#West Bend Company

[uwmarchives]

New Exhibition

A new exhibit is on view in our gallery space on the third floor of the Golda Meir Library featuring the West Bend Company Records.

The West Bend Aluminum Company was established in 1911 in West Bend, Wisconsin. This collection holds information about products developed, manufactured, and promoted by the West Bend Company throughout the twentieth century. This exhibition highlights the changes in how cookware and novelty kitchen products were presented to potential customers throughout the decades.

Come by to see some vintage advertising and unique recipes!

Image: Display Card, 1937. West Bend Company Records, 1911-1989. Milwaukee Mss 121. Box 108, Folder 5. Archives Department, UWM Libraries.

[everydayyoulovemeless]

How about the Fallout 4 robots meeting the robots from New Vegas?? owo

Fallout 4 Robots Meeting New Vegas Robots

➼ Word Count » 1.6k ➼ Warnings » Slightly suggestive (fisto) ➼ Genre » Platonic ➼ A/N » This takes place in the Mojave cause it'd be hard for a lot of the bots from nv to move across the country

Codsworth finds Victor to be quite the character. The moment he saw him and the amount of dust he tracked behind him, he immediately decided that he should step in and help clean him off. If it left any impression on the butler, then it was that RobCo didn't have the same prestige as General Atomics had.

Victor didn't care as much as Codsworth did about the mud and grime that clung to him, but he didn't stop him from wiping his screen down.

When Codsworth happened to meet Mr. House himself, he made sure to snarkily bring up how his company seems to be 'letting itself go'. Mr. House mostly just ignored him, assuming that that was just how he was programmed to be, but he's definitely not allowed in the Lucky 38 anymore out of fear that he'll find it dirty.

Another thing that gets Codsworth itching to grab a bottle of Windex is when he's introduced to Rex. The poor mutt! Not only is he covered in sand, but that awful paint job on his side! Dear God, if he doesn't get the poor dog washed off instantly he fears he might break down!

However, after he's done scrubbing him down, he decides he finds Rex to be quite the creature and would gift him one of the Jangles plushies that Sole doesn't stop flooding his inventory with. He'll certainly find it more endearing than he does.

If there's anyone Codsworth feels understands him most, it's Yes Man. At least he's inclined to sweep every now and then. The two actually get along quite well with how sarcastic and passive-aggressive they can come across as, as well as they're desire to be helpful in any way possible.

Codsworth thinks he's an absolute hoot and couldn't think of a better way to spend his afternoon than gossiping with the optimistic bot.

Curie drops everything when she spots Rex off in the distance. What a scientific marvel he is! She's never seen anything like him before and will take plenty of notes to see if she can't upgrade Dogmeat in the same way when she gets back home.

Rex also happens to be really fond of Curie (mainly because she gives him attention) because of how much better she makes him feel. Who knew he had so many broken parts? And without even realizing it? It's a good thing she came along when she did!

In fact, there are a lot of people who are fond of Curie. One of the main ones being Muggy. Her kind and gentle aura is something he never realized he was missing in his day-to-day life and he will beg her on bended knee to take him with her. He can't stand being with the Think Tank any longer! Please!

The Think Tank couldn't care less if Muggy went with her or not, they just want her out.

They can't stand how naive Curie is. She's clueless! And impossible to talk to! Not to mention how eager she is to put her grimy, wastelander hands on everything.

So, Curie leaves the wonders of Big MT with her strange, new friend to finally go and visit the place she came here for in the first place - Vegas. But she very quickly loses sight of the extravagant place around her when she meets Yes Man.

The two couldn't possibly be more of a perfect match and, although Curie can't ever pick up on Yes Man's sarcasm, and Yes Man can't do anything else but shrug at the scientific terms Curie spits out, they still seem to agree on most things.

They're both so kind to one another and have that same sort of curiosity about a world they've been sheltered from for so long, that they hardly leave each other's sides.

Nick feels a tinge of guilt when he sees Rex running toward him. Even though he's never lived it, he has memories of opening up the morning paper and reading about the reconstruction happening on the West Coast police dogs to make them look how he does. At least he seems happy though, right? Can't be mad at that. He'll scratch him on the head and smile a bit when Rex sits and tilts his head in recognition of his occupation as a detective, and he finds his instinct admirable when it comes to spotting danger, but there's something about the dog that makes him feel a bit off.

On the other hand, Nick can't get enough of Victor. The two will go out and shoot cans all day before returning to some saloon or bar and sharing stories from their time spent out in the wasteland. They're like brothers, just born from opposite sides of the country.

At some point, Nick had found himself tied up in another case while in Freeside and it led him right to where Fisto was stashed. He couldn't help but let out a dry chuckle and a sigh when the bot started offering his 'services', and Nick left as quickly as he arrived, deciding that he didn't want to be involved.

One thing he did get involved in, however, was the little Securitron Curie brought back from outta nowhere. How could he hate a robot who found some kind of... joy? when he cleaned mugs? Muggy warmed up fast to the caffeine-addict human Nick must've once been, as his synth counterpart can't help but down a few cups every morning, despite not ever feeling tired.

X6-88 finds Mr. House to be quite the spectacle. He actually really likes him and wishes to bring his ideas and plans back to the Insitute to try and do those same tactics on the Commonwealth.

Since Mr. House had gone to CIT before the war, X6-88 considers him to be a founder of sorts and has much respect for him and the work he's done in the Mojave.

On the other hand, he finds Victor's happy-go-lucky attitude to be annoying. Even if he were invented by House himself, he can't help but sigh whenever he hears him rolling over to him. He talks way too much and remembers way too little for him to be considered as anything but an inconvenience. He tries to avoid him at all costs if he can help it.

One Securitron that X6 does seem to like, however, is Yes Man. Although he's disappointed that he wasn't what House had originally intended him to be and was made from some dirty wastelander instead, he still finds his attitude and overall composure to be incredibly helpful. If only he were in more... responsible hands, then he could really be doing great things in terms of rebuilding the Mojave.

Yes Man almost envies how pessimistic and emotionless X6 comes off as. A part of him wishes he could express emotions on that side of the spectrum as well, but he supposes he's much more likable with a positive outlook instead.

However, if there's any part of the Mojave that X6-88 thinks could be useful for the Institute, it's all the tech stashed away in Big MT. He's not particularly fond of the Think Tank at all, and could only probably take a few hours of them bickering, but all the information they have with them is enough of a reason for X6-88 to want to kidnap them and bring them back to the Commonwealth to interview them further.

They, of course, make it impossible for him to successfully take them with him since they're all too paranoid to properly be teleported back and he quickly decides to just give up and go back to the Lucky 38.

DiMA likes to debate and challenge Mr. House on his political ideals and, as much as he loves the exercise, he's not fond of how accusatory DiMA can get. Not to mention how easily he seems to get people to rally behind him, so he gets locked out of the Lucky 38 pretty quickly if not Vegas entirely.

DiMA doesn't mind though, he wasn't a big fan of the flashy lights and large crowds anyway. Besides, Freeside is full of such interesting people, that he can't help but prefer it over the city. One of those people being Fisto.

When Nick approached him later one day and told him about his encounter in one of the back alleys, DiMA found himself... concerned, to say the least. And slightly curious.

What kind of robot must one be to be active in such a way? It's strange in any manner, and he was quite intrigued to meet him. However, he was disappointed when he found out he was a Protectron that had only automated messages. How disappointing...

Vegas was fun and all, but DiMA quickly found that he was being called for elsewhere... as he was messing around with one of the radios, he got ahold of the Mysterious Broadcast and disappeared to Big MT.

The scientists, like the other two who visited, were not happy. Especially since DiMA knows what he's doing when it comes to technology.

When he starts messing with Dr. 0's robots and reading through all sorts of Klein's legal documents they decide to ban him from their corner of the Mojave. They may even shut their satellite down altogether because?? they've got the worst types of people entering their lab.

He's honestly going to be the reason everyone has to leave back to the commonwealth. No one wants blud around.

[cheesy09]

[CN] Kiro's Wrapped in Silk Date

🌸 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date that hasn't been released on the EN server yet! 🌸

Note: This date explores some very suggestive themes, so if you do not meet the game's recommended 17+ age rating, I'd suggest to avoid reading this date.

——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ���——

[PART 1]

The clear night sky seems to have been washed by spring water, and the stars are akin to diamonds against the dark blue gauze.

[MC's Company Name] has recently discussed collaboration with LEEZY, a well-know foreign fashion brand, and therefore I personally made the trip to come to their headquarters in West Asia.

The first reason being because they attached great importance to this collaboration, and second one being because Kiro too was filming in this city.

It's been three months since Kiro came here to film a movie. During this time, all we could do was accompany each other through the tiny screens of our mobile phones every day.

So when this opportunity to "visit work" presented itself, I immediately applied for a visa and flew over.

After several days of meetings and visits, the contract was successfully signed. The other party hoped that we could promote the latest season of their clothing.

I was also invited to attend this charity dinner party being held by the lake tonight.

In my drunken stupor, a slight sense of dizziness floods my head. I lift the shawl of my dress, shake the wine glass in my hand and look at the figure standing close by--

Kiro smiles and talks to the person in front of him, his golden hair shinning brightly in the darkness of night.

Seemingly noticing my gaze, he turns his face slightly, and his blue eyes catch my sight.

I raise my glass, smile at him, and take another slow sip. His eyes flicker for a moment and he calmly looks away from me.

Not long after, he smiles, nods, and comes to me with a glass of wine, lightly touching it to mine.

Kiro: I'm back!

MC: Was that the producer who invited you to the dinner just now? Why don't you chat for a little longer?

Kiro: We've already chatted for quite a bit. He even asked for my autograph for his little daughter.

Kiro: So, from now on, my time is all yours, MC.

Kiro: That being said... how much have you had to drink?

He seems to have noticed the unyielding warmth on my face. He raises his hand and gently touches the side of my face with the back of his hand.

That familiar body temperature departs as soon as it touches, leaving me feeling a little disappointed. I simply pinch his fingertips and take the opportunity to slip my fingers into the gaps between his.

MC: Not a lot, maybe... five or six glasses.

Kiro: That's not a lot...?

He lowers his head slightly and draws closer to me, the glimmer of expectation in his eyes quietly falling into mine.

Kiro: MC, should we run away?

MC: Now?

Kiro: Well~ You're going back to Loveland tomorrow afternoon, and I won't be back in China for another three weeks.

Kiro: There are less than 15 hours left. I don't want to waste another minute.

That reluctance tucked away in my heart is outlined by his words and tugs at my heartstrings.

All the work that needed to be discussed has been taken care of, so I nod. After paying our respects to the organizer, Kiro takes my hand and leaves the venue.

-

The taxi takes us all the way back to the hotel. After getting out of the cab, I stop, shake our intertwined hands and look at him eagerly.

MC: ...My feet hurt.

A smile seems to flash across those blue eyes. The next second, my body grows light and I'm being held in his arms.

Kiro: [chuckles indulgently] Hold me.

Amidst the cool night breeze, the embrace I am nestled in is particularly affectionate. I put my arms around his neck, and from time to time I run my lips across the side of his face, which is now slightly cooled by the night wind.

After entering the room, he bends down and gently places me on the small sofa.

The warmth that came from being close to each other seems to escape. Just as I am about to reach out and hug him, I suddenly feel my clothes tighten. Seemingly pulled by something, he too, falls towards me--

Those slightly wide blue eyes suddenly close in within my field of vision, and a warm softness unexpectedly falls against the corner of my lips.

——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——

[PART 2]

The bright moonlight falls on the tip of his slender eyebrows, creating a faint white circle, akin to a piece of fallen snow.

His blue eyes appear deeper than usual. Through the moonlight, I can clearly see myself reflected in that clear spring.

The tenderness lingering at the corner of my lips stays for a moment, then departs slightly.

Kiro: Sure enough, you still smell like champagne.... I'll get you a glass of water.

I don't let go of the hands holding him. All I do is blink my eyes and soften my voice.

MC: ...I don't want to let go.

Noting my retention, he doesn't get up and just gently kisses my ear.

Suddenly, he pauses slightly, picks up the beaded chain on my clothes with one hand and shakes it.

Kiro: Turns out that there was a "trap" waiting for me here.

I follow his line of sight and see that the pearl chain from my clothes had somehow managed to get entangled with the accessories on his outfit.

Kiro: I won't leave. So... there's no need for this.

Those slender fingertips travel along the intricately wound chain and slowly disassemble it under the moonlight. Every now and then the silver chain reflects a cold silver light, like starlight dancing along his fingertips.

The alcohol gradually takes over my brain, and the person in front of me appears to be covered in a layer of mist under the moonlight.

My hands slowly slide along his arms to his back, feeling the familiar contours of his muscles under the thin layer of fabric. And when his tight buttons block the path of my fingertips, I gently undo them--

His white collar falls open a bit, revealing the lines of his collarbone.

Kiro: [Almost breathlessly] ....Why are you still being naughty?

MC: How could I....

When my nails gently scratch his waist, I feel the body under my fingertips stiffen slightly, and the breathing in the air suddenly grow heavier.

I blink innocently, finding some kind of pleasure in this long wait, and gently squeeze along his waistline.

Just as I'm busy enjoying myself, he suddenly grabs a hold of my wrist and then raises it above my head without any explanation.

At some point, he manages to untie the longest chain of beads and holds it casually between his fingertips.

His eyes, which have always been clear, are now stained with a hint of drunkenness, influenced by my own, and even his voice sounds hoarse.

Kiro: [huskily] If you keep making trouble like this, we won't be able to finish undoing this tonight.

Kiro: [x2] Leave your hands to me for now.

A cold touch falls on the skin of my wrist. Along with the slight rustling sound of metal, something wraps around my wrist one after another. Belatedly, my somewhat sluggish brain realizes that it's the chain that was untied from my dress.

My heartbeat inexplicably speeds up.

MC: [blushing] Kiro....

Kiro: [voice soft yet seductive] Don't move, it'll be fine soon.

As he says this, he deliberately slows down and enjoys every minute the peaceful moonlight has to offer.

The cold tassels brush against my skin from time to time, leaving at the first sign of touch. Tiny stimulations flow along my skin and blood vessels, causing my heartbeat to grow a little faster.

MC: Mmn...

I shrink on reflex, and he gently holds me down.

Taking in my state, he smiles softly, supports my knees and raises them slightly, lowering his head and kissing the spot where the chain grazes me.

His overwhelmingly hot breath seems to carry with it a small fire, burning along the blood in my veins.

As time passes by, the body's sensitivity seems to be heightened, feeling the other person with every ounce of strength.

I want to hug that warm back, but I find my hands tied together, unable to move freely. So I simply raise my ankle and gently press it against his calf.

As if eager to occupy the little time we have left, the breath tracing the side of my neck grows more and more rapid.

In the room soaked in moonlight, the tips of my fingers are tightly clasped, as if the vacancy formed during this period of time is being filled.

The overlapping of shadows is reflected on one side, almost blending together, blurring the slowly approaching moment of separation.

This night seems to go on forever, but also seems to pass by in an instant.

And amidst the chaos, I feel as if I'm being held in a scorching embrace.

-

Wanting to turn over a bit, I felt my wrist tighten. And when I open my eyes, I find a familiar metal chain still hanging on my wrist.

The other end of the chain is loosely wrapped around Kiro's wrist. Looking at the bright white pearls, my mind goes blank for a while.

At that moment, the mobile phone screen next to my ear lights up, and a travel information prompt pops up.

"The pre-scheduled flight has arrived. Please arrive at the airport two hours before departure to complete formalities..."

In that instant, the strength against my waist tightens slightly, and a tired warmth presses up against it.

Kiro: [sleepily] ...Is it morning already?

MC: Mm. It's time to get up.

I forcefully turn over and peck him softly on the lips.

He lets out a "Huh", turns over and pushes me under him. Using the grip of the chain, he grabs my wrist and nuzzles my neck.

Kiro: Okay, Kiro is attempting to get up. Progress is 1%, 14%...

Kiro: [sighing in mock defeat] Kiro has failed to get up and has now entered the Miss Chips mode with a five-minute countdown...

The person behind me mutters and hugs me tighter.

-

I don't know how many five-minutes pass before we finally get up from the bed and wash up.

Holding me in his arms, he helps me tie the straps behind my back.

Kiro: You really don't need me to take you to the airport?

MC: No need. Didn't the director give you an "ultimatum" to arrive on set by 1 o'clock in the afternoon at the latest?

MC: You concentrate on filming. I'll contact you when I get to the airport.

