#reza writes

[killthemwithdoodles]

TMNTober Days 1&2

Mutant and Human

“Wait, you aren’t just bald turtle yokai?”

April sighed, reaching over to smack Casey in the back of the head, “Of course not! Have you ever even met a kappa?”

Casey shook his head, “No! My pops hates yokai so I don’t exactly get a lot of chance to meet them.”

Raph snorted, “Great. A human with the IQ of April’s bat. Nice one to bring into our secret home, guys!”

Donnie rolled his eyes, “Don’t be rude. Casey saw April in trouble and jumped in to fight off a couple Foot ninjas and even managed to hold his own against them. His technique is brutal and inefficient, but I think he’d make a good addition to the team.”

Raph and Leo looked the boy over. He was messy, with a nose that had clearly been broken at least once before and greasy hair that was outgrowing its black dye. He had a hockey stick in hand and a pair of skates tied to his backpack. He wore a leather jacket covered in stains and patches that matched the rest of his battered and patchy clothes.

“What?” Casey frowned at the scrutiny, “You think I can’t keep up with you? Casey Jones can take anyone!”

Raph grinned, “I like that idea.” He wheeled himself over, “Fight me, Jones. We’ll see how you do and that can decide it.”

Casey immediately wilted, clearly taken aback by the guy in a wheelchair challenging him to a fight.

“I… uh…” He winced, “Are you…?”

Raph just smirked and turned away, wheeling away towards the dojo.

April sighed, clapping Casey on the arm, “Well, you’re doomed.” She tutted and walked off, “I’ll tell your sister you died like a hero.”

Casey was pleasantly surprised to see the turtles had made something akin to a dojo in one of the rooms of their lair. It was well lit and had one of those big Japanese mat things across the floor. There were some seats on the side, some weights and workout equipment pushed away, plus a couple of pretty bad-off punching bags with stitched together puncture marks.

All in all? A pretty badass space for fighting.

Leo and Donnie both offered him luck, which was concerning, and April threw a water bottle at his head, which he caught with just a little fumbling.

“Why am I fighting the disabled brother?” He asked, slipping off his jacket, “Like, I ain’t, uh, abled-phobic or anything, but man’s in an actual wheelchair.”

Donnie scoffed, “Jones, Raphael is the most skilled fighter of all of us. His legs are more lethal than any sword.” He smirked and pulled out his phone, “Short answer: get recked human boy.”

“Donnie, don’t antagonize my opponent.” Raph’s voice came through and Casey turned to look, stunned to see him standing, wearing a pair of leg braces that were stark white and covered in stickers.

“Oh shit.”

He was tall. Like, damn tall. Suddenly the little lip on his beak looked terrifying, especially in front of such an intimidating grin.

“That’s my job.” Raph smirked, tossing his sai aside.

The first fight was short. The second was longer, with Casey less stunned by the fact that Raph was not just capable- but skilled. They tussled for a while before Raph pinned him again in a headlock with Casey’s legs trapped under his.

The third was even better.

Raph went for Casey’s legs first, going for a swift knockout, but Casey jumped at the right moment and managed to get his knee right in Raph’s chin. They danced around each other for a while, trading blows while the trio on the side cheered, before Casey went for another hard hit.

Raph dropped, the punch whiffing over his head as he fell dead-drop into a split and swept his legs, slamming his fin hard into Casey’s knees and pulling him down. They wrestled on the floor for a couple moments, but Raph still won out in the end.

They got to their feet, both panting (though Casey far more than Raph).

“Alright, he can stay.” Raph finally decided, and the other three erupted into cheers.

“Hell yeah!”

“Casey! You did it!”

“Whoo hoo and all that.”

He ignored Donnie.

Raph clapped Casey on the shoulder, grinning, “Good fight, Jones. You got style.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” He teased back, slugging Raph’s arm, “Pretty tough.”

“Never underestimate your opponent and all that.” Raph wrapped an arm over Casey’s shoulders, grinning wide.

Casey looked up at him, at his dark brown eyes. Dark scales poked out from underneath his red mask, the same kind of scales that ran over his exposed shoulders, tough but smooth.

His gaze trailed down just slightly, to watch Raphael’s lips as they called to April, thanking her for finding him a new sparring partner.

Raph looked down at him, a wild kind of happiness in his face, and Casey had to quickly laugh it off.

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

Oh no.

#stargazer tmnt #reza writes #tmnt #tmnt raph #tmnt donnie #tmnt leo #tmnt april #tmnt casey jones #rasey #Casey Jones has a gay panic moment #my favorite genre #tmntober 2023

[nerdywriter36]

POTO Fluff Week Day 3 - The Rosy Hours

AO3

Day 3 had the theme of Non-Western AU, and this is the first of a couple of Fluff Week oneshots that I collaborated on with @brendadaaedestler! We do a lot of work together, if you have yet to notice 😂

This was an idea that we were both really looking forward to writing and are happy to get to finally share with everyone! This is a happy Persia AU, and you will have to read on to see what that entails.

#poto #poto fluff week 2024 #my writing #that's my friend! #phic #non-western au #e/c #erik #christine daae #gustave daae #nadir khan #rookheya #reza khan

[autisticsupervillain]

Complete Monster Write-Up: Reza Zaydan

What's the Work?

Hitman is stealth action game franchise following the adventures of the world's greatest assassin, Agent 47. The World of Assassination Trilogy is the latest entry in the series as of now, with its third main story mission having two targets for 47 to bring down: Carl Strandberg and today's candidate Reza Zaydan.

Who's the Candidate? What have they done?

Reza Zaydan is a general in the Moroccan Army, known amongst his peers more for womanizing and social skills than for any actual military victory. A classic nepotism baby, Zaydan is always looking to get more power and is willing to sink to any low to get it if it means upstaging the rest of his highly successful family.

