#but I’d like to think I have my priorities in order when I recognize that math etc. concepts you might not think are relevant at the time

[dykeredhood]

Thinking of how the facilitator for my most recent in-person work training said that all she recalled from her math classes was the Pythagorean theorem and that she neverrrrrrr uses that in her day-to-day life

This is the same woman who told the class that the triangle is the symbol for change… it’s a delta. It’s the Greek letter delta that refers to the change in something

This was the same facilitator who was in charge of another mandatory class I had to take a few years back; she began the session by telling us that when someone asks boomers to think of a kind of bird, they already have that knowledge in their own brains, but when the same question is asked of millennials, the first thing they do is bring out their smartphone. First off: it was her mistake saying that to classroom full of mostly millennials… second: if she’d legitimately asked us that question, I’d’ve had an answer without even needing to look at my phone (bird: an oriole. or Big Bird). It’s no wonder that the class devolved into an actual shouting match a few hours in

[daughterofcain-67]

𝙾𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙾𝚞𝚛 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 (𝚙𝚝 3)

(Soldier Boy x Female Reader)

(masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : When Ben comes across Crimson Countess he also runs into the man that released him from the vault back in Russia. He proposes a deal which Ben has to think about, but Butcher has some information that peeks his interest. Your whereabouts.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : spoilers to the show (Ben’s encounter with Crimson Countess), a little bit of a steamy moment. I think that’s it?

After his encounter with The Legend, Ben knew that his first stop would have to be Crimson Countess. But there was one more piece of information he needed to gather.

He needed to know where you were and he needed to figure out how the Hell he was going to get to you. You were his top priority and he had a feeling Countess would know where to look. He didn’t know if that feeling was right, but it had to be worth some sort of shot.

Soon enough, Ben made it to the shitty little trailer that Countess lived in, but before he could make an advance on the little building, he was confronted. He saw this man’s face before, but from where. But then it clicked and he recognized him.

“You’re the asshole from the lab.”

“That’s right. I’m the one that managed to get you out. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I know you want Countess dead. Don’t worry, Mate, I’m not here to stop ya. She’s right in the trailer for the taking. It can sort of be considered a uh.. a gesture of good faith.” The man said. Ben lifted a brow.

This man meant to tell Ben that he allowed Countess to live just so he could kill her? What the hell was this man trying to get him wrapped up into?

“Good faith for what?”

“Well, I was thinking that you and I could come up to what one would call a… well a team up of sorts.”

“You want me? To team up with you?”

The burly looking man smirked before he reached into his pocket before pulling out a little piece of paper, “We know Countess isn’t the end goal for you.”

Ben didn’t like the sound of this. But he wasn’t about to stand by and take orders from some rookie that thinks he can be won over by Countess’ life being saved.

“Oh yeah, and what do you think my end goal is supposed to be, hmm?”

“A certain retired supe named Quake.” Ben’s jaw tightened for a moment and was about ready to tear this stranger limb from limb if he dared to make a threat against you.

“Now don’t get the wrong idea, Mate. I’m not here to make any threats against you or your little Harlot. This is just another gesture of mine after you take down Countess in there.”

Ben looked at the sheet the man was holding in his hand and he started to think before he spoke again, “I’ve got my own mission, Buddy.”

“Oh we understand. The details can be discussed a bit later, but we need a um… a favor I suppose you could say.”

“Let me handle Countess before I take any favors from the likes of you. If I want that address badly enough, I have my own ways of getting it without having to owe anyone any damned favors.” The man walked over to him anyway before he just handed the paper over.

“Just take the damned paper, Mate. Make your life a little easier. Go in there, do what you need to do, and I’ll even give you a ride to Quake myself.”

Ben thought about it before he reluctantly took the piece of paper from the man he would later learn was named Butcher. He put it into the pocket he had in his uniform pants before he started walking up to Countess’ door.

He has waited so long for this little ‘reunion’ of sorts.

When he walked in, he noticed that his ex girlfriend was bound to a chair. So that was what the man meant by a gesture. They did all the hard work and she sat there so helplessly for him. They were really trying to suck up to him for this little favor they wanted, huh?

“Ben? Is that you?”

Ugh, even her voice made his stomach churn with so many regrets. At one point he even hated to say that he loved her before you came into the picture.

As he stepped further into the light she spoke again, “You look so young.”

“Yeah well.. you don’t.”

Ben could see the fear in the woman’s eyes and oddly enough, it was exhilarating to know that she was fully aware of her mistake. She genuinely thought the Russians could have killed him, “I’m so, so sorry..”

Ben tilted his head as he watched her practically tremble with fear in her seat, “This wasn’t my idea. You have to believe me.”

“How much did the Russians pay you, Sweetheart? Hmm?” The moment she looked away and revealed that they didn’t pay her was crushing oddly enough.

“They didn’t pay you anything? At all?” Still, no eye contact was made as Ben continued to stare at her.

“To think.. at some point I loved you.” He began.

“I know you and I had our ups and downs, but I still held onto the hope that while they tortured me, burned me, injected poison into me that somehow you would be the one that would come and find me again. You were the one I trusted most on the team.”

Then, Countess finally looked back up at Ben and she had this spiteful look in her gaze.

“Love? I didn’t love you. I hated you.” She seethed, leaning forward into her chair,

“Every last one of us hated you. What kind of a woman would love a monster like you?”

The hand that wasn’t holding Ben’s shield tightened into a fist. So that was the true feelings Countess had. There wasn’t even a sibling sort of love or any sense of camaraderie to give them a bond over the years? Everything they had truly meant nothing?

Ben’s eyes darkened and he felt that familiar burning in his chest once more. It was a little less intense then before, but he watched Countess’ eyes widen and she leaned back into the chair as she tried to brace herself. But he was sure nothing could have braced her for a death quite like this.

He released the energy that was building up within him and a blast escaped his chest. Several seconds went by and the light from the energy blast finally dissipated. When he looked in the spot where his former girlfriend sat, he saw nothing but a burnt skeleton in her place. Her home was completely destroyed in the process but of course, it didn’t exactly matter to him.

When he stepped off the remnants of the trailer, he saw some blonde chick staring at him and her eyes started glowing yellow before some lanky looking kid stepped in front of her. He could tell they were starting to have a discussion, and since it didn’t involve him Ben decided to walk away and start his own journey.

As Ben walked, he pulled out the sheet of paper and saw your address. Apparently it’s changed since the last time he saw you. All he knew was that he was one step closer to seeing you again.

“So, Mate. What do you say about that team up?” The man with the accent said and he turned around and stared at him.

“You take me to this address so I know this is really where she is. Then I’ll think about that little favor of yours as far as putting it on my agenda.” Ben said, and luckily for him the two men that were deciding to follow him around for whatever reason knew that this wasn’t up for a negotiation.

Whatever they wanted, they must’ve needed him pretty badly to make sure whatever they were going after gets accomplished.

“Of course. We’ll take you there now. It’s a couple of hours from here though so you’ll be in a cramped car for a while.” The lanky one finally spoke. What did this little kid have anything to do with this?

After a few hours, they pulled up several yards away from some sort of cabin. So this was where you decided to stay? Some cabin in the woods? He supposed it was private enough after all.

While Ben looked out of the window towards the building, he heard Butcher turning in his seat. Ben glanced over and saw that Butcher was handing him yet another sheet of paper. this time it had a phone number on it.

“Take the night to think on it, catch up with that little friend of yours now that you know she’s inside, and call us in the morning.” Ben lifted a brow and took the sheet of paper before he got out of the car. Butcher and Hughie - evidently that was the name of the scrawny kid - backed out and drove off, leaving Ben there.

He started to walk up to your cabin, his heart pounding in his chest and he could even hear it. This felt so surreal and he wasn’t even sure he could knock on the door incase it was just some kind of dream.

As he got closer, Ben realized that you didn’t have any lights on in the house. He carefully walked up to a window and took a look inside. When he did, he caught a glimpse of your little office area. You had a library, he supposed reading could be a good pastime for retirement even if he wasn’t a big reader himself. But what caught his attention was a chest that was sitting beneath your desk.

He could see the top of the chest was open and there were a shit ton of envelopes inside. Who the hell were you supposed to be pen pals with all of this time and who had the time to write like that? He couldn’t be more curious if he tried.

Ben bit his lip as the wheels started turning in his mind as he tried to think of a way to sneak into this room. He reached into his boot and picked up a pocket knife and started to slide it into the window, his attempt to unlock it and let himself in that way. To his surprise, Ben was successful and he opened up the window before proceeding to let himself in. Then he shut the window quietly once more.

When he walked over to the desk and pulled out the chest and set it on top of the desk, he got a closer look at the names on the envelopes. He turned on the lamp on your desk so he could see a bit better and he noticed that every last one of them had his name on them.

“She wrote letters?” He asked himself, mostly in a hushed tone. Then he noticed the fact that each envelope had been dated from 1984 to just this morning.

He took one of the letters and noticed the date as September 19, 2001. One of his birthdays over the years. As he opened it up, he saw your beautiful handwriting and he smiled to himself as he began to read.

Happy birthday my Ben!

Today would be your 82nd birthday. I know I’m not that far behind you. We’re both a couple of oldies, huh? It’s crazy how much times have changed here and I wish I could hear your thoughts on it.

I know for sure you would be opinionated on the attacks on the Twin Towers and the Pentagon couple of days ago. I know you would want to be one of the first ones there to set the terrorists straight. Honestly I think you would hate what this world has come to anyway. You missed out on the Y2K movement at the turn of the millennium. Technology is really advancing and it’s honestly really scary. And we thought Vought’s tech was getting out of hand. People even have little computers they can take into their homes now, phones aren’t attached to the walls anymore like what we had growing up. People can carry their phones in their pockets now. That’s crazy to me!

I miss you so much, Ben. It never gets easier celebrating your birthday since everyone thinks your dead. I know that I should to, but I can’t for whatever reason. There’s a lot of conspiracy theorists that think you’re alive but those are few and far between. Unfortunately not a lot of them know who you are anymore. We have a new generation of supe fans and the old school supes are either dying off or they’re retiring and getting forgotten. The only supe you may recognize that’s active on the field would probably be Black Noir.

But anyway.. Not much is really happening. I’m watching a couple of your old movies today before I might go grocery shopping. Maybe I’ll pick up a few more envelopes. I’m running low on some supplies for these silly letters.

I love you, Ben. You’ll always have my heart.

Your Y/N.

Ben couldn’t help but feel this warmth in his heart, and it wasn’t one of those energy blasts getting ready. He folded up the piece of paper and put it back into the envelope and looked through some more of the envelopes.

Then he pulled another one out, this one was dated for January 19, 2020.

Well, Ben, I think human society will be coming to an end soon.

No it’s not the reason one would think. Apparently this virus called Covid has hit the country and everyone is supposed to be quarantined. It’s not that big of a deal for me because I’m alone anyways. But I was doing some online shopping to stock up on some things and I found out that stores are selling out of toilet paper of all things!

People get too hysterical. But maybe I shouldn’t talk too much about that since I’m a supe and don’t have the luxury of suffering from a virus like that. The people without our abilities and immune systems are suffering a lot though. It’s kind of hard to see the decline of everything.

It’s moments like this where I’m sort of glad that you’re not here to witness this madness. I really hope things will get better though. I don’t know if it will. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.

Y/N

There was even a virus? How bad was that? From what you said in your letter, it sounded like a national problem, maybe even global. Times really had changed a lot and he couldn’t believe just how much he had missed. All of this information just from reading two of your letters.

Honestly, he was glad you wrote these letters. It gave him something he could use to catch up on a lot of things that have happened over these past few decades. What made it even better was that it was from your own point of view. And if he could, Ben would spend all night reading each one of your letters.

It was so thoughtful to know that you did this. That you didn’t give up hope on him and that you would write to him as if he were still there able to read every word.

Just as Ben was about to grab another letter to read, he heard footsteps coming down from the hall and then there was the sound of a switch. When he looked over he saw that there was a hall light on and saw the most beautiful woman in the world standing in the doorway.

You looked just as beautiful as the day he left you for Nicaragua. It was like you hadn’t aged a single day either.

You were standing there in your grey ish silk robe that reached down to the floor. Around your neck he recognized the chain of the necklace he gave you all those years ago. He was amazed that you still wore it around your beautiful little neck. Your hair framed your face perfectly, as if you hadn’t even gone to sleep just yet.

He could see the disbelief in your eyes as he carefully took a step forward towards you.

You stood there completely stunned. You thought you had heard a noise a few minutes ago as you were getting ready to try and sleep but the feeling was too unsettling. You were glad you had gotten out of bed and walked down the hall because when you noticed the light in your office was turned on, you were shocked at who was in front of you.

You swore that your eyes were deceiving you. This had to be some sort of dream. But you don’t remember actually being able to fall asleep that night. But what you believed you were seeing was Ben, alive and well and in his uniform. He looked like he hadn’t aged a day, much like you hadn’t aged.

“Ben? Is… Is that you?” You breathed out as he started to walk towards you.

“It’s really me, Sweetheart.”

Hearing his voice again made your eyes well up with tears. After so many years you never knew when you would possibly be able to hear his voice or even see him again, but Ben was really there standing in front of you! You could hardly believe it!

You ran into his arms and he lifted you up effortlessly and spun you around. Your arms were wrapped around his neck and you buried your face in his neck. His hands were beneath your thighs as he wrapped your legs around his waist to keep you steady but he was able to use one hand to cradle the back of your head. You must’ve been trembling since he started to mutter sweet nothings in your ear.

“It’s really me, Love. I’m not leaving like that ever again. Not for Vought, not for anyone.” He reassured you, but you didn’t really care about that right now. You were too caught up in enjoying his embrace.

You slowly pulled away from his neck so you could get a better look at him. Gently moving a strand of hair away from his face, you admired every little feature of his face. You thought you would never be able to see him again or be this close to him again. As you moved one of your arms to place a hand on his bearded face, you leaned in and gently smashed your lips against his. You hadn’t realized just how many emotions you were holding in at the moment as you felt warm tears streaming down your cheeks. Tears of joy, happiness, so much relief, confusion, and other emotions that you couldn’t exactly describe in that moment.

Ben kissed you back instantly and he could feel one of your hands going to the back of his neck and your fingernails found the bottom of his scalp, the gentle scratch as you ran your fingers through his hair caused a chill shoot through his spine as the kiss started to grow more heated and passionate. He’s longed for this closeness for so long, even before he was shipped out of the country. He’s missed you and everything about you.

The moment your lips parted, Ben instantly wanted more of your kisses but you started to speak again.

“Where’ve you been all this time? How did you make it back?” You asked breathlessly as Ben lifted a hand to wipe the tears from your face.

“I’ll tell you all about it later. I had some business to take care of before I was able to see you.”

“What business was that?”

“Countess…” He trailed off, making you lift a brow. “Originally when I was supposed to come back with the others I was going to break things off with her. Granted it’s several years later but I still needed to have a conversation with her.”

The expression on your face told Ben you must’ve been a little skeptical about the ‘how’ everything transpired and maybe she speculated he had more than just a conversation to end things. But he could always tell you later.

“I promise… I’ll answer any questions you have later. The important thing is, I’m back and I’m here with you again and Countess is permanently out of the picture.” That beautiful smile you had returned on your face and Ben leaned down to kiss you again but you pulled away, confusing Soldier Boy.

“Set me down.” You whispered and got out of his grasp. Then you took his hand, intertwining your fingers with his before Ben realized he was following you through the house and he made it to your bedroom.

Once he was in the room you shut the door and Ben looked down at you. The next thing he knew, Ben was sitting down on the edge of your mattress and he watched you took off your robe. You were wearing just a regular set of pajamas, a loose fitting black silk tank top and some matching shorts to go with it but you were still so unbelievably gorgeous.

He took your hand he gently pulled you close and you sat down, straddling his lap. He could feel your delicate hands on his chest and he lifted a hand to touch your sweet face, letting his thumb gently caress your bottom lip. He could feel how warm your cheeks got at such a simple action, and he lied the way you seemed to react to his touch. Then, Ben leaned in to kiss you once more.

The warmth of his lips sent a fire inside of you as Ben continued to deepen the kiss. You could feel his tongue over your mouth and you parted your lips for him. An involuntary little noise escaped you from his kiss. You started to feel a little light headed with the way he seemed to consume you in the moment.

But the moment Ben parted your lips, he lifted you up and turned the both of you around so you were on your back. The actions caused you to let out a giggle. You didn’t know why you laughed, maybe it was because both of you were eager, maybe it was still the fact that everything was still so surreal for you. Ben didn’t seem to mind the laughter because he was smiling at you when you looked up at him.

You reached up and pulled him down for another kiss and he placed a soft kiss on your lips before he started letting his lips work their way down your neck. You could feel his beard tickling your sensitive skin but you didn’t mind. You closed your eyes and relished in the feeling of his touch as you let your hand go to the back of his head, fingers getting tangled in his hair.

Ben smiled against your skin when he felt your hands in his hair again. He reached down and moved one of your thighs and you instinctively hooked it around his waist as he settled between your legs. Then he let his hand run up your thighs, loving how soft your skin felt beneath his fingertips. He could feel the way your body seemed to grow hot with his touch and he loved it.

But just as things were starting to get good, things were interrupted.

Both you and Ben could hear some sort of ruckus outside and Ben lifted his head from your neck, “Son of a bitch, what the hell is that?”

You were definitely frustrated that you were interrupted too, but you wondered more about what could be outside. How were you found? You had a feeling that whatever was outside couldn’t exactly be good news.

You and Ben both got out of bed and started making your way to the living room and you walked towards one of the windows and you saw Black Noir standing with Queen Maeve. You could faintly hear Queen Maeve talking about something.

“I still don’t get why Homelander wants us to check this out. Is he really that paranoid about Starlight? They’re supposed to be the world’s number one couple aren’t they?” You could hear Maeve say, but not to anyone’s surprise Noir didn’t answer.

Still, it was enough for your eyes to widen. Homelander and the Seven knew where you were now? Why the hell did they come to your door? How did you get wrapped up this mess? Just by some sort of minor association with that Butcher fellow and his little group?

“Noir…” You heard Ben speak.

When you looked over at him, you could tell he was angry. What the hell happened in Nicaragua? You turned to him and put a hand on his chest.

“They can’t possibly know you’re alive. They want me because of some group that stopped by a few days ago. Just stay here before you get yourself in trouble again.” You pleaded.

