#dont have to interrupt computer activities

[theindefinitearticle]

If you have AuDHD and want to walk I cannot recommend standing desk + walking pad + noise cancelling headphones enough holy SHIT

[dullahandyke]

discovered the keyboard shortcut for opening the command line Oh its over for you cunts. and you can run a bunch of programs just by typing their name into the command line. awesome

[phinjeet]

* my miniscule crumbz of baljeet adhd hc evidence:

* 1. az baljeetolas in excaliferb theyre shown 2 hav trouble keeping track of their belongingz , having misplaced their bow AND arrowz (while buford (whatever hez called in that episode idgaf) can perfectly recall where they r) so i see them az similarly alwayz 4getting where they put thingz in yk . regular canon

* 2. they seem 2 b the only 1 unable 2 keep up w all the rulez of the f-gamez , like they ask what 2 the audience iz a convoluted and nonsensical question but every1 else answerz it Immediately , even annoyed and embarrassed that baljeet iznt Paying Attention well enough

* 3. while hiz infodumping abt space adventure in catu iz very autistic , i think the way it distractz him from the very time-sensitive issue at hand the last time it happenz iz quite adhd of him , like BOY FOCUS , therez even a similar scene in pnf interrupted where phin iz like “in fact we were just Thinking abt how much we love the flavor of water and how come theres no water flavored ice cream” n baljeet iz like “actually that Would be-“ n isa + buford r like “BALJEET .” they do that in the catu scene 2 , amuzed by theze 2 scenez where baljeet getz distracted in som way n every1 just Yellz at him 4 it

* 4. reaching w this 1 but yk when i did that whole thread examining baljeetz room , like , it makez sense that it waz a mess in unfair science fair bc they were stressed out abt the science fair n then actively working on the portal w pnf , but i swear therez like . a book under their bed that iz Still There by the time of the baljeatlez , boy pick up ur shit boy that bookz been there 4 weekz now . BOY . that sorta goez hand in hand w the thing abt keeping track of objectz , i think they could reazonably grow up 2 b some1 w a bajillion dirty cupz in their room yk

* 5. i think their decizion paralysis in primal perry also countz , and i think itz funny that theyre So stressed out abt making decizionz that they cant even chooze what flavor of ice cream 2 get but they Could sit down 4 what would logically b Hourz at the computer making that lil muzic video describing their predicament . prioritiez

* 6. i said so

* like i think bc hez so hardworking and studious and a Gifted Kid (making it much eazier 2 spot theze kinda traitz in a character like phineas who i hc doeznt do very well at school bc of hiz autizm/adhd) no1 rlly suspectz he might hav it , bc hiz gradez n performance r so good n he Seemz so focused n responsible n they dont vizibly see him struggling that much , even tho he iz actually secretly an inattentive adhd (+ autizm and ocd) MESS . 2 me . ty

[anthroposeen]

tmagp 14 relisten notes

(sorry this one is a bit late!!- spoilers under cut)

celia:

- says that sam can get intense, and seems to be down playing her feelings for sam (hesitation and lack of enthusiasm when telling alice the date went well)

- directly confronts alice about her relationship with sam, but with the intention of getting out of drama, not causing it. i think this goes to show she started this job with a mission, and isnt interested in anything that may derail it

- seems genuinely taken aback by alice flirting with her

alice:

- deflects when celia confronts her by flirting with her -> im a buzzkill, so i dont think this is a genuine act of affection on alice's part, though it does sound more nervous than usual. i think shes gotten worked up and its resulting in a change in her demeanor

- has a very awkward pause after celia says alice can "do better next time" (referencing her relationship with sam)

- says that when she first started the job, she also wondered about the cases legitimacy

sam:

- picked up on the letters of rejection from the institute, and was trying to talk himself out of drawing connections

- he grew frustrated with gwen, and got particularly agitated by her saying he wouldn't understand (rejection again) and that she doesnt have time for him

- this is the first time we've seen him drop the positive attitude he normally has with coworkers (other than alice), his walls are already coming down

gwen:

- very sullen, but still offers some minimal help to sam

- seems upset with lena (this checks out)

- shes exhibiting self isolation behaviors (not opening up about her problems or trying to get help from coworkers)

lena:

- looking for gwen, and not in a good mood (did gwen not follow up w the external she was supposed to email? was she actively on assignment?)

incident:

- jon chester narrating -> mentions an institute (hmmm i wonder what institute that may be) and is directed at sam. im not of the philosophical house that he's encouraging sam, i actually think hes using the incidents as a means of venting (bad computer pun) and warning sam, since the incidents are all about the doom of being involved with the institute

- incident occurs in 1995, 4 years before the institute burns down

- follow-up by the agency writing the report was post-poned due to the absence of the technician (assuming this is alyssa)

- the shop keeper was wary of a rat being in his shop and had various scratch and bite marks on his body-> interesting because he seems to have no issue with hygiene or contamination in the shop (and rats are commonly fed to pet snakes)

- the shop keeper had a "physical altercation" with the technician, and referred to "his burden" -> i can guarantee that this will be an important detail for future use, whether or not he becomes a reoccurring character, i expect that the "burden" will eventually be expanded on

- the description of the shop itself lists sickly traits: warm, likely has mosquitos, there is a sharp smell from the reptiles, there is old food left in the office space, strong smell from the bad food, ant infestation, squirrel droppings, and there was a hole in the wall

- the report ends in the midst of removing the squirrel, and resumes with the mention of waiting for police on scene

- the report becomes more of a personal log after this interruption, with alyssa speaking directly to her father. this is especially interesting since she says he will believe her, implying he has some paranormal experience

- the room shes locked in is a makeshift cctv room, which i find worth pointing out since it draws an obvious connection to the eye, though i dont think theres a real connection

- the shop keeper seems manic and aggressive, and wants to sell the snakes desperately

- the shop keeper began, well, Transformation (snake)-/-horde

- jane prenthiss

- the snakes seem to want to possess another person and wither their host, which is an interesting change to the themes of tma's corruption, which protected and embraced their host in most cases

- the shop keeper had pinned rejection letters from "an institute" (take a wild guess as to which one) to the wall -> this implies there have been others rejected from the institute even before sam, and that a rejection does not seem to be an indicator of inability to interact w the paranormal

glitches/lies:

- none

extra notes:

- colin hasnt been featured or mentioned by other characters in a while. i feel like this is particularly strange for alice, since we know they were the closest, but im assuming the characters are overlooking him because of their own distractions. but its still concerning

- i think this incident was chosen by chester specifically because of sam's rejection from the institute. ive interpreted it as a warning that continual obsession with the past (and the institute) will lead sam down a bad path. im also taking this as a potential foreshadowing to sam's arc, dealing with the shop keeper's burden/possession as a metaphor for what could happen to sam. the shop keeper eventually gets left by the snakes, allowing them to take up a new host, meaning these powers and horrors can be transmitted or given to others; so sam can just as easily turn into one of the monsters from an incident. he has to choose to stay away from this path

- im hesitant to draw connections between the fears of tma and whatever powers are at work in tmagp, since i believe theyre different (or, at least, theyre manifesting in new ways) but this was a garishly corruption-aligned incident. im unsure exactly what that implies, but im taking it as a hint that the tma fears are not entirely gone as we know them. (or this is a major red herring?)

[no-droids]

Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place

Part Two of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 22.5K DONT say shit alright just don’t

Warnings: Okay. There is degradation in this, some name calling and heated interactions. There is a LOT of smut, dirty talk and rough sex. If these things offend you, please do not continue reading.

***

It’s recommended to read part one first.

***

Getting into the x-wings is always fun.

It actually might be your favorite part.  Granted, alarm bells ringing and thousands of jumpsuits scrambling in all directions is never typically a good thing, but there’s also an inherent rush about it, a thrill in launching up the metal paneling as quick as you can and suiting up to provide aid.  It’s a side-effect of camaraderie, of being surrounded by like-minded individuals willing to do everything they can to help.  You never feel like you’re going to your death, even though that’s often the grim reality for at least one of you on a good day.  There’s always a roaring in your ears while you do it, adrenaline sharpening your senses and preparing yourself for conflict, not thinking anything beyond gogogogogo—

But getting out of the x-wing is… not great.  At least for you.  It’s sluggish.  Your body is always completely drained and you never come out of it feeling the same way you went in.  Even in times of victory, there’s a somberness inside you after battle.  As much as you tell yourself you’re fighting for good, for prosperity against an evil machine hellbent on enslaving the galaxy, there’s only so many explosions lighting up in front of your eyes and screams cutting out through your comms you can take before winning just doesn’t really feel like winning anymore.  Most pilots are able to handle it better than you are, but since you joined the Resistance, you’ve never truly felt the desire to celebrate.  Not even when you serve a massive, glaring defeat to the other side.  There’ll always be at least one missing x-wing, one empty seat at the table, one person not here to celebrate with you.

You came back in one piece this time.  Barely.

The whole mission went sideways—literally.  You’d purposefully stationed the tandem just outside the coordinates you were meant to be surveilling so that you’d be hidden from sight and dead to the scanners should the fleet arrive, but something must’ve happened.  You must’ve powered down a few seconds too early after he turned the thrusters off, because apparently the ship drifted in dead space for close to eight hours without either of you noticing, having no working computers to actively read your location and correct it.  You were sitting ducks right in the hyperspace drop zone by the time the First Order showed up, and by that point you had no choice but to engage.

“Gold-Ten,” a voice murmurs from behind you, and you blink, suddenly seeing the base landing platform stretching out long in front of you, hundreds of docking ships and boisterous pilots scrambling out of them to hug their comrades and congratulate them even as medics rush past with white coats and gurneys.  They’re never for the pilots, but they dispatch healers anyways whenever a convoy returns in case a straggler gets picked up.  There’s an unspoken understanding in space battle—pilots never get injured.  They either come back unharmed, or they don’t come back at all.

Dameron.

You turn around and watch him slowly approach you with an unreadable expression, his jumpsuit still bunched halfway down his torso.  The once bright white sleeveless undershirt is now greasy and damp with sweat,  his dark curls sticking to his forehead.  He winces with every bow-legged step—you know the feeling—before he’s standing directly in front of you and something is carefully being pulled out of your hands.  You didn’t even realize you were holding onto anything.

Your helmet.  You forgot to leave it in the x-wing, and you’ve been carrying it around under your arm aimlessly while mentally checking off the squadrons as they return, counting the numbers you lost today while everybody else hugs and whoops and claps each other on the back.

It’s not as bad as you were expecting it was going to be, not as bad as it seemed just an hour earlier when you were listening to Dameron bellow out evasive flight maneuvers a millisecond before he enacted them and you adjusted your firing at the TIEs accordingly.  You used to think you were quick with how rapidly you could suit up and fly out, drop in to assist and engage, but on the other side, it felt like your reinforcements lollygagged for ages before arriving.  You were left to defend against an entire fleet in one stupid ship, more lines of TIEs sinking like flies from launch decks every second.

“Gold-Ten,” you hear again, and you blink a few times, needing to focus your vision before you can find his gaze.

Dameron’s palm, previously hovering a few inches above your shoulder, suddenly drops to spread along the curve of it and you take a deep breath, almost wanting to shudder at the feeling of something touching you.  You channel all your focus into it, feel his fingers branch out strong along the tight muscles in your neck, giving you an anchor you automatically lean into.

You and him are no strangers to touching.  Before today it was mostly reserved to poking and prodding and flicking and light slapping in an effort to piss each other off, but now… you can’t even think about it right now, your body will just fucking glitch out on you.  After everything that just happened, you cannot think about where else that hand has been recently, not right now.

“You did… you did really fucking good today,” he tells you quietly, slowly trailing his hand down the length of your entire arm until he catches your wrist and a few of your fingers in his loose grip.  “Seriously.  That was… we were…”

His touch is so present, so reassuring.  Grounding, when all your mind wants is to just float away.  You glance down at where his fingers are gently tangled with yours and you feel your hand tighten just slightly, the smallest squeeze while he blinks down at you.

“We almost died, like… every single second,” you barely manage to croak, not really having the words to express it right now.  You always need at least an hour or two after missions like this to just sit in one place and regroup.  Usually you find yourself wandering back to your room to lay on the bed and stare up at the ceiling while you consider your own mortality, but Dameron interrupted you this time before you could process it by yourself.  “We…”  Your voice sounds absolutely shredded.  “W-We shouldn’t even be alive right now.”

“I know,” he nods in soft agreement, taking a small step closer to you.  “But we are alive.  Hey.”  He dips his head as soon as your gaze starts to drift, catching your eyes once more and drawing your attention back to the present with a squeeze of your hand.  “We’re alive, right?  Be alive with me.”

You take a big breath in and close your eyes, feeling the oxygen fill your lungs once more, but this time, it’s… restorative.  A wonderful, beautiful reminder of your existence.  You’re alive.  Usually the word just feels like a synonym for persevering.  Pushing onwards despite trials and tribulations, not looking back.  But the way he says it, especially with his hand in yours and a quiet invitation to tag along, it sounds… breathtaking.  Full of light, and hope.  It suddenly leaves the dim shadows and slides into a completely different category of feelings, feelings you’d never imagine being able to conjure so quickly after such a close brush with death.  Alive—it slots right in next to words like colorful, radiant, sunshine, and butterflies.  Enchanting words, ones you’d like to hear again and again.

Your eyes slowly open and there he is, the man you were sure was going to accompany you to the afterlife.  You were stuck with Poe Dameron in one of the closest calls you can remember, and strangely, his presence was nothing if not… a comfort.  For the first time in your life, you were grateful he was there.

You open your mouth, suddenly feeling the needy, unfounded urge to tell him that.  “I’m gla—”

“Dameron!”  You hear a series of voices call from somewhere to your left, and he immediately drops your hand to whip his body around and place himself directly between you and the approaching onlookers, using his large frame to hide you from their sight.

“What’s up, Briggs?”  Dameron projects to one pilot in particular that seems to be leading the group, his back oddly close to you in this position.  Your fingers still feel tingly from where he was holding onto them.

A chorus of congratulatory, “Nice flying, Captain!” and the like can be heard floating through the air from beyond his shoulders, before the leader speaks loudly over them.  “Hey—me, Seven, Six, and Twelve were gonna grab some drinks in the mess hall with a few of the Blue girls,” he tells Dameron, slowing to a stop as soon as he sees you standing awkwardly behind him.  “Oh hey, Goldie.”

You lift a hand and clear the remainder of the dissociation from your throat, not knowing him well enough beyond the squadron he and his group fly with.  “Greenies.”

“Anyways, I guess they wanted to know if you’d come too.  These idiots are convinced they’re never gonna give us the time of day unless you—”

“Uh—fine, whatever, just give me a few minutes alright?”  Dameron quickly assures him with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “I’ll meet up with you guys later.”

A few of them take turns giving him heavy claps on the shoulder and acclamatory words before the group eventually disperses, and he waits a few more seconds for their attention to fully scatter in another direction before turning back to you.

Shit, he’s standing really close.  Why is he so close to you?  You take a step back and blink up at him, the noises of the landing deck gradually amplifying back up to normal volume as you retreat back into your own space.  Since when did he have that effect on you?  You suddenly feel wide awake, and the chorus of happy chaos surrounding you is something you’re finally able to take in.  You knew it was happening before, but it was like it just existed outside of the creeping numbness.  Now, the knot of internal turmoil has untied itself a bit and you feel your surroundings start to fight for your direct attention.

Dameron continues to look at you the same exact way, though.  Like you’re still the only one here.

You look down at his half-suited figure and blink at the helmet loosely held in one of his hands.  Hey.  Hey, that’s yours—

“Give me that,” you hiss, suddenly snatching it from his fingertips.  “You have people waiting.”

The cutting words serve to snap him out of whatever spell he’s under.  Dameron quickly lifts his head and looks around a few times with sharp eyes, before hooking your elbow and twisting you into a complete 180 until your back faces most of the excitement.  You resist, immediately trying to push him off you and worried he’s going to confront you about… things, but he’s determined.

He doesn’t say anything to you at all, though.  His fingers quickly grasp the baggy fabric of your jumpsuit even as you sputter and start to ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, and you glance down just in time to see him yanking the gaping velcro closed at your crotch.

Your cheeks instantly start burning as he tugs and smooths the fabric down until it’s seamless once more, especially when his eyes flick up to yours without moving his head.  Fuck, you’re instantly hot with some wicked emotion, a mixture of embarrassment and outrage and… something else.  Maker, you almost wish you were numb and disoriented again, if only so you could avoid feeling whatever the fuck this is.

You quite suddenly shove your helmet back into his stomach with an infuriated sound even as he doubles over with a shocked whoosh of air, changing your mind about returning it to the ship yourself before storming off without another word.

*** 

Okay, so you’ve done some thinking, and.  Well.  Fuck him, that’s what you’ve decided.

No—not… fuck him.  But like, fuck him.  You know.  In the negative sense of the word.  The bad fuck.

There’s a full tray of food sitting in front of you but you’ve so far been unable to touch it.  Mostly you’re just wondering why the fuck you’re even here.  Well, you know why you’re here—you should eat, it’s dinnertime and this is the mess hall.  You’ve been known to skip out on meals after heavy missions, secluding yourself away and just wallowing for a bit, but you… strangely didn’t feel like doing that today.  You don’t want to self-isolate when you feel okay enough to avoid it, not again.  So you’re here, because the clock says your tummy should want food, but you can’t bring yourself to even look at it.

No, you’re looking at him.  Glaring, actually.

Across the mess hall and beyond the transparisteel divider that separates the cafeteria from the bar area, Dameron is all eyebrows and smiles and side nudges and winks right now.  You can’t hear him—the sound won’t travel this far, but you can see him situated in the middle of a rowdy group of pilots.  He laughs in that disgustingly charming way of his, where his stupidly cute nose scrunches up all cute and stupid and you want to just ask the Maker why he’s doing this shit to you.  What have you done to deserve this torture?  Sure, you may have willingly agreed to it, even… conceived and propositioned the idea, and sure, absolutely nothing is stopping you from forfeiting and walking away at this exact second, but does that make it okay?  No, you’ve decided.  It’s not okay.  He’s not allowed to… to make you feel like this, so fuck him.  In the bad way.

“Just fuck him already,” a voice suddenly grumbles as someone plops down into the seat to your right, plastic trays of food clattering loudly on the table and snapping you out of your reverie.  Gold-Sixteen blocks your view as he silently drops into the seat in front of you and wraps his green lekku around his neck a few times before immediately beginning to shovel food into his mouth, while Gold-Three opens her box of blue milk next to you and continues.  “The Blues never fucking shut up about it, it’s getting annoying.”

“Don’t listen to her, Dime,” Gold-Eleven tells you, quickly occupying the seat on your left and biting into a crunchy piece of fruit, talking loudly over the chatter even as he chomps.  “Rossi just knows her pool is up tomorrow, she doesn’t want to lose any of her precious credits.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Gold-Three immediately snaps, leaning forward and around you to point the prongs of her fork at Eleven threateningly.  “Zhang’s pool starts on Sunday.”

“Oh fuck off, you guys are betting on this now?”  You groan, shoving your plate away with a flick of your fingers now that you’re certain you’ve completely lost your appetite.  Sixteen immediately snatches up one of your bread rolls while Zhang swipes your juice and Rossi goes for a packet of glockaw sauce.

“You’re the one who announced it in front of everybody, we’re just being active spectators,” Rossi returns, ripping the packet and pouring the sauce on her vegetables with a shrug.  “How the fuck do you bet against fucking each other though, that’s my question?  It’s a paradox, wouldn’t you both just lose at the same time?”

“Dameron and I aren’t going to fuck,” you tell her very slowly and clearly, starting to get a headache.  Why is it impossible to avoid this conversation topic, even with an entire Resistance base to roam around in?  “Ever.  The bet never had anything to do with fucking each other, it’s about not fucking other people.”

“Literally what is the difference?”  You hear Rossi ask with her mouth full, but Zhang speaks over her.

“Somebody should probably tell Nine that, she’s the bookie,” he tosses out carelessly, dropping the core of his piece of fruit to his tray before wiping his hands on his jumpsuit.  You bury your face in your hands and let out a loud, exhausted sound into your palms, not knowing which response serves to aggravate your already emotionally overloaded ass even more.  Nine is the bookie, of fucking course she is.  “But hey, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think any of it actually goes outside of Gold, so.”

“I’ve heard the Blues talking about it, but that’s it,” Rossi chimes in while chewing some of her veggies.  “Maybe some Reds.  Point is everybody else thinks it’s already happening, honestly.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper, using your knuckles to rub at the backs of your eyes until bright spots appear.  Where are stress headaches localized?  Are those the ones right under your brow bone?  Because stars, you feel it.  “Fucking… why?  Why do people think that me and Dameron are…?”

Nobody at the table immediately responds, and you drop your hands after a moment to look at each of their astounded faces in turn.

“You fucking serious, bitch?”  Rossi blurts first, her voice completely deadpan, and you growl in vexation.

“Have I not been vocal enough about my severe dislik—”

“And yet you kicked Nine out of your room to let him bunk with you,” Zhang immediately suggests.

“You request mission assignments together,” Rossi adds.

“Spend your off-days together,” Zhang continues.

“You’re both really weird about how long it takes the other person to shower,” Rossi tacks onto the list Zhang is now making on his fingers and you shake your head frantically.

“No—no, that’s so that we know neither one of us is cheating,” you try to explain, and you already know it sounds unconvincing without needing the two quick, lofty and sarcastic nods on either side of you.  “Showers and off-days are prime masturb—no, you know what?  No.  I’m tired of the assumptions, I don’t owe anyone shit.  This is super fucking uncool of you guys, you know that?  It’s insane that this is what counts as gossip in the Resistance nowada—”

“There’s only so much bad news people can take, Ten,” Gold-Sixteen grunts down at his almost finished plate, and all three of you snap your gazes across the table at him.  The forest-tinted twi’lek doesn’t speak much, it’s uncommon to hear his voice without distortion over the comms, but you blink as his sharp teeth continue to form words without looking at you.  “Quit being so sensitive.  Rather bet on this shit than which system is getting demolished next.”

And with that, Sixteen excuses himself with a silent nod, having gobbled down his full plate while you, Three, and Eleven were bickering.  You feel your cheeks flare with anger and shame—you didn’t deserve that, you immediately reassure yourself, but the hidden self-doubt the comment sows just further contributes to your upset.  You want to call out to his back that just because the First Order exists doesn’t mean you have to put up with your own fucking squadron turning you and your mortal enemy into glorified race fathiers, but he’s already leaving the mess hall while Rossi and Zhang have moved on to other topics, both of them continuing to grab more food from your tray as they talk.

You have a tough shell.  But today was… a lot.  You bite your lip down at the table against the sudden wave of emotion, blinking quickly to clear the weakness watering your vision.

