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im-poe-dameron · 2 years

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you're upset one night, and you don't know where to go, so you end up at your enemy's house, and as they open the door, you stay silent for a second, before saying (with tears in your eyes) ''i don't know where else to go.'' your enemy doesn't say anything. instead they pull you into their arms, giving you a shoulder to cry on.

- back at it again with another prompt! could i possibly get this one with my other favorite flyboy, poe dameron?

IT'S ALWAYS BELONGED TO YOU

a/n: okay so this has been in my inbox for SO LONG, but i got a huge spark of inspiration and was in the mood to write for poe. so out came whatever this fic is of enemies to lovers meets heated arguments meets well...........the good stuff. i finished this tipsy and half asleep so i don't even know if it makes sense but enjoy my darling!! (yes the title is from will turner). unedited and not beta read so there is most likely mistakes.

summary: injured from a fight at the cantina you seek out someone unexpected.

pairing: poe dameron x fem!reader

word count: 5.5k+ (i guess?!)

warnings: explicit so minors BEGONE, cussing, so much angst, bacta shot (aka involving a needle), pain, arguing, mentions of death, fingering, cum eating, overstimulation (blink and you'll miss it), fluff.

The frigid feeling of the night on your bare skin kept you from staying still and debating on whether or not this was a good idea. Somewhere in the brawl you forgot your jacket hanging on the back of your chair. The same jacket that once belonged to your father. You wanted to go back for it, but you’d been tossed out of the cantina for a reason and re-entering didn’t seem like a feasible option.

With reluctance filling every bone of your body, you made your way through the rain and back towards the camp you’d been tasked with protecting. You weren’t sure why you were put in the same group of people as the man who hated you so thoroughly is hurt at times–but there you were. A part of you wanted to fall into your slightly uncomfortable cot for the night; giving up without another thought.

Only you knew that if you showed up with a split lip and cuts on your knuckles, you’d be reprimanded to Corellia and back. Which left you with only one other option.

Sighing, you tightened your still bleeding hands into fists, trying to ignore the chills that spread rapidly down your spine.

His door looked more threatening than a whole horde of stormtroopers. It was a ridiculous notion to come to, but there you were–unable to simply knock and ask for help. You were hopeless when it came to admitting that you needed it in the first place. Asking someone–let alone the man who loathed your very being–made you realize that you’d rather face those stormtroopers.

What were twenty men with blasters compared to this situation?

A cough wracked your body, sending a searing pain down your side as you practically shivered. It was then you realized the bastard from earlier has most likely snapped a rib or two.

How would you explain this? How could you come back from this?

Nothing was worse than asking someone you considered an enemy for help.

Fighting the urge to tuck your tail between your legs and run, you raised your arm–knocking assuredly on the door. There was absolutely no turning back now. Which is what you were afraid of.

The echo of rain hitting against metal rang in the clearing behind you–reminding you of what you’d have to walk through in order to get home. If he said no, laughed in your face and refused to help, you’d be horrified but you would go. After all, the both of you had treated one another with enough cruelty to make even Leia herself shocked. You weren’t even sure what caused this whole situation in the first place.

Why did you hate each other?

Why did you want to see him hurt and why did he want to do the same to you?

For months you could barely be in the same room together for more than five minutes before you were going at each other’s throats. Yet you were pretty sure if someone asked you what started it all–neither of you would have an answer. It just seemed to materialize out of thin air. The hatred seeping so far into your hearts, you couldn’t find a good enough reason to let go of it.

You vaguely heard him shuffling towards the door, a thump of him hitting something filtering through the metal.

There was still time. You could sprint the other way and forget this whole night ever happened. You’d patched yourself up numerous times before. Why did you need him to do it this time?

You were five seconds away from turning tail and running when the door slid open to reveal a shirtless and sleep deprived Poe Dameron. The slight shock on his face at seeing you was almost laughable. Except you then realized–you couldn’t laugh without doubling over in pain. The surprise quickly slipped from his face, being replaced by a sour look you would recognize anywhere.

“Hi,” you said softly, tucking your hands behind your back to hide the sight of your split open skin. That however didn’t stop his eyes from falling to your bleeding lip. “I know I have no right to ask this–”

“Who did that to you?”

The small tendrils of heat you’d been reaching for began to curl around your chest. Squeezing tightly until you had no choice but to acknowledge that they were there in the first place. Your rib still hurt like hell, yet hearing the slight worry in his voice counteracted that pain.

“Doesn’t matter,” you said quickly.

“That’s not what I asked,” he said–eyes hardening as they fell to the way you were leaning against the wall, placing more weight on your left side than your right.

You’d only ever seen him look this way during the heat of battle. When he was determined to come out victorious–the rage shining through the dark brown of his iris, nearly burning a hole through your chest. He was angry you were hurt. It was a surprise to come to that realization and yet it wasn’t an unwelcome one at that. Shifting your body, you tried to alleviate some of the pain that shot down to your leg–feeling like you might pass out from hypothermia the longer you stood there.

“Some guys in the cantina didn’t want to believe I was with the Resistance,” you huffed, shrugging your shoulders slightly. “They are worse off than I am. Trust me.”

“Where are they?”

A flutter tore through your heart. You’d never felt this way in his presence before. Some part of you knew that you were supposed to have these emotions when it came to Poe, but that was just it. The knowledge that this felt wrong–made it feel so right.

Maybe that’s where the hatred came from. The incessant understanding that this–whatever it was–should not happen. Poe was going to one day be a general and you would remain just the way you were. An engineer who knew their way around a blaster in the midst of battle, but nothing more. So, you shoved down the emotions you were feeling until they settled at the bottom of your stomach–turning your body bitter.

Poe Dameron, no matter how appealing he was to you in this moment, would only ever be the asshole who called you names like slip and rookie.

“Why come here?” he asked, still taking up space in his doorway–keeping you outside.

He wanted an answer and just like when you were asked why you hated him–you couldn’t come up with a good one. Why were you there? Why did you feel the need to come to him? For all you knew he would do a shitty job in patching you up, but that didn’t seem to matter. You knew the answer and you also knew…you didn’t want to say the answer.

“I–I didn’t know where else to go,” you replied, lying through your clenched teeth.

Waiting for him to laugh–tell you to go back to your, too small, cot was worse than the pain now spreading like a fire through your chest. Except he merely stepped to the side, giving you enough space to hobble inside–tears building up in your eyes at the small act of kindness. His hand landed on your arm, dragging it up until your knuckles were directly in his line of sight.

“It’s not that bad,” you blurted out, forcing yourself not to wince when he led you to the small stool placed near what you assumed to be a kitchen.

“Bullshit,” he muttered.

Just that one simple word brought a smile to your face, but you promptly wiped it away as he returned with a bacta kit and a wrap from your waist. You hadn’t even told him that you suspected your ribs were broken. He could simply tell by the way you were holding yourself. Once again that sickeningly sweet warmth shoved its way to the center of your chest, spreading up towards your neck.

He didn’t speak as he cleaned your knuckles. Simply kept his head ducked down–his curls falling against his forehead as he tried to pull out whatever glass might have been there. The alcohol in your veins was gone the second his hand touched yours. The feeling sobering you up quicker than you would have liked. Which meant you now had to sit and try not to stare at his still half bare form; or the way the muscles on his back tightened as he hunched over slightly to get a closer look.