“You don’t understand. Noir was a part of it some how. I need to go out there and-“

“Ben, I don’t know what you’re planning. I don’t know how you plan on doing it. But you need to do things right and right now that means listening to me before you wind up somewhere that you don’t need to be. I’m not losing you for another several decades.”

Ben’s jaw tightened and he hated when you got stubborn like this. But you were right. He supposed the logical thing to do at the moment was lie low before he found out where the rest of his former teammates resided. And Butcher… maybe he knew more than he was leading on.

Before Ben knew it, you were walking out your front door to confront the two supes.

“Hi there. Is there something the two of you need this late at night?” You asked, not really that scared to face them head on. If it was just a conversation, you could handle it.

“O-Oh. Quake. We didn’t realize that you were still awake.” Queen Maeve said, almost like a teen who’s plans to sneak out got foiled.

“Yeah, you both are interrupting a good book I was reading before I was alerted you were out here. Now what do you want?”

“Noir and I just wanted to know if you were visited by a man named William Butcher and his friends, and if you happened to know anything about Soldier Boy.”

“Soldier Boy’s dead, remember? You know just about as much as I do.” You said, crossing your arms.

“Quake, we know Starlight found your address. There was an explosion where Crimson Countess lived and when servailence was checked, it caused us to have the belief that Soldier Boy is alive. We have reason to believe he may be here and we just want to talk to him.” Queen Maeve said and your eyes darkened.

You knew Starlight was sweet and all when she sent you that photo of Ben, but you should have known she was naive and she’d get caught eventually.

“I told you, I don’t know anything. Now I think you should leave.” You said, your tone growing more stern.

“We just need to see if Soldier Boy is here then we’ll get out of your hair.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing that both of them were unwilling to listen, then you raised your hand forward. The earth beneath you began to shake and then, from the ground, rose a wall of rock and dirt. You made a pushing motion with your hand and the wall went forward, pushing Queen Maeve and Black Noir back until they hit a couple of trees in the woods.

You were just glad you had plenty of acreage with nothing on it so you could use the ground as much as you needed to for self defense.

Anyway, you raised your hands again and took the patch of ground that Black Noir and Queen Maeve were on, lifting both of them up on their own personal island before you practically flung them several miles back from where they came from.

After all, they’re supers. They’ve survived worse. You just wanted them away from your home, not dead.

You shut the door behind you and walked past Ben who must’ve seen the whole thing through the window.

“Why’d you through them across all creation like that?” He asked, trying to joke with you, but you weren’t exactly in the joking mood anymore.

“What the hell did you do to Countess? They said there was some kind of explosions? They want to know where you are and now they may want to kill you.” You said as you started looking for your suitcases.

Ben sighed for a moment before he started telling you everything from his point of view.

“Countess and my team members stabbed me in the back. They tried to get me killed and the Russians took me. They were trying to figure out what could kill me and somehow in the process, I got new abilities that results in these energy blasts like the explosion at Countess’ place. She’s dead.”

“Holy-fucking-Hell, Ben! You can’t just go and blow people up like that! Do you realize that there’s cameras practically all over the place? No wonder they found you!” You exclaimed as you started packing up your things.

“Look, I’m still new to this whole technology-is-everywhere concept, alright? She lived in a damned trailer, I didn’t think it would get that much attention.” He told you and you sighed.

“Why are you packing up everything?” Ben asked you as he watched you moving about.

“Because my house is known to Vought now? And since I was uncooperative with those two supes, it’s only a matter of time before Homelander tries to take a shot at me and I don’t feel like dealing with his bullshit. I’ve got to figure out some other place to go. Not to mention the fact that I helped out Grace whenever I retired. She doesn’t have a good reputation with them either. They know William Butcher and his friends came to my house asking some questions because I think they want to take down Homelander once and for all, naturally Vought’s not going to like that. I’ll have to go into hiding all over again until I figure out where to go.”

Ben frowned at the way you were rambling but he supposed he could understand where you’re coming from. He watched you head to your office to grab something before he reached out and took your arm to get you to stop moving around so frantically.

“Hey, it’ll be okay. Haven’t I always made sure you were safe from Vought after your little endeavors in retirement?” He reminded you and you let out a sigh as he pulled you into his embrace. He laid his head on top of yours, hating that you were suddenly stressed out about this mess.

“You did…”

“And what makes you think I won’t help you now? That William Butcher guy, he came to me wanting my help. He was the one that basically put Countess on a silver platter for me and he lead me to you. He probably wants the same things you do.” He said.

“Let me call Butcher. If he’s really as much trouble as this Homelander guy as you say he is, and he still hasn’t gotten caught? Maybe I can do that little favor he needs me to and we’ll figure out a plan from there.” He insisted.

“I don’t know.. what if the supes take you again or if someone double crosses you?”

“I’ll just have to kill them before they can try.”

“That’s really not comforting…”

Ben smiled a little before he placed a kiss on the top of your head, “Nothing’s going to happen to me. Once we get everything we need to settles, you and I can find some place to go. Hell we can travel out of the country if we wanted to and find some nice place to spend the rest of our lives.”

“That’s… a little bit better I guess. Gives me something positive to think about.”

“That’s better… now, why don’t I make a call to Butcher then we can get whatever you need all packed.” He insisted and you nodded against his chest.

“Ben?”

“Yes, Sweetheart?”

“I’ve missed you. Really missed you.”

Ben lifted his head from the hop of yours and he looked down at you. He could see so much worry on your face after everything that’s just happened. It was such a contrast from how happy you were moments ago and he hated how quickly things seemed to change.

“I’ve missed you too, Sweetheart. I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You smiled softly before you carefully pulled him down by the neck and planted a soft little kiss on his lips before pulling away from his embrace.

“Give Butcher a call. We may not have that much time.”

Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you all enjoyed part three of this story! There will be more to come soon 🥰

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @fanfic-n-tabulous @chriszgirl92 @hobby27 @nancymcl @globetrotter28 @jackles010378 @capricxnt @k-slla @angelbabyyy99 @david-tennant-obsessed-blog @deangirl96

[ecoamerica]

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[maybestoryideas]

Out On A Limb - Cater

BZZT-BZZT!

It hasn’t even been a minute since you texted the group, but your phone is already buzzing with activity. You quickly turn it on, expecting to see Ace or Jack’s name and face plastered on the screen. No doubt they’d want to call you and get a better sense of where you are in the forest , even though you don’t have any idea yourself.

Cater Diamond

You blink a few times, just to make sure you’re not misreading the name in front of you. It’s still says Cater. Confused, you answer his call and are greeted by a familiar face smiling back at you on screen.

“Heya, (Name)! How’re ya holding up?”

“I’m… as good as I can be.”

He laughs, “That’s the spirit! We’re searching the woods right now, so it shouldn’t be too long. I figured I may as well check up on you; keep ya company, and all that.”

“‘We’? You’re out here too?”

“Of course! I’d feel terrible if something were to happen to my favorite first-year!”

“Aw, I’m your favorite?”

“Well, that and I’m hoping that I can get a good selfie with you once you’re safe. Someone recorded your flight and put it online, and now you’re trending on Magicam! Pretty great, huh?”

Something tells you that internet fame flies directly in the face of Crowley’s desire to keep your magicless enrollment hidden from the public. But then again, when has Crowley ever been one to uphold standards, least of all his own? 

“So do you have any idea where you are?”

“Nope. All I see are trees and sky.”

“Really?”

“See for yourself…”

You turn the camera around and show him the treeline. There’s a chance, however slim, that Cater would recognize your location. But when you turn it around, his smile just gets a little more sympathetic.

“Wow, you’re really in the middle of nowhere. On the bright side, you’ve got a pretty sweet view from up there. Hey, maybe you can take a few pictures for me? They’d look great on my Magicam!”

“Good to know you’ve got your priorities in order.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed, “For reals, though, you’re already on the top page; people are already replicating your stunt.”

“Any videos showing the landing process?”

“We need to come up with a name for it.” You sit back and let Cater go on, just listening to him talk and laugh. “Maybe something like, ‘Prefect Spiral’? Nah, too punny. Oh, that reminds me! You’re not still using that old phone case I bought you, right?”

“I am… Why wouldn’t I?”

“Seriously? The newest model came out ages ago. How ‘bout we go into town and get you a new one?”

“No way, man! It’s still in good shape.”

“C’mon, we’ll make a day of it; get some lunch, take some photos, do some window shopping…”

“Nope. I’m keeping it.”

“But I can’t let my favorite first-year go walking around with outdated gear! What kind of example would I be setting for the others?”

“Doesn’t matter. You got this for me as a gift; I’m not going to just trade it out for the latest trend.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then another. He smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but that makes it harder to look away.

“You really don’t care about what other people think, do you?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. After all, Ace is the reason I’m stuck in a tree right now.”

“But even then, you just do whatever you want.” He smirks, “Like flying over a ravine, for example. No regard for others.”

“As long as no one’s getting hurt. I mean, it’s fun to stop and hear what people have to sayt, but - keeping up with what everybody’s thinking and feeling - doesn’t it get a little tiring?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” he shrugs, “And even if I did, you can just turn it off, and everyone will still be there when you get back!”

You refrain from mentioning how you’ve never seen him turn off his phone without being prompted.

“And what about you? I guess you never get bored or lonely when you’re off on your own.”

“I do, sometimes.” you copy his shrug, “But other times I like being with myself in the moment. Besides, there’s a difference between being lonely and being alone; even if there’s no one around, I know I’ve got friends who’ll be there for me when I need them. Grim, Ace, Deuce…”

You grin.

“You?”

His face goes a little pink, but that might just be a trick of the camera.

“I can’t believe you just said that out loud. That was way too sappy, even for you.”

“You say that but here you are, looking for me…”

It’s not a trick of the camera.

“...And if something ever happens to you, I’ll go looking for you.”

The look Cater gives you is one you’ve only seen a handful of times.  A mix between embarrassed, surprised, and - most notable of all - guilty. 

You’re about to make a witty remark when a gold light catches your eye.

“Hm,” you look up from your phone and out through the trees.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it just- Looks like the sun’s starting to set.”

“…Probably looks really nice from up there.”

“It does.”

“Lucky…” he pouts childishly. You have half a mind to whine about how unfairly cute it is. “I wish I was there with you.”

“Up in the tree?”

“Yeah.”

His smile lessens even more. You frown.

“Okay, hang on a sec.”

“What’re you doing?”

“Trying to grant a wish.”

You slowly rise to your feet, keeping one hand anchored to the tree while holding out your phone as far as possible. The hand on the trunk quickly grabs onto the nearest branch as you take a step forward, then another, all while sweeping the camera across the landscape. The trees, the sky, the sun, you move as slowly as possible, letting the camera capture all of it. Hopefully it’s enough to make up for not being able to see it first-hand.

Without the speaker right in front of you, it’s hard to hear what Cater’s saying, but you can faintly hear a quiet, “Wow…”

You smile and turn the phone back to you.

“Happy?”

“Yeah, that’s… Is that what you saw when you went off the tower?”

“Kind of. It was only for a split second, but I got to look down while I was cruising. It’s like, when everything gets so small, the problems get small with them.”

“Huh, you might just have to teach me that trick so I can see it for myself.”

“Maybe I wi-”

CRACK!

The branch beneath you jerks.

“(Name)?!”

You move. Fast.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay,”

The base is right in front of you, just a few more steps.

CRAAACK!

The branch is falling.

You reach out and grab onto the snapped end of the tree’s limb. The wood digs into your palms and cracks your nails, but you don’t let go. You can’t let go. Helplessly, you kick your legs through the air in an attempt to find some purchase to kick off from; you don’t have enough strength to pull yourself up.

Just a little more…

You sink your nails deeper, ignoring the stabs of pain that shoot through your fingers, and pull. The jagged end digs into your stomach, but you still can’t do it.

“(NAME)!?”

You hear a voice over the blood rushing through your ears. The same voice you were just talking to. Before you can even say anything, you feel yourself being lifted off of the branch by some invisible force. Instinct tells you to hold on and don’t let go, but you fight back the urge and let yourself slowly float through the air and to the forest floor.

As soon as your feet touch the ground, you collapse onto your knees. Cater’s immediately kneeling beside you.

“Are you okay!? What happened?!” 

“The branch broke…”

You move to stand up, only to have a burning pain radiate from your hands. When you check them, you see bits of wood and dirt embedded into the fleshy meat of your palms. There’s blood already welling from the open cuts and filling the gaps around your fingernails.

“Crap, that looks bad. We need to get you to the infirmary ASAP. Can you stand?”

“Yeah, I think so…”

He gently pulls you to your feet. As you’re still inspecting your injuries, you realize something.

“Um…I think I dropped my phone. Do you see it anywhere?”

The two of you look around before spotting the device lying on the ground a few feet away. He picks it up and you instantly see a noticeable crack in the screen.

“Bad news, I think it’s busted.”

“Great…” you take it, careful not to cut yourself on the cracked glass, “Well, better a broken phone than a broken bone,”

“C’mon, I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

“Thanks…”

You let Cater go ahead, relying on him to lead you out of the woods, only to notice something odd. He’s wearing his PE uniform.

“Cater?”

“Yeah?” he looks back at you with his smile. It’s not as sharp and upbeat as normal, but there’s still something off about it.

“...How many of you are there?”

He blinks. Once, twice, then frowns.

“I think there were at least six of us.”

A heavy feeling settles in the bottom of your stomach.

“Can you lead me back the way you came?”

He shrugs.

“Sure thing.”

Silently you follow behind Cater, all the while tending to your hands as best as possible. Carefully taking out the splinters and debris, and patting the open wounds with the sleeve of your jacket. Thank goodness for black uniforms. You’re so focused on your injuries that you don’t even notice when your guide stops and almost walk right into him.

Looking over his shoulder, you can see Cater, hunched over his phone, frantically tapping the screen and mumbling to himself.

“C’mon, pick up... Pick up. Pick up the stupid phone!”

“Cater?”

Both of them look at you, one with a smile and the others with an expression you’ve never seen before. When you blink, the smiling one is gone, leaving just the two of you.

He’s staring you down and takes slow steps forward. And with every step, you can see more and more. Relieved, sad, scared, guilty; overwhelmed and exhausted.

You give him your softest smile and do your best to hide your hands.

Cater falls on top of you, burying his face into your shoulder and wrapping his arms around you. The feeling in your legs hasn’t completely returned; you stumble back to balance the two of you. One hand’s cradling your head and gently combing through your hair, while the other is gripping your jacket - you can feel the material pull against your arms as he clenches it in his fist.

“Don’t… Ever… Scare me like that again.”

“I’m sorry.”

You slowly bring your arms up to hold him - you’ll help him wash out any blood later. With one hand, you gently draw small circles against his back. He tenses, gripping you tighter before slowly relaxing.

He repeats the motions over and over again. What do you say? How do you comfort him? Do you try to cheer him up or just let him be?

“It's okay. You found me in the end…”

The words only make him hold you closer.

[medea10]

My Review of My Stepmom’s Daughter is my Ex

How…?!

How do I live with myself? It’s not easy. You have to throw away your shame and remind yourself that you’re only human, you survived worse, and that you are trash. I’m sure it’ll be tame like Marmalade Boy and at most there’ll be a kiss scene halfway down the…

She’s half-naked on the couch and he’s on top of her. I think this is faster than Domestic Girlfriend.

Mizuto Irido is in an unconventional predicament. His father remarried! That’s not the crazy part though. With the addition of a stepmother comes the addition of a step-sister. And that step-sister happens to be Mizuto’s ex-girlfriend from middle school, Yume Ayai (now Irido). Neither Mizuto nor Yume are digging this new setup. For starters, their prior relationship ended badly so neither one looks upon the other favorably. But both are going to put up a happy face to not upset their parents.

While they put up a happy face around their parents, everywhere else they get snippy with each other. And the biggest part is both of them claiming they are the older sibling. Kinda hard when both characters were born on the same day and year! But Mizuto and Yume both play mind games with each other to make the other feel inferior. Call it a poor-man’s Kaguya-sama! Okay, let’s see how these dysfunctional step-siblings mess with each other.

BETWEEN THE SUB AND THE DUB: This is currently airing on Crunchyroll. It’s been nearly a year and so far, no dub to come from it. I still enjoyed myself hearing people like Hiro Shimono and Miyu Tomita. Here’s what you might recognize these folks from.

*Mizuto is played by Hiro Shimono (known for Zenitsu on Demon Slayer, Connie on Attack on Titan, Dabi on My Hero Academia, Aoba on Durarara, Syo on UtaPri, Akihisa on Baka and Test, and Hiro on Ef: a tale of memories)

*Yume is played by Rina Hidaka (known for Filo on Shield Hero, Silica on SAO, Last Order on Railgun, Ririchiyo on Inu x Boku SS, Kohane on xxxHOLiC, Nemesis on To Love Ru, and Yamai on Komi-san)

SHIPPING: Mizuto and Yume had a prior relationship during their middle school years, but they broke things off and had quite the bitter resentment towards each other in the aftermath. Nowadays, it feels like they have a Kaguya-sama: Love is War mind game relationship, but they’re step-siblings instead of student council members. It’s not going to sound any crazier if I say it again. They have to act normal or concede defeat and be the little brother or sister in this relationship. But we do get some naughty moments between these two including unsettling scenes with the other’s undergarment.

Now what I didn’t see coming was with this friend of Yume’s, Minami. She loves Yume so much that she is willing to marry Mizuto so she can be closer to Yume. I am not sure what to make of this and I don’t feel I have the strength to deal with her. I’m just going to tell myself that Minami will end up with that other idiot in this series. I forget his name.

And then there’s Higashira! She posed a real threat to Yume, yet Yume ends up trying to help the girl out with getting closer to Mizuto and eventually confessing to him. Did it work out for Higashira? Fuck naw! Dude has other priorities in the love department and we all know what he wants.

Now, this series does show how the main duo fell in love and fell apart. They became a couple during their middle school years with some seemingly cute moments here and there. It’s just that when school, friends, and real life interfere, things took a turn for the worst for this relationship. And watching it, kinda made me feel annoyed. I’m not taking anyone’s side in this as I feel like both Yume and Mizuto are at fault for different reasons. But I’d like to chalk this up to both of these idiots were in middle school. They’re both hella immature at that age. Though, they both do stupid stuff during high school. Then again, it’s only been a year between both times.

