#soon i will have enough to have a gallery wall on my room divider

[dokyeomini]

started 2 paintings don't ask me how many i finished

#also two but not the ones i started today algksl #soon i will have enough to have a gallery wall on my room divider #rn it has 3 in the middle panel and i could add 6 #the washi tape it's the best at keeping them up tho #but the wider washi tape is good enough #ine of the ones i put up isn't actually finished but i got sick of the smell if nail polish #glittery nail polish and a needle does so much i love it #i don't have a glitter pen so i just figured it out #haven't figured out how to utilize glittery eyeshadow tho #but now i have my linocut coffee cup orint a vase of orange flowers and some autumnal sketches with glitter accents #that i can see from my bed :) #i painted a huge pink flower too and that's on my bookshelf rn #all the tutorials are producing a lot of stuff but when i try smth on my own i seem to mess up algksl #but i managed to improve a landscape i painted from a reference (a postcard i got from the trift shop) #it looks less flat now

[moodymisty]

Okay so I know that you talked about the Crosshair fic you plan to work on, HOWEVER, I saw your kinks request list and my mind in in full gear now.

So I raise you with Crosshair being so overstimulated by the reader that he begs them to stop or at the very least slow down. Do you understand the kind of power that can hold over me? How fucking useless I am just staring into space and sighing dreamily at this idea? I blame you wholeheartedly because now I’m stuck looking at a wall and not getting anything done

Authors note: I just want you to know, where ever you are in the world, you and I are on the same wavelength. I hear you, I see you, I feel you.

So my current ✧･ﾟ: Crossy ✧･ﾟ ; WIP is very similar in regards to just completely obliterating Crosshair. But, I had another similar idea that I decided to put here, since it burst forth from me with little to no warning. Seems to be a theme. This fic also made me realize that half of my blog is just, sucking clone dick. Ummmm, oops? I swear I have non-blowjob content coming( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) soon.

Relationships: Crosshair/GN!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Oral(male receiving), Voyeurism, Overstimulation, Crosshair shooting his rifle at a range,

"I'm bored."

Crosshair doesn't bother looking your direction, feeling the way your tone tells him everything. He knows you're watching him from behind with your arms crossed, there's no need for him to see.

"Then find something to keep yourself busy."

Of course he'd say that, as if he wasn't the one who'd dragged you out here to begin with. You use the term 'dragged' loosely however, as you were the one who had wanted to spend some time with him, and this was how it had ended up.

The long range shooting gallery was used far less than the normal one, given that sniper training was a special skill set that not every clone utilized constantly. And as such it was completely empty today, other than you and Crosshair.

He prefers it this way, meanwhile you find it incredibly boring.

There wasn't even anyone else to talk to, since Crosshair failed to make an entertaining conversation while he was too busy boring holes into a target plate. If there was a reg here you might've attempted to make him jealous for some sort of entertainment, even if it had the chance of backfiring horribly.

Walking forward across the room, you move to lean against the small divider that separates one shooting lane from another. He glances to the side at you for a moment, but ultimately doesn't comment. You don't either, until you notice the way his brow furrows; Intensely concentrated on something that for him, doesn't really require too much effort.

"Awfully focused, isn't this stuff just a joke for you?" He fires another shot, furthering his attempt at making something out of the blaster holes. You can't quite tell what it is yet, though he only started recently.

"You are really full of incredible commentary today, aren't you?"

“As always.” You scoff. Your eyes slowly travel down his arms and to his hands, seeing the way his hands wrap around his rifle. Compared to his brothers and the regs Crosshair is remarkably lithe, seeing the way his fingers move from years of muscle memory and intense focus. He was quite literally born for this, and takes every single shot no matter how easy as serious as he would if it was real.

You wonder what it would take for him to lose that focus, since he seems so damn insistent on boring you near or to death.

Glancing downward even further you notice the space between the walls of the shooting lane and his legs, hidden and mostly out of view. It gives you an idea; One that's strong enough to have you quickly on your knees, squeezing down to get into the hidden area shadowed by the table his rifle rests on. Needless to say Crosshair instantly notices, and leans back just enough to look at you down there.

"And what exactly are you doing?" It takes you a moment to figure out what you need to pull it in order to remove his armor, not looking up as your fingers feel around his hips.

"Finding something to keep me busy. Like you said." Managing to figure out the complex and unintuitive way to get the offending piece of armor off, you hear him take another shot with his rifle; Leaning forward into proper form again. He didn't even object to it, nor did he attempt to care.

Well, if he's going to just act like he isn't bothered, you'll take the whole thing as a challenge then.

The groin seam of a GAR sanctioned body glove is easy to use, something you’ve never really been thankful for until now. Your hand slips between the fabric, gently pulling out his cock from where it laid against his thigh.

Licking your palm from wrist to fingertip your wrap your hand around his cock and slowly move back and forth, feeling him twitch against your palm. He doesn’t audibly react that you notice, nor any other way than just a slight adjustment of his stance.

But his cock is already half hard so you know he’s affected by it, leaning forward to blow air gently against the tip. Adjusting on your knees you lean your head forward just enough to press your lips against his tip, dragging them down the side of his cock all the way to the base.

The sound of metal on metal clanking you assume is because he's messing with a piece of his rifle, while you drag your lips back to the tip of his cock and slowly wrap your mouth around him.

He fires another shot as your tongue laps against the large vein on the underside of his cock, your hands gripping at the armor on his thighs to hold yourself steady. He adjusts his stance again, forcing your body to follow just a tad. While he may seem unaffected, you'd say you know Crosshair quiet well; Enough so that he isn't actually all that subtle, you just need to know what to look for. His one foot is fidgeting, and he's standing more ridged than normal.

"You best be hoping no one else decides to practice today." No one will; Out of all the times you've been in here, you've maybe seen a handful of regs.

Despite his best efforts however you notice the way his voice sounds almost strained, feeling the way your lips gently wrap around his cock while the taste of precum hits your tastebuds. Moaning around him you adjust on your knees, moving to wrap a hand around the base of his cock that your mouth can't reach without him almost hitting your throat.

You think he grumbles something but it's too muffled for you to hear, and your mouth is too full to try and ask him what he said. It was probably some sort of angry mumble at you doing this to him, feeling your touch become harder, faster. Your hand pumps him faster with the rhythm of your bobbing head, glancing up to see the way he's still leaning over onto the tabletop.

It's been awhile since you've heard his rifle; He hasn't fired a shot for a considerable amount of time.

Pulling your mouth off his cock for a moment to take a deep breath of air, you quickly wrap your lips around him again bobbing your head and listening to the way he lets out an audibly surprised sound.

"K-kriff," Suddenly you feel his hand on your head, attempting to push you back but with little to no avail. You keep going, only emboldened by the way he's finally cracked.

"You gotta cool it down there." You have no plans to do any such thing, taking him as deeply into your mouth as you can while your hand grips at the plates of his armor. It makes spit pool in your mouth as he presses against the back of your tongue, but the way he almost crumples as you moan around him is well worth it.

"Seriously, you gotta-" He hisses through gritted teeth, hearing the sound of his rifle's stand wobble on the rest. His legs are noticeably less stable, and his body is leaned forward, supporting himself by putting his forearms on the table. You can hear the way he's clearing his throat and attempting not to moan, having completely abandoned any further attempts to shoot. He can't handle the way your tongue presses against his cock, feeling you moan with each movement of your head; Mouth completely full.

He lets out a loud, almost hiss-like groan, clearly muffled by a clenched fist as his hips suddenly thrust forward in the direction of your mouth.

“Kriff, slow down,”

He can’t keep up the unaffected ploy anymore, holding the edge of the table with a death drip.

You hear his first slam on the table multiple times, and it's more than fair to assume he's completely overwhelmed, desperately seeking more as his cock throbs in your mouth.

The motion makes his helmet topple to the ground, rolling across the floor until it stops a short ways away.

His one leg is bent a little almost buckling underneath him, feeling the way your mouth is almost suffocatingly hot around him. He swears loudly, cutting himself off by gritting his teeth. Now he's the one hoping no one will want to practice here tonight, as he'd rather do a million other things than be caught like this as you suck him off.

Hearing him helplessly groan he can't handle anymore of you and suddenly finishes in your mouth, hands flexing as he grips the edge of the table tight as he can without breaking it. He feels the way your mouth wraps around him, moving as you swallow and his hips jerk forward attempting to press deeper. You have to pull back enough to swallow, hearing his ragged breathing.

A small bit of spit trails down the corners of your mouth, and you slowly, teasingly pull your lips off his cock before wiping your mouth. Now free from your torture Crosshair leans back upright and looks down, spotting you.

It's the first time you've seen his face in a bit, and you can clearly see how warm it is, as well as the way his brow is furrowed; Refusing to make full eye contact with you.

"Are you done?" He says, glancing down at you for a moment and seeing the way you lick your lips.

"Are you?" It almost makes you laugh the way he visibly bristles, adjusting himself and his armor back into place before all but slamming his rifle into it's case and snapping the latches closed.

Getting up off of your knees Crosshair grasps your wrist and nearly starts dragging you, forcing you to have to trot in order to keep up. You can still see his face from his nose to the tips of his ears are flushed, his lips pursed tight. Of course now however a few unfortunate regs decided to step right in his way as you walk into the hallway, and Crosshair slams shoulders with one on the way out.

"Sorry!" Is the only thing you can yell over your shoulder before they're out of eyesight, all confused about what had just happened. You turn back to Crosshair and look at him, raising your eyebrows.

"Soooo, am I in trouble?" The look he gives you could cut durasteel.

Yeah, you're in trouble.

#mywriting #crosshair x reader #tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader #Crosshair/Reader #reader insert #reader

[comfy-whumpee]

Alfonse

Introducing (or reintroducing, for those who read my Forgive and Forget) a loving father, mob boss and whumper.

@iaminamoodymoodtoday, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash

CN: gun, male whumper + female whumpee

Penelope had been home-schooled for her entire life. It was a deliberate decision from her parents. Many home-schooled children were kept with their families because of additional needs on their part; the additional needs in this case were, in fact, the family’s. The Family, to be more specific.

 Alfonse, therefore, had been one of Penelope’s tutors for her entire life. They hired some, of course, particularly for the areas in which the parents were not educated. Penelope had private help with her poetry, her violin, and especially her science. Sinclair was a capable tutor in most areas, between sessions in the design room teaching Penelope their craft, and when it came to mathematics, Alfonse was the go-to teacher.

 He had a busy schedule, but he always made time in it for her lessons. Half an hour on weekday mornings, an hour on Wednesday and Thursday evenings, and additional classes wherever the local schools or tuition centres put them on offer.

 This Thursday evening, the topic is fractions. Penelope despises fractions.

“If I have half of a cake,” Alfonse says, lying on his side on the indigo rug of Penelope’s study room, dividing a cupcake into two equal segments with a knife, “and then I get another cake, and I have all of that cake, how many halves do I have?”

 Penelope would rather eat the cake. It’s obvious in her jutting lower lip. But she sighs and hums and says, “Three?”

 Alfonse smiles. He cuts off a slice of the cupcake and holds out the blunt table knife to her, and she leans forwards to grab the piece off the end with a self-satisfied grin.

 “Now say I have my cake cut into quarters,” Alfonse continues, ignoring the eyeroll he gets in response. He cuts down the middle of the cupcake half. “And I have one quarter, and one half.” He indicates the other half, untouched since its creation. “How many quarters?”

 “Three again!”

 Alfonse grins this time, and cuts off a little more of the abandoned quarter. This time, Penelope leans forwards first, and he holds it halfway out towards her before eating it himself.

 “Dad!” Penelope complains, scandalised.

Alfonse winks. “Don’t tell mappa.”

 “I’m eating the rest.”

 “Finish your worksheet.”

 She huffs. She blows out her little cheeks. She picks up her pen with the pink fluffy bobble on top, and gets to work.

 Alfonse gets up, taking the plate with him, just in case she gets any ideas. “Twenty minutes, poppet. Then we’ll try mixed fractions.”

 Penelope isn’t listening. She’s gotten to work. Alfonse takes a moment to watch her think, his heart warm. She’s going to be an amazing woman someday.

 He sets the plate down on the desk, and steps outside to give her peace. Checking his watch, he heads down to discuss dinner with the cook. Sinclair is at a show tonight, so it’s down to him to keep things running smoothly. Without Sinclair home, maybe he can sneak some extra dessert, too. If Penelope gets her questions right and manages to fit the second worksheet in.

 Heading down the main staircase, a figure in the gallery catches his eye. The new girl, he thinks. She’d come on a recommendation from a friend, and he hadn’t really noticed her in her first week, which was a good sign. Had she been assigned to the gallery? Maybe she’s been struggling to find her way around. The house is quite expansive, and there are so many rooms, even Alfonse has trouble giving directions sometimes.

 He strolls through to give her a hand, or perhaps just to tell her she can go home. A little dust and disorder in the gallery would be no problem between today and tomorrow, especially not if it’s stressing her out. At least, that’s Alfonse’s opinion; Sinclair might disagree when they get home.

 “Lillian, wasn’t it?” he asks, letting her know he’s there. Apparently, he has quite an intimidating presence. “Are you alright?”

 The girl turns, wide-eyed. Alfonse feels for her; a big man like him appearing from the evening dimness can be alarming. “Oh, um, Mr – Dechart?”

 “That’s me. Why are you still here? Your shift should have finished at five.”

 “I, um… I just wanted to finish.”

 Alfonse glances around the gallery, but can’t see a single thing left to do. He looks at her more closely, noticing the cleaning bag on the counter opposite the bay window, zipped up. There’s a spray bottle and cloth left out beside it. He crosses the hall to it, while Lillian watches.

 Two fingers to the cloth confirms that it’s bone dry.

 When Alfonse turns, Lillian is looking far more nervous. But there’s no need for concern just yet. Alfonse keeps his friendly smile. “What exactly were you doing?”

 She’s convincing, he’ll give her that, but her eyes drop for a moment too long before she flushes, hands twisting behind her back. “The um, the painting…”

 Alfonse doesn’t look. The painting is behind him, and her hands are concealed. “Ah, Frankenthaler. It’s lovely, isn’t it? Did it keep you for a whole,” he pauses, recalling the time he saw on the watch before leaving Penelope, “thirty-five minutes?”

 “I’m an art student, I was…”

 “Lillian,” Alfonse cuts in, keeping most of his attention on her hands now. “Don’t take me for a fool.”

 Her throat bobs in a nervous swallow. Alfonse waits, half-tense and ready, if necessary, to pounce.

 When she moves, it’s in an explosion of motion, hand whipping from behind her back as she lunges forwards, and the firearm is already in his face by the time he’s reacting, but there’s no shot when he twists out of the way and grabs for her wrist. A threat, or an attempt to hold him, or a bluff, or perhaps she just can’t quite bring herself to escalate so soon; the possibilities run through the back of his mind as he leverages his weight, twisting her arm until he can bend her trigger finger back, hearing her breath catch and stop as she tries to shoulder herself between his body and their hands.

 The gun hits the floor with a clatter and, mercifully, does not go off. Lillian tries to pull back, but Alfonse moves with her, still pulling at her wrist, forcing it above her head until it hits the wall and stays there. Alfonse leans on it as his other hand goes for her pockets, checking for other weapons. She tries to grab the knife first, but he’s got her dominant hand in his, and he yanks it free and tosses it, too, across the parquet floor.

 The study room is up the stairs in the east wing. They’re at the front of the house, downstairs. Penelope shouldn’t be hearing a thing.

 He’s got fifteen minutes until he has to go back to teach her more fractions.

 If he doesn’t go, she might come out and look for him.

 There’s fear in Lillian’s wide eyes, now, as she realises how quickly she’s been caught. Alfonse has questions, but first, he needs to move her, and for that, he needs to assess whether she’ll fight.

 “You were sent, weren’t you?” he asks her, still holding her against the wall with his size, his free hand at her shoulder, fingers digging in. “Who?”

 She seems to have forgotten how to fight back, or has given up on doing so. Her voice emerges in a terrified croak. “I…”

 She thinks better of it, and her jaw snaps shut again. She shakes her head.

 Not enough time for a negotiation. Too difficult, too noisy, to fight. Alfonse leans closer still, until her neck is craned back against her shoulders to keep him in view, a cowed animal under a predator.

 “This is my home,” he says slowly, voice low enough that only she can hear it. The chef might be wondering where he is, but there’s no need to spread the drama. “Someone told you where to come. Someone helped you get a recommendation from our friends. Someone gave you a gun and a knife and told you to use them if anyone realised who you were. I’m going to find out who that is, and then, I may spare you.”

 Lillian’s eyes fill with tears. But if she can blush on command, she can likely do this, too. The important thing is that she doesn’t fight back as he yanks her away from the wall, twisting her wrist behind her back. His other hand goes around her throat, pulling up against her jaw tightly. He won’t ask her not to scream – that would be an invitation, really – but he can do his best to prevent it.

 He glances down, glimpsing his watch half-hidden under a shirt cuff. Ten minutes.

 Maybe he can swing pizza for dinner. It’d help with the fractions.

 The dressing room on the first floor, attached to the west wing’s guest room, is not actually a dressing room. The walk-in wardrobe is fortified and equipped for emergencies such as this one. It’s nothing compared to the panic room in the cellar, but then, there’s a slim possibility that the others in the house might need that room before the night is out.

 When she sees what’s behind the unassuming eggshell-white door, Lillian suddenly remembers how to struggle, but it’s too little, and much too late. Her attempt to drop herself to the ground is insufficient; he lifts more than she weighs on a regular basis. She’s a strange pick for an assassin or thief. He’ll ask about that, later.

 Instead, he hauls her up again, and though her legs drag across the floor and she tries to lift her arms and slide free, he gets her into the padded chair. The straps start at the waist, which is always the hardest, but the arms and ankles are easy after that.

 He closes the door behind them before she remembers to shout for help. She’ll have seen Penelope during the week. She may have realised how little his daughter knows.

 He’s comforted by the faint click of the soundproofing falling into place. Now, it may as well be only them in the house.

 Seven minutes. It goes so fast. He’ll text Sinclair later.

 As Lillian stares, Alfonse undoes his cufflinks and tucks them into a pocket. He folds back his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves. He rolls his shoulders, and stretches them, paying extra attention to his right.

 Five minutes.

 “Any heart problems?”

 Lillian blinks, stunned for a moment.

 “High blood pressure?”

 Slowly, she shakes her head. Her neat bun has gone askew in their struggle, leaving tendrils of dark hair hanging around her face in corkscrews.

 “Lovely.” Alfonse reaches up to the top shelf, the one Penelope still can’t reach. From the shoebox upon it, he takes what should be a fully-charged taser.

 He clicks it on, sees the lack of light, and flicks it off.

 He should really pay more attention to that.

 No matter. He puts it away again, clears his throat, and turns. Lillian is still confused, and less tense than she was, and looks up again at him when he stands before her.

 One punch, swift and merciless, to the corner of her jaw, knocking it sideways against her own teeth, probably cutting the inside of her cheek, and a second against the flesh of her cheek, his wedding ring catching the skin but not quite splitting it. Later, the small cut-gem pattern of her wound will tell her allies that it was him.

 “You’ll tell me who sent you,” he says, pleased to hear that he doesn’t sound even slightly out of breath. “Whether it’s now, or in an hour, or tomorrow, or at the end of next week. The longer it takes you, the worse this is going to get.”

 Lillian looks up at him with all the misery and fear she can muster, and Alfonse meets her gaze. She even sniffles.

 He swings again, and she flinches, but not as much as an innocent person would. This time, his ring does cut.

 He doesn’t give her a chance to repent. He checks his watch, turns on his heel, and leaves her there. On his way downstairs, he messages Sinclair to update them, and when he arrives back in the gallery, he collects her two weapons. The gun goes into the safe behind the Frankenthaler, and the knife tucks into his belt. He pops a head into the kitchen to suggest pizza for dinner, collects two apples from the fruit bowl, and heads upstairs.

 Outside Penelope’s room, he pauses, checking his reflection in the window, the light bouncing off from a dark exterior. He brushes a loose lock of hair back, and rolls down his sleeves. One cufflink, then the other, secures them back in place.

 He checks her knife. Clean. Two apples in one hand, knife in the other, he knocks on and opens Penelope’s study door.

 “You’re late!”

 Alfonse laughs, picking up the cupcake plate from the desk and delivering all the items to the rug where Penelope is lying on her front, doodling in the margins of her worksheet. “I’m sorry, I got caught up. I brought apples to help you with our next sheet.”