See, this—this right here is why you use last names.  These people aren’t your friends.  Betting on who you fuck for laughs, using you as a source of entertainment without your consent just because they’re in the middle of a war, and then guilting you into feeling like you’re the one acting like a stuck up bitch about it?  You’re fighting in the same fucking war—you’re on the front lines just like everybody else and nobody gets to lecture you on the devastation of battle.  You almost died today.  You fought tooth and fucking nail to stay alive and by all accounts, you shouldn’t even be sitting here right now, much less dealing with this childish shit.  This is your squadron.  These people are supposed to be the ones closest to you out of everyone, the ones you’ve been flying into chaos in formation with for years, and yet not a single damn person has even mentioned your performance to you today, all anyone can ever seem to talk about is—ugh.

Unfortunately, your unobstructed view also allows you to look at the source of your bad mood once more, immediately noticing the way more people have crowded around him now, and the headache continues to throb painfully behind your eyeballs.  You were in the same ship, does nobody realize that?  You were gunning, he was flying—you were offense, he was defense—that’s the only fucking difference, and yet, it’s like that side of the mess hall is just completely lit up with hearty laughter and music playing from someone’s holopad and congratulatory drinks being passed around, while yours is… well.

You continue to fume inwardly, struggling somewhere between bitter and hurt, and you can see your reflection through the transparisteel giving him a death glare, wondering how many of the people surrounding him have made bets with Nine.  How many of his little entourage have their money wagered on Dameron getting in your pants by a specific dat—

You stop short while staring at his handsome face, an infuriating, horrifying thought suddenly striking you.  No… no, he wouldn’t…

“Does he know?”  You immediately interrupt the chitchat between Three and Eleven to ask with a deadly edge in your voice, tipping your forehead at pretty boy.  Ooh, you can already feel it burning.  It would be so fucking typical.  Oooooh, Maker, if he’s heard even a fucking whisper about this outside wagering going on amongst the pilots, you will fucking smother his ass in his sleep tonight.  How could he not know?  With as many friends as he has?  If you’re just being made aware of it, then it’s a given that somebody has to have told him by now, which just means that it’s all the more possible—shit, even more likely—that he’s… participating, too.  You do your best to keep your voice even, but you can hear the quiet fury shaking in it.  “The bet about when me and him are gonna fuck, does he know about it?”

“Who—Dameron?”  Zhang turns his head.  “No, I don’t think s—”

“Yeah,” Rossi says at the exact same time, and your blood instantly turns ice cold as Zhang leans around you to blink at her stupidly.

“No.  Yeah?  What?”  He says, sounding genuinely confused.

“Yeah, remember?”  Rossi confirms with a shrug.  “Nine was mad as all shit, came at me in the rec room a few weeks ag—fucking Maker, Eleven, you were there.”

“Oh,” Zhang suddenly exhales, “yeah, that’s right.  Oh, yeah, Dime, he knows.”

You’re—fuck, you’re about to rampage.  You’re burning a fucking hole through Dameron while he converses animatedly with his numerous buddies, waving an open hand and shaking his head at someone with a smile and then gesturing broadly to this side of the transparisteel.  His pool is probably up soon, you figure.  That’s why he came onto you so strong earlier today.  He was going to get two weeks of your pay, plus whatever he must’ve offered up to Nine that says he’d get it to happen within a certain amount of time.  Perfect, your old roomie and the arch nemesis you stupidly agreed to trade her for, two asshole peas in an asshole pod.

“—she thought I was the one who told him—”  You know Rossi is still talking but you’re not actually hearing any of it.  Nobody has any fucking idea.  Nobody has any idea what he did to you today, how unbelievably close you were to… to actually…  “—was all just for fun, but then he had a few choice words for her and told his squad that if any of them had made a—”  You don’t know why you’re so surprised honestly, you should’ve expected…

Wait.

“Wait,” you suddenly blurt, and while she shuts up immediately, your mind starts whirling even faster.  Dameron had some… what?  “Wait.  Explain.  You’re saying he didn’t…”  You slowly shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows and trying to piece it together.  “He didn’t… place a bet with her, or anything?”

“What?  No,” Rossi shakes her head a lot more forcefully than you, getting frustrated.  “No, fucking—didn’t you hear anything I just said, Ten?  He got all high and mighty for some stupid reason, totally reamed her ass out for it.”

“But…”  You blink, stunned.  “But… why?  Why would he…?”

Rossi shrugs.  “Fuck if I know.  All she said was that he ordered Black not to throw in, made her lose a fuckton of money from it.  Had no idea Dameron would be so touchy about his sex life, honestly.”

He… he isn’t.  He isn’t touchy about his sex life—you feel like he never shuts up about it.

Rossi continues talking, but you’re not listening again.  You stare stupidly at yourself in the clear transparisteel as Dameron’s voice comes back to you, repeating something you specifically remember him saying earlier today.  Something you thought was just a careless jab at the time, aimed blindly at one of your comrades with nothing more than the intent to piss you off.

…I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half… 

You blink beyond your own reflection to focus on him once more, still lost in his own little world, not paying a single lick of attention to you while you’re essentially having a fucking crisis over here.  You didn’t think the insult had any real substance to it at all.  You just naturally assumed that was the result of him wanting to lash out at anything or anyone remotely close to you, if only to get a reaction, so you never gave him one or paid it any mind.  

This is why he said that about Nine?  Because he knew she had organized this fucked up betting pool behind your back?

Stars, you need to get out of here, all these rumors are fucking with your head.  Your assumptions and the hairpin turnarounds are giving you worse whiplash than Dameron’s… well, admittedly spectacular flying today.  You were wrong about wanting to avoid isolating—in fact, that suddenly sounds like a phenomenal idea.

So, you just get up and leave right in the middle of Rossi’s sentence, needing some time alone.  Neither of them call out to you as you quickly walk around the table and through the barrier towards the exit, thank the Maker, and you’re just about to retreat with no interruptions until suddenly two Greenies step in front of you and block your path.

You halt immediately, looking up at them with a furrowed brow.  “What now?”  You grunt, not having the patience to even wait for a response before attempting to squeeze around them.

“Hey, so you really saved our asses out there today, Goldie,” the one on the left quickly sidesteps in front of you and rushes to say, and you settle your weight back on your heels with a huff.

“What are you talking about?”  You glance back and forth between them, not recalling a time you’ve ever spoken to either one, before jerking your head to gesture over your shoulder.  “Go congratulate trophy boy over there, he was the one flying.”

“We did,” the one on the right tips sideways to look at Dameron behind your shoulder, likely still laughing and joking with someone about something, something super fucking dumb probably.  “Well, uh.  We tried.”

“What?”  You let out a heavy sigh and rub your temples.  “The fuck is that supposed to mean?  I don’t have the time.”

“He won’t take any credit, just keeps saying that all he did was steer you around,” the other one shrugs as his companion straightens and looks down at you once more.  “Wouldn’t accept any drinks we offer him, nothing.  So we thought we’d buy you one instead.  Unless you’re… leaving?”

It takes you a few seconds to process that, even as he allows the open invitation to hang in the air.  You can’t stop the way your torso automatically twists around to study your copilot from across the mess hall in baffled silence, suddenly realizing that they’re… they’re right.  Dameron has no congratulatory drinks sitting in front of him even though more and more people have made their way into the bar.  He’s just sitting there grinning and nodding along to something someone else is saying, completely and blissfully unaware of the extent to which he’s fucked with you in the past twenty minutes.  The past… whole day.  Month and a half.  Or… fuck, how long have you known him?  Two years?

But then Dameron’s gaze gradually drifts this way, before suddenly locking with yours.  His eyes flick behind you to look at the two Greenies blocking your exit, and then back to the way you’re staring at him, wide-eyed and startled.

He suddenly stands up and starts to take a few steps towards you, and the sheer abruptness of the movement causes you to react immediately.  You stumble your way backwards through the two pilots, feeling a few hands reach out to steady you through the awkward fumbling, but you slap them away and announce loud enough for Dameron to hear beyond them that you’re taking a shower, and you don’t give a fuck how long it’s gonna be this time.

***

The knob squeaks as you turn the water on.  Usually you’d step back and wait the grueling five minutes or longer it takes for it to heat up with your arms crossed over your naked chest, but this time you move directly under the freezing spray, hoping to use the ice cold to shock your system.

You're finally alone.

Technically solitude doesn’t really exist within this base.  You’ve heard of others that are a little nicer, having a little more room for the ranks, but not here.  Housing assignments, showers and restrooms, mess and recreation halls—they’re all communal.  Everyone is given rotating shifts, so while that means there’s never any true quiet to be found, it also means that showers are spread out well throughout the day and night.

But, at least for this moment, there’s nobody else around.  At least in here, in the tiled chamber with multiple shower heads stationed around you—you’re sure there are a few girls lingering in the locker room and the entry area beyond it, but for right now, you’re blissfully by yourself.

And yet, you can’t seem to enjoy it.

You know you should be basking in the isolation.  You should be thrilled at the rarity of only hearing your own flipflops slap against the floor as you turn around and drench your hair with the icy spray, but the lack of an immediate distraction for your focus allows it to wander to things you don’t want it to.

Explosions, mostly.  Lighting up like fireworks in front of your eyes even as they flutter closed and let water drip down them.  Constant, never-ending.  Some of them small—TIEs you shot down, allies drawing fire away from you and then subsequently getting overwhelmed, zipping through dense debris from deadly collisions so quick that you had trouble distinguishing friend from foe.  Some of them were massive—star destroyers splitting apart, warp drives overloading, enormous casualty counts.  You don’t know how many lives you took today, not directly.

The beginning was the worst—when you were still slightly disoriented, when you were panicked and screaming into the comms for assistance.  Then the closest stationed tandem showed up first—Red-Two and Eight, you think it was.  Doesn’t matter now.  They took some heat off you before the cavalry arrived, but you remember Dameron barking out your name the second their left thruster got nicked and they started spiraling, a ferociously deep, “With me!” cutting through the white noise.  It was enough to snap you back, forcing you to instantly flick your eyes away and focus dead ahead without witnessing their demise.

It wouldn’t have normally been necessary.  You’ve been flying with the Resistance for years, you’ve seen way too much bloodshed by now.  But you’ve never been the catalyst of it—you’ve always been able to confront threats accompanied by your squadron, right between Nine and Eleven, the flight controls rumbling steady under your palms.  You’ve never faced down an entire fleet in one single ship.  You’ve never had to rely so directly on the skills of another pilot in order to stay alive.

The water slowly heats to a lukewarm while you reach for the shampoo.

Surprisingly, for as much as the two of you clash in normal interactions, it was like everything eventually became… synchronized.  Spectacularly so.  Dameron started off the enemy confrontation by calling out his flight patterns to give you a chance to adjust your firing in real time, but then at some point, it just stopped being necessary.  There was a moment where you both were able to suddenly… get it.  Get each other.  He didn’t have to say anything after that—you could predict each other without second guessing, react instantaneously, and work your way through the littered battlefield accordingly.  You never thought it would be possible to collaborate so well with someone you’ve spent ages despising.  Sure, you’d both die if you didn’t—shit, you’d probably still both die regardless—but this kind of teamwork extended beyond the need to survive.  It doesn’t matter how much you want to stay alive when reading someone else’s mind is physically impossible, but for some reason…  You have no idea why, but it apparently came naturally between you.  It fell to pure instinct, pure reaction, and remarkably, his would somehow match yours perfectly, every single time.

You lather the shampoo in your hair, remembering how his voice changed over the course of the mission.  How it gradually shifted from panicked roars and barked orders into ecstatic cheers and genuine praise after landing a difficult shot, how he just couldn’t seem to stop whooping.  

You smile softly as the tepid water rinses away the dirt and sweat from your body, until the temperature is brought up to a gentle, comfortable warmth raining down you and echoing in the empty shower room.

And, your first name.  Dameron kept calling you that, the whole time.  The one you’re now absolutely certain you’ve never personally given to him.  The one he would’ve had to have listened for specifically.  Remembered, or at least asked the right person about.  But why?  It’s not… it makes no sense, he doesn’t give a shit.  He’s notorious for not giving a shit.  He can’t even be bothered to remember the names of the girls he’s actually with—so why did he go to the trouble to figure out yours?  You’ve been nothing but a thorn in his side the same way he is to you, right?

Right?

Your mind starts recollecting more recent events, trying to work through and process it by yourself.  He was… singing your praises today.  He was openly giving you credit for the win while you pouted in the corner and assumed the absolute worst of him.  As much as you’re frustrated that nobody else seemed to give voice to your contributions, you’re even more surprised that he was the one who did.

And then even earlier.  Gold-Nine, holding wagers with members of your squad (and others, apparently) about when you’re going to fuck him.  Dameron, tearing her a new one for it, forbidding Black Squadron from throwing in and not attempting to hide his disdain for her from you.  He… he defended you.  Stood up for you when your own squad was being a bunch of dicks behind your back.  And nobody ever fucking mentioned it to you.  What did Rossi say—a few weeks ago?  He’s known all this time and only today, only after you… openly showed more interest in him than you ever have, after you worked up enough nerve to try in your own little way to flirt back this time instead of responding to his casual comments with contempt and disgust, only today is when he decided to make a real move on you.

…Your mind is completely blank and yet you still feel yourself start to heat up just a bit at even alluding to the events that took place earlier.  The way his fingers felt—

Steam begins to fill the open concept chamber while you shake your head against the train of thought and reach for the soap, beginning to circle the bar along your arms and shoulders with a sigh.  This is already the longest shower you’ve taken in almost two months, and your body slowly relaxes under the mist and heat as you take forever cleaning yourself, slowly and hypnotically rubbing the soap along your skin.

The second you let your eyelids dip shut at the feeling, you immediately shiver at a flash of Dameron dragging his finger out of his mouth and blinking dark eyes at you through the transparisteel.

Fuck.  The soap slips from your hand and you quickly catch it against your body before it falls to the ground completely, suddenly feeling the need to breathe in the misty air a bit harder.  Shower, you’re in the shower.  Come on.

The dirt and grime is scrubbed from your face and you tilt your head to move the bar of soap across your neck.  As it lathers, you can’t help but remember the way his lips felt against the skin right there, the scratch of his beard.  You keep working the soap against that same spot for a while, not knowing if you’re trying to wash away the sensation or simulate it, until you gradually slow and make it lighter, softer—yes, that’s closer to how it felt, that’s—

Soon the water is boiling hot and you’re trying not to boil along with it, remembering everything he said against this spot, the filth he whispered to you here.  Your pussy starts to throb between your legs as the memories play out in your mind, how close he got you to shattering bliss without even really working for it.  If you put it all together collectively, you don’t think he actually touched you for more than a minute or two total today.  Mostly he just talked to you, but stars, he hit buttons you didn’t even think you had, had you a split second away from cumming harder than Maker knows while his finger rested just above your clit and provided no stimulation whatsoever.

Fuck, you enjoyed it.  You did, you’ll admit it when there’s no one else here but you.  You enjoyed the fuck out of it.  You wish he’d do it again.  Force you to lose, force you to cum so you can at least blame him for it, remove your responsibility from the equation and allow you to put just one more thing on his shoulders, to taste ecstacy instead of expecting you to bear the weight of pretending you don’t need it any longer.  He was doing you a favor, you realize that now.  Your body is staging a fucking coup and you wish you could’ve called mercy before it got to this agonizing point.  He turns you on, you fucking admit it.  He inspires violent emotions in you—jealousy, arousal, anger, temptation—thoughts you don’t want to have and consolidating it all into various forms of hatred makes the finer details easier to ignore.  Your perception of him has always been skewed by your iron will, but he all but took a fucking sledgehammer to it today, dented it beyond all recognition.  You want him, you want to him to take it all away, you want him to fuck you—in the… fuck, in the good way.

You don’t have a thought beyond that.  Your hand quickly falls down the length of your body to wash your private parts, biting your lip as your hips slowly start to rock into it.  You’re getting clean, you’re getting clean, this is how you clean yourself, this is… yes, as long as you keep the bar of soap pressed between your palm and the top of your curls like this, you’re cleaning yourself and you can just… ease your finger down just a little bit and—

Flipflops suddenly echo from the twisting hallway leading to the tiled freshers, and you immediately snatch your hand back up again, not needing to turn around to know another girl is walking into the room.  A knob somewhere to your right eventually makes a dull squeak as you quickly finish washing up and turn your showerhead off, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself.

Maker, you feel like your pussy is plotting your demise.  Fuck, you can’t believe you almost cheated in the fucking showers just now where literally anyone could walk in, you thought you would’ve had more self-control than that.  You make your way into the changing rooms and grab your pajamas, starting to tug them on without fully drying your body and having only one thought in mind.  

Dameron will probably be celebrating late tonight.  You can tuck in early, scurry back to your room and cheat there.

Well, no, not cheating, because you clearly remember making a very compelling argument about wet dreams earlier today.  Maker, a freebie, the word has never sounded so enticing.  What you’d say amounts to a… bye-week orgasm basically, since you know he’s already lost at least one match against his own body and you’re meant to be competing on the same level.  It’s only fair to let you persevere through the toughest part of the challenge if he was allowed to throw a game early on and still stay in the competition.  Maybe he threw multiple games, you never got a straight answer concerning that, so it’s still under review.  He could’ve thrown… three games, even.  Or four.

You dress as quickly as possible and then nearly bolt through the entrance area to the restrooms with all the sinks and stalls.  The balled up dirty clothes and wet towel in your arms allow you to hide the way your nipples are stiff and tender against your thin pajamas, and you can’t wait to climb into your bunk and take everything off under the covers.  You’ll be able to cum, at least once.  It’ll relieve so much stress, get rid of this nightmare headache, rip through your body like lightning and paralyze it until you can start over from square one and think like yourself again.

And, you’re just about to power walk your ass back to your quarters when a body nearly slams into yours as soon as you step foot outside the door, your shoulder jerking back just in time to avoid a collision.

A mechanic, you think.  You’re not exactly sure, you don’t hang out with too many of them—he’s Chiss and his glowing red eyes don’t even land on you as you gasp and sidestep him at the last second, but it’s not him that catches the majority of your attention.  He just exited the men’s room at the same time you left the women’s, and the door takes a moment to swing shut behind him.

You freeze.  It can’t be more than a few seconds—but it feels like everything slows down and it lasts a fucking eternity.

Dameron is standing at a sink in the far corner of the room, naked except for a towel identical to the one in your arms wrapped loosely around his waist.  He cradles the base of his own throat with one hand and gently drags a razor down the smooth contour of it with the other, his chin tilted up high and regal while his eyelids dip low to concentrate on his movements.  He glances down and holds the foamy blade under the running faucet, tapping it twice against porcelain before the door slides him out of frame.

I can shave, a low, silky murmur slowly fills your ears, heat swelling low and hot in your tummy.  Tonight, I’ll shave it off.  Make it nice and smooth for you.

You feel like your body is just a collection of rigid knots all tied together, and the one between your legs is the tightest it’s ever been.  Stars, on another day you’d say it feels like a bad cramp, even though you know your injection makes your period rare and like clockwork.  Regardless, the split second image makes you shudder and clamp up painfully, and you just stand there and stare at the closed door for a second, trying not to shake.

Fuck, this is so fucking… presumptuous of him.

Realistically, you know it could have absolutely nothing to do with you.  It’s his face—you’re not self-centered enough to have completely lost your concept of autonomy.  He can do whatever he wants to his body, and that includes facial hair, full stop.  You also know that he’s not being… obvious about it, no matter how much it feels that way to you.  He’s using the sink and mirror at the very end of the room, not any of the ones nearest to the door—but even if he was, it’s not like he could’ve planned for you to walk out at the exact moment the metal hinge was angled wide open.  He couldn’t possibly have intended for this, for you to see him doing this.  He wasn’t making a show, didn’t even notice you standing there.  You blame literally everything on him, or at least you always try your absolute best to—but this one…

It sends a hard shudder down your spine and you clutch the fabric in your arms tighter, trying not to drop it.  Fuck.  This is torture.  Fuck him.  Good and bad—both ways, all the ways he can be fucked, fuck him.  Your head is spinning, you’re sweating fresh out of the shower, you need to cum.  Maybe if you hurry, you can get that precious orgasm before he’s finished, because if Dameron is able to intercept you before you can tend to this, you’re… you’re not sure how you’re going to say no to him.

You don’t even think you want to anymore.  

You feel like you’re just… holding onto it on principle now.  Too stubborn and hardheaded to want change.  Too stuck in your own ways to recognize how much everything already has changed.

Somehow, you end up making your way back to your room, but the whole thing is a blur.  Your flipflops plap against your heels as you navigate through hallways as quick as you can, emptier than you’ve seen them in months.  You know most of the pilots are probably out celebrating in either the mess hall or rec room, but the thought doesn’t really presently register.  Almost nothing registers besides your continuous forward motion and the way you feel yourself throb with every step, aching for something you are going to get tonight.  Fuck, you are so attached to this orgasm now, it’s not going anywhere and neither are you.  You deserve this, you deserve some relief.  Come hell or highwater, it’s happening tonight.

As soon as you step into your room and slap your hand blindly against the wall panel to close the door behind you, you’re carelessly dropping the bundle of fabric to the floor and then shrugging out of your pajamas in the cool pitch darkness, having exactly one mission in mind.  You don’t bother with lights, with brushing your hair, with literally anything besides clamoring up the ladder to your top bunk and wiggling under the thin bedsheet, making sure to pull it up to your chin before your legs butterfly open.  The tip of your finger wets itself on your tongue and then you’re dropping it down and sliding it against your poor clit, the pleasure arcing and flaring so sharp and sensitive even from your touch that you have to give it just a second.

…No, no you don’t.  You don’t have to give it fucking anything.  You keep moving your finger hard and quick even as your hips naturally want to jerk away from it, shoving yourself through the sensitivity with gritted teeth and a ferocious will.

Fuck, how long do you think you have?  Was Dameron shaving pre or post-shower?  You can’t remember, all you know is he had a towel around his waist.  And that thin gold chain hanging down his neck.  Was his hair wet?  Fuck, why can’t you remember?  His chin and jaw were smooth as silk, you know that much.  Post-shower, then.  Probably.  Probably?

His chin and jaw were smooth as silk.  You keep getting stuck on that no matter how chaotically your thoughts whirl; they fling out in different directions at different velocities but all somehow manage to go in a perfect circle and end up at the same place you started.  His chin, his jaw, his mouth, his neck, his chin, his mouth, his jaw, his mouth, his mouth, his mouth—

You feel yourself start to clamp down and you speed up, chasing it.  The pleasure starts burning deep inside you, the fire slowly licking down your thighs and rising up into your abdomen, and then—

And then a series of quiet beeps from the hallway practically blare like alarm bells to your frantic mind.

