Ibrahim Ziani

“Sometimes we can choose the paths we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all.”

[ibrahim-ziani]

noravidal​:

Only because it had been a sensitive subject for so long, something Nora always had to keep in the back of her mind– her having to share him with an entire criminal organization, it would take her a while to fully accept this as his final decision– no wonder she had so many doubts about it, all wary and suspicious. On the other hand, it felt natural to trust him because the felt the same kind of feeling, they shared this sense of belonging and mutual understanding.  

Her ears perked up, anticipating the end of his sentence, but words failed him (no surprise with Ibrahim Ziani here). Not to mention, the man had to process it all first. Used to focusing on other senses and forms of communication in those particular moments, Nora’s gaze lowered as she, almost studied, his hands on her stomach. His hands– bruised, calloused– had seen war, but as Nora noticed, they felt comforting, gentle, healing– poetically put (if Ibrahim heard this, he’d be teasing her for days). His thoughts wandered, so did hers, reliving their moments, good and the bad and the glorious– imagining moments yet to come, with their little family growing. Eventually, she covered his hands with hers, and the tiny bean as well, if only to remind him he would never be alone again. 

“Mm,” she hummed softly, biting back a laugh. “I bought this one, lo que significa que tienes que comprar el siguiente,” she told him in bold Spanish, nuzzling the scruffy cheek and couldn’t help leaving a butterfly kiss on it. Nora, however, was willing to compromise and help him figure out the where portion. “We can– somewhere not too warm though, now that I’ve finally learned how to keep my plants alive,” … mostly thanks to him and Catherine, but alright, her sense of pride brought a beaming smile to her lips anyway. “Promise we will never be obnoxious Americans?” Nora’s pleading eyes widened before an idea popped into her head. 

“South America, pick a place. I have friends all around the continent, I’m sure they would help us out.” A beat later, she spoke in a more decisive voice. “No way they’d be able to resist Beastie.” Only half-jesting, she entertained the idea for a while longer. We could go anywhere– the idea gave her butterflies, she’d get whenever Ibrahim himself gave her one of those looks or placed a hand upon her. “I could go anywhere in the world with–” and she burst out laughing before uttering the clumsy nickname Ibrahim had coined for her in those earliest, purely physical stages of their relationship. Clumsy and ridiculous, yet fitting, as time had shown. “My fucking soulmate,”

[ibrahim-ziani]

noravidal​:

In order to give Ibrahim a sincere answer, Nora combed her mind, she had to remove all obstacles complicating the matter, and focus solely on how the idea of them raising a child together sounded. And if she did so, and if all that remained was the image of some bright future they could have–her most heartfelt answer was pretty obvious– at heart she’d known it all along. A tender smile climbed her face– the tiny bean would become their child. The tiny bean would be a piece of Ibrahim she’d always have to cherish, no matter what the man himself decided to do. It would be a constant reminder of the purest form of love Nora had ever know. Not the first one, not the wildest one, but the most natural, the most persistent one. 

Nora brought her hands to his face, framing those handsome features, a thumb brushing along his cheekbone as her eyes softened. Do you want to keep it? “Not without you, Ibrahim. Not if the man I love isn’t in the picture.” And not in the city, but she had made that clear already. “We have a good couple of weeks…” she told him, a light sigh following, hands sliding along his shoulders. However, the decision shouldn’t be dragged on– they’d have to figure it out soon, act fast and not to mention be smart about how they did it. “Do you? Would you be ready to leave them behind?” For the longest time, the idea of his priorities changing had been a forbidden territory, not to be considered, not to be planted in her fantasies, he belonged to them repeated in her mind like a mantra. However, in this very moment Nora couldn’t tear her gaze away from the sparks in his deep chocolate eyes, as vocal as ever. “And a bigger backyard. And a tree house…” she added as if the decision had been made, nibbling on the inside of her cheek. “Just as we’ve finished this one– cabrón, just our luck.” A small chuckle, as she peeked up at him. 

.

"I’ve left the army for less, now haven’t I?” Ibrahim who had always been one for running away, had remained in the armed forces longer than he did anywhere else. The rules, the obligations, the order of it all had been comforting to him, but the older he got, the more he felt like he was losing his sense of self staying there. His sense of self, that got him out of the army, and once again, it would get him out of the Syndicate, because he knew in his heart that what he had with her, this sense of belonging, was what he needed to make it through the rest of his days without running. But now, one last time, they’d have to get away from a place they called home.

