#had a car chase through olde london

[briefalpacashark]

~The Rally Driver~

Warnings: A bit of swearing. Death. Guns.

Synopsis: You and the 141 get in a car chase. You're the driver.

Perfect song to listen to while reading.

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You rarely had a mission in the heart of a city. But there you were, in the heart of London hauling ass down a street, the boys hot on your heels. You all tuckered yourself around an alleyway hiding from the array of bullets. 

“This is a shit show,” Price grunted as he checked the nick on his arm. 

“Yeah no shit,” you chuckled nervously, going to reload only to find you were out of ammo. 

“I'm out,” As you chucked the empty magazine to the side, your head snapped up at the sound it made. Your eyes took in what you assumed was a car under a fancy-looking tarp. 

“Hold on, I've got an idea,” you announced. The boys barely spared you a glance as you walked up to the car, yanking the cover off. A low, impressed whistle left your lips as you took it in. A 1969 Dodge Charger painted in a sexy navy black sat in front of you. You almost cried as you slammed your elbow into the window, smashing it. Slipping in, you worked a little magic. (Stabbing a small knife into the ignition and turning it). The engin roared to life, gathering the boy's attention.

“Get in bitches!” You called excitedly. Quickly, they piled into the car. Simon in the passenger seat, Price, Gaz and Jonny in the back, left to right in the respective order.

"Seatbelts on," you called.

"Nows not really the time to be worrin about taht love," Jonny chuckled.

"Seat belts save lives. Put them on or I'm turning this car around," you threatened.

"Were not even moving," Jonny grumbled but they all obeyed. As soon as you heard all four clicks you took off. You slammed the gear stick forward and put the pedal to the metal. You gave all the boys whiplash as you tore out of the alleyway. 

“She's got a bit more of kick then I though,” you chuckled excitedly, ignoring the boy's desperate need to get there seat belts on. Guessing your position in the car the enemies got off a few shots, the glass from the rear window shattering and running down upon you all. You shoot through the gears, zooming down the street. Gaz let out a strangled scream as his body was pushed into the back of the seat. Now the streets of London weren't necessarily long, they were a maze of old and new architecture. Which meant there were a lot of sharp turns. With expertise you skidded, turned and slipped around every corner with ease, rarely losing the speed you were building up. 

“You're crazy!” Jonny yelled.

“Don't worry, crazy people can still drive,” you shoot back. As the group held on for their life, you couldn't help but smile at the thrill driving gave you. 

“PEOPLE! PEOPLE! PEOPLE!” Price yelled, pointing to the group of drunken club goers crossing the street.

“Dont fucken back seat drive. I can see them” you yelled, swinging the car to the side, missing the group, and using the sidewalk as your new road. You took a sharp intake of breath when you saw the restaurant that had seating set up on said sidewalk. The road next to you was filled with cars so you couldn't move. You slammed your hand down on the horn, the few occupants quick to scramble out of the way as they saw the car barreling maliciously towards them. The car plowed through the seat tables and food. Simon stared at you as you casually flicked the wipers on, cleaning the window from the wine and food.

“Oh that smells lovely. We should get dinner there next time,” you suggested casually as you returned the car to the actual road. 

“TRUCK!” Simon yelled as he spotted a truck pulling out of an alleyway. Jerking your hand break up, you turned quickly, slowing just enough for the corner of the truck to scrape along the driver's side of the car. The screeching sound of metal on metal filled your ears as the side mirror disappeared in the near miss. 

“That didn't sound good,” you  mumbled, hanging half out of the window to look at the damage.

“GET INSIDE THE FUCKEN CAR!” Gaz yelled.

“Alright, I think everyone just needs to calm down,” you said gently, turning around to face the panicked passengers. As you did so she caught the look of a certain pissed of enemies pursuing you in another car. 

“KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD!” Simon yelled. He looked hilarious, propping his large body the best he could in the corner of the seat. “Hey don't tell me how to drive. Why don't you be useful and use your little toy on our little friends” you asked slowly turning back to the front to return to driving. The boys turned round, spotting your pursuers. Simon threw half his body out the window as he started to fire, and they fired right back. The rest of the boys quickly joined Simon's efforts. 

“Does anyone have a map?” you asked casually through the gun fire. Simon cursed as his gun ran out of bullets. 

“No, we don't have a fucken map,” Ghost growled as he slipped back into his seat, throwing the gun down. Coming to a roundabout you smoothly drifted the car round Gaz struggling to understand the physics of a car driving sideways.

“Should you even be driving?” Gaz yelled. He had given up returning fire and handed his gun to Jonny. He was much more focused on the danger in the car. 

“I don't think so. You know I think there should be a law that if you fail your driving test ten times, then you shouldn't ever get one,” you chuckled, half jokingly.

“YOU FAILED YOUR DRIVING TEST TEN TIMES!?” Gaz screamed just about to pass out from the fear. “Of course not,” you reached back, patting his knee comfortingly.

“It was more like eighteen,” you stated. 

“Oh lord help me,” he whispered. The boys grinned at the interaction.

“I'm out,” Price announced. Jonny got off a few more shots before repeating his words. The poor night  inhabitants of the town were plunged into confusion at the cars that drove through there streets like rally drivers. A rally driver would be the only way the boys could describe your driving. It scared them shitless. But they had to admit, you were good, really good. You were quickly forming distance with the other car. Ghost reached across you where you usually held your gun.

“Lieutenant, so forward?” you chuckled. 

“Gun,” the simple word was meant to explain what he was doing. 

“Safe word?” you asked teasingly, making him look up at you with a small glare. A glare that momentarily faltered due to your close proximity. He hated to admit it, but his body flushed in attraction. You pose having one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear stick and the annoying smirk sent his heart racing. You chuckled at what you assumed was an are you serious look. You grabbed his hand and moved it to your lower back, sliding it down to meet the gun you had tucked into the back of your pants. Clearing his throat, he pulled the gun free, returning to the window, firing another shoot. 

“Drive straight!” he yelled struggling to keep his balance.

“You shoot straight,” you shoot back but tried your best to steady the car. Steady enough for him to land a hit dead center in the driver's head. To your shock, the passenger kicked the man's body out the door and continued driving.

“Shit,” he hissed, firing off more shots failing to see the fast approaching wall. You did, however. Reaching out, you grabbed onto the first thing your hand landed on. Which just so happened to be his belt buckle. Yanking him back into the car, he narrowly missed decapitation. His eyes snapped down to the grip you had on his belt, your hand pulling the material taunt.

“Close one, lieutenant,” you spared a grin at him, releasing his belt buckle. Simon was surprised, yet not entirely against it. Dare he say, even slightly aroused? 

“This place is like a maze,” you mentioned, taking her time to look at the signs.

“You are way too calm for this,” Simon huffed, going to fire again only to find that he was out of bullets. “Shit,” he whispered. Luckily, after another quick turn it seemed like you had lost them.

“Well, there's no point in panicking. Sure he's firing at us but there a terrible shot. Ain't that right boss?’ you asked, glancing back at Price that for a man with great composure looked like he was about to lose his shit. 

“Please focus on the road!” Price begged.

“Alright well.I feel like I'm taking a tour through this town. Where am i doing?” you asked.

“Head west,” he ordered. “Alright cool,” you nodded, pausing for a few moments. “Which way is west?” you asked.

“Left!” he snapped. Jokingly, you held up your hands. Holding your thumb and index finger into L shapes.

“SARGENT!” Price snapped.

“Ok ok, sorry!” you whispered back, making a quick left turn, a quick left turn that had them headed in the west direction, a direction that put them directly in line with an all too familiar car. The enemy. They had cut you off.

“Shit,” you whispered. Slamming into the break. The car came to a screeching stop. Almost sent Ghost through the windscreen. The driver in the opposite car gave you a shit-eating grin as his allies poked themselves out of the windows.

“Get down!” You yelled. Everyone did so, including you as you slammed the car into reverse, taking off just as fast as you had before. Gritting your teeth, you prayed for luck as they opened fire. Snapping up, you placed your hand on the back of Simon's head rest and not to toot your own horn, but drove like a boss ass bitch. Backwards. At full speed, weaving and jerking side to side doing your best to dodge the bullets. The chase was back on, with you doing your best to drive backwards. Waving and dodging cars as perfectly as you had done before. There just wasn't any room to turn the car around. And your near miss count was going up with every passing second. 

“Oh my god we're gonna die,” Gaz stated simply as he watched you. 

“Not today, bud,” you stated. You saw it, you slammed the hand brake up, throwing the car around barely losing any speed as you returned to forward face driving. Your eyes searched for your exit, anything. Then you saw it, A Little bridge in the distance.

“How long can you guys hold your breath?” you asked.

“What?” Jonny asked.

“Answer the fucking question!” You snapped.

“A long fucking time!” Ghost yelled.

“Alright, everyone, windows down seat belts off,” you ordered.

“Um fuck no,” Gaz stated, simply holding tighter onto his life line.

“Do it now!” You snapped. 

“Wanna fill us in on your plan?” Price asked.

“We're going for a swim. Everyone brace yourself,” you ordered, cutting the lights off. You took a sharp turn at the building, cutting off the view of the car behind. And in one quick jerk, you threw the car off the side of the walkway. You cut the engine just as the car hit the water under the bridge. The car was quickly submerged as you all clambered out. Well, almost all. You grunted as something caught on your ankle. You assumed it was the seat belt. Your hand reached for your knife as it pulled you deeper and deeper into the depths. Only your knife wasn't there. It was in the car's ignition. You reached for it, trying desperately to rip it out to no avail. Shit. You were running out of air as you struggled to untangle your foot. Only you had no light, and you couldn't figure out how it had snagged itself on you. You felt your body getting tired, panic started to set in. Your limited vision started to fade and your lungs burnt for air. Shit, you thought. As you started to acknowledge your possible death, your body went limp as you fought for the last remained of your consciousness. You didn't want to die. There was still so much you wanted to do. God and the boys would never let you down if this was how you would die. They would tease you shitless in the afterlife. You were about to let it go when a set of hands grabbed your shoulders. They gave you a yank, quickly discovering you were caught on something. Their hands patted you down till they found the culprit slicing the seat belt. They swam you back to the surface, you gasping like a fish out of water at the much needed oxygen. Sighs of relief sounded as you briefly caught a glimpse of the skull mask on the face eof the man who kept you afloat resting your upper back on his shoulder.

Ghost had saved you.

“Fucken hell,” Ghost whispered. You couldn't really tell due to the lack of oxygen but you could have sworn you felt him pull you closer to him, his chin pressing against your head in an awkward hug. Price swam over to you, taking your face into his hand.

“You alright, Sargent?” he asked. After a few more gasps of air, you nodded, pulling a thumbs up. 

With deep breaths you all waded in the water waiting as you heard the other car approach. As it drove over the bridge and off into the distance. You had lost them.

“Well, personally, I think that went well,” you said with a cheerful grin. The boys all chuckled as they somewhat relaxed. 

“Do you even have a license?” Gaz asked.

“An Australian one, yes,” you nodded.

“But then again, the police officer doing my test was drunk when I drove him home,” You shrugged casually, earning another set of chuckles. Reaching up you hugged Simon arm tightly. “Thank for saving my ass big guy,” you whispered.

“Don't scare me like that again, you hear me?" he grumbled holding you impossibly closer.

"No promises," you stated.

"Hey what was that bout seat belts saving lives again?" he asked as he sawm you to shore. You simply chuckled shaking your head.

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--COD Master List here--

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#141 x reader #141 x you #cod 141 #cod ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #task force 141 #tf 141 #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #cod #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod modern warfare #Youtube

[whorecrux-of-slytherin]

Slytherin Boys try to impress you with their idea of an ideal date.

(part.1) : Draco | Blaise | Theodore

Warning - mentions of kissing, slight toxic behaviour if you squint. This is not proof read, so kindly ignore any grammatical errors or typos

a/n . I have only included Draco, Blaise and Theo in this because if I add the rest of them ( Enzo, Matheo and Tom ) it'll be far too long. But for the most part I'm too lazy to write for everyone in one go. I don't mind writing a part 2 if someone requests. Also yes I made the mini mood boards 😌

Kindly do not copy my work.

DRACO MALFOY:

Draco Malfoy is the definition of generational wealth, so there's no doubt that he'd plan something romantic and lavish to spoil his partner.

He's not the best at expressing his feelings through words, so he loves making grand gestures in spoiling you. This is his way to show his upbringing and heritage; that he is worthy of your time and can treat you right.

Firstly he would pick you up personally then gift you a bouquet of your favourite flowers & something exquisite, like some custom made jewelry -an elegant bracelet maybe.

He'd go all out and book a private roof- top classic candle light dinner at the most famous and exclusive wizarding restaurants with the perfect view of the Eiffel tower in Paris. He'll hold your hand across the table, gently rub circles and occasionally give it a kiss. He also arranges for a pianist to play your favourite pieces.

After dinner, he would surprise you with a suite at a luxurious hotel to spend the night together. He'd run you both a bath and wash your hair for you while you enjoy some champagne and the most delicious macaroons you've ever had.

BLAISE ZABINI :

Blaise may come off as the most unbothered slytherin boy and honestly speaking, he is. But not when it comes to you.

You are special to him and he'd make it a point that you know. To prove this he would opt for an unconventional but romantic date night idea.

I just feel that he'd know how to drive a charmed car and owns a wide collection of vintage cars ( few from his ex step -fathers' as well). So he would take you on a romantic drive in the evening on his favourite classic vintage Porsche.

Both of you spend the night driving through the night sky watching the city lights of London; making conversations about what you like the most about each other.

Then he'd make a stop at one of his favourite spots secluded from the city to spend time watching you gaze at the stars and cuddling to get warmth from each other's bodies while he hums a soft tune.

He'd then drop you home safely but not before he kisses you passionately and say those three special words for the very first time.

THEODORE NOTT:

Theo is the pretty boy of the group. He is no doubt loaded with money- their family basically mints money for Gringotts from generations (so duh-) but he doesn't like to flash it the way Draco does.

He uses the 'dead mother' card to pull girls but in reality, he is quite the player. Deep down he at times, craves for female validation or attention. So he surrounds himself with different girls every few weeks so that he wouldn't get too attached to them.

But then he meets you and he just knows that you're the one for him. So he chases you down until you fall for him and now he wants to surprise you with the perfect date idea.

He invites you to his holiday home in Italy for the first time. The place where he grew up until his mother's death when he was 7 years old. He shows you around the huge property facing the sea and telling you about his childhood adventure there and secretly hopes that he would one day get to spend his life there with you.

He would then cook you dinner himself. Spaghetti- in the traditional Italian way with some vintage wine from his family's vineyard in the countryside.

..........................................................................................