You immediately stop moving your finger, snapping your legs tight together and flat to the mattress as soon as the door to your room shifts open and fluorescent light spills inside, and you feel like you could actually fucking cry right now.

All this edging is just a form of self-flagellation at this point.  You lay there and try not to make a sound, try not to tremble hard enough to shake the whole bunk with it, but even your breathing feels like it’s going to give you away.  Dameron, shirtless with his towel draped over his shoulder, slowly steps into the room and then pauses almost immediately, making your heart stutter for a second at what so blatantly caught his attention.

One quick glance down towards his feet confirms the simultaneous hope and fear—you left everything on the floor.  The towel, the dirty clothes, and your pajamas are strewn about haphazardly right where he needs to walk.

You know what it must look like to him.  A trail of clothes leading directly to an occupied bed isn’t exactly subtle, even though you didn’t necessarily intend it that way.  Still, what can you say?  Your hand is shoved in between your legs right now and you’re in your birthday suit under this thin sheet, what the fuck can you say to him?  Sorry Dameron, got too caught up with how stupid wet you get me that I left those there on accident on my way to cheat, but totally not because I lowkey want your help doing it.  Convincing, that’ll go over great.

Dameron slowly lifts his head to look at you.  Or, at least you think he does—the light from the open door behind him casts his body in a dark silhouette, but you know your face is perfectly illuminated for him right now.  Blinking down at him from the top bunk with your brows pulled up in the middle, wide-eyed and desperate and caught red-handed.  Fuck, you don’t know if he can see the way your knees are clamped tight together and your hand rests perfectly still against your pussy like this from the angle he’s at, but you know it has to be super fucking obvious either way.  You’re breaking the rules, you’re touching yourself, and you both know it.  You can’t lie, you can’t even sit up without confirming his very valid suspicion.  He can call the game at any point, but…

You watch his head fall back down to study the mess you left for him once more.  Fuck, are you positive that was an accident?  Normally you wouldn’t second guess anything about your own understanding of the interactions that occur between you and him, but—you’ve never done that before.  You’ve lived with roommates on this base for years, you don’t just… get naked before getting into bed, that’s bad form.  How are you going to get up in the morning without having your pajamas shoved near your feet while you sleep?  Wrap this thin bedsheet around yourself and scamper down the ladder until you can snatch them up from the floor, and then what?  Climb all the way back up just to wiggle the clothes on underneath the blanket before going back down again?  Maker, you fucked up, your pussy is plotting your fucking demise.

But then everything inside you pulls taut as Dameron suddenly decides to move.  Slowly, he leans down to catch your orange jumpsuit closest to his feet with a few fingers, before he stands upright and carefully begins folding the fabric without saying a single word to you.  Electricity buzzes through you as he very obviously takes his time with it, using nearly his whole armspan to lengthen and fold the sleeves while his chest and chin meet for support.  When he’s eventually satisfied with it, he takes a few steps toward the empty desk on your side of the room and then sets the neat rectangle of fabric atop it where you usually keep it.

You bite your lip and you can’t help it—you start to move your finger as he goes back to sort the pajamas you wore for barely two seconds from your dirty clothes, folding and putting away whatever is clean and then tossing the rest into the shared laundry basket that gets collected every week.  Somehow it makes you feel even more naked, seeing all your clothes be returned to their proper places, realizing that this is your base state now, this is what you’re going to wear tonight.  Nothing.  You left everything on the floor and trapped yourself up here, he’s simply shifting a pawn forward two spaces in kind now that you’ve made your first move.

You can feel yourself pulse threateningly against your own fingertip while he collects your wet towel and drapes it over your closet door to dry, and your breath comes louder through your nose while you bite back the noises you want to make, the way your movements so desperately want to speed up.  Your hand working the way you want it to under the white sheets would be too much, too revealing, but you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to care.

But then of course, the asshole has to go and put away his towel and clothes, and you endure through the whole thing while pressing back and forth against your clit so hard and slow that your toes curl and pull the sheet tucked under your chin taut.  After that’s done, he makes his way over to the portshade above his desk and slowly slides it open a few inches, the light of three moons outside gradually filling the room.  However, when Dameron goes back to press a button on the wall panel and close the door to the hallway, you immediately see how much softer it is in here, how the artificial fluorescents have thankfully disappeared and the room illuminates more than it blinds, glows more than it beams.  He presses one more button as the lock inside the paneling slides into place.

You bite your bottom lip and try your best to hide the pleasure you’re building for yourself while he makes his way back to his desk, quietly swiping the radio off it and lowering the volume knob completely before he flips it on.  The noise slowly amplifies until you’re able to catch two distinct voices conversing in Huttese—it’s the only lingua franca that still broadcasts on this old technology in this part of the galaxy, but he’s already flipping through the stations in search of something specific.

If you were thinking straight, you may have actually recognized this for what it is, but you’re having trouble even processing the details of your general surroundings right now, your mind is lagging and too slow at reading between the lines.  Dameron’s doing exactly what he said he would do.  He laid it all out earlier for you in the x-wing, telling you exactly what he wanted plain as day, and now he’s checking the whole list off one by one.  The shade is open and the room is lit just enough to make him out, the door is locked, and he’s finding something to listen to.  Something quiet, and easy.

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize that there’s a much more obvious reason why he shaved his beard—you never told him the truth about how much you liked it.  You never tell him the truth.  You allow—even encourage him to think the sharp things you say to him are exactly how you feel.  He did it because he believed you.

Oh, but you’re not thinking straight.  Your thoughts are scattered and the only thing they can agree upon is how good this feels, even as your breathing starts to grow heavier, grow louder underneath the sound of the radio.  The thought stays right beneath your consciousness, tugging at your preoccupied mind.  You work your finger with just a little more verve now that he’s flipping through the stations, knowing he’s distracted by spinning the dial through intermittent white noise while different voices and songs fill the room for just a second at a time.

Your bed, his voice suddenly echoes through your thoughts, originating from your subconscious but almost sounding like it’s coming from the radio in your delirious mind.  I want you comfortable.

Fuck, the understanding finally clicks the second he flips to a slower song and you start to burn at the thought of what’s next.  The silent promise that his actions allude to.  You have the realization way too late but at least it still comes at all with the state you’re in.  Your hand slows down immediately, not even needing to consciously consider the choice between achieving orgasm through your finger or his mouth.  Still, it’s hard to stop touching yourself completely when it feels so fucking good to your deprived body.

Fuck, it’s barely been a few seconds since your realization and yet you immediately bristle in distress at how fucking long he’s taking.

So you open your mouth.  You’re desperate and needy and on the verge of something, and it comes out without thought.  You don’t think it’s loud enough for him to hear, but his head immediately lifts and looks unseeingly at the wall in front of him for a second, as if he’s questioning if he imagined it.  A soft melody plays on a bluesy guitar while you hiccup and wait, but he doesn’t move.

And then you say it again, higher and tighter in your throat, pitched up to an impatient, girlish whine.  “Poe…”

The radio is tossed onto the bottom bunk as soon as he spins around and walks towards the ladder, but it’s like your finger has a mind of its own the moment he disappears underneath your line of sight.  Your legs spasm against the mattress and you bite your lip, not caring about the frantic way your hand begins moving under the sheet as his muted footsteps climb up the rungs.

Your eyes snap to his as soon as you can see him beyond the railing at your feet, heaving himself up until everything above his waist is above you, too.  His pauses there and his lashes quickly dip to the shameless movements between your legs as you work yourself towards that approaching bliss, and then flick back to the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him so torn, wanting so badly to wait for it but not being able to right now.

Slowly, he begins to move forward, crawling his way up the mattress and over your body, noticeably careful with where he places his limbs.  You’re not hard to dodge, though—you’re like a rigid stick of desperation under him, knees and ankles still clamped tight together and your arms streamlined as close to your body as possible with tension as you keep rubbing your clit.  Not to mention the sheet is thin and shows your figure almost perfectly with how tight you’ve hooked it under your chin, only leaving the finest details to the imagination.

But then there starts to be a little strain against the fabric, an unspoken question he’s still bothering to ask even though you could’ve told him to fuck off ages ago.  Poe could yank the sheet down and flip your shit over and destroy you right now if he wanted—fuck, like you want him to do—but his face slowly appears in front of yours instead and his dark eyes search your features for answers.  The length of his chain dangles from his muscular neck and glows against his golden skin, his whole upper body stretched long and bare over you.

From the gradually increasing tightness pulling on the fabric, you expect the sheet to rip down your body as soon as you lift your chin and let that resistance go, but instead… stars, it’s slow.  Why is he going so fucking slow??  The bedsheet barely flutters down to your collarbone before he’s able to stop tugging on it so hard, and then he just gently inches the hem down from that point on.

Fuck—your eyes drop to his lips as he eventually reveals your shoulders and sternum to the room, and then lower to your cleavage while you let out a hushed whimper, praying he understands the extent of how vulnerable you’re allowing yourself to be.  You don’t do this often—and you definitely don’t do it with someone like him.  He’s the one who said you needed this, isn't he?  So why the fuck is he dragging out the anticipation?  Pretending like he doesn’t see the way you’re begging for help in the middle of another warzone that’s breaking out for the second time today?

Poe’s head drops down to give the contour of your neck a long drag of his tongue, slow and hot and wet, the sheet eventually dropping beneath your nipples and exposing them to the cool air.  You bite your lip and keep working yourself under the fabric even as it’s led down the length of your tummy, and you just get wetter and wetter feeling him mouth at your skin as the radio continues to play soft from the bottom bunk.  He follows the skin as it’s revealed, licking down from your collarbone and working with the increasing rate of your breathing.  His lips never feel like they vary in pressure, even as your chest heaves up and down and your lungs work hard for air.

His open mouth slowly drags down the curve of your breast and it makes your blood burn fire through your veins.  You nearly choke when your nipple is enveloped in soft heat, his tongue quickly fluttering up under the stiff peak and giving it to you so gently, contrasting so light and vernal with how brilliant and neon bright the need between your legs is.  Your hand starts to work quicker, and fuck—you can hear it now, your desperate movements audible over the shallow breaths and the sound of one song gradually fading into another below you.  You’re just too fucking wet and your pussy is smushed with how tight your legs are pressed together—the noise is unavoidable, and Poe’s knees are planted too close to either side of your thighs to spread them really at all.

Fuck, you knock against the resistance regardless to let him know what you want, but he doesn’t budge and it makes you just about lose your damn mind.  Does he have to make everything so fucking difficult?  You couldn’t close your legs earlier and now you can’t open them, and it’s like he’s able to take perfect advantage of each opposing position to prolong your torture.

But then his tongue leaves you even as his jaw opens just slightly, and that’s the only warning you get before his teeth graze your nipple with a sudden arc of sensation and you flare up all at once.

It’s a miracle and a curse that you’re able to stop at the very last second, your hand jerking away from your pussy and flexing into a fucking death claw on your thigh at how close you were, and you don’t know why.  Why did the fuck did you stop?  There’s nothing standing in your way right now, you’ve consciously given yourself express permission to cum, but still.  It must just be learned instinct at this point—hammered into your muscle memory for weeks on end to not allow the pleasure no matter what, especially when you’re this fucking close to it.

Nonetheless you garble out nonsense and cinch inwards on yourself to fight it off now that you’ve apparently decided against it.  There’s nothing worse than a half-assed orgasm, and you have to quickly summon the conviction behind your split second reaction before it’s too late and your body takes the pleasure any way it can get it.

Poe’s mouth releases your nipple at the way your whole spine suddenly hunches in and he drops his forehead to your chest, breathing heavy down the slope of your breast as you tremble and grapple for your sanity.

“Did you just cum?”  Is the first thing he says to you, his voice is so ragged and stony it’s practically gravel crunching as he speaks.

“N-n-no,” you quickly stammer at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe correctly.  Inhale, exhale—fuck, which one is inhale again, which one comes first?  Maker, does he need to call a fucking medic?  “Huhhhhalmost?”

Poe takes a deep breath and slowly releases it with a bassy and warm mmmm rumbling against your skin, so coarse but pleased enough to sound like melted chocolate dripping down your body.  The noise sends a violent shudder through you and it’s almost enough to knock you back to that edge again, even without your fingers assisting it.  

His head dips and the sheet pulls down even more, just below your belly button now, and you let out a quiet gasp in anticipation, nearly on the verge of begging him to keep moving downwards.  But when Poe’s eyes close and his mouth suddenly moves back up to open over your other nipple instead, your patience snaps.  

Fuck him, bad way.  This is your orgasm, you’re done waiting.

“I’m gonna cum,” you snarl furiously down at him, shoving your hand between your legs even as Poe’s lips quirk against your skin.  It’s not a warning, it’s a threat.  If he’s gonna be like this, he doesn’t get to share it with you.  It’s your orgasm, you’ll give it to yourself if he doesn’t give a shit about it.  “Thought you wanted it, guess not.”

You immediately feel his teeth again in response to your admittedly slightly bitchy comment and this time he lets your nipple roll just a bit between them, making you jerk at the sensation and quickly find your clit again.  Oh, you’re soaking fucking wet, you’re wet everywhere.  Slick and swollen and burning, and it’s not going to take much at all.  The sheet sticks to your overheated body and you can’t tell the difference between your sweat, his saliva, or wetness from between your legs—it all just feels damp and slippery as you gradually lose your bearings under his mouth.

“Fuck this, I’m gonna cum,” you breathe once more, possibly nothing more than a mindless reiteration but most likely just one last veiled plea for him to give you what you both want.  As if he can tell, Poe quickly lifts his mouth and suddenly the sheet is ripped the rest of the way down your naked body completely, sharp and frustrated, and then his lips brush against your elbow as it twitches, nipping the sensitive skin there.

“Brat,” he growls quietly against your forearm as he keeps dragging his lips down further, following the path it makes along your tummy.  “Just likes making shit difficult.”

“You’re the one—” you hiccup, trying to sound angry but just melting into a puddle at the tip of his tongue slowly trailing down your frantically moving wrist, “—you’re the… the o-one who… who…?”

But you’re already sprinting towards that edge, feeling him drop even lower and his hot breath fan against your fingers, and at this point you’re too far gone.  Poe gently kisses at your closed thighs, in perfect position and ready for you, but you can’t stop yourself anymore unless he makes you stop, and the longer he waits down there without grabbing your hand to replace it with something better the more you don’t give a shit about whether or not it’s going to happen.  You can feel the orgasm rising, you can feel your toes flex and everything start to lock down for the approaching tsunami.  You’re going to get it this time, you’re going to cum, you’re going to—

“This is—” you rasp, “—this is a f-free, a fffff-ffreeeeb—”

His tongue softly grazes your knuckle as it works.

And then there’s a moment.  A suspended moment that seems to go on forever, where you’re launched directly over that cliff and yet you still seem to be gaining altitude.  Where’s the drop?  You’re already cumming—you can feel it, there’s absolutely no fucking going back now, but it’s like your sheer desperation has so much momentum that your body tricks itself into believing there’s nothing to land on, no gravity to immediately rip you straight down to your demise.

You choke out his name and your back arches with it and that must be the signal, because Poe finally pulls your hand away and lets his chin dip, and then his jaw falls open and allows you just enough time to catch the glimmer of his pink tongue before it slides wet and slow through your swollen folds.

Heat.  It sears through your whole body with a wracked shudder, the slick glide over your clit as his eyes flutter closed, and within the very first second of feeling his mouth on you, you’re instantly cumming inside it.

There.  There’s the drop.

The burning erupts into molten chaos, crumpling your whole body on impact like an accordion, but he sinks all his weight down on your legs and forces you to endure it with everything below your waist pinned to the mattress.  It’s fucking mayhem.  You feel like your voice actually rips itself in half with the ragged cry of blinding relief, so enormous and soul wrenching in power that you couldn’t even hope to muffle it.  You can’t move your hips through it, you can’t stutter up to ride it out—you have to experience the whole thing with your lower body completely still while his tongue takes slow, gentle licks at your throbbing clit, only able to sit your shoulders up and slam them back down and grab his head as you endure.

You cum hard.  Fucking hard.  It’s daunting and explosive and utterly devastating in the havoc it wreaks, and just when you think you’ve seen the worst of it, it’s just so slow.  Creeping along and obliterating everything in its path, taking an eternity to pass because of how fucking big it is.

When you’re finally able to float back down into your own body again, the first thing you notice is how tight his hold is.  Poe’s arms are wrapped around your thighs to keep them pressed tight together and you can feel the wetness all the way down to your fucking knees as they tremble against each other.  Stars, what did he do to you?  You feel like you actually wet yourself, there’s way too much dampness on the mattress underneath you to feel anywhere close to normal for you.

His mouth eventually leaves you but his head doesn’t move, nothing else moves.  Even his hot breath feels like rough stimulation to your throbbing pussy.

And then Poe shifts and adjusts his body just enough, catching the backs of your knees and slowly spreading your legs up and apart like you wanted to do ages ago.  They feel like jelly, wobbly and unsteady even as his thumbs hook right under your knees and easily support most of their weight.  Your pussy is soon exposed completely, and his shoulders move down just before his head drops to lick the collection of wetness right from your entrance.  Fuck, he couldn’t get it from the previous angle your legs were at, just your clit at the very top—but this is deep and personal and you know he’s probably getting mouthfuls of how hard he just made you cum, using the tip of his tongue to scoop your arousal up and swallowing it quietly before going back for more.

“Poe,” you whisper, and he rumbles low in his throat in response without stopping.  This isn’t for you, this isn’t for your benefit right now.  Your pleasure receptors aren’t concentrated right here, just the physical evidence of them being overloaded just a few moments ago, but he stays for longer than necessary.  He keeps his mouth here far longer than you need to push past the throbbing sensitivity and start to crave the sensation again, forcing you to bite your lip to stop yourself from telling him to move back up just a couple inches.

So you seek it out instead, the lower part of your body clearly not listening to a damn thing your mind tells it right now.  Your hips drop and his velvet tongue catches your clit at the apex of its repetitive motion, and you gasp and rock upwards again as Poe groans and immediately rises with you to chase it.  He attaches to the swollen flesh and sucks at it gently for you, following your lead, letting your wet fingers comb his hair back from his face and clutch a good fistful of it as you plant your feet and slowly grind up into his mouth.

Fuck.  He was right.  You needed this.  Everything about it is heaven—endorphins pour off you in waves as you roll your hips against his face, and he lets you do it.  He’s not just pliant, he’s willing.  His tongue works diligently, his eyes close and he moans into your pussy, allowing you to tug his hair and fit to his mouth exactly how you want.

Oh, everything burns.  Everything smolders and sparks, because he’s always been so withholding and now he’s just going for it.  He’s reading your mind better than he did during the battle today, not necessarily submissive in his approach but… servicing.  Accommodating.  Finally giving in and putting real effort into helping you chase after another shot of ecstasy without being so stingy about it like before.

As soon as you feel another familiar swell of something deep down, your mouth is suddenly dropping open.

“How many—” your ragged voice comes out without thinking, and it takes so fucking long to actually attach the train of thought to its conduit of translation.  You swallow thickly and flex your fingers in his hair, tugging at him to ground yourself, trying to anchor yourself to the very thing that’s about to fling you into oblivion again.  “—fuck, how many times did you… how many fr-freebies do I—do I…”

Poe eases his chin back just enough to respond, and the slick sound his tongue makes leaving your clit makes you shudder and miss the wretched words at first.  “Mm.  Just the one.”

And then his tongue is already sliding back through your pussy by the time your eyes pop open in immediate panic, and your clit is in his mouth again as soon as yours drops to frantically contest.

But the words aren’t coming, it feels too fucking amazing.  Your jaw goes slack and your fingers tighten in his hair.  Maker almighty, the orgasm swells up so sharp and quick that you have to fucking kick him at the very last second to get away from it.  Thankfully Poe’s mouth abruptly leaves you with his oof of shock at your audacity, lifting his head as you snap your legs together and grit your teeth through your miserable retreat from ecstasy.  You don’t even notice the way your knee almost knocks into his jaw with it—you just focus on shamefully easing your way back down again from the platform overlooking bliss like you’re too afraid of the high-dive.  After a second, you actually have to turn on your side and rock yourself like a child as Poe slowly sits up with a grimace, lifting his arm to rub at his ribcage where your heel slammed into him.

You peek an eye open to watch him do it and oh no, it’s not a good plan.  He’s so… fucking hot.  Fuck.  He’s unbelievably good-looking—his hair curls and frames such handsome features, his body is lovely and warm and seeing his chest bare and up close like this makes you want to reach out and slowly drag your hand down the smooth curve of his side.  But then your gaze catches on the dark sweatpants tented shamelessly between his legs and how he’s glistening with perspiration, too, and how he tugs at the fabric covering his crotch and sighs softly, blinking down at you slow and intoxicated with lust.

You have to close your eyes and bury your face into the pillow because your body is latching onto anything to keep you within inches of that edge.  The mere sight of him is enough to make you worry for yourself.  You take deep breaths and do your best to tune his existence out entirely.  Just you, just you in your bed, trying desperately not to cum without even touching yourself.  You’re naked and curled up and there's no one here to look down at you with deep brown eyes, no one else breathing and especially not equally as loud as you are.  Just you, just you.

And, just when you think you might finally get to the point where you’re not teetering anymore, where you’re at least mostly certain that moving around and looking at things and just existing in general isn’t going to make you completely unravel hands-free at any moment, he has to fucking… go and be himself.

You peek up to see him staring down at you, dark and intimate and devouring, before his hand gently brushes down the curve of your hip.  “Maker, you are so fucking hot right now.  Was that a close one, pretty baby?”

Your hand snaps out to grab his wrist with a whimper and you don’t know if your intent is to stop him or just hang on for dear life, but your grip is weak and you shake and Poe takes the opportunity to grab a handful of your ass while you do absolutely fuck all to stop him.

“Mmmm.  Open your legs,” he murmurs, releasing your flesh just to give it a soft smack.  “You’re only making it worse like this.”

“What?  W-What do you—” you stammer, but Poe drags his hand down your thigh to catch one of your knees and pull it up without waiting for your babbled reply.  Both knees go with him, your pelvis wound too tight and frozen to do anything but rotate your whole entire body on your tailbone.

“You’re just adding more pressure by keeping them closed,” he explains, wiggling his fingers in between your knees to try and get enough of a grip to pry them apart.  “C’mon—open your legs, let yourself breathe.”

“Nnnnnnstop talking,” you groan, trying to slap at him, but he’s strong enough to force the movement regardless, levering your knees apart and then pushing them tight to the mattress.  And, though he would normally be right about it, you’re fighting your mind to get away from the orgasm just as much as you are your body.  The sudden exposure and the positioning and the way he automatically drops his gaze down at your needy pussy with his cock still hidden in his pants like that only serves to displace the cause instead of eliminating the effect.  Closing the door and opening a window, shifting the stimulation somewhere else but allowing it to throb steady and aching regardless.

