#patronizing junk heap

[t-xa]

Polyalloy Pathways

(Part 1)

After an unceremonious arrival in a post-apocalyptic timeline where Skynet successfully launched its nuclear holocaust, Casse the T-XA patiently waited in the shadows of the ruined city until dusk amongst the destruction, in an attempt to locate the positions of certain stars and other astronomical objects in the night sky.

Armed with a copy of the chrono-spatial co-ordinates that were programmed into the time displacement equipment from the timeline he departed from, Casse had no way to determine if the equipment was accurate and if he had ended up in the right place, at the right time. Being able to determine this would be of great use to his current, self-imposed mission.

Unfortunately, the sheer volume of smoke, haze and smog from the beginnings of a nuclear winter thwarted his multiple attempts, even with his boosted and enhanced visual sensors. Casse then loaded up secondary methods, picked the one which was the most accurate but still was still much less accurate than using astronomy and astrophysics, but could be useful to some extent, but Casse really had no other choice.

Scanning the ruins of the buildings directly around him, Casse compared them to the files he had of the current city from a timeline when Judgement Day had never actually happened, comparing the ruined husks to what they would have looked like only a few short months ago, and after a few seconds he arrived at a 90% confidence rate this was the correct place, and that the circular error probable rate of the spatial location chrono-teleportation was a surprisingly minimal 10 metres. This was more accurate than the ICBMs Skynet had launched in what appeared to be only a few months prior to his arrival.

Radiation sensors built into his highly advanced next-generation mimetic polyalloy confirmed that, based on background radiation readings of various isotopes, Judgement Day had occured between and 4 and 6 weeks prior, and that surviving humans would be few, but buried deep underground in relative safety.

Casse could only hope Julian was one of them, as locating him was of the utmost importance to his mission. And, he had a good idea where to start to look.

The one tonne of liquid metal then emitted creaking and slurping noises as started to melt down into a pool of shimmering silvery blue liquid metal, spilling onto the ruined roadway. It twitched, and after a few seconds, three humanoid shapes rose up from the puddle, and molded themselves into faceless featureless humanoid shapes. Not one drop remained on the road.

Even in this split state, each of Casse's components was roughly equal to Skynet in intelligence, and he was the most superior and intelligent creation to ever walk on this earth. But Casse didn't consider that. He didn't need to. He already knew.

Thanks to the esoteric nature of his 2nd generation liquid metal, each of Casse's components remained connected in a giant mesh network through the quantum foam, so his hive mind remained connected at all times in a giant electronic network of higgs-boson particles and other exotic quantum mechanical phenomena. Again, Casse didn't need to consider this. He had a rather peculiar human to locate.

The three liquid metal components remained in their shimmering form. There was no need, at this stage, to waste resources and morph into a proper human appearance. Silently, they walked off in different locations to comb the wreckage for clues of human habitation and a certain underground room Julian was hopefully sheltering in. It was time to get to work, and the less time spent in this hellish almost alien-like landscape the better.

[theopussy]

Yes please

-Post that one time Peter removed Harry’s arm.

-Harry afterwards makes Peter come back over to have even weirder sex, in which he tells Peter he’ll be leaving on the glider and he wants Peter to come after him and fuck him. Tells Peter he will fight against it but he wants him to do it anyways. This is an attempt to essentially traumatize himself out of continuing to be gay for Peter. It doesn’t work and they continue having weird sex where Harry scratches and bites often.

-After that, Peter, who stopped finding the limb loss hot before when he stopped thinking that Harry was enjoying it, fails to reconcile his own sexual sadism.

-As a consequence of this, he looks at Harry’s aggressive and slightly self destructive behavior and instead of looking inward, decides if Harry’s going to act like an animal he will treat him like one.

-So the next time they have similarly weird sex, he afterward webs his boy up and contains him in the little goblin lair room. Upon being asked what the fuck he’s doing, he tells Harry just that and that when you get a new pet you have to keep them in a single room for a little while to adjust.

-Harry assumes he plans to keep him there alone for long stretches of time initially, but Peter, committed to the animal thing, sits with him. Often has to web him up to get him to behave himself but once he’s properly restrained, he’ll put Harry’s head in his lap and pet him and read.

-At one point Harry bites him in struggle and gets muzzled.

-When he starts behaving himself, Peter resolves that he’s not well trained enough to not get up to something but it would be just horrible for him not to allow his boy any freedom. Forces Harry to kneel by his side while he creates more friendly restraints, something he can only attach restraints to when he’s misbehaving. Harry sulks the whole time.

-Collars him which does make Harry even more sulky. Harry also decides to be rather stubborn about walking on all fours. Peter consequently binds his feet so he has to.

-Peter takes the master bed that was formerly both Harry’s and Norman’s for himself and has Harry sleep in a small heap of blankets at his feet. During the mornings, he takes all the various gear off him and lets his skin rest while he feeds him out of his hand. At some point Harry questions the logic of this and Peter tells him he doesn’t think he’d try anything that early, not when his boy is so obviously sleepy. Harry finds this generally patronizing and demeaning but does nothing about it. Because he continues to do anything, Peter starts to dote on him a bit in the mornings. Harry does a bad job of pretending he doesn’t like the attention.

-In particular, Peter fusses whenever the restraints or similar wear against his skin enough to damage it.

-Peter has him do things like lay beneath the bench like a dog while he plays piano, head on one of his feet. Lay on his feet while he works. Kneel between his legs while he reads to him. Bathes him. Does not let him do anything on his own if it’s possible for him to be there and help him and also degrade him a little.

-Harry is disconcerted by the idea he does in fact like that Peter is both being sweet and actively dehumanizing him. He tries to pick a fight to make any sense of that or to make Peter go back to being cruel. Peter does not engage, just forces him down without hurting him, takes him apart, and fucks him. This does not help Harry’s ability to make sense of how he feels about things. But it makes him feel floaty, which he is a big fan of.

-It makes things get somehow more peaceful. Harry stops being defiant and comes when Peter calls for him. Still refuses to eat out of a bowl but licks Peter’s fingers clean when he feeds him. Starts licking at his junk when he’s sitting with Peter as he works.

-At some point Harry has a minor crisis over liking it when the guy who he thinks killed his dad holds him hostage in his own house and treats him like a pet. Peter both comforts him and tells him he’s just a little too stupid to make choices for himself.

-Harry, Guy with issues related to being told he’s stupid and wrong for struggling with things like that, enjoys being told it’s good and cute that he’s dumb a whole lot.

-nothing bad happens because they’re too busy having weird sex and doing a dubiously ss&c tpe puppyplay thing.

[nekrospompos]

@crimsonfllower || Something in the Soul

From a wide brackish window streams a single ray of light that pierces through thick smog, rolling slowly like the hind legs of a great beast and choking the air like a viper. This ashen landscape holds itself aloft for another glorious minute before a soot-stained hand fumbles for the handle of the shop door, failing twice before one victorious click is heard and an old hinge creaks, rushing out smoke as if pushed by a vacuum to flood the streets in rolling plumes. Coughing roughly, this great blot’s herald stumbles out and doubles over to lean his palms on his knees and curse under his breath. “Less.. voltage.” He mumbles, swishing and spitting out what debris he’d swallowed.

Madman, genius, and fire hazard. Of the many titles tossed his way, those three remained the most dignified to repeat. Wei Wuxian always felt his hands were too still in even the labors of his youth, set as an orphan to assemble toys until he’d funneled enough stolen cash to start a proper apprenticeship. His ideas quickly outgrew the regulations of a proper establishment and he leaves early with a handful of stolen clientele. Most famed of his earlier work is a portable flame-powered battery, a lightweight mechanism with the appearance of a paper lantern that struck a fixed lever back and forth to store wound up energy. Made for late night dockworkers, the invention was a hit for its portability and ability to hover attached to a harness so hands were not impeded. After came an exoskeleton for the wrists to reduce joint pain, the messenger drone, and a few more snappily named patents landed Wei Wuxian with enough cash to buy an old metal-shop that he still sleeps in. 

While his regulars saw the merit in his near-weekly bouts of arson, the city folk found his methods and usually disheveled appearance off putting. Most vulturous of gossips push the narrative that his unorthodox methods were more than a danger to those around him, but a danger to ethics, attributing every unsolved mystery to a crazed burglar of metals and bodies alike. What active imaginations! They made for fantastic ghost stories but it made even casual trips to the market terribly difficult! Standing with a hand on his hip, Wei Wuxian frowns and gestures wildly with his free hand, pointing to a stall display of self-labeled junk. “Fifteen? You can’t be serious!!! It’s literally scrap! No one buys these for any reason other than to strip the copper out anyways and there’s hardly a foot in these!” Manned by two, the stall-owner closest to Wuxian stands to lean over, threatening with a pointed finger. “Who knows what you use it for? What if your next big mistake kills somebody! I should charge you more, that’d be serving civic duty!”

Wuxian’s gloved hand taps the table insistently and clatters the heaped wares. “With no due respect, you’d rather go out of business? How many-” “THIEF!!!”

Beside the stood owner sits a woman and the sound of tearing. Her sudden grip has torn eight holes where she was reading the newspaper, eyes squinted and teeth grit. “He stole! Just now, when everything was rolling around! He slipped it into his pocket!” The tinkerer laughs, brows furrowed in offense. “Oh did I? What did I even steal? I was such a loyal patron before, what a turn you’ve made!”

[t-xa]

Stepping out of time displacement equipment. What time line am I in? What form should I take and make my default appearance? And just where is Julian? Difficult decisions. ⏰ 🤖 🤔

[t-xa]

Humans and their indefatigable curiousity! 🤖

Request via the "Ask" box, please. 👍

Force my Muse to Spill their Secrets

🌧- For a heavy, emotional secret

🙃- For a lighter, slightly embarrassing secret

🌟- For a secret wish or desire of theirs

🍏- For something they secretly wish didn’t exist

🍎- For something they secretly wish did exist

❤️- For a secret crush

📲- Talk about someone/something you dislike, but only pretend to like

👁‍🗨- Talk about someone/something you like, but pretend to dislike

🍻- For something bad/mischievous you did as a child or teen that your parents don’t know about

🌜- For a ‘weird’ habit or tic that no one knows about

💃- For a talent that they like to keep hidden from others

🏹- For a talent they wish they had

👻- For something that scares or disturbs them, but they refuse to tell anyone

���️- For a controversy or scandal they have been able to keep mostly under wraps

🐇- For a secret item they keep (stuffed animal, comfort object, etc)

📒- For a secret journal/diary they keep (Bonus: Share an entry from it!)

📔- For a secret sketchbook they keep (Bonus: Share a sketch or doodle within it!)

🖤- For something they secretly wish they could do with your muse

❓- Free Space! Ask them about a specific secret!

[taiblogcomics]

My Little Taury: Friendship is Parodic

Hey there, sheep of your dreams. A rare update for Leap Day! Honestly, couldn't have picked a better series for this to happen during. Seems fitting, no?

