four packages of steak were all that awaited you. The tuna would likely take the least amount of time to prepare a meal out of, so you grabbed onto the plastic bag and lifted it up.

The front door could be heard slamming shut, and within an instant, you could feel two sets of eyes on you. Glancing up, you saw Sukuna standing opposite you, with his arms crossed.

Right.

You still had him to deal with.

You glanced down at the frozen tuna in your hands. Usually it would be non-negotiable to prepare a meal for a guest staying in your house, but he was no ordinary guest. If he could even be considered a guest at all. Something like basic hospitality should be completely off the table. He absolutely didn’t deserve it.

However, there was one issue that could arise. Even if Sukuna did not have to eat for survival, he ate for pleasure. He was bound to desire something to eat at some point during his stay here, which meant he’d seek it out on his own. You knew what kind of vile appetite he had, and although there wasn’t a human within multiple kilometers, he might still make the trek to find one.

Perhaps if you could sate his hunger before it fully develops, you could avoid something like that happening. But what could you offer him that he’d be willing to eat?

You scrunched your nose in annoyance.

What a pain in the ass.

“Woman,” he grumbled. “What the hell are you doing?”

You finally looked back up at Sukuna, and it was the first time you had actually looked at him in hours. Every time had been nothing more than a fleeting glance, but studying his face now underneath the fluorescent kitchen lights, his exhaustion was apparent. His stare was blank and almost unfocused while his shoulders slightly drooped into a lazy posture.

Strange.

You knew his behavior had been off throughout your short time together, but you didn’t realize the extent of it. Something was off with him, you knew that much. Even though you hadn’t personally met Sukuna before your unfortunate encounter just a few days prior, you knew enough about him to know he’s been acting uncharacteristically the entire time.

While he’s been aggressive and cruel towards you, he’s also been a lot easier to deal with than you could’ve ever imagined. You had mainly chalked it up to him being stuck in a vow that ensures he cannot harm you and possibly a change in his personality due to his brush with death. But what if there’s something else you’re missing entirely?

“I’m making something to eat, and I plan to make enough for the both of us. If you want to partake, then you’re welcome to do so.”

“What makes you think I want to eat your shitty fucking food?” His empty expression quickly twisted into a scowl.

A sigh escaped your lips as you dropped the bag of tuna back into the freezer. He was really going to make such a simple task impossible. “Well, don’t. That just means there’ll be more for me, so I won’t complain.”

He scoffed before you could even finish getting the words out of your mouth. “And what was it you thought was even worthy of offering to me?”

“I don’t know,” you replied truthfully, throwing both your hands up in exasperation. “I do not know what I’m making yet. Think about it if you want, or not. I really do not care.”

A second scoff.

You looked back down into the freezer at what you had to offer him. There was a large chance he wouldn’t eat no matter what you served him. However, if there was a way you could possibly prevent him from harming any humans, you’d try anyways.

He seemed to like the beef jerky he stole from you earlier, and you knew Uraume had served him roasted boar a couple of nights prior. The steaks were probably your best bet. If he did decide to eat what you made, he’d probably eat a vast amount of it. You imagined he had an appetite as large as his terrible fucking attitude.

You reached for the packages of steak. Each one contained three individual steaks, so if you cooked two packages, you could feed him five and eat one yourself. Hopefully that would be enough.

You stood up and walked over to the sink, setting both packages to the side. Sukuna’s eyes burned into you as you sliced into the packages and pulled out the frozen meat before setting them in a large bowl of water to help them thaw.

“It’ll likely be an hour or so before it’s ready,” you informed him as you turned back around, pulling a rice cooker out from one of the bottom cabinets. “If you’d like, you can go clean yourself up. I have a tub large enough to comfortably fit you, and I know it’s been a while since either of us bathed.”

You set the rice cooker on the counter and plugged it in. Glancing over your shoulder, your eyes met his as he just stood there glowering at you.

“Or not. Do whatever you want. It’s just an offer while we have access to running water.” You reached up into one of the top cabinets and pulled down a bag of rice and an unopened bottle of mirin. “But if you do decide to bathe and want me to wash your clothes, leave them outside the bathroom door, and I’ll stick them in the washer while you soak.”

Nothing but silence.

You continued your task of prepping dinner as you finished rinsing and putting the rice in the cooker. You opened the fridge to pull out a few more ingredients.

Steak donburi is what you had settled on to make. It was a fairly quick meal and loaded with protein, so maybe, just maybe, it would be up to his standards. You weren’t even sure if he’d eat the rice, but you assumed he’d at least try the steak and the egg.

After a few minutes of glaring at you in silence, you could finally hear Sukuna stomp away in retreat, and soon after, the sounds of a slamming door and running water followed.

“Thank god,” you muttered under your breath. He acted more like a petulant pest than the King of Curses.

You made your way over to the bathroom, and right outside the door was a black haori and a matching pair of pants. Scooping them up, you walked back towards the front of the apartment. In the front entryway, a small washing machine and dryer were tucked away behind a pair of folding wooden doors.

Shoving them in the washing machine, you poured in some soap and pressed start on the cycle. As soon as they finish, you’ll just use your cursed technique to dry them rather than use the dryer so Sukuna wouldn’t have to wait.

You shouldn’t even be doing his laundry at all, but they were the only clothes he had, and frankly, you didn’t want him sleeping on your furniture in them. It had been five days since you had last bathed, and it had likely been even longer for him. He didn’t appear to be someone with bad personal hygiene, but he more so just hasn’t had the proper facilities to do so.

You could hear the sound of water cease as you headed back towards the kitchen to get started on the steak, and you could hopefully pull something together that would be enough to satisfy Sukuna.

—————————

The water had long gone cold since Sukuna stepped into the bath, but regardless, it still felt good on his body. His head was leaned against the wall behind the tub, with all four of his arms resting along the sides. You were right — he did comfortably fit into the tub. It had been a long time since he was able to relax like this.

A pair of footsteps could be heard just outside the door, followed by a soft plop. It was likely his now-cleaned clothes being brought back to him. The footsteps softly retreated, and the second he was sure that you were gone, Sukuna sat up and reached down towards the drain to lift up the plug.

As much as his muscles longed to continue soaking, an aroma wafted throughout the apartment and smelled of freshly roasted meat. He originally had no desire to even try whatever pitiful excuse of a meal you would attempt to serve him. However, he supposed it wouldn’t kill him to give it a try. Even if it was nothing more than an excuse for him to further berate you.

As soon as the water began draining, Sukuna pushed himself up to his feet and stepped over the edge of the tub onto the tile floor. A single gray towel laid across the counter next to the sink, although it was unfolded and likely used. He brought it up to his face and took a large whiff. The right side of his upper lip immediately curled into a sneer. It reeked of you.

Disgusting.

Sukuna tossed it over his shoulder, and a soft sound could be heard as it collided with something behind him. The fact you even possessed the nerve to imply he needed to bathe was astounding. Whether it was true or not was irrelevant. Usually he would never tolerate such impertinence, and if it had been anyone else who had said such a thing, it would’ve been the last words they ever spoke.

That goddamn vow.

Although he supposed it really didn’t matter. Soon, you’ll be suffering a fate far worse than your minuscule brain could ever comprehend. The thought alone was enough to bring a brief smile to his lips.

He reached down to the cabinet underneath your sink and yanked open one of the doors to reveal a stack of neatly folded and presumably clean towels. Pulling one out, he started atop his head and began vigorously rubbing the fabric against his wet hair. He then slowly moved onto his face and his torso, allowing the cotton to absorb the dampness from his skin before finishing off the lower half of his body.

Now fully dry, he made his way over to the door to see his freshly washed clothes lying in a folded pile right outside. He slipped on his pants and haori before following the tempting scent back to its source.

Sukuna had been correct, and it was the scent of roasted meat. He leaned against the wall and observed as you were slightly bent over the kitchen counter, a knife in one of your hands diligently slicing through a chunk of meat, while the other hand held it in place. As soon as you finished the first piece, you moved on to a second.

The outside appeared to be charred, giving it a deep brown crust on its edges, while the inside was a reddish hue. A bright, scarlet liquid seeped from the center. At least a moron like you had enough common sense to prepare him some sort of red meat.

“Have you decided whether you want some or not?” You inquired, never once looking up as you pushed the second now-sliced hunk of meat to the side and reached for a third.

“I suppose I’ll indulge. I do look forward to seeing what else you can pathetically fail at.”

With a click of your tongue, you briefly cut your eyes over to him before returning them to your task at hand.

You thought you were difficult to read, and to most people you probably were. However, Sukuna was not like others, and even being as idiotic as you were, you should’ve realized that by now. You could play aloof all you desired. He was still able to peer through the cracks of the feelings you regularly tried to repress.

Emotions often act as a catalyst for exposing one’s weaknesses. Unfortunately, you seemed to possess the ability to quickly regain control of yours. Even after your draining fight with that cursed spirit, you had gotten ahold of your anger before it began to spiral. It was a sign of a decent mental fortitude.

No matter, he’d still find a way to wear you down bit by bit. If he could not physically control you, he needed to find a way to do so mentally. He would patiently chip away at your exterior as he awaited Uraume to return with Tatsumaki, and in time, whatever lies beneath the surface will be laid bare for him to see. All he desires will finally be his for the taking.

Sukuna sauntered over to the wooden table in the center of your living room and lowered himself down as he awaited you to serve him. He dragged his fingers across the table in front of him. The surface was completely empty. In fact, besides furniture, your apartment was almost completely bare.

It was strange — most humans decorated their personal spaces according to their tastes or hobbies, but yours was completely void of anything of the sort. No pictures of family or friends graced the walls, and no forms of entertainment were to be spotted. It was like a blank slate.

Whenever you had first mentioned coming back here, he hoped he’d be able to gather more information on you just by observing where you lived. However, it wasn’t likely, judging by his current surroundings. He’d have to acquire what he wanted through different methods.

“It’s steak donburi,” you informed him as you made your way over with a bowl in each hand. You stretched out your left arm to place the bowl directly in front of him, and a pair of metal chopsticks clattered onto the table immediately after. “It’s nothing but rice, steak, a few seasonings, scallions, and eggs.”

Sukuna leaned over to inspect the meal in front of him. Short grains of fluffy, white rice were almost completely covered by thin strips of the meat you had sliced up. Two large amber yolks were perched atop, with the occasional green speck littering them.

You placed your bowl opposite Sukuna’s and lowered yourself down to the floor as well. Your portion was a similar size to his, except with only half the amount of meat and much more greenery.

He observed as you pushed your chopsticks into the yolks on top, allowing them to break and spread their gooey interiors throughout the dish. You carefully picked up a slice of the meat and some rice before bringing it to your mouth. Gentle, deliberate chews followed before you reached to pick up another piece.

Sukuna knew you were starving. You were unlike him, which meant your mortal body actually required sustenance to survive. For the past five days, you had lived off of small amounts of food, never once having a full meal. Despite the hunger you must feel, you still ate mindfully and leisurely. It was a show of self-restraint in a situation where one did not need to exhibit such behavior.

Interesting.

He looked down at his own food and finally reached towards his pair of chopsticks. It looked and smelled decent enough, he’d give you that much. Most modern food did not appeal to him in the slightest, but this he may just be able to stomach.

He lifted the bowl up with one hand and used another to pick up two slices of meat before bringing the chopsticks to his lips. Upon tasting it, he immediately clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes.

He loudly chewed and swallowed before hurriedly grabbing two more pieces of the meat, this time dipping them into one of the egg yolks and picking up a small amount of rice along with them.

“Is it tolerable enough for you?” Sukuna glanced up to be met with your inquisitive eyes. You seemed genuinely curious.

“Hardly,” he growled through gritted teeth. “I find myself barely able to choke it down.”

It was actually an adequate meal. No, it was more than adequate. But he’d sooner fucking die than ever tell you that.

The two of you briefly ate in silence, but it wasn’t long until Sukuna’s meal was devoured and he once again found himself feeling unsatisfied. He dropped the empty bowl, allowing it to clatter against the table and break the quiet atmosphere.

“More, now.”

With a gentle sigh, you reached outwards and lifted up his bowl. “Thankfully I anticipated you having a large appetite.”

You soon returned with his bowl replenished. However, this time your opposite hand carried two books in it, one of which he recognized as something you had discovered the night of your fateful meeting.

Setting his meal in front of him, you made your way back to your seat before opening the book he wasn’t aware of. You pulled out a singular folded piece of paper and opened it up, allowing it to spread across the table.

A map of Japan.

“This is where we are.” Your finger hovered over the star that was labeled as Tokyo.

You insolent brat.

“I know where Tokyo is on a fucking map,” Sukuna spat.

You completely disregarded his statement, allowing your finger to slowly trace further down. Another thing you often did that pissed him off.

One of his lower hands that rested by his side began tightly clenching into a fist, his knuckles turning a shade of white. This was not the first time you had ignored him, although if he could have his way, it would certainly be the last.

“Originally I had planned to start my journey at the northern part of the country and work my way down.” Your finger glided further down the map, beginning to near the southern coast before it came to a halt. “However, due to unforeseen circumstances, there will be a change of plans, and instead we’ll start in this area.”