 She wrinkles her nose. “Not more cupcakes?”

 “You won’t want any dessert later.”

 “Yes I will!”

 Alfonse laughs again, sitting down cross-legged across from her. He shifts the cupcake aside on the plate, and lays an apple on it. With swift motions of Lillian’s knife, he divides it into eighths.

  “Now, say I have two apples, and I cut them both into eight equal parts…”

#whump #physical whump #ladywhump #protective whumper #beating #manhandling #female whumpee #bound #alfonse #penelope #restrained #blood #gunpoint #knives #family whump #my fic

[albertasunrise]

Amateur Heist - Chapter 1

Summary: You know his name is Marcus Pike. You know he works for the FBI. You’ve seen him around the gallery the past week, or so. Thrown him longing looks when his back's turned but he's here for a reason, a tip that the gallery was going to be a robbed. What you don’t know is that you are about to get a lot more acquainted with him as his life will literally be in your hands.

Warnings: Blood and Injury, Hostage situation, Angst.

Relationship: Marcus x Reader

§

You know his name is Marcus Pike. You know he works for the FBI. You’ve seen him around the gallery the past week, or so. Thrown him longing looks when his back's turned but he's here for a reason, a tip that the gallery was going to be a robbed. What you don’t know is that you are about to get a lot more acquainted with him as his life will literally be in your hands.

The day started out like any other. You opened up the gallery as normal and busied yourself with cleaning and paperwork as you did every day. Your boss usually arrives around 9 with a coffee for you and he in hand, he never fails to bring you your latte with a single shot of Caramel syrup.

‘Good morning Sweet.’ He says with a smile as he hands you your to-go cup, pecking you on the cheek before heading to his office in the back.

Marcus doesn’t have a particular time that he arrives but he usually pops in around mid-morning to scour the CCTV footage and speak to you and your boss about anything suspicious that you may have seen. He’s always dressed down, never looks like an FBI agent and he explained that this was in case they were scoping the place. He didn't want to raise suspicion which was why he always enters from the rear of the gallery also as the alley made anyone spying on the place easier to spot.

‘I have a lunchtime reservation with Fiona today so I will be out until around 2.’ States your boss as he emerges from his office a little while later, iPad in hand ‘You think you’ll be able to hold the fort whilst I'm out?’

‘Oh, I think I’ll be able to handle it.’ You chuckle as you look around at the empty gallery.

‘Perfect!’ He exclaims before returning to tapping away at the tablet in his hand.

You busy yourself again after he leaves, busy typing up emails when the bell above to door dings, alerting you to someone entering.

‘I will be with you in just a moment.’ You say as you finish up a receipt for your latest sale.

‘You’ll deal with me now.’ A voice growls and you look up slowly to see a gun pointing straight at you.

You don’t know where the sudden confidence comes from but you manage to blindly dial Marcus’ number, knowing he was the last person you’d called on your work mobile to confirm something the previous day.

‘Step away from the counter with your hands above your head.’ He spits and you do as you’re told, your eyes fixed on his ‘Lock the door. You run, I shoot you.’

You nod, slowly making your way to the door and turning the key in the lock before turning back to face him. What now?

~

‘You going to swing by the gallery today boss?’ Asks Matt as Marcus walks into the communal kitchen.

‘I’m not sure yet.’ He replies, shrugging as he pours some coffee into this mug ‘It’s been over a week and there have been no hits on the gallery.’ He pauses to take a sip ‘Maybe we were given a bad tip.’

‘So you’re not even going to pop by just so you can see her?’ Matt asks suggestively as he wiggles his eyebrows at his boss.

‘Don’t Matt.’ He warns as he points at him.

‘Oh come on. I've seen the way you look at her.’ He states ‘Just ask her out. I’m sure she’d say yes.’

‘How would you know. My dealings with her have been nothing but professional.’

‘Because I’ve seen the way she looks at you when your back is turned.’ Matt finishes and Marcus feels a warm feeling wash over him.

Did you like him? He couldn’t deny that he had a rather large crush on you. He found you irresistible. You not only had a vast knowledge about art but you were also just as passionate as he was about it. His phone ringing in his pocket tugs him back to reality and he pulls it out to see your name flashing on the screen.

‘Who is it?’ Asks Matt quizzically.

‘It’s her.’

‘Maybe she’s calling to see where you are?’ He states, giving his boss a wink as Marcus answers.

‘Pike.’

He doesn’t hear anything initially and he wonders if you may have dialled him by mistake but just as he was about to pull his phone away from his ear he heard it.

‘Step away from the counter with your hands above your head’

Marcus’ face drops.

‘Boss, what is it?’ Matt asks upon noticing his bosses change in demeanour.

‘We need to get down to the gallery now.’ He states, hanging up the phone ‘It’s being robbed.’

In less than an hour, the gallery is surrounded, the whole street closed off as FBI and Police vehicles line the street. Marcus jumps out of his car and makes his way to the rest of his team that is eagerly awaiting his instruction and he glances inside to see you curled up against the wall as the assailant paces nervously.

‘We have both the front and rear entrance’s covered.’ States Alice as she nods at her boss in greeting ‘We don’t think he is aware that there is another way into the gallery. I think it’s likely that he’s new to this boss.’

‘Right,’ Marcus starts, looking down at the blueprint spread across the hood of Alice’s car ‘Matt and I are going to enter from the rear. If he isn't aware of it then we should be able to get in and subdue him easily. Alice, I want you and James to stay here and keep the local police instructed on what the plan is. If we aren’t able to get in then he may start making demands.’

‘You got it.’ She replies as she folds up the blueprint and makes her way over to a cluster of officers stood a little further down the street from them.

‘Right. Vest on. We’re going in.’ Orders Marcus and Matt nods.

As soon as they were suited up they were sprinting down the alleyway, Marcus pulling out the key the owner had given him and gingerly turning it in the lock.

‘Stay behind me.’ He says to Matt before opening the door and stepping inside, both of them watching their footing carefully as not to alert the robber to their presence.

Meanwhile, you have been made to move to the other side of the divide that sits proudly at the centre of the gallery and thats when you’d realised that this man wasn’t alone. There is two of them. You’d managed to keep yourself somewhat calm but you were starting to feel the adrenaline wearing off and your body had started to betray you. From the corner of your eye, you notice the storeroom door creaking open, your eyes growing wide when Marcus’s face comes into view and he raises his pointer finger up to his lips. You nod, just enough that he knows that you understand but not enough to rouse suspicion and then your gaze flits to the man across from you, you shut your eyes and pray for it to be over.

‘FBI, HANDS UP.’ Shouts Marcus as he jumps into the room, aiming his weapon at the man behind you, the only one he knows about.

‘MARCUS, WATCH OUT.’ You scream as your eyes shoot open and you see the second man aim his weapon at the agent.

It happens in a flash. Pike turns just quick enough to see his attacker before they pull the trigger, the agent hitting the ground with a loud thud. You look over at him, his face already painted in blood and he's blinking rapidly in what you assume is an attempt to try and clear his mind.

‘BACK UP.’ Shouts the man behind you as he steps closer to Matt ‘Back up or my partner here will shoot him between the eyes.' He spits as he waves his weapon at a dazed Marcus.

Matt did as he was bid, backing up with his hands raised in surrender. He glances at his boss, there's is blood and a lot of it. Marcus is laying there still blinking, desperately trying to make sense of what has just happened but all he could hear is a ringing in his ears as his vision starts to grey around the edges.

‘You tell your colleagues that we’ll have some demands.’ Growls, who you had decided must be in charge ‘If they aren’t met. These two die.’ He states and you lock eyes with Matt in a silent plea to save you ‘Now run along and tell them that we’ll be in touch!’

Matt turns and leaves, sprinting through the back door with Marcus’ attacker hot on his heels.

‘Make sure no one can get through that door!' He yells before turning his attention back to you, and then to the bleeding agent on the floor ‘You best take a look at that.’ He orders as he watches Marcus flop on the floor ‘He don’t look so good.’

You pull off your blazer and scoot over to him, pressing it firmly against his gushing head wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding. Now you were no doctor but you’d watched House. You know head wounds bleed a lot but do they normally bleed this much? You peel your blazer back a moment to get a better look at the damage and you gasp at what you see. This grabs Marcus’ attention.

‘That bad eh?’ He asks, his brown eyes full of fear.

‘No.’ You reply, shaking your head ‘Just grazed you. You’ll be okay.’ You lie, not able to bring yourself to tell him the truth. The bullet had grazed him alright but from the looks of it, it had fractured his skull in the process.

His eyes were starting to droop. You know that people with head injuries need to stay awake and so you shake his shoulder and you speak to him ‘You need to stay awake agent Pike.’ You urge, feeling tears start to sting your eyes ‘Just keep those pretty brown eyes on me.’

‘You think my eyes are pretty?’ He questions, smirking at you and you let out a breathy chuckle.

‘Yes.’ You reply with a nod ‘I think they’re very pretty Agent Pike.’

'Marcus.'

'Hmm?'

'Marcus.' He repeats 'Call me Marcus.'

~

‘Matt, what the hell is going on?’ Yells James upon seeing the younger agent sprinting across the street ‘Where the hell is Marcus? We heard gunshots!’

‘He’s been shot.’ Matt states as he leans heavily on the car whilst he attempts to catch his breath ‘There's two of them.’ One’s hiding just on the other side of that divide. He caught Pike by surprise, got him in the head.’

‘FUCK!.’ Yells James ‘He alive?’

‘He was when I left.’ Matt replies ‘They’re going to be calling with demands soon so we need to make sure someone's ready to take that call. He was bleeding badly so I’m not sure how long he’s going to hold out.’

‘Right grab Alice.’ James orders, motioning to the female agent ‘She’ll be our best bet at getting them out alive.’

~

‘How did you get into art.’ He asks, his eyes growing heavier by the minute.

‘Well, it's the only thing I'm any good at.’ You chuckle before noticing how cold his skins gone Shit he’s going into shock ‘I went to school in England where I studied for 6 years. Learned that it’s impossible to make any money selling work no one wants. Then I met Simon and he offered me a job here. What about you?’

‘Pretty much the same.’ He replies, shivering as he looks sideways at the painting on the wall beside you ‘Apart from the studying on England part. Discovered that I was also quite the detective and ended up working for the FBI Art Crimes Division. I hadn’t even known there was one till I joined.’

‘I’ll confess I didn’t either. It almost seems like something out of a movie.’ You say and he smiles warmly at you before his eyes slip closed ‘Hey Marcus no. Keep your eyes open for me.’

You can see he’s trying but he’s failing miserably and so you rack your brain for something, anything you can do to get his attention.

Then it hits you.

You lean down and press your soft lips against his, smiling when he gasps in surprise before kissing you back and letting out a small hum of approval.

‘Normally I like to be wined and dined first.’ He jokes as you pull away, his brown eyes sparkling.

‘Well how about we make a deal? You keep your eyes open for me and stay awake and as a reward, I will take you out to dinner.’ You say and he grins at you.

‘Are you asking me on a date?’

‘Maybe I am.’ You reply, returning his toothy smile with your own.

‘I’m supposed to do that.’ He mumbles, eyes starting to flutter again.

‘Well, you’ve had over a week!’ You exclaim and he chuckles weakly ‘I guess I’ve had to take matters into my own hands.’

He looks up at you through hooded lids, his smile, though weak, still spreading to his eyes.

‘Okay. I will on one con-condition.’ He stutters and you tilt your head in curiosity ‘I pay.’

‘Hmmm, I think I can accept those terms.’ You reply, smiling sweetly at him as one hand presses down your blood-soaked blazer to his head as the other cups his cheek, thumb rubbing circles on the soft skin there.

‘Then it’s a date.’ He chuckles before scrunching his eyes as the pain starts to filter through.

~

‘What are they demanding?’ Asks Matt, watching as Alice listens to the perps over the phone.

‘They want to walk out of there.’ She states ‘They haven’t taken anything and they won’t if we let them go without charge. They want a car and the promise that when they leave, they won’t be followed.’

‘Are they insane?’ Matt whisper shouts ‘One of them shot a fucking federal agent in the head!’

‘Well, we might have to concede to their demands.’ She states ‘Marcus isn’t doing well according to him.'

‘Headquarters aren’t going to just let them walk out.’ States James and Alice throws the phone down as she lets out an exasperated sigh ‘Well it's that or Pike bleeds to death.’ She growls ‘Which will it be?’

~

You notice that Marcus’ eyes are starting to slip shut again. His skin is now a scary shade of white and his breathing has become erratic. You know the warning signs for shock and he is definitely ticking those boxes. You also know he didn’t have long before his organs would start to shut down. It would most likely kill him before the blood loss.

‘Where shall we go on our date then?’ You ask, desperate to keep him with you ‘Now I don’t know about you but I live for Pancakes.’

‘I l-love p…pan-cakes.’ Your heart twists at how hard it is for him to speak now.

‘Well, I know this super cute little diner. Does the best pancakes.’ You state as you pull him a little closer to you ‘They do the Canadian special. Thick, fluffy pancakes topped in crispy chicken and maple-cured bacon. Of course, it's then drowned in maple syrup.’

‘S-sounds good.’ He says, his hand grabbing your forearm and giving it a squeeze ‘I think I'd like t-to try th-that.’

‘Well, then that settles it. We’ll go there for dinner and order two Canadian Specials.’ You declare and he gives you a dopey smile.

‘Then what will we do?’ He asks, his eyes a little brighter than before.

‘Then we can go for a walk. There’s a lovely park a little way down from there. They light up the trees at night, it's magical.’ You state and he smiles as he listens to you speak ‘Then you can walk me back to my apartment, I don't live far from there, and you can kiss me goodnight on my doorstep.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘Just a kiss mind.’ You state as you feign a serious expression ‘I don’t do any funny business on the first date.’

‘Noted.’ He replies, his laugh followed by dry coughing that makes him groan in pain.

When the pain settles a little he looks up at you again. That fear you’d first seen has returned and you feel your stomach twisting in knots.

‘I’m so cold.’ He states and you feel your blood turn to ice.

‘You just need to hold on a little longer.’ You plead, shaking him gently as his eyes slip shut for a moment ‘Come on Marcus, let me see those eyes again.’

He graces you with his gaze. Brow knitted together as tears start to leak from the corner of his eyes ‘I’m scared.’ He sobs and you swear your heart shatters.

‘There’s no reason to be scared, Marcus.’ You say softly as you rock him gently in your arms ‘You’re going to be fine.’ You state as you look up and your captors who are busy growling down the phone ‘Everything’s going to be okay. We're going to get out of here. Okay? Marcus?’

Nothing.

‘Marcus?’ You glance down and sob.

He’s lost the battle to keep his eyes open.

~

Chapter 2

#Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x Reader #Marcus Pike x You #Marcus Pike Fanfiction #Mentalist fanfiction #pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfiction #Pedro Pascal characters

[tiliamericana]

Muay Thai: 1.03

Read from start | Read Ahead | Home Site

The florist down the street was a peaceful place, even if walking in the front door was a little like being punched in the nose. They had a scent pump hidden in a hanging pot by the front door—Nairi wasn’t entirely certain why they needed to spray heavy fragrance oils inside a place filled with flowers, but she’d never managed a flower shop herself. Maybe they were trying to hook pedestrians.

The college kid manning the counter waved in recognition, already turning to fetch her order from the shelf. “Back again?” he said cheerfully as she approached, setting her wrapped cuttings on the counter. “I shouldn’t really discourage repeat patronage, but you know these suckers are pretty easy to grow yourself, right?”

Nairi shrugged, handing her card over as he rung up her order. “I’m pretty bad at keeping plants alive.”

He gave her a rueful grin as he handed her the chip reader to finish the transaction. “I get that—I used to kill cactuses before I started working here. The nurseries we order from have some pretty fierce gardeners on staff though, got me sorted very quickly.”

“Mhm.”

He nodded and kept talking despite her disinterest. The Thursday morning flower rush clearly didn’t provide enough opportunities for socialization. “Yeah, they’re all local places who go all in on small seasonal batches and heritage seeds. The bigger commercial suppliers don’t really have the same kind of knowledge base, it’s very cool.”

Nairi gave him a polite smile as she pocketed her card and picked up the greenery. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Have a great day!” he called out as she left through the flowers. She sneezed when she stepped into the fresh air outside and rubbed at her nose. Hopefully orchids would go out of fashion soon; she was rapidly coming to hate the smell.

It was a nice day, and she lingered for a moment before heading back inside the dojo. Sun streamed across the front room and she hesitated before leaving the door unlocked. She was close to her opening time anyway and if someone came in early the bell would ring. She tucked her wallet and keys into the desk drawer with the lock and crossed to the back room, leaving that door open behind her.

The second room had a viewing gallery rather than floor markings, and it was raised off the ground as a little balconette. It ran the length of the back wall with a built-in bench and was accessible by a stained wood step ladder; a very pretty feature, the real estate agent had said. Nairi had set her shrine at the far end of the balcony, on a little nook inset to the wall. It had had dividing shelves installed, probably for bags or shoes, but she’d pulled them out to make room.

She’d cleaned her vase that morning to replace the plants, filling it with clean water before she left. The kid at the florist’s hadn’t really reacted when she’d placed her weekly order for just green plants rather than anything with flowers, but she supposed she didn’t actually know what was considered ‘odd’ to buy from a florist.  

Everything else was set up, so she lit the incense and knelt.

A few minutes later the bell rang. Nairi stared at the shrine in front of her for a few moments, then blinked and climbed to her feet. Halfway down the ladder someone called out her name, and her confusion only rose as she stepped onto the mats and crossed back to the front room.

The hooker from the night before, Cherry, was standing in the doorway. She was still half outside, door propped open with her hip, one hand behind her in the sunlight with a lit cigarette smoldering in her fingers. Her other hand was a bit closer to her body, probably to balance the cardboard tray with two coffee cups in it. Her expression brightened when she made eye contact with Nairi, and she smiled. “Oh, there you are! Wasn’t sure I had the right place.”

Nairi stared at her blankly. In the daylight Cherry looked like almost an entirely different person—slinky dress and soft make up gone, traded for faded and worn cutoffs and tank top with half laced docs. Her bare arms had tattoos of fire circling her wrists, tongues of flame licking up to her elbows and her clean face was rounder and freckled.

“Why are you here?” said Nairi blankly, staring at her.

Cherry grinned, juggling the cups between her elbow and shoulder very carefully. “You saved my ass and bought me dinner. I’ve been on dates that aren’t that nice, babe, I wanted to say thanks.”

She dropped the cigarette on the concrete and crushed it under the toe of her boot before stepping inside properly. The bell jingled again as the door swung shut behind her, and she blinked to adjust to the light inside before taking the few steps to close the distance between her and Nairi.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” she said, tugging one of the cups out of the tray and offering it to Nairi, “so I just picked the most inoffensive thing I could think of.”

Nairi took the cup after a moment and had a quick sip. Foamy, bitter coffee filled her mouth and she tried not to grimace as she swallowed. “Thanks.”

The corner of Cherry’s mouth twitched. “Not a latte kind of girl?”

Nairi winced. “I don’t drink coffee,” she admitted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Sorry, it was really nice of you.”

“Can’t win ‘em all,” said Cherry, still smiling at her as she plucked the cup out of Nairi’s hand. “Do you like mochas, or teas or something?”

“Uh, I mean, tea usually, I don’t—caffeine gives me headaches—”

“Do you have some time before you open this place up?” asked Cherry, gesturing around the dojo.

“I guess, yeah, I scheduled for twelve, but no one shows up for—”

“Great!” said Cherry brightly. “C’mon, I don’t know how fancy Starbucks gets, but there’s this little posh place on the corner that looks like they’ll sneer at you for using teabags, lemme get you a pot?”

Nairi glanced at the clock over her door. There were fifteen minutes til she was scheduled to open, but, well, no one had booked or called about the noon session. “Okay,” she said after a moment.

Cherry grinned, raising the second coffee to her lips and sculling it in long gulps as Nairi slipped her shoes on. She dropped the coffee cups in Nairi’s wastepaper basket and reached out, grabbing Nairi by the wrist to tug her onto the street outside. Nairi took a second to lock up with the chain while Cherry tapped a toe impatiently, and when she turned back Cherry was watching her curiously.

“You have a problem with break ins?” she asked as Nairi stepped back next to her.

“No,” said Nairi, glancing at her. “Why do you ask?”

