#Stirling Range

[inefekt]

Crux & Carina rising above the Stirling Ranges, Western Australia

Nikon d810a - 50mm - ISO 6400 - f/2.5 Foreground: 5 x 30 seconds Sky: 31 x 30 seconds iOptron SkyTracker Hoya Red Intensifier filter

[melangle]

[wenbochenphoto]

2024 Western Australia Wildflower Trip Day 11: Stirling Range National Park 1. #floraofaustralia #westernaustraliawildflower #澳洲植物 #西澳野花 #stirlingrangenationalpark

[pedroam-bang]

SAS Rogue Heroes (2022)

[ruleof3]

[snototter]

A barn owl (Tyto alba) perches in the trees in Stirling Ranges, Western Australia

by John Anderson

[silveryhill]

Alain Prost: Still, even as it turned out, it was a fantastic story, don’t you think? And I think, in a way, we’re missing a little of that today. (Motorsport, 1998.10)

There's a metaphor abt Senna's helmet in the vid. Inspired by an interview from Nuno Cobra(his coach)

it's possible to say that Senna had that kind of split personality. On the one side you had Ayrton, who is sensitive, loving, sweet, poetic, romantic, wise and careful. On the other side, there was Senna, who is explosive. Senna was very nervous, very agitated, stressed, bad tempered. He was often compromised and challenged. I think Ayrton suffered a lot in the hands of Senna.

So Ayrton was the human side of Senna. When he put the helmet on, he turned into a “stranger”, the ruthless Senna.

And before the imola accident, Senna took off his helmet in front of Alain.

On Saturday, after Roland Ratzemberger's fatal accident, that was not the Ayrton I used to know, he was really worried...

On Sunday, at lunch time, he went to see me and simply didn't say anything important. Everybody was watching that in slience. It looks like he just wanted to get close to me. And I really feel that he's so weak. That was the first time I saw him like that...

On that Sunday I thought, that's not Ayrton. He's fragile. He wasted five or ten minutes to come to me and say nothing. And then he went back to the garage.

So I finished my lunch and went to his garage...

Ayrton's ritual was to be completely focused on his thing in the car. He never took off the helmet, it was the first time he took off the helmet(before the races). He was doing some stretching in the garage...

I didn't want to bother him too much but he wanted me to stay, it seems that he just want to share a time with me.

he was happy that I came there to talk to him, and that was the last time.

In their last six months, Alain met the REAL Ayrton.

"There were three Ayrtons for me: the one before F1 when he was looking at my races, at everything I was doing, the way I was doing it; obviously the one when we were together, inside or outside the same team; and then the one when I retired." It was this last version that Prost says he grew to like adding he wouldn't have believed it existed "if I had not known this person myself."

But Ayrton was Senna, Senna was Ayrton. They're the same person after all. So still, he put the helmet on and went to his fate. As Ron Dennis said, "it's his obligation." Like an addiction, and he "can't drop it."

Jackie Stewart once said:

Ayrton Senna was the most dedicated racing driver I have ever met. He was totally immensed in his life of being a driver. It was what he lived for. I would say that in a high 90% range of Ayrton Senna's focus on Motor Racing. Stirling Moss, when he drove, was a man who had other likes in life. Niki Lauda had passions in life, Jackie Stewart had, Juan Manuel Fangio had. Ayrton Senna, I believe, was more focused than any of the names that I've just mentioned.

So I think for Ayrton Senna, life, or love, is seldom enough, and that's why we admire him so much as his pure spirit of racing. It's a beautiful paradox. He's different.

*thank you for reading my way too long thoughts <3

*please don't repost it to any other platforms(like ytb), on tbr is absolutely welcome!

[peachetteprice]

Obligatory something something... John Price bloody loves a good bargain.

You'd never catch him at Tesco without his rewards card, and on the occasion that you do, he's stressing about having left it at home and missing out on the 2-for-1 deal on Chicago Town pepperoni pizzas. His pockets are consistently lined with coupons for various shops (notably Sainsburys because they never stop spitting the damn things out, those wretched machines), and when he isn't pondering the efficacy of precision-tactical strategies in long-range combat within the Turkmenistan desert, he's forging lines into his own forehead wondering about how many packs of kitchen roll and toilet cleaner he needs to buy in order to fulfil the '£15' spending fee for 70 extra nectar points at the checkout.

The container he keeps his coupons in is highly organised, to the point of mental anguish whenever it gets knocked off the table beside the front door (which it inevitably does because him and his gear can hardly fit through the dooorway) and each slip of paper takes flight like a pupil's workbook pages at the end of the school year. You'd say he's doing too much, thinking too much, but there's a certain fear he's able to instill into you whenever there's less than a day to collect a certain reward, such as a half-price sack of clementines, enraptured by his own delusions of ultimate enhacement that force a great manaicism into his pleas, and you soon enough find yourself carting his coupon box around like its your second child.

'It's being efficient,' he reasons each time. 'Can't be wasting good money, love. We worked hard enough for it, didn't we?' And you can't fault the objective truth in it.

After no time at all: he's got you convinced.

Indicted you into the cult that is his money-saving mind. Soon enough he'll start rationing leftovers of cottage pie and freezing portions of chicken, rice and peas, turning off the main lights in the middle of day in favour of natural light, even if your living room is shrouded by the oak tree out the back and is but a pit of darkness until, conversely, its dark enough outside for the light of the table-side lamp, and switching off the oven, the TV, the microwave, the kettle and the coffee machine overnight (from the mains, of course), because 'it saves pennies', pennies that will eventually equal pounds in the long run, and he wants to make sure that each one of those British Stirling pounds of his goes towards configuring you and your daughter a better, more fulfilling, lavish lifestyle, should you go without a midnight snack, a bright morning, and a sane trip to Asda every once in a while.

Because that's the sort of man he is. That's it.

| Masterlist |

[smutty-ki113r]

🏜Ticci Toby🏜 || Roundtale rival

NSFW||~ One shot x afab gn!reader, includes- Wild West Toby, mentions of violence, use of a gun, minors—dni (3.5)

Inspired by: Lindsey Stirling

It was a pretty slow day at the saloon, you rested your head on your palm, watching the batwing doors swing open and close like a pendulum. It was just the regulars at this hour, taking lethargic swings of their whiskeys and eyeing your corset-like work attire; which is why your attention drew to the cautious creak of the door, and the tall dark and handsome man you wanted to take a drink out of.

Suddenly your mouth went dry, you almost forgot to get up and serve the customer. Seeing as he sat himself down at a table already, you walked over to him, a bit nervously. He radiated mystery, and perhaps a twinge of danger even. “Afternoon” you introduced, “can I get your order?”

He didn’t look up, and you couldn’t see his face because of that worn out cowboy hat he had angled down. You might have not seen his eyes, but you certainly felt his gaze crawl up your legs and settle at your hips. He didn’t speak for a moment, which gave you one to admire him.

Him and those typical cowboy boots that had spurs, him and that leathery trench coat that almost touched the floor when he sat, him and that chestnut brown hair that came out from the rim of the hat, him and the smell of hickory and gunpowder, and a bit of whiskey.

