#it has a counter with four sinks when the mens only has two wall mounted sinks no counter

[potpiehead]

I don't even mind cleaning the bathroom at work it's kind of nice when it's not busy I can just hunker down in there in peace it's def not my favorite chore but it's more enjoyable that the snack bar which is is just the actual worst for some reason

[irrelevantwriter]

White Flag

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, public sex, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids, slightly vulnerable Rio, declaration of feelings (sorta?)

Word Count: 4.3K

Summary: Part 5. Two months without seeing or speaking to Rio has left a significant mark and feelings finally decide to show themselves. Kinda.

A/N: I hope everyone had a good holiday or at least a chill Friday. I come bearing gifts with the next part of our favorite toxic saga. More smut for my lovely readers. But first, some plot. We jump right into it and just like our favorite non-couple, we gloss over a lot of bullshit and get right to the filth. But as a Virgo I love communication so I have to make these two stubborn assholes talk about their issues a little. At least in a vague way. Also, Rio has his read receipts on bc he is a petty king. There’s one more part after this and it's all naughty fun from here. I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

A/N dos: I’m thinking about making the next part strictly from Rio’s POV. I feel like it’ll give us a peek into what he’s thinking and a new take on the series thus far. I’m excited to explore that so let me know what you guys think!

*Read Part 1 here

*Read Part 2 here

*Read Part 3 here

*Read Part 4 here

*Read Part 6 here

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

*********************

“So you’re just gonna eye fuck the hot stranger at the bar all night?”

Your friend’s teasing cut through the haze, jolting you back to the dimly lit bar. The music boomed around you while people drank and danced, enjoying the Saturday night out in the same way you and your girlfriends were.

“I was not.” You insisted, though the coy smile you wore said otherwise.

The group of women scoffed and rolled their eyes, seeing right through your faux innocence.

“Besides,” You started, taking a sip of your drink as the song changed into a bass heavy melody. “He’s not even my type.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Kara interjected with a raised brow, shaking her head.

You opened your mouth in surprise, but bit back your response when the other women chimed in.

“She’s right.” Evelyn agreed, throwing her dark hair over one shoulder.

“We knew you in high school and college, remember?” Nikki threw in, pursing her lips knowingly in your direction.

“Okay, so?” You said with a poor attempt at nonchalance.

“You were all over guys like that when we were kids. Paul ended up being the black sheep of the bunch.” Kara reminded you with a laugh, Evelyn and Nikki joining in with their own drunken giggles.

“Yeah, we were convinced you’d marry a felon with tattoos and not a real estate broker who wore khakis.” Nikki quipped, causing another round of laughter and snorts.

“Okay, okay...I get it. So I had a type. I think I’ve grown out of it.” You cut in, sounding as if you were trying to convince them as much as yourself.

“Not if the hottie at the bar has anything to say about it.” Evelyn joked with a wink.

You shook your head as you took another sip of your drink, unwilling to let them see you flustered. Or that they were in fact correct. You definitely still had a thing for bad boys...bad men to be more specific.

The evening had been going smoothly so far. It was a rare girl’s night out. An event that happened only once every five years when kids were shuttled off to babysitters or their fathers, and the women were able to enjoy an adult meal with adult beverages. Schedules between four busy women didn’t often align so when they did, you all jumped at the chance to indulge in the nightlife you’d left behind in your younger years.

You’d been the one to suggest the bar. It was a swanky, sophisticated space with an air of youth. The perfect mix for your outing. You’d been here only one other time.

With Rio.

Thinking of the man made heat pool low in your stomach, despite your lingering frustrations. It’d been two months since that shit show of a night at your house. You hadn’t seen or spoken to him since. After that debacle, you blocked his number. As childish as it may have been, you were angry. Still were. And rightfully so. He’d been a complete dick. He’d chosen the most inopportune moment to make adjustments to your arrangement. He’d been careless in his deliverance, harsh even. The entire exchange had you questioning everything. And instead of analyzing the situation and communicating like adults, you’d decided to stop all interactions with him. You’d wanted to send a message. Just as he had with you.

After the argument, you’d been an anxious mess in the days leading up to the next drop. But it was all for nothing because Rio wasn’t there. And neither was the new contact he’d told you about. Instead, Mick was waiting for you and offering up no other information. And it’d been that way for two long months.

In the days since, your mind wandered to Rio often. Your body lingered on his phantom presence constantly. You replayed the conversation you’d had a million times over and each time it made deep fury spill over and mix with the lust still raging like white water rapids through your veins. You missed his touch. Missed his desire for you. Missed the way he made you feel, so supremely sexual and wanton. All things you’d been lacking in your marriage. And now they were suddenly hitting you square in the face and begging you to pay attention. Begging you to not lose the source of your sudden awakening.

You missed the toxicity of your interactions. You were two twisted souls fighting for control over a situation that belonged to neither of you. And in truth, the basis of your relationship with Rio was denial and attraction. It would continue to thrive on that as long as you both refused the obvious.

So maybe, just maybe you’d come to the bar in hopes of seeing him in order to test that theory. It was a slim chance he’d even be here, but you were just buzzed enough that you were willing to roll the dice and find out. Plus, your desire for him felt like an extension of your body at this point. You had to satiate it. Had to feed the raw passion that grew stronger each day without him. It demanded it. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. But your own hand didn’t ignite your body the same way his did, asshole or not.

“I’ll be back.” You called over the music, gesturing to the darkened hallway that predictably led to the bathrooms. Your friends nodded and went back to flirting with the handsome blue-eyed waiter.

You shot a meaningful glance in the direction of the bar. To the “hot stranger”. Whether or not he’d take the hint was on him.

You made it to the single-use bathroom easily. It wasn’t late enough for it to be crowded with the surge of a Saturday night crowd, but the place was still busy. You set your purse down on the sleek surface of the sink counter, admiring the emerald green tiles that paved the walls. The fixtures were brass and gleamed in the light of the vanity bulbs. It was a beautiful space. Carefully crafted for a magazine like Architectural Digest.

Your eyes swept over your reflection in the large mirror that sat over the sink. You made sure not a lash was out of place as you surveyed your appearance. You adjusted the low neckline of your yellow dress, the hue radiating more gold than you’d initially noticed. The silk material felt cool against your heated skin, the slit in the skirt offering some relief. The long sleeves of the garment added a sleekness to the otherwise risqué ensemble. You’d never worn the dress. But tonight seemed as good a time as any to debut it.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open made you pause, eyes watching in the mirror for who entered. You wondered if it’d be him. Wondered if he ended up following you like you’d hoped.

Your stomach knotted when Rio stepped in, closing the door and locking it with a resounding click. He was stoic. Shrouded in black and looking every bit as menacing as he truly was. A sight for your sore eyes.

You turned to face him, your chest both tightening and expanding at seeing him in the flesh. He made your heart stutter and your spine tingle, yet irritation slowly seeped into your pores, reminding you of the last interaction you’d had with him. It was a clash of sensations and feelings. It was utter chaos. And it's what you’d been missing.

Silence hung in the air as his gaze roamed your figure, appraising you hungrily. You shivered, careful to hide the gesture from his intense stare. You schooled your features and angled your chin up in confidence that you weren’t entirely sure you felt. But you weren’t going to budge. You were going to make him come to you.

He was leaning up against the door, a barely there smirk adorning his lips. His scent began to eclipse the smell of vanilla soap that permeated the air. Your eyes wanted to roll back at the familiarity of it. It was soothing. A comfort to your deprived senses.

“You miss me, mama?”

That deep rasp made your panties soak immediately. It was a question he’d asked you many times in the past, but you’d never felt it as much as you did now. Because yeah, you did fucking miss him.

You stayed silent.

He chucked at your refusal to answer. “Still mad at me?”

Again you said nothing.

He licked his lips, eyeing yours as he did. “I tried calling.”

“I blocked your number.” You finally responded, voice icy and detached.

“Damn, that’s cold.” He said with an amused shake of his head and a laugh, the sound making your nipples harden in traitorous lust.

“Why? Did you need something?” You questioned coolly, crossing your arms over your chest to hide your mounting arousal. Your thighs rubbed together, beginning to slid against each other as your arousal made itself known.

He stepped forward, heading in your direction with intent. You straightened your back, unwilling to let him get the upper hand on you. You knew what was going to happen. Knew where this was headed. So why not use it to your advantage? Why not toy with him for a change? He deserved it. 

You used the added height of your heels and eased yourself onto the countertop, parting your thighs slightly so that your dress fell between them. You leaned back on your hands, the chill of the marble countertop beneath you reminding you so much of that day in your kitchen.

Rio’s steps halted momentarily as he watched you, eyes zeroed in on the juncture between your thighs that was hidden behind the silk. Your pussy practically begged for his attention. Dared him to see your need through the fabric that shielded you.

You were still upset with him. Still displeased with the way he’d chosen to handle the situation and you. But more than anything you wanted him to succumb to you. You wanted to feel that thrill of having him at your mercy. So powerful, yet so fragile in the midst of his bliss. You wanted...no, needed him to wave his white flag first.

“Tell me then,” You began, slowly easing the hem of your dress up as you spoke. “Business or personal?” You questioned, wanting to know if he’d be truthful about why he’d tried to contact you.

He resumed his path towards you with a dangerous lick of his lips, but his gaze never faltered as it took in every new stretch of skin that was revealed. He tried to reach out and touch you, but you raised a heeled foot to his abdomen and stopped him, keeping him at a distance.

“Answer me.” You breathily demanded.

His face registered your words while his eyes took in the stretch of leg that kept him away. You eased the limb back down and waited for him to comply.

He decided to play along.

“Business.”

He continued walking when you didn’t stop him, standing between your legs and trailing his fingertips along the inside of them. His movements shifted your dress up even higher onto your thighs. The sensation would’ve tickled if you weren’t already deliriously turned on.

“Liar.” You accused, already feeling his warmth radiate onto you as he edged closer. His breath mingled with yours, mint and whiskey assaulting your nose.

“So are you.” He retorted, eyes planted firmly on your parted lips. He moved in until you were sure he could do nothing else but touch his mouth to yours. And yet you still weren’t going to meet him.

“So we’re both liars?” You asked, arching a brow up at him.

“Yeah.” He nodded and swallowed, the tattoo splashed across his throat pulling your focus. You fell captive to his spell as you got lost in memories of licking and sucking the inked flesh, remembering the way he tasted on your tongue. The recollection caused your legs to widen and your back to arch into him, pushing your chest against his. God, you wanted him. You wanted him so badly that your pussy clenched around nothing, as if feeling him already deep inside you. It was a silent call to a lover. One he would never hear. But he’d feel it soon enough.

Your clit throbbed against your lace panties, aching to be assaulted by his talented fingers. With him so close you could feel just how badly you needed him inside you. It felt wrong for him not to be. Felt wrong to not have him share a pulse with you when he was this near. You were going to remedy that.

“Well then,” You whispered, leaning forward to hover over his lips. “I don’t want you to fuck me in this bathroom.”

His hands glided up your thighs while his nose skimmed along your cheek. His breath was hot against your ear as he maneuvered himself so that barely a sliver of air was left between you.

“So I won’t.” He lied in return, the words coating you like his cum had done numerous times before.

In an instant your lips were being pulled to his. His hands were suddenly everywhere and all at once, seeking out your flesh in desperation. It pleased you to know just how badly he needed you. How badly he craved you.

He slid you closer to him, letting your lace-covered lower half come into contact with his crotch. Ragged breaths and low hums filtered through the air as your bodies grinded against each other, seeking firm hands. You could feel him pressed against the zipper of his dark pants. He was hard. The notion made you moan into his mouth, scraping your nails over his scalp.

It was just like riding a bike. Except there was an added layer of intensity this time that hadn’t been there before. His touch burned hotter than usual. Your grew cunt wetter with every pass of his tongue along yours. They weren’t new sensations, but they felt different. Indescribable. Perhaps it was the public sex. Perhaps it was the underlying tension. Either way, it was remarkably explosive.

You pulled away from his insistent lips to take in air. He continued on, mouth moving over your neck and across your exposed cleavage. He nipped at the flesh, his lips sensuously soothing the area as he explored. You pushed into him in invitation, widening your legs so that he could press harder into you.

You waited for him to take the next step. Waited for him to escalate the moment into more than just heavy-petting and sloppy kisses. His hands, as if reading your mind, traveled up the skirt of your dress and found the edge of your panties. There was no hesitation or teasing in his movements as he roughly pulled them off, the elastic popping against your skin and making you cry out.

Rio licked at your neck in apology, his own hands now moving to his belt. You shifted closer to the ledge of the counter and followed the trail of heat that led to his pulsing cock. His flesh bumped against you, the feel of him hot and heavy along your soaked slit making you whimper.

Your nails dug into the fabric of his shirt as he pushed forward and sheathed himself inside of you in one hard thrust. You gasped and tightened your legs around him, your right hand in search of something solid. It landed on the mirror behind you, your palm sticking to its cool surface as you braced yourself for the inevitable.

His facial hair scratched at your skin as he buried himself into your neck. He held your hips steady as he retreated and then plunged back into your welcoming walls, stretching you with a burn that made you hiss. Your pussy massaged his length with fervor, seducing him further inside and begging him to claim you once again.

You reached for anything you could to stabilize yourself as he fucked you into the reflective glass at your back. Moans and groans intertwined as your bodies rocked against each other. The soap dispenser fell into the sink with a loud clatter as you accidentally made contact with it. The stack of towels folded neatly near the faucet became disheveled as your ass knocked them out of place with the momentum from Rio’s cock. The entire vanity shook with each intensely thorough thrust of his hips into your womb. It was animalistic. The very epitome of what bathroom  sex in a bar should be.

No words were said. None were needed. Your actions led the conversation.

You squeezed your inner muscles around him, daring him to surrender before you. He twitched, his hips stuttering at the feel of you so tight and wet around him. He growled into your ear, a sure sign that he loved the gesture a little too much.

So you did it again.

“Stop that shit.” He grunted, hips picking up their pace.

“Cum.” You whispered in response, the demand disguised as a request.

“Fuck…” He groaned when you held him to you and clenched around him once more. You trapped him, giving him no choice but to experience your deliberate enticement. His fingers dug into your thighs almost painfully so, forcing you to wince.

He was close.

You reached between your bodies and massaged your clit, feeling your pussy react immediately. Sporadic tremors vibrated your walls and his cock, making both of you moan. Rio’s palm slammed into the mirror at your back as he rutted his hips harder into yours. He was rough and unforgiving, the aggression heightened by your disobedience. It had never quite been like this. There had always been a touch of softness, a soothing placation or word of encouragement. Not tonight. Not as he fucked you so hard you were sure the mirror was going to crack and rain down luminescent crystals of glass over you both.

You showed no mercy as you forced him to submit to you and your body. The precipice was there. It was within reach. You could feel that tightly wound coil ready to unravel. It felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Your mind was a prisoner to your pleasure. You thought of nothing but the sweet release that you knew was waiting for you. And it was. It was waiting for you with open arms as Rio finally came, triggering your own climax as he filled you so deliciously full of himself. His entire body tensed within you as he held you firm and painted your shuttering walls.

The familiar sensation only added to your high as your limbs tensed and loosened with each wave of euphoria that washed over you. You squeezed your eyes shut and catapulted through space as your body struggled to ground itself once again. Rio had gone rigid, letting you ride out your orgasm in peace as you suffocated his cock. His cum was already leaking from your walls before you’d even finished, a trail of him decorating your swollen pussy.

Your eyes fluttered open to see him staring back at you, his lips pulled into a lazy smirk. You mirrored his expression, releasing a breathless chuckle. Your body still hummed in excitement, but this time it was punctuated by the deep satisfaction that radiated from between your thighs.

“You good?” You teased, hands resting on his chest and feeling the rapid beats of his heart beginning to slow.

He laughed, the sound low and tinged with fatigue. “Yeah.”

He licked his lips and took in your disheveled state, gaze catching a glimpse of the lace bra you wore underneath.

“Let me drive you home.” He said suddenly, his arrogance alive and well.

It was on the tip of your tongue to deny him, but you chose not to.

“Sure.”

**********

The car ride was silent.

After your impromptu coupling in the bathroom, you’d made up an excuse about not feeling well to your friends and explained you’d already called an Uber. They were hesitant to let you leave alone, but somehow you’d persuaded them to stay and not follow you. You were sure the alcohol they’d consumed had something to do with it.

With hugs and promises of texts that everyone made it home safe at the end of the night, you departed from the bar with Rio in his Mercedes. He’d been driving for about ten minutes, the air not as tense as it’d once been. He seemed content to let the quiet linger, but you weren’t.

“What happened to the new guy?” You asked, glimpsing his face to gauge his reaction. It was dark in the vehicle, but you could still make out his silhouette amongst the various street lights.

He furrowed his brow and pouted his lips, confusion reading easily across his features.

“What new guy?”

“My new contact. The one I was supposed to have.”

“Didn’t work out. Mick has it handled.” He replied simply, gaze still trained on the road in front of him.

“Okay.” You said with a nod, the dryness in your tone letting him know you didn’t quite believe him.

He wordlessly turned onto your street and came to a stop alongside your driveway, putting the SUV in park. He angled his body to face you, trapping you in his stare.

“It was never about you.”

The question must’ve shown on your face because he continued.

“The switch. It wasn’t about you.”

“Wasn’t very convincing.” You deadpanned, scoffing as you played with the zipper of your clutch.

He didn’t react right away. Instead, he watched you. Watched you in that way that let you know his thoughts were as impure as the counterfeit money he produced.

“You look good in that dress.” He complimented, chin jutting out and gesturing to the fabric that adorned your body.

His praise made warmth bloom in your chest. The kind of warmth that was usually accompanied by butterflies in your stomach.

“Thanks.” You replied evenly, not letting him see just what his words did to you. Though you had a feeling he did, despite not bearing witness to it outright.

“Better without it.” He added with a slide of his wicked tongue across his bottom lip, his teeth following. The action was purposeful. Erotic. Blatant. It was all Rio.

You didn’t respond to his flirting. You only sighed, mirroring his position as you resigned yourself to have an honest conversation with the man.

“So,” You started, forcing your fingers to still. “What is it that you want?”

He eyed you for a long moment. Long enough that you started to feel self-conscious.

“You.”

You nodded, disappointed but not shocked by his reply. The word wasn’t new. Though it was lacking the hollow cockiness that usually accompanied it.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he spoke up before you could.

“In whatever way you’ll let me have you.” He admitted.

