#these cards are sponsored by Circles and Open Palms

[han-ban-bam]

Dragon Age Tarot cards for my Inquisitor Trevelyan & Rook Thorne.

I am so proud of these. The braincells really locked in for both. Well done braincells I’m very proud of u for showing up en masse.

[djarinsbeskar]

Dorne - Boxer!Din AU

A/N: I have no excuses. This is for @asta-lily who claimed she wouldn't know peace until she had this after our many 7some chats so... enjoy??? Consider this a taster of such, since I've never written something like it eheh. Idk if this will be part of the main AU, I just needed to get it out of my head. Really making use of that relaxed fit model, guys. No edits/beta, stream of thought ramblings that I'm just clicking post on. Check out The Prince of Dorne, a modern!Oberyn fic set in the same universe as the boxer!

Word Count: 1.2k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! MFF oral sex (male receiving).

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He felt like a king.

No, even a king worshipped something, money, power, connections.

He felt like a god.

“Fuck—”

Din groaned lowly, his head falling against the plush back of the luxurious chesterfield sofa that decorated one of the private back rooms at Dorne, a casino owned by his most generous and hands on sponsor. Dual heat from two wet tongues lapped indulgently along his cock, soaking him in saliva as small noises of pleasure were mixed with the wet sounds of kissing when tongues met over his leaking tip.

Whiskey eyes, darkened to obsidian under the low lights opened enough to watch you. Pink tongue dragging between painted lips up along the swollen shaft while your eyes – sunlight beneath clouded lust – met his mischievously.

Fucking hell. You were a damned siren. His lips parted on a strained exhale as you curled your tongue beneath the head, the raven haired beauty you had seduced earlier in the evening circling her tongue furtively around the fat head.

You broke the hold you held over him with your eyes when you turned to the woman on her knees beside you. Abby – Ally? – he couldn’t remember her name. You kissed her slowly, every movement of your tongue into her mouth catching the tip of his cock that wept in pearly beads of desperate need.

One of your hands – skilled and strong from the hours you spent a day working with them – stroked him, the wet lash of your palm along his thick girth as your guest ran her hands down your neck—wet tongue disappearing into your molten mouth he was suddenly ravenous to feel on his own. She worshipped your body gently, all soft caresses and delicate grazes of slim fingers, the complete opposite to his own form of worship; devouring, consuming, defiling you with his desire. She worshipped you like one would at a temple, an altar. He worshipped you like a primal sacrifice to ancient, wrathful gods.

You released his cock just long enough to take one of hers from where she was exploring your body, wrapping her fingers back around the base of his cock to continue stroking while her other hand worked on pushing the thin straps of your dress down your shoulders. Din twitched at the sound of your mewl when the woman’s hand found the soft swell of a breast, kneading it hard as your kiss grew sloppy.

You broke it with a gasp, turning to lap at his head, dragging the tip of your tongue to gather his precum, the single contact a frisson of electricity across open water—all his nerves heightened to the combination of pleasure from both your mouths as Abby – Ally? – latched her lips to his shaft, kissing up and down it feverishly as she jerked her hand up the length.

“Fuck, baby—so good,” he moaned, the heavy crease between his brow furrowing further as the tendons in his neck strained – humming – with the tension he held in his muscles. You hummed around his tip, licking it like a damned lollipop you couldn’t get enough of before sucking the head with a dexterous swirl of your tongue.

Your dress pooled lower, just enough for the lace of the lingerie you had worn – his favourite – to be seen peeking out from the collapsed neckline. It slid down further when you turned to caress the back of your guest’s hair, raven locks passing through your fingers when she parted swollen lips from his shaft to kiss you again. But you shook your head.

“Open,” you purred.

Fucking hell, you were so hot—the way your free hand gripped her jaw in a delicate hold to encourage her lips to part, a languid kiss to her cheek—her mouth opening obediently for you to lead her down so she could engulf his sensitive head. Her eyes fluttered, your lips parted—guiding her down further, taking more of him. It was a hedonistic vision. You, guiding her head up and down on his cock – strings of saliva and drool dribbling from her lips and his cock while you murmured soft praise.

He moaned.

You mewled with a kiss to his navel at the sound—a sliver of toned muscle and tawny skin exposed from where you had unbuttoned his shirt in a rush earlier.

A flare of intoxicating arousal, a primordial pride at seeing you with another woman to pleasure him—no combative jealousy or distain present, but an equally wild desire to pleasure one another that had his mind spinning.

“Are you enjoying your birthday, baby?” you questioned as you led the woman’s head down to take in more of him, his cock stretching her lips and throat convulsing as she gagged around his size. You cooed gently, kissing her temple, and running a finger through the tears that gathered at the corner of her eyes—ruining her makeup,

“I know he’s so big… you can take a little more though, can’t you?”

She nodded with a moan, bobbing up and down his cock while he gravelled your name, his hand dropping to card through once perfectly styled hair as you sucked one of his balls – heavy and full with a need to empty inside you – into your mouth, the gentle suck and massage of your tongue over the sensitive sac making him pant, his chest heaving more than it would be even after three rounds in the ring.

“Come here, sweetheart— fuck," he snarled, a warning steel to his voice and the hand that tightened in your hair. He wanted to taste you himself, needed it—needed to regain some control.

You released his balls with a wet smack, climbing up his large frame as he bade to settle half on top of him as your mouth met his. His tongue licked into your mouth with a growl, your fingers massaging his balls in place of your mouth where it was preoccupied with the invasion of his tongue. The taste of champagne and a distinct saltiness mixed on his tongue as you gave into his domination, whimpering your desire for him into his mouth as you released him to tangle both hands in his hair.

“Good choice, baby—she’s almost as greedy for my cock as you are.”

His words were rasped teasingly against your lips, caught on a hitch when she took as much of him down her throat once more—his heavy lids falling to half mast as you watched the pleasure play out on his features,

“Almost,” you growled, and he smirked at the undercurrent of possessiveness in your tone, “but I wanna see if she’s as greedy for pussy too, baby—”

His chest exploded with a snarl of lust, pressing a hard kiss to your mouth, a blind hand roaming down your exposed back to the fabric of your dress, bunching his fingers in the material to drag it up over your ass. A swift slap to your exposed cheek before he kneaded the flesh roughly, spreading it—manipulating the softness to his will, and he grinned,

“Mm, you’re just full of good ideas today, sweetheart.”