ENDING: Before the ending, we caught a glimpse of what went down between Yume and Mizuto during their relationship. What happened and who was the first to mess up? Actually, it went south during their final year of middle school when both were placed in separate classes. After that, Yume made new friends and Mizuto was kinda resentful towards her. Then, Yume got jealous once when Mizuto talked to another female classmate. This was followed by months and months of the two not speaking to each other resulting in an agreement of breaking up. It was obvious that BOTH OF THEM regret not speaking up during that time. It becomes very obvious that’s how Yume was during a family reunion. They both have a momentary lapse of judgment and go back in time for a few minutes.

The final episode revolved around a summer festival. This is something Yume and Mizuto have history with as they were both together for one. We get constant flashbacks of their past fling and one flash that’s thrown at us several times is Yume crying alone because she got lost and Mizuto finds her. In this episode, it goes the other way around as Mizuto hides from his family and finds something solitary. Yume finds him and she kinda makes a decision. It looks like she wants to win Mizuto over as Yume Irido instead of her past self of Yume Ayai. Yeah, they kiss. They still act like they’re the older sibling and bicker. But is there something there? We probably will never know unless we get a second season.

This was something I wasn’t expecting. I came in thinking that this was going to be as trashy as Domestic Girlfriend. I come out feeling like I watched the first 13 episodes of Marmalade Boy if it was taking lessons from Kaguya-sama. As of now, both the manga and the light novel are still in publication so there’s still more to come from Yume and Mizuto. However, the manga, light novel, and anime were mostly seen as just an okay story. That’s how I’m at with this anime. It was okay. Had some good parts. Got annoyed seeing their middle school split-up. Okay, I’m starting to sound old and bitter here. Probably because I went through something similar at a younger age and look back upon it with a thick layer of cringe. That and I’m at that age where I see this and scream, “you damn youngins, get the fuck over it”. Or something like that! Decide for yourselves if you want to sit through this series or not. It’s a short series to get through.

If you would like to watch this step-sibling/past-love anime, Crunchyroll has all of the episodes available.

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Spitting on the grave...

...Makoto? Can I talk to you?

...Sure...

*Kyoko enters the camper van, accompanied by Kuripa and Komaru.

You’re not about to stage an intervention for me, are you? 

I’m sorry I just...had a lot of pent up aggression...

And it appears you took that aggression out on the camper.

...Sorry. I’ll fix it, I promise.

*Komaru makes note of the dents made in the wall and floor.

I was just chatting with the police and thought I’d update the three of you on the situation. The others already know, at least a little bit.

*Kyoko sits down on her bed.

Freedom Academy was raided and Emilia Feng’s body was discovered. It’s in the hands of the forensics team...Which includes her severed head.

...

You might have gone a little bit overboard...

Maybe...

No, not “maybe!” You-

*sigh* Never mind. What’s the situation?

Naturally, Emilia Feng became a big target and drew the attention of the entire nation’s population after the Freedom Foundation’s broadcast in Seattle. As a result, her sudden death has shocked the country.

The Freedom Foundation are in hot water right now. They exposed their identities too in their broadcast, so now everyone knows who they are. Even if the police allow them to walk free, it’s going to be hard to live a normal life from here on.

Well, I think they knew that. Even so, exposing themselves and their intentions was part of their trump card in taking down Feng.

We’ll help them out. I’m sure we can convince the police to leave them be. And we can do what we can to draw attention away from them.

I’m not sure. If I were in their situation, I’d want to be gushed up as a hero.

Take it from me Kuripa. Being recognized as a hero isn’t all it’s cut out to be.

Don’t worry. There will never come a day where I consider you a hero. Especially not after today.

Oh for fucks sake Dumbaru, LET IT GO!

Enough! *sigh* On that note...

It’s proven to be a challenge to work our way out of this situation, but thankfully, the off-branch of the Kisaragi Foundation are working to settle the public down in regards to Feng’s death. I’ve also put in a request to leave your name anonymous from all records Kuripa.

We can’t hide the fact that the Future Foundation were responsible for Feng’s death, nor would I want to...but in the very least, we can keep the graphic details of the event away from the American public.

...Thank you, Mrs Chairwoman. That means more to me than you know.

Don’t flatter me. This is the LAST time I’m going to help you out like this. 

*Kyoko strides up to Kuripa and pokes a finger at his chest.

This isn’t the first time that your actions have put us in deep water. After Haiji Towa’s death, it was challenging enough to discuss our involvement in that. This is the second time you’ve murdered a high-priority target.

I’ve already explained my actions, to Boss-

Yes, I’m aware of your creed and your ideals that you uphold, but frankly, I don’t care. I can’t respect a vendetta stained in blood like yours. 

I’m warning you now. Disobey protocol one more time, or threaten to take one more person’s life, and you’re finished. You’ll be kicked out of the Future Foundation, immediately.

...

Yes ma’am.

Good. Now then-

“Disobeyed protocol?” Psh...

Huh?

*Makoto’s statement makes Kyoko and Komaru turn towards him.

What did you say, Makoto?

...

It's said that a worker is only as good as their tools, but that only a poor worker blames their tools.

...This sanction of yours...It’s unfair to put this onto Kuripa...He did nothing wrong.

What?

I’m sorry, you were on the same planet as us when he carved Feng’s head clean from her shoulders, right?

I was...But that’s not on him...Rather, if you’re going to blame anyone, let it be me.

Boss? What are you-?

...

*Makoto holds up his hand to quiet Kuripa.

Makoto...What is it you’re trying to say?

Kuripa didn’t disobey orders Kyoko...As a matter of fact...

He followed them...to the letter...

I don’t get it...what are you trying to say?

I...

The reason why I killed Feng isn’t because I felt like it, or I lost control or anything like that...

...!?

I killed her...

...because Boss TOLD me to...

Wha-!?

...!

No! Y-You’re lying! There’s no way! R-Right?

...

Makoto, say something...!

That is what you were going to tell them, right Boss?

...Yeah...I guess...Though the suspense might have been a bit much...

No way...! 

It happened a couple of nights ago. At the time, I wasn’t crazy about the thought. I didn’t want any lives to be lost...

But I did tell Kuripa. That if he ever got the chance to end Feng’s life, then he should take it. This was all just him doing what he was told.

...

Why didn’t YOU say this...!?

It’d get Boss in a heaping hell of trouble with the Foundation, which is the last thing he needs. But if he’s going to own up to it himself, then I don’t see any reason to shut up about it.

Dammit Makoto! I knew you’d been slipping lately, but THIS!? This is NOT ok!

...

You’re not just going to ignore me, are you?

What’s there to say? You’ve heard my confession, now do with it what you will. Wanna punish me? Fine, go ahead.

Things are different now Kyoko...Organization Zetsubou are proving to live up to Junko’s level of dangerous. 

No matter what we do, we have to do everything we can to get our edge back over them. And if it settles to ending the lives of those who support them...we might find that we don’t have much of a choice in the matter.

Aren’t you the one who always says there’s another choice!?

Maybe I did...and THIS...was my choice. How is it that Feng put it? Oh yeah, that’s right...

It’s one less thing to worry about...

*SMACK!*

!!??

*Komaru reels back and suddenly smacks Makoto around the face, hard.

!!?

...

*Kuripa immediately grabs the hilt of his sword, ready to pounce should the situation escalate. However, Makoto says, and does, nothing.

...

*Komaru takes a few steps back and glares at her brother.

Mukuro Ikusaba is rolling in her grave right now...Just so you know.

!!!?

You bitch...! How DARE you bring her good name into this!

Kuripa, stop-!

Why shouldn’t I!? Makoto’s the one SPITTING on it!

What...!?

Mukuro was originally an Ultimate Despair. Junko Enoshima’s twin sister no less. And you were the one who brought her to the light. Thanks to you, she was turned from a monstrous and dangerous terrorist into a noble and virtuous warrior.

In the end, she laid down her life for you. She made the ultimate sacrifice for you. The amount of respect I have for her in that regard can’t be put into words.

...!

[Flashback]

I’m going to stop beating around the bush and say it straightforwardly. The reason why you are acting like this, and cannot get a hold of your emotions…

is because as much as you deny it…you cannot accept Mukuro Ikusaba’s sacrifice. You cannot live with the idea that she died a noble and honorable death…

And I don’t believe you should.

So...you’re just another one of those people, are you?

What? What are you talking about?

How dare you...How FUCKING dare you...!

How DARE you take the needless death of a person I CHERISHED, and turn it into a soft-spoken ideal to uphold! YOU’RE DISGUSTING!

Makoto...!

Boss, hey-!

Disgusting!? “Needless Death!?” How could you say that!?

Mukuro gave her life for you! For BOTH of you! And THAT’S how you see her sacrifice!?

Trust me! If you were in my shoes, or Kuripa’s, and you saw her final moments, you wouldn’t see it that way!

Maybe Mukuro did see her actions as a sacrifice, but Yukari Koime STILL LIVES! She died for NOTHING, much less protecting us!

I don’t wanna hear your BS interpretation of her final moments! She was, and always will be, an ideal woman! A REAL hero!

...Didn’t I just say that being recognized as a hero isn’t all it’s cut out to be? I wouldn’t want to die like a hero. And I think you would do well to rethink your opinions, sister...

What!?

Ok...admittedly, maybe I wasn’t as close to Mukuro as I’m making it sound, so maybe I don’t fully know who she really was or how she really felt.

But she served in YOUR branch! She took great pride in what she did! In PROTECTING YOU!

The least you could do, is NOT spit on her memory!

I’m not the only one acting like a PIECE OF SHIT!

STOP IT! THAT’S ENOUGH!

!!?

!!?

*Kyoko cries out, instantly shutting them both up.

I’m not going to stand here and listen to your petty sibling arguments until it escalates into violence! There’s been enough blood spilled and bruises made today!

Makoto! Take a walk! While I clean up YOUR mess. And take your kid with you.

*She indicates to Kuripa.

You get going too Komaru. I think it’s best for everyone that you two stay as far away from each other as possible.

Fine by me! ...But she’d better remember what she said, or I swear to god...!

*THUD!*

*Makoto shoves past Komaru on his way out.

...

...*sniff*...*hic*...

...

I’m sorry about-

Bosswife, if you finish that sentence, I’m seriously gonna tape your mouth shut. This isn’t your fault, so don’t you dare apologize.

*Kuripa makes his own way out, but pauses as he walks past Komaru, and turns to her.

...

...Look, I know you hate me, but...I just need to say this...

What you’re saying about Boss and me...about how what we’ve done is awful...You’re exactly right, and neither of us are denying it...

You’re free to berate the two of us as much as you want...Nothing you say is wrong...

But next time, let it only be the two of us...Leave Mukuro the fuck out of this...

...

*With that, Kuripa follows Makoto.

[kailikameoka]

Design & Development

Today, I continued working on the mobile app. My time was split between working on the Design and Development.

Design

Mood Board

I started by creating a mood board. To find inspiration for the app, I used Dribbble to find screenshots of calendar apps and dashboards. I looked for mobile calendar apps because the mobile app will be used by clients to sign up for activities. The dashboards are all desktop apps that will be used by staff to create and manage activities.

While looking at the dashboards, I saw that a lot of them contained graphs. That got me thinking about some dashboard features that might be nice to implement in the future.

A graph that sows which events are attended by the most clients

A graph that shows what days/times clients are most likely to attend events

A graph that shows what kind of activities are most popular

Customized suggestions for activities based on clients’ interest

Because the app is being made for the blind, accessibility is a top priority. When looking for screenshots, I tried to find equal amounts of dark and light themed apps.

Accessibility was also top of mind when building the color pallet. I started by picking out the colors from the company logo. It uses black, white, brown, and orange. Removing the brown could create a high contrast color pallet. Having a high contrast color pallet would make the text and other elements on the screen very easy for those who are visually impaired to see.

To find another option for a color pallet, I looked at Hadley School for The Blind. They have a website with that has accessibility features for people who are visually impaired. I added their color pallets to the mood board also.

Sketches

Once the mood board was finished, I started working on some sketches for the home screen. This will be the screen that the user sees when the visit the app before they login.

At this point in the project, I’m thinking about what needs to go on the page and in what order. I’m not concerned with what the exact text or images will be or the exact spacing between them. These sketches are all done with pencil and paper. I think the stepping away from a computer helps me to think ¸ clearly. It also feels natural because I don’t’ have to worry so much about how to get my ideas out.

To make the sketching process easier, I’ve come of with a system to represent different kinds of page elemnts

Lines: for bodies of text

Pink boxes: clickables/buttons

Pink boxes with an X:  clickable images

Blue boxes: images

White boxes: headings

It might seem like a waste of time to color in all those boxes, but it’s more important that I can read my sketches quickly. As someone who is visually impaired myself, I also benefit from high contrast. It’s not helpful to me if it takes me ten seconds to make the sketch and one minute to recognize the elemnts in the sketch later.

Wire Frames

With the sketches finished, I moved on to designing the wire frames. When it comes to wire frames, I start thinking about the final text that will end up on the page. Spacing is also a consideration because I’m starting to decide how element will be grouped together. Nothing is set in stone at this stage.

For Wireframes, I use a different system.

Black backgrounds: things that are clickable

Gray backgrounds: images

Next Steps

Next, I’ll need to build a style guide starting by choosing the color pallet and typographic scale. Once that’s done, I can start working on the mock up for the start screen. Throughout the design process, I add elemnts like buttons and other reusable elements to the style guide.

Development

After completing the wire frames, I needed a break. It turns out there’s only so much design/brain intensive work you can do at a time. Since I don’t like to waste time, I decided to set up my development environment. I had done some research throughout the week and had decided on the technologies that I would use.

The Tech Stack

After doing some research throughout the week, I decided that I’d build the app in JavaScript. I chose this language because it’s widely used throughout the web development community. Its popularity brings two advantages; it’s easy to find help online through sources like Stack Overflow and it would be easy to find someone who can work on the project after me.

Although JavaScript is the popular choice right now, there are a few disadvantages. JavaScript was not meant to be a programming language used to build entire programming languages. That’s why the word “script” is in its name. It is often referred to as “the duct tape of the internet.” This can make it unwieldy when working on large projects. I think I can overcome this challenge by using something called TypeScript. It allows me to use features found in languages like C# and Java which are used to build large applications.

Environment Set Up

The app will consist of three parts: a mobile (iOS) app for client use, a web/desktop app for staff use and a server to hold it all together. I set up each of these as separate repositories on GitHub. In each project I set up a ESLint to enforce coding standards, Prettier to fix formatting and Jest for testing. This might seem overkill for a single developer working for a nontechnical company, but I think it’s important that the softawre that’s written looks professional and these are common tools used in both the professional and open-source communities. It will also make it easier for others to contribute to the project in the future.

The server was the only project that I had to set up manually. It had been a while since I had set up a project, so I found a YouTube video that I could follow. Once I had everything working on the server, I could copy a lot of the code into other projects. For the desktop app, I’m using React, so the Create React App script generated the project for. For the mobile app, I used a tool called expo, which will allow me to write JavaScript React code and compile it into an mobile ap when I’m finished.

Wrapping Up

It seems strange that an intern gets to run the projct and make al these design decisions. I’ve been working here since 2017 and, in my experience, our executive director doesn’t like to micro-manage the staff. We are presented with a vision for a program or service and left to execute that vision. We are free to ask for help we need it, but we are free to use our best judgement in completing tasks.

Today: 8hr

Total: 16hr

[shopjust]

Plain text workflow

#Plain text workflow how to

#Plain text workflow pdf

#Plain text workflow pro

#Plain text workflow code

That’s a lot of technobabble, let me break that down some. The major downside is that it is expensive, although the developer lets you use it without paying if you can put up with periodic scolding popups.Įverything is saved to a git repository which gets to be in a private repo on GitHub. But I like Sublime Text over those other alternatives because (a) it’s extremely fast, stable, and lightweight (basically the opposite of Word), and (b) it has a plug-in system based in Python, which is one of my preferred programming languages-so it’s very easy for me to directly program my editor. There are fine alternatives for editing plain text, like Atom, BBEdit (Mac-only), and Notepad++ (Windows-only). I use Sublime Text pretty much only for editing markdown or plain text prose-when I write code, I usually use emacs or vim-so I don’t have to muck around with complicated file-type-specific settings. On the Mac, I do most of my markdown writing in Sublime Text, which is a totally bulletproof programmer’s text editor. Typically, for longer works (big articles, books) or multi-stage projects, I’ll have multiple markdown files with different logically separated portions of text, plus files for notes, paragraphs that need to be discarded or moved to a better home, etc. etc.

#Plain text workflow how to

For people who are interested in Markdown, I wrote a tutorial on how to work with Markdown here. There are different flavors of Markdown (for reasons to be described below, I use the Pandoc version), but the basics are very simple.

#Plain text workflow pdf

It’s readily convertible to MSWord format, as well as PDF (if you’ve installed LaTeX), HTML, and all kinds of more arcane things-it’s very commonly used by programmers and bloggers, and I think it’s by far the best way to write initial drafts. Markdown, for those who aren’t familiar, is a plain text format with very lightweight markup for things like bold/italics, links, and the like. So my workflow has the following elements: I want to use git for version control so that I can recover prior versions if something gets horribly screwed up. I like being able to relatively seamlessly switch between writing on my MacBook and on my iPad.Į. I also hate manually formatting my citations.ĭ. Most of the major alternatives to word (OpenOffice, Google Docs, Pages) are crap.Ĭ. Word “features” like styled paste, auto-conversion of URLS to links, bizarre dictatorial bullet point numbering, etc. I also want something that doesn’t impose involuntary formatting on me.

#Plain text workflow code

My writing needs to be scriptable-I need to be able to read my writing into an ordinary programming language as a string, run code on it, and spit it back out again as a string. If I want to do something weird or automated with my content, I want to be able to do so. It takes longer to start than XCODE, which, for those of you who program, you’re probably screaming in horror at the very idea.)

#Plain text workflow pro

I have a brand new souped up 16-inch Macbook Pro with an i9 and 32 gigs of ram. (It’s utterly mind-blowing how badly Word performs. I want something that doesn’t crash or hang all the time, unlike Word. Yet I recognize that many people that publish things I write need Word format, so I need to do something that converts to Word fairly readily. Subconsiderations: I won’t use it if it can be helped at all. I’m incredibly paranoid about losing work.ī. Here are the considerations, in rough order of priority, that drive me:Ī. This is a work in progress document I’ve promised to share my toolkit with a couple people, so, as those people say to me “hey, this makes no sense,” I’ll probably edit to clarify. I have an unusual and complicated academic writing workflow/toolkit, but one that might be of use to some other people, so I thought I’d share it here. This one is for academics rather than practitioners, though some of the details are applicable to practitioners as well.