Thanks for reading! 🤍

Do like, share and comment down about your thoughts 🤔💭

Who would you go on a date with and why?? 🐍

#draco lucius malfoy #harry potter #draco malfoy x slytherin!reader #draco x you #blaise zabini #blaise zabini x you #blaise zabini x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #slytherin boys #slytherin pride #silver trio #jk rowling #hp fandom #hogwarts oc #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #slytherpride #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #slytherin #slytherin gang #slytherin common room #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n #slytherin x reader

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

This morning started with the horrible news about an independent Palestinian terrorist attack on the main road to Jerusalem. As workers come into the city in the morning, there's a junction where at this morning time, there's usually a traffic jam. Three Palestinians (from the Beit Lechem area, two of them brothers) started shooting from assault rifles at people sitting in their cars, as if they were fish in a barrel (hand grenades were found as well, but thankfully they didn't get to use them). Currently, the reports are of 1 person murdered (26 years old Matan Elmaliach), and 11 wounded (on TV, they're saying 13 more were wounded, including a young pregnant woman in very serious condition). A spokesman for Magen David Adom (Red Star of David) said that the terrorist attack scene was 500 meters long (about 1640 feet). Two of the terrorists were neutralized immediately, and the third was after a chase. The father of one of the wounded said his son just finished his army reserves service, noticed the terrorist attack, tried to stop one of the terrorists, and in the process was shot himself.

On a personal note, my mom's cousin sometimes works in Jerusalem, coming in through that junction, and his wife sometimes comes with him, so after I woke up from a nightmare about a baby crying because its limbs were amputated by Hamas terrorists, I had to contact my family to check that they're alive, and figure out when it's okay to wake my mom up, so she doesn't get scared for her cousin when she hears the news.

A terrorist attack that was carried out about a month ago, has now been revealed as originally targeting the IDF spokesman in Arabic, Avichay Adraee. Turns out one of the terrorists, who was working in Ra'anana, walked into a restaurant and saw Adraee. The terrorist couldn't kill him on the spot, but returned with a weapon the next day and staked the area (assuming Adraee lived somewhere nearby) for a while, before he decided if he couldn't carry out a "quality" terrorist attack, he still wanted to carry out one. He got his cousin employeed, and together, the two murdered a 79 years old woman, Edna Bluestein, and wounded 18 others. I just think it says something, that an army officer, and an elderly civilian woman, are equally legit targets in these terrorists' mind, because they're both citizens of the Jewish state. Both terrorists were indicted today.

Survivors of the Nova music festival carnage on Oct 7 are suing AP for hiring 4 photojournalists that were embedded with Hamas, and should have been identified as such by the news agency. The lawsuit names the men who were there in the middle of Hamas' war crimes, and documented, among other crimes, the kidnapping of Shani Lock's raped body, and of Yaffa Adar, a Holocaust survivor.

In London, the anti-Israel crowd projected onto Big Ben messages that UK Jews have repeatedly said endanger them, including calls for the Jewish state to surrender to an antisemitic, genocidal terrorist organization, and the slogan that calls for, at the very least, an ethnic cleansing of Israeli Jews, but one which most Jews understand as genocidal, because if it were to be implemented, it would necessarily include the slaughter of the world's biggest Jewish community. According to one witness, he asked the police if projecting these slogans on Big Ben's tower is legal, was told it wasn't, but the police personnel present still wasn't moved to stop this. At what point is the UK going to wake up, and act as if its Jewish citizens, and their well being, counts?

And since I mentioned that demanding a ceasefire before Hamas has surrendered, is to ask the attacked (the Jewish state) to surrender to the attacker (an antisemitic, genocidal terrorist organization), I also want to remind everyone that allowing Hamas to continue existing, and ruling Gaza, is also BAD FOR PALESTINIANS. As the war goes on, more and more Gazan protests are being held against Hamas. I haven't mentioned them in a while, but this is a good moment to remind everyone that people who REALLY care about Gazans want Hamas destroyed for them, too. Here's newly released footage from a Gaza anti-Hamas demonstration, we're now getting more documentation like this practically daily.

This is 19 years old Nimrod Cohen.

On Oct 7, he was kidnapped to Gaza. His twin sister Romi and his parents have been fighting to have him released. The family says he's so sensitive, they can't imagine how he'd be able to survive captivity, and the kind of constant abuse they'd heard the hostages are undergoing from those already released.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #israelunderattack

[steppin-on-the-last-train]

cowboy like me

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: As a part-time criminal and a full-time escape artist your first priority was always to keep people at arm's length. When you meet someone who also knows what it's like to live from day to day, you're not so sure you want to let her slip away.

Foreword: Title taken from the Taylor Swift song cause it’s evermore season y’all

The first time you met the Black Widow was aboard a train heading south toward London. 

You sat, facing the window and watching the people mill about the terminal outside. Your cheeks were still red and wind bitten from your commute to the station. The car was almost full now, most everyone dressed in Manchester United jerseys and hats and the like. You blended in just fine among them. Another fan headed home after the match with a scarf and an old pair of trainers. 

You rehashed the details of your current mark in your head like a mantra. Jameson Harris. 42 Malcolm Rd. Wife was Anna Harris. Two children, Marcus and Emily. 

“All aboard. The 5:00 train from Manchester to London is off in three minutes,” the conductor announced from a speaker overhead. You could barely hear it over the excitement of the crowd. A little boy ran screaming down the aisle, his mother giving a futile chase. 

In the set of seats facing you two men about your age sat down. They were clearly drunk, laughing like hyenas and shoving each other in a manner that bordered on real anger. At least one of them smelled like heavy smoke.

“Hey, mate,” the tall, lanky one with a bad neck tattoo waved at you. “How about that game, eh?” 

You grinned widely as if you had one too many drinks coursing through your veins. “Fucking wild.” You stumbled over the words as if your tongue didn’t sit correctly in your mouth. “Best match of the season, if you ask me.” 

The other guy, fitter and dark-haired took out a lighter and a cigarette. He lit it and pulled a huge drag. The exhaled smoke blew right into the face of a passing attendant. 

She coughed stiffly into her hand. “Sir, there is no smoking allowed onboard. I am going to have to ask you to step out or please put it out.”

“Are you talking to me, sweetheart?” You averted your gaze, scrolling mindlessly through the contacts in your phone. If the woman was looking for a hero, you were a false beacon of hope. 

“Yes. Now, please. There is truly no smoking allowed in the car.” The acrid stench of nicotine once more assaulted everyone misfortunate enough to be in the general vicinity.

The man took a deep breath and stood. Elaborately he stubbed the cigarette out on the back of his seat, little bits of ash flaking into the air. The attendant moved on and he dropped back into the chair. “Fucking cunt,” he swore loud enough to cut through the din. 

You closed your eyes to shut out the cloudy winter light intent on piercing your retinas and the jerky movements of the other passengers, high off the energy from the match. You swore you would take a break after this job. You had made that exact same promise to yourself last week in Bogota, and the time before in Cairo. No, you wouldn’t stop. Just as relentless as the blood rushing through your veins, stopping would be tantamount to death.

“Excuse me.” A voice caused your train of thought to come to a screeching halt. Innocence dripped from the words like honey, and you could tell the woman’s voice was pitched up from her normal tone. “Is anyone sitting here?” A slender hand gestured at the seat next to yours. 

You pushed yourself up from the slouch you had been lounging in, feeling self-conscious. “No. Go right ahead,” you answered, cockney accent shining right through. She was pretty, you noted; about your age as well. A hitch tugged at the back of your brain. An evolutionary alarm from living your entire life on the move. This woman was not to be trusted. Underneath the wide eyes and the girlish smile was a viper coiled to strike. 

“Thank you,” she said, looking quite small against the backdrop of the raucous train car.

A wolf whistle pierced the air, looking for trouble. The bloke who had been smoking flashed a predator’s grin at the blonde beside you. “Where are you traveling to all alone now, girlie?” 

You watched the exchange from the corner of your eye. Why did conflict seem to follow wherever you stepped foot? The woman merely glanced up from her book, unwilling to feed the fire. 

“Oi. Why don’t you go ahead and look at me when I’m talking to you? I know you can hear me.” The train had begun to depart, ushering in a wave of quiet to the car as passengers settled down. The demand was impossible to ignore. Even as parents hushed children and drunkards passed out in increasing numbers, his voice only gained intensity. 

“This train is headed for London, is it not?” She asked, face as innocent as a blank sheet of paper. 

“Hey Jack. She’s a witty one,” he said, slapping his friend on the chest. The woman flicked her gaze at you. Your attention wandered to her like a moth to a flame. You stomped down on any inclination to help her. You weren’t going to lose this game of chicken.

“Sweetheart.” The man so called Jack joined in the instigating. “How about you come home with us, eh? I’ve got a real nice flat. I bet you’d like the bedroom.”

“No, I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you come with me to the bathroom right now?” The dark-haired one surged forward, grimy hand outstretched toward the woman. Caution gone with the wind, your arm darted out on its own accord. You intercepted his wrist, tugging harshly enough for him to stumble closer to you. 

The blonde’s eyes widened and she shrank in on herself in her seat. You saw right through the act. An elderly man with a newsboy cap across the aisle watched the altercation like a deer caught in headlights. You prayed he wouldn’t call for help.

The entire damn point was to not draw attention to yourself. Today though, electricity charged the air with biting energy. The presence of the mystery-shrouded person beside you drove you past the gates of reason. 

You squeezed the man’s pinky until you heard the crunch of bone pushed too far. He screeched like a cat. “Go and find yourself another seat. I don’t care if the car is full. You’ll throw yourself out the rear if you have to. Don’t let me see your fucking face again,” you whispered in his ear. The words leapt flaming from your tongue.

Eyes wild with adrenaline and the courage of alcohol, he swung at you with his free fist. You caught the clumsy punch, seized the man by the wrist, and snapped it clean. He screamed, turning the heads of the other passengers. Your gaze swept like a searchlight through the crowd, promising more hurt to anyone who might even think about interfering. 

He crashed back into his friend’s lap before staggering to his feet. His sniffles and shuffling footsteps echoed through the silent traincar. “Go on,” you directed his buddy, who wasted no time before similarly scrambling from his seat. A final burst of dauntlessness flared up your throat. “What the fuck are you all staring at me for?” You broadcasted to the intrigued onlookers.

Half of these people weren’t sober enough to remember this in the morning. For those who did, you would be a completely different person the second you stepped foot off this godforsaken vehicle. 

“Thank you,” the woman said, sickly sweet.

“Don’t mention it.” You admitted beating up assholes wasn’t an entirely cumbersome task.

“I feel obliged now to ask what your name is,” she continued.

You raised your eyebrows, turning in her direction. “What about stranger danger? How do you know I didn’t just stop them so I could be alone with you?”

“How do you know I needed your help?” She batted the question back at you.

“Touche.” You knew she didn’t. But she had indeed wanted to keep her cards close to her chest at the expense of you revealing yours. You offered a hand. “I’m Sam.”

“Nadia,” she replied, conceding the handshake. Her palms and fingers were lined with ridges of calluses. 

“That’s a pretty name.” But not one that belonged to her, you thought.

She was so close now. The setting sunlight streamed through the window and coaxed the vibrance from the green of her irises. You stopped yourself from lingering there too long. You imagined all the people who had lost to her siren’s call before.

You cleared your throat and broke off the staring match. “Can I ask what you’re doing in England? Excuse me assuming that you’re not from around here.” If she wanted to play this game, you didn’t see the harm in joining in. 

“I’m visiting a friend.” Her American accent drew attention. Odd for a thief or a spy or whoever she was to forgo language assimilation. “What about you, Sam? Did you grow up here?” 

“I did. Never been out of the country meself.” Lies to you, but truths for Sam the football fan.

“Got anyone special at home?” She smirked, looking up at you from a downturned face.

You scoffed. She was messing with you. “No. Not for me. I like to keep available. You never know when an opportunity might come around. I’m not usually one to let a good thing pass me by.”

“And what makes a special opportunity? How do you know one when you see it?” How fitting that smoke still lingered in the air. 

“I guess,” you started slowly. “Some people just have this spark about them.” 

She wet her lips. “Do you think I have it?” If some people sparked with electricity, she certainly blazed with the sun’s heat. 

The corner of your mouth lifted in a smile. You rolled your eyes with playful mirth. That was all the answer she needed.

Good thing as soon as the train pulled into the station in London you would get your ass as far away from her as possible. And with any luck, as the moon eclipses the sun your paths would cease to cross for a very long time.

—

Prime Minister Jameson Harris had an expensive taste in liquor. You were alone in his house, save for a half dozen security agents scattered about various entryways. Tonight you doubled as the man himself while he and his family had been whisked away to another secure location. You owed a friend in MI6 a favor, so you played the sitting duck amidst rumors of an assassination plot. Just another average night.

You snagged a crystal bottle of mystery alcohol from the shelf. Twisting the cork off with a pop you smelled it experimentally before taking a swig straight from the jug. Mister Harris had a fine taste in whiskey indeed. You rounded a giant mahogany table and sat, polished leather squeaking in protest. 

The study lights weren’t overwhelming thanks to the dimmers you had spent way too long fiddling with. In addition you had lit a couple of candles. The room had smelled too much like mothballs and stale paper for your taste.

You raised the whiskey bottle in a toast to an imaginary gathering. “Long live the United Kingdom. To the prosperity of humankind. May all mutant scum drop dead,” you pronounced with the fanfare of a juvenile king. No one had stuck around to tell you your birthday, but you still had a good year or two before you were of drinking age. That much at least, you knew.

You didn’t follow politics, not keen on allying yourself with a particular nation, but the anti-mutant sentiment reached you anyhow. Hate and fear for you and your kind served as a rallying point for human leaders. They ceased pointing their guns at each other and instead set their targets on you. 

Bottle in hand, you stood abruptly and turned toward the giant bookshelf behind you. Classic novels, history collections, and political theory publications lined the entire wall. You traced your fingers down their spines. You had to stay the night here, but thought it may be wiser to resist the call of sleep lest you don’t wake in the morning. 

You pulled a relatively thin volume down. Between the stealing and fleeing and occasional strong-arming you didn’t have a lot of time to read. Tonight, you could start playing catch up with The Scarlet Letter. 

You meandered back toward the desk. Glancing up, a cool breeze rushed at you from an open window. Your stomach dropped, heavy with an iron pit. The curtains flapped in the wind, taunting you for letting your guard down.

You set the whiskey and the book down on the desk and instead wrapped your hand around the slick steel of a pistol hidden beneath. “Show yourself,” you called in the voice of Jameson Harris. “Don’t think I won’t shoot you for breaking and entering.” 

The study was by no means cramped for room, but even still there were few places to hide. You cleared the room in less than a second before realizing the door was ajar too. 

You stalked out into the hall, only to find a guard passed out on the floor. You dug your fingers into your temple. Someone was clearly amusing themselves with the game they were playing. Even so, a chill ran down your spine. You weren’t used to being the rat in the maze in these situations. 