Taglist:

@geannad @ayamenimthiriel @sarahjkl82-blog @gracie7209 @pychedelic-star @nova646 @theflightytemptressadventure @wantingtobekorra @computeringturtle @slayerette26 @kesskirata @greatcircle79  @boxdyeblonde @fangirl-316 @niiight-dreamerrrr @tanzthompson @theamuz  @gallowsjoker @helmet-comes-off @jesfreedark @amyk-37 @altarsw @feminist-violinist @spideysimpossiblegirl @lazybeeches @shameless-h @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @mamacitapascal @the-ginger-hedge-witch @disgruntledspacedad @asta-lily @aesnawan @frannyzooey @gaiuswrites @beskarboobs @honestly-shite @sherala007 @cats-are-a-girls-bestfriend @missminkylove @pedros-mustache @headinthestarz @leannawithacapitala @sharkbait77 @radiowallet @librariantothejedi @day-off-inkyoto @danidrabbles @magpie-to-the-morning @mandocrasis @pedro4ever @juletheghoul @javierpinme @voteforpedro09 @theorganasolo @aprilqueen84 @Prostitute-robot-from-the-future @wanderlustmags @darnitdraco @castleamc @outlawedmando @lawfulgranola @jaime1110 @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @taticalsparkles  @chasingdreamer @beautyagegoodnesssize @pintsizemama @lunaserenade @recklessworry @tarolovesyoo @littlemisspascal @jazzelsaur

[oswednesday]

okay so everyone knows how i feel about ambigous kid age feets mcgee there, stuff i do like was the pinball machine like bumper cars and that she Likes candy according to the second creepiest trading card, 

(i obvi want to make her older, i think its more Fun if shes like Childish, as an adult, obvi again i guess omg so shes in her mid-30s and brags about being the strongest woman in galar)

(she ranks number 3 in the whole region so as far a league stats go, she would be right! )

(ability: technician, moves: rolling kick, rapid spin, gyro ball, drill run)

(okay i saw that rolling kick isnt a move that got in with this pkmn instead a much weaker triple kick was introduced? going to ignore that)

(this pkmn is not used in the cup rematch!)

(stow-on-side’s gym is protected by a union of regions, as a historic gym of the western regions, its the oldest gym in galar! this means that it can be a gym without being in the league and it answers only to the union representatives, or it did before bea has sole ownership of it)

(ability: unburdened, moves: sticky web, attract, play nice, play rough)

(she doesnt use this in the rematch, she likes to use sweet food pkmn but opal probs gets on her ass about it)

(her parents died in an “accident” in her mid 20s, leaving her an orphan, like no aunts, uncles, grandparents ect to speak of! and sole heir to a gym that had been operating outside of the league for generations, the funding it got from neighboring regions allowed them to keep it up to shape as a modest gym specializing in fighting, while teaching students the ancient fighting arts of galar (such as slinging a boulder with your bare hands)

(ability: filter, moves: power split, brick break, sucker punch, skill swap)

(sometimes she ends up copying other gym leaders and trainers who catch her interest, she doesnt get why others might take offense to this, she usually only holds on to a pkmn long enough to evo it before switching it out)

(bea doesnt use this mime again)

(bea is someone who gets bored easily and jumped at the invitation to join the league with the promise of interesting ways to transform the historic village, now stow-on-side is a must stop tourist attraction a 24 hr 7 day a week carnival town)

(ability: cute charm, moves: brutal swing, force palm, stomping tantrum, facade)

(this is the one she max’s out! and uses max guard!)

(she actually keeps this one and its a bewear next time you see it!  and youll be seeing it last in her line up)

(moves: brutal swing, hammer arm, stomping tantrum, body press) (she makes this one big but uses max knuckle this time!)

(no matter what her team is she always has one of these or the evo form on it, its like her signature mon and she has them imported, theyre prizes you can win in town! pokemon rights activists can been see protesting this practice, ones you see in the wild are due to people winning and releasing cause the amount of care needed for this type of pokemon in a lot, with no real predator unlike many other aggressive galar pokemon, theyre considered an invasive and dangerous pkmn species)

(the mini game is the same! except every time you hit a wall, one pkmn in your party has a 50/50 chance of becoming confused! the town is full of other pkmn themed mini games as well, her sponsor is like ballman brand, and like the corporation that owns basically anything cute and animated and produces most of the junk food in galar in partnership with like the food industry obvi, like if its on tv it probably went through this company at some point, because theyre her sponsor bea likes to be in charge of the snacks on opening day when the challengers get their numbers and stuff cause she often doesnt show up as its boring to her like the same thing as last year with just different people zzz)

(ability anticipation ,moves: rock smash, stealth rock, counter,endure)

(she’ll comment that this one was a gift but she wont say from who! youll be seeing it again at the championship cup, with everything basically unchanged, its just a higher level)

(because she gets bored easily she switches her team up a lot, it causes a lot of strife in her serious fan base but casual fans love the variety)

(ability: pure power, moves: seismic toss, detect, power up punch, recovery )

(hey vibe check on this pkmn? is it just like to inherently offensive to use or is it an abstract person enough that its like Fine with some tweaking, i plan to obscure its face more so it looks less ya know and push like parts of the design further away from human and more like weird mushroom maybe? but is everything else about it like Too Much A Racist Caricature to even use?  like using it as like being like a carnival fortune teller like fundementally like that or can the aesthetic and understanding that theres like history about it in the uk that just becomes its Own thing? the spiritual movements in the uk were taken way more serious than in The States, its weird that its so under represented in this gen?? anyway you’ll only see it for the gym battle!)

(some claim chairman rose’s modest alternative energy company has deeper ties to bea’s sponsor but its obvi simply because theres a mutual partnership as chairman he needs to make sure the games are the best after all)

(ability: iron fist, moves: mach punch, dynamic punch, slam, stone edge)

(you may be wondering how she stays at number 3 like this, well mostly because allister doesnt care about ranking up and raihan never loses to her, but its also because she has just so many fully evo’d pkmn at hand, she uses their pent up aggression, at being kept in a box or under exercised as they work in town, on the battle field, she’s also known to rotate pkmn during league matches which isnt against the rules but is considered poor sportsmanship, bea’s opponents never being able to predict what she’s going to do is her greatest strength)

(she’ll use this pkmn in the cup!)

(im probs going to aim for strong woman ring leader vibes for her design! like galar is the uk right, thats like uk History right there along with like the highland games, way more on? themed? than karate?????)

(ability: lightening rod, moves: mega horn, horn drill, smart strike, sword dance)

(after you get off the the spinning cup theres a platform and an unavoidable “carnie”” trainer” who’ll let you know in uncertain terms that they’re not getting paid enough for this, the first platform is likely Fine with a low level machop but the second and third platform the pkmn might rebel! as theyre not pokemon trainers just part time worker residents)

(ability:rivalry, moves: entertainment, yawn, hyper beam, noble roar)

(just a cup critter!)