[chomelton76]

E8bbag

Handled 2 orders for me extremely.The orders have been expedient and and the merchandise was of top quality. I was suggested on each process concerning the order. On designerchanelgirl.com you may get all new Chanel merchandise, and fashionable name-brand designs and find what a discount it is to purchase our handbags or sneakers chanel. We had been on the hunt for a “Made in Italy” or “Made in France” stamp, though she admitted with the age of the wallet it could have rubbed off. I’d despatched her 10 photos from different angles, zoomed in and again out, of the Chanel pockets that had belonged to my late mom. I discovered it among her issues a decade after she died. You also can examine the originality by checking the finish. There will not be a single loose thread in the original pockets. So, when you spot any flaw in stitching, then it's positively a pretend product. Great info if in search of an authentic Classic flap. But if someone who doesn't find out about Chanel or uncovered to other chanel flap might think in another way and might have an inaccurate perception. Because there are flaps with different metals which might be heavy and light-weight weight and completely different caviar like " chic caviar/shiva caviar". You can even see how the replica bag (silver-tone hardware) folds extra from a birds-eye-view . The chain straps additionally start further back on the authentic version. You can see on the replica Chanel chain (silver-tone hardware), there's a double layer on the highest flat a part of the leather-based. One the genuine Chanel, there is no double layer on the top flat part of the leather-based. For luggage that use the CC emblem, the position is often on the backside. On the reverse facet of the leather-based Gucci tag, you will discover a serial number. The prime line accommodates the style quantity, while the under line is the provider code. The serial quantity might be totally different for each bag, and it accommodates 10 to thirteen digits. The numbers are warmth-stamped into the leather, so it provides you a clear indication concerning the high quality of a product. If the stamp is uneven, sloppy, or hard, then it’s time to look it once more because it can be a fake wallet. wikipedia wallets The material used in the authentic Gucci wallet is both real leather-based or canvas, and their stitching is extraordinarily tight. Tampa Bay Times enterprise reporter Sara DiNatale poses with one of many Dooney & Bourke purses she struggled to authenticate herself. Somewhere after reading each publish on a purse blog courting back to 2012, I accepted that what had started as curiosity had moved swiftly into obsession. When I don’t know one thing that I know is, properly, knowable, it gnaws at me. I highly advocate nicely saved classic luggage that have the gold coating as these baggage are in my opinion from a Chanel era by which quality was on the high of their priorities. replica wallet This guide is supposed to provide you a glimpse at a comparability between an authentic and replica Chanel with tips for recognizing pretend luggage which have been very poorly constructed. A replica Gucci wallet will have low cost hardware. On the opposite hand, the true Gucci pockets’s hardware is sturdy and strong metallic. So, this is how one can spot a fake Gucci wallet. When you assume designer copies, Chanel handbags are in all probability the first to come back to mind. Some obvious, and a few, well, a little trickier to catch. I decided my black bag must have been a really good fake from the 80s or 90s as a result of it didn’t have the Italian zipper. With how new the inexperienced one looked, I decided it might be a new knockoff of a vintage design. The logos on my bags had been sewn in place, not glued on both baggage — good. The stitching was the best shade of yellow, also good.

[bloodredrose-archive]

a very lengthy lesson on beauty, by Katina

I’ve known that beauty was arbitrary, superficial, and at its crux, incredibly insignificant since I was a young teen, and I feel like anybody with a functioning brain can recognize that fact as well, but I think what truly solidified that revelation for me was my personal experiences wherein it was my sheer charisma, confidence, intelligence, intellectualism, assertiveness and wit—my essence, effectually—that not only got me to important places and enthralled people with ease but also made people view me as much more beautiful than I already am even though I’m probably considered ‘objectively’ ‘beautiful’ in the face/body, am a former runway model/pageant girl/athlete/etc. and have been described as a beauty queen in various respects by very prominent people (even when younger me lead a low-maintenance lifestyle as the result of being low-income, in forceful isolation & in cohort with unsavory people so my appearance was collaterally affected and I’d taken a lackadaisical approach to it).

Hell, I’ve literally accrued hundreds of thousands of followers on multiple social media platforms without showing my face (and, until this year, revealing my name) once for nearing 10 years because people were 1.) impressed and captivated by my words/thoughts/opinions and the firm manner in which they’re articulated, and 2.) intrigued by the mystique and the preemptive prevention of anybody’s preconceived notions of me and their self-projections onto me that accompany me eschewing my online identity while I transmit words, and people have correctly concluded that I must be a goddess roaming the earth without knowing a single thing about me beforehand because of that fact. Simply put, I do not need and have never needed to use solely my face or my body to reel people in. My hair & my attire are also the things that typically manage to entrance people about me, second to my disposition/character; my facial and bodily ‘beauty’ are legitimately the last priority for other people and they are last in priority to myself, too.

Anyhow, the point that I’m trying to make with this is that I guarantee a vast majority of you are not “ugly” or even average or above-average, you just lack charisma, personality, knowledge and confidence that you need to build in order to get by in this world and you also fail to recognize that beauty is subjective and adhere to the old adage “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure”; ergo, someone that you may regard as gorgeous is probably regarded as grotesque-looking to someone else, and somebody probably finds you with your “averageness” more beautiful than a literal high-profile supermodel (with a very crafted, curated, regulated and micromanaged image, bear in mind) because different niches appeal to different people. Even if you are foundationally “ugly”, misdirection is a concept that exists and can be easily utilized through the means of simply accentuating another feature of yours in order to misdirect people away from your “ugliness” e.g. your style of dress, your sense of humor, your gait, your hair, your sociable personality, your taste in music or art, your accessories, your nails — and notwithstanding all of this, it is perfectly fine to just exist as an “ugly” individual and not appeal to others or make the effort to appeal to others because you just do not give a shit. That is perfectly acceptable as well, and you are under no obligation to conform to the ever-fleeting beauty standards of today (another thing that I see many women struggle to cognize and accept, even without taking into account the Photoshopped and surgery-ridden ‘influencers’ that litter social media; beauty is not only subjective but it is also fickle and malleable).

“Beauty” is insubstantial, but more or less, the true form of beauty is just being yourself without caring a modicum for what others think about you because you weren’t put on this planet to care nor to appease everybody (which is an impossible feat to achieve, anyway), you were put here to grow and improve yourself — which is the most important thing you should do and focus on doing. There’ll always be at least one person that appreciates you for who you are, regardless of looks or personality or status, even if unknowingly or from a distance—consider that fact, and try to survive. You could lose your life at any time for any reason—live it to the fullest before that can happen, cherish it, and don’t waste it being a people-pleaser and a slave for something as meaningless as “beauty”.

[thebookreader12345]

Crossing Lines

Pairing: Jay Halstead x reader

Summary: Y/N is kidnapped, and when Jay tries to do everything he can to get her back, he discovers that he may be going too far

Requested: Yes, by @dreamingmanip

Warnings: slight swearing, mentions of a beating, blood, and kidnapping

Word Count: 1,824 Words

I stirred in bed as the sun hit my face and rolled over to bury my face in my boyfriend’s side, only to realize that his side of the bed was empty. I glanced over at the clock, and upon seeing how early it was, I groaned and dropped my head back down onto my pillow. That’s when Jay appeared at the entrance to the bedroom and leaned against the doorframe.

“Hey,” I mutter. “What are you doing up this early?”

“Hailey and I have a boatload of paperwork to catch up on, so we figured we’d finish it before shift starts,” Jay answered. “Go back to bed. You don’t need to be up for another hour or two.”

“Okay,” I murmur sleepily and snuggle deeper into the blanket that was covering my whole body. “See you later.” Jay then appeared at my side and leaned down to place a kiss on my cheek. I smiled softly at the gesture, loving how sweet and amazing my boyfriend was.

“See you at work,” Jay said before leaving the room. About an hour and a half later, it was time for me to get up, and even though I didn’t want to leave the bed, I had to go to work. It didn’t take me long to get ready, but then again, it never did, and once I was all set, I threw on a jacket, grabbed my car keys, and left the apartment. Because I had a bit of time left before I had to get to work, I decided to go and get some coffee. It wasn’t unusual for me to go out and get coffee in the morning. The coffee back at the district wasn’t that good, and sometimes, I had a taste for something different. Therefore, I went to the cafe a few blocks from my apartment. At first, everything was normal. I walked inside the coffee shop, ordered my drink, waited for said drink, and walked out. However, this is where things went wrong. As I passed by an alleyway to get to my car, a man reached out and grabbed me, pulling me towards his body. On instinct, I fought back and tried to reach for my gun, only to realize that I left it in the front compartment of my car. No matter how much I struggled in the arms of my captor, he overpowered me. I tried to throw a punch, but I missed, and in return, the man attacked back, landing a punch to my mouth that produced blood. And once I had a bag thrown over my head, and my hands were tied tightly behind my back, there wasn’t much that I could do. All I could think about when I was tossed into the trunk of a car was Jay, and I just hoped that him and unit would find me before something bad happened.

Jay’s POV

My stomach sunk even deeper as Y/N didn’t answer her phone for the 5th time. She was supposed to be at work half an hour ago but never showed up, and now I was worried. I sighed and put my phone in my back pocket before walking back into the bullpen where everyone was sitting doing work.

“Any word from L/N yet?” Voight questioned. Everyone in the bullpen glanced up at Voight’s question and looked towards me for an answer.

I shook my head. “She still isn’t answering my calls, and she hasn’t responded to any of my texts. Voight, I’m getting worried. Really worried.”

“All right, everyone stop what you’re doing,” Voight ordered. “Right now, Y/N is our number one priority. I want the case we’re working on passed over to the Gang Unit, and I want everyone focused on finding Y/N. Got it?” Everyone in the bullpen nodded. “Okay, Jay, tell us everything you know.”

“I saw Y/N this morning before I came into work. I told her to go back to bed, and that I’d see her here. Then I left the apartment, and I haven’t seen her since,” I explain.

“Can we check her car’s GPS?” Kevin questioned.

Adam shook his head. “Y/N’s GPS was damaged in that car accident last week, and she hasn’t had it fixed yet. What if we split up and go to places she could be?”

“That’s not a bad plan. You guys figure that out, and I’m going to talk to Trudy to see if we can get some more bodies on the street,” Voight declared and headed down the stairs.

“Kev, Adam, and I could check her apartment,” Kim suggested.

“Okay,” I breathe out and take my keys out of my pocket. I took the house key off of the chain and handed it to them before turning to Hailey.

“You and I can check out the coffee shop she likes a few blocks from her apartment. Maybe a barista saw her this morning and can give us more info,” I say. 

Hailey nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Lets do it.” Hailey and I climbed into my truck and left the district, heading towards the cafe Y/N visited often. Upon pulling into a parking spot, my eyes caught something on the other side of the street.

“Look,” I tell Hailey and nod to what I was staring at. “That’s Y/N’s car.”

“Lets go inside,” Hailey proposed and hopped out of the passenger seat of my truck. Inside of the building, we showed the barista our badges and asked her if she could answer a few questions about this morning, to which she agreed. I pulled out my phone and selected a picture of Y/N, showing it to the barista.

“Have you seen her today?” I ask.

The barista thought for a moment, but then nodded. “Yeah. She came in earlier today. Her order was a black coffee with two shots of milk and three sugars.” I smiled softly at the mention of my girlfriend’s coffee order. She always got the same thing.

“Was she with anyone?” Hailey quizzed.

“Uh, no. She came in, got her coffee, and then left,” the woman answered.

“Great. Thank you,” I exclaim and lead Hailey out of the coffee shop. “Well, that was a dead end.”

“Uh, Jay,” Hailey spoke and tapped on my shoulder. I turned around to face my partner, and when I saw that she was looking at something, I followed her gaze. That’s when I spotted a coffee cup lying on the floor, it’s lid inches away, with the light colored coffee spilled around it. I didn’t need to see the name of the cup to know that it belonged to my girlfriend. I stepped closer to where the coffee was spilled and scanned the surrounding area, hoping to pick up some other clues, and thankfully, I did, but they weren’t the kind I was hoping for. In the alley where the abandoned cup was laying, there were a few blood splatters on the concrete, and feet away from that was a jacket. And I recognized the jacket instantly because it was my own. But most importantly, it was the jacket that Y/N loved to where from time to time. Hailey appeared at my side, and based on her expression, I’m assuming she had come to the same conclusion as me. My girlfriend had been kidnapped. “I’m going to call the rest of the team,” Hailey mumbled and pulled out her phone.

...................................................

The investigation was going well, but we were at a dead end. We found a security camera that was pointed at the alleyway where the abduction took place, and while it pained me seeing my girlfriend get beaten and shoved into the trunk of the car, we had the guy that took her. The problem was, he wasn’t talking.

“Why don’t we lie to him and offer him a deal?” I suggest.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jay,” Hailey stated.

“Okay, then lets put him in the cage,” I offer. “Give me a minute alone with the guy. I can make him talk.” No one said anything, and that was making me angry. Really angry. “Guys, he kidnapped Y/N! He beat her, and then shoved her into a trunk. So why is no one agreeing with me here?”

“Because you’re taking things a bit too far,” Voight commented.

I scoffed. “I’m taking things too far? That’s rich coming from you.”

“I’ve done some bad things, Jay. Things that I regret,” Voight admitted. “You don’t want to follow in my footsteps. And right now, what you’re suggesting... Jay, you’re crossing lines that you do not want to cross.”

I sighed and slumped down into my desk chair, defeated. “Then what the hell do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Voight confessed. “But we’re going to figure it out.”

Y/N’s POV

I winced in pain for the one hundredth time as I moved my jaw. There was most likely a bruise there, and a pretty decent sized one at that. I had been sitting in this house for who knows how long, a day at the most, just waiting, hoping, that the team would come and find me. And it looked like my wish was granted, because minutes later, someone bust the front door down, and I heard Jay calling out my name.

“I’m in here!” I shout as much as I was able, seeing as my jaw throbbed whenever it was jostled, which happened a lot when I talked. In seconds, I was being untied from the chair I was sitting in, and I was being engulfed in a hug by my boyfriend. He squeezed me softly, placing a kiss on the top of my head as I buried my face into his chest to inhale his familiar smell.

“Are you okay?” Jay asked and examined my figure, scowling when he saw the mark on my chin.

“I’m fine,” I assure him. “Just a few bruises. Nothing I can’t handle. What the hell happened?”

“We can talk about that later. Right now, I’m going to take you to Med, get you checked out, and then we are going to go home and get some much needed rest,” Jay explained. “You don’t know how worried I was about you. The lengths I was willing to go to get you back...”

“Hey,” I say and cup his cheeks with my hands. “You are the most morally just cop I know. So whatever you had to do, I’m sure it was justified. Now, if that whole rest thing is still on the table, I would like to take it.”

Jay smiled softly. “The offer is definitely still on the table. Come on. I’ll drive you to Med, and then we can pick up your car and head back to my place. Pizza and beers are on me.”

“I have the best boyfriend ever,” I note. “Now, lets get going. The longer we stand here, the hungrier I get.”

________________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13 @dreamingmanip @campingmonkey @winterberryfox @nevertoofarfromivar @anotherfan07 @giagma @mrspeacem1nusone @i-like-sparkly-things

[roanniom]

The Night That Follows

Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 8,000~ 

Summary: While celebrating a successful mission, you and Poe accidently ingest a mysterious beverage that makes it hard to resist one another, helping you forget the stress that weighs you down and the friendship that you’ve been holding between you two as a shield. 

Note: This is my first ever non-ADCU fic and it is dedicated to the ever lovely and supportive @paper-n-ashes who urged me to get out of my comfort zone and cheered me on.  

Warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, sex pollen, drugged drink (it’s drugged with the sex pollen by a 3rd party and not with malicious intent but it still might be triggering), masturbation (f/m), PIV sex, unprotected sex, war-related angst 

When people talk about war, they often discuss the paralyzing fear, the numbing depression. Hopelessness that spreads through your veins like cold water as you face immeasurable odds and stare death in the face day after day. And you can attest to these feelings. You experience them with each dawn that breaks, muddy in the sky regardless of the atmosphere shrouding whatever planet you find yourself waking on each morning. Your life is transient, full of ships and bases and camps. The constants are the clothes on your back, the friends in your squadron (those who survive), and the x-wing you hop in each time danger calls.

The other constant is the part of war that people do not discuss. The rush of adrenaline every time you make it out of a tough scrape. Adrenaline that burns your veins, evaporating the icy hopelessness that had flooded you up until the minute your boots hit turf and your jellied knees catch up to the reality that you are still very much alive. The euphoria that crackles in your brain when you spy your best mate zooming down from above, finally landing and throwing themselves into your arms in the hug you never thought you’d experience again after their coms had gone down in a fire fight. The absolute debauchery of a night of celebration after such a fire fight. Because nobody needs to live quite as much as those who may die.

Which is how you find yourself here, on this non-descript jungle planet, the name of which you didn’t catch during your descent because honestly there have been so many jungle planets and they have all become little more than coordinates on a screen to you at this point. You and your squad have been set up with a mini-festival by the resistance-sympathizing locals as a thank you for your recent decimation of their First Order oppressors. The operation had been pretty seamless, thanks in no small part to the excellent teamwork between you and a one Poe Dameron.

Your flying today had rivaled some of his best, which is certainly saying something since Poe prides himself on being the best pilot in the resistance. You certainly gave him a run for his money, outflying TIE fighters and swiveling shuttle cannons in a perfectly choreographed tandem maneuver wherein the two of you manipulated your assailants to ultimately destroy themselves.

As you knock back a burning shot of the local alcoholic beverage, the liquid tingling and warming you all the way down, you search the triumphant crowd for the cocky pilot who had helped you set the stage for this celebration. You wouldn’t dwell on the earlier events of the day much more tonight. Wouldn’t think much of the comrades you’d lost in the struggle. That was an ache that would throb back to life tomorrow. Tonight, the priority is living.

It is then that you lock eyes with Poe Dameron through the throngs of semi-drunken revelers. His handsome face splits into a wide, cocky grin, so you adopt an exasperated smirk in response as he pushes his way towards you. Such is the game you play. A dance, if you will. Poe plays the role of the self-assured, overly confident golden boy while you, his long suffering partner, humble him with your good-natured criticism and ever rolling eyes.