The suspense made you hold your breath until he responded, “bottle of scotch please mx, and a shot of whiskey”, he said, his voice throaty but light, almost as if he were teasing. He grinned under his bandana, shifting so you could hear the clink of his rounds of ammunition going around his waist.

“I’ll get that right out for you sir” you gulped, going behind the counter to pour up his drink. Coming to him with his order and asking “is there anything else I could get you?”.

Having to suffer the slow pulse in between your legs while he gave your neck a discreetly lustful glance and under his breath muttered, “what I want… I don’t know if you could handle”.

It caught you off guard, but you certainly heard it. In a moment of impulse you responded, “try me”.

He chuckled and looked up at you for the first time, “I might have to take you up on that sometime then” he said huskily, “it’s a date”. You had to hold back the stupid grin on your face as you walked back behind the counter. Catching the occasional glances he threw your way as he filled his flask with the scotch and downed the burning shot of whiskey.

Leaving a few silver dollars on the table and whipping his trench coat out the door. You wondered if you would ever see the stranger again, he certainly wasn’t from around here but you hoped he would stay a while.

That night you went to bed thinking of him and his burning taste, of the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he drunk that shot and the way he walked so confidently with those boots. Almost forgetting about the next days errands, going to the tailor and the bank after work.

You almost jumped and clicked your heels in joy for payday, heading over to the bank down the street to collect your money. The mountains looked so pretty in between the purple and orange sunset hues, a couple tumbleweeds rolling by, but you weren’t paying attention to how empty the town seemed.

Giving a passing glance to the wanted posters outside of the wooden building, seeing ruffled brown hair and a scowl and the caption “Tobias Rogers: wanted dead or alive” and not even registering it. ‘The man in the picture looked kind of handsome through’ you thought to yourself as you entered.

Getting in line to withdraw some pocket money, humming quietly and trying to make the people at the register go faster. Your body flinching at the sound of a gunshot being fired through the roof. A scream rang out and chaos ensured, but another bullet told everyone to be quiet, well- that and a muffled voice from one of the bandits robbing the bank.

There were three total, your eyes darting nervously between the first two, both masked with white and red bandanas. You felt a familiar shiver run down your spine at the pistol being pointed at your back, it made you arch and freeze. Your lip trembling as you moved forward like the man instructed.

His husky voice muffled as he said “you, move along”, you couldn’t see him, just followed his instructions silently for fear of your life. He led you to the back, to the gold and silver pieces.

Pushing slightly so you could turn and do as he said, but the moment you met his eyes your jaw dropped. There was no way you couldn’t recognize that gaze, and by the looks of it, you surprised him as well. Now he was smiling, fully grinning under his black bandana, which he lowered just for you.

Getting real close to your ear so you could feel his hot breath, “let’s see if you were bluffing about being able to handle it hm?” Toby whispered.

Excitement made its way up your abdomen, a jolt shooting through your core at the way he spoke to you, at his teasing tone and that pretty boy smile, even with the scar on his cheek.

A pistol still pointed at your stomach, telling you to keep going till you were both alone in the most sacred room in that bank. Boxes holding gold pieces and other valuables. His eyes lit up at the prize he was about secure. He shoved you a bag and motioned for you to start filling them to the brim.

You felt his eyes shift from the silver to your ass as you bent down to start collecting the pieces. Your heavy breath and the chink of coins were about the only things you could hear, adrenaline pumped through your veins as you actively helped a vigilante rob the bank.

Thinking back to that wanted poster things just started to come together, this was the guy everybody talked about, the infamous criminal who would steal and then redistribute his wealth to the needy all across the west. You thought he might be nice, but just because he seemed to make a positive impact in his community, didn’t mean he wasn’t ruthless.

As much of a liking he had taken to you, he still got impatient. Bending down to your face and instructing “faster”.

You looked up at him with teary eyes, “I’m going as fast as I can” you whined. He gulped at the sight of you down on your hands and knees like that, it was like a dream come true, and he was supposed to let that opportunity pass up?

His calloused hand reached to your chin, tracing your jaw with his thumb. “I guess you’ll just have to compensate some other way then pretty”. You were stunned, but you didn’t want to resist. This was what you wanted and more, but you were shaking with nervousness.

Getting up and swatting his hand away, “you wish pretty” you retorted. His eyes widened in surprise of your retaliation. “You can’t just prance in here and demand whatever you want from me”

He cocked his head to the side at you shaking your finger in his face, but his lips were upturned in a coy smile. “Oh?”, he noted your trembling demeanor and held your index finger with his own. “Calling the shots now are we?” He asked. “I didn’t know you had it in you”

You retreated, and with each step you took back, he took one forward. He towered, being pretty tall with a dominating composure. Toby sighed, waving a hand dismissively, “I didn’t mean to impose” he played smartly, “just under a lot of stress, the bank and all, ya know”

He spoke as if you were an old lover, a hand now resting on your cheek softly. “And I’m sure you’ll help me out, won’t you?” He threw you a pair of puppy dog eyes, but he was so handsome it made you melt, your thoughts made mush as you nodded mindlessly.

“I just know you’d be a good partner in crime” he breathed, his face now inches from yours. He neared and your shaking ceased, now it was just desire that remained. “You’ll behave for me right?”

You shook your head eagerly, forgetting what the fuck you were arguing about a minute ago. “We can get these bags filled fast” he whispered, his breath trickling on your top lip. “I’ll be quick” he almost panted. Your eyes drawn to his lips, to those beautiful lips that you wanted to taste so badly.

“Mhm” you nodded, so close that he was just teasing you at this point. “Fast” you repeated, “we’ll be quick”, you inhaled. “please-”. You had to beg, because he was having a blast taunting you. He didn’t hesitate to close the distance between you two, pushing gently so you would sit on the open boxes of metallic coins and he could bring your legs to wrap around his.

His lips tasted like honey and barbecue, and you savored him like he was your last meal. There was no time to think about how messed up it was, because the only thing on your mind was him, and how delicious he was.

You furrowed your brows and moaned into the kiss, pleased that he was meeting you with just as much, if not more passion than you. His hand snaking it’s way to your hips to squeeze them.

Toby was impatient, you were like a sweet apple pie and he wanted to bite into every inch. He laid you out over the spilled golden coins and went straight for your neck, leaving marks all around. Recklessly making a mess amongst the treasure because right here right now, you were the biggest prize.

You panted and held the back of his neck, his beating heart so loud against your chest that you could feel his pulse. Helpless noises falling from your lips when he wasn’t kissing them.

He was insatiable, his body pressed to yours, bulge rubbing itself on your cunt shamelessly. Toby didn’t give a fuck, he just needed you, and he was going to get what he wanted.

To feel him press against that sensitive spot so perfectly made you wet with desire, bucking your hips up because you were so desperate to feel him inside you, to satisfy that craving he awoke.

“I can’t fucking get enough of you” he panted, biting your neck gently, just to get a little taste, he groaned against your skin as he felt the tender bit of flesh in between his teeth.

Your eyes lidded as you caught a glimpse of him above you, manhandling your body like he owned it. His own gaze landing on your open chest and how your tits were almost spilling out of that corset.