(if they do you have a chance to catch them like wild on the platform after a battle! platform two is a machoke, platform three is a machamp,  who can dynamax completely on its own!! weird right? if that happens in my nuzlocke sheid’ll send em to the prof like a Clue to get! )

(her stadium terrain behaves like trick room, wonder room and magic room are in effect altering between the 3 every sixth turn!)

(ability: limber, moves: circle throw, taunt, revenge, payback)

(another pkmn just for the cup!)

[dashielldeveron]

Viper I: Vinculum Juris.

Viper AU: a Mob!Tom Holland AU in which you are a political author, Tom’s personal lawyer, and eventually his consigliere.

Warnings: swears, the law, blood.

Summary: You try to work your way into Tom’s good graces, but it could be a lot easier than how he’s making it.

Confused? Try reading the prologue first.

“Sign it.” Your knuckles turned white as you clenched the edge of your rickety desk. “Get it over with.”

Tom held the fountain pen above the contract hastily scrawled in script on a pink index card: I, Thomas Stanley Holland, will give my lawyer any form of privacy as she defines it in exchange for her compliance and silence regarding anything I may instruct her to do concerning my mafia ties. He tapped the paper twice, and two blots of ink blurred the signature line. “You’re tricking me somehow.”

“You’re stalling.”

“Explain what you mean by privacy as you define it,” Tom said, setting down the pen and leaning against the desk with one hand.

“It means,” you said, “that the only information you have on my life is what I tell you. Neither you nor anyone else within your control will go looking for what I don’t want you to know. My address, for example. My mother’s phone number. Dr. Prine’s phone number. My personal email.”

Sucking in through his teeth, Tom picked up the pen again and spun it in his fingers. “This is almost too loosely defined.”

You pursed your lips. “This is the simplest, most flexible, possibly most idiotic contract I’ve ever written up, if one could even call it a contract. It’s nothing but security for me, Mr. Holland, to get it in writing.”

“I don’t have time for this; I’ve meeting Haz in ten,” said Tom, sliding the card across the desk to you, “We’ll talk about this later.”

You caught his hand before he could retract it. “Hold up, Mr. Holland.” You shot him a look, tilting your chin up. “I’m not working against you. I’ve written this so that we can be a team. My demands aren’t unreasonable.” You lifted your hand, but his remained pressing the card against the desk. “I’m agreeing to do practically anything for you, and you can’t grant me my privacy? I almost hesitate to remind you, sir, that you can’t exactly replace me at the moment. With Ripley gone, I’m the only one trained to deal with your legal business. Not to mention I’m the only one to know some of your passwords. As much as you may not like it, Mr. Holland, I’m in.”

Tom blinked slowly, and he straightened himself, flexing his fingers as he did so. “Not yet, you’re not.”

“Of course I—”

“In the mafia, I mean,” said Tom, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards when your eyebrows shot up—but you recovered and pulled on the hem of your blazer, meeting his eyes.

“And how would I join?”

Tom’s jaw relaxed as he turned to retrieve his suit coat off the back of a chair. “First, you have to prove yourself,” he said, sliding his arm into a sleeve, “Second, you have to be inducted. After that, I’ll sign your contract. I’ll give you one more chance to leave—” You scoffed at this. “—once you’re inducted, the only way out is death.”

“Perfect. Ideal. Is that supposed to dissuade me?” You walked around your desk towards the door to your stupid office that doesn’t even lock. “Come on. I’m already committed.”

“Funny how I don’t believe you,” Tom said, buttoning the last and ignoring your gesture to hurry up and leave. He took one last look around your shoddy, leaky office and strode towards the door.

You opened it for him. “Then how do I earn your trust?”

Tom stopped in the doorway and broke into a grin.

***

Ms. Glory Pham lived alone in a narrow, white house in a gated community called Crosscreek outside of New York City. You need two codes to get past the first gate and had to be buzzed through after that. The housekeeper who ushered you inside instructed you to leave your heels at the door, so here you were, the cold of the stone floor seeping through your stockings as you gazed around Glory Pham’s living room: white, capacious, and untouched, as if it were from a catalogue. The only colour in the room came from the abstract painting above the fireplace (you could make out the semblance of a piano keyboard and what was probably a trumpet) and several cracked geodes on the mantel.

“So, you have arrived. From your emails, you didn’t seem like the type to keep appointments.” A little offended, you turned your head in the direction of a tall, Vietnamese woman in her late forties with her shoulders rolled back and a notebook in hand coming from the kitchen. She rounded the island, paused to glance at your feet, and set her notebook on the coffee table before sitting on the edge of the leather couch.

You moved to sit on the opposite couch so that you could have the table between you, but she raised a finger, her glare sharp. “No,” she said, “Stand. Put the bag down.” Glory raked her eyes over your wool suit, and she couldn’t spot cat hair from where she was sitting, could she? “Turn,” she said, twirling her finger in a circle, “Slowly.” You did, and she clicked her mechanical pencil before jotting something down. She nodded at you to sit. “You are two minutes late. You have eight minutes left to convince me.”

“Ms. Pham, we agreed on three-thirty. Your watch must be fast,” you said, the leather creaking as you sat onto it.

She narrowed her eyes. “Interesting. You say you represent Osseous Enterprises?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you said, and she wrote something else down at that. “Osseous Enterprises wants to sponsor a special exhibit in the Morgan Memorial Hall of Gems. The green diamond that was discovered two months ago in Arkansas, the Gawain Diamond, has just been cut and sold to the state park. Osseous proposes that it be on display in the American Museum of Natural History for a year before it is returned to Arkansas.” You handed her some of your research and the written proposal from your bag.

“You say it’s been cut.” Glory flipped the first page over. “To what dimensions?”

“It was originally 134.7 carats, but it’s been cut to 61.” A little larger than a shooter marble. At the moment Tom told you about it, you’d wanted to put it in your mouth. You’d shaken yourself at that intrusive thought and dismissed it.

“Waste of a rough green. Is it really this deep, Brunswick green, or is this picture too saturated?”

Brunswick? “It’s an accurate depiction,” you said, “If you say the word, I have the Crater of Diamonds State Park foremost in my contacts. The calls can be made today, if you like.”