Willingly signing up with an international secret society called Providence, Zaydan agreed to become their Puppet King if they aided him in taking over Morroco. To this end, he hatched a plan with banker Claus Strandberg to initiate a military coup. When Strandberg gets caught steeling millions of dollars from the Moroccan public, Zaydan hires mercenaries to break him out of jail, leaving countless innocents and security personnel dead in their wake. This sparks a public outcry that causes riots all across Marrakesh, which Zaydan hopes he can use to justify a full on military coup, painting the Moroccan government as weak and incompetent to his fellow commanders for their inability to handle the riots so they'll join him in uprising.

To further fuel the flames, Zaydan has his people spread propaganda for the terrorist organization Crystal Dawn, hoping to use their supposed involvement to spark massive violent riots across all the most populated cities in Morroco. Once the dust is settled, Zaydan shamelessly admits he plans to have these false flag operatives executed so they can't contradict the narrative he's created.

When one of Zaydan's closest lieutenants and friends learns that his brother died in the Strandberg prison break, he threatens to go public with the truth behind the coup. Zaydan rewards this treachery by have him captured and tortured with advanced interrogation techniques, smugly taunting him about his dead brother in between rounds of torture. Out on the streets, Zaydan's soldiers have innocent people thrown out of their houses and workplaces to convert them to military bases for the upcoming coup, with one store owner in particular being threatened at gun point and told his family will be shot if he does not cooperate. Zaydan has turned the public school into his personal base for the coup this way, forcing the headmaster to live with a relative nearby as he now has nowhere else to go since he cannot work.

Desiring nothing more than to dominate his own country, Zaydan smugly admits that once all is said and done, he plans to throw Strandberg from a plane once he's no longer needed, happy to kill anyone who gets in his way of conquering Morroco.

Thankfully, Agent 47 is brought in to put a stop to this violent insurrection, eliminating both Zaydan and Strandberg before any further damage can be done.

Mitigating Factors?

Nothing concretely redeeming at any rate. Zaydan comes from a large, wealthy family and its suggested that this is what fuels his lust for power, but he never mentions them and no redeeming care or fondness is implied. Zaydan is not popular amongst his own troops, with many badmouthing him behind his back for being a cowardly nepo baby. Several of his own troops express disgust for his fondness for torture and his orders to shoot civilians, with him childishly blowing up at any he hears criticize him. While Zaydan gets on better with his lieutenants, he's happy to throw them to the wolves when betrayed, as discussed above. If directly confronted by 47, he'll even flee to save his own life, leaving all his troops, loyal or not, for dead.

He's not even liked by his girlfriends. One spy working for international terrorist group IAGO mentions that she hates him so much that she's considering quiting just so she won't have to keep dating him.

The biggest concern is being played seriously. There's an Easter Egg in which, if every soldier in the building is dismissed, Zaydan will start dancing a silly dance to goofy disco music. That said, this isn't canon. It's a silly easter egg with no baring or context in the plot and shouldn't be taken against Zaydan's canon actions.

The other issue is Zaydan's potential death, where 47 can drop a toilet on his head from the floor above while he whines about his soldiers disrespecting him. This is his only silly moment in canon, though, and its not enough to detract from how dead straight his atrocities are played otherwise.

Heinous Standard

Hitman's heinous standard is jacked. Just in the WOA Trilogy alone, we have a terrorist organization that got a diplomat and his family killed by leaking classified flight plans, an organ harvester who experiments on the homeless to create mind control technology, and a cult hellbent on spreading an apocalyptic plague around the world.

That said, Zaydan is the most heinous villain in his niche. The latter above examples are CMs in their own right with backing from large, international organizations. Zaydan is ultimately a small cog in Providence's large design whose mostly content just subjugating his own country. As far as dictators whose scope is limited to just their country go? Zaydan is easily the worst.

All the other dictators in the franchise that 47 goes after are all already retired by the time he gets to them, so their crimes are offhandedly described in conversation and mission briefings. Nothing they do goes quite so far in scope and attempted body count as Zaydan does. We see, in gameplay, most of his atrocities play out in front of us. Civilians forced from their homes, a whistle-blower tortures, a riot in the verge of bloodshed that Zaydan plans to spread to major cities all around the country, putting the pieces in place to justify gunning down thousands of innocent civilians to secure his rise to power. Yeah, I think he's bad enough by a hair or two.

Conclusion

He's got a yes from me. I think he just clinches it.

#complete monster #cm write up #hitman #agent 47 #reza zaydan

[hannahhook7744]

The Badun Detective Agency Song;

Thanks @casinotrio1965 for the help writing this.

Harry: 

Call me a stalker, 

Call me a creep. 

Really, I'm just a smooth talker,

And the one that you seek. 

Jace: 

I'm the strong one,

Not afraid to fight. 

I'm seen people come undone,

So don't try to tell me what's wrong or right!

Yzla:

My whole life,

I've been wishing on a star.

Fightin' with a knife,

While they party from afar.

I've faced nothing but strife, 

Is it any wonder that I'm so bizarre?

Reza:

I'm a diamond in the rough, 

So forgettable.

But always fast with a rebuff,

Mind so incredible.

Just wait till I show my stuff,

One day I'll prove that I'm enough!

Eddie:

They think I'm a snitch,

A rat in the gutter. 

They want me in a ditch,

So I'm left to scutter.

Soon I'll flip the switch,

And then they'll all stutter.

Hermie:

Life is a circus, 

The world's my stage. 

I'm too full of purpose,

To be stuck in this cage.

Hadie:

The prince of the Underworld, 

I'm making it hot.

Time for me to be unfurled,

don’t try to stop me or you’ll rot!

All:

Life is a mystery, 

So full of history. 

We live in misery,

But one day we will know victory!

Cause…

We got resolve!

We've got resolve!!

Life is a mystery, 

So full of history. 

We live in misery,

But one day we will know victory!

They'll know us all!

