#recesed lighting

[legovignette]

Chicago Single Wall Home Bar Inspiration for a large transitional single-wall brown floor and dark wood floor wet bar remodel with an undermount sink and glass-front cabinets

[danneelgrauls]

Freestanding - Traditional Home Office

Study room - mid-sized traditional freestanding desk dark wood floor study room idea with brown walls and no fireplace

[yorkfactorycomplaint]

Freestanding - Traditional Home Office Study room - mid-sized traditional freestanding desk dark wood floor study room idea with brown walls and no fireplace

[divinehedons]

nothing good.

navigation: masterlist

pairing: javier peña x foreign journalist!afab!reader

word count: ~3k

summary: javier peña recounts a tumultuous affair with you, one that while all-consuming, occured only within the span of three meetings.

warnings: this fic contains explicit sex, minors DO NOT interact! p-in-v sex, canon-typical corruption and javi's morbid consumption of cigarettes, angst angst angsty angst.

note: this is a self-indulgent fic written with getaway car on repeat in the background. because of that, i've started singing it as, "javi in the getaway car." i hope you enjoy and thank you so much for the influx of support! reblogs and comments are much appreciated!

"Do you remember how we met, cariño?" he whispers, quickly followed by the sound of a long exhale. A motion so familiar, you could swear you smell the menthols he always smoked; lounged in bed, in the office, after a long day, on the walks you both took.

It was that train of thought that pulls you back to the day you yourself remembered well. The threshold of you and Javi. It was a humid evening, like any other humid evenings you had in Bogota. The racuous night life, ruled mostly by hijinks and crime, and the smell of electricity in the air. You remember the dress you wore that evening. You remember feeling sort-of-nice about yourself.

His version: he was on the lookout for a tip about a syndicate in the city, some loose connection to Escobar with a few boys. You, the helpless, lost, and lovely little lamb who happened to knock on his car window asking if he can help you find your hotel. That he looked like a cop, anyway, so you thought you'd ask. He's met enough of the lost tourists every now and then, although none as pretty or as goddamn fuckable as you were. So of course he drove you back; he flirted tooth and nail to get in your bed, too. He didn't get the collar for the arrest when their target did eventually show up. But he didn't mind it one bit.

Your version of the story varied in some aspects.

Your version: Escobar had lured enough attention to fly you out to Columbia- you, the pretty face that could get through places your colleagues couldn't go to. You got close that evening, even meeting with a local dealer with your bashful eyes and a few drinks at the local watering hole. But the moment he feels up your skirt, you knew you had to get away. So you pretend to go to the restroom, using the nearest payphone to call in a tip, and then climbing up the bathroom window and into the back alley where you slipped away. Five minutes later, you see the typical undercover cop, not as undercover as he thinks he is.

So you decided to save him, knocking on his window with the flirtiest smile on your face. It's easy to know what he wants, with his eyes sneaking glances at the valley of your chest, the curves of your body. It's easy when you lean over to kiss his cheek as thanks.

"I'm Javier, what's your name?" You look over with a small smile and reply with your own.

"Nice to meet you, Javier."

The decision is right there, so you take it. You fuck a cop so you can hide the inklings of suggestions that can expose your doing.

"We fucked that night, didn't we?" You hear him laugh at the other end, your crass wording summarizing the excitement of that evening.

But you did fuck. His moustache nuzzling against the crook of your neck as his cock drives you wide open, your legs on his shoulders, your moans forever echoing within the receses of his brain even when he left you, satiated and reporting back to process the paperwork of the arrest he didn't get to make.

Sometime before that, though, you find out he's more agent than cop. It turns out, men are much more willing to talk when they're fresh post-coitus. He speaks about the American South momentarily, evidently guarded. He cups his hand over the match you lit up, chasing the flame to light a cigarette as he makes his first awkward excuse to get out of your room. You laugh at him, turning over to call for room service as he dresses himself.

"See you never, cowboy."

He thinks of your warm cunt on the long night that follows after. The taste of your wetness would remain in his memory even after the next time he fucked a different girl; an ambitious lady of the night he wanted to recruit as his spy. You'd haunt him as your laughter emanates when the nights are too quiet, trailing before those four words he mutters under his breath when memory hits him too strongly.