“Give me your phone.” Glory held out her palm, beckoning twice with bends of her fingertips. You didn’t unlock it for her, and she didn’t ask. She set it in her lap, screen down, and didn’t examine it any further. “How much would Osseous be willing to give towards this exhibit?”

“Page three,” you said.

She didn’t touch the packet.

“Whose idea was this? Yours?”

“Mr. Holland’s. Publicity, you know. A positive name in the public sphere.”

Glory clicked her pencil again. “What’s the name of your cat?”

Shit. Wincing, you shut your eyes, cleared your throat, and said, “Her name’s Trout.”

Setting her notebook aside, Glory leant forward. “You’ve passed,” she said, “for now. I encourage you to remember the person inside your persona. Do you care for Darjeeling?”

***

The stack of papers landed on Tom Holland’s desk with a thump that upset dust. “There,” you said as he looked up, a curl falling over his forehead, “We’ve got our exhibit.” Crossing your arms, you put your weight on one foot and smiled as Tom checked the four places Glory had signed and dated. “But in case you doubt me any further, please turn to the page that’s been torn out of a notebook. Remember how the Morgan hall of gems is currently closed for building that new wing? Well, let’s say that the future Allison and Roberto Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals now have a featured exhibit.”

Tossing the notebook paper aside, Tom leant back in his chair, the tip of his tongue against his two front teeth. “Impossible. How’d you do it?”

You had no fucking idea. “Talent, Holland. Some of us have it.” When Tom gestured for you to carry on, you said, “Once I got past Ms. Pham’s impermeable coldness, it was easy. Even offered me tea.” She also told you to paint your toenails (“And a decent colour, by God.”) the next time you were summoned, but Tom didn’t need to know that. “Told me a little about being director of prospect research and management and some stuff about how it would work. We called the state park towards the end.”

“When we’ve tried to work with her in the past, she turned away Harrison. Wouldn’t even answer Ripley’s emails.” Tom pressed his thumbnail to his lower lip. “Wear white tonight. You’ll want your hair up.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tonight’s your induction,” said Tom, “You’re joining the mob. Eleven o’clock, third floor of the basement, yeah? Don’t talk to anyone in the building. Don’t take a taxi here. You can’t have any record that you’re going to be here tonight. Don’t tell Dr. Prine. Ah!” He raised an eyebrow when you opened your mouth, and you closed it again. “Not until after it’s done. The government’s got just as many people tapping phones as I do. Got it?” He held out his hand for you to shake.

“Yes, sir,” you said, and his hand clenched a little tighter.

“One more question,” Tom said, tapping the notebook paper, “Why’d you sign this as Viper?”

***

Your bra immediately came off once you got back to your flat, and, with Trout butting her head against your ankles, you made your way to your bed with your phone on speaker for a call with Dr. Prine. You pulled up the Epiales website while you talked, and she recommended you write something on the multiple felonies an extremely prominent politician just committed. You had more than half a mind to do it, especially since Polson was on the team of prosecutors who came to that conclusion, and you still had passwords to Polson’s files. Guilt pricked at you for even considered violating Polson’s law firm like that, even though he was a twat, and your frantic attempt to remind yourself that you’re in the mob so you have to be cool with unethical things now did not work.

Polson’s not entirely stupid. He’s probably changed the passwords by now.

You pulled up his work email, typed everything in, and hit enter, and you were logged into his email account. He had two unread emails, one about a family client and the other about replacing the microwave in the break room. Fingers dancing over the mousepad, you logged out. It wouldn’t be right.

You’d write the felonies article by yourself, but not tonight. With She’s All That playing, Trout catloafed on your feet, while you ate the ingredients to a sandwich (you didn’t feel like actually making it) and fruit snacks and tried to ignore the stone in your gut when you thought about the aging, white dress in the back of your closet.

***

Five minutes until eleven o’clock, and you were bouncing on the balls of your feet in the lift to the basement of Osseous Enterprises, the label on the third floor button worn away from frequent pressing. Steeling yourself as the lift doors opened, you were greeted by a man in a suit you didn’t recognise. He snapped his fingers and gestured for you to follow, and you did, your heels clacking louder than usual down a dark corridor. He could hardly be heard or seen, but you were a sitting duck in white. He halted in front of a door and frisked you, and once he’d taken your phone and keys, he let you inside.

Cold pricked at your bare arms as the door creaked closed behind you. Around a circular table lit with candles, wavering with breath, sat Tom, Harrison, and Maccabruno, Tom’s consigliere, all with hands folded. Chairs creaking and a cough came from the perimeters of the room, so there had to be capos present that you couldn’t see. Just the same.

Pulling out the empty chair in front of Tom, you sat with caution, not breaking eye contact with Tom. The candlelight flickered across the contours of his face, a deep shadow around his jawline. His deep, brown eyes were icy and detached, and honestly, it made you uneasy. But show no weakness.

Harrison spoke first, more to the unseen capos than to you. “Since the mafia is a criminal organisation rooted in secrecy, it cannot have any paper documents of its members that can be confiscated by the police. Therefore, we rely on the tradition of the ritual ceremony, although this particular induction is not traditional. There are no women in our mafia.”

Oh, God. Whose dick were you going to have to suck? You’ve never done that before, and it’d be in public—no, stop. You don’t know that’s what going to happen.

“You are to treat this woman as any member of our family. You don’t touch her. She’s not here for you,” said Harrison, unfolding his hands and looking around the room, “There are no exceptions. She’ll follow the rules just as you do. The rules will not be changed.”

“Some of you may doubt her worth,” said Maccabruno, his voice grating but caustic, “After months of keeping silence in the face of our brutality, her trial for trust was obtaining the key codes to Crosscreek, something even Mr. Osterfield could not acquire. She turned them in to us this afternoon.”

A murmur shot around room, echoing off the high ceiling. The key codes? The key codes? What about the exhibit for the Gawain Diamond? What about cracking Ms. Pham? Didn’t those count for anything? Tom could’ve at least told you, and then you wouldn’t have to have met with Ms. Pham and have been psychoanalytically scrutinised.

“Before she is confirmed, she must first understand and accept our rules. Viper,” Harrison said to get your attention, and your head snapped in his direction. That name was a joke between you and Tom; why was he calling you that? “Listen well. Should you break any of these rules, the penalty is death.”

Pretty standard in the world of law, too. You nodded.

“First and foremost is the code of silence, the omertà. You are never to speak to any authorities. You are never to be seen with any law enforcers,” said Harrison, “You cannot speak about the business to non-members under any circumstances.”

“This includes Dr. Prine,” Tom said, low enough for only those at the table to hear. He waited for you to nod again before nudging Harrison to continue.