Outside the study, the rest of the house was blanketed in darkness. For you, the absence of light made no difference. You could see just fine with the barest hint of sunshine. From above the bannister, you peered down the sight of the gun at the foyer. The ground floor lay still, as if holding its breath. The security guard posted at the front door sat slumped against the wall. You couldn’t tell if the dark spot pooling beneath his body was born of shadow or something much more sinister. 

A cold hand on your shoulder jolted you from your search. Before you could turn around, meticulously sharpened steel carved a grinning line across your throat. You clamped a hand around the wound, panic fluttering in your chest like a trapped canary. From the corner of your warping vision you saw a figure, wrapped in a shawl of shadows. The light from their eyes waited eagerly for the one in yours to wink out.

You stumbled, choking on your own blood. Pink froth bubbled from your mouth, burning with the chase of death. Your attention slipped and you shifted from the body of Jameson Harris and back into yourself. Well, almost. What you imagined you might look like without the lizard eyes and cobalt blue skin of a freak. 

Beneath your palm your skin grew unnaturally warm. The waterfall of blood ceased its torrential flow. Slowly your skin sewed itself back together. You sighed in relief. You knew you could heal, but had never tested your powers to this extreme.

Behind you a voice muttered in Russian, “What the fuck?” 

You stood straight up, flicking blood absentmindedly from your hand. Surprise gripped your heart. Standing in the corner, as still as a statue was the girl from the train that had brought you here. Nadia no longer looked the picturesque part of a wonderstruck American teenager visiting London. Blonde hair, that you now decided had definitely been dyed, lay neatly down her back in an intricate braid. She wore a black form-fitting tactical suit. Not military issued, you thought. 

You blinked and found yourself staring down the muzzle of a pistol. You raised your hands in surrender, assuming the form you had been posing as on the train. A familiar rush raced from the top of your head to the ends of your limbs as your skin reformed itself. “Remember me?” You asked, spitting out a glob of blood and exposing red-stained teeth.

She cocked her head ever so slightly and just a moment of opportunity presented itself. You lunged for the gun while she grappled with the fact you’d been three completely different people in less than a minute. You let yourself shift back to your common appearance and vaulted across the floor. Muscles wound tight, you straightened your torso and kicked at the weapon.

Snapping back to reality she snatched the gun away just in time. You stood before she could re-aim and cut at her wrist. The gun clattered to the floor and you kicked it further down the hall. 

You craned your head to avoid a viscous elbow to the nose. Sweat began to build along your hairline and drip down the back of your neck. You didn’t fight often, preferring to run into the foliage rather than confront the enemy and run the risk of being caught. You missed the rush.

She fought like a dancer. Momentum built from a lunge forward charged a stinging jab at your ribs. You pushed her two steps back and she went for a low sweep at your legs. You moved so fast you could hear the rush of cloth through the air, the sound of a fist soaring at your gut. A knife appeared in her hand, opening a surgical gash along the length of your tricep. 

Hot blood ran down your arm. You weren’t sure what the limit of your healing factor was, but as the cut refused to close, you realized you might have spent it for tonight. 

Your heart thundered in your chest. You couldn’t lose, no doubt that if she caught you she wouldn’t hesitate to snap your neck and unload an entire round into your head, just in case. But you had to think five steps ahead even as a boot came flying hairwidths from your face and lightning fast slashes struck at any spot you left unprotected. 

She flipped herself and suddenly you were flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. You pulled air back into your spent lungs, gasping as your fingers dug into the floorboards. From the corner of your vision you saw her bolt for the discarded gun. Panic flared through you and you sprung yourself up, tackling her off course.

The both of you crashed through the bannister and went soaring onto the ground floor. She managed to maneuver herself midair so that she would land on top of you. The impact shot up the knobs of your spine, your head whipping painfully against the cool floor. Her shoulder dug into your collarbone, breaths coming in steady little exhales. You lost your focus for a split second, the pain radiating from the back of your skull overwhelming everything else. 

Involuntarily you transformed into your natural appearance, attention split in so many ways you couldn’t hold onto maintaining your looks. You grit your teeth and shoved the woman off of you with all the strength you could muster, which admittedly beat the strongest of humans even on your worst days. She flew back and smashed into a side table, residing lamp tumbling down and shattering on the floor. 

You hurdled over the staircase railing at the halfway point and cleared the rest of the steps in one bound. You normalized your complexion, hoping the dark had shielded you from her seeing the momentary exposure. 

You scooped a gun up from the ground and whipped around, catching her at the top of the staircase. Strangling the grip, you tensed the muscles in your forearms and leveled it at her chest.

“Where’s Harris?” She asked, voice as harsh as the blade caught in her fist, still drip, drip, dripping with your blood. 

“A safe place. Somewhere far away from pretty women with sharp objects.” Your pointer finger ghosted over the trigger. A voice in the back of your mind urged you to pull it. Return the favor.

She arched one eyebrow. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re good.” You’d never tell her, but even with your enhanced strength and agility she’d had you on the ropes the entire fight. If you had so much as breathed differently you were sure the roles would be reversed right now. 

“But not good enough for you,” she finished. Even as she bowed completely at your mercy her expression gave nothing away. A long time ago, you thought, she sculpted her face from marble, and the mask had been cemented in place since.

You lowered the gun. You weren’t a killer anyhow.

Blood crusted under your fingernails and in the lines of your palms, your shirt was starting to stick to your skin. You slid it over your head and tossed it on the floor, well aware of the woman’s lingering gaze. 

You turned your back on her and strode into the bedroom, stealing a new shirt before locking yourself in the bathroom.

With a sigh you stopped holding a normal appearance and shifted back into your innate form. Staying in shape had become easier as you’d grown and fully navigated your powers but the process still ate up much of your concentration. Exhaustion slogged endlessly at your mind. 

You eyed your arm which had thankfully stopped actively bleeding, but the flesh still gaped open in a deep red valley. You pulled all the cabinets open, coming up with a roll of gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Catching your lip between your teeth you washed the stinging wound, a hiss escaping as you flushed it out. You wrapped the bandage tight around your arm, ripping the extra with your teeth.

Methodically you cleaned yourself up. Filling your mouth with cold water from the tap, the sour coppery taste flushed away from your tongue. Then you scrubbed at your face, neck, and chest, trying hard to ignore the blue ridged flesh of an aberration. As the adrenaline started to drain from your system, the realization that death had been seconds away from stealing your life weighed on your mind like a wet blanket. 

You scrubbed harshly at your hands until the water ran clear and then some. Staring at your reflection you slowly recomposed yourself. Freakishly red hair gave way to a more muted color, the yellow in your eyes faded to white, and bit by bit, the blue scales that cursed you with this power overturned into ordinary skin.

You curled your lips into a careless grin lined with a protective amount of cockiness. The great Mystique smiled back at you.

There you are, you thought.

The first time you had ever lied you were small and alone and desperately hungry for food. You had stolen a loaf of bread from a baker’s cart and bolted around a corner before shifting into someone else. When the seller asked you if you had seen a child run off, you looked him in the eye and told him no. 

You weren’t sure how that one little lie had consumed you until there was no you left. Every morning you woke up and put on a charming show at the cost of further warping the person you ought to be. You’d die in your castle of lies, alone and bitter. 

You walked back out into the hall, finding your attacker right where you left her. She stared down at the pool of blood staining the wood floor as if maybe she had imagined the entire ordeal.

“Unfortunately for you, I am still here,” you said. Unease churned in your stomach. Perhaps she was simply lying in wait, like a predator crouching in the tall yellow grass. “Made quite the mess though, don’t you think? The Prime Minister might have to look at new flooring.” You cringed as you stepped over the dark, coppery smelling spot. The warm light from the study spilled out into the hall. You walked into it, boldly turning your back on the woman. “Come on. I know you have questions.”

You leaned against the desk, next to a little bobble head of a dog. She walked in a few moments later, looking infinitely more at ease than she had in the hall. The knife had disappeared from her grasp. You saw right through the veil, having constructed a similar one in the privacy of the bathroom. 

“So you’re not Jameson Harris, and you’re not Sam from London’s east end.” You shook your head, flicking at the toy. “Then who are you?” She stopped a respectable distance away, standing with her shoulders back and chin high.

You told her your name. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d done that truthfully. Yet this stranger managed to coax it out of you with one question. Faith was a funny thing. “And you?” You asked, tracing the curve of her jaw with your eyes.

“Romanova. Natalia.” She told you so almost robotically, as if the name was reserved for other people to use against her. As if she did not have the right to define herself.

“Nice to meet you, Natalia.” You took another sip of the whiskey before offering her the bottle. She eyed it suspiciously. “It’s not poisoned, I promise. It’ll get you damn drunk though.”

She took the bottle, fingers brushing yours momentarily. “I prefer vodka,” she said, drinking as if she’d been denied water for the past week. She passed it back, staring at you as if searching for something. “How?” She asked, your expression denying her any plausible answer.

“How what?” You asked, failing to suppress a growing smirk.

“The disguises.” The firm line of her lips told you she wasn’t entertained by your antics. “You’re wearing some kind of suit, are you not?” You could imagine the gears turning in her head, trying to explain the impossible.  

You slid yourself back until you sat fully on the desktop. “Nope. Fanciest piece of technology I own is a little flip phone,” you said, tracing the smooth lip of the desk with your fingertips. “And I don’t wear tacky suits.” 

“I’m offended,” she said lowly, not sounding the slightest bit bothered.

“Don’t be. The whole dark assassin thing suits you,” you said, waving your hand. “Not me though. I mean, could you imagine me in a skin tight suit?” 

“I wouldn’t sell yourself short. I think you could pull it off.” She raked her gaze over you and heat rose to your cheeks. 

You transformed into an exact copy of her, inspecting your hands in wonder as if she wasn’t standing an arm’s length away. “You’re right,” you said in her voice. “I do look good.” You threw a toothy grin her way before shifting back with a woosh. 

Realization dawned on her, green eyes brightening. “You’re one of them,” she said.

“Yep.” You swirled the alcohol around, watching how the light played off the bottle. “One of them.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just I’ve never—I’ve never met a mutant before.” She seemed awestruck at the revelation. You were so used to being met with fear and disgust. 

“I’m sure you have. Especially with all of the traveling you do,” you said. You remembered the window, still propped open from earlier. “Those of us that can try to blend in with everyone else. Take any street in a big city, for example. If you walked around for a little I guarantee you’d pass at least one of us.” You gazed up at the night sky, dotted with a billion brilliant stars. The estate sat well removed from the city and its hungry lights. “Most of us learned pretty quickly how to adapt, how to stay safe and hidden in the crowd,” you explained. 

“And those of you who can’t?” You looked over your shoulder at Natalia, so curious yet so far from innocent herself. 

“We go underground to survive. Or run the risk of being killed, or worse.” You’d heard the rumors. Missing mutants spawned stories. Stories of various governments and other organizations abducting your kind for experimentation. A shiver crawled down your spine.

“Sounds like a lonely way to live.”

You slammed the window shut with more force than necessary. “Takes one to know one.” You guessed people in her life were nothing more than fleeting moments either. “My turn,” you said. “What’s got you sneaking around in the middle of the night, attempting murder on the British prime minister?” 

“That’s none of your business,” she said as if speaking to a child. She took another long drink, fingers twitching at her side as a nervous tic. “What’s got you sitting in his house playing body double?” Her voice had taken on a defensive edge.

“A friend,” you replied smoothly. “And money, of course. Turns out protecting politicians pays almost as well as stealing from them.” 

“Well I’m not a sellout.”

You narrowed your gaze. “No, you just slit throats because you’re told to, then.” Natalia furrowed her brow. “Unless you’re telling me you got bored and picked up a new hobby.” She stayed quiet, your words seemingly falling on deaf ears. “What?” You asked. Her lips were slightly parted. She stalked closer, eyes flickering over your face. “Hey, hey,” you stuttered, tripping over your feet as you backpedaled. 

You huffed as you slammed into the wall. She reached out, so close now you could feel her breath on your face. You froze, heart thundering in your chest. She cupped your cheek tenderly, thumb brushing your flaming skin. 

“Your eye,” she whispered as if it were something holy. 

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“It’s yellow. They weren’t different colors before.”

You broke out of her hold, forcing yourself not to run to the mirror on the wall. The frame was a golden oval, hung in between a family portrait and a pair of framed university degrees. Sure enough your right eye had slipped back. You blinked and it fixed itself, but the damage was done. 

“I should go,” you muttered, staring at the floor and beelining for the door. Too much alcohol and too little sleep and this was what you wound up with. 

Natalia snagged your wrist and held you from taking off. You knew if you pulled away she’d let you go. You untensed the muscles in your back and let her spin you around. 

You tilted your head down and met her in a slow kiss. She had you hooked and you didn’t care. You couldn’t think straight, the taste of her lips clouded your head like a powerful drug. 

You threaded your fingers through her hair and undid her braid while her hand wandered down to your belt. You pulled back, breathless. “I’m not looking for nothing here,” you insisted, even if only to try to convince yourself.

“Me neither,” she agreed. “One night.” She kissed your neck and a low grunt wound its way up from the back of your throat. “You’ll never have to see me again.”

You didn’t know why a pang wracked your chest still her words. That was the plan, after all. You knew you weren’t cut out for more than tonight. And with the way Natalia dragged her nails down your back, you guessed she wasn’t either.

“Bedroom,” you demanded, stepping out of your pants that now lay pooled around your ankles. You stumbled down the hall, blinded by her body as she lost her suit, and deafened by the way she panted your name between desperate kisses.

God, you were screwed.

—

You didn’t sleep, knowing you’d lose grip on your appearance if you did, but with each passing minute you found it harder and harder to stay awake. Natalia lay pressed into your side, so close that you could feel her heartbeat in your ribcage. Her body radiated heat, not the kind that made your face flush with infatuation, but the kind that felt like finally finding shelter after an eternity in the freezing rain. Her breaths wound in and out as if she were sleeping, but you knew she couldn’t. No. Someone who led her life had to be hardwired to never let their guard down.

Finally, after catching yourself almost dozing off for the tenth time you peeled back the covers and forced yourself to leave the confines of the mattress that seemed intent on sucking you back down. Goosebumps immediately rose along your skin, but you didn’t dare to glance back at bed and the woman feigning slumber. You stood and stretched, working the stiff muscles in your back and shoulders. Don’t look back. You followed the trail of hastily removed clothing down the dark hall and back to the study, candles still alight. 

You buckled your jeans and grabbed your bag, lingering by the door. Don’t go back. Hastily you rummaged through the desk drawers, finding a pen and pad of paper. You scribbled down the address of a PO box that you checked quarterly along with a note that read, For another one night. 

A/N

If you didn't catch it, R is a shapeshifter like Mystique from the X-Men. I wrote this piece with the intent of having it serve as the first chapter in a longer story. I wasn't certain of the amount of interest in a series though... I fear Tumblr may be drying up some.