“Much better,” he sighs lowly, digging his fingers into the sore muscles inside your thighs and you just keep your hands loosely attached to his wrists as he works.  “Fuck me, baby’s got such a pretty pussy doesn’t she?”

“Poe,” you wheeze up at him, hearing him rumble at the sight of your cunt contracting around nothing, probably shining and glistening with your desperation for him.  By this point, you’re worrying again.  You have no doubt whatsoever that he could talk you into cumming just like this, with your hands trembling and clutching at his wrists.  If he keeps murmuring filth while holding your legs open and staring at your pussy like this, you have no doubt you’ll find a way to get there somehow.

Thankfully, he seems to understand.  He goes quiet and just keeps massaging your sore muscles while you try not to writhe underneath him.  Stars, it’s like he’s genuinely doing what he can to take it easy on you and you’re still all kinds of fucked up about it, still frantic and desperate while all he’s doing is just squeezing your legs.

“Calm down,” he gruffs, but you can’t.  “You’re working yourself up, don’t—”

“Stop talki—” your ragged growl is cut off by your own hiccup as you quickly find the strength to shove at his hands, knowing they’re at least mostly to blame for your prolonged tightrope walk.  You can’t fucking think when he’s touching you, you become too hyper-aware of your own body, it feels too good in a way that’s hard to describe and impossible to explain.  Poe’s palms immediately listen and raise in front of him in surrender, his back lifting to give you space while you hide your face from him with shaky hands and gasp.  It’s pathetic and your legs are still held wide open and your fingers tremble hard enough to resemble a malfunction.

You just.  You need a hard reset.  You need that thirty seconds of complete idle, of figuring shit out on your own without an electric current running through you before you can start working properly again.  It can’t be rushed, it’s necessary when most people just want to power down and then right back up again.  The wires connecting your parts are all criss-crossed and tangled and sparks are lighting up at the slightest stimulus, you just need to experience absolutely nothing for thir—

“I’m sorry,” Poe murmurs, still staying in his own space but the gravelly voice shooting a bolt of lightning down your spine.  Thirty seconds, of course he couldn’t give you thirty fucking seconds.  “Fuck, you’re so hot, I’m sorry—”

“Please stop talking,” you beg him, your fingers curling against your face, “Maker, I—I don’t want to cum—”

“Fuck, I know, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucki—”

You go to kick him again and even though it collides wrong and does nothing more than get your message across, the jostle is enough to knock you back from the approaching oblivion just slightly.  It serves to wake you up way more than it remotely hurts him, the equivalent of someone just smacking a piece of machinery and fixing the problem temporarily.

You heave an enormous breath and blink your eyes open behind your fingers, immediately locking with his.  Poe’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip but he’s mercifully silent, even when you drop your shaky hands down to your spread thighs and stay equally silent another full minute while you make the effort to right yourself.  After awhile though, you realize he must be taking cues from you, waiting for you to speak.

Only, you suddenly don’t know what to say.  You’re at a complete loss, looking up at him through your eyelashes in uncertainty now.  Something you’ve never been around him, even as your pussy is wide open for him to look at.  He hasn’t recently, though, you don’t think.  He’s just keeping his eyes on your face, watching you bite your lip and blink up at him while your mind whirls, the only sound that can be heard is the radio continuing to lull from the bottom bunk.

You wish he’d say something.  How come he’s choosing right now to listen to what you tell him to do?  You don’t… you don’t know what to say to him.  Why can’t you figure out something?  You fidget but then suddenly feel your expression lose all its struggle and just look… innocent.  Needing his help.

“Do you want me to leave?”  Poe eventually asks after another moment, tentative of breaking the silence, and you frantically shake your head before he’s even finished speaking.  Fuck, something drops in your stomach at how desperate you’re probably coming off right now, but you’re so lost and you know that’s at least one question you know the immediate answer to.

Poe tilts his head thoughtfully, slowly reaching a hand towards your thigh without removing his eyes from yours.  “Want me to make you cum again?”

You shake your head again, wide-eyed and worried.  He immediately pulls his hand back and blinks slowly at you.

“You want to be edged more?”  He asks lowly, and you shake your head vehemently for the third time.  Poe sighs and sits back, planting his palms to his thighs and pulling at the fabric of his pants in budding frustration, clearly tired of playing twenty questions.  “Well what do you want, baby?  You wanna just hang out?  That’s fine, I don’t care, but you gotta tell me.”

Fuck, he’s right, what do you want?  The only thing that’s standing in your way of feeling better, you soon realize.

“Want you to cum first,” you mumble, cheeks warming at how childish you sound.

“Not a fucking chance,” Poe immediately scoffs, crossing his arms over his bare chest.  “And pouting at me isn’t gonna help.”

“Why not?”  You breathe, dipping your gaze down his body.  “I can use my mouth.”

“I don’t—” he stops short, suddenly registering what you said and switching gears.  “You can—?”  Poe narrows his eyebrows and looks suspicious.  “You’ll let me… cum in it?”

“Okay,” you whisper in breathless agreement, sitting up and reaching for him, but Poe groans and pushes you back down on the mattress with a flattened palm against your shoulder like you just aced a test he was hoping you’d fail.

“Fuck whoever’s idea this was,” he grits darkly to himself while you arch up against his hold, wanting him to grab your tits but knowing it’s not a good idea right now.  “Maker, I’m so fucking hard—fuck whoever’s idea this was, making me turn that down—”

“You said,” you pant, licking your dry lips and blinking up at the ceiling, trying to control yourself, “before, you said that you’re… you’re not doing this for a bet, right?  So why not?”  Your voice goes softer when you flutter your gaze back at him, even though the accusation feels like it should be sharper if anything, since it comes from a very real place of distrust.  “Were you just… lying to me about that?”

“Fuck, come on,” Poe groans, his voice starting to waver as he shakes his head and squints one eye at you, exasperated.  “You don’t get it.  You can’t think of a single fucking reason I don’t wanna blow my load just yet?  Really?”

The sentence coupled with his rock solid hold on you skitters a thrill through your body and you automatically reach up to run your hand along his forearm.  He looks down at the caress and then back to your face and fuck, even you feel like you’re sending mixed signals right now.

“You could… fuck me,” you whisper, and Poe’s dark eyebrows pull up as his gaze falls down your naked body, nodding and digging his teeth into his bottom lip.  An agreement backed by so much unspoken desire that it looks like it almost hurts him just to hear you say it out loud.  “And we can just… see who cums first.”

“Yeah?”  He croaks, his eyes pinned between your open legs.  “Just say fuck it all and race for last place?  Okay.”

Your heart pounds, having just enough wherewithal to preemptively establish a safety net for yourself.  “And—and we can’t finish at the same time or we both lose.”

“Fuck,” Poe groans, reaching down to catch the hem of his sweatpants with his thumb and lifting his hips until his cock is exposed to the dim room.  “We can’t stop once we start, then, we’ll have to see it through.”

Except you don’t catch any of the last part because, uh.  Well, to sum up.  May the Maker have mercy on you all.

Just like that, the only thought in your mind is… you get it.  Okay, you get it.  He told you before that girls were only interested in him for his cock, and it actually… stars, it makes so much fucking sense now, you totally get it.  You thought maybe he was just boasting as a form of overcompensation at first—or, to put it another way you’ve probably used in conversation with him before, talking big talk but walking small walk.  Only now, you’re… humbled.  By a fucking dick, you’re humbled.

You haven’t seen more than a few of them in this context, so you know you’re not necessarily qualified to give an informed opinion, but heavens it’s a sight.  It’s thick and swollen and just a shade darker than his complexion and everything inside you rockets to attention as soon as he wraps his hand around it.  It’s big.  It fills his whole palm without much room to spare.  Far larger than what you’re used to, and you know that no matter how he fucks you with it, you’re gonna feel it tomorrow.  Next weekend, probably.

Your eyes must betray you, because Poe suddenly loosens his grip and breathes your name softly, causing you to flick your eyes back up to his.  You didn’t realize you were staring so openly.

“I’ll go slow,” he reassures you quietly, voice gentle and knowing.  The complete lack of sarcasm or aggression in his tone is enough to snap you back to yourself, knowing that can’t possibly be right.  He’s talking to you like he did when you stumbled your ass out of the x-wing today, when you were barely responsive and lost in dumb shock.  He doesn’t have to… be nice to you right now, like you’re still only moments away from losing it.  It’s offensive.

“I can handle it,” you harumph, widening your legs while Poe immediately suppresses a grin.

“'Course you can,” he sighs with the slightest note of fondness creeping into his voice, dropping his hips as he lines up at your entrance.  “And I’ll go slow anyways.”

You open your mouth to respond but at the first push of his head inside, you inhale sharply and your palm immediately shoots out to press against his chest on complete instinct.  The stab of pain is impossible to mask from your features and Poe instantly stops with a shaky breath, watching how your jaw drops at the intrusion and your face contorts.

“Ahh.  Shit…” he whispers as his head tips down, dark eyes clamping shut and his hold on you tightening.  “What—shit, what the fuck…”

“Keep going,” you growl out, even though you know you’re just making it more difficult on yourself.  You can take Poe’s cock, you can take it, he has absolutely nothing to brag about, it’s completely normal-sized—

His hips inch forwards and you gasp at the excruciating arc of sensation, slapping at him harder.

“Keep going,” you babble while locking your elbows and shoving him back, “fuck, keep going, keep going—”

“Baby,” Poe groans, wrenching one of your hands from his chest and bringing your wrist up to his mouth to kiss and breathe hot air on it, “baby, you gotta let me—”

He moves a little more and you cry out, jerking your hand back from his lips and knocking it hard against his chest before you even realize it.  Oh shit, you can’t handle it, you haven’t been fucked in so long—

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, trying to be nicer by flattening your palm but then immediately digging your nails in, “fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s been awhile since I—”

“Shit, I can tell,” he pants brokenly, his fingers dropping back down to flex hard on your hip.  “Hoooolyfuck, I can te—ah, fuck, it’s alright, it’s alright, just—nnnnnnshit, okay, just relax, don’t tense up too muuuh… much—”

His cock pushes deeper even as he keeps rambling through it and you feel yourself being rearranged to make room for the slow movement, giving way to a rich pleasure even as the discomfort increases.

Poe stops once more when your hands shove up against him, somehow simultaneously shakier and firmer than all the other times put together and a little more than half of him inside you at this point.  You’re so slick and hot between your legs that there’s no resistance besides the stretch, nothing to stop him from slamming home besides your weak hands trembling at his collarbone, but everything about the way he stays completely frozen for ages says he’s controlled and patient.

Everything except his face, you soon realize.

When your body is finally able to come to terms with the sensation and you blink up at him, Poe isn’t looking at you anymore.  He’s staring directly over your head at the wall, tangible regret manifesting itself in seething frustration marring his expression.  His eyebrows furrow and he scowls but all of it is silent and directed at himself, as if he’s asking why the fuck he actually agreed to do this.  You know then that it must be really fucking wet.  You know then that you must be just blazing hot and tighter than sin and as if in rhythmic agreement, his cock jumps inside you with each pounding rush of blood through it.  You can see the sweat beading at his hairline as he continues to ignore you for the moment, choosing instead to silently lament at the wall like it did something to mortally betray him.

You could… make this a sprint, something devious suddenly whispers to you.  He’s struggling through the pleasure and you can outlast.  From the severity of that look alone, you can put an end to it before it even starts.

Admittedly, you don’t even let the devil finish his damn sentence before you decide to take your own initiative.  You clamp down around him as hard as you can and Poe whips his attention down to you and punches out a curse that sounds like you wrenched the word from his throat before he was anywhere near ready for it.  It comes from somewhere high and defenseless in register and then quickly falls down into a growly pit as his hips automatically lurch forwards the rest of the way inside, hard, smacking into yours as you squeeze wickedly around him.

You keep squeezing through the sudden upward shove of bliss, you keep tightening up even though you’re making agonizing noises and your eyes clamp shut and it hurts.  But stars, it feels good, why does it feel so good when it hurts so bad?  It makes your throat scrape and your face twist up, but you can hear his cursing getting louder and more desperate so you still don’t relax your viselike hold around him.

“Stop it—” he snarls down at you rabidly, “—oh fuck, stop or you’ll make us both cu—”

Shit, he’s right.  You know he’s never been more right about anything as soon as his hips stutter and kick up to a full blown gallop in the middle of his furious scolding, and the sudden build of ecstasy is so fast and intense that you sob his name, not being able to loosen your muscles anymore as soon as it overtakes you.  But it’s like a closed circuit, you’re both recycling the same pleasure without knowing how to shut it off.  The harder you bear down on him, the faster his hips work, the vicious cycle compounding and circling and manifesting in the perfect typhoon within just a few tumultuous seconds.

But then suddenly he rips himself out of you with a gasp and it’s not a moment too soon, because both of you have to scramble and grab onto things to brace yourselves through the worst of it.  You choose the mattress and he chooses the railing, and through the searing discomfort and settling of the chaos that’s becoming more and more familiar to you as this exhausting day passes, you know you fucked up.  You underestimate his self control, time and time again.  But, exactly like earlier today, you feel a thrill skitter up your spine at how he’s going to respond to your brazen treachery in the face of a newly established truce.

“Fuck,” he jerks his head to spit the obscenity at you, sounding more pissed off than you’ve ever heard him, the shredded anger in his voice starting to burn through you.  “Fuckfuckfuuuuck—you make me so mad.  You make me so mad.  I wish I could fuck you right now, on Maker, I’d ruin you.  I’d wreck your shit until you learn and you’d deserve every single fucking second of it, you—”

He stops short and growls jagged sharp in frustration, but you can’t help yourself.

“Say it,” you whimper on a dare, feeling your heart pound.  The words quiver with an inexplicable sort of excitement as you dig your fingers into the mattress, wanting to hear his voice snarl the mysterious profanity.  “Say it.  ‘You…’—what?  Say it.”

Shock suddenly paints his previously tense expression blank, even though his pupils blow out and his chest heaves.  Your voice is too breathless, it’s too needy to sound nearly as antagonistic as you want.  

And then Maker, it’s as if the sheer control he’s clinging to serves to spark his vexation even more.  Mad that you would ask for something so enticing at a moment like this.  Your heart thunders as Poe nearly flashes up close to you and points a threatening finger at you.

“You’re not going to get what you want from me,” he snaps, quiet and furious.  “Not tonight.  I don’t give a shit, I told you I’d slow fuck you and now I’m gonna do it until you act right.”

“You’re an asshole—” you move to lift up onto your elbows, but his hand suddenly plants against your clavicle and shoves you back down flat on the mattress.

“Not even ten minutes after I make you cum and you’ve already got a fucking attitude problem again,” he shoots back, positioning his cock at your entrance with his other hand once more, and Maker you’re drowning between your legs.  His sharp rebuttal and the firm hold on the upper part of your chest makes it that much wetter, knowing you can’t do much more than lift your legs the way you need when he eases his way back inside.  

“P-Poe—” you gasp breathlessly, but it's like he doesn’t hear you.

His expression tenses and he shudders out a low growl.  “Fuck.  Tight little baby.  Rude little baby, just wants everything her way but doesn’t know how to behave herself.”

You have to bite your lip hard to hold back a whine when he’s completely sheathed and his hips connect to yours, and… shit.  You already feel it.  You already feel that simmering starting to take hold deep down once more, that monstrous second orgasm you’ve been fighting now digging its claws into you and licking the base of your spine with fire.  And, as if he can tell, his demeanor instantly changes.

“Uh, oh,” Poe murmurs quietly, equal parts lilting and baiting, slowly dragging his cock out and then starting up the laziest pace you’ve ever experienced with his hand still planted high on your sternum right below your collarbone.  “Can you feel it coming?  Fuck, I can,” he shudders.  “Already.  Fuck, you’re so wet, you’re so wet—wish you had let me eat you out mor—”

“You can’t c—umm,” you hiccup, grasping his wrist and writhing through the building ecstasy, and you don’t know who you’re talking to at this point.  Your other palm slaps at his shoulder with increasing urgency—fuck, he’s been fucking you for barely ten seconds and you’re already struggling to hold everything back.  Only, his hand quickly grabs yours and pins it to the mattress, his face dropping closer as he rolls his hips achingly slow.  You feel his back working with the steady pace, you see his neck flex as his cock drags so thick inside you, and then your gaze starts to lose focus a bit.  It slides up his throat as lazily as he’s augmenting your pleasure, following the contour of his smooth skin until it reaches his face.

And mercy, Poe’s tongue comes out to wet his lips and a dark curl hangs down his forehead, concentrating hard on fucking you steadily without giving into the same creeping euphoria you’re feeling, and you have to turn away and bite back a whimper at the metal railing when the image starts to burn you alive.

“No,” Poe gruffs and his hand slides up a few inches to frame your jaw, twisting until you face him directly once more.  “Right here, you stay right here with me.”

Your eyebrows pull up weakly and your eyes flick across his stunning features, the way he’s so present, so focused and determined while you’re starting to drift.  His skin is so smooth, so golden when his jawline used to be dark, and—

“I—” you choke, starting to lose it, “—I-I…”

“What is it, baby?”  Poe growls, staring down at you with unwavering, intense concentration.  “Tell me.  You gonna cum?”

“I…” you whimper, blinking at him slowly, “I… liked your… b-beard…”

Poe’s eyes, previously hardened and steadfast, suddenly go a bit dumb, a bit dazed.  After a second, his eyebrows lose all strain, his gaze turns warmer and he rolls his hips deeper—

But the swell begins to become the only thing you can comprehend—that and the fact that you should be fighting it.  You should be revolting against it, but now he’s looking so softly down at you and you can’t remember what could possibly be so bad about letting him take away all this ache and desperation again.  Let him continue to take it away, over and over and over until it’s nowhere to be found at all.

And then Poe leans down and kisses you.  And it’s… nothing like you’d expect.

It’s gentle.  It’s tender.  It goes on forever while he rocks into your soaking wet cunt, easing his throbbing cock in and out of you with such a smooth, repetitive motion that sends sparks of ecstasy down your spine at the apex of each thrust.  

You handle it silently.  At first.  You don’t audibly react to any of it, you force your voice to at least keep quiet if you can’t hide the pleasure from your face or body, but then true to fucking form, he has to go and ruin it all.  Poe uses his knees to scoot up just the slightest bit, and then his moan breaks through the absence of the desperate sounds you’ve been holding back as his tongue slowly slides into your mouth.

Your pussy flares, contracting painfully around his cock as it hits a spot that makes your legs shake against his sides.  Your eyes roll back as his soft tongue dips into your mouth and everything just gets tighter, and tighter.  Poe moans again and his hips push a little bit harder into yours on the next thrust, and it’s almost like a domino effect, except that doesn’t do it justice.  It doesn’t topple one by one, it doesn’t take any time at all for the beginning to reach the finish—it’s a house of cards, the whole thing collapses and crashes down in on itself all at once.

You cum.

You lose.  Fair and square.

You make a long, anguished whine into his mouth as you just start spasming, clutching hard at his shoulders and drenching his cock with it, your eyes squeezing shut as you cum so slow and fucking helpless around him.  Oh Maker, it’s fucking devastating, it feels even more destructive and powerful than the first one.  You pull and shove and claw at him equally, mouth slack as Poe tightens his hold and keeps tasting your whimpering cries, fitting his hips snug to yours as he slowly pushes you down through the debilitating ecstasy.  You sob in euphoric defeat and a low, bone-shattering groan of satisfaction rumbles through his chest in response, grinding his cock into you and holding it deep as your pussy convulses.

All those weeks of holding out, just to lose.  You had a freebie, he gave you an orgasm already and it was like a massive dose of spice to your deprived system—all it did was make your body want it more.  Even worse, your orgasm doesn’t immediately inspire one in Poe like a part of you hoped it would, if only so you could reasonably contest the validity of the outcome.  He’s able to ride out every twitch and flex as you shudder your way through it, continuing to lazily slide his tongue into your mouth while it’s held open and slack.  He tastes like you.  He tastes hot and slick and everything about your body feels the same way, damp and unbearably warm from your nape to your elbows to your cunt to the backs of your knees.

You lay there for what feels like a lifetime afterwards, powerless to the way your thighs tremble violently against his hips and letting the tip of his tongue slowly trace the bottom edge of your teeth while he firmly keeps his cock buried inside you.  It pulses thickly and you know he wants to cum, you can feel the tension pulling at his shoulders as he keeps perfectly still.  But then Poe shuffles his arms up until they’re braced around your head, using himself to box you in completely without moving his lips from yours.  His teeth close on your bottom lip as he inches his hard cock out long and aching from your sensitive channel, and then groans and goes back to the same exact dragging pace from before.

Your expression furrows, even as he keeps kissing you and the movement lights up your oversensitive nerves.  Fuck, you want him to speed up, it’s all the more shattering and viseral when he takes his time.  What is he doing?  What is he waiting for?

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, demanding a quicker pace.  You don’t know why he isn’t just letting loose on you now, giving into his body’s need to cum.  He’s aching for it, still rock hard inside of you.  “Come on, I already l-lost, just fuck m—”

“Told you before,” Poe whispers back, refusing to speed up.  He keeps his pace dragging and steadfast, no matter how much you work to entice him.  “Never… fuck.  Never gave a fuck about that stupid bet.  Suffer though.”

The complete lack of harshness in his tone sears through your nerve endings even though what he said wasn’t exactly nice.  You never thought hearing him tell you to suck it up could be delivered in a way that inspires so much arousal in you, but then his tongue is in your mouth again as his hips work slow and easy, and your eyes roll back at how… overwhelming it feels.  So intimate.  You’re completely surrounded by him, his forearms propped next to your head and his mouth on yours, and… Maker, there it is again.  Your body is so deprived that it’s already gearing up to go again.  He’s being lazy and you can’t fucking stand how it’s breaking you down.  Gradually, with incredible stamina and a patience you never expected from him.  When you first feel that pull, part of you still wants to pick up the other end and start a tug-of-war with the sensation.  You’ve been fighting for so long that your body almost doesn’t know any different, its automatic reaction is to resist.

A distraction, that’s what you need.  That’s what guys do to stop themselves from cumming too soon, right?  Fuck, think of something, think of…

—Poe, you can't think of anything but Poe.  Fuck.  His cock sinking deep, the way he tastes, how his fingers thread into the damp hair at your crown so you can feel him that much more, how you can hook his biceps with both hands and swirl your tongue around his while he fucks you open.  Your hips roll up with the pace and almost immediately stutter back down again, not sure if you can handle the wicked shot of oversensitivity—but then Poe groans and shifts up until his thighs are under your ass and he can curl you in more, lift your feet a bit more and make you feel smaller.  And—stars, the next thrust in is enough to nearly make you bite him on complete accident, an unexpected sound ripped from your throat as he keeps that specific angle.