“If a member is killed by another member, no one can murder in revenge unless Mr. Holland gives permission. There is no killing of other men of honour unless absolutely necessary. The decision will not be yours. You will not physically fight with other members, nor will you steal from them. Do not interfere with another’s interests. His business is his own.”

Maccabruno cleared his throat and sent a warning glare around the room. “You are not to commit adultery with another family member’s spouse. They are to be treated with respect.”

“You aren’t to go to bars or clubs. You will always be available for work, even if your mother is dying. Any appointments made with those above you will always, always be kept.”

“And when we ask you for any information,” Tom said, tapping his thumbs together and staring you down, “The answer must be the truth.”

“If you break any of these rules, you will be killed by another member of the family,” Maccabruno was saying as Harrison began rummaging about in his pockets, “Usually, your murderer will be the person closest to you.”

Don’t make friends. Got it.

Harrison placed parallel in the centre of the table a long knife and a picture of one of St. Peter’s icons. “Give the don your right hand.”

You laid your hand across the table as Tom picked up the knife. He gripped your hand by your fingertips, holding it up to the level of the flames.

“As you are granted a protection as no one else, so you must enter as no one else,” said Harrison.

You inhaled sharply when Tom pressed the tip of the blade into your palm, but he wouldn’t look at you. With a steady hand, he traced your bones to the end of each finger, leaving trails of blood oozing onto the tablecloth.

“You will never know this woman’s name. You shall know her only as Viper,” Harrison was saying, but it didn’t exactly register; you were more focused on the amount of blood dripping down your wrist. “This is as the don commands.”

Setting the knife aside, Tom guided your hand above the picture of St. Peter, and he curled your fingers into your palm and squeezed, indicating for you to follow. Your fingernails dug into the cuts until the paper bent with blood.

Harrison lifted a candle out of its holder, and Tom placed the sticky paper onto your bleeding hand, making it lay flat. Standing, Harrison lit the picture afire, and it blazed to life in your hand. You ground your teeth together, acutely aware of maintaining a blank expression, but your fingers spasmed under the pain. You barely heard the oath Harrison told you, but you repeated it with a steady voice: “As burns this saint, so will burn my soul. I enter alive, and I will have to get out dead.”

The candles crackled in the silent minute it took for the picture to turn to ash in your hand, and Tom, Harrison, and Maccabruno put their hands over their hearts. Tom nodded almost imperceptibly for you to do the same. And so you did, the last of the flame sizzling out as you lay your hand over your heart, permanently staining the white with ash and blood.

“As of this hour, until her death, this is a woman of honour,” Tom said, dropping his hand, “She’s one of us, now.” Amidst the staggered applause, Tom leant over the table, put his thumb under your chin, and kissed both of your cheeks.

***

Holy moly. While the capos cleared out, Maccabruno kept you behind, tossing you a washcloth to clean up your cuts. He made you write down the key codes again so that he could have a hard copy, and then he gave you a couple of books on the history of the mafia, just so that you could know the gravitas of what you were a part of. After he dismissed you, you jogged down the hall to catch up with the capo who took your phone and keys, and he not only returned them but had a welcoming gift for you, which was fucking bizarre. He gave you a tiny, potted cactus, which you resolved to check for bugs when you got back to your office.

Laden with books and the cactus in your good hand, you took the lift up to the surface of Osseous Enterprises and to your office. The moonlight came through the hallway windows in bright beams as you walked down the corridor and turned the corner. You’d flip through the books and water the cactus before going home and washing the hell out of your hand. Maybe read some poetry. Check up on Dr. Prine’s law journal.

When you got to your office, however, its light splayed into the hallway through the crack under the door. Sighing, you grasped the knob with your free hand, wincing as you did so, and opened the door to see Tom Holland sitting on your desk, fountain pen in hand.

He cracked a smile. “You see why we can’t have a hard copy of a contract now?”

You made a huffing noise and began to shelve the books. “If you’d mentioned that, I’d’ve understood. I’m not going to outsmart you on anything that matters.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. You forget your place,” Tom said, fiddling with the index card contract, “How’s your hand?”

“Disgusting, thanks.” You cupped your cactus and looked around for a place for it to live. “Will you still sign it?”

“Start a new index card and rephrase it. So long as the mob isn’t explicitly mentioned, I’ll do it.” Tom took the cactus and passed you the pen.

I, T.S.H., will give my lawyer any form of privacy as she defines it in exchange for her compliance and silence regarding anything I may instruct her to do within reason.

“This doesn’t mean I’m going to do your laundry,” you said as he initialled the card at the bottom, “I intend to keep this relationship as professional as possible.”

Tom slid the index card towards you. “Keep this somewhere safe, where no one else can ever see it. This is just between you and me.”

“Absolutely,” you said, pocketing it at the same time Tom’s phone went off. He yanked it out and muttered a soft fuck once he saw the screen. “What’s going on?”

“There is no rest for the wicked. We’ve got to go.” Tom shoved his phone back in his coat and buttoned it up, and he grabbed your jacket from a chair and tossed it to you on the way out. “Crosscreek has been bombed.”

*** vinculum juris: the chains of the law; something that is legally binding.

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[to-star-lake]

blue [ pt. 1 ]

pairing | pcy x reader count | 2.9k

“Wow, this is...” you heard Baekhyun say from next to you. 

“Yeah..no kidding,” you awed as the two of you stood before the entrance of the oceanside resort, your backpacks swung over your backs, hands lingering on the handles of your luggage, jaws dropped in astonishment at the hotel you were staying at. 

The two of you have been ogling at the resort ever since the van that brought you from the airport to the hotel turned the corner off the main road past a giant marble sign with the name of the resort. The road led through a lining of towering palm trees, and you and Baekhyun pressed your noses against the windows of the van, taking photos of the scenery. 

The van looped around the giant fountain, it’s surrounding pond so big it might as well be a lake, before pulling up to the entrance. The entire facade of the resort was built of stone, pillars rising from the marble landing up to a canopy like an ancient stone acropolis. 

“You guys like it?” The two of you turned as your manager walked up beside you in his nicely pressed business suit, his leather laptop bag swung over his shoulder, a single travel case next to him. You and Baekhyun simultaneously nodded your heads, eyes still wide, admiring the resort. 

He laughed and started walking towards the entrance, “Alright collect your jaws, let’s go.” The two of you quickly picked up your luggage, shuffling behind him. 

The check-in counter and the lobby of the resort was bustling with people. Men and women in business suits sipping coffee at a cafe in the corner, families dressed in t-shirts and swim suits applying sun screen by the front door, small children running about. 