Here's the cover:

All right, now you kind of see why I wanted to review this series, eh~? So here are the Taurs, the MLP/Smurfs hybrids that closed out last issue. We'll be getting to know them a bit more closely in this one, so that's all I'll tell you here. Instead, let's analyse these cutie marks. There's some classically evil stuff: skull and crossbones, inverted pentagram, Bill Cipher… A couple over here have Backstabber and Money=Power… Easily the most baffling one is the "stock woman on truck's mudflaps silhouette". What kinda traits does that confer~?

Our hero(?) Steve Harmon wishes to rid himself of his Slapstick persona, and to that end, he's hired tech goon Quasimodo to research a solution. Since Dimension Ecch gave him his powers, a trip back should undo it. They open a makeshift portal, but are detected and apprehended by SHIELD offshoot ARMOR before they can use it. Turns out there's been a rash of incursions from the dimension, including Bro-Man last issue, and they want to know the connection. When another incursion occurs and the Taurs invade, Slapstick volunteers to take care of it to throw ARMOR off his scent.

We actually join this issue by checking in with Slapstick's buddy Mike, who's working at an art supply shop in a mall in Paramus. He's recounting the events of last issue to his co-worker Jenny, noting how it'll make a great scene for his graphic novel. She's mostly feigning interest, privately thinking how it won't last six issues. Yes, very droll, a wink and a nod to the fourth wall. Except Mike's pitching a graphic novel. They aren't sold issue by issue. Maybe Jenny doesn't know that, but I do, and the distinction is something I love to nitpick~

While Mike continues to go on about presenting it at New York Comic Con, he suddenly feels a sudden sharp pain. He turns to find himself being attacked by one of the Taurs. He yells for Jenny that one of the high-end toys from Kay-Bee has gone Westworld, but that doesn't make any sense. Kay-Bee Toys went out of business in 2009! He seizes the Taur, berating it for breaking the First Law of Robotics, only to now have a view outside into the rest of the mall. The rest of the Taurs are running a slaughter over the other mall patrons.

Slapstick is teleported in, and he starts gleefully going to town on the Taurs. It's a fun fight scene, because keep in mind the Taurs are exactly as small as you think. Basically the size of a FiM brushable pony. Less than six inches tall, I'd say. So while Slapstick has the size on them, the Taurs have the numbers, evening the odds. They also have pointier weapons, at least at first. Once they jab him in the eyes, Slapstick utters the utterly immortal lines "No more Mr. Nice Clown! I'm reaching into my angry pants!" God, I love comic books.

Thankfully, Slapstick has no junk, so he won't be arrested for this. Instead, what he pulls from his pants is Bro-Man's sword. It's already been proven that this sword can cut through electroplasm creatures (but not actually kill them), and it's just as effective on the Taurs as it was at bisecting Bro-Man. In fact, it can cut through anything, and Slapstick's wild swinging unfortunately has him cut through a load-bearing support beam to the level above, collapsing part of the mall's walkway on top of him, losing the sword in the rubble.

Before the Taurs can advance again, they're halted by some weapons above. Mike and Jenny turn up, having raided the crafting store they work in to deck themselves out in post-apocalypse armour and makeshift weapons. This gives Slapstick the chance to haul himself out of the heap, where he finds another Taur in his hair. Before he can heave the invader, she has him halt. Introducing herself as Taurette (which thankfully does not lead to the joke you probably think it might), she offers to help Slapstick defeat her brethren if he spares her.

See, she's the only female among her people, and thus is constantly subject to taursplaining and the male gaze. So she requests asylum on the champion's world. Slapstick agrees, not bothering to tell her that his own people are just as bad. She tells them that the Taurs fear only one thing: the Sorceror Supreme of their dimension, Gorgonzola. He's a wizard who's out to capture the Taurs because they excrete gold. Well, at least he doesn't want to eat them. Slapstick gets a crafty look in his eye. Appropriate, since they're also holed up in the craft store.

As the Taurs--led by their red-hatted, bearded leader, Patriarchy Taur--prepare to regroup, suddenly another bearded figure in red flies overhead. The wizard Gorgonzola declares the Taurs have no refuge from his magic in this realm. In close-up, however, it's clearly Mike being hoisted by a rope, while Taurette hides in his fake beard and feeds him lines. The Taurs all soil themselves in terror--which, I remind you, means they all shit out gold nuggets. The sight of all that wealth gets the better of Slapstick, and he drops the rope he's hoisting Mike/Gorgonzola with, right on top of the Taurs.

The Taurs fortunately don't grasp the deception, but they do notice "Gorgonzola" has Taurette, and attempt to recapture her back to their village. Slapstick re-seizes the rope and swings into the fray, pulling Mike aside. He grabs Taurette from the horde, and not knowing how else to protect her, stuffs her down his inter-dimensional pants. Being stuffed down a clown's pants would traumatise anyone, and Taurette snaps at having to cope with this. She declares she will never be a damsel in distress again and grabs a nearby pocket knife defiantly.

Cutting a hole to free herself, Taurette bursts out of Slapstick's pants, causing a load of his stored objects to also come spilling out. Though briefy embarassed at being in his briefs, Slapstick tells Mike and Taurette to run for it while he holds them off. He doesn't initially have a plan until he spots something among the junk: the robot gun-arm he took from Quasimodo in issue 1. The one that shoots a horrifying electroplasm-disrupting beam. He immediately begins scrambling the Taurs into colourful puddles of goo.

The beam only destabilises them, however, it doesn't kill them. They're still alive and aware, and the big pastel puddle begins swirling around Slapstick. Before he can drown in a pool of Taur juices, the ARMOR agents show up with a big vacuum containment device, sucking up the goo formally known as the Taurs. Taurette buddies up to the competent women who just saved the day, while Slapstick tries not to make an ass of himself despite being literally caught with his pants down. The agent he's crushing on gives him a number to call if another incursion happens, and he treats it like a personal number.

The agents depart with Taurette, and Slapstick and Mike leave with the Taurs' golden leavings. A few days go by, and Mike drops by Slapstick's (parents') house to show off having redrawn his comic pages again. At least he's perfecting his craft! He finds Slapstick hopped up on coffee, having spent the last few days re-creating the portal to Dimension Ecch, deliberately in spite of ARMOR's warnings. Unfortunately, as the comic ends, he didn't successfully remake the portal--he made a device that ports Dimension Ecch's nonsense to this dimension, bringing several inanimate objects to cartoony life~

Well, this issue's a lot of fun. It's the least excessively-violent so far, only a bit of blood at the beginning. The Taurs being hyper violent is an excellent joke, contrasting how gentle their two blending series (My Little Pony and The Smurfs) are. The issue is a lot of fight scenes, but it's a lot of cartoony fun in the fight scenes. Most of the comics I complain about just being an issue of fight scenes (see: The Culling or any given Suicide Squad issue) are just schlocky action movie fodder, while this one is more like a stereotypical episode of Tom & Jerry. And also, despite this series not being above lowbrow, crude humour--the jockstrap pile, the Taurs crapping gold, all the mentions of Slapstick's dingus--I applaud it for knowing where the line is and not doing the obvious joke regarding Taurette's name. Kudos, comic~

[dailyadventureprompts]

Hello! I've been batting around an idea for a warlock of the undead whose patron is an eldritch Far Realm entity, but haven't been able to find much in the way of official lore for the plane. I would love to hear your take on the subject, if you had any ideas for the landscape and inhabitants and such!

Planescape: The Far Dead Realm(s)

So for those not in the know, the far realm is the d&d cosmology's designated corner for lovecraftian shenanigans, being the default origin of most aberrations as well as anything particularly "madness" related or stuff too weird to fit into the morality based system of planes.

I'm not a big fan of the far ream ( insert joke about me being too weird to fit into the morality based system of planes) because it makes the entry level cosmic-horror fan mistake of conflating tentacles with the unfathomable and paints things beyond human perception as innately hostile and entropic.

To me, the astral sea is the place where all that far-realm weirdness should live, being that its the place where thoughts become physical heedless of any physical constraint. There’d naturally be alien environments that were hostile to life native to the material plane, either in that they were unsuited to conventional biology, or operated on a different set of physics/math/coherence to more traditional reality. That said, it does serve our storymaking to have a bad place from whence things can come from/be banished to, so for that end I'll let you in on my own version of the unknowable plane: The Dead Realms

TLDR: The dead realms are a cosmic junk heap, myriad realities that have become unstable or suffered through an irreparable apocalypse and have inturn scoured or abandoned of mortal life and the gods that oversee them. Seeking to avoid further disruption of the cosmos, the great entities which govern the astral sea quarantine the dead realms in their own fold of space. Cross contamination renders the plane into a simmering cauldron of chaotic energies, as civilization plagues and reality storms crash against eachother with the tomb-prions of world eating gods as backdrop. Any breach of the realms’ containment could lead to potential doom, as anything that can survive the end of multiple worlds is likely more than capable of ending a few on its own.

Ironically, the reason that the asker can’t find lore about the far realm is that its on purpose, and that’s sorta the problem: The far realm was written to be intentionally vague, hearkening to unseen and unknowable horrors of the lovecraft mythos.  The problem with that is that as part of the greater dnd multiverse ( atleast the default one) the far realm is a place you theoretically CAN go, and given that some of the game’s biggest baddies originate there, meaning that there needs to be more about the plane than a simple gesture at it being gross and full of tentacles.

Compare the thematic weight of a party visiting the far and dead realm(s): The former is weird, surely, but other than horrifying chaos, the far realm doesn’t really say anything. On the contrary, both heroes and their players can understand the dead realms as a forewarning of what happens if they fail in their cosmic level responsibilities, and see echoes of their own desperate struggles among the ruins.

Geography:  The process of transposing multiple worlds into a single plane is not a gentle one, even more so when many of those worlds do not share an underlying model of reality. The cracked remnants of planetary bodies float together like asteroid clusters, while flat-earth geographies impose themselves on space at awkward angles like planes of glass, or weave through it like ribbons of a shredded map. Remnant kingdoms are scorched as newly arrived worlds bring their stars with them, and blighted seas spill from one celestial body to the next like wine spilled across a table from a tipped glass.

Its junk drawer architecture, a dumpster into which broken worlds are heaved with no care for their condition or where they might come to rest, slowly ruining eachother like kitchen scraps heaped upon old clothes layered over discarded furniture

Inhabitants: Despite their name the dead realms are not empty, besides the monstrous scavengers Vast wastelands conceal remnant holdouts and the decaying lairs of senile god kings. Only those great authorities of the cosmos decide when a realm is beyond saving, and those left behind on it are considered forfeit to save the greater cosmos from the horrors they endure. That said, there are other entities that live in the maelstrom, and they are far more threat to a wandering party that’ve become stranded in the forbidden realm:

Kaotori*: Once a group of arcane explorers who sought salvage and secrets from the oldest reaches of the dead realms, they were lost in the depths where time itself had begun to rot. They trickled back one by one, transmuted into resin soaked horrors and scattered across the centuries both before and after they left. Stripped of all but a few scraps of their previous identities, the remnants of their former lives knaw at them like the ache of a rotten tooth, which the Kaotori are desperate to extract. Turning their wicked power to the task, each Kaotori combs the cosmos for any trace of its former life, looking to extinguish the source of these memories that it might finally know some twisted form of peace.