Sukuna did not give a shit what the two of you did nor where you went on your pathetic little search. He just needed to keep you occupied and in one piece until he could get ahold of the wind weapon. He just grunted in acknowledgment and continued to eat the meal in front of him.

“There’s a bunch of abandoned towns in this area, so I’m sure we’ll be quick to find shelter and supplies. Plus there’s a bunch of locations to be searched just within a few hours of one another.” Your finger began to tap on a few different locations on the map, although he really paid no mind to exactly where they were. “We’ll be able to hit multiple within the same day and get through them faster.”

Sukuna knew you were impatient to cover more ground and finish your mission as fast as possible. You wanted to be free of this laborious task, and more importantly, him. However, slowing your search down was beneficial to him at the moment. While you were busily entwined in your hopeless quest, it allowed him more time to lay the groundwork for his scheme. But more so than anything else, stalling you gave him time to rest.

Forming this new body of his from cursed energy alone was utterly exhausting and had taken everything out of him. He had been hoping to be back to normal by now. However, his body was still desperately trying to recover from the strain he put on it. You somehow hadn’t realized it yet, but he was weakened in this state, and had you been able to pick up on it, there was a chance you could have finished him off during your first encounter.

How unfortunate it was for you to have already missed your only opportunity to complete your mission. Sukuna grew less fatigued by the day, and it won’t be much longer until his regeneration is fully completed.

You babbled on about your plans for the search, but he wasn’t paying attention. Rather, he finished the second portion of the meal and pushed the empty bowl to the side as he awaited your obnoxious rambling to cease.

After you finally shut your damned mouth, you carefully lifted up the map and refolded it neatly before setting the open book in front of him. Sukuna glanced down with one of his eyes and immediately straightened his posture, leaning forward at the sight that was now before him.

“Where did you get this?” He carefully reached down, his fingers caressing the worn pages.

Each page held a drawing of two weapons. On the left were two tantō blades, and on the right were two katanas. It looked like something had been written underneath each individual weapon, but the bottom parts of both pages had been ripped out. In the center, stretching across both pages, was a singular kanji, sanguine in color.

Divine.

That’s how you knew of the weapons.

“I stole this from the Gojo clan’s personal library years ago along with a few other books that contained information on the weapons.” Sukuna’s eyes immediately snapped up to you. “I was forced to return the others but managed to keep this one concealed.”

You claimed you were after the weapons as a way to successfully end Sukuna’s life, so why did you steal this book years prior to his incarnation?

You sat up on your knees and leaned across the table, pointing with your index finger at the pages. “Apparently the weapons each have individual names, but someone tore them out years ago.”

Sukuna ran his finger along the jagged edge where the fragile paper had been torn. That’s why you only referred to them as the divine weapons.

Kazan, the fire weapon. It was a katana and the largest of the four. The hilt was a vibrant red hue and adorned by delicate gold ornaments in the shape of flames that could be seen protruding from underneath the wraps. Its tsuba and blade were golden as well.

Tsuchi was the earth weapon and was also a katana. It was the plainest of the four weapons. The hilt was an emerald green, with the tsuba and blade both being silver. No intricate carvings or adorations could be found anywhere on it.

Suiryu was the formal name of the water weapon. The tantō’s blade itself was golden, while the hilt was wrapped with various hues of blue. Suiryu’s tsuba was not circular but instead shaped like a wave. It was the smallest of the four weapons.

And finally, Tatsumaki, the second tantō. The prize Sukuna was eager to get his hands on. It’s said to be the strongest of the four weapons. The blade along with the tsuba were both silver in color and carved with intricate designs, while the hilt was wrapped in lilac with silver adorations peeking through.

All four weapons possessed a unique ability, although Sukuna only knew what Tatsumaki and Suiryu were capable of. He knew significantly less about the katanas.

“How is it these weapons that allegedly have the power of a god exist, yet I’ve never heard of them despite living in an era close to their existence?” He cut his eyes up to you.

“They’re not talked about outside of the three major clans. Only members of the Gojo, Kamo, and Zenin families are allowed to know of their existence.”

Good. You really were clueless. He figured as much, but it never hurt to check.

“And you claim to be from a non-sorcerer family,” Sukuna drawled as he pushed the book back towards you. “Yet you know plenty about them.”

For a brief second he saw it. A fleeting look in your eyes that if one were to so much as blink, they’d miss it entirely. A look Sukuna couldn’t quite put a name on. Was it anger or sadness he saw? Perhaps even disgust. Maybe a mix of all three.

“It’s complicated,” you shrugged, pushing yourself to your feet. “And not really worth discussing.”

It may not have lasted long, but that momentary expression gave him what he was so restlessly searching for, a possible weakness he could exploit. Whether it was the mention of your family or the three big clans, he did not yet know. However, he’d find out soon enough who you were and what all you hid.

He couldn’t resist the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Nothing you’ve said since I met you has been worth discussing, yet I’m still charitable enough to listen. What’s one more useless story?”

You snatched the book up and gave him a polite smile, one that he knew killed you inside to force upon your face. “It’s late, and I believe we’re both tired. I need to go clean up and get some rest. Goodnight, Sukuna.”

Sukuna soon found himself alone after you made a quick exit, not even bothering to clear the dirty dinnerware from your table. He glanced over at the now-closed bedroom door you had escaped through, and a soft chuckle erupted from his throat.

It appeared you were already being pulled apart at the seams. He’d just be the one to fully unravel you.

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#ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #sukuna x y/n #sukuna

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cat-mermaid · 9 months ago

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remember when Genndy Tartakovsky got the chance to end Samurai Jack, and Cartoon Network asked how many episodes he wanted to make? And he said fucking ten, I can get it all wrapped up in ten, remember that interview? He could have had more, but he fucking chose ten? And by god was it painfully obvious that he'd needed MORE THEN TEN because of that awful rushed ass ending?

someone somewhere involved with the Uzumaki adaptation must have been like "lol sure we can cram a 20 chapter slow paced horror story into 4 episodes bro! we don't need any more, trust me!"

because I refuse to believe that the higher ups looked at this project, spit on the animation team and said you only get four episodes, make it happen

someone in charge had to have said, "ok so this is like a ten episode deal right?" and some dumbass was like "HAHAHA NO, WE KNOCKING THIS OUT IN FOUR"

It had to be hubris, because I refuse to believe anyone who was going to chose to adapt Ito's most famous work was planning on half-assing it from the getgo

five years people, they delayed this shit for five fucking years

they said they wanted it to look incredible, why did they have to sacrifice the quality of an entire episode of an only FOUR EPISODE SERIES?!? And one more fucking episode would have done so fucking much for this series, those storys in episode 2 didn't deserve to be fucking rushed through like that

FIVE YEARS

#uzumaki #uzumaki junji ito #uzumaki anime #junji ito #anime #horror

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domonicriley · 2 months ago

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Is This Really What Marvel Should Be Doing With Doomsday?

We now know at least part of the cast for Avengers: Doomsday. There are a lot of obvious names in there, like Anthony Mackie, Florence Pugh and Paul Rudd, but the ones that really caught people’s attention were the new (or rather old) faces who will be entering the MCU, like Patrick Stewart, Ian McKellen, and Kelsey Grammer.

It looks like they will be returning to the characters that first debuted in the Fox X-Men movies from the 2000s. Now they are to be in an Avengers movie, and it just seems like the wrong choice.

With all the stuff about the Multiverse, there are any number of ways they could be introduced, as the Fantastic Four will be entering from another universe, no doubt thanks to Doctor Doom, and we’ll get some sort of showdown between all these characters, Endgame style. Whether they’ll be on the side of the Avengers, or against them, or both, who knows?

There are a lot of things that don’t make me excited for Avengers: Doomsday, not least the Russo Brothers’ performance with The Electric State, but also just how messy this is all starting to look, with so many crossovers, universes, and characters entering from other franchises, with completely different power level. It will make it difficult for audiences to have a clue what’s going on here. Yes, the fans might know, but fans alone won’t bring you two billion dollars.

I’m a fan of the X-Men movies, and these are some great actors announced here, but the real question is why? Why exactly are these actors being brought back to play these characters who they first played over twenty-five years ago? Is it solely to serve the story, or is it for another reason?

Because, while this has gotten fans excited for what’s to come in 2026, I can’t help feeling this isn’t a triumphant new chapter, but rather a desperate last gasp.

Not only does this read like a comic con guest list, and it’s hard to see how even half these characters could be given something meaningful to do, it also feels like it’s completely the wrong direction for the MCU to take. It’s essentially the literal “endgame” for the franchise, rather than a new beginning.

These are not fresh and exciting characters with their own stories to tell. They are old characters who’ve been portrayed for decades by these actors, and there’s not necessarily anything left for them to say.

Why not actually make your own version of the X-Men, if you must? After all, they are doing it with the Fantastic Four, ignoring the 2005 and 2015 versions. Why bring back these same actors once again? And I think the answer there is because they are hoping to capitalize on that, and bring in that audience that might not have joined them from the Fox days, but also that they no longer have the confidence to fly on their own. They need to hold on to other things, to what they think is dependable and unbreakable, which is the reason they brought back Robert Downey Jr. to play Doctor Doom, rather than creating an original character.

It feels like the franchise is winding down. These characters have had their time, and it would be perfectly reasonable to make new versions and introduce them into this new franchise, which would have been the natural course of action before the cinematic universe/multiverse became the standard in Hollywood.

This doesn’t feel like it’s a well though out story point, more like it’s a way to make an easy buck. It looks like the Ghostbusters: Afterlife of the MCU, where there are just so many memorable things crammed in to get fans excited for this new movie.

And it works, too. Hollywood has been running on nostalgia for so long now, with things like The Force Awakens and Alien: Romulus, and it’s worked for Marvel too, with Spider-Man: No Way Home and Deadpool & Wolverine. Bringing back a fan-favourite actor to a famous role is a sure way to get some buzz, and give a franchise a much needed boost, not to mention bringing in the cash. NWH made almost two billion dollars, and D&W is the highest-grossing R-rated movies ever. As long as it works, they’ll continue doing it until there’s nothing left.

But that’s just the problem, as Ghostbusters showed with Frozen Empire, once you’ve done that, you’ve burnt the last bit of remaining fuel, and now you have nothing. There’s nowhere to go unless you actually take the time and put in the effort to make something new, and carry the franchise forward, because no matter how popular it is, a gimmick is still a gimmick, and people quickly tire of them.

The stacked cast of Avengers: Endgame was earned, and came from somewhere. It had been built up out of twenty-odd films, and every single cameo, every appearance, every hero moment, meant something to the fans who had followed these characters and this story for a decade. Now, these new announcements just feel like an act of desperation, and it’s also telling that they are revealing them now, when there was so much done to keep the appearance of Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield in No Way Home a secret. They need this pre-sale excitement to try and make another two billion.

Maybe I’m wrong, and there will be a solid reason for this choice. I hope I am. But I get the feeling this is Doomsday for the MCU.

#marvel #mcu #avengers #avengers doomsday #doomsday #movies #x men #professor x #magneto #captain america #thor #nightcrawler #cyclops

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theladyofshalott1989 · 8 months ago

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Mum’s the Word 🤫 // Modern AU (No Magic) Sebastian Sallow x Male MC Short Story

Chapter 1: "What is this?"

Synopsis: Twenty-four hours after his long-term relationship goes up in smoke—just in time for his thirtieth birthday—Sebastian reluctantly tags along with his twin sister to a mysterious locale to, allegedly, secure himself a new love interest. Shenanigans ensue.

Or: How many pop culture references can one writer cram into a story? (Spoiler: far more than she’s willing to admit, even to herself.)

Relevant Tags: POV Sebastian Sallow, Modern AU, Crack Treated Seriously, Gay Panic, Bisexual Awakening, Humor, Sibling Bonding, Banter, Fluff, Pining, Sebastian Sallow Is Bad at Feelings, Also He Can't Dance, Zumba (yes, you read that right), Chris Hemsworth Appreciation, Chris Evans Slander

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Male MC (Damien Evans)

[ AO3 Link ]

Author's Note: Alexa, play "Fireball" by Pitbull. 🙃🙃🙃

"No wallowing in misery on our birthday," Anne said, her voice crackling through his mobile. Service had always been spotty in Sebastian's flat. Tonight was no exception.

Anne rang mere minutes ago, rudely interrupting Sebastian's horror film marathon. He currently had the telly paused on the best celebrity Chris—Hemsworth, obviously —riding his dirt bike into an invisible wall, moments before plummeting to his death. Sebastian was quite chuffed with himself that he managed to pause on such a perfect scene, although he always felt a slight pang of disappointment in recalling that this would be the last moment of the film in which Hemsworth graced the screen.

But back to Anne.

He sighed. "You're not the one who was broken up with the day before your birthday."

Elizabeth and Sebastian had been together for five blessed years. Blessed in a physical sense. Perhaps not so much, uh, emotionally. Elizabeth apparently agreed and had been quite vocal yesterday about how much of her life he had wasted. No mention of his life being wasted too. Typical of her, really. She'd even stormed out of his life, quite literally slamming the door shut behind her, leaving all of her belongings behind in the process.