“What I know for certain,” he reached, instinctively, but with a certain amount of apprehension, out to put one of his hands against her belly. Sure, there wasn’t much the jelly bean in here could do. It wouldn’t kick or move under his fingertips, but although paternity wasn’t something he was sure of, there wasn’t anyone else he’d pick to go through that stage with. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t confirm a thing. Maybe he’d find that this was not a good idea, not for them. Maybe he’d find that this was the only thing that made sense now. Retiring from all this. Getting a normal job. A house. A dog house for Beastie. Maybe a Belle for him, at long last. Maybe this would be alright, and they would be happy (and this was not a maybe, but a certainty).

“May I remind you of who bought that cabin in the first place?” Endearment clear in the wrinkle of his eyes, the dimples in his cheeks, he looked at her with sunshine warming up his whole being. “Maybe we can move somewhere warmer,” they could stay in the U.S. although he knew Nora was a traveler, maybe this was their chance to do that together. “We’re Americans, we could go anywhere.”

[ibrahim-ziani]

noravidal​:

“You thought wrong,” she remarked, arching an amused brow, popping Rosalia’s version of pastellito cubano in her mouth. As smitten as Nora was, she’d never fail to point out how mistaken Ibrahim was about… anything, really. 

Beastie sensed the air had shifted, and he lifted from an afternoon nap with Nora giving him an apologetic look as if saying Sorry we have to put you through this, mi amorcito. 

Ibrahim connected the dots rather quickly– as quickly as he would’ve solved any Sudoku puzzle, helping her out by finding the words for her for once, ironically. Nora tensed up in anticipation, preparing for any sort of reaction (her own had been borderline hysteric, mind you), even for an Ibrahim-shaped hole through the wall.

He stayed, however– for now, and Nora let her shoulders relax, if only a little. “6 weeks, I haven’t seen a doctor yet, but it should be about the size of a kidney bean,” Nora pictured one, but refrained her mind from sinking deeper, reaching the dangerous terrain of imagining how the bean could one day have Ibrahim’s eyes, or his dimpled smile, or grow up to share his fascination with numbers– or all of the above. Oh, how dangerous it would be to imagine a happy future– that had been out of reach ever since they met. 

Nora leaned her forehead against his cheek, heaving a deep sigh and feeling the slight smile slipping from her lips. “I’m so confused, Ibra– I don’t know what to do. You’ve never, even considered, becoming a parent, and,” neither have I. – however, the blatant lie luckily died on her lips. “I– I don’t want it to be born here, to grow up feeling trapped in the City, to lose a sense of self as we did.” And perhaps that couldn’t be argued. Not even some ancient desire to be a mother and raise a child with the person she loved could beat her argument. “6 weeks, just a tiny bean,” she stated the facts once more. “It’s not too late to end it, ¿sabes?”

The woman brought her gaze to him again, but she searched for answers in vain. Too sudden it was, too soon to demand a reaction, especially from Ibrahim. Especially for him to process it and share his thoughts, so with one last soft kiss to the temple, Nora pulled back and, to keep herself busy, reached up to clean up the mess they made on the floor. 

“You’re not supposed to call me out like that,” pressing the tip of his tongue against his front teeth, he shook his head at her. Merciful Nora could sometimes be absolutely ruthless. The duality of her, the complexity of that woman. How could he have not been drawn to her?

There was a shift in terms of energy in the room, silent laughter giving room to heavy silence as the man pictured a bean inside his head, index and thumb instinctively sizing it. Not quite big yet, not nothing either. It would be tempting to be endeared, and get lost into the possibility of creating something for once (or twice : they were doing great work with that cabin, and thrice, with their relationship). Come to think of it, he never thought he had it in him, and yet he enjoyed every one of these moments, every second spent by her side, every minute at the cabin. The were not quite at the dawn of their couple, and they certainly had reached an age when a family wasn’t out of the question.

Yet, she couldn’t say it better herself. He’d never thought about being a dad, because he didn’t think someone would want him wearing those shoes, or that the shoes would fit him at all. He was responsible enough, but he also had an habit of fleeing.

But he had stayed right by her side, now, and then. They’d been through with this, with his running, his fleeing. “Just a tiny bean,” he felt the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. There was no smile in sight, but hints of one in those wrinkles, in his tone. He nodded. They could still end this, but they could also leave together, and build somewhere else. Fleeing together sounded nice, comforting, inviting.