The statement caught you off guard. He wasn’t trying to be cute or charming. He wasn’t being placating or condescending. He was being serious, the hardened intensity in his dark orbs softening to a tender resignation that you were sure matched yours.

“What about you? What do you want?” He repeated back to you, eyes narrowing as he waited.

You took a moment to observe him. Your eyes followed the arch of his brows and the sharp jut of his cheekbones. You studied the pout of his lower lip and his Adam's apple as it bobbed with his throat muscles. He was so many things to you. None of which you could put into words. You didn’t think a word had even been invented yet. It didn’t matter. You were both making your own rules. And it seemed, for once, that the both of you were on the same page and playing by the same rules.

“I want you to have me.” You confessed, meeting his gaze.

And there it was. He was resigned to having you in limited capacity. You were resigned to finally letting him have you. Two conclusions coming together at the same moment. You weren’t quite sure what that meant for you both, but it was a start. 

“Goodnight.” You whispered into the darkened cab, a small smile pulling at your lips.

You didn’t wait for him to react. You turned and opened the door, exiting the vehicle. He didn’t try to stop you. You rounded the front of the car, hearing the driver’s side window slide down.

“So I’ll see you next week?” Rio asked out the open window, chin resting in his hand.

“At the drop?”

He nodded.

You shook your head and laughed, though there was no real humor behind it.

“You wanna tell me again it wasn’t about me?” You challenged, a wide grin decorating your face.

He could deny it. He would probably try. But you knew the truth. And that was enough.

For now.

“Night.” He called, an amused upturn of his lips showing in the light of the full moon.

He turned to the street, starting the car as you walked up your driveway. His eyes followed you the whole way, ensuring you made it in safely.

You heard him drive away once you shut and locked the front door, your lungs releasing a long breath. You pulled out your cell phone and went to your blocked caller list. You selected Rio’s number and unblocked the listing, adrenaline releasing into your bloodstream as you did.

Almost immediately your screen lit up with a text.

Same time and place tomorrow?

You bit your lip, feelings akin to teenage infatuation bubbling to the surface. You hastily typed a response.

See you there.

The message was read immediately. 

Rio Tags:

@tomhardydallasstarsgirl​

[foodieforthoughts]

Sand and Stars - Chapter Five

Series Summary: After the water pump being blown up, the insurgents in Baqubah are taking a hold of the food supply to the village. Camp Warhorse is in dire need of reinforcements. It has been eight months of submitting countless requests when the High Command commissions Sergeant Olivia Ross to take her group of men and women and help Captain Syverson and his team to restore a semblance of normalcy. But with the war raging, does it get two hearts closer too?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC x OMC

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: 18+, Mentions of war, military technicalities, slight angst, fluff, implied smut

A/N: Well Hello! Our dear Captain Alex has finally made an appearance! A big thank you to @thelastsock​ who is patiently beta-reading this, I love you woman with my whole heart.

<Chapter Four

Title: Chapter Five

The sun felt scorching hot on her skin as Olivia loaded her gun near the parked Humvees. A mild throbbing at the base of her skull added to the uncomfortable sensations each time she moved. She hadn’t planned to drink almost half a bottle of whiskey last night, but it was cold, and she needed the warmth.

Also, the drink had sort of been a gift from Sy.

Olivia groaned as the memories from last night flashed through her mind. She had literally invited him for a kiss, throwing herself on her Captain like a wanton whore. She felt embarrassed even thinking about it. Thankfully for her, Sy had a better judgement about entertaining drunk women and had resorted to just giving her a tight hug.

Her stomach felt queasy as a sour taste filled her mouth. She swallowed as the uncomfortable feeling set at the pit of her stomach. Running a hand over her sweat covered forehead, Olivia rested against the vehicle.

She felt worthless. Olivia couldn't shake the feeling of repeating history, despite the extreme effort of will she put her hungover mind to this time. She slung her gun over her shoulder as a distant memory of her time with Alex began flashing before her eyes.

The sound of their hurried footsteps on the marble floor echoed through the empty hall. It was almost noon, the temperature soaring high and drinks becoming difficult to keep down. Alex chuckled as Olivia pulled him towards a bathroom door, not caring whether it was for the ladies or the gents. She had been begging for Alex’s attention ever since they got to the wedding party for a fellow soldier, downing an unusual amount of alcohol before finally gathering up the courage to whisper naughty things in his ear. She had been hung over her Captain for far too long, it was time for her to finally taste him.

Olivia massaged her temple with her fingers. She had been so stupid and naïve to start something with Alex. Her Captain. She regretted it now more than ever, 3 years of hookups later. Alex had been her friend since she re-enlisted again after completing her Aviation course. Though to tell the truth she'd been crushing on him since she first laid eyes on his beautiful face. His unbridled confidence, panty-melting smile and boyish charm had worked its magic on Olivia’s mind. It wasn’t something she thought of pursuing on a long-term basis, but his sweet nature only kept driving her closer to him. She liked that he showered her with affection all the time, something her attention-starved mind craved desperately. Only she had mistaken her lust for love.

“Really? Here? You know our seniors are present out on the lawn.” Alex snickered as Olivia began undoing his belt. His blazing eyes sparkled with what was to come next, the anticipation dancing in his beautiful orbs. Dinners together had turned into overnight stays and eventually Olivia had kissed Alex one night, crossing the line of friendship with no turning back.

“We are on leave, aren’t we?” She had suggestively smiled at him, palming his bulge through his pants. She leaned in to kiss Alex, feeling the softness of his lips brushing against hers. She felt her arousal beginning to wet through the thin fabric of her panties as Alex plunged his tongue into the warm cavern of her mouth.

Olivia grinned mischievously as she hopped on the sink counter pulling Alex by his tie to stand between her legs. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he pulled her in to steal another kiss. She unzipped his pants as Alex began trailing down her neck, planting soft kisses over her warm skin and cupping her breast through her dress.

“I don’t have a condom,” Alex said against the skin peeking just above her breast.

“I’m on the pill,” she shrugged and pulled his hardening cock out of its constraints. It pulsated in her hand as she pumped him. Alex groaned into her soft skin and nipped at her in retaliation, making her hiss with pleasure. She bit her lip as she watched him take over his cock and enter her aching folds. Alex let out an unrestrained moan as her warmth enveloped his throbbing member.

“Happy birthday, little birdie.” Olivia blinked as Sy appeared in front of her, smiling from under his cap. He was dressed in his combat fatigues, the vest making him look bigger than he already was. “Hangover?”

Olivia shook her head, warmth spreading over her chest as the vivid memories registered in her mind. “Just…uh, regular headache.” She smiled at her Captain. Her eyes lingered on his, mesmerized yet again by the intensely blue orbs looking back at her. She noticed the freckles on his nose and his lip and the changing shade of brown of his beard as it travelled down his neck.

“Maybe later we can have some chai while we watch the sunset?” Sy leaned against the metal body of the Humvee, one hand resting low on his hip.

Olivia tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrow. “Sunset? You do realize I fly a chopper for a living? I’ve seen my fair share of sunsets and sunrises by now.”

“But you haven’t seen a sunset with me.” A smirk formed on Sy’s lips, challenging her for another excuse.

Olivia felt a flutter in the pit of her belly and her mouth opened as she was rendered speechless. She felt herself balancing over the same dangerously thin line again. In a weird sense, this didn’t feel the same for her like it was with Alex. With him she had felt a rush of becoming reckless, but with Sy she wanted to be cautious, mindful. When he had kissed her forehead last night and embraced her, she had never felt more safe in the world like she did in that moment.

“Okay.” She nodded, “Rooftop like last night?” Olivia suggested as her unit members began getting into the Humvees, ready to head out. Sy tipped his cap in confirmation before walking towards his own team and barking orders to mount up.

Out in the desert, Olivia spent the rest of her day interacting with the locals and listening to their problems. She was following Lieutenant Pepps's orders about sympathizing with the public, to ensure they get local support in the future. As she listened to a weeping woman complain about the scarcity of food, her mind drifted back to a memory with Alex.

“What changed, Liv?” Alex pulled at her wrist, turning her around to face him. Olivia yanked at his hold, trying to free herself from his grasp. “Don’t you love me anymore?”

“Alex,” She pleaded, closing her eyes to escape this conversation. She had spent time in Afghanistan and the things she’d seen had changed her. She had seen the fragile nature of life and understood it was useless to be wasting her precious years on someone she only cared about as a friend.

“Tell me, Liv.” His voice was laced with anger, his eyes burning with hatred. “Tell me you don’t love me so that I can remove myself from your life. Because I can’t be your friend, not after all this.” He let go of her hand, slumping his shoulders as his eyes misted with tears and he fell on his knees.

Liv felt the weight of her actions crumbling her down in front of him. She never intended to hurt him, but she couldn’t love him, at least not the way he wanted her to. The possibility of losing her friend forever made her emotions win over her determination to end things with him. “I’m sorry, Alex. I’ll do better. I’m so sorry.”

Olivia sighed as she watched the sun slowly drift towards the horizon casting an orange hue over the sky. She had never gathered the courage to break things with Alex again. He had tried labelling them in a relationship, but she had avoided the topic like the plague. Their arrangement worked as they were deployed to different locations which gave her time away from him, only forcing her to pretend when they were on leave together. She grasped the Saint Christopher medal lying against her chest in her hand and felt the consequences of her actions pricking at her heart.

“Hey,” Sy called out from the doorstep leading out on the roof. He had a canteen in one hand and two cups in another. Liv had walked up to the roof as soon as they had returned to base. The parked white truck had indicated that Sy was back too but since there still had been time until sunset, she had decided to wait out alone on the roof.

“Hey,” she cleared her throat, shaking her head to ward away thoughts about Alex. She smiled weakly at Sy and walked towards him.

Sy frowned with his eyebrows scrunching together. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Did Mahmoud make the chai for us?” She changed the subject, sitting on the pile of sandbags against a wall.

“No, I did.” Sy proudly informed as he took a seat beside her.

Olivia watched as Sy poured the steaming cardamom tea in the cups and handed one to her. She breathed in the aroma before taking a sip of the hot liquid. “Incredible. When did you learn to make chai?”

“Picked up the recipe over the years.” He shrugged his shoulders, but Olivia noticed his chest puff up with pride on getting complimented on his acquired skill. Sy turned to face towards the expanse of the desert beyond the compound, silently sipping his tea.

“Captain Syverson, man of many talents.” She said in a sing-song voice and leaned back against the wall, bringing her knees up to her chest and holding her cup with both her hands.

Liv watched as Sy chuckled, his shoulders shaking with his laughter. The hair of his beard over his upper lip glistened with steam caught in it, almost urging her to wipe her hand over his mouth.

“You are staring, little birdie.” He looked at her sideways, his lips curling at the corners.

Liv rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched with a smile forming on them. “What’s with the nickname?”

“Well you fly the Little Bird, so that makes you little Birdie.”

She laughed as he finished his sentence, looking at him to see if he was joking. “How original, Sy.” She shook her head dismissively, but a fluttery feeling settled in her heart.

“Hey, I didn’t want to call you by the names everyone used.” He defended himself, feigning hurt dramatically by clutching his left pec over his heart.

Liv continued to laugh thinking about the silly reason behind the nickname, but adding it to the list of names she already had. They sat in silence, enjoying their tea as they watched the sun dipping down the horizon with every passing minute. The sky burst into a mixed palette of orange and purple, the clouds drifting away with the wind.

She felt Sy’s eyes on her as she sipped the remnants of tea from her cup. She bit her lip feeling mischievous and commented, “You’re staring, Captain.” She tilted her head to look at him, only to feel her breath hitch as she stared into his cerulean eyes. Sy had the softest look on his face, his smile barely visible from under the bush of his beard.

“What?” She asked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Who’s Captain Coop?”

His question caught Olivia off-guard and she blinked several times to understand that Sy had indeed asked about Alex. “Wh-what?” She tried to not stumble over her words but Sy had left her stunned.

“Yesterday, they were teasing you with his name. I just thought I should ask.” Sy’s gaze never left her face, even when he placed his cup to the side along with hers and the empty canteen.

Liv let out a slow, ragged breath. The mention of Alex’s nickname had her heart racing, her mind going through a carousel of his memories. “He was our captain, before you. My men...they were just… fooling around.” She plucked a jute strand from the sandbag she was sitting on, avoiding Sy’s stare.

She felt him shift on the bag and when she peered, she noticed him coming to stand in front of her. Liv looked up at him as his body loomed over hers. He bent down so as his face was right in front of her.

“So, you’re saying, I don’t have to worry about another man in your life?” His voice was low, and his breath felt warm against her skin.

“N-no. Why?” She gulped as her throat became dry. She watched as Sy licked his lips wet and smiled at her.

“Because I am going to kiss you and I ain’t gonna kiss some other man’s girl.” Sy whispered and waited for her to answer. A slight nod of her head was all he needed as he brought his lips down on hers, placing a soft and gentle kiss over her desirous lips.

Liv closed her eyes as the feeling of his lips sent sparks down her spine. The coarse hairs of his beard grazed against her face as she moved her lips against his. Sy placed his hand over her cheeks as he moved his lips with hers, darting his tongue out seeking permission to enter. She grabbed a hold of his t-shirt and another at the nape of his neck and pulled him closer to her and opened her mouth slightly to grant him access.

The minutes felt like they stretched into hours as Sy’s tongue danced against hers. She could taste the faint taste of cardamom on his tongue and breathe in his musky scent as she willingly deprived herself of oxygen. Panting as their lungs struggled to take in air, Sy let go of her with a last pull on her bottom lip.

When Olivia opened her eyes, the sun had set beyond the horizon and darkness was falling over the desert. Sy let out a slow breath as he grazed his knuckles over her cheek. She felt herself leaning in his touch as her breathing came back to normal.

“Sunsets and kisses, aren’t you a romantic Syverson?” She teased, biting her lower lip between her teeth.

Sy chuckled. “Told you our first kiss would be memorable.” Sy shrugged his shoulders with a cheeky smile, before pulling Liv up for another breathtaking kiss.

Chapter Six>

🌟 Series Masterlist 🌟

[buckstaposition]

I cling to your lips like gloss (3)

a Javier Peña x OFC story

also on AO3

author: @youhavereachedtheendofpie  👋

tags&warnings: spoilers for season 3, wonky timelines & odd pacing, drinking, swearing, mentions of sex work, mentions of canon-typical violence, Miss Salome is back!, some mild domesticity, partial nudity, a lil’ bit of sexual & romantic tension, soft&protective!Javi today tomorrow and forever

words: 8906 🙃🤡🙃🤡

summary: “The United States government is buying you a dress because you being at that party is of strategic importance to this investigation.”

Author’s note: Thank you SO SO much everyone who read, reblogged, and commented! It means so much to me and I want you to know that I read those comments and reviews at least every other day 

Also this chapter was originally going to feature more as I was planning to move into the actual plot of the season, but then it just got longer and longer and I wanted to keep it under 10k words so that has all been moved to the beginning of ch4 instead. Anyway, remember it’s okay to take breaks in between, stay hydrated, and enjoy!

—

Tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @dindjarindiaries @fromthedeskoftheraven @shikin83​ @cinewhore​ @maddoggrahaml​

(message me if you want to be added to the list)

beautiful moodboard made by @huliabitch​ 

Masterlist

Prologue • Chapter 1 - The Informant • Chapter 2 - A Wedding and Four Funerals

Chapter 3 - Swallow Pride and Anger

He made a habit of checking in with Miss Rivas regularly, usually on Wednesday evenings. It was late enough in the week for her to have gathered something to tell him, and for him to need interactions beyond dealing with pissy bureaucrats and the chorus of 'yes boss'es from his agents. That and he made the conscious choice to never bother her on Thursdays, seeing as how often she'd come back from a work day in the double digits, only to rise again with the sun on Friday mornings for her frequent trips back to Medellín. 

On this Wednesday, his self-imposed cigarette embargo inside his office combined with a slow and frustrating day had led him to go back to his apartment at an uncharacteristically early hour. He threw his jacket, wallet and keys down on the table, then loosened his tie and grabbed a beer from his fridge. He took a slow pull from the bottle, allowing himself to slump a bit against the kitchen counter. This apartment, while never what he would call a home, was still a sanctuary of sorts, even if most days he only came here to sleep and change clothes. He finished about half the bottle before clicking the bent cap back on haphazardly and placing it back in the fridge. He checked his watch and decided that a shower would, if not make him feel better, at least wash off the stale dryness of the embassy complex's aircon. 

His hair still damp, he exited the bathroom about half an hour later. He padded across the floor barefoot, shuffling around the few rooms a bit, pulling on a clean t-shirt and preparing a small meal in the kitchen. He didn't have much except for the usual staples, chosen by how easy they were to prepare and by how effectively they would fill his stomach, rather than for any considerations of taste. The only thing he allowed himself to indulge in was the selection of fresh fruit he picked up at the street market down the road. By the time he'd gotten something in his stomach it was nearing seven. Javier reckoned she would be home by now and would have had enough time to settle in. He grabbed his fruit plate and trudged over to his wall-mounted landline phone. After placing the plate on the low side table, he dialled the satphone's number and waited for the line to connect. 

"Agent Peña, good evening!" The sound quality was much better than with those tinny phone cells. It allowed him to hear how pleased she sounded as she greeted him, and how slightly out of breath. 

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Miss Rivas. I can call back later?" It occurred to him that she might be in the process of making dinner herself. 

"Oh no, it's alright!" He heard the shuffling of steps and the hum of music in the background. "Hang on, let me finish on the landline, then I'm all yours." She must have set the satphone down right next to her stereo system. He could hear music more clearly now, still distant like not all of it survived the transmission, but distinct enough to make out a string section paired with electric guitar and words in an unfamiliar language. 

"Interesting music selection." He mused as she came back on the line.

"Huh? Oh yes, Angelika let me borrow some of her tapes. Newly historical contraband from behind the Iron Curtain." She laughed quietly, and Javier thought of how for some of his former CIA colleagues, that might have been reason enough to drag her in for an interrogation. He sneered at the notion, glad it was no longer relevant. "Not that I understand anything, but that's why music is called the universal language, I suppose."

"Your German friend." Javier hummed thoughtfully. He'd had to look up what that Stasi remark meant, embarassingly enough. Despite the added information included, he'd been made to change it to 'Calí KBG' in his preliminary report on the matter. 