See you never, cowboy.

—

From the other end of the line, he mutters something in Spanish, knowing you understand very little. "Fuckin' haunted me like a ghost, baby." Another deep breath, this time followed by the swig of whisky. "Funny thing was, the next time I saw you, you were coming outta prison."

"To be fair, Peña, I was recovering a stolen camera." You laugh too. "And it was a police station."

Ah, that stolen camera. Javier remember the day when he would have knelt before that camera of yours in complete submission for bringing him back in your life.

He had been checking in on Carrillo, a week or so after, planning out the fragments of their next plan of action when he sees you, fuck eyes and all, right at the front desk of the station, flipping frantically through a Spanish-English dictionary in an attempt to try and understand the procedure you were supposed to be doing.

He leaned against the doorway for a moment, finishing the last of his cigarette before chuckling as he exhaled the smoke. "She said you're supposed to fill out the form," he finally said, watching your head turn and recognize his voice as he tips his head slightly. "Did you get into trouble or somethin'?"

It takes a moment for you to collect the form and make your way to him while the officer disappears to retrieve your belongings, a moment before you settle down into the nearest seat beside him with a breathy thanks, searching your bag for a pen. "No, no trouble... My camera got snatched while I was exploring the city. It was empty, but I'm glad it turned up again."

When you finish filling up and handing over the form, he stands beside you, easily translating between you and the officer. An affair that had been going on for half an hour, over and done with barely fifteen minutes since Javi saw you.

He takes the chance before you slip between his fingers again.

"At the risk of being painful turned down by a pretty woman, d'you maybe want to go out tonight?"

You look to him, and he barely catches the glint of hope, maybe even mischief, in your eyes. But you play it along, tilting your head to the side as if weighing your own options. It was a foregone conclusion. You've been thinking about him, too.

"C'mon. I'll show you around like a true local."

You sigh, smiling lightly as you reach for his hand, scribbling the hotel you were at now and the room number.

"Tonight at 8, Javier. I'll be waiting."

Admittedly, you had your own reasons for involving yourself with the agent. Because, in the week beforehand leading up to the robbery of your camera, you knew you were being followed by unsavory company. You knew too much. You talked to too many people. You linked too many powerful people to a much bigger conspiracy.

You understood, most of all, that these men were capitalizing on troubled people battling their own addictions.

You had to get out of the country. You had to get out fast. And when you did, you had to make sure the incriminating photos you had taken were in the hands of someone who wouldn't destroy them.

The evening rolls around and you dress up well, applying the finishing touches of your lipstick when you hear the knock on the door. It's the image of him, leaning against the doorway, with his leather jacket and combed hair, reeking of menthols. It's how you'll always remember him.

"Ready to go, sweetheart?"

You smile at him, slipping on your cardigan while you fiddled with the prints in your pocket. The folded up collection of evidence that could very much have you killed.

"Born ready, agent."

The evening he planned was conventional, albeit the order different. The stereotypical dinner and a movie for him became a movie and then dinner. The reason was logical enough. "Well, that way, I'm sure we have something to talk about over dinner and it's not awkward." You laugh, but you eventually remark it as a smart move.

He takes you to see Indiana Jones, and he flirts hard. He plays off slipping his arm around your shoulder. He plays off pulling you close to him. He plays off sneaking popcorn from your tub. You play it off too. You play off the fact that you could've caught him staring at you for half of the movie. You play off the fact that you eventually lean your head on his shoulder. You even play off the way you hold the hand from the arm he had wrapped around you, pretending you didn't see the way it produced a shit-eating grin to his face.

Javi takes you for empanadas after. letting you talk about how much you enjoyed it, how you crushed on Harrison Ford (He's so smart, isn't he?), and even how you'd never survive such scenarios.

"You worry your head too much, pretty baby."

Somehow, between empanadas and the late night haze, you end up tugging Javier back to your hotel room, giggling like a teenager as you kiss him again, his mouth, where skin was uncovered by his moustache, had turned rouge from your lipstick and the way you kissed each other so hungrily.

He pushes you into the room just as you giggle and tear your cardigan off. "Hm, thank you for tonight, agent," you whisper, pulling him close for another kiss as he shuts the door behind him. He chuckles deeply, thick fingers trapping themselves in your hair as he tugs, forcing you to tilt your head back so he can attack the expanse of your neck.