To be fair, Elizabeth didn't have a lot of items at his flat; Sebastian didn't appreciate clutter and she'd been rather materialistic. It wasn't like they had lived together either. God forbid. That would have been a nightmare, for Elizabeth had a fondness for bobbleheads. There was a whole wall of them at her flat in Soho. At least five shelves worth! Sebastian avoided that wall like the plague, averting his gaze whenever he was forced to walk past, which was quite often, since that wall, unfortunately, led to her bedroom. The bobbleheads' beady little eyes would nod at him menacingly, as if they didn't approve of his cavorting with their Elizabeth. Well, they must be happy now. No more Sebastian.

Come to think of it, Elizabeth had always been annoyed that he teased her about her ridiculous collection. Shelves were meant for books, not horrifying knick-knacks! That was probably one of the many reasons why she broke up with him, if not the main reason, as ridiculous as that sounded. Not that he'd ever ask. Not that she'd ever talk to him again. That bridge was effectively burned forever.

"I never understood why you were with her for so long anyway," Anne continued. Sebastian could hear shuffling on the other end of the line. She was likely decluttering as she chatted with him. Multi-tasking was something Anne did a lot. It was something they had in common.

Sebastian managed to refrain from saying aloud, "She was a good shag," and instead just grunted noncommittally, popping a handful of popcorn in his mouth and chewing vigorously.

"Come on, Seb. Humor me? I really want to go out and do something." "Go out for a bite with Ominis then!"

"He's held up at work. Something about an important deadline." Sebastian could hear Anne's pout through his mobile. Anne and Ominis were married last summer in a lovely—albeit a bit saccharine for Sebastian's taste—ceremony on the beach in Brighton. They'd been together for ages. Sebastian didn't know how Anne managed. As much as he loved his oldest friend, Ominis could be a bit of a buzzkill. He was an accountant, after all.

"Tough luck," Sebastian said in reply, knowing that Anne would not be amused.

He waited for Anne to give up, even though it was probably in vain. Anne possessed a stubborn streak that rivaled his own. Meanwhile, he unpaused the film, keeping the sound muted. He had it memorized anyway. He gave Hemsworth one last long, lingering look of appreciation, and then his character was diving down to his demise.

"What if I had an idea?" Anne asked, a mischievous lilt in her tone. Sebastian's shoulders lifted, a spark of attention flickering in his gaze as he shifted forward, the worn cushions protesting softly beneath him. Anne certainly knew how to pique Sebastian's interest. It was probably a twin thing.

"What sort of idea?" he asked, reaching for the clicker and pausing the film once more.

"Well, there's someone I think you'd very much like to meet. And now that you're single…"

"Oh?" Sebastian interrupted, raising an unruly eyebrow. "Please tell me she's tall, blond, and athletic."

Anne laughed. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

Of course. "Right," Sebastian said. "And where, pray tell, will she be on Halloween? A party, I presume?"

"Not exactly."

Sebastian squinted at the telly, then glanced down at himself—his rumpled shirt, a stain on his joggers, crumbs scattered across his lap. He looked so unkempt, almost pitiful. When had he become so pathetic?

Get a hold of yourself, Sebastian! You're thirty now. Go out and do something fun, the older and wiser version of himself shouted above his lizard brain.

Sebastian brushed the crumbs off his shirt. Might as well give Anne's plan a shot. "Fine. Where to?"

The address Anne texted him was a gym, of all places. Good thing she'd told him to wear casual clothing.

In typical fashion, Sebastian was early, so he leaned against the wall near the entrance, waiting for his twin sister to arrive, attempting to ooze suave energy on the off-chance that the young woman Anne wanted to introduce him to was here, or arriving soon.

But why a gym ? And on their birthday? And why would this woman Anne wanted him to meet—whoever she bloody was—be at the gym on Halloween? Unless Anne had taken his request for someone athletic rather literally. A man could hope.

Sebastian admitted to himself he was intrigued. He scrolled on his iPhone absentmindedly as he surreptitiously inspected the room.

The gym was more crowded than he expected, but he didn't observe any young women around his age. Not yet, at least. A group of rather matronly, older women stood off to the side of the room near a door that appeared to lead to a fitness studio. They were chattering away like a gaggle of geese, their heads bobbing back and forth, much like his ex-girlfriend's bobbleheads. Damn them! Damn those bloody bobbleheads! Why couldn't he get them out of his head? They were a downright nuisance.

"Happy birthday, Seb!" Anne to the rescue, thank the universe. She pulled him into a short but sweet embrace. "Right back at ya, sis," he replied as he fumbled about with his mobile, stuffing it in the pocket of his hoodie.

"Good, you're in joggers," Anne said, nodding approvingly. "You listened." She smiled and winked. "I do that sometimes." He paused. "Now, where's this cheeky minx you wanted to introduce me to?" Anne, also in joggers, although hers were one half of a forest-green set—Anne could be a fashion icon when she put in the effort—rolled her eyes. "No wonder Elizabeth broke up with you," she said. Sebastian mock-gasped, plunging an invisible dagger into his heart. "Et tu, Brute!"

"Oh, spare me, Caesar." She pulled her own mobile out of her purse, glanced at it briefly, then nodded as she peered over Sebastian's shoulder. "Good, we're right on time. The class should be starting soon." Sebastian groaned. "A class? You brought me to one of your exercise classes?"

Anne had been taking exercise classes for years, ever since she beat breast cancer. When Sebastian asked her why—it wasn't like she needed them, the wisp of a woman that she was—she explained it away as something she enjoyed doing, as she'd never had the stamina when she was ill. Sebastian understood to a certain extent, but he also didn't appreciate being part of her devious scheme, whatever it entailed.

Speaking of that…

"Are you trying to tell me something?" he asked, glancing down at his very slight paunch. Sebastian enjoyed a good pint or two at the local pub every other night or so, as most of his colleagues at the university did. It was often the highlight of his day. Who knew that being an English professor could be so tiresome?

"Never!" she said through a chuckle. "I promise I didn't lie. There is someone I want to introduce you to. But a class or two would probably do you some good," she added as she walked forward, grasping his hand and pulling him along.

"Okay, where is she?" Sebastian asked, shaking his hand forcefully to release himself from her surprisingly firm grip. He didn't need his potential new girlfriend to see him holding hands with his sister, of all things.

But Anne didn't reply as she'd been accosted by the throng of matriarchs at the entrance to the fitness studio.

Wait.

No.

"Anne…" Sebastian began.

"Oh, Anne! We've missed you! Where have you been?" The old ladies bowled over each other, pulling Anne into hug after endless hug.

"And who is this?" a woman with bottle-red hair inquired, reaching out for Sebastian. She smelled like she'd been rolling around in a bathtub full of potpourri. He flinched and backed away.

"This is my twin brother, Sebastian," Anne said. "It's our birthday today!" Sebastian grimaced, his cheeks growing hot.

"Happy birthday," another woman with a shock of white hair said to his left, patting his shoulder. At least she smelled normal. Sebastian ducked to the side regardless. Why were these women so affectionate? He was a literal stranger to them! For crying out loud!

The doors opened, saving him from being forced to verbally acknowledge the women. They all shuffled through, Anne leading the pack. Sebastian dawdled behind, his tattered old trainers squeaking on the shiny wood floor.

"Anne," he said, as he slunk behind her—to the very front row. Dammit, this was dire.

"Yes?" She didn't look him in the eye. She was too busy stretching. Apparently.

"What class is this?" Sebastian asked hesitantly.

She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a booming baritone. "Welcome, everyone, to Zumba! It looks like we have a new face tonight." Oh no…

Sebastian snapped his head toward the sound of the man's voice, only to instantly freeze in place.

Standing before him was the most beautiful man Sebastian had ever laid eyes on.

Wait, that couldn't be right.

Sebastian shook his head.

The man was simply very aesthetically pleasing, that was all. His eyes were a captivating shade of golden-brown, his hair blond, long and wavy, pulled back in a low bun, and his smile… His smile was dazzling, white and radiant, catching the fluorescent light above his head like a flash of brilliance. He even noticed that the man had a dimple on the right side of his cheek, but not his left. But most importantly, while he wasn't slim, he was fit. Very, very fit. Chris Hemsworth's perfectly chiseled body briefly flitted across Sebastian's mind. He shook his head—bloody again —to disperse it. What was wrong with him today?

Sebastian blinked back to attention.

"I'm Damien, your instructor," the man said, addressing the whole group, but Sebastian could swear his eyes lingered on Sebastian for a bit longer than everyone else. "Is everyone ready to dance?" No, Sebastian was not, in fact, ready to dance. Sebastian Sallow didn't dance.

The instructor—Damien—adjusted his headset, then fiddled with a clicker he fished out of his pocket. The music began.

God, were they really going to warm up to Pitbull? Sebastian shuddered. He was in deep, deep trouble. What had Anne been thinking?

Well, this was complete and utter shite. No surprises there.

"If you're having trouble following along, start with the feet!" Damien exclaimed, his eyes firmly fixed on Sebastian. "You don't have to do the arms."

Sebastian struggled to keep his composure, but it was rather difficult under the circumstances; his brain was fried and he was already sweating bullets. Why was it so hot in this damned room? Where were the bloody fans? And, he suddenly realized he left his Nalgene on the Tube. When this class was over he was going to murder Anne.

To make matters worse, they were only ten minutes in! And where was this young lady that Anne wanted to introduce him to? It would be just Sebastian's luck that she decided not to come tonight and his birthday would be a total loss. What bollocks!

In his mental grumbling, Sebastian lost his bearings entirely. He stumbled right in the middle of his grapevine like a baby giraffe learning to walk and crashed into the woman to his right—Mrs. Potpourri-Explosion, with her blazing red hair and a figure that could only be described as 'huggably plump.'

She yelped but recovered quickly, following it up with a polite, "It's alright, dearie," not once losing her rhythm.

How were these little old ladies so graceful? It was beyond comprehension.

The song—Sebastian vaguely recognized it as merengue—soon ended. Damien, ever attentive, sprinted over to Sebastian. Sebastian braced himself.

"You're doing great!" Damien called out, flashing a grin. Sebastian desperately wanted to respond, but he found himself speechless, completely overwhelmed by the sudden crisp scent of fresh grass. And was that a hint of mint? Good lord, Damien smelled positively divine.

Clearing his throat, Sebastian glanced down at his trainers. "Thanks, mate," he mumbled, but Damien was already off, dashing back to the front of the class.

Anne snickered to Sebastian's left, but he was too distracted to verbally acknowledge her. The music had begun again, this time Michael Jackson's "Thriller." A classic for Halloween.

Did the instructors choose the songs? Sebastian hoped not. Most of the music thus far had been, frankly, uninspired. But, to be fair, he didn't think the women in the room would appreciate his taste in music. They'd more than likely complain that it was far too loud and bassy. Anne had never particularly been a fan of Kasabian, The Libertines, or even Arctic Monkeys for that matter. Her loss.

Oh no, they had moved on to salsa. No. Absolutely not.

Sebastian mimed a drinking gesture to Anne, insinuating that he was stepping out of the room for some water. She nodded as she executed what Damien called a 'right turn' without missing a beat. Sebastian felt a wave of relief at his decision to escape the room, even if only briefly.

Sebastian thought he had fled alone, but as he made his way to the drinking fountain, taking a quick sip of water, he was gob-smacked to find Mrs. Potpourri looming behind him. He stumbled to the side.

"Is this your first time attending a Zumba class?" she asked, leaning down to fill her water bottle. It was bright red, almost as vibrant as her hair.

Sebastian nodded hesitantly. "That obvious, huh?" She smiled. "You really are doing great," she said, repeating what Damien had said earlier in the class. "I'm Mrs. Evans, by the way. But you can call me Mary."

Evans. Sebastian's least favorite celebrity Chris. Of course. He somehow managed to hold back a chuckle as he drawled, "You're far too kind."

"I do try," she said, her eyes sparkling. Was Sebastian imagining it or did the corner of her lips tilt up ever so slightly? Was she… flirting with him?

No, absolutely not!

Sebastian pivoted sharply and hurried back into the fitness studio. Anne finished an impressively complex turn, then shot him a triumphant grin. "Back already?" she teased, a shit-eating smirk on her face.

"You're a menace," Sebastian muttered.

"I know I am," she shot back, "but what does that make you?"

"A fool, obviously," Sebastian said through a sigh. "Why I ever thought I could trust you…"

Anne had the audacity to shush him! The cheek of it!

And then they were back to dancing to a Pitbull song. What would Mr. Worldwide think of his music being such a hit among the geriatrics? He'd probably be less than thrilled, though the cash flow might help dull the sting a bit…

Mrs. Potpourri—erm, Evans, that is—piped in, scattering his distracted thoughts. "Oh, this song's my favorite," she said, very loudly, as if she wanted everyone to hear. "Thank you, Damien!"

Damien tossed another one of his stunning smiles in their direction, his eyes snagging on Sebastian's once more. Sebastian jerked backward, swallowing nervously, then promptly choked on his own saliva. He burst into a fit of coughing.

The next thing he knew Damien was beside him, thumping him on the back vigorously.