“How many were there?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Again you winced, averting your eyes when he lifted his head. “Four.” The word was mumbled under your breath, and it wasn’t until you felt his hand tighten around your own, did your gaze snap back to his.

“What the fuck slip,” he breathed.

“Look they weren’t–”

“You could have gotten yourself killed,” he snapped.

Rearing back, you tried not to flinch from the pain in your side. “I was perfectly fine on my own.”

“Perfectly fine huh?” He stood when you nodded defiantly. “Then explain why you came to me bleeding.”

“I told you I had nowhere else to go,” you said.

He scoffed, shoving the opposite stool he was on closer to you, and sitting down. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Why?” Now it was his turn to back away. “Why shouldn’t I lie to you? If you haven’t noticed Dameron–we hate each other. I can’t remember a single time you were ever nice to me willingly so give me one good reason why I should even consider telling you the truth.”

“Because–”

“Because why?” you shouted, no longer in control of the emotions that unraveled your very being.

This was inevitable in the end. A fight between foes–when the meaning was far more than either of you could comprehend at a time like this. If you weren’t injured, you’d have tried to shove him away from you. Put as much distance between the both of you as possible, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his, let alone shift your body away far enough to clear your head.

“Because it’s us!” Dropping his head into his hands he rubbed at his eyes, oblivious to the way your mouth dropped open slightly. “It’s us. And yeah we fight, and we try to kill each other, but it’s us. I’d take a fucking bolt from a blaster for you.”

Your breath hitched, eyes watering at the sight of him tearing his own walls down for you. The same person he made everyone think he hated. You must have been stuck in a dream that found its fun in making something like this feel so real. It was twisted how much you longed for it to be real–how you wished you could break down your own walls just as he did.

“Poe–”

“If you don’t think that’s true then you obviously don’t know who pushed you out of the way in the last battle.”

You remember that day. A stormtrooper had gotten the upper hand, and while you were attempting to leap for an abandoned blaster on the floor, he had fired the shot. Someone shoved you of the way, effectively knocking your head against a rock and knocking you out. Except they had saved you from dying. Now–as you watched him run his hands through his hair to appease some of the stress building in his body, you realized how wrong you’d read every situation since then.

The walls holding in every built in emotion you had felt in the last year cracked. Severing your armor in two–allowing him to see a part of you that you closed off to everyone else.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you breathed, eyes still wide.

He shrugged. “Why didn’t you tell me you took down the TIE fighter that nearly blew me to pieces?”

Freezing in place, you watched his lips tug upwards in a small grin as the truth finally spilled free. You weren’t even supposed to be in an X-Wing, but then you heard the panicked transmission call. They were out-manned, outgunned, and on the verge of being wiped out. So you did the smart thing. You jumped in a ship and attempted to help–saving Dameron halfway through the battle from the very brink of death.

“How did you–”

He leaned closer, invading whatever personal space you had left. “Rose can’t keep a secret to save her life after four glasses of Jet juice.”

“You knew this whole time that I saved you?” Exhaling a shaky breath, you tried to stop your heart from leaping out of your chest. “You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

“I figured you hated me, but not enough to watch me die.”

“Poe Dameron you’re an asshole.” It was said through a weak laugh, the tears spilling down your cheek as you realized how stupid the both of you were.

He smiled, cupping your face and wiping them away with a soft brush of his thumbs. “Right back at you slip.”

Shifting, you managed to lean your forehead against his, eyes shutting for a moment of peace. “Hey, why do you call me that?”

His huff of laughter washed across your face–his thumbs still stroking your cheeks. “Cause you slipped through my fingers when we first met and have been ever since.”

If you didn’t feel the absolute ache in your chest before that moment, you did now. Somehow he’d taken every time you’d burned with anger towards him and flipped it–causing you to burn, ache, long for him the longer you sat there. He was the reason you were still alive; the true reason why you came here for help instead of anywhere else. You wanted to see him–to know that the loathing he felt was just a cover for something he couldn't quite yet describe.

“Poe,” you whispered, placing your hands on his shoulder in order to keep him from moving. “I–” The breath in your lungs stuttered as you tried to get out words that you never realized you felt until tonight.

They were stuck, lodged in your throat as you realized what it would mean for you to finally admit that this was real. You’d have to open up to him–show him all the ugly bits you did your best to ignore, because they were far from perfect. You were far from perfect. Except he didn’t seem to care.

“I know,” he said. “Me too.”

Gripping lightly on his hair you dragged him closer until his lips sealed over yours, effectively stopping your heart. You were nearly positive that he’d stolen every breath you had ever taken and would take in the course of your life, with this one single kiss. Which only made you press against him harder, lips moving in a more swift manner to forget the pain you both put each other through to get here. How stupid were you to think you could make an enemy out of a fated lover.

Licking against his bottom lip, you felt his hand slide from your cheeks down to your waist. Gentle enough to avoid the wounded areas, but firm in the decision he was making. He chose you. He’d always choose you.

The taste of him would leave you inebriated for days to come. Peppermint and something so purely him that you wouldn’t have been able to put into words even if you tried. Somehow that left you wanton, desperate for more. It stuck to your taste buds, shooting lust through your veins. Curling your fingers even further into his hair, you tentatively opened your mouth to him, shivering when he took the initiative to lick slowly–hotly–against your tongue.

You could stay there for hours just doing this. Tasting him for as long as time allotted you to do so. However, fate had a slight difference in opinion, because as you moaned into his mouth, he gripped your side–sending a jarring pain down to the very tips of your toes. Crying out, you yanked him back by his hair; an audible groan tearing from his throat.

“I’m sorry,” you said, letting go instantly. “I just–”

“Where does it hurt?” He bypassed your apology, choosing instead to run his hands lightly over your side until he caught you noticeably flinching.

“It’s–fuck–I swear it’s fine.”

He shook his head, biting back his smile as you attempted to play off the pain that nearly had you collapsing onto the floor. Picking up the bacta kit he began to put it together. Really it would take a few seconds and it would be over with, but the way he glanced at you for permission before lifting the side of your shirt, felt like the act took longer than that. Biting down on your split lip, you ignored the way your body tensed when his warm calloused hands touched your side.

“This might hurt,” he mumbled, still so close that you could feel his breath against your arm.

“I can take it.”

Seeing him attempt to swallow down his smirk had your thighs clenching together. While you certainly hadn’t meant for it to sound that way, you weren’t upset when his mind fell to that conclusion. If you weren’t stuck in one spot, you’d have asked him to do far more than simply kiss you. Which made the entire situation that much more aggravating.

You could only kiss him.

Tensing as the needle punctured your skin, you forced yourself to think of anything other than the situation you were in. You couldn’t look at him–not when he was leaning forward like this, his lips inches away from your arm. Not when you could feel your control wavering, on the verge of snapping in two. Fuck your injuries, you’d heal eventually, but knowing Poe he’d demand that before either of you two did anything–you’d have to heal first.

“Stop fidgeting,” he said, pressing down on your side to keep you from pulling away.

“Just hurry up.”

“I’d be able to if you sat still.”

Grumbling under your breath, you felt him pull away, the clink of the needle hitting the counter coming from behind you. “Is that it?”

“I’m going to have to bandage your waist until we can get you to the medic tomorrow.”