"So respectful, pretty lady. It's why you're such a good fuck—"

You laugh, fingers reaching blindly to unbutton his shirt, to free him fast enough of his clothes. He's not so patient. He simply grabs and tears your clothes open, a brute show of strength that leaves your head spinning and your knees weak. All of it, happening so fast, until he was fucking you from behind, your hands gripping the headboard as the torrent of desire overtakes you both.

"I'm starting to think you love this cunt, Javier," you moan out, earning a growl from him as he wraps his large left hand around your neck, pulling you back so you arch your back for him. It makes you squeal, moaning into the warm, humid air of the Colombian evening.

"Maybe I do, corazon. What'ya gonna do about it?"

Just then, he thrusts the hardest, spearing you wide open. The sound that comes from you is so heavenly he almost thinks he just heard an angel sing to him.

"That's it. Take it like a good girl..."

It is the image of your face, features induced by an orgasm that he almost started believing again. He, who left a woman on the altar, the eternal betrayer. He, who had fucked his way through the prostitutes of Bogota. He, who looked at every woman from head to toe. He, the eternal womanizer, brought to his knees just by you.

Perhaps that was why fate had brought you into his life. To teach him a lesson he'll never forget.

That time around, he's not tripping over himself to get out of your room, completely basking in the way you look, chest heaving as he retrieves the packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. It's that brief distraction that you use, not only to slip the folded up prints in the pocket of his pants in the other end of the room, but to get the camera you just got back, loaded with new film as you take a picture of him with a fresh cigarette between his lips.

The flash that goes off reveals your intentions. "Now, now, you didn't ask if you could do that, pretty baby," he says smoothly, puffing out smoke, letting the tension build between you. You smile cheekily at him, winding the reel forward. It takes a moment, but you recognized it in his eye.

Just as easily, he pounced at you with the renewed beastly strength of a panther, pinning you down and smirking at the sound of your giggling, hair sprawled beneath you as he grabs the same camera, taking a photo of you, laughing and smiling so brightly he would've thought you were the sun.

When your laughter fades, it's when you speak to him. It's as if you could never trick him as you planned to beforehand. "I... I left a few prints in the pocket of your pants."

He pauses, cigarette now halfway done as he raises his brow.

You think, retrospectively, that you recognized the moment the palatable magic between the two of you fades into nothing. That you recognized the moment the dream ended and reality set in.

He stands, smudging out his cigarette as he inspects his pockets. And there it was, the pictures you never meant to see, the pictures that you knew would greatly help the manhunt against Escobar. The path that would lead Peña to fulfill his duty.

"Where—"

"I don't think it matters."

He sends you a glare, turning over to the next print. And then the next, and then the next. "You lost the fuckin' right to tell what does or does not matter." Then, methodically, he folds them up and sets them down on the ruined sheets. "Are you some fuckin' snitch?"

It was your turn to glare, sitting up from where you lay on the floor, hands propping you up behind. "No—" you began, "I do this for a living, Javi."

Perhaps that was when he knew that it was over. He tries not to show it: the sweet shock as sharp as a gunshot wound.

Again and again and again, the same words you said when he first met you echoes in his ears. A warning, he now sees, that he should have listened to when he had the chance.

See you never, cowboy.

—

From then on, it became an administrative affair. You never saw him— but they spent agent after agent organizing your escape from the country without your head getting blown off.

The last time you saw Javier Peña, it was the night the Embassy was driving you to the airport, guised under a different name. Left alone in a small office space, he looks to you like a wounded puppy, betrayed and barely hiding his hurt.

"Is it such a mystery?" you ask him, turning away to pretend to fix your hair in a mirror. Really, all you wanted to do was to stop seeing his puppy-eyed face. Because, you knew too, that one word from him would be enough to make you stay, safety be damned. "You know the place where you first met me. I was always going to leave first."

He scoffs, standing up and walking away.

There were two versions of the last meeting:

Your version: the last thing you saw of him in Bogota was his wide shoulders, turned away from you, walking away and shutting the door to give you some so-called privacy. You grit your teeth, clenching your fists around the letter you wished to give him before you left. You turn around, dropping it into the nearest bin. The conclusion of an affair marked for a messy end. "See you never, cowboy."