His hands were quick to pull them out and kiss them needily, he wanted to devour every bit. Those beautiful nipples that he popped in his mouth, swirling them around with his tongue. Those tempting lips he kissed over and over again. That gorgeous neck he just couldn’t get enough of.

He spread apart your legs and kissed his way down your chest and your hips till he reached your cunt, pulling off your panties quickly and watching the show you reacted when he slid his fingers up and down your slit.

“My my, wet already are we?” He asked, edging just the tip of a finger in to feel the dripping slick. You blushed, not even shying away because you were just so needy for him. Throbbing at the epicenter of his touch, just from the heated gaze he put on your body.

“Fuck I’m gonna feel so good inside this cunt” he panted, slipping his fingers in and groaning at just how tight you were, lowering his face to where you could only see the tuffs of his beautiful dark hair coming out from the sides of his hat. He met your eyes for a second, “but first I want to try what I’m buying”

His tongue met your clit softly, but the contact sent a wave of vibration throughout your whole body. He lapped at your juices like a starved man, plunging a finger in and curling it to hit that sweet spot you liked so much. His nose gently pressed against you as he devoured you.

You were coming undone faster than you would have liked, but he was just too addicting, too sweet and saccharine, and waiting felt like a sin. “Oh- Jesus” you whimpered, “don’t stop-“ you pleaded.

It was pure bliss, being treated like an all you can eat buffet, relentless lapping at your pearl; and even though it felt like you were high on ecstasy, it seemed like he was enjoying this more than you. From those noises of delight it was almost as if he was the one who was being pleasured.

He was going so fast, your head was fuzzy and all you could do was whimper and moan. “Fuck- I’m close!” You warned, your head falling back because all you could do was hold on and wait for that wave to hit. At the mention of your approaching orgasm he grinned against your skin and decided to make it extra difficult for you.

Toby latched onto your clit, sucking and groaning at the taste. Having him suck on your most sensitive area sent you into a shock of electricity, cumming so fast you could do nothing but squeal and hold onto the sides of the crate you were laying on. Your legs shaking and wrapping around his head, knocking his cowboy hat off.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve seen all day” he groaned “and I’ve been out riding in the dessert at noon” he joked, kissing your inner thighs. And you had to pry him off because he didn’t want to go. Fuck he would probably spend all day down there if you let him. Now that he had a taste- he wasn’t going to let you off the hook so easily.

“Oh hey now, I was having fun down there” he teased, “but we can have fun doing something else instead…” Your entire body was still vibrating, and he was so hard you thought he might tear a hole in those pants.

“Yes” you said without a second thought, “I need you”. The ends of his lips turned up in a smug smile.

“I have no objections with that then gorgeous” he said, moving in on your neck once again. Placing his hat on your head, watching you accommodate to it strangely, but nothing was more attractive than you wearing his daily piece, with your legs spread, ready to take him.

“You’re so good for me” he whispered, pulling his cock out and giving it a few strokes. “Such a good, pretty little thing for such a bad guy” he bullied, groaning against your ear as he slid his tip against your wet lips. “Not like you had much of a choice, the moment I saw you I knew I had to have you”

“I am a theif after all, I take what I want” your mouth opened in silent squeal when he found your hole and bottomed out. His eyes meeting yours with a burning passion as he got a feel for you, “you feel so fucking amazing” he panted.

Rolling his hips back and snapping them against yours, his head rolling back as he started stroking into you. Your wet cunt squelching in response to his cock filling you up deliciously. He was the biggest you had ever seen, ever taken, and he reached places that would be wrong to mention.

His thrusting was so rough it made the coins overflowing in the crate fall off and chink down to the growing pile on the floor. The jingling sounds of the metal, the creak of the wooden surface and the string of wanton noises were the only things you could hear, but you couldn’t focus on anything other than the man who was fucking you.

It was the most pleasurable feeling you had ever experienced, his girth stretching you out like that, balls slapping against your ass. “Can you feel me inside you?” He asked in a trance of joy.

You gasped every time he bottomed out, crying out “yes!” and lacing your fingers with his as he stroked your walls.

His hands sliding down to your hips to pull you back on him and use you like a toy for his pleasure. It was like a dream to him, and he could think of nothing but the way you squeezed his cock like a vice. He threw his head back and kept pounding, you looked up to see the sight, he was like a god.

Sweat dripped delicately from the tips of his chestnut hair, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down from swallowing saliva cause fuck you were making him salivate. The taste of your pussy still on his lips, the essence of raw flesh on his tongue.

“Fuck I can feel you wrapped around me god, nothing’s ever felt so good” he groaned, pulling out and flipping you over. He wanted to grab a handful of your ass while he pressed into you.

You molted into the new position, giggling at his hand kneading your ass and holding onto your hips. He was so deep inside you, taking you from the back so he could watch your ass bounce every time he thrusted.

Behind you, you could hear his deep exhales every time he filled you completely, his shameless moans at your wetness. Your cheeks tinted at the sounds of clapping, he was so carried away, and you were too the moment his hand reached over to play with your clit.

“Your pussy is gonna milk me” he exhaled, you pulsed at his lewd words. He just had this way about him, maybe the way he moved and handled you so expertly, or his boyish charm that won you over in 2 seconds flat- that had this power over you and your body.


With every little touch and press of his fingers you reacted, arching your back into him. Your face falling because it was just too much to take, he was so big and so gratifying it made you dizzy.

“You’re doing so good sugar” he praised, turning your head so he could see you and kiss your gorgeous lips while he pounded into your pussy. “Just a little longer and I’ll let you cum alright?”

You nodded into his lips, bouncing back eagerly so he would give you what you so craved. “I know how badly you want it babe” he teased, his fingers digging into you so hard they left marks. You sat there, taking his fat cock just like he wanted, each stroke coaxing you to that climax.

His thrusts got faster, deeper, making you see stars as he panted and rambled out praises to you. “So so good for me” he said, his voice coarse. “Jesus” was the last thing he muttered before he pressed his body to yours and spilled inside your hole.

You felt him fill you up and his teasing was still going, not wanting to cum before he said so. It was a relief when he finally said “do it, cum on my fingers”, just the rough tone of command was enough to send you over the edge for the second time. You squealed and throbbed through your orgasm, rolling your eyes back and thankful for him holding you up because you needed it.

Turning back to face him and get dressed, he didn’t even bother taking the hat back. He gave you a joyful smile and told you “it looks better on you”. Holding the bags of money open once again and finishing up the original job.

He put the bags in your hands and walked out with you in a headlock, “sorry in advance for this sugar”, he pressed that silver pistol up to your head and made you walk out with the money. “Nobody move or this one bites the dust” he warned the people.

Motioning for his associates in crime to cover him as he led you outside and made you get on his horse. You watched in awe as he pulled off a sort of flawless bank heist, his friends right behind him as you rode away into the sunset.

He put the pistol away and took charge on the horse, ignoring the questioning glances from his partners and shrugging. “Don’t blame me for taking the pretty things, you said rob the bank and take the valuables” he huffed, sending you a knowing grin and a wink, “and thats just what I did”

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

First Date. - Price x OC

|| [ Part Two ->] ||

pairing: F!OC: Kathleen "Brass" Moore x John Price words: 2.8K~ cw: flirting, insults, banter, smut mentioned, sexual innuendos/intentions

"NURSE 20040132, RECEPTION ASAP."