"Breathe, breathe," he said calmly amid thump after embarrassing thump.

Sebastian attempted to get a word in edgewise but he was too busy literally choking. Bloody fucking hell.

"What's his name?" he heard Damien ask Anne amidst his hacking. Anne stood beside him looking as if she might burst into laughter at any second. Yes, Sebastian was definitely going to murder her after class. That was decided.

"Sebastian," she answered.

"Sebastian," Damien practically crooned. His voice was rich, as if it were dripping with honey. "Sebastian, take a breath." Sebastian did as he was told. He took another.

"Good, good."

Once again, his nose was swept up in a sharp tide of grass and mint. He could almost picture himself at a football match on Christmas Day. God, why did Damien smell so good?

"I'm alright," Sebastian finally managed to eke out. His whole body felt like he had just been thrown into a blazing fire. He knew his freckled cheeks had utterly betrayed him.

Damien looked away, perhaps embarrassed for him. Or maybe to stifle a laugh. Sebastian hadn't the foggiest idea.

"We only have a song or two left before cool-down," Damien said. "You can sit them out if you'd like and wait for your… sister?" he finished as a question. Anne nodded at him in affirmation as Sebastian shook his head vehemently. He was doing that a lot today.

"No, I can do it," he stated firmly. Damien narrowed his eyes. Sebastian noted it seemed to be more of an inquisitive stare than a challenge though. "I can do it," he repeated, probably lamely, but whatever. There was no possible way he was going to give up now. Sebastian didn't care if he passed out cold on the floor from asphyxiation. He was going to prove to this man—his two left feet be damned—that he could finish his class. That he could keep up with his minuscule sister, with these elderly women.

His determination gave him pause though. Why did he even care? Surely Damien wouldn't give him a second thought after this class was over. Sebastian wouldn't be back. Sebastian wouldn't think about Damien ever again either… right? Dammit, he was lying to himself if he thought that statement was true.

For there was something about Damien.

Something in the graceful way he demonstrated the moves for the class, the deep rumble of his voice as he called out affirmations, and then, of course, there was his addictive scent.

Damien chose that very moment to release his hair from his low bun. Sebastian couldn't look away. Cascades of golden blond hair shimmered in the harsh fluorescent lighting, bouncing coquettishly against the top of Damien's shoulders as he finished a move. Sebastian released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

Oh my god.

Oh my god, was he bisexual ? Had thirty years of his life passed him by and he'd never even realized?

Surely not. Surely not! No… Damien was just very feminine. Right?

Sebastian would know if he were into men by thirty years old, wouldn't he?

And then it hit him. Chris Hemsworth. Why did he go to the cinema five times to view The Cabin in the Woods in the first place? Chris Motherfucking Hemsworth. It wasn't like the man was a BAFTA Award-winning actor. He was merely a sight for sore eyes. He was eye candy. Man candy.

God dammit! Sebastian was very, very bisexual. And he was having this revelation during the middle of a Zumba class, beside his sister, sandwiched between at least a dozen middle-aged women, on his thirtieth birthday. Bugger it all.

He gulped as the final song ended. He couldn't stay for the cool-down. He needed to get out of this room. Now. Right now. He grabbed Anne by the shoulder and practically carried her out of the fitness studio as she shouted out in protest. Sebastian averted his gaze but managed to catch Damien's eyes widening before he whipped around and exited the room, irascible twin sister in tow.

Once the door clicked shut behind them, and ensuring they were out of earshot of the gym rats, Sebastian set Anne back down on solid ground.

"What are you doing?" Anne hissed, her eyes blazing.

Why was she angry? It was Sebastian who should be angry! Which he was. Extremely!

"Why didn't you say something?" he demanded, crossing his arms across his chest.

Anne glowered back at him. "What are you prattling on about?"

"The instructor! Damien!"

"What of him?" Sebastian glared. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Out with it, then. I want to hear you say it."

It took Sebastian far too long to realize he was tapping his foot on the floor furiously. "You were going to introduce me to him !"

"By Jove, he's got it!"

Sebastian released an exasperated sigh. "How did you even know I'd be interested in a man?"

Anne paused. She tilted her head at him curiously. Then, to Sebastian's complete shock and annoyance, she started to laugh. Why was she laughing ? Dammit!

"You didn't know you were bi?" she said through a guffaw. Sebastian merely stared back at her, his cheeks growing hot. Again. Her face slackened. Her expression shifted to complete astonishment. "You didn't know," she repeated, this time more seriously. "I figured you knew. I mean, I am, so why wouldn't you be?"

"What?" Sebastian stammered.

"Oh come off it, Sebastian. Don't play coy—you knew I liked women too."

"I most certainly did not!"

"Really? Even back when Ominis and I were on a break at school?"

Sebastian shook his head. "Oh. Well, erm…Poppy and I…" "I don't want to know!" He clapped his hands to his ears. "Stop right there!"

"I'm stopping, I'm stopping!"

She raised an eyebrow. "Ominis is bi, too, you know." "Excuse me?"

"Why do you think he hates Hobhouse so much?"

Absolutely not . Sebastian took a step back. "Now I know you're messing with me," he tried, hoping he was correct.

She burst into laughter. "Okay, okay. You got me there. But he did tell me he kissed Garreth once." "No!"

"Yes." "You're kidding." "Swear down!"

Sebastian brought a hand to his forehead and began to rub at it vigorously. "At this rate, I'm questioning everything—myself included."

"Someone has to."

He gave her a good shove. "Rude," she complained, but Sebastian noted her tone was light and airy. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Now it was Anne's turn to cross her arms and tap her foot impatiently.

"What do you mean?" he asked, frowning.

She nodded toward the fitness studio door, which was now open. The crowd of middle-aged women were already streaming out. Well, it appeared class had (finally) ended. So why wasn't Sebastian relieved?

"Go on, then—go get him, tiger!" Anne laughed, giving him a firm push.

Sebastian gulped. How exactly did one approach a man? He guessed he was about to find out.

He had barely stepped through the door when Damien practically materialized before him. Sebastian's heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

"Thanks for coming today!" Damien said, grinning. "It was nice to see a male face in my class for once." He was speaking so quickly that Sebastian could hardly keep up—and he completely missed the last bit. But Damien was now looking at him expectantly. Shit.

"Uh…what?" Sebastian said, rather dumbly.

Damien chuckled, toying with a loose strand of his long blond hair. "I asked if you'd come again," he repeated, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"Hm?" Sebastian's attention had drifted, far too entranced by the way Damien's long, slender fingers teased through his hair. Sebastian wanted to be the one doing that.

Oh god, Damien had asked a question. Shit! Shit, shit, shit.

He snapped back to reality to find Damien smiling, eyebrows raised. "Will you be coming to my class again?"

"Oh." Sebastian hesitated, unsure of what to say. He didn't want to lie, but he also didn't want to let Damien down.

Perhaps sensing his indecision, Damien filled the silence. "No pressure. I was just curious." "To be honest…I don't think I'm cut out for Zumba."

Damien's smile faltered very slightly. It seemed as if he was trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible. "Fair enough," he replied. "Well, thanks for coming, then." He gave a polite nod and started to turn away.

"Wait!" Sebastian blurted out. He was bungling this entirely. Why was he like this?

Damien turned back around and searched Sebastian's face.

"I… erm…could I maybe have your number?" he heard himself ask, barely believing it.

Damien's eyebrows shot up, but then a carefree grin spread across his handsome face. All of Sebastian's thoughts emptied at once as warmth flooded through him from head to toe—and then some. Most notably, a steady pool of it settled low in his belly, just above his waistband. He shifted his stance, trying to ignore the uncomfortable pressure as he waited, pulse thrumming, for Damien's reply.

"I thought you'd never ask," Damien said, pulling his mobile out of his pocket.

And just like that, Sebastian Sallow was stepping into new territory: showing interest in a man. On his thirtieth birthday, no less. Truly, the universe had a sense of humor. Did wonders never cease?

Sebastian sauntered out of the fitness studio, feeling rather chuffed with himself. He spotted Mrs. Evans by the door, likely lingering to thank Damien for the class—she struck him as the exceptionally polite type.

"He's all yours now," Sebastian said with a casual nod. Mrs. Evans just smiled back, an odd twinkle in her eye that almost looked… mischievous.

She raised a hand in farewell, then called out, "Ready to go, Damien?"

Huh? Did Damien know this woman outside of class?

Damien whipped off his headset and began gathering his things. "Coming, Mum!"

…Oh. Oh. Well. That explained that, then. Damien Evans. It figured.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x oc #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy sebastian #hogwarts legacy oneshot #hogwarts legacy art #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy modern au #anne sallow #hogwarts legacy anne sallow #crack fic #kinda?#I'd like to thank my Zumba class of the past three years for sparking the idea for this fic #they are the true MVPs #not that any of them are on Tumblr LMAO #OH GOD I HOPE THEY'RE NOT

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justsome-di · 2 months ago

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Brief Character Intro and Excerpt!

My project, Angel, is in-progress! I think I've re-written the same five chapters like four times now. But I did make some progress tonight! I've also decided to make this project first-person, present tense... so we'll see how that goes.

I provided a few slides of my wip intro slides for context. For further context: this part comes right after Angel drinks himself sick at a party. Kai is the leader of the group and the oldest--hence, very protective of Angel.

Hours later, the bright, red lights of the alarm clock on my nightstand read 5:06 am and causes a splitting pain through my head. I feel sick again but not in the immediate way like at the club. My stomach burns. My heart is racing. My mouth feels like something crawled inside of it and died. I’m lying in damp bedsheets, wet from my own sweat.

For a few seconds, I don’t know where I am. But I feel the cold blast of the air conditioner on my face, and I hear sheets ruffling next to me. The overly-starched sheets scrape against each other. And I remember the hotel, the night of drinking, vomiting in some bougie bathroom, and Kai in bed with me.

There’s a glass of room-temperature water by my head. I grab it with my heavy hand and gulp it down. When it’s gone, I wish there were more, but I have no energy or coordination to get up and refill it.

I roll over, then, hoping I can fall back asleep until the rest of the alcohol is out of my system. I find a dry patch of bed next to Kai.

I press into Kai’s side and lay my head on his shoulder. He always runs warm, and I curl into his heat to take refuge from the air conditioner.

Only a few years ago, Kai and I shared a bed all the time. Whenever I was homesick or emotionally beat from work or when there were just not enough beds for all five of us when traveling, he bunked with me with no comment. He never minded being kicked or punch or cuddled through the night.

Like instinct, in his sleep, Kai wraps an arm around me.

Once, when we were crammed into a small bed in a shady hotel on our first tour around Cadapor, Kai had held me tight all night. He pushed a chair against the door, wedging it underneath the doorknob. I fell asleep tucked into Kai’s chest with his arm over me and holding my hand.

I was only 14 at the time. Kai was about to turn 21. The seven-year age difference meant Kai had a solid six inches on me and a good 30 pounds. Back then, nothing felt more safe than having Kai protect me from rolling off the bed and shielding me from whatever or whoever could break in through the door. He felt big and safe, and I genuinely thought back then that nothing bad would happen to me as long as he was there.

My eyes adjust to the darkness in my current hotel room, and I can see shadows and outlines of the tall, oak furniture and high walls around me. It’s an actual bedroom. Nothing shady. No chairs shoved under doorknobs. No loud footsteps or shouting coming from the halls.

Attached behind the double doors in the corner is the rest of the suite. I know there’s plush furniture, new carpets, antique chairs. A large window that overlooks the entire city. There was complimentary champagne that we drank the night before and a fridge full of our requested foods. I had asked for fresh fruit and chocolate. I got waxy apples and too-sweet melons and chocolate that tasted like old dog vomit. I had pouted for an hour before Ste popped the champagne.

And turning another corner in the suite, Cas, Miga, and Ste are sleeping in their own beds. Kai’s room will be empty. One suitcase not even unpacked (because what’s the point of unpacking for 48 hours?) and a made bed.

The charge for this suite for one night is more than an entire month’s rent when we were younger and trying to cram into a small apartment together.

I blink and blink and blink and pinch myself to make sure this isn’t all a dream.

The past five years have felt like I’ve lived in two different universes. Starting out poor and performing at a tourist trap and becoming one of the most famous men on the planet gives me whiplash. Sometimes I forget the old version of myself. Skye seems like a different person from Angel. Smaller, talented but not a star, and scrappy as fuck.

Angel buys fancy smoothies and sits on a walled-in terrace to drink coffee in the morning because paparazzi have been sitting at Skye’s favorite beach spot for the past four years. Angel is driven to rehearsals because driving is unsafe, and he never had time for driving lessons anyways.

I wonder sometimes if Skye is still out there somewhere. If he found a job delivering fruit or renting bikes to tourists. I hope he’s happy if he did split apart from me at some point. I hope he’s at the beach every day, and I hope he has one of those cheap apartments along the coast that are prone to flooding and need evacuating during storms. It only took three minutes to walk to the shore from those apartments, and Skye thought that that was worth the water-warped floors and midnight evacuation sirens.