“Alright there, Sweets?” Poe practically drawls as he reaches you, the nickname both a term of endearment and a teasing reference to the sweet tooth that keeps you hoarding candies of all kinds in your bunk, much to Poe’s own benefit. You beam up at him and upend your little glass to demonstrate its emptiness.

“On my way there, Fly Boy.”

“Looks like you’re falling behind, rookie. Like you did on that triple barrel twist today.”

You throw a punch that lands a little too lightly on his shoulder to produce the grunt and showy flail that he graces you with.

“First of all, you’re not allowed to call me rookie anymore. Your dumb ass might need to be constantly reassured that you’re ‘best pilot in the resistance,’ but by now I am, at worst, second best.” Your gut warms and you’re not sure if it’s the drink or Poe’s deep, full-bodied laugh in response. “And second of all, we don’t talk about the day if we make it to the night.”

Poe almost seems to sober at your words, a phrase of his tossed back at him. The smile remains, though, and he tosses an arm around you before dragging you over to the table that’s been set up with refreshments.

“Right you are, Sweets,” Poe agrees quietly. Louder now and injecting you two into the crowd surrounding the cluster of bottles, he continues, “as for you being second best pilot, I’d rather let the squad decide before you go getting a head too big to fit in your helmet.”

This receives a laugh from the crowd as well as another smattering of slaps thrown towards Poe’s chest.

“Dameron, we all know you already have your own helmet custom made so you can stuff that massive ego in there,” your friend Myrna.

“And those curls,” you add, reaching up and ruffling your hand through his hair in that way that always makes his nose scrunch up in mock anger.

“If you must know, there’s something else they also have to custom make me…” Poe says, grabbing your wrist and forcing your hand to slide down his chest towards the bottom of his flight suit zipper and wiggling his eyebrows. You shriek and yank your hand away.

“In your dreams, Dameron.” Poe leans down toward you so that his face is close enough for you to feel his breath fan across your cheeks.

“Or perhaps in yours?”

Suddenly a small, wrinkled face appears between you. It’s an elderly female member of the local alien race and she’s beaming up at you, holding two steaming mugs and smiling around a garbled statement in a language you don’t recognize.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m not sure I…” you interrupt her, glancing awkwardly between her massive eyes and Poe’s confused ones.

“I might be able to translate!” Myrna cries out, stumbling forward with a newly refilled glass in her hand.

“You sure that’s not just the liquor talking?” Poe asks with a chuckle. Myrna waves him off and kneels unsteadily to listen to the old woman. More garbled speech issues forward as the woman gestures between you and Poe with her mugs. Myrna nods several times and gives little hums of agreement and affirmation. You and Poe trade glances of amusement during the interaction, but you have to look away when the upturned corner of Poe’s mouth begins to distract you.

“Alright alright,” Myrna pipes up. You turn back in time to see Myrna standing back up to her full height, now holding the two mugs, while the woman waddles back into the crowd.

“What’s the deal?” Poe asks, slinging his arm back around your shoulders. You resist the knee jerk actions that come to mind, both to slap his touch away and to lean into it, standing rigid instead.

“She said these are for you,” Myrna says, pushing the steaming mugs into your hands and Poe’s.

“Did she say why?” You peer at the milky, opalescent contents curiously. Myrna has already moved on, however, turning back to the pilot she’d been hanging on before you and Poe had approached. You look to Poe but he shrugs.

“I don’t know, something about you guys deserving it.” Myrna waves her hand dismissively, obviously ready to get back to her own evening. You look up at Poe, unsure, but he’s nodding and smiling.

“Hear that, Sweets? Seems like word travels fast that we’re the top two pilots,” Poe says cheekily, clinking his mug to yours before throwing back his head and downing its contents in one gulp. Your insides ignite at his acknowledgment, as well as the bob of his adam’s apple, but your eyes still flit warily to your beverage.

“We don’t even know what it is and you’re drinking it?”

“Honey, I’m pretty sure that liquor we were taking shots of earlier was actually jet fuel, I don’t think we need to be too worried about this.” Poe smacks his lips and runs his finger around the inside of the mug. “And besides, it’s really kriffing good.”

Watching the way his cheeks hollow out as he sucks the last dregs of his drink from his finger makes a heat boil in the pit of the stomach. You decide you actually are quite thirsty, and since your curiosity is stronger than your apprehension, you knock the liquid back yourself.

“Atta girl!” Poe cheers you on, nudging you. The drink is sweet and thick on your tongue like a melted version of the ice cream you’d tasted once, many years ago. You can still remember the creamy texture, very much worth the credits paid to the traveling vendor who’d brought it to your village during the hottest summer of your childhood. As you swallow this liquid down, however, its cold temperature changes into a burn, similar to alcohol, though smoother than any liquor you’d ever had.

“Good, right?” Poe asks, eyebrows raised. You nod and lick your lips, sure that you’re imagining things when Poe’s eyes flicker down to your darting tongue.

“That was actually pretty good,” you concede with a grin.

“So what have we learned tonight?” Poe prompts, grabbing your mug from your hands and placing it next to his on a nearby table. You shake your head.

“Your cockiness extends to believing locals on a miniscule planet find you special?”

“The correct answer was ‘always give things a chance,’ Sweets, but you can continue being closeminded if you want,” Poe responds with a chuckle. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and makes to walk away.

“Fine!” You reach out and grab his arm before he can leave. When he rounds back on you with a wide smile you roll your eyes and refuse eye contact. “And just so you know, I’m a lot more open minded than you think, Dameron.”

“Is that so, rookie?” You bristle but as the glee raises in his eyes at your reaction you do your best to tamp it down.

“I’m…flexible,” you say, your grin begrudging. A hubbub breaks out beyond you in the crowd as the makeshift band that had assembled to play party music transitions to a particularly festive song, causing both you and Poe to watch as people begin forming an impromptu dance floor. When Poe turns back at you and raises his eyebrows, expectant, you throw up your hands defensively.

“No. Don’t look at me like that, Fly Boy,” you’re quick to say, but Poe’s even quicker, having already grabbed you by the hand and pulled you to him. Your body collides with his and his other hand finds the dip of your waist.

“Oh I’m sorry, what was that I just heard someone say about being open minded?” Poe asks. In a sudden fluid motion he dips you, bending you over so that your back is parallel to the ground and his face hovers over yours. “Being flexible?”

You let him pull you back up and steady yourself with a hand on his chest to catch your balance, dizzy now, most likely from the suddenness of the motion. You’re about to toss back a witty retort, possibly something that will knock him down a few pegs, but then you catch the glint in his eye and a smile spreads across your lips unbidden.

“You get one dance, Dameron.”

~*~

One dance turned into many, as it turns out. The band, upon realizing their audience’s appetite for raucous music, had begun a steady rotation of upbeat tunes. The dance floor had expanded, spilling out of its original confines in the center of the town square and into the concession areas on the perimeter. Resistance members danced and drank, their bodies jumping and moving to the beat in one chaotic mass of excess energy and euphoria. Bodies writhe against one another in all directions as people seek out friction that can confirm to them that they did indeed survive the day’s trials.

You’re experiencing friction of your own in your little portion of the dance floor. Where things had started out innocently – energetic bouncing to the beat and moving in unison – the tone had long changed. At this point Poe is behind you, arms slung dangerously low on your hips to hold you against him, hands pressed right above your pelvis. The feeling of his chest pressing against your back, his hips bracketing your ass – you’ve lost yourself in the sensations. The rhythm of the music shakes through your muscles but instead of tense and tired, they’re loose and buzzing.

Though truth be told, they aren’t the only thing buzzing. The proximity of Poe’s hands to your lower body feels charged like a magnet. Without thinking you press your hands over the backs of his, encouraging pressure on your lower abdomen. You swear you hear Poe growl behind you has his hands pull you further to him, but it could also be the roar of the crowd. Your hips move in sync, your ass grinding against him in time with the music. Escapism in its purest form is what you’re experiencing in Poe’s arms, held against Poe’s body, matching Poe’s motions. It’s heady and distracting and everything you could ask for to make living feel like living, especially in the aftermath of a day centered on death. You’re content to let this moment last as long as the universe allows.

That is until you realize that the increasing beat you’d thought was a shift in the music is actually the rapid crescendo of your own heartbeat.

Swallowing you find your throat is thick, saliva pooling in your mouth inexplicably. You take a deep breath and allow your mind to reel. How long had you been feeling like this? Why hadn’t you noticed these feelings coming on?

One of the large hands at your hip begins sliding up along the plane of your side and you get your answer. The weight of his touch lights your skin on fire as it drags up and across your collar bone. Your breath feels ragged, rattling around in lungs that can’t seem to take in oxygen no matter how high your chest rises and falls. Poe’s hand lingers on your throat for a second so you swallow again, with even less luck than before. His hand reaches up to grip your jaw which he uses to turn your head back toward him.

Oh.

Poe continues to move behind you, his motions controlling you both on the floor, but his face is strained. Sweat dots his temples, gleaming in his curls, and his teeth seem gritted, making his jaw set at a striking angle. His eyes pin you down, however, and they keep your attention as you gaze back, wide-eyed.

“You okay, rookie?” Poe’s voice is deeper than normal, huskier. The way it reverberates through your body makes a rumbling bubble up deep inside your chest. The beginnings of a moan, perhaps? You’re quick to gasp a response before such a sound has a chance to make its way into the air between you.

“I’m…feeling quite strange.”

The hand still at your waist tightens its grip while the other rejoins on the opposite side. You have to gasp again to keep from moaning. Suddenly you’re being maneuvered forward, Poe’s guidance weaving you through the crowd with ease despite the congested revelry.

Neither of you see the way Myrna is watching you both with a knowing smirk from her place draped around her own handsome pilot beau. Or the way the little old woman who’d gifted you the beverage hovers on the outskirts of the dance floor, a proud look on her wrinkled face as she eyes your retreating figures.

~*~

You’re not really able to follow where Poe is directing you, mainly because of how the imprint of his hands on your body seems to be searing into your skin through your flight suit. While your accelerated heart rate was the thing you had been most worried about, now you are equally worried about the dull ache that has seated itself in the pit of your stomach. You bite down hard on your lip to keep the moan from spilling out, the one you’ve been suppressing since the moment you became conscious to your current discomfort.

When Poe’s stride finally slows to a stop only then are you able to take in your surroundings. Blinking, you’re surprised to find that you’re now outside of the town, far from the lights and bustle of the party, walking into the silent clearing that contains the squadron’s parked aircrafts.

“Why are we all the way out here?” you ask, unsettled by how deep your voice sounds in the darkness.

“Needed to get away from the crowd.” You’re even more unsettled by how breathless Poe’s voice is as he says his first words since the dance floor. So unsettled that you turn in his arms so you can finally take in his disheveled appearance fully.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, it’s the weirdest thing. One minute everything was fine and the next…”

“You can’t catch your breath,” you finish for him and he nods gravely. Both of your chests are practically heaving, pressing into each other with each exhale. When you become aware of this, it also brings awareness of the way his chest pressed up against yours is also adding pressure to your nipples. Since when were your nipples hard? The night is balmy, a cool breeze barely able to disturb the moist warmth that settles in the jungle terrain. You feel sweat begin to collect on the back of your neck and your hairline, much like the sweat causing Poe to shine a bit in the moonlight. And yet your nipples are hard and a shudder runs through your body, nerve endings clearly ten steps ahead of you, taking in some experience to which you’d yet to catch up.

“Wait a minute, look at me,” Poe suddenly orders, his fingers wrapping around your chin to lift your face toward his. You freeze as he stares down at you, eyes widening at whatever he sees.

“What is it?” you ask, voice urgent, almost frightened.

“Your pupils are wide as planets,” he mutters, distracted fingers drawing up the side of your jaw to press to the pulse point at your throat. “Your heartbeat is out of control.”

“I haven’t been able to calm down,” you say, nodding but getting more worried by the second. “Why can’t I calm down? Are you feeling the same way?”

Poe’s mouth presses into a hard line and he turns away abruptly, head tilting down.

“Oh fuck.”

“What?” You try to pull him back toward you but he doesn’t budge.

“I think…we’ve been drugged.”

Your blood runs cold and a hand flies to cover your mouth. You’d known tonight was too good to be true. Your mind races, making connections out of thin air, trying to place when and where you could have possibly come in close enough proximity to First Order agents to be compromised.

“But what – how – what can we do? What is it? Is it deadly?” You’re cut off by a sound issuing from Poe’s now curved body. You wonder at first if it’s a sob, which makes sense because you’re about ready to cry yourself. But then you realize it’s a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t say deadly. Just exceedingly inconvenient.”

“So you know what it is then?” you prompt, tugging at his shoulder some more to try and see his face. “Tell me!”

“Well for starters I’m pretty sure it was that drink the old woman gave us.”

Fuck.

Of course. What was the one suspicious thing you’d ingested all day? The fact that you hadn’t thought about it sooner makes you want to kick yourself, but you press on instead, anxious to have the matter dealt with.

“What does it do?” You hate the tremor that colors your voice. At that Poe finally turns around and you take him in all at once, trying to assess what he could have been hiding. His tall, wide-legged stance makes it easy to notice after a few seconds. As your gaze moves lower on his body you finally see the massive tent forming below the zipper line of his flight suit.

Without even being able to mentally process what you’re looking at your body responds immediately. A rush of warmth and wetness floods the apex of your thighs and the moan that you’d so far been able to hold in finally makes it way out of your throat. Poe’s eyes, which had recently gone hooded, widen in response to the lewd sound. You clap a hand over your mouth and snap your eyes back up to his face, away from the rigid shape that had made the muscles inside you contract wantonly around nothing.

“It’s made from a plant that’s meant to accelerate sex drive,” Poe says matter-of-factly.

You almost don’t hear him because your eyes have already slid back down his body, feasting on the sight of his impressive bulge. You’d heard stories of Poe’s sexual prowess, many from the man’s own loud mouth. You knew he’d satisfied many members of the Resistance, male and female alike. But you had never truly let yourself consider what he’d be like. What he’d look like. What he’d feel like…

“Why would she possibly give that to us of all people?” You feel like you’re going to cry. The feelings coursing through your body are overwhelming.

“Maybe she went around spiking many people at the party. Maybe she just thought you and I would look hot together? You can’t blame her for that one.” Poe winks at you and it diffuses some of your angst. You let out a tense laugh and shake your head.

“How do we make it stop?” you force yourself to ask, just as you force yourself yet again to look back up in his eyes. Poe averts his own, a sheepish look overtaking his face. When he doesn’t answer you step forward and grab his arm in alarm, trying not to consider the way his bicep bulges under his sleeve. “Poe?!”

“We have to…take care of it.”

You’re launching yourself away from him before he can finish the sentence. You probably knew the answer before you’d even asked the question, but his words still sent electricity through your spine.

“We can’t. That’s…that’s crazy – you’re crazy, Dameron!”

“Hey, you think I like this? Standing here like an idiot with my dick so hard I can barely see straight?”

The sexual nature of his words, spoken so plainly and without euphemism for the first time, makes a new wave of wetness pool between your legs against your will.

“Don’t….talk about it,” you say through gritted teeth, closing your eyes in an attempt to center yourself.

“What? Don’t talk about my aching cock?” he asks, almost as a challenge. He’s frustrated now, egged on by your attitude.

“Stop it.”

“Are you about to tell me you aren’t wet right now?”

You turn your back on him in a childish and fruitless attempt at blocking out his words. When you don’t reply you hear his footsteps as he approaches from behind.

“If we’re both having the same reaction, and I’m certain we are, then I’d imagine you’re practically dripping right now.”

His words would have made your eyes cross if you didn’t have them shut so tightly. A hand molds around your hip while the other grasps at the side of your neck, both working in tandem to pull your back flush against his front. The impact, though gentle, knocks the wind out of you. Or whatever wind had been in you in the first place. His lips are at your ear then and you melt into his touch.

“If we take care of this together we’ll go back to normal.”

“…back to normal?” you ask, simply repeating and not really aware of your words.

“Exactly.”

“I…I don’t know.” Poe’s hardened length is pressing into your ass now, insistent and firm behind you. The hand on your hip migrates lower to pull you against him. A swivel of his hips causes your own to follow the momentum, gyrating in their own right.

“We can be quick,” Poe coos, his voice vibrating over your earlobe where his lips are making contact with your skin. Another low chuckle sounds. “Or I can take my time if you want. Either way, I can promise you’ll enjoy it.”

There’s your cocky Fly Boy.

You wrench yourself from his grasp and take a few steadying steps away before gaining the wherewithal to turn back and face him once more. He looks supremely disappointed, arms still outstretched in the place where you had just been.

“Does this really have to be a…team effort?” you ask, face screwed up with discomfort. Poe runs a hand through his hair and casts a distracted glance about your surroundings.

“I mean I guess theoretically one could take care of themselves – ”

“Great!” you cut him off and stalk around to the other side of his x-wing. Of course he’d brought you to his ship. You look around for your own but when you can’t find it you plop yourself down on the ground.

“Are you kriffing serious?” comes Poe’s angry voice behind you as he stomps over. “We could bang this out and feel better but you’re just going to – ”

“Oh ‘bang’ this out? Real nice, Dameron.”

“You know what I mean.” You can practically hear his eye roll.

“The other side,” you say simply, lowering the zipper on your flight suit. When you don’t hear the sound of his retreating footsteps, however, you pause. “Stay on the other side of the ship, Dameron.”

He grumbles but does as you say. When you finally hear the sound of him throwing himself to the ground, you lift the tab of your zipper again. However, the loud and sudden ziiiip indicating that he’s yanked open his own garment seems ring out then in the clearing and you’re inundated with mental images of what that must look like. Poe sprawled on the ground with his flight suit open and askew. You imagine the expanse of his chest, the way the muscle would ripple in the shadows of the jungle. You’d seen him without a shirt before, the arms of his flight suit tied at his waist as he reclined beneath his x-wing making repairs. Covered in sweat and grease. The memory and the subsequent lurid thoughts have you dipping your hand down into the small opening you’ve made in your clothes, not fully comfortable enough to expose yourself entirely to the elements. When you reach the place between your thighs you have to swallow the gasp that bursts forth at the realization that Poe had been right. You’re not just wet. You’re dripping.

“Fuck.”