Kathleen looked down at her pager and cocked a brow. Usually, she didn't get called to reception unless stuff was going down.

Sighing, she took off her latex gloves and walked over to the sink, washing her hands up to her forearms, before she left the A&E area through one of the double doors.

Scanning her badge on the sensor by the staff-only doors, she stepped out to the reception, clad in her royal blue scrubs.

She had been expecting a reception packed full, or maybe a very distraught family member reaming out the receptionist... But instead, the reception was not very full, and her eyes locked on one very tall and burly Captain Price.

He looked different this time. Still tall and imposing, with big hairy arms on display...

But sporting a thicker, fuller beard... and now wearing a full uniform. A quarter-zip fleece with camo print on the arms, and plain tan on the body, cargo pants and boots... and a kevlar vest.

It had been two weeks since she'd gone over to Stirling Lines to ream out the man and, true to his word, he didn't put in more requests for Wallcroft's release... But now, being here, it rang alarm bells in Kathleen's mind.

Was she about to get reamed out in front of hospital staff the way she did to him, in front of his inferiors? Or was he about to warn he was pursuing Non-Judicial Punishment for her?

Approaching him, she clipped her I.D. back on the left breast pocket of her scrubs and approached the reception desk, leaning on the surrounding wall of the desk, where one of the admin nurses was stationed. "Parker, you rang?" She beckoned.

"I did." Price spoke up before Nurse Parker could get a word in. Kathleen turned her face to look up at John with a cocked brow before she sighed and nodded.

"What can I help you with, Captain?" She asked him, placing her hands in the front pockets of her blue scrubs top.

Price looked at her with a slight tilt of his neck and head, as if he wanted to appear smaller for her, or, maybe, to hear her and see her beter.

His blue eyes took in the shape of the beautiful woman in front of him, the way her uniform didn't conceal the curvy nature of her body, or the size of her breasts, even with an extra layer in the shape of a black underscrubs top beneath the blue scrubs.

"Wanted to see you." He replied as his gaze slid back up to meet her brown ones.

"See me, huh?" She asked and tilted her head to the side, noting the way his hands slid up to grip the straps of his vest right below each shoulder.

The man nodded in agreement, eyebrows raising up to his hairline, which was concealed by a toque, as if he was inviting her to argue about it.

"Well..." Kathleen trailed off as she looked at him. "You saw me." Kathleen said. "Now if you don't mind, I've got better things to do than stand here looking pretty." She began to turn away to duck back behind the security doors.

"Moore, please, wait a minute." Price said, calling her by her surname, which she had no clue he knew. It caused her to stop and look over at him again, over her shoulder.

Sighing loudly, she turned fully to face him and rolled her eyes. "What, Captain?" She asked, conceding in giving him another moment of her time.

John took a step closer, and another, until he was standing over her again. "Let me take you out."

Kathleen cocked a brow. Not the first time a soldier or officer had tried asking her on a date. Hell, not the first they'd turned up after they had been cleared or discharged from treatment just to see her...

But it was the first time that a man invited her out after she had cussed him out.

Shaking her head, she turned away again, and walked over to the double doors she had just emerged from, scanning her I.D. on the reader and pushing the door open. Then, she looked over her shoulder.

John was still standing there, hands on the straps of his vest, looking at her with a deep gaze, like he was trying to see through the layers of her scrubs. Sighing and tapping her foot on the floor twice, she finally waved him over with her hand.

He quickly rushed toward her just as she pushed the door back fully. "Walk with me." She demanded as she began moving down the hall. The man obeyed, staying by her side.

"Don't touch anything, don't look anywhere, don't talk to anyone." She warned him as they passed another doorway, which she pushed open by pressing the crash bar down with her wide hip.

Price followed after her, slipping past the door by turning to the side. "Are you going to let me take you out?" He insisted.

"I'm busy." Was the only reply she could give him, eyes glued forward as they weaved through the hallways.

"I mean on your day off, love."

"I'm a nurse. We don't have those."

"Well, when's your next break?"

"I'm on my feet for 12 hours a day. I don't eat a full meal or drink water for those same 12 hours. I'm genuinely considering starting to wear an adult nappy so I can cut the amount of times I have to go to the loo which are already not a lot because I have a strong bladder and don't drink nearly enough to need to go often, hell, I already wear nicotine patches because I can't get myself smoke breaks."

A normal man would've flinched or winced or shown disgust at what she was saying. At the very least, because it was TMI, and at the most because she's clearly trying to gross him out and scare him away.

And yet John remained impavid, looking at her with the same expression as always, a slightly amused smirk tugging at his lips, eyes locked on her face, on her mouth, as she spoke.

"Didn't answer my question, love."

"I don't have breaks, Captain."

"John." He corrected her.

"Hm?" She cocked a brow as she finally turned to actually look at him.

"John Price." He replied, introducing himself to her.

Sighing and rolling her eyes, she introduced herself in turn. "Kathleen Moore."

"When are you free, Kathleen?" He insisted as he looked at her, right in her eyes, head dipped at an angle.

"Not anytime soon."

"Well... whenever 'not anytime soon' comes..." John began as he reached into his pocket and produced a piece of paper in which he'd scribbled his number prior to the conversation. "Give me a ring." He reached the folded up paper toward her.

Kathleen took his number carefully and stuffed it into her breast pocket. "I'll think about it."

"I'll make sure to wipe all the thoughts from that busy head of yours when you do, love."

"Yeah, right." Kathleen scoffed as they finally entered the A&E department and she quickly washed her hands once more and popped on a pair of latex gloves, before disappearing behind a curtain to check on a patient, leaving John standing there, by the doors leading back out.

-

As it turns out, 'not anytime soon' was actually almost a week later, on Saturday. She shot him a text a bit last minute and, as such, they agreed on coffee, not far from base.

Kathleen arrived and went inside the quaint coffeeshop, immediately catching a glimpse of John in the corner of the room, having claimed a booth to himself. He caught sight of her too, blue eyes flittering over her body, almost shamelessly so.

Kathleen got in line and ordered herself a tea and a raspberry tartlet, paying for them before she headed over to John's table. He was already sitting with his own cuppa and a lemon drizzle cake slice in front of him.

"Took your sweet time, love." John told her as she took her seat beside him, placing her purse on the other side of her body, leaving her left side open for John to come closer.

"Yeah... I didn't want to come." Kathleen replied as she shook her head and gave him a dismissive, mocking glance.

John sighed and shook his head. a smile tugging at the corner of his lips... which only grew when he noticed she was smirking too.

"You think you're funny, huh?"

"Oh, no, I don't think so, I am funny, Captain." She teased him.

John's blue eyes squinted at her in mild amusement, before he leaned a bit closer to her, setting a hand on her hand over the table. "Worth the wait, though, I've gotta say." He remarked, looking her up and down.

His date smiled a bit in the face of the compliment and shook her head. "Thank you..." She said sincerely.