Let me know if you'd like to see more and I can post up the second chapter, otherwise I'll leave it be as a one-shot.

As always, thanks for reading and just a reminder, my requests are open.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader

[williamsonnawfc]

See You Again

When your loan contract with Barcelona is up you instantly begin thinking about how it will effect a very special relationship you've created with Alexia.

You live in my dream state Relocate my fantasy I stay in reality You live in my dream state Any time I count sheep That's the only time we make up, make up You exist behind my eyelids, my eyelids Now I don't wanna wake up

You knew your time at Barça would be cut short. You wished it could last for the rest of your career, live out your football days in your home with the one you loved. However, Arsenal being Arsenal insisted you come back to the club as soon as they found out about the first of their two ACL injuries this season. As a central midfielder you had a constant pressure to meet the expectations of the club ever since they found out Alexia would be out for the majority of the season with her own ACL injury. All you wanted to truly do in life the moment you found out about it was wrap her up in a big hug and nurse her back to the Alexia that could lead her team out of the tunnel on the weekend and win knowing she captained that winning team. But the universe always has other ideas.

It was on your lunch break when a member of staff approached you asking you rather politely if you would follow them. In a instant as you realised where they were leading you your mind began to run at 150 miles an hour running through different encounters you'd had over the course of the previous week wondering if you'd broken any of the clubs rules. Your thoughts were brought to an immediate halt as you now stood outside the president's office chewing on your bottom lip, hands slightly trembling as the member of staff opened the door slowly to let you in. What you found inside brought you instant confusion, there around a conference table sat the president of the club, Jonatan, Jonas Eidevall and your father. There was no hiding from the girls who you were and who your father and his side of the family were being the owners of FC Barcelona and of the women's side too, many thought he bought your place on the team until they saw how you played and realised you had done it all on your own. 

20/20, 20/20 vision Cupid hit me, cupid hit me with precision I wonder if you look both ways When you cross my mind (Yeah), I said, I said I'm sick of, sick of, sick of, sick of chasing You're the one that's always running through my daydream, I I can only see your face when I close my eyes

You didn’t know how to feel when they told you the news that you'd be returning to Arsenal after almost 8 years. You had an instant feeling of joy at the thought of seeing some of your old teammates and one of your best friends, Leah Williamson. Almost instantly after you felt dread and fear, fear at how you were going to tell your teammates here and Alexia - you dreaded that most. You also dreaded settling into a new environment a new team, a new home. 

You politely asked if you could excuse yourself from training for the rest of the afternoon so you could break the news to Alexia and begin packing seeing as you had to leave for London on Friday and today was Tuesday. After gathering all your gear from you locker you began the silent walk through the facility towards the door that would lead you to your car. 

As you heard the loud laughter of your teammates who you now saw as your sisters you considered turning around and acting as if you hadn't just been told the heartbreaking news, but your mind instantly went back to the hazel eyed, brunette that you'd spent pretty much everyday of the last 8 years with knowing she was most likely sitting, leg propped up on the couch watching trash tv telling Nala all about what she wanted to do with you when her leg allowed her to, as that's all she'd talk to you about somedays. Always planning for the future, my Alexia. Tears threatened to fall as you thought of all the moments you'd miss with her as you'd now be almost 1000 miles away from your love but you pushed them back forcing yourself to look like nothing was an issue as you'd subconsciously got yourself safely to the home you shared with Alexia. You got out of your car before walking up to the front door putting the key in twisting it to unlock it. 

Can I get a kiss? And can you make it last forever? I said I'm 'bout to go to war And I don't know if I'ma see you again Can I get a kiss? (Can I) And can you make it last forever? (Can you) I said I'm 'bout to go to war ('Bout to) And I don't know if I'ma see you again

“Im home, mi amor”, you shouted into the house whilst kicking off your shoes and placing your training bag down. Walking through the house you noticed that the brunette you loved so much was passed out on the couch cuddling Nala, whilst she continued to sleep you chose to make food for her for when she woke up. You decided your mama's famous paella that both you and Alexia loved so much. So 40 minutes later when the sleeping beauty woke up you had a plate full of her favourite rice dish ready to give her. You carried both of your plates as you passed one to her you sat down next to her.

“Why are you home so early cariño?” You heart instantly began to break as you realised this wouldn't be your home by the end the week, your home would be London the sheer thought of it sent you into a mental panic and Alexia being Alexia instantly picked up on it. “What's wrong amor? Did something happen at training? Did someone say something to you?” You turned to look into those hazel orbs that communicated so much more than her words, they communicated her love, concern and behind it all her fear.

“Something happened, but I want to clear up straight away it was not the girls.” She sighed a breathe of relief knowing that the girls weren't bothering you inter absence. “Okay if it wasn't them then what was it?” You hesitated for a minute, braking eye contact and beginning to play with the rings on your hand, specifically the promise ring Alexia got you a year into your relationship. “They want me to go back to Arsenal, Friday would be my last day here for I don't know how long”

All Alexia could do in that moment was stare in disbelief, she was certain her cariño was playing a prank on her it was a very stupid one, one that would ultimately end in her demise if it was a prank but by the look on your face she knew this was real, very real.

“I only have one thing to ask of you.” Alexia instantly nodded in return. “Can I get a kiss? And can you make it last forever?” Alexia instantly leaned in connecting their lips in a passionate kiss that said more than just I love you.

CHAMPIONS LEAGUE FINAL

3/6/2023

ARSENAL WFC V BARCELONA FEMENI

Can I get a kiss? (Can I get a kiss?) And can you make it last forever? (Oh, forever) I said I'm 'bout to go to war (Go to war) I don't know if I'ma see you again (See you again) Can I get a kiss? (Can I) And can you make it last forever? (Can you) I said I'm 'bout to go to war ('Bout to) And I don't know if I'ma see you again

Walking out at Wembley was a feeling that would never go away, it was euphoric. The hymn began and the handshakes as well as the coin toss took place all before the referee’s whistle blew signalling the start of the first half. Barça instantly had possession of the ball allowing the one and only Alexia to get them one up however we were able to equalise thanks to Frida by the time it was halftime. Alexia assured me in a text last night that even though it was her first game back in the champions league I wasn't to go easy on her and by the time the second half began going easy on them was in the back of my mind. All I cared about was winning, we were going to win this. I had to make my sacrifice worth it. 

3 goals in the first 30 minutes of the second half. That's all it took for the new Champions League winners to be decided, Arsenal had won the Champions League. Arsenal had beaten Barcelona. The referee blew their whistle to signal and everyone dropped to their knees in joy or in sorrow, for the girls in red it was joy and for those in yellow it was sorrow.

Apart from one, she felt both. the girls on Barça’s side were her sisters, but so were those who played for Arsenal. She was pulled out of dwelling over that the a certain Irish woman picked her up and began running around with her on he shoulders making the younger girl giggle before being placed onto her own two feet and captured into a bone-crushing hug. “You did this for us Señorita!” the Irish woman screamed in her face. “Only for you my leprechaun!”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her amor consoling those on her own team as they beat themselves up over the defeat believing they could've played so much better. Somehow she had managed to escape the Irish woman and was able to walk over to the girls specifically Alexia, her Ale. Before she could say anything she was pulled into another bone-crushing hug “I’m so proud of you, cariño” was mumbled into her neck. “I'm proud of you amor, you played so well.” Was the response she thought would be fitting, “I don't want to think about my performance all I want to think about is when I'll see you again.”

“Make this kiss last forever and you'll see me everyday for as long as we both shall live.”

#alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #espwnt #woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #espwnt woso #imagine

[apureniallsource]

Niall Horan is more than Mr Nice Guy

Three years after his last release, the 29-year-old singer has jumped feet first into the spotlight to promote third album The Show, which lands on 9th June.

“I’m more excited than I thought I would be,” Horan says of his return, a quiet confidence lingering. With outstretched legs, the double-denim-clad singer lounges in his chair, decanting still water from a glass bottle, as we settle in for our chat in his luxury London hotel suite. A high-pitched giggle ripples through him when two builders, dawdling on a pulley lift, nab his attention through the window, before he apologises for losing eye contact. “I’m revved up, but I’m nervous. I hope I didn’t waste 18 months writing something for people not to like it.”

Those 18 months in question were spent, in part, during the coronavirus lockdown, which acts as inspiration for many of the introspective lyrics on The Show. It was the first time in a decade that the singer had, well, nothing in his schedule, allowing time to contemplate his meteoric rise to fame. “There’s no heartbreak stuff [on this album], so there needed to be a new concept. The only good part of the pandemic for me was that I was actually happy being still. I had time to breathe; I realised it doesn’t have to be a thousand miles an hour all the time.”

For the uninitiated, the first six years of Horan’s career were spent in the extraordinarily successful band, One Direction. Originally from Mullingar, Ireland, Horan auditioned for X Factor as a solo artist in 2010, later forming a five-piece alongside Harry Styles, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson and Zayn Malik. What followed was unparalleled success, multiple award wins and huge stadium gigs. “I loved touring, but it was fucking crazy,” Horan muses now. “We’d go to countries and never see a second of it - it was hotel, venue, plane, same again. We couldn’t get out the [hotel] door. If you went out in the car, you’d be seen and chased [by fans]. I understand why it was going on, but it gave me a thing where, when I came back to London, I would be afraid to go out. There was a period where I actually couldn’t.”

1D announced their hiatus in 2016, and Horan released his first solo album, Flicker, the following year. His second, Heartbreak Weather, came in 2020. Three years later in February, he dropped The Show’s sparkling lead single, ‘Heaven’, taking to social media to celebrate.

“I was lying in bed when management texted to say the song was out, so I checked Twitter. The numbers were fucking nuts. I was up for hours seeing what people were saying.” Horan generally views social platforms as a tool for fun, and mainly use them to engage with followers. “Sometimes I type my name in to see tweets I’m not tagged in. If I see the fans talking about me without tagging me, I’ll reply. [My TikTok ‘For You Page’] is full of people doing dances to my songs, golf, and mid-century modern furniture. I like winding people that don’t like me up. I get such a laugh. I also try to reply to people who ask genuine questions about the music, or what I’m up to.”

With 14 years in the public eye under his belt, Horan has also seen a darker side of the internet. “I’ve [read that I’ve] been in car crashes that I wasn’t in. I’ve been in three or four fake ‘PR stunted’ relationships. What’s the old phrase? It’s tomorrow’s chip paper. I care about what the fans think, but there’s always going to be people… who would never say a thing like that to your face, because they’re cowards.”

As our time together rolls on (me looking at Horan, Horan looking at the procrastinating builders), his genuine charm reverberates around the giant hotel room. A chatty openness takes the conversation from his favourite true crime documentary (The Jinx) to tips for long haul flights (green noise) and best skincare advice (facial steaming). It’s this endearing, positive aura that makes his Nice Guy Reputation™ legitimately easy to believe. But what’s his secret?

“Don’t be a prick?” Horan jokes. “There’s no secret to that. Just don’t be one. My Irishness? My humble upbringing? This is like some kind of questionnaire. A combination of a few things. Carefree attitude?”

Horan laughs off the suggestion that he’s going to dinner parties with groups of celebrities, instead insisting he has “two really good [industry] friends, and a tight circle of old mates. People have this idea that all famous people are friends. But you’re not friends with everyone in your office, are you? I remember seeing Channing Tatum on a plane. I’d never met the guy in real life, but he waved. We were laughing later. He was like, ‘I felt like I had to do the token ‘celebrity to celebrity’ kind of moment.’”

One person Horan has connected with on a deeper level is Lewis Capaldi. “He’s just a diamond geezer,” Horan says, before sharing a better-than-average imitation of a Scottish accent. “There’s not a bad bone in his body. He’s a solid friend, and he also happens to be one of the funniest fuckers you’ve ever met in your life. We’re in a lot of WhatsApp groups together.” Horan also reached out to fellow Irishman Paul Mescal, when Normal People came out. “He’s a nice fella. When he first moved to London, I talked to him a bit. But then the pandemic happened, and we never spoke again.”

The singer briefly touches on his relationship with Amelia Woolley, who he’s been with since 2020. On whether he has a romantic side, Horan says, “I think so. I wouldn't say I’m like ‘rose petals on the floor’ type of romantic, but I'm good at caring. I'm good at making dinners and the day-to-day stuff." On love languages, he adds, "I’m good at words of affirmation and I’m good at touch.”

Album release aside, 2023 also marks Horan’s 30th birthday, with the singer entering his third decade in September. “I’m excited for it - I’ve heard your 30s are the best time of your life,” Horan says, enthused. “I’ve never been one of those people to overthink timelines. I hope I don’t age too much!” On plans for the next decade, he's thoughtful for a moment. “I’d like to still be doing this, going around the world, still playing to thousands of people. I’d like to win a Grammy. I’d like to be happy. And to still have decent skin.”

Better keep at the steaming, then.

#niall horan #cosmopolitan uk #07june

[lisbeth-kk]

Taxi!

Thanks for leading on the fun @calaisreno and for the tag @raina-at

It’s all about appearances

John didn’t pay it much attention in the beginning. He was too absorbed and excited being in Sherlock’s orbit, experiencing his brilliance at crime scenes, and chasing after him through London.

When he started noticing, John was in awe over yet another thing Sherlock managed so effortlessly. A thing John himself scarcely had accomplished. 

Hailing a cab, was like breathing to Sherlock. He just had to raise his arm, rarely shout “Taxi!” at all. Even when they were stranded in a remote part of the city, a cab magically appeared when Sherlock was ready to leave the crime scene.

Sometimes John had been annoyed. Not at Sherlock, but at the bloody cabbies that never noticed him.

“How do you do it?” he asked Sherlock.

“It’s all about appearances, John,” Sherlock had said dismissively, as if the topic bored him, which it probably did.

“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say, being two metres tall, wearing that ridiculous coat, your curls and…”

“What on earth has my hair to do with anything?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

“Nothing, just forget it,” John sighed.

***

When Sherlock was away, John became totally invisible to the cabbies of London. Not that he had anywhere to be, other than at the clinic and Tesco, but sometimes he went to visit Sherlock’s grave, and it was inconvenient to use the tube for that amount of distance. Never once had a cab stopped for him in those years. He actually had to order one, leave it to wait while he placed flowers at the black tombstone, return to the gate and let the cab drive him back to the empty flat. 

***

When Sherlock finally returned, there’d been a fair amount of anger, hurt and lots of yelling from John, while Sherlock had been patient and sad, equally measured. John came to his senses eventually, forgave Sherlock, and some weeks later they pledged their love for each other.

Once Sherlock had recovered from his injuries, they went on cases again. The old magic was still there, although John found Sherlock to be less impatient in his efforts to flag down a cab than before the Fall. The cabbies didn’t notice any difference, though. Sometimes John thought they emerged from thin air, but it didn’t bother him anymore. He’d learned his lesson. What was important now, was the fact that Sherlock was alive. Not only that, but he had become John’s lover, and John felt whole again, after two years of feeling nothing. Nothing that could be called joy at least.