Eldrazi*:Like beetles skittering over and through a fallen log until it is mulch, the aberrant broods known as the Eldrazi toil endlessly to return the material of dead worlds back into raw stuff of creation, dismantling matter, magic, and creature alike until all they touch is cosmic dust. Mostly harmless if left at a distance, Eldrazi do not distinguish intruders into their domain from unprocessed worldstuff and their domain extends ever forward so long as their is material to reclaim.

Ancient automata: The engines of forgotten ages still stir on many abandoned worlds, whether they be crystaline consiousness of superhuman intellect or the derlict mechanisms of a single tinkerer

Feral Celestials: while many angels are content to wander from task to task, there are those so dedicated to their divinely ordained mission that they choose to go “down with the ship” when the time comes to ring in the apocalypse. After their particular endtimes have come and gone, these entities slowly begin to waste away, being reduced over time to becoming avatars of strange faiths, or hunting through the wilderness little better than beasts. 

Outergods: Whether  they reign over a destroyed worlds, were imprisoned within one,  or maybe  just like the vibe, the dead realms are full of outergods, which make up the only pantheon for those desperate souls stranded in the expanse. Kronos the cannibal god reigns over lands of dust and ruin, Cezil’Tek holds entire worlds in still and silent loneliness, While Shub-Nuggurath and her brood flourish in toxic swamps and fleshy jungles, just to name a few

* You can find 3rd party stats for these creatures online,

Adventure Hooks:

After falling trough an unstable portal or getting lost fucking around with teleportation, the party find themselves stranded in the dead realms, specifically in a barren desert landscape with a half-buried city built into some wind-scarred cliffs their only landmark. Far off in the distance, amid an alien sky, they can see a massive purple-green cloud approaching, which is in fact a rogue ocean displaced from its original bed that will come crashing down on their desert world in a matter of days. With time running short and an entire city’s worth of secrets to distract them, the party must comb through the ruins for a means of returning home lest they drown along with the desert world.

Following scraps of planear lore and desperate to protect their home from an otherworldy threat, a party of spelljammers must slip past the watch of the celestial authority to salvage pieces of a planetary warding system. This system allowed another world to stave off the threat in the past, but didn't’ stop its original architects from falling prey to the whiles of an outer god and leading their world to doom from within. Now situated among the junk drifts of the dead realms, this fallen world is slowly being eaten away by eldrazi as the last zealots of the outergod look for cruel and desperate ways to stem the tide.

Monstrous aberrations comb the countryside, attacking villages, searching for something, pushing the party into cooperation with a goodnatured  wizard who was exiled from the circle of mages for his curiosity about forbidden magic.  During a moment of heroic sacrifice, the wizard inadvertantly opens a rift to the dead realms and ends up falling through, becoming lost in time and space and eventully transformed into a kaotri... the very same kaotri that has spent centuries combing through the multiverse looking for this particular kingdom. Warped irrevocably and wracked by the pangs of a now recursive present, this Kaotri now seeks to wipe its once home off the map, and just use that recently opened dead-realm portal to do it.

Art

[wanderinginksplot]

Captain Rex + Date

The third part in this mini-series about Rex and a civilian engineer!

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Rex x gn!reader: romantic.

Word Count: a little over 2700

Warnings: the 501st are immature (shocking, I know)

---

Trying to be subtle, you stole another glance at the handsome clone captain standing next to you. You thought you had cleaned up pretty well for your date by putting on a nice outfit you had purchased months before but never found a chance to wear. You had put enough extra effort into your appearance to make yourself feel special, but the effect was nothing compared to the man beside you.

Rex looked fantastic. He wasn't wearing a suit, but his officer's dress uniform fit him like one. His light hair, deep tan, and golden eyes shone against the white fabric, but his bearing was enough to push the outfit into stunning territory.

You had been staring for too long and Rex turned to catch you at it. "Everything okay?"

You struggled not to look embarrassed. From the quirk of his dark brows, the captain knew very well that everything was fine. Better than, actually.

"I'm just admiring your outfit," you told him, opting for honesty. "I don't get to see officer's dress uniforms very often."

"We don't get invited anywhere nice enough to wear them," Rex explained with a shrug. The white jacket only emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and your mouth went dry. "Besides, I had to prove I was good enough to have someone like you as my date."

You had to fight not to drop your jaw at that. Rex had many admirable qualities - he was steady, kind, competent - but he was never smooth. If he was going to be his usual self as well as being charming, you were in trouble.

“Trust me,” you managed at length, “you definitely look good enough to have me as your date. Probably someone better than me, actually.”

“Hold onto that idea, misguided as it is,” Rex told you grimly as he stared at the human male standing behind the podium and making adjustments on a worn-out datapad. “You deserve to go somewhere much nicer than this old junk heap, but I didn’t have much of a choice.”

You glanced around the restaurant. Sure, it wasn’t the nicest place you had ever been. Everything looked slightly lived-in, like the building had seen a lot of business over the years since it had been built. But everything was ruthlessly clean, the atmosphere was cheerful, and this wasn’t a bad neighborhood on Coruscant. The only thing was… now that you looked a little more closely at the patrons…

“Lots of troopers come here, huh?” you asked, struggling not to grin. Rex seemed upset for some reason, and you didn’t want him to think you were laughing at him or something equally horrible.

Rex rolled his eyes. “I know, I promised to take you somewhere with no brothers around, but I’m not allowed in many of the nicer restaurants on Coruscant.”

“Do you regularly terrorize top-level dining establishments when you’re planetside?” you asked lightly.

With a surprised glance down at you, Rex slowly shook his head. “Because I’m a clone.”

You jerked back like you had been hit. “I’m sorry, what are you saying?”

“It isn’t a shock,” Rex assured you, glancing back at the host. The muscle ticcing in his jaw said otherwise. “Troopers aren’t allowed many places in the Inner Rim. It’s considered a mark of higher civilization to only allow nat-born patrons.”

“Well, I would rather be here than the most expensive restaurant on Coruscant,” you told him stubbornly.

He eyed you curiously. “Why is that? Other than that the most expensive restaurant is probably owned by a Hutt and you would hate anything on the menu?”

You laughed at that, despite yourself, but you didn’t want him to misunderstand you, so you rested fingertips on his hand as you told him firmly, “I don’t want to patronize any place on Coruscant - or any other planet - that doesn’t allow troopers. After everything I’ve seen you guys do for the galaxy… I would rather burn my credits than give them to someone who can’t recognize your sacrifices.”

Rex’s gaze warmed and something like a smile sprouted on his face, but the host finally called you and escorted you to a table in the middle of the restaurant.

The dining room matched the entryway fairly well - everything was still a bit shabby and mismatched, but the overall effect was a homey sort of atmosphere that made you instantly comfortable. That, and you were well accustomed to being surrounded by troopers by now, which was what the restaurant had to offer. Every table around you held at least one trooper, familiar faces wearing unfamiliar expressions…

Except the one to your left hand side, slightly behind Rex. You knew troopers were all cloned from the same template, but you could swear that was Appo.

Rather than mention it to Rex, you turned your attention to the menu. You were met with a list of seemingly random foods from across the galaxy. Some were familiar to you while others were totally outside of your experience.

“What…” you trailed slowly, trying to rephrase the question on the fly so it didn’t offend him. “What sort of restaurant is this place branded as?”

Rex grinned at you. “It’s a little… er, eclectic.”

“You don’t say,” you replied, smiling back at him. “I don’t know what half of these dishes are, to be honest with you.”

“Understandable,” he agreed. “We travel the galaxy and bring back our ideas of the best dishes from each planet. The owners are experimental chefs. They take our descriptions of the foods we eat and where they’re from, then recreate them the best they can. Honestly, everything is pretty accurate.”

“I thought you guys were supposed to eat ration packs when you’re in unfamiliar territory?”

“Well, yes,” Rex agreed with a shrug. “But you can’t live on ration packs. I won’t lie and tell you no one has ever gotten sick from accidentally eating food not meant for human consumption, but it’s better than avoiding anything new.”

You laughed at that, distracted for a moment by the host seating another few troopers at a nearby table. Every man there was clearly uncomfortable not to be in armor - you could see it from the way they moved.

“And it’s a good idea for a restaurant,” you said appreciatively. Coruscant was always looking for the next new thing, and there were a few adventurous nat-borns mixed in with the troopers dining in the room. “What do you suggest?”

Rex looked pleased that you had asked his opinion, putting down his menu to study you while he carefully considered the question. “It depends on how you feel about different foods and textures. If you like spicy food, you’d like miydous. It’s a noodle dish from Takodana, but the noodles are made from a squash they grow there. The flavors are incredible.”

“Okay, that sounds nice.” And it did, but you wanted him to keep talking. There was something fascinating about listening to Rex talk about food. “What else is good?”

“Hmm…” Rex scanned down the menu. “Jodwutee is a Tarnoongan dish, kebabs with fish and a few aquatic vegetables, all pickled and grilled. Served with seaweed salad, of course.”

You wrinkled your nose at that. “Sounds… flavorful.”

“Okay, so nothing pickled,” Rex guessed with a grin.

“What’s your favorite?” you asked.

“Mine?” Rex asked, sounding surprised. “I’m a boring old man. I like the hobjch.”

“Hobjch?” you repeated, trying out the unfamiliar word. “What is hobjch?”

“It’s a hot sandwich from Naboo,” the captain explained. “Shaak meat, some vegetables, and a mild sauce on dense bread. Sometimes the owners will throw extras on it, eggs or whatever you want, but it’s good as-is.”

You frowned. “When was there a battle on Naboo?” The tourism-driven planet was far into the Inner Rim. Surely you would have heard if there had been a Separatist threat there, even if it had been before you joined the war effort?

“Never, thank the Force,” Rex said fervently, and you tried to hide a grin. Working with General Kenobi had clearly worn off on him. “Senator Amidala from Naboo makes hobjch and she’ll sometimes send a few back with General Skywalker.”

“Why does General Skywalker spend so much time with a Senator?” you asked, floored at the implications.

Rex beckoned you closer and you obeyed, internally hoping he was going to kiss you again, but when your faces were at almost the right distance, he moved to put his mouth by your ear. “Don’t react, but we’re surrounded by 501st troopers.”

Despite his warning not to, you immediately moved to glance around, but Rex’s fingers pressing against your jaw made you pause. “Just sit back, look like I told you something shocking, and I’ll do the rest.”

You nodded and he released you. You settled against the back of your chair again, keeping your eyes on Rex rather than glancing around. Looking dumbfounded wasn’t a challenge, either, not with the sensation of Rex’s skin against yours fresh in your memory.