Kathleen looked radiant, her long brown hair tied in a half-up half-down style, wearing pretty make-up and jewelry, and a stunning black and gold cami top, with skin-tight blue jeans and black high-heeled boots.

"You could've put in a bit more effort, though." She quipped as she looked at him. "Looking like you've just rolled out of bed and threw on the first thing you saw in your closet." She said, a mean smirk on her lips, as she watched his eyes narrow.

She had a point however. She had definitely tried harder than him... In his blue jeans, grey quarter-button shirt and black jacket, paired with blue sneakers.

"Oh is that how it is?" John taunted her while cocking a brow, sliding even closer to her, wrapping an arm around the small of her back and onto the side of her hip, pulling her tight against him.

A normal woman would already be pulling away. John was too bold, too handsy... But as Kathleen stared right into his eyes, she couldn't find it in herself to mind.

"Mhm... that's how it is." She murmured as she leaned into him as well, swiveling at the hip in order to face him, setting her hands on his chest.

"We'll see who'll look like they just rolled out of bed when I'm done with you." He murmured in her ear, only pulling away as soon as the waiter came over with Kathleen's order.

It reminded them, forcibly so, that they were in a public place, and caused them both to put some distance between them.

-

"Portuguese, huh?" John asked as he sipped on his second cuppa, holding it around the brim and trying not to burn himself on the hot liquid.

"Mhm..." Kathleen stirred the spoon in her own second cup almost mindlessly.

How they had gone from flirting shamelessly and nearly jumping each other's bones to having a normal, cordial getting-to-know-each-other conversation was beyond them.

They had been at it for nearly two hours now... and they had talked about it all:

What they studied and where (RMA Sandhurst vs. King's College);

How they came to be in their respective careers (wanted to do something good with his life vs. got recommended to enlist due to her bedside manners being 'tough');

What they do in their free time (reading and working out day-to-day, and fishing, woodworking and home/car restoration when he's home vs. reading, yoga and baking);

And now, of course, they were venturing into getting to know more of each other's pasts.

"Where in England did you grow up?" He asked her.

"Around Colchester." She said with a shrug before setting down her spoon and sipping her tea as well. "You?"

"Right around here. Hereford." He replied as he set down his cup and rested his right hand over hers again, fiddling with her feminine hand with his calloused hands, admiring the red nail polish she had put on.

"Big family?" She asked him with a cocked brow.

"Already asking me about my family, da'lin'? A bit eager, aren't ya?" John teased her while cocking his brow, then, slid closer again, lifting her hand up to his mouth and peppering a stupid kiss on the back of it.

"Oh, I'm sorry, 's it making it seem like I want to take yer last name or something, you big bastard?" She taunted in return, which earned her a laugh from him.

"You're a terrible woman, you know that?" He replied, causing her to roll her eyes. "God help the man who marries you one day."

Kathleen scoffed at him and rolled her eyes again. "And this is coming from the man that nearly groveled on his knees to ask me out?"

"I didn't grovel, you hellcat."

"Right, you just accosted me at work and begged me to go out with you, innit, John?"

John scoffed too but dropped another kiss on the back of her hand, and then over her fingers, and onto her palm, blue eyes glued to her brown ones.

There was something in his eyes, something in his kisses. Every nasty word they traded, paired with those stupid kisses of his, and his beard rubbing against her soft skin... She could see herself getting lost in it. In him.

"Didn't answer my question." She told him swiftly, changing the subject as she slipped her hand off his grasp and pushed his head back playfully by the forehead, before grabbing her cuppa and sipping it a bit more.

John didn't feel deterred, he simply slid over, wrapping an arm around the small of her back again and looking into her eyes from up close, even as she drank from her steamy tea cup, his lips almost pressed to it from the other side.

She regarded him through the steam, and over the rim of her cuppa, as if forcefully drawing out her sip of tea, to force him to wait, to have to answer her, the eye contact between them electric and full of heat.

"Just a younger sister." John finally gave in and replied, and so, she finally pulled back the cuppa and set it over the table again.

"Two sisters, two brothers." Kathleen replied in exchanged, which caused John's eyebrows to shoot up.

"Big fuckin' family, that there." John remarked, and she nodded in reply. "You're the big sister?"

"Second oldest." She replied, causing John to nod this time.

"No wonder you're so feisty, sweet'art."

"And no wonder you're such a cunt, John."

"Oh, are big brothers cunts for ya, are they?"

"They are. It's like they make it their life mission to be cunts to their little sisters."

"And you'd know it all about being a cunt, wouldn't ya?" John teased with a cocked brow.

Kathleen didn't deny it, she didn't even seem offended, she merely shrugged and smirked.

John's eyes caught the way the corner of her plump lips curled up in satisfaction and smugness, the cupid's bow well-defined even with just a light layer of peach coloured lipstick.

He leaned his head forward again, taking advantage of the cup no longer being in the way and, slowly, rubbed his lips against the corner of her mouth, his beard rubbing against her jaw and cheek.

His large nose brushed the side of her shorter, upturned one and, softly, he whispered against the skin of her cheek. "Should let me get you out of here..."

"And why would I do that, Jonathan?" Kathleen asked in return, playing coy.

As if her breathing hadn't already hitched in anticipation at the idea of what John was proposing, as if she hadn't been boldly staring a him and the way his clothes clung to his muscular body, the way his cologne wrapped around her like a cloud, as if his strong arm around her didn't make her want to mount him.

"If you keep saying my name like that..." John murmured under his breath as he pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. Kathleen's hand slid down his stomach and over his belt buckle, before settling over the growing bulge in his blue jeans.

"Fuckin' 'ell... You'll be the fuckin' death of me, Kat." He added with a hiss, eyes fluttering a bit from the mere fact her hand was rubbing over his bulge under the table. "Let me take you out of here, sweet'art." He pleaded in a whisper.

"I don't know..." Kathleen continued teasing him in a coy tone. "I'm not really the type that goes to bed with a bloke on the first date... Not that this even counts as a first date." She added in a scathing tone, causing John to hiss again.

"Right... except I'm not a bloke... I'm a man." John murmured. "And this isn't a first date, according to you..." He listed off. "And... I don't plan on taking you to bed. I plan on watching you ride my cock in the back of my car..." He added, his blue eyes finding hers at the same time as she sucked her bottom lip behind her teeth.

Kathleen wished she could argue with him... But it's not every day that a man not only tolerates her attitude but hands it back equally. And, hell, she couldn't deny that John was attractive... Maybe a bit too attractive...

"So what do you say?" John added with a smirk.

[inefekt]

Crux, Carina & the Magallanic Clouds at Stirling Ranges, Western Australia

Nikon d810a - 50mm - ISO 6400 - f/2.5 - Foreground: 7 x 30 seconds -  Sky: 28 x 30 seconds - iOptron SkyTracker - Hoya Red Intensifier filter

[melangle]

the only true mountain range in south western australia, the Stirling Ranges. Formed from heavily eroded shale that was deposited 1.8 to 2.0 billion years ago, on the peaks you cans till see ripples from what it was mudflats at the edge of the much older 2.8 billion year old Yilgarn Craton. this post-fire photo shows much bare soil exposed

[wenbochenphoto]

I just love this ancient landscape, can't have enough of it!