“The bacta won’t…heal my ribs?”

He chuckled, grabbing the bandages he had pulled out from the closet you all had in case of emergency. “No it won’t. Bones are a little more complicated.”

“Well fuck–” Wincing when you shifted back, you saw him pause a foot away from you. “What’s wrong? Not enough bandages?”

Poe stumbled over his words, his eyes dropping to your body before dragging back to your eyes. You felt the tug in your stomach at the sight of him openly admiring you, but you shoved it down. Too prideful to admit that you liked the look on his face and wanted to see it again and again.

“No–uh–I’m going to need you to–well–”

“Spit it out Dameron,” you said, a teasing smile spreading across your lips. “It can’t be that hard.”

The words had their intended effect. His eyes narrowed, hands gripping the bandages tighter as he stared at you without any embarrassment in his eyes. Something shifted in the air around you–nearly sparking a fire that slowly inched its way through your body.

“Take off your shirt.” His clipped tone caused your body to react in such a visceral way you nearly let an incoherent whine slip free.

“What?”

Stepping closer, he began to unravel the bandages. “Unless you want the bandages on top of the fabric.”

“No–I–” If you weren't being watched by him–stuttering underneath his gaze–you would have made a sly comment. No doubt causing yet another argument, but the look in his eyes quickened your pace.

It took you painfully shifting and him helping you–his hands dragging up your sides slow enough to have you shutting your eyes for some reprieve–for you to finally get the shirt off. You were better off simply sitting here rather than feeling him handle you as if you’d break any minute. It was maddening. Yet each time he wound his arms around you to keep the bandage straight, each brush of his hands along your bare skin, sent shivers down your spine.

“Almost done,” he said.

You opened your eyes, peeking at his face and felt your stomach bottom out. His jaw was clenched, eyes staring directly at his hands that didn’t stray from his task. What you thought was merely you overreacting at the loss of touch you’d experienced, was something else entirely. Poe had always been the man to keep perfect control over everything he worked on–a spitting image of the leader he was meant to be. At times you found it annoying, except you never realized how far his need for control went.

“Poe,” you murmured, breaking through his tightly locked mindset and allowing him a moment to pull away.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

Shaking your head, you ran your fingers through his curls, pushing them away from his forehead. You never understood the fascination with a man’s hair until this moment. Until he titled his head back–leaning into your touch–as his eyes fluttered shut. The look on his face nearly brought you down to your knees and even as he opened his eyes, you saw the brown nearly swallowed whole by his pupil. He wanted more.

You both did.

“Poe–”

He pulled away, returning to his spot on the stool and tying off the bandage. “You’re injured,” he said. In all honesty you weren’t sure if he was trying to convince you or himself. “I’m not going to be the reason you hurt even more.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

The words felt strange coming from you, knowing everything you went through to get to this point. It was ironic in a way. Except you couldn’t focus on the past–you didn’t want to. Knowing that the thoughts you had weren’t just fickle emotions, brought out new sensations you knew only he could make you feel. Poe Dameron was an addiction you didn’t want to kick. He was the poison in your veins and the antidote on your tongue.

Wincing, you leaned forward to bring his gaze back to you. “You can still kiss me…”

The worry on his face gave way to a smile you’d only seen directed at you a few times. Well–the times you’d actually been looking at him. You didn’t know it yet, but you were the cause of nearly all his smiles; the reason he found himself in a daze–lost in thoughts of you. Without hesitation, he captured your lips with his. The tang of him, already something you missed, once again filled your senses. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to drag him closer or pull away for air, but you decided on the former.

Gasping as one of his hands hesitantly brushed against your bare breast, you nearly fell into his lap. If you weren’t careful the both of you would end up on the floor and that would cause more harm than good. Poe knew that, which is why it only took him a few seconds to switch places with you. Shifting your body until your legs were over his thighs–the heat of his body now pressing firmly against yours.

“Fuck–” you breathed; practically shaking as your nipples brushed against his bare chest.

“My beautiful girl,” he mumbled against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your jaw–nipping lightly at the skin there. “Saved my life.”

The words you intended to say came out as a whine of his name instead when he pressed your hips down against his own. Effectively grinding his cock right against your clothed cunt. Sparks trailed up your spine, giving kindling to the fire that now streaked its way through your veins–causing you to press even closer to him.

Thankfully the bacta shot numbed the pain you were in, but you knew things wouldn’t get farther than this tonight. If there’s one thing you understood–Poe never backed out on his word. He’d kiss you until your head went fuzzy and your heart nearly gave out, but he wouldn’t press you into something that would cause your body pain. Somehow that only made you want him more. Until you were practically dragging yourself against his lap and sucking his tongue into your mouth.

He groaned, his hand grasping at your ass to still your movements. “We can’t–”

“Please,” you breathed; the beg was clear in your voice. “I’ll be good.”

“Fuck baby you’re going to kill me.”

Giggling, you scraped your teeth along his jaw. “You and I both know it takes a lot more than me begging for your cock to kill you.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” he grunted, his hand reaching for the button of your pants.

The first touch of his fingers sliding through your slick nearly caused you to lose all sense of yourself. A heady moan ripped its way out of your throat as you tucked your face into his neck. Without meaning to, you began to grind against his fingers–positive that you wouldn’t last more than a few minutes from just him exploring. You were desperate for him; aching to feel him fill you entirely.

“Is this cause of me?” he asked, his eyes wide at the feeling of you practically dripping onto his palm.

You nodded, pressing your lips against his. “Yes. Now can you please–please touch me.”

Your heart nearly shattered when he shook his head, pulling his hand from you. This was the sensible thing to do. Wait until you are completely healed to move any further. Only you couldn’t stop the cry of desperation from leaving you. Steadying your breath, you began to shift away from him; certain that the both of you would simply head to bed now.

His hand grasping onto yours is what stopped you from moving.

“What–”

“Show me,” he breathed, dragging your bottom lip into his mouth and letting it go.

“Huh?” Your brain had turned to mush at the idea he was suggesting.

It wasn’t until he clasped your hand over his, having you guide him towards your cunt did you realize exactly what he wanted. Show me. He wanted to know what you wanted. How you liked to be touched; what exactly would get you there to the very edge of climaxing. His eyes were clouded with lust, mouth swollen and spit slicked as he watched the realization dawn on your face.

“Show me,” he urged a second time, biting down on his bottom lip when you finally took the initiative.

A ragged gasp left you when you pressed his fingers lightly to your clit, teaching him the pace that made your toes curl. Already you could feel your orgasm building, the tightening in your stomach growing with every swipe of his calloused fingers against you. Pushing his hand down further, you guided him, moaning when his fingers caught on your entrance. It wouldn’t take you long to hit that peak, his name already a pleaded out moan on your lips, but you needed more than what you could show him.

“I need–” You tilted your head back when he pressed the first finger into you.

“What do you need?” he asked, his other hand cupping the back of your neck to bring your lips back to his. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“I–” He slid another finger into you, smiling briefly as you choked on your words. “I need more. Oh fuck.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, digging your nails into his shoulder. If you thought you were guiding him on how to give you an orgasm, you were sorely mistaken. Within seconds, you were a mess on his lap as he sped up the pace of his fingers, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit with every movement. Feeling his eyes on you as your mouth dropped open and your eyes fell shut was almost too much.