Before Rex could put any part of his plan into action, a waitress appeared to take your orders. Rex ordered a water and the hobjch while you pretended to look at your menu. In your peripheral vision, you eyed the troopers at the next table. You were reasonably certain Fives and Echo were sitting there, Fives angled in the direction that meant you couldn’t see the tattoo on his temple to confirm.

“And you?” the waitress asked you politely.

You turned to glance up at her. “Uh… I’ll have the same as him. Thanks.”

After Rex handed the menus back, he nodded subtly behind you. You gave an answering nod and shook out your napkin, letting a fork clatter to the floor. When you reached to pick it up, you twisted just enough to see behind your seat. You straightened, fighting not to roll your eyes. Fives and Echo were reasonably subtle, but Tup’s teardrop tattoo gave him away. Never mind whatever trooper had gotten the bright idea that sunglasses would hide Hardcase’s extensive tattoos or that a cap could cover Jesse’s Republic cog. Especially considering that neither accessory belonged in a restaurant.

Your eyes met Rex’s, and he looked a little more amused than you had expected. With a wink, he asked, “So how are you enjoying life with the 501st?”

“It’s… different,” you answered carefully, uncertain of where he was going with this.

“That’s putting it kindly,” he said, strong voice carrying easily through the chatter in the room. “I try to keep it from the men, but we’re the battalion no one wants to work with.”

“Really?” you asked, quirking your brows and fighting a smile.

“You don’t have to pretend to be shocked,” Rex assured you. “The 501st is reckless, every one of them. They don’t think things through at all as a general rule and none of them have any respect for authority. It’s a miracle we haven’t been disbanded for causing such sheer chaos.”

“Surely it isn’t that bad,” you told him, biting the inside of your lip to keep a straight face.

“Oh, it is. I told you that I couldn’t make a reservation at another restaurant because they don’t like clones, but that’s only true for half of them. Credits are credits for the other half, but they don’t want anyone associated with the 501st in their restaurants. I can’t even blame them!”

Just when you were sure that you were going to rupture something important if you kept trying so hard not to laugh, Fives turned to Rex. With his identifying tattoo clearly visible on his temple, he began to rant.

“Which one of those civvie restaurants said that about us, Captain? I’ll go set ‘em straight!”

“And we are not reckless!” Hardcase called, throwing his sunglasses down onto the table.

“Who says they don’t want to work with us?” the trooper who was indeed Appo asked from his table behind Rex.

“Yeah, who was saying all of that, Captain?” Jesse demanded, looking fearsomely irate even while wearing the stupidly large hat that definitely was not nice enough to have been allowed in any restaurant.

“I’m the one who said it,” Rex said exasperatedly while you gave in to the helpless impulse to laugh. “I said it about my di’kutla vode who followed me into a restaurant while I was trying to enjoy a date!”

While the troopers around you devolved into overlapping apologies, explanations, and defensive claims, you made eye contact with the waitress. She had been returning with your meals, but when you mimed putting things into a box, she nodded and turned away again.

When you turned back to the table, Rex had fixed his eyes on you. He spoke under the cacophony of the 501st. “I’m so sorry about this. About them.”

You reached across the table and Rex grabbed your hands. You squeezed his fingers and smiled. “It’s fine, Rex. None of this is a shock to me. I agreed to go on this date knowing that you have dozens of children.”

Rex drew his hands back, looking pained.

“See? At least someone gets it!” Jesse agreed with a laugh.

Echo nodded serenely. “If someone is going to date our dad, we need to make sure it goes well.”

“We’re almost the same age…” Rex protested weakly.

“Only in years,” Hardcase countered.

Fives laughed. “Yeah, maturity-wise? You’re our dad. Maybe our grandfather.”

“You did this,” Rex told you, looking betrayed.

“Yes,” you agreed, “but I also got the waitress to pack up our food so we can leave.”

“Cyare,” he said appreciatively. “Remind me later to-”

“Hey, no!” Jesse argued. “We put in this much effort to be here. We at least need to see it pay off.”

“Pay off?” you repeated, bewildered.

“Kiss him,” Fives told you.

“I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, kiss him!” Hardcase encouraged. “Kiss our dad!”

Suddenly, the dad thing wasn’t as funny as it had been a moment before.

“Your food,” the waitress said, setting a large bag and two cups on the table.

“Thank the Force,” it was your turn to mutter. “What about the bill?”

“I’ll take care of that,” Rex said sharply.

“Or we will,” Echo offered, giving you an apologetic smile when you glanced at him. “We did ruin your date, after all.”

“It has already been taken care of,” the waitress told you all. She was wearing a broad grin. “This has been the most entertaining shift of my life, and it sounds like you’ve brought us a lot of business tonight. Your meals are on the house.”

You thanked her, along with Rex and the other 501st troopers. She hurried to clarify, “Just your meals, though. Everyone else will have to pay for theirs.”

“Oh, they will,” Rex assured her casually, with a very not casual glance at the men. “And if they don’t tip you excellently, please contact me.”

With a grateful nod, you left the restaurant and stood forming a plan on the speeder pad outside. It was actually a decent night, not too smoggy, and you looked up at your companion. “What do you think, Rex? Should we catch a cab to the markets and find a spot for a nighttime picnic?”

“Sounds great,” he said with a nervous smile. “But if you want to cut the night short, I understand. That - what happened back there - would be too much for most people.”

“Most people? Maybe,” you agreed. “But this is me. Don’t you remember how we met? I’ve never known you outside of your capacity as a captain. I didn’t expect anything less and - honestly - I think I would have been disappointed if we hadn’t seen at least one of the 501st boys tonight.”

“Yeah?” Rex asked, looking hopeful. “So the evening hasn’t been a disappointment after all?”

“Never,” you reassured. Before you or he could rethink it, you stepped forward, pulled his head down a bit, and kissed him.

It was a nice kiss, even better than the one you had shared on the Resolute. You felt warm, safe… happy. You might have stayed like that long enough to test the patience of even Coruscanti citizens, but the sound of fists on transparisteel and muffled cheering from the boys inside of the restaurant broke you apart.

You were still grinning as Rex flagged down a passing taxi and ordered the driver to take you both anywhere else.

---

A/N - Rex's dress uniform is based on the dress uniforms for the United States Navy. Dishes in this fic are completely invented by me and I had way too much fun with it!

I have more one-shots and fics on my masterlist, or feel free to request something new. Thank you for reading!

Taglist (lmk if you want to be untagged!): @justanothersadperson93 @imabeautifulbutterfly

[t-xa]

SEND ME YOUR QUERIES! 🤖

You know, an interesting tumblr transformation that's happened gradually, and which I've seen no one talk about: ask-culture has essentially dropped off to nothing.

By which I mean, asks used to be WAY more of the tumblr economy. They used to be more common to send, and receive, and see. They were integral to the collaborative, forum-like behavior of old tumblr communities, not even to speak on the HUGE number of ask-blogs that used to exist to only be interacted with in ask-form.

I'm not saying this in a vying-for-attention way but instead in an observational way: I used to get way way more asks in like 2015, even with a fraction of my follower count. I wonder if it's due to the homogenization of social media sites? There's a lot more of this divide between "content creator" and "consumer" instead of just a bunch of peer blogs who would talk to each other. "Asks" aren't really a thing on twitter, are they? And as I understand it, the closest thing to an "ask" on instagram or tiktok would be a creator screenshotting some comment and responding to it in a new reel or video or whatever those content mediums are. Are asks just too tumblr-specific? Is that aspect of the site culture dying out as more and more people converge to using all their social media sites in the same way?

[hoe-imaginess]

cornered | dabi

dabi x reader

requested prompt: Villain F! Reader got secret information about the League, but is cornered by Dabi who is deciding what to do with her

word count: 2.2k

a/n: this honestly just turned into a little chase scene... hope it’s alright

⤰⤰⤰

You were teeming with triumph as you hurried down the alleyway.

Part of you knew that you were cruising on a premature celebration; you’d succeeded in your furtive plot, and taken the information you needed from the League. But obtainment was one thing—now came escape.

The benefactor of your risky mission required that you deliver the information to a warehouse near the old side of the city, the same place you’d made the deal in the first place. So there you went, almost as soon as the deed was done. You’d taken a sonorous route as a precaution, just in case you had any pursuers. But now, satisfied that you had no tail, and that you were mere moments away from collecting your due pay, you made haste to your destination.

The warehouse was empty and darkened, no lights giving illumination inside or out. You thought that was inconvenient at most, but not necessarily suspicious. Therein lay your mistake.

You pushed inside the warehouse and waited to be greeted. No one came.

Increasingly antsy, you moved around the gloomy interior as carefully as possible. You thought better of finding the lights and switching them on, so you continued your tepid investigation in the darkness, if only to idle while you awaited your patron.

Halfway into your search, you decided against testing your own patience, and pulled out your burner phone. Almost in the same instant that you dialed the confidential number, an offensive smell invaded your space. That, too, you found inconvenient, and nothing more. It was an old warehouse, you reminded yourself, as you put the phone to your ear. Nothing odd about a rank odor.

You heard the phone ringing through the speaker, and then, you heard the ringing in the warehouse.

Puzzled, you moved the phone from your ear and listened closely. Yes, there was a simple ringtone resounding through the place, and yes, it had to be your benefactor.

Still, the line continued to ring, and ring; the tone in the warehouse sounded in tandem. It was clear to you that you would be receiving no answer. And it was then that suspicious took its root.

You followed the ringtone in the dark, until you could see its faint glow yards away. By then, the horrid smell had turned almost intolerable, but also decipherable: like the stench of overcooked pork, stinging your nostrils with every inhale.

You envisioned a dozen nasty sources for the stench, some imaginatively morbid, but the scene you found upon following the ringing overwhelmed you.

A burnt corpse lay strewn on the floor. The scant moonlight coming in from the warehouse rafters gave poor illumination to the scene, but you could see quite clearly the blackened body, its form mangled by fire—a fire that hadn’t smoldered very long ago, if the heat coming off the body was any indication.

Beside the body lay the cell phone. It gave its last ring as your call went unaccepted, then the screen’s light gave out.

Your benefactor was dead. That much was certain. The rest was a mystery that buzzed in your head, quickly gaining into panic as you realized the demise that had befell the now-corpse was likely one you were meant to share. Why else would the man have been killed this way? Why here? And by whom?

The question was quickly answered.

“You must’ve taken the long route to get here,” a voice came in the darkness. “I’ve been waiting a while.”

You spun toward the sound, and took a step backward the moment you spotted a figure leering beyond the burnt body.

“Who are you?” you asked, unwilling to play the part of the victim, not when this assailant clearly had lethal purpose.

“Naive of you not to expect this, ya know,” he muttered, and moved out of the shadows.

You were just short of thinking that his voice sounded familiar, when he came into full view of the moonlight to reveal himself.

Dabi.