You think you say it quietly but a chuckle from the other side of the ship proves otherwise.

“Need any help over there?”

You ignore him and try to focus in on your own body, closing your eyes. You allow a hand to ghost over your breast as you ease a finger through your folds. You feel the insistent thrumming of your pulse even down below and your breath is shallow in your chest. The images dancing behind your eyelids show you flashes, glimpses of things you try to banish from your mind. The angle of Poe’s jaw. His faint, ever present stubble. The arch of his eyebrow. The curve of his smirk. His ass in those pants.

“Sweets…”

Poe’s voice interrupts a whimper you hadn’t even realized you were releasing.

“Poe.” Your voice is small and it cracks around his name. Your muscles are contracting but nothing you do eases the sensation. It just continues building within you. “It hurts.”

“Just come over here. I don’t even have to touch you. Just let me help you through it.”

You ponder the darkness before you, the way it envelops the other aircrafts in this makeshift parking zone. You hear a shick shick shick behind you and your cunt aches. Completely in response to the siren call of Poe Dameron’s building pleasure. You’re immediately intensely jealous. Jealous of the way that, you assumed, he was having more luck getting himself off than you were, despite the fingers inside you right now. Jealous of the way his voice didn’t crack when he beckoned you over.

But most of all jealous of the fact that he’s the one currently touching his hard cock. Not you.

You will yourself to stand up, pulling your hand out of your flight suit but not bothering to zip it back up. On jelly legs you make your way to the other side of the ship. The far side, facing away from the town square and the distant glow of the party you’ve now forgotten.

As you round the edge of the x-wing you bite your lip at the sight before you. Poe is indeed sprawled out with his suit zipped all the way down. His thick member protrudes from the bottom of the opening, a fist moving up and down rapidly, pulling from root to flushed tip in skilled motions. However the eyes that gaze up at you from under his unruly mop of curly hair are not doused with pleasure and satisfaction as you’d imagined. Instead he looks pained, almost agonized. At the sight of you he sits up a bit and does his best to give you a reassuring smile though it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful, rookie.”

“That’s the drink talking,” you dismiss, despite the way your stomach swoops as you move to settle yourself down next to him, careful not to make contact. “And you know I hate you calling me rookie.”

“I’ll call you anything you want, baby, as long as you start touching yourself.”

Your cunt pulses at his words so suddenly that you almost double over. Your breathing, already ragged, speeds up as you feel the overwhelming urge to have something deep inside you. Dropping your hand into the opening in your suit you halt, however, watching Poe warily in your peripheral vision. He catches you looking and reluctantly stills the hand moving on member.

“Would sitting back to back help?” he sighs. You nod, scrambling over so that your back is to his.

This is better. This is much better, you think as you dip your hand back between your legs and into the waiting slick. You drag a finger in tight circles over your clit and do your best to calm the racing thoughts that flit back to images of Poe’s body.

The body that is currently pressed to yours, though not at all in the manner you would prefer.

Poe grunts then, making you lose your rhythm.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve wanted you, you know.”

You cut your answering gasp off at the source, not daring to make a sound lest it interrupt this information that you desperately needed to here. He interprets your silence correctly and continues.

“I’ve thought about you. When I’m in the cockpit on my way to some distant planet. When not even hyper speed can get me there quick enough before thoughts of you creep in.” He almost sounds mad, but you get it. The emotions coursing through your body along with the hormones are driving you wild and you don’t know how to feel.

“What…what are the thoughts about?” you can’t help but ask.

“I’d love to say it’s your smile or your brains or something sweet like that. And I do think about those things too, don’t get me wrong,” he says on a hoarse chuckle. “But it’s mainly your body.”

You slip a third finger inside your cunt as he says this, his words and the feeling mixing to cause you to let out an unchecked moan. You feel Poe’s body shudder against you.

“Shit Sweets you’re killing me.” You feel him tense as his hand begins moving faster. “I think about how you look poured into that flight suit. The way your tits and ass jiggle when you hop into your x-wing – fuck.” Another shudder wracks through his body and you can’t take it anymore. The way you’re touching yourself isn’t the way you usually do it. Not in those rare moments where you’ve got the sleeping quarters to yourself and you’re able to get yourself off in your bunk to images of a chiseled jawline, a clothed bulge, rippling muscles, soft, curly hair…

You abruptly pitch yourself forward to balance yourself on your knees and one hand while the remaining hand redoubles its efforts between your legs. The shift in position ends your physical contact with Poe and he swivels to see.

“What are you – ”

“Don’t turn around,” you gasp out. Your new angle works in your favor as your swollen clit becomes more sensitive, pulled down by gravity so that every swipe of your finger becomes more potent. “But for the love of gods, don’t stop talking.”

Poe is taken aback by your sudden forwardness, but he doesn’t let it faze him for long. Instead you hear his renewed efforts at jerking off as the sound of skin swiping across skin, made smoother by spit and precum, gets louder behind you.

“What do you want me to talk about? How much I wish it was your tight little pussy I was fucking instead of my fist?”

The whimper you release at that statement is unlike any sound you’ve ever made and it only spurs Poe on.

“And I just know you’re tight. I know it. And wet too, just like I guessed you were. I can hear it, baby,” he practically growls and you become intensely away of the slick, creamy sounds coming from the rapid in and out, in and out rhythm of your fingers delving into your cunt. “You’re dripping, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” You close your eyes and hear his words and wish the fingers inside you were harder, thicker, him.

“You wish it was my cock inside you, I know you do. You don’t want to admit it but you wish I was pounding into you, making you feel good. Making the ache go away.”

Your answering whine confirms his beliefs and he lets out a triumphant grunt.

“Fuck, baby. I want it, too. Bury myself deep inside of you and fuck you till that drink wears off and you’re still screaming for me, that’s how good it would be.”

“Oh gods.”

“Tell me who you’re wet for.”

“Y-you.” It comes out small. You’re shocked that you even say it, especially with how much you’ve been fighting all of this. You want it. You want it in your bones and in your blood and in your tight, spasming cunt. But you also want Poe’s friendship. Want him to tousle your hair on the way to the hanger. Want him to keep sending you funny messages over your data pad, constantly trying to outdo your own silly riddles and jokes. Want to tease him and eat dinner with him in the mess hall and slap him when he says something stupid and yell at him when he does something dangerous and cry when he doesn’t come back on time from a mission…

A sob finds its way out of your body, sandwiched between two moans. You’re not sure Poe even heard it until his voice reaches your ears again, this time gentler.

“Sweets? Is this working for you?”

You take a shuddering breath before answering.

“No.”

You practically hear Poe slump in defeat, the rhythm of his hand on his length slowing down. You bite your lip before continuing.

“Take me, Poe.”

“What?” Poe whirls around so fast you feel the air woosh over you as he disturbs it. You jump to your feet, still facing away from him and yank your flight suit over your shoulders and down your body, stepping out so it pools on the ground. He watches as you get back down on your hands and knees before him in your underwear, ass in the air, waiting for him to catch up.

“I need you, Poe. Just…just please get inside me,” you say, reaching back to pull the damp fabric of your panties aside, exposing your glistening, swollen folds for him to see.

You don’t have to ask him a third time. He’s on you so fast that you’re confused by his motions. It takes a few seconds before you realize that he’s taken your discarded flight suit and stretched it out on the ground, positioning you over it so that your hands and knees are protected from the dirt. The sweetness of this considerate action is offset by the way his fingers dig harshly into your hips, maneuvering your ass so that it lines up with his pelvis. You tilt forward, aided by pressure on your lower back which raises your click cunt to the level of his cock.  

“I’m going to make you feel so good – ”

“No more words, Dameron. Just shut up and get your cock inside – FUCK.” He spears you mid-sentence and you immediately fall down onto your elbows. Your ass still in the air, held in place by his hard grip, receives a smack and you cry out, feeling no pain. Only pleasure as the sting ripples through you and into your clenching cunt. He feels it deep inside you and groans.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs to shut up, baby.” His words issue forth from gritted teeth. “Always fucking teasing me with that fucking mouth.” His hips rut into yours, taking up an unforgiving pace, while the rest of his body folds over yours so his chest pressed flush to your back. One hand closes tightly around your chin, wrenching up your head and dragging a finger over your bottom lip which has grown plump from biting. “This beautiful, bossy fucking mouth. Always telling me off, telling me what to do.”

Your tongue darts out to meet his skin and his other fingers caress your chin in response. It’s a stark contrast to the almost feral way he is still clutching your hip and driving into you over and over.

There’s almost no resistance. You’re tight, cunt clutching onto his throbbing cock in an effort to keep him buried inside, but you’re wetter than you’ve ever been and it’s making his thrusts effortless. You assume it’s a side effect of the drink. But in some part of your brain you can’t believe that a plant could possibly make a man’s cock feel as good as Poe’s does right now inside you. How a plant could cause you to feel pleasure that is not simply rooted in the way his hand drags down from your jaw to wrench your breasts out of the cups of your bra. How a plant could in any way magnify the surely already intoxicating feeling of Poe’s mouth working at the side of your neck, the curve of your shoulder.

“This working, baby? This doing it?” Poe checks in then, not relenting in his thrusts. Never relenting. “You’re squeezing me, so I know your little pussy likes it.”

A shuddering gasp kicks through you before you can answer his question and he laughs. The vibrations go straight from his cock to your clit and you whimper some more.

“Your sounds. I want to record these little sounds you’re making and play them back when I’m flying. Have you fill the space in my x-wing till I can’t take it any more.” Poe presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder, nipping and then laving the skin over with his tongue. “I’m going to hear these sounds in my dreams.”

“It’s…just…the drink,” you practically hiccup, barely able to form thoughts from the way your body has focused all energy, all recognitions of nerve endings to the space between your thighs. Poe slaps your ass again and you keen.

“Just listen to yourself, baby. No drink is making you sound this hot. That’s all you, Sweets.”

Before you can argue further you do take a second to listen. To the way your shallow breaths mix with whimpers and whines. The gurgle in the back of your throat when his cock bounces against your cervix. He’s right. It is hot. You are hot. You reach a hand down to your clit, desperate to increase the already mind-blowing stimulation, greedy for more.

“You feel so good. You’re sosososogood,” you barely manage to slur. Despite your inability to fully speak you make the attempt because you assume that if hearing your gasps is egging him on, your words will amplify it. And amplify it they do. Poe’s hips stutter for a second before he drops down heavier on you, thrusting deeper and from a more primal place. A hand savagely kneads at one of your breasts, playing with the nipple.  

“I’ve never been this full. I can’t take it, I can’t…”

“Seems like you’re taking it pretty well, baby,” Poe coos, pressing more kisses to the side of your neck.

“I need m-more,” you gasp, realizing with urgency that the pressure in your core is finally building past the plateau of the last…hour? Half an hour? How long had this been going on? All night? It doesn’t matter because Poe’s inside you and he’s listening to you and suddenly you’re being slammed into with all the force he can muster. He expertly wrings pleasure from your body and you feel yourself careening toward a release that you can’t describe. Just out of reach and full of all the potential energy inherent in an object rocketing toward the moon only to soon plummet back to the depths.

“Poe! I…I…oh fuck…oh gods…I…”

“Go on, baby. Cum.”

“You ha- ahhhh. But you…y-you…” You’re babbling. You’re incoherent, not wanting to leave him behind in the blinding ache that comes before release. Your hands are fisting in the flight suit below you, desperate for something solid, something substantial to hold onto.

“Don’t wait for me, Sweets. Let go.”

And then his hands are closing over yours, fingers interlacing and squeezing down, pinning you to the ground with white knuckles that would hurt if you weren’t squeezing him right back, finally grounded in the way you needed.

And you’re cumming.

And cumming.

You feel every muscle in your body seize and spasm and bliss roils out through you in waves. You shake and stutter under him, feeling fresh wetness gush down around his cock as he fucks you through the feeling. You keep waiting for it to stop but it doesn’t, it only intensifies. It must be a side effect. Of the drink not the man. But when you feel yourself transcending the moment, the way your soul feels like it is literally floating above you, you use the out of body experience to take in the man who is causing this pleasure. The way he cages you in, bracing you through the storm of your orgasm, giving more and more to keep the flame burning as long as possible.

His muscles ultimately seize sometime around when your soul seems to sink back into your body and you’re one again enough with your senses that you can feel him paint your walls with sticky, hot cum. He doesn’t drop his weight on you like other men have after the completion of such exertions. Other men who had focused more on the destination than the journey, leaving you as wanting for release as you were wanting for air under the pressure of their body weight. Instead, Poe pulls you of you and flops to his back in the grass beside you. Without him holding you up you crumble down, face pressing into the fabric of your rumpled flight suit instead of the dirt, thanks to Poe.

A few minutes pass, silent except for the sound of your slowing gasps for air. When your breathing evens Poe sits up on his haunches to guide you back into your flight suit. You’re sticky from sweat and your combined cum, but you couldn’t care less with your bones liquified and your eyelids heavy. Gone is the buzzing ache, in its place a heavy sleepiness. When Poe lays you, now clothed, gingerly back down on the ground you automatically curl into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around your body.

Neither of you shares another word. You don’t have to.

Because shortly after you doze off. And for the first time in a long time your final thoughts before sleep overtakes you are not of the dread the morning will bring, but the solace you found in the night.

~*~

When you wake it’s to a dawn as grey as all the ones before it. Hazy with receding fog and with the promise of all the danger that looms ahead in the hours soon to follow. One of the planet’s suns has already breached the horizon, and you raise a hand to cover your eyes as you peer out from under the x-wing’s protective wing. Looking down you take stock.

Your flight suit is on but fully unzipped, leaving your chest and stomach entirely exposed, all the way down to your lower belly. A large hand covers one of your breasts, fingers twitching against your flesh as the man attached to it continues to dream. You follow the length of his arm to take in his body, tucked close into your own, equally unzipped, his broad torso showing through the gaping fabric. You watch Poe’s abdominal muscles contract with his inhales and exhales for a moment while you check in with your body.

The humming from last night is gone, that much is for certain. This makes you believe that the effects of the drink have worn off. You’re quick to question this hypothesis, however, when Poe stirs in his sleep and his hand squeezes down a bit on your breast. Your breath catches in your throat and fire shoots through your veins. A lingering symptom, you wonder. Or perhaps just a normal, biological reaction to sexual stimuli. You kick yourself mentally because of course it has to be the latter. It couldn’t be the third option which you won’t even allow yourself to fully consider.  

You require a shower urgently, it occurs to you suddenly. And food, a realization that coincides with a rumbling in your empty stomach. Knowing you’ll never have a good enough excuse to extricate yourself from this gorgeous man’s arms you steel your nerves and pull away. When you stand, Poe groans and allows an eye to crack open, his hand flying up to shield his eyes from the rising sun. You’re silhouetted against the dawn and he takes in your outline. The curves of you.

“Morning, Sweets,” he says, voice hoarse with sleep this time instead of sex.

“Morning, Fly Boy,” you reply simply with a small smile. You feel a buzzing in the pocket of your suit then and pull out your mini com unit, even more portable than your usual data pad. The message that blares across the screen and you relay it before Poe can reach his own device which had similarly vibrated.

“We’ve got a new mission. Briefing is in an hour and then we take off.” The information feels stilted as it leaves your lips. How can you feel so entirely, earth-shatteringly changed and yet in many ways everything is still the same. The sun still came up. The war still rages on.

You look down at Poe and his intense expression as he watches you makes you think that he’s wondering the same thing.

Your heart thumps in your chest, this time unaided by any drugged drink or the eyes or hands of a man whose existence seemed both your making and undoing. Routine is the only thing that can calm these nerves. Routine is what is required to survive war. Routine and protocol and boundaries.

You zip up your flight suit with finality.

“See you at the briefing?” you ask, though its more statement than question.

“Of course.” Poe’s response is quiet as he continues to watch you from his reclining position. You’re still above him and at a distance, a position he often associates with you.

You smile and give him a good natured salute before turning and making you way back toward the town where you know the rest of the Resistance members are already bustling about and preparing for the day.

Another day you hope you, and Poe, will be lucky enough to outlive.

~*~

Doing a smaller taglist since it’s a Poe fic and I’m not sure if everyone on my usual taglist is into it (Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed for future work!): @paper-n-ashes @mariesackler @tlcwrites @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @sacklerscumrag @jynzandtonic @millenialcatlady @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @hopeamarsu @direnightshade @leather-flannel-liquor @fizzywoohoo @aliveandlonely @wayward-rose @safarigirlsp @emeraldsiren20 @finn-ray-nal-beads @maryforyou @maybe-your-left

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter 21 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Helloooooo my friends!!! You are going to love this one. I am so excited to hear what you think about it. Hold on to the fluff my loves. 

Read previous chapters of this fic here! 

warnings: food mention, alcohol consumption, discussion of pregnancy (not reader), mild sexual content

wordcount: 1.9k

“Okay, be honest. How many nights have you actually spent here since you moved in?” Emily asked, perched on the couch in your apartment, a glass of wine in her hand, a few empty bottles scattered between you, her, JJ and Garcia throughout your living room.

“That’s not fair! We spend way more nights out on cases than I do at Aaron’s place,” you laughed from across the living room in a lounge chair. 

“You know that’s not what she meant, peach.” Garcia chastises you, and JJ lets out a snort. 

“It doesn’t matter. Her non-answer is answer enough,” she points out, and you all laugh together.

“It’s a good thing,” Garcia reminds you. 

“Oh, absolutely,” Emily concurs. “We’re all glad you finally figured it out. I didn’t know how much longer I was going to be able to stand you making googly-eyes at him during active hostage situations.” 

“I did not!” You defended yourself with a smile, hiding your grin behind your fourth-- or was it your fifth?--- glass of wine. 

“You weren’t that bad. That’s not to say you were good at hiding it, because you weren’t,” JJ assures you. “But you held it together in the field.” 

“See, guys? And JJ’s sober.” You reminded the group.

“Are you sure you don’t want a glass?” Garcia offered her. 

“No, I’m alright,” JJ denied. “Actually, I offered to drive because…. Will and I are expecting!” She announces, and your faces all light up in unison. 

“Jayje!” Emily squeals, practically diving across the couch to wrap her friend in a hug. Penelope is right behind her, and you all take a moment to fuss over her and feel her non-existent bump before settling back into your own seats. 

“Oh, that means you and Hotch are next!” Garcia asserts drunkenly, and you tense, although you doubt any of the ladies noticed. 