Wherever Skye is, it doesn’t matter because I’m in L.A. in bed with Kai, and I’m focusing on that to get through the night. I close my eyes again, and I listen to Kai’s breathing and his light snoring.

I lie there for a while before sleep comes again. I spend the time rubbing Kai’s shirt between my fingers. It’s an old tour shirt of ours. It’s too big, and it’s thin now, the fabric over-washed and stretched. But Kai doesn’t get rid of old things like that. He can hold onto everything, finding a perfect place for it all. From apartment to apartment to mansion, he’s never lost anything.

I’m too afraid to look at the clock again. I don’t want to see how much time is passing and how much sleep I’m losing. But eventually, my body does start to feel heavy again. I can close my eyes, and I can settle against the hard mattress and Kai’s toned bicep, and I can finally, again, sleep.

#angel #my wips #my works #original writing

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quibliography · 5 months ago

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We Are Legion (We Are Bob) by Dennis E. Taylor

Synopsis: This novel is about RobertJohansson and the future he didn't expect to have. Bob was thrilled to be part of the cryogenic program that would freeze his brain upon death for reanimation in a more technologically-advanced future; he just didn't expect to wake up suddenly a century later as a digitized version of himself. But with the emotional settings turned off, he's able to take all of it in stride. Especially when he's suddenly jettisoned from the planet on a mission that will hopefully save humanity from itself.

My Quibs: This is my kind of book - heavily nerdy without being overbearing about it, lightly philosophical without being too biased, cheeky, and a bit self-deprecating. Granted, don't take this book very seriously. It's more like a stupid sit-com you turn on for some entertainment. Firstly with the characters: there really is only one character replicated a hundred times over, who is also our tour guide and narrator. The author is a self-proclaimed software engineer (much like Andy Weir who wrote The Martian) and so the character development is pretty standard: Bob is a self-assured but self-aware human who thinks his dad jokes are funny. I think he's fun to ride with but another reviewer described him as obnoxious. I could see that to be true if you think giggling at nerd references is obnoxious. It's true, Taylor nor Bob are witty, but we can both be five-year-olds pointing and laughing at a stupid fish face. That's who you're stuck with for 500 pages. [Edit: Having started the second book in the series, i must say that I fully agree with how tedious his humor is now. As an adult, it's fun to play on the same with a five-year-old but after a couple hours, I really want to have an adult conversation with an adult again.] Secondly with the world-building, or should I say universe-building: he paints an interesting scenario and then proceeds to play his own version of make-believe. Again, another reviewer commented that Bob gets lucky a lot but I didn't focus so much on how Bob solved the problem. I was more interested in the problems that Taylor created. How would you react if you woke up the next day and you were a bunch of data in the cloud? That everyone and everything you knew had been long gone for a century? 🤔 Bob realizes his "endocrine simulation routine" is disabled and basically represses his emotions for the first several chapters and when he does choose to turn it on, we don't see his reactions/process. Which is fine by me. I'm more curious how I would write that story if my character was given this situation. How would you feel if the only way to fulfill a functional necessity and social desire was to make a version of yourself? 😬 Bob's lucky that he got along with most versions of himself and that those he didn't get alone with could leave for other parts of the universe. I suppose this concept ended up being more like a parent-child relationship than a self-reflection idea, but if I were to write it... Anyways, I thoroughly enjoyed the thought exercise that was We Are Legion and I'm looking forward to other hypothetical situations that Bob gets himself into. [Edit: I made it about a fifth of the way into For We Are Many and Taylor doesn't really open up any new themes or scenarios. It's starting to read more like rambling except because he has so many more new Bobs to cram in, each Bob chapter is only four or five pages long. I feel like I'm just reading reports from coworkers. This will be a DNF unfortunately.]

Should you read it? It’s like a beach read for nerds. (But just the first one...)

Similar reads? As another reader mentioned, this is clearly in the genre of Smart Guy Talks Nerd Directly To You ala The Martian by Andy Weir and Ready Player One by Ernest Cline.

(Spoiler Alert!) I went into the story 100% blind and so I didn't want to list more thought questions before the spoiler warning in case others wanted some plot points to still be a surprise. For instance, after Bob reaches his initial destination, the book really branches out into several stories. Normally I would struggle with tracking multiple unrelated story lines, but luckily the writing is simple enough that it wasn't as difficult as I expected. 1. Bob goes back to Earth to see if humanity is okay. 2. Bob goes further and discovers a planet with sentient life on it. 3. Bob goes further and finds viable uninhabited planets. 4. Bob goes further and encounters a hostile probe that was launched from a different country. #3 and #4 didn't really interest me so much. But #1 and #2, while really exposing the god-complex of nerds and scientists, still posed an interesting question. How would you handle dictating the remaining world population as it's least-biased savior? Would you know how to mediate a group of desperate world leaders? And this is my bias here, but I like seeing science-driven civilians being forced into a military-esque command position. (It also happens in Stargate: Atlantis.) And finally the other question: Could you be an in-actionable observer to nature? Should you be? If you were motivated to take action, how far would you be willing to intervene? This reminds me of a BTS clip of Planet Earth where the film crew in Antarctica, who normally promise not to intervene in any natural situation, ultimately did help a young penguin out of a hole in the ice. I guess it had fallen in and would've been left behind to starve but the crew, after weighing the pros and cons, decided to quickly pop the penguin out of the hole. There are other examples in Planet Earth where a small mistake like that will ultimately kill an animal (I think an elephant wandered off and got lost and was presumed to ultimately die) and it's portrayed as a consequence of life. But this time, they intervened. Bob's study of the Deltans reminded me of that again. Although Taylor exaggerates everything ten times over for the sake of literary drama but the question still exists.

What did you think of We Are Legion (We Are Bob)?

#we are legion #bobiverse #dennis e taylor

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stephsageek · 8 months ago

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An update! The latest chapter from my Five x Lila AU

A preview:

A bell rung on the door as the young woman stepped inside. Her face was wain and her dark eyes drooped. As she passed the Saint Bernard, she dipped automatically to ruffle the hair on his shaggy head. The old dog gave her a tired grin and thumped his tail as she swept past.

The old man behind the counter tracked the young woman as she moved robotically throughout the small space, scanning the shelves. Her hair was in disarray, sticking up at angles, and blood stained her face, a trail that carved a path from one nostril to the corner of her mouth. He watched as she began grabbing items, tearing open a candy bar, and cramming as much as possible into her mouth, distending her cheeks like a squirrel. As she continued to chew and move about, she began to perk up, her movements less rigid, her back straightening. She breezed down the aisles, snatching up a pair of sunglasses and pushing them onto her face, the tag hanging by her ear. She turned down another aisle, picking up momentum, scanning the few wares displayed, and snatched up a bag of chips, and a few randomly selected candy bars, her arms rapidly filling; she hugged the whole load to her chest, random items falling to the ground.

She began to hum along to the radio that continued to softly play, turning this way and that, before addressing him. “Oi, you got any coffee, grandad?” The young woman spotted a mug of coffee Amos had poured himself setting on the counter and promptly made her way over. “There we are!” She reached over and took the mug, sipping some before grimacing. “Ooph! He’ll not fancy that but beggars can’t be choosers.” She set off once again, Amos’ coffee in hand.

He was too stunned to react. After a moment he opened his mouth to protest when the woman suddenly spun. “Maps?” she asked. Again, the man was too shocked to do more than stare. The woman frowned and began to gesture around her, spinning in place. “An atlas? A Phillips Navigator? A Thomas Guide? The bloody Cantino Planisphere? Anything?!” she demanded visibly growing angry.

The man pointed past her right shoulder to a display of maps and brochures, most faded and old.

“Brillant! Thanks a million, gaffer!” she grinned, scanning the display before seemingly finding what she’d been looking for. She plucked it up, dropping a few more items as she precariously balanced her load while carrying his steaming mug in one hand.

“We don't often get foreigners way out in the sticks,” the man commented on her accent, letting the topic of his coffee go.

The woman turned and flashed him a brilliant smile. “In a lovely place like this?”

The old man frowned, unsure if she was being facetious or not.

“You folks…” he trailed off as he glanced at the Chevy outside.

The older man scratched at his head and paced, seemingly at a loss. In a fit of sudden frustration, he kicked one of the flat tires only to jump back as the car suddenly lurched, groaning before it collapsed, all four tires bending at a 45° angle, the bottom of the undercarriage hitting the ground with a thud.

“...having some car troubles?” the old man finished.

“Oh, you know how these things are! It always looks worse than it is!” the woman breezily waved off his concern. Outside the old man stepped back as the Chevy’s hood began to spray steaming water, the gasket likely blown.

The old man nodded skeptically.

The woman chuckled nervously, coughing into her fist once before speaking. "Well, we may need an alternate form of transportation,” the woman allowed. “You know, something with a fresh coat of paint…” she grinned, piling her wares on the counter. She leaned forward and lifted her sunglasses, squinting at the name tag sewn onto the front of his worn shirt, “…’ Amos.’”

“Well, it may not got a ‘fresh coat of paint,’ but I got an old rusted Ford that's seen better days. It would certainly be a sight better than what you and your…” Amos trailed off, unsure how to describe the relationship between these two strangers.

“’ Partner,’” the woman happily supplied.

Amos nodded, acknowledging this information. “What you and your partner’s currently are workin’ with. I suppose I could always...sell it,” he offered reluctantly.

“Brillant!” she enthused, tearing open a packet of cookies and stuffing a few too many into her mouth. Amos frowned at the sudden brightness in her eyes as she chewed, tiny flecks of cookie crumbs scattering across the counter.

“You and your partner…salesmen or somethin’?” He wondered aloud as he continued to punch in numbers on his register.

“Something like that,” the woman replied.

Amos could feel an odd tension as he watched her stare with her sunglasses, leaning a bit too close, one hand behind her back.

“…what—what do you folks deal in?”

Suddenly and without warning, there was a gun pointed at his nose. The woman gave a slow grin.

“We deal in lead, friend.”

#five x lila #tua fanfic #ao3 link #five hargreeves #lila pitts #five x lila fanfic #tua au #five x lila au #my fanfiction #fanfic update #the hoffa job

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meetinginsamarra · 1 year ago

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mayprompts2024 #6,

Read part one (using the prompt “box”) here

Read part two (using the prompt “familiar”) here

Read part three (using the prompt “fall”) here

Read part four (using the prompt “awkward”) here

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If you thought the last chapter/prompt was awkward (LOL) it's not getting better.

The testing intensifies...

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The Perfect Place - Part Five

John needed a handkerchief to deal with his sweaty fore head and since he also needed to fetch the catalogue with the type-of-boxspring-in-relation-to-body-weight spreadsheet, he went to the counter.

Opening the drawer, he saw his gun lying on top of it. He took out both, cramming the catalogue under his arm and shoving the gun into the front pocket of his corduroy trousers. As ugly as the trousers were, they had the undeniable advantage of sporting a baggy cut with spacious front pockets so the gun could vanish easily in its depths.

(To be fair, normally John would not have touched this pair of trousers with a ten-foot pole. But he had assumed they would make him look like a trustworthy and respectable salesman and they let him hide the gun easily. Also, they had cost him nothing since he had inherited them from his sister Harry and practical as John was, he would not simply throw them away.) (Which would have been better, actually.)

Anyway, the familiar feeling of the gun’s cold metal against his body gave John some much-needed emotional support in further dealing with this intense (John meant arousing) customer. It distracted him from salivating (too) openly over the client. John could not risk that the man would get cold feet because of John being creepy and leaving the shop without buying the bed. Luckily, today John also wore a long cardigan, therefore the gun was practically invisible.

(The cardigan was another piece of exceptionally ugly clothing John had inherited via Harry. His sister on the other hand had also inherited the cardigan via their grandfather who had been gifted the hand-knitted atrocity by his wife. The grandmother had been an avid cat lover and had adorned the cardigan’s front with several hand-stitched cat faces.)

John returned to the customer and found him staring into space with a dazed expression and observed a weird smile forming on this beautiful face.

Meanwhile, Sherlock had been in a daze. He couldn’t believe his luck. John had actually picked his brain earlier to learn if he was gay and single, ergo John was interested in his person apart from selling the bed.

Sherlock had also noticed that the delightful rigidity he had attested while testing the mattress had been mirrored in John’s midsection. Even the baggy corduroy trousers had not been able to hide all of the rising bump. Sherlock deduced that John had been aroused and the only source could have been Sherlock himself and concluded further that his plan was working out fine.

Originally, the steps had been to get John to move into 221b as Sherlock’s flatmate and then seduce him into being his boyfriend. But apparently, it went the other way around and Sherlock had made John fall in love with him already, putting the flatmate-thing onto second position. This was perfectly okay, just a little bump in the way of totally winning John over.

Sherlock decided to step it up a notch with the testing. He wanted to see how far John would go and how far he could push him respectively. (Sherlock assumed that it would be important for their later relationship to know what he could get away with.) He needed to see how John would react in a precarious situation.

Sherlock watched John returning with the catalogue, fixed his eyes on him, smiled and offered his hand.

“Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. Potential partners should know each other’s names. I’m Sherlock Holmes.” (Sherlock was so exited that he got a bit ahead himself.)