Cherry shrugged, hooking her hands into the back pockets of her shorts as they walked. “Heavy duty locks for this part of town, s’all. Though, I’ve lived in some pretty interesting places, and then college towns like, totally fuck with your perception of that stuff, so I’m probably not the best judge of what’s like, a ‘good area’ or whatever.”

Nairi hummed noncommittedly, keeping her gaze ahead of her. She could feel Cherry’s eyes on the side of her face and tried not to think too hard about what it was she was seeing.

The café Cherry took her to was on the other end of the street to Nairi’s building, and it was small and picturesque. It had low armchairs and beanbags dotted around the open air front space, and as it transitioned into the café proper the walls were lined with tall shelves sporting thick, coffee-table books and lush, overflowing ferns. Low chatter and the steaming of coffee machines filled the sparsely occupied room.

Cherry went straight for the counter, tugging Nairi along with her. “Hey there!” she said in a friendly tone, flashing a bright smile at the bearded young man behind the counter. “Do you guys have any like, fun teas?”

He nodded, leaning over the counter to point at the chalkboard wall with the marker he’d been turning over in his hands. “Sure do. We’ve got all of these guys, plus, you know, like English Breakfast and stuff. The Sinnamon’s new, and Rose and Shine is very popular with soda and ice as a morning mocktail.”

The other teas on the menu were called things like ‘Rooid Boi’, ‘Lemon Aid’, ‘Raspberry Remnant’, and ‘Tea Thyme’ with the ingredients listed in a nigh incomprehensible chalked cursive. Nairi stared at them blankly.

Cherry squinted at them, mouth open slightly. “….Did you just forget to write the raspberry in on that one?” she asked, pointing at ‘Raspberry Remnant’.

“It used to have raspberry leaves in the blend, but we had some issues. We liked the name, so we kept it,” he said, shrugging.

Nairi ignored the wall and turned to address the guy instead. “Do you have anything with oolong?” she tried.

He nodded, pointing at a couple of the marked teas again. “Yeah, the Roasty Posie is oolong with mixed floral overtones, and Save the Teas uses an oolong base as well. If you’re looking for a gentler caffeine experience, then Rose and Shine uses white tea.” He grinned, leaning on the counter with his elbows. “Also, we do a uh, ‘house special’ with the Serenity Chill where we add booster shots of oolong and white tea—we call it ‘Aunt Mableton’s Icicle Situation’ after our manager’s cat.”

“Good to know,” said Nairi after a moment. “I’ll have a pot of Save the Teas, I guess?”

“Sure,” he said, leaning back and pulling the cap off the marker to write it down directly on the polished steel countertop. “Can I grab anything else for you ladies?”

“Can I grab an iced mocha,” said Cherry, turning her head and pointing at the glass case. “And like… one each of the fruit muffins?”

He nodded, adding them down as Nairi tugged out her wallet to pay. Cherry smacked her hand away and handed the guy some cash in exchange for the little table number, giving Nairi a wry grin. She stuffed the change into the tip jar and tugged Nairi over to a tall table by a bookshelf.

“You didn’t have to,” said Nairi as she shifted to take a stool on the far side so that the wall was behind her.

Cherry shrugged, dropping her wallet and phone on the tabletop before sitting across from her, kicking her booted feet back up onto the stool’s brace bar. “It’d be a pretty shitty way to pay you back for dinner, making you put out for brunch as well,” she said, poking her tongue out at Nairi.

Nairi wasn’t sure what to say to that and she fiddled with a loose thread in her cuff for several long moments. Eventually it got too awkward for her to bear, and she shifted. “Makes sense.”

“Aren’t you hot in that?” asked Cherry, crossing her arms on the table in front of her. Weirdly enough the only jewellery she was wearing was a small gold cross on a chain, no rings or bracelets. If Nairi had taken a second to think about how Cherry would dress off the job, this wouldn’t have been it.

She shrugged instead of answering the question.

“No, seriously,” said Cherry, her grin twitching a little at the corners. “I know it’s still a bit windy after midnight, but it’s still July, it’s like a hundred degrees out right now! How are you in long sleeves?”

“I just prefer it,” said Nairi, shrugging again. She felt an itch in the middle of her back, right between her shoulders, the way she did when someone was staring at her. There was only wall there. She resisted the urge to turn around and check anyway. “It’s light, you know, whatever.”

Cherry looked like she was going to push a little harder, but thankfully their food arrived and cut her off. Did it still count as brunch when it was nearly noon already? Either way, Cherry was thoroughly distracted, smiling sunnily at the cheerful girl with dreads and facial piercings who set their order across the table. Nairi had been given two glasses; both thick and squat, one filled with ice in deference to the weather.

Cherry sliced open one of the muffins, blueberry, and picked up the butter dish, waggling her eyebrows at Nairi over the mason jar that contained her iced mocha. “This place is a little… more than I was expecting.”

“It’s very… lush,” said Nairi, flicking her eyes to one side to give a hanging fern a deliberate look.

Cherry stifled an ugly snort, her head ducking as she pushed the muffins towards Nairi. “At least it’s interesting,” she said, hooking a hand around her jar of coffee. “Come on, tell me how the hippie tea is.”

Nairi poured a small cup of it out and took a careful sip, raising an eyebrow. “Organic,” she said. It actually wasn’t bad; a little woody and over steeped, but she was used to that at least.

Cherry took a long sip through her straw, eyebrow arched in return as she looked at Nairi through her eyelashes, then grimaced, leaning back. “Oh, that’s soy milk and straight cacao, I think this might be a vegan place.”

“Good to know,” said Nairi, smiling a little without thinking about it as Cherry picked up her half of the blueberry muffin.

“Are you vegan?” asked Cherry, tearing the muffin into chunks. “Or do you just like veggies for tempura?”

“Just vegetarian,” said Nairi, drinking more tea. “Don’t like meat. Milk and stuff is fine.”

“Don’t like violence against animals but you’re perfectly happy doling out a little of your own in the dark of the night?” teased Cherry, washing down her bites with more mocha.

“I have the black belts, I may as well put them to good use,” said Nairi with another awkward shrug, wishing she could get comfortable.

“’Belts’, huh? You know other stuff, not just Judo?”

Nairi hummed. “Krav Maga and Muay Thai as well. Belts or rankings and colours aren’t universal in different arts, but more people know what they generally mean, so, you know. My Muay school used armbands.”

Cherry nodded, one of her legs kicking the air under her stool. “Yeah? Do you teach those too or just Judo?”

“All three. I only have real students for Judo, though.”

“What makes someone a real student?”

“Showing up?”

Cherry snorted again, her hand flying to her mouth but not quite managing to hide her grin. “You don’t pull your punches anywhere, do you?”

Nairi shrugged again, not really sure how to take that.

Cherry seemed to find it an acceptable response anyway, openly watching Nairi with a fascinated expression. “Can I ask you something weird?”

“Sure,” said Nairi. It wasn’t like she could get more uncomfortable.

“So, like, ‘Nairi’ isn’t a super common name, and you seem proficient and reasonably scary,” said Cherry, peeling the paper away from another muffin as she watched Nairi indirectly. “And like, I keep my ears to the ground you know—or, well, fuck, okay, I occasionally end up in bed or working with people who have, uh, other hobbies cops might be interested in—”

Nairi wasn’t a hundred percent certain where she was going with this, but she tensed regardless, her expression relaxing into cool neutral.

If Cherry noticed, it didn’t stop her. “—Anyway, you wouldn’t happen to be the same Nairi who scared off the guys making meth a couple of blocks from here, would you?”

…Well, that wasn’t good, but it was leagues away from the worst thing she could have said. “I think I had a conversation with them,” she said politely, eyes flicking down to watch Cherry’s hands on the tabletop. She took a moment to consider and then added: “Sorry if that’s made one of your… ‘hobbies’ more difficult for you.”

Cherry snorted again and shook her head, looking distinctly unbothered. “Nah, not for me. I have a hard enough time making rent without that shit.”

She was still smiling.

Cherry swallowed her muffin and took a more gratuitous sip of her mocha, shifting how she was leaning on the table and looking up at Nairi properly again. “So you’re like, new in town right? Don’t know a lot of people yet?”

“What gave me away?” said Nairi, blinking at her.

“Just a feeling,” said Cherry, her cheeks dimpling as she polished off her drink. She climbed to her feet, tucking her wallet away, but flipping open her phone. “Do you wanna do this again some time? Like, I mean, tomorrow even if you want. I can come by earlier so we don’t run up against your opening, or we could grab food after you close for the day?”

“I—sure?” said Nairi, her mouth answering for her while she tried to process the abrupt change of gears. “I mean, what?”

“Catching up, getting to know each other, being friendly?” said Cherry brightly, shifting a little closer to Nairi. “You’ve got your dojo to open today and I need to clock some time at my day job, but I’d love to get to know you better, show you round town, introduce to some friends, even?”

Nairi only just managed to swallow the ‘Why?’ that was about to trip off her tongue. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I’d uh, yeah I’d like that?”

“Great!” said Cherry, holding out her phone with the screen open to a ‘new contact’ entry. “What’s your number?”

#serial fiction #series honey tree #book muay thai #103 #lgbt fiction

[tarithenurse]

On my mind, in my soul - 10

Prompt:  (Anon) “Natural” by Imagine Dragons, Asgard, Loki’s helmet. Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing as usual (I think), angsting, pining, worrying due to illness, arguing, fluffing (Yes! You read that right: FLUFF.). A/N:  Please feel free to reblog if you liked it <3 Or comment! Thanks to all of those who’ve been waiting patiently through the last while of scheming, but hey...now I’ve got a few chapters lying ready. 

Patience

It’s annoyingly difficult to stalk with rage in each step when you’re still weak from having been poisoned. If you could have, however, then the footsteps would have been sharp against the stones on the way through the palace. As it is, you’re using every ounce of energy simply to keep up with the two royal men and the surrounding guards.

At least you pay attention to the route. Valhalla’s grand, filled with numerous chambers, halls, and stairs that would make it easy to get lost. You’ve got a method which always has helped you memorize a new place…just in case you’ll need to navigate through the building alone and possibly while being chased. Occupational hazard. Admittedly, if you had to run now, you probably wouldn’t move quickly at all.

Maybe Thor notices your physical discomfort. Maybe he’s simply as curious as the electric-blue eyes shimmering at you leads to think. Slowing his steps, he falls back to walk by your side and even offers an impressively muscular arm to lean on which you take after a brief hesitation. If he’d hurt me, then he’d already have done so.

With his support, you manage to descend several levels, leaving the light of day behind in favour of brazier-fueled shadows that jump and dance when people pass. Down past heavily locked and guarded doors to a room that seems a hybrid between a fancy gallery and old dungeons. Invisible walls shimmer with fragmented lines of gold, somehow containing the bright illumination as if the wall were solid concrete. Descending a number of steps brings the contents of the two first “rooms” in view. One on either side, and each with what must constitute for prisoners here in Asgard.

“Why’re we here?” you demand, unafraid of which etiquettes you’re breaking.

Not bothering to pause or look back, Odin leaves it up to his son to answer. “You recall the warning Loki was given? That the donation of his blood could cause him his life?”

“…yeeah?” Gods…no. Not that. Please don’t…

“He seemed to think it was a price worth paying as he otherwise would be at the mercy of Odin due to having entered the realm uninvited.” His eyes dance around, landing on the cells and the floor…anywhere but you before he points to a cell a few yards up ahead. “He will not escape the punishment for his transgressions.”

Shoving ahead of the group, you stumble to the raised area of the cell, catching yourself on the barrier as you stumble over the ledge. You’re faintly aware of mixed reactions behind you, but it doesn’t matter because all you see is a room where ice spreads from a single, blue figure lying on a bed. Loki. The effect of his natural form is raging unchecked and it should frighten you…perhaps. All it does is turn fear to joy. He’s alive.

“Loki!” Your yell only stirs a few snowflakes that are gliding through the air on the other side of the barrier. “Loki!”

A heavy but gentle hand latches on to your shoulder and isn’t shaken off. “Lady [Y/N], he cannot hear you. He’s beyond reach,” Odin explains gently.

“Then let me in there so he can hear me!”

“It is not due to any barrier of our world.” Turning you, an old eye scans your face. “He may be alive…but the procedure took its toll.”

The words click fast enough, but the king’s choice is beyond your grasp. “Then why’s here in there? Send him to a hospital!” How can he be so cruel?

“He is being treated by our healers, Midgardian. However, this is the safest place to keep him until his powers are under control once more.”

That…kinda makes sense. Looking over your shoulder, only a magical veil obstructs the view to the unconscious Loki. A blanket’s spread over him but it doesn’t quite cover the tall frame so blue shoulders are left exposed save for where a few tendrils of black hair reaches. You could look at him all day. Will him to wake up.

In this house of mine? Nothing ever comes without a consequence or cost, tell me

…

It had been a surprise when the king wanted you to stay as long as was needed, even more so when he hadn’t objected when Thor recommended you were moved to another room. You didn’t care much even if it was a veritable suite with perfect view and lavish furniture, preferring instead to spend as much time as you could by the cell. The guards had gotten used to you, greeting you with smiles when you arrived and if there’d been any changes in Loki’s status then they’d undoubtedly let you know. There just wasn’t.

The last rays of sun are slipping past a layer of clouds, finally bringing some warmth into the room. If you would pay any attention, then you could marvel at the amber gleam of the wood, or the many shimmering hues of green woven into the drapes at either side of the wide windows and balcony doors. Instead you’re staring into one of the many books this room contains without actually seeing the page or what’s written on it. It’s the knocking on the door that brings you back to the present.

“Enter.”

It’s probably yet another servant. Of all the differences you’re getting accustomed to here on Asgard, it’s the staff that are making you feel the most out of place, especially because they all seem to find you more adorable than actually special. Sure, they’re perfectly polite. They just happen to talk to you as though you were a child.

“Lady [Y/N],” the deep rumble belongs to the only prince capable of walking the castle freely, “may I keep you company for a while?”

You can hardly refuse and soon Thor has dragged over another gigantic chair next to the one you sit in and set down a flask and two goblets. Watching bemused, you mentally note the difference of liquid he pours into the goblets but choose not to comment as he passes you the one with the least in. A careful sniff clears your sinuses instantaneously, but the honeyed scent is too good to resist for long, so you accept the quiet toast. Holy fuck! The alcohol burns sweet and strong, triggering all the right taste buds.

“You may want to drink with caution,” Thor warns as you down the remaining mouthful, “Midgardians are more…susceptible to our liquors.”

“Oh. Okay.” You’ve barely placed the goblet on the table before you feel the slight buzz which normally would require a lot more to drink.

Silence reigns. Oppressing. Loaded with unspoken thoughts, most of which (at least on your behalf) are related to Loki and his situation. So, he’s a stalker with a conscience…big deal. Still, there’s no way you can pretend the flutter in your stomach doesn’t appear each time you think of being near him (in a more conscious state), or the paralyzing dread by the idea that Loki might not survive. Even the thought of him being stuck in a prison cell while you’re free to live your life somehow seems unbearable. I don’t owe him! He chose to save…save me oh crap. Not only had he saved you, he’d even tried to warn you. And he’d confided in you.

“Why did Loki attack New York?”

Shifting in his seat, Thor thinks for a while before answering. “I shouldn’t tell anyone this…but I’m willing to do an exception in your case...” A sip from the goblet buys him more time. “The full tale is much longer…but there had been certain…event.” Grabbing the flask, both cups are given a generous refill. “My brother was distraught, acting out of despair and spite…sorrow…” A drink is shared, renewing the buzz in your head. “He left us and fell into the hands of a very evil being who…broke him…”

“A titan.” Your comment makes Thor eye you with surprise. “Loki told me a gruesome story full of torture and brainwashing…I guess I kinda hoped it’d been a lie.”

“You would rather see him commit those crime voluntarily?”

“Of course not! I just don’t want him to…to…”

“Trust you?” You shrug at the suggestion. “[Y/N]…I do not claim to understand the nature of the relationship between my brother and you. But I know he’s good at heart, and that circumstances beyond his control have forced him to build a façade, to keep people at an arms length.”  

…

There’s so much you want to know, but you don’t know how to and the liquor’s beginning to cloud your brain. It’s not until Thor’s about to leave and offhandedly remarks whom the room belonged to, that your mind jumps back into action.

“I used to sneak in here at night, as a little boy, if I couldn’t sleep,” the god smiles, “often Loki would be awake too and we’d play until we ended up being too noisy and the maid or mother would hear us.” A shimmer of bittersweet joy is visible in the rugged face, but it’s soon gone and Thor bids you goodnight.

Loki’s room. Leaning against the closed door, you take in the place, noticing the colour scheme and items reflecting the interests Loki still entertain on Earth. All the books (or at least those you’ve been able to decipher) cover a range of subjects and genres, forming a perfect foundation for someone who wishes to be well-spoken…even silver-tongued. I should’ve seen it. The entire room is a treasure trove of information on the one person you need to know everything about.

Rather be the hunter than the prey And you're standing on the edge, face up 'cause you're a…

…

Dividing your time more or less equally between your own basic needs, watching over Loki, and exploring his room meticulously, it takes a few days before there’s only a single chest left unopened…and still the god is unconscious.

“Lady [Y/N],” one of the usual guards greets you as you enter the dungeon, “I’m afraid there has been no change overnight.”

For the untrained eye, it could almost look as if he really is sorry, but there is a shadow of relief that not even the most rigorous training can smother.

“It’s oka– it’s fine.” Placate him. What you want to achieve requires all the pity you can make him feel. “I don’t expect he’ll recover…not before I have to leave, anyways.”

“You’re leaving?”

Gaze downcast, you shrug awkwardly. “I don’t belong here…even though everyone treats me kindly, there’s no…joy for me here. Just pain.”

“Is there anything we can do to ease your troubled heart?”

“I…it’s…what I want isn’t possible.” Sheer willpower (and a bit of bad memories) makes the vision of your shoes go blurry with tears and you can finally look up.

A split-second of shock and discomfort is all it takes before the guard’s mind has been made up. “Tell me what I can do.”

A beating heart of stone You gotta be so cold To make it in this world

…   Loki’s PoV   …

A fistful of bright heat has appeared in the midst of the soothing cool enveloping Loki’s body. A part of it wants to shake it away because it burns his skin where it touches…but mostly he wants the sweet pain the stay. To remind him of something…important. Nay…someone? It would fit with the soft hum of a gentle voice that has infused the dreamlike state Loki has revelled in since…

Memories rattle the calm, sets the god fighting against the paralyzing dream that has numbed his thoughts until now. I must wake up. He recalls everything up to the moment where darkness took him. Death, he had thought, but this cannot be death after all because the voice belongs to [Y/N] and she must have survived.

“…waiting……all very……why did…”

Bits and pieces of a one-sided conversation are recognizable by now, spurring Loki on. The heat he’s been feeling takes form of a hand, fingers entwined in his own and although he doesn’t dare move or open his eyes just yet, he knows how little it is in the blue of his own limb. Shivers run all the way to [Y/N]’s fingertips. She’s cold. Grasping for the magic within to shift into the warmer, gentler form of an Asgardian, Loki finds that he has nothing left to work with.

“…”

He can’t get the words out to get the Midgardian to leave, to find a warm place rather than linger in the cold he emanate. Finally wrenching his eyelids up, the white room nearly blinds him until he manages to find the darker shape that is the woman. Wrapped in a cloak, she huddles on something by the floor of his bed, probably preferring to sit there so she can hold his hand.

Testingly, Loki squeezes the slender fingers, and all sounds stills. Even her breathing. Once more, then.

“Loki?” A trill of hope’s laced into that single uttering.

As their eyes meet, [Y/N]’s begin to well up with tears of joy that fall on her cheeks to freeze into beads of glittery ice. It’s a sight he could admire all day, but he’s given very little time to do so before her face looms tauntingly over his, the smiling lips whispering his name before finding his. Cold and heat mingle beautifully, proving that this is no dream. The kisses taste of ocean and fruits, the crisp air smells like heaven, and a shy face beams down at Loki when it comes to a halt.

“Loki…”

“Mmmmm?” He can’t help the smile from stretching his lips.

“You. Are.” A delicate finger taps the tip of the blue nose. “A complete and bloody moron!”

The smile disappears, replaced by surprise and angrily furrowed brows. “What –?”

“Why the hell would y’ give up your freedom let alone risk your fucking life?! Fine!” Even the time it takes for [Y/N] to draw in air is too short to get a word in. “So you’ve claimed y’ care about me ‘n whatnot! What am I s’posed to do with that if you go ‘n sacrifice yourself like some some…uhh!”