“You think you’d want that? Kids, I mean?” Emily asks you, reclining back in her chair. 

“I don’t really know what Aaron wants,” you shrug the question off, averting your gaze to your wine glass. 

“That’s not what we asked,” JJ redirects you, apparently unwilling to accept a non-answer this time around. “What do you want?”

“With Aaron? More kids, definitely more.” You confess. “But Aaron’s older than I am. I don’t know if he feels like he’s done with that part of his life, you know?” 

“There’s no way. He loves Jack more than anything.” Emily concludes. “He seems like the type of guy who’d love to keep you barefoot and pregnant, even if it’s only because he’d get to pull you out of the field and keep you safe at home.” 

You let out a real laugh at Emily’s assertion. “Well, if he ever asks me about it, I’ll be sure to include that in my supporting arguments.” 

“Trust me-- they never feel done with being a dad. How do you think Will and I ended up with baby number two?” JJ reminds you with a wink. 

“Oh, you guys would just have the cutest babies. That dark Hotchner hair and your pretty eyes!” Garcia gushes, her lower lip starting to quiver. 

“Okay, and that’s my cue to get her home,” JJ chuckles, rising from her place on the couch. “Drink some water before you go to bed, okay? And maybe eat something, and take some advil?” 

“Okay, mom,” you rolled your eyes, standing up and giving your friends hugs goodbye as you said goodnight. 

“Hey, someday you’ll understand,” JJ tells you. “It will be sooner than you think, I’d bet.” She winks, and you roll your eyes at her again, smiling as you walked the three of them to the door.

----------------

“We’re going on a date tonight,” Aaron tells you as the two of you leave the office a few nights later. “Jess agreed to take Jack.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Am I forgetting something?” 

“Only that I love you, and as your boyfriend I reserve the right to take you out whenever I please,” He smirks, placing a hand on your back as he opens the door and helps you into the car. 

You roll your eyes, but you’re not quick enough to come up with some smart-ass comment, so you let him have the win as he drives you both home.

“Should I wear something specific?” You ask as the two of you walk into the house together.

“We’re gonna walk downtown a little, so something comfortable,” he advises. “Do you need to do anything other than change, or are you basically ready to go?” 

“I could use ten minutes to freshen up,” you tell him, and he nods with a smile. 

“Take your time, we’re not in any rush,” he says, kissing your temple and moving into the bedroom to change into something more comfortable as you step into the bathroom, adjusting your hair and makeup just a tad. When you come back into the bedroom, Aaron’s switched into jeans, so you do the same. You go to fish your wallet out of your work bag, and Aaron slaps at your wrist lightly. 

“Stop it. You don’t need that,” he tells you, and you roll your eyes with a playful smile. 

“You’re a neanderthal,” You tease him, letting him guide you out of the house and back towards the car. 

“No, I was raised right,” Aaron corrects you. 

“What if I want a drink and I get carded?” You smirked as you buckled your seatbelt. You were younger than Aaron, yes, but not by that much. 

“If you get denied because you don’t have an ID on you, I’ll stop at the gas station on our way home and buy you a six pack of bud light.” He assures you as he backs out of the parking lot.

“So romantic,” you cooed overdramatically, tossing your head back with a laugh. Aaron takes advantage of the opportunity to lean over the console and press a quick kiss to your jawline.

A few moments later, Aaron parks the car in front of a greasy spoon downtown that you’d never been to before, and you give him an inquisitive look. It’s not that you minded at all-- any time you spent with Aaron was perfect in every way. But his dates were usually a lot higher-key. 

“I’ve got to keep you on your toes,” he shrugged with a boyish grin as he took your hand in his on the sidewalk and walked you into the restaurant. He let go reluctantly as the two of you slid into opposite sides of a booth. 

“So, it’s safe to assume that there’s more to tonight’s date than burgers and milkshakes?” You ask Aaron after the two of you have placed your orders. 

“Oh, absolutely,” Aaron nods, smiling smugly. 

“And are you going to tell me what that might be?” You asked hopefully. 

“Absolutely not,” Aaron confirmed what you had already suspected.

“Not even a hint?” You asked. 

“You’ll find out in due time. Be patient, princess,” he encourages you. 

“I’m willing to beg,” you informed him. You were sure that whatever he had planned would be romantic and wonderful, but god did you want to know. 

“Darling, I’d really prefer if you saved that for our bedroom,” Aaron deadpanned, and you choked on your water. 

“Agent Hotchner!” You chastised, catching your breath. 

“Come on, now you’re just teasing me,” he winked, and you felt butterflies in your stomach. 

“Well, is it working?” You asked, wondering if you could flirt your way into some intel. 

“Not a chance,” he admonished you playfully as the waitress sat your meals down in front of you. 

After dinner, Aaron took your hand back in his and led you out of the restaurant. You started to head off towards the car, but he stopped you. 

“You did want to see what else I had planned, didn’t you?” He asks, facetiously. 

“Yes please,” you smiled shyly. 

“Take a walk with me,” Aaron says, tugging you back into him so he can wrap his arm around you.  It takes a couple of paces for him to find his metaphorical footing, but after a moment, he speaks up again. “I haven’t been clear with you about what my intentions are, and I wanted to apologize for that.”

“Aaron, you don’t have to--” you start, but he cuts you off. 

“Let me, first, please?” Aaron asks of you, looking you in the eyes, and you nod, giving him permission to continue. “I haven’t explained to you exactly how I feel, and because I didn’t do that, you’re having to worry about silly things, like whether or not you have the same amount of experience I do, or whether or not I’m going to run off with Jack’s teacher or one of his friends moms.” 

“Well, I’m less worried about Rhonda now that I’ve met her wife. But Ms. Meadows is still on my watch list.” You tell him, and he chuckles, taking your hand in his and kissing the back of it as he takes you down a side street. 

“Darling, you’ve got nothing to worry about. That’s what I needed to tell you. I’m all in, sweetheart. You, me, Jack, and anyone else we might add to our family-- that’s all I want. That’s my priority.” He tells you, and your breath catches. “So, I got you a little something, just to show you how serious I am,” He says, leading you into a jewelry store. You stop in the doorway. 

“Aaron Hotchner, please tell me you’re not proposing at the jewelers.” You whisper out, not wanting to cause a scene. You would have said yes, regardless, but you were struck by a little bit of shock. 

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, dear. Come on in, and I’ll show you,” He takes your hand again, and you step into the jewelry store with trepidation. The man behind the counter seems to recognize Aaron, as he produces a bag from the back counter once they make eye contact. Aaron passes the bag to you, and you push through the pink tissue paper to uncover a box, in which you find a single diamond solitaire pendant.

“Aaron,” you start breathlessly, but he’s already taking the necklace out of your hands and maneuvering the clasp around your neck. 

“This is just a placeholder, until you’re ready for the real thing,” Aaron whispers, pressing a kiss behind your ear once the necklace is secure. “But since we’re here, would you want to try a few on? So I know what you like? You’re not allowed to take the real one off, once it’s on. So I want you to be happy with it.” 

You’re sure that you’re dreaming your way through the rest of the evening. You try on what feels like every ring in the store, including the ones you insist are too expensive, but Aaron refuses to listen. You’re practically floating on air during the walk back to the car, and you let out a sigh as you settle into the passenger seat. 

“I know I said you weren’t allowed to take the ring off, and I meant it,” Aaron tells you. “But if you’re not ready to start thinking that way, I understand. This is at your pace. You just let me know, and I’ll pump the breaks.” 

You practically launch yourself across the center console, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. “Does this thing go any faster, actually?” You ask, and he laughs as he kisses you again.

tagging:  @romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee      @zheezs14      @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13  @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner  @ijustwannaread2k19    @rexit-mo @shmaptainhotchnersmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner  @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @hotforhotchner11 @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads

[writingwife-83]

"You’re all drugged up. You don’t know what you’re saying." this one for Sherlolly, please? Thank you! <3

Hope you enjoy this, my dear El! This scene made @thisisartbylexie and I giggle! 😆

Drugged Up

“Oh my gosh, it’s so good to be home!” Molly gushed.

Sherlock struggled to unlock the door with Molly hanging on his arm, finally pushing his way in and doing his best to keep Toby from sneaking his way out the door.

Molly flung her coat off and tossed it onto the rack, missing and not noticing how it dropped to the floor. “It’s so lovely you’re staying!”

Sherlock wished it was as lovely an occasion as she seemed to think it was.

He was still beating himself up, if he were honest. All he’d wanted was to start spending more time with Molly, mending their friendship, and perhaps eventually exploring something more. He’d been in therapy since the debacle with Eurus six months before, working through past trauma, getting and staying clean, but lately his therapist had encouraged him to start truly rebuilding what was lost and starting fresh in some ways. And naturally, for Sherlock, reconnecting with someone meant one thing- Solving crimes.

But the plan had somewhat backfired.

Molly had nearly been abducted today because he’d been momentarily distracted. And although he was able to stop them before they got away, they had already injected Molly with a drug to make her more compliant. The doctor later explained that she wasn’t in any danger, but she was going to be feeling the effects for some hours. At first she was just groggy, but as it wore off further the effects were more like intoxication.

Very cheery intoxication.

Molly leaned against her kitchen counter, looking around and shaking her head. “Look at my flat! I love my flat, Sherlock!”

“Mm, yes it is quite lovely.”

She skipped over and did a little spin in the middle of her sitting room. “It’s bloody gorgeous, that’s what it is! And that’s what you get for cutting up dead people!” She gasped, her eyes lighting up. “Y’know what we need? We need some music.”

Molly took out her phone and hurried over to switch on her Bluetooth speakers, turning on a fast paced song that Sherlock didn’t recognize. She started dancing excitedly, twirling around and moving to the beat.

“You should be resting, Molly,” Sherlock suggested, having to come closer and raise his voice a bit over the noise.

“I don’t need to rest yet,” she said with a laugh, grabbing his hand. “You should dance too!”

“No, really, Molly, I don’t think-“

“Oh, c’mon, I know you love to dance.”

“Yeees, but right now I should just make some tea and-“

“Just dance with me!”

He finally gave up the fight. Sherlock’s priority was making sure Molly came down safely from what she’d been injected with, but if keeping a close eye on her meant joining her in a dance…well, so be it.

The beat was admittedly catchy and Molly was so enthusiastic that it was hard not to get caught up in the moment. He was laughing and a little out of breath by the time the song began winding down. But when the next one began and the music slowed, things instantly shifted.

Molly grabbed onto the front of his shirt just as he started to step away, catching her breath as the music became a gentle lull.

“Dance with me,” she gasped.

Sherlock laughed nervously, grasping her hands in a gentle attempt to pry them from the fabric. “I thought I just did.”

Molly’s hands slid up his chest until she draped them lazily over his shoulders and around his neck, her body leaning against his. “I mean like this.”

Gulping, Sherlock’s feet started to move very slightly in time with the much slower pace as his hands rested hesitantly on her hips. She gazed up at him, her eyes glittering and lids starting to flutter a little.

Molly let out a little giggle as her hands smoothed over his shoulders. “Gosh, you really are fit.”

Sherlock cleared his throat, hesitating to even make eye contact. “Molly, you’re all drugged up. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

She snorted. “And the hair! It always looked so deliciously soft.”

Before he knew it, her fingers were buried deep in his curls and he felt like the air had just been knocked from his lungs.

“Right, well it’s awfully late and I think it’s time you get some sleep. Doctor’s orders!” he announced, taking hold of her wrists and freeing his hair and scalp from the all too pleasant onslaught of her fingers, trying to ignore the way his voice had cracked as he spoke.

Molly groaned playfully in complaint as he put an arm around her waist and started leading her to the bedroom.

He was able to coax her into bed, convincing her to drink some water first and explaining that when she woke up he’d be there to give her some ibuprofen for a possible headache.

“The doctor gave you all the instructions, did he?” Molly asked drowsily as she looked up at him from her pillow. She cocked her head in confusion, a sudden sobriety in her eyes. “Didn’t I hear him call you my boyfriend?”

Oh. He hadn’t realized she remembered anything from the hospital.

“He um, yes he did make that assumption.”

“Did you correct him?”

Sherlock hesitated. “Not exactly.”

“Why not?” Molly questioned with a yawn.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Sherlock pulled the covers up closer to Molly’s chin. The truth was that it didn’t seem important to correct the doctor’s assumption. Seeing as he was going to be the one caring for her, what did it matter who the doctor thought he was to Molly? What mattered was simply that he got the proper instructions for care.

But he also knew that wasn’t the only reason.

“Let’s talk about it when you wake up,” he whispered, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Mmkay. Thanks, Sherlock,” Molly hummed contentedly, a smile on her lips as he pulled away. She reached up and booped his nose with her forefinger. “Best…boyfriend…ever.”

He stifled a laugh as he watched her eyelids flutter closed, quietly agreeing, “I’d very much like to be.”

[libermachinae]

Night Shift

Also on AO3! Summary: Prowl and Jetfire analyze leads on a Decepticon smuggling operation, working together late into the night trying to find the missing connections. A sleep deprived slip of the tongue leads Prowl to revisiting old choices. Word Count: 2146

---

Prowl didn’t keep track of his chronometer this late in the night. Morning was inevitable, and he knew he could rely on a burst of messages from Orion to let him know when it had arrived. As such, he had no idea what hour it was when Jetfire broke through the productive silence.

“How did you come up with these predictions?” Jetfire asked. Worst of all, he was speaking with his mouth full, apparently too incensed by Prowl’s logic train to be bothered with common decency. “Every gun you’ve pulled in has been running on fumes; I’ve had to scrape the insides of the barrels just to figure out what they’re fueled on.”

The impressive thing about Jetfire was that even as a voice over the comms, he sounded like the biggest bot in the room. It wasn’t just that his voice was deep; Orion, who wasn’t that much taller than Prowl, had a voice you could feel through the floor panels. It was something about the way Jetfire talked, deliberate and straightforward, rarely stuttering even when caught off-guard. It was refreshing.

“I’ve outlined the logic process in my report. I won’t be repeating it,” Prowl said, scrolling back through his files.

“What are they teaching in the enforcer academy that reports don’t need to communicate anything?” Jetfire grumbled

It would be a reasonable estimate to say they spent 50% of these near nightly calls complaining about their targets, their coworkers, and the administration, and another 40% about each other. Prowl sat through them strictly as a matter of convenience, being a faster mode of communication than the intermittent data bursts preferred by the sanctioned enforcer agencies.

Having someone at the other end of the line also assisted the rust sticks and nucleon microcubes in staving off recharge protocols.

“It’s as I explained to Tumbler: it communicates everything I intended it to.” Ideally, very little to anyone who couldn’t have worked it out themselves. That way, the important information stayed with those who could actually use it, and the rest—

“Who’s Tumbler?”

Prowl lost his train of thought as the rest of his processor caught up to what the .5% he reserved for conversation had said. He froze, rust stick halfway to his mouth.

“No one,” he said.

“Okay.” Jetfire drew out the word. “Did he buy that line?”

No, of course not. Tumbler was always relentless about that sort of thing. His curiosity and drive could have lent to the makings of a detective or captain if he’d dedicated them more often to investigations and less on critiquing Prowl.

“He was young and failed to grasp the necessity of efficiency in our line of work.” Prowl had tried to be patient, but he’d been young too, and Tumbler was the first partner he’d had who would listen to him. Even if it was just to argue that Prowl’s opaque writing was the cause of their inefficiency.

“Hmph.”

Jetfire liked to intersperse their conversations with meaningless noises, and although Prowl needed more samples before he was certain of his explanation, he believed they meant Jetfire didn’t agree with something he’d said but was ending the discussion prematurely. It was illogical, leaving a matter unsettled for which a solution existed, but normally Prowl’s priority queues were ordered such that work came before ideological disagreements.

“What?” he asked, finally setting down the rust stick.

“You’re normally terrible with names,” Jetfire said without hesitation. “I’m just trying to imagine what a bot would have to be like to leave that much of an impression on you.”

“He was talented,” Prowl admitted.

“Do you keep in touch?”

“No.” Prowl straightened his back and flared his sensory panels, ready to move on. “It was not a practical partnership. Being together diminished our respective abilities and prevented us from fulfilling our responsibilities. It was for the betterment—”

“Hey, hold on, Prowl,” Jetfire said, his rolling voice enough to draw Prowl up short. “I know that you—but, you know what that sounds like, right?”

Prowl frowned, immediately recognizing Jetfire’s social theory tone.

“Pragmatism,” he said. “We can’t have everything we want in an ordered society. I—we did what Cybertron needed of us.”

“By disposing of a part of yourself?”

Tumbler hadn’t liked that explanation either.

“We weren’t conjunx.” And for very good reason. There were more important things in life than feelings or fleeting commitments, and it was idealists like Jetfire who—

“Just because it didn’t have a name doesn’t mean it wasn’t important.”

Prowl’s thoughts stumbled. He hadn’t expected Jetfire to say that, not because it was out of character but because he was right. That was the exact sentiment Prowl had tried to put to words maybe half a dozen times and now it was being turned on him like a spotlight.

“There are things that should never be sacrificed,” Jetfire went on. Prowl felt his silhouette thrown into sharp relief. “Things we’re worse off for letting go of.” He paused. “A while ago, I was made an offer: instant entry to the academies. No exams, no fees. Everything I’d ever wanted. In return, though, I would’ve had to give up my wings. My… sponsor, I guess, knew I had the processor for science, just not the frame. They asked for me to give up one part of myself to let the rest go free.”

Prowl shook his helm, leaning away from the speaker. Jetfire’s tone was the same one he occasionally used with Bumblebee. With Prowl, he was hard edges and warning lights. They weren’t this for each other. They didn’t do this.

“You were nearly the victim of a scam,” he said, searching blindly for familiar ground.

“I’m sure it seems that way,” Jetfire said, unperturbed. “Do you get it, though? Giving up any one piece would’ve meant tacit agreement with the Functionists, that I wasn’t fit to do my work in any form but what they prescribed. Even if I’d told myself it was for Cybertron, it really would’ve been a sacrifice in their honor, and nothing would ever be worth that.”

Prowl wasn’t entirely obtuse. He understood what Jetfire was saying, but he couldn’t afford to hear it, not with everything he had already done and the plans he had yet to set in motion. Maybe Jetfire had found a way to live that allowed him to maintain his idealistic commitments, but most mechanisms weren’t so lucky. Everyone had to give up something.