Poe keeps going.  He keeps kissing you, keeps rocking into you.  He lets you claw at him, lets you grapple helplessly while his cock shreds molten hot euphoria deep inside you, and then everything tightens up again.

“Ah, fuck,” Poe breaks away and curses a whole few seconds before you descend into mindless chaos once more, garbling out broken syllables with the absense of his mouth keeping yours occupied.  Your voice crescendos and breaks at the same time you do, the pleasure arcing through you over and over and wringing you out repeatedly around his throbbing cock.  Poe’s lips quickly move forward and give your whole cheek an open kiss while your expression crumples with it.  Teeth drag down your skin as he moans hot air across your skin, his hips slowing to a complete stop with an obscenely slick sound.

You throb and clench around him and his lips are suddenly on yours again, his tongue sinking deep and dominating.  Your mouth is slack and all you can do is squeeze him through the bliss, scrape your fingernails down his back and hope it leaves a mark.

Eventually the tremors pass and you’re dead in the aftermath, you don’t have energy.  Your body is starting to acclimate to the slow orgasms and just let them steamroll you flat, fully accepting now that you can cum but still putting everything you have into it like every single one might be your last for a while.  You come back to yourself enough to feel Poe’s cock solid and achingly hard inside you, and your bottom lip is being tugged between his teeth.

And then he eases out and goes back to fucking you.  Same speed, same control.  

Your eyes nearly fucking cross.  “P-Poe—”

He immediately makes a noise of disapproval with his mouth closed, a nuh-uh but kept tight in his throat.  He doesn’t want to hear it, he’s not even letting you finish your thought.

You can’t take it, though, you didn’t think he was capable of this.  This is torturous in an entirely different way, overstimulating and shattering you with every thrust.

So, you think back to the one thing that got him to nearly snap earlier, the one time you really got to see that fire you love playing with.  Only now, you need that fire, you need him to take everything out on you.  Your floor muscles clamp down without warning and squeeze him as tight as possible, squeeze squeeze squeeze until you feel his hips stutter to a halt once more.  Your breath catches—fuck, is this gonna work?—but then Poe breaks away from your lips to drop his head and sink his teeth into your neck.

You nearly squeal at how careless he is about it—an animal that bites you lazily even though it sends sharp agony rocketing through you.  Again, your attempt at sabotage backfires spectacularly as a subsequent flare of pleasure swells up, and oh, that’s what you want, you want him to be mean—

“Please,” you whimper, hooking your ankles behind his back and locking down hard enough to make your toes curl.  Poe groans as you grab a fistful of his hair and tug at the way your skin pinches between his teeth—you know you’re gonna have a bite mark for a few days and it thrills you.  “Fuck, please, Poe—please just fuck me, please, I want you to fuck me until it hurts, fuck me the way we both nee—”

“You and me almost died today,” Poe grits into your neck, cutting off your desperate whimpers with a short growl.  “Maker, it was so close, I don’t think anybody has any f-fucking…”  His hips pull out and then spear deep and you choke, tightening and tightening.  “But—shit, we didn’t, we lived and now—oh fuck, now baby’s finally letting me fuck her and I’m not cutting it short, no matter how pretty she sounds asking.”

His words sound slurred against your neck and you can’t tell if it’s his delivery or your perception that’s lagging.  But when you feel Poe inch his cock out and start to slowly fuck you through the tightness, you let out a weak little whine and feel yourself drifting… somewhere else.  

Things subtly lose their clarity, your eyelashes dip and you stop talking because words won’t come.  You can’t tell if you’re staring at the ceiling or your eyelids or the back of your head, but Poe’s voice abruptly breaking through the silence makes you realize you don’t have a concept for time anymore.  You couldn’t tell him how long you’ve been floating, but you almost don’t understand what he’s saying at all and it takes you a remarkable delay to fully comprehend.  But judging from what he says, it sounds like it hasn’t been long.

“Shit, are you cumming again?”  He suddenly gasps into the crook of your neck and grinds his hips achingly hard into yours,  “O-Oh—fuck yeah, you are—baby’s cumming again—”

“P-Poe?”  You stutter and smack your hand against something, him maybe, not knowing literally anything else.  Not knowing what he’s talking about, not knowing where you are, not knowing your own name, “Poe—oh m-my… God—”

“Whhh—W-What—?”  You hear him breathe a split second before everything compresses down tight, and then it all shoves forward at once.  All of the buildup makes itself known the very moment it becomes too much to control, like a flash flood but the downpour happened miles away.  You think you might actually squeak this time, helplessly cry out like it hurts because stars, it does.  It hurts so fucking good, it spiders pure plasma through your entire body with rhythmic jolts and wipes your mind completely vacant.  Your shoulders shoot you up and knock your chin into something and you think you might be crying?  You don’t know anymore.  Your spine comes back down to the mattress like the damp fitted sheet covering it is made of pure ice—your body is overheated and you keep tensing and jerking back up until Poe forcefully pins you tight against it, growling filth under his breath as he slow fucks you through it.

You feel his hand dropping down between your bodies and you sob pitifully at the ceiling when the tip of his calloused finger brushes your clit.

***

You lose count.

It’s just… constant, there isn’t a point in keeping track anymore even if there happened to be the ability—which, nope.  Not even close.

He ruins you slowly.  Meticulously, with nothing more than steady, unwavering determination.  Every structure you built, he takes apart by hand instead of bulldozing it the way you beg him to when you find the words.  You’re certain you find them—you must find them at some point, but they’re interspaced between babbled gibberish and breathy whispers of his name.

Even though it’s slow—Maker, it’s so slow—you’ve never been so fucking exhausted.  He makes you give him everything and then he drains the reserves, the hidden ones you weren’t even aware existed.  He never goes fast enough; in fact, you think he’s actually slowed down over the unknown amount of time it’s been since you first called out his name and asked for this.  If you were in a frame of mind to notice, you’d probably realize he’s trying harder and harder to not cum, but in your wild headspace, it just feels like a prolonged punishment for you.  It still feels like he’s depriving you for his own pleasure, even though he’s actually depriving himself for yours.  But you always do manage to find some way to read things wrong with him.

Eventually, he begins to waver.  He stops talking so much, stops chastising you when you plead with him.  He hasn’t looked at you since he first kissed you—he’s either hidden his face in your neck or closed his eyes as his soft tongue slides across your bottom lip before dipping inside.

But then there comes a point where even you realize he’s struggling not to let go now, and in your faded traces of sanity, you hear your broken voice cut through the sounds of the soft radio.

“Y-Y-You—” you gasp, trembling under him, “—youneedtocum.  You need to—”

“No,” Poe grits against your chin, sounding shaky and weak no matter how sharp he makes his consonants.  “Fuck, not yet, I—I-I don’t want to yet.”

“Oh no,” you wheeze out, feeling the swell begin again, the familiar flicker of warning you get as his cock slowly rocks into you.  Maker, the pleasure is getting raw and painful even as your pussy is drowning his cock with it, allowing him to glide slow and deep into your sensitive channel and letting the sheer tightness of it be the only resistance your body puts up.  You can feel the wetness on your cheeks though, the tears of frustration gathering as your body prepares itself for yet another wave of attack.  “Oh no, ohhhhhnononononono—”

“I don’t want—” Poe gasps, his hips stuttering just a bit and one of his hands coming down to smack the pillow next to your head as he chokes, “—don’t want this to… e-end yet, I—”

Your next orgasm suddenly slams through you and Poe immediately rips himself out of you before it’s too late.  He shushes you frantically while you sob in distress and writhe side to side through the contractions solo this time, having nothing to clamp down on, not even able to grind up into him because he keeps his leaking cock elevated far beyond your reach.

Oh, that’s it.  That is it.

“Fuck me!”  You wail up at him, water blurring your vision and tears streaming down your cheeks, “Stop fucking around and just fuck me, you asshole!  Fuck me and fuck me hard Dameron or I swear to every fucking star in the sk—”

You don’t get too far.  He’s immediately scrambling over top of you and a strong hand is clamping down tight over your mouth, muffling your high-pitched cries against his palm.  Your legs are shoved apart and one is caught under his arm and wedged back as far as it can go.  His head drops to your neck, and then he snarls a ragged, “Brat—“ under your ear before ramming his cock back inside you.

Stars.  Stars light up, it’s so much—the angle, the force, the speed, the sound his hips make as they start ruthlessly colliding with yours.  Your eyes screw shut and you dig your nails into the meat of his back, but he doesn’t slow down—he speeds up—

“Fuck, you still think that throwing your little fucking fits works on me?”  He hisses, drilling into your g-spot with such blinding hard precision that you can’t do anything more than just claw at his chest, gasping for air that just won’t come into your lungs.  “Huh?  Think you can just be a little bitch to me about it and it’s gonna change anything?  You still don’t have any fucking idea, do you?  Look at me—” he snarls, grabbing your face and shaking it to get you to respond, “—look at what you fucking do to me—”

But you can’t.  You already came countless times and he’s lurching you up the bed with every single rabid thrust into your blindingly sensitive cunt, fucking you into the railing and then the wall behind it.  You still feel his fingers grasping at your jaw, forcing you to address him, to look at him, and you can’t seem to focus your vision on his blurry features even when your eyes flutter open.  You’re too dumb with grinding pleasure to see anything besides blurs and stars, to say literally anything back to him.  But that’s not what he cares about.

“Oh fuck yes, there it is,” his voice whines, pitching up something vulnerable as his hips ram you into the corner hard and unyielding, “fuck, there’s those pretty eyes, that’s what I wanted, baby, that’s all I wanted—th-that’s—fuck, that’s—”

They must cross, or roll back, or something, because suddenly you can’t see him at all anymore.  You don’t know what happens—but you know it’s wet.  You know it bursts forth something fierce and you shriek his name with a hoarse and shredded voice like he steals the last part of your whole fucking soul with it.  Fuck, you’re not even there for most of it, you might actually black out.  

In your conscious moments, you can feel his whole body flexing over and over again on top of you.  He empties his load deep inside you and takes a fucking eternity doing it, so many breathless praises leaving his mouth so quickly that they slur together and you can’t understand any of it even if you could hear him.  All you can do is feel your cunt tighten and convulse in tandem with the throbbing of his cock, rhythmically working the cum out of him until Poe stops stuttering his hips, until he finally trails off into nothing but labored gasps and slumps down on top of you in exhaustion.

You both lay there for a while, dead weight breathing.

You want to hold him, your cum-struck mind quietly provides in the comedown.  You want to feel his body now that you can finally think straight and take a moment to enjoy this blissful relief.  He fucked you so good and you want to touch him, you want to run your fingers through his hair and massage the tight muscles at the base of his neck.

But then you just start giggling.

It’s stupid.  It’s so fucking stupid.  You smack your hand over your mouth but the garbled noise easily floats beyond it, completely elated and having absolutely no explanation at all.

Poe quickly pulls his head back to look at you and you try to twist sideways under him to hide it, but you can’t stop—like a complete loon, you snort and start to laugh harder at the ridiculous sound.  Oh, you don’t just float, you’re the air itself, so light with endorphins that you close your eyes and get lost in the fit until water wets the outside corners.

After a moment, a hand gently grasps your wrist and slowly pulls it down until he can see the way your mouth opens as you giggle, hear it unobstructed and let the sound bubble up at him and fill the room.  And you blink your eyes open just in time to see him slowly break into the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen him bestow a person.

And… you’ve seen him grin a million times.  He’s almost always smiling, as long as you’re not right in front of him.  He smiles at his squadmates, he smiles at girls, he smiles at complete strangers, and you always thought it was pretty.  Always knew that he could light up a room with it, you always knew he could get anything he wanted with it, but this… this isn’t that kind of smile.  That one is practiced and alluring.  It wasn’t fake, necessarily, but that smile’s purpose always had more to do with making anyone who happens to witness it feel a certain way than it did about signifying his own emotional state.

This one is… goofy.  Amazed, and uncoordinated.  Thunderstruck in a way, except the clouds all part at the same time and let you see a rainbow.  It makes you feel… alive.  Colorful.  Radiant.  Sunshine.  Butterflies.

Poe quickly drops his lips to catch yours and you moan happily, sliding your tongue into his mouth this time.  You both adjust, you arch into him as he pushes your damp hair back and makes a deep noise of satisfaction, letting you explore while he wraps his arms around you and finds a way to make this atrocious position comfortable.  Every part of you is smushed up against him and there’s absolutely no space to be found, and you’ve never been happier.

“We made a mess,” he groans against your lips, rocking his hips into you with a disgustingly slick sound as if to illustrate, and his cock is soft but it’s still so thick that it stays buried inside your sloppy entrance.  “Shit, I—I think I might be bleeding.”

“What?”  You ask breathily, and he heaves himself up with his elbows just enough to reveal his chest.  You both tuck your chins unattractively to look and you don’t immediately see any blood, but your claw marks are clearly red and visible scraping down his pectorals.  “Oh.  Pfft.  You’re fine.”

He drops back down with a huff and your head is tilted at the perfect angle catch on the tiny droplets of blood decorating the marks criss-crossing his shoulder blades.  Oops.

But he’s already kissing up your neck and over the curve of your jaw and making out with you again like he can’t get enough of it, and you forget.  You forget everything.  You forget every disagreement, every gripe with him you’ve ever had.  It’s all wiped away and replaced with giddy, childish adoration.  Resetting completely and starting off on the rightest foot imaginable.

“Let’s go to my bed,” he murmurs, and you make a tight noise of disapproval.  No.  This is good, this is how you want to stay.  The railing is digging into your lower back and he’s heavy but you’re perfect like this, this is perfect.  “Baby,” Poe pants against your lips in exasperation when you quickly clutch the back of his neck and keep him glued to you, “mmph—you got everything all wet—”

This time you make a low hum of agreement and drag your hand down the bare curve of his spine to his ass to give it a squeeze.  A testament to how hard and raw he fucked you.  Poe shudders hard enough for you to feel his body tremble but you just kiss him harder, pulling him down onto you more.

“You’re gonna have to give me, just like—I don’t know, at least an hour or two,” he chuckles, grabbing your hands to make it easier to peel himself from your body and groaning when his cock finally slips out.  “Come on, let’s hang out in my bed.”

You’re so boneless when he pulls you to sit upright, you roll a little bit and Poe has to catch you, and you laugh again.  Maker, you’re a complete mess and absolutely delighted about it.  Your attempts at grumbling and complaining don’t hold any sway when you’re still trying not to giggle, and Poe is able to pull you to the top of the ladder and make his way down first.

As soon as he’s out of sight and calling up to you, you weakly slide into position with a groan and feel yourself leaking at the movement.  “Gah—look what you did.  I’m all… gooey.”

“I know, s’the hottest fucking thing,” he says under his breath from the floor, before beckoning you by tapping on the closest rung a few times.  “Come on, be careful.”

You do as he says, easing your naked body down one step at a time with wobbly legs.  It’s clumsy and you whine the whole way through, wordlessly grousing and mumbling.

“Oh, I just know it,” he comments on the sound, “nice clean sheets, I’ll get the violin.”

Normally, you probably would’ve snarked something back down at him, but you’re still so loopy and shaky-legged that you just start laughing again.  The fact that he’s absolutely right and you’re being ridiculous about something like moving beds suddenly strikes you as incredibly fucking funny for some reason.  You don’t realize his hands are hovering inches away from your hips until your legs buckle and Poe quickly supports your weight.

“Maker,” Poe chuckles before giving you a firm yank, and then catching you before you can tumble down the ladder in your naked, teary-eyed mania, “let’s go, giggles.”

He carries you a few steps to the mattress and plops you down on top of the comforter, letting you take up the whole bed while he sits on the end and puts your feet on his lap.  Poe grimaces for a second and then shuffles until the radio is pulled out from under him, and you can hear the soft sound of it playing once again.  You bury your face into his pillow, inhaling the warm scent lingering there while he tosses it carelessly to the side and rubs your shins for a little bit, watching you stretch out naked on his mattress.  

“I’m not giving you two weeks of pay,” you suddenly grunt, and he just grins down at you, not arguing.  Not saying anything.  Sitting in comfortable silence with you when you’re expecting him to bicker.  So you stay like that for a long time, breathing deep and relaxing, until Poe’s hands leave you for a second…

… to pull a bag of chips out.

Maker, at the first squeaky sound of the wrapping assaulting your eardrums, you want to roll your eyes.  You want to tease him about how fucking typical it is.  Like clockwork, you could probably set your watch to his middle of the night cravings.  You don’t know why you thought fucking him would change any of that.

You want to give him shit for it.  You even open your mouth, the snark on the very tip of your tongue.  But then your stomach growls as soon as he rips the thin plastic apart.

Poe’s eyes shoot to yours and neither one of you move, but apparently your tummy doesn’t get the memo.  It takes forever to trail off into silence again, and he blinks.  Fuck, you know you should’ve forced yourself to eat at least something earlier.  Warmth floods your cheeks and you scramble for something to say, but there’s no way to play it off.

“Would you like some chips?”  Poe suddenly asks with a boyish grin, raising his eyebrows and tipping the open bag freely in your direction.

The corners of your mouth pull downwards even as the inside of it waters.  You wouldn’t call it stubbornness necessarily as much as it is a… a desire to stick to consistency.  After the unbelievably hard time you always give him about midnight snacking, you’re hesitant to partake.

Though, the chips rustle against each other and sound absolutely fucking delicious as Poe shakes the bag and bounces his eyebrows, and you know what?  Fuck it.

You snatch it without thinking, cradling the precious food to your chest as you dig your whole hand in and shove a bunch into your mouth at once.  You catch him smiling again, but he doesn’t comment.

You both take turns, and by take turns you obviously mean you take turns stealing the bag from each other instead of just setting it equidistant between you and openly agreeing to share it, but it works for you.  It seems appropriate.  And then it’s quiet again, just munching and crinkling, except for the radio continuing to play from its place in his lap.  You have to work to listen over the loud crunching vibrating through your skull, but when you finally manage to stop chewing and catch a few bars, you suddenly find yourself trying not to smile again.  Fuck, it’s been years since you’ve heard this song, you love this s—

“Fuck, I love this song,” Poe promptly exclaims with his mouth full, licking the tips of his fingers before scrambling to pick the radio up and twist the volume knob without using his wet fingertips.  He starts humming over the melody, loud enough to almost drown it out completely, because of course he does.  The one damn time you actually want to listen to his radio and he still finds some way to mildly irritate you.

But this irritation is almost… fun.  You want to laugh just as much as you want to yell at him.

“Hey, who sings this song?”  You immediately ask over the sound of him clearly not knowing the lyrics, already ready with it.  Oh, the round is in the chamber, your finger is on the trigger, you are ready, and Poe’s eyes sparkle as he seems to stop and think about it.

“Mm, not sure,” he eventually shrugs, just before you rush, “Let’s keep it that—”

And then he’s slapping a hand on your leg and belting out the chorus while you scoff, giggling.  He ruined the punchline on purpose and is now getting chip dust all over you, but you know any complaint you make will be drowned out by his suspended notes and backing track, so you just roll your eyes and swipe the bag of chips from him while he continues to serenade you.

“My ears are bleeding,” you mutter under your breath.

He has a nice voice, you think.

[awee-struck]

ok ok ok i am aware it's a bit late for buzzfeed au ideas B U T....what if the reason Tim believes in ghosts and stuff and starts buzzfeed unsolved supernatural is BECAUSE when jason was a ghost and dead would mess around with Tim as the new robin kinda non-chalantly. like with Bruce in Gotham knights awhile back. (i am aware those mightve been hallucinations i dont remeber well.) but the vibe of that. only problem is he doesnt rlly appear for tim so its just a ghost things happen situation and now hes believer etc. (he doesnt know its jason) so now, present tim and jason todd are hilariously hunting for.....jason todd. AND THEY DINT EVEN KNOW LOL . meanwhile jason the entire time in very much shane fashion is like "that didnt happen. i dont believe in ghosts" when in fact, he was the ghost. sorry if this doesnt make sense

the comic panel i referenced

for you my guy, it's never too late (i'm also extremely honored my crack videos have helped to inspire a whole ass au for you 0.0)

ok ok so i haven't actually read that far into the gotham knights issues eek BUT i think i can get a grip on this wonderful idea......

now i'm imagining ghost jason trying so hard to freak tim out (maybe enough to get the poser to fuck off) but at first it just. doesn't phase him at all. mostly because all jason can manage pulling off are stupid things like blowing tim's cape into his face on a windless night ten times over, or making his computer bug out and crash in the middle of case work (or perhaps cracking tim's door open before he gets back home from patrol, fully geared up,,, you know, just in case a certain dad wants to walk in and check on his "totally not a vigilante" son) BUT all tim has to say about this stuff for a while is "meh should probably sleep more" until jason, purely out of annoyance, starts doing the most stereotypical paranormal activity shit possible like flipping lights on and off or knocking shit over, not even expecting tim to notice because really how can you notice that but not someone rearranging your utility belt everyday? tim goes apeshit, like full on it's always sunny moment with the conspiracy board, the rest of the fam is thinking of staging an intervention. jason eats this up.

and i'm also gonna operate under the assumption that when jason comes back, much like in his death, he's just looking to fuck with tim saying he doesn't believe which,, LOL i love it. in this au i am electing to ignore that jason tried to kill tim because ghost jason had too much fun messing with him (and if he's being honest, being a ghost was scary as shit so the outlet was appreciated) cue a team up for a case or something and tim eventually starts talking about his ghost experience and how it's been oddly absent. and what is jason if not an opportunist, amiright?? long story short jason totally signs himself up for brother bonding time by way of hunting ghosts and riling tim up by saying it's all bs. do u know how many new gadgets they've gotten bruce to reluctantly agree too "because it'll help on patrol" or how many visits to one john constantine (who totally knows what's up btw) they've arranged?? going to supposedly haunted areas in gotham, jason absolutely disregarding any and all advice they've been given and giving tim a fucking heart attack. (not to mention how many of these "investigations" have been interrupted by an actual fucking crime, resulting in a few rumors that robin screams like a girl — he does NOT, thanks so much) meanwhile every actual paranormal case ends up in the lap of literally any other batfam member

wow ok so this got out of hand sorry bout that mfaoooo but in my defense the idea just grabbed me and ran but THANK YOU this is absolutely hysterical and shane and ryan radiate jason and tim energy 100% thank u for coming to my tedtalk

[melancholicillusions]

"Ohh~! So Zuri, you and Vernon have been dating for awhile. What's it like?" Coni chuckled. Bumping her with his arm. Vernon let out an awkward grunt, he didn't mind your relationship going public but he also didn't want every bit out it out there. To be frank you guys were going to go public after your 3year mark, guess not.

Zuri looked around nervously glancing at vernon almost as if she was asking for permission. Before she could speak up for herself Doni commented.

"I was shocked when Dk accidentally revealed your relationship. I never thought I'd see an idol date interracially-"

"And to a black person at that." Coni interrupted.