“Poe!” you cried out when he found the spot along your walls, rubbing his fingers over it with every thrust. “I’m gonna–ah fuck I’m gonna cum.”

“C’mon baby,” he murmured. “Cum on my fingers.”

You didn’t hear the rest of his words, because the coil in your body finally snapped. Shattering your very being in two as he pushed you even higher with his fingers. Above the sounds of your breathing was the audible echo of his fingers plunging in and out of your cunt. The wet squelch enough to have your orgasm prolonging to a point of near pain.

Sobbing out his name, your legs shook as he gradually slowed the pace of his hand until you were reaching down to stop it altogether. Sparks spread up and down your spine, rendering you immobile as you gasped for a full lungful of air.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, the disbelief clear in his voice.

Laughing softly, you pressed your lips against his. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“Good kind or…”

“Definitely the good kind.”

You watched as he sucked his fingers into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you. The sight of his eyes shutting in bliss made your clit throb and you nearly asked him to do it again. Instead, you opted for kissing him–tasting yourself on his tongue–while you waited for the feeling in your legs to return.

Which they did a few minutes later.

“Oh shit,” you muttered, glancing at the digital clock he had attached to the wall.

“What’s wrong?” Sighing, you attempted to get up from his lap only to have him stop you. “What happened?”

“I forgot my jacket at the cantina,” you said.

“You can wear mine.”

The ease in which he said those words reminded you of your feelings. You would choose him again and again, no matter the consequences in the end.

“I’d love to,” you replied, wincing as you stood up. “But it was my dad’s jacket. I can’t lose it.”

Poe got to his feet–his hands settling on your hips to keep you steady. “Wasn’t he a pilot?”

“In the Rebellion. Yeah. I didn’t know you knew that.”

“I always paid attention when you thought I didn’t.”

Smiling, you felt heat begin to creep up the back of your neck, warming your face. “Thanks…for paying attention.”

“Don’t thank me yet slip,” he said, leading you through a few stumbling steps till your legs hit the edge of his bed. “I’ve still got to make you see the Maker once you’re fully healed.”

He laughed when you smacked him on the arm, your body finding the thought incredibly appealing. There was something dangerous about being this in tune with someone you thought you hated once. You weren’t sure it was a good thing or a bad thing yet, but you knew he’d help you find out eventually. So, rather than fight against the feelings that begged to be bricked up and hidden, you gave into something greater.

It took three more sexual jokes, a kiss or two, but soon you were lying together in the bed, his chest pressed against yours. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent as you drifted off. Happy for once in a very long time.

Feeling the uncomfortable ache return to your side woke you up from your relaxing sleep–causing irritation to rise in your body. Poe slept soundly beside you, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist and head pressed into your neck. Which is why you tried to stay as still as possible. Except you could feel the burn start to come back with full force.

You had to see a medic today. The sooner the better.

Shifting slowly, you managed to turn to your other side–relieving some of the pain. Only to freeze as you caught sight of the brown leather pilot’s jacket hanging off the back of a chair. Blinking, you cleared the sleep from your eyes to make sure you were seeing what you actually thought you were seeing. The same jacket you’d left behind–the very last piece of your father you had–was directly in front of you.

Your breath caught in your throat–the tears welling up in your eyes. Poe had ventured out into the pouring rain in the late hours of the night, all to retrieve your jacket. He knew how important it was to you; understood the significance of the garment you wore proudly each and every day.

Blinking back the tears you felt the last of your walls crumble into pieces around you. Finally exposing your heart to the world that had turned it cold in the first place. Only now, as you felt Poe stir behind you–your eyes still stuck on your jacket–did you know that your heart was eternally protected. Just as he saved your life and healed your wounds, he’d do the same for your heart.

For as long as time allowed.

#poe dameron x fem!reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron #poe dameron fic #poe dameron smut #my writing

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jimquisition · 1 year

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Star Wars Jedi: Survivor continues the story of Cal Kestis as he uses his space magic to fight back against the nazi allegory that basic nerds with no media literacy claim isn’t a nazi allegory because they think the entertainment they consume isn’t ever political.

Like its predecessor, Survivor is rather charming, perhaps more so than last time, but any winsome qualities are held back by a low key shoddiness permeating a game that feels consistently… off.

#star wars jedi: survivor #respawn entertainment #electronic arts #cal kestis #james stephanie sterling

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stubobnumbers · 2 years

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Turner Classic Movies - September 30th, 2022.

Turner Classic Movies - September 30th, 2022. All Times Eastern.

More Humphrey Bogart.

7:15 AM - You Can't Get Away With Murder (1939) Synopsis - A young tough takes the rap for a hardened gangster. Starring - Humphrey Bogart.

8:45 AM - King Of The Underworld (1939) Synopsis - A lady doctor gets mixed up with a criminal gang. Starring - Humphrey Bogart.

10 AM - The Petrified Forest (1936) Synopsis - An escaped convict holds the customers at a remote desert cantina hostage. Starring - Leslie Howard, Bette Davis, and Humphrey Bogart. (I've seen this flm. It's not a classic, but I enjoyed it.)

11:30 AM - San Quentin (1937) Synopsis - A convict's sister falls for the captain of the prison guards. Starring - Pat O'brien, Humphrey Bogart, and Ann Sheridan.

12:45 PM - Three On A Match (1932) Synopsis - A woman's childhood friends try to rescue her from gangsters. Starring - Joan Blondell.

2 PM - Black Legion (1937) Synopsis - A disgruntled factory worker is lured into joining a secret society out to terrorize foreigners. Starring - Humphrey Bogart and Ann Sheridan.

3:30 PM - Crime School (1938) Synopsis - A crusading warden sets out to improve conditions at a reform school. Starring - Humphrey Bogart.

5 PM - Blonde Inspiration (1941) Synopsis - A pulp-fiction writer hires a curvaceous blonde to be his muse. Starring - John Shelton and Virginia Grey.

6:30 PM - Blonde Crazy (1931) Synopsis - A con-man bellhop and his chambermaid girlfriend set out to fleece hotel guests. Starring - James Cagney, Joan Blondell, and Ray Milland. (I'd definitely be crazy for Joan Blondell.)

8 PM - Design For Living (1933) Synopsis - An independent woman can't chose between the two men she loves. Starring - Fredric March, Gary Cooper, and Miriam Hopkins.

9:45 PM - So Ends Our Night (1941) Synopsis - An anti-Nazi on the run and a young Jewish couple race across Europe trying to escape Hitler's ever powerful influence. Starring - Fredric March and Glenn Ford.

#movies

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robeblog · 3 years

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Cantina Turner

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beautifulcinephile · 4 years

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25 Songs

Rules: Put your playlist on shuffle, list the 25 songs that come and tag 10 people. This time, I wanted to add some more songs just for the fun of it.