***

And then the call came. John was about to head out of his office, ready to go home when Lestrade rang. John knew that Sherlock was working on a case, but he’d said it was an easy one. No danger involved. Well, even geniuses could get things wrong at times.

“John, it’s Sherlock. He’s hurt, but nothing severe. May need stiches, but he won’t let me call an ambulance. He wants you,” Lestrade said when John answered his phone.

“Right. Text me the location. On my way,” John managed before he hung up.

When the text came, John immediately understood that he needed a cab. Too far to walk and the tube at this hour wasn’t something John willingly wanted to encounter.

He straightened, squared his shoulders and walked outside. After a few seconds a cab came around the corner. It was unoccupied.

Showtime, Watson!

John raised his arm and in a calm, but stern voice called, “Taxi!”

***

Sherlock sat in the back of Lestrade’s car when John arrived. He was bleeding from a cut on his forearm. John nodded at the officers he knew and slid in beside Sherlock.

“Let me have a look, then,” John said after pecking Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock looked at John with wonder while he examined the wound on his arm.

“You were right. No need for an ambulance. I don’t think it’ll need stitching at all, just a good rinse and…what?” 

John had seen the look in Sherlock’s eyes and didn’t understand why he looked so astounded.

“How did you get here, John?” Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes.

“What do you think, love?” John laughed.

“Did Sarah drive you? You came sooner than I expected,” Sherlock answered.

“No, you git. I took a cab,” John said and kissed Sherlock’s lips.

“But, how…at this hour,” Sherlock muttered to himself.

“Oh, I just remembered what a brilliant genius once told me about hailing a cab,” John said mischievously. 

Sherlock look befuddled and raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

“It’s all about appearances,” John stated in his captain’s voice.

A bit of Sherlock's magic, which has always been a mystery to me as well as John.

@totallysilvergirl @missdeliadili @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear @meetinginsamarra

#sherlock fandom #johnlock #sherlock #sherlock fanfic #john watson #ao3 fanfic #may prompts #taxi

[cherrrysue]

Heyy any Larry fic recommendation without very sad moments and has happy endings

Thank u

i'm sure this is a very old question cause it got into the bottom of my inbox and i've been on hiatus for like almost 2 years and sat in my drafts for a few days but i'm gonna answer it anyway lol. so here it is:

comforting fics with happy endings

Escapade by dolce_piccante

M, 146k

In the grand scheme of things, finding a date for a wedding should be no problem for Louis Tomlinson. He's rich. He's handsome. He's reasonably well behaved. But when the wedding is for his lifelong best friend (and former boyfriend), and is happening in under a month, finding a date for the ceremony and accompanying festivities becomes more of an adventure than he ever could have planned for.

Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore

M, 113k

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

Walk That Mile by purpledaisy

E, 149k

Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.”

“Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.”

“Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes. - A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

we can take the long road home by pinkcords

E, 45k

Late afternoon seeps into the cab, just shy of too warm, and the breeze that crosses window to window tosses their hair in their eyes, around their faces. They ride in pleasant silence, the radio humming softly in the background as they speed down the coast, and when Louis looks over, Harry’s smiling to himself, a private happiness born from whatever’s going on in his head. Louis likes to think it has something to do with him, or at the very least, this adventure they’ve embarked on together, chosen to see through to San Diego. Or, Harry and Louis fall in love down the coast of California.

where the tide takes you, i will follow by pinkcords

E, 53k

There’s no way around his departure, their inevitable fate. Harry will leave and he will return to London and when he sits in his new flat, wherever it might be, he will think of this summer and the warmth the sun brought him and the way it felt to be loved. He will compare all his future relationships to Louis and when they fall short, he will be disappointed. Harry knows this. Or, Louis lives in Gloucester and Harry tries to find a way to stay.

Chasing Empty Spaces by Lis (domesticharry)

E, 79k

The year is 1934 and Harry Styles was to inherent the largest tobacco firm in the south. His parents have picked out the “perfect” girl for him to marry and he has the privilege of receiving the highest education possible. The problem was, Harry hadn’t realized he didn’t actually want any part of that future until he met a mechanic named, Louis Tomlinson.

Adore You by isthatyoularry

M, 66k

“We invited our new acquaintances from uptown. You’ve simply got to meet their oldest son!” said his mother with a flourish, and suddenly it became abundantly clear as to why his parents had so adamantly demanded he join them in Deansville for the entirety of the summer. Against his wishes, Harry spends the holidays at his family’s summer estate, and is reluctantly pulled into a courtship he didn’t ask for. Harry doesn’t want to get married, but Louis does. They don’t fit, but then again they really, really do. Vaguely set in the 1920’s. Headpieces, jazz, fashionable canes, and flapper dresses, and that.

Falling For Me Won't Be A Mistake by Rearviewdreamer

M, 58k

Harry is married to his job and so overworked that he doesn't know how to stop. All it takes is a forced Hawaiian get-a-away, the warm tropical breeze of the island, and the most beautiful, elusive man he's ever seen to make him remember what living is like outside of work. Well, that, and the little souvenir he accidentally takes home with him.

Sodalite & Aventurine by forreveries

E, 80k

The one where, in his travels to find Swan’s elusive treasure, Captain Louis Tomlinson of the Black Dagger discovers he has a stowaway onboard - a stowaway who is rather tall and pretty and pouty and can spout off Shakespearean poetry as though he had written it. A stowaway who is also, unfortunately, secretly Louis’ biggest threat. Captain Harry Styles.

Paint Me In A Million Dreams by green_feelings

M, 112k

Harry's one of Hollywood's biggest actors, has made a name for himself in prestigious films and lives the life of a superstar. There's just one thing missing to make it picture-perfect, but the one Harry's in love with is completely out of reach for him. Enter Louis, one of Hollywood's biggest actors himself, who just came out of the closet and taps new genres in the industry. When Louis sacks the role Harry auditioned for in Scorsese's next big film, their irrational feud starts. Who could have guessed it would get even worse when for promo season, their teams decide to present them as a couple for publicity? In short, Harry's in love with someone and doesn't care about dating anyone else, Louis never felt home in L.A., Liam writes love songs for someone he shouldn't write love songs to, and Niall makes everything better with good food.

Our Lives, Non Fiction by indiaalphawhiskey

E, 113k

Heralded as the next Neil Gaiman, Louis Tomlinson does not appreciate being told that his very serious novel is in dire need of a PR boost. Even worse, that it comes in the form of a joint book tour with the UK’s #1 online romance-writing sensation Marcel Styles. Already turbulent at best, their partnership takes a drastic turn when, overly stressed about his looming deadline, Marcel accidentally blurts out a secret: though he’s famed for his scorching hot literary love scenes, he is, actually, a virgin. Convinced that the only way to rid himself of writer’s block is to gain some experience, Marcel asks Louis, author-to-author, to sleep with him – for Science. And of course Louis agrees because, well, what on Earth could possibly go wrong? Or, a lesson in romance that proves that sometimes the best love stories aren’t always by the book.

Time Passed by coffinofachimera

E, 66k

Louis struggles with their relationship as Harry grows into his identity.

beautiful sound beautiful noise by delsicle

M, 53k

Louis is a washed-up pop star who has spent nearly a year hiding away from the world. Harry is a guardian angel who is assigned to live with him for the summer. Neither of them quite get what they’re expecting.

the impossible now by stylinsoncity

M, 64k

A wish on Christmas Eve sends Louis to an alternate dimension where Harry is a member of One Direction

please leave a like and reblog ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

#larry fic recs #larry smut #larry stylinson fic rec #larry stylinson #fic recs #gay fic recs #bl fic recs #bl fics #larents #ask #ask a fic

[writingformyblorbos]

It's cloudy above (Part 3)

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Steven Grant/Jake Lockley/Marc Spector × gn!Reader (possible Layla × Reader in the future) Summary: The stabbing of your date leads you into a convoluted mess involving cults and Egyptian gods. Word count: 3.9k (I have truly outdone myself) Warnings: Canon typical violence, mentions of cults, dead bodies, autopsies, DID and physical injuries. Khonshu makes a brief appearance. Not proof read (the day I proof read what I write will be the end of us all). a/n: This has been one of the hardest chapters to write by far. I had some sort of idea of where to head, but I figure out where this was going as I was writing. It's not like Covid helped me much. I fortunately have more of a game plan now. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this mess!! Also I named the other fish we see at the end of episode 6 Finney. Idk why, it seemed cute ig sue me.

The door of the black car slammed abruptly behind you. “Take this and follow that person!”, you handed the old man a bunch of crumpled bills. He looked at you confused, “Don’t ask, just drive!” You never thought you’d hear those words outside of a movie, much less coming from your mouth, yet here you were, chasing down your recently stabbed date, supposedly a superhero, through the streets of London in a cab driven by an anxious pilot who kindly obliged to your bizarre demands.

Despite Colt telling you to stay put, there was no way you were going to sit with your arms crossed waiting for him to arrive after what had just happened. Maybe curiosity did kill the cat, but the cat died with the satisfaction of knowing what the hell was happening.

You guided the taxi driver to where the caped figure was heading as he shoved people aside, chasing down the woman who had just stabbed him, with you telling him where to turn and if he had to keep driving. He probably drove through a few red lights because of this, but right now, the only thing you had in your mind was the image of Steven, wide eyed and with a stain of blood on his shirt. You were more than willing to pay for the man’s fines, albeit in the name of knowing if Steven was alright.

The cab finally reached a dead end, prompting you to exit the taxi as fast as you could, thanking the driver before running off after who you were pretty sure was Marc.

You ended up in an alleyway once more, like on Saturday evening, seeing Marc tackle the woman on the floor.

“Where is Harrow?!”, he demanded to know through gritted teeth, “Where is he?!”

The woman laughed in his face, “You’ll have to kill me before I tell you anything.”

“Suit yourself.”

Just as he was about to draw a gun from his belt, you yelled, catching both persons’ attention, “Wait!”

Although you couldn’t see his face through the dark mask covering his face, it was clear he had recognized you, “¿Otra vez tú?”, you heard his hoarse voice.

The woman took advantage of the distraction to punch Marc in the face and run away.

He shook off the punch and slowly stood up. But he didn’t chase after the woman, instead his mask disintegrated, and he turned to look at his back, “No tiene sentido. Aunque la siga, ella no va a decir nada.” He was really into talking to the air, it seemed.

Even through your astonishment, you were relieved he was alright, despite him not being Steven.

“You’re Marc, I presume?” you cautiously approached the man in front of you. A look of confusion flashed through his face.

Your question caught him off guard, earning you a look of shock. His eyes were cold, falling on you like a bucket of ice, unlike Steven’s warm and welcoming gaze.

“It’s alright,” you tried to get him to open up, “Steven told me about you both.”

He seemed to linger on that last word. Both. A frown formed in his face, as if you’d been the one who punched him in the face not so long ago.

You were sure he had questions he wanted you to answer, or at the very least he wanted to yell at you for whatever reason you’d upset him, yet he picked himself off the floor without making a single sound.

He was walking away from the alley with a scowl on his face, his suit disappearing from his silhouette, before turning around and looking at you.

“If you tell him what happened today, you’ll be in trouble with me.”

The threat got right to your gut, sending chills down your spine. Even though that same face had been so kind to you earlier, it also managed to make your heart sink in fear.

You stood there for a while, having been left with more questions than answers. “I need to go back,” you eventually whispered to yourself.

Colt was pacing outside the cafeteria by the time he spotted you making your way down the street.

“(y/n)!” he ran to you and hugged you tightly, “Oh, thank God you’re alright!”

You could only return the hug, not even saying a word from the shock of today’s events. You looked for the chocolates on the table, since you remembered he’d left them there and you thought you could give them to him on some other occasion, but the flower bouquet Steven had given you was the only thing in the glass surface of the table. Crestfallen, you grabbed the bouquet and you followed Colt to the nearest bus stop.

Colt offered to let you stay at his house for the evening. He didn’t have to ask more than once, after all, the last thing you wanted was to be alone in your flat. He accompanied you to pick up the basics for the night and you both headed back to his place. You explained what had happened after you’d hung up as you were both eating some pizza. He was in awe, saying something along the lines of knowing you were in trouble, but not that much trouble.

“It’s probably best if you don’t see him again,” he advised while drying out the dishes you had offered to clean, “hero stuff never ends well. I mean, look at the Avengers!” he used his hand as if to prove a point, “Aren’t half of them dead?”

He had a point, but there were two things: one, you were 99% sure Steven wasn’t an Avenger, and two: there was something in him you wouldn’t be able to detach from so easily. Be it his honesty, his intelligence, or simply his sweet nature, half a date had been enough to reel you in, which made your worries multiply thinking about what kind of danger he had gotten himself into.

You didn’t say much after helping clean. You went into the bathroom to go through your nightly routine. While brushing your teeth, you replayed the events of the evening in your head. However, what the woman had said while stabbing Steven caught your attention, a tiny detail you hadn’t given much importance until now, looking at things in hindsight: ‘This is for trying to kill Harrow. Praise Ammit’. What did that mean, exactly?

You exited the bathroom and threw yourself onto Colt’s couch improvised to accommodate you for the night. You reached for your phone that was charging safely in the coffee table and began typing. The search engine led you to a Wikipedia article. An Egyptian goddess, known as the Devourer of the Dead, Ammit would eat the heart of those deemed impure by Anubis, preventing them from continuing their journey through the afterlife. You remembered the news reports that followed the catastrophe in Cairo. The autopsies conducted afterwards indicated that every person who died due to the incident were missing their hearts. Was the woman who attacked Steven part of the cult behind the attack in Cairo? You went back and typed once more. ‘Ammit Harrow’ led you to a dead end. ‘Harrow Cairo’ on the other hand took you to an article that detailed a connection between a certain Arthur Harrow and the cultists that led the attack on the Egyptian city. Little was known of the fifty-year-old man, only that he’d taken up residence in London a few years prior to the events in Cairo and had built a peaceful community in a neighbourhood previously known for having the highest crime rate in all of London. His whereabouts were unknown for the time being, having been seen last at the Sienkiewicz Psychiatric Hospital, being held there by law enforcement while he recovered from an undisclosed physical injury, though he was suspected of having been aided in his escape by his followers.

Your eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, so you figured you would continue investigating the situation once you were well rested. You tucked yourself into the fluffy, white couch with the borrowed fleece blanket, and slowly allowed yourself to drift away into sleep.

You were woken up by some tapping on your arm. You opened your eyes and saw Colt standing in front of you. “Morning, sleepyhead,” Colt greeted you out of your slumber, “Made some brekkie for both of us before I head out.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled. You took a quick glance at your phone once you were sitting. It was 6:43 in the morning. You had a text from your boss, likely responding to your request for a day off, and some more notifications from a few more apps. No Steven to be seen. You could only hope he was okay after the terrifying events of last night.