Reaching out, Ibrahim took her wrist in his hand, gently commanding her to leave the mess on the floor. “Mírame, Jamila.” Pressing his lips into a thin line, he took a breath. “Do you want to keep it?” He wondered if he would have been part of the conversation had she not wanted this herself. Perhaps not. Then, he didn’t precisely belong in that conversation. She valued his opinion. “How long do we have to...” decide. His arms wrapped themselves around her waist and he sighed. “We’d have to get a new cabin.” Details, truly, or hints as to where his heart was leaning.

[robertxdarling]

[ibrahim-ziani]

noravidal​:

“Mm, por supuesto. In our household, we basically had two rules growing up; one - fear and respect mamá’s chancla and two - never consume cheap rum,” she told him lightheartedly. However, the rum samples remained untouched– and it would soon become clear why. Another roll of dice– not as spectacular as the previous one, but not bad either. “As for our agreement– I don’t recall us ever shaking on it,”

His peach goddess comment, though flattering, earned him a light sigh, but fine– he could have his precious peach if he wanted it, thought Nora, as she straddled his lap. “Mm,” the woman hummed, face hovering above his. “I could end this game right now, beat you at it and win.” Chuckling softly, Nora went in for a kiss– a lingering, loving one. This all could be a tactical move, a ploy to distract and gain victory. In reality, Nora acted on instinct, desperate to savor this moment– their bubble, their banter, the adorable look in his eyes, the smug grin on his irresistible face– before she delivered her news, before everything changed.

As her breathing steadied, she pulled back– he’d need space. “Estoy bien– just a bit… Confused, I suppose.” And hungry and tired. Vale, alright, no time like the present. 

“I– finally realized what’s wrong with me,” she breathed out a humorless laugh, fear lacing in her voice. “You’re not going to like it,” she warned him, though her tone remained calm, implying nothing outright horrifying had been going on. Just life-changing and possibly dangerous. “Do you–” she began, biting the inside of her cheek as she brought her gaze to him, her expression going from sober, to endeared, back to serious again. “Remember our first night ever at the cabin, shortly after the tragedy?”

.

“Shake on it? I thought I was with an honest woman,” he retorted, a growing smile spreading slowly on his face. It was always harder to keep a straight face around someone he had grown so fond of over the course of the past year and a half. He shook his head, both dismissing her affirmation and letting his gaze wander toward Beast, who had picked the coldest spot in the room for his afternoon nap.

And yet, his attempts to ignore her charms could only last for so long, as it was better to give in while it could still be put on the account of humor rather than being stubborn. There was a floating moment, after she pulled back, during which Ibrahim was still left floating in their bubble. A fleeting smile stuck on his face, faltered with her words, her tone, that look on her face. “ Jamilata...” He trailed off. Ibrahim knew best than that. He didn’t cut her off, instead leaning back to look at her, listening.

He remembered, but it was another moment before he drew a connection between her illness and that night. The cabin was mostly empty then, and it hadn’t been the most comfortable, but they had too many overflowing emotions then to care about it. With the memory in mind, it wasn’t complicated for him to put one and one together now. The worried look on his face left briefly room to relief, until realization sent him down on another roller coaster. His stomach sank in his chest, and he looked at her. He should have been joyful. He wanted to be, but all he could think of (and he hated himself for it) were the complications that came with the news. “How many weeks?” Weeks? Months? How far was she? His voice muffled down by the emotion, he looked again, in Beast’s direction. His instincts called for him to flee, leave now, but Ibrahim didn’t consider them, for once. If someone was worth staying for, it was her. He didn’t say much more, and reached over to wrap his arms around her shoulders.

[ibrahim-ziani]

noravidal​:

a special delivery for: @ibrahim-ziani​ 💜 when: after midnight where: their home

Nora’s last roll of dice– and the pair of green eyes eagerly followed the dice– as it, much to her joy, revealed a five– the fifth five, the last one needed for a Yahtzee. A bright smile lit up Nora’s features instantly, and the second she did the math and wrote down her score, she gave her opponent a cheeky look. “What was it you said earlier, mi amor, something about you being unbeatable?” While Ibrahim’s last few wins made him a defending champion, the game wasn’t over yet and while this put her in the lead, they had a couple of rounds ahead. 