Fool’s Errand - Fleet Foxes

The Music Is You - John Denver

Iris - Goo Goo Dolls

Cantina Band #1 - John Williams

Good Times - Tommy Lee

Black Smoke Rising (Acoustic Version) - Greta Van Fleet

Highway Tune - Greta Van Fleet

Edge of Darkness - Greta Van Fleet

Reaching - Ida Mae

Mountain of the Sun - Greta Van Fleet

Another Day In Paradise - Phil Collins

Back Home Again - John Denver

Here I Stand And Face the Rain - A-ha

Crying In The Rain - A-ha

Listen - Tears for Fears

Stay The Night - Benjamin Orr

Rey’s Theme - John Williams

Ride Across The River - Dire Straits

Good Times Bad Times - Led Zeppelin

Break It Down Again - Tears For Fears

Crazy - Seal

Let It Ride - Bachman Turner Overdrive

Rock Me Gently - Yola

Shout - Tears for Fears

Can’t Get Enough - Bad Company

Tagging: @dreams-madeof-strawberrylemonade, @bigthighsandstupidguys, @saywecanart, @woman-in-a-dream, @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair, @aint-no-denying, @satans-helper, @love-mountain-of-the-sun, @peacelovekiszka

#Tag Game #I GOT FOUR GRETA VAN FLEET SONGS #OMG #THIS IS WHAT I CALL AWESOME

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thunder-lightning-strike · 6 years

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Sooo, I was tagged by @dolldirector to answer these 30 Questions (still only 28, haha). Thank you so much! 🌟

Nickname: Light Gender/pronouns: She/her Star sign: Aquarius Height: 1.60m, concerts are a challenge, honestly! Birthday: January 29th Favorite bands: I always want to rant around this question but I will keep it simple for once, lmao. Rrrrrrrrammstein, The Clash, Frank Turner, The Cure. Favorite solo artist: These questions! OMG. I will say Jeremy Enigk, probably. Song stuck in your head: A dumb song a friend from work kept singing all week called “Compré una cantina” that literally means “I bought a bar”. Don’t listen to it 😂 Last movie you watched?: The Shape of Water. Nice job Guillermo, nice job *is proud in spanish* Last show?: I just finished Vikings season 4 (IVAAAAR!) Why did you create your blog?: Initially for art and design inspiration. Later when I turned it into a Rammstein blog, like come on, this doesn’t need explanation *stops typing to start a Flake dance* What do you post?: I try to keep this Rammstein only but occasionally post music, quotes, aesthetics and shitposts. Last thing you googled?: “Mighty Morphin Power Rangers metal cover” LMAO, I wanted to prove to a friend that the original song was already metal and therefore metal was sometimes embraced by society without even noticing. Why am I like this? 😂 Other blogs: Nope. AO3: Nein. URL?: My name is actually Light. I love lightning and thunder (these are too some of my favorite words in english) and also music by The Go! Team and We Were Promised Jetpacks. I follow: 176 blogs. I am missing the world! Followers: 626, I am so grateful to you guys! ❤️ Average hours of sleep: about 6 Lucky number: I don’t think I have one, but I like 9 Instruments: I used to play bass and keyboards. I don’t do it anymore thou. Learn guitar is on bucket list. What are you wearing?: Pajamas. I am supposed to be sleeping right now, lol Dream job: I really enjoy being a designer but I know I want to do something more music or social related. Dream trip: Germany, Sweden, Brazil (yes youuuu! ❤️ @sturmxundxdrang) Favorite food: Most food from breakfasts! and I recently eat a lot of celery (whaaat?) Significant other?: My bed, food, Chrissy Schneider and Vamp (what, only one?) Last book I read: I am still reading the TLOTR: The Fellowship of the Ring. Slow but steady, promise. Top 3 fictional universes: Rowling’s (omg, what if it’s real and I am a muggle?) I wish there were chocobos from the Final Fantasy franchise and I am a little low of ideas right now.

Tagging @sturmxundxdrang @apieceofpoetry @kristinakaverly @wiener-blut @followthecreeper @maggot-zombie @babypaulchen @kittysilver86 whoever wants to do this! (sorry if you’ve been tagged)

#taggy thing #thank you doll!#dolldirector

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elcinelateleymickyandonie · 3 years

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Filmografía

Hola Frisco, Hola (1943) - Chorine (sin acreditar)

Sweet Rosie O'Grady (1943) - Cena en Delmonico's / Chorus Girl (sin acreditar)

Jane Eyre (1943) - Mujer en la fiesta (sin acreditar)

The Gang's All Here (1943) - Chorus Girl (sin acreditar)

Pin Up Girl (1944) - Trabajadora de cantina (sin acreditar)

Flecha negra (1944) - Mary Brent

Bailando en Manhattan (1944) - Darnelle (sin acreditar)

Together Again (1944) - Gilda LaVerne (sin acreditar)

Esta noche y todas las noches (1945) - Showgirl (sin acreditar)

Mil y una noches (1945) - Princesa Armina

State Fair (1945) - Chica en montaña rusa (sin acreditar)

Fallen Angel (1945) - Mujer en Madley's Show (sin acreditar)

Ella no diría que sí (1945) - Allura

El cadáver llegó COD (1947) - Mona Harrison

Con los pies en la tierra (1947) - Georgia Evans

Cuando una chica es hermosa (1947) - Adele Jordan

El aniversario de Blondie (1947) - Gloria Stafford

El príncipe de los ladrones (1948) - Lady Christabel

Amo los problemas (1948) - Boots Nestor

La mujer de Tánger (1948) - Nylon

El hombre del cepillo más completo (1948) - Miss Sharmley

El pasado oscuro (1948) - Laura Stevens

Damas del coro (1948) - Mae Martin

Ligeramente francés (1949) - Yvonne La Tour

Ley de la costa de Berbería (1949) - Lita

El diario del médico del crimen (1949) - Inez Gray

Salón de baile Make Believe (1949) - Adele Jergens

Los amotinados (1949) - Norma Harrison

Tesoro de Montecristo (1949) - Jean Turner

La vendedora ambulante (1950) - Lilly

Servicio secreto de radar (1950) - Lila

Rubia dinamita (1950) - Joan Marshall

Calle lateral (1950) - Lucille 'Lucky' Colner

Todos bailan (1950) - Adele Jergens

Cuidado con Blondie (1950) - Toby Clifton

Robo de un vehículo blindado (1950) - Yvonne LeDoux

Al filo de la perdición (1950) - Irene

Blues Busters (1950) - Lola Stanton

El sonido de la furia (1950) - Velma

Sugarfoot (1951) - Reva Cairn

Abbott y Costello conocen al hombre invisible (1951) - Boots Marsden

Show Boat (1951) - Cameo McQueen (sin acreditar)

Aaron Slick de Punkin Crick (1952) - Gladys

Alguien me ama (1952) - Nola Beach

Overland Pacific (1954) - Jessie Loraine

El bombero salve a mi hijo (1954) - La esposa de Harry

La historia de Miami (1954).

La gran persecución (1954) - Doris Grayson

Extraña dama en la ciudad (1955) - Bella Brown

Tesoro proscrito (1955) - Rita Starr

La telaraña (1955) - Miss Cobb

El sendero solitario (1955) - Mae

Día del fin del mundo (1955) - Ruby

Niñas en prisión (1956) - Jenny

Luchando contra problemas (1956) - Mae Randle

Hijas fugitivas (1956) - Dixie Jackson.