His version: you, disappearing into the backseat of an unmarked car. In the early evening, he sees the silhouette of your frame, calmly seated as the car started, driving away into the dark Columbian evening. The shadow of you, riding away in a getaway car. He puffs the last smoke out of his cigarette, dropping it in the ashtray to allow the last embers to burn through whatever was left. Then he turns around, going back to his work without another word said.

He should've known. Nothing good starts in a getaway car.

—

He called you, now months later, when he received an envelope containing only two prints, shipped all the way from another land. The prints made it evident from who he receive the package.

It was the two pictures the second time he fucked you. Moments before everything fell apart and set you flying away like shrapnel.

Bogota, to you, had become a distant memory. A job you did some time ago. If it wasn't for Javier, you would have never remembered the name of the city. Not when the rest of the world was brimming with stories.

Bogota, to him, now only existed with the shadow of you. He catches himself, every now and then, thinking about how you'd enjoy the new movie they released over the weekend. How you'd hold on to his arm and talk his ear off about the things he found interesting. How the beds he found himself laying on contained the ghost of your perfume.

So he buried himself in work. And then slowly, he fucked other people just to find traces of you in their willing bodies and dark rooms. It was never the same. And he's starting to think it'll never be the same.

Having recounted everything, the two of you listen to each other's breaths, not caring for how expensive such a call was going to be.

"So..." you tried to start, clearing your throat. "Why did you call?"

He thinks about it himself for a moment. He swallows once. Then another time.

"You know, if you asked, I would have shared my life with you."

[jaxxsoxxn]

Hi, first, i need to say that i love work and your AU. Second, i have some hcs if you are intrested, specificlly about Owen:

He didn't died when he was 8, he survivid, using the same tecnic that Eobard use when he got shot in the head.

Now i gonna explain how, so Owen is Digger and Meloni's son, and Meloni's father is Eobard;

Owen have a negative conection with the speed force, because Eobard have it, and Meloni have this conection as a recesive gen, and his father ( in the comics) doesn't have any kind of conection, so by genetic he get the same conection as Eobard.

In conclusion, with this such traumatic event, he became a full negative speedster, and he end up doing not so good things, and have this Black part in his eyes.

Sorry if i said some stupid shit, haven't read the comics. And inglesh is not my first lenguage, so theres sure mistakes in text. ❤

*johnny bravo voice* Woah mamma!

thank u for dat, Kaliesuriens! (noting the fact that u liked my bsing about hail/cold weather: if no-one got me, I know Kaliesuriens got me!)

Me, actively ignoring canon Owen bc he's full of time travel bs: D:

Also me, loving the idea of Owen being a speedster by blood and not the good one: :D

He was eight years old when it happened - eight years old and dead. He woke up in a bag, which was painfully slowly dragged along. Well, maybe dragged was a bit too rough of a word for it. He was carried around, but it seemed like every single step took hours. His hands reached to grab it, not fully understanding the situation, when he just went through the material.

Owen felt short of breath, his eyes moving faster than light, his whole body moving faster than light. His stomach was wet, for some reason, and the strangers around him cocked their heads in his general direction, but it felt like they took years to do so. He didn't want to be here, he couldn't understand what was happening.

So he ran.

By the time he realized how fast he was running, it was too late. He had no idea where was he or where was his dad. His stomach ached, so he finally stopped on the side of a random highway, checking it out. While the material was bloody, under it his skin was slowly coming together, healing the wound. He found himself watching it with horrid curiosity, his mind empty.

He didn't exactly feel hungry, but he felt weak. Slowly, stared to run again. It took him a very short time for a human to understand what was happening, but for a speedster? It felt like days went past. He knew of Flash, his father having "inside information" about the man, and it wasn't exactly hard to put two and two together.

But there was no excitement, only bland bitterness. Was his power the reason why he was separated from his dad? Was his power the reason for the hole in his stomach?

Was it the reason why he couldn't stop stomping on the border of Speedforce and normal time?