To celebrate, she popped another treat in her mouth– having picked one from the variety of sample desserts her mother had sent over for them to try and give their two cents on which should be put on the brand new, revised menu of En Talla. “Mm, I like this one better,” she began, munching and licking her thumb. “Not as sweet, and! The peach gives it a rich taste,” she remarked. “How do you like the one with the rum? What’s the verdict?” Nora had been avoiding those containing rum on purpose and yet, she couldn’t help her curiosity, since rum was her alcoholic beverage of choice on most nights.  

“It truly might be my lucky night,” she teased, poking his thigh with a foot, but her smile faded. The words spoken were mostly for her own sake, for encouragement. Soon, she figured, she’d have to try her luck with Ibrahim one more time. 

"I wasn’t looking,” deadpanning, Ibrahim licked at his fingertips, and reached over the coffee table to get to the box of tissues, “I’m pretty sure you cheated to get that score.” The accusation seemed serious, and although the man spoke with his mouth still half full, there didn’t seem to be an ounce of doubt to him as he claimed his beloved little ray of sun cheat her way through Yahtzee. “We agreed on this : you beat my ass at Scrabble, I beat your ass at Yahtzee.” The agreement was tragically proven true by reality. He must have had bested her once or twice at most with that board game, whereas his luck (which he preferred to call strategy) carried him easily through the game of dices.

Finally, hints of a smile made his mask crack, and he picked up the dices on the board. “You’re preaching to a man who already prays to the peach god-,” a pause, and then, “-ess.” And he really shouldn’t have been nearly as smug about his stupid joke. Leaning his back against the end of the couch, he tossed 1 of the dices again, hoping for a 1 or a 6. “Oh come on, that was one chance out of 3,” crossing out his ones, he picked up his cup of tea, looking over at Nora as she mentioned the rum treats. He’d been leaving her one, on purpose, knowing she would love them too, but she hadn’t touched it at all. “I liked it. You can tell they didn’t use that cheap awful stuff,” glancing at the plate, he added, “if you don’t eat the other one any time soon, I will,” he wouldn’t. She liked it way too much for him to take it away from her (which made him, really, quite a terribly unmotivated thief). “Mmmh, it’s probably just luck,” he teasingly agreed, although, his grin faltered with hers, brows furrowing as he reached out under the coffee table to put his hand over her ankle. “Are you alright?” He wasn’t precisely great with emotions, but reading people he could handle more easily.

[ibrahim-ziani]

noravidal​:

“Is it ruined?” Nora murmured into his shoulder. The floor? Our cabin? This blissful moment we shared just a few minutes prior? “If yes, we could start over.” 

Almost anyone could vouch for Ibrahim being a laid-back individual, not someone you’d catch meddling in someone else’s affairs or telling them what to do. If it came to something or someone he truly cared for, though, he could be very persuasive and determined to get his message through. In those moments, Nora could never find it in herself to disregard his attempts and dismiss him easily. So, as his gaze demanded to be met, the woman did so reluctantly, letting him help and standing up.

“I’ll be fine.“

Nora gulped down the water, once more almost mechanically– from the medical point of view, the worst part about throwing up wasn’t the unpleasant stench, but the risk of dehydration. Before leaving the room, though, she gave him a teasing look. “This doesn’t mean I’m weaker– you might get sick too, sabes?” Nora teased, but couldn’t be sure he would, not to mention she’d hate it if he did. She could blame her nausea on exhaustion– and her despairing state of mind certainly surely didn’t help her. 

What do you think? She thought it a good idea. On her way out, she thought about how much she appreciated him and how there seemed to be no one other way left for her to express her affection. Or was there. 

Beastie busied himself with one of his toys, patiently waiting where Ibrahim told him to be.  

After a while, after the sun had seemingly moved along the horizon, Nora was on her way to regain fragments of peace, steal them for herself. Fresh air, blooming nature all around and the warmth of the sun in the sky, and she might just begin to hope it would be alright, eventually. 

The sight of Ibrahim joining her on the porch, and the color might just return to her cheeks. 

“Your Spanish is improving,” she let out a soft sigh, palms pressing into the warm wood of the porch. “However, I can’t give you my approval yet,” a beat as she cast a look at him, a gleam in her eyes. “Before another test.” With the little strength she had, she pushed herself off the wooden railing and touched her hand to his, fingertips grazing along his fingers. “Te quiero, mi ladrón.”