Créditos: Tomado de Wikipedia

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adele_Jergens

#HONDURASQUEDATEENCASA

#ELCINELATELEYMICKYANDONIE

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giallofever2 · 7 years

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1967 I giorni dell'ira Aka Day of Anger (U.S.A.) Der Tod ritt Dienstags (Germany) Gigantes em duelo (Portugal) Días de Ira (Spain) El dia de la ira (Spain) Sormi Liipasimella (Finland) Dni gniewu (Poland) Le dernier jour de la colere (France) On m'appelle saligo (France) En främling kom för att hämnas (Sweden) Blood and Grit (U.K.) Gunlaw (U.K.) Ikarino Koya (Japan) Days of Wrath Dny hněvu (Czech Republic) روز های خشم (Iran) Director: Tonino Valerii In Cinemas 19/12/1967 (Italy) Music: Riz Ortolani Song: "It's Time to Go" sung by Christa Linder Cast and crew Lee Van Cleef (Frank Talby), Giuliano Gemma (Scott Mary), Walter Rilla (Murph Allan Short), Christa Linder (Gwen/Betty), Yvonne Sanson (Vivien Skill), Ennio Balbo (Turner), Lukas Ammann (Judge Cutcher), Anna Orso (Ellie/Eileen Cutcher), Andrea Bosic (Able Murray), Giorgio Gargiullo (Marshall/Sheriff Nigel), Jose calvo [as Pepe Calvo](Blind Bill), Hans-Otto Alberty (blond deputy), Ferruccio Viotti (Sam Corbitt), Benito Stefanelli (Owen White), Al Mulock (Wild Jack), Romano Puppo (Hart Perkins), Nino Nini, Franco Balducci (Slim), Ricardo Palacios (Bowie cantina owner), Paolo Magalotti (Deputy Cross), Vladimir Medar (Old Man Perkins), Mauro Mannatrizio (Mackenzie Perkins), Nazareno Natale (Wild Jack henchman), Sergio Mendizabel (Wild Jack henchman), Alvaro de Luna (Wild Jack henchman), Fulvio Mingozzi(Turner's assistant), Virgilio Gazzolo (Mr. Barton), Eleanora Morana (Mrs. Barton), Christian Consola, Gianni Di Segni, Omero Cappana Novel Basis: "Der Tod ritt Dienstags" by Ron Baker Screenplay: Ernesto Gastaldi, Renzo Genta, Tonino Valerii Cinematography: Enzo Serafin [Technicolor - Techniscope 2,35:1] Producers: Enrico Chrosciscki, Alfonso Sansone Tonino Valerii: the films

#i giorni dell'ira #tonino valerii #tonino valeri #giuliano gemma #lee van cleef #lee van cleff #riz ortolani

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cantinaturner · 1 year

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Honk if you Wonk.

#cantina turner #pete bentham and the dinner ladies #me #blog #liverpool punk #music #punk #punk rock #the dinner ladies #wonk unit #wonkfest #xray vez #london punk #Spotify

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sevmeyinkimseyifazla-blog · 5 years

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manon-dancleiro-blog · 7 years

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Silas y Goliat

De H.E. Bates

Traducido al español por Manon Dancleiro

Cuando yo era un niño mi tío Silas solía hablarme sobre un hombre llamado Porky Sanders, y cómo él de un golpe lo mandó al “Venga tu reino”.

-“Porky el Gorila”, solían llamarlo –contaba él. –Y era el campeón del mundo.

-¿Un boxeador?

-¿Boxeador? –replicó mi tío Silas con sorna. –Del boxeo aún no se oía nada. Te estoy hablando de los días de las luchas de apuestas. Te hablo de la época en que podías arrancar de un mordisco la oreja de un hombre sólo porque no te gustaban sus bigotes.

-¿Alguna vez le arrancaste la oreja a alguien, tío?

-Muchacho, –me dijo entonces con gran solemnidad. –yo era el campeón arranca-orejas del condado.

Y siguió diciéndome como todo ocurrió en el año de 1870. “El año en que las espigas de trigo medían casi tres metros de altura en los cuarenta acres de Deanes, los que están a la orilla del camino. Lo digo de veras, todo era más grande en esos días.”

-Imagina a un hombre como Porky. –me explicaba él. –En los tiempos que te digo él medía casi dos metros de altura y pesaba ciento treinta kilos. Seis vasos de cerveza cabían en la palma de su mano. Dos hombres entraban en una pierna de sus calzoncillos. ¡Sí señor! –exclamó. -¡Los mejores hombres eran enormes en esa época!

-Pero tú eras alguien pequeño –me atreví a decirle.

Mi tío Silas guiñó un ojo mortalmente serio, con la blanda oscuridad pícara que siempre guardaba para las preguntas y momentos incómodos.

-Sí, chico. Así es, yo era alguien pequeño. Pero siempre he tenido un gran cerebro.

Después de eso tío Silas siguió contándome no sólo como era el gran Porky Sanders y la fama que tenía, sino lo bárbaro, infernal y terrorífico que llegaba a ser. No era simplemente un hombre que peleaba, no era sólo alguien que arrancaba con los dientes las orejas de otros. Él era algo así como un dictador que caminaba aplastando a los hombres como escarabajos bajo sus pies.

Entraba a las cantinas y aventaba barriles de cerveza; si al casero no le gustaba, decía mi tío Silas, entonces lo aventaba a él. Si le apetecía una manzana, arrancaba ramas repletas de los jardines por los que pasaba. Si quería una pierna de cordero, entraba a la carnicería, tomaba las presas con una mano, daba un cinturonazo al carnicero con la otra, y salía de la tienda royendo la carne cruda como si fuera una manzana de caramelo.

Y si le gustaba una chica, sólo la agarraba y se la llevaba bajo el brazo como un cachorrito ganado en feria. Mientras, bebía de golpe un galón de cerveza y a su paso calle abajo las mujeres se escondían en sus casas y los hombres se agrupaban para protegerse.

-Creo haber conocido a un hombre llamado Sip Turner… -me dijo tío Silas. –Uno con la nariz como sacacorchos… Sí, eso fue obra de Porky Sanders. Lo tomó por la nariz y lo giró en el aire como matraca, allá en el 69, sólo porque no lo llamó “señor”. Ese tipo de persona era Porky; el mayor eructador, bravucón y canalla del condado. Un verdadero gorila.

-¿Y por qué –quise saber –lo llamaban “gorila”?

Mi tío tenía una respuesta para todo. –Fue marinero. –me explicó. –Cuando lo era quedó varado en una isla de África por dieciocho meses, en los que no comió nada más que carne de gorila. ¿Te das cuenta que eso fue lo que lo volvió tan fuerte?

Gradualmente, yo iba fijando en mi mente la figura atroz, sanguinaria, terrorífica del carnívoro, arrancador de orejas, secuestrador de mujeres Porky Sanders. Lo único que empezaba a confundirme era cómo rayos mi tío Silas había logrado mandarlo de un golpe al “Venga tu reino”.

-Ya voy a eso. –me tranquilizó. –Enseguida voy a eso. Verás, las cosas fueron así: había una chica. Una gran amiga mía. Se llamaba Vicky. Y un día, Porky se la llevó.

En ese punto mi tío Silas hizo una pausa ceremoniosa, como si ese fuera uno de los momentos más importantes de la historia nacional. –Y ahí, -dijo entonces. –fue donde él cometió un grave error.

-Seguro que lo desafiaste, tío.