"Yes. I'm sorry I couldn't convince her to help more. It's half the way she was brought up and half fear. I guess the thought of going up against a powerful drug cartel and helping the American government at the same time is just a bit too much. And with her and Julio now trying for a baby she just really doesn't want to risk it, you know?" 

"It's okay." Javier said reflexively, allowing himself to sit on the floor by his phone, his back against the wall. Angelika Florez-something-long-and-German-with-lots-of-umlauts that he wasn't even going to attempt to pronounce worked at the Calí phone company and would have been an invaluable asset, but then again she'd already placed herself in danger by allowing Diana to relay what she knew. Javier wasn't going to force anyone to become an informant. "Anything new on your end?" 

"New corner office." 

"Nice." 

"Oh, very."  He heard more soft rustling over the line, as if she was moving around, and then some light clicking noises that might have been a large window or door being opened. "Miguel Rodríguez did stop by yesterday. Unannounced, of course. Cut into my lunch break." 

Javier straightened, the hand with a piece of orange sinking back down from his lips. "Oh? What did he want?" Unfortunately it was nothing he could be nailed down for. The Rodríguez brothers did own that bank and had every right to be there, every once in a while. 

"Wanted to talk about the tax evasion scheme I devised. I swear, there's nothing rich people hate more than paying their taxes!" Her huff made him laugh softly, despite everything. "Nothing of substance to report, sadly."

"We'll get them." Javier promised. "With your help, they'll go down like a bag of rocks in water."

She hummed, tapping her nails against the phone casing absently. He could hear the light click of it over the line. Javier let himself enjoy the reprieve this unassuming silence offered.

"I've been wondering," she started again after a moment, pensive, "how you met Gabriela. Was it when she was still at the brothel or after?" 

Actually screw reprieve. Javier felt like all his blood was now rushing to his ears and neck. "Umm..." he said, eloquently. "W-why d'you want to know?" And hadn't the other woman told her that detail, since they apparently shared everything? He had made it until now in forcibly not dwelling on what exactly this 'everything' would entail. 

"Sorry no, that came out wrong. I was just wondering if she'd ever been in any way involved in your... work. I'm sorry, this isn't... I just- I worry."  

Javier exhaled slowly, thinking back on the night he'd chanced upon the stunning redhead at a bar. He hadn't planned on it becoming a regular thing, and then before he knew it, the sporadic nights he spent with her were the only thing removed from the stress of his job. "No, never." 

"Dammit." 

That was... not what he'd expected. He frowned a moment before it dawned on him. 

"You're worried that by involving her when Maritza asked you for help you put her in danger."

"...Yes." She sounded glum now, not pleased and at ease enough to attempt to joke with him like before. He hated it. 

"Hey, it's alright. Nothing happened to her." At least to her. At least one person had come out of that nightmare mostly unscathed. It was something to be grateful for. "They're gone now. Escobar and his men are gone. She's safe." 

"Thank you, Agent Peña. I just-" Her voice sounded so small, suddenly. He frowned, plate of fruit long forgotten. "I couldn't bear it if I lost her, too. And while I didn't live in Medellín for all of it I ...you hear things." 

Unbidden, his mind flashed to the brothel on 23rd street in Envigado, all the women executed, La Quica putting bullets through their brains because one of them had been brave enough to call the Search Bloc and DEA on him. He thought of Helena. He thought of the dozens more who had the violence in their lives compounded tenfold because they'd dared to defy the narcos' terror. And often enough, through him. Sometimes the guilt ate Javier alive. 

"Hang on a moment." He said, already heaving himself up and striding over to the kitchen, grabbing his unfinished beer from the fridge, then doubling back over to the bar and grabbing a glass and a bottle of whiskey. Mixing the two was probably not a good idea. As much as drinking in general. He didn't care right now. Javier tried to be a better man than he had been, but there were times when he slipped. 

He poured himself a glass of the liquor as he sat back down and snatched the phone receiver back up from where it swung against the wall. 

"I'm back." He announced simply and took a swig. 

"I shouldn't have brought it up." She sighed long and drawn. "I'm sorry for... I suppose I just wanted to make myself feel better. That if something had happened to Gabi it wouldn't have been my fault, too. I didn't think- I cannot begin to imagine, Agent Peña-" 

"It's alright." Javier said, reflexively. The beer bottle was just one generous sip away from being empty now. His fingers played with the rim of it absently as he stretched his legs out in front of him, the tumbler of whiskey at his side. 

"It's not alright." Miss Rivas insisted, sounding even more distraught. He hated that, too. 

"Maybe. Maybe not. It is what it is." He scrubbed a palm over his face, rubbing at his burning eyes. The alcohol was beginning to swirl through his bloodstream. It helped, he supposed, that there was a sort of artificial distance through the telephone line. Otherwise the next words would likely never have left his lips. 

"Can I tell you something?" Javier Peña wasn't a religious man, but there were times when he saw the sense of a confessional. 

"Of course." Her voice was just the slightest bit shaky. "Should I get myself a drink, too?"

"If you want." He threw back the last bit of beer, following it up immediately with a gulp of whiskey, then pressed the still cold bottle against his flushed neck. He hesitated a moment, listening intently to the shuffling and rustling on the other end of the line. He felt his shoulders tighten and draw up, let his head fall back against the wall with a soft 'thud', his fingertips tracing the rim of the glass until he heard her soft affirmative. 

This was not a time to let shame hinder him. Hell, the fact that he paid women for sex was the first thing she ever knew about him. 

"You should know that I have a kind of... reputation." Javier began slowly. Like she didn't know that already. Like she couldn't guess. Like maybe this illusion where he could make this a confession instead of a confirmation was somehow more dignified. 

He'd gotten the idea a few months into coming down here. Or rather the idea had found him in the shape of a lovely, doe-eyed brunette who'd introduced herself as 'Aurélia'. And Javier had been hungry and lonely, his shame at his ruined wedding fresh and the frustration of running after leads into empty corners even fresher. And he doesn't even remember how he ended up inside her room, and while under no illusion that what was about to transpire was merely a business deal, a service rendered and compensated for, he'd found himself talking. Javier wasn't a talker, but she'd been so sweet in the way she carded her slender fingers through his hair and let him ramble on, probably wasting her time. 

"That's who you're here for?" Javier remembered still, with such distinct clarity, how her fingers had stuttered against his scalp. Javier had lifted his far-too-heavy head from her comfortable bosom and peered up at her, wondering whether disclosing all this had been a mistake. What kind of idiot walks into a brothel in Medellín half drunk and says he's a cop looking to take down Pablo fucking Escobar plus associates? 

"They come here sometimes. Those sicarios I mean." Aurélia had said, resuming her caresses. Sweet girl. Sweet, sad girl who kissed so softly. 

"Oh yeah?" Just his luck. "Not tonight though, hopefully." Suddenly he wasn't quite as drunk or tired anymore. 

"Not tonight, no. At least not that I know of. Anyway, it's not- I shouldn't tell you this." She'd tilted his head up and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. That girl could kiss like she was in love with you. 

That was that. Four days later he'd come back, with a proposal wrung from his superiors. Any information that could lead to the capture of one of the Cartel's sicarios for a generous chunk of solid American cash. 

"Aurélia?" Miss Rivas asked in a voice as if she was running calculations. "With curls or with a birthmark?"

"Umm, birthmark." A mole on her left cheek, just under the eye, like a rococo lady in every period piece about the French, except real. 

"Oh! Catalina Vasquez!" 

"You know her?" Of course she knew her. Apparently Medellín was actually a damn village and not a city of millions. 

"Yeah, the family lived just down the street growing up. I used to babysit them sometimes, her and her younger sisters." 

Javier hummed, unsure of how to reply. He pinned the receiver between his head and shoulder and shoved the freed hand up under the collar of his shirt to rub at the tension in the back of his neck. 

"Sorry for interrupting, do go on." 

It had taken some convincing. A whole lot of planning, too. But by the end of it he had one of Gacha's sicarios in custody. A large, brutish man who'd nicknamed himself 'Cobra'. Low-level and not especially bright, as it turned out, but not completely worthless. Javier had gone back to the brothel that night to give Aurélia her reward, and then he'd come back again the night after, when the high of success had worn off and he'd craved being kissed again like it meant something. Only, she'd been gone. Left without a trace, her erstwhile colleagues unwilling to divulge the whats and wheres and whys. Frustrated and anxious and in no small part betrayed, he'd drowned himself in a willing bottle blonde who could do extremely interesting things with her mouth. And that was that, the start of a career and a reputation. Not that he ever expected to be 'serviced' when he was there in a professional capacity. But when they offered, he found himself too weak to refuse. And they almost always offered. For whatever reason. 

Professional pride perhaps.  

"What happened to her?" It had been years but he had to ask, just on the off chance. 

"She took your money and cut loose, moved to the coast and got a job at a baker's. Last thing I heard she was married and had another baby on the way." 

"Good. That's ...good." He'd wondered, all these years... "Thank you."

"I didn't do anything." 

"For listening. For letting me ...unload." For lifting a bit of guilt and uncertainty off of me. "Just... you don't have  to do that. So thank you."

A short rustling, the squeak and groan of a chair, then: "I will listen to whatever you want to tell me, Agent Peña." 

Javier released a sigh, deep and weary, and set aside his glass and the bottle that was significantly lighter than it had been. His mind was somewhere in that soupy stage now, floating aimlessly on some sort of thick fog. It dulled the creeping pain in his back that told him he was too old to be sitting on the floor now. He mumbled something indistinct, rubbed his eyes and shook his head in an attempt to clear the haze. 

"Well, in any case, now you know." He'd only need to tell her about Lorraine, Helena, and Carillo, and he'd have shared all of his major sins. Huh.

"What are you asking for?" 

Absolution. "A verdict?" 

"I have no intention of judging you, Agent Peña. Not for this. You acquainted yourself with all the working girls in Bogotá and Medellín, and I married a man I did not love and stayed with him for years." 

"That's hardly the same." 

"Isn't it?" Her voice was soft and rueful, brimming with words not ready to be spoken quite yet. He sensed it, and agreed, and therefore decided that it was time to cut this heart-to-heart off here for both their sakes. 

"Hell, I don't know. Maybe, in a way." He was way too drunk for this. He shouldn't have drunk this much. Where had his threshold gone? It's like he'd spent years tempering his liver for nothing. 

"Well then, I'll let you know whether or not it'll be worth for you to come down to Medellín next weekend. Sleep well. And drink some water before then." 

Javier glanced at the clock mounted on the oppsite wall. When the hell had it gotten this late? No wonder his ass was numb and his back was killing him. There was a moment when the strangest words were just hanging on to the tip of his tongue, ready to plummet off. That it would always be worth it to see her. Even just to take a turn about a park with her and the kid. Javier swallowed thickly. Gathered his professionalism and detachment. 

"Until then, Miss Rivas. Good night." --- --- --- The phone rings insistently in a way that tells him it's been at it a while. Javier sighed while sliding the glass door of his office shut behind him. He hadn't planned on being all but ambushed by one of Stechner's CIA stooges under the guise of 'inter-agency liasing', and that was after getting caught up with a lenghty presentation one of his newly transferred agents had prepared for him. Feistl, he'd said his name was. The presentation was full of good ideas, too, just too involved. Javier had told the guy as much. If you can get your point across with ten words there's no point using fifty. 

Javier picked up the receiver, one hand rubbing at the dull throbbing that was just starting to build in his temple. 

"Peña."

"You're still at your office? It's past eight, you should go home." He smiles despite himself, and the chiding tone. 

"Got delayed." He offered by way of an explanation. She harrumphed softly. 

"Not that I'm not delighted to hear from you, but what's the occasion?" She rarely called him, he usually called her. She certainly didn't call on Thursday nights because when she wasn't preparing to drive up to Medellín she was usually exhausted enough at this point in the week to turn in early. 

"I hope you're sitting down." 

Javier perched himself on the edge of his desk where it wasn't piled high with reports and mind-numbing paperwork awaiting his signature. "I am." 

"They're having a party and I've been invited. Friday next week. They'll all be there; Santacruz is apparently coming down from New York for it. The chief accountant, the money launderer, everyone. And their wives, or other-" 

Javier's foot slipped a bit where he'd foolishly leaned a significant percentage of his weight on it. He caught himself as the desk gave a loud groan, slipping a bit on the linoleum floor. He righted himself quickly, sitting more firmly on the edge of the desk. 

"What do you know?" 

"Apparently there's going to be some sort of important announcement, but no one knows what it is, not even Miguel. Gilberto called it. All I know is that all four of them will be there, as well as everyone important in the organization. And then some. Likely every politician and law enforcement official in their pocket. Other cartels, too, but I don't know who exactly-"

"Miss Rivas, stop." Javier said firmly. Her voice had gotten that rambling, frantic quality that wore thin its natural pleasant rasp. "That's plenty. This is..." he twisted around and fished for his desk calendar, grabbing the nearest pen to circle the day, "This is huge. It could even be just the break we need."

She was silent for a moment, only her long, deliberate breaths crackling over the line. "You think so?"

"I think regardless of what it is, if it's important enough for a gathering this big, then yes."

"I don't suppose you could raid the party and arrest them all just like that?" She mused. 

"Only in my dreams, Miss Rivas." He allowed himself a second to picture it: surroundig what was no doubt a very large and fancy property, riding in like the cavalry, the dumbstruck faces as the Gentlemen of Calí and their associates realized their luck had run out, clapping the handcuffs on them - he'd want to do it himself, hear the gratifying click of metal on metal that would wipe the self-satisfied smirks off their faces. 

The warrants for the Calí godfathers existed, that wasn't the problem. The problems started with finding the location, circumventing their no doubt expert security, getting the lot of them without anyone escaping... Then there was the trouble of getting a search warrant for the property, even if they did know the address, and it was going to be a whole lot more complicated if the guy who signed those warrants was at that party himself. Then there was the fact that for all the valuable intel Miss Rivas had provided already, it wasn't nearly enough to nail the godfathers beyond what their army of slippery attorneys could weasel them right back out of. What they really needed was for someone to talk. Someone who had been there for longer and knew the operations of the cartel more intimately than Miss Rivas ever could (or than he would want her to, if Javier was being honest). The mysterious money launderer perhaps, or the chief accountant. Either would be good, both would be better - then again, the immunity deals that usually came with these kinds of cooperations didn't sit too well with Javier. 

"Hell, I don't even have a plus one. Do I really have to go? I could pretend to be sick." She sighed and scoffed, and muttered something about not having anything to wear. 

"I think you know." And if these people didn't know his face (and would put a bullet through it on sight) he'd gladly offer to be her plus one, if only to keep her safe. He hated knowing she'd be all alone there, among the wolves. It didn't make what he still had to ask of her any easier.  

"Yes, I know. Miguel called me the 'third corner of their finance trifecta'." A bitter laugh, not that Javier needed that cue to know. He could tell from her voice alone how much she despised it. "In any case, now you know, so you can make whatever arrangements you need. I'll see you tomorrow?" Ah yes, about that. 

"I'm afraid I can't make lunch. Urgent meeting called by the ambassador." Urgent and useless, but when the new president and minister of justice wanted a briefing he had to oblige. "Sorry."

"That's alright. Dinner then? My aunt will be in the hospital overnight." 

"I'll see what I can do." There was just one more thing. "Miss Rivas?"

"Yes?"

"Would you be willing to wear a wire? To the party?" 

"Well, I was thinking a cocktail dress would be more appropriate-" 

Javier scoffed. "You know what I mean." He could picture her grin on the other end of the line, pleased at her little joke. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I suppose I might as well, seeing as I'm not getting out of this-" 

"Thank you."

"Best bring the necessary ...equipment with you. I need to go dress shopping this weekend." 

He promised that he would. He promised to call as soon as he knew when he'd be in Medellín. And he promised to go home for the day as soon as they said their good-byes.

He intended to do just that; he only needed to file away some things first. 

"Boss?" Another one of the new transfers poked his head in after knocking. Why was he still here at this hour? Javier struggled to recall his name. 

"Yeah, what is it, uh..." He did feel bad about it, too. A little bit at least. 

"Van Ness, sir." 

"What is it, Van Ness?" 

"Duffy just faxed this over." Van Ness leaned further into Javier's office, holding himself steady on the doorframe, and handed him the flimsy sheet of paper. "They've gotten a lead through Cornerstone." 

--- --- ---

Dinner instead turned into an apologetic phonecall during a meeting break and then a red eye flight out to Medellín. Then there's another meeting at the Search Bloc home base with Colombian National Police representatives and the only high point of it is that he briefly sees Hugo Jr who looks well. So by the time Javier finally starts out to Envigado it's lunchtime again. He makes it there just slightly after. 

He walked up to the small house, past the flowerbeds on the windowsills, and knocked on the door. That side of the house was south-facing and it was a hot, cloudless day that has him sweating in his suit in no time. He's just about to knock again, thinking perhaps the first time he'd been too soft to be heard so as not to disturb the aunt who must be resting after her overnight stay at the hospital, but then he hears the quick tap of feet and the door is yanked open by an out-of-breath Diana. "Hey." 

She was wearing a wide smile and cut-off denim shorts with a simple blue cotton blouse and her hair was loose and much longer than when they'd first met. It seemed like no time at all had passed since then when in reality it had been close to a year now. 

"Hi," Javier breathed, "Sorry for the delay." 

She waved it off. "Come on in, I saved you a plate." She turned and walked back the short and narrow hallway. Stop gawking at her legs.

"That's not necessary." He tried to deflect, toeing off his shoes near the door and loosening his tie and shirt collar, just the top button. 

"Nonsense, unless you've eaten?" She looked over her shoulder before turning into the small kitchen. 

"I haven't, no." Javier conceded, following behind. It wasn't exactly spacious, a round table squished to one wall with just enough space for three chairs. Little Salome sat at one, drawing with an array of colorful crayons. She acknowledged him silently before going back to her drawing and Javier sat down. 

"Coffee?" Diana asked over the hum of the microwave, already pulling two mugs from a cupboard. 

"Please." Javier stretched his legs out as far as he could without becoming a tripping hazard. "How's your aunt?" 

"Resting now. She's been better recently, but overall she's been declining so I don't know-" She gave a helpless shrug, then brought over the mugs, shortly followed by the steaming plate which she set in front of him. He'd learned a while ago that even the most minute resistance was futile anyway. Besides, he actually was really rather hungry. Catering wasn't a priority for the CNP. 

He waited until she sat down in the chair opposite to start eating. They talked quietly, not exactly smalltalk, but nothing too heavy either. It was strange sort of almost-domesticity if one looked over the fact that he was being snuck in like a teenage delinquent boyfriend whenever the aunt was out or asleep (which was fine by him as he had no desire to meet the woman whose only daughter he'd gotten killed). 