Loki can fell how dry his throat is when he tries to talk again. “If this is your way of thanki–“

“Thanking?” Pretty eyebrows shoot upwards in protest. “Yes, thank you for saving my life.” She sounds as sarcastic as I can. “And for placing me in an impossible position where I’m in debt to a fucking god and his freaking family!”

“The debt owed was mine. We’re even now.”

“Oh really? Just like that?” [Y/N] wipes away tears from her hectically warm cheeks. “From where I stand the scales are out o’ balance.”

By Odin’s beard, she’s stubborn. “It’s of no concern right now, at least. Alright?” A shrug and then a nod makes it out for an answer. “Tell me instead…why are you here? Is the All-Father not letting you leave?”

“H’agreed to let me stay for a while…” [Y/E/C] doesn’t meet Loki’s but are trained on their hands that still are locked together. “They took me t’ see you when I woke up…y’re just lyin’ here...”

Loki knows better than to say anything as the woman explains the part of the events she has witnessed. The words themselves hold little value, it’s the tone and the facial expressions that captivates the Trickster because it tells much more than [Y/N] intends. Yes, she has been cared for. Yes, she feels indebted after her life has been saved. Yet none of that is the true concern harboured in her heart, and even if she realises what the cause really is, she still hasn’t got the words. Eventually, she quiets, eyes partially following the path of her thumb over Loki’s knuckles and back.

That’s how Odin and Thor finds them after a guard has hurried slowly to alert them of Loki’s consciousness.

…   Reader’s PoV   …

The castle is going to sleep, and you’re sitting on the soft rug, finally calmed down enough to use the improvised tools you’ve created to pick the lock on the chest. Alright, tools might still be too grand a term. It’s a couple of hair and shawl pins, a fork with bent prongs, and a thin dagger. Asgardian locks are slightly different from the standard Midgardian type, but it only takes a few attempts before you’ve managed to gain access and lift the lid.

“Oh.”

You’re not sure what you should have expected…but it wasn’t a deep green, velvet pillow in the bottom with one object resting upon it. Colden horns the length of your forearm are curving upwards from the headgear. Picking it up slowly, you turn the familiar crown-like item over and over in your hands, careful not to poke yourself in the face with the horns. Antlers.

A silly thought pops into your mind, prompting you to rush over to the tall mirror by the wardrobe and place the iconic accessory on you head. It’s a tad too big, wobbling when you move and needs to be stabilized to prevent it from sliding crooked. Still…I get it. This is power in an object.

“I see you understand the appeal,” a smooth voice announces from behind you.

A mix of fear and embarrassment freezes you in place rather than turn towards the door, but in the mirror, you see Loki being ushered into the room by a couple of guards and Thor before the door closes again. You hear the lock click, but that doesn’t matter because the green eyes are burning.

#On my Mind in my Soul #loki x reader #loki x you #Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #loki angst #loki pining #loki fluff #loki fanfic #loki marvel #loki mcu #Loki Laufeyson x reader #Loki odinson x reader #asgard #Thor Odinson #thor #odin #Valhalla #Loki lemon series

[svubloods]

Imagine a Barba v Reagan Custody Trial PART THREE: The Verdict (TPELB PART TEN)

(A/N: Dedicated to everyone who has enjoyed this story and asked me about it. Sorry for the wait, still haven't pulled my shit together. I hope you enjoy and thank you for caring about my series. It’s my baby!) 

*Masterlist with all the parts HERE *

Imagine a Barba v Reagan Custody Trial PART THREE: The Verdict

One thousand, two hundred and sixty...

Counting was the only thing keeping you sane.

You didn't even know what you were counting exactly. Was it time? The seconds that had passed since you’d been left alone? Was is the erratic thud of your heart? Which was still racing even though it had been twenty minutes since you’d been rushed out the courtroom and left alone. Thudding in time with the clock on the wall of the empty witness room.

No, you were just counting…That was it. That was all. You were just counting. Counting nothing. Distraction. You needed a distraction. Focus. It was all you could focus on. Regardless, of what it was. Time, numbers were things you could handle, you’d always been able to handle. This situation, these feelings, on the other hand, were becoming less and less bearable as time wore on and you remained sitting here alone.

One thousand, four hundred and forty-six...

The cold metal of the chair stung your hand as you gripped the edge of your seat. Pressing harder and harder, so hard that as the silence of the empty witness room was slowly replaced by the deafening roaring of blood coursing through your veins, pounding in your ears. The panic setting in steadily, the only steady thing about your current state.

You couldn't stay calm as Will’s words of assurance moment ago did less and less to alleviate the weight of the situation you were in. Everything was going to change and you didn't know how much. You weren’t prepared and it felt like everything was crashing around you. Everything you knew, everything you took comfort in felt like it was slipping away.

And so were you.

One thousand, six hundred and eleven...

That’s why you needed to count. Numbers were bearable, numbers and facts, were things you were good at, they were who you are. This anxiety, this stress, the feelings of constantly being on edge and the terror of wondering if your world as you know it was going to change permanently. Ever since this had all started you’d had your moments of course and felt these things in passing but now…it was hard to stay controlled, to keep it together.

Perhaps because of how shattered you felt.

You just had to focus. You just had to.

One thousand, nine hundred and fifty-nine

“Y/N?” You heard Will say from the door before walking over and crouching in front of you.

“I…I…” You stuttered, words for the first time in your life failing you.

His eyes glossed over you worriedly as you failed to communicate with him. His eyes scanning over your face to your hands. He quickly pried your white knuckles from the bench that looked seconds from tearing through your skin from the metal before cradling them in his own.

And as soon as he did.

You snapped.

Everything whirled and you were suddenly back to reality. Your senses returning so quickly that you let out a loud gasp as your breathless suddenly became audible, the sound filling the room, almost to your relief.

“Are you okay?” He asked, gently.

You shook your head honestly but gave him a small reassuring smile anyway, the best you could manage. You saw him go to speak but he stopped himself, a confused expression form on his face as he thought hard about what he was going to say.

“But I will be as soon as all this over,” You continued, the feeling fully passing and feeling like yourself again.

“Y/N, you don't have to…” He began but you already knew what he was going to say.

“I’m fine,” You repeated, shoving any and all emotions you were feeling so far down inside yourself that this sensation of dullness overwhelmed you and it was exactly what you needed.

“You don't have to be,” He whispered.

“But I am, I always am. I have my moment but I’m always fine. I’m okay,” You promised, almost sincerely.

“I almost believe you,” He chuckled.

“So what’s happening?” You asked, seriously, fully composed now but his eyes were still filled with worry as he looked at you.

“The judge spoke to everyone, everyone is calm and a decision has been made,”

“That fast?” You said, startled.

He nodded, this time.

“So when do we…?” You probed.

“They’re waiting for us now,”

You stood up confidently your head still whirling a little but not enough to make it obvious.

“We can wait a minute if you want…” He began to offer.

“I’m done waiting,” You stated, circling past him and heading toward the door before turning back and looking back at him, “Shall we,”

He gave a quick nod before walking over and opening the door for you.

“We shall,” He agreed, offering his hand for you which you happily took.

You walked silently, hand in hand back towards the courtroom.

Two thousand and one…

Two thousand and two…

Two thousand and three…

As soon as you both turned the corner and the courtroom door was in sight you could feel your resolve rising. You want this to be over. You want this to be over. You chanted in your head as if you were trying to convince yourself that it was what you wanted. You were. You wanted this. You wanted to stop guessing what was going to happen. You just wanted to know. You wanted an answer…you wanted to go home.

But maybe that isn't an option anymore. Maybe all hope is gone now…

Two thousand and fourteen…

Two thousand and fifteen…

Two thousand and sixteen…

You stopped abruptly as Will reached the handle of the door, his hand clasping it hard before turning to look at you as if it would be the last time.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” He asked again.

“Will,” You breathed, confidence and determination so steady and well woven in your tone that you almost shocked yourself, “It’s been months. I have prepared myself for every possible outcome that could happen. I’m ready for this. I’m ready for this to be over,”

You worried for a spilt-second that he would see straight through you but then again the worried eyes he kept trained on you had been there all day. Nothing you could say would alleviate his worry for you and nothing he could say could alleviate your worry in general. He stared at you for a second before pulling you to a hug, leaning down into it so your head was tucked right under his. You reciprocated immediately, taking comfort in the only stability you'd had in the past few months.

Letting go for a moment before you had to pull yourself together again.

“You know how much I love you, right?” He whispered, swinging you gently from side to side as he held you tightly.

“I do, I love you too,” You replied, clinging tightly.

“No matter what happens, I’m always going to be here for you,” He promised, “No matter what,”

“So we’re still on for Friday?” You teased, wiping a stray tear secretly.

“Every Friday, for the rest of my life,” He promised, kissing the top of your head before releasing you and putting his hand on the door again.

With one last smile, he opened the door for you and you walked in. The door was the front of the courtroom so everyone in the gallery would see you walk in and you would have to pass your Grandfather who was seated with his attorney on the left side of the courtroom and the Judge who was positioning in the middle, facing directly at your table with Will and Grant. And of course, Mr Barba and his attorney would see you as well, as they were sitting your right. You had been placed in-between Grant and Will so you didn't indicate any favouritism to either side. But your views were clear to the whole courtroom at this point.

Two thousand and ninety-nine…

Two thousand, one hundred…

Two thousand, one hundred and one…

As you walked back in, all the eyes in the room fell to you, the general chatter seized. You didn't see it but you could feel it. You weren’t looking at your feet or the floor or anything as you walked back in, you were looking straight ahead. You could have looked at anything…anybody.

But you didn’t.

Family court wasn’t open to the public so every face in the room was somewhat familiar, friendly in most cases bar a couple of law or court officials who could frequent any court they wanted. If anything had been drilled into you through this process is that everyone had your best interest in mind. They cared, even if it didn't always seem like it. For the first time you gaged the room, it was unusually big for a family court but perhaps that was because of your large family. Even though there were three sides to this case the room was clearly divided into two. Your Aunt, three uncles and Great Grandpa sat in the front row of the gallery behind your Grandpa, close enough to speak to him if they needed to. Aunt Erin positioned right in the middle, probably to advise the attorney. Nikki and Aunt Linda sat behind them. Some of your Grandpa’s colleges were theirs like his primary aide Baker and his Chief of Staff Mr Moore. Your Father’s side was a lot more unfamiliar. There was an older lady seated behind him in a flamboyant coat, your best guess was that was his mother, your Grandmother. Their eyes gave it away, all three of you had the same eyes. You had half expected SVU would be here but you understood it was hard of them. They had all privately pulled you aside to give you their support but having to decide between their ADA and a Detective on the squad, was tricky. But you understood, it was a similar situation for a few of the other ADAs who had to decide between their boss and their colleague.

Sonny had taken it the hardest though. Your Uncle Joe was his partner and Mr Barba was his mentor. So you were surprised to see him there. He was the only person not sitting, he was standing in the back, right in the middle. He must have just arrived to hear the decision. He smiled at you as you reached your table just as you were about to turn back around. You returned it with a little wave, he was the first person you had to acknowledge since walking in, ignoring both sides for your sanity.

And though you knew he was standing in the middle because he was trying to say neutral. Him standing behind your table effectively made you feel as if he was just on your side. Perhaps you were reading too much into it but then again as you always did.

You then turned to face the front of the courtroom. Judge Barker acknowledged you with an amicable smile and stern nod before beginning court proceedings. You waited with bated breath as the formalities seemed to drag. You could hear both sides make final statements but you weren't paying attention. You weren't listening until it got to the only part that you were interested.

“In my years as a family court judge,” Judge Baker began, his voice stoic and professional, reminding you of your grandfather but sincerity, emotion, regret was laced in too, “I’ve seen a lot of cases. Many of the children who come through this court have nobody but that isn't the case here. Which makes this case much more difficult. Both parties have acted in the best interest of the child as they saw fit. It very clear that everyone, in this case, wants one thing alone, the best outcome for Y/N. The problem that has arisen is that there are differing opinions on what that outcome is exactly. Mr Barba, despite some unverified claims, from what I’ve heard it is clear that you had no intention in abandoning Y/N and that you are more than suitable and capable in providing a home for Y/N. Commissar Reagan, it is undeniably clear that you have been a loving, excellent and model surrogate parent for Y/N ever since your daughter's death. At the time there was no objection to this as Y/N’s paternity was unknown and the birth certificate only had her mothers name.  Y/N is a smart and articulate, young lady who has clearly been raised in a loving and secure home to the point in which it is her wish to remain in the primary custody of her Grandfather as she had done since the age of two years old. However, the law recognises the rights of biological parents as paramount as long as they are deemed fit which Mr Barba is. And if this was a normal case then I would have no choice than to grant Mr Barba full custody of the child. However due to the unique nature of the case and that despite Mr Barba’s motion to have Y/N’s birth certificate changed and biological evidence proving that he is the Father of Y/N Reagan. The wishes of late Erika Reagan must also be considered as she at the time have full custody and right to Y/N. She allocated her Father as her guardian and therefore he represents her in these proceedings. Therefore I have taken the liberty with the arrangement in this case. I have no choice to award Mr Barba full primary custody of Miss Y/N Reagan and she will reside with him at his Manhattan home. However, The Commissioner will retain custody on selected weekends and other times in which both parties see agree. I urge both parties to keep Y/N’s best interest in mind and cooperate with each other to do so. I don’t want to see this case back in my courtroom any time soon. We’re adjourned.”

It seemed like everyone had waited to react until he was finished. You could see out of the corner of your eye your Father jump slightly before being engulfed into a hug with his mother and shaking his attorney's hand. You heard gasps and crying from your left, Aunt Linda and Nikki. The front remained silent. You saw your Pa grasp your Grandfathers shoulder tightly. You couldn't see your Grandfathers expression as it was turned to look at his attorney. Uncle Danny and Jamie were turned to look at Nikki and Linda. Uncle Joe comforted unit Erin who had her face in her hands. You could feel them all giving you teary-eyed, heartbroken glances in turn as the court began to clear and the general chatter seemed to rise.

You sat frozen, staring ahead for a couple seconds as the world seemed to go on without you. You were stuck in place, still waiting for reality to kick in. You hadn't lied when you had said that you had prepared for all outcomes. You had looked up New York State Law, you knew that he was highly likely to win and yet you still felt like you had been caught off guard, blindsided, unprepared. Maybe because you had foolishly hoped that something would happen and everything would go back to normal but it wouldn't ever go back.

You had hoped and prayed.

And still nothing.

You should have known better to rely on belief.

Will grasped your arm and was about to say something to you.

But you shook his arm off harshly and stood up briskly, so much so that the chair screeched violently against the floor alerting everyone. You saw everyone momentarily look at you as you whipped around quickly. Your hair flying a few seconds after you as you rushed over to your Grandfather who stood up just before you reached him to greet you.

He only uttered your name in a hoarse whisper before wrapping his arms around you. You hugged him fiercely as sobs racked your body, your head was spinning and your heart was breaking. You clung tightly, knowing that you would have to let go soon. You buried yourself into this embrace, your cries muffling the talk and sounds that surrounding you. You shut your eyes in attempt to stop crying but it wasn't working. You couldn't control it, you couldn't breathe and whenever you managed it, you choked.

You let go slightly only to hug your Uncles who had all come over to hug you. A shared energy of powerlessness between you all, as they unapologetically huddled you into a group hug. You ended up between your Grandfather who you were refusing to let go of and you Aunt Erin. She was stroking your face as your front was pressed into her, your Grandfather to your back. She was crying as she whispered reassurances to you, her grip was tight.

“Y/N?” A voice said.

Your eyes snapped open to meet the gaze of the same green eyes as your own. The concern hurt and possibly regret coloured your Father’s features as he stared at you continued to hold on. You turned to your head to face him despite your sideways position to him. Everyone else behind you looked straight on at him.

You glared unable to hold back. No longer wanting to be neutral or polite. You were done being polite, being understanding. Rage gripped your whole body and undoubtedly your expression as you stared right back at him. Right in the eyes as if trying to convey to him exactly how you were feeling.

Pure, white-hot, blinding hatred…for doing this to you, for destroying your life, for him.

You felt tense as went to speak, the anger causing you to shake profusely as you eased yourself out of your families grip and looked him head-on. Your ears ringing, your heart pounding at an execrated rate.

“You!” You lashed out.

The tone of your voice never heard before by all those who knew you, it startled your Grandfather and Aunt who were still so close to you that you could feel it roll it off them. But you were too distracted to think about it for more than a second or remember what your grandfather had always said to do when you were angry.

Walk away.

But you couldn’t.

You couldn't walk away from him because he had stumbled into yours and took control of it without even asking you first.

Everything he had done was for himself and himself alone. You were an afterthought. No, you weren't even a thought at all, it seemed. 

“How could you do this to me?” You demanded, still crying unapologetically as confronted me, “What did ever do to you?”

“No..nothing,” He stuttered, instinctively reaching out for you.

You stepped back right into your Grandfather.

“Stay away from me,” You warned, rage rising as you burned from the inside.

“I can’t do that,” He reasoned.

“Don’t you get it?” You interrogated, “I don't want to know you, I don't want to be with you. Hell, I don't want to be around you. I hate…”

“Y/N,” Your Grandfather scolded from above, stopping you, “You have to calm down,”

“No!” You sobbed sincerely your voice softening immediately, turning around, tears streaming you already tear stained face, your starkly young age apparent as you spoke to him, “I don't want to go, Grandpa, please don't make me go. I don't want to please don't make me,”

He looked silently back at you. Helpless before embarking you again, his hands on your face as he tried to settle you.

“I’m so sorry,” He whispered.

“Please don't make me go, please. I just want to be with you.” You pleaded into his suit.

“Y/N, I’m sorry…” Mr Barba said loudly.

You snapped and spun in your Grandfathers arms to look at him again. Your uncle Danny was about to say something but you interrupted.

“Shut up!” You shouted, which was so unlike you that you heard a gasp, “Just shut up. I don't want your sorry. I don't want anything from you. I never did. I…I…”

Your voice broke, allowing you to pause and think but then you swallowed harshly and glared once again. This man, this stranger, your supposed Father, the man you had once like, who you admit you were excited was your Father at first until he decided to tear your life apart. For what reason, you didn't even know. He felt cheated maybe. You had spent so long trying to reason, you told him what you wanted and he still ignores your wishes. He didn't want compromise or a negotiation. He just wanted you, all to himself with no regard for you or how you felt.

You had tried to stay calm, controlled, yourself. But now you didn't even know who you are. Your family were who you were and now, they had been ripped away from you, only to reunited on his terms and his terms only.

So yeah, you weren't yourself. You couldn't be.

You were just angry and you wanted him to know it with every word. Venom wrapping your next few words that they pierced like bullets. You wanted to make sure he never forgot them, you wanted to make sure to engrave this in his memory so he would know exactly how you felt because you knew how you felt towards him right now would never change.

“I…hate you. I hate you so much. I’ll never forgive you for this. I’ll never love you. You aren't my family. You’re nothing to me. I…I just…can't believe you’re doing this to me. Why are you doing this to me?”

#law and order svu #Law and Order: Special Victims Unit #law and order svu imagine #law and order:svu #Blue Bloods #blue bloods imagine #svu #svu imagine #svu fandom #SVU fanfiction #rafael barba #ada rafael barba #rafael barba imagine #ada rafael barba imagine #Frank Reagan #frank reagan imagine #rafael x daughter #Danny Reagan #Commissioner Frank Reagan #Reagan #Jamie Reagan #Erin Reagan #the people erika left behind #the poeple erika left behind #Tpelb #daddybarba #daddy barba imagine #law and order svu x blue bloods #SVUxbluebloods #blue bloods x svu

[fyeahwonderbat]

In the Middle of a Broken Constellation - Pt. 15

Pairing: WonderBat (Wonder Woman x Batman) Rating: T / 14A Universe: N/A - Reader’s Choice Previous Chapter: <- Chapter 14 

Author’s Note: This chapter is a little late because I am trying to figure out what direction to take this all in. Originally, I planned for a serious thriller of a story, but it doesn’t seem like that appeals to many readers. I worry that if I don’t have obvious WonderBat moments in most chapters, most WonderBat fans aren’t interested in the build-up of this plot. If I could get some feedback on this chapter/story, that’d be great. If people don’t like it, I can just abandon it, but I want to know what the consensus is. Thanks!