“–I’ve loved you for a while now. For stealing my figurines, for your honesty, for not giving up on us, for the love you shower Beastie with.” Nora could go on– any enamored fool could, however she decided to stop once she stated the four most significant pillars of their relationship.

  He could have remained torn between making a joke about it or reassuring her about what just happened if he hadn’t known her better. A smile etching itself on his face, he held her tighter, in reassurance, and said: “I think we’ll have to burn the place down, start over in a new cabin.” His hand caressed the nape of her neck, and Ibrahim leaned back to look at her. “We’ll open the window, and it’ll be forgotten by dessert,” he assured her, letting her head to the sink while he finished cleaning up.  

The window opened, he washed his hands, his gaze drawn outside, where Nora stood on the porch. The worried look he bore on his face didn’t last. A faint smile grew big and bigger, crinkling the corner of his eyes, a warm light burning there, and within him, in his chest. It was a familiar look for Ibrahim, when the woman was in his proximity : physically or occupying his thoughts. This feeling of warmth, he had grown accustomed to, and although he knew precisely what word to put over it, he’d never said those out loud. He knew that she knew, in the gestures he’d do : any chance he got at surprising her with a home cooked meal he would take, and if while doing shopping, he found something that reminded him of her, she’d end up finding it, days later, on her busy shelves, between two souvenirs of hers. Sometimes, it would be flowers and aromatics from his mother’s garden, some other times, coming to her dance classes, and pretending that he dreaded those (for appearances). “Tengo una professora ... buena,” he hesitated on the term. Good could mean something different depending on the word you picked, and he wasn’t sure if he put the adjective in the right place here. “I’m being tested now?” That same smile he had on his face earlier, returned as he took a hold of her hands. “I can’t believe theft is the first thing on your list. And my mother still finds it unbecoming,” his hand cupped her cheek. “Ahibuk ya jamilati [ احبك يا جميلتي ],” he finally replied. “I love you too,” because for all they loved to communicate in languages only one half fully mastered, this was something that finally deserved more than this or the silent language that had gotten them so far already. “My little piece of sunshine,” he sighed happily, because that was all she would get from him. He was rubbish with his own feelings and expressing them felt like climbing the Everest more often than not. “I’ll take the time to write you all the reasons why I love you, don’t you worry.” He didn’t dare say how long that would take.

[ibrahim-ziani]

samburman​:

There’s no further comment from Sam. Not on prizes, not on what brings them. He’s as domestic as they come to where he lives, and with that comes the insatiable need to consistently do the most. It’s what drives the huff of amusement from him, quickly regretted when stitches pull with that extra effort. “If you have to ask,” the rest doesn’t need saying. Sam leans back into his seat, arms carefully crossed and discomfort palpable to only himself. “Yeah.” It comes out quick. “I need to know everything you saw. Piecing the night together, trying to find some strings to pull.”

.

"Understood,” Ibrahim nods, heading next door to get an ice-pack from the fridge. Rummaging through the cupboards, he finally gets his hands on ibuprofen.

The boss’ demands aren’t too surprising too him, and he got used to paying attention to details long before he joined the Syndicate. This wouldn’t be too difficult, once he got rid of the pain.

The ice helped, and soon, the medicine would too.

Taking a seat right on the floor, he looked up at the tall man, clearing his throat. “Alright,” he fell silent. A chronological retelling of tonight’s events would be clearer, but Ibrahim knew he’d forget details if he didn’t keep track of his train of thoughts.

Fishing a receipt from his wallet and a pencil from Ikea - Nora and he had gone there over the weekend, looking for shelves that could fit the cabin. Ibrahim didn’t like the selection - he began his summary, writing down places and names as he would go, adding small details to his story. “I’m not sure putting down a couple of their people has made a huge difference for the big picture, but a dead enemy won’t come back for revenge,” his loved ones might, however. In the end, these people knew what they were getting into, so did Ibrahim. Yet, he sometimes longed for a quieter way of life.

[ibrahim-ziani]

noravidal​:

Her back rested comfortably against his chest, them in unison swaying to the gentle rhythm of the song and Nora tracing her fingers down his forearms and up to the elbow again– responding to his tenderness with hers, as always. One of her favorite pastimes, it must’ve been. The man had grown to be her support system, be it literal support, someone to lean on– or emotional. Nora would never forget the night he had saved her from his colleagues, which also ironically happened to be the night of their split, but was he aware he had been saving her ever since?