"So how does that whole wire situation work in real life?" Diana asked after she'd cleared away the dishes (and physically slapping his hand away when he moved to help). 

"Well it's... there's a literal wire, a microphone on one end, and a recording device on the other. And a battery." Javier began haltingly. 

"And it needs to be concealed under the clothes, obviously." 

"Obviously." 

"Hmm, I see. How big?" She sat back down again, brushing a hand through Salome's hair affectionately. "And how do I secure it under the dress? I need to know these things so I can pick out one that'll cover it all, you see." 

Javier nodded. "Did you want to leave soon? Because I was thinking it's probably easiest if I just came along." 

At this, she seemed surprised, but recovered quickly. "You sure?"

He sipped the last of his now tepid coffee and nodded again. "Yeah, let's go buy you a dress."

"There's no need to buy me a dress, Agent Peña." He recognized that tone by now, how testy she got at any allusion of charity. It was an ingrained reflex that he knew better than to be irked by. 

"The United States government is buying you a dress because you being at that party is of strategic importance to this investigation." He stood to put the empty mug in the sink before she could beat him to it, then returned to the table, standing behind the seat he'd previously occupied and gripping the back of it. "Besides, more of American taxpayer money is spent on worse things." Like Stechner's salary, he thought. She gave him a look that said they'd have more words on this, probably when they reached the checkout, then stood, saying she'd go say goodbye to her aunt. 

Javier nodded, watching her leave. A little noise caught his attention. Salome still didn't speak much, but she knew how to make herself known nonetheless. "What is it, Miss Salome?" Javier stooped to get closer to eye level with the kid. She looked up at him with her big brown eyes and held up a scrap of the paper she'd been drawing on. 

"Oh, what's this?" She shook the paper insistently in her tiny fist, an adorable frown creasing between her brows, as if miffed that he was being slow. And it's... he's gotten more relaxed around the little girl by now, but it still always lingers that he's part of the reason she's an orphan, and traumatised into a selective mutism that apparently even the average counselor or child psychiatrist doesn't quite know how to deal with to boot, that leaves him with a lingering apprehension that manifests in the kind of awkward hesitation that now has her scrambling off the chair and patting his leg as she holds the paper up for him to take. 

"Want me to take a look?" He bends and takes it gently. Is answered by a sort of long-suffering sigh. The scrap is barely the size of his palm, covered in colorful blobs of red and orange and yellow and blue, pink and green and purple swirls in between. 

"Very pretty." He decrees and attempts to hand it back just as Miss Rivas is poking her head back the room. 

"Can you please grab the car seat?" 

"Huh?" It's not very eloquent, but then again he's engaged in a game of impromptu reverse tug-of-war with a toddler. "She's coming with?" She's also pushing the paper back at him again, pouting. 

"Yes of course she is. The car seat? It's on the shelf behind you." There is no argument to be had with the women in this family, so he doesn't even attempt it, just straightens and looks for the car seat which is indeed in the described spot. "And that drawing is for you so just take it." 

"For me?" It's still clutched in his hand, and Salome is heaving a huff as if to say 'Duh. Idiot.' His throat feels tight all of a sudden. "Well, thank you very much." He makes a show of tucking it very carefully into the pocket of his suit jacket, then turns to retrieve the car seat. Together they make their way out. It takes a moment to set up the car seat in the back, another to wrestle the stroller into the trunk, but eventually they're on their way downtown.

--- --- ---

They have entered a world of ruffles. And sequins. For a moment Javier thinks he's having flashbacks to Lorraine's endless sessions discussing bridesmaid's dresses all those years ago. He exchanges a look with Miss Rivas, her expression stony and tense. 

"Alright, quick in and out. If at all possible, I want to be out of here again before Salome wakes up." Javier nodded, tightening his grip on the stroller handles. Salome had dozed off in the car on the drive over and was now out cold, not even stirring throughout the transferral from car seat to stroller. Javier eyed the sea of satins and gulped, then turned to the woman at his side. "What's your plan?" 

"I'm going to find a shop assistant." She narrowed her eyes, gaze flitting over the masses of racks. 

"Good plan." Javier mumbled. He had an inkling that they'd be here forever if they attempted to brave this ocean of dresses alone. 

"Right, you can..." she trailed off as her eyes fixed on a woman some feet away, her head just bobbing up from between two racks where she was rearranging some very bright red and very small garments, "...um, wait by the changing rooms?"

"It's fine." Javier replied, starting to push the stroller in that direction. If nothing else he figured he could function as a temporary clothing rack or something. On instinct, he scans the perimeter while Miss Rivas elucidates to the shop assistant what she is looking for and the younger woman, perhaps in her mid- to late twenties, snaps her fingers in triumph before announcing that she has 'just what you're looking for' and starts marching away. They follow her like ducklings from rack to rack, and a good ten minutes later they have an armful of cocktail dresses of varying lengths, cuts, and colors. It's the kind of brutal efficiency that even Search Bloc could only dream of, all in the petite shape of this eager retail employee with a side pony.

"Let me know if you need help." She chirps as she deftly deposits them in the changing room area before returning to her other tasks. 

It's an almost enclosed space, five curtained cabins in an open half-circle arrangement with a long-ish bench in the middle and some tall mirrors on the spaces between. He wheels the stroller beside the bench and sits a moment later, so that the both of them are facing the changing room where the shop assistant had hung up the dress selection. Shrugs off his suit jacket, then drapes it carefully over the sleeping child to block out the light and muffle the noise of shoppers. Miss Rivas looked at him expectantly, one hand on the curtain that was half drawn. 

"What?" 

"You're gonna have to show me how to put on the wire thingy." She jerked her head towards the changing room. Javier gulped, the implication dawning on him. Looked at the stroller helplessly. There was nothing but an effectively timed baby snore and a twitch of one little ladybug-socked foot. 

"Come on, the sooner we get this over with the sooner we can leave." As previously stated, there is no arguing with the women of this family, especially when they're right, so he resigns himself, dives for the case that holds the machinery, and stands. Miss Rivas stepped aside, drawing up the curtain after a furtive glance around. "We're both adults." 

"Yeah." Javier agreed, his throat tight. At least these cabins were decently sized or they'd be squished in there like sardines in a can. 

Javier turned away to give her some privacy, fiddling with the wire instead, pretending it had gotten more tangled than it was. At her soft confirmation that she's ready he turns around, making a conscious effort not to look... anywhere really. At least she'd only chucked her top; the shorts are still on. 

"Agent Peña, I would assume that you have seen women in their underwear before." She sounded amused, and clearly more relaxed about this than he could ever pretend to be. He gives a terse nod, making his eyeline give a wide berth until his gaze lands squarely on her face where a bemused smirk just barely masks something more uncertain. 

"Sorry, there is a real dearth of female agents or this would be much less awkward." Javier stepped closer, holding the wire in his hands like the world's flimsiest shield. She's right of course, the sight of a woman's brassiere hasn't been new to him since he was a teenager sneakily perusing clothing catalogues in his bedroom after dark. Hers isn't even... it's... functional, off-white, unwired and unembellished, and reveals just the edge of a tan line, something he quickly drags his gaze away from. The problem is of course, that the path his eyes take is further down her body, suddenly snagging on a raised line down at the very edge of her ribcage on the left side. 

"What's this?" His thumb drags across the raised skin instinctually. It's a thin, straight line of scar tissue, around half the length of his index finger and sitting right on the lowest rib. Diana gasped softly and he snatched his hand away like he'd touched one of the electric fences back on the ranch. "Sorry." 

"It's fine, it's just a scar." She took a steadying breath and retraced the path his finger had just taken on her skin with her own, pensive. "I got caught in a shootout on my way home when I was home for summer from university once. It's just a graze." Just a graze that would have been more than that if it had hit just a few inches to the side. Javier felt faint at the thought. 

"Do you have any?"

"Huh?" His brain is lagging on something, hence the eloquent reply. 

"You said you get shot at a lot in this job. Ever been hit?" She ducks her head a little, looking up at him through her lashes from where she's leaning back against the wall. "Come on, I showed you mine, you show me yours." It's clearly a joke, and one she obviously regrets as soon as the words are out, judging by the pained expression that comes right after the statement. 

"Just one." Javier said, tapping his leg about a handwidth above the knee. "Went right through. Apparently missed the main artery by less than half an inch." 

"Hmm, " she hummed, "Looks like we're both lucky then." 

"Yeah," Javier agreed, his voice soft and low, "lucky." 

The changing rooms really were not cramped, but with two fully grown adults inside, they were just about spacious enough. They stood barely an arm's length apart, mirror to one side and thick faux-velvet curtain to the other. Javier felt heat prickle from the base of his neck downwards, and he wasn't even the one with half his chest out. He'd only rolled up his shirtsleeves to his elbows, leaving his forearms bare. 

Her hand brushed over one gently, curling around his wrist and startling him out of whatever feverish reverie he'd zoned out into. 

"So," she trailed her fingertips further down, over his knuckles and the wire slung around them, before tapping against the small black cylinder that housed the recording device and battery, "does this thing get hot?" 

Pull yourself together and be fucking professional! "It shouldn't." 

"Right, well let's get it on then." 

He handed her the microphone end first. Explained ideal placement, the closer to the face the better. This was a modified necktie bug, small and discreet, secured against the skin with tape if necessary. She took it, pinned the mic to the strap of her bra, high up on the shoulder. The wire itself was long enough to wind around her torso once with some slack. The slim casing that held the battery and recording device she tucked into her bra for now. Listened intently as he explained how to turn the device on and off. 

"I'll keep this on for the rest of the day, just to get used to the feeling." Her smile was a bit wobbly as she spoke. 

"Yeah, that's ...uh, a good idea." Javier fidgeted a moment, not sure what to do with his hands. "Right, I'll leave you to your-" 

She gripped his hands just as he was about to turn and leave. Alarmed, he stilled. Watched he lip wobble and the rims of her eyes redden under furrowed brows. "Hey, what is it?, What's wrong?"

She heaved a deep and shaky breath that ended in an even shakier laugh. "I'm sorry I'm just... I'm scared."

"You don't have to do this if you don't feel safe." Javier was quick to offer. "You've helped us so much already."

She swallowed hard. "No, I do want to! Do this, help you. I want to bring them down! Besides, I'm going to be there anyway, so it would be a waste not to-" 

She was trembling now, unaware of her own body's reaction until it was brought into sharp relief by his large warm hands on her shoulders. 

"Hey," he said, thumbs rubbing gently at her collarbones, "It's going to be alright. I won't let anything happen to you, okay?" 

She knew, realistically, that there was only so far he could carry a promise like that, but her nerves calmed nonetheless. It was silly, really. This relationship was just a professional alliance, no matter how many deep secrets they'd shared with one another. Officially of course they couldn't ever be associated, at least as long as any of the 'Gentlemen' of Calí still roamed free. And yet, she trusted him.  

"I know. I'm sorry." She babbled, nerves imploring her to externalize her anxiety through words. "I came to you; I wanted this... want this. I'm in. I'll try to be brave."

He squeezed her shoulders gently. "You're one of the bravest people I know." And that was the crux of it, wasn't it? Because deep down he didn't want her to be brave. Helena had been brave too, and what did it get her? 

"I'm just… I'm tired of being afraid." She steadied herself on him, hands gripping his biceps now. 

"Sometimes being afraid is what keeps us alive." He murmured, bringing one hand up to tilt her face to meet his gaze. "Listen to me. I will do whatever it takes to make sure you're safe, okay? Whatever I can, I promise. I can't have you on my conscience as well." The last part was whispered so softly that she barely caught it, but she nodded, pulling herself together and schooling her breathing.  

"Thank you." She squeezed her hands once and let go. Javier searched her face for a moment longer, thumb brushing over her cheekbone absently, before he remembered himself and drew back.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "yeah I'll be fine." 

"Okay." Javier breathed, straightening, hand going for the curtain. "I'll wait outside."

Her answering smile was still shaky, but not quite as much so.

When Javier ducked out of the changing room his first glance is towards the stroller, where Salome is still napping peacefully. His second glance is directed towards the shop assistant sorting through the returns rack, directed there by the woman's disapproving huff. It's not the same one who helped them pick out dresses, but a slightly older woman, one who carries the gravitas of authority derived by experience with her. 

"Did your wife need help?" She quips while untangling garments from hangers. Out of all that's happened over the past quarter of an hour or so, this is what really makes Javier's ears burn. 

"Yes, with the um... zipper." He stutters, wishing for the first time that day since leaving the base that he could have a smoke. 

"Hmm," the shop assistant resumed her folding, "You would not believe the kinds of things people get up to in there." Her disapproving stare moved to the stroller where Salome was still blissfully asleep under his blazer. He snatches the garment away guiltily, but Salome doesn't even stir, just slumbers on cutely. At last, the woman's eyes soften. 

"Yes, well... call me or any of my colleagues if you need further... assistance." 

"Thanks." He clears his throat and sits as she sails off with an armful of clothes. Miss Rivas poked her head out not a second later. 

"I'm sorry, your what?" 

At least she was laughing again, even if her eyes were still slightly red-rimmed and watery. 

"Sorry, next time I'll be sure to clarify that you are my confidential informant and we're taking down the world's biggest drug cartel together." He retorts, and she breaks out into a wide grin accompanied by a snorty burst of laughter. 

"Well, if you put it like that it sounds almost romantic." Now it's his turn to snort. "I do actually need help with this zipper, though." 

She stepped half out of the little alcove, clad in a floor-length, wine-red halter gown with intricate beading all over, and a slit so high it makes his brain short-circuit. Which causes him to just stare at her dumbly for a long moment, even after she's already turned to present the high back of it. 

"Agent Peña?" She throws over her shoulder, somewhere between amused and slightly concerned. He jumps and strides over, fingers fidgeting with the zipper tab until he gets a decent grip and starts to pull it up the rest of the way. 

"Uh, no I meant down." Her voice is as strained as he feels. He pulls the tab down, desperately trying not to focus on the skin being revealed as he does. She releases a relieved breath when he's done and turns, stepping back inside the changing room. 

"Thanks."

"This one good?" He asks with a non-committal shrug, nodding towards the dress without really looking at it. 

"No, I think I do need to be able to breathe. And also I'd like to be able to walk without flashing everyone. I do work with these people, after all." She smiled, one hand on the curtain ready to draw it back shut. "I'll be quick with the rest, but you can take Salome for a turn if you want, maybe have a smoke outside? We can meet back here or by the registers." 

They both look at the little girl's sleeping form simultaneously, watch her eyes move rapidly under her lids as she is lost in dreams. 

"Thanks, but it's alright. I can stay in case you need further...help."

It really isn't long after that. She hurries, but they also make light conversation while she tries on another five or six dresses. She doesn't come out with most of them but narrates all their flaws very entertainingly. Javier once again enjoys how forward she is, not censoring herself in the least as she complains about everything from odd sizing to itchy material to unfortunate placement of embellishments. 

"Okay, last one." She announces and then draws back the curtain with a flourish and Javier... just gapes. The dress is midnight blue, so dark it looks almost black until light hits the silky fabric and reflects off of it. The color compliments the deep bronze tan of her skin like it had been chosen specifically for her. It's slim-cut, body-hugging and high-collared with thin spaghetti straps and subtle beading on the bodice. A tasteful slit goes to just above the knee and the hem brushes just over the tops of her feet. 

"I think this will work." 

'Oh it definitely works.' Luckily Javier's mouth is currently too dry for these words to slip out, so he just nods, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

"Great! Let me change back real quick and let's get out of here." 

He's just adjusting his suit jacket to lie over the still blissfully sleeping toddler like a blanket when Diana steps back out, back on her shorts and top. 

"Looks like the American taxpayers are in luck. It's discounted." She said as she read the tag, then draped the blue dress over the top of the stroller. "Twenty percent. Not bad." 

Javier snorted. Took the other dresses and hung them up on the returns rack. Grabbed the stroller handles and gently set the vehicle in motion. Salome stirred a moment, then bunched a chubby hand in the fabric sheltering her from the chilly air-conditioning and settled back down. Diana's gaze is soft upon her niece, and soft still when she raises her eyes to meet Javier's. 

They make their way down to the registers, walking from the top floor of the department store downwards, weaving around racks and shelves and other shoppers. Javier is pushing the stroller, Miss Rivas at his side where possible, her hand loosely hooked into the crook of his elbow again as she likes to do. It's two floors down, as they traverse the men's section, that she suddenly sidetracks, half disentangling herself, half pulling him over to a wall display. Neckties. He raises a questioning eyebrow. 

"Since we're here already." She shrugs, like that explains everything. It doesn't. The eyebrw remains up and quizzical. 

"Explain." 

There's a dangerous glint in her eye as she lets her fingertips glide over the assorted fabrics. 

"Gabi said you only have ugly ties." Has she now.

"She's only seen two!" Javier protests without heat. She eyes him critically, eyes the tie he put on this morning at the asscrack of dawn for his damn meetings. He has half a mind to argue that he didn't feel like dressing up all pretty for some pissy general at half past four in the morning. 

"Was this one of them?" Though truth be told perhaps his tie selection is a bit... outdated. This one is several brownish tones in a very 70s pattern, if he's being honest. 

"No?" But this one was also one of the old ones that had been gifts from Lorraine he'd never gotten rid of. 

"Then you have three ugly ties." There is no arguing with this woman. So, he submits. "You'll have to make announcements on national television sooner or later; you'll need to look decent." 

"I'm not arguing, am I?" He figures what's the point. What's the worst that could happen. And she knows she's won, too. Gleefully starts peering through the selection before them. 

"Is this revenge? For this?" He motioned to the dress still draped over the stroller, his meaning clear between them. Is this for making you go to a party with the world's most powerful drug bosses with a wire up your boobs.

"No." She lied, picking up a solid charcoal tie and holding it up to his collar. "Of course not." 

She picks out four, two solid and two patterned.

By the time he parks the car back on a side street in Envigado Salome is awake and very grumpy. A snack of peach slices and crackers mollifies her somewhat, but just enough to get her in the house and distracted by her toys before throwing a fit. Javier carried in the car seat and then the stroller, after Diana's signal that the coast was clear, and lastly he grabs her shopping bag and stuffs the last item on his itinerary for this visit inside, before he forgets again. 