There was an itch at the back of her neck that she couldn’t seem to scratch. Diana had simmered in her fury since the night before and it made her feel like as though a rash was running over her body. Her so-called allies had spent the morning arguing with her about what they were supposed to do with Arthur’s trident, and how they should go about solving the mystery of it appearing suddenly in the back of Falcone’s shipping truck. The team she had collected to help Bruce suddenly turned against her when she arose that morning, with Dick’s words still ringing in her ears. “You’re here because you’re worried about Bruce, right? Let us worry about Aquaman.”

Couldn’t she be worried about more than one of her friends at the same time!?

As devastating as the sludge monster infestation had been, the situation had simmered down considerably after Bruce stopped fulfilling his role as Batman. However, once she had decided to move into Gotham and participate in a solution, more and more concerns kept popping up every day. She had confessed to Jason how overwhelming everything had become, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be excluded from anything. Perhaps finding Arthur and Barry would lead to helping Bruce, which was definitely an area of interest for her.

“Ah, I was just about to go looking for you,” said none other than the billionaire she’d been thinking of, surprising her as he stood in the open doors of the elevator at Wayne Tower. Diana hadn’t realized that she’d been so deep in thought, she’d nearly missed her chance to exit the car. As startled as she was to see him, Bruce looked undeniably smug to catch her off guard for a moment. “I almost thought you’d called in sick or something.”

“No,” she promised a little too quickly. Diana fixed her rose-colored dress despite its loose fit while Bruce joined her in the elevator. He pressed the button marked forty-two and watched the doors shut at a rather sluggish pace. It was when she tried to peek over at him did she recall the pair of glasses she’d brought with her. Staring down at her clutch as she held it tightly under her arm, she knew she’d want to bring them out as soon as they sat down in his office.

“Did you manage to get any sleep last night?” Bruce inquired, breaking the silence.

Looking over at him with a pleasant smile, Diana answered him honestly. “Actually, I did. Only a few hours, though.”

He released a hefty breath, looking much more flummoxed than he had yesterday when she’d returned from the hospital. “That’s more than I expected. I can’t imagine what you went through in there.” Bruce admitted softly.

Despite his genuine attempt at empathy, his words actually struck her deeply. He did know what that kind of battle was like – the ones where you feel powerless in the face of an unknown enemy, where any slip up could be the end of you. The Bruce Wayne she knew had so much more experience with these types of matters than he ever gave himself credit for, however, he could probably imagine exactly what she’d been through with one of his many adversaries from his rogue gallery. Hearing him speak with such a lack of awareness of his own life experience left her speechless for the rest of their time in the elevator.

Luckily, the ride to the forty-second floor was rather swift.

They stepped out of the car in sync with one another, each with their right foot first. There was a large desk for a pool of secretarial staff divided by a hallway, leading to an impressive pair of black doors that was only a few feet beyond them. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne.” A chorus of voices greeted him, and a wall of sound collided with Diana as they passed the group.

“Afternoon.” He answered them emotionlessly. Instead of devoting a moment of his time to his staff, Bruce walked with a noticeable impatience down the length of the hall. When his hand reached the doors, he threw them open as if he was tapping into the strength of the Batman. Diana felt the rush to enter his office and heard the doors close behind her just as much as she felt them. “Someone’s eager to get started.” She was compelled to tease his sudden forcefulness.

Then, she looked around his office with wide eyes. The motif of the floor-to-ceiling windows was carried throughout the building it seemed, from the lobby to Lucius’ conference room to Bruce’s personal space. The walls were decorated with spliced shelves in the shapes of shadowboxes, some containing books while some held cultured accessories. His desk was the same wooden color, a deep brown shade contrasting the brightness brought in by the natural light of the sun. It was a modern room that was particular cold if she focused on it for a moment too long. But that was very Bruce-like, she acknowledged.

To appear distant while trying to be progressive.

Diana strolled over to her seat in front of his desk, loving the echo she heard from her steps. Bruce noticed right away, and even dared to make a joke. “Glad to know you had another pair of heels at home to wear, after losing your shoes yesterday.”

It made her feel much more comfortable to hear him say something so ridiculous. “My belongings haven’t arrived yet so I had to make sure I had at least one more pair of shoes on hand. Although, I was more concerned about one of the heels breaking, not losing them at a hospital.”

“Well, let’s get through this report quickly then, so we can go out and get you some more.” Bruce suggested while he clicked away on his computer, most likely searching for the forms they’d need to fill out.

“Mr. Wayne,” Diana stopped him right there with a sharp pronunciation of his name, “I really don’t need you to buy me anything.”

His fingers froze over his keyboard. Slowly, he turned to look at her and she immediately recognized the challenge in his eyes. It appeared as though defiance was a natural trait for Bruce Wayne, no matter what he could or could not remember. As he spun his body to face her in his seat, he brought his palms together and clasped them tightly, presenting himself as a firm, unmoving boss. “I thought we agreed yesterday that your belongings would be replaced by the Wayne Corporation, as an apology for the horrible incident you endured yesterday.”

“We did,” she agreed easily enough. Sitting up straight, however, allowed her to emit a strikingly powerful air as well. “But after careful deliberation, I realized that if I accepted your offer, it could look like favoritism for your new hire and could create animosity between me and my peers.”

“Why? I’m not going to tell them.” Was the reply of the CEO.

“That’s not the point.”

“Look, Diana, we replace many people’s belongings here all the time. From company pens to affordable housing, I’ve given out a lot of money. After what you went through yesterday, I doubt anyone would accuse you of taking advantage of the company if we offered you shoes in exchange for you not suing us over your first day on the job. Without any kind of insurance, there a lot of people who would do much worse than by taking our kindhearted gesture of a trip to a boutique--”

“But it’s not ‘we’.” Diana pointed out.

“What?” Unafraid to look unpolished, his expression of confusion shifted the entire look of his face.

Refusing to back down, she pressed on. “It’s not ‘we’, Mr. Wayne. It’s you. You’re offering me this kindhearted gesture verbally.”

Again, just as aloof as a CEO should not be, he answered, “So?”

It infuriated Diana to no end that he could be so full of himself whenever it best suited him. That itchy feeling crawled up her spines and rushed over her shoulders, forcing her to sit up straight to lessen the sensation. “There is most definitely a conflict of interests, then!”

There was an impenetrable pause after she shouted at him, so obvious that it made her bite back saying anything else. It was embarrassing that he managed to get a rise out of her over something she believed shouldn’t have been an issue in the first place. His ability to rile her up was yet another facet of his personality that was forever a part of him. What she wouldn’t give to spar with him in that moment!

As if he heard her internal wish, Bruce arose from his seat and walked around the length of his desk to meet her. He sat himself down in the seat next to her, silently observing her as he moved. It took him a moment too long to speak, in her opinion, when he finally responded to her claim. “I respect you, Diana.”

Unprepared for his sincerity, she didn’t have a response ready for him.

So, he continued. “I can appreciate how aware you are of your situation here, but you have to understand something: I’m not asking you for permission here.” “Mr. Wayne—!”

“Were you on company time when you lost your shoes? Were you doing something that pertained to your job here? Were you put in harm’s way while fulfilling your role as the Community Outreach Specialist for the Wayne Foundation? Yes? Then I have every right as both your boss’ boss and the man who funds that hospital more than anyone else in the world to do what I want. Now, you can either come with me and pick out a specific pair of shoes or trust my judgment, even though I do not claim to be a fashion expert. You don’t want me wasting hundreds of dollars on ugly heels, do you?”

For a few moments, she sat in awe of his argument. Then, she regained her consciousness and spat out, “You are the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”

“Only when I need to be.” He smirked at her, proud of himself.

Eager to deflate him, she muttered, “I highly doubt that.”

Bruce hadn’t expected that response and nearly expressed his shock with a gaping mouth. Luckily for him, he caught himself before looking like a total fool, ready to blurt out the next obnoxious thing that came to mind. “If I wrote up a contract and we signed something physical, would that make you feel better?”

“It would make me feel ridiculous but much less ridiculous than if I simply agreed to your words.” She explained.

“Great,” Bruce sighed and immediately spun his computer screen around on his desk. Grabbing his wireless keyboard, he sat back in his seat, opened an empty document that was drawn up with a contract-like template, then began filling in the blanks with the terms they’d set. “I, Bruce Wayne, agree to replace the missing belongings of Diana Prince. Said belongings were damaged and have gone missing after an incident that occurred yesterday afternoon at Gotham General Hospital. The list of items to be replaced includes one pair of woman’s heels, one woman’s handbag, one cellphone…” “One set of car keys,” Diana added, trying her hardest not to laugh. She realized she had lied when she said it would feel less ridiculous to have a physical copy of their agreement. It felt like they were teenagers that need the law to act as their parents, ready to intervene if things became obscure.

With a brow arched, he turned to her and asked specifically, “How many keys need to be replaced?” Unable to hide her awkwardness, Diana accidentally chastised him personally. “Bruce!”

He didn’t appear disappointed by her usage of his name. Instead, he looked as though he was relieved to know she found the entire situation as hilarious as he did. “And one set of car keys. It is the responsibility of Mr. Wayne to provide transportation to and from any shops visited, as well as any meal that is consumed whilst shopping. When Miss Prince is satisfied with the purchases, Mr. Wayne is to escort her home.”

Diana leaned over the armrest of her chair. It was her turn to add her own legalities to the contract since her name would be on it too. Making sure she spoke with proper articulation, she stated, “Should Mr. Wayne fail to fulfill any of his obligations, he must provide Miss Prince with one week of paid vacation to any destination she chooses, all expenses paid.”

“What? What happened to being too virtuous to take any money from me?” Bruce complained immediately, indignation heard in his tone.

“A contract has clauses, you know. I’m merely protecting myself in our agreement.” She claimed, all while visibly fighting off the urge to smile. After the way he made her feel when he fought her polite refusal of his gift, it was nice to turn things around on him.

That would only last a moment or two, however. Typing furiously, Bruce read aloud what his clause would say in their contract. “Should Miss Prince refuse a replacement for all of her belongs, the transportation to and from any shops visited, the meal consumed whilst shopping and/or the escort to her home, Miss Prince will be required to…attend the 37th Martha Wayne Charity Auction.”

Instantly, Diana cocked her head to one side. “That doesn’t sound at all like a punishment.”

“Trust me,” Bruce scoffed as he typed away. “It is.”

“When is it?”

“Next weekend.”

“Alright, I don’t have any plans.” Diana accepted the terms, sliding back into a proper seat. Having attended many galas and high society parties in her day, she knew that some could be rather mundane, but it wasn’t something she couldn’t survive.

Whereas Bruce would most likely suffer internally for years if she bested him and managed to get a free vacation out of their inane contract.

“By signing below, both parties indicate that they have read, reviewed and agree to the terms of this contract.” Bruce declared. Once he was finished typing, he stood up, returned his keyboard to his desk, and signed his signature on the touch screen of his computer. Following his example, Diana arose from her chair and did the same. Since the computer was positioned off to the side, she was forced to lean forward and cross over his personal space in order to reach the screen. She scribbled her name as quick as can be before looking up at him, shooting him a confident grin of her own.

But when she met his gaze, she didn’t see the jovial man she had been teasing a moment ago. The confidence that radiated off of him was something she’d seen before, in meetings where he would get his way, in moments where he could put down even the strongest Metahumans in the Justice League. She moved carefully so as to preserve the image in her mind, as it encouraged her to see the version of Bruce Wayne she was trying to save. The Batman existed inside of him even if she couldn’t reach him directly.

But this version of him, the one she would be spending her day with, had the charms of Bruce that she wasn’t always privy to.

Face to face, she saw a glint in his eyes that was mischievous, no matter how fleeting it was. He cleared his throat and offered her his hand, but Diana didn’t take it right away. She couldn’t help but feel like she was searching more, like she was greedy for… something. Everything she was doing – everything she had done with her civilian life and all of her resources as Wonder Woman – was all geared towards this enigma of a man. Having him next to her, alone, where she could truly marvel at the person he was beneath the Kevlar and the trickery was worth more than any pair of shoes they’d find at the mall.

And it made her feel flush in a way she didn’t dare acknowledge while standing with him in his office.

Carefully, she shook his hand and offered a cordially smile. Then, she said. “Before we can move on to fulfilling the promises of the contract, we have a report to fill out first, right?”

Bruce withdrew his hand and stomped around his desk in the blink of an eye. The absence of his presence was felt right away, but it was the coldness of his answer that stood out to her. “Yes, of course.” He dropped into his seat, fixated himself with his computer and began setting up the report file. It didn’t shock her to see him retreat into himself, but Diana noticed right away that it wasn’t such a harsh separation as she was used to with him.

Maybe, once the old Bruce returned to her, some of these softer traits of his would remain.

Maybe.

#in the middle of a broken constellation #maiden writes #wonderbat #diana prince #bruce wayne

[lisinfleur]

TWTDTM - Chapter Eleven: Fallen Inside the Black

Words: 2.161

The subsequent days were strange. Without Ubbe's presence, Ivar was constantly cocky and sometimes, intractable. You knew he had discovered something about the galleries under the city, but he was dividing nothing with you and Hvitserk. He simply stopped treating any of you like his family, starting to plan and decide by himself his next steps with the army which was blindly following his leadership.

Despite the arrogance of your little brother, Hvitserk and you already had noticed Saxons' plan for that place: after the third hunting party that didn't come back, you two realized they were isolating the city, besieging the place in order to kill you of starvation or with the diseases that were already spreading on the place.

Instead of you, Hvitserk were more worried. You had already understood Ivar's behavior and were decided to follow your path wherever it was: you would help him to establish the city or stay there and look at him till he wants to give you your tasks. But as soon as York was recovered by the Saxons' or taken by your army, you would leave. Therefore, you weren't really concerned with battle plans or the Saxon Army strategies. You only wanted them to solve it as soon as possible.

However, Hvitserk was really bothered with Ivar's silence and in that lunch, seeing his brother eating, drinking and acting like nothing was happening was the last drop he could handle.

"So, the hunting party did not return today" he said.

His plate was empty. You were emptying yours while Ivar seemed not satisfied, eating like there is not a lack of food around the men, ignoring Hvitserk completely.

But Hvitserk was decided to call his attention.

"I said the hunting..."

"I've heard what you said" Ivar said, causing you to sight, disgusted and let go the rib bone you were eating. That attitude was already annoying you.

Hvitserk sighed, continuing. His patience was growing better and stronger than yours.

"We are almost out of food. Ad there is sickness in the town. What are we going to do? We have to do something. The Saxons are in their own country. They can be reinforced and grow stronger, while every day we just grow weaker..."

"What are you really saying, huh, brother?" Ivar cut him finally taking your glare. "That I was wrong not to negotiate with the Saxons and Ubbe was right?"

That tone...

All that arrogant behavior was causing your blood to boil inside your veins. Ivar had grown stronger but same way Ubbe didn't have the right to treat him like an incapable crippled, he didn't have the right to start treating you and Hvitserk as you were disposable pawns in his Hnefatafl game. You were his sister, Hvitserk was his older brother! He might be the leader of that fucking army, but he was still younger than you both and owes you two some respect.

"No"

Hvitserk was trying to keep control, but you were already seeing his patient running low.

Even then, even with your glare on his eyes, Ivar kept that ironic expression in his face.

"No? Are you sure?"

"Ivar…" you started, ready to question his behavior.

But Hvitserk was starting to be annoyed and again he took a position, changing his tone to something a little harsher.

"Ubbe was wrong. That's why I didn't sail with him"

"But now you regret it?"

Ivar was clearly provoking him. And even this way, he was acting so grown, so mature.

You could say you were proud of your Puppy.

"I just told you no. Ubbe treated me like his little faithful dog. I'm no one's dog, Ivar"

You smiled. Even with Ivar's debauched expression, you smiled to Hvitserk just to see your smile fade away completely with the sound that preceded the men's laughing around you.

"Woof woof"

Hvitserk's expression just changed and for a moment you saw his eyes lost. He was so small, so humiliated...

Not even your supportive touch on his shoulder was enough to keep him there and he got up, taking his sword and leaving the room, completely humiliated and targeted by the men's laughing out loud around him.

Ivar himself was laughing.

And it was your last drop.

"Is this the kind of leader you want to be?"

Your voice silenced the laughs around and you turned your eyes to Ivar, fierce (y/c/e) eyes in a sharp glare that cut his own laughing into a serious expression.

"I was just kidding, (Y/N). If he can't handle some mocking so he can..."

"Is this... the kind of leader you want to be, Ivar?"

Not Grumpy, not brother, no respect for his voice echoing before yours: just your eyes, looking at him as they could swallow his blues. The men around looking at you with some curiosity and some fear...

You knew they fear Ivar...

So what about the shield maiden who was facing him fearlessly?

"I don't know where you’re trying to get, (Y/N)." he answered, evasive.

But you took the reins of the subject again, pulling him to where you wanted.

"Let me make it clear for you, Ivar, The Boneless. The kind of leader you're being now, humiliating your equals, treating your family members as nothing, 'playing' and having fun on mock of your men like we weren't here for fighting and die for you... Ignoring your people outside dying of starvation and sickness while you eat like a fucking pig seated on your throne like a damn king, minding anything but your own belly button. Is that the damn kind of leader you'll become?"

His expression has totally changed. His entire body language went from laughing to the angry mode you know so well, causing his men to pull back and the tension between you two get so thick that could be cut with a knife.

"I'm not ignoring my men. Hvitserk mocked me for my entire life and nobody... "

"Don't you even dare!"

It was the second time you cut his sentence in the middle. The men around were looking at you impressed. To them, for sure, if you didn't end that situation killed, you must be feared.

"Sigurd mocked you for your entire life and I was always there to stand for you when he was wrong, Ivar. I was always there to stand for all of you so as I was ready to stand for you at the moment you decided to throw that ax!" you said, emphasizing Sigurd’s name and going deep into that not-healed wound between you two. "But Hvitserk and I, we stayed for a promise I made. And I made that promise to my brother who I was seeing growing into a man and a leader I thought I could trust. Ubbe wasn't right, Ivar. Everyone knows this. You don't need to remember it like it didn't happen yesterday. But he wasn't wrong either. If that's your way to lead, mocking on your men, shutting about your plans, ruling everything your way like a dictator as all the minds around you had nothing to contribute with your brilliance, and treating who stays for you as nothing but dogs... If that's your way to lead this army, so you're not ready to become a leader. And I'll no longer fight for your sake."

His eyes went wide on yours, but you kept yourself firm.

"I made a promise to my brother and to the leader I was seeing grow. But you stopped growing, Ivar. You're just a child with a command scepter, avenging your hurts and stomping people around you just because you feel your higher position gives you the freedom and the power to do it. You have never grown as I thought. And I'll no longer follow a child's command cause my life is too valuable for me to sacrifice it for a leader who doesn't honor my sacrifice."

You saw him clenching his jaw. He was furious, crisping his lips, ready to give you the hell of an answer.

But you only sighed, looking at him.

"I'm disappointed on you, Grumpy." you said, crushing completely the tension between you two and his fury, turning his eyes into an afraid glare.

The fearless shieldmaiden on you? That he could face and fight. But his sister, his disappointed sister looking at him? It was too much for his heart and you knew it. You wanted him to feel how far he went this time.

"I never thought you could disappoint me that much."

You turned your back, hearing his voice calling you back. But you didn't even look back.

You left through the same way Hvitserk made, finding him at the walls, looking outside.

His eyes were teary, he was so destroyed...

"Lord Odin" you heard his voice "Did I made the right choice? Give me a sign... Help me..." he said, so filled with pain. "What is my destiny?"

You were ready to hold him when the arrow whistle called your attention and his own, causing him to go down and you to pull the shield out of the wall, blocking the arrows that were going in his direction, using the shield to create a protection for taking him out of that open place inside the watching tower.

Close to the door, you pulled him inside, hurting yourself in the process when you raised your shield to protect his passage, having your shoulder scratched by another arrow.

You two ended up falling to the ground. Your body over his causing your eyes to find each other for a second before he could see the blood dripping on your shoulder.

"You got hurt" he said, and you rolled aside, sighing while he was taking a look at the superficial wound.

"I'm done, Hvitserk." you said, looking at him "I'm done of it. I'm done of Ivar's arrogance, of this war, of this bunch of dishonored Saxon shitty men... I'm tired of risking my life in this foreign land for nothing. I don't want this land, I don't want this place, I want to get the heck outta here, find a damn place to build a fucking house and fuck you until I have a damn stair of sons with your eyes." you said, tired, causing him to giggle of your failed attempt at a joke.