While eating your breakfast, you saw the mushrooms on the plate and couldn’t help but smile, remembering the stupid topic you used to get Steven’s number. It seemed that no matter how hard you were trying to follow Colt’s advice and leave him be, Steven had moved into your thoughts and was living there rent-free.

Colt seemed to have noticed your anguish and tried talking to you, “You’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?”

“Hmm? No, no. I’m… fine,” you tried hiding your anxiety for Steven, but you’d known each other for too long, you didn’t have the ability of hiding things from Colt, even if your life depended on it.

“Look, you’re an adult, I can’t control the choices you make,” he sighed, “I believe it would be the best if you forgot about Steven for your sake,” your heart sank a little from hearing the words coming out of his mouth, “but if you want to entangle yourself in whatever mess this boy has, I’ll be there for you. Just promise me you won’t get killed in the process.”

You smiled at the last comment he made, “I promise,” you looked at him with sincerity, “Thank you.”

Soon enough Colt was off to work, leaving you alone in his flat. You were sitting in the living room, trying to do some work so you wouldn’t have your hands full tomorrow, when you felt your phone vibrating next to you. After seeing the name displayed, it took you no time to answer the phone.

“Hello?” you waited anxiously for a response on the other end.

A sigh could be heard from the speaker, “(y/n), are you alright?” hearing Steven’s voice was like hearing a choir of angels that lifted a major weight off of your shoulders.

“Yes, what about you?”

“That’s the thing,” the worry in Steven’s voice was obvious, “I don’t remember what happened. I just woke up in my apartment good as new, even though…” you knew exactly what he was implying. He kept going past his obvious discomfort. “I was wondering if you could come by my place? To, y’know, try and get the facts together.”

You were hesitant to go into his home after what happened yesterday, his alter’s menacing stare burned into your memory and his threat lingering above your head. “Before I agree to go there, I need to know,” you felt bad for asking after telling Steven you had no issue with him having DID, but Marc had been clear with his warning, and you didn’t want him to know you had spoken to Steven. “Can we keep this a secret from Marc?”

You could hear the hurt in Steven’s voice, “I don’t understand, I thought you were alright with—"

“I am! But I would like to keep this between both of us,” you interrupted him, trying to be as subtle as possible.

“Well, I’d love to, but I’m afraid that’s not how this works,” he tried explaining, “nowadays we do tend to be co conscious and—"

“He threatened me! Okay?” you had tried keeping this a secret from him, but you were getting frustrated at his insistence, “He… he threatened me, Steven,” even telling him put you on the edge.

It took some time for him to respond to your allegations, “Wait a bit, don’t hang up,” he ordered. The call had been muted.

Not very long after, he unmuted himself, “(y/n), I promise that wasn’t him. I’m sure of it, I know he would never do such a thing.” You really wanted to believe him, but what had happened last night convinced you otherwise. “But we’ve suspected for a while that… there might be another one of us.”

“What do you mean with ‘another one of us’?”

“We’ll talk about it once you’re here, but please, we promise neither of us will hurt you,” Steven’s pleas twisted your heart in pain. He sounded absolutely desperate. You had no other choice than to agree. He sent you his address and you made your way there.

Once you arrived, a woman about your age was entering the complex. She saw you and held the door open for you. You thanked her and made your way to the elevator which she also got into. She clicked on a button that took you to the fifth floor, precisely where you were headed. Both of you smiled politely at each other and you directed your eyes opposite from her. She had big, curly hair; her face filled with freckles and her beauty radiating from the elevator. Truth be told, she reminded you of someone. She seemed preoccupied with something, as if she was in a hurry, so you decided to not bother her with small talk.

The elevator dinged to signal your arrival to the fifth floor. You looked for apartment 502. Since the apartments were in a row starting from 500, you went up the corridor. Except the woman you’d shared an elevator with headed straight to the same door you were going to. She knocked on the door and was received by none other than Steven. She quickly made her way into the apartment and Steven shut the door immediately, not even batting an eye towards you. You had no idea what had just happened, since he never mentioned he would have someone else over. You decided to call Steven to try to decipher what was going on. Your phone rang for a bit.

“Hello?” you heard Steven’s voice from the other side of the call. You paced a bit around the hallway, “Hey, so… I think I’m outside your flat? I’m not so sure since I just saw someone come in, I was wondering if—” you were cut off by the door opening, seeing Steven once more staring at you.

You couldn’t help yourself and promptly hugged Steven, you looked at him in disbelief. Despite him agonizing in your arms yesterday, today he had no signs of having been in a life-threatening situation.

“Steven, what is going on? Who—" the woman from the elevator approached the door frame, looking directly at you. Steven broke the hug to face her, “Layla, this is (y/n),” he used his hand to point at you, “And (y/n), this is Layla. A… friend of ours.” You now realized why she had seemed familiar. She was the Scarlet Scarab; of course, minus the flashy costume.

You now had a full view of Steven’s messy apartment, shelves infinitely filled with books, boxes scattered around, an old tv, mismatched and old couches, and a fish tank with two goldfish inside.

Suddenly, Steven’s demeanour shifted to a sterner one, holding himself firmer and speaking in an American accent, “Steven asked them to come over so they could help us figure out what happened yesterday.” That was Marc. His voice was extremely different to the one that threatened you last night. Maybe Steven was right, and Marc really didn’t threaten you. But if it hadn’t been Marc, then who had it been?

Marc studied you as you were standing awkwardly in the entrance, still examining your surroundings. “Go ahead then. What happened yesterday?” he leaned into one of the wooden pillars.

You then proceeded to recount the events of last night as far back as you thought was necessary. The woman with the crocodile scales tattoo stabbing Steven, Steven falling into your arms, him dawning a costume out of thin air—

“Wait, say that again.” Steven lifted his gaze up from the floor in shock.

“Well, I yelled for someone to call 999, and you suddenly stood up with a costume—” you looked directly into his eyes in an effort to convince him to come clean, “— that looked very similar to the costume of the vigilante from Cairo.”

Layla turned to see Steven in disbelief, “But I thought Khonshu had let you both off the hook.”

“That fucking bird duped us!” Marc rubbed his hands on his face, clearly upset by the revelation.

You had no idea what they were talking about. Khonshu? A deceitful bird? You were slightly regretting whatever life decisions had led you to this point.

“I don’t mean to intrude, but I would really like to know what’s going on, if I may,” you politely requested.

Marc looked at a mirror in the entrance, sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Steven and I used to be the avatars of Khonshu, Egyptian god of the moon,” Egyptian gods, of course they’re a thing. If Norse gods were real, what was stopping Egyptian gods from being plausible? Which also meant that the ‘Ammit’ you’d read about yesterday was also real. “That’s what we thought, at least.”

Steven followed, “We had come to an agreement to part ways with him, but bloody Big Bird didn’t stay true to his word, I reckon,” he sat at the tiny table of the kitchen, “Guess nobody else wanted to be his Moon Knight. Maybe if he included health insurance in the job description…”

You giggled, “Definitely better than Moon Shifter,” you whispered under your breath.

“What happened after we summoned the suit?” Marc solicited an answer from you. However, the mysterious alter’s threat went through your head as you remembered him shooting the moped man and almost doing the same to the woman in the alley. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t scared of him but felt deep within you Steven and Marc deserved to know the truth.

“You started chasing the woman and I followed. Then, who I thought was you asked to know where Harrow was,” your felt the anxiety bubbling up in your chest as you continued speaking, “He was about to shoot her, but I stopped him. He then told me to not tell you about this because I would get in trouble, but…”, you shrugged, “Here I am, telling you.” You also told them about the mugging and what had happened to the moped man at the hands of their alter.

Whilst the three individuals seemed to be processing the information you’d just given them, the lights in the flat started flickering, papers being blown over by an unknown source of air.

“The worm had to go and open their mouth,” the voice that was all too familiar to Marc and Steven floated around the room. Finally, the tall silhouette of the ancient god materialized, his head nearly touching the roof.

“You lying bastard,” Layla protested to the imposing figure of the god now standing in the cramped space. “I would suggest you be careful in how you address a god, El-Faouly,” Khonshu warned, “Besides, I kept my word. Isn’t that right, Spector?” his beak turned to face him, “I did say I would free you both. Yet I never mentioned Jake Lockley being out of the deal.”

“Jake Lockley?” In the reflection of Gus and Finney’s tank, Steven caught a glimpse of the eerily familiar figure looking at (y/n) in anger, and then back at him.

“See? You truly have no idea how troubled you both are.”

The reflection then spoke up, finally breaking his silence, “Harrow is still out there, and he needs to be stopped.”

“Is that what that old pigeon told you?” Steven got nearer to the fish tank, “Don’t listen to him, he’s taking advantage of you!”

“We still have a deal, Lockley,”Khonshu’s intimidating voice rumbled inside the apartment, “You know what happens if you break it.”

Through the glass, Marc and Steven could see the worry painted in Jake’s eyes. He only sighed and held his head down.

Khonshu’s staff firmly hit the wooden floor. “I’ll be generous and make one last deal,” he offered, “If all of you find a way to get rid of Harrow and Ammit, I’ll set the three of you free.”

“How do we know you won’t lie to us again?” Marc, at this point, was done with Khonshu’s falsehoods and empty promises he’d told time and time again.

“You have no other choice but to trust me.” It almost seemed Khonshu enjoyed toying with his avatars’ psyche, like a kid playing with a bug he caught in a jar.

Layla took a step forward to stand next to Marc, “Actually, there is a way to be sure. If you don’t keep your end of the bargain, we’ll tell the council of the Ennead,” to threaten a god seemed like a suicidal endeavour, yet it was one Layla El-Faouly was not afraid to take upon. “I can pull some strings with Taweret so she can get us a hearing. I doubt they’ll have much issue trapping you in an ushabti again.”

Even if facial expressions weren’t discernible through his skeletal bird head, the god was clearly annoyed. He scoffed, “Fine. You have a deal.” And just like that, he vanished in a whirl of air.

You had no idea what had just happened. Layla, Marc and Steven had been talking to an invisible entity who, judging by the bits of conversation, was Khonshu. You had been in the presence of a god. Quite the terrifying thought.

“How are we going to find Harrow?” Layla sat on the table filled with books and papers.

Marc held onto the wooden chair in front of him, “He was left at a psychiatric hospital, wasn’t he?”

“He escaped,” you added. Marc and Layla both turned to face you. “I researched yesterday. He was broken out by his followers.”

“He wasn’t broken out by his followers. I did. I thought I had killed the bastard.”

Marc looked at the mirror next to the main entrance. “You what?”

Jake crossed his arms over his chest, “After we returned from Cairo, I tracked him down. Once I had him, I shot him. Didn’t seem to be enough for the motherfucker to die.”

Marc sighed, passing a hand through his messy curls, "That's why we don't remember how the hell we came back to the apartment."

“We could try visiting the neighbourhood he lived in,” you suggested, remembering what you’d read in the article.

“No,” Layla quickly intervened, “We’ve already been there. They could easily recognize us.”

For a moment, you thought of anything that might help. ‘Oh no, that’s a dumb idea, (y/n),’ you told yourself, but it was the only way. It’s not like you weren’t too far gone into the rabbit hole.

“Yes. But they don’t know me. Maybe I could—”

“No!” Marc pointed with his finger at you, his brown eyes fixed on you as he approached you, “Thank you, for helping us fill in the gaps with the whole debacle from yesterday. But you’re not getting involved in this mess, (y/n).”

You scratched the nape of your head, “Yeah, I think it’s a little late for that. Just… let me help you,” you stared back into Marc’s chocolate eyes, “Please.”

It took some time, but after looking at Layla for approval, he softly nodded. “How good are you at lying?”

another a/n: Thank you once again for reading!! I do have a concern I would like to adress. I have noticed there is very little reader × Layla content, and I like the idea of making this a reader × Layla story as well. But I do want to know what you guys feel about that. Should I try to incoorporate that element or should I leave it as it is? taglist: @dont-feel-so-good-peter @stilllivindue2spite @dreamtogether2000 @simonsbluee @sunnysidesidra @kezibear (you guys have no idea how much it warms my heart to know other people are interested in what I write. I will never be able to thank you guys enough)

#ah shit here we go again with the tagging #moon knight #moon knight disney+ #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #moon knight series #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #steven grant x gender neutral reader #jake lockley #jake lockely x reader #jake lockely x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x gender neutral reader #marc spector x y/n #marc spector x you

[turtlethon]

“Shredder’s New Sword”

Season 7, Episode 8 First US Airdate: October 9, 1993

Shredder captures the mystical sword Excalibur and threatens to destroy the fabric of time.

“Shredder’s New Sword” is the eighth episode of the “Vacation in Europe” side-season of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Series regulars Francis Moss and Ted Pedersen are the credited writers for this adventure.

Today the Turtles are in London, England, and make an overnight visit along with Splinter to the British Museum. Leonardo views a painting of King Arthur wielding the sword Excalibur, alongside Queen Guinevere and the Knights of the Round Table. Raphael and Michaelangelo join Leo in being mesmerised by the artwork, until Donatello steps in to point out that this legend is a work of fiction.

In the Technodrome, Krang fiddles with a detector machine that can track any element on Earth. A rare one, Diridium, has turned up in England, the supplies of which would be enough to allow him to power up his fortress. Zooming in on an old castle, he views a pair of tombs, one of which contains King Arthur and Excalibur. Determining that the sword itself must be the source of the Diridium, Shredder sets off with Bebop and Rocksteady to claim the sword.

Back in London, we join the Turtles in the sewers, as Michaelangelo has sourced some punk rocker costumes for the team that surely would have looked dated in 1980, and downright bizarre by the time the events of this episode were taking place in the early nineties. Splinter declines to try on his disguise, opting to stay behind as the London sewers are “full of history”. (From here it just looks like they’re full of trash.)

You know how this works by now: wherever the Turtles travel in Europe, April is never far behind. Today she wanders with Irma through the streets of London, complete with a red phone box and a single dowdy old car that both look about as current as Mikey’s punk outfits. April immediately spots the Turtles, doing an inexplicable finger-wagging animation before noting rockers with green skin tend to stand out. It probably helps that they’re the only other people wandering around in a city which then had a population of 6.75 million.

Irma explains that Burne sent her with April to cover the upcoming benefit event for the Prince’s Trust, which will be held at the Royal Albert Hall. The Crown Jewels will be on display there, and April invites the Turtles to join them in attending, on the condition that they get some better costumes.

Shredder is accompanied by Rocksteady and Bebop as he makes his way into the castle identified by Krang, claiming Excalibur for himself. Declaring himself “King Shredder the First”, he uses the sword’s magical powers to shatter a boulder before making his henchmen knights under the titles of “Sir Bebop” and “Sir Rocksteady”.