And they will bawl!

They dropped the ball,

And we answered the call!

We've got resolve!

We'll make them squall!

And the isle will fall!

They'll remember them all!

No time to stall!

#descendants #disney descendants #melissa de la cruz #descendants au #wicked world #disney #disney descendants alternate universe #disney descendants au #descendants alternate universe #harry badun #jace badun #hermie bing #descendants reza #descendants yzla #descendants hadie #eddie balthazar #song writing #etc

[justplainwhump]

Stalling

Tara’s story - II

[Part I] [Masterpost (Tara)] [Masterpost (Malia)]

In the hands of the General, Tara tries to stall the interrogation. Doesn’t work too well for her.  

This is an adapted RP; the excellent mean man General was written by @whumping-newbie.

Content / warning: Military whump, female protagonist, light torture, cigarette burns, noncon kissing, choking, vague fear of noncon, short comment on Americans abroad.

"Ms McKenzie." There's a barely veiled threat in the way General says my name, built up in front of where I’m bound to that wooden chair. His hands are clasped behind his back, a confident smirk pulling at his lips. As if it was an effort to read my press ID card. 

For a second, I want to address him with his own name, too. But the less he thinks I know, the better. "This is a misunderstanding, Sir" I say firmly, answering in English. "I'm a journalist. A civilian. I am sorry if my presence on that roof caused a disturbance. I wanted a look at the demonstrations."

"The demonstrations that are streets away from us?" His English is flawless. "If you wanted a look at the demonstrations, you wouldn't have been so far from the action, would you, little miss Lois Lane? You would have been at the consulate. You would have been interviewing protesters."

I would've. Of course I would.

"I promised someone at home not to take risks," I say, looking straight at him. "I know I'm not at home in America. I stay away from political news. So I don't end up in -" I look down at my bonds pointedly. "- critical situations."

"Indeed." He smirks. "So here is what I want to know, and what you are going to tell me. You had a camera. I know you did, because I saw it. If it was not a sniper rifle, it was a camera. You were photographing me and my soldiers. Something that, in case you didn't know, is a crime here in Morocco. I want to know where that camera is." 

I can't lie with everything. I can't protect myself. I just have to keep Rabia safe. 

"My phone," I say quietly. "I took a picture with my phone, because I saw your uniform and wanted to find out what it means and who you are, I... I usually cover sports, I don't know much about the military. I was curious."

"Hm." He cocks his head. "So where did you put your phone then?" 

He closes the distance between us, leans in close to my face, and rests his hands on her bound arms, before he repeats. "Where on the roof is your phone?"

The roof. Rabia is still there. I can’t let him go there, can’t let the men spend too much time there. 

"It's not on the roof. I think it's not, I... It fell when you started yelling. I was afraid you'd shoot. I..." I bite my bottom lip. "I think it feel over the edge but I don't know, I just tried to get away from your guns."

He nods once, looking at the soldier who accompanied him here.

"Okay then." He switches to Arabic in an instant to address the other man. "Tell your men to check the grounds around the roof for that phone."

I shudder and look away, trying to hide a relieved exhale. He shouldn't know I understand Arabic. He certainly shouldn’t know I want him to search the ground instead of the roof. Rabia will have a chance. I hope she will. 

His hand rests on my shoulder, and before I can look back at him, he gives me a hard shove.

I'm falling, suddenly. The chair is toppling backward, leaving me hanging in the air for what feels a second to long. 

My scream collapses as I crash onto the ground on my back, head slamming into the floor and the world fades out.

-

When I come to, everything is upside down.

I groan in pain. My head is throbbing, my back feels like it's broken. Breathing hurts. Seeing hurts, too. I blink against the light, softly.

He's still there. General Reza Zaydan, standing over me, smoking a cigarette and looking down at me from upside down. I blink again, nauseous.

"Wh... why?", I stammer. "Please, Sir. I... I don't know what you think that I did, but I did not, I... I promise you I'll delete that photo, I'll burn my phone myself once you find it, please."

"Ms McKenzie, you can stop lying to me at any time, you know. Because let me make one thing astoundingly clear to you..."

He crouches down in front of me, grabbing a hold of my hair with one hand and taking a drag with the other. I have to control my breath. I hate to be touched. I hate the way he handles me, I hate the condescending tone in his voice.

"I know that you think you are clever. With your little reporter hovel and miniature studio, you do your homework, I know you do. You know who I am. You know who met me here. And I'd argue that you thought it was clever to photograph our meeting and release it. I am here to tell you that you aren't nearly as smart as you think you are. And for that -"

He pulls my hair tighter, towards him, keeping me in place and once I understand, I can’t even react, before he firmly presses the lit cigarette on my neck.

My vision blanks out. Sharp sudden pain floods me, and I realize I’m screaming, realize that tears have welled up in my eyes. 

He lets go of my hair, my head sinking back against the floor, before he relights the cigarette. "You can consider yourself warned. I have ways of dealing with people who lie to me. Ways that I'm sure you'd be thrilled to get a scoop on. Perhaps I should give you something you can really report on. How about that?"

I'm trembling violently. "I'm not lying," I whisper. My voice comes out weakly, shaking. I hate the sound of it. I take a second to try and stay myself before I open my eyes to look up at him  "You... You can't do this. You can't. I'm American, you're government, you can't torture an American citizen." 

"You Americans are all the same," he says, "thinking that by being American you are afforded special privileges when you are abroad. That the laws of other lands do not apply to you."

He leans in closer and before I understand what he’s doing, his lips are on my skin, his breath hot on the burn mark. I freeze.

I'm bound to the chair, on the ground. Powerless in the face of anything he wants to do to me.

Anything.

His kiss burns more than his cigarette ever could. "Please," I whisper. "Please just let me go, I'll return to my home, I'll never get involved with your laws again."

He chuckles. "Perhaps if you hadn’t been so selfish as to involve yourself in the affairs of another country, you would not be here in the first place."