Hearing this, he curls his lips in frustration.

Kiro: Sigh... I wish I had a time machine. It could take us back to last night, or take me to 20 days later, when my filming ends.

I suppress the longing in my heart, raise my head and gently kiss his lips.

MC: You can rest for a few days when you get back. There are several new handicraft stores that have opened on Huapu Street. We can wait in line to visit them.

MC: Or we can play games together at home and rest together.

Kiro: Okay, it's settled.

Warm fingertips occasionally glide across my skin through the chiffon fabric, taking their time, fearing that this little time will quietly slip away from our fingertips.

Feeling a sense of comfort in my heart, I change my position and lean into his arms, gazing up at him.

MC: How long will it take you to fasten them?

Kiro: It's a bit complicated. Might take a while.

He looks at me and says earnestly.

Kiro: So, before you get ready and leave for the airport... let me hold you like this for a while.

——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——

[PART 3]

After returning to China, I put the new collaborative project on the agenda. And in the storm of work and overtime, three weeks quickly pass by.

Kiro has successfully completed his filming and returned to China. Our reunion lasts for about two nights, but I'm unable to find the time to fulfill the promise I made to him about going shopping together--

The release date of LEEZY's new season of clothing gradually approaches, but I still haven't formulated a promotional plan that I'm sold on yet.

MC: What's missing....

Facing a dozen documents on my computer, I find myself feeling a little distressed.

Just as I am about to pick up my mug and take a few more sips of black coffee to refresh myself, a warm embrace greets from behind.

Kiro: What are you sighing about?

I put down the black coffee, smile, turn around and hug him back.

MC: Did you sleep well?

Kiro: Mm-- I just dreamed that my Miss Chips was being chased by the document monster, and I quickly woke up.

MC: ...Don't tell me. That dream is quite vivid.

Noting my slight frustration, he rubs his chin on the top of my head and looks at my screen.

Kiro: Are you still writing about LEEZY's announcement?

MC: Yeah... Their latest season's clothes were the ones they gave me before, with a lot of straps on them.

MC: I've made several promotional plans, but they all seem to lack a bit of novelty...

Kiro: Generally, brands will focus on a theme when designing a new season clothing line. Wouldn't it better to explore options based on their theme?

MC: Their clothes this season all have a lot of straps and chains on them. Their theme of design is said to be "Entwining".

MC: But this theme has been done by other brands before, so I couldn't find a unique direction to take it in.

Kiro: If you can't get any ideas by just looking at the information, shouldn't you try out some other methods?

MC: For example..?

Kiro thinks for a moment and then snaps his fingers.

Kiro: I've got a good idea. Besides, I've got nothing to do today, so let me be Miss Muse's inspiration-finding assistant!

MC: [excited] What?

He pulls me up from my seat and winks.

Kiro: Of course, we're going to use the method we're both good at - shooting!

Kiro: But this time, let's switch roles. You can be the model.

-

Kiro: Hmm... This angle of the light box should be fine. For the lighting...

I change my clothes, walk into the huge dance studio, and see Kiro adjusting the bracket of the lighting board.

The backdrop has been decorated by him in a simple manner, with various colorful ribbons hanging loosely but not messily. A stool is placed in the center of the background wall.

When he sees me come in, his eyes light up, and he comes over and takes my hand.

Kiro: I want the opinion of a professional producer: What do you think? Is it pretty good?

MC: It's very layered, and the color and backdrop complement each other well!

Watching my eyes light up fills him with a sense of pride.

Kiro: Feeling the theme for yourself might give you different ideas.

He leads me to sit on the stool, guides me to hook my hand on the hanging ribbon, raises his camera and presses the shutter.

After taking a few photos in various positions, we lean in front of the camera and look at the pictures.

Perhaps because of his rich shooting experience, Kiro is very good at guiding postures and states.

Kiro: What do you think?

MC: The composition and lighting are very good, and can be used as a photo album. It's just... I still feel clueless.

I look through the pictures carefully one after another, but I still get the sense that something isn't right.

MC: ....Is it possible that the characters don't fit the environment well enough?

After listening to my words, Kiro also lowers his head and thinks for a while.

Kiro: Wait for a moment.

I watch him drag out a box from the standing cabinet on the side and rummage through it. Then he picks up a large number of differently styled decorative chains and ribbons.

MC: Why do you have so much of this stuff?

Kiro: They were all leftover props from previous shoots. I had a feeling that they'd come in handy sooner or later.

Kiro: Now, let me "transform" the model and scene.

-

After we add some of them to the background wall, we open the stool up wide and I sit directly in the middle of this tangled up scene.

Kiro holds a long ribbon and casually wraps it around my thigh.

The cool silk gently touches my skin, making me shiver and my entire body tenses up.

As if noting my slight nervousness, Kiro chuckles, drawing the ribbon around my waist, and then wrapping it loosely around my wrist.

Kiro: Don't be nervous. Do you still remember the lesson in perception you took before?

I follow his voice and recall that in the greenhouse, he had once taught me bit by bit how to use senses other than sight to feel.

Note: This is a callback to Perception Date :>

Kiro: [voice enticingly soft] Try searching for the feeling of having your body wrapped in ribbon.

Following his voice, I carefully feel the silk wrapping around my skin - soft and thin.

Kiro's mirthful voice is akin to the ribbon entwined around my body. He gently lifts it, leaving my heart feeling a bit itchy.

Kiro: [x2] Raise your right hand a little higher... yes.

The hand holding the ribbon moves, and the soft fabric slowly slides along my skin and tightens slightly. My eyes subconsciously follow it.

"Click"--

The soft click of the shutter occasionally dissipates in the quiet air.

He adjusts the position of the ribbon around my body, arms, neck...

And the soft fabric seems to come to life in his hands, ensnaring all of my thoughts and following in his lead.

Occasionally, he adds one or two thin pearl strands that make a crisp sound every time my body sways.

I think of the chain wrapped around my wrist on that moonlit night.

My heart beats loudly, and my ears are so hot that they are on the verge of bleeding. I can't help but move my body.

MC: ...You - please be serious.

Kiro: Hm? But I am seriously trying to help you find that "entwining" sensation.

His eyes widen slightly, but the curvature at the corners of his lips betrays the cunning in his heart. It's as if he's playing an interesting "game".

I purse my lips, suddenly curious about the "reason" that has captured his interest, and with a bit of force, I grasp a hold of his wrist.

His surprised face gradually enlarges in my field of vision. He stretches out his hand to the wall beside my face in order to support and steady his body, and for a moment, his breathing becomes chaotic.

MC: In addition to being entwined, I too want to experience what it's like to entwine someone...

MC: Can this superstar help me out?

——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——

[PART 4]

There's a hint of a smile present in his brow.

Kiro: Sure.

The hand holding me tightens. He turns me over and my entire body presses up against him.

A scorching body temperature comes from our closely connected skin, and the side of my face and the base of ears are also dyed in a slight warmth.

I prop up my body, and following his example, I slowly pull a ribbon from the side and gently touch it to his ear.

His whole body seems to relax, lazily waiting for my next move.

Kiro: [whispering temptingly] Need help?

MC: I - I want to experience this for myself first.

Even though I say this, I'm unsure as to what to do next. I aimlessly wrap the ribbon around his slender fingers and slowly slide it down...

Stopping on his well-jointed wrist.

I wrap the ribbon in my hand around his wrist, imitating his actions from that night, and tie it into a somewhat clumsy knot.

He arches his eyebrows slightly and glances at me.

Kiro: [I HV NO IDEA HOW TO DESCRIBE HOW SEDUCTIVELY HE DRAGGED HIS VOICE HERE BUT HNNG-] I see... I reasonably suspect that you're trying to "avenge yourself".

MC: I'm just serious about set design!

Another pale yellow ribbon is loosely wrapped around his neck. I hold the other end of the ribbon and trail it across his arms, chest, the curves of his sides...

Then, gently tighten it.

The hair of the person in front of me is slightly tousled, and entangles with the strings of ribbon scattered on the side.

Among these bright and beautiful colors, those blue eyes gazing at me get darker and darker.

Kiro: [temptingly soft again] Does this give you inspiration?

MC: My eyes have captured it... But I also wanted to capture this on camera.

I lift up my camera and capture this scene.

His languid eyes look directly into mine through the lens, like a warm current hitting my chest.

Kiro: [x2] Actually, there's something else that could also help you.

MC: ...What?

Kiro: [x3] Unlike entangling something, untangling these entanglements could also be fun... Do you wanna try it?

He holds my hand, guides my fingers to pick up a ribbon that had dropped onto his skin, and slowly pulls it away.

I look down at him, wrapped in colorful ribbons, and at this moment, he looks as if he's waiting to be unwrapped...

Like a gift.

The memory hidden in the recesses of my mind cause my heartbeat to pound a bit out of control.

Noting the pause of my hand, Kiro raises his eyes slightly, a couple of doubts present in his eyebrows.

Kiro: ...What's wrong?

MC: It feels like I'm opening a gift...

He startles slightly, and then a smile appears on his lips.

Kiro: I've always been a gift belonging to you alone. You can open it at any time.

The black ribbon absentmindedly wraps around his fingers, drawing out lingering memories and taking me back to that Valentine's Day filled with the scent of essential oils.

This time, I take over the role of "signee". I lower my head a bit and approach him, gently tugging on the silk threads in my hand.

MC: You are also the most precious gift given to me by God.

All of this is a call back to Entwining / Unwrap the Gift Date released for the game's first Valentine's day event :>

What answers me is a gentle pressure on the back of my neck and a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth.

The pounding in the left of my chest grows faster and faster, as if mirroring my desire to open this long-awaited gift to see what surprises are kept in store.

One by one, the ribbons are pulled away from him and scattered to the side.

After tearing them all off, I am left confused for a moment. He takes my hand and gently places it on the button of his shirt.

Kiro: [voice dark & husky] You're not done yet.

A burning sensation comes from beneath the thin silk fabric.

Kiro: [x2] Continue.

Bewitched by his gentle voice, my hand slowly travels down from his collar, and with just a slight flick of my fingers, the buttons of his white shirt come undone.

One, two...

Those blue eyes seem to bear an indescribable gravity. Just the way he gazes at me alone prompts me to draw closer and closer.

By the time the last button comes undone, our breaths completely merge.

His slender fingers grasp my wrist unobjectively and he lowers his head a bit, biting the chiffon string on the bust of my dress and gently tugging it open.

His scorching hot breath falls on the skin of my chest, like a falling spark, setting my entire chest on fire.

Kiro's eyes are half-lidded, and his somewhat hoarse voice carries an inexplicable rough quality to it that gently caresses my eardrums.

Kiro: [x3] Did you like that?

His headless and baseless words are so soft that they almost scatter with the heat of his breath, but they fall heavily onto my heart.

MC: Of course I liked it... In this world, I like you the most.

Upon hearing my answer, his breath suddenly surges and almost melts into my body.

Even though it's obvious that there is no pull from any thread, my body feels bewitched. I unconsciously murmur his name.

MC: Kiro....

My fingertips glide over his skin, seeking out his deeper exploration. He deliberately feigns ignorance, however, and tilts his head in curiosity.

Kiro: What's wrong?

His curled fingers tighten a bit, and the breath in my ears makes me feel as though my ears are about to combust into flames.

I bite my lip, unwilling to lose in this silent tug-of-war, and turn my face a bit to the side.

MC: I was just thinking that I do have more ideas... Mmn.

As if dissatisfied with my answer, he lightly nips at my collarbone, causing me to tremble slightly.

Kiro: [with the hint of a sulk] I can't believe you're still thinking about "work" right now, Miss Chips.

Kiro: Looks like I'm gonna have to get even more "serious" to make you think of me with all your heart.

There's a hint of dissatisfaction in his voice, and he presses the tip of his tongue to my collarbone and gently licks it.

He unties the chiffon straps on my chest bit by bit, slowly and carefully, his gaze, now shrouded in desire, still feeling extremely precious.

Due to the time we spend together, this throbbing that almost engulfs me never seems to fade away. It only gets stronger and stronger.

MC: I always think of you with all of my heart...

I close my eyes and allow our interlocked fingers to tightly intertwine.

The last strap of chiffon is finally undone. He gently releases his teeth and the soft strap drops to the floor beside him.

Daylight gradually fades, hiding away all the warmth and turbulence of the night.

[END]

——*:･ﾟ✧——*:･ﾟ✧——

More Translations: Here

[cherrycola27]

Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Series Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

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

Chapter 9: Under the Oval

You paced nervously around your bedroom. Bradley had been gone for three weeks. He'd spent some time touring the military bases on the West Coast and reliving some of his glory days. You almost fainted when he FaceTimed you from the cockpit of an F-18. You had been horribly sick with the flu just after your birthday and decided not to make the trip.

He was finally coming home, and you were desperate to see him. The two of you had never spent this much time away from each other since becoming a couple.

"Sweetheart! I'm home! He called into your bedroom as he came through the door. You ran to greet him, jumping into his arms and kissing him with fervor.

"Missed you so much, Dearest." You mumbled between kisses. Bradley stumbled forward in the room with you in his arms. The two of you toppled onto the bed, both desperate for each other.

Bradley had just pulled your top off to reveal a gorgeous black lace bra when his phone rang. He groaned into your neck.

"Don't answer it. Need you so bad." You tried to persuade him, but you knew he couldn't do that. Reluctantly, he answered his phone. After a few minutes, he sighed. "There's some budget proposals and drafts of some new bills that I have to look at. I'm so sorry, darling. I'll try my best to hurry through them. Keep the bed warm for me." He said before kissing you and heading to his office.

You sighed and flopped down on the mattress. Sometimes, being married to the president really sucked.

Hours ticked by, and you were getting lonely. You were desperate to have Bradley close to you. It was approaching 8:30 and he still hadn't come back. You were worried about him, so you decided to pay him a little visit.

You quickly changed out of your sleep clothes and into the pale blue negligee that you had bought while he was away. You slipped on your robe and quietly crept out of your room.

You made your way down the hall before slipping into the Oval Office undetected.

It was dim inside the office. Most of the lights were off except for the lamp on his desk.

"Bradley." You called out to him. His head snapped up from what he was reading to see you strutting towards him.

"Hello, love. I'm sorry. I really didn't think it would take so long." He apologizes to you. "It's fine, honey. I thought I could come keep you company. You say as you pause beside his desk.

"I would love that." He smiles at you, but his smile morphs into a look of shock when you slip your robe off your body and he sees what you're wearing underneath.

"Y/N," he breathes out. "You can't come in here looking like that and not expect me to want to bend you over this desk." He warns you before pushing his chair back just enough for you to come stand in between his legs. You palm him through the pants of his suit before undoing his belt and opening his pants just enough to free him.

He groans when you touch him. He pulls you into his lap, and you sink down over him. Encasing him in your warmth.

His hands find your hips as he urges you to move. "Sweetheart, please." He begs.

You shake your head.

"Oh no, you're going to sit here and finish your work while I warm your cock Mr. President. And when you get done, I'm going to get on my knees and show you just how happy I am that you are home, sir." You whisper in his ear.

He softly groans into your neck and inhales your scent. You smell like the lily soap you're fond of, and traces of your J'adore perfume still linger on you. He rubs soothing circles with his thumbs across your thighs as you full settle around him, legs draping lazily over his, while your arms wrap around his neck and you cling to him like a koala.

He slides back up to his desk, and the slight shift has you sinking deeper onto him. You both gasped at the sensation.

You lay your head on his shoulder as you play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. You ghost kisses along his jaw line and below his ears.

"Love being so full of you, sir." You whisper. "Love keeping you so warm, Mr. President." His breath hitches.

"Missed you so much, Bradley. Just wanna be close to you, Dearest." You breathe out against the shell of his ear.

He inhales sharply as he tries to focus on finishing his work. He loves the feeling of your velvet walls wrapped around him. He'd love it even more if he was fucking you stupid right there in the middle of the Oval Office. He can't count the number of times he's thought about it.

He speeds up his work, trying his best to finish, even though you're making it hard to focus by trialing feather light kisses and touches along his jaw. The subtle flutters of your core around his cock also aren't helping either.

He speeds through the last of his paperwork and sighs when he finishes. He cups your face and brings your lips to his. "All done baby—fuck—can I have you now?" He asks between kisses. His breath stutters as you flex around him. He loves how good you feel wrapped around him. You're tight and warm, he's certain your pussy was made for him.