“Ok, here’s your reservation confirmations, just go to any person at the counter,” your manager said as he handed you and Baekhyun each a sheet of paper. You walked up to the front desk and a nice, smiling woman greeted you as she took your name for the reservation to check in. She was telling you your room number and which direction it’s in when suddenly you heard a screeching voice next to you, “One of the bellhops said the bars here don’t open until after 5PM is that true?” 

You turned and looked at the girl that interrupted your transaction, standing next to you, leaning into the counter, blowing a bubble with the gum in her mouth, creating a loud smacking sound. She was in a tiny, glittering black dress, and you noticed the curls in her hair had spun out in all different directions, the makeup on her face smeared, heels in her hands, standing barefoot next to you. She must’ve just come back from an epic night out, you thought to yourself sarcastically, chuckling under your breath as you glanced at the wide-eyed concierge behind the desk. 

“Miss, that’s correct, bars open when all of the hotel restaurants open for dinner,” the woman behind the desk said cordially. “But if you like I could recommend a few restaurants outside the resort premises-”

“Ugh, laaaaame,” the girl cut her off, rolling her eyes, and turning and noticing you standing beside her. “Oh shoot, I’m so sorry, did I just cut in front of you?” she giggled. 

You smiled, “Oh no no, don’t worry, I’m pretty much already checked in, I just need to get my room key.” You hoped none of your sarcasm seeped through your words. But you could see in her face that even if it had, she wouldn’t have noticed. 

“Hey! Are they open or not!” you saw the girl twirl around as she heard a loud voice booming across the lobby. You turned and saw a group of girls, dressed up and yet a complete mess just like she is, standing around two guys in nice shirts, with their top buttons undone, hair messy, and ties untied, hanging from their necks. 

You watched as she sauntered back to her group and one of the guys swung his arm lazily around her neck, and she reached her hand up to lace her fingers around his. You saw her shake her head and the other guy hang his head in exasperation at her response. Wow, it must suck to not be able to get a drink at 9AM, you thought to yourself, chuckling. 

“Miss, I’m so sorry,” you heard the concierge say. You turned and looked back at her as she hastily swiped your credit card and handed you your room key and pointed down the hall in the direction of your room. 

“Oh no, please, don’t even worry about it,” you said, smiling. “I’m sorry for you guys.” 

“You have no idea,” she sighed, lowering her voice, “They’ve been here for a week, they’re famous amongst the hotel staff now. I can’t wait to get them out.” 

“Well judging by the look of them, you must at least be getting some nice cash outta that,” you laughed. 

“Ha, this is true, they have not been stingy with the tips,” she grinned, “Are you here for the conference or for vacation, Miss?”

“The conference,” you responded, and the concierge nodded, turning and brushing through a bin on the desk behind her before pulling out a bag with your name on the tag attached to it.  

“Ok, Miss, this is for you,” she said, handing you the bag and pulling out a folder from it. “This has everything you need, here’s the conference schedule, after hours-events, booth numbers, participating corporations, and sponsors all listed.” You took the folder from her, looking down at the schedule to see check which room your presentation was in. “And here are your business cards that we had printed for you per your company’s instructions,” she said as she handed you a small, sleek black box, opening it to reveal a set of polished and minimalist business cards with your name printed on them. 

“Thank you,” you said, smiling, seeing your name in print. 

“Enjoy your stay miss, and good luck at the conference,” the concierge smiled back. 

You waved to her, turning and finding Baekhyun and your manager standing next to the entrance to the coffee shop. 

“Dude, these are so nice!” Baekhyun raved, holding up one of his business cards for you to see. “I’ve never had a business card before, this is so adult.” 

You laughed, “Same, this is pretty cool.” 

You and Baekhyun had come to the resort for a business conference, representing your company. This was the first conference the two of you had ever attended, and both of you were both extremely flattered but also extremely nervous that your company chose you to represent them. The two of you spent months in preparation for this event, rehearsing and fine-tuning your presentations. 

The conference lasts for four days and each day is planned down to the second. Breakfast in the morning, networking before lunch, dinner with clients, and sometimes drinks afterwards. You were expected to socialize and engage clients as well as competing companies. The entire event made you feel like you’ve done enough socializing and smiling for a lifetime. 

By the end of the third day, both you and Baekhyun were absolutely exhausted. It was almost midnight and the two of you had finally gotten rid of a group of douchey consultants from a competing firm at the bar, and the two of you stayed behind to wind down. You sat across from Baekhyun in a corner table at a hotel restaurant. You laughed as you watched his head drop onto the table top, making a thudding sound. 

“Can we go home yet,” you heard him whine through the loudness of the restaurant, groups of people at the bar, by the pool table, laughing and yelling over each other. You smiled, circling your finger around the top of your glass of vodka. 

“Hey,” you said, watching as he lifted his head to face you. “We made it,” you smiled, watching him smile in return. He lifted his glass up and you clinked yours against it. 

“We really did,” he replied, setting his glass down. The two of you sat, letting a few moments of silence pass as you reflected on how hard the two of you fought for your work to be recognized within your company. How a year of extended workdays and weekends had now become realized as you were representing your company at this conference. 

“I think you have a stalker,” you heard Baekhyun say, his eyes low, looking over the rim of his glass as he lifted it up for a drink. You tilted your head in confusion at him. “This dude at the bar has been staring at you the whole time we’ve been here tonight. He was here yesterday too.” 

“Ha,” you laughed without turning to look. “Is he at least a cute stalker?” you rolled your eyes, your words coming out with full-fledged sarcasm. 

“Nah he looks super douchey,” Baekhyun said, setting his glass down. “Like one of those idiot consultants we ditched at the other restaurant, except like, somehow worse,” his face wrinkled into a disgusted frown, still looking in his direction. 

You hit his arm gently, “Dude you should probably stop staring at him then, I’m not trying to have another inane conversation with a consultant,” you laughed, putting air-quotes around the word consultant as you spoke. 

“Ugh you’re right,” Baekhyun sighed, downing the rest of his drink. “What the hell even is consulting anyways, it’s such a scam. A whole night of talking to these guys and I still have no idea what it is that they do.” He stood up, pulling his wallet out from his back pocket. “I’m gonna get another, do you want another?” You drank down the rest of your glass as well, nodding to him and he walked over towards the bar. 

You sat in silence, looking at the condensation that had formed on the outside of the empty glass in your hand, your fingertips tingling from the coldness of the ice. You found your mind drifting back to when you and Baekhyun had first become friends, how you helped each other through the rigorous demands of your ivy league curriculum. The late nights you spent studying at the library, or the late nights you stayed up at each other’s apartments, consoling each other over failed relationships. 