His mind and body were stuck in their too fast for normal humans ways. Aging took him a hundred times as long, and it seemed he couldn't be let go of. Even when he finally found his father, one single time after two years, he couldn't tell him of his body and mind still being here.

Sometimes he saw a few weird men there and there - some flashlike, some more like the reverse version of the man. He started taking advantage of his half-being by bringing hurt to people who stood in his way in any shape or form. How dare they? He tried so hard to be set free, just for them to not even cherish their freedom?

How could they?

The first time he and Reverse Flash met, he was fifteen. Godspeed just got freed from the Speedforce and Thawne, like usually, had to run - away or against Flashfamily? It didn't matter, it never did. He was just so bitter - why can he get out whenever and all he does is go back? Always, always, always-

Before he noticed, he put a foot in front of the man, with enough speed in his step to get there in a 0.0001 second, or whatever. A yellow Flash costume flew with its owner's body inside, Thawne as shocked as the Flash family standing behind him. There was a horrid, cold zap of electricity when he showed up, his whole body heaving when his lungs suddenly needed air.

He was back, or as back as he could be. There was something wrong with his body though, his arms and legs shielded by a black lightning, electricity in the air making other's hair stand. He felt twitchy, needing to move, needing to run. So he did, ignoring confused stares and the sound of footsteps after him.

He was free.

He went to find his father, who was as hard to get to as always. It took him a while. It took him too long. What he ended up finding was a group of rouges messed up and lacking a member. He was everything, but happy. Using the knowledge he acquired as a kid and mixing it with his power, he became for a while Captain Boomerang The Second, until he could find his father.

Imagine his shock, his surprise and his anger when it appeared that a woman called "Amanda Waller" got him not only collared, but also chipped. You never realize how scary is a speedster until it's too late.

Or would be if not his meeting with Kid Flash, who happened to be there. They called him Junior Revers Flash, the speedster family, like it was about them. Like it ever could be. But they also practically handed him over to the woman.

The bomb didn't do jack shit, and trying to cancel his speed with the same weapons as they cancel Flash's speed worked out as well*. But she finally figured it out, because of course she did. Now, he was paying for it, but was the deal not worth it, when few dead people could cost him his father's freedom?

He knows how it is to be stuck in one place and even if he'd have an issue with him, he would never wish the same fate upon him.

a small fanart for it (n my design of the kid thats fueled by revange)

some explanation bout it, too <3

Don't worry bout this edgy kid! Im sure Flasher n Digi will take care of him at some point <3 (at the moment he's around 25 lorewise, since my good sir Digger is 45 in my mind) But yeah, meet Waller's hellhound, who took after his father the typical response to be the one doing everyone's dirty work lmao

[comiiical]

Would it b too bad to use his face as Eric in Prue and Andy’s main timeline? I’d have to make the warlock powers a recessive gene from Alan’s ancestry, very much recesive one in deed, but? What do you think? Also you’d have to picture him with very light beautiful blue eyes instead of his brown ones, but? Wdt? Yay or nay? I use him for chris, I know, but eh, whatever they can repeat faces they’re family and could perfectly be genetic spltis because of Chris’ dionysus birth situation. Vote with an eggplant if yes. Give me a peach if not XD

[julipoelrey]

Las medidas contra la pandemia funcionaran?

En estos momentos la informacion que recibimos acerca de la pandemia y la propagacion es mucha y en su mayoria no es informacion util que pueda servir para determinar la eficacia de los protocolos implementados para su contencion.

Hay que resaltar que existen dos grandes problemas para controlar la pandemia, el primero es concer la cantidad real de enfermos que posee cada pais debido a la incapacidad de los gobiernos para la toma de muestras o por decision politica ocultando las cifras como se denuncia hoy en china y demas paises del ala comunista y el segundo es la duracion de la propia enfermedad en las personas que la contraen, el enfoque de los gobiernos la mayoria sin una hoja de ruta clara debido a que es un fenomeno que no se habia presentado en la historia reciente de la humanidad, es la de cerrar los paises a todo nivel dejando solo las cadenas de abastecimiento funcionando, esto implica que tanto las personas enfermas como las sanas estan guardando cuarentena para evitar la propagacion del virus, el costo economico y en libertades es inmenso y ya se esta hablando de una posible recesion mundial que podria desencadenar una tragedia mayor que implicara una gran perdida de vidas incluso a una mayor escala que las producidas por la pandemia, no podemos caer en el analisis simplista de decir que la salud es lo mas importante y que la economia no lo es, encontramos casos muy bien documentados en Africa y Centro America donde la pobreza genero guerras y hambrunas que cobraron la vida de millones de personas y que incluso despues de decadas de haber terminado siguen sin poder recuperarse. 