But the warmth is short-lived as you lift off of him and perch yourself on the edge of his desk. Bradley lets out a whine of disappointment as he tries to pull you back to him. You stretch out your foot, gently resting it on his firm peck to stop him.

He looks at you. His honey brown eyes are big and hazy as he silently pleads with you. You chuckle before gliding your foot down his sternum and jumping off his desk.

You sink to your knees on the plush office carpet.

Soon, your eye level with his cock.

You take in the sight of it. It's so fucking pretty. Most men probably wouldn't like it if you said their dick was pretty, but Bradley's was fucking beautiful.

It was long and thick. Hard veins wrapped around the shaft. The fat mushroom tip was flushed, a deep rose. It matched his plush lips that you loved so much. It had just the slightest upward curve that would hug your gspot when he fucked you.

Currently, a bead of precum was pearled on the tip, while the rest of it was shiny and slick with your wetness.

You reached out and wrapped one hand tentatively around him as you began to stroke him. He groaned in relief.

Your tongue peaked out and licked your lips before running from the base to the tip of him. You swirled your tongue around the head before wrapping your lips around it.

Breathy moans fell from his lips as you took more and more of him into your mouth. You hollowed out your cheeks and exhaled before taking him fully down your throat. Bradley let out a guttural groan as your nose pressed into the neat blonde curls at the base of his length.

He gathered your hair away from your face before tilting your chin up to look at him. You let out a deep breath through your nose before meeting his eyes. You tried to blink back the few tears that had gathered at the corners. One of his hands came up to cup your cheek as his thumb brushed them away.

You swalled around him, causing his hips to stutter forward. You didn't move, though. Instead, you hummed around him contentedly. Seeing that you liked it, Bradley thrust hips forward again, he was rewarded with another moan of your pleasure.

"Fuck—you want me to fuck your face, Sweetheart?" He asked. You nodded.

"God—you look so fucking beautiful down there on your knees in that little blue nighty with your mouth stuffed full of my cock, how can I tell you no?" He says.

You pull back some before taking him down your throat again and again. Soon, Bradley is meeting your thrusts. You take him down your throat over and over again, drool pools at the corner of your mouth, he does he best to wipe it away, but he gets lost futher and futher in the pleasure. Something about seeing his pretty little wife, the First Lady of the United States, on her knees, with a mouth full of cock, giving him sloppy head, makes his brain go blank.

The pleasure you're giving him is so fucking good. He can feel his balls tightening, and he is so close. Just as he is about to cum, the intercom buzzes. Jake's voice rings through asking him if he is still in his office. Bradley is just about to tell him to fuck off when you pull your mouth away from him.

"Tell him to come in." You state. "Wha—no, baby, please, I was so close." Bradley whines.

"Tell him to come in, or you don't get to cum." You state. Bradley isn't sure if you're kidding or not, but in the back of his mind, he knows you're serious. You tuck yourself under his desk as he slides forward to hide his raging hard-on before Jake comes in.

Jake is none the wiser that you're there or to what you and Bradley were just doing.

They are talking about the budget reports when a wicked thought crosses your mind. You lean forward and quietly wrap your lips back around Bradley.

He disguises his surprise as a cough before reaching his hand under his desk. You think his going to pull you off, but instead, he presses your head future down, holding you in place. He should have known you'd be a brat.

You hollow out your cheeks as Jake continues to speak. It's getting harder and harder for Bradley to keep his cool. He's just about to scream at Jake to leave, but Jake gets a call and heads out.

"You naughty little brat." Bradley grunts, put as he snaps his hips into your mouth. You laugh as he fucks your face harder and harder.

"Fuck—I'm gonna cum!" He tells you. "Wanna cum down that pretty throat of yours and watch you swallow it all." He moans out. You moan around him and soon, he's doing just that.

You can taste the saltiness of his relase as it shoots down your throat. You continue to suck him as his hips stutter against your face.

You swallow his load before pulling off of him with a pop. You look up and at him with big doe eyes and stick out your tongue to show him you took ever last drop of him and didn't let any go to waste.

"God, you're such a fucking dream. How are you even real, baby?" He mumbles in appreciation. He tucks himself back in his pants before scooping you up off the floor anr tossing you over his shoulder.

"Bradley!" You gasp in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"Taking you to bed. I fucked your face, now you're going to ride mine." He states ad he carries you out of the office.

He gently places you on your feet before stripping bare and laying on the bed. You go to remove the blue negligee, but he urges you to leave it on. He beckons you to the bed.

You nervously crawl on and straddled his face.

"Bradley, you hesitate. "What if I smother you?" You ask him.

"The Jake will have a hell of a story to tell about how he became the president, now bring my pussy over here and let me taste it." He commands.

"Your pussy?" You snicker.

"Yes, my fucking pussy." He states before pulling you flush against him, leaving not room for argument.

Any argument or smart comment that you would have had died the moment his tongue connected with your clit. He swirled the bud in his mouth before sucking it harshly.

You cried out in pleasure, leaning forward on the headboard for support.

His large hands held you up but encouraged you to ride his face. You circled your hips as he licked your seam over and over again with long, broad strokes. His nose bumped your clit with every motion as he lapped at your core.

"Fuck—Bradley! Just like that!" You cried as he drew figure eights across your sensitive bud. You were already so turned on from sucking him off, you knew you weren't going to last long like this.

Bradley moaned into your cunt. He was enjoying this just as much as you were. He was hard again, hips thrusting into the air as he ate you. Since being president, Bradley had tasted some of the finer things in life, but nothing tasted better than you.

Your thighs were burning with how close you were. They trembled around Bradley's head. You laced your fingers through his hair as you ground down harder on him.

He doubled down on his efforts, alternating between lapping and sucking at your clit, winding the band tighter and tighter until it snapped.

"BRADLEY!" You cried as your high washed over you. He continued to use his tongue to draw out every last ounce of pleasure from you until you were babbling that it was too much.

He helped ease you off of him until you were lying beside him. "Did my good girl enjoy that?" He asked you.

"Yes, sir." You breathed out, still trying to calm down.

"Good." He said as he demeanor shifted. He smirked before quickly flipping you over onto all fours and spanking you.

You squealed at the sudden change.

"And now I'm going to teach you a lesson for being a brat earlier when Jake came in." He growled in your ear. Before slamming into you from behind.

His hips pistoned against yours, pulling you flush against him with every thrust. "You wanna be a brat and tell me I can't cum? I'm gonna fuck every thought out of your head. You think you're such a smart girl? I'm going to show you just how stupid I can make you." He panted as he pushed your head down into the mattress.

The new angle cause him to hit spots deep within you. You were already seeing stars. His fingers dug into your hips. You knew their would be marks from them tomorrow. A visible reminder of the pleasure he was giving you.

He was relentless as he pounded into you. "Fuck, Bra—" you whined, unable to get the rest of his name out. "Plea—sir" you whimpered as one of his hands let got of your hip and snaked around to stroke your clit.

"Are you close? Do you want to cum again for me?" He asked you in a condescending tone. You wanted to scream out a response to him, beg him to let you finish, but the only thing you were capable of was a pathetic whine.

"Has my smart girl been fucked so good she's dumb now? Where are your big words you're so good at using? The only thought in your pretty little head is how good my cock feels isn't it?" He asks. You nod weakly as your fingers grip the sheets.

"Fuck, Sweetheart, griping me so good. You wanna cum? Go ahead then. Cum for me." Bradley says as you finish with a silent scream. He groans as you flutter around him. With a few more sloppy thrusts, he's spilling deep inside you. He slows his movements as you both ride out your highs.

He gingerly pulls out of you before pulling you close to him.

"You did so good for me, baby." He coos. Your eyes are still glassed over, and you're trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

"How about we go take a nice hot bath with some bubbles, and then we can cuddle. Sound good?" He asks you. You shake your head to agree.

He carefully gets up and takes you to the bathroom. He sits you on the counter before running a bath. As the two of you slip into the water, you can't help but think about how lucky you are.

No words, just thots! Hope you enjoyed!

Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @princess76179 @bradshawseresinbabe @sunlightmurdock @lewmagoo @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @mj-l4 @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @desert-fern @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @chicomonks @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis @bradshawsbaby

[thunder-wolf64]

A short story I wrote last night.

---- Cycle's Ending ----

It was late into the cycle, the ground was not yet rumbling from the powerful Iterator structure nearby. The scent of rain weighed heavily in the air, contrasting the saltwater of shoreline. Not that the signs mattered to Looks to the Moon anyways, she had no sense of smell, and something that could only mimic the sensations of moisture collecting on her metal body. “Ruffles,” Her voice said softly, “Have you eaten today? You should hurry if you haven't.”

LttM shouldn't be too worried about her companion. Rivulet was used to much worse downpour, and racing back and forth to shelters ro survive. The slugcat opened his magenta eyes, staring up at his friend.

“The chrysalids are reformed in the west entrance of my neural terminus, you like those, right?” LttM leaned forwards and pet the creature laying on the ground, her metal fingers parted the blue fur on top of Rivulet’s head.

Rivulet puffed out a breath of air and stood, bumping his forehead against LttM’s palm. He jumped into the water, moving on.

“See you next cycle, Ruffles!” She smiled with her eyes and waved at her companion. The time spent between cycles felt shorter now that she could look forwards to interacting with an intelligent life form. Rivulet brought her relics of the past and company, she provided information and hopefully company as well. Looks to the Moon knows some ancients had pets,

However such joy was not given to computers such as herself. She would never mind all that much if wildlife stopped by. Not nearly as much as the other members of the local group. She wishes she could have had a friend like this much sooner.

While LttM was doing her deep thinking, Rivulet was busy following around a scavenger who held a shiny white pearl.”Mrrp, Wawa.” He recited the noises that would always make Big Sis Moon giggle.

The scavenger looked down at the annoyance. Its red antlers were a contrast to the dark and dull interior of the broken can. Its’ yellow eyes flicked across Rivulet, seeing a blue fruit clutched in his dripping paws. The scavenger pointed, doing its best to mimic Rivulet.

Rivulet excitedly rolled the fruit along the metal ground to the hungry scavenger. The pearl rolled out of the scavenger’s grasp and plinked against the ground, a recognizable sound to the pearl collector. He eagerly scooped it up and made a dash to get back to his dear friend. But the ground rumbled and the time threatened the small creature with death. Rivulet wouldn't want story time to be interrupted by the rain. He stilled himself and exhaled, upset, but excited for what the next cycle would bring. He squeezed himself through the bends in the pipes and walls, slipping into safety. Gears groaned as heavy metal doors shut behind him. Rivulet laid in his familiar spot, he has out to find some more substrate to sleep comfortably on, as he has left quite the indent on this ground.

Those were thoughts for the next cycle, though. So he curled around his pearl, grabbed hold of his own tail and relaxed all of his mussels. Sleep came as fast as always.

[harrisonarchive]

Photo by María Moreno.

In 1987, George was interviewed by El País; here's a translation of that interview (to the best of my school-level Spanish).

George Harrison On Cloud Nine

George Harrison recently released his first album since 1982, when he disappeared from music to work on movies and live his life in peace. In making Cloud Nine he called on his friends Eric Clapton, Elton John and Ringo Starr- Many of the songs are similar to those of the early Beatle years, but Harrison scoffs at rumors about the group reuniting.

Cloud Nine sounds so much like the Beatles that it ends up being a tribute to the band’s early music. One of the songs on this new LP, When We Was Fab, refers to that epoch in which ‚we were fabulous‘ and ‚we were doing everything.‘ The song, which recalls Beatles melodies such as Strawberry Fields Forever and I Am The Walrus, suggests the style of John Lennon. At times it sounds as the late rhythm guitarist himself is singing.

El País: Cloud Nine contains songs and harmonies that recall the early Beatles. Is that what you intended?

George Harrison: Yes. It sounds like the Beatles because of the 12-string guitar. This is the kind of guitar we used on the first Beatles records. The electric guitar I have on the album cover is the one I used when the Beatles were not famous, when we were playing in Hamburg (West Germany). I have recovered it and use it in several songs. In contrast to the heavy music of this generation I had the idea of making a contemporary record that permits young people to know what was happening at the end of the 60s. Some of the songs are similar to those of the Beatles in the late 60s. I did it intentionally. I didn’t want to bend to the pleasure of the record companies or the industry. I don’t want to be untrue to myself. I like this album… It is so old it seems new.

EP: Listening to Cloud Nine, one gets the feeling that you were comfortable and happy during the recording.

GH: I was because I was with Eric Clapton, Elton John, Ringo Starr and other friends I have known for years and with whom I get along well. Elton John asked to be part of the record when he found out I was going to make it. He is one of the great musicians of rock 'n' roll. And Ringo? Well, what can I say? We have lived and performed together for a long time. We are alike in the way we regard music.

EP: You invited old friends to the recording, but did you invite Paul McCartney?

GH: No. I didn't invite Paul.

EP: You recently said that it is good to grow old, that it is time to mature with dignity.

GH: Yes. After running around so much when you're young, you need tranquility. When we were the Beatles we lived in permanent turbulence, we were crazy. We met mountains of people and went to many countries but we didn't get to know anything well because we never had a moment of peace. Therefore, for the past few years I have been trying to find out what is happening. It would be rare if it was only happening to me, but we are all growing old together. Ringo and Eric Clapton are growing old with me and that makes it easier. I have always considered them friends, but after the craziness of our youth you rediscover them and they become your best friends. Another thing that compels me to mature is my son, Dhani. I try to devote time to him and be a good father.

EP: At one time you influenced the Beatles to look for an introspective path that derived from Oriental mysticism and transcendental meditation. What remains today of this stage in your career?

GH: It is something I still carry inside but I don't talk about as much. On the new record there are no songs that advocate this way of life as there were on other records.

EP: “My sweet Lord, I really want to see you, I really want to be with you …" Do you still believe in a Sweet Lord?

GH: Oh, yes. Absolutely.

EP: If you were to write the song today, would you keep the same lyric?

GH: I would keep the same lyric. I believe that the lyric is true. I would change a few notes in the melody. (Laughter. In 1976, a U.S. judge sentenced Harrison to pay a fine after determining that My Sweet Lord, which was on the 1970 album All Things Must Pass, was an unintentional plagiarism of another melody.)

EP: The Beatles are said to have taken drugs -- especially marijuana and LSD -- from 1965 to 1967. This comes across in the album Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, recorded in 1966. You began transcendental meditation the same year. Did this help you give up drugs?

GH: I think so. The discovery of LSD was something we could not avoid because, in the case of John and me, someone put LSD in our coffee without our knowing it. After having had an LSD experience you do not want to go back to the way you were, you lose the notion of ego and you change because you see things you didn't perceive before. Even if I had not taken LSD it would not have been long before I began spiritual activities. After LSD, I became aware of God. But like with alcohol or other drugs you go crazy if you consume too much.

EP: You have not given up tobacco. Are you still a vegetarian and ecologist?

GH: Ecologist, yes, but now I eat fish and chicken. I did not eat meat from 1966 to 1979. During those years I was undernourished because I didn't know what to eat to replace the protein. In 1979, I began to follow the Formula One auto races and I was in Madrid or other capitals and it was difficult to eat in restaurants and hotels. If you don't go to Indian restaurants, where you can eat lentils and greens, you cannot stay on a vegetarian diet. So I began eating fish and chicken.

EP: The press has presented you in the past as a lonely man, shy and frightened after the assassination of John Lennon in December 1980.

GH: That's what the gossipers say. From time to time I get a flash of John's death. Sometimes it happens when someone I don't know approaches me by surprise. But you can't be afraid. I live a normal life. I don't go to cocktail parties and discos.

EP: How has Lennon's death affected you?

GH: I don't think anyone ought to die this way, at the hands of a madman. John's death has affected me, like it has most people. It's sad that someone can ruin the life of another. And when it's a longtime friend it's like losing a family member, a father or a brother.

EP: Even though you have written popular songs you have not had a hit since 1969. Do you think you were misunderstood and your talent underused in the Beatles epoch?

GH: For sure, because John and Paul dominated the group and had an arrangement for songwriting. Our producer for many years, George Martin, has publicly asked me to forgive him for this. But there is a moment for everything and at this time I was marginal.

EP: I remember reading in Rolling Stone that Lennon once said you were an invisible man between two egomaniacs.

GH: Absolutely.

EP: Is there something to the rumors of a Beatles reunion? There are rumblings that Lennon will be replaced by Elton John.

GH: Every six months or so someone invents a story like that. There is no possibility of the Beatles coming back to life. That era has ended. It is better to leave it like that.