Suddenly a radio crackles to life. The radio belonging to the other soldier, waiting by the door. The static makes the Arabic harder to understand, but I can make out enough. "No sign of any phone around here. Not on the floor, windows or ledges around that roof. Continuing our search on the roof itself, over." 

The General has tilted his head to listen. He's still too close, the smoke of his cigarette too acrid. I turn my face away good as I can. 

"What you're doing here isn't legal in my home, or in yours," I say quietly, just to keep talking. "The military isn't allowed to arrest and interrogate civilians. We both know that. And we both know that my country will take measures"

"That is correct," He blows the smoke onto my face, and I can’t help but cough against it. I feel nauseous. "Assuming that they find out, of course."

With that, he abruptly stands back up, straightening out his uniform.

"Is there a reason that my men have not found the phone on the ground in or around that building?" 

With his arms folded, he begins pacing around me in a circle. I still can’t move, still bound to the chair that’s laying on the floor.

I close my eyes, trying to imagine I'm just resting. What he said - what he didn't say - confirms it all. He does not intend to let me go. He'll protect whatever it is that we witnessed, and he'll take any measures to that end.

His men are going on the roof next. It should've been enough time for Rabia to get away, but she doesn’t know about the phone. It’ll be there, and they’re going to find it.

I won't get out of this. No need to stall any longer. 

I open an eye to follow him with my gaze. "Is there a reason that you don't want for your little liaison to come public?"

To my surprise, he chuckles, before he replies. "Because that man is the most wanted man in Morocco. Do you not agree that keeping him from the ire of the mob will allow him to stay alive long enough for him to see justice through our court system? Believe me, I do not approve of the actions of that slimy rat. I would love to see him get his comeuppance."

He don't stop moving around me. "I also asked you a question. I answered yours - you answer mine. Is there a reason that we have not found your phone on the ground, hm?"

"I don't remember us having that sort of an understanding." I close my eyes again with a smirk, mentally preparing for a kick to the side. "Maybe your men didn't search good enough."

There’s no kick.

Instead, there’s his hand, wrapping around my throat and pressing down. "You think you're safe in being smart with me, do you?" He’s dropped to his knees next to me, leaning in close to my ear. I can barely listen to him, as I struggle to get oxygen into my lungs. "You can think again right now. I have ways and means of getting information out of people that try to conceal things from me, and I will not hesitate to use those methods. Do you under -"

"Sir, we found it. We found the phone. In an air conditioning unit, we're bringing it to you, over."

His grip is loosening ever so slightly, but his hand stays on my neck, ready to choke again. 

Another static voice speaks now. "We also found evidence of a co-conspirator, General. There's wet footprints up here, fairly recent. I've got men on the trail as we speak."

I can't breathe, even with his choking hold released. Laying on the back, my lungs won't fill, but I can't move, not even roll over to my side.

"Out of the frying pan, and into the fire for you, girl."

"No," I choke out, shaking my head. "Fire... you're the one... in the fire."

He lets go of my throat entirely and after a nod, the soldier appears at over me, grabbing the wooden chair and pulling it upright again. I'm dizzy. The movement has sent my head spinning. At least I can breathe again, and I do, staring at the floor in front of his feet. 

"Brave words for someone who is tied to a chair, in a military facility." The general throws the cigarette butt in the direction of the wall. "We've found your phone. I want to see what is on there, and you are going to let me." 

The found Rabia’s trace, but they don’t know where she went. 

They’ve got my phone, but they're not going to get into it. The phone is PIN-locked, one of the first things I learned. Ignore convenience, as a journalist. Don't lock your phone with biometric patterns, in a way someone could use against your will.

I've done so to protect my contacts for my stories. I've never thought I'd need it to protect my girlfriend's life. 

The only way he can get into my phone is through me. 

I raise my chin to meet his gaze. 

"No," I say softly. "No, I will not."

#whump #lady whump #military whump #torture #interrogation #tara mckenzie #hitman reza zaydan #whump writing

[whumping-newbie]

Malia I - The Rebel

I was playing Hitman again in my favourite level. Made a new OC to whump XD I suppose one could argue that this is Hitman fanfiction set in the world of the “A Gilded Cage” mission.

Thanks to @justplainwhump and @whumpopology for inspiring me to actually write it!! Going to tag @whumpmasinjuly too for day 12′s prompt “Rebellion”!

Cw for kidnapping by military officers, choking.

POV: Malia

The nights in the streets of Marrakesh are livelier than I am used to.

The souk that is open during the day is still largely open now too, probably because the night air brings a coolness that makes the atmosphere more enjoyable. The people wandering the winding roads, the vendors selling wares, the eateries providing food and drink to patrons as they pass by.

And until just a few moments ago, I was one of them.

I hadn't noticed quite how late it was, and I have work in the morning, so I should probably go home.

I don't live far from the souk I was just at. About five minutes away at the very most. The amount of pedestrians wandering the streets certainly drops the further away from the souk you get, as does the lights. The chill of the night air keeps me aware enough of my surroundings as I pass by the abandoned primary school, loose bits of brick and metal fencing still litter this particular stretch of alleyway.

I can't really describe it, but the solitude of these streets are a far cry from where I came from, on edge at every turn. This is a nice, peaceful stroll in the evening that I couldn't be afforded just barely two weeks ago.

Even lovelier is that I can practice my ever-building French and Arabic skills with my new neighbours. I’m not perfect, but I know enough to survive.

I take another glance at my wristwatch. Almost ten to midnight. At least I have already eaten, so I can just go straight home and not bother my neighbours -

The sound of something heavy hitting the ground rang behind me and I snapped my head around. The previously empty alleyway now had a lone, heavy looking duffel bag in the middle of it, and before I could wonder how it got there, a figure scrambled over the wall dividing the alleyway from the abandoned school.

