#and sometimes just protesting itself is dangerous

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

I’m all for raising awareness about the environment or protesting for climate change and standing up for what you believe in but uhh maybe not glue your hands or feet to things? Or put your life in danger

[elikajinnie]

not rushing but Part 3 of stealing ur way into my heart PLS PLS PLS (maybe ni-ki ‘kidnaps’ YN AGAIN????)

Steal Your Way To My Heart - N.R (Part 3)

P: Bankrobber! Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Teasing, Murder, Possessiveness, Violence, Manipulation, Blood/Injury, Kidnapping, Ni-ki just wanna spoil you.

Synopsis: Your life was boring—until a visit to the bank changes everything. Now you find yourself under the attention of one of the criminals. Now what do you do when the criminal's attention isn't just on the job but on you?

a/n: alot of you wanted part 3.. not suprised AT ALL! also i think i went overboard with the ending???

part 1 part 2 part 4

--

You’d heard stories of people romanticizing criminals—a dangerous allure, the thrill of forbidden love. It wasn’t about the crime itself, but the lengths they’d go to for the ones they loved. A criminal in love would do anything to keep you safe, anything to make you happy, anything to make you theirs.

You never thought that would become your reality. But then, there was Ni-ki.

He was everything you never expected and everything you couldn’t resist. If his eyes caught yours lingering on something in a store window, the very next day it would be in your hands, wrapped up as if it were always meant to belong to you. If you muttered even a passing complaint about your laptop’s sluggish speed, you’d come home to find a brand-new one waiting on your desk. If you craved something—anything—at an inconvenient hour, he’d be out the door before you could even protest, returning with your heart’s desire in hand.

When you felt lonely, he’d wrap you in his arms, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in his world. If the weight of the day dragged you down, he’d show up unannounced with ice cream and a quiet willingness to listen as you vented, his hand tracing soothing circles on your back.

Ni-ki gave you the world on a silver platter, no hesitation, no limits. All he asked of you in return was silence.

Keep quiet about his identity. Keep quiet about the things you knew, the things you’d seen. Keep quiet about the man that lived his life in shadows, on the wrong side of the law.

It should’ve felt wrong. But when he looked at you with those dark, unrelenting eyes, as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, it felt so right. And slowly, silently, you found yourself slipping further into his world.

And that world was as alluring as it was dangerous.

You told yourself you weren’t complicit. After all, you weren’t the one out there breaking the law. You didn’t ask for the gifts, didn’t demand the way he spoiled you. But the truth sat heavily in the back of your mind: you weren’t stopping him either.

How could you, when the way he looked at you made your knees weak? When the way he spoke to you, soft and reverent, made you feel like you were the center of his universe?

Ni-ki had a way of making the rest of the world blur into nothing. His attention was absolute, and it smothered the small voice inside you whispering that this couldn’t last. That you were playing with fire.

He made you feel safe, in the most ironic of ways. It wasn’t just about the extravagant gifts or the affection he lavished on you. It was the promise he carried, unspoken but clear: No one will ever hurt you. Not while I’m here.

And you believed him. Because Ni-ki wasn’t just intense—he was capable. A dangerous kind of capable. You’d seen glimpses of it in the way he carried himself, the way he talked about the people in his life. He was a man who got what he wanted, and what he wanted... was you.

But sometimes, when you were alone in the quiet of your room, staring at the ring he’d slipped onto your finger or the necklace he’d fastened around your neck, unease would creep in.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t safe.

Yet, when the familiar buzz of your phone pulled you out of those thoughts, your lips would curve into an involuntary smile at his name lighting up the screen.

"What are you up to, doll?" his text would read, and just like that, the doubts would vanish.

You couldn’t resist him.

It was good, or at least you told yourself it was. But you should have known, deep down, that being involved with someone like Ni-ki would come with its own set of risks—risks that you were too enamored with him to fully comprehend at first.

There were those nights when you lay in bed, phone in hand, waiting for his message or his call. You'd silently hope everything went smoothly, that he’d come back safe from his latest heist. You’d even find yourself counting the seconds between each of his texts, praying he wasn’t in the middle of something dangerous. Every time he disappeared for an operation, it was like a part of you disappeared with him.

You didn’t care that he was breaking the law. What worried you, what gnawed at you in the quiet of your room, was that you were rooting for him to succeed. To come home unscathed. A criminal. You told yourself it was the person he was, not the acts he committed. But even you couldn’t deny the thrill of his daring lifestyle, the way he made it all seem effortless.

Then were the nights that reminded you of the reality you were living in.

The first time it happened, you froze. The sight of Ni-ki at your door, blood seeping through his shirt, his lip split and bruises already forming on his face—it made your heart lurch. He had given you a weak, crooked smile, brushing it off like it was nothing.

“Rival gang got a little bold,” he’d said casually, like he wasn’t bleeding on your floor.

You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t even let yourself think. Instead, you grabbed the medical bag from your bathroom and got to work.

He sat still, his eyes trained on you as you cleaned the wounds, wincing when you pressed too hard but never complaining.

"You’ve done this before," he murmured, his voice soft and teasing, though his eyes betrayed something deeper.

"Not for someone like you," you shot back, more focused on patching him up than entertaining his flirtation.

It was a vicious cycle—one that pulled you deeper into his world with every passing day.

“Why do you do this?” you asked him one night as you taped up his ribs, your voice quieter than you intended.

His head tilted slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours. “Do what?”

“This.” You gestured vaguely, not just at his injuries but at the life he was leading. “Why keep doing this when you could... I don’t know... stop?”

He let out a low chuckle, but it wasn’t mocking. It was almost... sad.

“Because it’s all I know, doll. And because it gives me the means to give you the world.”

Your hands froze for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in.

He reached out, his fingers brushing yours. “You’re the only thing that makes any of it worth it.”

You didn’t respond. What could you say? You hated how those words made your heart swell, how they made the danger of it all seem almost... worth it.

To be honest, you thought you’d reached a sort of balance with Ni-ki’s lifestyle. You’d continue your normal routine—work, school, whatever—and he’d do his heists, keeping that part of his life mostly separate from you. It wasn’t ideal, sure, but you’d adjusted to it. Or so you thought.

Only fate had other plans. Apparently, you were cursed. Because somehow, for the third time—three times—you found yourself smack dab in the middle of one of his heists. What were the odds, honestly? Was the universe playing some sort of sick joke?

You were at the bank, planning to cash out your latest paycheck. Simple, mundane, nothing out of the ordinary. The line was moving slow, and you’d already checked your phone twice to pass the time. You glanced around, noticing the increased security: guards stationed at every corner, sleek new cameras on the walls, and some sort of high-tech door by the vault area. The bank had recently upgraded its building, and with it, its security measures. More money, gold bars, you’d heard. It explained all the extra precautions.

You huffed, annoyed but not exactly concerned. Whatever, you thought. None of this was your problem. You just wanted to get your cash and leave.

But then the atmosphere shifted.

It was subtle at first—a faint tension in the air. The guards seemed on edge, their hands hovering near their weapons. You noticed one of them muttering into his earpiece, his eyes darting toward a door in the back.