"At least you're smiling." you said, sitting and touching his face. "Come with me." You asked, looking into his beautiful green eyes. "I know you stayed because of me. I know Ivar can take care of himself. After all, he did, I don't care anymore... He can do the fucking things his way... Let's go away, Hvitserk. Just you and me."

"It wouldn't be admitting Ubbe was right?" he asked and you sighed.

"I don't think it is a damn competition of who is right or wrong. I'm not talking about life under that usurper bitch's rules, Hvitserk. I'm not talking about going back to Kattegat and Ubbe's control. I'm talking about starting over, in a brand new place, you and me. Just the two of us. There is an entire world beyond Kattegat, Hedeby, and Vestfold, you know? Other minor cities where you would be still recognized as a prince, but we wouldn't have to fight these damn wars... Come with me, love... I don't wanna do it without you."

He sighed.

For an instant, you thought he would say no.

Hvitserk always was a Viking, passionate by raids and adventure. And you were calling him to settle down and start a life by your side.

You knew it would be a huge failure, and maybe you were ready to take Ivar's excuses and stay just for him if he said no to your proposal.

But he looked at you with that beautiful green eyes.

"I asked Odin for a sign, a way to go... And you came calling me to go with you." His hand touched your face in such a soft caress; and he pulled your face closer, touching his forehead in yours.

"I think I had my answer. Tomorrow... At the end of the day. It is better for us to leave with the night to cover our boat since the Saxons are besieging..."

You didn't let him finish, holding his face and kissing him deep and slowly, feeling his response as needy and passionate as your own.

Your eyes found his once again, looking deep inside your soul, and you felt his fingers touching your face, running your skin.

"I love you, (Y/N). And I want that children we dreamed about... I want a life with you. And I don't want to wait anymore." he said, and you nodded.

With the next night, a boat left York under the cloak of the darkness and the eyes of the moon.

Your future was right in front of you, smiling and paddling away from the docks.

And Ivar was now undeniably alone.

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[its-abroad-world]

Adventure #9 → June 16 & 17: Berlin to Wachau: walls, stadiums, and a mini-castle Airbnb

June 16 - Berlin (Day 1)

We were in a bit of a time crunch to get to the Berlin airport on time because my dad had decided to sit there while we got ready and only started to get ready once we said that we were going to be late if we didn’t leave right away. This meant that he was rushed to get ready and was driving angry, which can be really scary. Did I fear for my life as we sped down the autobahn? Most definitely. Eventually, he calmed down enough that I was able to fall asleep and woke up as my parents tried to find the parking garage that we would be dropping the car off. When we finally dropped off the car, my sister and I spotted my cousin, Joy, looking around trying to spot us, and as soon as she and I locked eyes, we ran to each other and met in a joyful embrace. Not long after, my parents pulled up with my aunt, Vicky, in the new rental and we packed everything up in a game of luggage Tetris. What was a 7-seater van turned into a cramped six-seater with me crammed in the back next to all of the luggage,

From the airport, we drove in the direction of the hostel that we would be staying at, stopping for burgers on the way there. I was so excited to be reunited with my best friend/cousin and for the rest of the trip, she was truly my travel buddy. After eating, we headed straight to the hostel, right in front of the wall in what used to be East Berlin, and dropped off our luggage before heading back to the center of the city to go to Checkpoint Charlie.

Checkpoint Charlie was established in August of 1961 to prevent citizens of East Germany from fleeing to West Germany and operated for almost 30 years. It was the only gateway in East Germany where Allied diplomats, foreign tourists, and military personnel were allowed to enter into communist Berlin. The Allies placed military police there to make sure that their officials had access to the border. The small guardhouse was a way for the Allies to show the communists that they didn’t think the Berlin Wall was an actual border or that it would be a permanent fixture. When the wall fell in November 1991, people from East Germany flooded through the checkpoint.

Across the street was a little outdoor museum about Checkpoint Charlie and the Berlin Wall. It told the story of the Wall and recounted stories of people who were killed trying to cross from East to West. It also had the section of the wall that served as the entryway from West Berlin to East Berlin. There was a stark difference from the West side (graffitied) and the East side (plain).

From Checkpoint Charlie, we walked to the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe 20 minutes away. German parliament decided to build this a central memorial site in 1999 to honor those killed in the Holocaust during WWII. The memorial itself wasn’t anything that artistically jumped out at you but the meaning behind what it was built in memory of was what struck you and sobered you. Walking through rows and rows of slabs of concrete built on a sloped wave, I thought of all the people who were suffered in that war, tortured, starved, punished for their race, murdered. I was reminded of the cruelty of humans and rampant sin and just how much the world needs Jesus.

From the Memorial to the Jews, it was a short walk to Brandenburg Gate and just a little further, the Reichstag Building. Brandenburg Gate was built in 1791 and during the Cold War, it became a symbol of a divided Berlin because it stood between East and West Berlin. This “gate” is where Ronald Regan gave his speech in 1987, telling Gorbachov to “tear down this wall”. When the Berlin Wall fell, the gate became a symbol of unity for New Berlin.

There were so many tourists when we were there, and while it was clear that we were trying to take pictures, people simply didn’t care. So we did what naturally made sense and blocked those people out of the picture with our hands. While we were annoyed, we made light of the situation with a classic cousin move of silliness.

We walked to the Reichstag Building less than 5 minutes away from Brandenburg Gate. It is currently where the German parliament presides and has become an international symbol of democracy because of all the tumultuous history that it witnessed and overcame (WWI&WWII and the Cold War). The building had been burned, shot up, graffitied, and more, enduring the tests of time and war, but was finally rebuilt and restored in 1964; the city has purposely preserved traces of bullet holes and graffiti that were left by Soviet soldiers for visitors to see.

After our time wandering outside of the Reichstag, my dad began to complain about how far we had walked and that we should have brought the car because now we have a far walk back to where we parked. Taking the hint that he was tired and wanted to go rest, we began the short trek back to Checkpoint Charlie where we had parked. From there we stopped by Berlin Hauptbanhof to pick up some groceries for dinner. Grocery stores closed early on Sundays except for ones located in the train station, so of course, when we got there, it was crowded with people trying to buy ingredients for their Sunday dinner. When we finally made it out of there, we headed back to the hotel; my mum and aunt went to go wash our clothes while my dad rested and we girls prepared dinner in the communal kitchen. It was just a simple meal of pasta, salad, and breaded chicken but it took us forever to cook (about 2 hours) because the electric stove would shut off as soon as it reached a certain temperature. It was a mess.

June 17 - Berlin Day 2

We had knocked out almost everything that we wanted to see on our first day in Berlin so after a quick breakfast and checking out, we crossed the street to some of the East Side Gallery before we headed into the main city to see the Berlin Cathedral before going to the Berlin Olympic Stadium. 

Unfortunately for us, the Berlin Cathedral, the largest and most important Protestant church in the city, was under restoration so most of the building was covered in blue scaffolding. We were on a bit of a time crunch so we kind of sped around the outside and the surrounding buildings and then hopped in the car to make our way to the Olympic stadium.

For as long as I can remember, my family has always had a love for sports. The Olympics is the only time we pay for cable TV, and wherever we travel, if there is an Olympic stadium or village, we always take the time to go. Berlin was no exception. It was built to host the 1936 Summer Olympic Games during WWII and designed to match the Nazi Party’s styles. This is the stadium that Jesse Owens won gold four times in the presence of Hitler. Since the games, the stadium has been renovated many times and is often used to host sporting events, concerts, and more.

We couldn’t enter the stadium without a guide so after purchasing tickets for the next tour, we entered the arena. Much like St. Petersburg, it was a slew of information as we hopped from one section to the next. We got to see the locker rooms underground as well as areas where athletes could hang out, but the coolest part was what was preserved of the original stadium. On the opposite side of the entrance, there are large stone slabs with the names of the winners of that Olympic Games and from that point, you can see the Bell Tower, which used to contain the Olympic Bell (now displayed outside), and Langemark-Halle. The guide told us that Hitler had given speeches there.

Visiting that stadium was one of my favorite things on this trip. I’ve always loved watching the Olympics and have seen countless documentaries on it. I also love WWII history, so to see both of these things come together, both past and present, it was amazing. When I looked out across the stadium, I imagined in my head what it would have been like to have attended and seen Jesse Owens run or to spot Hitler from my seat or to just witness the political ins and outs of hosting an Olympics during a war. It blew my mind.

When our tour was over, we began the long drive to our Airbnb in Wachau, 3 hours away. In my typical fashion, I slept the whole car ride, but when we did arrive there, we were kind of stunned. From the pictures on the website, the place looked kind of like a castle. It turned out that it was pretty close because our unit was looked like a mini castle, complete with a sword and ax bolted to the wall. That place was by far my favorite Airbnb to have stayed at. Ever. The place was newly remodeled and quite spacious. My only objection was the amount of bugs flying around, but everything else was perfect. From the kitchen window, you had a perfect view of the setting sun, there was an actual freezer in this fridge, and the overall ambiance was just so relaxed and laid back.

After dinner, all of us went on a walk; me with my sister and cousin in the direction of the country roads and my mom and her sister into town. My sister and cousin had taken bikes with them but gave up early 10 minutes later when they realized that these bikes were not in proper riding condition, so instead of walking around, we had ourselves a little photoshoot while watching a gorgeous sunset paint the sky.

Our night ended with bubble baths and wine coolers. It was one of the best days ever.

[theghumakkads]

CHANDIGARH: A DAY IN THE CITY BEAUTIFUL

Hungry to travel, we planned a trip to Himachal. We had to decide between Chandigarh and Delhi to be our pit stop. But being architecture - geeks we chose Chandigarh, even though it meant loosing more time in travel.  What Chandigarh was all about- Tons of Le Corbusier. Lots of Chole Kulche. Napping on park benches and gardens. Having an entire double decker bus to ourselves. High energy. Great weather.

Chandigarh Railway Station Arrival Story We reached Chandigarh railway station at dawn. And boy oh boy, that was a clean railway station! The cleaners were wiping the walls clean like we do at our homes in Diwali. As a result of 24 hours journey in sleeper coach, our bodies felt dirtier than the benches we sat on. After cleaning up in the waiting room, we went to the ISBT in sector 17. We kept our luggage in the cloak room as we had to board the bus to Himachal from there. These were our ways for a cheap trip turning out to be a pocket friendly and thrill- pill. Trees dot the fabric of Chandigarh- along the roads, in open plazas, everywhere! And mulberry is one such tree that you spot all around. Coming out from the ISBT, we found big mulberry trees loaded with berries as with the onset of summer, they start bearing fruit. While satisfying our taste buds, a few lines from James Riley's poem on the mulberry tree came to my mind: “Today as I dream with both eyes wide-awake/ I can see the old tree and its limbs as they shake/ And the long purple berries that rained on the ground.”

Mulberry hunting on the roads of Chandigarh Chandigarh Tourism runs a hop-on, hop-off double-decker tourist bus. It leaves from sector 17 and runs to prominent sites like the Rose garden, Museum and Art gallery, Bougainvillea Garden, Rock Garden and Sukhna Lake for just 50 bucks a person. As there were no other tourists that day, it was like we had our own private bus to scout the beautiful city and enjoy the panoramic views of sparkling parks, eating joints, and majestic hills, at our own pace!

HOHO bus SUKHNA LAKE Our first stop was Sukhna lake, a majestic man-made lake with Shivalik ranges forming its backdrop. We took a small stroll and clicked a few pictures. After that, we headed towards the next famous destination of Chandigarh, Nek Chand’s wonderful, whimsical Rock Garden.

Large plaza adjoining the lake ROCK GARDEN The whole experience of visiting the Rock Garden was extraordinary, disorientating and deeply impressive. Throughout the garden, Nek Chand has used space in sharply contrasting ways, from almost oppressively narrow, steep-sided lanes and tiny Alice-in-Wonderland doorways to large, confident waterfalls and open terraces. Inspired by Le Corbusier's use of concrete in the city, yet what Nek Chand produced is folk art and labyrinthine paths. It stands in extraordinary contrast to Corbusier's modernist city and its grid pattern roadways. Though being about half a decade old, it still has the same charisma and awesomeness. You are spellbound by the site of hundreds and hundreds of figurines covered with colorful broken crockery, tiles, bangles and what not!

Made entirely of reclaimed, reused and recycled materials GOVERNMENT MUSEUM AND ART GALLERY If it is not Monday or outside the hours of 10:00 AM to 4:45 PM, you may visit the Government Museum and Art Gallery in Sector 10. The Government College of Art and the Museums of Architecture & Natural History surround it. It has become a haven for tourists, researchers, students on a school visit and families because you can spend an entire day here. And for us, its campus meant, a nice place to rest. As we were awake since 4 in the morning, we were tired and the benches shaded by the trees proved to be very cozy to take a half an hour nap. No one else was there the afternoon we visited. We paid admission for ourselves and half-admission for our camera. The curators intended the exhibition to have placid and mesmerizing effects on the eyes of the onlookers. And I must say they were quite successful in doing so. And if one happens to be a lover for art and crafts and architecture, then this place is the ultimate paradise.

Built on Corbusier’s concept of “a Museum of Unlimited Growth” Corbusier conceived the Capitol Complex as the head of Chandigarh’s sectored body, and the City Centre in Sector 17, two-thirds of the way up the grid of arteries, as the heart. The green space—surprise, surprise—was considered the lung. And as an conclusion to our day, we decided to visit the Capitol Complex. Unlike other cities such as Mumbai, which are a mixture; Chandigarh is easy to navigate, sector-wise, as the sectors are all in line. In Mumbai, it takes more-and-more-proximate-but-never-definitive directions from five pedestrians to get anywhere.

An easy to navigate layout CAPITOL COMPLEX The rickshaw deposited us shy of the gate. In front of the guard booth, an army officer kept vigil. He had arms and a rifle, which were enough to make us feel nervous. As we walked towards him, we did rapid character development and hammed up to look like non-hostile tourists (which we were). An even pace, cautious bob of the head, clearly displayed hands, chattering amongst us. While we didn't expect bullets flying towards us, the thought of how severely dangerous an error would be under the circumstances of upcoming elections affected that kind of dread in us. Fear not, we passed through unscathed. The officer took our identity cards in his possession and allowed us to go visit the campus of Capitol Complex. We were warned not to wander anywhere near the Assembly building and the High court or any other building other than the Open Hand. OPEN HAND No one else was there the time we visited. As soon as you enter the campus, you can see the 28 meters high Open Hand looming over you, heavy and dominating. It's not until you reach the monument that you see, the hollow crowned by the Open Hand. The floor of this consideration, 'considering to think, see, to talk about what's real', was 5 meters deep. It consists of two amphitheaters. Two because Corbusier's philosophy was that ' there are always two sides to a question'.  We descended to the sunken courtyard designed as ' pit of contemplation' where the public affairs would be discussed. It appeared more to us as a place, hidden in view, where cult meetings would take place. We could imagine cult leaders addressing their followers from the podium. Corbusier designed the place so carefully that a person won't need a microphone, but the acoustics of the place will handle it all. And it was while sitting there, clicking weird pictures that one of us squealed that the Hand is moving! Yes, we didn't know it till then that the Monument is mounted on a ball bearing. It allows it to turn with the wind, not aimlessly, to express what life really is, constantly moving. The true and simple meaning of the Open Hand is to Give and Receive. Symbol of Faith in the world of Catastrophe. You don't need knowledge of symbolism in architecture nor longer than a day in Chandigarh to become familiar with the Open Hand and its authority in enhancing the brand name of the city. Also interpreted as a flying bird, for the citizens of Chandigarh, it is symbolic of freedom, freedom to be who they are and what they can do.

Open Hand, also identified as flying bird HIGH COURT AND ASSEMBLY BUILDING Till the time we were sitting there, two surveillance conveyances had already come to check in on us. The barbed-wire-and-jeep-patrolled perimeter was enough to dismay us. So, after spending a significant amount of time in the pit of contemplation, we walked to the High Court, hopeful that no one will catch us. Since the officer had warned us not to wander anywhere near the other buildings, we gratified ourselves by clicking pictures with the architectural marvel, as a proof that affirmative, we had visited the much-celebrated building.

Sculptural architecture with rhythmical brise-soleil and a floating roof Though Corbusier conceived the entire complex as the head of the new capital, looking behind us, we could not see any of the city. Lush trees and extensive landscape surrounded us, with no building in sight. The only structure visible was the sculptural hill that Le Corbusier had designed for the Assembly Building, at the Southernmost part of the complex that divides the city from the Capitol Complex. Returning back to the security booth, the army personnel had changed. The camoed officer flicked through our identity cards. On sight of State Maharashtra, he apprised us of his roots there. Like true Indians, meeting in a foreign country, we exchanged greetings. "Aree tumhi pan, mi pan!" There is no greater happiness than meeting a person speaking your language in a state where the language and people, both are alien! We witnessed something on our way to the main road which you would never expect in an urban area. In the darkness of the night, the landscaped areas along the sides of the road started glimmering of golden speckles of dozens of fireflies. We stood there unable to believe. And then, suddenly it started sparkling all around. What joy such brilliant tiny moments can bring! We didn't fear, we dare. This is what women do everywhere. It turned out to be a successful girls going. And that was an end to Chandigarh but a perfect beginning to a great travel story. Read the full article

#Chandigarh #Travelog

[tiliamericana]

Muay Thai 1.02

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The florist down the street was a peaceful place, even if walking in the front door was a little like being punched in the nose. They had a scent pump hidden in a hanging pot by the front door—Nairi wasn’t entirely certain why they needed to spray heavy fragrance oils inside a place filled with flowers, but she’d never managed a flower shop herself. Maybe they were trying to hook pedestrians.

The college kid manning the counter waved in recognition, already turning to fetch her order from the shelf. “Back again?” he said cheerfully as she approached, setting her wrapped cuttings on the counter. “I shouldn’t really discourage repeat patronage, but you know these suckers are pretty easy to grow yourself, right?”

Nairi shrugged, handing her card over as he rung up her order. “I’m pretty bad at keeping plants alive.”

He gave her a rueful grin as he handed her the chip reader to finish the transaction. “I get that—I used to kill cactuses before I started working here. The nurseries we order from have some pretty fierce gardeners on staff though, got me sorted very quickly.”

“Mhm.”

He nodded and kept talking despite her disinterest. The Thursday morning flower rush clearly didn’t provide enough opportunities for socialization. “Yeah, they’re all local places who go all in on small seasonal batches and heritage seeds. The bigger commercial suppliers don’t really have the same kind of knowledge base, it’s very cool.”

Nairi gave him a polite smile as she pocketed her card and picked up the greenery. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Have a great day!” he called out as she left through the flowers. She sneezed when she stepped into the fresh air outside and rubbed at her nose. Hopefully orchids would go out of fashion soon; she was rapidly coming to hate the smell.

It was a nice day, and she lingered for a moment before heading back inside the dojo. Sun streamed across the front room and she hesitated before leaving the door unlocked. She was close to her opening time anyway and if someone came in early the bell would ring. She tucked her wallet and keys into the desk drawer with the lock and crossed to the back room, leaving that door open behind her.

The second room had a viewing gallery rather than floor markings, and it was raised off the ground as a little balconette. It ran the length of the back wall with a built-in bench and was accessible by a stained wood step ladder; a very pretty feature, the real estate agent had said. Nairi had set her shrine at the far end of the balcony, on a little nook inset to the wall. It had had dividing shelves installed, probably for bags or shoes, but she’d pulled them out to make room.

She’d cleaned her vase that morning to replace the plants, filling it with clean water before she left. The kid at the florist’s hadn’t really reacted when she’d placed her weekly order for just green plants rather than anything with flowers, but she supposed she didn’t actually know what was considered ‘odd’ to buy from a florist.  

Everything else was set up, so she lit the incense and knelt.

A few minutes later the bell rang. Nairi stared at the shrine in front of her for a few moments, then blinked and climbed to her feet. Halfway down the ladder someone called out her name, and her confusion only rose as she stepped onto the mats and crossed back to the front room.

The hooker from the night before, Cherry, was standing in the doorway. She was still half outside, door propped open with her hip, one hand behind her in the sunlight with a lit cigarette smoldering in her fingers. Her other hand was a bit closer to her body, probably to balance the cardboard tray with two coffee cups in it. Her expression brightened when she made eye contact with Nairi, and she smiled. “Oh, there you are! Wasn’t sure I had the right place.”

Nairi stared at her blankly. In the daylight Cherry looked like almost an entirely different person—slinky dress and soft make up gone, traded for faded and worn cutoffs and tank top with half laced docs. Her bare arms had tattoos of fire circling her wrists, tongues of flame licking up to her elbows and her clean face was rounder and freckled.