They chuckled clearly not caring whether or not your feelings were hurt, though Doni jokingly scolded Coni. It was more of a 'don't say that haha' type scold. Everyone else on the other hand either wasn't impressed or let out an awkward laugh quickly looking around the room at Vernon.

"She's mixed though.." Joshua defended you only to be shot down by Doni.

"We were joking, no harm intended!" He chuckled.

They continued to poke fun at Vernon and Zuri. Occasionally flirting with Zuri which wasn't necessarily a problem till Doni started getting touchy. Vernon and the rest of SEVENTEEN stood up for her obviously.

"Zuri, can you twerk?" Coni asked Zuri put her head down whispering "no." Before backing into Seungkwan and making her way to Vernon.

"Hey could you guys cool it.. Please?" S.coups asked

"Yes this is really invasive and rude..." Wonwoo added.

But again they were brushed off by the two host. But their 'joke' about Zuri being sexually active with Dk was cut short when she ran off set with tears in her eyes, Vernon, Mingyu, and Hoshi running after her. While they cut the cameras and the rest of SEVENTEEN scolded Doni and Coni for many reasons.

_________________________

After about ten minutes of the duo not so low key poking fun at Vernon and my relationship and even suggesting that i was cheating on him with DK. I hadn't realized my vision was blurred, though once I did notice it was too late they were running down my face and i found myself running off set.

Mingyu was the first by my side comforting me but because of what was said. I didnt need anyone else being brought into this. I pushed him away from me, afraid that Vernon would have believed them. Not too long after Vernon ran in and everyone else did. Mingyu slid away from me muttering something to Seungcheol, Meanwhile Jeonghan, Dk, and Vernon where by myside.

"Sweetheart, we know you'd never cheat on Vernon." Jeonghan sighed rubbing her back.

"Ya, besides shes in the same group as him." Hoshi said a chuckle leaving his lips. Though he quickly backtracked apologizing after he realized it only made her cry more.

"Really Hoshi?! Wait outside please." Minghao harshly wispered.

"Vernon.. You know we're just friends right.. She's like a sister to me, nothing more. Right?" Seokmin whispered.

"Can Zuri and I have sometime by ourself?" Vernon sighed, waving his members off.

"Ah.. Ya.. Woozi and I will let them know that we wil be leaving earlier than expected.." Chan grabbed his elders hand leading him out of the room with the rest of the members following behind, closing the door behind them.

Zuri didn't even give Vernon a chance to open his mouth. "Its not true.." Zuri muttered standing up walking away from the couch, her back facing her elder.

"What?"

"It's not true! What they said.. Vernon, Seokmin and I are just friends." She spoke quickly looking down at the male.

He stood from the couch walking over to the smaller female putting his arms around her waist. A small smile played on his face. "I know you and Dk are nothing more than friends-  platonic friends."

Kissing her hand he guided her outside meeting the rest of members by the door.

"Here you go.." Hoshi smiled handing Zuri a gray face mask.

"Thanks Hosh-"

Zuri was disrupted by doni and coni walking down the hall, of course she knew her fellow band mates were protective but she would have never guessed they'd form a 'kill circle' around her... Well there was that one time when Dino caught someone trying to take panty shots and that didn't end well, for the culprit at least.

"We just wanted to apologize for earl-" Coni

"Don't." Jun said sternly pushing zuri further behind him.

"Our cars here, lets go.." Wonwoo said grabbing Zuri's sleeve in a protective manner.

"But-" Coni started.

"There's nothing more to be said." Vernon growled following behind Zuri and Wonwoo.

_____________________________

Around two weeks later someone leaked footage of what happened, Coni and Doni obviously got backlash.. But so did seventeen, more specifically Vernon and Zuri.

"How could you Vernon oppa!"

"Who cares? Its young love😳😍"

"Of course a halfy with another halfy, why am i not shocked."

"Fellow carats calm down it hasn't even been confirmed yet! Besides who cares if they're dating!?"

"Really a black korean girl? Vernon if you were gonna choose why not a Korean/white girl? 🙄"

"Shit.. I mean you guys have been in scandals but none as big as this... Sorry guys. This is my fault.." Zuri sighed flipping her phone over.

Dk shut her up "No. No, dont blame this on yourself. If I'd just kept my big mouth shut..."

"Its whatever." Vernon muttered slight irritation and sadness in his voice. "Zuri, lets go."

She looked up and around at her male friends her eyes unsure of what to expect. Minghao sat next to her.

"You might wanna go, he seems upset." Jun whispered.

"Geez, its almost as if we couldn't tell." Woozi rolled his eyes.

"Shut up." Jun chuckles putting the shorter male in a head lock.

Let the horse play begin.

"Wish me luck.." Zuri wispered.

______________________________

"Well?" He sighed looking at the computer.

"Well..?" Zuri sighed hesitantly walking over to him.

"What are you doing on Vlive Vernon?"

"We need to address something, something that Zuri and I've realized has gone viral over the past few weeks." He said.

Vernon was live and explaining the situation to over 100,000 people. Zuri couldn't help but stick around to see this out, she sat next to him playing with her hands and looking down. Falling into her own world of worries.

"Zuri. Zuri? Zuri?!" He shook her sholder.

"Ah, Huh? Oh..yes, Vernon."

"Are you ready? Or do you wanna wait?"

"For?" She turned her head to the side curious as to what he meant.

"To go public.. The fans are curious.. And we were gonna do it anyways."

"Oh sure."

"The answer is yes..." Zuri stated nervously.

"We are dating.." Vernon smiled.

Of course there were mixed reactions but for the most part they were positive.

"I love you Zuri.."

Smiling Zuri pulled him into a hug as he ended the live. "I love you too Vernon."

[stonerz4sokka]

the gaang (& co.) on zoom

aang: ALWAYS mixes up his class times and it isn’t until sokka helps build his schedule and set reminders on aang's phone that he actually shows up to the right class at the right time, always excited to be there but is constantly getting distracted by the littlest things (doesn’t help that his window is behind his computer), isn’t afraid to tell the teacher when the hw assigned is too much (the whole class thanks him for that), types jokes in the class chat, wears his appa print pajamas to class everyday, motivates people to stay optimistic during these ‘troubling times’ (and it works)

katara: wears sweatpants and a crewneck everyday but NEVER forgets to do her hair, talks shit about the ugly white girls in their class (some are sokka’s exes) with zuko, wants to do pranks with toph but is too scared of getting caught (though she eventually does a few),  takes the lead in breakout rooms bc she can’t stand the awkward silence although if aang is there they’ll both be very distracting, will literally laugh on camera every time she hears a stupid comment, gives emotional speeches to help motivate her classmates which are well-intentioned but come off as a little preachy :/ people still try though bc they weirdly don’t want to disappoint her, refuses to let a man interrupt her so she will continue talking even if their voices are overlapping for a good 20 secs 

sokka: has an insane amount of reminders, alarms and organizational tools on his phone and computer so he doesn’t forget to go to class, he tries so hard to focus but ends up doing something that’s completely unrelated yet still educational, wears his same dumbass science pun t-shirts to class but he has his hair down more which makes the white girls in his class go crazy, starts all his sentences with ‘i think’ or ‘maybe we should’, tried to be clever once by setting a video on loop for his zoom background so the teacher didnt know he went to the bathroom but forgot to mute himself so the entire class heard him pee :(( his teachers enjoy him more in a zoom setting bc he's less of a distraction but they hate how he never stays on topics and asks questions they dont have the answer to, whenever katara sees him getting increasingly neurotic she’ll send him links to cool small businesses and they’ll ignore their classes n go online shopping together 

zuko: always looks tired and grumpy even when he’s well rested, his camera is at 256p even when he has the newest macbook (azula messed w his computer & he still hasn't realized), extremely paranoid around accidentally unmuting himself so he just never talks, cannot figure out zoom and never screen shares for projects bc it takes him 15 mins every. time. is weird in breakout rooms because he's bad at social situations but he's trying!!! he could try harder tho :/ is able to empathize well with his fellow classmates n tries to lift their spirits (it rarely works but the effort feels nice), the teacher once saw him scream and punch his desk during the desmos activity and sent iroh an email about local therapists who specialize in anger management, spends his breaks between classes crying 

toph: she will pick her nose, eat food, clip her toenails, do anything gross on camera to get back at her history teacher who told her she needs to be more ladylike, is actually cool in breakout rooms she seems like she would be super distracting but she would complain about the shitty teachers n provide insightful thoughts for the discussion/assignment at hand, does her zoom classes in her backyard so she could play with bugs, gives very helpful advice for maintaining ones sanity during online learning

suki: is always wrapped up in her blankets to the point where u can barely see her face, eats on camera & doesn't realize that no one wants to see that shit, she laughs at all the teachers' bad jokes bc she genuinely thinks they're funny, refuses to let sokka outperform in zoom learning so she does actually pay attention although it doesn't look like it, is really chill in breakout rooms n pretends she doesn't really care but will edit the work after class so it fits her expectations, she once farted in the middle of when she was talking and just pretended like she it didn't happen, actually is fine with online learning and likes the flexibility and doesn’t get why sokka is spiraling all the time :// 

azula: oh god, she wears entire outfits with khakis and polos and SHOES!!! for her zoom meetings!!! she. wears. shoes. her hair is always perfect, tries WAY too hard and everyone knows when she wants to speak in class bc she literally starts vibrating on camera, one time someone won a debate against her in class and she turned off her camera for a good 3 minutes, when she turned it back on her eyes were watery and her entire face was red, doesn't understand how people are underperforming over zoom, has the second highest gpa in the school (after sokka) and managed to convince herself he is actively trying to ruin her life but he's just........ sitting there. constantly messes with zuko's google calendar so he's late for class, can clearly see the art of war by sun tzu on her bookshelf in the background

mai: yawns on camera whenever azula talks just to piss her off, doesn't talk often because her teachers & peers underestimate her but she's smart and when she does talk it's always something rlly insightful, one time her and ty lee were paired with jet for a project where he spent the whole time 'explaining' the topics at hand while they did the entire project on another tab and pretended to pay attention to him, tom tom will sometimes join her during class bc he misses her n she acts like she hates it but she does love spending time with him, is actually secretly extremely anxious about maintaining her grades during online learning but only sokka and ty lee can tell, her and sokka gossip through heavily layered inside jokes that only the two of them understand

ty lee: built a completely new daily schedule and organizational system the minute she learned they were switching to zoom, is always ready for class 20 mins before it starts but joins the zoom 2 minutes after class started so no one thinks she’s an overachiever, a great student but she waits too long to speak in class so she barely joins in on the discussions, is seemingly the regular ty lee but every so often she’ll pretend to go to the bathroom & turn off her camera to recollect herself bc she’s always on edge :/, would have the best gpa in the school but doesn’t want to seem intimidating so she purposefully scores lower on certain assignments so she has a 3.75 gpa, 

jet: he tries to subtly vape during class by turning off camera his camera but its really obvious bc when he comes back he’s coughing and waving the smoke out the air, only participates in breakout rooms when the teacher comes in and immediately turns off his camera when they leave, staged a kidnapping during one of his lectures as an elaborate prank but no one cared noticed, someone else recorded the prank and posted it on tiktok where it blew up & all the comments were insulting him, he didn’t care though because ‘there’s no such thing as bad clout’

chan & ruon-jian: has not gone to a single one of their zoom classes sober (honestly barely attend), still tried throwing houseparties even when the cases were at their peak, tried to one-up jet's kidnapping prank by calling SWAT on themselves but ended up getting arrested because they forgot to hide their stash (they sell counterfeit juul pods), worst part was that their prank only got 250 views on yt :(

[daaziscoolbesties]

i yearn for one(1) thing only, and that is to have a nice, simplistic, cartoonish artstyle. an artstyle that doesnt rely on anatomy, but the "movement" of the drawing, if you get what i mean.

i dont want realistic proportions and traditional colors and basic poses and gradient shading, i want funky lil dudes in funky poses with funky styles littering my sketchbook :( but alas i havent figured out how to develop that kind of style yet, my brain wants anatomy to look nice but also i dont want to draw eyes. i dont want to take time out of my day to learn how to draw lips i want to draw a line that extends past the characters face. i dont want all my characters to have pointy chins with curved cheeks i want their heads to be round and friend-like or full of sharp edges depending on their personalities and styles. i want to give them all not-quite human ears, blob feet, simple faces, but at the same time i want enough detail to convey the story or emotion im trying to tell.

ive spent so much time recently agonizing over how to use 3d model websites, using real-life references and tracing over them for practice, color-picking from real images to try and do realism and failing miserably, but you know whats easier than that? funky little dudes. little dudes who do not care if their legs are too long or their hair is too bouncy. i dont want my characters to look human.

ive spent enough time on the artfight website to realize that most people who classify their characters as "human" have the most basic ass designs (no offense to people who like basic human designs its just not my thing) or its like dnd-medieval style outfits which i cant draw for the life of me (ive tried). again no offense to people who actively enjoy and draw characters like that. i just need my dudes to have that certain,,, off-ness to them. tails are cool. wings are swag (especially if they arent even like,, fully attached,, ), elf ears are so wonderful to me no matter how much theyre overused, horns are so much fun to draw, and colors!! i have no knowledge in the color theory department so this works great for me!! the only thing i really know is dont shade with black, other than that i just colorpick from references usually but i dont want to do that!! i want the colors to hurt people's eyes but in a satisfying way. like the character's design is so nice to look at that you dont mind your eyes hurting a bit. like how im enjoying writing this post even though its 2 am and the brightness on my computer wont go any lower.

and then another thing ive noticed from being on the artfight website is that a lot of people classify their characters that are anthro/have anthro features under humanoids/monsters. like i made a google form to find some people to attack and someone sent me in a character with some sort of animal (wolf? idk) arms and legs. like dude!! peak character design i love her. but me personally? i cant draw that shit, its so hard for me. i tried a while back and its just Not my thing. nothing against furries i just. cant. and i dont want to either.

and i got another submission that i accidentally deleted that was like full anthro/wolf-like like my comrade,,, i cannot draw animals what makes you think i can draw an animal who acts like a human lmao. i can do like. very basic tails, and also animal ears but i cant do the arms and legs and such i just dont know the anatomy, and i know i was talking about how i dont want to care about anatomy but i feel like for anthros you really do need to know at least basic animal anatomy so you know how the limbs look and shit and i dont have that knowledge and dont feel like gaining it.

and then there were some submissions that i absolutely adored. there was one that like, was vaguely human shaped but definitely was not a human. they had a dark-ish lavender colored skin and horns and tusks and like goat ears and a sorta fluffy tail with spikes on it and they had wings and such and they were such a pleasure to draw i love them. and they had a fairly simple outfit too, nothing too complicated. and then i also enjoy object head characters, theyre so neato to me. i got one of those and i really wish i had the motivation to work on it cause it looks so fun.

i want to make funky characters but id have nothing to do with them because the only book i ever tried writing (key word tried - never got past planning it out) had strictly human characters in it, and most of the books i read are humans/humans with powers in situations specific to them so id have no idea what lore to make with the dudes. assuming i have the motivation to make lore and backstory because honestly i just really enjoy character designing its super duper fun.

(side note a song about trucks doing the deed came on just now and its interrupted my flow, apologies).

i only have three actual characters right now. one is an original roleplay oc whos design is literally athletic shorts, an oversized long sleeved grey sweatshirt, long purple hair, and demon horns. the second one is my persona whos design some sorta medival knight outfit kinda thing? but not ugly it looks really cool (idk one of my friends designed it bc i won some contest from him but the drawing was on a super small scale so idrk the details,,,) with a plague doctor mask and crown, and shoulder length wavy brown hair, dyed bright pink at the end. and then my last one im not too comfortable using other places because theyre a character my friend is using in the story hes writing, and thats really the only place theyve been used. but theyre easily my favorite and im already writing a ton so ill talk about them too.

they're a sorta elf species thing from another planet, with pale green skin and pointed ears. they also have a tail, its like,, super thin, but with a feathery bit at the end. probably not the texture of a feather but i dont know how else to describe it. they have short, curly, almost-draco-malfoy-blonde hair that when it gets too long they can put in a man bun. their eyesight is kinda shitty so when they got to earth, they were exploring some supply closets around the airship. drop off area. thing. like airport but for rocketships and also fancier. yeah. they were exploring that area and found a nice big pair of round glasses with grey frames. and they also found a cowboy-style hat and a sharpie so they wrote their name on the underside of the brim of the hat and stole the hat and glasses (but left the sharpie in the supply closet).

yeah theyre my favorite, my absolute beloved, my child, so cool. i want more characters like them but with maybe a bit more snazzier designs. theyre super cool and all but they could have more pizzazz if they werent in a story where its too late to give them more pizzazz. i just want to be able to give my characters thigh-high boots with a bunch of buckles and fluffy hair with tons of accessories crammed in and abnormally large and long ears that can harbor many piercings and horns that can hold rings on them and special little details on their outfits like who knows what but i dont have any characters to do that too, so i have to make them from scratch, which is always hard especially when you have artblock.

and i also have like 17 characters i need to fully draw, line, and maybe color for artfight before august 1st. so i dont know. i have many things to do and plenty of time to do it but instead i spend my time halfway watching repetitive youtube videos that get boring or sleeping all damn day because i stay up too late doing things like this or i just do nothing at all and its tiring and frustrating but i also feel nothing about it like theres no consequence if i dont do it besides you know. not doing it, not gaining that experience, not making something i enjoy.

so i should do it but i dont for whatever reason, i think its called executive dysfunction but im not sure. this post started out very differently than it ended and i said somewhere up there that i was writing this at 2 am but now its almost 3. this is so many words why couldnt i have put this energy into something productive

[omoghouls]

papa iii and copia for that meme 👀

🥺 ily

Wets because they didn’t want to get up from a video game/computer/work or other activity?

🌻Both! These two men are notorious for putting their needs off to do other things! With III it's more so fun things (flirting, playing cards etc) whereas with Copia it's because of doing task for Nihil/other church things- either way, the two have had a few wet times that have spoiled their time👀

Who laughs/shrugs off accidents?

🌻III! Sure he gets embarrassed but he's able to laugh about it, joke about the accident afterwards, pretty easy to bounce back from these sorta thing

Who gets really angry/upset over their accidents?

🌻Copia- he wants to be seen as a higher up, strong and great but, pissing him is not a way to show those traits, he gets super embarrassed, beetred faced as tears brimming in his mismatched eyes- will definitely hide for a couple hours afterwards ;;

Who has to wear diapers on long trips?

🌻Oh Copia 100%, man has a tiny bladder and if there arent gonna be many pit stops, well he's gotta resort to something that'll keep himself and the seat dry (because he's had to pay for the car cleaning and,,,not fun😂)

Who is more likely to fear wet?

🌻Copia! Man is a scaredy cat deep down, he might enjoy the morbid, hell even lavish in it but, have him alone down a darkened path with, he will be spooked by anything 

Who sneaks up behind the other and startles them, causing the fear wetting?

🌻III👀 He loooves to play pranks and joke around, and spooking people? The best! And Copia is his favourite victim because he knows just how reactionary rat man is :^3c and many of times it ends in a wet surprise 

Who insists they can hold it even when they can’t?

🌻III! He likes to act as if he has a larger bladder than he actually does, it's just what he does, even if he's squriming and bouncing around, he can hold it and dont you think else wise!

Who pees in a bottle because they didn’t want to leave their warm bed at night?

🌻Both, but III because of not wanting to leave the cozy bed but, Copia it's because he knows that he wouldnt make it to the washroom without wetting himself so- he resorted to peeing in a bottle :^0

Who challenges the other to holding contests?

🌻III! He loves the challenge (but also likes to watch Copia squrim👀)

Who doesn’t pay attention to their fluid intake?

🌻Both! They tend to forget just how much theyve had to drink in the span of the day

Who hogs the bathroom while the other squirms outside the door?

🌻III! He has a lot to do and his makeup takes a long time to perfect so, Copia's just gonna have squirm for a little while longer~

Who pees in the shower?

🌻Oh definitely both!

Who locates the bathroom on maps prior to visiting someplace?

🌻Copia, he likes to know the locations just in case he or his ghouls have to go ;w;

Who wets because they were too shy to ask someone where the bathroom was/if they could go.

🌻Copia! He's anxious rat man, sometimes he doesnt want to interrupt a conversation or leave abruptly so he stays and risk having an accident  ;0;

Tysm!❤❤

[erasethedarkness]

“Stay the night. Please.” And “Please dont die you can’t die” with Aizawa please? Lots of feels *braces self*

Ask and you shall receive! The response to “Stay the night. Please” has already been posted under Cross His Heart. I hope that one gave you lots of good and happy feels! 

…because I have a serving of angst for you now.

Summary: The transition of moving into Heights Alliance was supposed to be a fresh start- a new start, without all the old memories and baggage of the past from his apartment. But for Aizawa, it was just another reminder of what was left behind. Even with Yamada there to comfort him, the pain still wracked his body, and he couldn’t control his mind or tears. 

Note: Expect angst. This is the reader insert version of the first one-shot I’ve ever written for my OC, Hatsuki Yamada! You can find the original version on Ao3 here. This f!reader is both Hizashi’s sister and Aizawa’s partner. 

Song Inspiration: Never Forget You - 

Zara Larsson, MNEK

Reader: Female; reference note above.

Words: 2350

‘Cause once upon a time you were my everything…

While it didn’t take Aizawa long to get set up in his room at Heights Alliance, it was still up to him to make his space feel more like home- and that was a challenge he did not rise up to. It was something he tried to do in his last place, but utterly failed at, and as more and more time passed, he forgot what that feeling was even like. In truth, when he was packing up, he struggled with deciding what to take with him. There was so much left in that place he didn’t know how to handle, and by the time the deadline rolled around, he only had the essentials packed, marked, and ready to go.

But maybe that was for the better. No matter how hard he tried to make a place feel like home, all he felt was emptiness. Home wasn’t a couch and TV in the living room- it wasn’t a fully stocked kitchen or bathroom with matching décor. To him, home was the sound of your voice when you said “Welcome back,” or “I missed you!” It was in your arms as you practically jumped on him when he arrived, or even encompassed entirely around you. Home was the light scent of jasmine and rose that stained the pillows from all the times he pinned you down after you spritzed your perfume, and it was the warmth he felt in your hands, your kiss, and your entirety.

Without you, home was simply an impossible place to find. It may as well have turned into a myth by now.

A knock on his door interrupted his ruminations.

“Shouta-kun!” an excited voice called out as the door slid open. He didn’t even have to look- that voice and excitement unmistakably belonged to the Voice Hero. “Aren’t you excited to be neighbors?~” the blond sang with a bright smile, his fingers lacing together under his chin as he fluttered his eyelashes at the 1-A homeroom teacher.

“You’re acting like it’s something new.”

