#clandestine blaze | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meirimerens · 4 months

Text

got the tldr of the vid that I'm Not Watching All That & somewhat amusing how the straw breaking the camel's back for people over James Somerton is his blatant and unashamed plagiarism (as it should be genuinely i don't think you can nor should recover from this) like he hasn't regurgitated for years vile, unempathetic, ahistorical and Purely Just Wrong information about gay history including about the fight for legal same-sex marriage in the US and the AIDS crisis. like an alarming amount of people truly heard his ass say "all the good fun funky artistic and radical gays died of aids and all those who were left were unfun stuck-up prudes and conservatives also the fight for legal same-sex marriage was an assimilationist ploy by the latter who just wanted big gay weddings" as if the gay men who survived the epidemic didn't literally lose lovers and friends and entire communities and long-term partners who they shared a life with and who were denied any crumb of this previous life at their death because there was no legal recognition for same-sex cohabitation and unions and their homophobic family could tear everything from the surviving partner thanks to this lack of recognition and let it slide.

some people out there were truly so eager to shit on the boring assimilationist prude gays who survived aids by being stuck-up prudes and who just wanted "big gay weddings" they made up in their minds to get mad at that they turned their brains off and let it slide. they could've used their smoothed-out brains for ONE minute & found out that surviving took 1) plain boring luck and 2) radical, loud, proud gay activists campaigning for safe/safer sex and the information campaigns they led, as well as the protests and demonstrations they undertook to make the government fucking care for once. and that legally-recognized unions [be they civil or religious] were a matter of survival for the partner left behind. some people out there truly let a business major with a turtleneck (possibly the definition of boring) passing himself off as cool and radical and an intellectual tell them homophobic bullshit. and did not blink. like OF COURSE this guy's gonna be a plagiarist. he needs to get his information from SOMEWHERE. because when he tries to formulate his own stuff it's complete fabrications or the frankensteining of multiple sources that he manages to misunderstand/misrepresent threefold over. trying to fit a knit sock over the foot with the inside out and wonder why that itches.

i know many people in his audience are likely very young and also likely american and as such did most of their growing up in a world where their country (1 out of 195. give or take.) had legalized gay marriage but i cannot even begin to describe 1) how Young legalized gay wedding is, even in ""the west"" and 2) how many. other countries there are. my country legalized same-sex marriage before the US did. i am not even 25 and i still remember the hordes of catholics marching down the streets chanting homophobic slogans, implying the only reason two mommies or two daddies would want to raise a child together is for nefarious, vile purposes. i still remember families having to drag their asses into court to argue that, yes, a woman who raised a child for its whole life with another woman she's in a long-term committed cohabitated relationship with should have the right to be considered a direct guardian even if she's not biologically related to the child, and spending thousands of bucks having to argue their case in court. this might be shocking to some, but there are countries where homosexuality is punishable by death. in others, not by death, but by imprisonment. in others, not by imprisonment, but by ""medical intervention"". in others, not by ""medical intervention" but by fines. and in some others still, you can be gay (yay!) but you still cannot get married or civil-unioned, and the very same shit that was discussed in the 80s is still discussed now. the right to stay a guardian of your partner's child if your partner dies or is ill, so the kid does not go into foster care. the right to inherit your partner's property according to married rights instead of having through long annoying time- and money-consuming legal processes. the right to arrange your partner's funeral or have a say in their medical choices if they're incapacitated instead of their (potentially homophobic) families.

like We Are Not There Yet. we are not in a world where any homosexual can truly, fully, wholeheartedly assimilate, whether you consider it a good thing or not. fun gay artists and boring uninteresting gay office workers die the same death that we all do. the one you don't wake from. and guess what. all types of homosexuals, regardless of which ones you pick and choose to be mad at, are affected by homophobic legislation. not just the ones you think should be spared because they're oh so fun. and oh so radical.

donate to the rainbow railroad org if you can. they help LGBT+ people escape state-sponsored violence. a singular nail on one of their members' hand does more activism and real-life good than any mfer making video essays could do in his entire life.

#also were the two gay male writers who died of AIDS who's shit you stole of the ''fun artistic gays'' or the boring ones? you seem to like #their stuff enough to steal. you want their talent their eloquence and their presence; which is missed; sooo bad you look stupit!#also gay people have always gotten married. privately; clandestinely; in secret; in shame often.#gay people have had commitment ceremonies for as long as we've had partners.#like even if some of us did want ''big gay weddings''. by all means cope and seethe that no one wants your hand in marriage #and to dedicate their lives to you as you do to them publicly; to the world's face. but that's a skill issue.#not making this shit rebloggable i'm just complaining about the guy. have disliked him for a while for this ^ & also his fabrication of #how Radclyffe Hall's trial actually went. like you can literally wikipedia this shit.#unrelated me and my dad have this joke where when i feel like my academic life is not too great/i maybe should have done something else #i go ''well i might have gone to the Unemployment Factory; but at least i'm not a Business Student [shocked face] [retching face]''#and my dad hysterically laughs. all of the worst people he's ever met had been business students once.#anyways. allmother mother of all great priestess of dishing out Ls to the deserving #thank you for having taken this man down in such a glorious colossal blaze. CHEH!#neigh (blabbers)

34 notes · View notes

dewdropdinosaur · 24 days

Text

Fixer Upper

ALASTOR x (F)READER

Summary: Someone dared to break Alastor's precious radio and his wrath is inconsolable. But turns out you may have some small tricks up your sleeve.

Warnings: NONE

For the dearest @anon-of-the-void. My darling, it is a pleasure as always to write these for you.

In the bustling chaos of the Hazbin Hotel, where demons sought redemption amidst the fiery chaos of Hell, an unlikely friendship blossomed. Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, found solace in the presence of Y/N, an inventive soul from the Victorian Era who had found herself amidst the peculiar denizens of the underworld.

Y/N was a tinkerer, always tinkering away in her workshop, concocting gadgets and gizmos that would make even the most adept engineers marvel. Alastor, with his vintage charm and macabre wit, found her creations fascinating, and the two formed an unusual bond over their shared love for innovation.

One fateful day, disaster struck when Alastor's beloved old-time radio, his prized possession from his living days, broke down. The demon was devastated, his usual jovial demeanor clouded by a rare display of anger. The residents of the hotel trembled in fear, knowing the havoc that could be unleashed if the Radio Demon's rage remained unchecked.

Alastor's crimson eyes blazed with fury as he prowled the halls of the Hazbin Hotel, his usual jovial smile replaced by a menacing snarl. The residents cowered in fear, whispering among themselves as they caught glimpses of the Radio Demon's wrathful form.

"You there!" Alastor's voice boomed, sending shivers down the spines of those unfortunate enough to cross his path. "Do you have any idea of the inconvenience of my beloved radio breaking? The nerve, the audacity!"

Niffty, the hyperactive cleaner demon, spoke with a frantic passion as she viewed the mangled radio."Alastor! I'll do it! Let me clean it please!"

Alastor's laughter rang out like a chilling melody, sending a chill through the air. "Oh, my dear Nifty, no thank you. This requires some…interrogation but feel free to clean up the aftermath."

Angel Dust, lounging lazily on a nearby couch, scoffed, "Oh, lighten up, Al, it's just a stupid radio. Besides, it's not like anyone listens to your old-timey tunes anyway."

The room fell silent as Alastor's gaze bore into Angel Dust, his smile twisting into a sinister grin. "Is that so, my dear Angel? Perhaps I should demonstrate the consequences of underestimating the power of music."

With a snap of his fingers, Alastor summoned a spectral microphone, its ethereal glow casting eerie shadows across the room. "Now, let's see who's laughing when I unleash the full force of my wrath upon this wretched offender!"

The residents of the Hazbin Hotel trembled as Alastor's menacing laughter echoed through the halls, knowing all too well that when the Radio Demon was in a foul mood, no one was safe from his terrifying fury.

As fear spread throughout the hotel, Y/N knew she had to act swiftly to quell the storm brewing within Alastor's heart. Ignoring the warnings of her peers, she clandestinely snatched the broken radio and retreated to her workshop, determined to restore it to its former glory.Under the cover of night, she stealthily crept into Alastor's room, her pockets filled with tools and determination. With deft hands, she dismantled the broken radio, each cog and wire familiar to her skilled touch.

Hour after hour, Y/N toiled away, her nimble fingers dancing across the delicate machinery. With each adjustment and tweak, the radio gradually came back to life, its familiar crackle filling the air once more. But as the night wore on, fatigue gnawed at Y/N's bones, her eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion. But she pressed on, fueled by determination and a desire to see her friend smile once more.

Finally, with a soft click, the radio sprang to life, emitting a crackling sound before filling the room with the familiar strains of vintage jazz. Y/N let out a sigh of relief, a triumphant smile gracing her lips as she admired her handiwork.