The Turtles arrive at the charity event in their trench-coat disguises, but some unexpected attendees gatecrash the event: King Shredder and his knights, driving a car up the steps and through the doors of the Royal Albert Hall. Shreds claims a crown on display for himself as Rocksteady and Bebop restrain a group of London “bobbies” by dropping a chandelier on them.

The Turtles step in, but are easily defeated by the power of Excalibur. Clearing out the remaining crown jewels, the three villains escape in their car. Our heroes give chase, with Leonardo hurling his katanas to puncture the car’s tyres. Shredder and his men are forced to escape on foot, fleeing to a park where Excalibur brings a pair of stone lions to life. The cats corner the green teens as the first act reaches its conclusion.

Act two opens with the Turtles in peril until a bearded wizard brandishing a magic wand intervenes, using his powers to shatter both lions. Before the team can process what just happened, the wizard vanishes again. With no clue as to what’s going on, the Turtles decide to return to the museum to engage in further research. While there, they spot a painting of the same individual they encountered, said to be Merlin, who stuns the team by coming to life in front of them. After having the situation explained to him, the doddering magician agrees to help the Turtles return Excalibur to its rightful place.

Merlin is perplexed as he wanders through the streets of London with the Turtles – now minus their disguises. The familiar sight of a group of TVs in a store window, all of them displaying the same pre-recorded news report by April, are staggering to the wizard, and his confusion is even greater when the real April appears in front of him. The group then watch a further news broadcast, in which an English announcer covers both the theft of the Crown Jewels and the appearances of historical figures around the city - “it’s as if the past were intruding itself upon the present!” - before moving on to cover the cricket results. Donatello speculates that the use of Excalibur is causing a time shift that will worsen if it continues, until the entire world ends up being pulled into a temporal black hole. 

Irma arrives on a horse-drawn carriage, explaining that it was a sports car when the rental company supplied it, but transformed midway through the journey. Prior to this change, she learned on the car radio that Shredder is in the process of robbing the Bank of England. Advising the ladies to return to their hotel, the Turtles and Merlin head off to intervene.

Shredder and The Boys are seen emerging from the “Bank of London” rather than the Bank of England on cool motorbikes that look more like something from Skeleton Warriors than what we typically see in TMNT. Determining that the final thing he needs to be a king is a queen, Shreds happens to ride past the horse carriage containing the only two women in town and grabs April, electing her to rule alongside him. The Turtles and Merlin witness this, and conclude Shredder is likely to head to the Tower of London next, given that the King of England used to reside there.

At the tower, Shredder has April and Irma tied up and crows to Rocksteady and Bebop about his newfound power, dismissing Krang as now being insignificant compared to him. He demonstrates this by generating a pair of giant knights, who he sends after the Turtles when they arrive to confront him. Merlin attempts to counter-attack but his powers can only generate a small pet cat due to his rustiness; as a result both he and the Turtles soon find themselves tied up, boulders affixed to them as Bebop and Rocksteady shove them into what I assume is supposed to be the Thames River. 

As the third act opens, Leonardo spots a sunken ship at the bottom of the river, and floats near it to snap his ropes before freeing the others. After the group swim to safety, Merlin suggests that they may be able to find a way to strike back in Camelot, where his book of spells is kept, but they’ll need to act quickly: if Shredder retains Excalibur for an entire day and night, nothing will be able to stop him.

The Turtles and Merlin travel to Camelot, watching as the castle begins to rebuild itself. Shredder is one step ahead, now wearing the crown stolen earlier and clutching the spellbook in addition to Excalibur. The masked villain appears to be unstoppable until King Arthur appears, accompanied by Guinevere. Declaring that Shredder is an illegitimate king, he requests the assistance of a “champion”, leading Michaelangelo to nominate himself along with the other Turtles: “I’m a champion surfer, Leonardo here’s a champion ninja, Donatello’s a champion brain, and Raphael’s a champion... wise guy!”

A contest soon unfolds, with Arthur selecting Donatello and Michaelangelo to battle on his behalf. Shredder is keen to put forward his giant black knights, but Arthur insists that Rocksteady and Bebop compete instead. In the first contest, Bebop clashes with Donatello atop a log over one the castle’s moat, with an alligator swimming around beneath them. In a confusing bit of animation, Donnie appears to strike the log beneath them, knocking both into the water; after he ejects the gator into the air using the log, it lands on top of an escaping Bebop, chasing him away. Arthur goes on to declare Donnie the winner of the first duel.

For the second round, Rocksteady – instructed by Shredder in advance to cheat – engages in a jousting/surfing contest against Mikey. The mutant rhino is quick to pull a laser blaster on his opponent, but his opponent uses his spear to flip his opponent’s platform into the air. “Sir Michaelangelo” is deemed the winner of round two by Arthur.

All of this turns out to have been a huge waste of time as, despite having decisively lost both rounds, Shredder’s response to being asked to hand over the sword is effectively “nuh-uh”. He goes on to engage in a brief swordfight with Leonardo, in which the Turtle’s blade is almost immediately destroyed by Excalibur. Raphael intervenes, knocking the weapon out of Shredder’s hand and allowing Arthur to reclaim it. Reunited with Rocksteady and Bebop, Shreds begs Krang to open a portal and allow them to retreat, promising to do anything – from cleaning the alien brain’s quarters, to giving both of their mutant henchmen a bath. Having sufficiently twisted the knife, Krang provides the trio with the ability to return to the Technodrome.

King Arthur knights the Turtles, declaring that they will always serve as members of his Round Table. He disappears into the mist, along with Guinevere, Merlin and the reconstructed Camelot. With the normal flow of time restored, it appears as if all of this was a dream, though a bandage on Raphael’s arm confirms that these events really did happen. A tuckered-out Michaelangelo has managed to doze off after all of today’s excitement.

“Shredder’s New Sword” is an inconsistent offering, with multiple themes and concepts jammed into its twenty-two-minutes, none of them being pulled off entirely successfully. The show has always struggled to make its depictions of New York (later just “The City”) feel authentic, as we’ve seen in so many episodes where the Turtle Van will be driving around barren, deserted versions of locales like Times Square, and much the same is true here in the depiction of London. Some of the backgrounds and locales feel surprisingly authentic in terms of detail, yet the sense remains that time and budget requirements are robbing us of the chance to really see the Turtles interacting with the sights and people of the modern London of the 1990s; at some points it feels more like they’re wandering around some lifeless husk of a little English town in the seventies during the dead of night. We saw much the same when the Turtles visited Paris and Dublin, the emphasis on the historical significance of these locales overshadowing the fact that these are nevertheless modern cities: it comes off as almost condescending, honestly.

The potential for the Turtles to spend more time exploring London is scuppered further by the arrival of Merlin, and the third act in particular takes place almost entirely outside Camelot instead. We can take some solace in the fact that the team will return for the concluding episode of this arc, “Elementary, My Dear Turtle”, so there’s still time to make up for this; before then we still have a few episodes left to cover, as next time the Turtles will arrive in Greece to encounter “The Lost Queen of Atlantis”.

#Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #TMNT #TMNT 1987 #Ninja Turtles #Turtlethon #Shredder's New Sword #1992 #1993 #Vacation in Europe

[alwaysa-winner]

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ did you miss francesco? of course you did.❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

               ⋆┆pinterest ┆musing tag ┆task ┆⋆

inspired  by : francesco bernoulli (cars 2) added inspo ! don draper (mad men) scarlett o'hara (gone with the wind), phyllis nefler (troop beverly hills), gatsby (the great gatsby), frank n furter (rocky horror picture show),  blair waldorf  (gossip girl). 

 francesco bernoulli: nyle dimarco - older: herny cavil ┆dob: june 27  ┆zodiac: cancer┆ occupation: race car driver┆ birthplace: porto corsa, italy┆orientation: non binary┆song: baby it’s you by london grammar┆ film: catch me if you can┆ education: college┆temperament: sanguine ┆mbti: ENTJ┆ alignment: neutral┆ abilities: mental manipulation┆ hogwarts house: ravenclaw┆  emoji:  ( 🤌🏼 ✨😘 🥇)

-ˋˏ✄┈present !

Number one in the world: That’s the goal and Fran won’t stop until everyone knows who Francesco Bernoulli truly is.

Fran is currently volunteering their time at the pit stop, they have made themselves useful in making sure that it runs smoothly. 

Their journey has brought them new acquaintances, as well as old ones they've gotten to know a bit better. They are fumbling through their new life here in Elias. They're still afflicted and oblivious of their circumstances. Learning to live life on their own terms, perhaps they’ll discover a thing or two about themselves along the way. It might be hard balance being a parent and a racer, but nevertheless they will succeed. Comes with the territory of being number 1.

┈past !!

Having no real recollection. Their current, past is rather strikingly different from their initial one. The memories that Jr hold are tainted in various ways. Shaped by their "history", they believe that their father was absent throughout their life and that they were abandoned and unloved. It’s this idea that fuels the young racer, taking an alliance and racing number a fake name before ending up here at Elias. They are looking for a place in the world far away from the name the follows them.  

┈future !!

It took them many years to get here. Fran has finally, regained a semblance of normalcy and are enjoying the finest years of their lives

Although they are destined to live an eternal existence, no longer will he be walking alone in the process. There is a sense of serenity knowing that they finally open their eyes to what was right in front of them, and no. they won’t be letting that go any time soon.or more like ever. 

Their racing career comes to an end after only a few short years. the chase and speed are long gone, and they've entered a new world of wine production. Their grapes have become a business in and of themselves, and they've taken it very seriously. They love to keep busy after all, if they aren’t spending money, might as well make some. 

In their spare time, they tend to the many children who have had such a profound impact on the formal racer. A large family was the last thing from their minds. Never thinking it was meant for them, but glad it somehow ended that way.

┈taken connections!!

Lightning [Monty] McQueen - boss, friend, complicated Nina Bernoulli - daughter  Wally- best friend Sora- co-worker  Luca- co-worker and friend Sulley- gossip girl

┈wanted connections!!

unlikely friends; someone you wouldn’t ever think they would get along with. 

a cooking buddy;someone whom they met during a cooking class.  they can share recipes with one another etc.

former friends or best friend turned rival. 

#watask

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Boy Bandit Uses Toy Gun," Border Cities Star. August 26 1933. Page 3. ---- 15-Year-Old Chatham Lad Robs Londoner On Highway Near Maidstone ---- Taken in Home City After Wild Ride in Car He Had Stolen --- Arrested after a thrilling chase from Maidstone to Chatham, a Chatham juvenile, 15 years old, is alleged by police to have admitted poking a toy revolver into the ribs of a London motorist who had given him a ride, and at the point of the cap pistol to have turned the owner out of the car and driven off with it at a dizzy rate of speed.

IS REMANDED The boy was taken to Sandwich this morning, and remanded in custody until Monday on a charge of robbery armed. He was not asked to elect trial or enter a plea.

The holdup occurred on No. 3 Highway near Maidstone. The arrest was made near the Chatham city limits at the corner of Merritt avenue and Richmond streets by Constables Earl Glover and William Donaldson of the Chatham police, yesterday afternoon Chasing the car practically all the way from Maidstone to Chatham at a rate of from 60 to 65 miles an hour was John O'Neil, Woodslee garage proprietor, who had given chase at the request of traffic officers.

According to Provincial Constable Frank Kelly, of Tilbury, who was in the hunt for the stolen car, and who later went to Chatham to interview the arrested boy, the train of events started at Blenheim when the motor 1st, Capt. Charles Wray, of the London fire department, driving toward Windsor on No. 3 Highway, was asked for a ride by the boy.

ORDERED TO STOP All went well until the motorist and his hitch hiking passenger approached Maidstone. Suddenly the youth is alleged to have pulled the gun. For a time, police say, the driver was instructed by the young bandit to drive on, but in a few minutes the order was given to stop and get out of the car. The youth then departed, leaving the motorist to walk to Maidstone, where police were notified. Before he went, the bay bandit took $4 from Capt. Wray.

The highway police at Maidstone telephoned police throughout the district, and themselves immediately took up the chase. Traffic Officer Gene Raymer told the Woodslee garage proprietor, and he rushed into the hunt.

Notification to be on the look-out was passed on to Chatham police by Provincial Constable Kelly from Tilbury. He was able to tell them the make and license of the car, and that the youth was believed to be armed. Constables Glover and Donaldson hurried to the point where No. 2 Highway enters the city to take up positions awaiting the escaping youth.

It didn't take long for him to ap pear, and not so far behind came Mr.O'Neil.

60 TO 65 MILES AN HOUR "O'Neil told me that he had to travel between 60 and 65 miles an hour to keep the boy in sight," said Constable Kelly.

From Maidstone the youth had driven to Tilbury, and from Tilbury, closely pursued by O'Neil, he had swung south through Stevenson. Thence he took the detour through Merlin and turned north from Merlin to Prairie Siding. He followed the River Road from Prairie Siding through Raleigh township toward Chatham, then cut over to No. 2 Highway to enter the city.

Chatham police, on searching the lad, found a rather ferocious looking hunting knife, but no gun. At that time it was not known that the gun supposed to have been used was not real. Later the boy is said to have admitted having the gun, but declared that it was only a toy. He stated that after the holdup he threw it away, according to police.

According to Chief Findlay Low, he is well known to Chatham police, and was wanted for the theft of $75 from his own father.

#london ontario #chatham #maidstone #carjacking #carjacker #hitchhikers #hitchiking #hold up man #youth in the toils #youth in revolt #teenage criminal #toy gun #highway patrol #police chase #juvenile court #great depression in canada #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada #tilbury #essex county

[college-girl199328]

Alberta is calling, but even before it did, Ontario's Bruno Sentone looked at the cost of living and took the bait. The 33-year-old personal banker said he tried to make life in Ontario work in 2020. He left Toronto's high rent prices and moved an hour north, to Barrie, where eventually rents went up there too.

So last June, he packed his car and drove across the country to Calgary, where rent is cheaper, taxes are lower, and his salary is higher. Either biting the bullet in Barrie or going through the consequences of staying in a place that I know is unaffordable," said Sentone.

He isn't alone. Of the 50,000 people who left Ontario for Alberta or Atlantic Canada in the last 12 months, 20,000 chose the province in the prairies less than a year after moving. As he watches housing and rent prices rise, Sentone is afraid Alberta is following in Ontario's footsteps and becoming less affordable by the day.

"Things are affordable now, and they might be for a little while, but if the influx of people just like myself keep coming in, but we don't have enough properties being built or made available, then that's a problem."

For new and old Albertans who are worried about the rising cost of living as record-high numbers of people move here, economist Mike Moffatt says they're right to be concerned. He's also the senior director of the Smart Prosperity Institute, an Ottawa think tank looking at the economy.

"This is a phenomenon we've seen in southern Ontario for years," said Moffatt. "When families from Toronto started moving to places like London, our housing prices tripled in less than 15 years."

He recalls the "musical chairs effect," where families from Toronto moved somewhere more affordable, like Kitchener-Waterloo, then as that city became more expensive, the people living there were displaced to somewhere further away, and so on. All of this could very well happen in Alberta, he says.