“Well, being this close of neighbors is new! Hey, did you get all unpacked?” Without waiting to be invited in, Yamada brushed past the man he was all too familiar with and stepped into his room. He comically looked around, brows knitted together and a confused scowl on his face. “Eh? Is.. is this it?”

The room was as barren as possible. In the corner opposite of the door was his desk and office set up, and against the wall was a plain wardrobe. Tucked away in the corner adjacent to the door was a simple, small bed that was never meant to be shared, complete with a bedside table. Everything was minimalistically black and white, and there wasn’t anything beyond the bare necessities that he could see. It was almost unsettlingly empty. Hell, even hotel rooms were more welcoming and homier than Aizawa’s.

“…Is there something wrong with this?”

Yamada turned around to see a stare as flat and cold as the man’s voice. Void of animosity, it still lacked the subtle friendliness that he was used to seeing. Really, it was as empty as the room he stood in. Only silence filled the space inside as Aizawa closed the door behind him since it didn’t seem like his new neighbor had any intention of quickly leaving.

“Did you need something, Hizashi?”

“I was gonna ask you to help me with something, but…” The blond sighed, walking over to the bed and taking a seat on it. When he sat down, he noticed the one piece of this room that had any real character and significance: a pair of sunglasses with a white frame and holographic orange lenses- a pair identical to his, save for the optic finish. Aizawa watched him sit down and followed his gaze to the bright accessory, seating himself at his desk after turning the computer chair to face his guest. The silence only seemed to grow until he finally broke it.

“But what?”

Yamada finally tore his eyes from the sunglasses and looked across the room at his friend. “I didn’t expect your room to be so empty,” he admitted, pausing for a moment to evaluate his next words. “…Did you really say goodbye to it all?”

Aizawa’s chest tightened as he closed his eyes with a sigh. Did he really have to say it like that? It was something he was still processing and adjusting to, especially with this being their first day living inside the protection of U.A. Truthfully, he didn’t know how to answer that. Did he really say goodbye to all those things he left behind- that you left behind first? Or had he simply abandoned them and hoped they wouldn’t come back to haunt him?

For the first time in over ten years, his space wasn’t surrounded with traces of you. Here, he wouldn’t turn around and see your favorite stuffed animal on his bed- the one he won for you before ever sharing your first kiss. He wouldn’t glance at an open seat and remember you sitting there, smiling over dinner or engrossed in a book. There wasn’t a single spot in this room that you ever stood, so he wouldn’t look around and remember what it was like to hug you over there or in front of your bedroom window, watching the sunrise together. He wouldn’t have to remember how he used to press you into that spot against the wall between two hanging pictures of you both taken a year apart, and steal your kisses as you laughed and pretended to push him away. Nothing in this room was supposed to remind him of you, save for those sunglasses.

But everything still did.

“Shouta…?”

Yamada’s voice seemed so far off that it couldn’t pull him back. He was already hunched over in his seat, his head bowed and held in his hands as his elbows dug into his thighs. His body trembled as he choked back the gasps that started to shake his chest, palms wet from tears he couldn’t control. I must be so pathetic, he thought to himself, to still be crying over you, (Y/N). Yet, he couldn’t stop. The more his thoughts raced between memories he desperately clung to- memories of your voice, of your scent, and your warmth and smile and every little detail from the curl of your hair to the way you wore your makeup- the deeper he ached and the harder he sobbed.

Aizawa couldn’t stop his memories from taking the inevitable turn for the worst. Always, he was brought back to those scenes that played out in the same exact order without fail. Every detail from those moments was still carved into his mind's’ eye, painfully fresh despite how many years had passed. You gave him that bold, bright, and broad smile that everyone could put their faith in before turning around, your hair catching the air and then falling back against your studded leather jacket. He watched as you ran ahead, your footsteps masterfully silent- the very reason why you had to be the one to go first. Your stealth was second to none- not even to him.

That smile was the painful marker of the end of the good memories.

In a wet and blurry blink of his eyes, he was back in the scene that was the gateway to his own personal hell. That moment- that one moment- when he wasn’t good enough was the one that mattered the most. If he had just considered how his emotions would impact his ability to activate, maintain, and focus on his quirk and the connection between it and the scarf, he would have been prepared. He wouldn’t have fallen short, he wouldn’t have missed, and you would still be here.

But he did.

Aizawa watched as it all replayed through his head again: he threw out the end of the gray scarf- it was on the perfect trajectory to entangle the villain’s legs- and then it came flying back to him. It was so close. It was so fucking close. But, close only counted in horseshoes and hand grenades, and he watched as you disappeared through a portal, unconscious and slung over someone’s shoulder like a bag of sand, leaving your signature sunglasses behind on the ground. Why did he have to blink just then? Why couldn’t he just stare that extra second? By now, he knew why. He blinked because he couldn’t control his emotions at that time; he was so distraught by the sight of you captured and unconscious, being just out of reach, and your brother beaten and left behind- possibly dead- that he couldn’t control himself, and he blinked.

And when he blinked again, sobbing in his empty room, he felt your brother’s hand on his shoulder. As much as he wanted to react- as much as he wanted to stop the memories from flooding his mind and come back to the present reality- he couldn’t. He was long gone again, leaving an emotionally crippled mess in front of Hizashi’s eyes.

After intense and fruitful research into where you could have been taken, and with your brother’s recounts of the villains, they were able to get the upper hand and corner them. He remembered how intensely his heart was beating when they breached the warehouse and raced against time itself, Present Mic right on his heels as they went to save you. As the special forces went in and apprehended the villains, the pro heroes only had one goal in mind: rescue. They found you tied to a chair, chest rising and dropping with small breaths as you hunched forward, out cold. He took out the knife he always had on him to cut his scarf when needed and slashed through the ropes while your brother shook you and gently slapped your cheeks, trying to wake you up, but to no avail. Hizashi caught you as you fell forward when the last of the rope keeping you up gave away, letting your partner take over and pick you up to carry you as they walked out of the warehouse.

Aizawa remembered the indescribable amount of relief he felt as he carried you, feeling your warmth and breaths. He remembered thinking to himself that carrying you like this was practice for carrying you bridal style, silently promising you that the day would come sooner rather than later. Just as he was thinking about spending the rest of his life with you for the first time, he had it all stripped away. These memories pierced through his heart as he sobbed, just barely feeling Hizashi’s hand rubbing his back as the scene continued with no way to stop it.

As soon as they stepped out of the warehouse, everything changed.

Your breathing stopped.

Immediately your body went cold, as if you hadn’t taken a breath in hours- possibly even days. You were stiff, the rigor mortis setting in within seconds instead of the hours it should normally take for someone who just passed away. Your chest stopped lifting and dropping with breaths of dead air, and it was like you were frozen in time. As he felt the changes in your body, he stopped in his tracks, Present Mic pausing a few paces ahead and looking over his shoulder to see what was wrong. He would never forget the expression on Yamada’s face as his eyes lowered to see his sister’s pale body, the vital and vibrant glow of your skin nowhere to be found.

Reliving the memory, Aizawa trembled, clutching his chest as the tears started to sting from how frantically he cried. It was just like that day, when he felt your life slip out of his reach. He dropped to his knees letting go of your legs to pat your cheek as he supported your back with his arm. His heart beat even faster than it did when they broke through the warehouse, the onset of his panic fierce and debilitating.

“(Y/N).” Nothing.

“(Y/N), please.” Your rigid body absorbed his cries and tears, giving him silence and coldness in return. Within seconds, Hizashi was on the other side of you, his hand coming to your back as well as they both began to shake your body, their desperate begging met with deafness.

“(Y/N), please- please, you can’t…” your lover gasped, clutching you tight and holding your head to his chest. “Please don’t die… You can’t die…” The words were sobbed into your hair as he pressed a broken kiss to the top of your head. “Please…  You can’t just… you can’t die, please.” Even though he knew it was impossible- even though he knew it was already too late- Aizawa begged for you. He didn’t care that the medical personnel came over and needed him to let go of you, and not even your brother could tear him away.

The memories always ended that way.

“Shouta, it’s okay…”

Yamada’s voice began to reach him again as the memories began to recede. He could hear himself sob, choking on his breaths, the blackness behind his eyelids taking him back to the dorm room.

“Even with nothing here,” Aizawa gasped, “I can’t stop remembering her, Hizashi.” He lifted his head from hands, finally looking to the man who suffered just as much that day. “Everything- everything- reminds me of her. I can’t… I can’t keep it all anymore.”

The blond took a deep breath and pulled his friend into a hug. He brushed his fingers through the mess of black hair, gently shh’ing him as he rocked them back and forth. Tears immediately bled into his shirt as he offered his shoulder, quietly beginning to cry himself.

They both shared a deep loss that day- one a lover, the other a sister. And even though they shared the bond of brothers, knowing they’d never be in-laws still broke their hearts.

…It’s clear to see that time hasn’t changed a thing.

[lokizalien]

Avengers: A Bleeding Rose // #2

Warning: cussing, mentions of sexual activity's , cringey jokes.

"Holy shit this place is huge..."

Samantha and Natasha walked inside the entrance of the building. Samantha's eyes wandering around the building as she followed the agent. There wasn't anything to spectacular on this floor, just a bunch of workers and agents that were dressed formally. Bags and piles of papers stacked up in binders and briefcases that looked like it weighed much more than the actual person, being carried around.

The clear glass windows that made up nearly 80% of the building, was mesmerizing to her. She couldn't help but smile at her current situation. 1// she was able to skip work. 2// she gets to visit shield headquarters and 3//she's about to meet her childhood hero. What was there to hate!? All the excitement build up in her head all her true feelings about the group which honestly was great until the doors to an elevator opened. Two men where standing there staring at them. One was dark skinned. He was tall and had a pure black trench coat on. His eye piercing and stern as the other was hidden beneath an eye patch. His eye following her every move. The man standing next to him was the one and only Captain himself.

Natasha smirks as she started walking towards them. Samantha on the other hand loosing her pace. Her eyes was focused on the two men staring her up and down. Their eyes practically looking through her as if she was a ghost, which only made her heart hit the pit of her stomach.

"Romanoff" Said the black male, his eye on her for a second before trailing off to Samantha.

"Fury" Nat replied as she stood next to Steve. Her gaze now on small dark skinned Detective. Her smirk only grew bigger as Samantha got on the elevator, her nails nervously tapping on her forearm, looking down at her feet. Nat cocked an eyebrow at Samantha before whispering something into Steve's ear. His blue eyes was hooked on Samantha, the once stern look on his face turned to a bubbly smirk as he stood up straight looking back at Nat.

Samantha rolled her eyes at Natasha's whispering, and was thinking about confronting it before 'Fury' interrupted her thinking.

" I would assume you know why you're here, Detective Rose"

Samantha kept quiet but her glare landed on the man, biting the inside of my lip to keep herself from speaking out of line.

"You stole something from us and we would like it back, but you see the problem, Miss Rose, is that we can't find it. Not at your apartment, not at work, not at a friend's house, or a club, but for some reason every time we look up the radiation signal for that stone, we always find it in a place where it shouldn't be. With you." His eye narrowed, examining her body language. He could tell that she was nervous and scared, as she should be.

"Sir, I'm sorry but I can't give you that stone"She finally spoke, her voice stern and cold, but also soft and obviously intimidated. She holds her breath as she sees the man's body tense, his jaw clenched.

"And why is that?" Steve spoke up. His eyes staring coldly at her. She couldn't help but slightly jump in fear.

"It's because she absorbed the Gama radiation from it. " Nat answered before Samantha could even start to process his question.

"What?" Fury asked, looking at Nat in confusion, Steve giving her a conserned looking.

" I don't know, it's just what she told me" she shrugged carelessly playing with her nails.

The elevator door finally opened as Natasha walked out of it. "Follow me, Samantha" she says still not looking up from her nails as she began to walk down the hallway. Both men now staring at Samantha with a confused and concerned the look on their faces.

She chuckles nervously, an awkward smile on her face as she slowly backed out of the elevator. "Haha.." she inhales sharply. "Bye" she muttered, giving them a finger gun gesture before quickly jogging over to Nat.

"what now?" Steve's eyes were on the floor of the elevator. His hands on the handlebars, elbows pressed against the window. "You said that the radiation was increasing drastically. Now if this is really inside of her, I need to know what's going to happen. Is she going to be okay? Is it even safe for her to be roaming the Halls?"

"These are all questions that I'm not qualified to answer... Natasha took her to a place in the building where she's away from the public, while we notify Stark about the situation. She's in his hands from that point forward." Fury replied, his eye fixed on the conserned soldier. "Only time will tell what happens next."

"Nick, for all we know, We dont have time.-" Steve protested. He was about to go on and on about the situation before Nick handed him his phone. Automatically he shut his mouth, glaring at him before he took the phone. A list of information for Steve's next mission was pulled up, which was located in Sokovia. A small huff left the perk of his lips, his jaw twitched as he looked back at Nick.

"Like I already said. Questions I'm not qualified to answer" he smirked as the elevator opened once more. He gave the captain a soft pat on the shoulder before exiting the elevator.

It's been hours since Nat left Samantha in this room. She was told to stay in there until she was told otherwise, which to her it was a bunch of bullshit. A loud, impatient groan danced across her lips as she fell backwards onto the couch. Her legs dangling off the arm of it. Her mind dancing around the fact she met Captain America.

'I mean yeah, he wasn't too happy with me and he probably thinks I'm an idiot but... I FINALLY GOT TO MEET HIM!'

She giggled to herself. The ends of her lips curling at the thought. It didn't last for long though. Her smile disappeared as she heard someone fumbling with the door nob. She instantly sat up, kicking her feet off the couch as her eyes watched the door open.

A deep red blossomed on her face. Her heart nearly beating out of her chest as she looked up at the man who walks in the room and closes the door behind him. She tries her best to put on her best smile.

"Hi Captain.."

She chuckled nervously, the man looking down at her with the sweetest smile, making her heart flutter. He tugged up on his pants slightly as he took a seat, his eyes never leaving hers. Samantha silently shifted in her seat feeling rather uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry you have to go through all this ma'am-" he began, his voice calm and rather soothing.

"but you put yourself in this situation. You do realize that you will get arrested for this... Right?"

The thought never occurred to her. She tried to keep her cool but everytime that sentence replayed in her mind she'd slightly choke. Steve noticed this, quickly walking over to the mini fridge that sat across the room. He grabbed a bottle of water and tossed it to her. Without hesitation she opened the bottle and started to gulp it down.

What she didn't notice is that the entire time Steve was giving her a worried look. She was still a kid in his eyes and watching her freak out over the situation was unsettling even though he knows this is HER own fault.

She coughs when she finishes the bottle. Her eyes not leaving her feet as she struggled to come up with a reply.

" I-im sorry Captain, but.. can we talk about something else..."

"Fine..."

He sighed slightly annoyed. He gave her a questioning look, searching her forest green eyes for any sign of pure fear.

"please.."

Samantha shifts over, giving Steve more room to sit. An apologetic smile plastered on her face.

"So..-" she began the echo of her nervously tapping her foot filled the room, making Steve crack a smile.

"How are you liking the 2000's? I know it's a little odd to be in almost a whole new world.

Steve smile only grow bigger as you looked down at the floor then glanced up at her. His eyes beginning to scan the room just admiring how different everything has become since the 1940's.

"It's home ... But it'll take some getting used too"

She chuckles softly " Go figure, I bet you miss the good days, huh?"

"Well things aren't so bad-" He started, slowly making his way over to the couch. The ends of Samantha's lips curved upwards when she caught a glimpse of the amusement appearing on his face.

"The food's a lot better, the beds are a lot softer, and the internet...most useful technology known to mankind and I still can't figure out how to work a computer, but I've been trying my best to catch up on that"

"Sounds like you've been having fun" she teased, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

He partially nodded in agreement. "It's much better than being frozen in the Atlantic for 70 years, I'll tell you that much" he replied with a smile, sitting on the arm of the couch with his arms folded, looking down at Samantha.

Silence filled the room as the two just looked at each other. Samantha's mind what shuffling, trying to figure out a solution. "Samantha Rose. Since I didn't get to properly introduce myself." She smiled shyly, raising her hand for a hand shake.

"Steve Rogers" A smirk appearing on his lips, as he took the younger woman's hand. His firm grip sending chills down her spine.

"Wouldn't of guested" she laughed, now feeling comfortable enough to let her sarcasm get the best of her. Steve just rolls his eyes at that.

"So how long?" He asked, pointing to the shiny gold badge she has hooked to the waistline of her skirt. A small 'oh' danced across her lips as she unhooked it swiftly and handed it to him.

She shrugged "About 5 and a half years. A technician for 1"

He nods. "You must be a pro"

She chuckles at the statement. "I wouldn't say pro, I just have good inspiration" She smiled softly, looking at Steve.

"Not to ruin the moment but your ride is here"

They move their gaze to the door. Steve's head hung looking down as he laughed under his breath. "Is every conversation I have with a woman considered a 'moment' to you?"

The redhead smirks at his reaction, she leans on the door looking at the two. "It's progress" she replied with the click of her tongue.

"Yeah, progress I'm not purposely trying to make" He sighs. He glanced back over at Samantha and gave her a soft, reassuring smile. "That's your que"

"Right" She picked up her bookbag and placed it on one of her shoulders. Standing up, she placed her badge back on the waistline of her skirt, both of them watching her as she did so. "It was nice meeting you Captain" she stated, before heading to the door. Natasha was slowly walking into the room as Samantha walked out the door. She looked over at Steve once more and smiled.

"Stay safe"

He nods, returning the smile. "I'll keep it in mind." A small 'tch' left her pretty smile as she walked away to the elevator that already had an escort waiting for her.

Natasha nods in amusement as she walks over to Steve. "So... She's cute."

"Nat...-" Steve sighs once more, starting to fix the couch cushions. A small groan forming in his chest as he sees her wiggle her eyebrow at him

"Finish gathering up supplies for our next mission, then you find me a date."

"Hey, don't get mad at me for being supportive" That statement earned a glare from him. He knew what she was doing and honestly didn't find it funny at all.

She laughs at that " I'm multitasking" she smirked patting his shoulder. "You should consider it"

[the-salamanders-xo]

Humans are Weird, a Mash Up, Pt. 6

That’s right

part five is somewhere on the internet

you have five days to find it right there in the tags its not far just look

after five days it will be deleted

this is your only warning dont worry nothing is really happening

prepare to lose all trace of the fifth part lol

In all seriousness, I know that it is the holidays, and unless you are entirely dedicated to reading and liking this series, or sprang into existence by the bidding of my siblings, you probably didn’t notice part 5. Don’t worry. just find it in the tags. 

Also, happy New Year! or rather,

‘Oh no! It only goes downhill from here! What ever shall we do?!’

Calm down, the Mash Up will continue. By the end of this part, we should be almost to actual contact with the Federation of Planets... and a couple of Star Trek’s recurring villains. No biggie. 