-Sí. –escupió él. –Sí, chico, lo desafié. A puño desnudo. En cualquier momento. En cualquier lugar. Cada “knock-down” un round. Pelear hasta que alguno ya no pudiera ponerse de pie. Así lo reté yo. Y se rió de eso. Se quebró de la risa.

Le pregunté qué había pasado.

-Lo dejé reírse, niño. Y luego fui a trabajar. Verás, a Vicky le desagradó ser agarrada por ese gorila aún más que a las otras chicas. Lo odiaba como al veneno, pero no pudo hacer nada. Así que fui con ella primero. ”Vicky”, le dije, “juega con su orgullo”.

Entonces me habló de cómo la chica jugó con su orgullo, preguntándole si acaso estaba asustado de un pequeño pedazo de molusco como Silas, contándole que la gente rumoreaba que le tenía miedo; haciendo que tuviera muchas ganas de molerlo, de una vez por todas, como carne de salchicha. Ella lo hostigó por días, hasta que funcionó.

-Después, le pedí que lo tuviera alimentado a base de pepinos. –siguió contándome. –Hacía mucho calor, y ella le decía: ”Porky, cariño, debes mantener tu sangre fresca. Porky, cielito, lo mejor que puedes comer en este mundo son pepinos.” Redundó en eso tanto, que acabó no dándole nada más que pepinos durante una quincena completa.

-Pepinos y cerveza. –Siguió contándome cómo se arregló con el cantinero para que la cerveza fuera gratis para Porky todas las noches, pero cada gota sería especialmente alterada detrás de la barra con una cucharada de sales, una píldora o dos de un paquete de quién sabe qué adquirido del boticario. Cosas que convirtieron su estómago en fuego y agua.

-Por último -añadió con orgullo. –, que con el dolor de estómago de la cerveza y los pepinos, cuando llegó el momento de la pelea Porky se veía tan verde como una rana hervida.

-Y todo lo que tuviste que hacer, -intuí. –fue rozarlo con la mano.

-¡Mejor que eso! –dijo el tío con gran modestia. –Mucho mejor. Ni siquiera tuve que usar las.

Siempre había un momento de las historias del tío Silas en que las cosas parecían demasiado buenas para ser verdad; y ese, según yo, era uno de esos.

Él debió ver la duda naciendo en mis ojos, porque un momento después me dijo:

-Chico, ¿no te había dicho antes que yo era un tipo pequeño, pero siempre tuve un gran cerebro? Bueno, ¡no te lo dije por nada! –guiño sus ojos enrojecidos con fugaz y diabólica maldad. –La pelea fue en Vine Hills. Tú sabes, bajo los árboles, justo antes de llegar a la pendiente.

-¿Junto al río?

-Junto al río. –Según me contó, todo lo que él tuvo que hacer fue agarrar al gorila por la cintura y golpear ligeramente con su cabeza el estómago cansado y débil por cerveza, purgas y pepinos. Primero fue una especie de golpe estabilizador, luego correr y un golpe, para finalmente “a la carga” y un golpe. Cada uno produciendo una especie de grave quejido agonizante.

Me hice la imagen mental de mi tío Silas estando en medio del prado y Porky siendo sostenido por la densa muchedumbre excitada, mientras mi tío lo abatió atacándolo como una clase de Brigada Ligera; después Porky siendo impulsado inevitablemente más y más abajo por la pendiente hasta que por fin, de un golpe triunfante y magistral, tío Silas lo lanzó de panzazo al río.

Para terminar mi tío miró despreocupadamente a su alrededor con extrema modestia. –Y así, chico, fue como de un golpe yo mandé a Porky Sanders directo al “Venga tu reino”.

-¿En verdad? –dijo una voz.

Y ambos volteamos a ver, como siempre hacíamos a la conclusión de algún tipo de cuento atrevido, a la ama de llaves de la casa; agria, irascible, ojo de hierro, muy disgustada. –Si eso ha estado diciendo, estoy avergonzada, muy avergonzada. Contándole al niño alguna clase de descarado disparate e historias acerca de cosas que jamás sucedieron.

Por un momento tío Silas, sarcástico e imperturbable, mantuvo una apostólica compostura.

Después habló. -¿Disparates? No veo la diferencia entre una historia como esta y una acerca de una mujer que se convierte en estatua de sal o un hombre que permanece tres días vivo en el estómago de una ballena.

Y ahora que me pongo a pensar en eso, no la hay

¡¡Hola!! Este es el segundo cuento que he traducido de “Mi tío Silas”, espero que sea de su agrado :D

Recuerden que este cuento es obra de H.E. Bates :3 yo me di el tiempo de traducirlo al español porque he buscado traducciones en internet y no encontré :( Pueden encontrarme en wattpad con el mismo nombre ;)

#bates #literature #literatura clássica #clásico #inglaterra #bedford #traducción #español #humor #picardía #uncle #silas #tío #goliat #comedia

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tmbacorbett · 6 years

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Promo Blitz: Juan Pablo and The butterflies by JJ Flowers

Young Adult

Date Published: June 2017

Publisher: Simon and Schuster

Read Juan Pablo and the Butterflies Before It Comes Out On The Big Screen!!

Juan Pablo, a brilliant classical violinist, lives in El Rosario, Mexico’s Butterfly sanctuary. His grandmother Elena is the local medicine woman. The story opens with a bang: a group of narco-traffickers have posted banners signaling a takeover of their town. El Rosario is turned into a ghost town, but Juan Pablo must remain, as his grandmother has fallen gravely ill. His best friend Rocio and her grandfather (who owns the local cantina) stay as well, to help Juan Pablo care for the woman they all love. Just before Elena dies, she makes a startling announcement: she tells Juan Pablo it is time for him to follow the migration of the butterflies north--up through Baja into the United States and all the way to Pacific Grove, CA, another butterfly sanctuary, where, she promises, someone will be waiting for him.

Who this is becomes one of the mysteries fueling the novel.

After shooting up the town, the droguistas take over the cantina, demanding food and discovering Rocio hiding in the upstairs apartment. Juan Pablo must save his best friend and the love of his life. In desperation he uses one of his abuela’s poisons and inadvertently kills eight men. An epic chase begins, one that puts Juan Pablo and Rocio in constant danger on the ever so suspenseful and exciting journey north. Did I mention the story rips beginning to end?

A strong spiritual element is woven throughout the narrative, emerging as Elena’s unique, wise and sometimes comical understanding of the world guides our two heroes on the treacherous journey north. The spiritual element provides a strong counterpoint to the devastation, violence and ruined lives brought by the drug cartels operations on both sides of the border.

Praise for Juan Pablo and the Butterflies:

"The novel delves into a variety of hardships … the content is powerful. Flowers delivers a … touching contemporary novel that is … relevant in its treatment of drug-trafficking, immigration, and human rights issues.” (Kirkus Reviews)

In the otherwise quiet butterfly sanctuary of El Rosario, Mexico, Juan Pablo (JP), a thoughtful teen who loves playing his violin, recognizes the sound of drug traffickers that have taken over his town. His abuela, a doctor and naturalist, lies on her deathbed, from which she directs him to follow the butterflies’ migration to Pacific Grove, California. First, though, JP takes desperate measures to save his dearest friend, Rocio, from his town’s violent drug dealers. His actions yield a more dangerous result than anticipated, and JP must use his talent, wit, and abuela’s sage words to get himself and Rocio to safety. A thrilling series of events ensue that keep the reader wondering if the teens will make it to California alive. An abundance of heart-pounding action makes this a page-turner that adroitly deals with immigration, drug trafficking, and human rights issues. The story’s violence is offset by remembered conversations with abuela—both amusing and insightful—and the tender relationship between two young adults who have spent their lives together. (Booklist May 15, 2017)

Excerpt

Machine gun fire!