And then it happened.

The door bursted open, and chaos erupted.

You froze, your stomach dropping as a group of masked figures stormed in, guns raised. People screamed, dropping to the floor as the robbers barked orders. Your heart raced, the scene all too familiar, and for a moment, you couldn’t believe it. Again? Really?

And then you saw him.

Even with the mask, you recognized Ni-ki immediately. The way he moved, the way he commanded the room—it was unmistakable.

You ducked down, blending in with the terrified crowd, hoping—praying—that this time, you could just stay out of it. That he had not seen you, let you go about your day like any normal person trying to cash their paycheck.

But, of course, the universe had other plans.

It didn’t take long before one of his crew members, a tall guy with a skull bandana, spotted you. He leaned in, whispering something to Ni-ki, and you saw his shoulders stiffen.

Seconds later, Ni-ki was standing in front of you, his dark eyes boring into yours through the slits of his mask.

“Really?” you hissed under your breath, unable to stop yourself.

He didn’t respond, just grabbed your arm and pulled you to your feet. “You’re with me,” he said, his voice low and firm, leaving no room for argument.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look he gave you silenced you immediately. This wasn’t Ni-ki, your overly attentive, borderline smothering boyfriend. This was Ni-ki, the criminal, the one who didn’t take no for an answer.

“Just stay close,” he muttered, his hand still gripping your arm as he led you toward the back.

Oh, you were cursed, all right.

“Three times,” you whispered harshly as he pushed you into a corner, shielding you as his crew worked. “Three. Times. Do you have any idea how unlucky that is?”

His eyes softened, just for a moment. “Maybe it’s fate,” he said.

“Fate?” you echoed, incredulous. “You’re unbelievable.”

Seriously, three times?

You watched the chaos unfold around you, your heart pounding in your chest as the robbers moved with precision. Some of them were threatening the bystanders, waving guns in their faces, while others kept a close eye on the security guards, forcing them into submission. A few of them disappeared through the back doors, probably heading toward the vault.

What struck you, though, was the sheer number of them. There were more robbers than you’d expected—at least nine in total, all clad in black and masks, moving like a well-oiled machine. It was a far cry from the small group you’d seen the last time, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Ni-ki had been planning this for a while.

You looked around, trying to stay low, your heart racing as the tension built. This wasn’t just another robbery; something felt off about it.

Then, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot shattered the air, followed by a scream. You snapped your head toward the noise, your stomach twisting.

One of the robbers had shot a security guard. The body crumpled to the floor, blood pooling around him. The room went silent for a brief moment, the horror of it settling over everyone like a heavy weight.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at Ni-ki, half-expecting him to react. But he didn’t. He barely flinched. He was still standing there, his posture relaxed.

His calmness, his lack of reaction to what just happened, sent a chill down your spine.

He glanced at you for a split second, meeting your gaze with a look of indifference. “Don’t worry, doll,” he said, his voice soft but firm, like he was reassuring you about something you shouldn’t be worried about. “This is how it goes.”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sick feeling in your stomach. This is how it goes? Did he really think this was normal? That killing someone was just a part of the job?

But you couldn’t say anything. Not when you were stuck here, not when you were caught in the middle of this madness.

As much as you hated it, you couldn’t ignore the fact that Ni-ki was still in control. The room seemed to bend to his will, the other robbers moving as he directed them, securing the area and getting what they needed.

You were just a bystander. Someone caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. And yet, somehow, Ni-ki had dragged you into this once again.

Ni-ki suddenly waved over another robber, his gesture subtle but clear. The man, wearing a similar balaclava to the others, approached with a silent, purposeful stride. Ni-ki leaned in to whisper something to him, his words low and quick, his hand brushing briefly against the robber's arm before he walked off.

The new robber turned his attention to you, his eyes scanning you with interest. He came to a stop beside you, standing just a little too close for comfort. His presence was imposing, his body language relaxed but alert, as though he was waiting for something from you.

You could feel the weight of his gaze, the kind that made you want to shrink back, but you forced yourself to stand tall. You could feel your pulse quicken, knowing that the situation was escalating.

The robber leaned down close to you, his breath warm against your ear. His voice was low, almost too soft for anyone else to hear, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

"So you're Wolf's girlfriend... pretty," he murmured, the compliment laced with something darker, a subtle edge to his tone. "He clearly has good taste, I see."

You couldn’t help but feel a sudden unease. His words weren’t meant to flatter you, but to remind you of your place.

You glanced at Ni-ki, his back was to you, but you could feel his presence, even at a distance, like a constant weight in the room.

The man beside you gave you an almost predatory look, as if he was trying to gauge your reaction. You stiffened, instinctively taking a step back, but he matched your movement, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Don’t be shy,” he chuckled softly, the sound unsettling in the tense silence that had filled the bank. “You’re just a pretty face caught in the wrong place, huh?”

You didn’t know how to respond. Was he trying to intimidate you, or was it just a twisted attempt at flirting? Either way, you weren’t about to play into it.

You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest. You couldn’t afford to show fear.

He seemed to sense your hesitation, his smirk widening. “Don’t worry, pretty. We’re just here for the money, not for you. Though…” He trailed off, looking you up and down. “Maybe when all this is over, we can have some fun.”

You grimaced as the robber's words sank in, feeling a wave of disgust wash over you. You snapped back, trying to put some space between you two. “I’m not interested,” you said sharply, your voice firm, hoping to end the uncomfortable exchange.

But the man didn't take your refusal well. He gripped your wrist painfully, and before you could pull away, he yanked you closer. His breath was foul, and his smirk turned into something more sinister. “I didn’t give you an option, sweetheart," he said in a low voice, his hand squeezing your wrist, pulling you closer.

You felt your stomach churn, panic beginning to rise, and as you turned, you saw Ni-ki.

Without a word, Ni-ki moved with terrifying speed, his fist connecting with the robber's face with a sickening thud. The man staggered back, his hands flying up to his face in shock, and he dropped to the floor with a gasp of pain.

The robber groaned, his voice trembling as he muttered, “Please, I didn’t mean any—”

But Ni-ki didn’t let him finish. With one swift motion, he raised his gun, aiming it directly at the robber’s head. There was no hesitation in his movements, no mercy in his eyes. “You don’t touch what’s mine,” he mumbled coldly, and then the sharp crack of the gunshot echoed through the bank.

The sound of the gunshot still reverberated in your ears as you stood there, frozen. You tried to process everything, but it felt like the world around you had slowed down, your mind struggling to catch up with the situation.

Ni-ki, however, seemed unaffected. With a calmness that unsettled you, he stepped toward you, his movements smooth as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his jacket pocket. Before you could even react, he swiftly cuffed your hands, his fingers working with precision as he secured the metal around your wrists.

Your heart raced, and you felt a surge of panic in your chest. "What are you—" you began to ask, but he didn't let you finish.

His hand was already on your arm, pulling you close to him with ease. You could feel his body heat radiating against yours as he moved, guiding you along with him. Despite the tightness of the cuffs, you didn’t fight back—there was no point. The last thing you wanted was to make him angry.

He leaned in, his lips close to your ear, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, “Are you okay?” His voice was soft, almost too gentle, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

"I’m fine," you managed, though your voice didn’t sound convincing, even to you.

Ni-ki didn’t respond with words. Instead, he simply nodded before guiding you down the hall toward the vault, his grip firm but not painful as he kept you close to him. When you reached the vault, your eyes widened at the scene before you.

The massive steel door had been forced open, exposing rows of shelves stacked with cash, gold bars, and other valuables. Several masked robbers were inside, hurriedly stuffing money and goods into black duffel bags. The sight was surreal, like something out of a heist movie.

“Move faster!” Ni-ki’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding as he shouted orders to the robbers in the vault. “We’ve got five minutes. No screw-ups. Grab the high-value stuff and leave the rest.”

Despite the urgency in his tone, his hand never left your waist, his hold on you protective and possessive. His other hand held his gun, ready for anyone or anything that dared to interrupt the operation.

He guided you to a spot just outside the vault, positioning you near a wall. His grip loosened, but he didn’t fully let go, leaning in close enough for you to catch his scent—a mix of leather and something distinctly him.

“Stay here,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Before you could respond, he turned and jogged off, barking more commands at the others. You were left standing awkwardly in the chaos, cuffed hands resting against your stomach, unsure of what to do.

The robbers moved with precision, barely acknowledging your presence as they loaded bag after bag with stolen goods. One guy accidentally dropped a stack of cash, swearing under his breath before hastily picking it up and shoving it into a bag.

You glanced around, your heart pounding as you tried to make sense of the situation. What were you even doing here? How had your life spiraled into this? Here you were—cuffed, stuck, and utterly helpless—wondering how much deeper you were going to get pulled into Ni-ki’s world.

The chaos erupted so suddenly it was like the air had been sucked out of the room. One moment, it was frantic but controlled—the next, gunfire rang out, deafening and sharp. Screams filled the air, mixing with the sound of shattering glass and shouted commands.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you turned toward the entrance of the building. Through the haze of fear and confusion, you spotted SWAT teams swarming outside, their weapons drawn and aimed. The robbers scattered like startled animals, some returning fire, others ducking for cover.

Instinctively, you tried to move, your cuffed hands fumbling as you scrambled backward, desperate to get away from the line of fire. Your breaths came fast and shallow, panic clouding your mind. But before you could get far, a strong hand wrapped around your ankle, yanking you back with force.

You screamed, kicking out in desperation, but it was no use. The grip on your ankle tightened as you were dragged across the floor, your palms scraping against the cold tiles.

“No, no, no—let me go!” you cried out, thrashing in vain.

The next thing you knew, you were hoisted off the ground and thrown over someone’s shoulder like you weighed nothing. The world spun, your vision blurring as you clung to whatever part of them you could grab, your nails digging into their back.

The sharp smell of gunpowder filled your nostrils as the masked figure carrying you moved swiftly through the chaos. The sound of bullets whizzing past was deafening, each one making you flinch and squeeze your eyes shut.

“Stop squirming,” the familiar voice snapped, cutting through the noise.

You peeked through your fingers and realized it was Ni-ki who had you. Relief mixed with the lingering panic, but it didn’t last long.

Ni-ki barreled through the bank’s back entrance, outside, the chaos was no better.

“Keep your head down,” Ni-ki growled, his voice low and commanding.

You buried your face in his back, clutching his shirt tightly as he sprinted toward a waiting black van parked in the alley. The van door slid open, and Ni-ki jumped in with you still slung over his shoulder.

The sound of heavy boots thudding against the pavement grew louder as the other robbers began rushing toward the van. Ni-ki hadn’t even set you down yet when the first of them jumped inside, lugging a heavy bag filled with cash and valuables.

“Move it! Move it!” one of them shouted, their voice muffled under their mask.

Ni-ki set you down on the van floor, keeping a firm hand on your arm as you tried to steady yourself. Before you could get a proper grip on what was happening, more of the crew piled in, tossing bags haphazardly into the cramped space.

Bullets ricocheted off the walls outside, sparks flying as a few of the robbers returned fire toward the SWAT team. You flinched, shrinking back as far as you could, the deafening sound making your ears ring.

“Let’s go!” one of the masked figures barked, slamming the butt of their gun against the side of the van for emphasis.

Two more robbers dove in, the last one firing a few wild shots toward the pursuing officers before scrambling inside.

“Drive, drive, drive!” someone shouted, and the van jolted to life, screeching out of the alley and onto the main road.

The door slammed shut behind them, cutting off some of the chaos from outside, but the tension inside the van was suffocating. The vehicle swerved sharply as the driver pushed it to its limits, tires screeching with every turn.

You clung to one of the seat straps, your heart hammering in your chest as the robbers began shouting over each other.

“Did we get everything?”

“Almost—lost some time with the cops showing up so fast!”

“Who the hell tipped them off?”

“Shut up and focus!” Ni-ki’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding. The chatter immediately died down, all eyes turning to him.

Ni-ki was seated next to you now, his hand still on your arm, almost like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“Is everyone here? Anyone hurt?”

A few grumbled responses confirmed they were all accounted for, though one of the guys was cradling his arm, blood seeping through his sleeve.

“We’ll patch him up later,” Ni-ki muttered, his tone cold. “What matters is we got what we came for.”

The robbers nodded, some leaning back to catch their breath while others opened the bags to inspect their haul. You couldn’t help but glance at the glittering jewelry, thick wads of cash, and the gold bars.

Ni-ki caught you staring and leaned closer, his voice low so only you could hear. “Like what you see, doll?” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

You hesitated for a moment, but instead of denying it, you simply shrugged, your silence saying enough.

Without another word, he turned to the bag next to him, unzipping it with practiced ease. His hand disappeared inside before emerging with a dazzling diamond necklace.

“Hold still,” he murmured, as if this was just another casual moment between the two of you.

Before you could protest, he reached around and clasped the necklace around your neck, his fingers brushing against your skin. You froze, your breath hitching as the cool weight of the diamonds settled against your collarbone.

You looked at him, wide-eyed and unsure of what to say. But Ni-ki didn’t offer any explanation. “Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, almost like he was talking to himself.

The moment was broken by the distant wail of sirens, growing louder and closer with each passing second.

“Shit,” one of the robbers hissed, peeking through a small window at the back. “They’re gaining on us!”

Ni-ki’s demeanor shifted in an instant, he turned toward the driver. “Lose them. Now.”

The van jerked violently as the driver took a hard turn, sending you stumbling against Ni-ki. He steadied you with one arm, his other hand gripping the edge of the seat for balance.

“Keep your head down,” he ordered, his voice calm.

The other robbers were already arming themselves, checking their weapons and preparing for a potential standoff.

The deafening sound of gunfire erupted around you, each shot rattling through the van like a thunderclap. You flinched with every pull of the trigger, instinctively pressing your hands over your ears and squeezing your eyes shut.

The van swerved again, the sharp turn nearly throwing you off balance as you shrank further into yourself, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

A bullet shattered the rear window, glass spraying everywhere. You gasped, curling in on yourself as shards bounced off your shoulders. Ni-ki was immediately in front of you, shielding you with his body.

“Hey, focus on me,” he said, his voice somehow steady despite the chaos. His hands cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t speak, all you could do was nod.

Ni-ki’s hands dropped from your face as he turned away, grabbing a gun from one of the other robbers.

You barely had time to react before he moved to the back of the van, firing out of the shattered window with precise aim. The sound of his shots rang loud and clear, each one making you flinch.

You pressed your hands harder over your ears, squeezing your eyes shut again. Your heart pounded furiously in your chest, and you couldn’t stop the panicked thought that ran circles in your mind: Why didn’t he just leave me at the bank?

It would have been so much simpler. You could have stayed behind, let the chaos unfold without you. But no—he had to drag you into this madness, handcuffed and helpless in the middle of a full-on gunfight.

The van swerved sharply again, and you were thrown to the side, hitting your shoulder against the cold metal wall. A small whimper escaped your lips, but no one seemed to notice—or care.

“Wolf, we can’t shake them!” someone yelled from the front.

“Then make a damn decision!” Ni-ki snapped back, his voice loud and authoritative. You peeked through your lashes, catching a glimpse of him leaning out of the window, gun in hand.

You wanted to scream at him, to yell that you didn’t belong here, that this wasn’t your fight. But all you could do was sit there, frozen and trembling.

Another gunshot—closer this time—shattered what was left of your composure. “Why didn’t you leave me?” you finally muttered under your breath, your voice shaking as tears slipped down your cheeks.

Ni-ki didn’t hear you, too focused on reloading his weapon. But when he glanced back and saw you curled in on yourself, trembling and tear-streaked, something shifted in his expression.

And that’s all it took. That single moment of distraction—the sight of you trembling—for a bullet to find its mark.

It hit Ni-ki in the shoulder, and he staggered back with a groan, clutching the wound tightly. “Fuck!” he hissed through gritted teeth, blood already seeping through his fingers.

You gasped, eyes widening as panic overtook you. “Ni-ki!”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, though the strain in his voice betrayed the pain he was in. His hand shot to his side, grabbing something from his vest. Before you could make sense of what was happening, he pulled the pin on a grenade and hurled it out of the shattered window.

The explosion came almost instantly, a deafening roar that rattled the van and shook the air around you.

The van swerved sharply as the driver cursed under his breath, but the maneuver worked—the sound of sirens began to fade, growing more distant with each passing second. The other robbers exchanged hurried words, but all you could focus on was Ni-ki as he moved toward you, his hand still pressed against his bleeding shoulder.

He groaned, slumping down beside you, his back against the van wall. “You good?” he muttered, his voice rough but laced with genuine concern.

You couldn’t answer at first, too overwhelmed by the chaos, the noise, and the sight of him injured. Finally, you managed a shaky nod. “I’m fine… but you—Ni-ki, you’re not okay!”

“Takes more than this to take me down, doll.” His words were cocky, but the way his jaw clenched betrayed how much pain he was in.

You reached out hesitantly, your hand hovering near his wounded shoulder. “Let me—”

“Nah,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “Not now. We’ll deal with it later.” He leaned his head back against the van, letting out a slow, shaky exhale.

His free hand reached out, fingers brushing against yours as he pulled your hand into his lap. “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured. “I’m fine. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

You frowned, “this isn’t normal, Ni-ki! You can’t just keep pretending like everything’s fine when you’re—when you’re bleeding!”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and a little strained. “It’s my life, sweetheart.” He squeezed your hand gently, his voice softening.

Your heart twisted at his words, torn between fear, anger, and before you could respond, another robber called out from the front.

“Wolf, you good back there?”

“Peachy,” Ni-ki shot back sarcastically, though his grip on your hand tightened. “Just keep driving.”

You stared at him, your thoughts racing. How did you end up here, with a criminal who acted like shielding you was his life’s mission? And why, despite everything, did you not want to let go of his hand?

Eventually, the van skidded to a stop at a checkpoint—a hidden clearing far from prying eyes. The robbers scrambled out with hurried precision, splitting up and dispersing into various vehicles parked nearby.

Ni-ki grabbed your hand, guiding you toward a sleek red car. You barely registered what was happening, still shaken from everything that had just unfolded. Another man wearing an old-man mask slid into the backseat, moving with practiced ease.

As soon as the doors shut, both men removed their masks. Ni-ki tossed his in the back and exhaled sharply, his jaw tight with pain. Without a word, he shrugged off his black jacket, revealing a plain black t-shirt underneath. Blood was already soaking through the fabric near his shoulder.

You watched in stunned silence as he grabbed a knife from the glove compartment and sliced through his jacket. With a strip of fabric in hand, he carefully wrapped it around his wound, hissing under his breath. His movements were efficient, no-nonsense, and all you could do was gape at him.

The man in the backseat—who had removed his mask to reveal a stern-looking face—reached down and slid a rifle under the seat. He glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before settling back in his seat like nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

“Seriously?” you finally found your voice, though it sounded weaker than you wanted it to. “You’re just going to—what—wrap up your bullet wound with a piece of jacket and act like it’s fine?”

Ni-ki didn’t look at you, focusing instead on tightening the makeshift bandage. “What else do you want me to do? Stop by a hospital?” His tone was sarcastic, but his eyes briefly flicked to yours, softening ever so slightly. “I’ll deal with it later.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “This is insane. You’re insane.”

He smirked, leaning back in the driver’s seat. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

The man in the back snorted, muttering something under his breath about "lovers' quarrels."

Before you could respond, Ni-ki turned the ignition, the car roaring to life. He adjusted the rearview mirror, cast one last glance at the other vehicles scattering from the checkpoint, and then peeled out onto the empty road.

You sat there, trying to process everything, but your mind was in a wirlwind.

“You okay there in the back?” Ni-ki asked suddenly, glancing in the rearview mirror at the man in the backseat.

“Fine,” the guy grunted, leaning back with his arms crossed. “Clean getaway, but close. Too close.”

Ni-ki hummed in agreement, his focus shifting back to the road.

And then his eyes flicked to you, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You hanging in there, doll?”

You turned to him, your expression a mix of disbelief and frustration. “Do I look like I’m hanging in there?”

Ni-ki chuckled, his tone annoyingly casual. “Fair point.”

“Wolf,” the man in the backseat said, his voice low. “We’re not out of this yet. You know they’ll be looking for us.”

“I know,” Ni-ki replied, his tone hardening. “That’s why we keep moving.”

You slumped back in your seat, crossing your arms. The reality of the situation hit you again: you were in a getaway car with a wounded criminal and his armed accomplice.

It didn’t make sense. None of this did. And yet, here you were.

The car rolled to a stop in front of a dimly lit gas station, the engine idling for a moment before Ni-ki turned it off. The quiet of the night surrounded you, the soft hum of the station’s lights flickering above. Ni-ki’s boots tapped on the pavement as he got out of the car and made his way to the trunk. You watched in the rearview mirror, eyes tracing his every movement.

He popped open the trunk, rummaged around for a moment, and then pulled out a black leather jacket. He slid it on effortlessly, his movements confident and smooth, like he was getting ready for something important—something dangerous. As he adjusted the collar, he came back to the front of the car, meeting your eyes briefly.

“Need anything while I’m in there?” Ni-ki asked you.

You shook your head, the thought of asking for anything—food, water, anything—seemed trivial.

He didn’t wait for a second response, his gaze flicking to the guy in the backseat. The moment his eyes met the man’s, there was an unspoken warning.

Without another word, Ni-ki walked into the gas station, leaving you alone with the other guy in the back.

You stared out of the window, your thoughts racing, when you suddenly felt a shift in the air. The guy in the backseat shifted his weight, leaning forward slightly, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

Before you could react, he spoke.

“You’re pretty quiet for someone who’s been caught up in all this,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “But I get it. Must be hard to process, huh?”

You didn’t respond, choosing instead to keep your eyes trained on the rearview mirror. The sound of your cuffed hands clinking slightly as you moved didn’t escape his notice.

“Still wearing those, huh?” He let out a small, mocking chuckle, leaning even closer. “Ni-ki really knows how to treat a lady, doesn’t he? He’ll keep you close, but just remember, you’re still a prisoner in his little world.”

You stiffened, the words hitting you harder than expected. The guy’s tone was dripping with condescension, but you refused to let it show. You glanced over at him, your voice tight with anger.

“Don’t talk about him like you know anything.”

The man didn’t flinch at your words; in fact, he seemed to enjoy the reaction. “Oh, I know more than you think. But you don’t get it, do you? Ni-ki isn’t the kind of guy who plays nice with people who don’t fall in line.”

You felt your blood run cold at the implication, your hands instinctively tightening against the cuffs. You glanced at the rearview mirror again, but Ni-ki was still nowhere in sight. The sound of the man’s voice grew closer as he leaned even further forward.

“You’re just a tool to him, you know. Nothing more. The moment you stop being useful, you’re out.”

The harsh words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, your throat went dry. You swallowed, trying to shake the fear crawling up your spine. He had no idea what he was talking about.

“Don’t talk like that,” you managed to snap, trying to ignore the way your hands shook slightly, still cuffed together. “You don’t know a damn thing about me or Ni-ki.”

The man suddenly gripped your face, his fingers digging into your skin as he forced you to look at him. “You know, I could treat you so much better than Ni-ki ever will,” he sneered, his breath hot against your face.

Without a second thought, you punched him square in the jaw. The force of the blow made him stumble back slightly, and you spat out a curse. “Don't you dare touch me.”

The man was about to snap back, his eyes narrowing with rage, when suddenly the car door opened. Ni-ki slid into the driver's seat. The moment the man saw him, he shut his mouth, leaning back in his seat like nothing had happened, trying to act nonchalant.

But you saw the way the man's eyes flickered nervously, the tension in his body betraying the act. You shot him a glare, your heart still pounding from the confrontation.

Ni-ki didn’t even spare him a glance, his focus now on you. His hand rested on your thigh, his gaze flickering over you for a moment—like he was trying to read you.

After a long beat, he hummed softly, his hand leaving your thigh as he pushed open the door and got out of the car. You couldn’t help but watch him as he walked around the vehicle, his steps purposeful. The moment he opened the back door, the man scrambled out of the seat, a look of panic flashing across his face.

You couldn’t hear the conversation, but you could see them move behind the gas station. The man seemed to be pleading, his posture defensive, but Ni-ki didn’t look like he was in a mood for mercy.

You were left alone in the car.

Ni-ki returned after a few moments, his footsteps steady and calm. He slid into the car, his usual confident demeanor returning, though there was a faint trace of blood on his cheek. His eyes met yours before he leaned in toward you.

His hand was gentle as he gripped your jaw, pulling you closer, his lips pressing against yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. You found yourself melting into it, your hands moving to his shirt, gripping it tightly as his groan vibrated against your lips.

When he pulled back, his eyes were locked on your lips, a satisfied smile tugging at his features. "You know," he murmured, his voice husky, "all my colleagues are jealous. They all want you... but they can’t have you. None of them. Only me.”

How could you respond to that?

He leaned back in his seat, starting the car with a smooth motion, his attention shifting back to the road. The hum of the engine filled the quiet, but neither of you said anything more about what had just happened behind the gas station. You didn’t need to ask. You knew. You knew what he had done to the man.

--

Ni-ki drove through the city streets, eventually parking the car in a dark alley, the sound of the engine dying as he shifted into gear and stepped out. You followed, still trying to process everything that had happened in the past few hours.

As you stepped out of the car, he went straight to the trunk, opening it with a practiced motion. He pulled out two duffel bags and a backpack and slung them over his shoulder, his movements smooth and quick. Then, without a word, he grabbed a jacket from the backseat and carefully draped it over your cuffed hands, hiding the metal from sight.

His hand landed on your waist again, guiding you through the quiet alleyway, keeping you close. His steps were steady, but there was a quiet urgency to them as he led you down the darkened streets.

After a few moments, you arrived at a fancy-looking hotel, its glass doors reflecting the city lights. Ni-ki led you inside, the lobby quiet and elegant, far removed from the chaos that had happened just hours ago. He approached the check-in counter, exchanged a few words with the clerk, and before you knew it, you were on your way up to a suite in the elevator.

The doors slid shut with a soft chime, and you both stood there in the quiet, the only sound being the hum of the elevator as it ascended. You glanced at Ni-ki, his expression unreadable. There was no trace of the man who had shot, threatened, and manipulated the night away. Instead, he seemed almost... calm. It unsettled you, and yet, a part of you still couldn’t quite look away.

When the elevator finally stopped, Ni-ki led you out into a luxurious hallway, his grip on your waist firm but gentle. The suite was only a few doors down, and he opened it easily with a keycard. You stepped inside, blinking at the spacious room. Everything was sleek and modern—large windows that overlooked the city skyline, a plush bed, and a sitting area that seemed almost too extravagant for someone like you.

Ni-ki set the duffel bags down near the door and glanced at you. "Make yourself comfortable," he said, his tone softer now.

You hesitated for a moment before sliding the jacket off, your cuffed hands in full view. You motioned to them, silently asking him to remove the cuffs.

He looked at your hands, then back at you, his gaze steady. For a brief moment, you thought he might actually release you, but instead, he stepped closer. A slow smirk spread across his face as he leaned down slightly, his voice low and teasing.

"You look good like this," he said, his tone smooth and calculated. "You have no idea what I could do with you. How I could have you like this... decorated in jewels, money—everything you’ve ever wanted, and more."

Before you could react, he grabbed you by the waist and gently but firmly placed you on the bed, guiding you to lie down. Your breath caught as the soft mattress sank beneath you.

Ni-ki didn’t stop there. He unzipped one of the duffel bags, pulling out stacks of cash, and before you knew it, he was showering you with money, letting the crisp bills flutter down over you like confetti.

"Tell me," he murmured, looking down at you with a sly grin, "how does it feel?"

You lay there, surrounded by the fluttering bills, the sound of them settling around you filling the silence. For a moment, you didn't know how to respond. The situation felt so bizarre. Money. So much of it, heaped on top of you.

You looked up at Ni-ki, his gaze intense, waiting for a reaction. The teasing smirk still lingered on his lips, but there was something else in his eyes now, something more curious. He was watching you closely, almost studying your reaction.

You shifted slightly, the money crinkling beneath you. "It feels..." you began, unsure of how to describe the overwhelming mix of emotions.

Ni-ki leaned in closer, his voice soft but still carrying that edge of authority. "You can have all of it, you know. Everything you’ve ever wanted. All it takes is just you staying with me."

Your heart raced. His words, they hit differently, the weight of them sinking in as he brushed some of the money off you, letting his fingers linger along your arm, his touch light but possessive.

"You like it, don't you?" he murmured, almost as if daring you to admit it. "The power, the luxury, all of it... having anything you want given to you."

You blinked up at him, unsure if you should speak, if you could trust yourself to say the right thing.

"I—" You swallowed, still uncertain. "This isn’t just about the money, is it?"

Ni-ki chuckled softly, the sound warm but still filled with that underlying edge. "No, it’s not just about the money. It’s about everything. About me and you, how we could be, how I can make you want this... make you want me."

The way he spoke, the way he held you...

"I want you to trust me," he said, his hand now brushing over your cheek. "Just for now. Let go and let me take care of you."

You stared up at him, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts, but all you could do was nod. You watched as Ni-ki’s posture relaxed, his intense gaze softening for a second before he leaned down, you closed your eyes as his lips brushed against yours. The kiss deepened, and you felt your resistance slowly melt away.

Money was power, they said. And Ni-ki, with all his wealth and control, was offering you that power. He was right here, sharing it with you, giving you the kind of life that many could only dream of, for better or for worse.

You wanted to let go and let him guide you through it all. You hadn’t really realized how much you craved someone taking control until now, until Ni-ki.

Ni-ki pulled back slowly, both of you breathing heavily as the air between you shifted. His eyes never left yours, dark and intense, as he caught his breath. For a moment, everything was quiet, save for the sound of your racing heartbeats.

Then, he hooked a finger in the diamond necklace still resting on your neck, and you felt his gaze flicker down to it. "What should I put on you?" he muttered, more to himself than to you, as his lips traced the curve of your jaw. "Diamonds? Rubies? Or maybe faux fur..."

You couldn’t help but shiver as his words trailed off, his breath warm against your skin. His kisses were light at first, brushing over your collarbone, but soon they deepened, traveling slowly over your neck.

You let out a soft breath as Ni-ki's lips moved lower, his hands gently caressing your shoulders as if he were imagining what to adorn you with next. His words, playful yet possessive, lingered in your mind as he kissed down your skin, making your thoughts blur into one—his.

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

Perm taglist: @ilyunjina @nshmrarki @laylasbunbunny @kiripimaspillow

@wensurr @immelissaaa @simj4k3 @vegahrid @03sunoos

@hollxe1 @moonpri @cherriesfine @badtzsan @anushkaaaiaiiaiaia

@heeseungbabydoll @wondash @renjiishot @demigodmahash

@strawberrieswithchocolateo3o @honeybunnee @jjongstar111

@enhaprettystars @zorange13 @jiminie-08 @enhaprettystars

Bold ones are untaggable* Wanna be in the perm taglist? Lmk <3

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Helloooo!!! I would like to make a request of Charles x autistic reader in where yn mom and dad are always criticizing her and making her feel less, she sometimes acts like a little girl specially when she's with Charles and when her parents critiques become overwhelming for her, he just snapped and defend her. Pls I would love to read that <3

Safe in his arms||Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Word count- 648?

The dining room was stifling, not from the warmth of home-cooked food but from the weight of judgment pressing against your chest. The overhead lights were too bright, the clinking of silverware against porcelain too sharp, the scent of roasted meat too thick in the air. You swallowed hard, your fingers tangling in the hem of your sweater as you tried to ground yourself.

Charles sat beside you, his presence the only anchor keeping you from drifting away. He was always patient, always understanding. He never made you feel like too much, never looked at you with disappointment the way your parents did.

Your mother let out a long, exaggerated sigh, setting down her fork. “Y/N, sit up properly. You look ridiculous hunched over like that.”

You straightened immediately, your muscles tensing.

our father hummed in agreement. “And stop fidgeting. God, you always have to be doing something with your hands. It’s like you’re five years old.”

Your lips parted, an apology on the tip of your tongue, but before you could say anything, your mother scoffed. “Honestly, Y/N, when are you going to grow up? You still act like a child. It’s embarrassing.”

Embarrassing. The word lodged itself deep in your chest like a shard of glass. You weren’t trying to be childish. You weren’t trying to be difficult. The world was just too loud, too fast, too much. Sometimes you rocked back and forth to soothe yourself, sometimes you held onto Charles’ sleeve when the noise became unbearable, sometimes you whispered little phrases under your breath to make things feel okay again. None of it was to get attention. It was survival. But your parents never understood that.

“You need to start acting like an adult,” your father continued, cutting his steak with unnecessary force. “The real world isn’t going to coddle you.” Your breathing grew shallow. The lights felt even harsher now, the sounds even louder, your sweater suddenly too scratchy against your skin. You reached for Charles’ sleeve instinctively, rubbing the fabric between your fingers, seeking comfort, something, anything to ground you—

Your mother’s eyes narrowed. “See? This is exactly what I mean.” She gestured at you like you were some kind of spectacle. “Still clinging to people like a scared little girl. It’s pathetic.”

Pathetic. The word struck like a slap. Charles tensed beside you. His grip on his fork tightened, his knuckles turning white. “She needs to stop depending on you so much, Charles,” your father added, shaking his head. “You’re just encouraging this behavior.”

This behavior. You swallowed hard, willing yourself to disappear, to shrink so small they wouldn’t see you anymore. Your breathing hitched, your vision blurring at the edges. It was too much. It was always too much.

And then— “Enough.” Charles’ voice rang out, sharp and unyielding. The room fell into stunned silence. Your parents blinked at him, shocked, but Charles wasn’t backing down. His jaw was clenched, his chest rising and falling with restrained fury. His hand found yours under the table, lacing your trembling fingers with his.

“She’s not pathetic,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “She’s not childish. She’s autistic. And instead of trying to understand her, you belittle her. Do you even realize how hard she tries every single day just to exist in a world that doesn’t accommodate her?” His accent thickened, his words sharp as daggers. “You sit here and act like she’s a burden, like she’s failing to meet your expectations, but the truth is, you are failing her.”

Your mother opened her mouth to protest, but Charles wasn’t done. “She is one of the strongest people I know. Do you have any idea how much effort it takes for her to be here right now, to endure this, to hold herself together while you tear her down?” His voice wavered slightly, thick with emotion. “You should be proud of her. You should be supporting her. But instead, you make her feel like she’s broken.”

Your father scowled. “That’s not—”

“No,” Charles cut him off, his grip on your hand tightening. “You don’t get to do this anymore. You don’t get to treat her like she’s not enough.”

Tears blurred your vision. No one had ever defended you like this. No one had ever looked at your parents and told them—out loud—that they were wrong about you. Your mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression unreadable. Your father looked away, shaking his head, muttering something under his breath. Maybe they would argue, maybe they wouldn’t. It didn’t matter. Because Charles had you.

The rest of the dinner was a blur, but the moment you stepped out of that house, Charles pulled you into his arms, holding you like you were something precious. Like you weren’t too much. Like you were just enough.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered against his chest.

His hold on you tightened. “You don’t have to be sorry, mon amour.” He kissed the top of your head, his voice raw with emotion. “I just wish they saw you the way I do.” You buried your face in his shirt, inhaling the scent of him, the safety of him.

“Me too,” you murmured. But even if they never did, at least Charles did. At least, with him, you were safe. You were enough.

[atalldrinkofcaprisun]

Don’t Wait For Me After I’m Gone (pt. 2)

silco x gn!reader - he didn’t die AU - tw: canon compliant violence, drug use - 18+

howdy!!! reposted and edited again! I’m having trouble with all of the links so sorry they’re not super functional right now. But anyways, I MISS MY WIFE TAILS!!

also on ao3 xx masterlist

The screaming was the worst part. You had been posted outside of The Doctor’s underground laboratory/cave for three hours now, under the orders not to enter unless you wanted to be sedated until the procedure was over.

When the Scientist arrived at the factory, he had started work immediately. The bullets nimbly extracted and quickly stitched, his hand feebly squeezing your own when he could. You had pressed kisses to his damp temples and pushed hair out of his face, back into his rumpled style. He’d even notice sometimes but it was clear he was in agony.

“It is good you kept that with you,” The Doctor nodded his head towards the injector lying cracked on the floor towards the far wall. You had thrown it off as soon as it had emptied, “He would have been unreachable if you had not administered the medicinal serum. It gave him just enough to hold on.”

“So, he’s going to be okay?” You asked, trying to give that little flame of hope in your chest something to fuel itself.

“He will survive, yes. Survival at least.” the bandaged man replied cryptically before returning his full attention to Silco, “I suggest making plans to move him to safety. Your opponents will be hunting for you soon if they haven’t started already.” He’d put a hand on your shoulder, “I know where they will not find you.”

Shortly afterwards, you had sprinted all the way back to The Last Drop. Exhausted and shaking, you’d only managed a stammering, “Silco. He’s- the warehouse…” before promptly passing out into Ran’s arms. You’d woken up in your bed, apparently you had only been out about 20 minutes.

Now, here you stood, arms crossed and leaning against a rough stone wall. Your nails dug into your skin, trying to center yourself. You couldn’t leave, not when he was in pain. Jinx had been permitted in. Whatever had transpired between Jinx and The Doctor had created a new trust. You had wanted to protest but when Jinx set Silco down on the examination table and sat quietly in a chair in the corner, her eyes not moving from Silco, you had surrendered. Jinx needed to know her father wasn’t going to be one more thing to haunt her. You could keep watch this time.

Sevika was elsewhere getting her arm fixed once again, and keeping all of the intelligence open for signs of what had been happening in Piltover. She’d headed back to The Drop. Running Zaun directly or alone had never been something you wanted. Especially now, with the love of your life still in danger of being lost forever, and your child being the cause on top of whatever had been done to her-

There came another string of rambles, ranging from terror to agony to anger. Occasionally you would hear The Doctor muttering. You could feel the wave of emotions settle between your shoulders, winding up the muscles like snakes tensing to bite. You needed a distraction.

Threats were going to be coming from all sides. Jinx had officially crossed the carefully toed line of impertinent interference that Silco had perfected. You didn’t know what the aftermath of the missile had been, and it didn’t take a genius to guess. A part of you didn’t care. Fuck the Topsiders for needing to be brought to the battlefield. Still, you couldn’t ignore the stiffness setting in your arms and neck, your hands clenched into fists as tears began to resurface.

Another moan of pain, this one low and mournful… your name again. You covered your ears and tried to fight the urge to bust through the door.

Fuck it. You’d rather be sedated then hear one more second of this without being able to help. Hands flew to the door handle of their own accord, but were met with the empty air as the door opened first.

Jinx’s pink eyes bore into your own, flat, “Doc say you can come in. Apparently he’s though the worst. Dad’ll- be okay.” She sounded completely drained.

You gathered Jinx in a tight hug, wanting to offer any sort of comfort you could, “He’s going to understand. We’ve been so worried about you, Blue.”

“I killed him.” She mumbled into your shoulder, “I almost-”

“But you didn’t,” you pulled back to look in her eyes, your hands pushing her bangs off of her forehead to finally get a good look. She was so pale now, worse than before, almost spectral. Her freckles and dark makeup only making her appear more sickly, she was smeared with dirt and blood and crusted tears. Her eyes weren’t glowing anymore, but their pale blue had been consumed by the eery magenta of Shimmer. “He knows how much you’re struggling. He isn’t dead. It was an accident. He knows that.”

Jinx didn’t look convinced, only lifting your arms off of her and pushing past into the fissures beyond, “I just need to be alone.“ She turned before she crossed behind the faint lantern glow, “You know where to find me,” and then she was gone.

You waited, letting the compulsion to run after her and comfort her dissolve for a later time. If anything would be able to get through to Jinx it would be Silco himself. In order for him to get the chance, however, you needed to make sure Silco would stay alive. Jinx was smart, and knew when and how to lay low. She would be alright for a few hours. With a deep breath and you headed into the attached cavern.

“Doctor, Is he-“ your gaze mimed fixated on the disheveled and miserable man strapped to the gurney. At the sound of your voice Silco’s eyes landed on you, relief washing over his expression the moment he processed what he was seeing. “Thank Jannah, Sil,” you sighed, stepping and crossing the space. Your hand fell into his, fitting perfectly into his palm, warm and alive and responsive. With a smile you took your free hand and pushed the strands of charcoal and ash hair out of his face, “Hey there, handsome.” You beamed.

The once bright orange iris, now matching his daughter’s pink hue, was scanning along your features, relief washing over the face you had come to love more than you had ever thought possible. His pale blue eye was just as intently looking at you, but his eyelid hung heavy with exhaustion, “What’s a creature like you,” his voice was strained and low, rumbling out of his chest more than his throat, “doing in a place like this?”

Your mind played the first time he had said that to you as you grinned, “That line is still too cheesy to work.”

“Better than the look you gave me when I said it then.” He hummed as your hand moved from his hair to brush his cheek, “Did I ever tell you it was Jinx’s idea?”

“To try and hit on me after saving my life or?” You laughed lightly.

“To tell you,” he wheezed for a second as a flare of purple raced up his skin and into his damaged iris, “ah, how pretty you looked.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek and the pain seemed to become just a little less.

“So you settled on calling me a creature?” You scoffed teasingly.

“Is now the time for such, frivolous things?” The Doctor’s tone was annoyed as he cut in. He started undoing the straps holding Silco down, and he motioned for you to help him.