[integra1127grimmreaper]

Mr. Grinch (Joel Miller)

Joel Miller Masterlist

Warning: swearing, fluff

Summary: A little Christmas story inspired by Lindsey Stirling's version of - You're A Mean One, Mr. Grinch.

Mr. Grinch... that was what everyone had nicknamed Joel after just one day in Jackson last year, when he and Ellie had first set foot in the community last winter. Now, one year later, and another winter in yet the nickname still stuck. You found the entire thing to be quite amusing; yes, Joel could be grumpy and sometimes comes off as just plain mean, but there were good, loyal qualities to him, ones that only those dearests to him were witness to. So, that's why to make lightly of the nickname, you had decided to do something fun about it in the annual Christmas eve pageant.

You had come across an old burlesque record sometime back, the beat of the music perfect for what you had planned. Your outfit; a cute red winter dress, green tights and Santa hat.

The pageant was taking place in the mess hall, as the Christmas eve community dinner was to be taking place immediately thereafter. A small stage had been erected in the hall, with tablets setup for all to enjoy the show and dinner after.

The hall rang out with whistles and cheers when you made your way to stage, everyone soon quiets down, and the music begins to play.

*

You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch You really are a heel You're as cuddly as a cactus As charming as an eel, Mr. Grinch You're a bad banana with a greasy black peel

The room was eerily silent as you comically performed on stage whilst singing; everyone knew exactly where you were going with the chosen song. You on the other hand, were having a field day with it, as people's eyes kept jumping back and forth between you and the table you were clearly trained on during the entire performance.

*

You're a monster, Mr. Grinch (Mr. Grinch) Your heart's an empty hole Your brain is full of spiders You've got garlic in your soul, Mr. Grinch

You're a vile one, Mr. Grinch (Mr. Grinch) You have termites in your smile You have all the tender sweetness of a seasick crocodile, Mr. Grinch Now given the choice between the two of you I'd take the seasick crocodile Seasick crocodile

"Shit, it's you!" Ellie bawls out in realization, but you continue like nothings amiss. Everyone nervously stares back at the table as she chuckles out loudly then.

"The song is about you, Joel! You're Mr. Grinch!"

"Now, Ellie... don't be looking for trouble where there ain't none" Tommy attempts to neutralize the situation before things got out of hand.

"Nuh-uh..." Ellie retorts with a stiff head shake, hollering out then.

"See! I fuckin' told you! She just winked at him!"

The sounds of gasps ringing out at her words, as everyone braced themselves for your impending demises at the hands of the man you were clearly referring to in the song. He, on the other hand sat dangerously silent, as his dark narrowed gaze remained fixed on you as the performance continues.

"Ellie..." Tommy drawls out in annoyance, and then it happened.

"She blew him a kiss!" Ellie screams, griping onto Joel's shoulder; shaking him back and forth in excitement.

"Wait. What?" an open-mouthed Tommy stares at you on the stage.

*

The words that best describe you are stink, stank, stunk (Ooh) No, no, no Stink, stank, stunk Oh, Mr. Grinch Mr. Grinch...

The music ends and the room is filled with nothing but awkward silence, Tommy silently eyes Joel; preparing himself to have to stop his brother from strangling you in front of the entire Jackson community. Ellie then jumps out from her seat and starts cheering loudly and you chuckle out, taking a dramatic bow.

"Now, Joel..." Tommy attempts to divert his attention away from you as you step down from the stage.

Everyone sat with bated breath as you made your way toward Joel's table with a cocky smirk plastered on your lips.

"Joel" Tommy warns, jumping up to stop him when he gets up, but Ellie and Maria hold him back.

"What hell are ya two doing?!"

"Wait" Maria remarks as you and Joel meet each other in the centre of the room.

Placing a hand on your hip and cocking your head to the side; you smirk at him whilst striking a pose.

"Hey there, Mr. Grinch..."

Joel's eyes narrow to tight slits as he silently grinds his teeth whilst staring down at you for a second. Silent gasps ring out when he steps closer to you, reaching out to take the Santa hat off your head; Joel plops it onto his own, a broad smirk spreads across his lips as he pulls you flushed against him.

"Hi, Baby..." Joel drawls, tipping down to capture your lips in a deep kiss.

"What the fuck...?!" Tommy voice rings out, along with loudly gasps of surprise.

"Knew they were fucking long before this, FYI..." Ellie remarks smugly, causing both Tommy and Maria to scowl at her disapprovingly.

"What?" she shrugs at them.

"He's always looking at her all-googly-eyed... and she's even worse. Also caught him from my bedroom window; sneaking out of her house and back home in the early hours of the morning when no one's awake."

Joel and you chuckle into each other's mouths at her words, resting your foreheads against one another's with broad smiles.

You had your suspicious of her knowledge, but both had decided to keep your relationship a secret till now. Finally deciding after four months that it was time to make it public, as a matter of fact; it was Joel who had come with the idea of your performance when you had let him in on the town nickname for him.

What the residents didn't know; was that even with only one good ear, Joel had still managed to pick up on the word 'Grinch' being softly uttered whenever he was around. He wasn't too keen on it at first, not till you had told him that you found it to be a cute name for him. That 'How The Grinch Stole Christmas' had been one of your favorite Christmas movies as a child. That in the end Mr. Grinch wasn't as bad as everyone believed him to be just lonely and misunderstood, with a heart of gold hidden underneath all that grumpiness, just as your Joel.

When you playfully performed the Mr. Grinch song for him, Joel found it utterly amusing and that's how you came to be performing it tonight. Proving to everyone that your Mr. Grinch wasn't as bad as everyone believed him to be.

"C'mon Baby..." Joel slings his arm around your shoulder and directing you towards the table.

"Lead the way, Mr. Grinch..." you pat his ass affectionally, causing him to chuckle yet again as the rest of Jackson stared at the two of you weirdly. 

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

All Along the Watchtower

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: some military jargon, mild angst, brief mentions of sexual activity in the past, brief mentions of violence

Summary: Sgt. Rory Sinclair with the Special Reconnaissance Regiment of the British army has been called on to assist with a joint US/UK operation. Quickly discovering that her Commanding Officer for the mission is a man she's met before...

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis. Will also be available to read on AO3.

October 13, 2017 09:37 - Special Reconnaissance Regiment Headquarters, Stirling Lines, Credenhill, Herefordshire, United Kingdom 

Rory sat in her cubicle, grey plastic walls surrounding her, free of any personal items. Scouring hours of footage shot during a scouting mission in thermal vision, taking note of timestamps and important location details for her report, she couldn’t help but taste the acrid pang of jealousy. It was the duty of her and the other SRR operators in the office to painstakingly comb through reports and footage, collecting intel. The nerve center for army intelligence. Keyboards clacked and phones rang as information was filtered and passed along to where it was needed.

"Sgt. Sinclair."

A deep voice broke the monotony around her, it was one that few ever heard unless the powers that be deemed it so. She’d only heard it once before when her transfer to the SRR was approved. Spinning in her seat at her desk, she rose to stand, her hand raised in a salute as she stood at attention. "Colonel Rourke, Sir?"