They were a soldier, at least, their uniform gave that away. Camoflague with a bulletproof vest over their chest. They looked down the alley away from me, scooping up the bag, and finally their gaze settled on me.

I had barely processed the unusual behavior before the soldier hurried over in my direction. Partially out of wariness, and partially out of shock, I simply moved aside to clear the alleyway for him.

But instead, he slowed down beside me.

"Mademoiselle, I need your help," he said in a low whisper, taking my arm in his and starting to walk at a brisk pace with me. He spoke French, which admittedly caught me off guard. All of the policemen I had seen earlier spoke Arabic when I was asking for directions.

I free my arm from his, "monsieur, what are you -?"

"Just walk with me. Don't make too much noise, please."

Because that sounds like something a man with good intentions would say to a woman in the middle of the night.

"Sir, I will not..."

He reaches into his pocket as he pulls me around the corner, looking over his shoulder at the fence he just clambered over.

"Come with me," he says in a hurried whisper.

He continues to guide me down the street, away from the one I use to go home, and I force my feet to stop following him. "No!"

"Madam, this is urgent," he turns to face me, leaning down to my level.

"And what makes you think I'll just follow a strange man who dragged me down an alleyway?"

He ponders this, looking over my shoulder at the doorway in the wall. He pulls me there instead, and i don't know why I don't just scream for help. Something keeps my voice from getting any louder. He looks around, before taking out something from his trouser pocket and handing it to me. It's a phone.

"Take this, and give it to the papers. Upload it to the internet. Take it to the police. Please, it's important. It has to be done tonight."

"Why should I -"

"Because the fate of this entire country is at stake, and I need you to -"

"But why can't you do it?"

"Because I just deserted from my army, and giving you that phone probably constitutes treason, but people need to see what's going on -"

Suddenly a blinding light hits my vision, disorienting me so fast I barely have time to put my hands up before someone else has grabbed me and pulled me out of the doorway, covering my mouth with a large, gloved hand.

"Stay quiet, or I'll shoot," the voice hisses in my ear. Another voice. A different voice.

A more menacing one.

Something hard presses into the small of my back. A gun.

I try to fight, to push him off me, but he's so much bigger and stronger than me -!

Another voice cuts through the once nocturnal stillness to deliver a sharp command in Arabic, but all I could understand was “get them off the street”.

The soldier who had led me here was on the floor, groaning from a blow to the head as he is soundlessly handcuffed by another soldier.

The one holding me speaks into my ear, again in Arabic. In my panic I could only catch fragments what he was saying to me. Something about “being quiet”, I’m not too sure.

I don't even have the chance to form an answer before the soldier moves his hands from my face, and instead wraps his entire arm around my neck, constricting my breathing so fast that I barely register it.

I try to pull him off, try to breathe, but he’s just so much stronger than me. Kicking out is fruitless, there’s nothing I can kick that would help me.

My head spins and my arms go slack. Black spots dance in the already dark alleyway, and the last thing I see before I slip into unconsciousness, is the body of the soldier beside me getting picked up and taken away.

#whump #my writing #kidnapping #choking #POV: Malia #it has been a Hot Whumpy While since i posted to this blog lmao #fanfiction #hitman fanfiction #hitman reza zaydan #hitman a gilded cage

[wordsmithings]

How To Kill A God - Post Jörmungandr fight

TW: Blood, mentions of bodily harm, swearing, pain. lots of it :D

So that was it, then.

Reza stood there, rather dumbfoundedly if he had to say so himself, as he watched Jörmungandr disappeared from in front of him in the blink of an eye and appeared almost instantaneously behind Chae. Before any of them could react, the rider, who pretty much everyone had forgotten about, rose and took care of the snake God in one swoop, fog and thunder and all. His body could barely contain the Godly powers manifested around them, and it was practically a miracle that he was standing where he stood at all, trembling at the sheer enormity of power that he could never phantom.

Was this how the people of old felt when they were in the presence of Gods warring amongst themselves? Helpless in their futile effort to neutralize an ambitious God that used them as pawns?

What was a man to a God, after all.

Fuck, he hated being philosophical.

Reza looked up as the rider spoke, when the finger was pointed at him. A shudder went down his spine when their eyes met. He felt his knees weakened at the sheer presence, though he forced himself not to buckle under pressure. God or not, he hated bending his knees to them more than anything. He gritted his teeth as he looked back at the rider; who looked old and young at the same time, who carried himself with the pride of a ruler, a father, a man and not a man. Reza wasn’t quite sure what sort of expression he wore, but it was definitely an unwelcoming one. Defiance till his very last breath.

But then his right eye started to hurt, to the point that plucking it out would be a much lesser pain than the one that he was feeling. Guttural scream escaped his lips as he clutched his right eye, wondering if this was the price for his insolence towards a God. It was a small price to pay, but good God did it hurt like Hell. Then a voice came to him, ethereal and fatherly.

My gift to you, son of man. To see possible futures when a grand choice is presented.

Then it whispered of warning; The children of Loki are still out there. So they might have to fight again. And they might not be so lucky then.

Fuck.

Both the rider and Jörmungandr disappeared after his warning, and the fog was lifted, bringing them back in Lords Wood. The pain in his right eye subsided, though the throbbing headache returned full force once the adrenaline cam crashing down. Reza still gritted his teeth as he assessed his own body; punctured wounds from Jörmungandr’s fangs on his arm began to close on itself as the spirits honoured the pack between them, and so was the wounds on his neck. He waited with bated breath for the consequence of forcing open the spiritual communication like it always did, but nothing came to. Perhaps the Gods’ power overrode the curse?

Reza turned to his companion, the situation was too somber for his liking, everyone was still reeling from what just happened. forcing himself to relax his body with a loud exhale as he took a step towards Helia and co.. He opened his mouth to speak, but there were no words that came from his lips. Instead, a coughing fit started to hit him, blood and black bile mixed together and stained his palm as he covered his mouth. His body crumpled as waves of pain engulfed him, his body spasmed and twitching on the ground as he choked on his own blood and vomit.