But as she stood there basking in her success, fatigue finally caught up with her. With a yawn, she sank into a nearby chair, her eyes fluttering closed as sleep claimed her.

Unbeknownst to her, Alastor had been silently watching from the shadows, his expression unreadable as he observed Y/N's tireless efforts to fix his broken radio. When he saw her succumb to exhaustion, a pang of concern tugged at his heart, softening the edges of his usually stoic demeanor.

Quietly, he approached her slumbering form, his footsteps barely audible against the creaking floorboards. Gently, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch light as a feather.

"My dear Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. "Such devotion, such selflessness. You truly are a marvel."

A warmth blossomed in Alastor's chest as he watched her sleep, a feeling he couldn't quite put into words. For the first time in centuries, he felt something akin to tenderness stirring within him—a feeling he realized with a start was nothing short of admiration.

With a soft sigh, Alastor leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N's forehead before picking up her form and striding over to his bed; tucking her in with the utmost care. As he stood there in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the quiet hum of the fixed radio and the soft breathing of his friend, he knew at that moment that he was irrevocably touched by her kindness.

And as the first light of dawn painted the sky, Alastor silently vowed to cherish and protect Y/N, for she had not only fixed his broken radio but had also managed to mend something far more precious—his wounded heart.

The next morning dawned upon the Hazbin Hotel, the air tinged with a sense of relief as the residents basked in the knowledge that Alastor's beloved radio had been fixed. Alastor strode into the lobby with a confident swagger, his usual grin plastered on his face. With a flick of his wrist, he turned on the radio, the familiar crackle of static filling the air before giving way to the melodic strains of love songs from a bygone era.

The residents exchanged puzzled glances, their confusion evident as they listened to the unexpected playlist. Angel Dust raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "Well, well, looks like someone's feeling a bit sentimental today."

Alastor's grin widened, though there was a hint of something softer lurking beneath the surface. "Ah, my dear Angel, music has a way of stirring the soul, don't you think?"

As the love songs continued to play, the other residents couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth wash over them. Even the gruffest demons found themselves tapping their claws to the beat, caught up in the unexpected romance of it all.

But as Alastor's gaze lingered on Y/N, who stood among the crowd with a shy smile, a wave of realization washed over him. It wasn't just any love songs he was playing—it was a silent declaration of his growing affection for the inventive soul who had captured his heart.

And as the music filled the room with its sweet melody, Alastor couldn't help but feel a surge of hope coursing through him. Perhaps, in the midst of Hell's chaos, there was still room for love to blossom—a love that transcended time and defied all odds.

With a soft chuckle, Alastor stole a glance at Y/N, his heart swelling with newfound courage. For in that moment, amidst the gentle strains of love songs and the soft glow of morning light, he knew that he was falling—falling head over heels for the one who had fixed not only his broken radio but also the shattered pieces of his soul.

474 notes · View notes

ethanmorales · 11 months

Text

Misconceptions

All Parts Now Posted - Masterlist

Part 1 - Ablaze

Pairing: Ethan Morales x reader 1.3k words Tags: make out, angst Warning: swearing

My fingers grazed against his chest and as I let my hand wander down his torso, I felt every muscle under twitch in anticipation. I looked up at his face and he was already looking at me with a mixture of lust and longing.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Oh and I missed him. For what other reason would I have climbed through his window at 2:12 in the morning?

But I didn’t say it back. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place. Me caring. Me wanting him so bad it hurt. Me falling while he was always just having a good time.

“Babe?”

I looked up at him, pulled out of my thoughts by his inquiring tone.

“Just kiss me,” I demanded.

He only hesitated for two seconds, just briefly enough for his brown eyes to send a silent question, “everything okay?” But his mouth never asked; it was too busy connecting with mine in a blazing kiss that threatened to consume me, him, both of us together.

Everything was on fire. Everywhere he touched. Everywhere he kissed. My skin burned with his touch and for it. We barely paused for breath as he laid me down on his bed. He unlinked our mouths long enough to grab the hem of my shirt and help me out of it. Then we lit up again.

I glided my fingers in the soft waves of his hair as his mouth found the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. His teeth gently grazed against the skin, just enough for me to feel the pressure but not enough to cause pain and then his tongue followed. He started trailing downward to my chest with that same technique.

"Ethan." It was a half-whispered moan. I say half whispered because it was not as quiet as I intended it to be.

At his name, he looked up at me, smiling that damning adorable smile of his and placed a finger over my lips.

"My parents' sleep next door."

He was better at whispering than I was. Probably had more experience at this kind of clandestine middle of the night type of encounter. Before the bitter thought took full effect in my head, his mouth clashed against mine in another fiery kiss. Almost like he wanted to distract me from my own thoughts.

It was working.

The kiss that started like a flame scorching through us with intensity and desperation, simmered down into a heart wrenching slower tempo. Our mouths molded together, his tongue slow danced with mine in perfect unison... and I was lost.

Lost to the sweet taste of his lips. Lost to the movement of his pelvis against mine and the calculated motions building up the fire that he had awoken in me. Though we still had enough clothing separating us from the fusing of our bodies, it didn't dampen the ever-present ache within me.

With the way he touched me, you would think he felt the same.

So, I was lost. Lost in the depths of longing. Longing for this guy that could never ever reciprocate such feeling in return.

I pushed away from him as abruptly as I had the thought. I was met by a look that someone that didn't know him would think is concern. But I knew better.

"I have to go." My words practically a mumble.

"What?" he seemed disoriented in a way, his eyes searching for something in mine that I didn't want him to find.

"It's late," I said, "If we wake up your parents, they'll disown you for real this time."

Ethan's eyes though still confused, hid partially away by the appearance of his mischievous smile, "So what? They've disowned me like 50 times already. Just this year."

I rolled my eyes.

"You say that with so much pride," I whispered, simultaneously pulling myself out of his grasping hands. I heard him groan in protest behind me as I pulled my shirt over my head.

"Because the shit they say doesn't mean anything. They think that by acting like they're disappointed in me, I'll just magically turn into the son they always wanted. It's bullshit."

I shook my head at this rant and turned to face him. He had gotten up from the bed as well and was less than two feet away from me.

"If you really didn't care, you wouldn't' have shushed me earlier. But God knows you're too cool to admit to caring about anything so I'm not having this argument with you." I sounded defeated. He noticed the change in my tone immediately, his eyes narrowed.

"Why do we have to argue at all? There are way more fun things that we could be doing right now." Even as he said it, I could see that he didn't mean it. Something in his expression closed off at my previous comment.

"I have to be up early anyways," I said gently.

"Sure. Whatever." He walked towards his window. I followed behind until we were in front of it.

I looked up at him. He didn't seem to want to look me in the eye as he avoided my gaze. I gave up.

"Okay. I'll see you around then."

My voice was small, and I hated myself for it. This is where we end up every time. I understand that he has never claimed to be anything but who I've always known him to be, but can you blame me for wanting more? I'm only human. And I know... that's it's wrong that I want him to change for me. I should be accepting him as he is or staying away from him, but I can't. The harder I try, the easier it is for me to end up here with him. Stuck in this goddamn tragic loop of ours.

I shake my head to myself and throw a leg over the windowsill. As I push myself out and my feet touch the freshly cut grass of his backyard, I thank God he lives in a one-story home.

When I turn to close his bedroom window, he stops me with a hand over mine. I move mine away and he frowns. He proceeds to climb out of his window.

"What?" I ask, unable to keep the edge out of my voice. I was already too emotionally drained to hide my upset.

He blinks with confusion. "What am I doing wrong?"

I huff but say nothing.

He sighs, "How do I stop upsetting you if you won't tell me what it is that you're upset about?"

I snap. "You. You are the reason I'm upset!"

His eyes widen, "What about me? "

I want to tell him. I want to tell him everything. All the things he makes me feel; good and bad. My fears. My thoughts. But I can't. Because I know what he will say.

"I didn't sign up for this".

"We had a deal."

"Don't start getting clingy."

I've heard it all come out of his mouth before. Not with me. With the many girls I've seen him with. But still. I refuse to make the mistakes the rest of them did. I will never admit that I had fallen for him. Not now. Not ever.

I held his gaze for a second, but his beautiful brown eyes made my poor heart flutter uncomfortably in my chest. I look away.

"Nothing, sorry. I really gotta go. I get cranky when I don't sleep."

I start turning around to leave, but then feel his arm snake around my waist and pull me in against him, leaving no space between us.

I look up at him in a question. His eyes scanned my face for something, though I'm not sure what.

"Liar."

That's all he says before his mouth crashes over mine.

I didn't want it. The rational part of me knew that I should back off and walk away. But as soon as his tongue invades my mouth, the heat of our flame sears through my whole being... and we're back to where we started.

To be continued...