Rourke, a man with decades of experience as part of the British army, stood at her desk. Brusque and stern, he was a bulldog of a man trapped in an office space. He would have been more comfortable leading a fleet of tanks rather than an infantry of analysts. "At ease, soldier." She relaxed, hands held behind her back as he continued, "I don't make a habit of personal visits, but I've just left an important meeting and I need your attention for a moment, Sergeant."

"Of course, sir."

“Follow me.” Leading her away from the bullpen she was sitting at and towards a quiet corner, a potted plant was the only company there. Free from prying eyes and ears, he turned his back to the rest of the room, and lowered his voice. "There's a joint operation happening between the Americans and the SAS, and they require our assistance. However, they're looking for boots on the ground experience, and a fair portion of the SRR operators currently available for missions of this sort of nature just don’t have that. But you –"

She nodded, her face falling somewhat. She'd only transferred six months ago and was still settling in. The SRR HQ provided a different type of work than she was used to, but she appreciated the change of pace it gave her, utilizing a different portion of her skill set. It also meant she was closer to her father rather than being half a world away in the middle of a war zone – but a soldier could only be at peace for so long. 

"I understand you were transferred here to clear the headspace, but I can’t think of anyone better suited. You have an impressive record, Sinclair. A real asset. You’ve a history with counter-terrorism, been in the thick of it, and I have a Station Chief with the CIA here who wishes to speak with you."

It wasn't a question or an offer. She had been selected. An honor bestowed upon her. There was no turning it down. Not that she would. Ambitious, career-oriented – she had no reason to say no. Walking past the cubicles of operators, it was a stark contrast to where she was less than a year ago. The ground no longer shook as bombs dropped overhead, bullets didn’t tear through the air or rip through kevlar, it was quiet here. Safe. She still played an important part in the war effort, but without the risk to life and limb. The blood no longer dripped from her hands, though that still didn’t make her clean. 

The colonel stopped outside a large meeting room and opened the door for Rory, directing her inside with his hand. The room was empty except for one woman with a coffee and a laptop sitting at a long table. Dressed in business casual clothing, she looked prepared for a day at the office compared to the soldiers around her wearing their uniforms. Looking up, her face serious, she tilted her head in Rory's direction but spoke with the Colonel, "Is this her?"

"Yes, this is Sgt. Sinclair."

Like a child being spoken about between a parent and a teacher, she was recognized as being there, but not as part of the conversation. Things had been set in motion, all of which she had yet to be made privy to. Rory was no stranger to working on a need to know basis, moving up the ranks meant for much of her career she often merely had to follow in the direction she was being pointed. This was certainly no different.

"Good to meet you," the American said with a nod of her head. "I'm Kate Laswell." Holding her hand out to the open seat beside her, she directed Rory to it. "Take a seat."

Appearing sure in her steps, even while the stress took hold, she stopped at the table and took a seat, exhaling her breath finally as she settled into the chair, still trying to hold the proper decorum expected of a soldier. 

"You can relax, Sinclair. It's just you and me." Laswell looked at the Colonel and the door quickly closed, leaving the two women to sit alone in the large, echoing, blank slate of a room. She sipped her coffee, her eyes shifting to the screen of her laptop before speaking again. "I assume the colonel didn't reveal much about what's going on here, did he?"

Shaking her head, the short choppy locks of her chestnut bob hovered around her neck. "No, not really. Just that you're looking for boots on the ground?"

"Not exactly. We have the boots, it's more so a certain expertise." Kate glanced over at the younger woman, her brow lifting. "Why's a soldier like you working behind the scenes?"

Rory stretched her neck from side to side, cracking her knuckles. A cigarette suddenly seemed like a very good idea to her. "It was suggested I take a transfer from the field after I completed my last tour.” Glancing over at Laswell, she noticed the woman had begun looking right at her, scrutinizing her. “I spent the last several years in Iraq during the civil war. Working with CIA, PMCs, whoever my unit was assigned with." Her eyes fell to her fingers as she started to pick at the hangnail on the edge of her thumb, the skin underneath as sore and raw as the memories.

"Off the books?"

She cleared her throat and returned Laswell’s eye contact. "Oftentimes, yeah."

Kate paused, her head tipping to the side. "Seen some things, huh?"

Rory tried to get a read on the woman, it was hard to get much from her face or her demeanor. There was empathy or at the very least some form of understanding. Was she a soldier in the past? Or just an overpowered cop like some of the other CIA agents she'd met? She scratched her brow, clenching her jaw. "Did some things too."

"Not afraid to get your hands dirty then." Laswell’s face never seemed to change, her mouth drawn in a straight line as she folded her hands on the table. 

"I did what was asked of me."

"Like?" The station chief seemed genuinely interested in her, trying to get a beat on her all the same. Both of them were in the process of figuring out who they were about to get into bed with. 

"Primarily I focused on targets of high importance to prevent further incursion from the insurgency. Assassinations, interrogations – been there, done that."

"Assassinations?" Kate's voice rose, her interest piqued.

"I”m SSC trained. Ran a fair few missions that left me in some nests in high towers."

"A sniper, huh?"

"Yeah. When needed."

Nodding, Laswell’s straight face seemed to break for just a brief moment into a nearly unnoticeable grin. "How many confirmed kills?"

"High importance targets? Thirty three. I lost count of the random sods," she said with a shrug.

Laswell sipped her coffee, unfazed, hearing news like that was just a walk in the park for this woman. "No stranger to deep recon then?"

"It's in the name,” Rory confirmed. “It's what the SRR does. It used to be part of the SAS, but broke off and focused on the intel part of things. It’s why I was specifically transferred here and not just put on leave. Command didn’t want to lose someone with my experience."

"You have some connections with intelligence?"

"I have friends at MI6."

"Good.” Laswell’s attention fell on her completely. “Well Sinclair, I have a friend who's running this op – he's SAS – and you sound like just what he's looking for. If you're up for it, of course." 

Rory contemplated the decision for a moment, she hadn’t thought she’d be back out in the field quite so soon, and considering the fact that none of the details of the mission were being revealed to her until she agreed to come, she assumed she was heading into some real shit. Her hands slipped from the tabletop and into her lap, a tremor shaking through them out of sight, before she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Great." Laswell shut her laptop and scooped it under her arm as she stood, collecting her coffee cup in her other hand. "Come with me."

Her brow lifted. "Just like that?" She was well accustomed to the bureaucracy and strict measures the British army seemed to enforce, things didn’t just happen, not without cutting several layers of red tape and after being passed through multiple hands first.  

"Just like that."

She stood up and followed behind the Station Chief, keeping pace with her as they moved through the halls. Rory was in no position to argue, nor would she want to, it was nice not to be beholden to the rigidity of the chain of command. This was more cavalier. Very American. 

"So, you straddle the line between spy and soldier, huh?" Kate asked, her eyes kept forward.

"Sort of like you, I assume?" Rory asked with a sideways glance, her lips curving into a half grin.

"Sort of." Kate huffed out a laugh. "Yeah."