Ah, so it was delayed, he idly thought, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he started to lose consciousness from the immense pain. Muffled voices started to echo in his ears alongside a loud ringing from the spirits buzzing frantically around him. They wouldn’t be able to heal him from this, which was unfortunate. Reza tried to fight back the sleep that was gnawing at him, searching for Helia or Chae, or Hell, even Evanora, that edgy bastard. Who does she think anyway? The punisher? I should tease her about it. But sleep came to him anyway, his body felt heavy and limp on the wet forest ground. And though he knew not to, Reza let his consciousness slipped anyway, with such a silly thought in his mind and a small smirk on his lips.

==To be continued==

#blood tw #bodily harm tw #reza: hc para #I had to sneak away from work to write this cause I'm overflowing with idea #to torture reza 😈

[sinisterain]

[part 1]

#nijisanji id #nijisanji #ao3 #ao3 tags #taka radjiman #reza avanluna #miyu ottavia #hyona elatiora #takasuha #no i wont actually write takasuha fanfic i dont write 😔😔 #ao3 tags + nijisanji #nijimemetime

[frnajdi]

His Shrine

His shrine is our home and the key To the door of our wishes and dignity

—

We have already met him… when he guided us through revolution He granted the sinners forgiveness… the poor, abundance He never left or died… whatever you wish for is right by his side If mountains knew what his shrine gave… they’d crumble to be his slave His golden dome, his light outshines… and it knows no borderlines Who visits al-Ridha, a radhawi he becomes… he grants more requests than there are pilgrims

His shrine is our home and the key To the door of forgiveness and mercy

—

He is the King of Mashhad… and from whom guidance has spread Let everyone sigh in relief… and thank Ali Ibn Musa for their belief Thank God we have his shrine… from which, our faith he assigns If it’s the worlds bounties that you want… make him your confidant If it’s nearness that you long for… he has already come closer There is no movement without him… the path is too dark and dim

His shrine is our home and the key To the door of love and proximity

—

We still don’t know what God gave us… Mashhad is our axis of resistance The Kind Imam is resourceful too.. whatever you need or want he gives you He promises to return salams… send them and ask by the right of his Jawad Through him, sinners turned to martyrs… how many Hurrs to him surrender? Even if your love is weak, his is not… if you seek him, then know it is he who sought It’s as though he was killed for this… to forgive and show us kindness

His shrine is our home and the key To the door of God Almighty

—

So sit with him in your heart if you are far… write a letter to our kind father Tell him… beg him Bismillah al-rahman al-Raheem and say: “I send my salams to you O Rauf knowing I don’t deserve your reply I’m the worst of those who send their salams but I know you don’t turn away the regretful I can’t life my head when I speaks to you, how could I? When the only honor I have is what your name on my tongue brings. I don’t have a way to reach God-not alone I sin more than my fair share and the road seems closed to me But if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have known the road at all But I do know it and I do see it, but who am I to traverse it? I see everyone going and leaving me behind O Ali! I don’t want to be alone and I don’t want to be the cause of your displeasure which is none other than the displeasure of God Himself I’m speaking to you with a know in my throat and a nagging thought telling me “Stop! Why would he help you?” Indeed, I ask myself, why would you help me? I am certain none of the answers have anything to do with me but Master-instead-how kind and affectionate you are Could you see me in hell and do nothing to help me? Could you see me sin and not assist and forgive me? I am not claiming to be something I’m not-here I am I’m a sinner who knows the kindness of my Imam… My Master-Ya Rauf! I ask you by the generosity of your young Jawad To forgive my past and lay out a future for me that is from you-yourself. Cut the ties that connect me to my past and let me leave you anew I wasn’t invited to your shrine but be my host anyways Invite me in and be the guarantor of my hopes and wishes Not because I deserve anything-I swear to God, you know I don’t! -but for the sake of my sheer wanting and desperation There is a burning fervor in my heart for just a glance from you But my should wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t ask for more O Ali! There isn’t a pain your name does not heal or a trouble, it does not ease or a problem, it does not solve or a need that your name doesn’t grant. O Ali! I am already in your debt for all the good I have been granted But my sins have stunted my advancement And I fear for that close day, that bright morning when your Qaem rises and I don’t see my place with him O Ali-never let us see the day Grant us a place among his close helpers and soldiers Tell him my name and vouch for my acceptance among them With you… there are no limits to where we can go”

#Imam Ridha #imam Reza #Imam Ali Ibn Musa #Poetry #poem #writing #islamic poetry

[killthemwithdoodles]

TMNTober day 4

Training

Bō staff. Katana. Nunchucks. Sai.

He practiced with his brothers’ weapons when he missed them.

He practiced with his brothers’ weapons as often as his own.

The twirl of the bō, defensive and covering, allowing reach that could so easily be modified to fit any scenario.

The steady slice of a katana, sharp and deadly. It held power in every kata, every stance.

The twirl of nunchucks, their unpredictability, so hard to control but forceful in their impact. The fabric softening the handles no longer remembered its color.

The puncturing stab of a sai. He preferred its defensive ability, to snag and break a blade, protecting from damage, but he also knew that the blunted ends could do some good damage.

He kept up with all four, though his own trusty weapon stayed at his side. He stayed awake often, remembering the day their father gave it to him. He’d been so excited, practicing for days on end, no matter how many times he hurt himself.

But now he was here. Alone.

He knew his brothers were alive. They had to be. The old lair was cleaned out, so they must’ve just moved when they thought he’d died.

He’d find them one day.

One day.