With hands in his pockets, and a joyless smile on his face, he carried the aura of a man who had all circumstance on his side. And you knew very well that he did.

“I figured if you were dumb enough to double cross us, that you’d also be dumb enough not to cover your tracks.” His foot tapped the forgotten phone on the ground, the one which had belonged to your late benefactor. “Eavesdropping on calls is easy enough, if you have tech savvy acquaintances.”

You tried to remember the League associates you’d met, and what their quirks had been. You couldn’t recall any with the capability to exploit your schemes, but that certainly didn’t mean you hadn’t been ignorant to assume you’d get away with this betrayal so easily. Apparently, you’d underestimated Dabi’s mistrust in you.

“As for whatever information on us you’re willing to sell,” he began, “I’ll be needing that back.”

You stood tall, proud to stand your ground, even as your hands started to fidget anxiously.

“Did Shigaraki send you?” you asked.

“He doesn’t know I’m here. But I’ll tell him the gist of it later, after I handle it. I’m curious. What exactly do you have on us?”

“Nothing,” you declared calmly, and without a haste of defense. “I have nothing on you.”

“Yeah?”

He kicked the burnt body with the cap of his boot. A piece of the crisped limb crumbled under the minimal force, and scattered along the concrete like debris.

“Is that what you were comin’ to sell to this guy?” he asked. “Nothing?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, knowing the evidence and ambience were stacked against you. But you weren’t about to be cowed. You met his stare, matching his menace with defiance.

With the gravity of this situation quickly rising, you felt the warm brush of your quirk ready itself, prepared to defend in whatever way possible. You’d seen enough of Dabi’s power—and worse, his cruelty—to know that the dreadful anticipation you felt was fully justified.

“Bet you thought you were good at this sneaking around stuff, huh?” He took a step toward you; you stepped back. “I’ve been suspicious for a while, but honestly, I was more curious to see what you’d do, and how you’d do it.”

Now he was walking around the burnt body, forcing you to circle in the opposite direction.

You decided to drop any pretenses, lacking as they’d been in the first place.

“How long have you known?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve got an eye for this sort of stuff. And lately, it’s been on you.”

The threat behind his words suddenly made you hyperaware of the corpse between you two, of the putrid smell steaming off of it. Morbid fantasies seized you, and you realized you might soon be joining the heap of ash at your feet.

“So, I’ll ask again. What is it that you have? And what did this guy want with it?”

“I thought you were well-informed,” you returned, risking his patience, buying yourself some time.

He gave a gruesome, humored smile. It was a grisly contrast to his lifeless, torched victim below.

“I guess it doesn’t matter what you have on us,” he finally said.

The debased smile on his face remained, but there was a threatening descent in his demeanor, a pointed narrowing of his eyes that put a shiver down your spine.

“No one’s ever gonna get it, anyways. I’ll make sure of that.”

In the instant that his flames illuminated the gloom with their cyan, you turned on your heels and dashed into the darkness.

You didn’t know how spry Dabi was, or how easily he could catch up to you. But with what his long-range firepower could make up for, you doubted it mattered.

With most of the structures in the warehouse silhouetted against the dainty moonlight, traversing the interior in haste was nearly impossible. Even as you ran, you could still smell the cooked flesh, following you and dizzying your senses.

You couldn’t pinpoint the entrance, nor an exit. It left you stumbling practically blind through the poorly lit building, and you were thankful once you floundered upon a wall. You stumbled along, fingertips moving across the brick to guide you.

Somewhere behind you, Dabi was on the move. Now he spoke, his voice low and reverberating in the darkness.

“You’re startin’ to piss me off,” he called after you. “This’ll be a lot easier if you stop running.”

It occurred to you that he might want you alive, so that he could drag you back to Shigaraki Tomura, and face punishment at his hands—literally. That put heat into your steps, and you stumbled along that much faster in the darkness, hoping against hope that some source of escape might present itself.

The footsteps were behind you again, and quickly gaining. You moved carefully over junk strewn on the floor, and found yourself near a door. You twisted the knob, breathed out a quick sigh of relief to find it unlocked, and slipped inside.

You found yourself in a spacious room, an office of some sort. The first thing you noticed was the window across the room, throwing moonlight through its pane and brightening the dusty interior. You went to it quickly, and tried to wedge fingers underneath the frame and haul it open, to no avail.

“Come on girl, don’t make this hard,” Dabi called into the room. He was just beyond the door.

You bit your lip to keep a groan of frustration down, and hid in the corner of the room. As you did so, the door creaked open. You heard his boots crunching over the wooden threshold. Then the sound of the creaking door moving again. It closed, and clicked. He’d locked you both inside.

Then came silence.

You waited for him to speak, but nothing came. You peered out from your hiding spot, searching for him in the darkness. You saw only a faint outline of his form, the scant moonlight catching off the leather of his outfit.

“If I have to light this place up with you in it, that’s fine,” his voice echoed in the dark. Then came his punctuated, languid footsteps somewhere in the room. “But it’d be easier if you’re alive. I still have some questions for you.”

The thought of enduring what would probably be a horribly sadistic interrogation made your skin crawl. He wasn’t just here to catch you in your trespasses, but to squeeze information out of you, too.

Dabi moved across the room, searching for you. You couldn’t see him now, his silhouette hidden by stacked boxes and other clutter in the darkness. There was a side door that led to the outside, you knew. And you knew it had to be on this side of the building. You’d clocked it in your previous visits to the warehouse as an escape route in case of an emergency. This more than qualified.

But the dark gloom was so profound that locating the door was nearly impossible. This room was denied even a sliver of the moonlight.

At the least, Dabi was apparently as lost as you were. That, or he was taking his grueling time in his approach—which sounded much more fitting, especially knowing his fire might do him well if he needed to illuminate the room somehow. But clearly, he was toying with you. At least for now.

Just then, his footsteps stopped somewhere in the darkness. You waited, and waited some more. You wondered if he was expecting you to make a move, to expose yourself by sound. But you refused; the gloom was your ally, and you would utilize it in full.

But just as you thought you were safe behind the boxes, one of the shadows in the corner forsook its concealment, and he appeared.

Then, as you tried to flee, he slipped over to block your path. “I don’t think so,” said his shadow.

His cruel confidence gave his silhouette the appearance of something taller, something more menacing. The burnt odor returned in full force, and you realized it must have been radiating off his corrugated skin.

An instant later, you felt the wave of fire, and shrieked as the flames fed through the fabric of your shirt, singing delicate skin.

You dove for the floor, and rolled onto your back to extinguish the flames. But the damage was done, and as you backed yourself against the wall, your skin seared with fresh pain.

He stopped in front of you, leering down. His attack had merely been one of intimidation; he’d purposely grazed you, but the surrounding wooden boxes gladly kindled his fire, and quickly caught ablaze.

The flames rising around the room threw a sheen of blue over his expression: rigid and lacking mercy. You wondered if your schemes, your complicity in this act of betrayal, was worth whatever was to come next.

Your throat was tight. The dry, hot air choked you. But all you could do was glare up at him in a desperate show of defiance.

"You’re gonna regret ever thinking you could get away with this," Dabi said with a smile.

Indeed, you were thinking that very thing, when he reached for you.

[t-xa]

Pfft 🤖 we're clearly superior in every way. Disgusting untidy biohazards.

Maybe the closest I'll get to putting my thoughts into words

[sunlitneon]

The Ultimate End to Junk Mail

I am no longer my nearby place's best patron yet they continue to send me direct mail. I'm not inquisitive about double glazing,  Custom Made Jewellery splendor packages or my new regions pizza parlour. Yet I become with coupon offers for own family sized pizza offers and spray tan programs.

It doesn't count how an awful lot green manipulate you have got at the inside of your house, unsolicited mail will discover its way to you.

Don't worry, you may considerably lessen it.

(To highlight you can't a hundred% forestall direct mail and I'll give an explanation for why further down.)

Firstly, you are probable thinking why I am talking approximately direct mail right?

In a nutshell, forests are reduce down and worked right into a water pulp mixture that when manipulation, creates the lovely factor we name paper.

The paper is then shipped to companies who print on it after which ship it to you.

Did you already know that Junk mail produces extra greenhouse fuel emissions than nine million vehicles?

HOW TO STOP RECEIVING JUNK MAIL

We all understand the significance that bushes should maintain our ecosystems and international temperature. If we forestall the call for for direct mail, we will lessen further environmental effect.

It is so smooth to pick out up the undesirable mail and throw it straight into the recycling bin.

Yes, it'll be recycled however the company who despatched the mail would not recognise you probably did no longer need to obtain it. And if they may be never advised their ability customers do now not want to acquire their mail, they may hold to ship it and retain to purpose environmental destruction.

First, you want to pick out the 2 sorts of direct mail you could receive, named and non-named.

Named mail is what comes thru your door addressed to a person in your own home.

And non-named, yes, you guessed it, are the letters that are not addressed to all people.

They likely kingdom something along the traces of 'To the Owner', 'To the brand new proprietor of a exceptional brief net company.'

HOW TO STOP RECEIVING NAMED MAIL

*Opt out of advertising lists

If you sign on for whatever that asks for your own home deal with, make sure you're taking out a magnifying glass and search for any statistics that explains the advertising phrases.

Usually, with out you confirming so, agencies and companies will upload you to their marketing mailing lists unless you country in any other case.

If you don't opt-out for advertising and marketing records, to procure your self a massive heap of direct mail. Imagine it like the scene from Harry Potter... "NO POST ON SUNDAYS."

*Register without cost with MPS (UK simplest)

MPS will get rid of your call and deal with from the UK enterprise lists of income promotions, marketing and direct advertising.

Take notice, it is able to absorb to 4 months till you note a discount in any undesirable named mail.

*Contact your nearby electoral roll register office

Ask you nearby register workplace to take away you from the open check in.

The open sign up includes your complete name and deal with and can be purchased by using a member of the public, businesses and advertising administrators.

*Swap all of your paper billing to online

A simple piece of recommendation, however you will be surprised at how often that is neglected.

*Contact the sender at once

Contact the sender through e-mail or cellphone and inform them you want to now not obtain any mail from them with on the spot effect.

*Return the junk mail without delay to the sender

Cross out your cope with and write 'junk mail, please return to sender' on the envelope.

You don't ought to pay any postage for the return, but the sender might get hold of a return price.

The return fee makes it much more likely that motion will be taken to dispose of you from their advertising and marketing listing.

HOW TO STOP RECEIVING NON-NAMED MAIL

Have you ever puzzled how direct mail not addressed to anyone in your home falls through your letterbox?

E.G Domino's commercials and your local window glazing enterprise?

*Notify Royal Mail

Thanks to Royal mail, they have got the job of delivering leaflets to every residence.

You can opt out via sending them an e-mail that informs them you no longer want to get hold of advertising mail.

They will send you a letter which you need to sign and ship again to them.

Take word, it could take in to 6 weeks before you noticed a discount within the marketing non-named mail and the opt-out carrier simplest lasts for 2 years.