[mangoisms]

i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute)

summary: in which you manage to have a meet-cute in your apartment building's laundry room with tim drake.

━ chapter one: short of breath | read chapter two

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.3k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

Rose Oaks’ laundry room is dead at eleven-thirty in the evening. 

You retract the thought as soon as it forms. 

No, no, not dead. Silent. Calm. Yes, that’s better. 

In Gotham City, it’s best not to associate things or people with the word dead. Lest you, you know, tempt fate. 

While it is true that Rose Oaks, your fifteen-story apartment building situated between Chinatown and the Upper West Side, is safer than the previous complex you lived in in Burnley — it has a doorman and everything, how fancy is that — you tend to err on the side of caution. 

Of course, you’re also contradicting yourself since you’re coming down to do your laundry at eleven at night and if your parents knew, they would be very disapproving. 

But no one is perfect. 

And anyway, you’re halfway done. You’re moving your clothes and towels from the washing machine to the dryers, pouch of quarters rattling around in the pocket of your hoodie as you go. 

Kneeling in front of the open dryer, you tense when you hear the door open. You peek around the dryer door, watching a guy your age — early twenties — walk inside with a laundry basket propped on his hip. 

Your eyes quickly catalog lean muscles, dark hair, and pale skin before you force yourself to turn around and finish tossing in the wet clothes bundled in your arms, detangling some of them as you go. 

When you stand, turning back to the wall of washers, you glimpse his back, shoulders stretching out a white t-shirt. 

You go back to the washers you were using, a couple feet away from him. He is dumping his clothes inside. All of them. You get it. You were raised to separate your darks and whites and bright colors but when you have to pay to do laundry, you cut corners when necessary. 

You only separated your stuff for a few months before you got tired of paying the extra dollar and fifty to run another load. 

You bend forward to pull out another armful of clothes, careful not to let the whole world see the few pairs of underwear there, then turn and go back over to the dryer to throw them in. 

When you step back to the washers, you glimpse the guy intently studying the back of the bottle of laundry detergent. Like it’s got the secrets to the universe and not just the instructions on how to use it. Another bottle sits on the edge. Wait a second…

You pull out another armful, cross the room to deposit it into the dryer, then on your walk back, you squint to get a good look. 

Oh, yup. Fabric softener. Yikes. You don’t even think that can be used with these washers? The cheap ones that last, like, two decades and don’t exactly rotate like a regular front-facing washer does but rather very aggressively spins. 

Like the cherry on top, he seems to be using the measurements on the cup, the ones that the instructions tell you to use but you shouldn’t because you don’t actually need that much detergent, the companies are just trying to get you to use more and thus buy more. 

Oh, you can’t look anymore. It’s just too much. 

You grab your final armful of clothes, toss them in the dryer along with a dryer sheet and close the door. You just need your towels now. 

The guy is doing the fabric softener now. You look away, opening the lid on the other washer.  

Inside the circular washer, your towels are plastered to the sides. You reach down to unstick them. See, this is what you mean. It’s just cheap. For such a nice building, they should have better washers and dryers. Or better yet — apartments with an in-unit set. But this one was in your pay range and only half a mile from the school, which did sway you. 

No matter. At least the laundry room is in the same building. Your old apartment complex had a separate building for it and you hated making that walk. 

You throw in your towels and a dryer sheet, then shut the door. 

Behind you, you hear a similar sound. 

You stick your hand into the pocket of your hoodie, where your baggie of quarters is. Opening it, you mentally count out twelve quarters. A dollar and fifty for each load and you have two. You also hate that. Having to pay. You’re already paying for rent and utilities, you have to pay this, too? All landlords suck but Gotham ones, you’re convinced, are even suckier. 

You slot in the quarters until it beeps at you. You press start, then do the same for the other one. 

You turn and catch the guy scratching his head, glancing between his phone and the frayed poster on the wall that advertises the app you can download and use to pay for the washers and dryers. 

The thing is, the app stopped working, like, two weeks ago. Previous encounters with others in the laundry room assure you that everyone else is experiencing it. So, you have to do it the old-fashioned way and pay with the dusty seldom-used coin slots. 

You almost prefer it. With the app, you had a minimum limit of ten dollars when reloading money and oftentimes you aren’t doing more than two loads. You hated seeing the money leave your account. 

More head-scratching. You take pity on him.  

“It’s not working.”

His head snaps to you. It is with something of a sucker punch that you realize he is cute. Gorgeous, really. Black hair falling over his forehead into blue eyes that blink at you. 

Your heart does a weird wiggly thing at his attractiveness. You’re no good with pretty people. No good at all. 

Ignoring the sudden bout of nerves, you gesture to the poster. “The app isn’t working, right? It hasn’t for two weeks now. Dunno when they’re gonna fix it. You have to use the coin slot.”

“Great,” he sighs, his voice a mellifluous tenor. 

He puts his phone away, then reaches into the pocket of his sweats, pulling out a wallet. 

“Who carries coins these days, anyway?” he mutters, making your lips twitch; the quarters do not magically appear by the way he closes his wallet, puts it away, then looks at the coin slot, deliberating. 

You don’t think anyone has ever stolen another person’s clothes. At least it hasn’t happened to you but you can’t speak for the other tenants in this building. Still, you wouldn’t run upstairs and just leave your clothes in there. Even for a few minutes. 

But it doesn’t really matter, anyway, in the end. You already know what you’re going to do. 

“Here,” you say, pulling out the baggie of quarters and opening it again, venturing closer to him. 

“You don’t have to —”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say, shooting him a small smile. “I wouldn’t want to leave my clothes here if it’s not on, either. Just one, right?”

He seems to accept his fate, nodding. 

You pull out twelve quarters like last time. 

“For the washer and the dryer,” you say when he opens his mouth to presumably protest. “Just in case.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

You laugh. “In quarters, too?”

Amusement shines in his eyes. His lips quirk. “If you’d like.”

“No repayment necessary,” you tell him. “Really.”

Collected quarters in hand, you extend your hand and he opens his beneath yours. Your hands brush as you pass them to him carefully, making sure they don’t fall to the ground. That would be embarrassing. 

“Thanks,” he says, sending you a grateful look. 

You nod and put your baggie of coins back in your pocket. “No problem.”

You turn away, making for the door, pleased to have helped. 

You see him again the following weekend. Same time. Eleven PM on Saturday night. Your laundry slash cleaning days. You like to wait until much later in the evenings; the laundry room can get busier earlier in the day, especially the afternoon. There is never a short supply of washers to use but the dryers can be a scarce commodity if it’s busy. You’d hate to have a basket full of wet clothes and no dryer to put them in. 

At this time, only a couple washers run and a few dryers hum. 

When you slip inside to move your clothes from the washer to the dryer like last time, Detergent Boy is already there. 

Except not with a bottle of fabric softener or a bottle of liquid laundry detergent but… laundry detergent in powder form? 

What is he doing, conducting some kind of experiment? 

You also wonder about the lack of fabric softener. Did that not go well? You thought it might not. Too bad. 

You wonder in general, about him. He seems rather… confused about everything regarding, hm, laundry. 

He looks over his shoulder at your entrance, lips ticking up when he sees you. That does funny things to your heart.

“Hey,” he says. “Is the app working?”

“Is the — oh. No. Still doing it the old-fashioned way.” 

You are briefly confused at the question, considering he was inside before you, though he hadn’t yet started the machine. Then you realize you are stepping in empty-handed and he must’ve concluded by that that you had already thrown your clothes into the washer and you are now moving them to dry. 

Huh. He is… observant. Or maybe it’s normal and you’re just too used to dealing with the short attention spans of your kids at school. It’s probably that. 

You are a teacher’s aide at the freshly-opened Gotham Pointe Academy, a middle and high school combined into one, funded heavily by Wayne Enterprises, located in the Upper West Side. You assist the kind but scatterbrained teacher, Ms. C, in sixth grade social studies. 

The pay is good, which is due to the aforementioned funding by Wayne Enterprises. WE seems to be on a public education kick recently, pouring money into not just Gotham Pointe but the existing underfunded schools in the city. 

You won’t complain. The state of many in-city schools is not great. Things are better in the ones in the suburbs, you’ve heard. And of course, private schools like Gotham Academy have no issues at all. At least when it comes to funding, anyway.

“I figured it wouldn’t be working yet,” he says as you go over to the washers, lifting the lid. His is a few over from yours. 

“Yeah, I have no idea when they’re going to fix it. The office says we need to talk to the app’s support but I feel like that’s a cop-out.”

“Oh, for sure,” he says, making you grin. “So, can I pay you back?”

“You really don’t have to,” you chuckle, lifting the wet clothes from the washer and turning to cross over to the dryers.

“It’s only fair,” he insists, eyes following you, making you a little more proactive in making sure he doesn’t get an eyeful of your bras and underwear in your laundry. His eyes are on your face but still. “How about I pay for your load? I know you already paid for the wash but I can do the dryer.”

No skin off your back. Why not?

“Alright,” you say. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

You pause in your transport as he lifts a baggie of quarters out of the pocket of his sweatpants and quickly counts out twelve.

“It’s —”

“I know,” he says. “But that’s how much you gave me last time, so. Use it next week.”

You can tell he isn’t doing it to make sure he doesn’t owe you, but rather he really is trying to pay back the kindness you’d afforded him. It’s a warming gesture. Here in Gotham City, the citizens are wary at best and downright nasty at worst. You understand why. They are bombarded with attacks from literal clowns and other terrifying figures who do the things they do just for the fun of it. Then you have the gangs, preying eagerly on the desperate souls of this city, and with a corrupt government that gives little to no shit about its people, there is no shortage of desperation. It’s their fault first and foremost, you think. A government has to take care of its people; they work for them, not the other way around. And the police are equally as useless. 

But not all hope is lost.

No, you think, accepting the quarters from him with a grateful smile. Not all.

You get back to moving your clothes. He gets back to studying the instructions for the powdered detergent. Really, you think. What’s up with that? It’s not a money thing, you think, since living here is a tad more expensive than other parts of the city and anyway, you saw his phone last week — it’s the newly-released WayneTech phone that came out, like, a week ago. It’s on the market for upward of a grand, which is a crazy amount of money to pay for a phone. Your phone — WayneTech, because yes, they do have good tech and you like the interface, you’ll admit that — is several years old. In fact, a present from your parents when you moved here at eighteen to attend Gotham University.

You yourself are a strong proponent of the detergent pods. Don’t need to measure out your own detergent each time you do a wash. Just toss that bad boy in there and boom. That’s it. You have vague memories of your mom using liquid detergent before switching over to the pods, which you still use, naturally. If it ain’t broke and all that. 

It’s both a little difficult to withhold your questions about his changing detergent use, as well as squash down any impulses to inform him about detergent pods’ existence.

But you manage to hold your tongue. If not because he helped to pay your dryer load and next week’s washer load, then because you don’t want to push his limits. Kind as he may be, kind as you want to believe him to be, he is still a strange guy that you do not know. A strange guy who lives somewhere here in this building, too. 

No matter how much his behavior concerning detergent — laundry — mystifies you.

But of course, that only continues to get worse.

The next week, he is using… detergent tablets?

You didn’t even know detergent existed in that form.

This time, you cannot help but stare.

You coincidentally managed to align your times properly, so you have your basket of dirty clothes to be washed and he does, too. 

“What’s with the continued experimentation of laundry detergent?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

He looks at you, blinking, before you remember yourself and shake your head. “Sorry, you don’t —”

“No,” he says, a tad sheepish now. “No, it’s fine. I’m, uh…” he trails off, cornflower blue eyes flickering to his basket of clothes, then the tablets in a shifty manner.

Oh, wait…

“You… don’t know how to do laundry?”

“I know how to do laundry,” he says quickly, defensively, then grimaces. “I’m just figuring out the… schematics.”

Something about that, about the determined intensity on his face as he looks at the washer, makes you laugh. Really hard.

“Hey,” he protests.

“I’m sorry,” you giggle. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I swear. I just —” it’s cute. In a weird way. In a way that shouldn’t be cute because come on, what guy your age doesn’t know how to do his own laundry? You are suspecting some wealth to his background, in that case. What with the expensive phone he had. Or just a guy who never did his own laundry and had his parents do it. 

But no. Despite that, it — he is cute, looking at you with a sulky expression.

You grin at him. “Genuinely, I’m asking genuinely, but what’s stumping you?”

He eyes you. There’s that familiar Gothamite suspicion. 

“Come on,” you say, unable to kick the grin off your face. “I wanna help. As someone who’s been doing her laundry the same way for the last decade, I can help.”

He sighs, crossing his arms. “I’m just figuring out the detergent, that’s all. I… didn’t use to do my own laundry and now that I’m on my own I’m trying to get it to how Al — the last person who did it did it. Haven’t been able to pin it down.”

“So, that’s why you’ve been experimenting.”

Pink settles high on his cheeks and he gives you a slightly petulant look. It’s ridiculously endearing. God, he’s cute. It’s not fair. 

You rub a hand over your smiling mouth. “Look, my advice? Just use these.”

You reach into your basket to grab the baggie of pods. 

“Hm.” He turns a critical eye over them. You bite your lip to fight off a bigger grin.

“Don’t have to measure anything,” you say, barely managing to keep the laughter out of your voice. “Just toss one — or two, depending on the load — in and you’re gold.”

“Interesting.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips out but he doesn’t seem so sulky about it now, his lips twitching too as he shakes his head at you.

“I’ve seen it at the store, you know,” he says, watching you set it aside and start throwing your clothes inside the washer. “I would’ve gotten there eventually.”

You have to laugh at that. 

“Well,” you say, laughter still in your voice as you set your basket aside and pick up the baggie. “You can try it out now, if you’d like. I thought I’d need to split my clothes into two loads but it fits.”

You glance at the washer, your thick coat taking up a lot of space. 

“Mostly, anyway. So.” You jiggle the bag with the two pods at him. “And I swear they’re straight from the container.”

He snorts. “I wasn’t even thinking you sabotaged them but now I am. Good job.”

“Hey, I have nothing against you! What reason could I have to mess with your clothes?”

“It’s Gotham. No one needs much of a reason to do anything.”

“Okay, Mr. Cynic.”

He chuckles and turns to dump his clothes into the washer, too. You pull out one of the pods and drop it in, then lean forward to change a couple settings for the wash, switching the water from cold to hot. A necessity, these days. God knows the kinds of germs the kids pass onto you. You started working with them last year in September and immediately got your ass kicked by a nasty head cold. You think your ears were clogged for a good three months after that. 

With it now being the start of February, your immune system is, like, juiced up. You’re fairly certain you are resistant to most, if not all, diseases. The CDC wishes it was you. 

You pass off the baggie to him and he pulls out the last pod. You nod approvingly and take out your other baggie from the pocket of your hoodie, counting out the quarters and slotting them in until the machine beeps at you. You press start and it whirs on. 

Next to you, Detergent Boy does the same.

Hm. You should get his name.

Just so you don’t have to call him that in your head. Yep. Not at all because you would very much like the name of a cute guy… And certainly not because you’re starting to think you do need to make a friend other than Ms. C and your coworkers… Your brother says it doesn’t count if it’s a person from work. And the kids don’t, either. Whatever. Spoilsport. 

You had friends in college but most of them left the city. High-tailed it for Metropolis or some other city that didn’t continue to break records when it came to crime and corruption. Which is fine. You get it. Sort of. 

“So, since you’ve apparently been checking out my detergent use —”

“Nooo, it sounds weird when you say it like that. I just noticed while we were talking, okay. Not to mention you kept staring at the instructions like they were the Rosetta Stone or something.”

He flushes and seems to decide to drop that topic so that he doesn’t have to respond or acknowledge those words. You grin. 

“Anyway,” he presses, rolling his eyes at the look on your face. “I think we should probably introduce ourselves.”

“We should, should we?” 

A voice in your head that sounds like your brother mutters, As if you aren’t dying to know his name.

You promptly tell it to shut up.

“Just so I know who to blame if my clothes get messed up. Or if the washer explodes.”

You burst out laughing. “You’re funny!”

He grins at you. It’s a nice look on his stupidly pretty face. “I’m Tim. Tim Drake.”

Oh. 

A lot of things make sense, suddenly.

But you shove that realization aside in favor of telling him your name. “Nice to officially meet you, Tim Drake.”

He echoes your greeting with your full name and you have to ignore the way the butterflies in your belly go a little crazy at hearing the syllables of your name on his tongue. 

Tim picks up his empty basket and so do you, the two of you wordlessly making for the exit.