"Another coffee?" He wants to, he really does, but if he ingests any caffeine now he knows he won't sleep until well after midnight. So he shakes his head, apologetic. He's tired, sure, but he'll power through until he reaches his hotel (and then promptly collapse on the bed there.)

"I have one last... I brought you something, just in case." He hands her the bag, and she looks at him quizzically. Until she looks inside, that is. 

"What's this?" She holds the garment up in question, turns it in her hands a a few times. Javier clears his throat.

"Bulletproof vest." 

She gulps. Pales imperceptibly, eyes flitting between him and the vest. 

"You really think this is neces-"

"Just in case." He insists. It probably wouldn't- it's a newer model, thinner and more discreet than the tac vests they use out in the field, but likely still too bulky to be hidden under her normal work clothes, even though she favors looser cuts. He takes it from her gently, motions for her to put her arms up so he can lower the vest over her head and do it up at the sides. Explains how it needs to be secured tight to the body so it doesn't shift. 

"It won't work under my normal work clothes." Miss Rivas frowns, hands smoothing down over the front of it, calculating. Probably going through her wardrobe mentally. Doing an admirable job of not letting fear grip her again like that earlier hiccup. "It's too bulky."

"No, you're right." Javier conceded, hands still at her sides where his fingers are hooked into the clasps of the vest. "You should still take it. Who knows when it'll come in handy."

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

Author’s note cont’d: this is the song Javi is hearing over the phone in the first scene btw

learn about bugs and wires here (though I do admit that I am playing a bit fast and loose with this here ;)

this is what I based the first dress on:

and here’s the final dress: 

and yes, I hate about 90% of the ties they have him wear in the show and that is how that bit came about. Sorry to throw Lorraine under the bus a bit there but I’m sure they were fashionable at the time :/

Next Chapter

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ @sasuhinabigflash2020​​ || Day Sixteen: Showers ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Neji, Uchiha Itachi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Divine Light ] [ AO3 Link ]

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Not every night is fit for travel.

Hooves gives muffled thuds along the well-worn dirt road. Above the pair of riders, a clear night sky has slowly been clouding, blotting out the stars as the weather subtly shifts. The summer evening is cool, a breeze winding its way through the trees that line the path.

“Another mile or so, and we’ll be upon the inn I mentioned,” the lead rider announces, glancing over his shoulder to his companion. “A suitable place to rest for the night.”

“Must we stop?” is the quiet counter question. “Surely we can make it by daybreak if we press on.”

“We may, but then we will be exhausted and sore from so many hours in the saddle. It’s best we take the time instead to give ourselves a well-earned respite. A few hours will make little difference. The day will be the same, and we’ll not need to waste daylight on sleeping.”

Lips slightly pursing, Hinata nevertheless offers no further argument.

“Besides,” her cousin then offers, glancing skyward as a few leaves begin to bounce around them. “I believe we are in for some showers, lady Hinata. It won’t do for you to get drenched and catch cold.”

“...very well.”

Urging their mounts to a swift trot from their steady walk, the pair hurry the last stretch before reaching the inn. Horses tethered in the adjoined stable, they step in and breathe sighs of relief.

Within, the main floor is largely taken by a tavern. Though the hearth is empty of flame, the atmosphere is still warm and pleasant, the lighting a cheery glow from lanterns and candles. Tables are filled with boisterous patrons, many indulging in spirited drinks before conceding for the night. At the opening of the door, several glance up but offer no greeting, returning to their own conversations once curiosity is sated.

“It is not...entirely suitable,” Neji mutters, eyeing the common rabble a bit warily.

“It will do fine. Not everything must live up to my father’s expectations,” is Hinata’s gentle counter, stepping further in as her cousin follows. “We are warm, dry, and will soon have full bellies and a place to sleep. There’s little else to ask for.”

Not looking as convinced, Neji nonetheless keeps to her side, his wary expression making it more than clear he won’t tolerate any interference as they approach the barkeep.

“Have you any free rooms?” Hinata inquires, ignoring Neji’s hawkish gaze behind her.

“Aye. Have y’need of one, or two?”

“Two,” Neji cuts in, earning a roll of Hinata’s eyes at his prudishness.

“Would you not feel better keeping a close eye on me?” she counters, glancing to him.

“Two rooms,” is his simple insistence.

She sighs. “...two, please.”

The keep then slides as many keys across the bar, each engraved with a number. “Take a seat anywheres y’like, and you’ll be served. May be a tad slow - the weather seems to be swelling our walls this evening.”

“It’s no trouble - thank you.” Pocketing the keys, Hinata heads for an empty table along a wall, settling primly on her seat. “...do you need to be so tense?” she then chastises Neji. “You’re attracting more attention than you’re s-scaring off.”

“Common places make me nervous.”

“It was your idea we stop here. I thought it better to press on.”

“I’ll not have you nodding off tomorrow when we meet the other dignitaries,” is his rebuke. “Even if it means going without rest myself.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine. Honestly Neji, you can be so -”

“Begging your pardon my lord and lady, but...have you need for these extra seats?”

Both Hyūga turn to see a third figure standing at the edge of their table, gesturing to the empty chairs opposite them. Just beside him is a fourth. Both of raven hair and ruddy eyes, Hinata can quickly tell what they are.

Thankfully she recovers from her surprise faster than Neji, and smiles at the pair. “We’ve no need, no - empty chairs are vanishing by the moment. Please, sit.”

Even as Neji glances to her incredulously, Hinata ignores him and watches the pair of young men. The latter seems to be about her age, the other a few years older. “Much obliged,” he offers with a smile of his own.

Hinata offers a nod in return.

“Forgive me, but...I could not help but overhear your conversation. Are you by chance headed to Salustia as well?”

In spite of herself, Hinata blinks. “I...yes, we are. I am vying for a position under Auquiana. Are you…?”

“Ignitrios,” he replies. “Our family has direct ties back to the original blessings. My father insisted we try our hand. Speaking of which…” He holds his out. “Itachi, of the Uchiha. And my younger brother, Sasuke.”

“Hinata of the Hyūga. And my cousin, Neji. Forgive his expression, he is...wary to be so far from home.”

“As are we...we have rarely left the city of our birth. But such a chance could not be passed by so easily.”

“Precisely. Perhaps we can make the last leg of the journey come morning together? Given we’re all headed the same place.”

“An excellent idea. I must admit, it’s comforting to introduce ourselves in a more...secluded venue. I suspect the meeting proper will be quite daunting. Knowing we are not completely isolated will be a comfort.”

“A good point!” It’s then Hinata looks to the younger brother curiously. “Are you vying for a position, or…?”

“I’ll be content either way,” is his reply, tone low and soft. “If I’m chosen, so be it. If not, I’ll still be an attendant for my brother.”

“That is Neji’s hope: to be my aide should I be chosen. But that all remains to be s-seen, of course. I’m sure I will be far from the only hopeful.”

“My brother is heir - I have little doubt he’ll take the role,” Sasuke replies, and she can’t help a smile at the pride in his tone. “He’s far better suited for politics, anyway. I’ve not the patience for them.”

“They can be quite daunting, yes. But I am eager to try and make a difference. My clan has long been divided, and...I have hopes of unification should I be accepted.”

At the idea of division, Sasuke’s brow furrows in obvious curiosity. But before he can ask more, a server finally finds them and asks for their orders. The group then fall back into easy conversation, Neji soon finding a conversational partner in Itachi as Hinata speaks to Sasuke.

“Have you ever been to Salustia?”

“Once, when I was very young,” Sasuke replies with a shrug. “I remember little of it.”

“I’ve never been...but I’ve heard it’s breathtaking. So much white marble and beautiful architecture. And the statue of Luxeria…! I cannot wait to see it with my own eyes.”

“That’s about all I do recall, admittedly. It’s far larger than you imagine it to be. And looks like it could leap to life at any moment.”

“Wow...I’m all the more eager, then! And I’m glad we won’t arrive alone. I’m fearful we’ll get lost…!”

“The castle sits atop a knoll and overlooks the entire city. If you ever get lost, just head there and reorient yourself. It’s where we’ll all be for the majority of the time, anyway. All roads eventually lead to it. At least that’s what my brother says - he recalls more than I.”

“Another wonder to behold, I’m sure.”

“We never got that close, so I can’t tell you. But it was beautiful even from a distance.”

Sinking into daydreams, Hinata rests her chin in a hand, watching rain slither down the window beside her. She can’t help but hope the weather will be clear when they arrive - to see the capital in anything less than a sunny day will surely be a grave disappointment. Hopefully Luxeria will bless the day with sunshine...with a little help from Ignitrios, of course.

Maybe it’s fate she’s met some of the hopefuls under the banner of fire. Still...she’ll pray to Auquiana to stop the rain nonetheless.

...but at least it helped drive them all here.

Once full of both food and gossip, the four part ways and head to their rooms until morning. Neji, as always, gives Hinata stern instructions to best protect her space.

“I’ll be fine,” is her weary insistence. “Besides, you are right next door. Should I scream, you’ll be a moment away.”

“Damn right I will be,” is how he leaves it with a grumble, bidding her goodnight before shutting the door.

Readying for sleep, Hinata sits for a time atop her bed, listening to the rain with closed eyes. For a moment, she can pretend she’s home in her room in the familiar showers of her coastal city. But the ambient noise beneath the rain is still too telling to ignore.

She thought she’d be more nervous, but...maybe meeting a few others and realizing they’re just as human as they are has helped quell any unease. It’s a big day, but...she has faith it will go well. At the very least, even if she isn’t chosen to represent her element, she’ll have an experience of a lifetime. Seeing the Luxerian capital, meeting so many other el’ven people…! Something she’d never get to do under her father’s thumb back home otherwise.

And maybe, just maybe...she’s already made some friends to hang onto once it’s all said and done.

     I will admit, I am...not sure what this is, plot-wise xD I was at a bit of a loss for what to write. Not much actual ship content, my apologies. Seems I’m not as entirely over my burnout as I’d hoped, eh heh~      Anywho, just some fantasy verse nonsense, really. Uchiha and Hyūga crossing paths on their way to the same destination~ I doubt I’ll ever do a full fic of this crossover since I’m already doing one that’s more OC-centric. Got plenty of other ideas anyway, once I’m in a better place to sit and do so :’D      Buuut it’s late, I’m wiped, and better call it a night. Thanks for reading~

[desiraypark]

Let’s take a tour...

A Tour of Clyde and Sherri’s Home Close your eyes and imagine. Well, don’t close your eyes because you have to read this.

Clyde bought the cozy two-bedroom house after the last great Cauliflower scheme. Sherri moved in a few weeks before their wedding. I imagine the exterior looking something like this...

LIVING ROOM

Alright. Now, we’re in the livin’ room. Very simple: Cream walls, butterscotch oak floorin’. Navy blue sofa against the wall, matchin’ recliner beside it. Dark wood coffee table. Flat screen TV mounted on the wall. Sherri’s additions: She picked out the table under the TV. Its color matches the coffee table almost perfectly. She put framed photos on top of it (we’ll talk about those photos in a few). At one point, she’d bought a coral rug to put up under the coffee table. Right now, she’s got a white vase in the middle of the table with some artificial peonies up in it. 

Oh, she also bought a shoe rack that’s by the front door (please use that next time). And a floor lamp. Just a regular ol’ floor lamp with a silver body and white shade. Before they got engaged, Sherri strongly recommended that Clyde get some real blinds and toss those temporary shades (he did). KITCHEN/DINING  Alright, now we’re gonna walk through the living room and into the kitchen and dining area. As you can see, the kitchen has maintained a...”classic” look—the wood panelin’, wooden cupboards and shelves.This yellowed linoleum that needs to come on up. The oven and refrigerator are both black--kinda new. Sherri’s mom once asked her when those two would get the kitchen remodeled, It reminded Clyde of his Grandma and PawPaw’s kitchen. The previous owners didn’t make any changes to it, so neither would Clyde.  Now--step on inside, y’all, I don’t bite--now, as you can see, when you walk all the way into the kitchen, the fridge is pushed to the wall on your right, sitting beside a half-counter that connects to the oven. You see the counter wrapping all the way around to the door--giving Clyde and Sherri some good cookin’ space. They do other things on this counter, but that ain’t my business to tell. They love lookin’ out this window over the sink to look at the birds and butterflies in the backyard. Of course, that door leads to the back yard, but this door is right here to my right is the pantry slash laundry room.  Sherri’s additions: So, Sherri got her grandma to make these cute lil’ embroidered curtains for the window and the door. Sherri keeps sayin’ that she’s gonna learn how to sew, but that ain’t girl ain’t gonna start no time soon. Anyway, she just bought this big blender--she said it’s for smoothies, but she really wants Clyde to make her some frozen margaritas this summer. She also bought them a 12-piece Pyrex set. Now, I don’t like to stereotype men, but both me and Sherri were shocked that Clyde had so much cookware, and silverware, and a good set of dishes. I mean, the man had all kinds of nice pots and pans--even a cast iron skillet! But the thing is, the stuff was barely used. Of course, he’s always busy at Duck Tape, but one day, he told Sherri that he’d bought it all during his “Food Network phase”. Okay, to your left is their dining table. Nothin’ fancy. Let’s move right along... MASTER BEDROOM So, if y’all turn around and step outside of the kitchen and look to your left--that door right there leads to Clyde and Sherri’s bedroom. It has the same design as the living room: cream walls, butterscotch flooring. Y’all follow me inside. So, as you can see, the bedroom set is a dark wood, I guess that’s ebony or somethin’. It came with a queen-size sleigh bed, a vertical dresser, and a nightstand. Clyde could have gotten a horizontal dresser with the mirror attached to it, but he didn’t think he’d need it. He just put a floor length mirror on the back of the door. Clyde also keeps sayin’ that he wants a king-size one day--he’s a big man, you know? But he didn’t wanna overcrowd the room. To your left is the closet, where Clyde and Sherri keep their shoes; their coats; their nice clothes--you know, dresses, suits, and all that. Now, as we look past the closet, our eyes will land on the nightstand, and beside that, the bed. Clyde put the bed there so he could look up at the sunshine in the morning. Then, on the other side of the bed is the horizontal dresser with its attached mirror. Then, directly to your right you’ll see a vertical dresser. That’s a case for Clyde’s prosthetic arm on top of it. Sherri’s additions: Sherri hasn’t added much to the bedroom. Of course, she was definitely gonna need some space for her clothes, so she and Clyde went on and picked out a horizontal dresser. Sherri kinda hates it, though--because it doesn’t match the rest of the set. Clyde bought the landscape painting over his dresser. But other than that, Sherri’s only additions are her personal items, a few candles, and some extra bedding sets that she keeps in the linen closet. BATHROOM Okay, now let’s step out of the master bedroom and walk across the living room and into that tiny, little hallway. In front of us is the linen closet. To your right is another room and to your left is the bathroom. Let’s step into the bathroom, it’ll be quick. Matter of fact, don’t even step inside--just peek in. The wall is a pale yellow, the floor white tile. The sink is to your left. That’s a medicine chest on top of it--I don’t think they put those in too many new houses, these days. Of course, that’s the toilet beside the sink, and beside the toilet is the tub. That’s Clyde’s shower curtain. The mother duck leading her ducklings across a pond. He picked out these green rugs, too. Sherri’s additions: Again, all Sherri really bought to the bathroom are her personal items...and her desire to set the shower curtain on fire.  SPARE ROOM

*closes bathroom door* Now, let’s turn around. We have what’s my favorite room in Clyde and Sherri’s home. The “spare” room. I love it and they love it because it’s a space they built together. When Clyde and Sherri were dating, it was an empty room, minus a few boxes and a random lamp with a bird on it. 

Come in, come in.  So, when they were engaged, Sherri helped him sort through his boxes. Just a few boxes--three or four, I suppose. They had books; photos; stuff from his time in the military, and some of his mom’s belongings--some jewelry and a few little accessories. Clyde told Sherri that he just never got around to unpacking the boxes, but she knew that he really meant, “I wasn’t ready to unpack these boxes”. So, she didn’t push him with this one. Instead, they just put a lot of thought into what they’d turn the room into--then the stuff in the boxes would find their places.  So, finally, they decided they just turn this into an “unwind” room. Not an entertainment room, but a place to just relax, or take a nap. But as you can see, they kept the furnishing minimal--because who knows? The unwind room might have to be transformed into the Lil’ Shlyde or the lil’ Clerri room, one day. Don’t tell them I came up with those names, they’re liable to take me serious. So, I know, the first thing y’all probably noticed was the console record player right in front of you. Somethin’ about the scritch and scratch of some vinyl just puts you in a different kind of mood, don’t you think? Up against this back wall is a modular sectional. Clyde and Sherri take many a nap on this thing. Doesn’t it look cozy? I wonder what they’ll do with it if they move out...

But anyway, to your left--is a modular bookcase that houses the lovebirds’ combined book collections. Over here, under the window is a mini fridge and a tub of snacks. The unwind room turns into the “PMS” and “eat your feelings out” room, real quick! Okay, that wasn’t my business to tell.  I’d show you the backyard, but it isn’t much. It’s fenced in--that I will mention. But other than that, the yard is patchy. They have a couple of reclining lawn chairs. They don’t have a grill because Jimmy is the designated Logan Grill King, so why bother? But it’s a pretty empty backyard--nothin’ special.

So, that brings me to the end of this tour. I hope y’all enjoyed it. Please pay Clyde and Sherri a visit. They’re a lovely couple. Ask Clyde to fix you up a drink he calls the “Sherri”. I don’t know what’s in it, but I know that thang had me in their living room doin’ The Wobble one night. The Wobble wasn’t even playin’ and I was doin’ it by myself. Needless to say, he doesn’t make it for me anymore.  But anyway. Bye y’all!

[elddansurin]

Something horrible has happened. I’m playing the Sims.

The Simsperiment: part 1

This isn’t replacing my awful NV photo diary (still working on that), but I couldn’t not share this awful sims photo diary with my friends and loved ones. Follow me down the this dark and terrible road, won’t you?

We begin our story with the Camtoe household, a rag-tag band of randomly generated youths, as they move into the largest lot in the neighborhood.

Aren’t they lovely and charismatic? From left to right, our cast includes: Queefetta Bonecrusher, Turd Ferguson, Vulva., Hurdy Gurdy, Bernedette Butthole, DEATH AWAITS, Men O’Pause, and Maxine Padd. Much appreciation to @pickupshartist​ for their help with all those names. Let’s join the family as they move into their dream house.

But all their dreams are nightmares. 

Thankfully, after a long journey up to the third floor, the Camtoes found a lovely and furnished apartment, which I forgot to capture in its initial state. 