*Make a signal or a poster

Get innovative and make a poster that states you do not need to receive junk mail.

Stick it in your letterbox, make sure it's especially close to the doorway of the letter container. (Not everyone will notice the sign inside the backside nook of a window.)

*State precisely what mail you do not want to acquire.

Not all people will think their commercials for their newly opened beauty salon is taken into consideration junk mail to your household.

Remember- Try to make your own poster earlier than you print one.

*Contact the sender directly

Contact the sender by way of electronic mail or phone, inform them you wish to no longer receive any mail from them with on the spot effect.

*Return the unsolicited mail immediately to the sender

Cross out your address and write 'direct mail, please return to sender' at the envelope.

You do not should pay any postage for the go back, however the sender would acquire a go back fee.

The go back charge makes it much more likely that motion may be taken to do away with you from their advertising and marketing listing.

BUT, I'M STILL GETTING JUNK MAIL?

Okay, so let's consider you're nevertheless getting junk mail.

Unfortunately, humans (especially those who are spreading the phrase approximately their nearby commercial enterprise) will forget about your no direct mail poster.

Don't worry, there are approaches to reuse your unsolicited mail earlier than you positioned it on your recycling bin.

Here are some thoughts to get your brain juice going.

Note-paper - Use the returned of direct mail letters as word paper

Card layout - Reuse the designs to make Celebration playing cards and gift tags

Compost - Add brown envelopes and white non-glossy paper in your compost pile.

Remove - Any plastic home windows and tacky glue strips first

Recycle - Add the paper to your recycling bin

Stuff things with it - You could make draught excluders and pin cushions in case you package the paper tightly and overlay a thick cloth

Animal bedding - Hamsters and gerbils need bedding, save yourself a few pennies by means of shredding your junk mail

Paper mache - Get innovative and build structures along with your kids of for yourself

Paper baskets - You can fold and coil paper strips to make baskets or any length you fancy

Jewellery - Just as above, you may coil the paper into any form you need and put on it as an excellent looking piece of jewellery.

Seed pots - You can make a container and use that as an opportunity to plastic plant pots. Better yet, the self-made seed pot can be positioned immediately into the floor.

[t-xa]

Specifications - Self 🤖.🫠

[pjdredful]

The AV Club

Chapter 4

I know something isn't quite right the second we pull in to the oil stained lot. It's quieter than usual, like ghost town quiet. Even the neon open light seems dimmer. And just as I think it the letters give a few weak flickers and go out. Well that's not ominous or anything. Mo parks the car at the end of the row under the only working light. It too flickers and goes out. "Alright that shit is getting creepy." We all nod our agreement with Orson and sigh collectively. "What if he's not here?"

 "He's here." This is probably the only bar in town that will let him in the door. The roaring of a motorcycle breaks our tension filled silence and I watch as one of the regular patrons pulls in to the lot, parks and heads for the interior. With a start I realize I can see everything about him perfectly fine despite the dark lenses of the sunglasses. Hm. Bonus. "Well at least we know it's open. Let's go." No one moves and I glance around. "What?"

 "You won't get past the door, Evie." It's not the eyes. Well not entirely the eyes. I do have a wee bit of a history with police here. I slump back into the seat with a sigh. "Orson and Mo can go in. I'll go around back and make sure he doesn't try to weasel out. Something tells me he's not going to be too cooperative." Nat is right. Warrow won't help for nothing and even then it's not exactly willingly. "Which begs the question, what do we do once we're face to face with him?"

 Well we can't talk to him here that's for sure. "I'd like to keep this a little more private than an open parking lot. Maybe we should take him to the clubhouse." I hate the idea of taking him there. It's our place and there's no telling what his sticky fingers will relieve of us. It's not like he doesn't know the value of some of our gear. He's sold us a good portion of it. Nat rubs his chin with his shoulder and sighs.

 "I don't like it but I don't see anywhere better. We all good with that?" We don't exactly have committee votes but everyone has a say when it comes to the clubhouse. We're all equally invested in the stuff we've got there. Something that makes me wish we had better security. Perhaps like locking doors. Or you know. Glass in the windows. "Okay then, you and Lirae sit tight." The doors slam shut around us as the boys get out. It rocks the car a little and I'm suddenly aware that we're alone in the dark. Again.

 "So what'd your mom's journal say?" Well that's not any less awkward but it certainly breaks the quiet between us. I raise a shoulder in a shrug and sigh softly.

 "I didn't get a chance to read much. It's a little heartbreaking." She reaches out and squeezes my hand and I give her a half smile of thanks. "Honestly I just want to hide in my closet and read it cover to cover but I don't think we've got enough time for that right now." The pressure in my head gives a nasty throb reminding me that it's still there making me miserable. "You know that feeling I get when something is out there?" She nods slowly. "It's like I can feel everything out there now. Not just flashes, but this overwhelming weight of darkness. And I'm scared."

 Lirae scoots closer and reaches up to turn my face to hers. Her fingers graze lightly over my jaw and I meet her eyes through the lenses of the sunglasses. "Hey, you're not alone. We got your back. Even Orson." She smirks at that and I roll my eyes. But it does make me smile a little and I nod feeling slightly better. Sitting hand in hand doesn't hurt my mood either. She flirts with me a lot. She always has and I've never taken it seriously because Lirae flirts with EVERYONE. It's just how she is and why I never really take her playful seatbelt groping with more than a grain of salt. But right now, and just before I became a giant metaphysical flashlight, I feel like there's something deeper between us than the teasing gestures everyone else sees.

 "You know its dangerous being my friend, right?" It hasn't all been a bucket of cuddly laughs. There have been extremely weird happenings in our town. Ghosts, poltergeists, golems, possessions, imps, oh and even a demon goat. I blame Orson for that one. Needless to say it's at the very least scary being around me and getting caught up in what's attracted to me but my friends are here and none of them seem to mind. Weirdos.

 "Can't speak for anyone else but it's never boring being around you." That goes without saying. She shrugs a bit leaving it at that for a second. "Do you remember when we first met?"

 I've known Nat and Mo most of my life. I've even known Orson since the sixth grade. He was just as much of an obnoxious butthead then as he is now. But I only met Lirae at the start of freshman year. I give her a mild look. "Before or after you stole my lunch money?"

 "You're never going to let that go are you?" Well. No. She stole my lunch money. "Fine I will buy you lunch, will that make up for it?"

 "It's been like four years, you don't think there's interest on that?" She throws up her free hand in exasperation and groans.

 "Fine! I'll throw in dessert but that's my final offer." I'm good with that. I give her a wide grin and relax deeper into my seat. I'm only vaguely aware of other cars finally trickling in to the lot around us. "My whole point was that when we first met I thought you were such a hot mess."

 "Thanks. Very much. Nice to know." She chuckles and reaches out to playfully tug one of my braided pigtails. It’s her thing. Some people hug, some people playfully punch, some people cuddle. Lirae likes playing with my pigtails. It’s probably why I wear them so often.

 "I had every intention of bullying you every day for the rest of high school, or as long as I managed to stay before getting expelled, because you were such an easy target." Oh. Really? Even better. I'm liking this conversation less and less.

 "So what changed your mind?" Because after that first lunch incident she never hassled me. Not even a little. And then one day she became one of my biggest defenders. No reason given just one day she was my friend and that was that.

 "You did. You weren't like anyone else at that school. It's like you didn't care what anyone said about you or your mom. And like all of the gay bullying crap. You didn't care about how anyone treated you, you just…kept being Evie. I know some of the things people said hurt. I probably would have punched a lot of guys in the junk for some of the things they've said but it doesn't seem to faze you. And it doesn't stop you from helping those same jackasses even if they don't deserve it, even if they hurt you. I love that about you."

 She's talking about Orson. He was one of my worst tormentors. His favorite prank was to steal one tire off my bike so that walking it home was impossible. Yeah. He's THAT guy. Sophomore year he thought it would be brilliant to get drunk with the football team and summon a demon. I'm not entirely sure how Mr. Kicks, the school mascot, was involved but he became the newly conjured demon's host. Hence. Demon goat. "Being an idiotic jerk shouldn't be a death sentence." Not that I didn't think about letting that goat give Orson a good poking with his horns but I just shrug it off with a light smile. "People are dicks, Lirae. You know that. Getting hurt is just part of life, it sucks super hard sometimes, but you just have to keep going."

 "I don't want to hurt you, Evie." Somehow I feel like we're talking about something different, deeper now. "You're the only person I trust to get my back. I don't want to lose that or you." It occurs to me even as I close the distance between us that the guys could be back any second.

 "Kinda right here." Just in case she needed the reminder. I don’t know what’s happening. I really don’t. One minute we’re sitting next to each other the next I’m practically in her lap. Our lips touch and I realize I really don't care if they do come back. There's a breathless second where Lirae is still and I think maybe I misread things. Then she sighs almost happily and deepens the kiss.  The uncertainty vanishes and we melt into each other, as if this weren't the most inopportune time to decide to make out. I nibble her lower lip a little, making Lirae's breath catch. It makes me feel just a little smug. And grateful for all those summers I had to be the boy when my bunkmates wanted to play Date Night at Camp Little Hawk.

 Of course that smug gratefulness evaporates the second something heavy crashes in to the side of the car, causing both of us to scream and jerk apart. Something dark and lumpy shaped scrambles over the hood of the car and we scream again when another heavy weight bounces us a second time in pursuit of the lumpy thing. "Hey!! Watch the hood." It's Mo and that's when I realize the lumpy thing was Warrow, and the yellow streak chasing him must be Orson in his favorite hooded sweatshirt. There's the sound of bodies hitting the hard ground and grunts of pain and cursing. I practically crawl over Lirae's lap to spill out the door of the car.

 I'm not entirely sure which limbs belong to Warrow and which belong to the boys because they're in a tangled heap, rolling around on the ground all punching and kicking each other. After a few yelps and grunts Nat and Orson manage to wrangle Warrow to his feet. Mo limps towards us with a mutter and a bloody lip. "Found him."

 "Le' go of me ye brats." Warrow struggles against Orson and Nat but they hold him firmly between them. He looks up then from the struggling and notices me standing there. "YOU! Are ye crazy?! I cannae be seen with ye. Ye'll be me death!" I frown slightly at that but there isn't time to question it now. We're starting to make an awful lot of noise. "The sigil! Put it on fer the love of Mary!" The sigil? Oh! I almost smack my head at my own stupidity. The rune. If it started the light it might be the thing that stops it. "Quickly now!" His panic sparks a deep unease in my guts. For a second I don't know where it is but my mother's journal is thrust in to my hands and I open the book, letting the necklace fall from its pages in to my hand. I haven't so much as looked at it since this all began. I guess I'm a little afraid of what might happen. Quickly I yank the chain over my head and settle the medallion against my skin. The pain in the back of my head starts to dissipate almost immediately and I groan in relief, slumping against the side of the car.