“Mmm, I think so too…” Nora agreed, her green eyes feasting on her project, soaking up the sight of the soothing golden color of the little corner– fresh paint paired with warm rays of the sun. “Wait until we add a plant here and there… Maybe let figurines guard them– definitely the one we got on our hiking trip, remember?”

The food was taken care of, Ibrahim only had to get Beastie to join them, and Nora watched it happen through the kitchen window, absent-mindedly sipping on the coffee– her stomach welcoming any content. Two of her favorite creatures playing in the backyard, Ibrahim had some trouble catching Beast– but in reality he must’ve only been putting on an entertaining show for her sake. It worked, as she caught herself chuckling. 

With each sip her stomach, instead of settling, became more restless and the headache more prominent. 

Ah, the romantics would have a field day. One person feeling complete being held within the warm embrace of her media naranja; and physically weak without them around, but Nora knew better, there had to be an actual reason for her feeling unwell. 

At one point, her phone buzzed. Her screensaver was a picture of a male hand holding a certain cherry figurine, but the reminder of Audra’s upcoming birthday popped up. Audra, Pen, Gideon, Audra. Nora felt the content of her stomach rise. 

… Only to end up all over the floor. 

Instant panic replaced nausea. 

Brand-new tiles. Brand-new kitchen floor; so much hard work and care put in to make it look perfect, and home-y. Nora leapt forward with the strength which she didn’t have but was so graciously provided by the surge of adrenaline, and went to wipe away the liquid with paper towels. Even as she heard him come back, she didn’t tear her gaze from her task. “Lo siento– lo siento mi amor, no se que sucedio–”

.

“Jamilata?“ His eyebrows furrowed. Commanding their her dog to go sit by the dinner table,  Ibrahim stepped forward. He couldn't help but be worried this time. It was not the first time that Nora had been sick and he hadn't. They both were, by no means, old, but it was usually at around their age that people could get seriously sick without expecting it.

Squatting down, he reached over to the counter to get more paper towels. What was he doing? Reaching over to get a hold of her wrist, gently, the man looked at her, trying to find her avoiding gaze. “Nora? Habib albi, leave this please.” With furrowed brows, again, he sought her eyes. He couldn’t have voiced how concerned he was, because he was never too good at that, because he didn’t want to make this about him. “Are you alright?” He preferred to ask, as it was the only thing that should have mattered then. Sitting on the floor beside her, he finally grabbed the roll of paper towels, dropping squares of it onto the paved floor. “No pasa nada,” this, he’d heard enough time to repeat with ease. A fond look in his eyes, Ibrahim reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist. “I’ll finish cleaning this up. Go get yourself some water, some fresh air, alright?”

Sometimes, he’d let her have the last word, but not right now. He could deal with his stress just fine, except when it came to her, he’d noticed. It had first occurred to him that night, when she ran into him in that hotel corridor, the night he told her what he did for a living. It happened again, and again, it was happening now too.

“Maybe we should eat on the patio, huh?” Could have been all that paint she’d been smelling all morning. The scent wasn’t exactly pleasant. The bottle of white spirit on the counter seemed to be glaring back at him now that he was throwing the soiled towels into the trash. Washing his hands, he turned on his heels, his eyes, once again, searching for her. “What do you think?”

[feionaapple]

[ibrahim-ziani]

noravidal​:

His voice trailed off, reminding her the current state of affairs– although improving, it was far from ideal. “I’m sorry too,” she breathed out eventually, appreciating the act of him bringing her closer. Almost on instinct, Nora nestled her face in the crook of his neck, his skin within reach. If her lips leaned in and touched it, she’d feel the warmth, taste the salty skin, feel his pulse, his heart beating steadily. Her Ibrahim, her comfort. And his touch, which had been known to have an effect on her ever since their first encounter had formerly been a distraction, currently salvation. 

A faint chuckle bubbled out as he urged her to go on– for the sake of efficiency. “I’ve created a monster, having bought this cabin for you, haven’t I.” Nora had to tease him a bit, but this was just Ibrahim, she figured, finally with a purpose, being passionate about something. Some would argue the leaders within a certain organization had given him something, recruiting him, but he’d never been like this before– at ease, sparks flying in his eyes. “It’s coming along nicely, though, isn’t it. Our cabin,” the latter escaped her, the pronoun in plural. “Has there been any progress on your part, in the bedroom?” 

Her eyes nearly filled with tears at the simplest of sights– three Tupperware containers, one for her, one for him and one for Beastie, lovingly accepted as a member of this little family. Some weeks ago she’d finally given it a name, this emotion blossoming within, but she didn’t have the courage to share it with him. Today, she physically lacked strength to do so. Instead, her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, just to let herself settle into the comfort of his proximity once more, to kiss his lips. Softly, yet, firmly. “Thank you for taking such good care of us.” Nora, as well as Beastie, loved him for it.

“Mmhm,” she cared about coffee as much as she did about the food at the moment, but she wouldn’t protest– assuming it would do her good, her mamá used to say strong coffee could bring a death person back from their eternal slumber, so Nora had to believe it would do the trick of awaking her from her stupor too. One of the first pieces of furniture they brought in was the table, and Nora arranged the plates neatly on a floral table cloth, not failing to remember to set the vase overflowing with fresh flowers in the middle too. 

Spinning the object of his attention around, Ibrahim wrapped his arms around her waist, planting a kiss at the nape of her neck as they both had a look at her hard work. “You were right,” he commented, his chin resting onto her shoulder. “That’s a lovely color,” with the windows changed and the sun finally breaching through the trees, the room seemed permanently stuck in the golden hour, the pale hues of the painting warm and comforting.

Swaying gently against her back, the henchman fell silent, as he often did. There was comfort to be found in the silence, in her presence, in knowing that there wasn’t anyone to disturb their peace today. It would be just them, Beast, and their project. His loyalty to the Syndicate remained, but his priority was absolutely clear to him now. “You couldn’t create a monster if you tried,” he finally said. Rather she had dug out the good in him, the repressed parts of his personality, abandoned, discarded. It was easier to be obedient when you had nothing to stand for, nothing to care for, nothing to lose. She gave him his sense of purpose back, his sense of self, and although he wouldn’t let those parts of him go away anymore, Ibrahim knew it was with her he wanted to keep on sharing his days.

“The bedroom,’s good. I should be finishing the plinths later this afternoon,” with the walls done, and the electricity all finished up, he’d just have to buy light fixtures and finish working on that bathroom, and they’d be all set. “I’ll show you once I’m completely done. No peeking,” he warned, letting go to start the coffee pot, then grabbing glasses and a thermos from the cooler.

“I’m gonna go get Beast,” he gave an affectionate look in Nora’s direction and set the glasses down by the plates. “Do you mind heating the food up in the microwave? He probably went by the water again,” which meant Ibrahim would have to get a wet dog to stay away from wet paint too.

[boydswan]

Tahar Rahim dans Don Juan (2022) | Un film de Serge Bozon

[ibrahim-ziani]

samburman​:

A huff of laugh, humorless and outright cynical. Didn’t die. It’s a wonder they made it out in one piece, in any sense of the word. Makes him wonder who fucked up, got caught, or worse. “Suppose you don’t get the special prize, then.”

A stare settles on Ibrahim, the first to ask such a question. Samar has to really think on it, how he might answer. In the end, he edges toward some sort of honesty. Nothing spreads faster than rumors when something isn’t quite right. “No. Not at all. Too many people doing things they know they shouldn’t be doing. Disappointing.” Beat. “What’re you doing with your phone?”

.

"Heh, you know me, I’ve never been interested in those,” it would have been easy, to stay in the army, climb the ranks, but Ibrahim always considered that the higher the rank, the tighter the collar. No wonder he didn’t find it all appealing.

“Should I ask?” He knows better than to snoop around tonight. In some circumstances, it could be an asset, in others, assimilated with a death wish. Rubbing at the back of his head, he winces. “It’s dead,” he replies. “I’m going to need a new one,” tossing it in the trash, he turns his back to Sam. “I’m gonna go get an Advil and an ice pack. Need anything?” Beat. “Anything I can do for you?”

[ibrahim-ziani]

noravidal​:

A scene from a dream it could easily be– the rustic cabin, looking more and more charming each day, birds chirping, the nature awakening from its slumber, the ideal weather and two people fully in liberty and sync with each other. 