John stopped dead in his tracks. What? We’re partners? Since when? I didn’t notice… his brain fired frantic questions at him. Blood pounded in his ears.

Sherlock cleared his throat, realizing his blunder. “Business partners, that’s what I wanted to say. As in you sell the bed and I buy it. Therefore, we do business with each other, right?” That was close, he thought.

“Oh, sure, sure. John Watson, pleased to meet you. Again.” John released his breath. “Great. The deluxe bed suits you, then?”

“Yes, well, all seems very promising.” Sherlock looked at John from under his long eyelashes, deliberately changing his voice to a lower register because he knew exactly what effect this had on other men. (And women, but Sherlock din’t care about that.)

“Yet, I have to test the mattress for real. May I lie down, please?”

+++++

The Bed Shop Boys will continue to be idiots in love tomorrow!

tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @peanitbear @raina-at

#mayprompts2024 #number 6 cold #calais_reno #my sherlock fanfics #the perfect place #no beta we die like (wo)men

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the-tmnt-ficfinder · 9 months ago

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Ficfinder finds: Adagio in Green: Panacea

Rottmnt Fanfic Summary: They stopped the apocalypse, but it's left them in bad shape. Leo's shell is in pieces. Mikey won't wake up. Donnie can hardly move. Raph's barely holding himself together. They're going to need all the help they can get to survive in the wake of the invasion. It’s a good thing they’re not alone. --------- A post-movie story about processing grief and trauma, and how the road to recovery isn't always a straight line.

Adagio in Green: Panacea : Appraisal and Ratings

(Don't know what fanfic "Appraisal and Ratings" means? Check out my explanation on my Main Masterpost! Looking for a different fanfic to read? Head on over to my Fanfic List Masterpost!)

Disclaimer: This fanfic is written by @boxfullaturtles, so go check them out! This fic is only available to those who have an Ao3 profile. This fanfic is unfinished, and still updating, so as the fic updates, the post will too!

The fanfic ratings are not based on quality, favoritism, or how good I think it is, but rather, how intense a subject may be. Like a movie review, or the tags on Ao3, letting the readers know what to expect.

Plot: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Plot is five out of five!! Adagio in Green: Panacea, has a highly intense plot, and a very riveting storyline!! A lot of things happen in little amounts of time, and as such, this story is very thrilling!! The plot for this fic is very in depth, as each of the brothers has their own struggles to deal with."

Suspense/Mystery: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Suspense/Mystery is five out of five!! This fic has loads of suspense!! Like, loads!! As this fic is a post invasion recovery fic, the boys are to no ones surprise very injured. The suspenseful bit is the recovering, as this fic has quite the amount of stressful medical drama!!"

Angst/Hurt: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Angst/Hurt is five out of five!! Oh man, this fic has so much angst and hurt crammed into it!! The poor boys are having to go through so much!! This fic has high amounts of both mental, and physical angst!!"

Fluff/Comfort: 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Fluff/Comfort is three out of five!! This fic has pretty much zero fluff, and some levels of comfort. While the boys are recovering, they do attempt to comfort one another, making the best of the situations they've been given."

Emotions Conveyed: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Emotions Conveyed is four out of five!! This fic holds high amounts of stress, and somewhat of a fear factor, as you will end up worrying deeply about the health of the boys, (Donnie in particular). As the fic progresses, more and more stress and a sense of an impending deadline are really applied!!"

Drama/Tension Level: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Drama/Tension Level is five out of five!! As I stated earlier, this fic has lots of medical drama, and along with that, family drama. There's tension between the siblings, and stress throughout many of the interactions. What I'm trying to say, is that this is not a relaxing fic to read. Its full of a lot of drama and tension!!"

Triggers: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Triggers are three out of five!! This fic has lots of triggers. It goes into depth regarding some medical scenes, and has a lot of emotional distress. This fic is not for the faint of heart. Please all stay safe, and read the tags!!"

Legibility (Reading): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Reading) is five out of five!! This whole fic is highly enjoyable to read!! Especially as it switches between POV's as each POV is so intricately written!!"

Legibility (Audio): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Audio) is five out of five!! This fic is an incredible one to listen to!! The writing format is very much compatible with audio book formatting, and as such, I highly recommend both reading it, or listening to it."

Length: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Length is four out of five!! Currently, Adagio in Green: Panacea has a chapter count of 35 chapters, and a word count of 225.5+ words though that will end up changing as the story progresses. As more chapters are added, I'll up the length rating."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adagio in Green: Panacea : Chapter List

(Chapters will be added as I rate and appraise them ^^)

Chapter 1: Recall

#tmntficfinder #ficfinder #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt #rottmnt fanfic #tmnt fanfiction #rottmnt post invasion #ficfinder finds #ficfinder finds Adagio in Green: Panacea #Adagio in Green: Panacea

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deejadabbles · 2 years ago

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Echo and Comms (Echo x Reader) Chapter Three

Summary: Who could know that a simple night out with your friend would lead to this? A life of danger and the man of your dreams. Echo x Communications Officer Reader (gender neutral). Friends to lovers/star-crossed lovers. A.N: First off I would like say I'm so sorry (!!!) this took so long to get out to anyone interested in this series! If I'm being blunt, I've been feeling rather discouraged over my Echo content. But, I still adore this man and have so many ideas on where to take this series, so, thank you to everyone who shows interest in this story! I appreciate the reblogs and comments so much! Secondly, the emotions of this chapter got away from me and before I knew it I was 3k words deep, so I'm warning you now that this is a heavy chapter, but I promise the sweet reunion and happy times are coming! I promise Word count: 3,814 Songs for listening: What Hurts the Most and Experience . Warnings: mentions and explorations of grief/loss, mentions of drinking as a coping mechanism, very heavy topics in general.

Part One /// Part Two /// Part Three /// [Part Four coming soon]

There was nothing to mourn.

That’s the reality that hit you hardest.

The clones gave everything to the republic, to the people, to the war, and they got nothing in return. You had always known that, of course. The debate of clone rights and personhood was always a raring topic since the start of the war, not that the question of their rights should be a debate at all. You had always known they were dealt a shitty hand in life, but it was never more apparent than now.

Now that there was nothing of your sweet, brave Echo to mourn.

There was no funeral, no last rites, no medals or flags given in his honor, not even a damn word of thanks for his sacrifice. His brothers would grieve for him, of course, perhaps the Jedi who had led him too, Echo had always spoken fondly of Skywalker, after all, but his brothers had no means to mourn. Not really. And no other family could offer you their shoulder, no mother or father, no one but soldiers who weren’t allowed to wear their sorrows on their sleeves.

There was nothing of Echo’s to mourn, nothing but the messages and pictures he had sent you.

They were the only proof of his existence, of his memory. That he wasn’t another number, that he was sweet and charming and smart, that he was awkward and rule-following and so damn caring. He had worried so much about his brothers, about them being remembered, and now, these communications were the only remembrance of him, of your Echo.

Eventually, you had to force yourself to stop looking them over for hours every night. Stop yourself from hoping that you would get one last comm from him. One last picture of his dorky smile, of him and Fives causing havoc. One last call to tell you he missed you, to tell you he loved you.

Echo had loved you.

And you, oh, how you had loved him too. You had fallen for him fast and hard, and now this pain was the unyielding ground at the end of that fall.

Work was your only solace. Work was an escape, a place where your mind couldn’t wander, couldn’t focus on the grief, couldn’t muse over your loss, your work was too important for that.

Mavis was your anchor, she gave you space and distractions in a good balance. Space to be alone so you weren’t just cramming your feelings in a box all day, and distractions when she knew you needed something that wasn’t work or grief.

You weren’t proud of the way you were careless with your drinks at the bar on those nights, but somehow, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care most of the time.

Days turned into weeks. The war stretched on, and death tolls rolled in every day, just numbers, faceless, dehumanized numbers. Just like your Echo.

Weeks turned into months. Work continued, a decryption there, a few lives saved here, small victories, victories that helped your pain. Each one was for your Echo now.

You had always taken pride in your work, pride in doing your part to ease this war, to win battles, but now this was just an extra layer of it, pride that you could help the brothers he had held so dear. It helped, and those around you started to notice.

Eventually, it got easier to smile throughout the day, and you started to feel less guilty over that ease. Though, you still couldn’t crack jokes quite like you used to. At some point, your trips to the bar became less about drowning your sorrow and more about spending time with friends. Though, you still recoiled every time someone tried to flirt with you.

You hoped that things could get better.

The trouble was that no one told you that hope was a dangerous thing.

A sigh pushed itself past your teeth as you leaned back, rubbing your eyes to wash away the imprint of data streams behind your lids. Just a few more hours and you could go to that nice dinner Mavis had invited you to. It was a decent day, and you felt like eating.

The break from your work must have caught attention because someone cleared their throat beside you. Moving only one hand, you cracked an eye open toward the noise. It was Taan, a young and brilliant decrypter who had been placed under your care until he learned the ropes enough to work on his own. He was holding his data pad with a question burning in his eyes.

“Yeah, kid?” you asked, fighting a yawn.

“Do you have a minute to look something over?”

Silently, you sat upright again and waved him forward, letting your other hand drop.

He paused for just a moment, thought, then must have decided it was now or never, “Do you remember last week, when we decrypted that resource update?”

“You mean the one from the techno union, advertising their fancy new battle tactic algorithm?”

“Yeah, that one! See, I was taking another look at it, and…something doesn’t fit. It bothered me the first time we looked at it, but we were too busy relaying the new information to command for me to think about at the time, but now I looked it over again and…” Fingers tapped on the underside of the data pad as he bit his lip, then he shoved it towards you, “here just look for yourself, look at the developer signatures.”

You did as asked, eyes going to the bottom of the page where the techno union had listed the people involved with creating the algorithm. If you weren’t so used to decoding the various numeric-heavy code names those tech creeps used, it would have looked like gibberish. Wat Tambor’s was the only code name you had memorized and without your key, you weren’t sure who the others were….expect.

Your chair gave a creak as you jolted forward, a little shocked.

“See it?” Taan was trying to contain his excitement at your reaction, obviously glad he wasn’t going crazy.

He wasn’t. There, right in the middle of the long list of contributors, was a strange name, not coded like the rest. ‘T1b3r’ It only had two numbers, unlike the others, meaning it had to be using a different cipher. Among the dozen confusing names, it was easy to miss.

Your mind was working overtime and you didn’t answer the kid quite yet as you pulled your chair back to your workstation, fingers dancing away at your desk unit. That didn’t stop Taan from rambling in your silence.

“I ran it through our other keys but it still didn’t make any sense, then I thought, maybe this guy’s using a whole new code we haven’t cracked yet? But in that case, why? Like why sign your contribution and make it harder to recognize your name and-”

“That’s because it’s not encoded at all,” you offered, “or at least, not a complicated code.”

“Huh?”

“You play Alderaan Gambit at all, kid?”

Taan hummed, “You mean that weird, over-complicated version of holochess? No, not really.”

Since your quick search on the net confirmed your suspicions, you leaned back in your chair again, “Well, one of the elements of the game is capturing each other’s pieces and holding them behind your ‘enemy line’ so to speak. The pieces aren’t just removed from play, they stay on the board and there are all kinds of strategies players can use to win the game with them. You know what those captured pieces are called?”

He shook his head.

“Tibers.”

Taan’s eyes went wide, “T1b3r!” he snatched his datapad back from your hands, “So… you don’t think that…?”

You hesitated, pulling your lip between your teeth, “That one of our own is being used behind enemy lines? Yeah…maybe.”

A fist slammed against your desk, nearly hitting your keyboard, and a growl pushed its way through your teeth. It was late, much later than you usually stayed, and well past your shift. You had told Taan to go home hours ago, insisting that you could wait for the response alone.

After your litter discovery, you sent it up the chain of command and leveraged your reputation to get the report marked as a priority. You knew there was a chance that, even if they did look it over today, that they may not see what the two of you saw.

The response to your report was clear: there wasn’t enough evidence to warrant further investigation.

If you weren’t running on so little sleep and half blind from staring at the screen of your desk unit for 12 hours, you might have been able to see their point. It was, admittedly, a weak connection. There were countless languages and cultures in the galaxy, so even if the code name was meant to spell out ‘Tiber’ there was little reason to think it was in reference to a strategy game and not just a birth-given name.

But still, something just didn’t sit right with you. Something was off, you could feel it in your gut, and after years of trusting your gut to stay alive, you weren’t in the habit of ignoring it.

You rubbed the corners of your tired eyes, hoping to alleviate the pressure growing there. The supervisors weren’t any help to you now, but you weren’t ready to let this go just yet. You just had to think- think of who you could go to for another opinion!

After a moment, your head jerked back up, eyes still stinging as they met your holoscreen again. A quick search in the GAR records would give you your answer, they kept close track of what battalion was where at any given moment. It was serendipitous, or maybe it was fate telling you that you were right to push this further, either way, you practically lept from your chair when you saw that the 501st were currently on Coruscant.

Even if you could let this go until tomorrow (which you couldn’t), you had to go to them tonight, they were shipping out for Ringo Vinda in the morning to aid General’s Tiplee and Tiplar.