And you thought of how three years later, you’d both been recruited by your company right out of college to work on an impossible project, one that was designed to fail, one that they had no qualms about giving to two wide-eyed, enthusiastic young graduates, eager to learn. But you didn’t fail. The two of you made it a success. You felt a great sense of pride in what you’ve been able to accomplish together. 

Your thoughts were interrupted when you saw a figure slide into the seat across the table from you. You watched as he slid a glass of dark liquor across the table to you. “Baek, this is vodka, I was drinking vodka,” you said, looking up. 

You froze, realizing it wasn’t Baekhyun. But he looked familiar. Why did he look familiar? And then you remembered. You remembered the tuffs of messy, dark hair. The fancy, black shirt that hung from his tall frame. He didn’t look very different now. His hair was still a messy flop on his head. And he was wearing a different fancy black shirt. But his face still held the same smug expression of someone without a care in the world. 

“Can I help you?” you said, your annoyance ringing through your voice. You watched as the pompous grin on his face grew. 

“I could’ve sworn you were a scotch girl,” he said. His voice was low, raspy, and it would’ve been inaudible through the noisy restaurant if not for the fact he actually spoke quite loudly. 

You felt your eyebrows crinkle into an annoyed frown. “And what distinguishes a scotch girl,” you rolled your eyes. 

“A scotch girl probably prefers sitting at home alone reading books rather than going out and actually living her life,” he gave his unwelcome explanation. “Vodka girls are usually more fun,” he grinned, leaning back in his seat and sipping his drink, the fancy watch on his wrist gleaming in the dim restaurant lighting. 

You scoffed. “Wow, what a fresh perspective you have. Don’t you have someone else you can annoy? Like maybe one of those girls in the tiny dresses with the tiny IQs?” 

A smile grew on his face. “You don’t like me,” he said.

“Ha, what would give you that idea,” you crossed your arms in front of your chest, leaning back in your seat. 

“You don’t know me, but you don’t like me.” 

“Oh I know you,” you scoffed. “There are many guys out there just like you, you’re not as special as you think.” 

"Maybe not,” he grinned, taking another sip of his drink. “But you are.” 

“What is that supposed to mean.” 

He smiled, his eyes looking intently into yours. “I saw you on Monday,” he said. “You were sitting at a table in the coffee shop by the lobby, flipping through a stack of papers while typing a mile a minute on your laptop.” 

“I work, a concept that’s probably foreign to you,” you retorted. 

“But you were so engrossed in your work,” his smile never left his face, “Two babies were crying, one small child was running while his mother chased him across the lobby and he tripped and fell flat on his face, the man sitting at the table behind you spilled his coffee and an employee scrambled over with a mop. And you never looked up from your work.” 

You blinked at him. Did all of that really happen? “You’re exaggerating.” 

“I’m really not,” he laughed. “I thought I have to meet that girl. I’ve never seen anyone so blissfully ignorant to their surroundings in my life.” 

You scoffed, “Funny, I could say the same thing about you.” 

“That you had to meet me?” he smirked. 

“That you’re blissfully ignorant to your surroundings,” you replied. “Although you’re wrong. I may be unaware, but I’m not ignorant. That’s a word that more accurately describes you and your friends.” 

“You don’t know me or my friends,” his grin disappeared. 

“Maybe not, but I think I’d rather gouge out my eyeballs with a plastic spoon than spend another minute listening to you tell me about me.” 

“Chanyeol, we’re leaving, let’s go!” you heard a familiar voice yell across the restaurant. You turned to the bar and saw his tall friend with the dark black hair waving him over, his arm around a giggling girl, pushing him towards the restaurant’s exit. You turned back, seeing him down the rest of his drink. He smiled at you, “I’m being summoned.” 

You returned his smile in sarcasm, “So soon?” 

He grinned, standing up and walking past the table, but not before stopping behind your chair, placing his hands on the handles on either side of you, leaning down to your ear, the overwhelming smell of his expensive cologne pouring down in the air around you, “Good luck with your presentation tomorrow, vodka girl.” 

You scoffed, hearing his friend continuing to beckon him over as he walked towards them. How the hell does he know I have a presentation tomorrow? you thought. You rolled your eyes. He really is a stalker. 

“Ugh dude, sorry, they got me,” you looked up at Baekhyun crashing back into his seat across the table from you. “They found me man, they wanted to talk more about their billables and clients, I wanted to kill myself. They made me take tequila shots! I don’t do tequila shots!” 

You laughed, “I think those guys are really into you!” 

“Please don’t joke about that, my head hurts,” he dropped his head into the table, leaning on his arm sprawled across the table top. 

You stood up, walking over to him and pulling him up from the seat. “Alright, come on. We need to get some sleep.” 

You pulled his arm around your shoulder, holding him up as he stumbled next to you, walking out of the restaurant. “Oh, you met your stalker,” he said, burping through his words. “Sorry I left you alone.” You walked him towards his room, opening the door with his key. 

“Don’t worry about it, I think your situation with the consultants is a tad worse, you reek of tequila,” you answered, dropping him down on the bed. 

“Was he creepy?” Beakhyun slurred, pulling down a pillow and snuggling into it. You walked towards the door, turning the lights off. 

“No, he was just an asshole,” you answered under your breath, opening the door. “I’ll see you in the morning,” you said, closing the door behind you and walking down the hall to your own room. 

You kicked your shoes off, plopping down onto the bed, rubbing your thumbs against your temples. You scooted to the head of the bed, leaning against the pillows and opening your laptop to review your notes for the presentation tomorrow when you suddenly recalled the words he said to you. 

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be alone and wanting to read instead of being a stupid drunk, you thought. You slammed your laptop shut, pushing it aside on the bed before crawling under the covers. You tried to forget about the whole exchange as you drifted off to sleep. And for the most part you were successful, but somehow his words had affected you. And you didn’t know why.

[lindawellnesswarrior-blog]

Wellness Warrior Adventure Belize

Linda Wellness Warrior Adventure, Belize

"Breathtaking and more exhilarating than imagined. I was history. Thankful for going on this journey.” -M. Wilkey

What happens when a group of 12 embark upon a Wellness Warrior Adventure?  A spiritually enlightening experience!

Back in March 2017, Linda Wellness Warrior hosted the first (of many) Wellness Warrior Adventures, in beautiful Belize. Belize it or not, It brings me great joy to travel abroad with groups on wellness retreats to experience places less traveled, and engage in local culture.