Juan Pablo cracked open the door of his modest home, and peered down the darkened street. The bratatat sounded louder than the blaring music and a furious rev of engines. Like a hammer to glass, the onslaught of noise destroyed the quiet of the butterfly sanctuary. Headlights swept El Rosario’s plaza as several trucks and an SUV circled the cobble stone square. Armed men hung off the side of the trucks and the relentless barrage of their machine guns filled the star-filled night.

Narco-traffickers. Here in El Rosario, home to a billion Monarch Butterflies and the two dozen families who loved them.

Juan Pablo slammed the brightly painted front door with the rainbow colored “Welcome!” sign. For the first time in his life, he found the rusty old lock and bolted it. He rushed to switch off the lamp at his abuela’s bedside before collapsing to the floor. He finished his ninth desperate text to the Novedades de México, the major newspaper for Mexico City.

Help! Narco- traffickers are shooting up the plaza in El Rosario. No one is left but our neighbors Mario and Rocio Ruiz and my abuela, Dr. Elena Venesa. She is unconscious with a fever--we need a doctor. Please send help

After hitting send, he texted Rocio who was hiding in the Cantina:

Juan Pablo: They’re here.

Rocio: Outside.

Juan Pablo: Can u get here?

Rocio: Too late. Under the bed. Scared. Praying. You? Elena?

Juan Pablo: Same. She is so still…

Rocio: Abuelo will request an ambulance for her.

Juan Pablo: Be safe Rocio. Don’t come out until they are gone. Promise me.

Rocio: I promise.

Juan Pablo stared with horror at his shaking hands. His violinist’s fingers, long, calloused, agile and strong, had never failed him before. He clasped them tight, and made his way to to the door to listen.

Last week a large black, red and white banner, sporting a menacing el Diablo with sinister eyes and a leering grin stretched across the sole road into their sleepy town. This was how the drug cartel marked a territory and warned the people that the police could not protect them now. The tourists had departed with most of the butterflies nearly a month before. Of the locals, everyone with relatives in Mexico City, Guadalajara or anywhere with a larger population and so somewhat safer, had packed up and left. Everyone promised to send help back to save the old lady they all loved, but no help ever came. No ambulance dared pass these murderous gangs.

Machine gun fire cracked like thunder and lightning into the sky.

Would Rocio be safe under the bed?

Born auspiciously one year, one month, one day apart from him, Rocio was his best friend in this life. (Even though she was bossy and they spent half the time arguing with each other, “like two puppies rough housing,” his abuela said more than once, “You Juan Pablo, such a know it all and Rocio always so bossy, this great cosmic dance between you two is hilarious already…) He closed his eyes, conjuring Rocio’s waist length dark hair and bright, teasing eyes, her skinny legs, and big feet.

Rocio’s uncle in La Peñita de Jaltemba, just north of Puerto Vallarta, begged them to leave before it was too late, but both Mario and Rocio had refused. They would not leave either him or his abuela. “Even if my abuelo could bear to lose the Cantina to the banditos, how could we possibly leave Elena and you, JP?”

Mario had agreed with his granddaughter. “Elena saved my beautiful wife’s life. She saw my daughter into this world and then Leonardo and Rocio. She taught Leonardo all she knows about the herbs and potions and helped him become a doctor too, bless her.” Rocio’s mother worked as a nurse in Arizona, helping to pay for Leonardo’s medical school in Puerto Rico and she was now very close to becoming a US citizen. “We owe everything to Elena, we all do,” Mario added. “Besides, Rocio would never forgive me if anything happened to you, Juan Pablo.”

You could sometimes reason with these modern day monsters, Mario had heard. Wasn’t it rumored that they sometimes paved a road or built a school or gave money to an orphanage? Mario planned to beg them to let an ambulance through for an old woman. “We will pay whatever they ask. Even the worse banditos would not let an abuela die for no good reason. And since no one is here but us and the butterflies, they will soon tire of El Rosario and be gone.”

Just keep Rocio safe. They wouldn’t hurt her, would they?

She was just a girl, only fourteen.

The relentless gunfire and booming music snatched the hope, replacing it with an escalating fear as he thought of the hundreds of stories of the narco-traffickers brutality and viciousness. “Like a deadly virus consuming my beloved country,” his abuela had shaken her head helplessly, knowing no medicine of magic with which to save Mexico from this terrible plague. Everyone had at least one relative, often more, who had lost their life’s savings, died, disappeared, or lived in fear of dying and disappearing. This army of the devil shot people for no reason anyone knew, and like demons from hell, they often tortured them first. They were known to disappear whole families, killing those police that they couldn’t bribe, and taking over whole towns before stealing everyone’s money. They recruited boys even younger than him, forcing them to rob, hide drugs, kill, or be killed. His abuela always imagined El Rosario, their tiny portion of paradise was at least safe, that the mountains and the butterflies themselves would always protect them. But this was not so anymore.

The gunfire and rev of engines abruptly ceased.

Unlatching the rusty lock, Juan Pablo cautiously cracked the door an inch in order to better hear. A man shouted orders, his loud demands rose above the noise of drunken laughter. Tajo, Rocio’s dog, barked frantically at the commotion.

Gunfire sounded again, followed by Tajo’s surprised yelp.

“No, no. Dios Mio.” Mario cried out, this barely audible. “Tajo. Tajo.”

Juan Pablo brows drew a sharp line above his green eyes.

Did they shoot Tajo? Why would they shot a little dog?

Sweet, friendly Tajo, their town’s mascot, Tajo whose wagging tail greeted the tourist buses, who followed them up to the meadow in the afternoons, Tajo who loved his violin’s music, Mario’s left over uchepos, and Rocio’s gentle hands. If they killed a small dog, what else could they do? Would they let an ambulance through to aid an old lady? Would they leave a young girl unharmed?

The answer ricocheted through his mind, but how could he stop them? He was just a teenager, tall maybe, but skinny too. He had no gun, power, and worse, no courage. He might love superheroes, but he was not one of them. All he knew was music and books; he was the exact opposite of an action hero.

He shut the door again, bolting it again.

His gaze found his abuela’s stilled form on the small cot.

How could the old woman fall ill now, when they needed her most?

About the Author

Most of JJ Flowers' published books are historical romance novels (Avon Books, Zebra Books,) many of which actually won awards and one of these awards was almost considered prestigious. She finally stopped being able to write these novels when she began having fantasies of killing off her heroines—in really dreadful ways. Her screenplays have been optioned at Warner Bros., Julian Krainin Productions, Bright Light Pictures among others; She suspects she holds the record for most amount of options! Two of her screenplays have received excellent coverage: The Good Fight, Clarence Darrow’s most compelling case where he successfully defended an African American physician who was falsely accused of murder and a two part miniseries Harriet Tubman: Let My People Go. As the world confronts the refugee and immigration crisis, Juan Pablo showed up to share his story, one that she thinks can offer hope for everyone.

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