“Why are you here?” said Nairi blankly, staring at her.

Cherry grinned, juggling the cups between her elbow and shoulder very carefully. “You saved my ass and bought me dinner. I’ve been on dates that aren’t that nice, babe, I wanted to say thanks.”

She dropped the cigarette on the concrete and crushed it under the toe of her boot before stepping inside properly. The bell jingled again as the door swung shut behind her, and she blinked to adjust to the light inside before taking the few steps to close the distance between her and Nairi.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” she said, tugging one of the cups out of the tray and offering it to Nairi, “so I just picked the most inoffensive thing I could think of.”

Nairi took the cup after a moment and had a quick sip. Foamy, bitter coffee filled her mouth and she tried not to grimace as she swallowed. “Thanks.”

The corner of Cherry’s mouth twitched. “Not a latte kind of girl?”

Nairi winced. “I don’t drink coffee,” she admitted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Sorry, it was really nice of you.”

“Can’t win ‘em all,” said Cherry, still smiling at her as she plucked the cup out of Nairi’s hand. “Do you like mochas, or teas or something?”

“Uh, I mean, tea usually, I don’t—caffeine gives me headaches—”

“Do you have some time before you open this place up?” asked Cherry, gesturing around the dojo.

“I guess, yeah, I scheduled for twelve, but no one shows up for—”

“Great!” said Cherry brightly. “C’mon, I don’t know how fancy Starbucks gets, but there’s this little posh place on the corner that looks like they’ll sneer at you for using teabags, lemme get you a pot?”

Nairi glanced at the clock over her door. There were fifteen minutes til she was scheduled to open, but, well, no one had booked or called about the noon session. “Okay,” she said after a moment.

Cherry grinned, raising the second coffee to her lips and sculling it in long gulps as Nairi slipped her shoes on. She dropped the coffee cups in Nairi’s wastepaper basket and reached out, grabbing Nairi by the wrist to tug her onto the street outside. Nairi took a second to lock up with the chain while Cherry tapped a toe impatiently, and when she turned back Cherry was watching her curiously.

“You have a problem with break ins?” she asked as Nairi stepped back next to her.

“No,” said Nairi, glancing at her. “Why do you ask?”

Cherry shrugged, hooking her hands into the back pockets of her shorts as they walked. “Heavy duty locks for this part of town, s’all. Though, I’ve lived in some pretty interesting places, and then college towns like, totally fuck with your perception of that stuff, so I’m probably not the best judge of what’s like, a ‘good area’ or whatever.”

Nairi hummed noncommittedly, keeping her gaze ahead of her. She could feel Cherry’s eyes on the side of her face and tried not to think too hard about what it was she was seeing.

The café Cherry took her to was on the other end of the street to Nairi’s building, and it was small and picturesque. It had low armchairs and beanbags dotted around the open air front space, and as it transitioned into the café proper the walls were lined with tall shelves sporting thick, coffee-table books and lush, overflowing ferns. Low chatter and the steaming of coffee machines filled the sparsely occupied room.

Cherry went straight for the counter, tugging Nairi along with her. “Hey there!” she said in a friendly tone, flashing a bright smile at the bearded young man behind the counter. “Do you guys have any like, fun teas?”

He nodded, leaning over the counter to point at the chalkboard wall with the marker he’d been turning over in his hands. “Sure do. We’ve got all of these guys, plus, you know, like English Breakfast and stuff. The Sinnamon’s new, and Rose and Shine is very popular with soda and ice as a morning mocktail.”

The other teas on the menu were called things like ‘Rooid Boi’, ‘Lemon Aid’, ‘Raspberry Remnant’, and ‘Tea Thyme’ with the ingredients listed in a nigh incomprehensible chalked cursive. Nairi stared at them blankly.

Cherry squinted at them, mouth open slightly. “….Did you just forget to write the raspberry in on that one?” she asked, pointing at ‘Raspberry Remnant’.

“It used to have raspberry leaves in the blend, but we had some issues. We liked the name, so we kept it,” he said, shrugging.

Nairi ignored the wall and turned to address the guy instead. “Do you have anything with oolong?” she tried.

He nodded, pointing at a couple of the marked teas again. “Yeah, the Roasty Posie is oolong with mixed floral overtones, and Save the Teas uses an oolong base as well. If you’re looking for a gentler caffeine experience, then Rose and Shine uses white tea.” He grinned, leaning on the counter with his elbows. “Also, we do a uh, ‘house special’ with the Serenity Chill where we add booster shots of oolong and white tea—we call it ‘Aunt Mableton’s Icicle Situation’ after our manager’s cat.”

“Good to know,” said Nairi after a moment. “I’ll have a pot of Save the Teas, I guess?”

“Sure,” he said, leaning back and pulling the cap off the marker to write it down directly on the polished steel countertop. “Can I grab anything else for you ladies?”

“Can I grab an iced mocha,” said Cherry, turning her head and pointing at the glass case. “And like… one each of the fruit muffins?”

He nodded, adding them down as Nairi tugged out her wallet to pay. Cherry smacked her hand away and handed the guy some cash in exchange for the little table number, giving Nairi a wry grin. She stuffed the change into the tip jar and tugged Nairi over to a tall table by a bookshelf.

“You didn’t have to,” said Nairi as she shifted to take a stool on the far side so that the wall was behind her.

Cherry shrugged, dropping her wallet and phone on the tabletop before sitting across from her, kicking her booted feet back up onto the stool’s brace bar. “It’d be a pretty shitty way to pay you back for dinner, making you put out for brunch as well,” she said, poking her tongue out at Nairi.

Nairi wasn’t sure what to say to that and she fiddled with a loose thread in her cuff for several long moments. Eventually it got too awkward for her to bear, and she shifted. “Makes sense.”

“Aren’t you hot in that?” asked Cherry, crossing her arms on the table in front of her. Weirdly enough the only jewellery she was wearing was a small gold cross on a chain, no rings or bracelets. If Nairi had taken a second to think about how Cherry would dress off the job, this wouldn’t have been it.

She shrugged instead of answering the question.

“No, seriously,” said Cherry, her grin twitching a little at the corners. “I know it’s still a bit windy after midnight, but it’s still July, it’s like a hundred degrees out right now! How are you in long sleeves?”

“I just prefer it,” said Nairi, shrugging again. She felt an itch in the middle of her back, right between her shoulders, the way she did when someone was staring at her. There was only wall there. She resisted the urge to turn around and check anyway. “It’s light, you know, whatever.”

Cherry looked like she was going to push a little harder, but thankfully their food arrived and cut her off. Did it still count as brunch when it was nearly noon already? Either way, Cherry was thoroughly distracted, smiling sunnily at the cheerful girl with dreads and facial piercings who set their order across the table. Nairi had been given two glasses; both thick and squat, one filled with ice in deference to the weather.

Cherry sliced open one of the muffins, blueberry, and picked up the butter dish, waggling her eyebrows at Nairi over the mason jar that contained her iced mocha. “This place is a little… more than I was expecting.”

“It’s very… lush,” said Nairi, flicking her eyes to one side to give a hanging fern a deliberate look.

Cherry stifled an ugly snort, her head ducking as she pushed the muffins towards Nairi. “At least it’s interesting,” she said, hooking a hand around her jar of coffee. “Come on, tell me how the hippie tea is.”

Nairi poured a small cup of it out and took a careful sip, raising an eyebrow. “Organic,” she said. It actually wasn’t bad; a little woody and over steeped, but she was used to that at least.

Cherry took a long sip through her straw, eyebrow arched in return as she looked at Nairi through her eyelashes, then grimaced, leaning back. “Oh, that’s soy milk and straight cacao, I think this might be a vegan place.”

“Good to know,” said Nairi, smiling a little without thinking about it as Cherry picked up her half of the blueberry muffin.

“Are you vegan?” asked Cherry, tearing the muffin into chunks. “Or do you just like veggies for tempura?”

“Just vegetarian,” said Nairi, drinking more tea. “Don’t like meat. Milk and stuff is fine.”

“Don’t like violence against animals but you’re perfectly happy doling out a little of your own in the dark of the night?” teased Cherry, washing down her bites with more mocha.

“I have the black belts, I may as well put them to good use,” said Nairi with another awkward shrug, wishing she could get comfortable.

“’Belts’, huh? You know other stuff, not just Judo?”

Nairi hummed. “Krav Maga and Muay Thai as well. Belts or rankings and colours aren’t universal in different arts, but more people know what they generally mean, so, you know. My Muay school used armbands.”

Cherry nodded, one of her legs kicking the air under her stool. “Yeah? Do you teach those too or just Judo?”

“All three. I only have real students for Judo, though.”

“What makes someone a real student?”

“Showing up?”

Cherry snorted again, her hand flying to her mouth but not quite managing to hide her grin. “You don’t pull your punches anywhere, do you?”

Nairi shrugged again, not really sure how to take that.

Cherry seemed to find it an acceptable response anyway, openly watching Nairi with a fascinated expression. “Can I ask you something weird?”

“Sure,” said Nairi. It wasn’t like she could get more uncomfortable.

“So, like, ‘Nairi’ isn’t a super common name, and you seem proficient and reasonably scary,” said Cherry, peeling the paper away from another muffin as she watched Nairi indirectly. “And like, I keep my ears to the ground you know—or, well, fuck, okay, I occasionally end up in bed or working with people who have, uh, other hobbies cops might be interested in—”

Nairi wasn’t a hundred percent certain where she was going with this, but she tensed regardless, her expression relaxing into cool neutral.

If Cherry noticed, it didn’t stop her. “—Anyway, you wouldn’t happen to be the same Nairi who scared off the guys making meth a couple of blocks from here, would you?”

…Well, that wasn’t good, but it was leagues away from the worst thing she could have said. “I think I had a conversation with them,” she said politely, eyes flicking down to watch Cherry’s hands on the tabletop. She took a moment to consider and then added: “Sorry if that’s made one of your… ‘hobbies’ more difficult for you.”

Cherry snorted again and shook her head, looking distinctly unbothered. “Nah, not for me. I have a hard enough time making rent without that shit.”

She was still smiling.

Cherry swallowed her muffin and took a more gratuitous sip of her mocha, shifting how she was leaning on the table and looking up at Nairi properly again. “So you’re like, new in town right? Don’t know a lot of people yet?”

“What gave me away?” said Nairi, blinking at her.

“Just a feeling,” said Cherry, her cheeks dimpling as she polished off her drink. She climbed to her feet, tucking her wallet away, but flipping open her phone. “Do you wanna do this again some time? Like, I mean, tomorrow even if you want. I can come by earlier so we don’t run up against your opening, or we could grab food after you close for the day?”

“I—sure?” said Nairi, her mouth answering for her while she tried to process the abrupt change of gears. “I mean, what?”

“Catching up, getting to know each other, being friendly?” said Cherry brightly, shifting a little closer to Nairi. “You’ve got your dojo to open today and I need to clock some time at my day job, but I’d love to get to know you better, show you round town, introduce to some friends, even?”

Nairi only just managed to swallow the ‘Why?’ that was about to trip off her tongue. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I’d uh, yeah I’d like that?”

“Great!” said Cherry, holding out her phone with the screen open to a ‘new contact’ entry. “What’s your number?”

#series honey tree #book muay thai #serial fiction #102 #lgbt fiction

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Divide-Chapter Seven-Save Myself

“Baby, I Need You,” she knew what she sounded like, and had been distracting herself in every possible way to keep herself from making this call. Laurel had spent hours in the gym, had volunteered to cut patterns at work, and who knows how much time she had spent at the hospital.

She’d also been patently avoiding Willy. Laurel was fed up with herself. She felt like she was stringing him along and it was killing her. Two weeks ago she was all in. His accent made her quiver and he was everything she loved in a man, sexy and androgynous and talented. Even better, he was available and into her. He’d made it clear that he wanted her, but that included dates and doting and the deed.

Their first date he had arranged to close down a gallery and he’d shown her work by his favorite photographer. Laurel completely expected to walk in to rows of pictures of beautiful people and to be bored. She saw a lot of fashion photography at work. More concerning, what if the walls were full of him? Laurel could tell they had potential, he’d put his hand on her lower back and the region had lit up like a Christmas trees. Laurel was afraid if he was proven so hopelessly superficial already that her budding feelings, the first she’d had since she’d walked into Harry’s house two years ago for anyone but him, would wilt.

Laurel was pleasantly surprised to walk into a virtual photostory about human dignity in the midst of war and poverty and plague. Then, Willy further blew her away by explaining how he’d met the photographer once when he was visiting his family in Vietnam and that he’d spent most of his trip traveling with him and the volunteer work it sparked. He was heavily involved with water projects and had dug several wells in his off time. He then took her to a tiny noodle shop and they talked over £5 bowls of ramen for hours.  He told her about Frank and their break up and how no one had caught his eye until her. It was great, and her mind only wandered to Harry a couple times, a record for sure.

The date ended well too. He’d walked her to her flat door and kissed her cheek so close to the corner of her mouth it had left her breathless. He’d then pressed his gorgeous lips to each of the back of Laurel’s hands and said, “I’ve had a lovely time. May I see you again tomorrow?”

Wow, very different from the relationship she was used to. Though that was a very loose term. And he did turn up the next day, and everyday they were available for weeks. And he didn’t kiss her, not for a long while, let alone receive her advances when she made her attraction known. Willy simply acknowledged and returned the appreciation. By the time they finally did kiss, right before going to a pub one evening, strangely close to Harry’s house, she was floating. His lips were perfect and he was so gentle and he cupped her jaw in his hands like she was made of glass.

She’d loved it. However, when she slept with him the night they ran into Harry again she was disappointed. He also touched her like she was made of glass. Willy was so slow to enter her and hesitant with his strokes. It felt good, but wasn’t enough. She’d taken the reins and found herself closing her eyes to climax, not to focus on sensation, but to visualize another set of eyes, another body. Willy’s body was beautiful, but completely unmarred, no dark etchings or moles or unexplainable chubs.

Harry occasionally touched her like she was spun glass, he’d then temper her with fire and test her strength. It was the contrast that made their communion unbelievable. Willy wasn’t so much bad, but he suffered by comparison.

So, after her first time accepting Willy into her bed and body, she found herself texting Harry. His hold had never broken, just slackened. 

The next morning, she was so regretful she promised herself she would not contact him. Laurel threw herself into Willy’s arms and exhausted herself trying to force the connection. He was so ideal otherwise.

When that wasn’t working, she headed to the gym.

Sweat dripped down over her brow as she pushed herself through the set she was on. The cold of the universal bar sat across the meaty part of her upper back. Laurel bent her legs and held her core in tight until her thigh paralleled the ground. She pushed up through her heels and grunted. She’d intended to bench press today, but when she laid down on the bench she remember last September when she had worked out with Harry and the push and pull always present between them resulted in her balancing on her tightly closed knees, hands clutching the textured center of a thick barbel while Harry groaned behind her. The gym was ruined she guessed.

The next day, she went in to work early and stayed late, telling Willy that Ed had a private client to prepare for. Not a lie, more a fib. She cut the silk chiffon in front of her and put away thoughts of a similar folded fabric tied across her eyes so that her vision was obscured, not blocked. Laurel put that out of her mind and focused on the seam cutter she was using to open a hem until she heard Ed on the phone

“Yes, of course Mr. Styles, Laurel is here, would you like me to send it with her?” Ed asked.

She looked up frantically and shook her head twice, Ed got the message and found an alternative before he hung up. He looked at her quizzically but she stared him down until he bowed his head and stopped silenty asking. When he walked by, he placed his hand on her shoulder. Later, when he saw her shady button Willy, he was the one shaking his head.

The following day, her libido was in the backseat, but her emotional need was overwhelming. The air was stale and blowing hard enough to pebble every bit of exposed skin while she listened to the doctor. Laurel’s first instinct, after she emptied her stomach into a bin outside the sliding walls of glass, was to call Harry.

“Baby, I need you,” she said frantically.

“God, Laurel I need you too. What’s going on? It sounds windy,” Harry’s voice ticked up at the end.

“It’s the blower above the door. Can I come over?” She was already walking towards the tube.

Harry hesitated a moment, and she was relieved when he responded, “yeah, I’m on my way home. Should be there, like, in 5 minutes?”

“I think I could be with you in a half hour,” Laurel guessed as she scanned her Oyster card, “I’m going underground, I’ll see you soon.”

Once on the train she rocked herself back and forth and sang tupelo honey under her breath. Her mother always sang that to calm her down.

The intermittent rain that hung over London like a blanket was coming down when she exited the station near Harry’s place. Laurel barely felt it until her clothing was soaked through and a chill, separate from the one in her bones, crept in.

When Harry opened the door to her he tilted his head and gave her a quizzical look before pulling her inside and into his warm arms.

“You are wet through! Let me put on the kettle and get you some dry clothes,” he said as he pulled her from the foyer into his living room. “Just give me a minute.” He ventured up the stairs.

Laurel wasn’t sure what compelled her to follow him. Probably that when his arms were around her it was the warmest she had felt since the doctor came into the room.

Harry looked surprised by her presence in his room when he turned from his chest of drawers and found her under the door jam.

“You gave me a fright, you didn’t have to come up here, I was gonna bring them down to you,” he held the clothes out to her.

The snick of her shirt coming off was the only sound besides Harry’s breathing until her jeans and panties hit the hardwood with a wet thud. The Who t shirt and joggers fell from his hand when he reached out to catch her in her head long rush. The rain on her lips obscured his flavor at first, but soon she could taste the spearmint and coffee she associated with his breath. Laurel pushed him back to the bed and he fell when his knees made contact. She followed him down and her hair formed a curtain.

“Touch me, I’m so cold,” she didn’t recognize her own voice over the choked sob it came out on. Harry obeyed for a few moments, smoothing his large palms over her chilled goose flesh. The world inverted and she found herself beneath him as he pulled the blanket across them. All she could focus on was him above her and the warmth she’d missed since she heard the words ‘two months’ in the cold green room while sitting on the rigid brown chair.

Harry pulled back from her and she was reminded she preferred celery green to the dull moss. Laurel leaned up to kiss him but Harry pulled back from her.

“Are you crying?” His thumb caught the tears she was unaware were still tracking down her cheeks.

“Am I?” Laurel tried to roll away to hide her face.

“Laurel, baby, what’s going on? Did something happen with Willy?” He swallowed her boyfriend’s name like it tasted bad.

Her boyfriend, fuck she had to go. She didn’t want to be this person. Laurel was someone people leaned on, not this.

She scrambled up and tried to pull her clothes over her nakedness.

“Stop, Stop, Laurel your clothes are wet, take mine. What’s wrong? Please talk to me,” he begged as she grabbed the t shirt from him and carried the joggers to the door.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she repeated, to him and herself as she pulled his pants on at the foot of the stairs.

Laurel was almost the the door when he caught he about the waist and pulled her close.

“Baby, please talk to me, what happened, what is going on? Let me help,” he turned her round and used his thumb to raise her chin.

She looked at him through her tears. Laurel broke from his embrace and pulled open the door. She looked over her shoulder,“ You can’t Harry, I have to save myself.”

AN- thanks again @team-styles for the banner and @the-well-rested-one , @aboutalighthouse, and @tipsyandtalking for listening to me blather on. Also, this story has had an awesome response, thank you for reading and responding! Reblogs are love

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #ed sheeran #divide #song fic #save myself #one direction #one direction fanfiction

[juniorformulamotorsport]

Thursday, 28th November/Friday, 29th November 2019 – Hamburg

We always aim to go somewhere that has plenty of Christmas markets, and plenty of other things to see and do as well for the first weekend in Advent, and so this year we headed to Hamburg, in the North of Germany, for our “get in the mood for Christmas” trip.

It’s a city I have some history with, having been a few times including my first trip abroad in 1966 when I was despatched via BOAC to stay with my aunt, Lottie, who lived there, for the six weeks of the summer holiday. I was 7 years old and had my own passport, and my parents drove me all the way to Heathrow, handed me over to the airline staff, and picked me up again 6 weeks later. I was keen to have another look at a city that I last saw 30 years ago, a week after the Berlin wall fell, when it was the logical place for my parents and I to meet our relatives from the East who were able to travel west for the first time in my life. So… history… I wondered if I’d recognise much and was keen to find out. First we had to get there of course. A noon flight out of Heathrow was perfect timing, and having booked Club Europe tickets (only marginally more expensive than Economy) we had lounge access at the airport, fast track security, and were well looked after on the flight out too. The meal provided was very good, and the Champagne was generously supplied.