Entonces que hacer?

Es claro que el enfoque y las medidas que se implementen deben proteger tanto la salud de las personas como la salud de la economia.

Las personas enfermas y la poblacion vulnerable la prioridad.

La tecnologia como herramienta de prevencion es la clave, ya vemos como en Corea de Sur se ha logrado implementar una estrategia que  aisla a las personas enfermas de las personas sanas  intentando evitar la propagacion, sin cerrar del todo la economia, ellos implementaron un app que debia ser instalado en los equipos moviles, una vez la persona es diagnosticada como positivo se puede hacer un rastreo por GPS de las rutas, movimientos y sitios visitados,  alertando a la comunidad de un posible contagio debido a que compartieron espacios con la persona infectada, ademas de tener una alta capacidad para la realizacion de los test que superan los 18.000 diarios, han podido reducir el contagio de la enfermedad, ademas de brindar una mejor atencion a los enfermos logrando tasas de mortalidad inferiores al 1%.

“El verdadero problema de la pandemia es que se pueda sobrepasar la capacidad de los sistemas de salud para atender los enfermos”. 

Pero que pasara una vez sean levantadas las cuarentenas el problema habra desaparecido, pues claramente no, por eso escuchamos que muchos paises necesitan hacer un cambio en la estrategia y se habla de terminos como cuarentena inteligente o cuarentena light que permitan el reinicio de las labores economicas y asi evitar una caida mas profunda en la recesion venidera, arriesgandose entonces a una nueva subida en las estadisticas de contagios.

Al final sera la ciencia quien vendra a nuestro rescate con vacunas y tratamientos que controlen eficazmente la enfermedad, pero no nos llamemos a engaños el coronavirus vino para quedarse y ha cambiado la forma en que los humanos nos relacionamos socialmente. 

El problema es de todos y todos debemos aportar para que se normalice la situacion a la mayor brevedad, acatando las medidas que se implementen, basta ya de nuestra  erronea creencia que somos mejores o estamos fuera del sistema y por eso podemos violar las medidas que se estan implementando, aportemos nuestro granito de arena para la solucion y no nos convirtamos en el problema.

Julio C Gonzalez

[hautecouturemetal]

Here is one of our favourite projects. We did this last year for a private residence. Perforated metal staircase with wooden treads and LED recesed lights. • • • • #stairs #staircase #stairdesign #handrail #railing #exlusivestairs #balustrade #glassbalustrade #stairporn #luxury #luxurious #scale #escaleras #treppen #industrial #industrialstyle #fabrication #inspiration #interiordesign #architecture #architecturalstaircase #metalwork

[budgie-luv]

(The yellow birb)I'M THE BOSS HERE

(the green birb)pls don't hurt my family

two

[hautecouturemetal]

Here is one of our favourite projects. We did this last year for a private residence. Perforated metal staircase with wooden treads and LED recesed lights. • • • • #stairs #staircase #stairdesign #handrail #railing #exlusivestairs #balustrade #glassbalustrade #stairporn #luxury #luxurious #scale #escaleras #treppen #industrial #industrialstyle #fabrication #inspiration #interiordesign #architecture #architecturalstaircase #metalwork

[hautecouturemetal]

Here is one of our favourite projects. We did this last year for a private residence. Perforated metal staircase with wooden treads and LED recesed lights. • • • • #stairs #staircase #stairdesign #handrail #railing #exlusivestairs #balustrade #glassbalustrade #stairporn #luxury #luxurious #scale #escaleras #treppen #industrial #industrialstyle #fabrication #inspiration #interiordesign #architecture #architecturalstaircase #metalwork

[hautecouturemetal]

Full flat & recesed lights. #exclusivebalustrade #exclusivestairs #stairs #staircase #stairsdesign #luxury #metalcraft