You were already clocking out with the Corrie guards on duty before you realized you weren’t even sure who to contact or how. A part of you felt like you knew the men of the 501st, especially Torrent company.

The number of times Echo had talked about them, all the pictures he sent, the videos he recorded of their antics, they felt like old friends. Echo had wanted you to meet them all, mentioned all the time of plans for you to join his brothers on shore leave the next time they came home. A chance you two never got.

There was a sudden shake of your head as if that could brush the spiraling thoughts away. You had to focus, this wasn’t about your lost chances.

You thought about asking Mavis for Fives’ comm code, but that felt a little trange. So, instead, you checked the time and, when you realized drinking hours were just starting, you headed for your speeder bike.

You hadn’t been back to 79’s since the night you met Echo. When you two were together, it was simply because there were other bars you and your friends preferred more and now that he was gone, no one even dared mention the name of the place.

It wasn’t nearly as hard to walk in as you thought it would be. Though, that was mostly due to the fact that you were avoiding looking at any of the patrons in armor for too long. That wouldn’t last forever, of course, the whole reason you were here was to talk to someone who had the same face as him.

There wasn’t much wandering needed before you spotted a group in blue, downing shots and making a general ruckus at the bar. You recognized the large tattoo on one of them and actually smiled to yourself. A picture came to the surface of your mind, one with three of Echo’s brothers standing in a smoke-filled kitchen. The corner of Echo’s laughing face had been beside the caption: ‘They were betting on who the better cook was. They all lost’.

Again you had to tamp down the feelings welling up inside and once you had, you marched to the bar. You tapped on the armored shoulder, just before he grabbed another shot.

When he looked over his shoulder at you, you said, “Are you Jesse?”

He arched an eyebrow, then turned to face you fully, eyes scanning up and down, “Hey, you aren’t a clone.”

“Observant one, aren’t you?”

That made him smirk, “Just not used to seeing natborns in those uniforms- but yeah, I’m Jesse, what’s your name, hot lips?”

You opened your mouth, but it wasn’t your voice that called your name, instead, a hand gripped your shoulder and you turned to see Fives with concern written on his face. The moment you saw him, something that wasn’t there when you looked at Jesse gripped your heart, but like the other emotions, you swallowed it.

“Fives, is your captain here? I need to speak with Rex.”

His eyes narrowed, “Rex? Why?”

You hesitated, and the moment you did, Fives handed his drink off to someone else and guided you away from the heart of the ruckus (leaving Jesse ignored and a little bewildered).

“I just need to talk to him. Something was brought to my attention at work today and I think he might be able to help me.”

Again, Fives just stared at you, but when you only answered him with a hard stare, he sighed. “Rex is having a drink with Commander Bly,” he jabbed his thumb towards a two-seat table near the corner. Before you could shove past him, however, his grip on your arm tightened a bit. “Hey- just hold on a sec, will you? Can I at least ask how you’re doing?”

You didn’t miss the way he tried to duck into your vision, to lock his gaze with the eyes that were avoiding him. It wasn’t his fault, the emotion welling up inside, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Fives was just too wrapped up in everything that reminded you of him.

But, he still deserved an answer.

“I’m…better. Things aren’t perfect, but,” with a calming breath, you looked up as close to his eyes as possible, focusing on all the little details of his face that distinguished him from Echo. “But they’re better.”

You knew he was staring at you still, maybe searching your face, maybe looking for signs of a lie or cover-up. After a moment, though, he sighed and straightened up. “Alright. Hey, before you leave, tell me, I’ll walk you home, okay?”

A smile flickered across your lips, Fives really was sweet, despite his playboy bravado. After giving his arm a gentle squeeze, you moved past him toward where Rex and his friend sat. As if by fate, the other man, Bly, got up before you closed in, heading for the bar for another round.

Rex’s gaze flicked up from his empty glass when he caught your movement in the corner of his eye.

“Captain Rex?”

“Yes, may I help you?” he asked, looking you over.

You held your hand out, and when you gave your name, his eyes widened. So, he did know of you. That made sense, Echo once said that he ‘bragged’ about you every chance he got, even to his captain. Before Rex could say anything, however, you got to business, “I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, Captain, but I need your help with something, do you have a moment?”

Rex didn’t hesitate, after casting a eyes to the bar and sharing a look with someone, presumably his friend, he waved for you to take a seat.

“Did you receive the report on the Techno Union’s new battle algorithm?” you asked once settled in the seat. He nodded, and so, you explained your situation, your theory, and what brought you to it, and how the higher-ups didn’t think it important enough to investigate.

When you finished, Rex continued to stare at you for a moment, then, “Alright, so why have you come to me?”

“Because I-” you paused, mind faltering. You had a reason, of course you did, but how to put it? Your eyes dropped to the table for a moment, you thought, then darted your gaze back up to his with a sign, “Maybe I just want to know if I’m wasting my time. Captain, do you think a trooper would send a message like that? Or am I drawing conclusions where there aren’t any?”

For a moment, all Rex did was stare back at you, maybe mulling over his answer, maybe considering you, personally. Maybe both. “I mean, it’s possible. Anything is, I suppose. It would have to be a clone with advanced training, like a commando, or an ARC, and of course, to even know the reference to a tiber piece, they’d have to be familiar with Alderaan Gambit in the first-”

Rex cut himself off, mouth clapping shut and eyes going wide again.

That’s when it hit you too.

“Echo,” you breathed, mind connecting this line and that rapidly. “Why didn’t I think of it before?” Something warm flickered in your chest, something small but blooming as you thought over the possibility of your beloved.

Hope. It was a spark of hope.

Your rambling continued as the blanks filled themselves in, “Echo used to talk about how he played Alderaan Gambit with- with you, Rex! How you used to come up with battle strategies together while playing. If he was captured, maybe they realized his strategic skills, and now-!”

The spark was fanning itself by this point.

“Now he’s trapped, somehow forced to help their own battle strategies. But he’s too smart to let them get away with it.”

“Stop.”

“And not to mention his ARC training would include advanced splicing, which he’d need to hack into their reports to alter them. He would have all the skills to send us a message. And he would-”

“Stop!”

The sharp firmness of Rex’s tone caught you off guard, words fumbling in your mouth as your mind came to a screeching halt. When your eyes snapped up to his, a hard expression that had taken over his features. It softened a little, but his gaze said it all and you felt oddly chastised under it.

Echo is gone. Echo is dead.

That spark in your chest dimmed.

Then, Rex sighed and placed a hand on your shoulder. “You can’t do that to yourself, little one. Believe me.” He paused for a moment, perhaps thinking, maybe collecting himself. “You can’t… hold on to the dead. It will tear you up inside more than anything. More than the loss, more than the grief, even the memories. Holding on will hurt you most in the end.”

The hand tightened a little, almost affectionate, almost… paternal. His eyes were soft and full of years of hard-earned experience. Years of his own grief, of his own loss.

“Echo wouldn’t want that for you. He would want you to let him go, so you can heal.” Rex let his hand fall, gaze fixed on his drink again and you found that you were swallowing a sour taste in your throat. “We all have to move on. It’s the only way we can survive.”

The lining of sorrow in his words was the water that doused the remainder of that spark. Hope melted away like snow on skin and it stung just the same.

Again you found yourself choking on something in your throat; the bitterness of rising tears.

The way Rex kept his eyes unfocused on his hands said all that needed to be said, so you stood rather abruptly. “I’m sorry for taking up your time, Captain. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

You thought he might have tilted his head back up to you as you turned to leave, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Besides that, he didn’t say or do anything as you walked away. There was a ringing in your ears as you went, and suddenly, wading through the crowd of patrons made your skin feel like it was on fire.

Everything was too loud now, the music pressing in on your ears, the lights burning your eyes. You felt dizzy as something else stung your eyes, that sour taste thickening in your throat as you burst through the doors. The stale city air did little to calm you, and you found yourself staggering to the side, trying to find any sort of privacy as your chest clawed itself with pain.

You had just ducked behind a row of speeder bikes when the tears broke free, a sob ripping your throat apart from the effort of holding it in. The sound bounced off the side of the building and echoed down the alley, just as the tears soaked into the permacrete without a care.

The grief that had gotten better rolled over you like a tidal wave. Once again it pulled you under as if you hadn’t made any progress at all.

How could you be so stupid? How could you think that he was alive, that he had defied all odds and sent you some secret message? This wasn’t some romance novel, love and hope couldn’t change reality. Death didn’t just reverse because you begged it to. Stupid stupid stupid-

Once again your mind stalled as arms, warm and gentle, closed around you. Someone guided you to sit, calling your name so softly you almost couldn’t hear it over your own ragging thoughts. A hand tucked you close to an armored chest as they started a slow rocking motion with your bodies.

Stunned, you looked up past the armor and through the tears to find the kindest brown eyes you had seen since your last call with Echo.

“It’s alright, vod’ika,” he whispered, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Fives tucked your head under his chin, still rocking you as he rubbed your back and repeated his assurances.

The waves came again with a vengeance and this time, you let it happen. You curled into his embrace and wept, tears and sobs coming without restraint. It didn’t matter how long you two sat there like that, Fives held you the entire time. It didn’t matter that he was shipping out in the morning, he spent his night comforting you through every moment of the reopening wounds.

Hope was a dangerous thing. It hadn’t been a spark inside you, it had been a fire.

And you know what they say about fire.

Tag List: @blueink-bluesoul @anxiouspineapple99 @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @commander-sunshine @dystopicjumpsuit @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @arcsimper5 @littlemissmanga @wings-and-beskar @clonemedickix

#if any one notices the different style of the header for this chapter just know it was intentional #I'm trying to be poetic or something lol #arc trooper echo x reader #echo x reader #tbb echo x reader #arc trooper echo x you #echo x you #echo reader insert #series: echo and comms #deeja writes

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noiriarti · 11 months ago

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The Arrangement: Armitage Hux x Reader (College AU) Ch. 3

Summary: A cuddle-buddies-to-lovers college AU.

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, [Ch. 3], Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6

Chapter 3: Four Knocks

He felt even more fucked the next morning. He had promised himself he would not fall asleep with you there, and instead spend the night on the couch. But he wanted five more minutes. And so he five-more-minutes-ed his way into falling asleep remarkably quickly. Unlike most other nights, he didn't wake up tossing and turning, or stare at the ceiling and beg for sleep to come. But that was a problem.

When he woke up, it wasn't to his blaring alarm clock. The room was silent, apart from the sound of your breathing. Right. Your breathing. He was in bed. With you. Maybe five more minutes wouldn't hurt. As he drifted off, he saw the clock he kept on his desk. It was fucking noon.

Armitage had very regimented days, and sleeping in until noon was not part of the plan. He usually loved days crammed with activities and tasks. They kept him on target, made sure he achieved all his goals, and prevented him from thinking too carefully about what he really wanted in life. Today, however, he found himself wanting to do none of his usual routine. He'd already slept through orgo and the gened he shared with Phasma--did it really matter if he didn't do his stupid MCAT flashcards?

After laying there for over half an hour, in and out of sleep while still holding you, he decided he should probably wake you. The very thought seemed cruel; you were so angelic like this, the frizzes in your hair caught by the morning light, your lips parted just so. Your hand had gotten under his at some point in the night, and he tentatively rubbed a gentle circle with his thumb over your knuckles.

But he really should wake you, he reasoned. Armitage said your name and squeezed your hand (and decided not to process that he was holding your hand), but you didn't shift. He repeated himself, louder this time, and then again, which drew a groan from you.

"I'm up, I'm up," you grumbled. You shifted under his arm, turning around to face him with your eyes still closed. He found himself almost smiling at you, so clearly pretending.

"Alright, then open your eyes," he teased. You produced some sort of noise, obviously displeased, but opened your eyes to look at him.

"The good news is you got plenty of sleep, but the bad news is that it's 12:30," he said. Your eyes widened, and you bolted upright in bed and cursed, looking for your phone, or a clock, or something to prove him wrong. He was, unfortunately, completely correct, which meant that you had missed one class, and half of another. Goodbye, sweet attendance points.

"Well, there's nothing I can do about it now. Besides, I'm in Discrete Math and Algorithms with one of my friends, Dopheld, and he can send me the notes," you said. The silence hung between you for a few seconds. "Want some breakfast? I mean, lunch? ...Brunch?" Armitage nodded, and you hopped out of his bed to go back to your room and change.

Ten minutes later, he found you in the kitchen, making yourself an obscenely large bowl of Lucky Charms. You offered the box to him, and he hesitated. Usually, he ate two cups of Greek yogurt with rolled oats, a teaspoon of honey, and fruit, if someone else hadn't eaten it already. Lucky Charms were calorically inefficient, according to his stepmother Maratelle.

Fuck it. He poured the cereal into the bowl and covered it with milk, then went to perch on the couch. Millie, who had spent the night somewhere around your feet, came up to lay next to him. Gwen had sent him a couple of texts asking where he was, and then just sent her notes when class had ended. While drunk on wine, once, he had bitched to her about how little sleep he got, and, since then, she had been buying him melatonin gummies and encouraging him to sleep through his early morning classes. You deserve it, she said, although Armitage wasn't sure he "deserved" anything, really. Working hard was the entire reason he came here.