They turned the corner and headed down the stairs, the reverberations of their shoes on concrete bouncing off the walls. Once an RAF base, now the headquarters of the SRR and the 22 Special Air Service Regiment in the midlands, it was sprawling with large open fields. Out on the parade, a helo sat waiting, it’s rotor warmed up and the blades spinning. There was no time to grab her things, it was get up and go, the moment she said yes she was being tossed from the frying pan into the fire. The urgency was clear, she had likely already been transferred and meeting Laswell was simply a courtesy. 

Ducking under the blades, the shadow of each one cutting across the sun as it broke through the dense cloud cover above, Laswell pulled open the door of the helicopter. “Head inside,” she said with a tip of her head towards the waiting entrance into the vehicle, raising her voice to be heard over the engine. 

Rory climbed in and looked over at the row of seats, noticing another soldier sitting there, already strapped in. His face stern as he shifted, adjusting his hat, the overwhelming scent of cigar smoke drifting from him. Scratching at his cheek, his nails dragging through a thick fuzz of facial hair, he glanced over at her and then turned back to Laswell who took the seat across from him. "I assume this is the one, Kate."

"Yeah, John, this is her.” Laswell pulled on the front of her jacket as she sat back and got comfortable. “Sergeant Sinclair, meet Captain Price."

Rory's brow furrowed for a moment at the name. It was familiar, but she couldn't pinpoint how. Was it one she'd seen in a report? As she strapped into her seat, steely blue eyes measured her up before turning his attention to lighting the Villa Clara cigar he’d pulled from one of the pockets of his vest. 

"Nice to meet you, Sergeant."

His voice was deep, rumbling, and it stirred something in her. She was no stranger to appreciating someone’s timbre, but this was something different. He seemed so familiar, she couldn’t place how, but she knew it. Intimately. And then the memory hit her – the bathroom stall. Five years prior, one night in a bar. The sheer chance of them meeting like this damn near improbable. Her stomach dropped. Jesus. His face was nearly recognizable beneath the facial hair that hadn't been there the first time they met. His voice had become more gruff, lower than she remembered. The cigar he was currently smoking gave a clear indication as to why. Swallowing down the embarrassment that threatened to burn at her cheeks as she looked at him, gauging his reaction to her name - if he recognized her the way she suddenly did him, he didn't show it.

"Good to meet you too, sir," she said. Her gaze fell to her hands, remembering how it felt when he had held them. Trying her damnedest not to look at him, she preferred to appear nervous over the mission and not the man who had suddenly become her commanding officer. 

Tugging at the tactical vest he wore, Price tilted his head back, puffing on his cigar and looking out the window as the helicopter began to move, the inside shaking as they lifted up off the ground. 

There was no backing out now.

Laswell passed her a tablet, and started giving her the brief. “That is Igor Zorokov, Russian oligarch and alleged trafficker. Weapons, drugs, information…people.” Rory’s eyes locked on the screen, scanning through images of the man. Older, blond, in relatively good shape. Not the type someone might assume as a master criminal upon first inspection. “He has ties around the globe, but his stronghold is in Eastern Europe. Supplying several military coups with funds and weapons, he’s a dangerous man with people at disposal in his back pocket, and we have reason to believe he’s funding terrorist activities.”

“And we’re investigating him? Or taking him out?” Rory needed to prepare for exactly the type of mission this was going to be. Recon was one thing, taking someone’s life was another. 

“Erring on the side of caution. The Russian government could easily sweep just how far his global reach is under the rug if he’s brought to light, especially since it’s been beneficial for them. We want to find out who he’s funding and put a stop to the pipeline he has through his many ventures.”

Rory hummed, muttering, “Putting a tourniquet on before cutting off the arm.” 

“Exactly." Price's voice cut through the roar of the engine. "First stop is Kastovia, have a friend who’ll meet us there and get us into Russia undercover.”

“Nikolai?” Laswell asked.

“Yeah.”

It was clear these two weren’t just casually paired together for the mission, there was a long-standing relationship. Trust. She certainly understood how being a soldier who just so happened to have a friend who could get into the places they normally couldn’t would be beneficial, having an American ally even more so. 

“I hate to be a bother, ma’am," Rory spoke up, "but I’m not exactly prepared.” She felt damn right naked. Her duffel was down in the red brick complex below that was steadily getting smaller and further away. Her gear, her weapons, all of it was disappearing out of view as she sat there in her fatigues.  

“No need to worry about that, Sergeant.” Price replied instead, blowing out a stream of smoke. “Nik’ll have us covered when we land.”

All she had to do now was sit back and relax (as best she could) and try not to let her mind stray too far afield as the memories flashed before her eyes of the man who sat six feet from her.

[whencyclopedia]

Battle of the Ruhr

The Battle of the Ruhr or the Ruhr Air Offensive (March-July 1943) was a sustained bombing campaign by the British and the United States air forces against the industrial heartland of Germany during the Second World War (1939-45). The offensive included strikes against industrial cities and specific targets such as steelworks, armaments factories, transportation networks, and the Ruhr dams. Great damage was done to Germany's heavy industry, but given that production recovered and even increased, the battle is considered a draw.

Area Bombing of Germany

The Ruhr Valley area was responsible for 60% of Germany's industrial output. The area was such a tempting target it had already been attacked in May 1940, but only by a small force of around 100 bombers, which had not met with any great success. This time it would be different. The commander-in-chief of the Royal Air Force (RAF) Bomber Command was Arthur Harris (1892-1984). He firmly believed that the war could be won by bombing the enemy into submission, that is by smashing war-industry targets and civilian morale. Harris was given support at the highest level to try out the 'bomber's dream' of winning the war by air power alone. To make the dream a reality, Harris had at his disposal such four-engined heavy bombers as the Lancaster bomber, capable of carrying a bomb load of 14,000 lbs (6,350 kg), the Short Stirling, and Handley Page Halifax.

The thousand-bomber raid on Cologne in 1942 had shown what a large attack force could achieve. Such a number of planes, flying to the target in a single formation known as the bomber stream, could overwhelm the enemy defences – anti-aircraft flak guns and fighter planes like the Messerschmitt Bf 109, which patrolled the entire area that had to be crossed to reach the Ruhr. Bombers could not have a fighter escort over Germany at this period in the war given the limited fuel range of planes like the Hawker Hurricane and Supermarine Spitfire, and so the best cover for slow-flying bombers was darkness.

The RAF had tried precision bombing – hitting specific small targets – but these required more dangerous daylight operations (and clear weather), and, given the limited bomb-aiming technology of the time, the results had been very poor, most bombs dropping several miles from the intended target. Such were the difficulties, many planes failed to even find the target. The idea of area bombing (aka carpet bombing) was to have a central aiming point for the first bombers and then successive bombers worked their way outwards, either by intention or accident. Consequently, a large area of the target was more uniformly bombed. The 90-minute area bombing of Cologne destroyed some 15,000 buildings and 1,500 factories. In addition, the city's utility supplies and various transport networks were all severely damaged. There were 469 deaths, 5,000 people were injured, and 45,000 people were made homeless. With 41 aircraft lost, the RAF considered the raid a success. The strategy of area bombing by a large force could now be applied to the Ruhr Valley.

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