“And now you’re here, working on behalf of the Senate,” Prowl said, just to prove that point.

Jetfire made his noise again.

“Right, I forgot,” he said. Annoyed or frustrated: the usual feelings they brought out in each other. “Waste of time. Forget I said anything.”

Prowl wouldn’t, but he also wasn’t going to give Jetfire an excuse to keep pontificating.

It would have been a waste of their time, anyhow, because however sincere Jetfire was in his admission, Prowl had never understood the hypocrisy of bots who would claim to reject Functionism while maintaining an almost fanatical devotion to their frames. In some intangible sense, maybe he did enjoy the opportunity to go for a long drive, but he couldn’t imagine himself grieving his tires for their own sake. He tried to compare it to what he had felt when Tumbler had said going to Kaon was a selfish, pretentious idea and immediately recoiled.

“Results are exactly what I told you,” Jetfire said. Prowl realized he hadn’t gotten any work done in the last several kliks. “Not nearly the concentration of materials to support your theory the Decepticons have contacts in Uraya, and a few that will probably trace back to Kaon, like everything else.”

“I’d like to see for myself,” Prowl said, standing. He didn’t often get this badly distracted, and it was easy to pin it on the state of his desk: used energon cubes and wrappers from the cheap snacks he kept fueled on littered the spaces he should have been using for case notes and displays. When was the last time he’d cleaned?

“Really?” Jetfire asked. “The data’s pretty clear.”

“Humor me.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Neither said goodbye before they hung up: another of their customs.

Prowl cleared the mess into the trash. Exhaustion was nibbling at his processor like a corrosive. Another couple shots would get him through his morning meetings, and then a regular midday fueling would carry him over until he could recharge properly in the evening. Before that, though, the day had to begin, an event he discovered was closer than he’d expected when he stepped outside and saw the horizon just tilting toward the pale blue of an oncoming dawn.

The air was gentle, the pleasant cool that foreshadowed a blistering day. Jetfire was a dot over the Rodion skyline. Prowl glanced up at the few stars that could punch through the light pollution and was reminded, suddenly, of the time he and Tumbler had discussed getting a little patch of metal out on the Tungsten Moors. The barren sparkfields had felt nonetheless fertile with possibilities, and they had gotten hung up on whether it would be more practical to live in a house with two stories or just one. It had been a fantasy, nothing more; even on their joint income, it would have taken millions of years to save up. But there had been something, if not fulfilling, thrilling about it, making plans that didn’t hinge on work or promotions.

He wondered if Tumbler remembered that conversation.

Jetfire’s slow approach gave Prowl time to dwell while keeping an idle optic on his teammate. There was nothing spectacular about Jetfire’s flying: Prowl had worked with and chased down fliers who were faster, more maneuverable, and flashier in every way. But there was something resolute and sure about the way Jetfire coasted, a steadiness that Prowl would have appreciated sooner if he’d noticed it, his thoughts of Tumbler and past mistakes and pointless sacrifice sliding away as he watched Jetfire’s flight.

Jetfire’s flying was beautiful, in its own way. Its understatement reminded Prowl of his own assembly line colors, but with an underlying confidence that left Prowl feeling inadequate. Though technically strong, his power was limited to what he could siphon off Orion and their other high-level contacts. He’d experienced a taste of the real thing under Sentinel, but that had been an especially tenuous connection, liable to snap had he ever tugged too hard. Jetfire’s power was all his own. Not overwhelming, not enough to make the changes Cybertron needed. Incomparable, really, to what Prowl had wielded. But it radiated from the tips of his wings to the burn of his thrusters, self-realized, without reservation or concession.

Prowl’s tac net pinged him with the results for a problem he hadn’t realized he’d plugged in: 50% Prowl should have been strong enough to find another way, 50% choosing Tumbler would have made him stronger.

A perfect 50-50 meant his systems were badly in need of defrag. He cleared the cache and set his tac net to reboot, shaking his helm to dispel the resulting vertigo as Jetfire landed on the steps below him. Prowl waited patiently for him to complete his mode switch, taking two steps back so they would be at optic level with each other.

“Pleasant flight?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Jetfire said with a smugness that allowed Prowl to scoff as he motioned for the datapad.

Jetfire handed it over. Prowl knew he was being watched as he powered it on and reviewed its contents, but he took his time, using Jetfire’s results to run through a few warm up calculations as his tac net came back online.

“You didn’t check for copper fluoride,” he commented.

“No,” Jetfire said slowly, “because it wasn’t one of the compounds we were investigating.”

“Run the tests again.” Prowl tried to return the datapad, but Jetfire refused to take it. “The chances we would find evidence of materials native to the Urayan region were always slim to none. However, the old blackmarket pipeline between Kaon and Yuss ran directly underneath the city. Does that make more sense?”

Prowl saw the moment Jetfire finally saw the case as he did, a knotted web of deceptions meant to dissuade even the most seasoned detective from untangling its core. Jetfire took the datapad from Prowl and stowed it, though the hard look in his optics did not waver.

“Could’ve said that from the beginning,” Jetfire griped.

Prowl didn’t bother to respond. What was done was done. Talking so much about the past was a waste of time neither of them could afford, because for all that it might have mattered, nothing they said could change any of it. All they had was the future, and the possibility of starting each day stronger than they had the one before.

[dawsons-justice]

He Promised, You Trusted.

Part Two to “I Promise, You Trust”

A/N: Reader is between 14-17, so this is a Father Figure!Antonio x Reader. No romance, 100% platonic. 

TW: Nothing horribly graphic, some mild angst, but mostly just to lead up to the fluff

Masterlist

It sure was cold outside. Chicago had been cold, but Minnesota somehow was colder. Your aunt had apologized she couldn't pick you up from school but it wasn't really her fault. She had to pick up some extra shifts to keep up with the bills. You're just glad she let you stay with her. 8 months ago, you really had no idea where you would end up.

8 months ago...

Detective Dawson ran off to make some calls, leaving you to your own thoughts. You noticed the worried glances of his coworkers watching you from the unit floor. You didn’t know any of them, they were all sorta intimidating in their own way, well, except for the woman with brown hair, she looked nice. It just felt better to block them out and focus on the mug in your hands. The hot chocolate had gotten cold in the time it took you to process everything and really you haven’t truly processed anything.

Dawson came back in the room, his face muddled with several emotions. There was some stress, determination and anger but you made out the sympathy on his features most of all. Most people don't want sympathy, but you were just glad someone was caring enough to do so. Trailing behind him was another cop, older, you'd seen him before, just didn't know his name.

"You got anyone we can call?" Antonio asks. you had to wrack your brain a bit. It hadn’t occurred to you that this would be important. "I have an aunt. I haven't talked to her in years. My dad and her don't get along."

The two men exchanged a glance. And you understood now. If you didn't find a home yourself, they'd have to put you in a group home. That was not good. You had heard stories, everyone has. Group homes only provide shelter to trouble. If you ended up there who knows what would happen to you after. You hadn’t thought this through, this was a bad idea. In some sort of a desperate plea, you grab the detective’s hand as he’s about the leave with the other guy.

"Wait no no... I can't live in a home. I can't. I'd rather go home to my dad. Please no." Panic evident in your voice. His face softens, kneeling down to your height. He was just going to try to comfort you. You forced yourself to remember whatever he says can’t change the truth. He isn’t the one making the rules. You’re not naive.

"Hey, hey kiddo. Not there yet, let's give your aunt a ring and see if we can get ahold of her. You got a name?" His voice calm, if he was worried you really couldn’t tell now, unlike when he first returned. You gave her name, not knowing anything besides she lived in St. Paul. But they were cops, you figured they could track her down.

The other guy, Voight, left, you heard him call out to someone named Halstead to run your aunt's name. Antonio didn’t move, just kept holding your hand looking around as if he wasn’t. The fact we seemed unbothered by the comforting gesture put you more at ease, yet you still were struggling with this.

"B-but what if she doesn't want me?"

There was a look of disbelief in his face, as if you were made of solid gold. It was fake and you knew it, still, it was comforting. "We're gonna figure it out, ok? I'll tell her myself what a great kid you are."

"I'm sorry."

The detective didn’t have to say anything, but you knew he deflected your apology. Somehow you just knew the minute you said it what his response was going to be. He didn’t feel bothered. And on top of this it was going to work out. He would make sure it worked out.

And it did. Given the explanation of the situation, your Aunt was happy to take you in. Antonio pulled some strings and you spent one night with his colleague Kim Burgess (the woman with the brown hair) before your aunt took over custody. In less than 48 hours you were on your way to Minnesota with a bag you packed and your dad had no clue. For once you knew there was at least one person who was worth trusting in this world.

The snow crunched below your feet. It was only another mile or so to your aunt’s place. The roads were pretty clear. Much of the snow had been packed down for days, but a recent heatwave melted and refroze the roads to solid ice. The deceiving snow was only an inch or two thick on top of the slick icy layer beneath. So, when you hear tires squeal, it is not in any way surprising. You were learning to drive yourself; ice roads were something that even your aunt had trouble managing let alone teach you how to navigate. You had respect for anyone who was able to successfully manage those roads in two-wheel drive. Whipping around, there’s not a two-ton car sliding towards you as you had expected, planning to dive roll into the snow. There’s a black van with a guy in a ski mask running towards you.

Crap.

Taking advantage of the ice, you threw your backpack at him, hoping he’d lose his balance and walk onto the more slippery road. Yet things do not go to plan as he easily recovers and continues to pursue you, reaching you and wrapping his arms around your waist. You fought. You screamed, wailed, bit, flailed, kicked and every other defensive action your subconscious could think of. It didn’t work, he was just too much bigger than you. You were thrown into the back of the van.

no no no no no this can’t be happening.

You considered yourself a calm person, but that was before you were tied and gagged in the back of a van. The darkness seemed to only escalate your fears as you had a blank canvas to imagine your worst nightmares becoming reality. "Please, just let me go” you must have said it 40 times before something heavy hit your head.

Things faded in and out. Darkness and light fought a battle, but you could never really tell if you could see or not, it was all just shadows. The nausea was also coming in waves, paired with the throbbing sensation on the back of your head. You had been pistol whipped. But of course, you didn’t know that. The sheer terror of the entire situation still had you disoriented. You couldn’t feel the time pass, most people know what a minute or five minutes feels like, but you couldn’t focus. It was all too much.

 When the van doors slide open you hear the guy who grabbed you talk to whoever was driving. “I still can’t believe this guy.” His gruff voice scoffed, close by.

“Well, he had the money, who are we to judge.”

“Guy? Had someone hired them to take me? Was I about to be sold or something?”

 You’re embarrassed to say the next voice you heard brought you half a millisecond of comfort, it was misplaced. “You had to put a sack over her head?” It was your dad. How? Better question why would he ask that question though he had no emotion in his voice.

The men and your dad talk as you wrestle with this entire shock. Suddenly someone picks you up and carries you over their shoulder. You figured it was guy who grabbed you, but feeling that whoever was holding you gently lowered you to the floor, you made the new assumption it was your dad. The blindfold and gag came off in a quick motion. You were met with the hollow face of your father in some sort of abandoned room. He gave a sickening smile, one that brought no relief with it. “I brought you back sugar!”

“Dad, let me go.”

He nodded and started to undo your restraints. It couldn’t be this easy. Taking a moment, he was preoccupied with removing the duct tape glue from your arms, as if he cared, you jumped up, running across the room to open the metal door, but it was locked.

“Open the door, dad.”

“Y-you’ll just leave.” He whimpered, face looking offended.

This wasn’t your dad. The eyes were too hopeful and the demeanor was too caring. This was you dad having some sort of a mental breakdown. The pieces came together as you watched the tremors in his hands. Not knowing the man in front of you felt more terrifying than the man you ran away from. Before, you knew somewhere buried deep in his subconscious he would never seriously harm you beyond some bruises. But you stared into eyes you didn’t recognize. It was entirely possible he was going to kill you. All of that mess 8 months ago just to end up dying in Chicago and nobody knows about it.

But that’s where you were wrong.

Within a 25 mile radius…

“Detective Dawson,”

The somewhat uncaring police deputy at St. Paul started running down the situation. There wasn’t much to tell. Your backpack was found in a snowbank near some blood in the snow with you nowhere to be found. Your aunt had been adamant that the deputy at the front desk reach Antonio. And of course, the detective roped his unit into the situation. Voight made it a priority. It didn’t take a psychologist to see that Antonio cared about you, he cared about all his teen CIs. They were his secondary kids. He would find you, even if he hadn’t promised you to do so. He promised himself. When word had come in that your dad had been behind the entire situation it was not much of a shock. A man with a past of petty crime and domestic abuse with mental health concerns did seem like a high probability suspect. He had also rented out a storage container on the industrial side of town. Antonio and his team suited up. He was going to end this situation here and now.

 “CHICAGO PD OPEN THE DOOR”

In a frenzied craze, your father throws you to the floor. It would make sense for him to run, but logic wasn’t a key factor right now. His foot goes to your neck and the gun points to your head. The gun must have been on his back, you hadn’t seen it until now.

I don’t want to die.

Not like this.

Not here.

Please no.

Please.

 Bursting through the door you make out several people with weapons drawn on your dad. Light floods the dark room leaving the two of you partially blind, yet the tension still filled the air.

“LET HER GO.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. Regardless, your neck was still being crushed. Air was slowly waning from your lungs. And then it wasn’t. In an instant you felt his foot roll out from over you, giving you a chance to scramble away.

“Y/N, Y/N, it’s ok. We’re police.”

And that was likely the only time anyone from your side of town was happy to hear that phrase. But still, you couldn’t quite comprehend it. It was a full mess of tears, screaming, wailing and shaking. You had been mere seconds from death by gun or choking, you couldn’t just suck it up. Not even you were that badass. Nonetheless, the cops weren’t getting anywhere with calming you down.

“Call an ambo.” Calls another voice, a woman. “Tonio, you ok?”

“Yeah” And under normal circumstances you would have connected the dots, but as it has already been overly reiterated, you were not stable right now. The only thing you could register was the familiar hand on top of yours gently squeezing your arm below.

“Shhh shhh, it’s ok kiddo, we got you. He’s gone.”

Hold it, you know that voice.

And what would you know, you finally grasped it. Staring down at you is Detective Dawson, once again saving your neck, literally. It was probably against some rule, but you just buried your head in his shoulder trying to block out everything outside. He let it slide, just holding you there, seemingly not in any rush to move you till the paramedics arrived. In time you realized the other officer trying to calm you down had been Burgess, but you just hadn’t recognized her. You’re in pain, but not horrendous amounts, must be the adrenaline. Regardless, Antonio calls another officer, Atwater, to carry you outside to the ambulance. Before you know it, the ambo is driving away from the scene to Chicago Med, leaving the Intelligence Unit to deal with the aftermath including Dawson.

Sitting in the ER, you wait for test results to return on your head scan. More had happened in the last 12 hours than in the last 8 months. You realized how much you liked the simplicity and (relative) safety of Minnesota, but now you’d at least carry pepper spray. You’re pulled from your thoughts as you see Dawson peak from the side of the curtains. You had not felt too lonely or afraid before given the officers stationed outside your room, but seeing him made you feel better.

“Hey kiddo, how’s the neck?” he smiles, moving into the room slowly as if he was trying not to scare you.

You smile weakly, still exhausted. “Alright, considering.” You noticed tape on the base of his neck on one side extending underneath his shirt where you couldn’t see. “What happened?”

“I might be getting a little long in the tooth for tackling suspects.” And by suspects, you knew he meant your dad. He was the one who got him off you. “Are you ok?” You ask. “All good, just had to get my shoulder checked out.”

“Ok, glad you’re ok.” And you truly were. You would feel awful if you had been the reason he had been seriously injured, especially after you were supposed to be out of his hair.

He nods, fiddling with his hands on the rail at the end of your bed. “Hey, your aunt is on her way to get you, it’s gonna be awhile, but I talked to your doctor and they said they’ll keep you till she arrives to monitor your concussion.”

You nod. “My dad?”

“We got him, he’s going away for a long time.” You notice his lack of enthusiasm in that response, obviously thinking that justice had not been fully served.

“But not forever.” Your voice soft, barely over a whisper.

He shook his head. “Long enough you’re not going to need to worry about him.”

“But you’ll come rescue me again if he tries, right?” You cocked an eyebrow, knowing it wasn’t a promise he could make, but every reassuring thing he told you made you feel better anyways.

“As much as I love the job, I don’t know if I’m going to be on the force in 40 years.”

“Yeah, you might not be able to a shoot a gun while using a walker with tennis balls on the bottom.” The two of you laugh a bit at that visualization.

As you quiet down you notice he looks a bit more serious.“But yeah, I’ll get you.”

Once again, probably against some protocol, but you just had to reach out and hug him burying your face in his leather jacket. He leans forward to pull you in. Something about it was just natural, you knew he’d protect you, you knew that now.

“Thank you so much. I’d be dead.”

“Of course,” He pets your hair, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“T-thank you for caring.” He pulls back to look you in the eyes.

“I checked your record, no priors since you left. Thank you for being worth it.” He smiles.

The two of you sit there for a minute, staring at each other, his hand still the (good) side of your head. You’d never really had a dad moment like this, but if this was the first and last dad moment you ever had, you were ok with it. It was perfect. He stands up, stretching out his back as if he’s about to leave. But instead, he pulls up a chair.

“You don’t mind if I stick around till your aunt arrives do you?”

You gently shook your head. Truth was, you were too afraid to ask him to do so, but of course, somehow, he knew what you needed. So there the two of you sat. Talking about the extremely normal things you had been involved in back in Minnesota. You swear he kept a small smile on his face the entire time. Just happy to see you moving on. It was done.

 When you turned 18, you reached out the Antonio again and asked if he would be willing to meet up for lunch, now that it was “legal” to do so. And now it has become an annual event with occasional bonus trips when you somehow wind up in the Windy City. Your lives may have grown apart in distance but something would always keep the two of you together. He’d always be there for you, and you needed that. Maybe not everyone needs a perfect father figure to survive in the world, but knowing a tough boxing detective would be by your side in one phone call gave you the freedom of safety. Your aunt is an amazing woman, but Antonio Dawson is really the one who you owe everything to.

He promised, you trusted, and it was the first decision of your life that truly mattered.

A/N: I know my presence on this account is sporadic, but I hope some people enjoy this. I’m going to dive into my drafts to work on some of the partially written responses I have for some old requests. (: