#always the state before the citizen

[allgremlinart]

stop arguing the existence of forklifts in the atla comics under my post you guys. there was an honest to god truck in Day Of Black Sun

[unnonexistence]

an important writing question to ask yourself is "how much time and effort do i want to put into figuring out what this character's legal documents would look like"

[87dvhnk]

in a fair world, all israeli-american dual citizens would be stripped of their american citizenship and banned from reapplying for citizenship. every single nation ought to do this with israelis (and americans as well, stripping american-x citizens of x citizenship). it's sickening to imagine the bloodthirsty cunts flooding back into this country for "sanctuary," no different from the sheltering of nazi war criminals in operation paperclip but on a larger scale, by our equally bloodthirsty government when israel is finally torn to shreds. go down with that israel you felt you entitled to that you have the distinction of having commited the best documented genocide in history, you schizo, jewish supremacist cunts. you can't call israel, and god forbid america, pariah states if you don't do the right thing and make them real pariahs in the world. no citizenship, no visas, no trade, no aid. eat shit and die like you deserve, State and citizen.

[nevermind-i-forgot-whats-that]

Sometimes, as much as I love internet communities and spaces, I really think a lot of people have spent so much time in sanitized, morally pure echo chambers that they lose sight of realism and life outside the internet.

I live in Alabama. My fiancée and I cannot hold hands down the street without fear of homophobic assholes. We have an abortion ban with no exceptions for rape or incest. We are one of the poorest states in the US with some of the lowest scores on metrics related to quality of life, including maternal mortality, healthcare, education, and violence. It’s not a coincidence that we are also one of the most red, one of the most Republican states in the Union. In 2017 the UN said the conditions in Alabama are similar to those in a third-world country.

Trump gave a voice to the most violently racist, sexist, xenophobic groups of people who, unfortunately for most of us in the Southern U.S., run our states and have only grown more powerful since his rise to power. The Deep South powers MAGA, and we all suffer for it.

We have no protections if they don’t come from the federal government.

I know people are suffering internationally and my heart is with them. However, this election is not just about foreign policy - we have millions of Americans right here at home living in danger, living in areas where they have been completely abandoned by their local leaders. We need this win.

No candidate is perfect, but for the first time in my voting lifetime I’m excited to vote. I’m excited for the Kamala Harris/Tim Walz ticket because they are addressing the issues close to home. They’re advocating for education as the ticket to a better life, but without the crippling student debt. They’re advocating for the right to love who you love without fear and with pride. Kamala has always been pro-LGBT+ and so has Tim. Again, if you’re queer in the South, we don’t have support unless it comes from the federal government, and we absolutely will not have support if the Republicans regain the White House.

Kamala speaks in length about re-entry programs to reduce recidivism and help people who have been arrested and imprisoned regain their lives. Tim Walz supported restoring voting rights to felons. In the South, you know who comprise the majority of felons? Members of minorities. It’s one of the major tools of systemic racism and mass disenfranchisement, and arguably the modern face of slavery (there are some fantastic documentaries and books that explain the connection between the post-Reconstruction South and the disproportionate rates of imprisonment for BIPOC). Having candidates who recognize this and want to restore the freedom and rights to people who have come into contact with the criminal justice system? And keep them from having to go to prison in the first place? That’s refreshing. That’s exciting.

I would *love* to live in a country where women’s rights are respected, where LGBT+ rights and protections are a given, where we treat former criminals and individuals experiencing mental health crises with respect and dignity. I would *love* to live in a country where education is free of religious interference and each and every citizen is entitled to a fair start and equal opportunities.

But I don’t live in that country. Millions and millions of Americans find their rights and freedoms up for debate and on the ballot.

Project 2025 poses the largest threat to the future of our democracy as we know it. We are being called to fight for the future of our country.

We have to put on our oxygen masks first before we can help others.

You don’t have moral purity when you wash your hands of the millions of us who are still fighting for own freedoms right here.

The reality is that a presidential candidate is a best fit, and not a perfect fit. But comparatively speaking? Kamala is pretty damn close.

[stackslip]

fujimoto is the absolute king of creating a world where mass death is a regular occurrence and yet every single time it feels singularly devastating. i've seen people say his work is nihilistic, that people die over nothing--i profoundly disagree! again and again, it is made clear that the deaths and horrors in chainsaw man aren't random acts of god, and that the people who die aren't random faces in a crowd but people who are willingly sacrificed in the name of social cohesion and the comfort of a few. the people killed by the gun devil all had names, lives, ages that were inescapable and their deaths are just as bad of a tragedy's as aki's. asa's mom's death might have been forgotten by all, and yet it has a profound impact on asa's own life and outlook. the people convinced to commit suicide by falling had long discussions about their everyday life before they fell off their balcony. it is power and nayuta's deaths--people who mattered little to makima and to barem, who were simply seen as tools for an end--that utterly crush denji and awaken pochita. himeno lost her partners, one by one, and every time she got more and more depressed. these are real people, all of them! their lives mattered! death is a normal occurence in chainsaw man, but the loss of a life is a tragedy every time

most importantly; most of these mass death events, as normalized as they are, are not random or natural. they're the result of devils being used as tools, of the powerful using those that they consider belong to them as payment for their comfort or to further their goals. in chapter one, denji got murdered after a lifetime of abuse as payment for his abuser's eagerness for power. the president of the united states pays for the gun devil to fight makima with one year from each american's life. the japanese government pays for makima's every death with the death of a citizen. public safety regularly sends its employees to cut their throats for a devil to wipe out a building. the german government contracted santa claus and gave her children in return. the chainsaw man cult used its desperate, scared child members to gain an army.

and now, foreign children are given citizenship simply so they can be gunned down coldly and used as blood and payment to use chainsaw man and make scared, rich old men live longer. idk how much more explicit you can be here. look at these kids! do their lives mean nothing? they're drawn in loving detail. they're real people being sent to be butchered!

death in chainsaw man isn't meaningless. far from it! this isn't saying "this world is absurd and has no meaning". this is about exploitation. chainsaw man has always been about exploitation and abuse, at its very core. these people mean something. these are real human beings, being fed to the grinder, again and again. they're being fed to it BY the rich and powerful, by their governments, by their employers, by their abusers. hell, yoru has fed her own children to this grinder, just to get a little more. ownership and greed, this is the core of what's happening. this is murder, not random acts of violence!

[caffeinewitchcraft]

They Didn't

Once there was a town far removed from the capitol. Its citizens lived according to the seasons and held that all things would fall as they should. So when the regime came under fire, they were not alarmed. They did not lock their doors nor did they send their strong ones to go fight. They knew there were good people out there who held their interests and fought for their country in their stead.

And, of course, they were right. The Monarch fell and a new Monarch bloomed in their place. Not a scrap of the war came to the town's doorstep. Of course their crops were less than they should be - seed trade had screeched to a halt two years ago - but they were alive and still citizens of their country which had always looked out for their interests before.

So when the new Monarch sent a representative to their village, they were curious. They had neither rebelled nor contributed. What could the Monarch have to say to them?

"Resources are scarce after two years of war," the representative said. "We have come to see what is needed."

The citizens nodded for this was to be expected. The war had hollowed out their winter stores and delayed major repairs to roads and roofs. They needed much.

They were glad for the representative's arrival, but there was much work to do. They set up their stalls for market and did not pay him much mind. There was not much fare to lay out on their tables. They spent their time arranging each vegetable to hide its bruising and to showcase the best side of handicrafts made with amateur hands.

"By show of hands," he said, "who needs new tools to work their fields?"

Such a silly question! The representative had to have seen their fields while riding into town. He knew the barren state of them.

(They did not see he rode in a covered carriage, so sick by the motion of the wheels that he could not open his eyes.)

Seeing no hands, the representative moved on. "Who needs grain to see them through winter?"

Again so silly! Their storage gaped open and empty at the other end of the square. Surely he knew they needed grain.

(The representative thought it charming to have an empty barn as a communal gathering place and made a note to bring the idea to his own hometown.)

"Very good," the representative praised. Not a single hand! He had been to 40 towns already. What a relief to have one not on the verge of collapse! "And your roads? Your bridge?"

At this, some of the villagers rolled their eyes. The last storm had wiped away their bridge. The representative had to take the long way to come into their town square because of it.

(The representative asked to take the long way into town as his report claimed the village had a rope bridge which would make him even more violently motion sick.)

"And shelter?" the representative asked, checking No on every box. He would have said they needed new roads, but what did he know? Not a single one raised their hand. They must be used to traversing such pitted and rutted roads. "Do you have adequate shelter for the long winter ahead?"

Villagers chuckled for they did not have adequate shelter now. The autumn leaves blew through their eaves and their thatched roofs were gray with age. They had no materials to repair them, nor talent. Did the representative not see that their carpenter's booth at the market sat empty?

(Next year, the representative will do a survey of the town himself. He will count the artisans and craftsmen for his census. He will sleep under their roof to judge their condition for himself. He will eat their food to judge its quality. This year...well. Too many needs in too many places.)

"Thank you for an easy visit," he said. He turned back to his carriage. "See you in the summer."

The villagers watched him go in shock. To think he would leave so quickly! Well, it was fine. He had seen their roads and roofs, their storage and fields, their empty market stalls and slim market fare. They didn't need to worry.

They didn't.

The representative hummed to himself as a distraction while the carriage dipped and rolled away from the town. He thought that it was very good that they needed no craftsmen or grain or tools. This village lay in a valley that would become impossible to traverse in the winter months. He would have to act very quickly if they needed help.

But good! They didn't.

[chubby-bun-bun]

untitled (part 4)

The man you stumbled into is bleeding out. And he's distractingly pretty.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4 (current), part 5

tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, mentions of blood, fluff, you panic bc of his lethal face card, valid reaction tbh, 10/10 would do the same

Interacting directly with a beautiful man reduces you to an idiot, you realize.

You’ve met attractive men before—had crushes on such men. They weren’t necessarily easy on the eyes, but there was always something they said, did, or had that made you feel some type of way about them. The seventh-grade classmate who shushed your chattering peers during your presentation. The corner store clerk with pretty hands. The college senior who made you feel welcome at your acquaintance party. The tall guy who unknowingly saved you from getting squished by the sardine-packed commuters on the train.

Sure, your next interactions with them made you hyper-aware of their presence for a time—hanging on to their every word and unknowingly seeking them out in the room. But you think you remained fairly casual and blasé with them, as you do with most things.

Unlike right now.

As your mind begins to clear, you register that you’re stripped down to just your base layer. In the middle of winter. Your puffer jacket lies damp on the ground, and your sweater—now sporting huge splotches of blood—is folded haphazardly against the man’s abdomen. (You try not to let the sight of the dark liquid summon the remains of your dinner.)

Your gaze flickers between his ruined shirt and your clasped hands, cupped by his much larger, warmer ones. When you look up, you’re taken aback to find his intense garnet eyes already locked on you.

“Are you alright?” he asks, the deep, velvety timbre of his voice compelling you to straighten up unconsciously.

“Yes,” you splutter, air barely making it past your throat. Then, your eyes widen. “Are you alright?” you stress, gesturing wildly to the concerning state of his abdominal area.

He chuckles. “Never been better.”

You gape at him. “But you’re bleeding!”

He glances down at his bloodied clothes. “It appears so.”

You like to think you have a good head on your shoulders. You always stay on the correct side of the sidewalk. You tidy up your table as much as you can at food joints. You try to abide by city recycling guidelines to make life easier for sanitation workers. And you’re decently vigilant, thanks to the countless true crime documentaries you’ve crammed into your brain.

But alas, it seems a beautiful man is all it takes for common sense to call it a day.

“Okay, so I actually won some groceries earlier, and I think I have some first-aid supplies in there,” you babble, missing the knowing glint in his eyes. “My house is just a little further down the street. If you want, I can treat your wound there?”

He’s still holding your hands. You realize your palms must be clammy from cold sweat—and his blood. You politely pull your hands back with a laugh you hope sounds natural. (It doesn’t.)

“Oh wait, you probably need a hospital,” you blurt, mentally berating yourself for not considering this first. You start fishing for your phone in your jeans pocket. “I can call the emergency hotline for Akso Hospital. I work there. Um, I can even ride with you in the ambulance if you’d like?”

The man laughs, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“I appreciate the help, sweetie, but you shouldn’t be so quick to give out personal information to people you just met.”

Heat creeps up your neck. He’s right. You’re basically handing him a free pass to rob your place. What if he’s a serial killer?

As you feel yourself spiraling further, he begins to stand, grabbing your dropped jacket as he rises. You instinctively lean back, mouth agape at his towering height and the fact that he just stood up—quite gracefully—despite clutching his wound mere moments ago.

“I’ll have your sweater washed and dry-cleaned,” he says, folding the soiled fabrics neatly into compact squares. “Know that your assistance back there is much appreciated.”

“Oh—! It was nothing. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

A single snowflake lands on your face and you blink, nose twitching at the gentle melting sensation. Looking up, you notice the sky is now a beautiful backdrop of powdery snow, falling softly around you.

“It’s getting late,” he observes, also gazing up at the scenery. “Let me walk you home.”

Before you can protest, he drapes his coat over your shoulders. You’re immediately overwhelmed by the scent of fresh linen and something distinctly masculine that has you instinctively relaxing into the warm confines of the comically oversized garment.

“But aren’t you cold?” you ask, unknowingly tucking yourself further into his coat.

“No,” he responds with a hint of laughter, pressing a hand to your back to gently guide you toward the park entrance.

The short walk to your house is surprisingly comfortable. Aside from occasionally fumbling over your words and avoiding his gaze (his face is distractingly handsome, and his impressive height and physique make you strangely self-conscious), you manage a decent conversation.

You learn he was taking a casual stroll when he had a “squabble” with some old business partners. You can only stare at the back of his head at this revelation. What kind of squabble leads to a wound like that? And how is he acting so fine now? If it weren’t for the bloodstain on his expensive-looking high-neck top, you’d think you hallucinated the whole thing.

You also learn he’s visiting the city on a business trip. After hearing this, the rest of the walk is filled with you recommending your favorite places: the food spots you’re yet to use your lifetime vouchers for, the cat café with the snooty caracal you love petting, and the old arcade where you’ve won most of your plushie collection. (You make sure to share with him a few secret tricks for mastering the darn two-pronged claw machine.)

Belatedly, it dawns on you that such activities might hold little interest for a man like him. Flustered, you open your mouth to undo the torrent of nonsense you’ve been spouting, when he suddenly stops and turns to face you.

“Your recommendations are duly noted,” he says, eyes glowing with amusement. “I’ll be sure to try them sometime.”

You’ve arrived at your house. You're surprised by the unexpected pang of disappointment you feel.

“Thank you for walking me home,” you murmur, suddenly feeling shy.

He hands over your now-drier puffer jacket. “It was my pleasure. Now go inside before you turn into an icicle.”

“Oh—your coat,” you exclaim, beginning to shrug it off. But he stops you with a raised hand.

“Keep it,” he tells you. “I’ll get it back when I return your sweater.”

You hesitate. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Then, as if recalling a secret you’re not privy to, he smiles softly. “I trust it’ll be in safe hands. You seem exceptional at caring for things.”

Before you can unpack his words, he turns and starts walking toward the main road.

“Wait! What’s your name?” You can't believe you haven't asked till now.

He pauses before glancing over his shoulder.

“Sylus,” he finally says.

“Sylus,” you repeat, liking the way it rolls off your tongue. “It’s a pretty name.”

Your hand flies to your mouth, eyes widening in horror. Why not tell him he’s hot while you’re at it, doofus?

As you fumble for an apology and prepare to sentence yourself to a blabbermouth timeout, he chuckles.

“Indeed it is.”

You can’t quite put your finger on it, but there’s a trace of melancholy in his voice that stays with you.

With a wave, he walks into the snowy dark, his figure gradually fading.

And that’s when it hits you.

How did he know which house was yours?

note: seeing the love this series has gotten has been surprising! the comments, reblog captions, and tags you leave are honestly hilarious and i had a blast reading through them 💞

tag list: @thepotatoislost, @xxfaithlynxx, @browneyedgirl22, @vorfreudevortex

[katszumi]

part one but can be read as a standalone!

today’s the day— the six year reunion for all the graduated u.a students. the day bakugou was internally dreading.

he didn’t want to attend, but because of shitty hair, he basically had no other choice. he thought it was stupid, annoying even considering the fact he still works with some of his old classmates.

plus, bakugou was never the type to attend gatherings. he hated the loud noise, busy moving bodies, and the useless small talk people had just to be respectful. none of it was apart of bakugou’s persona, not even his pr managers could change that.

but, he also knows the slight possibility of you being there. he knows someone extended the invite to you, back then every single classmate loved you.

since the night he rudely brushed you off, you haven’t been in contact with him once. his messages still delivered green, and you unable to show on any of his social media. for him, you only existed as a fragment of his memory other than the times you appear on television or the news.

you seemed to be thriving in america. the first year you went, he remembers seeing an article online on how you quickly climbed the ranks in america, the americans instantly adoring everything about you. despite your hero name and quirk, fans began to relate you to a siren, claiming how you were too captivating and powerful to be true. soon, citizens also began to recognize you as the star-spangled siren.

no doubt, bakugou thought it was hilarious. it was something so incredibly stupid. but it was also a reminder that you accomplished your dream. you were a great hero. all of your fears from six years ago were disregarded, and you proved to yourself that you built yourself up by yourself with no support system.

he always knew you were the strongest within the class. maybe that’s why he always felt so weak in front of you. he didn’t stand a chance against you, especially when he finds your figure standing by the bar.

you were messing with your drink, engaging in conversation with mina and ochako. those were the girls always attached at your hip back then.

at first he questions himself whether to squeeze himself in the conversation, or to leave you be. he figured that if you wanted to talk to him then you would’ve reached out years ago.

but before he could act on anything, your gaze meets his. it feels like time on every clock comes to a halt.

he takes in your new differences from the last time he saw you. you grew an inch or two taller, which he found hilarious since you used to pray to be taller. you’re a little more tan; bakugou remembering somewhere in a textbook that the states received more hours of sunlight than japan. you’ve matured more in your face; you were always the girl he found cute. but now, your gazing eyes were more fierce, your pouting lips that he often found himself sneaking glances at were parted, and your newly developed body; your arms were more toned, your body a tad more curvaceous.

enamored wasn’t even the right word to describe bakugou. an understatement even.

it’s all too strange how he felt a pulsation in his chest, his heart hammering from the small moment of eye-contact. he believed that he got over you, coming to terms that there’d never be a chance that you’d talk to him with dancing eyes and a grin on your face like before. but, oh boy, was he wrong.

guilt immersed him. he was angry with himself for treating you like you didn’t matter. everything you said that day, you were right. he didn’t tell you anything related to his emotions, he was avoiding you for weeks, and he was a dick for simply letting you go. he knew all of this, even years ago he realized. bakugou wasn’t the type to go back on his word nor apologize.

but in order for you to talk to him with even a fake smile on your face, he would have to do just that. though, it was you— he wouldn’t mind getting down on both knees, begging for you to forgive him if he had to.

pathetic, bakugou would say, who in their right mind would do something like that? but he would. because six years later, bakugou was still pathetically in love with you.

mina noticed your shift in eye, so she peered over her shoulder, searching the area for what grabbed your attention. it was quick the way she noticed it was him that snatched your breath. her eyes widened for a small moment before turning her head once again.

mina was probably talking shit about him, that was no surprise. even though he and mina got together well, you and mina were attached at the hip; she valued you more than him. he easily read mina’s body language, you must’ve told mina the situation long ago from the way she placed her palm on your arm and rubbed it gently.

unfortunately, he didn’t care if you or mina would be frustrated with his audacity. if anything, everything he was going to do from this point on was because he cared so much about you. so fuckin’ much he’d drain the ocean dry to prove his love to you.

bakugou had only fallen in love twice. once with you and once with a mirror. one, a destructive on-going path without a clear result. one, someone so far-fetched yet still warm and beautiful. someone that eventually in time becomes part of the oxygen he needs to breathe.

the mirror was the first-choice. becoming the number one hero was his only objective, no matter the opportunity cost, he was going to do anything to reach his goal. halfway through, he realized he chose wrong.

there was no point in reaching the goal without you. you were his hands and feet, so why did he expect himself to be okay with the situation he caused?

bakugou hated defeat, he already knows that. but he’d be damned if he allowed you to slip through his fingers once more.

and just like that, his legs are moving towards you and mina. his mind consisted of nothing; he had no words ready for you, no apology prepared. he just sees you and, like always, he needs to be in your vicinity.

as he marches towards you, he realizes that it’s always been like this, him chasing you to his hearts desire. at the beginning, it was a light jog nothing that would cause him to break a sweat. soon it turned into a full-blown sprint, the gap between you and him seeming to increase every day.

before he could muster anything to say, he makes it to you. he keeps his distance from you so you don’t run away, but enough that he can see the pores on your face.

you ogle at him, your face twisted a bit. mostly likely from the surprise of him trudging towards you as if nothing happened. mina rolled her eyes at him as she folded her arms.

“bakugou, don’t be one of those.” mina started.

“one of what?!”

she scoffed. “one of those obsessive guys when they realized they’ve lost a gem because they were stupid as fuck.” mina him a ‘that’s you’ look. “don’t come crawling back now.”

bakugou opened his mouth to object mina, prepared to go off on her. just a week ago, she was chatting it up with him, kirishima, and denki, no animosity found in any of her statements. but since you were here, she supposed she had to play the part as the protective best-friend.

but before he could say anything, you beat him to it.

“it’s fine, mina.”

your voice was still the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. so gentle and euphonious. he wanted to thank the heavens on the earth for allowing him this opportunity again even when he’s a shitty guy. he didn’t deserve you, he knew that, but he couldn’t bypass the overwhelming feeling of yearning you.

he shifted in his position, clearly shocked that you didn’t seem to hate the fact he was standing within your vicinity.

mina also shocked, raised a brow at her best-friend. “you sure babes?” you nodded in response. the pink colored woman leaned into her ear, whispering god-knows what, before walking away with ochako to leave you and him alone.

you faced bakugou fully now, your eyes taking in the subtle distinctions he’s made over the years. bakugou always was one of the strongest in the class, but even now, he developed into a rigorous man. you can tell he’s shaved recently, the small hairs on his chin slowly starting to form. his eyes are more relaxed, seeming more generous.

alike him, you too kept post on bakugou in japan. you’d frequently find yourself searching him on the internet to wonder how he’s doing. just like he told you and everyone else at u.a, he was now the number one hero of japan. he proved to all his doubters that he could do it.

you were proud of him, internally rooting him on from 6,303 miles away. however, externally, you masked a look of resentment for him.

he broke your heart when he pushed you away. you didn’t understand why it was so difficult for him to come clean about things, especially when it came to you.

you had enough of it.

or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself, hoping for your heart to believe it as your mind did.

“hi,” you said. he could tell you were nervous from the way your hand slightly trembled. “long time no see.”

bakugou anxiously chuckled, “yeah.” he instinctively ran his fingers through his hair as he swallowed nothing. “look, i’m not even going to waste any time with this. y/n, i am so fuckin’ sorry.” his tone softened, coming from the deepest part of him. you can’t recall a time where his voice ever sounded so tender like this.

“kat—” you started, but he didn’t let you finish.

“no, i mean it. i am sorry for being a coward. i was a fool for treating you like you didn’t matter to me when that wasn’t the case, it was never the case. you were too good for me and that scared me. i’m rough on the outside, i couldn’t imagine savoring someone so mellow. i’m a pathetic asshole, a bitch, a cunt.”

you reached forward to place your hand on his wrist. “don’t say such things about yourself, katsuki. you are not any of those things.”

“don’t be good with me. i don’t deserve to be treated this way. give me the punishment i deserve for causing you anguish.” he begged. unknowingly, his hands slipped into yours. you could feel his sweat accumulate, his shaky hands.

all of this just for you to forgive him. how could you ever despise him when he’s an emotional wreck in the palm of your hands?

“it’s okay, katsuki. i’ve come to forget about it years ago. you’re one of the best things to happen to me during my adolescence. we were young and we both said things we didn’t mean back then.” bakugou looks at you with a pout. “i forgive you.”

you pull bakugou into a hug, wrapping your arms around him. you almost had forgotten how much bigger his figure was compared to yours until he bear-hugs you.

“how long are you staying until you leave for america?” he asks.

“i was going to wait till the end of the night to share this, but i was never one to hold secrets from you.” you released bakugou from the hug, a smile tugging your lips. “i’m coming back to japan.”

“what? but america… why?” he scrambled for words.

you lightly shrugged, “not my kind of place. i also really missed my home.”

“fuckin’ hell,” his words trailed off. bakugou couldn’t imagine the happiness that was coming from him right now. in his mind, he thanked kirishima for dragging him here. “i’m so relieved.”

you laughed, one that bakugou could tell wasn’t fake. he couldn’t help but to smile. he was finally talking to you, the woman he loved, after six long years. he was unsure if he could survive another minute of you ignoring him.

“so, back then, did you?”

“did i what?”

“back then, did you like me? did i really mean something to you?”

bakugou tried to remember if you were ever this dense? what a stupid fuckin’ question, bakugou thinks.

“you were the first person ever to tell me to have desires and to not hold back.” he explains. “did i like you? y/n, i loved you. every part of you, i loved. hell, i still do.” it seemed easier for him to confess, maybe it was from the adrenaline he was feeling in this moment.

but he didn’t care, if anything he was glad. you needed to hear it just as much he needed to admit it to himself.

“then, let’s start over, katsuki. let’s ditch this place, i know you’re not a big fan of parties anyway.”

bakugou knows all too well, he loves it how you remember the smallest parts of him. he loves your consideration and emotional warmth that you’re always quick to offer. even though, the gates were open for you to leave, you stayed.

he knew that his love for you would last a lifetime and would always welcome you with sweet grace and a humble gratitude.

all he can do is nod in response, hoping to suppress his racing heartbeat.

bakugou takes your hand to lead you to the exit of the party. “my job here is done anyway.”

@b134ch-m4h-ey3z @bsallergy

[mv1simp]

requested : dark mafia max!!

Devilish ♥️

Mafia!Max Verstappen x Reader

Girl who you tryna call, it’s a quarter past four, can’t nobody hear you scream right now

The Leeuw of Holland - or Mad Max, as he was referred to in his teen years - is well known for establishing his father's control over most of Eastern Europe. No one would dare to stand up to him for fear of losing their head - until you, the sweet daughter and lawyer of Monaco's mayor - who's determined to protect her small city from the Verstappen familia by putting the Leeuw behind bars.

Leeuw = Lion in Dutch

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, mafia boss! Max falls for mayor’s daughter! Reader, reader is also a boss ass bitch, kidnapping, violence, explicit mention of murder/dead bodies/mutilation, nothing towards reader cuz maxie is a simp 🥰 9.5k WC omg my longest yet

You feel a shiver run up the back of your spine from where you stand in the high court. Knowing exactly who’s dark gaze is raking down your body, taking in your small figure that's stylishly dressed in a tight Chanel dress and matching heels, you deliberately keep your gaze fixed forward. The judge looks like he's about to have a heart attack, sweat dripping down his forehead as he glances back and forth between you - the fiercely passionate lawyer who'd presented the numerous charges on behalf of her father, the Mayor of Monaco - and to the tall, Dutch man who sat watching you with a cocky smirk. The blonde’s large thighs spread wide and the Leeuw of Holland, as he was famously named, looked far too calm for a man who'd just had 76 counts of murder brought forward against him.

You'd had no idea who the Dutch Lion was when you two had first met. You'd just returned with your law degree from college in America, only to find things in a state of disarray in the idyllic city of Monaco. Your father had always struggled to maintain his citizen's safety as the Mayor as the neighbouring Leclerc and Sainz familias battled for territory - but in your absence the now established, much bloodthirstier Verstappen familia had seized control of the profitable area. Monaco's location served as prime real estate to ship all the drugs and black money a criminal could wish for to the rest of Eastern Europe, and Jos Verstappen had personally sent his own son and underboss - Mad Max - to secure your father’s territory.

You'd head rumours, of course, even all the way abroad in the States, of this Verstappen heir. He was known for his rage and callous violence that earned his nickname, the perfect hitman for his cold, calculating father. You’d thanked your lucky stars you had never come face to face with him, because you were sure he would kill you - or worse, you think with a shudder - if he came across the Mayor of Monaco’s daughter. But after coming back home for the last two months and finding things in such upheaval, you became more determined to do right by your family’s citizens. Your mother - who had passed away when you were young, at the hands of a Sainz thug - had been very passionate about helping those who couldn’t protect themselves, so you always lived your life in a way you knew she would be proud of.

So that’s why you spent endless days poring over the city’s legislature and laws, overturning laws that had made civilian’s finances and livelihoods hard and submitting proposal after proposal of new laws that were severely harsh on crime. The locals quickly noticed the change from the Mayor’s office, and you became idolised as Monaco’s princessa.

Your father, bless him, although his heart was always in the right place, he had gotten too old to go head to head with the gangs, choosing to bargain with the gangs instead and buy his citizen’s safety that way. You argued that it was only a matter of time before Jos Verstappen showed up at your family’s doorstep to demand more and more from the city of Monaco - until he owned it himself. You were determined to catch him, or even better - catch his son, the one who’d inherit the Verstappen empire, and put a stop to this rapidly expanding mafia before it grew out of control. Your dedication to do right by your people inspired your father to once again champion for the safety of his city.

And for a while, everything seemed to be flowing smoothly. You’d set up many a new school, local trade centres and businesses, and even medical clinics by using money redirected from paying off the gangs to keep your citizens safe. Life was thriving for the first time in a decade in Monaco. You’d even found your own small peaceful spot of solace in the chaotic city, behind one of your new clinics where a collection of streetcats would assemble. You fed them dutifully, coming daily in your lunch breaks and laughing delightedly when you saw one of them had kittens. But one day when you’d been late due to a court hearing, you’d been surprised to see that the cats had already been happily munching on some freshly ground tuna meat. It was good quality too, very expensive to come by these days, your keen eye noted from being born into the luxury of a Mayor’s daughter. You smiled sweetly and fondly patted the purring cats’ ears. Someone else found you too adorable to resist too, hmm?

From then on, whenever you’d come feed the cats, you’d always look around curiously, wanting to see if you could find that person - but you never did. And then, one day, you stumbled across an impossibly cute scene of a tall blond man, clearly broad shouldered and muscular even though he was casually dressed in a hoodie and jeans. He was warmly laughing as he held one of the cats in his arms while another yowled at his legs, wanting to also be picked up. Oh! You clapped your red manicured hands excitedly as you ran over, all sense of stranger danger forgotten as canoodling with streetcats wasn’t really a common mafia thug activity. The man’s head had slightly tilted towards you as soon as you had appeared on the other end of the street, but he turned to greet you fully as the sound of your dainty Chanel heels clicks against the pavement. You’d energetically started talking about how nice it was to finally meet whoever had been spoiling the cats, wasn’t it so cute how there were even kittens now? But when you finally drew your eyes away from the purring feline in his thick arms, you couldn’t help but blush at the curious blue-eyed gaze on his handsome face.

You introduced yourself, apologising for being rude, and after setting down the cat, he took your small hand in his own much large, warm palm. You flushed again as he raised it to his lips, leaving a gently kiss in a very traditional Monaco fashion, introducing himself as Emilian. You formed a quick friendship with him, eager to talk to someone your age after spending so much time with stuffy politicians all day. You find yourself excited to run into the gorgeous blonde on your lunch breaks, to laugh about some of the playfights you’d witnessed between the cats, or other times talk passionately about the current state of government affairs. Emilian, like many of the jaded younger generation, held a strong disdain for your father’s office and its weak position towards protecting citizens. In a somber moment you’d both realised you’d lost your mothers to the hands of the Sainz familia. But you passionately argued for your cause, remaining fiercely loyal to the goverment office of Monaco, spending your lunch hour easily talking about the many legal and restructuring plans you’d been working with the council to establish that had already improved so many household’s livelihoods. Emilian couldn’t help but quirk his attractive lips as he leaned a head on his palm, content to watch you animatedly talk for hours. The two of you sat across the waterfront, enjoying a late afternoon danish pasty in the lazy Monaco sun. When you’d turned the conversation to him, curiously asking what exactly he did, he dismissed it as per usual, vaguely mentioning something about working in the security business.

You eyed him suspiciously, imagining that like many young men in the area he’d turned to dabbling in underground business to support his family. It always started as selling the occasional party drug for profit or working as hired muscle for a night, sure, but you’d seen innocents with good hearts get sucked into the murderous world of gang violence too often. You definitely weren't just going to sit by and let someone as gentle and sweet as Emilian fall prey to it - the man had 3 separate albums on his phone dedicated to the stray cats, for God's sake! You told him this earnestly, even gently brushing your hand across his as you offered him a job as a bodyguard instead. Your father had been making more public appearances lately as the public perception grew positive of the Mayor’s office.

Emilian had hummed, contemplating, his gorgeous blue eyes glancing at where your small palm had grasped onto his much larger one. Then he’d reached across the cafe table to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, making a pretty blush spread across your caramel sun-kissed skin. So cute, he’d said, his lips quirking into a gentle smile. You promptly forgot all about what you’d been trying to convince him on as your eyes drifted down to his lips instead, the rising fluttering of romantic feelings swirling in your stomach. He’d gotten a phone call then and sighed, telling you he’d see you later, leaving after another kiss to your fingers. You’d pouted, feeling like you were crushing a lot harder on the handsome blonde than he was on you.

Next time when you met him, though, the only feeling you had was panic and fear as you saw him slumped against your stray cat’s alleyway, blood quickly oozing from a stab wound to his abdomen. You’d forced yourself to hold back a scream and avoid attracting attention in the quickly darkening evening, grabbing a hold of Emilian’s soft jumper and tugging him with you to your clinic. He’d held firm, far stronger than you even with a goddamn knife wound that was bleeding so much, oh my god-

He told you to leave, because whoever had done this was likely still in the vicinity, would see you two walking into the clinic and then would target you too. You hissed at him that he was crazy if he thought you would ever abandon him like that and if that’s what he was worried about you’d take the back alley route to your downtown apartment then! He’d finally given in, now looking paler from the blood loss and making you internally freak out. As you guided him into your cute 2nd floor apartment, all warm lighting and trailing pot plants, he smirked and murmured that if this was all it took to get you to invite him back to your place, he’d have gotten stabbed a lot sooner.

Shut up, you’d blushed, setting him down on your bathroom floor and grabbing your extensive first aid kit. Secretly though, you were glad that he still felt well enough to make jokes like that. You miss how his ice blue eyes intently watch you compress his wound, relieved that it hadn’t gone too deep into his body to injure his organs, and biting your lip with concentration as you slowly stitched the wound. Later, when you’d been nursing a glass of whiskey to settle your nerves, your many lamps casting a glow across your face, you’d answered his questions about how you learnt to fix an injury. You told him about how powerless you’d felt when you’d seen your mother be stabbed to death in front of you, how your child sized hands couldn’t stop the bleeding and you had never wanted to feel so useless ever again.

You hadn’t realized your mind had wandered back to that memory, triggered by Emilian’s own blood that you’d scrubbed thrice over from your own hands tonight. When you felt his warm hand run across your clenched ones, soothing the tension, your for eyes focused back to look at his contemplative gaze. You’d never thought you’d see the handsome man sitting in your apartment like this, now shirtless as you’d thrown his bloodied one away. You averted your gaze, suddenly feeling shy despite the desire coursing through you, secretly glad he had declined your offer of your pink pastel knit to cover up with so you could enjoy the view of his broad, muscled shoulders.

Tilting your head back up to look at him, Emilian murmured that he was indebted to you, that you would always be under his protection. His words send a flutter through your heart, although frankly you're not sure how he was meant to protect you when you were the one with access to security resources as the Mayor's daughter. But still, his words have an undertone of assured confidence to them and you find your eyes drifted down to his lips again. You're ecstatic when he breaks the tension and finally leans in, giving you what you'd been wanting for a few weeks now as he captures your lips in a passionate kiss. He definitely knows what he’s doing, and soon you're sweetly moaning into his mouth and grinding onto his skilled, thick fingers that have slipped into your jeans and pulled your panties to the side. He brings you to bliss within minutes, and you can't resist pressing yourself closer to him as you come down from your high. You want to make him feel good, too, but your hands accidentally brush against his stab wound and you don't miss his low, painful hiss. Pulling back immediately, you apologise profusely, worriedly looking over his bandages again to make sure there was no bleeding. He chuckles, telling you he was fine, you were very welcome to continue?

Flushing, you told him that you'd had a slip in judgement and were not going to put his already hurt body through any more accidental pain tonight. He pouted rather cutely as you stood up, grabbing some spare blankets and pillows for him to stay on the couch. Not having your hands on him was far more painful than the stab wound, he says teasingly, making you blush. You felt a little embarrassed at how quickly things had progressed tonight, unable to keep your head on straight around the handsome tall Blonde in front of you. You give him a firm goodnight, but just before you enter your bedroom, you turn to shyly tell him that you’d like to return the favour and make him feel good when he had healed. Grinning at your cute, blushing face, Emilian’s ocean look eyes look at you fondly as he lowly murmurs that he’ll look forward to it, shcatje.

That night you dream about handsome men in mysterious alleyways, who pin you to the wall and pepper your neck with soft kisses that turn hungrier and hungrier. You’re gasping and asking for more, please, please as his strong hands roughly palm your ass, your tits-

You wake with a start in your now empty apartment, Emilian’s name on your lips. Late morning light floods through your windows as you curiously notice the empty sofa, where a blanket is neatly folded up. Your face brightens when you see a note, that reads sorry I left without a goodbye kiss, schatje, the cats were getting possessive.

Rolling your eyes at his usual mysterious antics, you toss his note into the bin. But you’re humming as you went about your morning routine, buzzing with excitement at the thought of seeing the attractive blonde later on. But oddly, Emilian hasn’t been in your usual spot that afternoon, and you look around with concern as the cats meow at your feet, wanting to be fed. When he isn’t there the next day either, or the day after, you’ve started to get very worried now, wondering if something had gone wrong with his wound or worse - the man who had stabbed him had decided to retaliate with more gang members this time. You’d been thinking about it so much that you decide to the police station that day and asking the chief to look for the Dutchman who's found his way into your heart.

It turns out that Emilian’s safety was not something you needed to be concerned with. Because the one who has been in danger was not the mysterious blonde, but instead you, who had unknowingly caught the attention of many mafioso in the area by protecting him. You realised this when you came home from your visit to the police station, only to find your front door unlocked. You'd barely taken a step inside when you’re pushed against the wall by a heavily pierced man you’d never see before. The mocking silver pendant that he wore around his neck, of a horse rearing, signified his alliance with the LeClerc familia. You’d been unable to control the tears running down your face when he'd painfully begun choking you, demanding to know where the hell Max was. When you’d tried to tell them you had no clue what he was referring to, he just tightened his harsh grip on you to slam you against the wall again. You cry out in pain, bruises already forming along your delicate hands from the intruder's grip, as you keep trying to plead and explain you didn't know who they were talking about. A part of you knew there must be some link between this Max they were looking for, and your Emilian - but you sure as hell were not going to tell these criminals a single thing.

You swallow your fear and try to bargain with them, offering money, access to shipping resources, security - all things you could provide in your role as the mayor's daughter, you insisted. But they laughed it off, confusing you when they said currently, you were the most sought after bargaining chip for the gangs in Southern Europe. And everything had faded to black then, after one of them pressed an acidic smelling cloth over your nose.

When you woke up, hours later and with a pounding head, you're in an unfamiliar room. You groggily sit up, and find yourself instantly alarmed by the thick ropes tied tightly around your wrists. At least they hadn't tied your legs, too, you think with relief, sitting up in the dark room - only to come eye to eye with the barrel of a gun. Ah, that explained it - apparently they thought you were such a precious commodity they'd assigned someone to literally guard you with a gun. You're still confused, unsure why suddenly these street criminals seem interested in kidnapping the Mayor's daughter. Everyone knew who really held the power in Monaco - the Verstappen familia.

You get your answer then, when the sound of gunshots start filling the air from outside your room. You look up in alarm, and your guard eyes the door warily. He growls at you to not to move an inch as he leaves to go investigate, closing the door behind him. You flinch as more and more gunshots fill the air, accompanied by screams and yells. And then, when it becomes eerily silent for minutes on end, you wonder if this is your chance to escape amidst whatever chaos was going on. You're nervously peering around the hallways, finding yourself in a creepy, abandoned looking mansion - somewhere probably on the outskirts of the Monaco township, if you had to guess. Moonlight is the only thing lighting the way as you try to quietly navigate your way out of the winding hallways. It's strange, there had been so any gunshots but you had yet to see a single person anywhere-

And that's where you saw it, around the next corner. Scattered haphazardly throughout the hallway, illuminated by moonlight shining through the large window, lay body after body, all freshly dead with expressions of terror still on their faces. And then, soft murmurs from the opposite end of the hallways, as three men rounded it - and you finally find your missing Dutchman. Emilian? You whisper breathlessly, half reassured to find him alive and half confused at what he was doing inside a property that clearly belonged to the LeClercs. He stops abruptly, halting the two men behind him as he stares at you with a look of pure relief. He was dressed so differently to his usual casual attire, too, with his blond locks slicked back, wearing a fitted white shirt and dress pants, and an expensive looking black overcoat that highlighted his tall, broad frame. You'd looked puzzled at the large watch on his wrist - a renowned luxury brand you recognised from the many elite charity galas you'd attended. Well out of the yearly income someone like Emilian would make in...what had he said? Security?

You're so perplexed at the sudden appearance of the half a million Euro worth watch that you don't even notice the sleek gun in his hand, until he's raising it up and pointing it straight at you. Don't move, schatje, he murmurs, his deep voice carrying across the hallway. And those ocean blue eyes of his that you'd fallen in love with were now ice cold, without a trace of any human emotion behind them. Your own doe eyes widen in fear, tears gathering, because you have no idea who the man standing in front of you is, just who you’d fallen in love with - and now he's going to kill you. You don't even get time to flinch when he's pulling the trigger. But to your surprise the bullet never hits you. Instead, you hear a thump behind you - and turn to see a body fall to the ground, his own gun that had been raised towards you clattering across the floor.

You'd stood frozen in fear, silently shaking and willing yourself not to pass out from the sheer amount of blood that pooled onto the floor, staining your pretty white Chanel heels. And then a tall figure is at your side, guiding you away from the horrifying sight with a large palm in the small of your back. His warm hands making quick work of the ropes that still bind your hands. His familiar voice is murmuring to you gently that you he was here, you’re safe now, schat and no one was going to hurt you again. You’re finally pulled out of your frozen shock when you feel his touch. You look down at large palms softly rubbing the red marks on your skin from where the rope had dug into your skin.

You're outside now, standing in the moonlit gravel in front of the eerie mansion, with an equally haunted looking garden around you. The chill of the night time air helps you start clarifying your racing thoughts. I don’t think Emilian is your real name, you begin. And for a casual security hire to wear a Patek Philippe watch...who are you, really? You finally ask, your voice surprisingly firm despite fear coursing through your veins. He sighs, draping his thick black overcoat over your shaking figure, the clothing completely dwarfing you.

You’re a very smart woman, liefje, he murmurs lowly, his intense gaze studying your face. He tells you that he's sure you've probably already figured it out by now. Releasing a deep breath, you recount his Dutch origins, clear as day in his deep accented voice and blonde locks, and the fact that he obviously had an established presence in one of the mafioso gangs. Most likely the Verstappen familia, then. He was high up enough to have command of his own group of men, the ones you now spotted through various windows, no doubt cleaning up the piles of dead bodies in the house. He watches you with a small grin on his face, enjoying how even if this frightening situation you were able to gather evidence and form a logical conclusion. And when you told him your theory - that he was not Emilian but Nicolas Hulkenberg, left hand man to Jos Verstappen, he chuckled, telling you almost fondly that you were so close. He was in the Verstappen family, and he was high up in the chain of command - but Nico's my cousin. He'd probably have a hissy fit at being confused with me, the handsome blonde in front of you mused. The new information sends a jolt through you, because even though your knowledge of the gangs is not extensive, if this man was Nicolas Hulkenberg's cousin, then...

Max Verstappen. Your breathless voice gives away the fear rising within you as your doe eyes widen in shock. You instinctively take a step back as the infamous underboss of the Verstappen familia takes a step closer to you, tilting his head like a lion eyeing up his prey, looking very much like the Dutch Leeuw he’s famously named for. Max Emilian Verstappen, he corrects, saying that most people didn't know the middle name - making it a useful nickname in public.

It's certainly more discreet than Mad Max, you reply hotly, rage and betrayal now replacing your earlier fear as you realise just how deceived you'd been. The man standing in front of you was no innocent citizen, or anyone to be protected. No - he was set to inherit the richest and most powerful gang family in the continent. Max's ice blue eyes narrow at your hurt expression, at the tears that are now running down your cheeks as you tell him what as absolute psychopath he was, to use and manipulate you into helping him, just because - you gasp, sobbing uncontrollably now - just because I'm the mayor's daughter? And you wanted to know about my redevelopment plans!? Max's heart aches at seeing you so upset, and he softly tells you it wasn't meant to be like this, you weren't meant to find out so unexpectedly. All of the heated looks and sweet words he’d spoken to you were real, because he’d fallen in love with you, too. But those Leclerc bastards had gotten their hands on you, wanting a bargaining chip and thinking you were something disposable to be used and tied up - A dark expression has taken over Max’s face now, storm clouds in his steely eyes. He'd let your captors off far too easily, he says menacingly. A shiver runs through you as you remember that the man standing in front of you had earned his title not just through family blood, but with his status of a deadly hitman with the highest kill rate this side of the globe.

Well, never mind, he drawls nonchalantly, his observant gaze not missing the fear in your sweet doe eyes that you tried desperately to supress. He was sure the Leclercs had gotten the message that you were not someone they could touch so casually. You were under Max’s personal protection, after all - he was indebted to you. Like he predicted, your Monegasque pride didn't take the offer from your political enemy kindly. You tell him to fuck off, Verstappen, you didn’t need his protections and he could just stay the hell away. He laughs at the fire in your brown eyes that’s returned in full force, glad you no longer had the lost, glassy stare he’d found you with earlier. Refusing to let him drive you home, you demand he hand over the keys to that S Class Mercedes parked in the driveway that you assumed was his, given the outrageous price tags and the bulletproof glass. He presents them to you with a smirk, watching you take off after shooting him a furious expression over your shoulder.

Of course, he wasn’t going to let you out of his sight ever again, not after you’d been hurt. You didn’t know about the guards he had assigned to you at all times, but you did receive a package a few days later. Unboxing the black and white designer wrapping, you tried to remember if you’d ordered something and forgotten about it. But when you see the identical Chanel heels you’d been wearing the night everything had happened, a new pair to replace your old, blood stained ones, you knew exactly who had sent them to you. You shove the box to the back of your closet and scowl as you continue about your research of collating the list of charges to bring against Max Verstappen.

So now, a month later, you see him for the first time since your kidnapping. It’s in the courtroom where you confidently list our your extensive evidence condemning the Leuw of Holland - who’s intense gaze you can feel raking over your well dressed form. You’re stunned when the judge, who’s sweated through his wig and gone through 3 jugs of water from all his nervous gulping, anxiously says that he finds the accused, Max Emilian Verstappen, not guilty. You knew that the Verstappens were powerful, had connections in every place and access to unlimited money - but to buy off the judge of the Monaco Supreme Court, really, Max? Have you no integrity? You hiss at him, much to the shock of onlookers as they see the Monaco Princess go toe to toe with the son of the Verstappen Familia. Good to see you too, schatje, the Dutch Lion croons at you, enjoying the frustrated blush on your face from his sweet nickname. Can’t say I’m a fan of going to jail for offing a few bastards, no. Besides, those Leclerc goons definitely deserved it for putting their hands on my woman. You gasp, stammering out your response as he catches you off guard. You were not his woman, and he had no right to call you that-

Sure, whatever you say, schat. He’d given you enough space - over a month, and he missed having you by his side every day. You’d gotten your revenge with this whole dramatic court case - one that he would never have allowed anyone to go so far with, slitting their carotids well before any court date was set. Now, it was time for Max to have his fun with you again, and this time he doesn’t have to hide behind the mystery facade. Wear that pretty little pink nightdress you wore for me that time I stayed over, hmm?

You flush prettily again, giving him a venomous glare before storming off. Cute, he thinks as your heels click on the marble floor. He admires the view of your lush ass in the tight pencil skirt you wore. He’s thinking about what colour lingerie he should have sent to you to match the heels you’d worn today, all dressed up for him - when the Mayor of Monaco approaches him. Your father looks very suspicious as he shuffled from side to side, asking Max if he would like to join him for a drink that evening.

Max watches him stoically, agreeing to a meeting only out of respect for him as your father. Otherwise, he wouldn’t care less about the puppet leader of Monaco. Everyone knew who the real power lay with, after all. So he isn't surprised when the pathetic excuse of the man who calls himself your father offers you up as a trade in exchange for the return of some of the power the Verstappens have stolen. Your father had heard the rumours of how infatuated the Verstappen heir had become with the Princess of Monaco - and was happy to just hand you over. A political marriage, of course, so that your father was guaranteed to have a familial link into the powerful new family. And if Max was no longer interested in you, then your father was sure there would be no shortage of buyers in the Leclerc and Sainz families who had become aware of the new princessa thrown into their game.

Max narrowed his ice blue eyes at the pitiful father figure in front of him, his attention finally caught with this new threat to your safety. And from your only living family member, no less - the one who you'd painstakingly resurrected from political ruin. God, the Mayor of Monaco was almost as bad as Jos. But then again, Jos had never pretended to be something he was not. Your father, on the other hand, was someone who you loved and cherished dearly. It would break your heart to see him hurt - even though he was now trying to sell you off to become a mafia bosses's wife without your knowledge.

Good thing your daughter got her fire from her mother, the Verstappen heir says coldly, his voice commanding enough that it makes the Mayor gulp nervously. Since her father clearly has no balls. Max doesn't respond well to threats - he much prefers making them, instead. And although he wanted to do nothing more than leave a bullet inside the Mayor's chest, he wouldn't touch your father out of respect for you.

So instead, when he gets word that evening of another secret hit out for you, he takes this as the oppurtunity to take you under his protection - permanently. He wouldn't allow your father to marry you off to one of the many ruthless mafiosos in the region. This time, the abduction attempt comes from the once powerful Hamilton-Rosberg family who were trying to restablish their hold after Max Verstappen himself had tobbled them from the inside. You'd impressed Max by fending off the first few attackers with the handgun you now kept at your bedside, injuring them but avoiding any critical areas as you ran out your fire escape. Good girl, Max thought with pride as his men relayed the situation to him over the phone. But you'd not expected the attackers waiting for you at the end of back alleyway. You were out of bullets, and closed your eyes in resignation as you prepared for what you were sure would be a nasty end...

When that infuriatingly attractive, confident Dutch voice appears at your side. Missed me, schatje? Max Verstappen makes quick work of the men who dared to attempt laying a hand on you. This time he rips one of their heart out, rather gruesomely, before shoving it inside the dead man's mouth. A very clear warning to all others who went after you again - since apparently the massacre at the Leclerc mansion had not been enough.

You're snifling and shaking when Max returns to your side, your back firmly to him to avoid seeing the horrific sight. And when he sighs softly again, draping his familiar, warm coat over our shoulders, you ask him if he was here to kill you, too. You'd realised that many of Max's enemy gangs had started to come after you, hoping to use your connection to the Verstappen heir against him. Of course, for a man as coldly efficient and powerful as Max - it made sense to eliminate any source of weakness to his status. But the enemy Dutch Lion you'd somehow fallen for suprises you once again. Brushing a stray curl behind your ear, and wiping away the tears now gathering in the corner of your wide eyes, Max gently murmurs No, schatje. He was going to marry you.

Shock courses through you, as you gasp at his unexpected confession. But then everything is going blurry, and the last thing you remember is his ocean blue eyes, looking into yours with their familiar warmth and intensity. The next time you wake up, you're in Max's private jet, somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea. You’re panicked, trying to angrily demand that he take you back, but whatever drugs he’d had given to you make your efforts futile. You’re slumping tiredly against his broad shoulders after a few minutes, his strong arms around you, falling into a deep sleep as he murmurs reassurances that he was doing this for your own protection.

And when you wake up again, he’s made sure that it’s goddamn near impossible for you to run away. Because he has you on a godforsaken large private island of the Sicilian Coast, a beautiful place surrounded by turquoise beaches and dotted with ancient temple ruins mixed in amongst trendy Italian boutiques. It’s the sort of place you would normally be enraptured by - but in the week you’ve been here you’ve been plotting escape attempt after attempt.

Of course, you’d argued with Max every night when he returned from whatever shady business he’d conducted during the day, taking his private plane. You put your law degree to good use with the heated debates over the dinner table as he watched you with an adoring grin, finding your ever present energy and passion captivating. It had made you flush and look away from his gorgeous eyes. You stabbed into the deliciously flavoured lobster pasta in front of you, hating how your stomach did backflips when Max looked at you in this way. Your heart and brain felt like they were at odds with one other constantly, torn between the gentle, cat loving Emilian you’d fallen in love with and this protective, commanding Max who you couldn’t deny your growing desire for. Confidence greatly suited the Dutch Leuw, who now came back to the mansion he kept you in dressed in a black suits and wristwatches that was no doubt worth the combined income of a middle class family. But at dinner, with just the two of you over the flickering candlelight each night, enjoying the Italian summer air, he’d be in those cozy soft tees and loose linen shirts you’d always liked because of how they showed off his broad arms. Meanwhile, you pointedly only wear the plainest and drab outfits you could find in the luxurious walk in closet you’d been given. You’d gotten shocked as you opened each drawer in the room, finding it filled to the brim with designer clothes and luxury bags and heels, all in your favourite brand and colours and with matching jewellery in gold - as if it had been curated specifically for your tastes. At least he had the decency to give you private living quarters, you supposed. One night over fresh seafood paella he teasingly asked if you didn’t like all the clothes he’d had ordered for you, schat, because he can have more delivered? You scathingly tell him to stop being such a stalker, did he even know how creepy it was to find all your favourite items in that closet when you’d never even told him about them?

Blue eyes darken at your bratty note, but you aren’t nervous of Max anymore - even through the Leuw of Holland had been notorious for terrorizing your hometown streets. You’d realised that for some reason or the other, you were more precious to him than you’d ever imagined. It made you hesitate and wonder if maybe there was some truth to the romantic feelings he’d confessed to having for you, the night of the Leclerc mansion bloodbath. Forgive me for wanting you to feel comfortable here, schatje Max responded coolly, drinking from his whiskey glass. You argue back that a girl couldn’t possibly feel comfortable if she was kidnapped and help captive by a man who had technically led to her family’s ruin. And if you expect me to get dressed up for you, so that you can have your way with me…you can forget it! You retort angrily, face flushing.

Now smirking into his palm, Max assures you that despite his reputation, he promises to be the perfect gentleman. He’d never lay a hand on you…not unless you begged him too, first. His cocky tone made it clear he thought you found him impossible to resist. The playful look in his gorgeous blue eyes makes you bite your plush lips as you remember the last time Max had placed his large palm on your very willing body in an intimate way. After all, you'd sounded so sweet when you kept moaning for more when you came on my fingers within minutes, remember schat? The blonde teases you, clearly also thinking back to the same night you were. Standing up abruptly, you hotly retort with a Last time, I'd also been asking for Emilian, not Max Verstappen, before dramatically flipping your thick curls and storming off. The Dutch Lion watches you go with an amused chuckle, once again enjoying the view of your curvy ass even despite the horrid pants you were wearing. Same man, schat! he calls out to your retreating back, to which you respond with a well mannered middle finger in the air.

Your game continues like this over the month. As the days pass, you start to become more relaxed with Max. You still get flashes of the cold eyed Mafioso heir when you catch him on the phone angrily discussing a business deal, or when you spot a fleck of red on his pristine white designer shirts when he returns from being out. But your heart gets confused when you also see the gentle and caring Emilian when he's with you, who chooses to make your favourite breakfast every morning despite the full staffing in his mansion, who feeds and walks the dogs he has running around his gardens and plays with the snarky housecats. And when you'd woken up in the middle of the night crying in terror from the memory of seeing all those bloodied dead men in the Leclerc mansion, Max had been the one to hear your cries and storm into your bedroom. He'd taken you into his broad, warm arms, and you'd buried your sobs in his neck as he murmured reassurances of how you were safe now, you had nothing to ever worry about with him at your side. When you'd woken up the next morning, finding Max's toned chest underneath your cheek from where you'd both fallen asleep in your bed, a bit of your drool on his shirt, your heart swirled with conflicting emotions. You hated how safe and protected you feel in his embrace, knowing that this domestic bliss lifestyle with one of the most handsome and richest men you've ever met was something he'd kidnapped you for.

Still though, as you get more comfortable, you negotiate for more freedom with Max. You're an excellent lawyer, and now that you were temporarily out of your political position, you were going crazy sitting inside the mansion or walking it's beautiful gardens everyday. Max hadn't allowed you to go anywhere else without him at your side, his intense gaze eyeing any potential threat that approached the pair of you. Not that anyone did - the aura the Dutch Lion radiates was so powerful you kept wondering just how you'd thought he was some soft-spoken young citizen needing your help and guidance. So when Max reluctantly agrees to let you go outside without him - it's with the rule of 5 trained bodyguards at all times, of course. You roll your eyes but let them trail behind you as you terrorise the multiple designer stores dotted on the large island with Max's black Amex. It was the least he could do considering he had basically abducted you, you think with a smirk, as you watch the total at just the jewellery store alone add up to over half a million Euro. The Verstappen security guards nervously sweat behind you.

However, their boss has no such qualms. Max lets you spend his money however you wanted, thinking you were finally starting to accept his offer of marriage and coming under his permanent protection. So you surprised him a few weeks later when you finally made an escape attempt. The island was actually much bigger than you'd initially thought, and you found there was a small population of a few thousand elite, rich Italians living on the other side. That's where you headed too that afternoon, having picked a day where Max was away on business. You escaped the watchful eye of your bodyguards and ran towards the first policeman you saw. Confessing that you'd been kidnapped, and you needed help urgently to get back to Monaco where your father was Mayor, you'd been relieved when they guided you into their policecar with concerned looks. You thought they were going to help get you on a plane back to your hometown - but to your shock they drive you back the Verstappen mansion. With a sinking feeling you realised that the influence your captor had went beyond anything you could have thought possible.

You had barely managed to get away for an hour - in fact, Max hadn't even landed back in the island yet. When he did arrive that evening, having been told by his men of what you'd attempted that day, he strides into his private living room to find you. He dismissed everyone standing guard, and for the first time since you'd come here you note that he actually looked annoyed with you. You shuffle your hips nervously, from where you're seated on the low chaise. To your embarrassment, the policemen had even put a pair of handcuffs on you that Max's guards hadn't bothered removing, and they clink noisily in your lap. The handsome blonde towers above your seated figure, tilting your face up with his firm hand as he glowers at you. He's angry, and he lets you know it, telling you how stupid it was of you to compromise your safety like this, did you even know how hard it had been for him to find out when he'd been 3 hours away by plane and couldn't protect you!? Logically, you know that you should feel terrified of having pissed off a cold hearted man like Max Verstappen. But you're tuning his words out, instead biting your bottom lip at seeing him get so passionate over you. You couldn't deny that despite everything, the man in front of you was so attractive with his muscular, tall build and gorgeous light features - just your type, and the object of many a dirty fantasy in the last few months. Even after you'd found out his true identity as a Verstappen - not that you'd ever admit it to him.

But of course, Max's keenly observant gaze doesn't miss a thing. He sees it all - the way you press your thighs together, the delicious thickness easy for him to enjoy with the ridiculously overpriced Prada miniskirt you're wearing. So tiny that at this angle, with his much taller height, he catches a glimpse of your white lace panties - which are soaked straight through to reveal your dripping pussy. He smirks, knowing there was a far more effective way to punish you now. He gets his confirmation when he leans down to huskily murmur in your ear how much of a bad girl you'd been, how he clearly needs to teach you a lesson, thoroughly, so you don't disobey him again. You blush prettily, tits heaving with the gasp you let out as your eyes become dazed thinking about finally letting Max have his way with you, giving up all control and letting him take over, would feel like - after months of agonising tension.

He has you right where he wants, and he doesn't let you forget his promise. Not until you're begging me to touch you, remember liefje? he whispers darkly, his lips barely brushing your forehead as he leaves you pouting in frustration to go take a shower. He'd figured you'd angrily brood over his teasing for a few days, but when he emerges from the bathroom, he finds you sitting on his bed. Max looks especially mouth watering in grey sweats and dripping wet, tousled blonde locks and his broad, muscular chest. Rubbing your plush thighs together again, you hold up your handcuffs, innocently telling him you were only here to get free, nothing else, of course! The raw strength he uses to break the cuffs open with just his large hands has you holding back a breathless whine. God, this man was so insanely attractive, and you weren't going to be able to resist him much longer.

That's why you play back at this teasing game, making sure he's watching you with narrowed blue eyes and crossed arms, biceps swollen, as you strut through the shared door to your own bedroom. You leave the door wide open as you rustle through one of the many overflowing drawers - picking out a sheer La Perla pink nightie with matching lace panties. And when you nonchalantly hum as you make your way back to his rooms, shutting the lights off and leaving the warm bedside lamps on, you slip into his inviting comforter. He watches your whole show with a clenched jaw and unamused expression, telling you that you were playing with fire, schat.

You bat your thick eyelashes at him innocently, tossing your dark curls over your shoulder as you deny any mischief. Just in case I get any nightmares, of course! He doesn't buy it for a second, but still reluctantly slides in next to you. You remain on your best behaviour, reading a novel you'd picked out and ignoring Max, who was trying his best to ignore the skimpy outfit he knew you had underneath the covers and focus on the budgeting spreadsheet open on his laptop. After all, mafia gangs still had to keep track of their finances.

And then, just when he lets his guard down for a second and is typing away, you begin your revenge. Your book is tossed to the side and your manicured hands are running over your sensitive body, squeezing your juicy tits and rubbing your aching cunt through the sheer lace. The Leuw of Holland is left powerless for the first time in his adult life as the covers fall away, exposing your tempting caramel skin, contrasting with the pretty pink lingerie he’d bought for you. Your brown doe eyes are half lidded with desire as you watch him swallow at the tempting display in front of him, his hungry eyes honing in on the way you played with yourself. When he asks you what the fuck you were doing, his voice low and deep, you tease him more by saying he'd never said anything about you not being able to touch yourself, right? Maybe you’d let him touch you, too, if he was the one begging-

He growls like a literal lion, then, making you giggle as he watches you with a desperate look in his eyes that’s making you even more turned on. He gives up when you slip the sheer fabric down over your tits, showcasing your pretty tanned nipples that pebbled in the night air. Liefje, he groans, pressing his lips to your thick curls and his large hand to a rapidly hardening erection, please let me touch you, let me take care of you…

His husky voice sends shivers down your already warm skin, and you can’t deny your need for him any longer either. Wrapping a delicate hand around his much bigger wrist, you slowly guide him over your body, making his intense gaze go dark with desire. You brush his thick fingers over your pink lips, where you teasingly flick your tongue out and make him groan, then down across your neck so he can admire how pretty you look with his hand as a choker, then over your bouncing tits as you breathe deeply. He can’t resist pinching a cute nipple, this time making you moan, but it’s still not where you need him most. And then you’re guiding him over your soft tummy, over your plush hips, and then-

Oh, fuck schatje. Max's intoxicating, accented voice moans into your ear, making you drip even more for him. You’re so wet for me, this sweet pussy needs me to take care of it so badly, hmmm? You whine breathlessly, nodding impatiently as his long fingers brush against your swollen cunny. You’re dripping through your skimpy panties, which are practically stuck to you now. The attractive blonde next to you has no inhibitions about manhandling you easily, ripping the scraps of lace off and tossing the ruined hundreds of Euros to the side. Bringing your slick cunt to his lips, he licks them attractively as he stares up at your blushing face with hungry eyes. You stammer nervously, never having been eaten out before, but he couldn’t care less. He dips his skilled tongue into your soaked pussy, inhaling in your addictive sweet scent as you gasp and moan. His strong hands lock your rocking hips in position as he fucks you with his broad tongue, lapping up the sweet juices your cunny gushes out for him. You’re in tears from how amazing it feels, especially when he buries his large nose or a thick finger knuckle deep, and soon you’re intertwining your pink nails in his blonde locks as he once again makes you scream in name in pure pleasure. This time though, he’s much more satisfied because you’re desperately moaning his real name. Oh, Max! Please!

Days later, when you and him have formed a legal agreement of sorts, where you accept his protection against the ongoing threat of rival gangs and he agrees to let you resume your legal career, you fly back to Monaco with him at your side. He slid a hefty diamond engagement ring onto your finger, and you’re still shocked by how pretty it looks, glimmering in the light. Still, it was only temporary, you had no plans to actually marry the man. A union between the Princess of Monaco and the all consuming Verstappen Mafia heir who’d been responsible for stripping her city of its livelihood was a cursed match!

So when you excitedly run straight to your father’s home when you land, the Verstappen bodyguards in tow as per their boss’s instructions. You fling the doors open, shouting for your papa. The mayor of Monaco looks up in shock, thrown back a bit when you jump into his arms and tell him you missed him dearly, had he been keeping safe? He’d delighted you are safe of course, and tells you so numerous times over dinner, and then later when you two are poring over the city redevelopment plans. You’d been away for over two months now, and a lot had to be caught up with in your absence.

But when he continues that really, when he’d made the offer to Max he’d half expected to never see you again - after all, the Dutch Leuw of Holland was known to be ruthless. When you freeze, papers falling from your hand as you look at him in shock, he realises that your fiancée had never actually disclosed to you the circumstances under which he’d decided to make you his wife.

This whole time I thought he’d kidnapped me, like a madman…but really he was protecting me from you, wasn’t he? Because you were ready to sell your daughter off to whatever man would be the highest bidder? None of the pathetic excuses that come out of your father's mouth are enough to fix the trust that had been broken. Your heart had broken that night, and you’d left your family home and vowed to never look back, tears running down your face. Max had taken one look at you and taken you into his comforting arms, shushing your cries and murmuring that you were not alone, he was your family now, his home was now yours as well. Or rather, multiple properties, it might be more appropriate to say.

This time, you willingly return to the darkness, and you accept his offer of marriage, of protection, and of partnership, and he takes yours delicate hand in his when you walk down the aisle in a beautiful cream gown that same month. Like your now husband had noted when he'd first met you, you were a smart woman, the perfect wife to the likes of the heir to the Verstappen mafia. You understood that if the reigning government council couldn't resist the criminal takeover, it would be better to join them instead. But not with the pathetic bribing the Mayor had done, comprising his citizen's safety and then his own daughter's.

No, your style was far more ambitious than his. You'd gotten your fire from your mother, after all. So when the Princessa of Monaco married the powerful Verstappen heir, your citizens hadn't known what to expect, rumours flying of the whole thing being a forced arrangement. But when you and Max have eliminated both your fathers out of the way and claimed the city of Monaco for yourselves, you're quick to resume it's political redevelopment and advances in healthcare and education whilst running the largest drug smuggling ring in Europe in the underground canals. You had to get the funding from somewhere, and driving neighbouring gang's businesses into the ground to support your own local one seems a good a cause as any. This time, under your partnership, it's done in a much safer way for your citizens, and you firmly believe the means justify the ends.

And time passes in the now flourishing city. The handsome Dutch Leeuw is often seen out for lunch by the beach, laughing with his beautiful new wife in his arms. The power couple of Monaco, your citizens say, admiring your union of the darkness and the light.

______________________________________________________________

A/N: WHEWWWW this was a long one my dearest readers I am so sorry for the wait life has been crazy!! was a bit overwhelmed with work but max winning the sprint was enough to revive me thank you for waiting! lmk what you think! dark max simps do not worry I have many garbage pieces coming your way hehe

[jubshead]

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐎'𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Paring: Detective O’Connor (hallucinating Agatha) x Reader

Summary: When your mother gets out of town, you grudgingly accept to take care of the town’s lunatic.

A/N: So this is dedicated to this anon, it’s VERY different from what I have written for Agatha so far, but I hope you like anyway!

This isn’t beta read and english isn’t my native language, so bear with me.

Warnings: Mental instability, face slapping, bondage, dubious consent, dildo, teasing/edging

Word count: 3k

Date: Nov 25, 2024

Comments are always welcome and if you don’t wish to be identified, my ask is open!

Masterlist

Tag list: @yourbasicqueerie @harknessshi @hannah-0730 @diorrxckstar @lady-darkswan3 @neverfindmegone @imorynn @its-chickenwing-450 @seaoflittlefires @anyasivy

─────── ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ───────

Wanda’s spell had changed Westview. 

Aside from the obvious altered psychological state of the citizens, the town's sense of community had blossomed and the shared trauma had brought them together. The witch's magic had left a lasting scar and people were empathetic for anyone affected by it. 

Agnes O’Connor, or whatever her name was. 

She’s been a good neighbor for the past three years, slightly nosy, but clearly under some sort of mental control. Lately, though, she’s been acting differently. Your mother is one of the people who’s been lending a helping hand. Buying her groceries, visiting to make sure she is eating and bathing, and despite the odd conversation, she has been fine on her own.

Not that your mother would listen. She is invested in being some sort of babysitter and drag you along. You’ve managed to stray from the role, but, when your mother left town for business, you had promised to take care of the town's loony. 

The day's warmth gives way to a chilly breeze, the settling sun makes an orange hue in the sky and you try to balance the grocery bag while opening the wood door. Unfortunately for you, the neighborhood has a barter system and today is your family's turn to make sure everything is in order. 

Walking in, you take a minute to look around, the place is beautiful and dark, everything matches and you wonder what is Agatha’s doing and what is somebody else’s. You had never stepped foot in the house and it impressed you. 

Locking the door behind you and navigating to the kitchen, you set the bag down on the counter and call out. 

“Agnes? My mother asked me to bring you some groceries.” 

Silence follows your statement.  

“Hello?” You say louder.

Fuck. What if she had run away? 

Taking a deep breath, you decide to inspect the house before freaking out. Walking back to the entryway, you glance up the stairs and back into the living room. The place appears to be empty and you strain your ears in an attempt to hear any kind of noise. The house seems uninhabited and you conclude that upstairs is the next place to look for her.

“Hello? Anyone home?” You shout uncertainty, taking a step.

Your head is full of worry as you walk up the stairs. You’ve never seen Agnes after her psychotic breakdown, you don’t know what to expect. People from the neighborhood had said she was harmless, but you had no way of knowing. Either way, even if that were the case, it wouldn’t look good for you if you somehow lost her. 

The wooden floor creaks beneath your feet and darkness engulfs the hallway. Taking a quick peek at the open doors, you face up the end of the corridor, the place you assume it's the bedroom. Guiding yourself with the moonlight streaming in through the open window, you carefully enter the space. The curtain moves with the wind and you relax a friction, there is clearly no one here. 

As scared as you are, you barely have time to process the thought of Agnes' disappearance before feeling an impact against your back. Falling into the bed, you try calming your racing heart and, scared, you quickly turn around to see the back of a figure as it walks and settles into an armchair, turning on the lampshade beside her. 

Squinting your eyes against the yellow light that consumes the room, you take her in. Her legs are spread open, she wears a long sleeved shirt with a boner joke saying: “Bohoner family reunion. Pitch a tent.”, black sweatpants finish the look while her hair is pulled down in a ponytail. Her face is stern and she looks like a complete lunatic. 

“Sit up.” She commands. 

Afraid of an unpredictable reaction, you do as she says. 

The cushion feels soft under your thighs as you settle in the mattress. She ranks her eyes over your figure before leaning back, arms crossed over her chest. There’s some kind of hose head in her hip. 

“I’m curious. What compelled you to break into the home of a decorated detective?”

“What?” You blurt out immediately.

“I’m not playing games, little girl. You better answer me.” 

You fridge under her gaze, trying to understand the mental episode she’s having. Your mother mentioned that Agnes was having some sort of hallucination, but you never guessed this. Does she think she is some kind of cop?

She places her elbows on her knees and leans forward, waiting for your response.

“I- My mother asked me to bring you some groceries.” You explain carefully.

“Don't lie to me.” Narrowing her eyes, she stands up and searches for something in her drawer. “You won’t like the results.”

You glance at the door and prepare to make an escape. Barely having time to place your foot down and run, you feel a hand on your shoulder pushing you down and making you freeze when you sense her breath ghosting against your temples. 

“You better not try that. I’m assuming you don’t want to spend the night in the tank.” A glimpse of her hands makes you shake your head, she’s carrying a rope and a silver tape. 

“Good.” She stands in front of you and grabs your chin to look up at her. “Now, what were you after?”

You look around for something that might help you in this situation. “I was just bringing you groceries…” You whisper. 

“Don’t play dumb.” Her hands squeeze your cheeks harshly. 

God, this is the craziest talk you’ve ever had. 

“Look Agnes, you might be a little confused. How about I put you to bed and let you get some sleep?” You grab her wrist, trying to loosen her grip. 

She slaps you across the face, hard enough to leave a sting behind. 

She leans in close and says. “Do you think you have the right to touch me?”

The hit leaves you angry enough to turn and shout. “YOU ARE NOT A DETECTIVE.” 

Maybe it’s time to put her in a mental institution. 

She scoffs and grabs the rope at her side. “Do you know what we used to do to mouthy things like you back at the academy?” 

Your eyes widen and you stay rooted in place, running crosses your mind once again, but you push it aside, it would be worse if she tackled you to the ground. They do say crazy people have more strength than usual. 

She stretches the cord out in front of you and smirks, seizing your arms and tying them in front of you. Maybe it would be better if you played into her fantasy. 

“I’m sorry, Detective O’Conner.” Your entire demeanor changes and you beg. “Please, it was just a prank, my friends put me to it.” 

She has a side smile and doesn't look into your face, completely focused on her task. 

“Oh, now you are being cooperative. Scared?” 

Indeed, you are.

She crouches and levels her eyes with yours, searching your face for something that she doesn’t seem to find. 

“I don’t believe you and I’m not letting you go until I’ve got a satisfying answer.” 

She harshly pulls the knot in your wrists and looks pleased when it doesn’t come loose. Pacing around the room and looking at your bound form, you see the engines turning in her head as you feel trapped in a lion’s cage. 

Suddenly, she grabs you by the shoulder and pushes you backwards. You crash into the mattress and panic, you definitely shouldn’t have played into her delusion, the thoughts of escaping brushes your mind and you curse yourself for not doing it sooner. 

She takes hold of your binded arms and places them over your head as she climbs on top of you. Her knee is placed between your legs and you put your heels on the edge of the bed, pushing yourself up in a vain attempt to avoid the pressure. 

“This is what happens when you poke the bear, little girl.” She breathes in your face.

“Agnes, look-”

“IT’S DETECTIVE O’CONNOR TO YOU.” You wince at her scream. 

“Detective O’connor…” You try out and continue when she doesn’t react. “There’s no need for violence, we are both adults, I’m sure we can settle this.” You attempt to reason with her. 

She laughs at your statement, one of her hands grabs your neck and lightly squeezes. 

“I won’t accept any form of disrespect. You’ll be an example for your friends.” 

Yeah, okay. Maybe that was a bad excuse.  

Her eyes focus on something behind you and she reaches for it. You completely freeze when the corner of your eye catches the sight of a purple dildo held by her. Something inside you stirs.

“You better lick it up, little girl. This is going inside you.” 

“WHA-” Your scream is cut off when she shoves the hard object down your throat.

The stiffness settles uncomfortably on your windpipe, making you gag and cough against it, only stopping when she takes pity on you and draws it out of your mouth. 

“Do you want me to shove it in right now?” She’s a jerk and lets out a smug grin when you shake your head.

“No, no, no!” You say hastily. “I can do it.” 

Seeing your willingness, she places the sex toy against your lips, letting you set the pace for yourself. You take a tentative lick and she raises an eyebrow at you. 

This whole situation makes you dizzy. Agnes’s weight is on top of you and you slowly engulf the dildo, licking and coaxing in your saliva. She looks deep into your eyes and holds your tied hands firmly, pushing your propped heels with her feet and making you moan around the object when her thigh presses harder against your core.

Your body is reacting in the opposite direction, the panic settled into a trembelling flutter in your abdomen, the idea of being fucked by her seems more appelling as the time goes by and you wonder how much you really need to lube the dildo with your arousal pooling in your undearwear. 

“Yes, that’s it.” She says encouragingly. 

She sets a rhythm, leisurely pulling in and out as her lips form a sadistic smile, seemingly taking joy in your predicament as you slowly relax into the mattress, accepting your fate. Her blown pupils draw a groan out of your mouth and you feel drool dripping down your chin. 

She leans down and nuzzles your neck, before popping the dildo out of your mouth and eyeing it. 

“Good girl.” She praises and you grind against her thigh. 

Smiling, she takes away your only form of relief, straddling your waist and placing the purple object sideways in her mouth. The image distracts you enough and gives her time ,with her newly free hands, to grab the remains of the rope and tie your bound hands against the headboard. 

She eyes your pitiful position and lets out a breathy laugh, before grabbing your shirt and ripping it in half. Your eyes widen at the action and you suddenly remember that despite the pleasure running through you, you’re still very much in danger.

Ranking her eyes down your figure, she slides the wet dildo down your collarbones and over your covered breast, before reaching your navel. You look up at her with a pleading face, you could no longer tell if it was whether for her to continue or let you go.

“Ag-Detective, please.” You beg and the nickname brings a smirk to her face.

Thrusting your hips up, you try in a vague attempt to smooth your aching core, she grabs your waist and presses her body weight harder against you. Getting close to your face, she ‘tsks’.

“Nah, nah. This is supposed to be a lesson.” Her hand moves up and painfully gropes your breast, pinching your nipple and making you let out a groan. 

She rolls off of you and for a second, you think she’s going to leave you there, bound and unsatisfied, completely lost in the situation. That is, until you feel her harshly pull your pants out, along with your panties, humming as she looks down at your barely covered self.  

Spreading your legs, she settles between them and grabs the back of your things, pushing them up until your knees meet your front. Your open position gives her access to your core and she looks at it, grinning and running her finger through your wetness. 

“It appears someone has a cop kink.” Even in your condition, you have to hold in your laugh. 

She’s still talking nonsense. 

The discarded dildo appears in her hand once more and you bite your bottom lip in anticipation, she looks into your eyes as she slowly drags it between your folds and circles your clit, teasing you. Torture seems to be part of her enjoyment, you trash and buck into her hand, but the only thing she does is grip your hips to prevent your movement. 

She runs the object down your thigh and you feel how wet it is, mixing with the previous stickiness in there and driving you mad as it gets further away from your entrance. Stopping your needy motions, you let out a whine from the provocation before suddenly throwing your head back as she slams into you. 

It stretches you and she doesn’t give you time to process the intrusions before she starts to move. She pounds hard, seemingly trying to draw out your pleasure as fast as she can and by the amount of arousal you feel bubbling under your skin, she’s succeeding. 

You moan loudly, your shoulders ache from the uncomfortable position and your wrist burns from the material of the rope. Your body shakes with the force of her thrusting and your breasts bounce inside your bra. 

“Ag- Please… I can’t.” Meaningless words spill out of your mouth. 

She laughs and places one of your legs on her shoulder, going deeper and hitting a spot that makes your vision go white. 

“Tell me what you were looking for.” Her face closes off and somehow she becomes more aggressive with her movement. 

“Wha-” There isn’t a single thought crossing your mind. 

“Why did you come into my house? Tell me right now or I’ll stop.” 

“NO.” You shout and throw your head back at the frustration. “I already told you.”

“I don’t want to hear any bullshit excuse.” Her movement slows down and you circle your legs around her to prevent her detachment.

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” You tell her, your mind is muffled with arousal and you feel your climax getting away from you.

“‘Tell me the truth.” She almost screams and stops completely. 

“Fuck!” You exclaim, unfulfilled . 

Your thoughts can barely connect, your head is spinning and you try to find a justification that will satisfy her enough.

“I WANTED YOU.” You shout out. “I wanted to get your attention.” 

You finally settle into an excuse and it seems to please her when she gives you a shit-eating grin, thrusting back into you.

The fading orgasm returns with vengeance, your back arches away from the bed and your entire body tenses up. The purple object pounds harder and harder into you, hitting the right spot every time and making you sob. Your legs tighten around her and your heel digs into her back. The headboard hits the wall and you faintly hear the sound as your mind is overrun with pleasure. 

“Detective- I need…” You blur out, the statement being cut off by a groan.

“I know what you need, baby.” Her voice is hoarse, you open your eyes to look down and are greeted by ragged breathing, hair out of place and an open mouth as she takes in your pleasure. 

Her free hand comes up to circle your outer lips and you groan, frustrated by the endless teasing. Her finger meets your clit and her other hand adjusts the dildo to keep up the pace with the new attachment. 

You close your hands around the rope holding them, throwing your head back as your body meets her thrusts and you grind up against her finger, searching for the edge. All the breath in your body rushes out at once when you reach it, stiffening and trembling against her body. Your hard nipples brush against the material of your bra and your nails dig into the skin of your palm. You go completely rigid and mute before slumping down onto the bed. 

Your fingers teak at the aftershocks, you feel Agatha slipping the dildo out of you and her face enters your blurred vision. 

“Did you learn your lesson?” She asks seriously, her face closed off again. 

You nod vigorously, still bound and helpless, you couldn’t tell what she would do next. 

“Good.”  She says and reaches up, untying the thick rope from your wrists and adding. “Stay where you are, I’m going to get a wipe.” 

Puzzlement fills your mind and you rub your red skin, maybe this would be the perfect time to run, even with your shirt torn and naked half self, but you doubted your jelly legs would take you far. Besides, her mood had changed, she seemed softer and you weren't sure if the change of temperament was her mental health acting up or if she was calmer because of your early answer. 

There’s not a lot of time to think when you hear her coming back from the bathroom, towel in hand. Your breath is caught in your throat and you watch her every move, paralyzed. She settles herself on the bed, in front of you, before looking into your eyes and asking. 

“May I?”

You open yourself for her once more, she’s already fucked you stupid, there’s no need to be ashamed. 

Her knuckles run up your calf and stop in your knee, her other hand placing the white wet material against your thigh and wiping the stickiness in it. You shudder when she brushes your core and wonder if you are catching her insanity by thinking of doing this again. 

“I’m glad I didn’t have to use my gun on you.” She lets out a relieved laugh and points with her head at the nightstand behind you.

You turn around and are greeted by a hose head.  

[soon-palestine]

as an american citizen, you have the right to assemble. the police and other governmental agencies violate this right through mass arrests, illegal use of force, criminalization of protest and other means that threaten our right to free expression.

DO NOT TALK TO THE POLICE:

they are not your friends. they are not there to protect you, regardless of your race. their presence there is to protect the interests of the state.

what to do if you are detained or stopped by the police:

do not resist, even if you think they are violating your rights.

calmly ask someone to record.

ask if you’re free to leave. if you are, walk away.

how to stay safe during a protest:

write phone/legal aid numbers on your body. bring a sharpie for others to do this.

ALWAYS use the buddy system. don’t be selfish & stick to your own friend group. if you see someone alone, invite them into your circle.

don’t know where to seek legal aid?

before attending/during a protest, visit http://nlg.org/chapters/#massdefense.

NLG chapters are organized into regions. find. your region and write their number on your body.

encourage others around you to write that same number on their body.

4. if you are threatened with or under arrest:

you have the right to know why you’re being arrested. calmly ask. if they refuse to provide a reason, stay quiet and ask for legal representation immediately.

do not give any information or sign anything without a lawyer present.

what to do with your phone during a protest:

put your phone on airplane mode

disable face ID/touch, replace with 6-digit passcode instead

spreading awareness is great but avoid posting photos of people that include identifying features.

police want everyone to leave the area, what should that look like:

shutting down a protect through a dispersal order must be the last resort for police.

a clear danger must be present.

police must give adequate time for protesters to disperse and an exit route.

what are your rights if you’re being stopped or detained by police:

you do not have to consent to you or your belongings being searched. if you consent, anything can be used against you in court.

police can conduct a “pat down” if they suspect you have a weapon.

if you see someone being detained, what should you do:

record the interaction. police can not demand to view or delete any footage without a warrant.

use calming affirmations towards the person being detained. they are likely scared. be there for them.

use whatever privilege you have to protect others.

if you see a disabled person struggling, offer to help. find medics to assist people experiencing anxiety or having a panic attack. if you see a BIPOC being harassed, surround them.

personal note on using your privilege: i have seen white people, countless times, place themselves in front of BIPOC when police draw weapons/approach protests. it often works.

do not be a person that just acknowledges their privilege, use it for good.

10. remember that we protect us. ignite this chant as a reminder to everyone present if you have to. communities are supposed to help one another. don’t be a sell out, offer support, share resources, food and water. be a kind soul.

if you can not participate in a protest for whatever reason, you can still help! drop-off supplies! (water bottles, allergy-friendly foods/snacks with ingredients labels on them, sharpies, cards with legal aid numbers on them, masks, makeup remover wipes, hand sanitizer, etc)

sources/disclaimer: main source:

@ACLU and my own opinions. this is not legal advice. consult legal representation if you are in need of assistance.

stay safe, be on the right side of history. black lives matter, no one is illegal, we protect us, land back, all oppression is connected and free palestine. 🇵🇸

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART THREE !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 8.3k

content warnings :: NO SPOILERS! yandere!jinx, obsessive!jinx, yandere!viktor, g/n reader, kidnapping, blood/violence, death, nonconsensual affection, & displays of schizophrenia.

jinx's yandere traits are . . .

jealous, smothering, & territorial

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ When the moon rises and the vibrant world eases, Jinx always finds herself dreaming of the same thing. 

She imagines herself sauntering through the world with bare feet; to exist with no inner turmoil wreaking havoc on her happiness. It is an embarrassing, pathetic fantasy, as her life has tested her strength and vitality time after time again. Yet alas, her heart will always ensnare itself around the jagged edges of this reverie. 

To bring an end to the parasitic chaos in her mind — that is the haunting desire which paints her dreams.

Even as a child, Powder would innocently fantasize of a life devoid of smoke and tears. Maybe even a prosperous life in Topside, where she’ll forge a living off her groundbreaking inventions and spend the earned revenue on lavish dresses and the tallest houses. Or, maybe she’ll stay in the Under-City, but forge it into a land of sheer luxury, where Topsiders will beg for a life in the city they abandoned.

That is not exactly what the universe had in store for young Powder, however. There is no room left to daydream with her and her family's current circumstances.

Wind turbines have now been halted after their power supply had been cut off by Piltover. To escape the perfusion of gas and polluted air, citizens of the Under-City have been desperately trying to cross the bridge to Topside. Powder and her family are some of those citizens. 

In their attempts to cross, however, tall figures in blue and gold suits use violent force against them. Caught in the crossfire is her parents, who sacrifice themselves to protect the lives of their children. 

Powder races after them, but trips over some rubble and twists her ankle in the process. Her hand is then grasped by Violet, who sprints away from the scene with her. One glance over her shoulder and Powder finds them stomach-down on the bridge surface. Empty, dead eyes staring past her.

In their rushed journey back to the Under-City, a sandstorm intensifies around the grief-stricken girls. Violet now carries a wounded Powder in her arms as she struggles to find shelter. The route home is impossible to discern, now overwhelmed with suffocating dust and thick brume.

With this weight in her grasp, Violet feels herself becoming more and more lethargic. She winces with every step taken, before she inevitably collapses to the sand-ridden ground from exhaustion. Powder lands harshly in the process, a pained cry leaping from her throat when the rough ground greets her sprained ankle.

“Vi? Violet!” Her weak voice is a whisper against the thrashing force of the surrounding storm. 

She crawls to her sister and presses her shoulders with her tiny palms, begging for her sister to awaken from her unconscious state.

“Violet, please-!” 

A figure stands in the distance. 

She squints, trying to discern the identity. Her efforts fall short, however, when all she can distinguish is a dust-ridden haze. The figure then begins stepping forward, approaching them. Powder, to her shock, is not afraid at all. Instead, she is the exact opposite, covered in a canopy of peace like a warm blanket. 

Halting just several paces away from them, Powder finds the figure to be adorned in a dark cloak; all features of their physicality hidden away in polished fabrics. She swears she can almost see jewels, of some sort, peeking out from beneath their coat. 

The figure then lends their hand out towards the two sisters. Powder’s confusion is promptly replaced with sheer amazement with a bright cloud of blue and purple perfuses from their palm. A flurry of incomprehensible letters surround the cloud, of which she assumes she cannot read due to her young age. With that being said, she’s never truly seen a language that looks like that.

A few swift flicks of the stranger's hand and Powder’s vision is engulfed in a white light. She shields her vision to no avail, but the bright intensity is only temporary. When the light swiftly fades, she finds herself astonished, once again. 

The rampant storms have been entirely replaced with lush, vibrant fields. She now sits upon fluffy grass nestled against arrays of colorful flowers and vibrant greenery. From above, sprinkles of blue and purple orbs drift through the wind. The moon is clearer than it ever has been in the Under-City, basking her in its gentle glow. Her lungs are now clear of thick pollution and gleefully welcome the perfusion of healthy air.

Too busy engrossed with her surroundings, Powder nearly fails to notice the mysterious stranger as they begin to walk in the opposite direction, flowers with blue and purple petals blooming with every step they tread. 

The young girl attempts to garner their attention, once again, but these efforts are halted with a few groggy coughs from her sister. She scrutinizes her surroundings with confusion, but with a perceptible relief upon finding Powder. Violet then gestures to her ankle with intentions of inspecting the injury further. When the two of them look, however, they find that the wound has seemingly vanished. As though Powder had never twisted her ankle in the first place.

She then stands to her feet with her freshly-healed ankle and begins frolicking through the fresh land. 

“Magic! Magic!” She exclaims, excitement burning inside of her. 

Violet does not share this excitement, however, and sets out on finding shelter, once more. Powder joins her with a newfound pep in her step, as though nothing bad had ever happened before. As though nothing bad could ever happen…

Then, it did happen. 

Each chapter of her life ended in blood and destruction. With every final sentence jotted down, she found herself uttering the same sentiment. The stranger will protect me, just the same as they did all those years ago. 

A heist in Topside gone wrong? The stranger will protect me. 

Underestimating the powers of a certain blue crystal, resulting in the death and abandonment of the people most important to her? The stranger will protect me. 

Collapsing into the arms of a new parental figure who leads her to question every moral she’s ever known? The stranger will protect me. 

The same man telling her she is not ready for larger missions alongside his strongest soldiers? The stranger will protect me. Just the same as they did all those years ago… 

Right?

Then, why aren’t you here? Where did you go? What more do I have to do to bring you back to me?

These thoughts plague the mind of Jinx in the midst of a quiet night. 

Through the foggy air swifting through the bridge to Piltover, she sits on one of the grand pillars.  Summer of 2021 has arrived and she still has not seen you in the years leading up to this moment. Stalking the bored guards inhaling dry conversations and cigar smoke, Jinx fiddles with Pow-Pow and fights against the truth: the severity of your loss is impacting her more than she is willing to admit. 

Another argument results in Silco telling her for the zillionth time of how she is not ready to stand by his side and fight for Zaun. Too overwhelmed by her “past demons”, he always remarks. The one thing restraining her from becoming the killing-machine he raised her to be is you, but she will never inform him of your existence. No one can know of this sacred memory of hers. 

This leaves Jinx where she currently remains, plans of invading Piltover and capturing a taste of the rich side clouding her mind. Yanking a few of their valuables will earn the recognition of Silco, no doubt. And maybe, just maybe, if she garners enough of these riches, you’ll be attracted to the sight. Maybe you’ll come back…

With that, she descends from the pillar and scurries past the oblivious guards, excited to set her plan into successful motion. Jinx rushes into the sleeping city and strives for the largest building their prosperous land has to offer, right in the very center and towering over the others. 

The interior is most definitely more opulent than the outside. Far more extravagant than any insect-ridden estate the Under-City has to offer. However, none of them have anything interesting to offer her. Every door is slammed open by her aggressive hand, azure-blue eyes scrutinizing the contents for anything appealing.

“Boring. Boring. Ugh, super boring!” She exclaims, no regard for any lurking guards.

Reaching the highest floor, however, she finds stark differences in this expanse than the others. Finally, something that piques her interest! A grand window looks over the entire city, shielded in a haze of soft moonlight. The gold spheres painting the marble floors and bright walls could almost resemble eyes, watching every step she takes. The space is vacant, except for the wide desk built into the wall with notes and tools scattered on the surfaces. 

Jinx, the eccentric engineer she is, immediately strives toward the dispersed gadgetry. She finds the usual array of hammers and screwdrivers (which she swiftly stuffs into her satchel). She also discovers inventions she does not recognize, even during the times she has snuck past the investors and scientists in the heat of Progress Day.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A thick accent pervades. 

A smirk, one that has claimed Jinx’s lips as home, grows on her face. When she turns over her shoulder, she finds a man standing in the threshold of the office. A mess of brown hair, a lanky body, and thin hands grasping a wooden crane (of which he does not use at this moment, for some odd reason) — an easy kill, that’s for sure! 

Jinx utilizes this perceived weakness and is on the man in mere seconds. The cane he holds is swiftly stolen from his grasp and ensnared around his ankles. A quick yank and he is on the ground with a violent grunt. She pulls several loops of rope from her satchel and ensnares them around his limbs in record speed. The polished works of a skilled villain, if you will.

“Don’t you-!” 

A sharp kick to his gut and he is silenced, only interrupted by his sputtering coughs against the force of her boot. 

“Nice try, bones-y! That’s not how this game is gonna go.” 

With an exasperated huff, she throws his feeble body onto a nearby office chair. Patting her hands of imaginary dust, she sits down on the adjacent office desk. Dangling a pocket knife before his brown eyes as though it were shimmering jewelry, Jinx then explains herself. 

“Ground rules! You answer my questions truthfully, and I’ll let ‘ya keep all your toothpicks.” 

The tip of her knife breathes over his restrained limbs as she speaks. She fails to restrain her laughter at the pathetic way his chest rises and falls with rapid trepidation. 

“Are we on the same page, bones-y? Or should I read your diary?” 

Without a glance away, her long nail presses into the leather corner of his journal and drags it her way. She begins scouring through the written contents, expecting some juicy, Topsider gossip. Her excited disposition is replaced with a dramatic roll of her eyes when all she finds is boring, scientific jibber-jabber. Just scribbled equations adhering to this “Hextech” nonsense, or whatever the Topsiders call it. 

Jinx flips through the remaining pages with aggressive impatience, leaving irreparable tears in the paper in her careless effort. 

And then, for the first time in years, the world halts on its axis. 

She blinks, gaping at this discovery. Sketched onto the lined paper is no other than you. Drawn in exquisite perfection, just as she remembered you. Same cloak, same jewels, same everything! Something within her flutters; as if those wrangling insects gnawing on the grooves of her brain have finally bloomed into tickling butterflies. 

“Get your filthy hands off my-!” 

“Shut it, creep!” 

Her shaky hands flip page after page as she scours through the remaining contents, desperate for another hit of this drug. She then shoves the pages into the man's face.

“Who is this!? How did you find them?” 

The ropes holding him hostage churn and hum as he fights against the restraint. 

“I will never let you near them.” He growls through clenched teeth. 

Jinx eases her grasp on the journal, which lands lazily in the man's lap. She punctures the knife into the chair, mere centimeters away from his shoulder. 

“And I will rip you into itty, bitty pieces if you don’t tell me who they are!” She threatens, forehead nearly touching his as she leans in closer. 

“They’re mine! You degenerate!” 

Splotches of his spit land on her cheeks in his outburst. Their foreheads buck as he lunges forward, desperate to escape his restraints and strangle this stranger for even uttering mention of his beloved.

His attempts to shield the pages of his journal are only now brought to Jinx’s attention. She does not let this effort pass by unnoticed. 

“Hmm…” She muses teasingly. 

Bringing the journal back into her possession, the man fights against the ragged ropes with more violent intent, tiny mumbles of “no!” filling the new silence. Scouring through the notes more intently, Jinx finds information regarding a “sanctuary”, of some sort. Then, in bold ink… 

“Y/N…?” 

“NO! Don’t you dare!”

The journal is swiftly shoved into her satchel with the other stolen borrowed goods. A haunting laugh pervades through the grand expanse. As an infuriating farewell, Jinx hops off the desk and skips out of the office, leaving behind a screaming, thrashing, enraged man to fend for himself.

Jinx now saunters through a forest on the outskirts of the Under-City, exactly where the scribbled notes of that scientist stated she should. Here, she is sure she’ll find you. Maybe a pretty penny or two to impress Silco back home, as well.

The sun is blinding, just as it was all those years ago. Without the busy city-life in the way, the weather of Runeterra is granted the opportunity to persevere here. It is blissfully and heartbreakingly nostalgic, and Jinx is swift to swipe away the evidence of tears brimming in her eyes. 

“Anyway, Y/N…!” 

She tuts three times as she searches for the right information in the journal held in her grasp. 

““The only way to subdue Hextech is through the consumption of human blood. It will strengthen the power of the Hexcore, but will temporarily weaken it as said powers charge.” Blah, blah, blah! Okie-dokie, little vampire, let’s find something actually useful for you, yeah?” 

Further scrutinization reveals standing on specific coordinates is the only correct way to summon a portal, the scientist claims. And just as she finishes reading, her satchel then begins to strangely vibrate. It soon accelerates into a violent thrashing, as though a rabid animal were trying to claw its way out of the encasing. 

The force sends Jinx to her feet, the skin of her knees splitting upon the unwelcome intrusion of rocks and rubble beneath her. As she studies the wound, one of the inventions she snagged from Piltover falls from her bag. From the invention is a crystal, swarming hues of blue and purple permeating around the sphere. It rolls away as though it were a marble a child had tossed. The inhuman force continues onward before it begins to skip into the air. One last skip and it hits an invisible wall just several paces ahead of Jinx. 

A sudden tornado then springs from the crystal, forming a whirlwind of dirt and wind around her. It hastens and spreads, engulfing Jinx in its entire wrath. Visions of her parents and the thick sand that perfused through the Under-City overwhelm her thoughts. She cowers into herself, palms clenched tightly around her ears and nails digging into her scalp. 

“Stop! Stop! Make it stop!”

Like a record scratch, the force of the tornado abruptly halts. Sheer silence prevails, as though there were no deafening calamities to begin with. 

Hesitantly, Jinx lifts her head. The gentle fog blanketing the forest floor leads to two newly-grown trees, whose trunks rise and intertwine with one another. The descending leaves frame the oval-shape between the trees, which is filled with a glistening gray haze and reflects her tiny form scrunched-up in the dirt. From the haze is a soft squelching, a gentle pitter-patter, as something behind fights against the surface. It twists and turns like stretched glue, before a crack finally forms. 

Jinx watches in mesmerized trepidation as a boot steps from the entrance. Then, a full figure. And like the crescendo of a vibrant, aggressive song, the revelation settles and her entire world comes crashing to her feet. 

The cloak, the jewels, the flesh — this is no other than you, the one who has haunted her every thought for years. Colorful clouds perfusing from your form and everything. 

As you step closer, the adrenaline pumping through her veins, a friend she knows all too well, swiftly becomes a stranger. It is abruptly replaced by satiating tranquility; the kind of peace only an infant would be enveloped in. As though she’s been nestled in a crib, her only worries being the gentle sway of the mobile above her small head and how many fluffy sheep have hopped over the fence. 

Her heart, for once, has been lulled to a soft rhythm. All of the tight muscles in her body have been reduced to slick jelly as you kneel down beside her, your face still a mystery behind the dark cloak you adorn. 

A force within her thrashes and fights within her, desperate for the violence her hands are familiar with to persevere beyond such petty matters like this. But alas, the force of this wizard overpowers all. It’s almost as though every power the universe possesses has been utilized to force her to give into this new feeling, to fall into the depths of your magic spell. As if the trauma and hurt of her past has simply slipped away like sand between her fingertips. 

When the jagged flesh of your palm meets her cheek, her body has a natural reaction to reject your advances. Despite the desire to cling to that cloak and never let go, her legs act on their own and she scrambles to her feet. 

Jinx rushes to the Last Drop in and does not look back once.

“It wasn’t them! I know! J-Just some wannabe street trash!” 

The blade of the large extractor fan (of which she has claimed as her bedroom) juts uncomfortably into her thin back as she drapes herself across the surface. The neon doodles of her past scattered around the expanse all mock her, messily etched eyes glaring daggers into her. 

“They would have saved me by now…” 

Jinx abruptly stands to her feet, treading over to her makeshift desk. Returning to the gadgetry left languidly on the surface, she grasps a few of the tools and begins patching the screws and nails of her newest project. 

“Isn’t that right, Y/N?” 

She points the screwdriver in her hand behind her. Following her gaze there, there is a dilapidated teddy bear hanging from a shredded shoelace, a torn page from the journal with your face sketched on it taped to its cotton head. It sways in silence.

“Knew you’d agree with me!”

When she turns back to the task at hand, her elbow nudges a microscope and knocks the tool over. With a “whoopsie-daisy!” bridging on her tongue, the instrument reaches an encasing she snagged from Piltover, causing the metal strap to loosen and open. From the enclosure is another blue sphere, which rolls out and falls from the desk. It meets the ground  and explodes with life, painting the room in effervescent splotches of sheer blue. 

Jinx’s vision becomes overwhelmed in a sudden darkness, scrambled with ink etchings. Words of her past slither through the gloom and paint themselves into reality. She finds Milo, decaying lips twitching into a sneer at the sight of her. She finds Claggor, peering at her with disgust through his cracked goggles.

“Mistake! Mistake! It was a mistake!” Jinx rasps, digging her long nails into her hair at a desperate attempt of protection. 

Her scrawny knees meet the unforgiving tile and she curls into her own body like a dying cockroach. She finds Vi in this effort, her violent words screeching through the rain. The toy monkey holding the gemstone claps and with every bludgeon to the crystal, a new memory resurfaces – rough hands on her face, the blood painting her chin, the term “JINX!” practically stamped behind her eyelids.

A wrench is clasped from the desk and Jinx chucks it at the vision of her sister standing several feet away from. Then, with utmost clarity, she reveals the truth. 

“I wish I’d let you die in that storm! I wish I’d gone with Y/N and left you to rot like you fucking deserve!” 

The fan blades shiver beneath the force of her animalistic volume. The rage is soon overwhelmed with devastation when the fantasy of what her life could have been flashes through her mind. Claiming you as hers and leaving her joke of a sister to fend for herself — what more could Jinx ever want?

Through the chaos, she finds an inspiring conclusion. She is not afraid anymore. You are what she deserves and nothing less. And she’ll bend worlds to clasp this desire in her calloused palms.

Nostalgia was something you claimed was painful many years ago. Now, you’ve befriended the feeling and welcome it with open arms. That is certainly the case today, as you’re reminded of yourself long ago with a wicker basket overwhelmed with Moonflowers and Dusk-Petals held in your strong arms.

Strolling through the garden of your palace, indulging in idle chatter with a few village residents in your path, you think of the child you were lifetimes ago. No matter what dangers may encounter your path again, you'll protect that baby. While others have failed that child, you will devote yourself to your promises to them. After all, no child deserves the pain you once endured.

A gaggle of children then skitter from the corner of the garden’s fountain, abruptly colliding with your legs in their effort. A few wobble from the impact, while the others fail to keep themselves standing. Their stuttering snivels lead you to abandon your intentions of gifting flowers to anyone you can find; your inner turmoils had faded as quickly as those little legs rounded that corner. You can’t help it, those teary eyes are like blades puncturing your heart. 

From here, you take notice of the scrap metal they’ve somehow found and strapped to their chests. Without missing a beat, you play along with their antics. 

“Oh, no! Our beloved knights have fallen!” 

Bending down to their level, you guide them to their feet and dust off their clothes. 

“Back on your feet, soldier! The state of our empire is in your hands.” 

The audience of smiles you receive fills your heart with fluff and their playful giggles work wonders in softening your disposition further. One of the children then brandishes a twig they attempted to carve into something reminiscent of a sword. Once again, you play along. 

“My, what lethal weapons you wield! The enemy will stand no chance against our strongest knights!” 

All children then flaunt their best fighting poses, where their stern scowls are soon overcome by amused grins and giggles. 

One points a tiny finger towards you. “You’re our emperor!” 

“Oh, am I?” 

Their laughter increases in volume as the others repeat the sentiment. 

“Goodness, how could I have forgotten?” 

You reach into your basket beside you, plucking a few flowers from the wicker-encasing. 

“As your loyal emperor, I must ensure my best defenders receive my protection out on the field.” 

A few swift twists and turns of your fingers and you’ve woven several flowers into a makeshift crown. The children all brighten with excitement, crowding around you to scrutinize your efforts further. You bow down and gently place the crown atop the head of one of the children, who proceeds to leap with irrepressible excitement with their new adorning.

Before the others can deliver an onslaught of demands for a crown alike, a screech of your name permeates through the air like glass shattering. 

When you turn to identify the sound, a force strikes against your back abruptly and sends you to the pavement. A thin pair of arms are clasped around your waist like a lifeline, bony hands clinging tightly to the jewels and harp strings aligning your arms. You try to escape their grasp with normal effort, but the figure still refuses to relent. A simple flick of your hand and his grasp on you is eased, purple and blue perfusing from your palm. 

You soon find that familiar pair of honey-colored eyes and head of messy brown hair. Said eyes are blown wide in a nervous flurry, with strands of dark hair latched to his sweat-painted forehead.

Viktor. What a surprise. 

You had given him a mere task. Just one. Travel back to Piltover, gather his belongings, then return here to discuss what being “your messenger” will entail. The man didn’t hesitate in the slightest before he was rushing to fulfill your command. When the sun had risen and fallen with no trace of his return, you rightfully suspected something in his intended efforts had gone awry. 

Viktor attempts to explain what exactly went wrong through hyperventilated breaths and relieved expressions of your safety. How concerned he was for your well-being and the like. However, all that is discernible from his relentless rambling is his snarl of a “blue-haired street-rat”. 

His incoherent babbling is getting you nowhere, so you are quick to halt his word-vomit and help him to his feet. Your touch shuts him up immediately, to a degree where upon your further inquisitions, Viktor had forgotten what he was speaking of in the first place. He attempts to clasp your face in his palms, practically threatening the prospect of trying to kiss you again.

“‘Blue hair’? Viktor, what is the meaning of this?” 

You should’ve known how much of a weapon your voice is, as the man positively melts beneath the embrace of your cadence.

Once again, unsurprisingly, he tries to kiss you again, but his efforts are halted short when a sharp explosion pierces through the air. 

Viktor nearly trips to his feet again when he instinctively shields you from the sudden force. You ignore this effort in favor of the late-night sky, which is now overwhelmed with swarming fireworks. Through the vibrant calamity, you find a message. 

“JINX + Y/N” is written in colorful particles, pink hearts and sparkles surrounding the bright words.

Several other villagers crowd around you in fear, but before you can scrutinize the threat further, the harsh bludgeon of smoke bombs permeates from all corners around you. Clouds of purple, pink, and blue surround your palace and rid you of the ability to see your surroundings. It certainly does not help when Viktor tackles you to the ground, yet again, in an attempt at preserving your precious life. 

None of this hinders your effort, however, and you continue to fight against the threat to your sanctuary. The challenge is almost impossible when you cannot see anything through the pandemonium of vibrant fog and dancing glitter (and of course, the lanky man atop of you). 

You call out to the residents of your sanctuary, but are only met with heart-hammering fear when you receive no response. No shouts, no running children, not even the flowers you forged into crowns can be seen through the chaos. 

As you attempt to wrangle yourself out of the grasp of this parasite latched to you, something sprints toward you from the haze. All you see is a flash of a gun, which is used to pistol-whip Viktor and send him into complete unconsciousness.

“Purple goes better with blue, I’d say!” A rich, raspy tone calls out. 

Puffs of vibrant hues then beam from your palms — a warning against this monster stood before you. 

“Please. I do not wish to hurt you…” 

She, who you now assume as “Jinx,” laughs hysterically in response. She then shoves Viktor’s dead weight off of you, replacing his stance of towering over your form. 

“I know that, silly goose!” 

Her blue eyes, wide and crazed, peer into yours. Blue hair pools into ropes beside your shoulders.

“I know everything about you! The whole Y/N-cyclopedia!” 

Beneath her blue-and-purple painted fingernails is a leather-worn journal, where you find notes written from scientists working on Hextech.

You do not wish to do this, but alas, you have been given no choice. This threat knows of your powers, how they function, and has now proven to be a danger to your people. With that, you latch your palms around her wrists that are pinning your body to the ground. Harnessing your powers, your colorful palms brighten in their hues and the uncomfortable sound of flesh sizzling fills the air. 

Her teeth bare like a rabid wolf when she groans in pain. This effort of yours only results in her pinning you harder onto the ground. 

“Naughty birdie!” Jinx growls through heaving breaths. “Maybe this will calm some of those heebie-jeebies, yeah?”

Before you can enact your next course of defense, the monster above you swiftly gathers some of the blood seeping from Viktor’s open skull. The terror in your chest of having your weakness utilized against you is temporary, as her two blood-adorned digits are promptly shoved into your mouth. 

Your vision sways like calm waves as your body weakens. With a final echo of “sweet dreams, chickadee”, you fall into the arms of peaceful unconsciousness.

You awake softly, without the terrified aggression your body had forced out of you shortly before. As though you had simply laid down in your morning room for an afternoon nap. Reality is now strikingly different from the tranquility of your sanctuary, however.

Attempting to discern your new surroundings, you find yourself within the interior of a large extractor fan, built long ago to clean the gasses perfusing through the Under-City. It has evidently been abandoned and decorated to the likes of a wild, eccentric somebody, with not a single surface untouched by neon graffiti. The scattering of spray paint cans, jagged-edged chalk, and other art supplies explains such.

These details are accentuated by the flamboyant lights adorned throughout the expanse, specifically the pink candles waxed into the ground surface. Romantic, in a personal attempt, you think. 

Scrutinizing further, you find stuffed animals and chopped mannequin heads strung from descending ropes, some with ripped pages taped to the faces. You also find robes that are strangely familiar, which are dangling from old, fractured wires. Almost like a deranged closet, of some sort.

When you shift your gaze down, you look to your body and find yourself in an old clawfoot bathtub that has been dragged onto one of the fan blades. You’ve been laid upon several blankets with your limbs restrained to an impossible, uncomfortable degree with ragged rope. 

The bathtub itself is beneath a canopy of several ragged, yet colorful drapes staples over you. Almost like a child’s fort, you note. Your cloak has vanished, as well as the adornments of trinkets and jewels you’ve strapped to your form, which leaves you in almost complete nudity.

Thundering music surrounds the expanse and abuses your eardrums. Some mushy-gushy old-timey tunes, from what you can tell. They burst out from a rusty gramophone just several feet away from you. 

And with these tunes is the undeniable sound of someone humming along.

Before this realization can settle, a distorted figure hops into the bathtub with ease and situates herself on your lap. The long locks of blue braids are unmistakable. So is that cheshire grin plastered on her painted lips.

Sharp nails, like the claws of a purple-striped cat, dig into your cheeks and pinch them as though you were a chubby baby. Any effort to yank away from her aggressive affection is met with an authoritative tut, doing nothing to mend your feelings of being an adorable child facing the whorls of ‘stranger-danger’ for the first time.

“Aww, shucks, tweety! Can’t help it when you’ve dolled yourself up for me!” 

From seemingly nowhere, Jinx draws a cracked hand mirror and presents you with the horrors of your reflection. Your mouth has been shielded by a thick wad of duct tape. Doodled on the surface is the humiliating sight of a red kissy-face. The artist did not halt there, either, and scribbled a bold “KISS ME, JINX!” across your forehead. 

“Didn’t think you’d be so forward on our first date, but hey! Who said I was complaining?” 

Her lips are on yours without a second to process, the duct tape serving as your only form of protection against her violent adoration. Your eyes are wide and crazed as they stare into her closed ones, all while she mindlessly loses herself within the affection. God, how long has she been wanting to do this?

You try to fight against her force, but any attempt to harness your powers is futile. Even with the taste of iron still heavy on your tongue, you still found it within you to try with your best effort. Must be that “naivety” your parents spoke of, you suppose. 

You don’t have a mere moment to theorize how she (or anyone, for that matter) had learned about how your supernatural body is weak to human blood, however. Not when Jinx finally satiates her hunger and pulls away with an obnoxious “mwah!”, a nauseating string of saliva connecting the two of you together. A few more peppered kisses and you’re finally free from the lips of this lunatic.

“Hoo! Ten-outta-ten, toots!” She exhales, as though your mere kiss was reminiscent of inhaling a line of the most lethal drug.

Her gaunt elbows dig into your chest as she rests her chin on her palms, gaze burning into yours.

“Didn’t expect anything less from you, of all people…” Her voice, which has been stagnantly animated and fiery, has now shifted to something wistful and soft. “All that I’ve been through… After all you’ve done for me…” 

Her finger drags down your features, ignoring every fearful shiver of yours in favor of scrutinizing the beauty beneath her.

Every bruising hardship, every bludgeon of trauma, every drop of thick blood — all of the world’s most torturous fates has been forced upon Jinx from the very second she was born. All of which you could have halted with the mere snap of your fingers, but for whatever reason, chose not to. 

She should be angry; she should burst into a blood-hungry rage. One look to that face, though, and all that ache just melts into candied goop. Just sheer perfection, you are. Smoothing out all those tight nerves and stitching up her loose, awkward threads. You bring forward serenity she didn't know existed, as though nothing bad had ever happened to her… 

You’ve done so much for her without even blinking. Only makes sense she’d give you something in return, right?

“Gotcha somethin’, birdie.” Jinx’s voice is still breathless as she reaches for something beneath the bathtub, eye contact still strictly maintained. 

You stare in trepidation as she then presents to you a dilapidated box, painted in blue and black stripes with a grand purple bow glued on top. It lands with a quiet plop on your chest as the blue-haired maniac above you watches in expectation. She gestures for you to open the gift, and the glance of confusion smeared on your expression reminds her of a doe-eyed puppy-dog. Too cute! 

You nearly jump out of your skin when she abruptly bursts out in manic laughter. Her jagged nail points to the ropes around your limbs, as though her deranged actions were pure comedy gold. 

“Sorry about that, baby-bird.” She wipes a stray tear from her eye. “Had to clip your wings for a minute. No biggie, though! Jinx will give ‘ya a hand.” 

The box is opened swiftly, like an excited kid on Christmas morning who can’t bother to waste anymore time waiting for their exhausted parents. Upon looking at the contents, she lets out an obnoxious, animated gasp. Hand covered over her mouth and all. The box is then abandoned in favor of the gift inside. 

Much to your horror, held in Jinx’s lanky fingers is a black, leather collar. Imprinted in copper calligraphy is “Property of”, with a vibrant and messy “JINX!” doodled beneath in neon paint. How fitting. 

The collar is then promptly ensnared around your throat, the master lock swung upon the metal latch frigid against your neck. Before you can even attempt to conceal your perceptible disdain, the key is shoved into the lock and latched shut; claiming you as permanent property. Her personal marked territory, if you will. 

The key gleams beneath the colorful lights as she dangles it in the air. With a swift flick, the key is tossed from her grasp and down the expanse of the extractor fan. Never to be seen again. 

“Oopsie!” She teases with a forced, dramatic gasp.

You’re then ensnared into a tight embrace, despite your efforts to resist the act of affection. All the playful nuzzles into your new dog-collar and sloppy kisses to your flesh — you’d surely vomit if it were within your supernatural capabilities.

And if any word could be used to describe the affection of Jinx, you would abuse the term ‘suffocating’.

This fact reminds you of its violent existence as a week passes.

The hours of the day move at a snail’s pace as you remain pliant in the bathtub. The torn duct tape still remains latched to your mouth, only torn off to feed you more heaps of blood. You don’t have the strength to question where exactly the blood is derived from. Not that you have the ability to ask anything, for that matter. 

Nonetheless, the only stagnant thought in your mind is the state of your sanctuary and your people. Your abduction was so abrupt, it is impossible for you to properly discern exactly what occurred. Just a blurry mess of colorful smoke and blue hair — that is all you can properly recall. 

While these inner turmoils reign havoc in your head, you’re stuck in a constant sway between the fine line of consciousness with Jinx subduing you with blood. In the rare bursts of clarity, you normally find her tinkering with new inventions at her desk, a plan of “revenge” against all the “topside trash”, as she commonly restates.

In the process, she has also claimed you as a new invention, as well. Guinea pig, to be more accurate. Always poking and prodding and testing your unnatural abilities. You’ve lost count of the amount of times she’s held pots of soil to your feet to marvel at the Dusk-Petals that bloom in response. Much to your dismay, “Petal-Toes” is a nickname that has been added to the mountain of others she has stored for you. 

The cherry on top to this mess-of-a-milkshake is, undoubtedly, Jinx and her infamous jealousy streak. 

You’ve learned it can burst from something as minor as an inanimate object. Nestling that teddy bear in your restrained embrace, she’ll force you through a deranged photoshoot (with an expensive camera she snagged from Topside, indubitably). Within the clap of a second, she’ll become overwhelmed with jealousy over the stuffed furry-friend in your arms before snagging it away from you, chucking it off the edge of the fan blade. 

Promptly, and without surprise, she then replaces poor teddy’s spot in your arms with her scrawny self. Even without another soul near, this possessive disposition always perseveres through the sickening sweetness.

This treatment stretches into the night, as well. With another dosage of blood (dinner for two, she jokes), Jinx curls up against your chest like a clingy cat, quiet snores drifting past her parted lips. How she finds such comfort in this cramped, unbearable bathtub remains a mystery to you. You swear, clawfoots will haunt your nightmares for the rest of your eternal life.

Today, however, is different. 

Jinx drags on with another rambling fit, something that has now become a daily habit. Currently, she boasts about “protecting precious cargo”. Why is a madman like her concerned with the transportation of goods? Something in relation to the influx of shimmer, perhaps? 

She then grasps Pow-Pow, shoving it into its holster, before rushing over and planting a hard kiss to your tape-covered mouth. Quick, as Jinx always is, she is gone before you can even blink. 

The consideration behind her intent is left to float around in your head as the rare silence settles. They permeate to such a degree, in fact, you almost do not note how she had forgotten your morning dose of blood. “Breakfast for Birdie,” as she infamously titled it, which she has seemingly abandoned in favor of this task. Or, possibly, she has made the mistake of trusting you. 

Nonetheless, for the first time in several agonizing days, a flicker of hope glimmers on the horizon. And you do not let this hope snuff itself out. 

Easily enough, you clench your fists and puffs of blue and purple spurt out like an old engine. You did not realize how badly you missed the hum of magic concentration until you felt the vibration rumble in your palms. A few jabs at the rusted skill and your abilities have finally returned. 

With ease you have longed dearly for, a mere tap of your finger and the ragged ropes latched around you finally loosen their grasp. They lay in lazy loops beneath you, granting your limbs the opportunity to finally sigh with relief. You do not let a second pass before you rip that damn tape from your mouth, either.

When you try to stand, however, you find your body to still be weakened by the strain this week has forced upon you. In this attempt, you also overestimate the efforts of your newly-charged powers. With a swing of your arm, a lightning bolt of light springs from your palm and strikes the golden clawfoot. The effort knocks the entire bathtub on its side, sending you tumbling onto the decaying fan blade.

The collision is loud, enough for you to anticipate Jinx’s return in record speed, despite her departure from minutes ago. The silence that follows is frozen, but with no blue-haired sicko there to slap-you-silly for your attempts, you waste no time in chasing after your escape.

With no remaining strength in your feeble body, the only action you can resort to is slithering across the premises like a drunken snake. Soon enough, with your stomach covered in cat-scratches (and smeared lipstick stains from a certain somebody), you find yourself at Jinx’s desk. You use the surface to lift yourself and finally reach a place of reliable stability. The heavy doses of blood still swaying in your stomach make this task almost impossible, but you find your way to your feet, nonetheless. 

Even though you are almost nude, you rid the need to conceal yourself and your identity in favor of the door across one of the fan blades. The effort is pathetic, but with several limping paces, you open the door and are met with the pitter-patter of rain caressing your naked skin. It is a feeling you have not touched in centuries; always blanketed in your beloved cloaks. 

Nostalgia is now painful as you rush down the stairs of the fire escape. Soon, the night life of the Under-City soon welcomes you and your lethargic self. A major juxtaposition to the tranquil stillness of your sanctuary. When the neon lights and grand buildings begin to double in your vision, you realize time is not on your side tonight.

Staggering into an alleyway, it is not long before your body finally gives out on you. When you collapse on top of a pile of rain-soaked cardboard scraps, piles of crushed beer cans and shattered shimmer bottles there to cushion your descent, your final fighting act is praying Jinx does not find you. Or anyone, for that matter.

“Honey, I’m home!” 

The door to the interior of the extractor fan bursts open; a dramatic entrance aligning with the nature of no other than Jinx.

“I have an idea for another photoshoot with my smoking-hot supermodel! Clothing optional, of course!” 

In her grasp is a gift of a ragged bird plushie. Once cradled by a baby in a stroller, but was swiftly yanked by a stranger's sticky paws. You can’t blame her, though! The beady, doe-eyes reminded her of the special someone she has waiting patiently for her back home.

Except, you aren’t there. 

Blankets and ropes left in a languid mess, bathtub left on its side — the evidence is laid out perfectly like a cheesy detective film.

“Y/N…?” 

The call is quiet and gentle; a warning, almost. 

“Y/N…” 

Now, a demand.

“O-Okay, okay! Hide-n-seek! We can play a little, but when I find you-” She huffs out angrily. “I call the shots in round two. Y’hear me?” 

The decor surrounding the expanse is left in a sloppy mess in the matter of minutes, gadgetry and plushies thrown about in a desperate, childish fit. Every failed attempt at finding your face hidden away in some secret nook, candy-sweet smile there to congratulate her on her win, breaks away at her sanity piece by piece. 

There’s sounds of squealing scratches, like skittering bugs, that fill her ears. Colors gleam in her periphery like a film strip burning under heat, mending with the blurred, distorted pictures her mind forces her to watch. Neon outlines of the ghosts from her past spring to life, lashing out in blinding animation and barking out incomprehensible, echoing insults. 

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up! I need to think!” 

A bullet pierces through the gramophone, distorting the upbeat tunes to stuttering nonsense. This effort does not cease the abuse of Mylo, Claggor, Vi, and even that stupid scientist! 

Tears seep down her face as she desperately searches for you through the calamity. Even a puny figment will be enough to ease this chaos. When your abandonment proves itself in acute clarity, she is left with the distorted sounds of her cracked wails, her rough nails scratching her skin, and the fated return of all her demons.

The door is shoved open, once again, and Jinx, for just a mere moment, allows herself to hope. Your face will fill her vision and she’ll watch in glee as her demons are yanked back to hell. Exactly where they belong. Then, you’ll stumble over and sink into her arms, drowning her in affection and apologies. Exactly where you belong. 

And, of course, she’ll forgive you for this little hiccup. Just a lost birdie who finally flew their way home — that’s what has happened. Just a little mishap, which you’ll both poke fun at after another good clawfoot-nap. 

When she finds blue suits trimmed with gold, long barrels pointed her way, that hope is snatched from her grasp as quick as she claimed it. The faces behind the thick gas-masks and goggles shout out demands at her. Their voices are warped, however, bending beneath the force of her prevailing hallucinations. 

Another step closer, another voice louder and she latches onto her gun and swings it their way. She is swift, but so are they. The rear of a shotgun is rammed into her temple. In a flash, she is out like a light.

Jinx now stands at one of the highest points in Zaun. 

Sneaky as she is, the carriage ride back to Piltover needed a few well-placed bullets and she slipped out of their hands in easy effort.

Scratching itches still whisper to her, threaded together with the words of her past. 

“You’re a jinx!” 

“Please. I do not wish to hurt you…” 

“They’re mine! You degenerate!” 

Through the roaring mayhem, one fact prevails: the fault is in the arms of no other than those filthy topsiders. From the murder of her parents to the betrayal of her sister, every wrong she has ever endured has been caused at their hand. And the robbery of the only thing she has ever loved has now completely pushed her over that edge. 

Jinx currently stands at the roof of the warehouse where the people she thought she loved left her behind. In her grasp is her latest, most grandest project. Metal wings adorned in blue and purple splotches, with a sharp beak clutched around the Hextech-powered rocket – the weight of the rocket launcher is heavy. “Bird-Brain” is the name she gave it, inspired by the birdie that was stolen from her.

Cursed images begin to flood her mind, a hallucination stronger than ever before. Jinx sees her beloved Y/N and that scientist, locked away together in a laboratory. She is haunted by sights of needles and tubes, forcing you to live as a lifeless lab rat. She is prey to the ideas of that annoying, thick accent telling you of what a monster she is, with you latching onto every syllable. She is nauseated by painted pictures of romantic endeavors, where you and the scientist lay together with matching golden rings. 

And it pains Jinx in ways no other torture could.

With a thundering roar, her finger plunges the trigger and the rocket soars through the sky. Wings flap as it finds Piltover, beak poking right at the council’s headquarters. Just as she should have done long ago. 

Like the dejection of a curtain call, Jinx’s dreams were once true: to bring an end to the parasitic chaos in her mind. After an entire lifetime, she was finally free. There, beneath the light of you, everything thawed. 

Now, her dreams have shifted. Jinx will kill these demons, whether material or make-believe. 

No matter what it takes.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ YOU ARE MY MEDICINE

WHEN YOU'RE CLOSE TO ME . . . ❞

gif creds.

tag list: @honey-beeuwu @mrprettycom @makangelo @thelonelyme @solavily @eldritch-bunny @decaffeinatedclodbagelweasel @orbitingmarswithp @frickidyfrog @phantomdomi @mermaidm0tel6 @numbu5 @applepinsss @anon34570 @biohazardousbunny @vogelaqwry @lorely788 @mellowangeltree @myathegoat @alix-37 @lavandercinnamon @vrnicky @mellowfishauthoreggs

[avocad1s]

Hello! I really love your works! I am writing to ask for a scenario involving the creator, still being with Capitano in Natlan, feels/sees Capitano's face unmasked for the first time? In 5.1 Capitano explained that his face is likely unrecognizable due to the rot and I was just hoping to read some fluff where the creator accepts him as he is or maybe heals him somehow? Anyways feel free to ignore this of it is something your not interested in! Thanks again!

Note: My love for Capitano has only grown. I don’t think I will ever mentally recover if he isn’t playable. And thank you so much for the support anon! Also sorry for the long wait! I got caught up in BG3 so I haven’t been playing Genshin lmao

Some spoilers for Natlan! You’ve been warned!

Could be seen as a part two to this, but could also be read as a standalone piece.

You’re starting to believe this wasn’t a dream anymore.

Days had passed since you encountered the Fatui in the woods of Natlan and have been staying in Capitano’s tent. Although you know time in Genshin passed differently than in real life, everything just felt too real.

You could feel the heat of fire on your skin, taste the food Capitano gave to you, feel the weight of his coat on your shoulders when he would drape it over you when you were cold. It didn’t matter what you would ask for, Capitano or his subordinates would get it for you.

However, it seemed like the only thing you couldn’t ask for was to go to the stadium or any of the tribes. Capitano always stating it was too dangerous for you there but he promised to fix it— to fix your world for you.

You dropped the topic for the moment, although you were incredibly disappointed not to get a first look at Natlan’s citizens. You didn’t want to just leave Capitano’s campsite, not after everything he’s done for you.

Yet not matter how kind and caring the Captian was to you, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His face was always obscured by his helmet, you could only take his words at face value even though you were sure you could hear the genuine tone in his voice.

When it came to eating, drinking, bathing or tending whatever wounds he had underneath his armor, he would never take it off in front of you. Always doing it in private. You’ve asked his subordinates about it but they seemed just as curious about it as you were.

Just like every night, Capitano brings you a plate of food. He didn’t let anyone else handle anything you would digest, maybe he was being too paranoid.

“Capitano?” You call out.

The Capitan’s footsteps immediately cease, although he hadn’t turned around to look at you it was clear you had his full attention.

“Yes?” He hesitates for a moment before speaking your name. You hated being called ‘Your Grace’ or any other formality and asked him to call you by your real name. You wonder just how flustered he was when you asked considering he stumbled over his words and asked to be excused afterwards.

“How come you never take off your helmet?”

A long silence fills the tent once the question leaves your lips. He doesn’t move nor speak as you stare at his back. You shift slightly on your seat, feeling a sense of discomfort crawl up your spine. Did you anger him? The last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable. He’s been a great host to you.

“Uhm— sorry I shouldn’t have asked.” You say, immediately backtracking.

Capitano shakes his head, his long raven hair flowing effortlessly behind him. “You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just I—“

He sighs, “—you will not like what you see.”

Your eyes widen at his statement as Capitano turns to face you. “As you know, I’m from Khaenri’ah and this…”

He looks down at his gloved hand, balling it into a fist. “… This curse of immortality has prevented me from dying but my body continues to age. Due to the rot, I no longer look how I used to 500 years ago.”

‘So he’s like Dain…’ you think to yourself as you stare up at him silently.

Capitano wastes no time to kneel in front of you bringing his hands up to his helmet. “But you’re my Creator, if you wish to look upon my face, I will not object.”

“Wait…” you place a hand on top of his and the Captain stops.

“You don’t have to if you don’t wish, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Capitano lets out a sound, it almost sounded like a low chuckle. “There’s nothing you could ask me to do that would make me uncomfortable. Serving you is my greatest pleasure.”

Capitano’s helmet is released with a small hiss then he pulls it off fully letting it rest in his palms.

You suck in a breath as you gaze falls upon his face. Different parts of it were at different processes of decay, it only made you wonder if this condition caused him any pain.

“I— I’m sorry…” are the first words to slip past your lips.

He shakes his head. “You have no reason to apologize, it’s not your fault.”

“Does it… hurt?” You murmur.

Capitano gives you a smile, a genuine one that reaches his eyes.

“Nothing that I’m not used to already.” He states.

You could feel your heart sink at his words. He’s been dealing with this for centuries, dealing with the weight of his home being destroyed and he still wants to do everything for you. This must be a great burden to bear.

Capitano on the other hand, watches your expression intensely. You’re not speaking. Did his face disgust you? Of course it did, he’d be a fool to think anything else.

Insecurity wasn’t something he’d ever felt before, at least not something he could remember. Capitano was confident in his strength and even in his worship for you. But having you look on his face, not being able to fully interpret your expression, he could only feel dread in his chest. What if you don’t want to be under his care anymore? Maybe sending you off to Snezhnaya with his colleagues would be a good idea.

Capitano clears his throat and moves to put his helmet back on.

“Wait!” You call out and he stops.

“You don’t have to…” You voice almost comes out as a whisper. “… Cover up your face I mean.”

He raises a brow. “My face doesn’t disgust you?”

You shake your head. “Of course not. I… like looking at your face. You have gorgeous eyes.”

The Captain quickly looks away from you, his dark hair shielding his flustered face. “…I— Im grateful for that…” he stammers.

After gathering himself he turns to look at you again. You were smiling at him, not a degrading smile, but one filled with amusement and fondness. He’d do anything to keep this for himself, no one else knew you descended, perhaps he could be selfish for just a bit longer.

Note: So if I read correctly, based on genshin wiki, I think Mika’s voice lines, Capitano should have deep blue eyes? I think…? I have no idea ☠️

© avocad1s 2024

[queers-gambit]

Mother Knows No Bounds

prompt: you are Rhaenyra's daughter, married to Prince Aemond, and the subject of Alicent's hatred. one day, she takes it too far.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader -> technically Velaryon!wife!reader, but you can pick and choose

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.7k+

note: 10,000 points to your Hogwarts House if you can find the Lord of the Rings quote

warnings: cursing, vilified!Alicent, Aemond needs his big brother. descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, toxic family being toxic; um is this technically neglect? abuse? potentially triggering description of medical phenomenons, i guess OC Aemond ?

please note again and do not proceed if you are triggered by any of the following content: descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, involuntary termination, depiction of medical procedure.

you are not missing anything by skipping this, please value your comfort!

The city had come to a screeching halt the moment extreme temperatures skyrocketed, citizens unable to bear the scorching sun during waking, working hours. It was only the brave, stupid, poor, or accommodated persons that dared venture about their lives when the heat index had tripled; silent, since the heat was so sweltering, nobody wanted to add to it by talking. Even the animals were quiet and scarce around the streets, most seeking shelter under any shade they could find.

Women skinny dipped. Children ran around without their clothes. Men forewent any and all armor, most even going shirtless.

The guards were on short patrols and constantly rotated to try and save them from heatstroke. The fishermen all left port to spend time on the water since it was cooler than being on land. Whores wore less than ever before. Vendors constructed makeshift fans for their own air current.

The temperature spike was truly murderous. At dusk, gravediggers traveled the city with a bell and horse-toted cart, announcing if anyone wanted their dead disposed of, now was the time. The heat caused any elderly to dehydrate, their hearts simply stopping; and for young children to overheat and catch too-high fevers.

It was a dreadful time to be alive in King's Landing because the city had next to no coverage, so, the sun beat down on citizens in a suffocating, unbearable, offensive manner. None stood a chance: the young, old, rich, poor, everyone was a target.

For some reason, the fat Lords of the Realm had demanded the King hold court to voice their complaints; temperatures making many operate on short fuses. However, due to his sickly, deteriorating state and wicked weather, King Viserys was unable to sit the Throne; the responsibility falling onto the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower. And because she was Queen, his daughter, Alicent was always in attendance.

Yet for some reason, she had sent guards and servants to retrieve her children - including you.

You'd been married to Aemond about 21 months, and while a seemingly short time, certain single days felt more like three when loved by a man you considered your best friend. You had known the One Eyed Prince back when he had no need for an eyepatch, sapphire, or silly nickname, and for years, you were decent friends before growing to attach at the hip. He was kind, sweet, intelligent, and best of all, he was a wildly good listener. Even as a child, he didn't talk too much, but still more than he did now; and all his life, he was simply a listener. It made for a peaceful and trustworthy marriage.

21 months of marriage, and now, (almost) 7 months pregnant.

Aemond was over the moon with pride, joy, and excitement when you told him the news. He was eager to meet the babe, and the moment he learned, Aemond started gathering whatever material and furniture he could. He commissioned 11 Septas to knit a series of baby blankets; most with Targaryen colors and / or design. Otto was happy to see his grandson looking forward to married life, and Helaena was elated for you both. She's always liked you like a sister, always thought you were kind, just, and fair, with a healthy balance of being stubborn - all topped off with heaping loyalty. To everyone's surprise, even Aegon sincerely offered congratulations to you both when you broke the joyful news, telling you and Aemond he was excited to meet his newest niece or nephew.

However, amongst the fanfare and triumph, two women remained permanently dismayed by the entire marriage that the prospect of a child genuinely angered them.

The first woman was your mother, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, but she was annoyed simply because she knew the Targaryen Curse was real and thought this was not something you should endure. You were her firstborn, her brightest star, her dearest love; she worried herself to the brim about you, and while she respected your marriage, she's never offered approval.

The second woman was Aemond's mother, Queen Alicent Hightower, who chose to silently seeth to herself (for a time) instead of voicing any opinion or emotion. Years ago, she and your mother were the closest of friends, and after she married Viserys, Alicent lost her friend and the tension has only festered from there. However, now that Rhaenyra was living on Dragonstone, you were the only person close enough to take the brunt end of Alicent's anger and she found new ways to project that. Simply put, she despised you - but she would've hated whoever "took" her (unofficial) favorite child "from" her; who became the leading lady in his life. Alicent's anger was justified, but only towards Rhaenyra - not you.

Yet communication and emotional intelligence was rare in this day.

Alicent knew you were innocent of everything. Yet somedays, she could not restrain her anger and would lash out like a dog chained-up; but you had thick skin. You always endured her quick jabs, sharp tongue, and snarling insults because you loved and respected Aemond too much to bite back at his mother. However, while most days, Alicent was amicable, some days, she was a downright bitch, and other days, she was absolutely diabolical.

Alicent's anger took over and when this happened, she was powerless towards impulse; resulting in usually terribly stressful events that honestly have no business being so fucking stressful - or even further, by becoming catastrophic. For example, years ago, when Luke cut Aemond's eye from his socket, she took the King's dagger from his person and tried to attack Rhaenyra. She ended up slicing the Crowned Princess' forearm, but far more damage was already done, and nothing would ever be the same.

Alicent's anger often blinded her and drove her to impulsive decisions or reactions, and this today, in this heatwave, she went too far.

You were sat in your bedchambers, Aemond at your side as you both listened to a sweating Grand Maester; both your hand and your husband's resting on the curve of your pregnant belly.

"Now, remember, Princess, in these conditions, it's important to lay low for the sake of your health and the baby's. Don't be on your feet in the heat too long, don't exert yourself, drink more water than you usually would, and rest as much as possible." He handed you a tea bag, explaining, "For the nerves before bed."

"Thank you," you agreed, taking what he offered. Aemond saw the Grand Maester out of your chambers as you sighed, using a handheld fan to wave cooler air over your face.

"It's criminal, this heat. Gotta get someone in here with a fan," Aemond mumbled to himself, leading you to a lounge chair to rest on. "Can I get you anything, sweet love?"

"Water, if you'd please," you smiled.

He agreed and stood, but just then, a knock sounded at the door. "Come in," Aemond permitted, moving to the table in the room to pour you a goblet of water. The guard who entered wasn't known to you by name, but Aemond greeted him casually, "Ser Mythos. What do we own this pleasure?"

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Do you know why?" Aemond grit.

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"I've asked you why."

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Fuck's sake," you snapped, "we heard you! Yeah? Gods," you cursed, head tilted back in annoyance; eyes squeezing shut as your child kicked your bladder.

"The Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Lady and my Prince."

Aemond glanced at you, sighed shortly through his nose, then turned to Ser Mythos to snap, "I will be along shortly, but my wife was told to rest in this heat for our baby's health. We'll need palms brought in for fanning."

"And the Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince, both of you. Both, my Prince, both."

Your eyes rolled, telling Aemond, "I think the Queen wants us both, my love." Then shifted your glare towards the messenger, sounding as tired as you looked, "All right, fine, fine, fine, fucking fine, give us a moment to dress and we will be there presently."

"My Lady," the guard accepted, turned, and left the room.

"What could Mother want with us both?" Aemond snipped at you when the door shut with an echoing-clang.

"Does it matter? She's called for us," you frowned.

"They can at least call you by your proper title - we are married now. You are a Princess of the City, they should address you as such."

You waved him off, "Who cares about that? C'mere. Help me up, my love, please. Your kid's sitting heavy."

You and Aemond dressed for court in thin clothing before fixing your hair so it didn't cling to either of your necks. It was already far too warm to even think properly, and surely, nobody would judge if you attended court with your hair pulled up, nor judge Aemond for the fashionably bun you convinced him to wear. No make-up was used, no heels; no corset, nor any pinch of leather. Aemond didn't like the last bit, but you were stern in your worry, telling him that leather would retain his body heat and today was already stifling enough.

When ready, you vacated your chambers and walked to the Throne Room, seeing it filled with a sizable crowd that surely would do nothing to help the sticky heat hanging in the air. Aemond held your hand tightly with his head held high to lead you towards his mother, who stood at the base of the Iron Throne. When close enough, Aemond asked, "You called for us, Your Grace?"

"I did," she eyed you both. "This is a good learning opportunity for you both, I thought it best we were all here."

"Mother, it's too hot for - "

"We are all suffering the same heat," she cut Aemond off.

"Yes, but my wife is pregnant, Mother. The Maester told her to rest, not stand in court with a hundred bloody people."

"You mean to tell me she has a higher priority than - "

"Yes. That is what I am saying, Mother. My wife certainly has priority over everything else as far as I am concerned."

Alicent shook her head, "For as long as we hold places in court, we will attend court. All of us, as a united family. Now, pay attention, you both will hold places here after King Viserys, best you know this all now."

So, you stood there like an obedient dog as slowly, one person after another approached the Throne to tell Ser Otto Hightower their grievances. They yapped up all the advice and court rulings; Aemond standing at your side, and while he was listening to what was being said, he also kept an eye on you out of sheer worry. There was no air to blow, no window to open; mediocre fans and palms brought in to manually wave by a few sets of servants. Yet it wasn't enough.

Sweat bulleted on brows. Pale cheeks flushed with heat. Legs started to shake from stress. Clothes dampened and clung to skin.

You were all of the above and then some!

The heat felt criminally offensive, and you knew you wore your displeasure on your face. Discomfort while pregnant isn't easy to hide, your hand smoothing over your belly as you exhaled a slow, calming breath that did literally nothing to aid your tangible anger. The common folk still reported to Otto, but you knew this was far from over, trying to blink back your discomfort as your stomach churned; twisted; started to cramp with increasingly stabbing pain. The heat festered a headache and soon, the nausea set in.

Taking another deep, long breath, you focused on the man complaining about his neighbor stealing his crops, his silver, and how the other man was fucking his wife - in his very own barn! The man asked for permission to sentence the neighbor to trial by combat, and for the life of you, you could not understand why you needed to be present for this.

Another farmer came up, saying there were too many maggots in his fields and needed the King's coin to bring in specialized mulch for himself and all the farmers in all of the Riverlands - who were plagued by this contagious maggot infestation.

Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place came up and asked for an increased patrol of "the King's Men", sell swords sent to "keep the King's peace." A group with radically different tactics than Daemon's Gold Cloaks.

This "Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place" even presented his daughter, saying she was fit to marry the Prince Aemond. Eyes turned to you and for whatever reason, you felt embarrassed by the sudden attention. So, you shied away from it, shifting slightly closer to Aemond as Otto spoke with a bored expression, "Prince Aemond is wedded already. As is his brother, Prince Aegon."

"What 'bout the li'l one?"

"Pardon?" Otto blinked.

"The Queen's last son?"

"With respect, my Lord, our son is still a child learning the ways of the world and is no way fit to marry quite yet," Alicent cut in, your feet going numb and making you sway slightly. "The Crown has learned from other marriage pacts to examine all offers carefully," but Alicent's sharp words flew over your head as something in your stomach pinched sharply like a severe period cramp. Your breathing came out in shudders; holding onto Aemond securely as he looked down at you with worry.

Your entire face, neck, and chest glistened with sweat. It clung to your hair, raced down your chest, and when he got a closer look, he didn't like the discoloration to your skin. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong...

"Then it shall be a long engagement so you might consider my daughter well!" The Lord barked, laughing gruffly. "She is not a disappointment, my Lord Hand."

"The Crown will consider your offer, Lord Peregrin, but the Crown must weigh other presented offers before marrying young Prince Daeron to anyone," Otto spoke diplomatically.

"Aye, I'll offer her dowry. Twenty thousand good men for your army, and I can spare about 500 Gold Dragons."

"Our army? Are we at war?" Otto faked a chuckle, your vision starting to blur but you refused to cause a scene. Your mouth had cotton in it; tongue sticking to your roof and your cramps were getting worse. You sweat so much, it was running down your neck, forehead, shoulders, lips, thighs, chest.

"Well, no, perhaps not in this moment, Lord Hand - Your Grace - but we know the rumors about the King's lineage," the Lord spoke boldly, making your blood boil, but the pain was over-powering your ability to speak. Tears actually coated your eyes. "Prince Aegon should be named the rightful heir to the Throne, so, if the time comes that he needs an army, my daughter's marriage to Prince Daeron would guarantee those men and swords."

Otto sighed as you gulped harshly, wincing in pain, a single tear rolling down your cheek. The cramping intensified, the bolts of pain setting your muscles on fire and radiating into your organs - or so it felt like. The Throne Room was too hot for you to withstand much longer; there was no water, and you'd been standing there going on three hours. Not to mention, you had been throwing up terribly violent in the night and mornings, meaning, you were probably (very likely) very dehydrated and that wasn't good for you nor the baby.

The longer you stood there, the sicker you felt. The longer you stood there, the more Aemond worried. The longer you stood there, the more time you had to develop a strong resentment towards Alicent. Your hand went to your belly, trying to regulate your breathing, but even your dress gave you away - sweat darkening the hemlines. Since finding out you were pregnant, you and Aemond agreed you would no longer wear corsets, and for a whole weekend, he took you to Highgarden to visit the tailors. They created a whole new "maternity wardrobe" that was loose but still womanly by being formfitting. They were made of breathable material, since Highgarden was tropical and often warm; and Aemond adored the sight of your bump.

"Aemond," you whispered, your husband looking down at you but so did Alicent. "I'm not feeling well, my love. I-I need to sit, I need water."

"We're almost done - "

"This is not the time to distract everyone," Alicent snapped quietly at you. "Focus, and let Aemond focus, too, he's the Prince. You don't need him for your every whim."

You only nodded and closed your mouth, clearing your throat of emotion, knowing something didn't wasn't right. It was more than a gut feeling now, you just inherently knew something was wrong. Disconnected. Short circuiting.

The hall was too hot.

Stifling hot. Suffocatingly hot. Stuffy sort of hot.

Overwhelmingly hot.

Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, so fucking hot!

Your nausea got worse to the point you were going to hurl at any moment. You know that feeling? C'mon, yes you do! You start to feel a little shaky, then your mouth starts "sweating" (or watering) and you even get a little clammy; maybe you even start to look gaunt? Maybe your skin changes color? That feeling? Yeah, that's exactly what was happening!

So, to keep calm, you just start taking long, deep breaths. The last thing you wanted to do was panic when surrounded by so many members of court... Then something that felt like urine raced down your inner thighs, yet you barely noticed it, too distracted with keeping upright. Blood puddled beneath your skirts on the stone but nobody noticed yet. More Lords came and went, some Ladies, more and more farmers with trivial disputes. Fathers, sons, uncles, neighbors, you name it!

However, to your earnest shock, when a particularly amusing man came to speak to the King('s Hand), Aegon had glanced at his brother with an amused smirk, but caught sight of you, requiring a double-take. "Brother," Aegon turned from his 'front row seat', showing a rare moment of emotion by looking concerned at your being. "Oh, Gods, fuck," he worried, looking ready to extend his arms to you.

"Fuck," Aemond breathed, turning you to face him. "Can you hear me, sweet love? Hey, hey," he spoke your name, "can you hear me?"

But it was as if you were in a trance. Waves crushed over your ears, sweat rolling down your skin, appearing clammy and as if not in your own body. Aegon jolted forward when your eyes rolled back in your head, knees buckling, forcing your husband to catch you before you began your descent to the ground. When he caught you, it revealed the blood from under your skirts, and when Aemond got you on the ground, he realized your legs were coated in slick, mucus, and both dried and fresh blood; indicating you had been bleeding for hours.

"Call the Maester!" Aemond barked. "Get the bloody Maester!"

"She's bleeding," Aegon pointed out.

"I have eyes to see, brother, I know she is bleeding!" Aemond snapped, his panic tangible. "Love! My sweet love, please, open your eyes, please. Fuck's sake, please, open your eyes - let me see them. Sweetheart, please, c'mon - FUCK! Brother! Brother, help, please, there's blood! There's too much blood! Aegon! What do I do!? Aegon, please! What do I do!?"

"Let her breathe, brother, the Maester's are coming, it's gonna be all right, I-I've heard this can happen. Okay? Just gotta wait for the Maesters, Aemond," Aegon nodded, reaching a hand to his younger brother's shoulder in comfort. Otto descended the Throne to get a closer look as guards surrounded your unconscious body and Aemond's panicked, kneeling form.

"What happened?" Otto demanded.

"She passed out," Helaena frowned in worry, looking as if tears would soon fall. "And there's blood - she's been swaying, I-I think she was ill."

"It's the heat," Aemond snapped, tears down his cheeks. "We were told she needed rest in this temperature, but no." His glare turned to his mother, "We were both expected here."

"You saw the Grand Maester?"

"We did."

"He told her to lie down?" Otto asked, looking and sounding confused.

"To rest," Aemond nodded, supporting your limp head and neck.

When the Grand Maester arrived, he wasted no time in demanding your limp form be brought to his chambers for monitoring and examination. Aemond picked you up and carried you, leaving everyone else behind - or so he thought. The Maester spent a grand total of 43 minutes conducting diagnostic tests, and when the last exam was brought up, he asked Aemond to step out of the room as the examination would turn more intimate.

When Aemond stepped out, he was surprised to see Aegon and Helaena standing there. Aegon instantly pushed off the wall, asking, "Well? How is she? What's happening?"

"One last test," Aemond answered in a low mutter. "What're you doing here?"

"We wanted to make sure you were both all right," Helaena, his sweet sister, answered.

"Mother didn't demand you stay?"

"No, Mother actually called an end to court," Helaena told Aemond. "Grandfather was very angry."

"He was?"

"Never seen him like that," Aegon agreed, telling Aemond of the words Otto raged at Alicent.

When the chamber doors opened, Aemond was invited back inside. He took to your side instantly, but there was a knowing look in your eyes. You never looked at the Maester, only at your husband, as it was explained that due to the heat, you had become dehydrated over time and then spending the day in court, it was just too long a time being on your feet without water or fresh air. You had toppled over the side of heat stroke, the lack of hydration causing you to involuntarily miscarry.

The child would not grow and for your safety and health, the Maester would have to preform essentially what is an abortion to eliminate exposure to rot. Aemond blinked in astonishment, feeling confused about the turn of events, but when he realized you weren't able to respond, he looked at you.

He made the decision, seeing tears streaking your cheeks and the dead look in your eyes.

You were prepped for the procedure and while the Master tried to escort Aemond out, nobody was able to move him from his place at your side. It took the better part of an hour, but when it was over, not only were you given an additional dose of Milk of the Poppy, but Aemond was also given several vials for you in the coming days. He was also given a plethora of herbs, spices, remedies, salves, therapies, and treatments; being given explicit instruction and detail about all he was given, being told when to use what to best help you.

Aemond stooped to pick you up, again, refusing to let anyone else touch you, and the Grand Maester held the door for him. Aegon, Helaena, Alicent, and Otto were all revealed, but Aemond didn't even so much as blink at them; whatever life might've been left lurking behind his eye being completely snuffed out. He made a direct beeline for your chambers with the intention to let you rest in a soft, familiar bed for however long you needed, but he was followed by his family and knew this would be anything but a peaceful time.

"L-Love?" You whimpered when your husband laid you on your marital bed. "Aemond? Aemond?" You asked a little more frantically, being soothed swiftly.

"I'm here, I'm right here, sweetheart," he hushed, ignoring the audience; one hand holding yours as the other pet your hair back. "Hey, just breathe for me, darling, I'm right here. I've got you."

"I-I might be sick," you complained in a whisper, eyes unable to open as sweat bulleted on your skin.

"'S all right," he assured, grabbing a basin to leave on the bed beside you so he could sit at your side. "'M right here, you're not alone."

Aemond watched the way you harshly gulped, a hand dragging up to press to your belly. "W-What happened?" You mumbled, making his heart clench. "I just... There was a lot of heat and then pain." Your eyes finally opened to meet his, "I remember pain, Aemond."

With a glance up at his family, Aemond told you stiffly, "You remember correctly, love. The, uh... The heat was too much for you to handle, sweet girl, and that wasn't your fault." He took a long breath, clutching one of your hands in both of his, "But it was just too much. We couldn't save them... We couldn't save her."

"I-It was a girl?"

"It was," Aemond confirmed, reaching for your other hand to hold tightly. "And you didn't do this. Hmm? You hear me? This is not your doing."

"But my body - "

"No," he refused with a harsh tone. Realizing you were not the one to take his anger out on, he cleared his throat, "Sorry, love, I just," he took a breath. "Listen to me, okay? No, my sweet love, we were told to rest - you and I were told this heat was too much for the babe and that you would need rest. We meant to, we had every intention to follow the Maester's orders, but..." Another pause as he fought off the emotion clawing through his chest. "But for some reason, royal obligation was more important than our family, and Mother refused to let us miss today's court appearance."

"Huh...?" You breathed, still relatively drowsy from the day. But the emotion was real, your husband saw your pain. "What're you talking about, love? Aemond? What's - What the hell happened to our baby? Where's our baby?"