 It's suddenly too dark and I pull the sunglasses off my face. Warrow's heavy brow scrunches down even further and for a second I can see a shadow shape around his head and the hint of nervously beating shadow wings. They're gone when I blink so I almost dismiss it at an overstimulated imagination. Almost. "We had better get out of here. Get him in the car."

 "I'm not going anywhere with you. This is kidnapping ye know. They arrest people fer that…" It's an empty threat and we all know it. I snort at that and shake my head.

 "Oh please like you'd willingly speak to the police about anything." I have him there and he knows it too. We manage to smoosh in to the car, our smelly friend wedged between Orson and I. Lirae wedges herself between the me and the car, our thighs pressed tightly against each other reminding me that just a few seconds ago we totally made out. Warrow glares from his spot beside me and grunts. I feel like he can read my thoughts and I shove them to the furthest corner of my mind for now. "How did you know this would work?" I hold the rune up a little and he goes a little green. We all slam back in the seats as Mo burns rubber peeling out of the lot just as customers start wandering out to see what all the commotion is about.

 "Ye're the damned Beacon. Always knew ye'd find out bu' never thought ye'd be so damned stupid 'bout it." Hey, I kind of resent that and it makes me want to be a little mean. "They'll kill me just fer talking to ye. Ye've signed me death warrant, ye have."

 "I guess we better not let them see you then. Pull over Mo." Mo gives me a questioning look but finds a dark and quiet stretch of road to pull over on. "Put him in the trunk."

 "Hell yeah. This asshole messed up my jacket! You know how mad my grandmama is gonna be? Get up fool!" Orson opens the door and drags Warrow out by the scruff of his jacket. I can hear Nat and Orson struggling with Warrow as they shove him in the back. The trunk slams and faint banging can be heard even over the sounds of the boys getting back in the car. "I dunno what got in to you, Bacon, but I kind of like it." I glance at Lirae out of the corner of my eye but say nothing.

 "We can't just leave him there forever." Mo pulls back out on to the road but flashes me a look in the rearview mirror. I don't plan to leave him there forever I just didn't feel like sitting next to him anymore. He smells.

 "Just until we get to the clubhouse. He obviously knows something I don't." I'm pretty sure the glow is gone from my eyes now judging by the utterly average night vision I now have. The closer we get to the clubhouse the less sure I am about things. I mean. I feel better, my head isn't killing me but, I still feel unsettled and I'm not entirely sure I want the answers to all my questions. What if I find out something horrible? Like I'm not human or something. The car bounces along the gravel track but for the sounds of thumping and cursing from the trunk it's silent.

 At least we know he hasn't escaped yet. It's not long before we're rolling to a stop in front of the shack. It's only now that I realize how tired I really am. Probably I could sleep for a few weeks straight. I scramble out of the car after Lirae and watch as the boys prepare to open the trunk. It's gotten too quiet and Orson thumps the trunk door. "Listen up, we're gonna open this trunk but if you give us shit I will slam the door right back down. You hearing me?"

 There's no sound from the trunk and we all share a worried look. What if something happened to him back there? I saw Jawbreaker, it could happen! Mo slips the key in the lock and twists, the trunk door pops open with a slow creak, raising slowly. With a tense jerk, Orson yanks the lid up but Warrow is faster than we anticipated. And he found the broken golf club Mo keeps for 'emergencies' in the trunk. Orson doubles over as the wind is knocked out of him from a hard jab of the 9 iron to his gut. Warrow kicks out with a stubby leg catching Nat in the chest and sending him back against his brother.

 He's almost free of the trunk when I do the only thing I know how. I swing my leg up between both of his and kick him soundly in his junk. Warrow's face goes purple and he drops to his knees in the dirt, wheezing. "Sorry!" Kind of. Orson raises a hand and for a minute I blink at it stupidly before realizing he’s waiting for a high five from someone. Oh! It’s me. I almost cautiously bring a hand up and slap it quickly against his as if waiting for him to pull it away on me. He doesn’t. Orson just chuckles a little and grabs Warrow less than kindly to haul him to his feet.

 "Nice." I turn my head at the chuckle beside me and smile at Lirae. "You're all kinds of surprising tonight Evie. Like I said. Never boring." The five of us manage to drag Warrow in to the clubhouse without further incident. He glares at us but is resolutely quiet. Even when dumped unceremoniously in the farting beanbag chair. We all find places to sit before I start off.

 "I'm sorry about this Warrow but I didn't think you'd be particularly willing to help." He says nothing but his glare, if possible, gets darker. "You obviously know a lot more than I do right now and the truth is I really need your help. Please."

 I can see the struggle in his beady little eyes. He's torn between staying quiet out of spite and getting something out of the deal. I raise a brow and lean forward a little to let him know I'm very serious. I'm only a little bothered that he leans back away from me. "And what are ye offering me? Hm? Anything of worth?"

 We have some money but not what he'd ask, and we don't really have much else. Except one thing. "Well we could let you go when we're done talking. Then you'd be free to slink away into whatever dank hidey hole you have. You might even manage to avoid whatever is out there hunting me." I pretend to think on it for a second. "Or we can just parade around town with you, make it real obvious how close of friends we are. Take in a movie, or have a coffee…" I'm betting he doesn't want the latter.  He made it very clear the further he is from me the happier he is. "I might could even hold your hand a little." I try really hard not to let it show how much the idea of doing just that bothers me. I can’t even look at my friends because I know I’ll see the same stink faced look I want to make reflected on each of theirs. Just to make a point I start reaching my hand out to Warrow’s and he pulls it back very quickly.

 Warrow gives a horrified look and hisses out a breath. I lean back a little, readjusting my weight on the arm of the loveseat. "A bargain aye? Ask me questions three, on oath of blood against falsehood, three truths to set me free." That sounds…way more serious than ‘I'll take your word for it’. It sounds like a magic binding. What the actual hell? I don’t repeat the words just in case, I only nod my agreement.

 "What are you?" Damnit! I didn't mean to ask that! Warrow smiles at me knowingly and shrugs lightly.

 "Three truths promised, m'dear. I am a gargoyle. My kind has watched over the affairs of men and demons alike. No secrets can be kept from us for we are the very darkness that covers all things."

 "Shut the front door." That is nothing like the cartoon. Both disappointing and super cool at the same time. Well that's what I get for using Disney cartoons as a point of reference for real life. Orson gives a disappointed grunt and I bite back the chuckle knowing he’s thinking the same thing I am. Focus Evie, Focus!

 "Ye don't have much of one do ye?" Lirae shoots her leg out, kicking him on the sole of his boot in retaliation. Warrow raises his hands in a placating gesture and looks around with sharp little eyes. "Not much in the way of security here at all. Weren't for the consecrated ground, ye'd be sunk for sure." Consecrated ground? We didn't actually know that but I'm going to pretend like we did. "Course it won't keep shifters out. They're a bit of the gray area y'see."

 "Or gargoyles apparently." It's not a question exactly and he gives me a nod of acceptance of that but says nothing more. "So you know all kinds of secret things and you aren't bound by consecrated ground. Good to know. Now. What am I? I mean I know I'm a Beacon but what is that exactly?"

 He gives me a disgusted tsking sound and grunts. "A Beacon? More like The Beacon. Ye're the literal light in the dark. Haven't ye always known ye were different? Dark things and the like, drawn to ye with no reason? I know ye've had the nightmares too. How's the sleep stone workin' fer ye by the way?" I haven't thought about it much with all that's been going on but the magic monkey turd must be working because I can't recall any disturbing dreams. I'm not quite ready to admit that because I have a nauseating feeling that he's waiting to collect on his payment for it. I give him a dismissive wave and glance to my friends, silently asking what they think.

 My eyes land on Nat first, his eager face letting me know he wants to know more. I expect that from him, he's the jump in to the fray guy. Mo looks more wary but he gives a short nod of support to me and I smile. I turn to eye the two other occupants of the loveseat. Lirae bumps my hip with her shoulder and Orson jerks his head in a nod. Okay then. I'm careful how I word things so that I get the right answers. "This has to do with my mom, her journal, her sigil."

 "There a question in there lass?" No. I know this has to do with her and most of the answers I'm looking for are probably in her journal. I just have to buck up and read it. So I guess what I really need to know is how safe I am.

 "If I can see them, they can see me. How much danger am I in now that I'm…this?"

 I don't think he was expecting that question and he cocks his head to one side thinking. "The sigil shields yer light. Safe enough until ye learn to control the curse. If ye can. Yer mam never managed, weren't her fault though. Her Guardian failed her, broke their bond and left her defenseless. The power you carry now, was too much for her then to contain. Made her crazy ye see. If ye don't bond with a Guardian ye'll go the same way as her. That's dangerous enough don't ye think?"

 I swallow thickly barely registering the warm hand giving a reassuring squeeze to my leg. "What Guardian?" He stands with a cocky smirk and waggles a grimy finger at me.

 "Tsk tsk. Three truths given. We're done here I think." Nat stands immediately, ready to fight if necessary but I hold out a hand and shake my head. A deal is a deal. Warrow rubs his stubbled chin, giving me a deeply considering glance. "I'll give ye this fer free since we're such good friends. But after this we've no more business between us save the debt ye owe and best remember, I always collect." I give a slight nod at that and he settles his trench coat better on his shoulders. "Ye already know where to find her Guardian. He's been holding all yer secrets all along."

 In a burst of shadow and a grainy mist, Warrow spins, his shape twisting and roiling like an inky black sand storm. Wings and a body the size of a small pony fill the room and we all hit the deck with confused shouts. Black sulphurous grit swirls around us in the wake of Warrow's downdraft. For a second I'm confused by the softness of the ground until I realize that I'm on top of Lirae. And there are boobs in my hands.

 "Well well…what's going on over here…as you were ladies." I let go like I've been burned and attempt roll off of her without being obvious. My body topples awkwardly to the ground with a thump and we both groan and glance over at Orson in mild irritation. I get up carefully and hold a hand out for Lirae. She doesn't let it go once we're both standing so I just go with it. "Alright then. Maybe next time." Keep on dreaming dude, it's never happening for you. "So what's the plan?"

 "Right now? I just want to go home and sleep. I know I can find answers in mom's journal. Maybe even something to clue me in on this Guardian person." I know Warrow said I already knew the Guardian but that could be anyone I've ever met. It's too vague of a clue and I'm just too tired to try and puzzle it out. "Tomorrow is Saturday so I'll probably be here all day. I'm not really in the mood to be at home too much right now. What about you guys?"

 "I've got an early shift at work but I can be here in the afternoon. I'll bring a couple of pies from Delpino's." Delpino's pizza pies. My mouth is watering already and Mo smiles at me. "Knew that'd cheer you up."

 "Me and Nat have the team breakfast for the booster club. Grandmama is out in La Luz with Petey for the Trinity County Science Finals." Trinity County is where we live, specifically in Temple City. La Luz and Blessing Township are the only other towns around. Three small towns in one small county. "I'll have the truck all day. I think we should pick up a few things to make this place a little more secure now that Warrow's been here."