We landed on time and didn’t have to wait too long for our luggage, and were soon out of the airport and swinging into a cab for the short-ish ride to the city. We could have used our Hamburg Cards, but if we don’t have to, we prefer not to wrangle luggage on and off public transport. As we would later discover, it would almost certainly have involved the Number 6 bus, because as far as I can tell, everything did! It took slightly less than 30 minutes to get to the Crowne Plaza Hotel, and we were soon checked in, with an upgrade thanks to my IHG Ambassador membership. There followed around an hour attempting to find anywhere to put anything! The rooms have been recently refurbished and I don’t think it’s for the better, personally. In the room we had there was a small wardrobe for hanging things, and not a single shelf or drawer for anything that can’t be hung, like, say socks. It was utterly infuriating in a “first world problems” sort of way. We ended up parking stuff on the narrow ledge that ran from the tiny desk space round the side of the room, Lynne put stuff under her bedside cabinet, and I used the floor under the tiny table beside my bed. I really wasn’t amused and it’s a shame that they’ve done this… A social media rant later revealed that this is now a common complaint, especially among my female friends who travel for business. Perhaps whoever designs these things should be made to spend a week in a mocked up version of whatever they are considering, in possession of a week’s worth of stuff, and see how they damn well like it!

Eventually we got organised, and cleaned up, and decided that we’d pop to the bar for our welcome drinks. The bar proved to be very welcoming, and the staff were superb. Friendly, engaging, keen to help, which is all you can hope for in hotel staff. A drink or two and we were due to head out for dinner at TYO TYO, of which more in a separate post.

On Friday we treated ourselves to a latish start, and had a very good breakfast in the hotel, at least once we’d got the hang of the coffee machine, we did. The cups are too small for the latte/cappuccino options, and I didn’t realise immediately that there were larger, glass mugs available for those. It’s the sort of thing you want to be obvious when you’re coming in for breakfast, because until you’ve had coffee, nothing is obvious! After that we headed out into the Sankt Georg neighbourhood, which is interesting it its own right, to walk to the Kunsthalle, having been told we really should not miss it, and being advised by the guidebooks that we should spend as much time in there as we could spare. They said it would be rewarding; they weren’t wrong! If anything, they understated their case substantially.

The Hamburger Kunsthalle is is one of the largest museums in Germany, and was founded in 1850. Today, it covers seven centuries of European art, from the Middle Ages to the present, with a focus on North German painting of the 14th century, paintings by Dutch, Flemish and Italian artists of the 16th and 17th centuries, French and German drawings and paintings of the 19th century, and international modern and contemporary art. Needless to say it also runs a variety of exhibitions, and you could probably lose yourself in the complex of three buildings for an entire weekend. The museum began life as the “Städtische Gallerie”, run by the Hamburg Kunstverein, which was founded in 1817. The collection grew with donations, and purchases, and they quickly needed a building to house all the works. The original red brick Kunsthalle was built between 1863 and 1869, financed largely through private donations and it has grown, and grown from there.

The Kunsthalle is divided into the Gallery of Old Masters, the Gallery of 19th-century Art, the Gallery of Classical Modernism and the Gallery of Contemporary Art, and in a sense of linear solidarity we started with the early works of which they have a very healthy collection, including some mighty fine altarpieces, which is not surprising in such a rich city. The museum website highlights the works of the masters Bertram von Minden, who seems to have spent most of his life in and around Hamburg, and whose work I was much taken with, particularly the Buxtehude altar piece and this, which is from the Petrikirche in Hamburg and dates from 1379 to 1383. It’s huge and phenomenally detailed and definitely rewards close study.

As if that wasn’t enough, they have works by Lucas Cranach the Elder, in particular a portrait of the three electors of Saxony, (the rather wonderfully named Frederick the Wise, John the Steadfast and John-Frederick the Magnanimous), and Hans Holbein the Elder, and we made our way through the rooms admiring the works, and thinking we maybe should have picked up the audio guide (though if we had we’d probably have needed even longer to get round).

After we’d dealt with them, we moved on to a rather fabulous collection of drawings by Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn – to give him his proper name – in an exhibition entitled Rembrandt, Masterpieces from the Collection. The Kunsthalle has around 300 Rembrandt etchings which belonged to the art dealer and collector Georg Ernst Harzen (1790–1863), who bequeathed them to the City of Hamburg in his will in 1869. I suspect we’ll be seeing some of them again in Oxford in January next year, but that in no way detracts from the sheer joy of getting up close to some of these incredible works. It’s amazing what can be done with just a few apparently scratchy lines, is all I can say! There turned out to be another roomful of these amazing treasures downstairs in the basement, and I could have happily spent a large part of the day taking in the details.

Of course, we already knew about Caspar David Friedrich, but I’d not seen any of the paintings it real life before. When you hit the section on German Romanticism, there’s a whole roomful of them, including the especially well known “Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer”(Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog) from 1817. It’s so famous it even appears on a piece of Hamburg street furniture close to our hotel, and while it’s regarded as his masterpiece, I’m not so sure.

Personally I was more enamoured of “The Sea of Ice” in terms of atmosphere, finding it to have something oddly futuristic about it.

Failing that, however, the piece I would steal is this one of church ruins near Dresden, “Kirchenruine Oybin”. The light is so special and so magical.

By now we were in need of a break, having had nothing beyond a coffee since breakfast, so we found our way to the basement and the café Das Liebermann, where we were soon in possession of much-needed cake. The Cube would have been a better choice perhaps, but we’d been informed that it was closed for a special event of some sort, so cake it was.

Fortified by cake (and somewhat disappointed to later discover we could have had soup or a wurst) we set off back into the collection, moving ahead in time to the turn of the last century and promptly tripping over the first of a series of works in the 100 Years of the Hamburg Secession – Encounters with the Collection exhibition, scattered throughout the galleries with other works from the same time period. I knew about the Viennese Secession, but the Hamburg group was new to me, and I was especially interested to see the work of a number of women artists prominently displayed, including Alma del Banco, Dorothea Maetzel-Johannsen, Anita Rée and Gretchen Wohlwill.

After we’d finished there we needed another quick sit down, before heading over through the Modern Art section (via Francis Bacon, Max Ernst, Edvard Munch, Pablo Picasso et al) to the Impressionism exhibition. On the way though I was much taken with this humourous Picasso owl which just made me smile so much – though it does seem that in addition to knowing some funny looking women, and men, Pablo also knew some funny looking owls.

The Impressionism exhibition in the newer part of the museum, which you get to by tunnel. Here the display was of masterpieces from the Ordrupgaard Collection, which I had not heard of but which I think I now need to check out. The collection, which is state-run, began with paintings collected by businessman Wilhelm Hansen and his wife, Henny in the late 19th century. The collection contains works by all of the leading Impressionist artists from Camille Pissarro, by way of Édouard Manet, and Claude Monet, to Pierre-Auguste Renoir and the rest, including a group of eight paintings by Paul Gauguin. It is obviously an impressive collection, even with just a selection on show in Hamburg so I think it may need to be seen.

Feeling somewhat exhausted by now, and realising several hours had gone by, we headed back outside and decided to walk down to one of the Christmas Markets not far away. We settled on the Weisser Zauber on the Jungfernstieg, the promenade that runs along the Binnenalster. The stalls are all white and are quite upmarket and swish, and I managed to buy myself a new wallet because mine is now falling apart, and a new pair of fleece lined dark blue leather gloves as despite having packed in an organised manner, and having a 64kg luggage allowance (!) I’d managed to forget my gloves and hat. We decided we’d stop for a gluehwein, which should have been relaxing, but no one told the Hamburg seagulls, which are an absolute menace. When one dive-bombed some poor bloke for whatever it was he was eating and skimmed straight past my face to do it, we figured we’d best drink up and move away.

I wasn’t any keener on the seagulls after we spotted one eating something that turned out to be the wing of a pigeon… Lovely. We soon forgot about that though as we walked through the delightful Alsterarkaden, a charming arcade built between 1844 and 1846 after the Great Fire of 1842 took out the old town and made way for new developments. The design was the responsibility of Alexis de Chateauneuf (1799-1853), the architect who was born in Hamburg and whose work can also be found in Paris and Oslo. It’s full of rather swish cafés, and very posh shops including this upmarket rum establishment, and again reminds you that there is money in Hamburg (it has the largest number of millionaires in all of Germany).

It also overlooks the Rathaus square, which has its own Christmas market, and which we would take a closer look at on another day. It was time to wander back towards the hotel, investigating a couple more markets on the way, one of which was selling the paper lampshade stars we like to use at this time of year.

We also stuck our noses into the Pride market, but although the DJ was in full swing, and the glitterball was reflecting off the pink reindeer, it was far too early for the clientele and there was hardly anyone there. We walked back along Lange Reihe and stopped off at a small wine shop to buy a bottle of wine before returning to the hotel to shower and change ahead of dinner at Wolfs Junge.

Travel 2019 – Hamburg, Days 1 and 2 Thursday, 28th November/Friday, 29th November 2019 - Hamburg We always aim to go somewhere that has plenty of Christmas markets, and plenty of other things to see and do as well for the first weekend in Advent, and so this year we headed to Hamburg, in the North of Germany, for our "get in the mood for Christmas" trip.

#2019 #Arts #Bars #Christmas #Crowne Plaza Hamburg #Europe #Germany #Hamburg #Hotels #Jungfernsteig #Kunsthalle Hamburg #Museums #Travel #Weisser Zauber Christmas Market

[adventuresinmorocco]

Hello family and friends! I’m sorry it’s been a while since I last posted on here, there really hasn’t been much excitement prior to this past weekend. It’s mostly been a bunch of midterm exams and projects that have been taking up all my free time. However, I don’t want to disappoint with a lack of photos and adventures, so here I am, back with some stories about this past weekend’s trip to Rabat. 

So Rabat is the capital city of Morocco and after a 3-3.5 hour bus ride (which left bright and early at 7 am much to our distress), we arrived in the city and were taken to the American Embassy. While there, we were given a run down of what the different sections of the embassy do and were introduced to several different foreign officers stationed there at the time. We met an economics officer, a general skills officer, a management officer, and a doctor working on the premises. They each told us their stories of how they got into foreign service and then answered our questions, giving us plenty of advice on how to get into a international career if we so choose. 

After the embassy and lunch (which wasn’t that great, unfortunately), our buses headed in the direction of our hotel. The hotel was quite classy and modern much to our contentment and we were each given our room numbers and key codes before being released for an hour of settling in and relaxing. Then it was back out into the city to explore. 

Our next stop on Friday (the first day there) was the Udayas Kasbah. Like many of the other Kasbahs we’ve explored in various cities, it was a beautifully crafted fortress with gardens inside it. As we continued walking through the Kasbah, we were met with a small, riverside cafe where we stopped for some mint tea and enjoyed the river views. We then took a brisk walk through the streets of the medina, which was much less busy and crazy than normal, until we reached the entrance to the Kasbah once more. 

After the Kasbah, we took a walk to the other side of the Kasbah walls and were met with a gorgeous open ocean view. We took a walk down to the sandy beaches and walked along a rocky jetty that jutted out into the waves. While watching a surfing competition and visiting with the many stray cats and dogs, we took photos of the waves crashing on the rocks and reminisced of home. Soon enough however, it was time to head back to the hotel to freshen up before dinner. That night was a delicious American style dinner that was well received by the many of us who were missing some of the meals we were used to. That night while many people went out to a pirate ship bar, my friend and I stayed in the hotel for a quiet night of studying and watching the Rostelecom Cup on Youtube (first big figure skating competition of the season!) 

The next day, the morning began with a delicious breakfast provided by the hotel before we set out for our first stop of the day: The Chellah Ruins. Now, the Chellah Ruins is a giant area which used to be a city occupied by three different groups of people with different cultures and lives. There were clear divides throughout the ruins where you could see the end/beginning of new civilizations. The first section was that of the Phoenicians. You could see individual plots where houses used to stand and crumbling roads that used to be where people walked. It then transitioned into a Roman section filled with crumbled pieces of columns and latin carved pillars, extending out into an old forum. Many spots within the Roman space was still standing upright despite the age and the Roman aqueducts still roamed the entire area. Finally, the ruins transitioned into the Muslim area. This section included the intact ruins of a Hammam, a mosque still standing tall, and surrounding graves and mausoleums were still inlayed with beautiful tile work. 

After the ruins, our next stop for the day was Hassan Tower and the Royal Mausoleum. Hassan Tower was a mosque being built by a king many years ago. It was planned to be the tallest mosque in the world, but due to the unfortunate death of the king and the following bankruptcy of that king’s rule, the tower was never finished. Beside the tower, in a separate and intricately designed building, is the mausoleum of the late King Mohammad V (the father of the current king). As we walked through the doors of the guarded building, we were met with the sight of the king’s tomb below us and the gorgeous, stained glass and gold plated ceiling. Our breaths were taken away as we stared in awe at the beautiful designs all around. 

After these adventures, it was time for lunch once more and this time around, it was much better than the previous day. We went to a small, local restaurant where we were served large Moroccan style salads and steaming hot tagine. It was a meal filled with chatter and belly-warming foods. 

After lunch came the Modern Art Museum. With it’s three floors, there was a lot to see and we didn’t have much time. However, despite that, I found myself entranced by some of the art work in the building. In particular, the basement’s gallery was powerful, emotional, and intense. I didn’t take very many pictures while down there, as I was trying to take it all in and I also felt that some of the images were just too detailed and intense to come across in photo the way they do in person. We then left the museum and headed back to the hotel to rest before our much anticipated trip to Rabat’s megamall, which didn’t go quite as planned.

Going to the megamall in Rabat was meant to be a fun experience where we could get some dinner as well as shop around for a few hours before heading to the hotel for the night. However, what we failed to understand before arriving was that the same night, there was a Halloween extravaganza going on for kids and teenagers. Now, if you can imagine how crazy a mall can be on a normal day, try to imagine it 10 times worse, packed full with teens and young kids running back and forth between crowds of people. It was kind of insane! Though we did manage to get some dinner and were all happy to go shop in the American themed store that had many of the snacks we were missing from back home, I, along with several others, got very overstimulated and overwhelmed very quickly. Many of us spent the majority of the visit sitting in the quietest places we could find. Eventually though, we did all get back to the hotel and once again I enjoyed the quiet peace of being in my hotel room where I could study and watch figure skating in peace. 

Our final day in Rabat was Sunday and I could tell it was the day most people were looking forward to because we were off to the zoo! We spent most of Sunday morning exploring the national zoo. We saw animals ranging from the local goats and chickens to the tropical rainforest monkeys and birds to the savannah’s lions and giraffes. We were all eagerly exploring the zoo’s massive area, big smiles across all our faces at the sights of all the animals. Eventually, though, our zoo trip did come to an end and we headed to the American cafe we all really enjoyed the first night for a quick lunch before heading back to Tangier on the buses. 

My overall thoughts on Rabat and the trips we took was quite good. Although there were some bumps along the way, it really was one of the better trips we took, probably my second favorite trip so far out of all of them (next to Chefchaouen). The trip was at a much more relaxed pace where we actually had time to explore rather than jumping from place to place constantly throughout the day. But I can tell you that you should all look forward to next week’s post because the next trip coming up is the Sahara Desert!! 

#adventuresinmorocco #nofilterphotos

[crystalized-dreams]

I originally was just going to keep it to my small thoughts on Twitter, but I got a few questions about it so I wanted to write something in… more detail and after thinking about it, I guess I have a bit more to say.

I’ll start with Pokken Tournament DX just because I won’t have much to say about it. So it’s Pokken. With the added Arcade characters. And a few more things. And on the Switch. And well, I just don’t really care. I tried really hard to get into Pokken, but in the end just got… bored. Unless some of my favorite Pokemon end up on the roster (or heck, an Audino who’d Mega Evolve), I don’t think it’d ever really reel me in enough to care. I’m not surprised to see a bigger version brought to the Switch, but when it comes down to it, I think I’d rather see a new Pokemon Stadium title which had a side mode being what Pokken Tournament is along with other minigames. I think, in general, fighting games just aren’t as interesting to me anymore.

While I wasn’t pleased with the announcement, especially considering the slow build up on how the Nintendo Switch exists and having a game and it just being Pokken (even though I didn’t expect a main title on Switch yet, I just… constantly forget Pokken exists and it’s like the one thing I would’ve have wanted to see–I don’t even care for the Pokemon Ranger series and I would have taken that) was disappointing and that moment of suspense, despite how small it was, ended up being a big let-down for me. I did really like the trailer they played though and that was probably the highlight of the Pokken part of the Direct for me.

But I did feel it was a bit long. As someone who also really loved all the Pokemon Sun and Moon Shorts leading up to the game, I really wished they had just put the longer up after and had a shorter one to discuss other things. Whether it be more about Pokemon Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon, stuff about updates for mobile games, about WHERE THE HECK IS DEETCTIVE PIKACHU BECAUSE I WANT THAT GAME SO BADLY AND IT ENDED ON A CLIFFHANGER… ahem, or even other side games.

More than half of the 8 minutes was dedicated to just Pokken stuff though and that was really disappointing. There wasn’t really enough content for that to be it. I just hope maybe we’ll see more stuff on Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon at E3 as well. Unfortunately, they only confirmed hearing about Pokken for that too thus far

Before I get into my thoughts on Pokemon Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon, I want to briefly address the Switch rumor that accidentally broke out. I’ll admit, I generally don’t look at the Press Releases right away (I like to focus on everything shown first before really going through that) so just from the trailer alone, I didn’t even know there was any confusion. Ignoring people who had made the rumors for ages now, part of the incident was due to an accidental mention on the Press Release which got fixed about 90 minutes later:

We would like to address rumours based on a clerical error on the Pokémon press site; Pokémon Ultra Sun and Pokémon Ultra Moon are coming exclusively to Nintendo 3DS family of systems and are not due for release on Nintendo Switch. This listing on the Pokémon press site was made in error and is not indicative of future plans. Please refer to the Pokémon Direct for the full details of the game.

While I do think, before the Direct hit anyway, there were plenty of reasons to believe a game could be on the Switch, there was nothing that hinted to that during the Direct itself. Pokken Tournament on the Switch and the clear 3DS cartridges for Pokken Tournament guy’s nephews was shown in a clear divide and even when the logos showed up at the end, it was with just 3DS mentioned under them. To me, there was no point where it wasn’t the 3DS and while I think a Switch version still could have been cool, I’m not surprised. And considering this is an “Alternative Story” to Pokemon Sun and Moon, it makes sense they’d use the system they already have assets and things built for.

I think what I question the most right now is what “Alternative Story” really means. Is it a sequel? Is it a completely different plot/timeline (Sort of what they did with ORAS versus the original Gen 3 games)? They really didn’t expand on it. At most, we’ve seen what looks like some new totem Pokemon, some new areas: (This just makes me really want Pokemon stuff in Animal Crossing though)

And things like this where it looks like Solgaleo and Lunala get fused with Necrozma. And I wasn’t too fond of that in B2/W2 with Kyurem so not fond to see it back.

But in general, it does look like new areas and content, but without more information first, I’m not going to get my hopes too high just yet. #gallery-0-5 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-5 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-5 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-5 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

I am hoping for a sequel though. Find out what happened with Lillie and her mom, see the island grow, etc.

At the very least, it’s clear there’s some changes. Besides the new clothing, the room has gotten a make-over with the Nintendo Switch, painted walls, an autograph instead of the Pikachu plush, and even new curtains. Of course, who knows, it could be a new protagonist rather than just a continuation of our own Story. It could be a separate timeline thing. I just really want to know exactly what it is, at this point, before I get any hopes too hyped up.

I also hope maybe I’ll get to have a Ponytail this time because it was silly not to have one on a Tropical Island. It DOES look like at least one new hairstyle plus new clothes so fingers crossed on a customization update overall. And no colors locked by which game you have because that sucked. Also just… really want something like the Dex Nav back as that made Pokemon collecting so much more fun.

But yes, fingers crossed we hear more about the games soon. If only to expand upon the “Alternative Story”.

Just some Pokemon Direct thoughts I originally was just going to keep it to my small thoughts on Twitter, but I got a few questions about it so I wanted to write something in...

#Detective Pikachu #Nintendo #Nintendo Direct #Pokemon #Pokemon Direct #Pokemon Ultra Moon #Pokemon Ultra Sun #Pokken Tournament #Pokken Tournament DX