“So, can I ask if you just moved here?”

He holds the door open for you. You nod in thanks and step out. 

He shakes his head in response to your previous question. “I’ve been here a while. Just haven’t, ah, been doing my laundry here.”

“You mean someone else was doing your laundry,” you say, unable to stop yourself from poking fun at him. A side effect of spending forty plus hours with preteens every week, you’re sure. 

He groans as you two come up to the elevator; he presses the button to go up. The laundry room is on the ground floor, towards the back of the building. Not in the basement or something, thankfully. That would just be the cherry on top of all of this.

“Hey, I’m not judging,” you say, shooting him a small grin.

“Really? ‘Cause it kind of feels like you are.”

Ding. The doors open. You two step inside. On the panel on his side, he presses the button for the fifteenth floor. On your side, you press the button for the fourteenth. 

The doors close.

“I’m not, I swear. I guess if I had some kind of maid —”

“Butler.”

You cannot withhold your snort. He rolls his eyes. 

“Right, right… if I had a butler or something, I wouldn’t do my own laundry, either. Although, it is kind of a hazard, so I’m not sure — oh, I don’t mean like that, shut up,” you say, flushing at the raised eyebrow he gives you. “My clothes are no dirtier than anyone else’s. They’ve just… got a lot of germs.”

It’s Tim’s turn to be cheeky.

“Riiiight. I bet they do.”

“I work with kids, alright,” you whine. “They’re germ monsters, man. It’s not as bad as kindergarteners or something, definitely not, but six graders still aren’t the epitome of health and cleanliness.”

He laughs at your tone. “So, you’re a teacher?”

“Teacher’s aide,” you correct. “Don’t have enough experience for that yet, no matter what PS 125 was trying to tell me when they offered me a job.”

He grimaces. “Their retention rate gets worse every year. I don’t blame them.”

“Well, I blame the city. Stupid government. Where the hell are my taxes going? Not to anything worthwhile, that’s for sure.” You shake your head. “Anyway. What about you?”

Even if he is Tim Drake, adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne who owns the burgeoning Wayne Enterprises, a company that rakes in billions but at the very least turns over a decent chunk of it to the city. Even with that, Bruce Wayne has a fortune and you’re certain that extends to his son — his children. Especially since you can vaguely recall some incident where Tim was, like, CEO? Briefly. Very briefly. When you were in your teens, actually. He was, too, so your mom smartly said he was more than likely just a figurehead. No seventeen-year-old should run a company. Not even seventeen-year-old super-rich and equally-as-educated Tim Drake, you think. 

But your attempt at equality goes a little wayside as he coughs, uncomfortable.

“I, uh, am not working right now. Not full-time, anyway. I do some work for WE. IT and R&D.”

You laugh softly at his attempt at overcompensation. “Dude, relax. I’m not judging you. Well. I’m not judging a lot.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly.

You grin. “I just mean it’s nice that you get a choice. It should be like that for all of us.”

“Universal income?”

You point at him. “Tell your dad about it.”

Tim tilts his head thoughtfully. “It was brought up, actually, a couple years ago. The city refused. Said it would make people ‘lazy.’”

“Those bastards.”

He laughs and you decide you very much like making him laugh.

The doors slide open to your floor. 

“See you later, Tim,” you say, giving him a two-fingered salute.

His eyes crinkle. “Later as in when our cycles are done and we have to put them in the dryer?”

“Of course! Oh, wait, I have a question, just to, heh, cover our bases regarding your lack of laundry knowledge —”

“Oh, come on.”

You grin, pausing by the doors, keeping a hand pressed to them so they don’t close on you. “You are using dryer sheets, right?”

“Of course I am.”

A pause.

“Every time you put your clothes in the dryer, right?”

He starts jamming the close doors button, averting his eyes. “I’ll, uh, see you later.”

You step out, grinning. “We’ll make a laundry master out of you yet, Tim Drake.”

The last thing you see before the doors close is him smiling. 

reblogs are appreciated!

[intosnarkness]

”come over here and make me” kanej

(1 2 or make up your own) (ask)

Sankt Emerens is not someone Inej was really familiar with before she was brought to Kerch.

As part of a traveling circus, living in a wagon, her family hadn't had a lot of need for harvest festivals. They'd usually taken advantage of them to set up a tent and earn coin in one of the smaller Ravkan villages they passed through. But they never stopped at the shrines or left offerings to him. Why would they, when they didn't grow anything?

Her first autumn in the Barrel, Inej was surprised by the revelry on Emeren's feast day - the sheer number of drunk people in the streets, the fireworks, the raucous laughter and the stream of men whose inhibitions were low enough to stumble into the Menagerie and spend their kruge on girls who couldn't say no.

She thought she might hate Sankt Emerens. She had never hated a saint before, but she was willing to bend a little for someone who inspired such chaos.

Which is why, in her second year in Ketterdam, Inej climbs up to the roof of the Slat with a bottle of whiskey and resolves to not think about anything even remotely religious instead of participating in the celebrations. She decides to pretend that it's a normal night, and that no one on the West Stave is being sold in the name of someone who died in a grain silo.

It doesn't go great.

She's only a drink or so into the whiskey, the amber liquid just kissing the top of the label as she lowers it from her lips, when she feels his presence on the roof with her.

"Hello, Kaz," she offers, giving him a little toast with the bottle. It's about time she got to greet him without looking.

"What business?" he asks, which just makes her snort through her nose. He's come to see her. On the roof. During a festival. Why would she be bringing him business? Sometimes Kaz is just the absolute worst.

"Getting drunk," she replies, though she doesn't think she will. She's had enough whiskey. She doesn't even like the stuff, it's just what Kaz had in his stash that she could take. Plus, if she's going to get drunk, she should do it with her feet on the ground. Nothing good has ever come of trying to get shitfaced on a roof.

Probably her father has a saying about that. Something profound, and wise. She misses him in a way that aches.

Kaz comes to sit next to her, close but carefully avoiding any contact between their bodies, and holds his hand out for the bottle. She takes another sip before she hands it to him.

"This is mine," he says, but he wipes the rim of it with his sleeve before taking a swallow. He winces a little, and Inej can't help but smile. He doesn't shoot whiskey well. It's something no one else seems to ever notice. He sips it, drinks it for status instead of enjoyment. She files it away in her mind, a secret she can sell when he's rich and powerful.

"I borrowed it," she replies, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "You weren't around to ask."

"Someone had to arrange for the fireworks," he shrugs. "There's always profit in this city, if you know where to look."

Somehow, Inej thinks her father would disapprove of that as a proverb. But it does sound like the kind of thing you would say while shaking the hand of your pewmate at a Ghezenite service. Good morning, there's profit to be made. Heathens.

"Of course," she shakes her head and reaches for the bottle again.

Kaz doesn't hand it over, instead making a show of taking another deep drink. This time he coughs, and Inej feels vindicated by it. What an asshole he is.

"Why aren't you out there?" he asks, gesturing with his chin towards the revelers below. "You could get drunk on another man's alcohol."

"Other men want payment for free drinks," she says, before she can consider it. It's true, of course. If you let a man buy you a whiskey he asks for your company. And Inej can't be bought anymore. Not like that. With Kaz, there may still be a price for things, but it's a price she knows up front. A price she can say no to, and know that he'll let her.

That seems to put him on his heels, and she uses his moment of distraction to take the bottle back, swallowing deep. She should stop. She should get down. She doesn't want to.

The alcohol is warm in her stomach, and Kaz is warm at her side, despite the barrier of air and clothing that will always keep them apart.

"Give that back," he demands, his brow furrowed. "Go buy your own whiskey, Wraith."

"Why don't you come over here and make me?" she replies, and when their eyes meet in the darkness, she can feel something coming from him that she's never felt before. Something like want or need. It scares her. It scares her to think that she's on a roof, far away from anyone who can help her, with this boy who she trusts. Who has earned her trust. Who lies and cheats and murders and probably doesn't deserve that trust.

He opens his mouth to reply, but she doesn't hear what he says, because something explodes over the harbor.

It's a firework, a shower of gold and red sparks like a small sun that blazes into existence for a moment. It's breathtaking, and she turns to look at Kaz, watching as the next one goes off, the reflection of green and blue in his dark eyes. He's beautiful, and the way he's looking at her makes her think that maybe- maybe- he thinks she's beautiful, too.

Probably not. Probably Kaz Brekker doesn't have feelings about beauty, unless it's something he can get money from. And he promised her she would never have to do that. So what use would her beauty be to him, anyway?

"Here," Inej hands him the bottle and gets to her feet. "I'm done. Good night, Kaz."

"Stay," he says, his voice warm in the chill of the air. Or maybe it's the alcohol. "Just - just until the fireworks are done. They're good fireworks. I would know."

Inej pauses, looking away from him to where a series of three explosions is going off, one after the other, a high whistling sound giving way to the bursts of color. It is pretty. It reminds her a little of the ones her aunt and uncle used to set off at the solstice, meant to scare back the night and show the way for the sun to return to them.

"Okay," Inej breathes, and returns to sitting an inch away from Kaz, their bodies never touching. If it's payment for the whiskey, well. She's willing to pay it. For now.

Neither of them speaks again as the explosions around them start to pick up, colors and sparks dancing down the firmament. She leans back on her palms, the rough shingles of the roof biting into them. Something soft and firm brushes over her fingers, a split second of contact that feels for all the world like leather.

She doesn't react, schooling herself to stillness. If Kaz touched her hand, she knows, it was an accident. It's not something he would do on purpose. Not to her, and not to anyone. So she won't make a big deal of it.

Kaz doesn't say anything either, just takes another gasping drink from the bottle and sits with her as the sky turns to light.

[rabbitcruiser]

Peter Skene Ogden State Scenic Viewpoint, OR (No. 3)

The Crooked River Railroad Bridge, part of a BNSF Railway line between the Columbia River and Bend, Oregon, crosses Oregon's Crooked River Canyon in southern Jefferson County. The bridge is 320 feet (98 m) above the river and when it was completed in 1911, it was the second-highest railroad bridge in the United States. It is a steel two-hinge arch span with a total length of 460 feet (140 m).

The crossing of the Crooked River played a critical role in the competition to build a railroad up the Deschutes River Valley. The incentive for railroad construction was reaching the vast stands of timber south of Bend. The Oregon Trunk Railway Company, a subsidiary of the Spokane, Portland and Seattle Railway owned by James J. Hill of the Great Northern Railway, started up the west side of the Deschutes while the Des Chutes Railroad, owned by Edward Harriman of the Union Pacific, started up the east side. At North Junction, approximately 65 miles (105 km) south of the Columbia River, Hill's Oregon Trunk crossed over to the east bank. At 126 miles (203 km) both railroads would have had to cross a major tributary of the Deschutes, the Crooked River. There was only one place where the cliffs on both sides were close enough to build a bridge. Jim Hill had obtained the rights to the location when his Oregon Trunk Railroad acquired the Central Oregon Railroad Company on December 1, 1909. The Central Oregon had laid no track and the rights to the bridge site were its principal asset. Hill's acquisition of the location forced Harriman to negotiate a settlement whereby the Oregon Trunk, Hill's railroad, would own almost the entire line from the Columbia to Bend but Harriman's company would have the right to use the track.

Through a series of mergers the rail line and the bridge became part of the Burlington Northern and Santa Fe Railway (which changed its name to BNSF Railway in 2005). Union Pacific, Harriman's old railroad, still has the right to use the track. Great Northern extended the line south from Bend to Chemult in 1928.

Source: Wikipedia

[arimabari]

Kyne's Priestess

Not really a microfic so much as a snippet from the longfic I'm writing, but I really enjoyed how I wrote Kyne/Kynareth and wanted to show it off here Basic Summary: a priestess of Kynareth (and unknowing Dragonborn) gets scolded by her patron for being a shut in. 907 words.

-

An autumn wind channeled through the woods of the West Weald, causing fallen leaves to dance and the river to run faster than its usual flow. Tatia emerged like an angry nymphe rising from her stream, silently cursing the wave that almost sent her drifting down the bend. She didn’t need a word of discipline to know that her patron felt scorned. The woods themselves would punish her, and with their own innate cruelty: a reminder that what sustains her can just as easily consume her if taken for granted. The priestess closed her eyes, took in a breath, then started towards camp. 

As she padded along the grass, the shadow of a bird cast itself above her head. It held in the air, capturing the morning sun on its back, then settled on a nearby branch where her clothes hung dry. The creature bore the resemblance of an eagle, with sharp talons and brown-speckled wings that stretched the length of its perch - but that was where the similarities ended. Its face had no eyes, no golden beak, but was flattened instead by a clay mask which mirrored the visage of man. The creature craned its neck to an unnatural degree and spoke to her in hushed whispers, like a whistle in the breeze. 

“Teach you to forget your morning hymns, my little flightless thing.” 

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not in a singing mood.” Tatia muttered, her voice lacking in warmth or sincerity. She paid no mind to it as she stood by the campfire and started wringing the water from her soot-painted curls. “I hardly slept last night with all the noise coming from the road.”

The creature laughed, and it sounded like chimes beating against the wind. “Ah, yes! The men in the painted wagons! I was drawn to them in the night after I fell out of a breeze. They had built a fire that burned large and bright, and around that fire they sang and danced and played little pipes until morning dewdrops freshened in the new day. So drunk they were on wine and mirth that they collapsed right there in the grass and made a bed of it!” 

“I’m sure you kept their fire burning long after its time.” Tatia remarked.

“I did.” the creature mused. She could hear the smile in its voice. “I kept it low and steady - strong enough to keep them warm but not scorching, and I watched over their sleeping bodies like a mother guards her young. Before long they crawled into their little wagons and cracked the reins, and the hooved beasts carried them off into the horizon.” it then remarked, “I might have been more generous with you this morning, had you half a mind to join them!” 

The priestess scoffed at that. “I hate large gatherings. You know that.” 

“Hate!” the creature made a hissing noise and beat its wings against the air in a huff. “Oh, and how well you keep it! Your heart is surely made of stone. It holds no joy, no sorrow, nor anything that breathes life into your fellow man. How often I’ve brought you sweet smells and pleasant melodies only for you to turn your head. You’ve never once delighted in them - not one! And there is no greater offense to me than that.” 

“Then find some other priest to sing your praises at the crack of dawn.” Tatia whipped around to glare at the beast, her thick brows furrowed with contempt. “The things that live in these woods are protected so long as I’m here to keep it that way. That is the promise I made to you.”  

“Yes.” the creature replied, speaking softly and with immeasurable patience. “I know very well the promise that you made, just as I know the company you keep with the larks and the roaming bear, and the willows longing for their wild youth in the days of old Cyrod. It is through their eyes that I have watched you crawl upon the green like a low and humble beast, spitting at anything that may disturb the peace.” The creature paused and beat its wings against the air once more. It dug its talons into the linen folds hanging on the branch, then took to the air with them - only to drop them on the priestess’ head.

Tatia cursed, her voice muffled the fabric. “Hey-!”

“But you are neither lowly nor humble.” the creature continued. “And I did not make you so you could spend your days frolicing among daisies. For seven years you have stood as vigil as the hare, witnessing the world from the safety of your den - but you will not lay sleeping forever.” a strong gust of wind flung the creature higher into the air, and it sang in tongues unknown to the priestess below. 

“Ahrk fin zul, rok drey kod, nau tol morokei frod. Rul lot Taazokaan motaad voth kein.” it circled above her, chanting. “Nuz aan sul, fent alok, fod fin vul dovah nok. Fen kos nahlot mahfaeraak ahrk ruz!”

The priestess pulled the linen from her face and watched on in stubborn silence. She expected the creature to leave her with that, as it always does. It talks and talks, and by the time she thinks to question it, it takes to the sky without a word.

Serves me right for thinking I could have a quiet morning to myself, she thought.

[luimagines]

Kokiri Traveler

Another commission! 

Masterlist

They asked for a Kokiri traveler who’s found their way out of the forest and meets the group!

Content under the cut!

It was quiet.

They wrung their hands together nervously. Their small blade was held tightly within their grip. They weren’t sure how they got to this point. They had tried looking for Link for a while. He was supposed to come back a while ago but he never did. They didn’t think he would have been crazy enough to leave the forest. But now they’re out and Link is nowhere to be found.

They take a deep breath and keep going forward. The magic in the air isn’t as dense as the forest. It’s disorienting.

Something growls to their left and they pivot on their toes, blade at the ready. Eyebrows furrow and their stance balances itself out.

A wolf.