The reality, however, left little space for romanticizing– the surroundings did help some– at certain moments, Nora’d forget about it all– standing in front of the place where the sink would be, she’d pretend to be doing the dishes, twirling as the favorite part of a cherished song came up, or throwing a single look at his brows adorably furrowed in concentration as he measured this or cut that.

Those two hearts, however? Had never been heavier, even if they beat in unison. In the end, the darkness would always find a crack somewhere in them to seep in ( it wasn’t hard– after all, they were both flawed, battered, worn out people) and it would taint the mood.

How’s it going? His question reached her and while it made perfect sense since Nora was mid-artistic-project of her own, her answer only confirmed her mind had actually been somewhere else. “I’ve just heard from Manny, Penny is stable. No word from Audra yet,” no sign of her whatsoever. Ibrahim’s touch grounded her, and she pressed her hands against the sink to steady the trembling, feeling chilly all of a sudden. “I’m not hungry.” Nora didn’t lie– simply put, she didn’t feel hunger at the moment. 

And she turned her head ever so slightly to lean her forehead against his temple– to let herself breathe. “Mi amor...” she whispered her soft plea, into the heavy air between them. 

Nora opened her eyes only to find his smile, meant only for her, but at the same time she sensed it wasn’t genuine, even if he wished for it to be. As for the eating part, they’d been through this and not once had he believed her or let her get away with the I’m not hungry, not even back in the day when all she had been for him was a perfect stranger with a nice 🍑. “What’s for lunch?”

"That’s...” news. Stability wasn’t improvement, not knowing wasn’t improvement. Ibrahim let his hand fall to the small of her back, the only comfort he could bring her now. “I’m sorry,” running his palm up to the middle of her back, he stepped in front of her, pulling her into a hug. “Ven aquí,” his accent, approximate, he knew wouldn’t bring her much comfort this time, no matter how much it amused her in other circumstances.

Pressing a kiss onto the top of her head, he leaned back to give her a look as she claimed she wasn’t hungry. He could understand that. Those sorts of news, the last few days, they didn’t exactly inspire anyone to celebrate. It would be long before things quiet down, and they were both already exhausted. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, he leaned his head against hers. “I know you’re not hungry, but we have to eat something if we want to be efficient here,” and the sooner they were done, the sooner, maybe, they could call this place home.

The idea felt silly, but he could have seen them moving out of the city, one day, maybe, to live in the middle of nowhere, with their little garden, and a lot of love to keep them going.

It was a ridiculously cheesy plan, and it was probably why he didn’t tell her about it.

“What’s for lunch?” Now he liked the sound of that. Appetite. “Well, jamilata...” He took a look around, searching for the cooler. Ah, there. “I made some arroz congri. We’ll heat it up and it should be as good as if it were freshly made,” he promised, getting the plates out of there along with a few containers. “I grabbed some lettuce, made some sauce, and I packed a little something for Beast too,” spare bits of meat the butcher would have thrown away, carefully packed in another Tupperware.

“Mmmh, I forgot to bring coffee. We’ll have to start a fresh pot,” he glanced over at the coffee maker on the window sill and blew a raspberry. Heh, nothing too pressing. “I’ll heat it up, maybe you can set the table for us ?”

[robertxdarling]

[robertxdarling]

Tahar Rahim “DON JUAN” photos by Jean-Louis Fernandez

[ibrahim-ziani]

samburman​:

Open to: Syndicate members and affiliates Location: UTP Sam is every bit as tired as he looks, but nothing quite matches the way he’s looking at the Syndicate. Each and every one is a potential disaster, and he is just one piece of bad news away from putting on the dreaded dad voice. Such is the case now, a questioning stare practically daring the poor soul before him to sprinkle some salt on numerous wounds. With a heavy sigh, he raises and waves his hand slowly, his very best Jedi voice on full display. “You are going to make me very happy.” He has expectations, and prays they are not shattered.

.

Ibrahim sighs, reaching into his pocket to take his phone out. The thing had shattered when that Cartel henchman had swooped him down onto the floor. He takes the Sim card out. He wasn’t exactly planning on doing work tonight, and now he was covered in blood, and he has no doubt, in bruises and cuts. Nora must have tried to reach out, but now his phone’s dead, and he starts to wonder if she’s okay herself. Fuck.

“I didn’t die. I suppose.” Judging by the state of his suit, someone else did. “Didn’t think of bringing their ears as a souvenir though,” clearing his throat, he peels the jacket from his back and winces. “You okay there?”