They were treated to state of the art beds, appliances, entertainment, and plumbing. Maybe they were short a few beds and toilets, but at least they were fancy. Which is good, because everyone had been running the gauntlet for about 6 hours by this point. 

And by god, were they tired. But the first four beds filled up quickly, so the stragglers struck up a fun and engaging conversation in one of the toilets.

Feeling friendly with each other, the new roommates decided to watch a romantic comedy together. If only they had some chairs.

Only at this point did they realize there was no shower in the house. While they did have a kitchen sink, none of them felt the need to wash their hands. Which is a shame, because they had all gotten new jobs, and it was time to head on down to work, smelly as they were. Maybe they should have timed things out better, considering the rest of the house.

By mid-afternoon, the full timers headed out to the office. Two hours later, they were home and again faced the daunting, endless hallways. All of them exhausted, all of them absolutely reeking.

Unfortunately, by late evening they returned to find that their fancy and comfortable bathrooms had gotten a considerable downgrade. A considerable, clowny downgrade. A clowngrade.

Vulva. was reluctant to make the journey, and instead took a quick dinner before heading upstairs.

Unfortunately, Turd Ferguson set about summoning The Clown much quicker than anyone anticipated. Things got uncomfortable real quick.

By 3 am, Gladys the Clown had made it up to the third floor. She quickly got to conversation with Turd. He attempted to awkwardly flirt with her in the bathroom, but she was too busy sobbing to think about love.

Then she kicked him out to pee.

It was only the second day, and morale was hitting the first of many rock bottoms. Our heroes longed for the Before Times, before they came to this horrible yet expensive house.

Not only that, but they were now down to a single bed between 8 people. 

But could love blossom in this tired, smelly household? Hurdy Gurdy made an awkward attempt at flirting with Men O’Pause, who was not receptive due to the lingering miasma. Things got uncomfortable after that.

On Wednesday, the little workers were having a much harder time navigating the hallways, as tired as they were. What was once a 5 hour trip was creeping closer to 9 or 10 hours, not helped by how many times they passed out on their way to the front door. The sun had set long before they made it back upstairs.

Unfortunately, in their absense, the kitchen received a bit of a downgrade.

And their high-end wall mounted flatscreen had been replaced by... these.

By Saturday, morale was dropping at a breakneck pace, and not a single one of these sims had been on time to a single one of their shifts. Work performance was slipping as quickly as morale.

Their only solace was the remains of their entertainment center. Stinky and sleep deprived as they were, a 90s tube TV proved to be exceptionally popular.

The last of their worldly comforts, the bougie bed, was replaced.

Also, the house had gained a considerable collection of pet supplies through all three floors. It seems as though the terror house had become the hip and happening hangout spot for every stray in the neighborhood, and animals need to be taken care of. Wouldn’t want to be cruel.

And while their only remaining bed was shitty, it was, after all, a bed. There was never a moment it went unoccupied and unenvied.

And then, when it seemed their living conditions couldn’t deteriorate any further, the bathroom got redone.

The house had become astonishingly filthy. Trash littered the floor, old food stunk up the counters, and the refridgerator had begun to leak and spark ominously.

Sure would suck if the toilet broke.

The floor pissing began. Not a single one of these sims knew how to fix a toilet, and no one seemed willing to learn. Maxine Padd obsessively mopped up the overflowing toilet, but the water just kept coming.

Conditions continued to deteriorate at a rapid pace, and the roommates began getting very inconsiderate.

Truly, they were being pushed to the brink. Some handled the pressure better than others. Maxine Padd bonded with the toilet.

They had to do something. Something had to change. They called a maid to clean up their abundant piss puddles, never bothering to question why they hadn’t felt the need to do so until now.

At 10:30 am, she arrived, chipper and ready to mop up human urine.

By 4 pm, she was within 10 feet of the stairs leading to the third floor. Then, her shift ended. Time to go home.

Farewell, Hell House. At least someone got to leave.

[lotorrential]

Joyrides Part I

A faint unfamiliar humming sound woke him, it repeated itself in regular intervals. He opened his eyes squinting at the clock on the wall. It was an hour before the scheduled arrival time. His nightmares had interrupted his sleep more than once and he had paced around restlessly at night. Maybe if he had had company, his sleep would have been better. Feeling a warm, familiar body next to his, he brushed away the thought. His bunk was empty. Yet, he was used to it. Lotor got up and walked over to the shower cell. The water was warm, almost hot. He felt it on his athletic body, his lavender skin, the hot temperature warmed him, made him feel alive. He washed his hair, he was proud of his Altean mane which needed diligent care. He never dried his hair, the warm temperatures and dryness on the ship would dry them quickly. Lotor stepped out of the shower and put on his uniform. The communication panel on the wall was blinking. It was a voice message from Mya: "Lotor, please put on the hazmat suit, but not the helmet. The planet shows strong signs of radiation and it will destabilize your Galra technology. We need to go old school. We will depart in one hour stat. You'll find us on the bridge, over and out." Lotor checked his hazmat suit hanging in the wardrobe. He hadn't used it in ages and hoped that it had no leaks. Once he put it on he went into the hazmat cell which detected minimal leaks of oxygen and fixed the holes immediately with nanoscale adhesives. He did not like the constricting nature of the hazmat suits, it disabled his extreme flexibility while fighting. Yet, he knew that the planet they were descending to was in a worse shape than they had anticipated. Lotor was weary, but mentally ready.

When Lotor approached the hallway to the commanding bridge of Mya's ship the "Eternity" he saw her on the floor pulling things out of a cupboard on the wall. Gas masks, air filters, boots and hazmat suits were all over the place.

"What is all this?", he asked bluntly. Mya was surrounded by soldiers who seemed queasy to see their commanding officer rummage around in the storage boxes. But Mya triumphantly jumped up and beamed from one ear to the other. "I knew I still had them somewhere. These are original Russian GP5 gas masks the same model which were used in the Chernobyl exclusion zone. Look at them! Just look at them! And the smell of rubber and motor oil. Don't you just want to lick it?" Lotor looked at her aghast. Mya was the strangest woman he had ever met. She was beautiful, even by Altean standards, but she also reminded him of… Slav or Pidge or even worse his mother...No, that was not true. She was a scientist, but she was warmhearted, she cared deeply about the people she encountered and she loved life and its adventures. She was always running after some new discovery or new theory and following her led him to quite a few wild goose chases around the galaxies. No, Mya and his mother had nothing in common. He sometimes wondered what Dayak would think of her. They would probably fight in the arena first and then go out for drinks together afterwards. The thought made him chuckle inside. Mya was a unit. A single entity. She did not belong anywhere, not to anyone. She was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Lotor grabbed the gas mask Mya handed him reluctantly. Had these been used and most importantly had they ever been decontaminated?

"You need the right filters to go with it, but if you don't have any filters, you can even use an old stinky sock and it will work!" Lotor's gaze grew even more very sceptical. Mya waited for him to say anything but he remained silent. "If we go down there we need the right equipment.", he finally said with a sigh, sinking in further when he saw the overexcited expression on Mya's face: "Watch out, I have thought of everything, I have anti-radiation tablets to protect your thyroid, take one now before you go down, just to be sure! A head lamp, a mechanical machine gun model Kalashnikov from the 1990s, be careful it has an awful return and I do not want you to kill any friends, right?" This was not the date Lotor had anticipated. Where was the romance in radiation? He craved flowers, music, dinner, moonlight!

Yet Mya handed him military boots and thick gloves. "Here a set of overclothes and a pair of boots. You put the overclothes on top of your clothes. Once we leave the contaminated area, you take of the clothes carefully and we make a big bonfire to burn them and also the covers of your boots. Aren't bonfires just totally romantic?" - "Not radioactive ones…", Lotor retorted with a pouty face.

"This is not the first time you go to a contaminated area, do you?", he asked her flatly upon which she turned around, took his hand and squeezed them.

"Oh my dearest Prince, don't worry. Just remember the rules and you'll be fine: stay on the roads, never touch the dust, don't go into the shrubs, they are highly radiated. Don't touch any animal, you don't want rabies and radioactivity in your bloodstream. Do never enter a room without backup. Always go in pairs or in teams of six. Two front, two back and two centre in case of attackers. If you have internalized these rules we're good to go." - "I just want us to be safe. I want you to be safe! Are you sure this is a good idea?" Mya looked at him with an expressionless face, which turned into a sharky smile. "Don't worry. It'll be fine! We'll have a tact team with us."

Lotor calculated his options. It had been his idea of taking Mya on a date to the abandoned Fun park in the Theta quadrant, but he had not anticipated that it had been abandoned because of a nuclear catastrophe. He was even more shocked to learn that Mya just shrugged it off and wanted to go down nevertheless. He had dreamt of a romantic dinner, or at least a picknick with Champagne, strawberries, chocolate, cupcakes... But in a radioactive zone they were not supposed to eat anything except Powerbars, because any food meant possible radioactive ingestion.

Once Lotor and Mya had put on their gear they took a small landing vessel to land on top of one of the buildings next to the fun park. They were joined by four soldiers of Mya's ground team. The building was one of the old soviet style concrete buildings. Mya had equipped them both with Geiger counters to monitor radiation. She demonstrated it on the roof. The floor where rain had washed away most of the radioactive dust the radiation was minimal, the shaded walls though were highly contaminated. They left the vessel and walked across the huge roof floor in direction of the door leading below. A few mutilated corpses lay around on the ground, just bones, cartilage and shreds of fabric. Mya wanted to test their radiation, but Lotor pulled her back.

They were just preparing to open the door to enter the building when they heard noises from the street. Carefully Mya signalled that she, as the smallest of the group, would silently go to the edge to see what was making the commotion. There was a truck approaching, in it about five men in rags. Machine guns and rocket launchers were mounted on the truck. The car approached the building and pointed the rocket launcher directly in their direction. Mya gave the order to the ship to leave immediately without them, as there was no time for them to run across the roof and embark without getting a direct hit. Mya pointed at the neighbouring roof. They needed to make a leap of faith. She jumped. Her team and Lotor followed. While they jumped a rocket hit the spot where the ship had been a few moments before. Half of the roof of the other building collapsed immediately releasing big clouds of dust and debris. Lotors heart beat faster, he tried to calm his nerves and hoped that the gas masks were any good. He then signalled everyone to go into cover. They had a good view of the street from their hiding point.

The street itself was empty, glistening golden in the sunset, but far away there was a corpse on the ground. The wind was moving it, but Mya hesitated. The wind was coming from another direction. The body was moving. Slowly, but haphazardly it was trying to raise itself, although just the torso was left. Mya only pointed and signalled to be combat ready. To aim at the head. She had encountered zombies before, but depending on the cause of the zombification their symptoms showed differently. This was the moment when they heard the screams from every direction and a slow scratching noise at the door leading to the roof.

[albinostorm]

Read a short excerpt from Learning Earth's Deathly History.

"June, 1700 hours Eastern Seaboard Time: The nose of the U.S. Navy’s Virginia-class, nuclear-powered, fast-attack submarine USS Texas (SSN 775) opens a dark void in the Arabian Sea. She is covertly traveling at twenty-eight knots, near 12° latitude and 64° longitude, at a depth of 850 feet. Inside the hunter killer’s advanced command and control room is an array of computers and other sophisticated electronics with navigation, sonar, weapons and diagnostic information displayed on over forty monitors. The complicated equipment is installed to maximize space. Multicolored lights from the ever-changing imagery on the dozens of displays can be seen dancing on the walls and ceiling of the ultramodern hub. Near the center of the operations center, standing bent over the edge of a table, is the lethal submarine’s Captain. He is actively studying nautical charts and satellite imageries showing on high-definition flat screens mounted flush in the table’s top. Standing next to him is his executive officer (XO), who is keeping watch over the crew of specialized technicians and officers seated working at their stations. All the underwater sailors are dressed in wrinkle-free tan or dark-blue U.S. Navy uniforms. There are naval pins and patches on their shirts including the Submarine Warfare Insignia breast pins that are either gold (officer) or silver (enlisted) dolphins.

Though commissioned into service in 2006, the USS Texas remains a state-of-the-art combat submarine of the U.S. Navy. She displaces 7,800 long tons, and her 337-foot long hull, which is constructed of HY-100 high-pressure structural steel, is the strongest ever built. She carries twelve Tomahawk cruise missiles, Mk-48 torpedoes, and was recently loaded with a few of the cutting-edge supercavitating Barracuda torpedoes. The sea warrior has earned the respect of anyone who has ever sailed on her. Her slogan, “Don’t Mess with Texas,” was adopted from the proud state after which she was named—and the slogan couldn’t be truer! When not running lone wolf on top-secret missions, or sailing under standard operational patrol, the Texas is at times an unseen escort protecting aircraft carriers and other U.S. naval ships traveling to and from their theaters of operation.

The Texas’s Commanding Officer, Captain William Norton, is fifty-six years old. He’s an experienced veteran of war, who graduated with top honors from the United States Naval Academy and Naval War College. Captain Norton is a polished man with a rigid stature. He stands board straight using all five-feet and seven-inches of his aging form. His short, graying hair is parted on one side, and thin-rim glasses correct his sea-blue eyes. Fleshy cheeks, thick eyebrows, and a wrinkled forehead complete his commanding appearance. Though he may be over-the-hill, it’s obvious that he takes exceptional care of himself, since he is quite fit. The intrepid naval commander, who is wholly admired and respected by his crew, is an avid reader of history, especially historical naval warfare. Full of grit, Captain Norton is a tenacious leader with unparalleled knowledge of his submarine, and he has spent the last twenty-seven years of his naval career onboard nuclear-powered submarines.

Over the course of his silent service, Captain Norton has led countless missions stalking and shadowing numerous Russian and Chinese submarines as well as other adversarial fighting ships. While on those cat-and-mouse hunts he and his highly skilled crew of submariners were perpetually ready, if so ordered, to sink-and-destroy an enemy vessel on a moment’s notice. Furthermore, he has led several covert operations spying on the sea trials of new Russian and Chinese ships of war to learn their strengths and weaknesses. Captain Norton has even presided over missions to salvage technology and military secrets from ocean floors deposited there by rival missile tests, or from naval ships sunk by calamity. In years past, he was the Captain of an Ohio-class submarine armed with Trident II ballistic missiles tipped with thermonuclear warheads. Then, he and his stealthy submariners secretly patrolled the coastlines of rival nations. Captain Norton and his regimented men sat under the cloak of the sea, ready to launch a nuclear first strike if ever so ordered.

Captain Norton wanted command of the Texas ever since he first saw her keel being laid in 2002 at a Virginia shipyard. Of note, the Captain was personally instrumental in working on silencing the Virginia-class submarine’s acoustical signatures. He did so when he worked with engineers at the Navy’s Acoustic Research Department (ARD), located on Lake Pend Oreille in Northern Idaho. They used 1/8th scale remote controlled models of Virginia-class submarines for doing their research. That aside, three years ago the Captain’s dream was realized when he replaced the Texas’s aging commander, whose long life at sea ended with his retirement. Captain Norton’s love for the Texas may be partly due to the fact that he was born and raised on his family farm in the Lone Star State where his ancestral roots stretch back several generations.

Currently, the fearsome sea hunter and her formidable crew are deployed on a top-secret mission. Having just finished scrutinizing sonar screens as well as satellite imagery, all in the course of looking for any nearby threats, Captain Norton gives the order, “Reel in the communication buoy; we’ll reconnect to FORCEnet when we surface.” (FORCEnet is a Naval Network Warfare Command networking communication link that allows decision-makers and others to be aware of current missions, so they can share information in real time that might prove vital to the success of an active operation.)

“Take us to periscope depth. Ten knots low ’n slow,” further orders the Captain.

“Aye, Captain. Reel in the buoy. Take us to periscope depth. Ten knots low ’n slow,” responds the XO as he relays the Captain’s commands to the communications and diving officers.

“Aye, docking the buoy,” answers the communications officer.

“Aye, periscope depth, zero degrees rear rudder, ten degrees up all planes, ten knots low ’n slow,” answers the diving officer while passing the command to the pilot.

“Aye, periscope depth, zero degrees rear rudder, ten degrees up all planes, ten knots low ’n slow,” answers the pilot while moving the single joystick that maneuvers the massive submarine. A whistle sounds, followed by a short ringing noise as yellow lights begin flashing at two of the control room’s stations. The Texas answers the helm without delay and begins ascending. Any standing submariners lean toward her nose as she planes upward. The diving officer calls out their depth every 100 feet, 50 feet, and lastly 10 feet as the fast-attack submarine rises silently from the depths of the Arabian Sea until trimming out at periscope depth.

“Raise the masts,” orders Captain Norton.

“Aye, Captain. Raise the masts,” repeats the XO as he passes the orders to the photonics technician on deck.

“Aye, raising the masts,” promptly answers the young sailor. The moment he types on the touch screen in front of him, a pair of masts, topped with special instruments, begin rising stealthily from the top of the submarine’s sail. (A submarine sail is also called a fairwater. In earlier generation subs, the sail was called the conning tower because that’s where the con was located.)

The telescoping poles’ heads quickly puncture through the wavy sea surface and immediately begin relaying information to computers in the control room. Monitors come to life with high-resolution infrared and video imagery with rangefinder data. The imagery covers a 360° view of the surface from the submarine’s position. Other screens in the command center display information round-the-clock. They are littered with colored dots fed to them by the sub’s sonar as well as government satellites when they can connect to them. (The sub’s sonar features are so sensitive that a sonar officer or technician can hear a ship sailing 1000 miles away, and even hear shrimp eating.) The colors of the dots differentiate countries. Moving a cursor over one of the dots makes the ship or aircraft’s point of origin, destination, friend or foe status, and cargo immediately appear on screen. The crew can also send and receive information using ELF or VLF low radio frequencies when at depth. The submariners endlessly watch sea and sky, so they are always aware of what surrounds them.

Captain Norton studies the live thermal and video images for a moment before giving the con to his XO. He orders him to maintain speed at periscope depth, for exactly twenty minutes, before diving to 800 feet and proceeding full speed ahead to their mission destination. The Captain exits the command and control room just as the steel orca surreptitiously enters the Gulf of Oman.