You sat down next to him, thighs touching again, and ate your cereal with a vicious speed. By the time you finished, he was barely a quarter of the way through, so you got up and made yourself another bowl. Between mouthfuls, you determined you would be the first to speak.

"So, we should probably talk," you said. Apparently, that was the best you could come up with.

"Is everything alright?" Hux asked, although he really meant to ask what he did wrong, and beg you to give him one more night. The desperation with which he wanted to touch you, to hold you again was staggering. He didn't remember where it came from, and it shocked him. You didn't seem any the wiser to his generally panicked state, so you continued eating the cereal.

"Yeah, just thought we might want to establish some ground rules. Like, no sex, just cuddling." Armitage nodded. "And we can end at any time one of us wants to." He nodded again. "And we shouldn't tell Gwen and Kylo. They wouldn't let us live it down." Armitage chuckled, but nodded. "Finally, I think we should promise to tell each other if we catch feelings. And just, be honest in general."

"Agreed." The final rule worried him for some reason he couldn't quite place, but he let it go. "Perhaps we could meet later in the night, when Gwen and Kylo are asleep? They tend to sleep earlier than I do, so we could meet around 12:45? Oh, and we do not have to meet each night. Just text me if you want to," he added. You smiled at him, finished your cereal, and the two of you watched garbage Netflix shows for two more hours before going back to work.

And so, your arrangement was born. Most days, he'd get a text from you in the afternoon saying something like "see you tonight?" or "hang out later?" and he knew to expect you. At 12:45 am, almost on the dot, he'd hear it. Tap tap tap tap. Always four, always quiet. What you did each night varied. Sometimes, you wanted to be quiet and rest, but, on others, you'd go through your day and tell him about what had happened in class, and he found himself telling you about his day, too. About how he loved chemistry, but was terrified of med school. Of the responsibility. His medical ethics gened with Gwen was really scaring the bejeezus out of him.

About three nights in, you turned to him and said that you should get to know each other better. Each of you would ask 5 questions of the other, you said. He answered your questions with ease the first night. Favorite animal? Cats. Duh. Favorite TV show? Doctor Who. Best friend? Gwen, probably. Last time he went on a date? A year ago. Why become a doctor? That one was much harder. Because it felt like the right thing for him to do, he said. Because he liked it.

He asked the same questions right back. Cats, Friends, also probably Gwen, last month, and because the pay is better in computer science. He tried not to dwell on the fact that you had been on a date recently (by his standards). He casually inquired if you were still seeing them, but you told him it didn't go well. He didn't ask more questions about it.

Night over night, though he found your closeness and warmth incredible, he realized he was looking forward to hearing about your day more than anything. The tap tap tap tap on his door meant he'd ask you five questions about you--not just the you that went to classes and put food out for Millie, but the real you. The core of you. One time, when your head was on his chest and he was trying to slow his heart down so you wouldn't hear it, you asked him about his insecurities (how pale he was, that he wasn't smart enough for med school). When he asked you the same question, you listed some that baffled him. What did you mean, your voice? Or your hair? Or that you felt like you were always behind everyone else in class? It broke his heart to hear you speak about yourself like that, which he immediately told you, and regretted. He whispered into the night that you had a great voice, and he thought your hair was very good hair, and that you had literally caught up to the compsci juniors in half a year, so you could be nothing short of brilliant. He didn't see it, but a tear or two slipped out.

A month into your arrangement, Armitage took stock of his life, and realized you probably knew him better than he did. Some mornings, he'd come out of his room and find a bowl with two cups of Greek yogurt with rolled oats, a teaspoon of honey, and strawberries. Just how he liked it. And he would grab you lunch right before the dining halls closed, so that when you arrived ten minutes later after class, you could still have food.

It was little things that alerted Phasma to whatever you two had going on. The unsubtle mooning eyes Armitage was giving you across the living room were disgusting, but confirmation. You were making he same face at him when he was poring over his books five minutes later, which was doubly disgusting, but double confirmation. It was time to do something about it.

Two days later, when she had left class, Phasma sent a text to the roommate group chat, like she always did around that time. Lunch? Within 5 minutes, Armitage had sent a thumbs up, and you had liked the message. Kylo left it on read, which was Kylo-speak for yes. Thirty minutes later, you were gathered in the Holdo Dining Hall, eating a variety of carbs, as usual. Kylo was giving a replay of something that had happened at their last match (something about their goalman getting hit in the face by the ball?), when Phasma interrupted him with your name.

"Yeah?" You asked nonchalantly. Gwen smiled like a predator about to catch its prey, mainly because she was.

"I've got some juicy gossip about you," Gwen singsonged. Armitage's head whipped around. He didn't even realize he had been staring at you. Gossip? About you? That was probably about some party you went to. You had skipped last Saturday, and, after surviving the bone-crushing emptiness of his room, you had told Armitage the next night that the party was absolutely insane and featured multiple friends-of-friends making out. His heartbeat accelerated. What if you had kissed someone there?

"I know someone who has a crush on you."

Armitage's heart stopped.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

AN: all four of them share a brain cell, and phasma has it 99% of the time

#armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #armitage hux/reader #armitage hux/you #general hux x you #general hux x reader #general hux/you #general hux/reader #general hux fanfic #armitage hux fanfiction #armitage hux #star wars sequels #fanfiction

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chaoticstoryalchemist · 5 months ago

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Steven Universe, Season 1 Episode 1, "Gem Glow"

I've seen Steven Universe four times, and now I'm blogging the fifth watch. Because I have SO MUCH to love and so much to say about this show.

First things first: Getting through about the first half of the first season feels like a random silly kids show, and you're not sure what all the fuss is about. But trust. Stick with it. You will cry. This show is about the rebellion of queer love and the appreciation of humanity over capitalism. But first, there's ice cream sandwiches and fry monsters and cat-finger body horror. I promise it pays off.

Let's Talk Worldbuilding

This show starts us right off with the knowledge that this is a place where Magical Stuff Happens.

We start with Steven in The Big Donut lamenting the discontinuation of his favorite ice cream sandwich. Lars says he should just make some "with his magic bellybutton."

Bam. Steven has a gemstone embedded in his cute lil tummy. (A surprise tool that will help us later!).

Then Steven goes home and is immediately tackled by a monster, and we meet the Crystal Gems who are fighting a ton of centipeetles, which poof into clouds of air upon their demise.

We get a couple very worldbuildy sentences from Pearl during this fight.

"We'll get these centipeetles out of your room."

"We think they were trying to get into the temple."

-> This tells us that the Big Lady we see as we pan over Steven's house is housing a temple, and that the "normal" house has been built on as an addition. For Steven. Because he's not a normal gem.

The amount of information Rebecca Sugar can cram into one line of dialogue is decadent.

Steven thinks the monsters are cool and says the gems don't have to poof them. As we find out throughout five seasons, a movie, and a sequel series, STEVEN'S POWERS RUN ON HIS EMPATHY. But in episode one, we don't know shit about that. We just know he's a silly little kid. I love seeing his empathy seeded here. That's some good Chapter One shit.

Let's Talk Character Development

Upon meeting the Crystal Gems, here's what we see and what we hear.

First, Amethyst pulls the attacking centipeetle off Steven. Her leitmotif is kinda hip-hop, kinda house music, with high hats. Her weapon is a whip, and her first line is "Sup, Steven" as she throws up a peace sign (god damn it, this is why I've been doing peace signs for the past two weeks).

Next is Pearl, whose leitmotif is a classical, elegant, fluid piano tune. She pirouettes with her feet en pointe and wields a long staff, which she twirls expertly. Her first line is "Sorry, Steven, we'll get these centipeetles out of your room."

Comparing this just-a-few-seconds vignette to Amethyst's, the trained (or autistic) eye can predict that these two do not always see eye to eye, because Amethyst is clearly a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants type while Pearl is a pre-planner, a truster of strategy and poise.

The fact that we get this characterization in the first ten seconds of meeting the gems is seriously buttering my biscuits.

AND THEN, GARNET. MY QUEEN.

Garnet's leitmotif has a funky lofi electronic beat. Her weapon is a pair of magical gauntlets, with which she punches the goddamn fuck out of everything that gets in her way. She is the only one of the Crystal Gems who wears anything over her eyes, as well (more on this later :D) Her first line is actually not in her first scene and comes shortly after her introduction when Amethyst reports that the monsters don't have gems. Garnet concludes "That means there must be a mother somewhere nearby."

She speaks concisely, only when needed. She is pragmatic.

We are now THREE MINUTES into the episode and we know this:

Steven has a gemstone in his body. People know about it.

Steven lives with other gems.

Steven does not know how to control or use his gem powers.

(Gems have powers).

The Crystal Gems fight monsters.

The monsters have gems too.

Act Two: How to Summon a Weapon

After our introductions have been made, we get a cute moment that explores the family dynamic of this unlikely quartet when Steven finds that his freezer is full of discontinued Cookie Cats.

S: Where did you get these? I thought they stopped making them! P: Well, we heard that too, and since they're your favorite.... A: We went out and stole a bunch! P: >:( I went back and paid for them. G: The whole thing was my idea. A: It was everyone's idea. G: Not really.

This right here??? This is the shit I live for with Garnet. One could EASILY make their pragmatic, logical character emotionally cold (Spock comes to mind, Sheldon Cooper, etc.) but Garnet fucking ADORES Steven and is not scared to show it.

NOW WE GET THE COOKIE CAT THEME SONG, AVAILABLE ON SPOTIFY.

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! He's a frozen treat with an all new taste 'Cause he came to this planet from outer space A refugee from an interstellar war* And now he's at your local grocery store Cookie Cat! He's a pet for your tummy Cookie Cat! He's super duper yummy Cookie Cat! HE LEFT HIS FAMILY BEHIND 🥺🥺🥺 Cookie Caaaaaaaat!

*Put a pin in "A refugee from an interstellar war," we'll need it later.

As Steven bites into his delicious, never-thought-he'd-see-one-again Cookie Cat, his gem starts to glow! But before he has a chance to summon his gem weapon, it fades.

Bummer.

The middle portion of this episode is all about how the gems summon their weapons. MORE WORLDBUILDING AND CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT TIME OM NOM NOM.

Pearl goes first, choosing to give Steven her lesson under a tree with falling petals.

"The petals' dance seems improvised, but it is being calculated in real time based on the physical properties of this planet. With hard work, and dedication, you can master the magical properties of your gem, and perform your own dance!"

She's like this all the time, kinda talking like she's in an epic poem. This is just part of Pearl.

Smash cut to Steven behind the Big Donut, throwing petals into the air with a grunt. Amethyst, stuffing her face with donut, asks, "Did Pearl tell you the petal thing?" Comedy gold.

While she's mowing down on this donut, she gives Steven her own advice on summoning a weapon. "Advice" is a term I am using loosely.

"Whenever I need to summon my weapon, it just happens."

Super helpful. Let's try Garnet.

S: So I'm supposed to work really hard, and not try at all, at the same time? G: Yes.

"Or, you can link your mind with the energy of all existing matter, channeling the collective power of the universe through your gem, which results in..." *gauntlets appear* "At least that's my way of doin' it."

Steven assumes that the Cookie Cats are actually the key to this whole thing. So he recreates the earlier events, to no avail, and thinks maybe he's just got a bum gem :(

The gems reassure him that he's one of them, and they wouldn't be the Crystal Gems without him. Once reassured, he takes another bite of his ice cream sandwich and his gem glows again, summoning a pink shield! Which he accidentally ricochets around the whole house, smashing into his TV. This kid's TV takes a lot of abuse in this show, honestly.

Property Damage Count:

Acid hole in floor

TV sliced in half by shield

Act Three: Big Mama Centipeetle

Once Steven has summoned his shield, the big-ass mama centipeetle skitters up the side of the house and it's time for the boss fight. Pearl tells Steven to stay inside where it's safe, but fuck that shit. He's the main character. He knows it.

So homeboy makes a giant extension cord chain for his Cookie Cat freezer, fills it with ice cream sandwiches, and declares "COOKIE CAT CRYSTAL COMBO POWERS ACTIVAAAAATE" while facing down the monster.

I cannot stress enough how unserious the first half of this season is, but now that I've seen him grown up I can't tell you how adorable this is!

He realizes his mistake when he does NOT summon his shield, and instead the Centipeetle destroys his Cookie Cat freezer. The gems are trapped, overpowered by the monster's powers.

Distraught, devastated, DESTROYED... He electrocutes her with it, swinging it on an extension cord lasso and yeeting it with all his little baby Steven Universe strength.

With the centipeetle distracted, the Crystal Gems come together (AND THERE'S A GROUP LEITMOTIF THAT INCORPORATES ALL THEIR UNIQUE ONES TOGETHER UNGGGHHHH DELICIOUS)

They poof the centipeetle and her gem rolls toward Garnet, who places a magical bubble around it and sends it away as Steven buries his freezer.

And then he has to barf. He ate too many Cookie Cats.

AND THAT IS EPISODE ONE OF STEVEN UNIVERSE.

#steven universe #garnet is my queen #cookie cat he's super duper yummy

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