It pauses at the sight of the kokiri, instantly dropping the hostile aggression.

It sniffs closer.

Unknowing what to do, they take a step back. The wolf pauses and lowers both his tail and ears, dipping its head to show submission.

The kokiri doesn’t have enough experience with animals to make heads or tails of this but it no longer looks like it wants to fight. Merely curious.

The wolf comes closer and it smells…. Familiar. Like the forest. But not quite.  Something is off about it. Darker but not necessarily unwelcoming. It’s strange.

“You’re weird.” The kokiri blurts as their hand comes in contact with the fur. “You smell like you belong elsewhere.”

The creature tilts his head.

“Where do you come from?” The kokiri asks, doubting that they’ll receive an answer. They hum and pet the creature a little bit more before coming to a conclusion. They’ll just go with the direction this creature came from! Maybe they can find their way home that way.

They look up and start walking through the bushes and past the wolf as they go. The wolf seems intruiged, if a bit concerned, and follows them.

The journey is quiet once more but pleasantly so. They made a friend. At least, that’s what they want to think. Walking is much better with company than being alone even if the other isn’t going to be up for much conversation. 

The smell of the forest gets stronger as they walk. Unbeknownst to the kokiri, they start to walk faster as a result. They speed up the closer they get, nearly breaking into a full sprint. Their excitement is tangible and the wolf has to pick up speed as well if it wants to keep up with the small child-like being.

They crash into a much larger person, the smell of the forest is undeniable. The kokiri steps back and rubs their nose. They crashed into metal. That hurt.

They look up.

A tall, blond man with magic, seeping from the seams of his being, looks down at them. Their jaw drops and they gulp what little spit is left in their mouth when they recognize a face they never thought they would see again. They take another step back. The blood in their veins freezes and sluggishly continues to pump through their body even so. They can feel the effort their heart has to make to keep their blood moving. “..Link?”

Link blinks down at them and bends, taking a knee to meet their height. He smiles sadly. “You’re far from home.”

“I was looking for you.” Little hands come up to his cheek. Link sighs and lets them explore. They take in his sharpened jaw, his nose, his eyes, well eye, the scar, the beginnings of wrinkles, his aged hair and the angles of adulthood that made left their mark. “...I don’t think you can come home… Not like this.”

He snorts. “No. Not like this.”

Link reaches over and gently takes the hands off. “But it’s ok. I have a different home now. Thank you for worrying about me.”

They frown, an unfamiliar emotion welling up in their chest and up their neck. It slowly consumes their face and tears well in their eyes.

Link is gentle and wipes them tenderly.

A roar sounds from the west and all members of the unseen group take their stances and weapons out.

The kokiri is angry. This isn’t fair. This shouldn’t have happened. What happened to their friend?

An arrow wizzes past the boys but the kokiri catches it before it can hit its mark. They frown and pull out their small blade again.

“Woah!” Another voice yells. “That was awesome! Where’d you learn to do that?”

They don’t feel like answering the stranger’s question. The next monster that jumps in front of them quickly loses its eye. With an enraged scream, the kokiri jumps on top of it. They gain a few more scratches and a mirror cut when it tries to throw them off but they hold on tightly. They stab the monster again and again, taking as much of their anger out of it as possible.

It explodes into familiar purple smoke soon after and the kokiri falls with it. They breathe heavily.

Their clothes have also gained a few more tears but it’s fine. They don’t care. They stopped caring a while ago.

Link drops down in front of them. He’s too big. Too tall. His voice is too deep. This isn’t the Link they remember. Who did this to him?

Link takes them into his arms and they start crying. The smell of the forest is comforting even now but it’s wrong. 

“Don’t worry.” Link says softly. “We’ll get you home. You shouldn’t be out of the forest anyway.”

They shake their head. “No Link. Either you come back with me or I’m going with you. You need to come home.”

Link looks conflicted. While he looks over his shoulder toward the other boys, he really doesn’t know what to do from this point. He never would have thought this would have happened.

“They can come along.” Another says. “They can fight. Viciously. We all saw it.”

The kokiri wipes their eyes and sniffles. “Good. I wouldn’t leave anyway.”

[monstroso]

Home on the range!! Im surprised to see it in a poll, i often feel im the only one i know who is aware of the evil yodeling hypnosis villain. Do you have any thoughts you wish to share about that movie? I find it quite fun!!

This will maybe be the most controversial opinion to come out of the mid-sney poll, but (aside from the film which I personally voted for. Great Mouse Detective Sweep, etc.) I think Home On The Range is the best of the films listed.

I love that it has three female leads with no romance subplot. I love the character designs on all three leads and the immediate interplay between the personalities. I love that it comes from an era where Disney could still make *comedy* animation, even if it missed the mark in a lot of ways.

Disney in the mid-2000s wasn't the "feel-good nostalgia" company yet, they hadn't hit their stride and so were still willing to experiment with different kinds of stories in the new millennium.

And it's not even a true departure. I think the yodeling cow-rustling sequence hearkens back to the "Pink Elephants On Parade" days in a deliberate way! Stuff like that just doesn't happen in Disney movies anymore except in very controlled story moments, because it's weird. But we like it *because* it's weird!

(My senior animation film also was a silly story with an action sequence set in a fantastical wild-west, so I might be somewhat impartial here.)

Disney likes to remind us that animation can be beautiful and breathtaking. It can enhance the things about reality that are wonderful and make the real feel hyper-real. But it can also completely bend reality to be fun and silly and *un*-real, and those kinds of movies can and should exist too! Home On The Range might be ridiculous and over-the-top, but I like it because it reminds me of the days when that was still something Disney might do. They leave this kind of thing to Illumination and DreamWorks now.

My feelings aside though, I'd love to see Home On The Range get a retroactive fandom on tumblr where people ship the cows together. Maggie could be a butch lesbian icon! I'm just saying.

Thanks for the ask!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Ireland's privacy regulator is a gamekeeper-turned-poacher

This Saturday (May 20), I’ll be at the GAITHERSBURG Book Festival with my novel Red Team Blues; then on May 22, I’m keynoting Public Knowledge’s Emerging Tech conference in DC.

On May 23, I’ll be in TORONTO for a book launch that’s part of WEPFest, a benefit for the West End Phoenix, onstage with Dave Bidini (The Rheostatics), Ron Diebert (Citizen Lab) and the whistleblower Dr Nancy Olivieri.

When the EU passed its landmark General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), it seemed like a privacy miracle. Despite the most aggressive lobbying Europe had ever seen, 500 million Europeans were now guaranteed a digital private life. Could this really be?

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

Well, yes…and no. Despite flaws (Right to Be Forgotten), the GDPR has strong, well-crafted, badly needed privacy protections. But to get those protections, Europeans need their privacy regulators to enforce the rules.

That’s where the GDPR miracle founders. Europe includes several tax-havens — Malta, Cyprus, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, Ireland — that compete to offer the most favorable terms to international corporations and other criminals. For these havens, paying little to no tax is just table-stakes. As these countries vie to sell themselves out to giant companies, they compete to offer a favorable regulatory environment, insulating companies from lawsuits over corruption, labor abuses and other crimes.

All of this is made possible — and even encouraged — by the design of European federalism, which lets companies easily shift which flag of convenience they fly. Once a company re-homes in a country, it can force Europeans across the union to seek justice in that country’s courts, under the looming threat that the company will up sticks for another haven if the law doesn’t bend over backwards to protect corporate citizens from the grievances of flesh-and-blood humans.

Big Tech’s most aggressive privacy invaders have long flown Irish flags. Ireland is “headquarters” to Google, Meta, Tinder, Apple, Airbnb, Yahoo and many other tech companies. In exchange for locating a handful of jobs to Ireland, these companies are allowed to maintain the pretense that their global earnings are afloat in the Irish Sea, in a state of perfect, untaxable grace.

That cozy relationship meant that the US tech giants were well-situated to sabotage Ireland’s privacy regulator, who would be the first port of call for Europeans whose privacy had been violated by American firms. For many years, it’s been obvious that the Irish Data Protection Commission was a sleeping watchdog, with infinite tolerance for the companies that pretend to make Ireland their homes. 87% of Irish data protection claims involve just eight giant US companies (that pretend to be Irish).

But among for hardened GDPR warriors, the real extent of the Data Protection Commissioner’s uselessness is genuinely shocking. A new report from the Irish Council for Civil Liberties reveals that the DPC isn’t merely tolerant of privacy crimes, they’re gamekeepers turned poachers, active collaborators in privacy abuse:

https://www.iccl.ie/wp-content/uploads/2023/05/5-years-GDPR-crisis.pdf

The report’s headline figure really tells the story: the European Data Protection Board — which oversees Ireland’s DPC — overturns the Irish regulator’s judgments 75% of the time. It’s actually worse than it appears: that figure only includes appeals of the DPC’s enforcement actions, where the DPC bestirred itself to put on trousers and show up for work to investigate a privacy claim, only to find that the corporation was utterly blameless.

But the DPC almost never takes enforcement actions. Instead, the regulator remains in its pajamas, watching cartoons and eating breakfast cereal, and offers an “amicable resolution” (that is, a settlement) to the accused company. 83% of the cases brought before the DPC are settled with an “amicable resolution.”

Corporations can bargain for multiple, consecutive amicable resolutions, allowing them to repeatedly break the law and treat the fines — which they negotiate themselves — as part of the price of doing business.

This is illegal. European law demands that cases that involve repeat offenders, or that are likely to affect many people, must be fully investigated.

Ireland’s government has stonewalled on calls for an independent review of the DPC. The DPC continues to abet lawlessness, allowing corporations to use privacy invasive techniques for surveillance, discrimination and manipulation. In 2022, the DPC concluded 64% of its cases with mere reprimands — not even a slap on the wrist.

Meanwhile, the DPC trails the EU in issuing “compliance orders” — which directly regulate the conduct of privacy-invading companies — only issuing 49 such orders in the past 4.5 years. The DPC has only issues 28 of the GDPR’s “one-stop-shop” fines.

The EU has 26 other national privacy regulators, but under the GDPR, they aren’t allowed to act until the DPC delivers its draft decisions. The DPC is lavishly funded, with a budget in the EU’s top five, but all that money gets pissed up against a wall, with inaction ruling the day.

Despite the collusion between the tech giants and the Irish state, time is running out for America’s surveillance-crazed tech monopolists. The GDPR does allow Europeans to challenge the DPR’s do-nothing rulings in European court, after a long, meandering process. That process is finally bearing fruit: in 2021, Johnny Ryan and the Irish Council for Civil Liberties brought a case in Germany against the ad-tech lobby group IAB:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/16/inside-the-clock-tower/#inference

And the activist Max Schrems and the group NOYB brought a case against Google in Austria:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/15/out-here-everything-hurts/#noyb

But Europeans should not have to drag tech giants out of Ireland to get justice. It’s long past time for the EU to force Ireland to clean up its act. The EU Commission is set to publish a proposal on how to reform Ireland’s DPA, but more muscular action is needed. In the new report, the Irish Council For Civil Liberties calls on the European Commissioner for Justice, Didier Reynders, to treat this issue with the urgency and seriousness that it warrants. As the ICCL says, “the EU can not be a regulatory superpower unless it enforces its own laws.”

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

[Image ID: A toddler playing with toy cars. The cars are Irish police cars. The toddler's head has been replaced with the menacing, glowing red eye of HAL9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey.' The toddler's knit cap is decorated with the logos for Apple, Google, Facebook and Tinder.]

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[pcttrailsidereader]

It's Been a While

In 1981 my hiking parters, Jim Peacock, Rees Hughes and I were just past about half way on our first PCT hike. We had started at the Columbia River and were heading to Rainy Pass. We had given ourselves thirty days to get there. By today's standards we sound like snails. Then, it felt just fine, if not more than enough, to walk anywhere from twelve to fifteen miles a day.

Just past our halfway point we came to Waptus Lake in what was then the newly christened Alpine Lakes Wilderness. The trail out of Snoqualmie Pass was marked by numerous clearcuts and a fair amount of rain and low clouds. Eventually we walked around a bend into welcome sunshine to dry out and buoy my flagging spirits. By this point we had our hiking legs and we had found our routines.

From my journal entry, July 15, 1981, "Upon reaching Dutch Miller Gap trail, which is essentially at the bottom [of a long descent of 26 switchbacks] we had a decision to make. Camp here or nearby Waptus Lake. We could see the lake from the beginning of our descent- it looked very inviting. Consequently we reluctantly pushed on..."

Arriving at Waptus lake we started at one campsite and eventually moved to a second site. Unfortunately we didn't get much time to catch up on journals, washing up, etc. since we arrived late in the day. We did enjoy a fire even though it was still a relatively warm evening. As a full moon rose over the lake this served as one of the high (no pun intended) points of our day. That full moon made me ponder where I would be at the next full moon.

The next full moon I was back home fully recovered from a case of Giardia I had picked up on the hike. Little did I know that it would be forty four years later before I would see another full moon rising above Waptus Lake. My friend Dick Simpson and I had planned another backpacking trip together for this late summer. We have gone on several over the years. One is described in 'Crossing Paths', Rees and my book of hiker/writer stories entitled 'The Pleasure of Your Company'. This time Dick suggested we hike to Waptus Lake going in at the Salmon La Sac trailhead. The trail is just over nine miles long with some minimal elevation gain and loss eventually following the Waptus River to the lake.

When we arrived at the lake I was completely caught off guard by the stunning view of Summit Chief and Bear's Breast mountains rising on the south end of Waptus lake. How could we have missed this in 1981? Well for one thing it was apparent from my journal that we were wiped out from a long day of hiking and for another from where you descend to the lake shore off the the PCT you are in ancient woods that block views to the south. That was a relief to realize all this time later since this view is unforgettable.

Summit Chief and Bear's Breast peaks...the PCT traverses the right side of the lake shore in this picture.

Being at Waptus lake in late September is different from visiting in mid July. We did have sunshine but the air was cool and the nights cooler still. The late morning and through the day brought a steady wind down lake from the south and west. Even with the wind Dick went for swims every day while I was less motivated and only waded knee deep. Revisiting Waptus with Dick was everything I had wanted. Time with Dick, a return to a part of the PCT I had not been on in a very long time, and three days of getting around on day hikes both south and north on the PCT. We didn't go real far in either direction but seeing Cathedral Peak in the not too far distance brought up more memories from 1981. There was a lot of story telling on my part to share with Dick.

How often do we experience something in our lives and it is seemingly a one off? A box ticked, an experience that makes up a long list in one's life. That is often the case for some of my life experiences. Not so true of the PCT. I doubt I will re-walk the entire PCT again but going to Waptus Lake and a few other memorable spots along the trail motivate me to not put off those visits. For me the hikes I have experienced on the PCT have clearly been life changing and continue to reward me with rich dividends. Going back to Waptus transported me back to a time when I was much younger, maybe a bit more naive, while learning about my self and where I was headed in this one short life. I am still learning and still finding my way, hopefully less naive and just a bit older. It's been a while...

Dick along the Waptus River

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter V.

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Down on the west coast, we got a saying...

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: A sexy performance by our main character, he's absolutely whipped, THEY HUG FOR THE FIRST TIME !!, is it really a slow burn if they don't yearn for one another, an insufferable dad, speaking of dad back on my dbf!Javi bs, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized, including the usage of the song(s) that Paloma will perform throughout the story.

A/N: hi friends! hope you all enjoy this chapter, i was completely smitten while writing this since i'm such a needy little thing when it comes to a good slow burn ship lmfao also i love how we've all collectively decided that javi is lana del rey coded like SO true bestie !! like i love me some flirty!Javi okay sue me !! let him flirt with all the women !! anyways feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Paloma is feeling wildly fervent tonight, a side effect of the eventful days she’s been having. She’s been buzzing with excitement to get up on the stage and exude all the feelings she’s been wrapped up in through music.

Between Javier’s ‘will they won’t they’ repartee and August’s piquant personality; these men have been bending her will to remain strong. It’s a peculiar thing, reminiscent to the stories she reads or movies she watches.

Paloma hasn’t stopped to think about it in a logical sense, where these newfound ‘relationships’ can go, and frankly she doesn’t want to stop and think. She just wants to be… to allow herself to indulge in the pleasantries of their attention.  

She’s at the bar two hours before she’s set to do her gig, cheerfully enjoying the company of her best friend as she drinks her signature root beer and muddled cherry mocktail. She eyes the new karaoke machine that’s just recently been acquired and leans in to get Sloane’s attention.

“Has anyone used it?” She gestures to the machine and Slo shakes her head, wiping down the counter. 