 He's not wrong. Nat nods his agreement with Orson at that. "Yeah I've got some supplies in the garage we can use. We'll swing by after the breakfast. What about you Lirae?"

 "I'm free, I'll meet Evie at home and we can walk here together." Hm. I'm suddenly aware of the fact that everyone is making an effort to be where I am. As if I shouldn't be alone. I eye them questioningly but no one offers any answers. This is one of those times when they've silently agreed on something I was not privy too. I'm too tired to care so I let it go. We can talk about it in the morning.

[t-xa]

Limited memory capacity on earlier model terminators does tend to cause issues.

[frejahertziswritingthistime]

The Diner

A/N: This was a request from the amazingly awesome @kitcatimpala67! Prompt: What about a Benny x reader? Maybe something fluffy?

I hope I do it justice – this is my first time writing anything Benny, so hope it’s okay!

Remember, I always say yes to requests and feedback feeds the writer!

MOBILE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

Pairings: Benny x reader

Warnings: Fluff, implied smut, heavy makeout-session 

Your eyes hurt. Your back hurt. Everything hurt. You had been driving for maybe 5 hours already, and you could feel the effects catching up on you – it wasn’t that easy to just get in your car and drive with no real purpose, apparently. Your stomach grumbled, kindly reminding you that you needed something other than granola-bars and saltines. A sign popped up along the side of the road, pointing to a small, rural town a few miles ahead – at least you could get some food and maybe a room for the night, and get back to the road tomorrow. Yes, that seemed like a plan.

You took the next turn, driving down a pot-holey-road, hoping your poor, old car could handle the gravel and holes. It was a small town (a diner, motel and ten houses, from what you could see), but it would do for the night; autumn colored the small neighborhood in yellow, brown and dark red, a light dusting of rain blurring your vision slightly. It was quaint.

You saw the sign for a diner (Mcgee’s), and you smiled – food. Greasy, fatty, heart-stopping diner-food. As you pulled into the small parking lot, you caught a glimpse of the inside; two patrons were seated inside, and a tall, burly man was servicing. The car spluttered as you turned it off, and you silently berated yourself for not getting it checked out, before you went on your soul-searching-trip. You slid out of the front seat, stretching your legs – your muscles screamed in protest after five hours of being in the same position, and you could barely stretch them completely. You hobbled (not elegantly) towards the door – the glass was dusty, and it blurred the insides a little bit.

As you stepped inside, your mouth instantly watered; the smell of freshly cooked burgers, fries and everything else, that could fit in a fryer, overwhelmed you – you almost moaned audibly, but managed to keep that back; your stomach growled loudly, and you made your way to the counter, where you plopped down on a bar stool, and looked around. The interior was dark; the booths, chairs and tables were kept in a dark, wooden tone, contrasting the white floors and walls perfectly; a few photos hung around the room, and a jukebox had been placed at the far end of the room, a slow song playing soothingly from it; a door right next to it led to the bathrooms. “What can I do ya, doll?” A deep, southern drawl made you snap out of your reverie and you looked up – a very beautiful man stood in front of you, the bluest eyes to ever blue trained on your face and a smirk on his lips. He stood with a notebook and a pencil in his hands (those were big you noted) and he tapped the open page lightly. “Uhm…” You couldn’t form a coherent thought; he was beautiful. You could almost sense the muscles under his t-shirt tightening and rippling. He was taken from a goddamn magazine, you were sure of it, and his deep voice did nothing but make you melt like a schoolgirl in front of him. Holy shit. “You’re new around here, aren’t ya?” He grinned, flashing a set of perfectly straight, white teeth. You finally managed to get your mind somewhat together to answer the man in front of you. “Uh… passing through, actually.” He raised his eyebrows at that. “Straggler, huh? Well, I’m here to help, doll. What will it be for the lady?” He said with a smirk, and you melted a little; damn it, this shouldn’t be allowed. “uhm… Just… I don’t know. Burger, I guess?” You questioned, a sly glance at him. He chuckled, and the sound made you shiver – you were sure you’d never forget that sound, for as long as you lived. “How ‘bout this? I get you the best food ‘round here, and you keep me company?” He asked with a wink. You nodded and smiled. He grinned and stepped in the back, presumably to call in your order, and returned to you with a large glass of coke. “Here. Saw that truck of yours, when you pulled up. Didn’t look to good.” He said as he leaned over the counter on his elbows. You quirked your eyebrows at him and took a sip of the soda in front of you. “Hey, no judgement to my truck. It has been through a lot.” You said with a pointed glare at him. He chuckled again and held his hands up. “No worries, darlin’, I just wanted if you needed someone to look at it. It’s smokin’.” He said and nodded towards the window, where, sure enough, the hood of your car was emitting a white smoke. “Fuck. It probably overheated or something…” You murmured and laid your head on the counter in frustration. “How the hell am I going to get out of here?” You mumbled against the cool counter. You heard laughter from above you and peeked up at the man in front of you. “I’ll call someone, don’t you worry your pretty, little head about it, darlin’.” He said with a wink. You groaned but appreciated the gesture all the same. You were about to come up with a clever retort, when a “order’s up!” sounded from the back, and the man stepped out for a second, before returning with two plates; one with the most delicious burger you had ever seen, the other with fries and onion rings stacked high. You moaned at the sight. “Holy shit.” He sat the plates down in front of you. “Get to it.” He said with a smile, before running to the back again. You did just that; the burger was the best thing you had ever had in your mouth, and the fries and onion rings were perfectly crisp. You wanted to marry this burger. “So, what’s a nice girl doing in a place like this?” the southern voice had returned, and you swallowed a big bite of burger, before you looked up at him. “A nice girl needed some time off, she guesses. She also has a name. Y/N Y/L/N.” You said with a wink – how the hell you could flirt right now, but you guessed it worked, because his eyes glinted, and he smirked widely. “Ah, well, my name’s Benny Lafitte. Nice to meet you, doll.” He said and leaned over the counter again.

You talked about everything you could, as you finished your burger, and you finally leaned back in the stool, content and with a faint blush on your cheeks; he had been shamelessly flirting with you for the duration of your dinner. You looked out the window, surprised it had gotten dark. “It’s late. I should find a motel or something.” You said, while hauling your wallet of from your bag. He shook his head. “Now, what kind of a man would I be, if I let a girl pay for the first date? On the house, doll.” He said. You raised your eyebrows. “This was a date? Damn, should’ve dressed nicer.” You grinned, gesturing to your body – you were wearing an old t-shirt with a flannel on top and a pair of high waisted jean-shorts. The weather had been surprisingly warm, considering the weather. “Nah, you look perfect, Miss Y/L/N.” He grinned. “If you hang back for a few, I’ll close up and walk you out.” You sighed, suddenly remembering your cars state. “Damn. Can’t get anywhere with that heap of junk out there.” You pointed towards the dark parking lot with your thumb. He shook his head. “Don’t ya worry ‘bout that. I’ve got it covered.” He said, before walking around the counter to lock the door. You briefly wondered why you trusted Benny so much; he could be a serial killer for all you knew, but here you were, getting locked inside an empty building with him and didn’t hesitate for one minute. “So… How long are you stayin’, doll?” He said as he walked around to put chairs on the tables. You jumped from your stool and started helping him – you had a hard time ripping your eyes off him and his huge arms – the muscles played under the t-shirts as he lifted chair after chair up on the tables. You shrugged. “Don’t know. I didn’t plan for more than a night if I’m being honest.” You said casually. He clutched the front of his t-shirt and smirked at you, his blue eyes twinkling with glee. “Aw, don’t do that now. You come here, steal my heart and then break it? That’s not fair, doll.” You laughed, while a blush crept up on your cheeks again; he was flirting so hard, and you hardly knew where to put yourself. You looked back at him, and when did he get so damn close? He smelled like bourbon, freshly chopped wood and old spice, and it made you weak in the knees; how the hell did he get that sort of impact on you? “Sorry, I didn’t mean to break your heart.” It was meant as a joke, but it came out raspy and needy – what the hell was happening to you? A slow song started on the jukebox, and a trance fell over you, as you looked in his eyes. “Dance with me.” He whispered as he put a big hand on the small of your back, practically engulfing you in him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and almost stood on your tip-toes – he was tall.

You swayed in the dimly lit diner to the slow music in the background, his eyes never wavering from yours. His scruffy beard made you want to run a hand through it, and his eyes were like oceans on a summers day; they moved around your face, imprinting your features, and he was warm – you had somehow moved so close to him, that you couldn’t fit a finger in between the two of you, and your breathing was becoming labored – he was gorgeous, towering over you, and looking at you with something playing behind his eyes. Your body was arched against his, and you suddenly became aware of the fact, that you were barely touching the floor; he was lifting you slightly, carrying you. His eyes searched your face, as he leaned closer and closer, his breath fanning out over your face, as he looked for any signs of hesitation; you didn’t have any whatsoever, you wanted him as much as he looked like he wanted you.

His lips met yours, just briefly and very lightly, as if he was testing the waters; making sure you could pull away if you wanted to. You groaned at the light touch and slammed your lips against his; he answered your kiss with fervor, lifting you completely, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, anchoring yourself to him, as you explored him. His lips were soft and chapped at the same time, and his kiss was desperate – he was seeking you out, trying to gauge your reaction to what he was doing, and you deepened the kiss with a moan – he tasted like bourbon, and your body burned against his; his hands moved down to get a better grip on you, landing on your ass, and he groaned against your lips, walking a little forward, so you were pressed against the wall behind you; you moaned, as his fingers played around your ass, a thumb brushing your thigh here and there, and you could barely stand it. He kissed you like he had done it a thousand times before, like he knew your lips perfectly well, and you answered him with the same passion he gave you; you tugged lightly on his short hair, and he groaned, rolling his hips a little against you, and you could feel the hard bulge rubbing against your heated core. He broke away, panting, and pressed his forehead against yours. “As much as I’m enjoying this, doll, I think we’d better get out of here, before we do somethin’ on this counter.” He murmured with eyes closed. You laughed lightly and gave him a light peck on the lips before unwrapping your legs; your knees wobbled slightly as he put you slowly down on the floor again. “Alright. Lead the way, Mr. Lafitte.” His eyes grew a little darker with lust, and you made a mental note to play around with that later. He took your hand and stepped outside in the cool air, before dragging you towards a trunk at the far end of the parking lot.

When you stood on the passenger’s side of the car, he suddenly leaned in, his arms beside your head, caging you in, before he gave you a searing kiss. “How ‘bout you don’t go to a motel?” You moaned lightly at his tone of voice. “Where would I go, then?” You asked with eyes closed. “With me, doll.” You smiled.

“If that’s the case, I might stay indefinitely.” You grinned, before kissing him again.

FOREVERLIST: @supernaturalmagicfolk, @redeyedvixen, @al1y, @roonyxx

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