The goal of the trip was for wellness warriors to heal relationships with old habits, behaviors, and beliefs to re-emerge feeling wholeness of spirit! Old habits, behaviors, and beliefs can be questioned as you search for new and inventive ways to make progress. It was my mission to help guide participants, in putting themselves at the center of themselves and their future goals.

Linda Wellness warriors, including myself, conquered fears, and learned the beauty of surrendering. The demographics ranged from mid 30s – 70s, women and men. I was fortunate to have my parents accompany me this trip; a cherished experience. Other women traveled with their mothers and worked on breathing life into their relationships. This trip was my Yoga. Spending time with my father abroad has taught me as yoga has, to open and surrender to my father’s way of loving his daughter. Yoga teaches us when we accept ourselves for who we are, we’re willing to forgive and accept others for who they are. It’s why these retreats are important for our mental health. Practicing mindfulness isn’t always an easy feat during our day-to-day lives. Retreats allow us to conquer fears, surrender, be balanced, and hopefully, when we’re back to our everyday lives, we take the feeling from the experience with us and remember to take time out for ourselves. You don’t have to travel abroad to retreat. You can carve out a space in your home, take a walk, BREATHE and just be still. That’s really all a retreat is--a quiet space away from our busy lives where we can just breathe!

On our retreat, we rode horseback to Mayan Ruins and went cave tubing on underground rivers. The entire trip was symbolic of both the masculine and feminine, from the elements to the imagery; the combined energies, which in Yoga practice represents balance. That spoke to me deeply.

Xunantunich Ruins

Xunantunich in the Yucatec Maya language means “Stone Woman,” however, it’s a modern name the locals gave the site after reports of it being haunted by the ghost of a woman with glowing red eyes! It was a major ceremonial center. The 135 feet Xunantunich Ruins are not the largest of the Mayan settlements, but it certainly has its interesting features. During the 2.5-hour horseback ride, we rode under massive palms. Taking in the surreal view, I felt like we were being greeted by the ancestors! My horse’s name was Emma. It meant “Universal.”

Probably the most popular of the Mayan Ruins, is the “El Castillo,” Spanish for “The Castle.” Standing at 180 feet, it’s the second tallest structure in Belize…and we climbed it. It was a very warm day as we made our way up to the Ruins. Once there we then had to walk up a steep hill before we got to the steps of El Castillo. I took in the moment and laid in the grass, and did some yoga stretching. The steps were so wide!! As we climbed the massive stairs, a few of our elders were hesitant to continue, with one of them experiencing anxiety and hyperventilating, but she pushed through using the breathing techniques I taught her from our previous evening meditations. “We might as well keep going we already came this far!” I was so proud of the way one motivated the other! I think we all recognized that we’re wellness warriors and no matter what we’re doing this.

We were exhausted and hot by the time we reached the top of El Castillo but relieved! As we stood gazing out at the panoramic scene, with Guatemala in the distance, we inhaled the mountainous air, in complete awe of how majestic the view! One member of our group gasped, “Oh my God! look how high up we are…you can see everything!” We saw where we stood when we began our climb. We realized wow! This is where the Mayan King sat during sacrificial ceremonies. Another member said she felt as if she had been “transported” during the climb, sort of a deja vu or astral projection, having already saw exactly what she witnessed in that moment.

It was interesting that member of our group had that experience. The Mayans believed in mystical powers. The elements earth, fire, air, water and aether were constant themes throughout our tour. Aether was the 5th dimension according to the Mayans. They described the element as the glue that binds the universe together. We recognized just how small we are in this universe! The Mayans made huge sacrifices to get close to spirit, and left these ruins as reminders for us to get close to spirit. It made us all aware of the gift we received through generations. It was amazing to experience something that as stood against time, war, storms and battled the elements. 

Although I conquered my fear of heights I can’t lie, I was ready to get down!

Cave Tubing

Cave tubing represented the Mayan underworld. The caves were regular pilgrimages where the Mayans prayed to their gods to bless them with bountiful harvest and sustenance. Cave tubing also represented the water element and fertility. There were many phallic symbols in the caves.

Before we reached the entrance of the cave, our tour guide took us on a short walk, reminding us to use our imagination, pointing out the herbs, medicinal trees and other wildlife. Once inside the cave, we began our journey, gentle waves carrying us as we witnessed a living breathing river within a cave. Millions of years in the making of limestone, crystal formation--huge quartz crystals, and waterfalls. Holes making way for light above. We glided along different sections of the cave ranging between two feet to 65 feet! Entering this sacred underworld, we experienced what these caves meant to the Mayans--being carried through the darkness, emerging outside back into the sun. 

 We ended our excursion at paradise--Caye Caulker. Rooftop yoga, indulging, resting in hammocks and beach bumming.

The Xunantunich Ruins and our cave tubing experience symbolized the saying, “as above, so below.” Climbing the top of El Castillo (as above) followed by cave tubing through the underworld (so below), represented our thoughts. The way we choose to live our lives, show up in our lives – whether that’s good or bad for you, the important thing is that we recognize what we need to change within ourselves for those changes to show up exteriorly; how we choose to think about ourselves, our circumstances, our lives. We conquered our fears and persevered, pushing through despite our fears!

We closed out our journey on Caye Caulker, a small limestone coral island off the coast of Belize in the Caribbean Sea. After spending a few days at the Aguada Hotel in the Cayo St. Elena and St. Ignacio district. Aguada means watering hole in Mayan language. We held our evening ceremonial circles, lighting candles (fire element), being thankful and offering blessings and morning yoga to set the tone and intention for our adventures.

Thank you to our sponsors Lord’s of Boston, Abiola Abrams, author of Sacred Bombshell of Self-Love Handbook for the African Goddess Affirmation Cards, and M.A.D.E.-Organics for the Bug Off which helped us on Caye Caulker. Fun fact about Belize, it’s pretty dry and not many mosquitoes inland during dry season. I’d also like to acknowledge the women warriors and womenpreneurs we worked with along our journey. A Gill of All Trades,  Lusterity, Shana Bryant Consulting, the Collier Connection, our hotel managers at the Aguada and Beach Hotel, and our mainland transportation provided by Danielia Lanza the only female owned and operated transportation company on the island.

Linda Wellness Warrior Adventures are a great time for new beginnings, to conceptualize ideas, to invoke a sense of self!

Save the Date: Our next Wellness Warrior Adventure will be April 14-21, 2018 We hope you’ll join us! For more info: www.lindawellnesswarrior.com/retreats