Inside the wardroom of the USS Texas are eight men from SEAL Team Fourteen, “Fury and Company.” This is no ordinary group of the elite fighters. The members of this special SEAL Team were handpicked by the U.S. Naval Special Warfare Development Group (NSWDG) to be on this tier-one black-ops unit. They are a special missions and counter-terrorism SEAL Team. Only two such secret squads exist. The seas were heavy when the sailors transferred onto the USS Texas with their tactical gear when she surfaced temporarily in the Indian Ocean, less than twenty-four hours ago. The men boarded by rappelling from a HH-60 Sea Hawk helicopter that flew them from the deck of the USS Gerald R. Ford (CVN-78) aircraft carrier deployed in the Atlantic Ocean. They had landed on the aircraft carrier after flying from Joint Expeditionary Base—Little Creek, located in Virginia Beach, Virginia.

The SEALs have just finished listening to Lieutenant (Lt.) Brock Barnette, the Officer in Charge (OIC), give instructional orders he received from U.S. Naval Forces Central Command. All eight warfighters are seated body tight on three sides of a table with bench seats. There is a large sealed envelope bearing the official seal of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) placed conspicuously on the center of the table. A notepad and pencil are placed in front of each man. All the men are dressed in black shorts and t-shirts with the SEAL Trident insignia embroidered on them in gold. Attentive, their eyes are fixed on a large flat screen that is attached to a wall. A video camera mounted above the screen is pointed toward them. Captain Norton has just entered the room.

“Captain on deck,” announces Lt. Barnette as he starts to stand with his men to acknowledge the Commander.

“At ease, sailors. Stay seated. We have a very short window of opportunity, so let gets this show on the road,” orders Captain Norton, who is now standing beside the table facing the camera.

The imagery showing on the screen is split into two views. On the left side is the Director of National Intelligence, Brian Erikson. He and CIA agents are seated around a large conference table at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. On the right side is Secretary of Defense, General Douglas Wheeler. He is sitting behind an ornate cherry desk in his office at the Pentagon. The live video feeds appear via a secure satellite link to FORCEnet.

“Everyone, I’ll be brief. You have nineteen minutes to conclude this meeting before my sub is diving and we lose the satellite link. So I suggest you use this time wisely,” informs Captain Norton.

“Captain Norton, I understand completely. Okay men, no time to waste! Welcome Lieutenants Barnette and Storm, Senior Chief Petty Officer Knight, Chief Petty Officer Hernandez, and Petty Officers Mancinelli, Van Dyke, Brooks, and Goldberg to this most important briefing. On behalf of America, we give our utmost gratitude for your bold service to this great country as we ask you once more to go into harm’s way. Lieutenant Storm, I’m glad to see you’re back on active duty,” remarks Secretary of Defense General Douglas Wheeler

“Thanks, General,” reply all the men.

“Men, this mission is extremely critical for two reasons. First, we need to know why a wealthy jihadist arms dealer, who is an al-Qaeda sympathizer and devoted ISIS supporter, is meeting with a Chinese nuclear physicist, Iranian rocket engineer, and a Russian nuclear submarine expert on his yacht. Secondly, we know from information-sharing amongst the CIA, British Secret Intelligence Services, and other allied security agencies that a well-financed secret society has formed with global roots. We are referring to this new synergetic group of evil as the DOOMS-TEAM, which stands for the ‘Dark Order Of Maligned Seeking To Eradicate AMerica.’ We believe the members of this malevolent alliance are from China, Russia, North Korea, the Middle East, and other parts of our world. It’s very likely that the DOOMS-TEAM has their people embedded in England as well as other allied countries. Their demented collaborators are no doubt hidden here in America, too.

“DOOMS-TEAM is hell-bent on destroying the Western way of life, for ideological or perverse religious reasons. They seek to obtain and use weapons of mass destruction to destroy America, or, at minimum, to create great devastation, panic, and economic collapse. It’s believed that all the men meeting on this yacht are DOOMS-TEAM members. We desperately need solid intelligence, such as video, photographs, written documentation..."

To continue reading simply download Part Two: Learning Earth's Deathly History now for just .99¢

https://www.amazon.com/Knowledge-one-second-Learning-Deathly-History-ebook/dp/B082S4GYBY

#usnavy #navyseals #virginiaclass #seals #sealteam #navywarfare #thegreatshipofknowledge #submarine #submarinewarfare

[mariacedano-blog-blog]

Beautiful Homes of Instagram z Thanks to you, my loyal readers, Home Bunch has being inspiring and growing for almost a decade. My passion for interior design wouldn’t be enough to work on it for all of this time if I didn’t have the kind of support I get from each and every one of you. You show your support for coming here, following me on social media and with your comments and emails. Although I love sharing the magazine-ready homes designed by the various interior designers, builders and architects I feature, I must say that nothing inspires me more than real homeowners. Yes, people like yourself, people that work hard to make the best they can with the place they call “home”. This series, “Beautiful Homes of Instagram”, started with the goal of letting others know about these real homeowners, so you could have the chance to meet some people you haven’t yet. This series is to showcase these talented people and it’s for us to learn about their experience and story. Leslie from @my100yearoldhome is a person you can immediately identify yourself with. She is kind, funny and down to earth. Do you know those people you meet and instantly feel you’ve known them for many years? That’s Leslie! Trust me, you will learn a lot with her and you’ll love to see every single picture she is sharing with us. Thank you for this spectacular tour, Leslie. Hi everyone! My name is Leslie of @my100yearoldhome and I am so excited to share our home with you. I still cannot believe Luciane invited me to be a part of “Beautiful Homes of Instagram”. When she first reached out to me, my first thought was, “But our home isn’t beautiful. It’s just a home with of a bunch of my flea market finds!” Our home is actually 102 years old and only two families have owned it since it was built in 1915. It was originally built as a wedding gift and then passed down within the family for two generations. My in-laws bought the home in 1969. In 1998 we bought their home … and they bought ours! We were looking to upsize and they were looking to downsize. You can only imagine what our moving day was like!My husband Dave and I have been married for thirty-one years and we have three grown boys who are ages 26, 24 and 23. My husband and three sons all played sports in college so our home has had plenty of wear and tear, such as baseballs flying through an antique glass windows and soccer cleat marks on our family room coffee table. But these memories are what make our house a home and they will be with us forever (including the table!). When we bought the home we knew we wanted to remodel it to fit our growing boys (did I mention they are 6’7”, 6’6” and 6’5” tall?). So in 2000 we remodeled the downstairs by opening up and expanding the maid’s room into a family room, expanding the kitchen, remodeling two bathrooms and adding a back porch. In 2008 we remodeled our master bedroom by adding a walk-in closet and new bath. We used the same architect for both remodels, who specialized in historic renovations. We used the original house plans as a guide to match everything, including the moldings, windows, and French doors. We live in the Pasadena area in Southern California and since our home looks like it could be located on the east coast we have been fortunate to host a lot of film companies. Our home has been in ten movies (including Raising Helen, Fired Up and A Mighty Wind), about twenty TV shows (such as Mad Men, Criminal Minds and CSI Cyber) and nearly 50 commercials. This year, during the Super Bowl, a Skittles commercial aired, that was filmed in our master bedroom. The most popular room in our home for filming is our kitchen, by far. We have even had fake snow on our home numerous times! I am a full-time artist and have been painting professionally for interior designers for years. Home design has been a passion of mine for as long as I can remember. I am always watching HGTV (my husband calls it the “talking lamp” as it’s the first thing that is turned on when I enter a room) and I quickly fell in love with Fixer Upper and what I call “farmhouse style”. I started an instagram account and blog this spring and never expected how much fun I would have sharing our one hundred year old home. My blog serves as an inspiration for me and it’s a fun place to share how I have redecorated our home and simplified the design and color palette. I recently redid our family room, living room and master bedroom in a very neutral palette.My decorating style is “flea market comfortable”. I love visiting our local flea markets looking for great finds for our home. I tend to style our home in everything white and chippy, and I love using an item for a purpose it was not originally intended. I collect a lot of things such as vintage china, old quilts, silver pitchers, Rae Dunn pottery and cranberry glass. But my favorite passion is entertaining. I love to cook and set a creative table, so we host dinner parties for friends all year round. Beautiful Homes of Instagram Our home technically has four stories. I love our California basement (which just means it’s really small) and fifteen years ago we put in a wine cellar. The basement is the perfect place to keep wine cool. The only addition to the original footprint of our home is the family room and back porch that we added in 2000. Exterior Paint Color Exterior Paint is Dunn Edwards Swiss Coffee and the black shutters and door is Dunn Edwards Black. Living Room When we moved in to the home in 1998, the only thing we did was paint and changed the light fixtures. Unfortunately none of the original fixtures remained in the house so I shopped the flea markets for fixtures that were the style of when the home was built.Our floor plan is very traditional. When you enter the home the living room is on the left and the dining room is on the right. Earlier this year I remodeled the living room and had slipcovers made for the couches. Rug: Rose Bowl flea market Art & Furniture Painting by Ray Turner. Couches: No longer available. Coffee table: Pottery Barn, no longer available. Loved & Tresured I recently found this incredible general store counter and I do think it is my favorite piece of all of the items in our home! Blog post about how I found my favorite vintage general store counter. Drapes Drapes: Restoration Hardware Silk Taffeta Pavilion Stripe. Dining Room I love to entertain so we are one of those rare families that use our dining room all of the time. Paint color is Behr Espresso Martini. Dining Room Furniture Earlier this year we purchased new furniture for our dining room. I love the lighter wood and more casual style! Dining Table: Pottery Barn Toscana Extended Dining Table Seadrift. Dining Chairs: Pottery Barn Aaron Side Chair Seadrift. Tiered Tray: Creative Co-Op Wood Two-Tier Tray with Metal Handle. Sideboard: Hayneedle Four Hands Irish Coast Sideboard. Mirror: Pier 1 Whitewashed Window Mirror. Ready for Guests Our dining table is set year round, even when we have nothing planned. I guess you could say I like being ready to entertain! Thanksgiving Table Setting Ideas Thanksgiving China: Spode Celebration and Spode Festival. Placemat: Pier 1 Burlap Ruffle Placemat. Metal Vases Metal Vases: Vintage find from @thewarpedtable Drapes Drapes: Restoration Hardware Silk Taffeta Pavilion Stripe. White Wood Chargers: Pier 1. Rug & Chandelier Rug: Long Beach Antique Flea Market Chandelier: Rose Bow Flea Market Butler’s Pantry One of the things I love most about our home are the ten foot ceilings and the fact we have a butler’s pantry. I have told my husband many times that a butler’s pantry should always include a butler. But so far, no luck. Faucet: Rohl’s Country Kitchen deck mount. Paint Color Paint: Farrow and Ball Cooking Apple Green no.32. Sink & Countertop Cabinets, wood countertops and copper sink are original to the house from 1915. Flower Market and “I Must have Flowers” sign – Magnolia Flowerland In my years of flea market shopping I have acquired a lot of sets of vintage china so the pantry is perfectly suited for my many collections. Recently, I converted one end of the butler’s panty into a flower arranging station. It’s the perfect location to arrange flowers for our home as I love to visit our local flower mart on weekends! Zinc Flower Pots Vintage flower pots: @throughtheporthole and @vintagekunktionla Kitchen We remodeled our kitchen in 2000. Our kitchen is the nucleus of our home and it’s the place where we always gather. I love to cook and entertain and our kitchen is perfect for both. Every December we host our annual Christmas party and I still cook all of the food, even though the guest list is over to 250 people. It takes an incredible amount of work but I use a color-coded spreadsheet that keeps me on track. It’s really true! There use to be a laundry room in the back of the kitchen but we removed it to open up the kitchen view to the back yard. I designed the kitchen with our architect and chose to make our cabinets 2” taller than the standard height as we are all a very tall family. We lived in the house for almost three years with no dishwasher (and three young boys) so I ended up adding two dishwashers when we remodeled. They are great for entertaining. Range hood – custom. Kitchen Paint Color Cabinets – Custom built, paint Dunn Edwards Swiss Coffee. Island Countertop Kitchen island: Custom built, 72”l, 36”w, 38”h, butcher block top. Farmhouse Sink Farmhouse sink: Rohl Original Single Basin Farmhouse Sink White. Faucets – Waterworks Easton Classic Two Hole. Backsplash Tile: Mission Tile West, Revival, 3” x 6” subway gloss white tile. Lighting Lighting – Island hanging pendants – Restoration Hardware (no longer available) Kitchen Flooring Flooring is Oak. Fall Decor I love how Leslie decorates her home for Fall. Isn’t it so beautiful? Wall Paint color – Farrow and Ball #32 (similar to Behr Sagebrush). Family Room The biggest change to our home was the expansion of the family room and kitchen in the remodel of 2000. We knew we needed a large space for our growing boys, especially when it came time to watching sports. Our architect even designed a large built-in linen press to house our TV and stereo equipment. I recently redid the family room by adding new slipcovers, a chair, a rug and art. I also hung three white wood chandeliers from a vintage ladder over the dining table. The white vintage windows on the wall (see picture below) are from the Long Beach flea market. Sectional: Pottery Barn Basic Slipcovered 2-Piece L-Shaped Sectional. Upholstered Chair: Pottery Barn Buchanan Roll Arm Slipcovered Swivel Armchair. Pillows: PB Drew Embroidered Pillow. Coffee Table: Vintage find from the Rose Bowl Flea Market. Floral artwork: Painted by the homeowner, Leslie Saeta Fine Art. Family Room Rug Rug: Pottery Barn Braylin Tufted Wool Rug. Farmhouse Ladder Chandelier Blog post about how to build my ladder chandelier. Dining Chairs: Crate and Barrel Village Wood Dining Chair. Dining table: Custom made. Vintage Windows Blog post about how to hang the vintage windows. Vintage White Windows on wall: Long Beach flea market. Paint Color Paint: Behr Tanglewood Project Room My new project room was formerly my office, and it had beautiful original wood on the walls, which was very dark. I didn’t really need an office and my life as a blogger necessitated the need for a craft room instead. So I painted the room white (it four coats) and I now just love this room! I found the table at the Rose Bowl Flea Market. It was painted turquoise but I sanded it and painted the legs black and its perfect as a work table. I have a separate art studio in our Carriage House (in the back yard) so this room is where all of the DIY’s for my blog happen! Cow Painting: Leslie Saeta Fine Art. Work Space Work Table: Rose Bowl Flea Market. Paint: Dunn Edwards Swiss Coffee. Metal Chest of Drawers: @throughtheporthole Master Bedroom In 2008 we decreased the size of our master bedroom so we could add a larger walk-in closet and bathroom. I love how the front eaves of our home add so much personality to this room. This summer we did a second renovation in our master bedroom, which included paint, new marble on the fireplace, new curtains, bedding, and new furniture. I made the headboard myself out of an old door and I love it. Paint Color Paint: Behr Pixel White. Bench: Overstock Elements Upholstered Dining Bench. Fireplace Tile Fireplace Tile: Mission Tile West, Carrera tile, 1” x 2” diamond Rhomboid honed. Tulips: Faux Soft Touch Tulip Bundle Flower. Furniture Headboard: Made by owner, door from @vintagejunktionla Side Tables: Gilford 2 Drawer Night Stand – Threshold. Side Table Lamps: Creative Co-op Wood and Metal Table Lamp. Rug: Target Evoke Safavieh. Pillows, Duvet: Pottery Barn. Bed Quilt: Target Raw Edge Quilt – Threshold. Master Bath We remodeled the master bath almost ten years ago and used honed marble throughout. When the house was built they had no concept of walk-in closets and large bathrooms. Originally the master bathroom also opened up to the sleeping porch so we knew we needed to close it off and make it larger. Tub: Mission Tile West – The Lagoon Cast iron Dual Tub with Pedestal. Tub Faucet: Mission Tile West, Rohl Perrin and Rowe exposed wall mounted tub filler. Tiling Floor Tile: Mission Tile West, Classic white basket weave honed. Shower Tile: Mission Tile West, Classic white 2” x 4” honed. Back Yard and Porch Our back yard has changed a lot since we moved in. We added the back porch, outdoor kitchen, pool and recently converted the paddle tennis court to a sand volleyball court. Outdoor Living The back porch is used just like another room in our home. With the fireplace and heaters in the ceiling, we use the room year round. Porch Chandelier: Purchased Décor Steals but also available here. Metal Dining Chargers: Vintage find from @thewarpedtable Great Finds Vintage Rod Iron Sofas: Long Beach Flea Market Rug: Pottery Barn Folly Indoor/Outdoor Rug. Tobacco Baskets: Etsy Vintage Tobacco Baskets. Rope Hanging Shelves: Hobby Lobby Sofa and Chair Cushions: Pier 1 Outdoor Dining We dine under the chandelier hanging from the tree all of the time. It’s the perfect setting to entertain guests. Teak Dining Table and Chairs: Purchased in Bali Plates: Wedgewood Edme Succulents Succulents: Rose Bowl Flea Market. Metal Dining Chargers: Vintage find from @thewarpedtable Rattan Placemats: Pottery Barn Water Hyacinth Round Placemat. The Art of Entertaining Last summer I hosted a rehearsal dinner in our backyard for my sister. The long table in our backyard and lights were the perfect setting! Ball jar glasses: Hobby Lobby Interiors & Photos: Leslie from “My 100 year old home“. Make sure to follow Leslie from @my100yearoldhome on Instagram to see more photos of her beautiful home! Art website – Pinterest Be part of the Home Bunch community. Leave your comment! See more “Beautiful Homes of Instagram“: Newest Fall Post: Instagram Fall Decorating Ideas. @sanctuaryhomedecor: Beautiful Homes of Instagram. @MyGeorgiaHouse: Beautiful Homes of Instagram. Click here to see all “Beautiful Homes of Instagram”. Posts of the Week Interior Design Ideas – The latest on home decor and paint colors. Follow Home Bunch on Pinterest, Facebook and Instagram. You can follow my pins here: Pinterest/HomeBunch See more Inspiring Interior Design Ideas in my Archives. Popular Paint Color Posts: The Best Benjamin Moore Paint Colors 2016 Paint Color Ideas for your Home Interior Paint Color and Color Palette Pictures Interior Paint Color and Color Palette Ideas Inspiring Interior Paint Color Ideas Interior Paint Color and Color Palette New 2015 Paint Color Ideas Interior Paint Color Ideas Interior Design Ideas: Paint Color Interior Ideas: Paint Color More Paint Color Ideas Hello, friends. I hope you enjoyed seeing Leslie’s home as much I did. Isn’t it cool to know they have filmed all of these films, tv shows and commercials there? Did you have a good weekend? Our weekend was busy but very Blessed and I know that our week will be great. Keep having faith and being positive. Bring Light to this word and be kind to others. What goes around comes back around. It always does. We’ll talk again tomorrow! with Love, Luciane from HomeBunch.com Follow @HomeBunch: Contact: “For your shopping convenience, this post might contain links to retailers where you can purchase the products (or similar) featured. I make a small commission if you use these links to make your purchase so thank you for your support!”