“No, but I think you’d be the perfect person to break it in. Pretty sure I saw some Madonna songs on there…” Sloane tells her in a sing-song tone, causing Paloma’s eyes to light up and she hops off the bar stool to walk up to the stage where it was. It consisted of a large television set and the actual karaoke machine.

She plays around with it for a few, familiarizing herself with the controls before she’s skimming through the dozens of available songs.

The evening crowd has started to file in, she doesn’t even realize since she’s been too busy figuring the machine out. She lets out a delighted sound of glee once she sees that Like a Prayer is one of the available songs and wastes no time in selecting it.

The song begins and she takes her position on the stage, few eyes on her. She doesn’t even need the large teleprompter for the lyrics. Bringing the microphone up to her lips, she begins to sing the intro softly.

Paloma sways her hips when she needs to, keeping up with the song as it’s one of her all time favorites. She’s done a variant of this performance in her bedroom with her hair brush many of times.

As the final notes fade away, Paloma finds herself nearly breathless, her heart still racing from how fun it was. The applause washes over her like a wave, enveloping her in a blanket of appreciation.

With a wide smile adorning her face, she gracefully bows and waves to the audience before delicately placing the microphone back on its stand. As the jukebox resumes its melody, filling the void left by her absence, she makes her way back to her spot at the bar counter, basking in the warmth of the moment.

“You know how to put on a show!” The compliment comes from a redhead sitting in the stool closest to her.

“Thank you.” Her mouth curves into a smile as she eyes her. A bride sash draped horizontally over her torso with the small veil clipped in her hair and she’s dressed in all white. There’s three other woman behind her whom she assumes is the bridal party. “And congratulations.” She raises her glass that had been replenished courtesy of her best friend.

They cheers then engage in some small talk when the bride, Wendy, confirms to Paloma that they are out for her bachelorette celebration. They had some car troubles in the middle of their travels to Austin which led to a rest stop here in Seminary until morning.

It wasn’t how she had planned to celebrate the trip, but there was nothing she could do about it so she’s making the best of the situation.

This has an idea pop into Paloma’s head, empathetic as ever, and she says her goodbyes once the band arrives. The plan is simple enough; perform some of her more sultry songs for the stranded bridal party in hopes to make their night a little more entertaining. It doesn’t take much before she’s got her band on board, tapping on the microphone to get everyone’s attention when she returns to the stage.

Javier did not plan on being at The Whiskey Fox tonight, especially with the lack of sleep he’s endured recently. Not that he hasn’t dealt with it before, but it’s been on an unforgiving incline as of late.

The worst part about his insomnia is how inconsistent it can be. He could go weeks with little to no sleep then suddenly a period where it’s all he does. Hasn’t hit the latter of the cycle just yet, but he can feel it creeping up on him at an agonizing pace.

It’s a complete shit show and infuriatingly lonely. He wouldn’t admit to the latter, however.

Exhausting himself throughout the day with hopes that he’ll be bone-tired by the end of the night, he makes an impromptu stop at the bar where hopefully a glass or two of bourbon will have him easing into sleep the second he makes it home.

It’s a long shot, nothing irregular of what he does on a regular night, but fuck, he really needs to get some rest. He can only function off coffee and nicotine for so long.

The bar is in high spirits the second he steps foot in, and with that comes the reminder that it’s a weekend night which means…

Eyes drift over to the stage and sure enough, she’s front and center, and he fights the urge to gravitate towards her.

Instead, Javier opts to sit at the bar, easily getting Sloane’s attention and ordering his bourbon.

“Y’know… I think this is the first time you’ve in been here while I’ve been on shift. You hidin’ from me, handsome?” She begins with a teasing simper, expertly pouring the drink.

Javier chuckles briefly, giving her a once-over, “Had I known a pretty little thing like you was tendin’ the bar I woulda been in here much more consistently.” Flirtatious as ever, despite his exhaustion, brown eyes meeting her gaze as she diligently sets the glass in front of him with a vivacious grin.

“Oooh, you’re a sweet talker. I like that. Not many darin’ boys ‘round here.” She leans forward, making a point to press her breasts together to show off her cleavage which he shamelessly ogles.

“S’a good thing I’m not a boy, sweetheart.” Bringing the glass up for a sip, their stare isn’t broken and she cocks her head to the side in interest.

“A great thing, even. You’re all man.” Her southern accent drips with sensuality, the suggestion hanging heavy in the air between them. For a fleeting moment, Javier entertains the idea of inviting her back to his place to relieve some tension and get some rest, but before he can act, she’s whisked away by another patron.

Divine intervention, Javi thinks, since his interest for her drops the second he hears Paloma’s voice. Placing some cash on the counter, he moves over to the table he’s accustomed to sitting at, distancing himself from the distraction with great tits behind the bar.

♫

His attention now fully on the woman on stage, her honeyed voice and the movements of her hands as they trail along the length of her body, diligently tracing her curves.

He can’t keep his eyes off her. Clad in a sleek black dress with a sweetheart neckline, its hem teasingly grazes the curve of her thigh. She radiates an effortless sensuality. Her mid-thigh high boots elevate her stature, causing her back to arch ever so subtly, drawing his gaze to her ass.

Her hips sway with a tantalizing rhythm that ignites Javier’s imagination, conjuring images of her poised above him with his cock drilling deep inside of her.

The glass in his hand suddenly feels heavy as his thoughts get dirty, so he takes a long sip, relishing the fiery sweetness that burns down his throat.

Javi finds himself completely entranced, lost in the melody of her voice. As Paloma begins her descent from the stage, weaving her way through the tables scattered around the room, a sense of anticipation stirs within him. With bated breath, he shifts in his seat, eagerly awaiting for her to approach him.

She continues, tastefully interacting the patrons nearby, pocketing bills that are being handed to her. She handles it suavely, tucking the wads of cash in the band of her boot that’s pressed against her thigh.

Javier’s eyes fall to the area as she does this, running his tongue over his teeth and truly contemplating if staying away is worth it all. He digs into his back pocket, fishing out the leather wallet and swiftly pulling out whatever was in it to give her.

It’s then that she approaches him, the spotlight making Paloma look more radiant than any star he’s ever seen. Their eyes meet in an enchanted gaze, his lips tug up into a cocky and expectant smirk in which she matches before slowly rounding behind him, almost singing in his ear.

“Te deseo, cariño, boy, it’s you I desire.” 

Javier’s jaw ticks as her touch runs along the expanse of his broad shoulders, and before she’s able to leave him completely, he slips the bills into her palm and lets it drop from his grasp.

That line was a seductive invitation, crafted for him alone, and he can feel it in the way her lips curve into a smug smile. Was it penned with him in mind, sung in Spanish to tantalize him? The notion ignites a fierce longing within Javier, his skin tingling and body craving her.

Her lyrics, saturated with desire, mirror the very same craving she elicits from him. The hunger in her eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for the passion they both yearn to share.

She finishes the song, the table of a bridal party praising her drunkenly as the music dies down and everyone begins their applause. Some whistling at her, too.

Javier remains unmoved, reclining effortlessly in the chair, one arm draped casually over its back. His gaze is fixed on her, unwavering, a fresh cigarette dangling from his lips, the tendrils of smoke curling around him lazily. He makes no attempt to conceal his admiration, indifferent to whether she notices his lingering stare. The bold move she just made only serves to fuel him, leaving his infatuation as intense and consuming as ever.

It’s evident that Paloma seeks his pursuit, craving the thrill of the relentless chase until she willingly offers herself completely. Though Javier typically refrains from chasing pussy, he finds himself captivated by the enticing dynamics of their relationship— a tantalizing dance of push and pull.

This experience is vastly different from his usual encounters, where women often yield quickly to his advances. With her, however, the challenge persists, defying his expectations and fueling his intrigue.

For a time, Javier reveled in the thrill of it all— the fleeting encounters with women at brothels, the allure of one-night stands. The fast-paced rhythm of constant attention and swift hook-ups kept him occupied and amused.

Yet now, a shift has happened.

He finds himself drawn to the unhurried pace of whatever undefined connection he shares with Paloma. It’s a departure from the whirlwind of his past experiences, and despite its ambiguity, it holds a newfound interest, captivating him in its gradual unfolding.

It’s building tension, prolonged foreplay to a shared fantasy that’ll only bring them both conflict. Conflict that he doesn’t want to be burdened with…

Yet, she makes it so hard to stay the fuck away.

As she vanishes into the depths of the back area, Javier swiftly drains the last remnants of his drink, feeling more restless than when he came in.

It has been days since her last performance, yet she hasn’t stopped thinking about that night. It was her first time doing anything remotely sensual as she had— and she liked it. It gave her a lot of real confidence and not that of which she pretends she obtains.

She’s already preparing herself for the scrutiny she’ll receive from a certain group of gossips at church for putting on such a scandalous performance.

Whatever, she thinks, people were going to talk shit regardless and she’s never felt more sexier and empowered. The self-assurance she got from people handing her tips and receiving Javier’s undivided attention was exhilarating.

It had been more than enough for her to quickly improvise a specific lyric in her song. For him.

Paloma is at a loss to rationalize her impulsive behavior once she approached him, swept up in a sensation akin to a siren’s call, drawing in a lost sea captain with an irresistible temptation.

He’d been more preoccupied than usual, leaving Paloma to grapple with an unexpected yearning for his presence. Their interactions had become fleeting, confined to brief exchanges in passing or hurried conversations over the phone, often revolving around attempts to reach the sheriff.

So seeing him there that night, very present at her gig, she knew she had to do something big to give him the hint that she is very, very interested in doing something, anything with him. Consequences be damned.

Paloma won’t be the one to take it there, that’s a rookie move. If Javier is as interested as he appears to be, then she fully intends to practice some patience and have him crawling over to her.

Would he actually do that, though? She only knows bits and pieces of his romantic endeavors, and from the little information she’s gathered; he doesn’t seem like the type to chase but she could be wrong.

There is no harm in trying to seduce him, really, and if he rejects her then she’ll take the hint and move on. It’s not like she wants to date the man or have him fall to one knee asking for her hand in marriage.

No, Paloma just really wants to get laid. Too many nights have came and went where all she’s dreamed of is the hot, older deputy sheriff screwing her into oblivion. 

Then at the bar… he actually gave her money, matter of fact, he had been the biggest tipper of the night. She contemplated giving the cash back to him, thinking it was entirely too much, but she talked herself out of the idea solely because she found the transaction incredibly hot.

She’s cautious not to invest her entire focus in him, so she’s also been seeing August.

Their time together brings forth a distinct experience, stirring uncertainty about her romantic attachment to him. It wasn’t until yesterday afternoon, amidst the tranquil shade of a sprawling oak tree, engrossed in shared reading, that an almost kiss cast light on her true sentiments towards him.

Their connection pulsates with an undeniable chemistry, his attention lavishing upon her as if she were the rarest gem. United by their shared interest for literature and idyllic beliefs, he breathes vitality into the stifling surroundings.

While the opportunity for a shared kiss lingered, Paloma’s thoughts persistently drifted toward Javier, rendering the moment bittersweet.

Lost in her own thoughts amidst the task of pulling weeds from the garden, she remains oblivious to the persistent ringing of the landline inside. Only as the sound penetrates her consciousness does she snap out of it.

Hastily removing her gardening gloves and rushing inside, she reaches for the phone just before its final ring.

It’s Lola from the bar letting her know that a letter has just been dropped off— addressed specifically for Paloma.

She is confused yet intrigued at the news, and in no time she’s in town; sitting on top of the counter ripping the poor envelope open and scanning the words on the piece of paper.

Apparently, the bride who was here last weekend contracts acts from all over Texas to perform at the state fair in Dallas. Seems like Paloma was conspicuous enough to warrant an invite.

A much bigger crowd, her first real chance to branch out by doing something she’s genuinely passionate about. 

After freaking out about it with the ladies at the bar, even taking a celebratory tequila shot, Paloma is racing to make it to the station to share the good news with her dad. 

She hurriedly hops off her bike, not even bothering to chain it to the rack as she snatches the letter and saunters up the steps and into the building overly excited.

Clearly, she’s interrupted something as both men’s heads snap in her direction with heavy, worried looks in their eyes when she barges in.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Her father steps towards her, scanning her for any injuries.

“Yes I’m fine daddy,” she tucks her hair behind her ears to contain some of her excitement since she feels some of the leftover apprehensiveness from before she arrived, “I’m just excited to show you this, look! I got invited to preform at the state fair!” She shoves the paper into his chest and he turns it around so he can read it.

Her eyes are bright in anticipation, searching his stoic face for a reaction.

“Sweetheart, this is wonderful...” He trails off and her smile begins to fade at his tone.

“What? What’s wrong?” She questions, eyes flickering over to Javier who stands almost awkwardly behind the sheriff.

“A girl in Fayette has gone missing. We just got the call. About to head over to help ‘em out.” The news has Paloma drawing in a breath, all the enthusiasm in her body evaporating as he hands the paper back to her.

“O-Oh, that’s—”

“This is amazing news, babygirl. We’ll talk about it more when I get home later, alright? We gotta get goin’.” 

The dismissal breaks her, and there’s a second where her demeanor shows it but it’s only temporarily as she nods understandingly then steps aside to allow him to maneuver his way into his office.

“State fair, huh? That’s huge, congrats bella.” Javier’s voice keeps her from scurrying away and she gives him a small smile.

“Thanks, but seems like there’s more important things to focus on.” She won’t be self-centered by taking up any more of their valuable time. A girl is missing and if they want to come out on top, then their focus has to remain on her and not Paloma’s trivial news.

“You’re right but that doesn’t mean we can’t be happy for you.” She lifts her gaze from her shoes up to meet his at the use of ‘we’ and she melts, instantly.

In his captivating brown eyes, there’s a delicate balance of gentleness and resolve, causing her knees to weaken slightly. She discerns the subtle golden flecks that add a compassionate depth to his stare.

“Yeah, I guess. Just hate that all this is still happenin’. I’m assumin’ y’all aren’t any closer to findin’ out who’s doin’ all this, huh?” Since her father doesn’t tell her anything except what he needs to, she isn’t fully aware of the exasperatingly severity or statuses of the cases.

Javier lets out a heavy sigh, thumb dragging across his trimmed mustache then bottom lip and her eyes zero in on the movement, which she shouldn’t find as attractive as she does. “No, but things like this always take time. It’s the most frustrating thing about the job.” 

She nods, having somewhat of an understanding, “Then I’ll get outta y’alls hair. Leave the mystery solvin’ and savin’ the day to the pros.” Her nose crinkles as she lets out a soft laugh in attempts to lighten the mood.

He gives her a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Javier’s magnetism is undeniable, his rugged handsomeness coupled with an air of competence that captivates her completely. She senses something more than mere physical attraction. It’s as if small moments like these are chipping away at the salacious layers of their connection, revealing something deeper and more profound beneath.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah? Got those parts for dear Darla comin’ in any day now. You’ll be cruisin’ around town in no time.” He winks at her and she giggles softly, blood pooling at her cheeks in a deep blush that he notices immediately and it makes his chest tighten.

“I’m lookin’ forward to it.” Paloma replies, a bit more shyly than she’d like but that’s just what happens when you’re affected by Javier Peña’s irresistible charm.

They hold each other’s gaze for a few more seconds, Paloma losing herself in the depths of his warm brown eyes, while Javier savors her presence entirely. Their silent exchange is interrupted as Romeo emerges from his office, oblivious to yet another fleeting moment shared between his daughter and the deputy sheriff, lost in their own world of unspoken emotions.

She is well aware of the copious amount of time she’s been putting in to her performance for the fair, spending all her free time at the bar with the band rehearsing or in her room piecing together her outfit.

This is her moment to showcase her mastery of the craft, and she seizes it with unwavering determination. To an outsider, the prospect of performing at a mediocre state fair, hours away from home, might seem insignificant. But to her— it’s everything. Every chord struck, every lyric sung carries the weight of her dedication.

This performance isn’t just about the venue; it’s about pouring her proving to herself that she’s capable.

At first, her father had been really excited for her… but as the days dragged by and tensions with the missing person case increased, he began to grow more cynical about it.

With the way things were going, he wouldn’t be able to accompany her and that’s when all the unnecessary comments began. Romeo began to bring up the crime rate in Dallas, hypotheticals of what would happen if she were to get stuck on the side of the road on her way there, even insinuating that her band (which consisted of four members from their church) wouldn’t be as reliable as she knows them to be.