And the trend isn't going away anytime soon, says Moffatt, since the Ontarians moving to Alberta are younger and are chasing affordability and quality of life, not job growth in the oil and gas sector, as was seen in the past. They'll need to make sure that they build enough housing to support that population, which unfortunately didn't happen in southwestern Ontario, and that caused a lot of our current affordability challenges.

As the province continues its Alberta is Calling campaign, luring people from Ontario and Atlantic Canada to move here, the impact in Alberta is already being seen. Danison with Rentals.ca keeps track of rent prices in vacant units from Rentals.ca and Rentfaster.ca and releases a report each month.

"He found that Calgary had the fastest increasing rents, among condos and apartments, in the country in February; rents in Calgary rose 28.1 percent annually and 3.8 percent over the past three months to $1,862," the report said.

While that's still below the national average, Danison says it's a new problem in Calgary. He's been putting the reports together for nearly five years, and he says he's never seen rents so high or vacancy so low here, although Calgary has been building record-high supply and is expected to continue that trend.

"But it's still not enough to meet the demand," said Danison, in an interview with CBC. "This isn't just an issue in Calgary anymore; Red Deer is also facing surprising year-over-year rent increases, he says—20 percent and 19 percent, respectively, for a one-bedroom.

For Ontarians looking for affordability with a major city lifestyle, Danison has two suggestions in the west: Edmonton and Winnipeg, where "it's cheap and rents are moderate compared to the other big cities."

[oftatteredwings]

⸻  HENRY GOLDING. HE + HIM / have you ever     heard of GONE TOO SOON by michael jackson, well,     it describes CAMERON CLARKSON to a tee! the 34 year old, and YA AUTHOR/BOOK EDITOR  was spotted browsing     through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know     them? would you say  HE is  more lazy or PROFESSIONAL  instead?     anyway, they remind me of getting a tattoo for each major life event, random ideas scribbled onto napkins, pieces of lego stashed away in a work satchel, a loud laugh that carries on the breeze and a pile of well worn fantasy books on the nightstand, maybe you’ll bump into     them soon!

time in notting hill ;  forever.

ABOUT.

Name: Cameron Clarkson Nicknames: Cam Age: Thirty-four Date of birth: September 23rd 1988 Occupation: YA Author/Book editor Romantic/sexual orientation: Heteromantic/pansexual Birthplace: Christchurch in New Zealand, although considers London his real hometown as he moved there at 6 months old Current Location: Notting Hill, London, UK Faceclaim: Henry Golding

tw: divorce, car accident, death

Cameron was born in New Zealand while his mom was out there on an extended gap year, so it was never really set in stone where he’d end up growing up. In the end, however, they returned to his mothers home, eventually ending up in London.

He was raised in the Notting Hill, so pretty much wanted for nothing as he was growing up.

However, he was the kid who didn’t seem to fit in anywhere, so eventually he used his sense of humour to his advantage, playing the class clown.

In the end he didn’t have too many friends, but he had one who was close, who lived over in Wandsworth and they pretty much lived out of one another's pockets. At one point he might as well have moved in with their family as he was at their house so much.

At the age of six, his parents went through a messy divorce, effectively splitting the family in two. He went with his mum, his younger sibling went with his dad.

A year later he suddenly lost the hearing in his left ear. The doctors put it down to emotional stress, but there was no real way of knowing.

Still struggling to fit in, he turned to his imagination, getting lost in worlds of complete make believe. Fantasy was his favourite. Elves, dwarves, vampires. He read The Hobbit more than 20 times in the few years that followed.

He would write stories, put on plays with the few kids he did befriend. And in the end, that was where his life would lead him, to fantasy books that would sell millions and a movie deal to follow.

University was next, along with dead-end jobs in bars to get him through. He only managed a year and a half into his degree, though, finding himself unable to concentrate, so he dropped out again. From then, working in bars and takeout joints pretty much became his life.

He wrote in his spare time, mailbox constantly full of rejection letters. It was a stream of disappointment for him.

At 23 that things finally began to look up and he met his soon to be wife while locking up one night. Before long they became the best of friends, then their family became three... and then four. The wedding came last.

It was at 27 that he got somewhere with his writing, Serena finding the letter that held his fate. A three book deal in young adult fiction was soon offered to him and everything changed.

When he hit book three, however, disaster struck. On a night out, Serena and her friends had gotten into an accident. His wife was gone. Just like that. He didn’t get to say goodbye.

The final book fell to the wayside and for a year be barely did anything, not really knowing how to get through. But his children forced him out of it; he finished the book, he moved into editing, focusing on someone else’s work for a change.

It’s been a bumpy ride, one that’s taken him all over the country during the last year or so and, at some points, left him chasing after his work. He’s making it work, though, he’s getting through, forcing himself to.

HEADCANONS.

Cameron owns a black and tan Jack Russel called Gimli. Because he is both small and mighty.

He’s read The Hobbit around 50 times now and it will always be his favourite book.

He recently had a brief fling with the actor playing the lead role in the movie adaptation of his book series.

Cameron picks up a new tattoo for every success he has in life (or what he considers a success anyway). Currently he’s up to number six. His wedding, his two children, and each of his books. He’s pending on number seven for when the movie’s released and how it does.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

- younger adopted sister; can be any ethnicity, around the age of 25-30. - sister/brother-in-law; sibling/s of his late wife. - childhood best friend; they were inseparable once they found one another, almost like siblings, and things haven’t really changed much since. - childhood/school friends; anyone he was close to growing up in notting hill. - high school sweetheart; his first love. - ex/exes; from before he turned 23 & met his wife. - it’s more than complicated; they work together, they can’t get enough of one another. - flings, fwb, one night stands; anything that isn’t serious. he’s not really moved on since his wife. - that notorious fling; the lead of the movie of his books that he had a fling with. - fans of his previous works; anyone who was a fan of his book trilogy. - fellow gym rats; he’s a bit of an addict these days.

#✧ cameron ( about ) #nothillhqintro

[chanelfunnell]

what i know, anon, from public wisdom is a fling of Meghan Markle with Dell Zotto. She was 30 and he was 23. I'd take it as good fitness session and a boost of self confidence. I don't bother about something outside of NHL and ice hockey topic. I think she has made herself a total unkempt home fool in her badly staged whining reality trashy series and had exposed her huge ego, delusion all gained by her 3rd husband and her real non photoshopped face and huge nose that she edits. So she has hurt only herself if she ordered to film Marketa in her privacy and I believe so based on Markle's hoke videos. Her little helper UK fashion editor is mad with her horrible fashion clash for crash with belly. There are serious criminal charges for it to film anybody dressing up in own privacy and distribute it.

Markle will be found as a sex pervert in proximity of her famous neighbours in any home search. I'd finish it here. It is not for my blog and a topic. I think all these ruling Windsors Mountbattens and their add ons are weird bunch of lazy posers.media seekers., Manipulation, victim players, corrupted idiots and fools taken for rides with charlatans. Car presenter rattled the cage with something what old mistress told him about Markle and naker body being paraded through the streets. Markle is nasty manipulator hold digga but it's about treatment of the women. Does it come from Camilla as old mistress trying to set up Marketa for a trap with her darling climber equarry with similar name Jonathan who can't keep to stay outside of the press? He has hired social media and buzzes to UK press and had JT. Lol. I don't go into their melee. I think old mistress can't get out of mags covers and cheap publicity but lacks any charity work. She is full of intrigue like Markle and she did it for Diana but they are all lazy, weird odd bunch of stupid tone deaf old farts naming themselves as generals or below average looking women gold diggas ruling to those weak men. We have two mad old farts trying to be our presidents again but i am glad to be USA with government full of experts in their fields than corrupted bunch of PR executives and a tour operator who has damaged their health and financial and police.,army system. They all sold to contractors and run cocaine parties bigger than Hunter. Markle is just plain US citizen Markle for me and us and no favour made to see her and her Prince whinge in the dishevelled look and different face than button nose on edited photos with heavy make up. We know she was unknown prior of her big trophy and athletes are smarter because they are natural hunters chasing the most prized trophy and medal but not other way round lol. The main ruling bunch are a bunch of weirdos, trashy like Meghan and so desperate to appear next to celebs and stars from. Oston to that London party that they are at the same trashy yet lazy let them eat cake level. Nothing to do with ice hockey. Sure Prince Harry copied Andrew Shaw's Spiderman's costume and he looks like an idiot so he copied her stay at UK aircraft carrier in NYC for his spying at our carrier in Hawaii but there is zero with ice hockey. So out of topic. Markle was not Wag and she is not a journo In this sport. Any bad things by MM have to be issued by M bLW and her team, UK has demanded tha that Sussexes are without any titles. If the king does it listen to his country he will face his own music as we are different country bit both use precedents in law and there was Edward vIII and there are human rights and rights of UK taxpayers . I don't pay them and I don't care. They are losers attracting losers thinking they are cover stars and above the law and us.rkld

Markle sponged $50 millions plus from UK tax payers money and she spat on them. Her children showed for monetary reasons in cheaply made dicy series with unkempt d list show girl. Aged Camilla poses with celebs and for mags bythe storm but lacks anything from brain cells of a gambler with messy life Evander Kane who is actually with claim to fame and hot look on his own, also smart PR to run hands on charity and his own biz..old Camilla thinks that she dishonours a young brainy beauty stating out of the press with certain Thompson or her nonsense like with Diana. M is calm and Meghan M perhaps to similar treatment like Kane's ex-wife after her multiple admission about suicide so Californian law triggered because Markle admitted she is unstable and a treat to her own life. I would stay away. They are a mix of Delusion bunch mixed with drugs apparently smuggled in party paraphernalia import by Kate Middleton's mother and an uncle from Netherlands, monitored over a year...I am glad I don't pay this check circus of not good lookers and no way Netflix cancelling good series for broadcasting this badly made home tapes of dishevelled deluded devils.

B) I plan numerous posts one about brown shoes of Tazer, female journos and wags but I am busy and lazy now. Also Blackhawks play terribly.

#chicago blackhawks #No more politics #No more crazies #meghan markle

[renatedagmarmilada]

new citizens here..

A neighbour but one from me is a slovakian family..from Koshitze. A lot of people from there have come here. They are the nicest people on earth...as unaggressive as we are... Ok not clever particularly but really, really nice, the dad in particular..the husband Joska is hungarian mix. Last week some young black boys smashed the back window of his car, then black lads stole the son’s mobile phone. Yesterday I came home from work early, as one of my pupils’ families went to a wedding, so I only had four hours teaching..On Saturday evening there is a programme 'Wild CHina' which I always try to watch..I closed half the curtains, and settled to the tv to watch my beloved programme. As you know from my pictures with these little terraces,  our little front room looks straight onto the street, but generally it doesn't bother me.

All of a sudden there was a banging on my front door, you know you get an ear for door knockers, pedlars, gas man or what ever. This was banging, so I sent Joe, who was upstairs in his bedroom faffing with a new tank model, (he is mad on making tank and plane models at the moment and the house is filled with flying thing, even above my bedroom bookcase there is a fighter plane!! - but you know, with sons you get used to that and all sorts of other things) Joe is six foot, big built, blonde hair and pale blue eyes as is his brother Ryan and he says little but if they start trying to goad him, which the coloured and black lads often do, he has an irish temper and is not politically correct in the least-

I have to intervene when he starts arguing with police men particularly since he was eight years old, as he won’t accept that truth is not right but Might, -and a savage sounding rotweiler, this latter makes them run quickly...though he is the daftest, gentlest animal on God's earth. Joe went to sort out what the problem was: do you know two Polish men, - no but there are Slovaks there but you need to go up the road, all the blacks live up, not down the road.

He came in.. outside on the next wall, crashing banging crashing banging, as I say my house is on the road, so I have developed a deaf ear to noise as long as it comes no where near me.. learnt that when I was living in the East end of London.

but then I saw them all suddenly running up the road, flashing past. That meant they had done something really bad. Joe ran out and then I went out..they had thrown a stone at Joska the slovak father, who had come to the door, and now stood with huge gashes in his head, blood pouring down his face and chest..absolutely bemused by what was going on, and they had thrown a brick through the neighbour’s house, a young Pakistani couple, who was at work as a busdriver, people as quiet as we are!

well, we fetched the police etc etc..................

the outcome was that the police man is going on holiday and will sort it all out in a week's time!!!!!!!!!!!

The family have picked up everything and gone to stay with her brother for a week and are then leaving. He works for a german company and they have promised to move him to Kassel. Many of the Slovaks are going there next year to work, Joska already has an aunty in Stuttgart who has worked there for many, many years and settled there. They are a hard working family, and it was not totally joke when Joe commented : do you realise that all the offices throughout Britain are probably being cleaned by Slovaks.

Eva, his wife is in absolute shock: they are animals, I never liked this place (she didn't I can vouch for that, but it is impossible to live at home, as soon as we have enough money we will return) but these people are not humans, communism was better than what there is here..

and the police will come next week to sort it out.

One of the kids kept tearing up and down on a scooter, but the police man said there is a law in South Yorkshire, they are not allowed to chase kids on motorbikes because the kid might crash...

Joska went off, blood still streaming down his chest.

Jim, the man who owns the house says that is the last straw, he will sell it now. Joska's family were such good tenants and tenants like that, who care for the property better than their own just don't come twice. A Pakistani woman passing ( No, I am not racist in the least contrary to gossip, because I speak out at times-) said the same had happened to them down the road, but they never bother to fetch the police as the police never do anything anyway ... which is true and the gypsy girls at the bottom are stopping men and asking for fifty pounds for sex please!

I find now all the Pakistanis are trying to cover for their men and the schoolgirls’ incident. They tell me time and again that the school girls were whores (at nine) and begged them to have sex with them/- All the Pakistanis appear to be against the Poles and Slovaks about everything...and never stop complaining about them..I just laugh..they are crazy. You know like Germany after the first world war, exactly the same...

I can't say if it is true about the sex offers or not, they don't bother me, but I have a feeling they might be teasing the Pakistanis!! as they all know the news.

The gypsies don't speak to me, they say I am a German or a Hun and to be avoided, they are scared of me actually..they say I look aloof and arrogant. I tried to get one of their children to school, as he was a nice little scamp.. but after I got all the papers for them and they didn't send them, I stopped bothering. There are at least ten or twelve gypsy families here, with lots of kids, they just look like Pakistanis (gypsies came originally from north India) and fit the area very well..don't work, stand around..though one person in the family has to work for two years, before they can claim benefits

---but the police are coming back in one week..from holiday! So, as I have said time and again, for a country with a population as large as this, we need more policemen..why are we building ridiculous cultural centres which stand mainly unused or used by a couple of people, yet don’t have enough policemen to go round? It all boils down to a ridiculous use of the plentiful resources available by people who don’t seem to know how to manage a society!