#reza writes #tmnt donnie #tmnt leo #tmnt raph #tmnt mikey #stargazer tmnt

[nerdywriter36]

never let go 'till you're gone

AO3

handholding prompt #10 - happily doing everything with just one hand, if it means they don't have to let go

#my writing #poto #phic #the daroga #nadir #reza #erik #kerik #susan kay phantom #this one's like 90% cute #with just a sprinkle of overhanging angst

[mohrezap]

YOMAWARI LOST IN THE DARK REVIEW

#yomawari #yuzu #kotori #reza #review #writing #writer #content

[hannahhook7744]

The Baduns Got Ya Back;

I picture Diego sounding like Jason Evigan in ‘Cruising for a Bruisin’ when he sings this. And the guitar sounds like the beginning of this song ‘BFF’ (by Bowling with Soup) at the beginning of the song. Here's the song or what I have of it, suggestions for changes or things to be added would be helpful.

Thanks to @panthera-tigris-venenata for the help. (The sound doesn't feature Hadie or the proteges at all btw. Just Hermie Bing, Eddie Balthazar, Harry Badun, Jace Badun, Reza, Yzla, and maybe Mystery the turtle).

"Just seven when Harry B said he'd make things right,

Staying up day and night.

Always looking for a fight,

Always in for a nasty sight.

His cousin Jace always by his side,

Never one to hide.

Just along for the ride,

Taking everything in stride.

(Even when he sighed).

Cause….

One way or the other,

The Baduns got your back.

They're full of gall,

Always ready for the fall.

With the agency at the call,

Never afraid to brawl.

Cause….

(With the agency at the call)

The Baduns got your back.

Reza was just five,

Used to the life of crime.

Till he opened his eyes,

Felt like he was running out of time.

#the bad apples #the badun detective agency #descendants #disney descendants #melissa de la cruz #disney #descendants au #wicked world #disney descendants au #reza descendants #harry badun #jace badun #diego de vil #in universe song #descendants muisc #muisc writing #etc

[ghelgheli]

To understand the full context of the American-led ‘53 coup against Mosaddegh in Iran it is imo critical to recognize anti-communism as a proximate cause. Write-up below:

It is commonly understood that the early decades of the 20th century in Iran are characterized by British colonial extortion of material resources (mostly oil) within the boundaries of “Persia” (pre-1935) / “Iran” (post). The penultimate monarchical dynasty, the Qajars, were ousted in 1925—but the exile of the last Qajar Ahmad Shah was the direct result of the 1921 military coup led by then-Reza Khan (later the first “Pahlavi”, Reza Shah) which was directed by Britain. And at this time, British anxieties heavily featured concerns about Bolshevik encroachment from the Caucuses (not just through the newly-formed Azerbaijan SSR, but also through domestic sympathizers that fueled such projects as large as the transient Persian SSR, put down by Reza Khan after Soviet withdrawal).

This is stage-setting. Of course, by the 50s, in tandem with Cold War thread-pulling, the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company constituted a thirsty tentacle of British imperialism sucking Abadan dry and contributing pittances to the local economy. It was in the midst of decades of growing resentment against this presence that Mosaddegh became Prime Minister in 1951 as the leader of the broad National Front coalition, and we are familiar with how intensely he campaigned for nationalizing the country’s oil and how pissy this made the British (here’s one and another post on the subject if not).

Here’s the detour: you may know that it was the CIA, an American institution, that orchestrated the ‘53 coup to oust Mosaddegh. But we were just now discussing threats against British colonial power in Iran. How did things get from B to A, as it were? We can’t take this for granted.

The British in fact spent the intervening two years trying to get Mosaddegh out by mobilizing the Shah and various right-wing (often clerical and mercantile) interests in Iran (this point, and much of what follows, draws from bits of Darioush Bayandor’s Iran and the CIA and Mostafa Elm’s Oil, Power, and Principle). They spent the same two years desperately trying to get the Americans on board with their efforts. But—here it is—the Truman regime and American foreign policy was in general intensely hostile to this strain of British interventionism in Iran, going so far as to issue warnings against it.

Why? Well, as you would expect, the Americans were concerned about Soviet influence in the region. Then-U.S ambassador in Tehran Henry Grady claimed that “Mosaddegh’s National Front party is the closest thing to a moderate and stable element in the national parliament” (Wall Street Journal, June 9 1951). This summarizes the American position at the time: Mosaddegh’s nationalist movement constituted the bastion against communism, and the US was very interested in the survival of this bastion lest Iran align with the USSR. 

What happened between 1951 and 1953 is that British pressure, operating through the Shah and more conservative elements of the Iranian government, jeopardized moderate support for Mosaddegh. With the right and center-right against him an entire wing of National Front coalition was falling off, and Mosaddegh found himself leaning more and more on the strengthening Tudeh Party, which had grown in numbers to militaristic significance during Mosaddegh’s tenure (including a network of at least 600 officers in the state military). Tudeh, of course, was the pro-Soviet communist party in Iran. And now the threads come together.

It was in this context of Mosaddegh, backed into a corner with almost only the communists behind him, that the CIA released a memo on November 20th, 1952 singing a very different tune:

It is of critical importance to the United States that Iran remain an independent and sovereign nation, not dominated by the USSR...

Present trends in Iran are unfavorable to the maintenance of control by a non-communist regime for an extended period of time. In wresting the political initiative from the Shah, the landlords, and other traditional holders of power, the National Front politicians now in power have at least temporarily eliminated every alternative to their own rule except the Communist Tudeh Party...

It is clear that the United Kingdom no longer possesses the capability unilaterally to assure stability in the area. If present trends continue unchecked, Iran could be effectively lost to the free world in advance of an actual Communist takeover of the Iranian Government. Failure to arrest present trends in Iran involves a serious risk to the national security of the United States.

And (!!!)

In light of the present situation the United States should adopt and pursue the following policies:...

Be prepared to take the necessary measures to help Iran to start up her oil industry and to secure markets for her oil so that Iran may benefit from substantial oil reserves...