__________________________________

A/N: Haven't written in ages. But after watching season 4 of Never Have I Ever.... I had to. My goodness, Ethan got me feeling all kinds of things lol. Made a new blog just to write this without judgement. Let me know if you want a part 2. I feel like this might deserve another part. Or maybe I can turn it into a series? Let me know if you liked it and I'll write more :)

Update: will be doing a part two! Maybe 3... we shall see :D

#michael cimino #Ethan morales #never have i ever #paxton hall yoshida #devi vishwakumar #ben gross #nhie #nhie s4 #never have i ever season 4 #ethan morales x reader #angst #ethan morales fanfic #ethanmorales #ethanmorales fanfic

916 notes · View notes

rascal-xo · 1 year

Note

I heard your requests are open~

I'm always a sucker for angsty hostage reader fics. Maybe one of the 141 are clearing a warehouse, and come across hostage!reader. He takes them back to the base for their injuries and they start to get close

Hopefully this is enough to go off of, I really like your writing

Special Affairs | Task Force 141 x GN!Reader

Chapter Summary: You’ve found yourself in a sticky situation and end up crossing paths with none other than the infamous 141 soldiers.

Warnings: Violence, weapons, language, reads like an action fic ‼️

Word Count: a lot. (i’m too lazy to check lol)

A/N: I decided to let my creativity run wild and took some inspiration from the Cold War campaign (my fav). I hope you enjoy and ty for the request!!

|NOT CANONICALLY ACCURATE| |OVERLAPPING OF TIMELINES| PART 2 HERE

When you were recruited for the CIA, It was only a matter of time you’d find yourself in this situation. Your training had prepared you for the unexpected, but nothing could have quite prepared you for the events that unfolded during this covert mission.

As a highly skilled agent, you were sent deep undercover to gather intel on a notorious terrorist organization. You had infiltrated their ranks and gained their trust, positioning yourself to uncover their plans from within.

But during one of the critical moments, a sudden turn of events led to chaos.

As tensions escalated, shots rang out, triggering a full-blown firefight and you were caught in the crossfire, you fought valiantly, taking down several hostiles. You were outnumbered and one of the enemy operatives managed to sneak up behind you, immobilizing you with a well-placed blow to the head.

When you regained consciousness, you found yourself disoriented and restrained in a dimly lit underground bunker. Your head throbbed with pain as you struggled against the ropes binding your wrists.

Hours turned into days as you remained imprisoned, your captors using various failed forms of psychological torture to extract information.

Unbeknownst to Captain Price, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz, their mission had brought them closer to the underground facility where you were held captive.

Their objective aligned with yours - to dismantle the terrorist organization from within.

As the four of them navigated the corridors, they encountered heavy resistance. The sound of gunfire echoed through the compound, alerting your captors to the presence of intruders. “Was zum Teufel?!” (What the hell?!”)

The two armed soldiers in your room snapped up from their seats and readied their rifles to fire back if the door opened.

Just as the enemy closed in on your location, the sound of a door being kicked open reverberated through the bunker.

Price, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz burst into the room, their weapons blazing. Their entrance sent your captors into disarray, allowing you to break free from your restraints.

Without wasting another moment you grabbed a gun on the nearby table, just as The Captain’s weapon pointed away from the now dead guards and to you, “Don’t Shoot!” You exclaimed.

“Who are you?” Ghost barked, not lowering his gun yet.

“I’m CIA.” Price motioned for everyone to lower their weapons and you walked closer to the group.

You nodded to them, “Clandestine Special Officer, Y/N Y/L/N.”

“What’re you doing down here, Lass?” Soap chimed in, looking at you intently.

“Came here on the job you’ve been sent to finish.” You looked at your shoulder which was still freshly wounded, and then looked around the room for your jacket. You finally caught eye on it laying on the floor and quickly went to put it on.

“Wait, you cant go on like this, you’re broken.” Gaz points out, motioning to your shoulder. You could feel the black and blue forming around your eyes and the cut stinging on your lip as well. ‘So much for covert’ you thought to yourself.

“I’m fine, but I know East Berlin won’t be if we don’t get moving.” You answer.

Captain Price exchanged a glance with Soap before nodding in agreement. "They’re right. We need to finish this mission, and it seems like we've got ourselves an unexpected ally," he said, his voice steady and commanding. “Gonna get that arm checked out once we’re back, got it?”

You nod and collect the rest of your scattered gear, before heading out of the bunker and to the main facility. “So what’s the motherfucker got down here that needs to be guarded like this?” Gaz asks, as you take down maps and manifestos from the enemy conference room which is now empty.

“Missiles.” They all pause and turn to you in shock. “American missiles.”

“Steamin bloody Jesus.” Soap mutters.

“In the 50’s, Operation Greenlight put nuclear devices within every major European city as the ultimate ‘fuck you’ to a Soviet invasion of Europe. But an upgraded American Precision Strike system when online 2 weeks ago, sent up red flags all over but they were disguised at that time.”

“Perseus.” Price’s voice had anger lining it. “When does the system become active?”

“We have 24 hours at best. Launch was already delayed a few days from what I understand.”

The group exchanged concerned glances. "We need to move fast and take out the missile launch site before it's too late," Captain Price said, his voice urgent.

You nodded in agreement, knowing that time was of the essence. "I have intel on the location of the launch site, but it's heavily guarded," you said, pulling out a map and pointing to a spot. "We need a solid plan of attack."

You joined Captain Price and Soap as they made their way towards the launch site, keeping your eyes peeled for any enemy forces. Gaz and Ghost went around the south entrance.

Finally, you reached the launch site and saw the missile silos looming in the distance. The group split up, with Captain Price and Soap taking the left flank and you taking the right.

As you made your way towards the silos, you encountered heavy resistance. Enemy soldiers were everywhere, firing at you from all directions. You returned fire, taking out as many as you could.

When you reached the site, you quickly accessed the control panel, determined to disable the launch sequence. With deftness born from your CIA training, you navigated the complex system, neutralizing the imminent threat.

“Bravo Six to Actual- do you copy?” Price spoke.

“This is actual, what’s your report?” Laswell’s voice coming from the comms.

“We’ve got the threat. They were active missiles.”

The tension in the room dissipated as the launch sequence halted. A collective sigh of relief passed through the team.

“Gonna call in the evac, Y/N you with us?” Soap asked, coming to the group. Going back with the 141 didn’t seem like such a bad idea now that you had worked with them. The CIA could use the extra knowledge first hand.

“Hope you’ll save me a seat.” You smiled.

———

After the mission, you and the rest of the team returned to a secure base in London. You found yourself sitting at the counter at a pub.

You watched from across the bar as Soap scored a bullseye with the dart, earning a triumphant cheer from Gaz. Ghost simply nodded in approval, his focus seemingly undisturbed.

“Adler it’s Y/N. Everything’s been handled but I’m in London for the time being.” You sent the voicemail and set your phone down.

Captain Price walked over, a slight smile playing on his lips. He took a seat beside you, signaling the bartender for a drink.

"CIA, huh?" Price remarked, his voice carrying a hint of warmth. "So what’s next for you, darling?”

"There’s always something that needs to be dealt with. But It feels good to have a moment to breathe," you replied, taking a sip from your drink. The cool liquid provided a soothing sensation as it slid down your throat.

You looked up to meet his gaze. You had known of captain for quite some time now. There wasn’t a file at Langley you hadn’t been assigned to go through, his of course was more seasoned than others.

Price's piercing blue eyes met yours, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to fade away. His expression held a mix of admiration and camaraderie, a silent acknowledgment.

He leaned back in his seat, his expression now uncertain. “Laswell never mentioned you or anything about this mission being active.”

“Well neither did Shepard, and we all know you have a Shepard problem.” You moved your glass in a circular motion slightly, watching the golden liquid rise and fall.

“We’ll always have that problem, darling.” He scoffed, downing the rest of his scotch.

“Well since i’m here now, consider that problem handled.” You said, suddenly deciding that you and the 141 weren’t quiet done being a team yet…

————————————————————————————

A/N: I highkey enjoy writing action/double meaning story fics. LMK what y’all think :))

444 notes · View notes

gojonegs · 12 days

Text

Forbidden Hearts: A Tale of Love

Gojo x reader

tw: angst angst angst, but I promise this time it is with a happy ending! btw it a different!au so no spoilers! Enjoy!

wc: 1.8k

————————————————————————

In the vibrant heart of Tokyo, where the city's neon lights danced against the backdrop of towering skyscrapers, Gojo Satoru and Y/N found themselves ensnared in a love as whimsical as a spring breeze.

Their initial encounter was a serendipitous moment in a crowded café, where their eyes met over a spilled latte and a shared laugh. From that moment on, they were inseparable, their love blossoming like the cherry blossoms that adorned the streets of their beloved city.

But their happiness was short-lived, for they soon discovered that they hailed from feuding clans—the Gojo and L/N clans. Despite the odds stacked against them, they dared to defy tradition and pursue their love with unwavering determination.