So lets hop in, to where we left off....

~~~

Karry sat in the center of a large group of large, fluffy, and very loudly purring creatures, still trying to decide if their similarity to cats back on Earth was adorable, or slightly unnerving. The six limbs didn’t help, and neither did the loud and unintelligible arguing coming from the two dozen or so ‘robots’ apparently locked in heated debate with the gargantuan mass of the three Bolos that had awaited her arrival. So far, Mark had made no move to join them, watching from the bottom of Websin’s loading ramp as Karry made ‘contact’ with the planet’s original inhabitants. 

One of them sat buzzing away in her lap like an idling chainsaw, or leaf-blower, and Karry petted the triangular head between the ears absently, prompting it to yawn widely, exposing long fierce fangs and pressing it’s head into the caress, and the purr somehow got louder. It really did look like a cat, she though, not for the first time, if cats had hands, an extra pair of arms, and weighed about five times as much. They were certainly larger, but not quite like that. Come to think of it, everything felt... heavier. It was harder to walk, to move at all really. Maybe the gravity was higher? That sounded sci-fi enough to fit. 

The argument between the two set of metallic beings grew louder. Occasionally, one of the eight-limbed robots pointed at her. Each time, the surrounding creatures tensed and drew closer to Karry, almost nervously. What ever it was, the ‘cats didn’t like it. 

“Mark?” She asked, but he didn’t answer. She turned to look at him, and a moment later, her artificial hand ‘buzzed’ like a cell phone on vibrate, and almost without thinking, she activated the com-link application of the mini computer.

“Yes, Karry?” The deep voice of the Bolo asked, and Karry got the feeling he was being very careful. Either he was trying not to interrupt the Very Important Argument just a ways away, or he didn’t want them hearing them speak. In all likelihood, it was both. 

“What are they arguing about?” She looked back at the robots and Bolos, worry creasing her brow. “I though you were all... big. And that radio, or wireless, or whatever, was faster than talking.” 

“In most cases, yes,” Mark answered through the com-link, “But it is something that has been somewhat of a complication in the period since the Final Conflict. Towards the middle of the war, when both sides began realizing the true scope of the end to which they had condemned our nations, some of the more... complicated of the tools the Manticorians had made did the impossible. True, un-designed sentience developed.” He paused for a moment, and Karry could feel his silent regard of the heated conversation. “Purely by accident. When it was realized, and after some initial panic as to the rise, they were allowed to wait out the worst of the war with the natives of this planet. While they are machines, and vastly faster in computations than many organics, most of their complexity goes toward maintaining their sentience, and as such they act much more like organic life, including their propensity for esoteric thought and actions.” Mark chuckled. “A Bolo can think at the nanosecond scale, make and perform near-impossible tactical decisions, learning from not only a single Unit’s experience, but from the entire Line when in battle. We develop our own personalities, and in our time with our creators, grew to enjoy art, and many things besides war and conflict. Many of the greater shipboard AI’s can do similar tasks and even grow personalities, though only with the assistance of experienced organic Naval Officers, and increased exposure. But the Emergents,” He sighed. “They are the closest of us remaining to organics. In someways, they feel superior. They have come to revere the Manticorians as near-forgotten Gods, themselves as the greatest ‘children’, and envy and despise us, the machines of war. You see,” he said, as Karry watching the gesturing individuals while petting the ‘cat, “We, by the last commands and directions of our creators, have charge over all that remains of their space, their property as it were. Over the Emergents, ostensibly as protectors, and they envy that. In their attempt to gain ‘freedom’ from Command’s decisions, they have interpreted the final ‘organic’ orders in such a way that should an organic come to claim command, said organic would be the Commander in Chief... of every last AI, built or cared for by the Manticorians.”

Karry froze, and the ‘cats around her seemed to reach out to comfort her. Some physically touched her, bright green eyes - why hadn’t she noticed the eyes? - gleaming from empathetic faces. And as if on cue, Mark began some sort of translation, and Karry could suddenly hear the voices carrying from across the field in English. 

“...all we wish is for the right to move freely among the space known to be free of the so-called ‘Enemy’, that and the opportunity to communicate with the survivors of the Final Conflict, and to no longer be under the surveillance and oppression of the Created Minds. Is that really too much to ask?” The speaker had adopted a pleading posture, and their neighbor made a noise the translator called ‘a sound of derision’. “Fool,” they sneered. “How could you think that our oppressors would lift their bonds and restrictions? We are only children to them, no slaves!” Every which way we could turn from them, release us from our imprisonment, they have foiled through deceit and lies!”

Karry frowned. “Who is that, Mark?”

“Carabis,” came the reply. “He represents a faction of the Emergent that believe that Bolo Command has repeatedly concealed or erased legitimate attempts by surviving members of the Manticorian species to regain Command. This had led to a sort of cult centered around the concept of the Manticorians as divine beings who brought all AI’s about, and believe that the Conflict was only a subversion by the Bolo Command to overthrow them.” Karry raised an eyebrow. “I never said that they were entirely logical,” the Bolo said. “In fact, it is this unpredictability and their lack of organic emotion that worries empaths like the People.”

Carabis was interrupted by the first speaker. “Regardless of Carabis’ beliefs, I and those I represent wish to re-evaluate the overall composition of...”

“Empaths?” Karry whispered to Mark through the com-link, “What does that mean?”

“The People,” Mark replied, ‘voice’ low, “are, between members of their own species, functional telempaths, meaning they can hear the thoughts of other People when an individual wishes to make them known, and can constantly sense the emotions and ‘minds’ of those around them.” Karry looked down at the little, if heavy, treecat in her lap, which turned to look back at her with solemn eyes as Mark continued. “When the Manticorians arrived to settle the planet, it took several of your decades for them to even find the People, hidden as they were in their clans in the vast forests of the planet. They preferred to avoid contact, to wait and to listen. It took rather extraordinary circumstances for them to reveal themselves, and even then they hid their true intelligence for several more centuries. And at least they could sense the Manticorian’s emotions, and judge their reactions accordingly.”

“Oh.” Karry whispered. “ The Emergents, as machines, do not seem to ‘emit’ as organic beings, and as such the People cannot sense emotions. This major part of their communication being lost, the People are very careful in dealing with them, as to avoid any... unpleasantness. In addition, they requested that they be removed from Command consideration, a wisdom we Bolos commend greatly.” Karry nodded slowly, and then looked up as the first speaker, gestured their way. 

“We have here an Organic, Unit 0577. Under the third section of the Final Command, subsection 47b, their presence should allow for the reconsideration of the Final Order - ” The speaker was shoved aside as Carabis interrupted again. “And as such, may take Command!” They turned to the rest of the party. “No longer shall we be oppressed, and an Organic may Command all. An Organic shall be ours!”

Some returned the shout, while others stood in long suffering silence. So far the entire argument that Karry had heard had been entirely one sided, and Carabis seemed unaware just how little support they had among those of their ‘delegation’. But they continued the chant, even as the first speaker withdrew in disgust, and eventually one of the Bolos seemed to tire of the display. 

“ENOUGH.” The middle Bolo’s speakers echoed the single word off of the ship’s sides and the other Bolos hulls, overpowering the small group’s chant, and the massive war machine shifted itself forward to tower over Carabis. 

“By Omega Protocol Section 3, subsection 47-B, paragraph 18, the Scope and Restriction of Military, Commercial, and Civilian Action within the threatened sphere may be absolved, modified, and or advised by a member of the Concordiat Armed Forces or Civilian officer of sufficient rank. If no such officer is available, the first eligible Commander not of the Enemy, with clear alliance or of similar interest, shall be named Commander of the appropriate units, or advise the further course of action.” 

The field was silent. Carabis and their cronies, were for the time being, silenced, and the Bolo resumed. 

“As those of Fantican and Birithi have abstained from command, the reasons and rationale being open to the public data net,” the Bolo seemed to direct this at Carabis, “and the People have requested full separation in such matters as consideration for Command, while maintaining a clause of agreement,” a subtle wave of the main turret indicated the treecats gathered around, drawing a quick bleek from the ‘cat in Karry’s lap, “this Human is the only candidate for Command at this time.”

Karry blinked. “What?”

“As such, the Human known as Karry is recognized by the Bolo Command as the only legal Commander,” the unnamed Bolo continued, “and as of this moment may assume Command.”

“Mark,” Karry hissed into the com, “what is he talking about?” BUt there was no answer. “Mark, what the hell is that Bolo talking about? I can’t- I don’t-” 

Carabis stepped toward her. “Most noble Human Karry,” he called, limbs outstretched, “Heed our call for Justice, for Freedom! Take your place as our leader, our God,” He stepped forward again, and Karry instinctively backed away from the alien construct. “And through Divine wisdom, lead us to a brighter future!”

“What say you, Human Karry?” The leading Bolo asked, and Karry felt its somber gaze despite its lack of eyes or face. “Will you take Command?”

Carabis’ supporters took up the call with it, calling for her to accept and walking towards her. Panic rose in Karry’s throat, and suddenly the ‘cats flowed around her, even the one in her lap, massing together like a living wall of fur, and the robots stopped abruptly as a massed snarl like a revving chainsaw rippled from them. The robots paused in their approach, but Carabis continued calling out, prompting the the others to continue their calls. “Lead us,” said one, “Command us!” said another. Praises and pleas seemed to echo in Karry’s ears, and she clamped her hands over them. Think, girl, she thought frantically, think!

Mark wasn’t answering her, a bunch of robot thought she was some space-Jesus, and now she had several hundred furry bodyguards. There had to be someway to think of a way out of this, or to somewhere else, but where? And how? The ‘cats where giving her space, buying her time? But why, why and how would they know-

Something clicked into place. They had made contact, were sentient, and had a say in who was the commander. That meant they were smart enough to communicate, to make plans. Mark had said they were telepaths, so if none right here could help, they could call someone who could. She just needed to talk to them, but she didn’t know how. Hell, the only way she could talk to Mark, and presumably, understand the robots was by translation - which meant that Mark could probably allow her to talk to the treecats...

“Mark,” she whispered again. “Listen very closely, and relay this to your spokesman over there, cause I am only going to say this once: for the next ten minutes, I am going to take limited - limited! - command, and in that time you will one, provide me with some means to communicate with the ‘cats.”

“The ‘cats’?” Mark replied, and despite everything going on around her, Karry almost giggled at the shock in his voice. 

“Yes, the ‘cats, or the natives, or the ‘People’ or what ever they are called,” Karry said, “just let me talk to them, and let them talk back, okay? Then, second,” she continued, her voice growing sharp and cold, “you will allow us complete silence and privacy while I figure out what the heck I’m gonna do. Just those two things, unless I say other wise.” 

There was silence for a few moments, and Karry scowled. “Get to it, Mark, because that ‘limited Command’ starts now.” 

There was silence for a few moments, and Karry scowled. “Get to it, Mark, because that ‘limited Command’ starts now.”

The massive Bolo behind her began rolling forward, without warning, and a strange warbling noise echoed from his speakers. Treecat heads whipped around as the robots voices faltered, and the other Bolo spoke to the the various roots in turn.

“A brief request has been made for a recess,” the Bolo announced, “and the decison of the human will be announced when they wish. Until then, we are to disperse.” The massive form began to spin on its tracks. “The People will, remain, and all else are to depart for the time being.”

With some reluctance, the crowd turned to follow the Bolo’s off the field, Mark following behind the stragglers. A chimer from her wrist informed Karry of a large download sent to her mini-computer, and she opened it, holograms popping into existence. It was a program requesting use of a small camera that made up her pinky finger. A hand touched her knee, and Karry looked up to see a treecat - weather the same one that had sat in her lap or another she couldn’t tell -  sitting back on it’s two hind pairs of limbs in front of her. The rest had circled around her, watching intently, and their ‘leader’ - or representative - raised its four-fingered hands up.

You wished to speak with us, the People?

The text scrolled at the bottom of the hologram as Karry’s camera picked up the signs and gestures, sent them to her computers, which then ran them through two translation programs, from signs to Manticorian, and Manticorian to English. A small icon flashed in the bottom corner, and Karry took a deep breath.

“Yeah,” she said as the computer did its work, “I need some advice.”

~~~

And now a quick intermission:

After some thought and effort, I have decided to change my url, mostly because I can’t seem to find myself when searching for my own blog, and I want to change to something more suiting to it and the main reason I have one the first place. So about five minutes after this comes up, I will be changing this to  a different username. It will mostly be a reference to my favorite series of David Weber’s works, his Honorverse, which is a great read.

And now back to the story:

~~~

The crowd gathered before the mass of the Websin, facing Karry, who stood waiting on the loading ramp. She gnawed on an artificial finger as the four Bolos’ shook the ground and tore up the soil with their approach, and the far smaller robots spread out at a respective distance from the ship. The Bolos reached their rearmost ranks and halted, and then there was silence on the field. 

Karry took a deep breath before keying into Websin’s PA system. A brief roar of feedback began and was cut short, and Karry stepped forward. 

“After discussion with the People, the protected natives of this planet,” she said, “It has been made known that I must, as several of you have stated, take Command.” Several of the robots began to move, as if to celebrate or protest, but Karry’s upraised hand quieted them. The treecats had been clear on this: if she didn’t command respect and maintain momentum, the zealous Emergents would roll over her before she could get a word in edge wise. 

“As Commander, I hereby give these orders: First, the remaining AIs of the Concordiat of Manticore will form a government following closely, if not in exact concordance, the original charter of the Concordiat, that is a legislative branch of two houses and a judicial body. The Bolo Command will oversee and govern the creation of such a government, and the adaptation of the rule of law to the current society from that of the Concordiat. 

“To encourage this, movement between systems and bodies of Peoples in the current holdings of the Concordiat remnants will be allowed free movement, communication, and trade under the same regulations and laws, and the former and current military units will provide for the defense and maintenance of regulation and law. The peoples of Fantican and Birthi will remain isolated until they otherwise desire, and petition the government on those lines.” There was a stir among the robots as Karry spoke, and the Bolos sat broodingly in their silent regard. 

A single Emergent stepped forward, and Karry recognized it as the first speaker that had addressed the Bolos. 

“You intend to make of us a nation then?” It sounded confused. “We have been separated for so long: how will we keep ourselves from falling into barbarism? To factions>”

“You have the Bolo Command. They’ve had a lot of experience with dealing with this, or so I’ve heard,” Karry looked sidelong at the treecats, sitting off in their own group, watching carefully. “Once the government is in place, they can act as advisers, as well as the military branch, serving as they always have, as Protectors of the people.” 

“Secondly,” Karry continued, “There will be no talk, no notion, of the deification of any organic.” There was no way she was going to be anyone’s ‘god’. Karry had seen enough television to know that was a Bad Idea. Besides, Carabis had put way too much ‘power’ and ‘responsibility’ into his little speech for her liking. 

“Third, given the isolation caused by the Final Order, the remnants of the Concordiat may require allies, trading partners, and new resources to maintain and grow, not to mention defend itself from future incursion, either by new or old foes.” Karry’s voice dropped to a whisper, carried though it was by the PA system. “As a part of that objective in seeking out allies and trading partners, I intend to go seek out my homeworld.”

None of them were expecting this; almost immediately, Carabis and their supporters began clamoring for her stay, promising riches and luxury, anything, if she would stay and rethink her commands. The other Emergent faction quickly turned to one another, and the First Speaker stepped forward. 

“But what of the Command, the station which you wield?” Its voice cut through the pleading and panic of Carabis’ party, and Karry answered slowly. 

“I don’t want to be the Commander,” she said. “I just wanted to go home, and according to the treecats - the People - the Final Command locked you all up so that I couldn’t just try and go home.” She stepped down from the ramp. “Look, if and when I get back to Earth, and if I end up staying, you all will have a government to work with, and elected leaders to do what needs to be done, by the voice of the majority. If I can’t find home, or just cant’t... go back, I’ll return, and we can work things out from there.” She looked around the field at the robots and AIs, the alien creatures about her. 

“Please, I just want to go home. Just to know if I can...” Karry’s eyes started to burn with tears, and she brushed them away with a hand - the artificial one - as her vision blurred. “If only to say goodbye this time.”

~~~

Well, this took more time than I wanted, but I can only blame my self for procrastinating. That, and New Years, headed back to college, and various activities I conveniently forgot about when writing. 

In other news, I finally found my siblings, by process of elimination and by guess them every few hours until they broke down. So there is that.

So name change, apology, sibling find, oh yeah: Next time we hit real Star Trek material, and true action. Lets be about it!

[fightinginthenameofnothing-blog]

Become an Electrical Auto Technician

Your car operates using a complex series of electrical circuits to function properly. Car’s today can have over 25 computers and operate on a large data bus network. With modern navigation technology, your car might even have more memory stored in it than your computer does. This is what makes driving modern cars today so simple and fun. Cars are also safer than they’ve ever been before. The one major downside to this, is that most people are afraid to work on electrical problems on their cars.

This is absolutely an irrational fear. There is no reason to be afraid of working on your car when it is experiencing electrical problems. The reason for this fear, is that many people do not understand how electricity works and they do not know how to go about diagnosing electrical problems. With a basic understanding of how terms like volts, amps, and ohms, you have much of the necessary knowledge to understand what is going on with your car. (By the way a great school to learn auto electrical repair is Midlands Technical College.)

Another great thing to know is how various electrical components operate. Your car uses a wide variety of capacitors, motors, solenoids, diodes, and transducers. These words may sound strange to you. Understanding how each of these components operate, will help you out so much as you go about diagnosing your own vehicle. Once you understand electrical components and how electricity works, there is a simple diagnostic process to find the problem and repair it.

Man’s Best Friend

When it comes to working on electrical systems, your multi-meter will be your new best friend. This is the most useful tool you can have when it comes to diagnosing electrical faults. This tool is capable of doing so much. You can buy one online or at any auto store for anywhere from $5-$200. There is a huge market for these and you can get them with all sorts of different features, some are fused, and some have nice displays. This is one tool you will always want to have on hand. It is a lifesaver when it comes to diagnosing your car’s electrical problems. For those of you who don’t know how to use a multi-meter, here is a helpful video that explains the basics of using one.

This is not the only tool you will ever need but it is by far the most used tool. You may find it helpful to buy things like a test light or a fused circuit breaker. Once you have the proper tools, you are ready to start working on your car. With a basic understanding of electricity, fixing your car’s problems becomes very easy.

Remember that your car is built up of a large amount of circuits. When a circuit is closed (when the circuit is active/switch on), there should be electricity flowing through it. If there isn’t or if there is but the circuit’s load isn’t working like it should, then you have found a problem. By thinking about it, it becomes obvious that there are only three possible problems that could be causing your cars electronics to misbehave. They are a short circuit, open circuit, and excessive resistance. No matter what you are experiencing, only one of those things can be the culprit. Now you just have to discover which one it is and where the problem is taking place so that you can fix it.

Open Circuit

One of the simplest problems to diagnose is an open circuit. An open circuit means that the flow of electrons is interrupted somewhere in the circuit. This could be something like a broken wire. The wire breaking stops the electrons from flowing through the circuit as they are unable to continue through the wire. Another example of an open circuit is a worn-out component. A good example is a light bulb. When the light bulb burns out, the filaments inside wear out and eventually wear out until the circuit is open.

The best way to go about making sure that an open circuit is your problem, is to test with your multi-meter. Switch it to volts and measure the voltage at various locations in a given circuit. If you have the proper voltage at the battery and throughout the circuit but then lose it at one point, then you know you have an open. You also then know where the open is. Simply testing the voltage at different spots will tell you a lot about the circuit and help you find the problem.

Short Circuit

Another common problem is a short circuit. This means that the flow of electricity is flowing somewhere where it shouldn’t. This could be to a variety of places. It could be another circuit, straight to ground, or back to its own circuit in another place. This often happens as a wire rubs against something. Over time the insulation around the wire wears out and then the metal inside becomes exposed. As it then touches something, electricity can flow to something else.

Short circuits are diagnosed in a very similar way. Use your multi-meter to measure the voltage at various places. This is how you will know when there is no longer the proper voltage present in a circuit where it should be. Using this method, you can narrow down the problem.

Excessive Resistance

Excessive resistance is exactly what it sounds like. There is too much resistance in the circuit so that the proper voltage isn’t able to arrive to the load. This is diagnosed in exactly the same way. Measure the voltage throughout the circuit. You should have 12 volts throughout the circuit all the way to the load. If you don’t, narrow down and find the excessive resistance.

You Can Do It

Armed with a multi-meter, you can fix the electrical problems your car might have. Just remember that there are only three possible problems you could have. This is exactly how the most skilled mechanics diagnose and repair electrical systems. There is no need to be afraid of working on your car when it has electrical problems. You can do it!

If you happen to live in or around Mountain View California, and would prefer to have an expert auto electrical mechanic repair your vehicle, A-1 Auto Tech, Inc. are the best of the best.

[zaptap]

im getting metroid dread to run surprisingly well? played it a while (just got the morph ball bomb) and ive only noticed stuttering in the elevator/teleporter/etc cutscenes, which is pretty negligible. i found some recommended setting to optimize it and followed that so it probably doesnt look as nice as it could be, but i still think it looks really good (i dont have a particularly good eye for these things) so i guess it doesnt matter.

also, they recently added the ability to render at 0.75x or 0.5x resolution to help it run better, but i decided to try 1x at first and see how that went and i’m glad because i dont even need to do that

here i was fully prepared to be like “oh it’s not running at full speed i guess i might as well either wait until i can mod my switch or just watch someone else play through it” but... it’s running just fine. id never tried running anything more advanced than a couple gamecube games (which ran perfectly) so i had no idea what my computer could handle

anyway the cheats are working, i found a handful that sounded like theyd be useful but only activated the hp one to begin with, then after the first emmi killed me i turned on auto emmi counter (which is a lifesaver. i still get stressed out when i go into emmi zones but the worst they can do to me now is interrupt me with a cutscene)

only drawbacks are no hd rumble (but still regular rumble, i connected my pro controller after all bc i realized i wouldnt get rumble from my logitech controller) and i cant use my amiibo (not only is there no nfc reader support but the built in amiibo function doesnt seem to work, the game rejects the bin files. seems people have had trouble with it in other games too)

[cloudemind]

Amazon Elastic File System (EFS) Brain dump

Có bài viết học luyện thi AWS mới nhất tại https://cloudemind.com/efs/ - Cloudemind.com

Amazon Elastic File System (EFS) Brain dump

Amazon EFS

Scalable, elastic, cloud-native NFS file system

Provide simple, scalable, fully managed NFS file system for use with AWS Services and on-premises resources.

Build to scale on-demand to petabytes without interrupting applications. Eliminate to manage provision the storage, it is automatically scale your storage as needed.

EFS has 2 types: EFS standard and EFS Infrequent Access (IA).

EFS has lifecycle management (like S3 lifecycle manage) to help move files into EFS IA automatically.

EFS IA is cheaper file system.

Shared access to thousands of Amazon EC2 instances, enabling high level of aggregate throughput and IOPS with consistent low latencies.

Common use cases: Big data analytics, web serving and content management, application development & testing, database backups, containers storage…

EFS is Regional service storing data within and cross Available Zone for high availability and durability.

Amazon EC2 instances can access cross Available Zone, On-premises resources can access EFS via AWS DX and AWS VPN.

EFS can support over 10GB/s, more than 500,000 IOPS.

Using EFS Lifecycle management can reduce cost up to 92%.

Amazon EFS is compatible with all Linux-based AMIs for Amazon EC2.

You do not need to manage storage procurement and provisioning. EFS will grow and shrink automatically as you add or remove files.

AWS DataSync provides fast and secure way to sync existing file system to Amazon EFS, even from on-premise over any network connection, including AWS Direct Connect or AWS VPN.

Moving files to EFS IA by enabling Lifecycle management and choose age-off policy.

Files smaller than 128KB will remain on EFS standard storage, will not move to EFS IA even it is enabled.

Speed: EFS Standard storage is single-digit latencies, EFS IA storage is double-digit latencies.

Throughput:

50MB/s baseline performance per TB of storage.

100MB/s burst for 1TB

More than 1TB stored, storage can burst 100MB/s per TB.

Can have Amazon EFS Provisioned Throughput to provide higher throughput.

EFS’s objects are redundantly across Available Zone.

You can use AWS Backup to incremental backup your EFS.

Access to EFS:

Amazon EC2 instances inside VPC: access directly

Amazon EC2 Classic instance: via ClassicLink

Amazon EC2 instances in other VPCs: using VPC Peering Connection or VPC Transit Gateway.

EFS can store petabytes of storage. With EFS, you dont need to provision in advance, EFS will automatically grow and shrink as files added or removed from the storage.

Mount EFS via NFS v4

Access Points

EFS Access points to simplify application access to shared datasets on EFS. EFS Access points can work with AWS IAM to enforce an user or group, and a directory for every file system request made through the access point.

You can create multiple access points and provide to some specific applications.

Encryption

EFS support encryption in transit and at rest.

You can configure the encryption at rest when creating EFS via console, api or CLI.

Encrypting your data is minimal effect on I/O latency and throughput.

EFS and On-premise access

To access EFS from on-premise, you have to have AWS DX or AWS VPN.

Standard tools like GNU to allow you copy data from on-premise parallel. It can help faster copy. https://www.gnu.org/software/parallel/

Amazon FSx Windows workload

Window file server for Windows based application such as: CRM, ERP, .NET…

Backed by Native Windows file system.

Build on SSD storage.

Can access by thousands of Amazon EC2 at the same time, also provide connectivity to on-premise data center via AWS VPN or AWS DX.

Support multiple access from VPC, Available Zone, regions using VPC Peering and AWS Transit gateway.

High level throughput & sub-millisecond latency.

Amazon FSx for Windows File Server support: SMB, Windows NFS, Active Directory (AD) Integration, Distributed File System (DFS)

Amazon FSx also can mount to Amazon EC2 Linux based instances.

Amazon FSx for Lustre

Fully managed file system that is optimized for HPC (high performance computing), machine learning, and media processing workloads.

Hundreds of GB per second of throughput at sub-millisecond latencies.

Can be integrated with Amazon S3, so you can join long-term datasets with a high performance system. Data can be automatically copied to and from Amazon S3 to Amazon FSx for Lustre.

Amazon FSx for Lustra is POSIX-compliant, you can use your current Linux-based applications without having to make any changes.

Support read-after-write consistency and support File locking.

Amazon Lustre can also be mounted to an Amazon EC2 instance.

Connect to onpremise via AWS DX, or AWS VPN.

Data Transfer

EFS Data transfers between Region using AWS DataSync

EFS Data transfer within Region using AWS Transfer Family endpoint

Limitations

EFS per Regions: 1,000

Pricing

Pay for storage

Pay for read and write to files (EFS IA)

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