Recognize the strength of Iranian nationalist feeling; try to direct it into constructive channels and be ready to exploit any opportunity to do so

It took two tries for the CIA to bring about a coup that removed Mosaddegh from power, but the objective of this coup was not the preservation of British control over Iranian resources; it was the maintenance of the Western sphere of influence against communist revolution (this was further prioritized by the arrival of the Eisenhower administration). In fact, after the coup the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company (now renamed British Petroleum) had to make room for six other companies from the US, France, and the Netherlands as part of a consortium, and this consortium would split profits with Iran 50/50. This is, to be clear, still colonialist extraction! But it constitutes a huge blow to British economic interests, because they were never the CIA’s goal. This is part of why the post-coup government is characterized far more as a US puppet than a British one.

It does remain that this was a sequence of events very much set in motion because of actions taken by the British government; by the time they managed to get shit to hit the fan, though, it was very much no longer in their control where the shit was flying.

#iran #mosaddegh #vatan

[oldwinesoul]

Then write a poem about the fact that you've never been faithful to anyone, always kept one hand feeling along the walls for a knob, a hinge, a latch to release the pressure in the chamber

// Seema Reza, from “Permission,” A Constellation of Half-Lives

#Seema Reza #spilled poetry #dark academia #poets on tumblr #spilled thoughts #aesthetic

[whumping-newbie]

Malia II - The General

A continuation of the piece i posted yesterday!

Cw for military whump and lady whump. Let me know if I missed anything!!

POV: Malia

There's a dull, distant sound that pulls me out of my slumber. A ringing in my head. And when I open my eyes, the room gets no brighter. I cough shortly, and realise the air in here is hot. Stagnant. My body is covered in sweat.

Where am I? And what... what happened?

When I lift my head up, I realise that I've got some kind of bag over my head, and my arms are tied behind my back. I tug shortly on them, and can hear the soft clink of handcuffs on metal.

"... sold us out, Sayid..."

The voice cuts through the pounding in my head and I dimly realise it's coming from my right. A deep, smooth voice that makes me stop trying to get free. I’m not in here alone.

"... do it again. Proudly. You're a monster, Reza."

A different voice, muffled underneath something, replies. The voice is familiar, but I can't quite remember why. I don’t... think they are talking to me.

"I am sorry about your brother. He wasn't supposed to...”

"- your mysterious back-“

"I didn't say it was -"

My pounding head, this swealtering room, and my shortcomings in my Arabic is making their conversation very difficult to understand.

"Right, right. Well... Now please leave."

"That's it...? No... No ... if it's the last thing I do?"

He scoffs. "Reza. Oh, I will kill you, if it's the last thing I do."

I hear a small chuckle, before heavy footsteps move closer to me. Someone leans in close, I can feel them hovering just away from my face, their voice ringing in my ears.

"And what about you, my dear? What's your reason for trying to get involved in things you have no business understanding?"

He's talking to me. I know that now. He's talking to me, tied up and blinded in this room with the soldier from last night. Who is he, and what does he want? From me and that soldier?

I feel my breathing tremble before I even think about answering him. I try to turn my head to face him - at least, where I think he is.

"I'm... please, Sir..." my broken Arabic is made worse by my beating heart. I stop, swallow in hopes that it will steady my breathing, before trying again, "I don't... know why I'm here, sir..."

"Is that so... Perhaps I should ... my question."

I can feel him lean in even closer, grab a hold of my ear underneath the bag, and pull it back. I couldn't cringe away from him if I tried.

"What were you doing with this man in an alleyway at midnight?" he switches to French, and instantly both my comprehension and my terror multiplies tenfold.

"Monsieur, I still don't know what happened," I try to explain, "I was on my way home. I didn't -"

"Leave her the fuck alone, Reza," the soldier beside me spits, in French too, "she's done nothing."

The one in front of me scoffs, and I can feel him turn his head away from me, "and why should I believe a traitor like you, Sayid? No, I believe this young lady has quite a bit to say."

He lets go of my ear, and I let out a shaky sigh.

"Bring her to my office. I want some time alone with this one."

My breath suddenly stops as someone else briskly comes over to me and unties me from the chair, grabbing me by the sleeve of my blouse and pulling me up to my feet.

"Leave her alone, don't you hurt her, you fucking bastard!"

I'm dragged away from where I had been tied up as the soldier back there continues to shout obscenities at whoever these people are.

My hands still bound behind my back, rendering me unable to do more than ineffectual writhing as he drags me out of the room.

Almost immediately I'm taken up a flight of stairs, I can hear another voice saying "Sir" off to the side of me. I can hear radio chatter, unintelligible to me, ring out from somewhere to my left as we turn the corridor.

I nearly trip over something beneath my feet, but i don't fall. I can't, with this man dragging me wherever. Also beneath my feet was the sound of broken glass. Just where am I? What kind of place am I in that has mess in corridors and broken glass on the floor?

Some other door opens, another man says "Sir", and I am led inside a cool room with a pleasant breeze. There's a dull buzzing accompanying the breeze, an air conditioner maybe? It makes the sweat on my skin chill instantly, but it's much more preferable to whatever room I was just in. It must be daytime otherwise it wouldn't be so hot, right?

A chair scrapes and I'm shoved in it, hands still tied behind me, but I'm not tied to the chair. Merely placed in it.

"Thank you Lieutenant," the voice from before says in Arabic once again, and I dimly realise.

They're military. That soldier.

I don't know why it took me so long to notice, but they're all soldiers.

They're armed. Trained. Strong.

And the one in front of me, who just ordered me brought to... wherever this is, is clearly in charge. More important than a Lieutenant. I don't know what rank that would be, but regardless, it means only one thing.

I'm in big trouble.

#my writing #whump #POV: Malia #military whump #lady whump #fanfiction #hitman a gilded cage #hitman reza zaydan #hitman fanfiction