Their clandestine meetings were like stolen moments of bliss in a world fraught with danger and uncertainty. They reveled in each other's company, their laughter mingling with the bustling sounds of the city as they carved out their own little corner of paradise.

But as whispers of their forbidden romance spread like wildfire through the streets of Tokyo, the tensions between their clans reached a boiling point. Their love, once as carefree as a summer's day, now faced the harsh reality of their warring families.

One stormy evening, amidst the chaos of crashing waves and howling winds, Y/N sought out Gojo in a secluded corner of the bustling city. Her eyes were filled with determination, but also with a deep sadness that seemed to weigh heavily upon her soul.

"Satoru," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "we need to talk."

Gojo turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "What is it, Y/N?" he asked, his tone gentle yet tinged with concern.

Y/N's fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. "I'm getting married," she seethed, the words dripping with disdain.

A wave of disbelief crashed over Gojo, his eyes widening in shock. "Married?" he echoed, the word feeling like a dagger to his heart.

Y/N's laughter was bitter, the sound echoing like thunder in the stormy night. "Does it matter?" she snapped, her voice dripping with scorn. "Another pawn in the game of power and politics."

Gojo's jaw clenched in frustration, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. "And what about us, Y/N?" he demanded, his voice a fierce roar in the night. "What about our love?"

Y/N's eyes blazed with fury as she met his gaze, her voice a thunderous roar in the darkness. "Our love?" she spat, the words like lightning striking a tree. "What love, Satoru? All we have is a fleeting fantasy in the midst of a raging storm."

The air crackled with tension, the weight of their forbidden love pressing down upon them like a suffocating blanket. Gojo's anger boiled over, his voice a tempest of emotion. "I thought you were different, Y/N," he snarled, his words a lightning bolt in the darkness. "But it seems you're just like the rest of them—bound by duty and tradition, willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of your precious clan."

Y/N's breath came in ragged gasps as she fought to hold back her tears, her heart torn asunder by the storm of emotions raging within her. "You don't understand," she whispered, her voice barely a whisper in the howling wind. "I have no choice."

But Gojo's rage was unrelenting, his pain a hurricane tearing through his soul. "No choice?" he roared, his voice thundering in the night. "You always have a choice, Y/N. You chose this path, just like you chose to betray me."

And with those words, Gojo turned away from Y/N, his heart heavy with the weight of their shattered dreams. Y/N watched him go, her own heart breaking with each step he took, knowing that she had lost him forever.

As she stood alone in the heart of the city, surrounded by the echoes of their love and the distant hum of the urban landscape, Y/N realized that some loves were simply not meant to be. And as the echoes of their shattered dreams faded into the night, she knew that their love would forever remain a bittersweet memory, a haunting reminder of what could have been.

———

In a crowded ballroom, where the air was thick with the scent of perfume and the sound of elegant music filled the space, Gojo and Y/N's paths crossed once more. The atmosphere crackled with tension as they locked eyes across the room, surrounded by swirling dancers and sparkling chandeliers.

Their reunion was like a spark igniting a powder keg, setting off a chain reaction of emotions that neither could control. With a bitter laugh, Gojo approached Y/N, his eyes flashing with a dangerous fire.

"So, this is where you ended up," he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Lost in a sea of opulence, pretending to be someone you're not."

Y/N's heart clenched at the venom in his words, the pain of their past rushing back with brutal force. "I had no choice," she spat back, her voice filled with defiance. "You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to be torn away from you?"

But Gojo's anger was unrelenting, his pain a blazing inferno that threatened to consume them both. "You made your choice, Y/N," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "And now you have to live with the consequences."

The tension between them crackled like electricity, their emotions raw and unbridled. Y/N's voice trembled as she struggled to hold back her tears. "I never wanted this," she whispered, her words a desperate plea for understanding.

But Gojo's eyes were cold and distant, his walls impenetrable. "It's too late for apologies," he declared, his voice cutting like a knife. "We're done, Y/N. There's nothing left for us here."

As she stood alone in the midst of the crowded ballroom, surrounded by people yet utterly alone, Y/N realized that some loves were simply not meant to be. And as the echoes of their shattered dreams faded into the night, she knew that their love would forever remain a bittersweet memory, a haunting reminder of what could have been.

But little did they know, fate had one final twist in store for them—one that would test the very limits of their love and resilience.

———

In a grand conference hall adorned with traditional Japanese décor, representatives from the Gojo and L/N clans gathered for a momentous occasion. The air was thick with tension as discussions ensued regarding the future alliances and arrangements between the two clans.

Among the attendees, Gojo and Y/N found themselves seated opposite each other, their eyes meeting across the room, sparking a flicker of recognition and longing. Despite the weight of their respective clan obligations, their hearts yearned for each other, their love like an unbreakable thread weaving through the fabric of fate.

As the discussions unfolded, it became increasingly clear that Y/N's marriage to another was imminent, a decision made in the interest of preserving clan honor and tradition. Gojo's heart sank at the realization, his resolve tested by the harsh reality of their circumstances.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. In a twist of destiny, the conference took an unexpected turn when Y/N's father, the head of the L/N clan, announced a change of heart regarding her betrothal.

"Y/N," he declared, his voice carrying through the hushed hall, "I have reconsidered our previous arrangements. It is clear to me that your heart belongs elsewhere."

Y/N's heart soared at her father's words, her eyes searching the room until they found Gojo's, filled with hope and longing. Could it be true? Could they truly be given a chance to be together?

With a determined expression, Y/N's father turned to Gojo, his gaze unwavering. "Gojo Satoru," he addressed him, "I see the love that burns between you and my daughter, a love that cannot be denied. I give my blessing for your union."

Gojo's heart pounded in his chest as he met Y/N's father's gaze, his eyes brimming with gratitude and disbelief. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

And in that moment, amidst the weighty deliberations of the clan conference, Gojo and Y/N found themselves granted a rare gift—a chance to be together against all odds. With tears of joy in their eyes, they rose from their seats and embraced, their hearts overflowing with love and gratitude.

As they left the conference hall hand in hand, the echoes of their victory reverberated through the room, a testament to the enduring power of love to overcome even the most formidable of obstacles. And as they stepped out into the world, ready to embark on their journey together, Gojo and Y/N knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them with unwavering courage and boundless love.

———

Under the canopy of a thousand cherry blossoms in full bloom, Gojo and Y/N stood together, surrounded by friends and family, as they exchanged vows of eternal love and devotion.

The air was alive with the soft murmur of blessings and the sweet melody of traditional Japanese music, lending an air of serenity and grace to the sacred ceremony.

With trembling hands and hearts full of hope, Gojo and Y/N spoke words of promise and commitment, their voices ringing out like bells in the crisp spring air.

"I promise to cherish you, to support you, and to stand by your side through all the joys and sorrows that life may bring," Gojo vowed, his eyes locked with Y/N's, filled with unwavering determination.

"And I promise to love you, to honor you, and to hold you in my heart for all eternity," Y/N echoed, her voice steady despite the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

As they exchanged rings, sealing their bond in the eyes of their loved ones, a sense of peace washed over them, their souls intertwined in a sacred union that transcended time and space.

And as they sealed their vows with a tender kiss, the world seemed to stand still, the beauty of the moment etched into the fabric of eternity.

In that fleeting moment, amidst the petals of cherry blossoms that danced on the gentle breeze, Gojo and Y/N knew that their love was a force to be reckoned with—a love that would endure through all the trials and tribulations of life, shining brightly like the sun in the sky.

And as they stepped forward into their future together, hand in hand and heart to heart, they knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them with unwavering courage and boundless love, for they were united in spirit and soul, forever and always.

————————————————————————

Do not Plagiarize, translate or copy.

#gojo jjk #jjk gojo #angst with a happy ending #satoru gojo #jjk fluff #jjk angst #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk satoru

63 notes · View notes

violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year

Note

Hi lovely!! Congrats on 500, maybe 40 + 49 + E for Stewy hurt/comfort with Roy!Reader? Thank you so much!!

Consequence.

40. "I love you." 49. "Stay. Please." e. Heatwave

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here if you're interested in sending a request!! thank you anon, you're the sweetest!!

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x Roy!Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing

Word Count - 1072

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

Was it a good idea to walk across New York City in a pantsuit on the hottest day of the year? Probably not.

You'd refused to get in one of Stewy's cars, and you couldn't exactly call your siblings and ask them to pick you up. So, you'd walked.

Big mistake.

By the time you're on your block, you're miserable. Your hair is sticking to your forehead, there's sweat dripping down your back, and your pantsuit is soaked through.

You thought that the walk would give you time to think, time to decompress, time to process. It didn't. Now, you're angrier than you were when you stormed out of Stewy's office. You're practically vibrating with fury, rage rattling through your bones. You're honestly not sure if the heat you're experiencing is from the blazing sun or your blood boiling with annoyance.

At your front door, your hands are shaking, making it a struggle to fit the key in the lock. You kick the frame violently, frustrated and sad. More than anything, you're just sad.

You finally swing your door open, screaming in terror when you see a man stood in your entryway.

"Fuck!" he yells, startled by your sudden entrance.

He turns, and your shoulders tense instantly upon seeing his face.

Stewy Hosseini. The most complicated man you've ever met. The most complicated relationship you've ever had.

A relationship that ended today.

You'd known it was doomed from the start. You're the youngest Roy sibling, he's Kendall's oldest friend and a Waystar board member. It was bound to fail.

That didn't stop you from taking the risk, though.

All it had taken was the brush of his fingertips against your waist and soft, murmured words in your ear. You'd jumped with no parachute, straight into the Stewy's arms.

It was all too good to be true. Secret dinner dates, late nights at his penthouse, clandestine meetings in cars sent to you. The thrill of the illicit nature of your affair had the two of you thrumming with excitement, barely able to keep your eyes off each other in the boardroom.

All that energy, that heat, that fire. It had to explode sometime.

It did today.

You'd woken up this morning, instantly checking your phone and expecting to see your usual 'Good morning sweetheart' text from Stewy. Instead, you'd been met with tabloid photos of him with with a supermodel on his arm outside a club.

You'd gotten dressed and stormed straight over to his office, consequences be damned. Blinded by rage, you marched in without knocking, unaffected by the questioning looks you were receiving from his staff. They'd all assumed it was business related, perhaps a Waystar deal gone wrong. If only they knew.

Stewy had tried to explain himself, but it had only made things worse.

"Sweetheart, come on. You know what it's like out there. They don't know about us. It's just me keeping up appearances."

"Keeping up appearances? With a fucking six foot gorgeously blond supermodel?"

"She grabbed my arm. What was I supposed to do, throw her off? Don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

"I think a lot of things right now are pretty fucking suspicious, actually!"

He'd sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly stressed.

"Honey, please, keep your voice down. I don't need you to be the talk of the office today."

"No. You just don't need me, full stop."

"That's not true and you know it."

"I don't know anything anymore."

And with that, you'd left, breaking both your own heart and his. You always knew it'd end in tears. You felt stupid for even trying.

Now, you're face to face with the man you'd been screaming at in his office an hour prior.

"How did you get in here, Stewy?" you ask while kicking off your shoes.

"I have a key, sweetheart."

"Are you here to give it back?"

He inhales, and takes a step closer to you, looking at you intently.

"No. I'm here to tell you that I love you."

It takes you a second to process his words.

"What?"

"I love you."

You can't decide whether to hit him or kiss him.

"So I break up with you, and you decide to break into my apartment and tell me you love me?" you ask incredulously.

"I didn't break in. I have a key," he replies, slight smirk on his face. "And you didn't break up with me. You stormed out and didn't give me a chance to explain myself. God, you Roys are always so blinded by your emotions."

He's not wrong. You'd seen red and ran, rather than letting him talk to you logically. You know that you only reacted that way because of how you feel about him, but still. You're so used to betrayal, and lies, and deceit. Thinking that Stewy had done the same thing as everyone else had broken your heart.

"Baby," he explains. "I'm surrounded by supermodels and actresses and musicians every night of the week. And the entire time, I'm thinking of you."

His big brown eyes are staring into your soul. You couldn't look away if you tried.

"I don't care if we have to keep this a secret forever," he continues. "That's a price I'm willing to pay. If you're still worried about people finding out, then we'll sneak around for the rest of time. If not, I'm happy to walk into the Waystar building hand in hand right now."

Tears are threatening to spill down your cheeks at his words. He's not usually so open, so vulnerable. It makes you love him even more than you already do.

"I couldn't leave things the way they were this morning. I had to say my piece. If you still hate me, fine. But I had to tell you."

He gazes at you carefully, looking for a reaction. When you don't reply, he makes his way past you, towards the door.

"Stay. Please," you almost whisper.

With that, Stewy turns on his heel and strides towards you. Cradling your face in his hands, he kisses you hard. He's grabbing at you, and your hands are grasping for purchase anywhere they can find. You're both not sure if the other person is going to disappear any minute.

"I'm here," he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Ever."

You believe him. You believe him.

stewy tag list -

@justacaliforniandreamer

@616wilsons

@shawty-writes-a-little

@isuspectitwasthenargles

299 notes · View notes

altar-ov-plagues · 1 year

Photo

We were born to die in flames. We sing the praise for secrets of laceration.

#clandestine blaze #secrets of laceration

113 notes · View notes

the-slasher-files · 9 months

Text

FIND ME

NIKTO

This is just a very simple vibey fic filled with comfort and blood, being somewhat of a soulmate to a cold soldier, also just really trying to figure out how to write for him. I wrote the dialog in English, only because my Russian is quite minimal, however I imagine this would all be in Russian.... anyway, enjoy 🤍🔪

MASTERLIST

You saw the wide expanse of his back flexing with each breath against the midnight sky; Armor plates and ammo adorned, making the soldier look twice the size. A Russian bear, a grizzly in the deadly woods with 4 inch razor sharp claws, bound to tear and rip flesh.

"Nikto?" You called, and there was only silence.

Just dogs in the distance and winds across the desert. Smoke lifted in a small stream from the cigarette laid forgotten within his strong hands. Gloveless, the scars littered him. He was a picture of torture. A man that had no right to be alive after all he had been put through. He shouldn't be sitting on this rooftop, looking over the ruins of a demolished village, but he was, at least his body was.

Somewhere, Nikto's mind was far from here, dissociated away from the noise and bloodstained boots. Perhaps he was back in Russia or maybe nowhere at all.

The firefight triggered this state, and he was left alone as he liked to be. However, you had begun to worm into an icy tundra that was his heart and gave him a soft company as his mind wandered away. When he knew that you'd be ok, he slipped away to the rooftop.

Gently, you stepped forward. Not wanting to scare the large man, you hummed a quiet tune, a Russian lullaby your mom had sang. It had been something you both had done when the others' nerves were frayed and lit a blaze, calming and better to warn of a presence than footsteps or speaking. The soldier flinched, turning for a quick glance over his broad shoulder before shifting back. The black fabric of his mask had been unsnapped from the hard plastic to reveal scars from burned skin that took parts of his lip to show teeth, a bear's snarl forever imprinted. And a deep, jagged scar from a knife that ran down his nose. Quickly, he fastened the mask back in place and threw the tobacco off the ledge.

"Sorry— I..."

"Don't be. Come" Nikto's voice was like gravel with rounded stones padding the edges of his blunt sentences.

With calculated steps, you swung your legs over the crumbling plaster edge of the building and looked out upon the view he had been taking in for hours; Low light clung close to broken buildings and men patrolled the streets, outlines of far away mountains could be seen as the faint light of morning was upon you. It was beautiful in a way. A small getaway from danger and brutality, you sat together. Your eyes foreward, his burned into you clandestinely as they always did. If you were near, those icy blue daggers followed you and struck deep.

The noise of a ticking inside Nikto's throat drew you to his gaze, "That was a bloody one, eh?"

Abruptly, the Russian brought his smooth fingers —ones completely bare of fingerprints. Burned away from torture and once in an acute dissociated state, Nikto had taken a lighter to the tips — roughly against the fresh stitches that were holding a knife wound together, gaping the flesh just above the collar of your jacket. And those haunting eyes vividly recalled you gripping at your throat, blood pooling within your gloved fingers and pouring out. You were horrified as Nikto dropped the man that threatened to slit your jugular, missing by merely an inch. Shaking and clawing at your skin, he held you and triple checked the wound before a medic had taken over.

It was scary for both of you, and he was coming slowly to those terms.

"Too close, Bear" A breath released between your teeth as he gawked and prodded, setting a whine on your tongue before swallowing it back.

Nikto pulled back, sometimes not realizing the roughness within his touch, "...little fox"

Breathing out his pet name for you, not your callsign or real name, you knew the gulit was going to eat him alive once his brain allowed the process of emotion and memories, but you would be there.

The tundra of blue met your eyes in a language of comfort, love and perhaps something more that you two had never come to grips with. Bouncing your eyes across the mask and every single speck of green that was hidden in painted blue of his irises, he stiffened, looking down and eventually turning back to the view. You knew you shouldn't have lingered so long, but it was only in your humanity to want for something more. An ache and desire that you would fend off time and time again.

However, as time ticked away with the sand that blew in the desert, the man beside you did not stray away from you. In fact, Nikto let you lean on his shoulder and pulled you even closer. Feeling the cold press of the plastic mask upon your hair and his large hand gently playing with a loose thread of your hoodie. Quietly you began to hum the lullaby again, a soft tune under the parting clouds. He was easing now, a safe space created around you both as the sun had crawled up the mountains and illuminated the devastation of man across these lands. You had to leave soon for another deployment, a solo mission where you could pretend that he wasn't your bear and you were not his little fox. Things would go back to normal, and callous would grow thick again until your voice would reach his timber as you souls could intertwine in safe spaces once more.

#my writing #nikto #cod #call of duty #modern warfare #x you #imagine #x reader

170 notes · View notes

yawnderu · 3 months

Note

Poor könig now I understand why he is with social anxiety even at work, at least during breaks, because his companions are grizzly unhinged bears talking in tightly rough ancients that he doesn't know (for them he is one of these bears too but shh 🤫)

He probably thinks one morning: let's socialise!!

His companions: making clandestine bets in the corner (horangi and zeus), talking about stealing money from men before even making out and then if necessary killing them (blaze, callisto and rozlin), "mistakenly" burning someone else's car because they were pissed off (mace, atom and zero), arguing with themselves after a battle (nikto) and the list can go on

Still könig: nope, I will socialise tomorrow, next week... Maybe next year

PLSSSS HBBHGJRGJHB

The fact that KorTac is mainly mercenaries/criminals is so fucking funny to me LMAOO also König has NO room to speak because he literally enjoys killing, likes taunting the people he kills, and is overall very sadistic and arrogant ehbjfehjbhbef

Blaze, Calisto and Roze are so real for that HBJEFJHBFEJHKBEFHJKBEFJHKB

#stray answers #kortac #konig #cod mw2 #cod mwii #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig call of duty

60 notes · View notes

muiitoloko · 8 months

Text

DUTY AND DESIRE

(The GIF belongs to: @filthyfirth )

Author's Note: I've been wanting to write something about Harry's perspective. Thanks for the 30 followers!

Summary: In a world of espionage and intrigue, Harry Hart, codenamed Arthur, grapples with the intoxicating allure of his secret lover, Bedivere. As he leads the elite Kingsman organization, his thoughts are consumed by forbidden desires, blurring the lines between duty and passion.

Pairing: Harry Hart (Kingsman) × Fem!Reader

Warning: mentions of sex, but nothing too explicit.

In a world where secrets and danger intertwine, Harry Hart, codenamed Arthur, bore the weight of Kingsman's fate. In his opulent office at the Kingsman mansion, surrounded by mission reports and intelligence files, he struggled to maintain focus. While the room was quiet save for the hum of electronics, Harry's thoughts were far from the realm of espionage he oversaw.

His mind was consumed by you, codenamed Bedivere, a younger woman who held his heart in a vice grip. Their clandestine affair was a high-stakes dance, where duty clashed with desire. The memory of their morning encounter lingered, their passion etched deeply into his mind.

Lounging in his leather chair, Harry's fingers tapped absentmindedly on the desk's wooden surface. Thoughts of Bedivere's moans and the sensation of their bodies intertwined consumed him. His imagination ran wild, envisioning her lips on his skin, her touch kindling a fire that blazed within him.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he surrendered to his desires. His eyes closed briefly as he conjured an enticing image of Bedivere, her captivating allure overwhelming him. The boundaries of reality blurred as his thoughts painted vivid scenes fueled by his longing.

His sigh carried both satisfaction and frustration, his thoughts dominated by Bedivere's presence and the intoxicating sensations she stirred within him. His gaze shifted to his office table, becoming the backdrop for his fevered fantasies.

In a whispered voice, he gave voice to his yearning, his tone low and commanding, "I want you, Bedivere. I want to make you mine in every way."

In his mind's eye, the table became a canvas for their shared desires. He saw himself bending her over its surface, the polished wood cool against her heated skin. His fingers traced her spine, his breath hitching with the imagined sensation of her grip around him.

He imagined the anticipation building, a tension filling the air as he prepared to thrust deep inside her. His fantasy unfolded like an erotic dance, his mind captivated by the allure of their connection.

As Harry's thoughts spiraled further, a knock on his door jolted him from his reverie. He straightened in his chair, the interruption unwelcome as he called out, "Enter."

Merlin, his trusted colleague, walked in with papers in hand. "Arthur, I've brought the latest mission updates from Cairo," Merlin announced in his usual professional tone.

Harry nodded, his gaze returning to the mission reports. His mind remained a battleground, part engaged in the conversation while the other wrestled with his insatiable desire for Bedivere. The tension between his role as Arthur and his fervent longings pulsed beneath the surface.

As Merlin continued discussing the mission details, Harry's focus faltered. Bedivere's sultry moans seemed to echo amidst the room's businesslike atmosphere. The tug-of-war between his roles as a leader and a lover intensified, drawing him further into a realm where their connection was paramount.

With a determined sigh, Harry refocused on the conversation, pushing aside the forbidden desires that threatened to consume him. The responsibilities he bore as Arthur clashed with the overwhelming pull he felt toward Bedivere. The weight of leadership paled before the intensity of his affection and craving for her.

Amidst the world of secrecy and danger, Harry Hart—Arthur—navigated the labyrinth of his emotions. His thoughts straddled the fine line between duty and desire, a balance growing ever more precarious. The realm of Kingsman was fraught with peril, and his connection with Bedivere introduced an unpredictable layer to his already complex role.

As the meeting concluded, Harry's thoughts remained entangled in his reveries. The allure of Bedivere flowed as a constant current beneath the surface, a secret that fueled his passion. The dynamic of his position as a leader clashed with the vulnerability he experienced as a man consumed by longing for the woman who held his heart.

Ultimately, Harry Hart walked the tightrope of his emotions, traversing the delicate terrain of love and espionage. His heart remained divided between his responsibilities and his yearning—a testament to the intricate dance of his dual existence.

#harry hart #kingsman secret service #harry hart x reader #kingsman #kingsman fanfiction #colin firth #colin firth x reader

67 notes · View notes

nayziiz · 1 month

Text

Shadows | LN4

Summary: [Mafia] In the face of dire financial troubles, Lando receives a desperate plea from his father to unearth a lucrative solution within the family business. Fueled by the pressure to rescue his family from ruin, Lando stumbles upon a seemingly perfect venture—using luxury cars as a facade for the clandestine world of drug trafficking. With the unexpected partnership of Amelia Rossi, his father's best friend's daughter, Lando believes he has found the ideal accomplice. However, as the Norris family collides with the ambitious Russells in a ruthless bid to establish their dominance, the perilous path Lando has chosen places not only his newfound enterprise at stake but also entangles Amelia in the dangerous crossfire that unfolds.

Warning: Violence, drugs, blood, smut, fluff, guns

Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Amelia Rossi) - appearances from other drivers

Masterlist

Chapter 10

In the quiet of the morning, with the first light filtering through the curtains of Lando's room, he found himself wrestling with a maelstrom of emotions. His anger simmered beneath the surface, a coiled serpent ready to strike at any moment. How could George have sunk so low, manipulating Amelia with such cruelty? The thought gnawed at him, festering like a wound that refused to heal.

As Amelia slept peacefully beside him, her features softened in the gentle embrace of slumber, Lando's gaze lingered on her face. She looked vulnerable yet resolute, a paradox that echoed the complexity of her character. He reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead, his touch feather-light against her skin.

But beneath the tenderness of his gesture lay a steely resolve. George's betrayal had ignited a fire within him, a fierce determination to protect Amelia at all costs. He couldn't bear to see her hurt, to witness the scars left by George's deceit etched upon her heart.

Rising from the bed with quiet determination, Lando moved with purpose, his steps measured and deliberate. He knew what needed to be done, what battles needed to be fought. George may have wielded his manipulative tactics like weapons, but Lando refused to be a pawn in his twisted game.

With each passing moment, his fury grew, a tempest raging within him. But tempered by his love for Amelia, it became a driving force, a beacon guiding him through the storm. As he prepared to face the challenges ahead, Lando vowed to stand by her side, to be her unwavering support in the face of adversity.

For George may have thought himself clever, but he had underestimated the depth of Lando's devotion. And as the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of gold and amber, Lando's resolve burned brighter than ever before, a beacon of hope in the darkness.

In the dim light of the morning, Lando paced back and forth in the living room, his footsteps echoing against the hardwood floor like the steady beat of a war drum. With each step, his anger smoldered, a relentless blaze fueled by the betrayal of his oldest friend.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Lando retrieved his phone from his pocket and dialed George's number. The device hummed softly in his hand as it connected, each ring a countdown to the confrontation that awaited.

Finally, on the fourth ring, George answered, his voice smooth and composed, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within Lando's chest.

“George.” Lando's voice was clipped, a tightness betraying the fury simmering beneath the surface.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, a pregnant silence pregnant with tension.

“Lando, my friend, what a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?” George spoke, his tone casual yet tinged with a hint of apprehension.

“I was wondering if you'd like to meet up for a paddle session? I have a proposition I think you might be interested in.” Lando lied, his plan slowly falling into place.

Lando's words were a calculated deception, a carefully constructed facade masking the true purpose of their meeting. As he spoke, his mind raced with the intricate details of his plan, each piece falling into place with precision.

“A paddle session, you say? What kind of proposition are we talking about here, Lando?” George's response was guarded, his tone betraying a hint of curiosity mixed with caution.

“Oh, just a little business venture I've been considering. Nothing too serious, of course. But I thought you might be interested in hearing the details.” Lando's lips curled into a sly smile, hidden from George's view but dripping with cunning nonetheless.

There was a pause as George considered Lando's offer, weighing the potential benefits against the risks.

“Alright, Lando. I'll bite. Where and when do you want to meet?” Finally, he spoke, his voice betraying a hint of intrigue.

Lando's smile widened at George's acquiescence, his plan inching closer to fruition with each passing moment.

“How about tomorrow morning, bright and early? I know a spot down by the river.” Lando suggested, pleased with George’s willingness.

“Sounds good. I'll see you there.” George hesitated for a moment, as if considering the proposal, before finally agreeing.

With a satisfied nod, Lando ended the call, his mind already racing ahead to the next phase of his plan. As he prepared to confront George head-on, he knew that their meeting by the river would be the first step towards unraveling the web of deceit that had ensnared them both.

“Hey, Lando.” George greeted Lando as he arrived at the paddle court. “Been a while since we've done this.”

“Yeah, it has.” Lando nodded in acknowledgment, his expression neutral as he approached George at the paddle court.

Lando couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that gnawed at him, knowing that Amelia had been through so much because of George's manipulation.

As they entered the locker room after their paddle match, Lando's mind raced with anticipation. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the opportunity to confront George and put an end to his manipulation once and for all.

“So, what's this proposition you wanted to discuss?” George asked, tossing his paddle into his locker.

“It's about Amelia.” Lando took a deep breath, steeling himself for the confrontation.

“What about her?” George raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about.” Lando replied, his voice low and steady. “The video.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about, mate.” George's expression faltered for a brief moment before he regained his composure.

“Don't play dumb with me, George. I know about the video you have of me and Amelia. And I know you've been using it to manipulate her.” Lando retorted, his frustration mounting.

“And what if I have? What's it to you?” George's facade crumbled, replaced by a cold, calculating glare.

“It ends now.” Lando declared, his tone firm. “You're not going to use Amelia anymore. I won't let you.”

“And what are you going to do about it, Norris? You think you can stop me?” George's lips curled into a sneer.

“Try me.” Lando met his gaze with steely determination. Lando was undeterred, his resolve unwavering as he stared down his former friend. “You can blackmail me all you want, but no one will ever see that video, that will destroy her career and all her credibility. Now, I know she always meant a lot to you, George, so do you really want to be the person she hates for the rest of her life?”

George's expression softened slightly at Lando's words, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. He knew that Lando was right, that releasing the video would irreparably damage Amelia's reputation and career. And despite his ruthless nature, he couldn't bring himself to be the cause of her downfall.

“I said try me.” Lando challenged, his gaze unwavering.

For a tense moment, the two men locked eyes, the weight of their confrontation hanging heavily in the air. Finally, George let out a resigned sigh, his resolve crumbling under Lando's unwavering gaze.

“Fine.” He relented, reaching for his phone. “I'll delete the damn video.”

Lando watched as George deleted the incriminating video from his phone and cloud storage, a sense of relief washing over Lando as he watched the footage disappear.

“Thank you for making the right decision for once.” Lando's voice was laced with a hint of sarcasm as he spoke, unable to resist a jab at George's expense.

George turned to leave the locker room and paused, turning back to face Lando.

“She likes bravado.” Georges observed catching Lando’s attention.

“Excuse me?” Lando's retort was sharp, his tone defensive as George's words struck a nerve.

“Amelia. With Daniel, it was fun and adventures. With Charles, it was all about worklife balance, finding someone who shared her passion for their work. With you, it's about her being taken care of instead of having to take care of herself. She'll never admit it, but she likes to be out of control, have someone else tell her what to do, be cared for.” George explained his analysis.

“You have no idea what you're talking about.” Lando quickly countered, refusing to acknowledge the truth coming from George.

“You know, I have spent probably as much time as you trying to protect her.” George admitted.

“Protect her? You blackmailed her. How is that protecting her?” Lando retorted, scoffing at George’s audacity.

“She has no business being involved in underground business. The faster she got out of it, the better. She isn’t like the rest of us.” George argued back. There was a palpable tension in the air, a silent standoff between two former friends turned adversaries.

“What do you mean by that?” Lando wondered, his interest piqued.

“Do you love her, Lando?” George asked, evaluating the situation before explaining himself further.

“Of course, I do. I wouldn’t be doing any of this if I didn’t.” Lando responded, unsure of where George was going.

“Her name isn't really Amelia Rossi.” George started, his voice soft as he spoke.

“George, cut the bullshit already.” Lando sighed, already over the conversation.

“When Marilyn was pregnant, she suffered trauma to her abdomen late in the pregnancy following a car accident. Harold sent her up to the country to give birth and a few weeks later, the Rossi's returned with a beautiful baby girl.” George continued, ignoring Lando’s dismissive attitude.

“I know the story.” Lando retorted. He had heard the story told hundreds of times from birthdays to anniversaries to the holidays.

“Except there's a lot more to it. What no one knows is that Marilyn had a stillbirth. Their baby girl was buried outside Sussex - the real Amelia Rossi. At the time, Harold was adamant to have a child he could raise to take over his business. They had also learnt that Marilyn wouldn’t be able to conceive again. So, he orchestrated a kidnapping of a baby girl born just a few days earlier in a town up the road.” Georges further explained, and as he did, Lando’s demeanour softened as he listened.

“There's no way.” Lando breathed, taking a step back and sitting down on one of the benches in the locker room.

“Her name was Catherine Mitchells. She disappeared out of her crib in the middle of the night and was never seen again. Clyde, her father, spent every last dime tracing down every possible lead and it somehow led him to Harold Rossi. Of course, Harold didn't want to get his hands dirty, so he summoned my father to help... Clear up the mess.” George added, also taking a seat next to Lando on the bench.

“What does that even mean?” Lando asked, a bewildered look lurking in his eyes.

“My father killed Clyde Mitchells in the woods one night when we were teenagers. No one ever looked for him. Sadly, his wife died shortly after the kidnapping from broken heart syndrome, so he had no other family who would notice him missing.” George answered, leaning against the locker behind him.

“You realise how crazy this sounds, George.” Lando shook his head, unable to comprehend the information laid before him.

“It's true, Lando. I have the paper trail to prove it. My father keeps exceptional written records for these types of reasons.” George answered, aware that it might be a lot to process. “So when I say she isn’t like us and deserves better, that’s why. Her father was a good man, and she seems to be just like him.”

“What woods was he killed in?” Lando asked, his brows furrowed in confusion as the information rippled through his mind.

“Does it matter?” George asked, almost chuckling at the questions.

“Yeah, it does.” Lando insisted.

“Off Canterbury towards the old abbatoirs.” George answered, nodding his head in the direction of the old abbatoirs.

“When?” Lando continued to ask.

“Eight years ago, around her seventeenth birthday.” George clarified.

“Are you certain it was in those woods?” Lando queried, desparate for a different answer.

“I’m certain. Why does it matter?” George repeated his earlier question.

Lando's mind raced as he tried to piece together the significance of George's revelation. The mention of the woods near Canterbury triggered memories he had long tried to bury, memories of a tragic event that had haunted him for years.

“It matters because... because that's where…” Lando's voice trailed off, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of emotions and memories.

George watched Lando closely, sensing the turmoil brewing beneath his composed exterior.

“Do you remember a party at Susie Hopkins' house probably around the same time? The one Amelia and I were late to and you then told everyone we hooked up, that’s why we were supposedly late.” Lando finally whispered, his voice heavy with the weight of the revelation.

“I remember.” George nodded in acknowledgement.

“We were late to the party because we got lost. We drove down Canterbury and stopped because we had no signal to call for help. We walked for a bit and stumbled upon a group of men in the woods. It was quite dark, but they shot someone.” Lando's revelation hung heavy in the air, the weight of its implications settling like a leaden shroud over the conversation.

George's eyes widened in shock, his features contorted with disbelief as he struggled to process the gravity of Lando's words.

“You're joking, right?” George asked, his voice strained with disbelief.

“I wish I was.” Lando replied, his tone grave. “We stumbled upon them by accident. It was dark, and we couldn't see much, but... we heard the gunshot and saw him fall to the ground. All I remember seeing was his glasses falling to the ground before he did.”

“Lando, that was probably Clyde.” George stated, bringing the unknown into the spotlight and for the first time, Lando had some clarity on what happened that night in the woods.

“She saw her own father get murdered and didn't even know.” Lando grunted, unable to process the news and the possible ramifications thereof.