Aemond's jaw steeled and a tear streaked down his cheek as he forced himself to explain, "The Queen demanded our attendance in court today. And standing in the heat for hours cost us our daughter's life. I am so sorry, my sweet love, but we do not have our daughter because she is... She isn't in your womb anymore," his hand laid over your belly, your own automatically following. "She can't ever join us, our family," he spoke slowly, then tearing his glare away from your tired figure to his mother, sneering, "because my mother can't let go of a decades-old feud with a woman no longer living in this very city."

"Aemond," you whispered, heart shattered in your chest but still managing, "do not take this out on her."

"No?" He snapped, still glaring at his mother but clutching your belly, "If not for her, our daughter would still be safe in her mother's womb and we'd still have the chance to one day hold her. But no," he spoke as slowly as he stood to his feet, pulling his hands away from you, "no, we were unjustly denied that chance."

When her (favorite) child faced her with such hatred, dread, distraught, soul-sucking eyes, Alicent frowned with tears in her own eyes. She had so much to say, but only managed, "I did not intend for this."

"This hatred you feel for Rhaenyra is literally costing lives! For the love of all the Gods, my wife is nothing like her mother! They are not one in-the-same, this does not make her your new target to unleash Hell upon - she has done no wrong and yet suffers these heinous consequences!"

"I did not intend for this! You must know that!" She repeated in desperation. "I only wanted you both to partake in your duties - soon, you will be the ones conducting business at court and you must be readied for what may come!"

"That does not give you the right to forfeit her health!"

"How was I to know - "

"The bloody Maester told us - but evidently, the word of the trained professional is not good enough for you!" Aemond raged, something in his heart snapping. "We are denied the right to meet our daughter because, what? What is it? You cannot reach Rhaenyra right now so you will take the closest thing - being my fucking wife!?"

"Aemond," Otto tried to step in, "perhaps this is getting out of hand."

"It was already out of hand," Aegon defended with a sharp snap, "the moment the Maester was ignored."

"You refuse to respect us," Aemond snapped at his mother, everyone silencing themselves when another tear fell down his cheek. "You refuse to respect us, to listen, and all for why? You think you know better than the Maesters? Or because she is daughter of Rhaenyra?"

"Aemond," Alicent warbled through her tears.

"You've gone too far," his head shook, devastation taking hold, "and I do hope you find deliverance from the Gods, because from me? I do not see how I can find a shred of ability to forgive such a sin."

It was quiet. Helaena's head was bowed, Aegon glared at his mother like Aemond; Otto frowned as he avoided all eye contact.

Imagine everyone's surprise when bare feet padded over the stone ground, two shaking hands raising to press into Aemond's stomach from behind. "My love," you mumbled softly, "please, do not speak so hatefully in this prolonged grief. We will do all we can do now and pray on this, but if we want to heal, we will need to learn to forgive. This was not a malicious, thought-out plan executed in partner with the co-conspiring weather; it was a terrible circumstance that the Gods have chosen us to endure. Your mother can pray for forgiveness, she's owed that right; and we will say our own, but I know that one day, we will be blessed and bring a child into this world. Because it's you and I, Aemond, and our child would be the full embodiment of the purest, truest love - and for something that perfect, we'll need time." You took a breath, looking sickly, gaunt; eyes full of tears as you ended, "But it is not this day."

Aemond turned to wrap his arms around you, insisting, "You should be resting." When he got you to turn to move for the bed again, he snarled at his mother, "She's the one who just lost a child and yet still defends you."

"Perhaps it's best we leave them alone," Aegon recommended. "We'll have meals sent for you both," he told his brother with a meaningful nod. "You both just take your time."

"Thank you," Aemond sighed, easing you back to the mattress; laying a single, thin sheet over your body. When Aegon had ushered everyone out, Aemond just stared down at you for a long moment, sighing sadly and whispering, "I'm so sorry, sweet love."

"Just lay with me," you requested.

He moved to strip himself of his linens, the heat still sweltering, and laid beside you; instantly cuddling you into his bare chest. Aemond knew you didn't want to talk, but this needed said, and he whimpered, "This is my fault."

"What?" You gaped, looking up at him in shock. You quickly pulled his leather eye patch off to force his full attention, holding his cheek and demanding, "What did you just say?"

"If you and I did not marry, if I had not pursued you - courted you," he shook his head, brows crinkled from restrained sobs, "we would not be in this position, you would not know this pain. We knew the tension in our family, we knew the hatred between our mothers, and still I wanted you. This is my fault, I shouldn't've done this - you should not have to endure this."

Your hand reached up to caress the side of his face; foreheads pressed together to breathe the same air, warm the same space, sweat onto one another, but never wanting to be apart. It was a sticky embrace but you both needed it, and you hushed, "I regret nothing about us. Nothing, Aemond. If I knew how this would play out, I'd do it all again because I know I love you beyond words. Beyond," you giggled lightly, "rational thought, even. Aemond, everything you are, I adore, and all we are together is... It's the greatest pleasure of my life. My greatest honor."

"I do not deserve a woman like you."

"Perhaps not," you teased, "but you have me anyway. And what do we do with rare women, my Prince?"

His lips found yours in a sweeping kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. When he pulled back, he whispered, "We love them well."

A week later, King's Landing would find relief from the unwavering, record-breaking heatwave - only to be blasted by a wave of dragon fire. It was only then the Prince Aemond was seen with his wife for the first time since "The Throne Room Incident", and both were dressed in the traditional color of funerals: black.

You were bestowed an incredibly small bundle of black cloth, and with the rest of the Royal Family following, ventured to a distant hill where a funeral was to take place. Because your daughter was still so very tiny, she was laid in a fiery basin with only you and Aemond to preside over; offering prayer in High Valyrian. He held you close, the wind from the coast whipping all clothing around, and just behind everyone, Vhagar landed with a distinct thundering thud.

You didn't move, staring into the flames.

Aemond looked back, and when Vhagar saw the tears in her master's eye, noting the way he turned back to comfort you and grieve over your daughter, the dragon roared. A roar so loud, it was heard from the Riverlands. A roar so powerful, it shook the ground they all stood on. A roar so terrible, it made a few throats swell in emotion. A roar so sad, ballads would be written about it.

King's Landing might've been relieved from the weather's temperature, but as Vhagar felt her master mourning his daughter, she released an angry flame into the air that the citizens all felt.

For years, on the contrary, the entire city would feel Prince Aemond's cold shoulder to his mother, Queen Alicent, but for now, the heat of grief demanded to be felt.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[l-artemisia-del-secolo]

You've been living a peaceful life for the last 100 years, trying to be off the radar.

You did help Strange a few times from afar, but becoming an active participant? No, you had enough of that.

Your owned ranch, your owned daily routines. You were almost healed from centuries of fighting for your life, ideals and power.

Until one day Strange broke his part of the deal.

"I need your help."

You sighed. He never cared about your garden. Always appearing when you were searching for escape with your flowers.

"No, Stephen. Whatever it is, I don't care. And please levitate. You're leaving traces."

"it's Agatha Harkness."

You looked at him. No emotions. He was waiting for your reaction. But you didn't give him any clues.

"Since when can't you fight a bound witch?"

You turned back to your apple tree. You knew in what state Agatha was. Not a threat, not an opponent. She was too deep in her illusion.

"Everything is going to change soon. There are… Entities who want her free."

"Name me one entity who would want to be betrayed by her."

"I can name you two. The boy."

"One of the twins. " Only the sound of your garden shears was heard.

It wasn't even a question. You already felt it. Stephen wouldn't be here if the reason wasn't so serious.

"And the other one?"

"Your old friend."

"Why don't you do this yourself, Stephen?"

"You know I'm not allowed to interact with her."

___

WestView used to be a charming town. Before the Hex. You could still feel the remains of Wanda's magic. People were still scared, wounds were too fresh.

You quickly found Agatha. She was blissfully living through her illusion. Wanda definitely had style.

You knew Harkness when she was dangerous, now she was weak and vulnerable.

If it was the old you, her neck would snap in a second. But you changed. And she wasn't the one you were searching for.

If Stephen was right you were all fucked.

You followed Agatha to the police station, pawn shop, and her house.

The boy wasn't here yet. You had some time. You built yourself a charming backstory, you pretended to love bad coffee. In a month you were already a citizen of WestView.

What if Stephen was wrong? This happened before. Agatha was protected by her own dreams until the cracks the power of nature itself called for you.

You rushed to your hotel room. You needed protective spells. You were not the only witch in town.

___

Stephen was right. Unfortunately.

Someone knocked on the door, but didn't wait for the answer.

"I thought you could afford a better place."

Stephen was right. You were all fucked.

"I thought you're old enough not to play with food."

Rio laughed at the remark. You almost forgot that sound.  You recognized her immediately. Sure the clothes were different, hair, eyes were greener than you remembered.

There was no point in the book you were holding. You started remembering that spells never worked against Rio.

"What are you doing here?" She noticed your gesture of peace. No fight tonight.

"Making sure that you're keeping the monster on the leash."

"oh, it's so much fun not being a monster in this scenario." Rio smiled like a child who finally got her approval.

"It's not about you." You suddenly felt tired. You had this talk before. Each century you were alive.

"It's about you." Rio chose to come closer.

"Is that a holster under your jacket?"

"Yeah, Agatha is in her Swedish crime show period. You like it?"

Rio got rid of her jacket, which simply disappeared in thin air. Brunette always loved theatricality.

"Sure." You were not planning for her to be in your space. You tried to step aside.

"No, no, no." Rio grabbed your hand. "You wanted to talk, let's talk."

You noticed the green light. No doubt her crown was a reminder of her power. Her cosmic power, her power over you.

"Leave the covenless witch alone." You whispered. Oh, but Rio heard every word. She smirked.

"or else?" you could feel her magic all over you.

You formed the fireball in your palm. Light was dancing in Rio's eyes.

"oh, isn't it our favorite foreplay?" witch mimicked your move with her free hand. Green rose appeared. "I missed this."

She let go of you and offered the flower. You took it.

You started remembering. Once it was like this. Every day. You almost forgot why you were here.

"leave Agatha as she is." You still were looking at the flower. It was flawless. Created by nature itself.

"really?" Rio groaned. "if I had known you'd care about her so much I'd lure her into darkness ages ago."

You could hear the hurt in her voice. It wasn't a distraction from her plan. She turned to the door. You flicked your wrist. Thin line of fire appeared around Rio's neck.

"I can't kill you. But I can definitely slow you down."

"till your sorcerer comes?" Rio laughed. She tilted her head and it was enough for you to hit the wall. If she wanted to you'd never get up again.

"Let's have a deal. You give me one date and I give you one more day of bound covenless witch."

___

This idea was so wrong. With Rio you never had courtship per se. The day you met she stayed with you. It was always about the sparks that amplified the worst in both of you.

You needed to know Rio's plan. You needed to win yourself some time.

This time Rio didn't invite herself In. You opened the door. This time it was a bouquet of flowers that never even existed. No doubt, Rio created them only for you.

This time it was a green suit. Always on brand.

Of course she was driving. It was the most human thing you ever saw her doing.

"Where are we going?"

"We'll drink and watch the wolves howl at the full moon."

"There are no wolves here."

"I brought a few with me."

___

"Why did you leave me?" it was her first question after the awkward silence.

You were sitting on the branches that Rio lowered for you. Pack of white wolves was playing in front of you, occasionally asking for attention.

"Is that important?"

"don't mortals talk about their experiences, share feelings?"

"you're not a mortal."

"tonight I am."

You shrugged. You had to play this game.

"I was tired of being… A villain." whiskey was still burning your throat after all these years.

"I never asked you to."

"you never did. But you sure as hell were reminding me every day of who I was. With you I've forgotten the weight of my choices. With you everything was just a game…"

You felt her touch on your skin. Rio guided you towards her. You remembered this. She kissed you like this before. Many moons like this ago.

She was gentle. Always was. You just forgot it.

"You were never a game."

"And you were always thriving on chaos.",

You stood up. Immediately one of the wolves ran towards you. He was friendly, but like with Rio you were not sure he wasn't trained to pretend.

"Why do you need a covenless witch?"

"Is it important right now? It's always about the balance."

"Right. And a few witches you can take for yourself."

Greens started wrapping around your waist and arms. Rio was calling you. Slowly you let them drag you to her. You used to play like this. You used to allow her this.

"Give me another date and you'll get another day."

___

The next day you went to her house. She recreated the garden you once had. With her powers it was so much easier.

"Remember how we used to play with reality?"

"Yes."

Rio remembered every single of your creations. She was attentive to details. You did play with reality. Both of you. You were luring your enemies into scenarios that could never be real. And after that Rio was feasting on them.

"Exactly like now you're playing with Agatha. You always protected your deal with her."

You preferred this Rio more. With the crown, with the flowers in the dress. It was her element.

"She's an effective killer. That's it."

"And what about the boy?"

"And what about your peaceful life?" Rio squeezed grapes and the wine poured in glasses. She offered you one.

"It is expectedly peaceful."

"Sounds boring. Maybe that's why you're here. With me? Missed the fun?"

What did she want to hear from you? You never cared about fun. You missed her. You missed your lover, your partner, your chosen one. You missed your garden. It was never fun. It was always you destroying everyone with fire.

Rio threw her Chalice on the ground. Wine turned into flowers. Again she was too close. She was behind you. She was seducing you with her breath on your neck.

"Rio…" You tried not to give in so easily. "I'm here because…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, the greater good." She was playing with your hair, whispering right into your soul. "It's all about not letting Agatha and the kid get their powers."

Her fingers were studying your heartbeat. She always thought that this curious mortal sound was only for her.

You only inhaled sharply. When you agreed to Stephen's plea you knew all about the risk. But you thought you were stronger than this.

"Let go of me."

When did her fingers travel to your neck? You didn't notice. Your whole body was tingling. Your soul was aching for her. You were alone for so long.

"You don't want this."

Of course you didn't. But Rio had no right to say it out loud.

___

Your third date was an unspoken agreement. You cooked. More for yourself, than for Rio. Old book of recipes reminded you of the hardships of trying to live amongst ordinary people.

"Candles are not lit."  Oh, that smug face. Rio always adored seeing your deadly powers in the most boring situations.

Table was between you this time.  You hoped it would help. It would give you a chance to win some time.

You tilted your head. Instead of candles - the fireplace became playful.  You disobeyed. In a very small detail, but Rio noticed.

This time the silence was longer, heavier. She wasn't eating. she wasn't playing.

"Do you ever miss your mortal family?"

"I do."

"What's it like?"

Rio never respected the concept of privacy. But those were the rules. You had to talk.

"Don't you know? Were you not there when both my husband and daughter died in my arms?"

You stood up for another bottle. Rio followed you to the kitchen.

"Did they… Did they give you what I couldn't?"

"They taught me once again to care about life. Respect the time. They reminded me that you're supposed to exist not only for your own sake."

You didn't admit that you barely remembered their faces. That the pain was almost gone. That for you it was just a fleeting moment. You already didn't remember whether it was real or not.

"Well, I remind everyone exactly this. But with you it's chaos, right?"

You could swear you saw a tear. Was Rio even capable of this? After all the time. all the damage. all the emptiness.

You pulled her closer. You wanted only to remind her that it was never her fault. You desperately wanted to remind her of that. You were clawing deeper and deeper into her. Biting. scratching, kissing whatever skin you could get.

You were tearing the silk. You pushed her against the kitchen aisle. It was always the chaos. But chaos that you wanted and were thriving for.

Now the chaos suddenly wanted to submit. You didn't expect that.

"I missed this." you were murmuring in her ear. You were ready to get on your knees for her. When did your hunger appear again? This time it was different. No burned land, no fallen trees, no skars and marks of struggle.

It was different this time. It took more than a hundred years for Rio to finally feel regret.

You didn't notice how you got into the bedroom. How clothes weren't yours anymore.

She took care of you. Rio always wanted only this.

___

The next day you didn't want to open your eyes. What if Rio wasn't there? Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

"I'm here."

Rio was watching you. She looked tense. She was sitting in the armchair, which now resembled the throne. She pointed to the cup of coffee on your bedside table.

"Charming as usual."

"We don't have much time, baby." And there it was. Your nickname. "Kid is coming tonight. We need to be there."

"Oh, no, no. I'm not letting you…"

"It's about the kid. Not a covenless witch. He needs to come with me. And you will make sure it happens. Isn't this what sorcerers want?"

"Yes."

"Well, then you'll have to join the road. Come baby, we don't have much time." she gave you a peck on the cheek. "It's gonna be like the old times."

You sighed. Yeah, this was going to be an adventure. You simply hoped that this night you saw the real Rio. And after this night you would stay the same.

[matan4il]

An incomplete "there's a good chance the icon you love and support is a Zionist" list

🌟 Raphael Lemkin, a Jewish Holocaust survivor, whose family was murdered during it. Lemkin is responsible for coining the term "genocide," and for every legal provision that exists today against it. His work against genocide was inspired by his Zionism.

🌟 Martin Luther King, Jr., who did not only support Israel and its right to security, a fellow participant at a dinner with MLK shortly before his assassination quotes him as having stopped a student attacking Zionism, and replied, "When people criticize Zionists, they mean Jews. You’re talking antisemitism." He also encouraged Americans in 1967 to support the Jewish state, as Egypt blockaded the Straits of Tiran, endangering Israeli citizens by cutting the country off from its oil supply.

🌟 Emma Lazarus, a Jewish American poet, whose words ("Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breath free") are engraved on the Statue of Liberty's pedestal, after they helped raise the money needed for its completion. Drawing from the value of Jewish solidarity, she also wrote, "Until we are all free, we are none of us free," adopted as a slogan by intersectionality (while many in the movement exclude Jews from it). She was a great supporter of establishing a state for Jews in the Jewish homeland, having argued for this idea years before the word "Zionist" was even coined.

🌟 The 14th Dalai Lama, the leader of the fight against the occupation of Tibet, who was invited in 1994 to Israel, at a time when China's communist regime did its best to prevent his visits anywhere in the world, and who came to Israel more than once, talking about the 2000 years long Zionism of Jewish culture in exile as an inspiration and role model for Tibetans. "Among Tibetan refugees, we are always saying to ourselves that we must learn the Jewish secret to keep our traditions, in some cases under hostile circumstances."

🌟 Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who spoke more than once about how her pursuit of justice is a continuation of that very same thing in Jewish tradition. She had repeatedly referred to American Zionist Jews as sources of inspiration. For example, in 2018, during her fifth visit to Israel, in a speech she gave when receiving the Genesis Award, she mentioned two such women, Emma Lazarus and Henrietta Szold.

🌟 Nelson Mandela had an ambivalent view of Israel, but repeatedly recognized its right to exist, which makes him a Zionist, he also called upon Arab states to do the same, and was favorable towards the Zionist Jews who supported him during his underground days. Mandela being critical of Israel and still a Zionist is an apt reminder that criticizing the Jewish state and opposing its very existence are NOT the same thing, and only one's antisemitic.

🌟 Felix Salten, the Jewish author of Bambi (the book Disney's movie is based on). The tale was originally a metaphor for Jews suffering antisemitism, something Salten personally had to cope with. He was also an ardent Zionist, feeling the self-liberation at the core of this ideology suited his idea of how to deal with Jew hatred.

🌟 Sun Yat-Sen, who helped end the rule of China's last imperial dynasty, was its first provisional president, and is nowadays honored as an important Chinese leader in both China and Taiwan (sometimes referred to as "Father of the Chinese Nation"). He was an enthusiastic supporter of Zionism. Among other instances of expressing that, he wrote in a 1920 letter to a leader of the Jewish community in Shang Hai about Zionism that it is, "one of the greatest movements of the present time. All lovers of Democracy cannot help but support wholeheartedly and welcome with enthusiasm the movement to restore your wonderful and historic nation, which has contributed so much to the civilization of the world and which rightfully deserves an honorable place in the family of nations."

🌟 Magnus Hirschfeld, a gay Jewish sexologist, nicknamed among other things "The Einstein of Sex" and "The Father of Gay Liberation," because his medical and scientific work on human sexuality, as well as social advocacy for women's, gay and trans rights, was nothing short of pioneering. He was persecuted by the Nazis to the point where he died in exile. They broke into his institute of sexual research, where the world's first clinic performing sex reassignments surgeries was located, and burned down the institute's library. Hirschfeld had attended a Zionist conference following the Balfor Declaration of 1917, and his work on sexual liberation found inspiration in young socialist Jewish Zionist workers he met during a visit to the Land of Israel in 1931-2.

🌟 Marcia Langton, a professor and prominent Aboriginal rights activist from Australia, who has been leading the fight against racism and for her community. She spoke out against the hijacking of native rights movements by terrorist sympathizers and antisemites, and has clearly stood against all loss of life, including that of Israelis.

🌟 Felix Zandman, a Holocaust survivor whose work on resistors is integrated into many smartphones, laptops, cars, satellites, hospital ventilators (saving many Covid patients), airplanes and more. Whenever the anti-Israel crowd is scrolling social media on their phones, they're enjoying the work of a Zionist, who enthusiastically supported the State of Israel, and even introduced an important improvement to the Israeli Merkava tank, which has likely saved many Israeli lives, Jewish and non-Jewish alike, and others like him, since Israel's high tech is considered only second to Silicon Valley (going back to at least the 1990's). If they truly wish to boycott everything that's been "contaminated" by Zionism, they should probably just boycott technology.

🌟 Rosa Parks, an African American leader of the civil rights movement (and someone who personally demonstrated how one can resist without turning violent). She was one of 200 notable black American leaders who publicly organized to express their support and respect of Zionism as the Jewish right to self-determination, and Israel as the manifestation of that right.

-> Like I said, this is VERY incomplete, even just in terms of how the overwhelming majority of Jews are Zionist, and have been since the inception of Judaism, which is itself Zionist. Over the years, this led to many non-Jewish human and native rights champions to be supportive of Zionism, too. Take note of who is being vilified, when the term "Zionist" is ignorantly used as if it means anything other than belief in the equal right of Jews to liberation and self-determination in the Jewish ancestral land. Especially when it is used as being inherently evil.

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