[transgressivepistoleer]

Pistoleer Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1: THE SNEEZE THAT SAVED THE WORLD

The icy breath of winter slipped in with the fall winds for Waldundberg; plucking the richly colored array of leaves from gnarled forest trunks and casting them into the stone walls of the town. The natural surroundings of Waldundberg meant that sturdy resources were in abundance. The trees of the Ashur Forest provided food and lumber easily enough, but a more inventive method had to be found for the collection of stone.

The clacking of wheels echoed throughout the homes and businesses, the carts they carried bringing goods into town, and bringing resources into the towering Mount Initus. The bell of The Aether Congregation Church somberly rung the hour out to be 7:00 and the sinking sun confirmed. The ringing echoed through the robust homes and stone streets, and permeated the rafters of The Watchman’s Nip, in which Cazpar Sarkis hummed tunelessly while cleaning a glass, dulled eyes jumping from face to face. The usual crowd of Halmvians, a race Cazpar was stubbornly proud to be part of, had gathered near the eastern wall letting stories from the past year make a colorful atmosphere in the tavern.

Haggling and song slipped between the streams of tales, while others were content to sit and ponder. Scattered here and there Cazpar could see the few Siteid’s who had settled in town, most notably the old Tamrat couple by the fireplace. Father Tamrat had come through as a missionary, building the A.C church out of pocket for 25 years; and Mrs. Tamrat was undeniably the greatest captain of the guard ever. Cazpar smiled at the couple, and then gazed around in a contented fog. Cazpar noticed the paler form of a lone Yonsight man doing his best with one of those infernal puzzle ball games. Quite uncommon this far north, (Yonsight’s, not puzzle games,) but the mountain did always attract the adventurous. It is after all, very important. Mrs. Sarkis skillfully made her way through the patrons, ensuring all were having a good time. A bellowing laugh came from the knot of Halmvians and everything seemed ready to slip into the haze of a good night. Then the door opened.

Three Sirhan’s stood in the entrance, hunched forms shrouded in officious burgundy, masks of swirling patterns and jagged angles covering all but egg yolk eyes which gazed into the crowds. Cazpar swallowed hard. Usually only goods and ideas came from the mountain. Sometimes instructions about a new order or news from other lands arrived too. One Sirhan was uncommon; two meant someone was in trouble. But three Sirhan’s coming from the mountain, only once before. The worst war in history erupted across the three kingdoms soon after.

Cazpar eased her way from behind the bar and forcibly grinned at the masked visitors.

“Greetings and welcome to the Watchman’s Nip my good Irh’s. Ah, is there anything that I can…help…you…” The blank stares saw Cazpar peter out into awkward silence.

The leftmost Sirhan coughed gently. “We would be most inclined for your safest table please. Thank you.”

Cazpar grinned forcefully and quickly led the trio to the Watchman’s special table, the one that all taverns seem to have; a small piece in the far corner and facing every other table and, most notably, the door. The Sirhan’s slid into their seats and waved off Cazpar’s inquiries for refreshments. They then huddled close to one another and remained there, still and quiet. Giving a small shudder Cazpar hurried back behind the bar counter. Slowly noise began to return.

The door slammed open, killing the conversation again. From the dusks embrace five bards entered, the darkness vainly clinging at their swirling cloaks. The front one, a Siteid with a scraggly beard, laughed loudly at some unheard joke. He easily moved through the crowded room towards one of the few empty tables.

“Service, service for thirsty bards! Come now, where’s that Halmvian hospitality that we know and love ‘eh?”

Cazpar glanced at her mother with uncertainty. Three Sirhan’s may have had more presence than these bards, but bards were more… squidgy. No one really knew how to confront the zealous rouges, and they certainly were more capable to committing physical harm than a Sirhan. Cazpar took a sharp breath and headed from the oak safety of her counter.

           “Greetings and welcome to the Watchman’s Nip my-”

           “Well, what a missed sight right lads?” the head bard interrupted. “Two days on the road, vanished, right there.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis. He wore white, fingerless gloves that marked him as this group’s leader. His eyes were a startling shade of emerald. Both the gloves and his eyes contrasted with his dark Siteid skin. Around his neck was a small, teardrop pendant with an elegant wing design. Notable features quickly examined, Cazpar smiled.

“You flatter me, Master Bard; now then-”

“Oh one as fine as you can drop the ‘Master Bard’ nonsense,” he interrupted again. “You may call me Beenaale.”

“Alright then Ma—Beenaale…” Cazpar said sweetly. Internally she vomited. “Now then, what would you gentlemen-”

“And lady,” Beenaale said, motioning to the smallest of their group.

“…And lady,” Cazpar forced out, “Like to have tonight?”

“Oh, whatever food you’ve got in surplus dearie, and a round of whatever you’re not saving. Year’s End is almost here right?”

“Most astute…Beenaale. Not many from the road have your tact, so I thank you.”

“Not at all, not at all,” chuckled the bard, “No point in a fast unless you can indulge after it eh? And seeing as how it’s a tetch slow, why don’t you get yourself a drink and come join us, my treat.”

“I wouldn’t want to intr-”

“Nonsense!” Interrupted Beenaale again. Cazpar really wanted to stab him with a fork. “If you won’t come here and drink with us I’m afraid my poor little heart would break. Besides, Aihue here is probably dying for something else but business talk, aren’t you?”

Aihue sat silent. She was hunched over the table, hat and cloak leaving little for the candlelight to show. One of the other bards nudged her, and something vaguely yes-like came mumbling out. Beenaale laughed nervously.

“Must be more tired than I thought. Apologies, forgot she had the brunt of the night watches. Well, nothing a good stiff drink won’t fix, right?”

“Or a good night without drugging’s,” mumbled Cazpar.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing sirs, just tallying out loud,” Cazpar laughed. She smiled as Beenaale took the lie and headed back to the bar.

‘At least they’re expecting the cheap stuff,’ Cazpar thought, filling up the mugs. ‘It’s not like they’ll be paying for it anyway…’

Six mugs placed on a spinning platter, five unwelcome bards. Four of dark intent. Three Sirhan’s that see everything, and two knowing tavern keeps with one play between them. Cazpar wove her way back to the bards with a smile. It took quite an effort to keep it there when Beenaale put his arm around her waist.

“Ah, the greatest thing man has conceived! And liquor isn’t that bad either, eh’ my little Antoran?”

Cazpar’s smile turned to a grimace. She knew enough Bardic to understand the terms…intimate meaning. Thankfully, everyone was too focused on the brimmed mugs to see or care about Cazpar’s slip up.

“Something…wrong?” Aihue mumbled.

…Almost everyone then. But thanks to her interest, the rest of the bardic company now focused in on Cazpar.

“Ah, well…” Cazpar said, trying to think of a lie. She felt Beenaale’s hand tighten on her waist. A few drops sloshed out from the mugs on the tray. Mrs. Sarkis edged closer to the group. Even with one arm she was still a good sword fighter. A Sirhan shifted slightly. Their chair was hard.

                       “Ah, ah… Ugh, don’t you just hate it when the sneeze won’t come?” Cazpar said rubbing her nose.

           ‘Please let them buy it, please let them buy it…’ she hoped.

           Beenaale nodded sagely. “I remember one time, absolutely dreadful. I was down on the Longroad…”

           Cazpar breathed an inward sigh of relief. As Beenaale weaved his tale, Cazpar collected herself and slipped on her, ‘Of course sir’, face. Unfortunately, her break period didn’t last long.

           “So we hung him at dawn. Ah, but my mouth’s dry and your arm is probably tired dearie. Put it down and let’s have a damned good time, ‘eh?”

           Cazpar forced a giggle and lay the tray in the middle. Between Aihue and Cazpar sat Beenaale, and across from him sat his three other companions. Cazpar numbered them subconsciously with Bard#1 closest on her left.

           “Thank you darling, but now comes the hard part,” said Beenaale. He took a deep breath, and swept his hands over the tray. “Oh great Bard above, fickle in your laughter, intent hidden by your Gambit, and serviced by Angelic Host; for the love of all things just stay out of this, please?”

           Every bard held their breath. After a few seconds devoid of godly smiting, Beenaale smiled.

           “Looks like the fate of tonight’s events will be manmade. Perfect! At times like these, it pays to not have divine eyes on you…”

The bards reached for their mugs. Cazpar glanced at the opposite window, saw no-one, and hurriedly tapped Beenaale.

“Pardon mas-Beenaale, but there is a couple men at the window, and they’re pointing at you. Who are they?”

Beenaale and bards #1-3 quickly turned to look. Cazpar quickly spun the platter.

“Ah, sorry sirs, I could’ve sworn they were there…”

Beenaale shifted back, brow furrowed in concern.

“Ah, think no more of it. But if you do see them again, make sure your warnings a tetch more…discreet…Anyway, enough with ceremony.”

Beenaale lifted the mug to his lips. Cazpar was certain she shifted one of the beyond-a-doubt-drugged tankards to him. She hid her smile with her own drink. A worrisome player would soon be out.

“Now hold on second boss,” Bard #2 began. “I still can’t figure out why you’d have to hang him? I mean, yeah it sounds like fun, but all he did was step on that mouse.”

The Siteid lowered his drink and scratched his chin. “Well, in hindsight, I guess the issue was kind of silly…But still, he shouldn’t have swapped seats with ol’ Lee.”

He started to drink again.

“Wait, where was old Lee?” asked Bard#3.

Beenaale lowered his drink. “I told you! He was on me left, then-hang on a tetch, better if I just show you…”

He grabbed Cazpar’s mug and set both that and his own drink down.

“Ok, so here I am,” he said, tapping Cazpar’s drink. “And Lee was over here, then…”

Beenaale moved each mug in a flurry, frustration evident as his men kept questioning the obvious. Naturally, he left both the drugged mugs alone (or at least, the mugs he thought were drugged.) However, it seemed the Bard didn’t want to let an opportunity for mischief go to waste…

“So when does the sne-ah, ah, AHCHOOO!” A sudden sneeze from Bard#3, and the spasm knocked Aihue’s drink to the floor.

“Ah, sorry about that…” Bard#3 said, picking up the empty tankard.

“No fuss, no fuss, here!” Bard#1 snatched Cazpar’s drink and poured half into Aihue’s. He then took Bard#2’s and poured some back into Cazpar’s.

“Now wait a second, that’s not fair. Let me see yours boss…” Bard#2 said. Beenaale and Cazpar stared dumbstruck as three grown men, and more likely than not killers, began shifting and pouring and squabbling over who got what. By the time they were satisfied, Beenaale was massaging his temple, muttering about ‘the new generation.’

“Seriously, how did you three make it into my employ? It’s like Car’Veni just, THROWS its most INEPT bards to me!” Beenaale shouted at the three across from him. “Ugh, sorry dearie, but could you bring another round? I’m sure these three will be able to pay for two…”

“Uhm, of course Beenaale sir.” Cazpar said. “I’ll just take these here and-”

“Now hold on a minute!” Interrupted bard#2. Cazpar crossed her interruption tallies. “We’ll drink these one we got right here, right lads?”

The other two agreed heartedly. Before either Beenaale or Cazpar could stop them, they all drank deeply. Bard and server held their breaths. Bard#3 smacked his lips.

“Say, that wasn’t half ba-” His head slammed against the table before he could finish. Bard#1 jumped up, drew his sword halfway, and then went down himself. Unfortunately Bard#2 didn’t seem to have had that large of a dose. Unsteady as he feet might be, he was on them, and not happy with his boss.

“You said that you’d drug the second round,” Bard#2 slurred out. Beenaale sat impassively. He reached into a hidden pocket. Bard#2 snarled and threw a punch. He tripped over Bard#1 and went down hard. He didn’t get back up. Beenaale pulled out a long cigarette and lit it.

“Well then, looks like the cat’s out then…” Beenaale blew a thin line of smoke. Despite every eye in the room on him, he was unnervingly unnerved. “So here’s what I’ll be doing then. I’ll pay handsomely anyone who helps me carry these three…subordinates of mine outside. I’ll be personally watching my young Aihue here.”

He reached again into his cloak and drew a small, clinking bag. He shook it expectantly. No one moved. Half the cigarette turned into glowing ash.

“Alright, fine. Keep the downed ones. See if I ca-” Beenaale froze as Cazpar deftly plucked the smoke from his lips and ground it out under her heel.

“Of all the blo-” He began.

“Smoking will kill you.” Interrupted Cazpar, grinning at such pettiness. Beenaale tensed. He took a deep breath, set the bag on the table, and brought the teardrop pendant to his lips. With a dull *thunk*, Beenaale bit away a hidden cork, spat it out, and drank deeply.

“Ahh, that slaked it…” Hissed Beenaale, menace echoing beneath his voice. Cazpar shrank back towards the bar. From the pendant came a putrid odor, like someone had left a barrel of seed oil out to rot. Something dark swam through the bards’ eyes. Something with wings…

“Now then, new plan.” Beenaale lurched forward as if on strings. “I am going to be taking my little bard, and you dearie, with me back to Car’Veni. And I will split the head of anyone who’ll try and stop me, ok?”

The bards’ head jerked to face Mrs. Sarkis. “I assume you’re the one actually in charge? Heh, one can tell after long enough…Now then, I’m taking your little tavern rat for both her insult, and as compensation for my Angel’s Blood…”

At this mention, everyone in the room moved back. Of course Angel’s Blood… Cazpar grimaced. And you didn’t suspect why? Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Beenaale loomed over the Halmvian. He lunged with the speed of a bullet and caught Cazpar’s arm in a grip of steel. Cazpar gasped. She could feel the bones in her arm shifting under his fingers. Plans disintegrated under pain and fear. Any thought of attack was discouraged by the thought of a broken arm. A few patrons rose, but kept back under the same thought. The bard yanked Cazpar towards him and grabbed her other arm.

“Now, now, don’t make this difficult,” Beenaale growled out. “If no one makes a scene, then w-AUGH!”

Beenaale released his ransom and grasped wildly at his back. Cazpar quickly snatched a half full bottle from the table behind her, saw the label, and swapped it for the candlestick a few inches further. Cazpar whirled back to face Beenaale. Thankfully, he was too preoccupied with his back to notice Cazpar, who promptly bashed him upside the head with her weapon. Beenaale stumbled. Clutching his head, Beenaale snarled at Cazpar. He reached into his coat, then cried out again. Cazpar took the chance, and smashed Beenaale again. He went down this time.

Aihue was leaning over the table, a smile wavering with exhaustion. Cazpar looked down at Beenaale. Apart from a nasty bump forming on his head, two equally nasty knives jutted out from his back. They were in surprisingly deep, seeing as how Aihue was barely conscious. Cazpar looked back to her savoir. Scratch that…Cazpar smiled softly at Aihue, who was now snoring on the table.

“All right you lot, let’s get this place cleaned up, shall we?” Mrs. Sarkis began moving about, stirring the others from stupor.

“We can’t keep them you know,” said Mrs. Tamrat. “Bards bring more bards, and that’s the last thing we need…”

“Wise as ever,” Mrs. Sarkis said. “A tetch morbid, but could Spindle look after them?”

Father Tamrat shrugged. “Don’t see why not. If they antagonize him, then it’s their funeral.”

“Aihue could stay though, right?” asked Cazpar, who was carefully taking out the knives from Beenaales’ unconscious form. “As fellow victims, I personally vouch for her compliance, at least for tonight.”

Mrs. Tamrat furrowed her brow, but any comment she might’ve made died to the sound of three chairs scraping in unison. The Sirhan trio moved through the room in their own bubble, patrons hastily moving aside from their path. They came to a halt before Cazpar. The lead Sirhan looked her over with expressions hidden by their mask. A slight turn, chittering of approval from the others, a turn back to the Halmvian girl.

“You are the one we decide shall come. Your name is Cazpar, yes? We may leave now or in six hours. When you have had time to rest.”

“Now just hold on little Irh’s,” Mrs. Sarkis began. “She just had herself a little ordeal, didn’t you dear? I don’t know what cause has you come down from Initus, but-”

“Then we leave in six hours,” the lead Sirhan cut in. “As for causes, ours is meant to be hidden. We may tell you it comes directly from Muse themselves the Si’cavalk, Mountain Lord.”

At the mention of the Sirhan chief of Initus, Mrs. Sarkis froze. Someone coughed awkwardly.

“Getting late, the husband will be worrying…” Muttered a lumberjack. She carefully slipped out the door, and the rest soon followed.

“Don’t worry Eva,” a Cartman said. He and a few others had hoisted the motionless bards (minus Aihue, who had been carried out by a placating Mrs. Tamrat.) “We’ll make sure Spindle gets the news.”

The door shut. Cazpar moved off to her room in the back; Mrs. Sarkis wouldn’t hear her daughters’ pleas to help clean up, simply stating the importance for rest. The Sirhan’s moved close to the stone fireplace and huddled down to wait, taking comfort in the grey slabs.

Cazpar’s room was sparse at best. She never found the time to fill it with much besides clothes and a few books. There were a few nick-knacks here and there. A stone she received from her first visit to Spindle. A practice sword broken in half from an event Cazpar still felt guilty about. Carefully placed inside her wardrobe was her best kept treasure, a single dragon scale her mother gave her; the only memory she wanted to keep from her time in Siteid.

Cazpar brought the scale out into the full moons light to admire. Flecks of gold sparkled along the triangular face, and with each tilt a veritable rainbow splashed across it too. Cazpar carefully set it back, and shifted into her nightclothes. She fell onto her bed and sighed. She didn’t want to go up the mountain, she really didn’t. Situations and possibilities whirled about in her mind’s eye, none of them very good. The cart will break on the way up or down, Muse wants some kind of bone sculpture made and I’m the best choice, Muse is going to question me about…him…

Cazpar rolled to see the moons. Dominating her view was Angelo, shining in pale gold splendor. In younger times, Cazpar thought that that was a silly name for her best friend, and called her Lunette. But that was long ago and she’d outgrown such fantasies. Peeking from behind was the second moon, a disturbingly white thing named Harlequin. That one always made Cazpar uneasy. If you looked hard enough, you could see a faint grin etched onto the surface. Cazpar never looked that hard. She turned over and fell asleep. She dreamt of beetles. And clocks.