“Lando, you might kick the hornet's nest if you do anything with this information. My father will kill me for saying anything.” George pleaded.

George's plea resonated with Lando, the weight of their shared history and the potential consequences of their actions bearing down on him. He understood the gravity of the situation and the risks involved, but he couldn't turn a blind eye to the truth any longer.

“Then we're even. You leave Amelia alone and I won't implicate you or your father if I go to Harold.” Lando conceded with a shrug.

George nodded in reluctant agreement, his expression reflecting a mixture of apprehension and determination.

“Just promise me you'll be careful and keep her safe.” He said earnestly. “I don't want to see anyone else get hurt because of this.”

As Lando contemplated the weight of the information George had just disclosed, his mind became a whirlwind of plans and strategies. He knew that navigating the treacherous territory ahead would require careful consideration and meticulous planning.

First and foremost, Lando recognized the need for discretion. The implications of confronting Harold about his involvement in Clyde’s murder were staggering, and any misstep could have dire consequences. He couldn't afford to rush into action without fully assessing the risks and potential ramifications.

Drawing on his experience and resourcefulness, Lando began to map out a plan of action. He considered the key players involved, from Harold to Steve and even his own father, possibly, and the other witnesses present at the party. Each individual brought their own motivations and vulnerabilities to the table, and Lando knew that leveraging this knowledge would be crucial in unraveling the truth.

At the same time, Lando recognized the importance of gathering evidence to support their claims. While George's testimony provided a valuable starting point, they would need concrete proof to corroborate their story and hold up in court. This meant conducting thorough investigations, collecting witness statements, and perhaps even obtaining physical evidence from the scene of the crime.

As he delved deeper into his plans, Lando remained acutely aware of the dangers that lay ahead. The Norris family's reputation and his own safety were on the line, and any misstep could have devastating consequences, especially for Amelia who would get caught in the middle regardless. Yet, despite the risks, Lando was determined to uncover the truth and bring justice to those who had been wronged.

With his mind buzzing with ideas and strategies, Lando knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges and obstacles. But armed with determination and a sense of purpose, he was ready to face whatever lay ahead in his quest for the truth. If it meant protecting Amelia, he would have done anything.

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fic #lando norris smut #mclaren #mclaren f1 #lando norris x oc #mafia!au #mafia!f1 #f1 drivers #f1 driver x oc #lando norris x reader #f1 driver x reader #f1 x reader

45 notes · View notes

darknesseddiem · 1 month

Text

𝐀𝐧𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐬'𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐢𝐥: 𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Sutenankh, once revered for valor, finds himself ensnared in the ethereal confines of divine justice. As he awaits his fate within the celestial sanctum of Horus, his heart heavy with remorse, the gods decree eternal imprisonment. Meanwhile, a clandestine pact between Anubis and Horus births a prophecy of hope for a future liberator. Betrayal, anguish, and the weight of celestial retribution collide in a tale where virtue and destiny intertwine.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: +18 MDNI, Eddie's first name is Sutenankh, violence, torture, betrayal, mentions of a curse, mention of slavery, allusion to death and living mummification.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝐤

𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: I'm so excited to post this!!! I have always loved Egyptian culture and almost burst with happiness when the opportunity to write arose. I hope you are prepared to follow the journey of our demi-god warrior.

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫.

Bound by celestial chains, bewildered and wounded, Sutenankh finds himself ensnared within the ethereal confines of divine justice, awaiting the inexorable decree of his final destiny.

Once a beacon of valor and righteousness, Sutenankh's descent into the abyss of moral decay stands as a harrowing testament to the seductive allure of human frailty. Seduced by the siren call of ambition and ensnared by the tendrils of avarice, he succumbed to the darkest recesses of his soul, forfeiting his noble mantle to the corrupt machinations of mortal desires.

The weight of his transgressions hangs heavy upon him, an invisible shroud woven from the lamentations of the oppressed and the anguished cries of the forsaken. In his folly, he granted dominion to the vilest of mortals, unwittingly bestowing power upon those whose hearts were blackened by greed and malice. Innocents languished in chains, their freedoms bartered for the fleeting promises of false prophets, while the opulent revelry of the elite cast a pall of despair upon the land.

Now, within the hallowed halls of Horus, where the celestial firmament meets the mortal realm, Sutenankh stands as a penitent supplicant before the divine tribunal. Here, the very essence of justice is palpable, manifesting as a sublime tapestry woven from threads of golden light and azure hues, a testament to the immutable balance of the cosmos.

The architecture of the celestial sanctum is a symphony of celestial grandeur, crafted by the hands of divine artisans whose skill transcends mortal comprehension. Pillars of alabaster rise like towering sentinels, their surfaces adorned with intricate reliefs depicting the triumphs and tribulations of mortal existence. Canopies of celestial silk, woven from threads of purest light, billow gently in the ethereal breeze, their iridescent fibers shimmering with the radiance of a thousand suns.

At the heart of the sanctum lies a pool of crystalline waters, its surface a mirror to the heavens above. Here, the waters of life flow in eternal abundance, their purity a testament to the divine benevolence that sustains all creation. Statues of Horus, resplendent in their majesty, gaze down upon the scene with eyes that blaze like fiery beacons, their vigilance an ever-present reminder of the omnipotence of the divine will.

In this sanctum of celestial splendor, Sutenankh awaits his fate with a heart heavy with remorse and contrition, hoping against hope that the scales of justice may yet tip in his favor, and that the divine mercy may shine upon his tarnished soul once more.

In the labyrinthine depths of Seth and Sekhmet's dungeons, the unfortunate youth languished in an unyielding grip of torment, ensnared by the relentless passage of time. Each day unfurled as an eternity of unspeakable agony, punctuated by tortures as cruel as they were unrelenting.

From the moment his shackles were fastened, a profound silence enveloped him, stifling any attempt at lamentation or supplication. His tongue, deftly severed, became a mute testament to the futility of speech in the presence of the divine. He grasped, in that harrowing moment, the futility of attempting to justify his existence before the omnipotence of Amon-Ra.

With a perverse fervor, Seth extracted one of his eyes, offering it as a grim tribute to the celestial pantheon, while Sekhmet, thirsting for accolades, seized his chestnut tresses as though they were a trophy to be displayed for all eternity.

In this abyssal expanse of despair, where even the most compassionate deities dared not intrude, Anubis, Osiris, Horus, and Bastet stood as silent sentinels, bearing witness to the suffering of Sutenankh, their progeny. A pall of mournful resignation hung heavy in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the impotence that beset them in the face of such wanton cruelty.

In the cavernous halls of anguish, where shadows whispered of treachery and hearts bled with the sting of betrayal, his soul convulsed with the agony of deception. Betrayed by a friend once held dear, and by those he had revered as guardians and mentors, his spirit quivered with a sorrow deep as the abyss.

As fate wove its cruel tapestry, his path was entrusted to the hands of Anubis, the jackal-headed deity known for his tender regard for the departed and infirm. Anubis, whose visage was often shrouded in enigma, now found his resolve faltering at the sight of his beloved son ensnared in the tendrils of despair.

With the weight of eternity hanging heavy upon his shoulders, Anubis grappled with the burden of decision. In a realm where time itself seemed to hold its breath, he deliberated, his gaze piercing through the veil of uncertainty. Ultimately, he chose the path of utmost severity, yet one suffused with a measure of mercy: eternal imprisonment—a fate both cruel and, in its own twisted way, mercifully devoid of physical pain.

In a somber tableau of divine decree, the semi-divine warrior, bereft of strength to battle against fate's inexorable hand, acquiesced to the harrowing ritual of being mummified alive. The torturous ordeal, though agonizing beyond measure, paled in comparison to the anguish that rent his heart asunder. With a final, labored exhalation, he yielded to the embrace of death, his essence consigned to the frigid depths of the sarcophagus, where the stygian river of darkness awaited.

Apprehensive of the titanic power veiled within his enigmatic form, the gods ordained the sealing of the lid upon the sarcophagus, a vessel wrought from obsidian-black stone, its form adorned with meticulously carved motifs of solid gold—a sepulcher befitting the noblest of sovereigns.

Fearing the latent potential of his reawakening, Amon, Seth, Sekhmet, Osiris, and Bastet invoked a curse of dire consequence upon any audacious enough to trespass upon the sanctity of the celestial warrior's resting place. Theirs was a sentence of eternal repose, a somber penance for the folly of disturbing the peace of the divine.

Unbeknownst to the pantheon of gods, a clandestine pact had been forged between Anubis and Horus, their hearts weighed heavy with sorrow for the fate that had befallen their celestial kin. Together, they clandestinely inscribed a prophecy upon the annals of human history, its verses a beacon of hope for a future where a soul of true virtue would emerge, destined to liberate the celestial warrior from his timeless slumber.

15 notes · View notes