It pissed her off every time he opened his mouth to talk on the matter. At first, she just ignored him or said something neutral to appease him, but now that the date was slowly approaching, she found it difficult to keep her rebuttals to herself.

How many times was she going to have to remind him that she’s a grown up? For some reason, he thinks she’s still a meek sixteen year old girl that needs his protection.

This is what led to the current argument. Him reluctant to let her go and Paloma insistent on going with or without his ‘permission’. Before it has the chance to get out of hand, there’s a knock at the front door and she uses it as an excuse to end the conversation.

Sighing heavily, she opens the wooden door to find Javier on the other side and immediately her frown disappears and she smiles sweetly up at him.

Amidst her intense preparation for the forthcoming performance and his deep engagement at the station, their encounters have become even more infrequent, a departure from their usual routine.

Yet, despite the scarcity of interaction, their bodies seem attuned to each other’s presence, responding instinctively to the silent symphony of their unspoken connection.

“Hey cowboy, whatcha doin’ here?” She crosses her arms against her chest, the screen door still separating the two of them.

“I told you I’d have the parts in any day now.” It’s then that she sees a cardboard box in his possession and realization dawns on her.

“Oh my god— no way! Thank fuckin’— Lord almighty, you’re such a saint.” Javier chuckles at her words which has her feeling fucking giddy as she opens the screen door and steps aside to let him in.

“M’not a saint, princesa, but your kind words are appreciated.” They walk side by side, her shoulder softly brushing against his arm, to the kitchen where her father is.

“Daddy, Javier’s here to finish workin’ on sweet Darla.” There’s a tinge of bitterness lacing her words as she addresses her father, their previous argument still fresh on her mind but she would rather throw herself off a bridge than finish said conversation in front of their company.

The two men greet each other, making small talk as Romeo thanks Javier for all he’s doing for both the town and the help he’s been extending to his daughter. Paloma boredly leans against the doorframe, waiting for them to wrap up their exchange and Javi can feel her impatience.

When they finally breakaway, It’s just him and Paloma in the shed, Romeo stuck inside taking an important call. Instead of perching herself on the chair like last time, she’s leaned over the hood of the car with him, close enough to be able to feel the heat radiating from her body.

“I didn’t interrupt something earlier, did I?” Javier asks, picking up on the tension between her and her dad in the kitchen just then.

Paloma doesn’t reply right away, eyes trained on his working hands within the engine.

“You did but it was a good thing. We were havin’ a small argument that was about to turn into a real big fight. He’s being so anal about not lettin’ be go up to Dallas for the fair. He doesn’t seem to understand that I’m goin’ regardless.” She scoffs with a shake of her head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“He just worries about you… doesn’t necessarily go about it in the best way but he just wants to make sure you’re safe.” He picks his words as carefully as he can, gaze flickering to her face briefly before returning to the task at hand.

“I know, he’s just so stubborn about it.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

She lets out a genuine laugh, the one that involuntarily brings a small smile to his lips and she elbows him playfully.

“He’ll come around. He sees how passionate you are about your music. Like you said, you’re goin’ to do it with or without him.” Paloma doesn’t say anything, thinking his words over knowing that Javi’s right but he’s underestimating how adamant her father can be.

Finally getting the last piece screwed in tight, he stands to his full height and wipes his hands off on a rag, “Alright, go start her up and see if she’s cooperatin’ finally.” Javier gestures towards the driver’s seat as he slams the hood close and she excitedly leaves his side, flinging the door open and sliding in.

The engine starts with ease and the delighted cheer that comes from Paloma is more rewarding than anything he’s deserving of.

She hops out, throwing her arms around his neck in a hug that takes him back, literally, stumbling over his feet slightly but they’re kept upright as his hands naturally fall to her waist.

Their bodies pressed together ignites a fervent blaze of desire between them.

Her scent— an intoxicating blend of freshly bloomed flowers and ripe fruit— envelops him like a gentle summer breeze, casting a spell he never wants to break.

His fingers brush against the exposed skin from her cropped shirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The softness of her curves beneath his touch tempts him to explore further, but he restrains himself.

“Thank you so much, Javi. You have no idea how happy you’ve just made me.” Paloma pulls away first, but not completely, and the position they’re left in is much more intimate than it should be.

His breath fans over her face, which is just inches apart, if he really wanted to; he could lean in and press his lips against hers…

And he really, really wants to but with Romeo just around the corner— he won’t risk getting caught. No matter how enticing and easy it’d be to give in.

“Javi? What happened to officer or cowboy?” He teases, pinching at her hips and she pushes at his chest, finally breaking their embrace.

“Right, forgive me for wantin’ to have a moment of authenticity.” Paloma playfully rolls her eyes, “Thank you so much, officer. You have no idea how…” She trails off suddenly and his brow cocks inquisitively.

“You have no idea how satisfied you’ve left me.”

The sultriness in her voice, gleam in her eyes, and those long lashes batting up at him all innocently does nothing but fuel his craving for her. 

“If this is all it took to leave you satisfied, hermosa, then you’re in worse shape than I thought.”

She bites down on her lower lip, “Thank god I have you here to help me out, hmm?” 

And for a split second it feels like something might happen but ultimately… it doesn’t. 

“Just doin’ what I can, cariño. You get any more car problems just call me and not ese mecánico de mierda (shitty mechanic).”

As she leans forward to retrieve the keys from the ignition, he finds himself entranced by the graceful arc of her back, seemingly inviting his lustful gaze to follow its every contour. The gentle slope of her spine draws his eyes downward, her low rise jeans accentuating her plump ass.

“Well… I can’t call you if I don’t have your personal number… what if I have an emergency and you’re not at the station?” Paloma can feel his gaze on her and it makes her feel satisfied that she’s able to capture his attention so easily, closing the car door with her hip and leaning against it.

“That would just be a downright wretched thing.” As his hand instinctively reaches for the memo book he habitually carries, a silent curse echoes in his mind upon realizing its absence. He does have his pen, though.

With a swift and decisive motion, Javier closes the distance between them. A sharp intake of breath betrays her surprise.

“Don’t have paper on me, but…” Taking her hand gently in his, he turns it and begins to write his home phone number on her palm.

Paloma’s heart quickens its pace, his touch a juxtaposition of rough and gentle against her soft skin. She becomes acutely aware of the stark size difference between their hands, his encompassing hers entirely. A shiver dances down her spine at the sensation, the pressure of arousal building.

With a soft exhale, she finds herself unconsciously pressing her thighs together to relieve some of said pressure. The simple act of hand-holding, so mundane, leaves her wanting more of his touch.

The only thing she can think of is how good his large, thick fingers would feel pressed against her clit while he pleasures her. Or curling inside of her and brushing against that soft spot that makes her come undone.

Focus, Paloma, you’re practically drooling.

“Might wanna write that down somewhere soon. The sweat is gonna mess it all up.” Javier teases, letting go of her hand and stuffing the pen into the front pocket of his shirt. The thin layer of perspiration clearly in response to his gesture.

Her eyes widen at the comment and it has her tripping over her words, “Y-Yeah I’ll, uh, make sure not to lose this. Like I said, it’d be a bummer if I couldn’t get ahold of you in a time of need.”

Her desire continues to simmer and she mentally slaps herself for letting her cool girl facade slip just because he held her damn hand. It doesn’t help that the sight of his exposed collarbones has her fingers itching to trace along his chest and explore beneath the fabric.

She fights the urge to succumb to temptation, her resolve tested by the magnetic pull of his presence.

His smirk never falters, absolutely loving to see his effect on her. It’s only fair, seeing as she’s always the one who riles him up. “Alright cariño, I better get outta here before we get ourselves into trouble.”

The fragile awareness of their shared moment shatters her reverie, grounding her back to reality.

“Of course,” she replies softly, her voice carrying a hint of wistfulness. Her hand remains steady, resisting the urge to wipe away the lingering warmth of his touch as they head back to the house.

All hands are on deck to find Jessica Valdez, the missing girl from Fayette.

Back in Colombia, everyone was too afraid to speak up when something was amiss in fear of having their lives taken by the vicious cartels that ran the streets. Those who did have the bravery to come forward with information only did so in hopes of getting support and protection from a government that wasn’t even theirs.

Consequently, when adversity struck, the flow of valuable intelligence was delayed, impeding the acquisition of pertinent information. This rationale justified Javier’s visits to the brothels, veiled under the pretext of proactive investigation aimed at uncovering critical details essential for combatting the narcos.

The fucking was just a pleasurable addition.

In small communities stateside, however, that’s all people do. Talk. So, when Javier goes out to do some canvassing of his own; he isn’t all surprised by how willingly people are to spill the secrets of their neighbors. By the end of the day, he damn near knows about all the affairs in town, who likes to steal money from who, the mayor’s ‘illegitimate’ child, and decade long family feuds.

Exactly what he expected to find in small Texan towns.

Like he had told Romeo in the beginning, there’s always some truth to a rumor. As he’s collecting information about Seminary and the communities that surround it; he comes to find out about a trio of troublemakers that come from one of the towns where one of the earliest victims had been found and their peculiar interest in all things occult. 

This piqued his interest and upon further investigation; he quickly found the files for Augustus Dixon, Sloane McCarthy and Gabriel Torres.

Immediately, Sloane caught his attention, although her mugshot portrayed her with a more youthful demeanor. The man from Nina’s funeral, Gabriel, also stood out in his memory. He recalls Sloane mentioning him by name that day he was at the Leighton home, too.

However, the third male remained unfamiliar, his appearance suggesting a rebellious disposition, evident from his file and accompanying mugshot.

The trio had been in and out of jail all their adolescence for petty crimes like stealing, vandalism, public intoxication, fighting and other nonsense. Nothing severe. They were just troublemakers and that is not odd to find in rural areas. Kids get bored and do stupid shit.

Javier would know better than anyone, he did similar things at their age.

He’s spread out on his couch, glass of whiskey in one hand and file in the other. He is deep in concentration, reading over different police reports and trying to find out where the occult aspect of it comes into play when the phone begins to ring and he lets out a grunt.

Reaching over to grab the receiver, he tucks it between his shoulder and ear as he answers.

“Peña.”

“Hey cowboy.”

Her voice has him sitting up straight, discarding the folder in his hand on the coffee table, now fully attentive. It’s actually kind of pathetic how fast his demeanor changes when it comes to Paloma.

“Hola hermosa, a little late to be callin’, yeah? You should be getting your beauty sleep for the big day tomorrow.” He hadn’t forgotten about her performance at the fair, making note of the date the second she told him about it.

“I should be but I’ve got nerves like you wouldn’t believe.” She pauses and he can hear her thinking, “Daddy and I just had a fight… well I dunno even know if you’d call it that. It ended with him sayin’ he didn’t give a damn if I went or not… all that fussin’ just so he could say he didn’t care in the end. If I’m actually that insufferable I’m beggin’ you to put me out of my misery.” He chuckles at that and he can imagine her smiling at his reaction.

“Don’t be nervous, corazón. You’re goin’ to do great. You already knock it outta the park at The Whiskey Fox every weekend. This ain’t no different.” It is different and he knows it, but he also knows her and how she tends to overthink to the point of anxiety. “You ridin’ up there all alone?” Not a fan of the idea but he wouldn’t disclose this to her, now when he knows how much it ticks her off. 

“I was gonna hitch a ride with the band, then I remembered I have a car now so I was goin’ to do that but…”

“But?”

“I want you to come with me… if you can.”

The request surprises him, so much so that it prompts him to take a larger drink of his liquor.

“I didn’t scare you off, did I?” She giggles nervously at his prolonged silence.

“No ‘course not. Just figured you’d enjoyed your newfound freedom of being on the road alone.”

“As fun as that sounds, I think it’d ease my daddy’s nerves knowin’ his glorified babysitter was taggin’ along…” Javier feels like there’s more to it than that, especially since she’s always complaining about being under her father’s thumb— only to go on and continue to pacify him. Before he can ask her about it she continues.

“And I’ve never traveled outside of Seminary… well not since I was a little girl. Didn’t really get out much after mom… Just haven’t been outta town in a long, long time.” He can sense her coyness at the admission and it does nothing but persuade him into joining her.

Javi should think it over more, the logistics of him being hours away with Paloma, knowing how ambiguous things are between them. However, he swiftly dismisses his apprehensions, feeling somewhat foolish for blowing what might be a trivial matter, out of proportion.

Especially when she seems so nervous to ask for his company.

Finishing off his drink, Javier leans in deeper to the comfort of his couch and he can hear her soft breaths on the other end of the line, anticipating his response.

“Alright, cariño just tell me what time you need me to be there and I’ll be there.”

[ebaeschnbliah]

The sun was sinking behind the mountains, and the shadows were deepening in the woods, when they went on again. Their paths now went into thickets where the dusk had already gathered. Night came beneath the trees as they walked, and the Elves uncovered their silver lamps.

Suddenly they came out into the open again and found themselves under a pale evening sky pricked by a few early stars. There was a wide treeless space before them, running in a great circle and bending away on either hand. Beyond it was a deep fosse lost in soft shadow, but the grass upon its brink was green, as if it glowed still in memory of the sun that had gone. Upon the further side there rose to a great height a green wall encircling a green hill thronged with mallorn-trees taller than any they had yet seen in all the land. Their height could not be guessed, but they stood up in the twilight like living towers. In their, many-tiered branches and amid their ever-moving leaves countless lights were gleaming, green and gold and silver. Haldir turned towards the Company.

`Welcome to Caras Galadhon!' ...

... he said. 'Here is the city of the Galadhrim where dwell the Lord Celeborn and Galadriel the Lady of Lórien. But we cannot enter here, for the gates do not look northward. We must go round to the southern side, and the way is not short, for the city is great.'

There was a road paved with white stone running on the outer brink of the fosse. Along this they went westward, with the city ever climbing up like a green cloud upon their left; and as the night deepened more lights sprang forth, until all the hill seemed afire with stars. They came at last to a white bridge, and crossing found the great gates of the city: they faced south-west, set between the ends of the encircling wall that here overlapped, and they were tall and strong, and hung with many lamps.

Haldir knocked and spoke, and the gates opened soundlessly; but of guards Frodo could see no sign. The travellers passed within, and the gates shut behind them. They were in a deep lane between the ends of the wall, and passing quickly through it they entered the City of the Trees. No folk could they see, nor hear any feet upon the paths; but there were many voices, about them, and in the air above. Far away up on the hill they could hear the sound of singing falling from on high like soft rain upon leaves.

They went along many paths and climbed many stairs, until they came to the high places and saw before them amid a wide lawn a fountain shimmering. It was lit by silver lamps that swung from the boughs of trees, and it fell into a basin of silver, from which a white stream spilled. Upon the south side of the lawn there stood the mightiest of all the trees; its great smooth bole gleamed like grey silk, and up it towered, until its first branches, far above, opened their huge limbs under shadowy clouds of leaves. Beside it a broad white ladder stood, and at its foot three Elves were seated. They sprang up as the travellers approached, and Frodo saw that they were tall and clad in grey mail, and from their shoulders hung long white cloaks.

'Here dwell Celeborn and Galadriel,' said Haldir. `It is their wish that you should ascend and speak with them.'

One of the Elf-wardens then blew a clear note on a small horn, and it was answered three times from far above. `I will go first,' said Haldir. 'Let Frodo come next and with him Legolas. The others may follow as they wish. It is a long climb for those that are not accustomed to such stairs, but you may rest upon the way.'

As he climbed slowly up Frodo passed many flets: some on one side, some on another, and some set about the bole of the tree, so that the ladder passed through them. At a great height above the ground he came to a wide talan, like the deck of a great ship. On it was built a house, so large that almost it would have served for a hall of Men upon the earth. He entered behind Haldir, and found that he was in a chamber of oval shape, in the midst of which grew the trunk of the great mallorn, now tapering towards its crown, and yet making still a pillar of wide girth.

The chamber was filled with a soft light; its walls were green and silver and its roof of gold. Many Elves were seated there. On two chairs beneath the bole of the tree and canopied by a living bough there sat, side by side, Celeborn and Galadriel. They stood up to greet their guests, after the manner of Elves, even those who were accounted mighty kings. Very tall they were, and the Lady no less tall than the Lord; and they were grave and beautiful. They were clad wholly in white; and the hair of the Lady was of deep gold, and the hair of the Lord Celeborn was of silver long and bright; but no sign of age was upon them, unless it were in the depths of their eyes; for these were keen as lances in the starlight, and yet profound, the wells of deep memory.

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, The Mirror of Galadriel