You looked at the scientist with one brow raised as Silco sighed, “I’ve nearly died today. It makes a man think about things… differently,” his gaze didn’t move from your face, like he was studying it for the first time. You were used to his staring habit, but this felt different. Maybe it was the drugs, “so beautiful,” he muttered so low, he probably hadn’t even noticed he’d said it.

“Shut up, old man,” you smiled, “Save your breath.”

The Doctor moved to your side of the table, batting you away as he began to unstrap his arm and head. Which was only fair since you hadn’t even started to undo the buckle. Your hand slipped away from Silco’s and you immediately missed the feeling. The anxiety that boiled in your stomach was vicious and your skin seemed to itch with the need to continue to make sure Silco was truly alive and real, on the mend and going to survive. Once the kingpin was free, the Doctor took his pulse, then gently helped him rise to a sitting position. His face contorted with the pain but eased as he breathed through it. At last, Doc looked towards you and nodded, giving his permission, you could fully take in your paramour.

Silco’s left arm was protectively hugged around his bandage wrapped torso, his smoldering eye still pulsing pink as was it’s seafoam counterpart. His hair was haphazard and his makeup smeared away long ago, the ashen skin of his scar visible in large smudges. You wrapped your arms around him as gently as you could manage, still causing him to hiss ever so slightly. His heartbeat thumped away under your ear, protected in his rib cage, fast and a little irregular. His smell was tainted with blood and sweat but it was still him. His free arm pulled you closer, his nose resting on top of your head. Together you breathed. Just for a moment that to you, felt like the exact eternity you needed to find your voice.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

He chuckled deep in his chest, “I promise to try and not make it a habit, my lovely.”

You only burrowed further into his arms in reply. Your home was here. Safely by Silco’s side, in his arms, breathing and basking in the gift of having more time. Just as the tension had begun to ease from your shoulders Silco spoke again, “Where is Jinx? Is she alright?”

You met his gaze, “She’s… upset. She didn’t mean to kill you. I think she’s headed back to her lab. I wanted to go with her but…”

“But you needed to make sure I would be alright first.” He gently finished and ran a hand through your hair, “Thank you for saving me. Now we’re officially even.” He let his fingertips stroke your cheek, “We need to get to Jinx. I need to tell her I forgive her.”

“You won’t be able to walk on your own yet, old friend.” The Doctor spoke up again from his desk across the room, apparently he had returned to his more important projects, “Your body is still processing the serum. You don’t have your daughter’s vitality.”

Silco frowned over at the old scientist, “I think I can manage. And anyways,” he looked down at you, “I won’t be alone.”

You nodded, and stepped out of his embrace to help him down and onto his feet. As he touched the stone floor however, his legs seemed to buckle and he fell onto you heavily with a grunt of pain. You caught him and let him get his grip on the edge of the gurney. His teeth grinding as he pulled himself upwards, “Sil? Are you-?”

“It’s fine.” The ever stubborn Eye of Zaun commanded. The Doctor and you shared a quick look.

You knew he was lying but he had more pressing concerns than his own comfort at the moment, “Can you?” he gestured vaguely around himself. Asking for help was still not something he was completely comfortable with, but you knew what he meant.

You shifted around him, so one of your arms was around his midsection, the other was holding his hand as his own arm swept over your shoulders. Jinx’s Lab and The Last Drop were a bit of a walk away. The Doctor, grumbling all the while, retrieved a cane from some depths of his caverns and gave you what doses Silco might need if he took a sudden turn. With measured steps you began to lead Silco to the door. Just before you crossed the threshold, Silco tugged and stopped, “Thank you, Doctor. My family owes you a great debt.”

A stiff and matter of fact “I know.” was the only reply he received.

Silco pressed a kiss to your temple and together you set off.

[edges-of-night]

Hii! <3

I wanted to request imagines for reader taking care of the lotr characters (preferably all, but if that’s too much then at least the women and maybe Aragorn and Faramir too) when they’re sick/injured for whatever reason

(I love your imagines so much, the way you characterize them all is so perfectly amazing💜)

Thank you for your kind words! I did all of my usual characters because I love hurt/comfort and sick!fic scenarios that much haha! I hope you will enjoy your post ♡

Have a great weekend everybody!

CW: injuries and illnesses, mention of blood

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

While Aragorn’s heroic sacrifice didn’t cost him his life, it took a heavy toll on him. Lucky for him, you’ve spoken often enough about medicinal herbs and healing practices – you are able to take great care of him, bedded on his white linens. Even when he is still too weak to speak, Aragorn will hold your gentle hand.

.

･ﾟ✧ Arwen.

You return so often to Arwen’s bedside that you wonder if it would be easier to just stay – but you know that privacy and rest are just as important as her wish to hold your hand. Whenever you’re with her, you tend to her wounds or read her passages from her favourite book to make her smile, which Arwen appreciates immensely. As she rests, she plans on properly kissing you as soon as she’s healthy.

.

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir hates that a common cold has him chained to the bed for over a week now. But he’d lie if he said he didn’t enjoy you taking care of him – even though you do tease him and his constantly red nose from time to time. It’s all in good fun though, and he cannot wait to hold and kiss you again!

.

･ﾟ✧ Elrond.

When Lord Elrond returned to Rivendell injured, your heart skipped a beat – he is the most skilled Elvish healer around – who else could treat the gaping, magical wound in his side? The honour is bestowed on you, and you master it despite your nervous mind. Nothing is greater encouragement than finally seeing Elrond’s summer eyes greet you again ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Éomer.

The Rohirrim have all kinds of names for the strange fever that has befallen their dear Éomer – but no methods of healing. They consider it an impossible challenge for you to tame his feverish, sweaty body and nonsense mumblings. But, somehow, the horse lord calms whenever you reach his bedside, sighing when you change the wet cloths on his forehead and rest your hand on his chest.

.

･ﾟ✧ Éowyn.

Initially, Éowyn thinks nothing of the cut she got during sword lessons. But days of ignoring the wound on her hand could put her in grave danger, you know that – and thus offer to take a look and do what you can. At first, Éowyn protests, but she falls silent as soon as you turn her hand in yours, unaware of how soft her expression grows… She admires your medical knowledge, too! “Is there at all something you cannot do, you marvellous creature?”

.

･ﾟ✧ Faramir.

It takes days for Faramir to wake up. Many others believe him doomed and have given up on sitting by his side, trying new herbs and waters, only to see his crystal blue eyes open once more. But you have the matter-of-factly patience of a boat pushing its way through a deadly ocean. And indeed, on a moonlit night, Faramir’s gentle gaze awaits when you return to his side, whispering, “Thank you for believing in me, my love.”

.

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

Sometimes you wonder if you are the only person to have consideration for both the physical and the mental wounds Frodo has endured. You always make sure he’s fine and support him when thoughts of the big scar on his chest sends him to dark places inside his mind. You both know that those wounds take much more time to heal than the cut itself, and Frodo is more than glad to have you by his side. To soothe him, you caress the scar.

.

･ﾟ✧ Galadriel.

Ever since a mysterious malady has befallen Lady Galadriel, Lothlórien is in turmoil. No one would even let you near her – until she ordered her guards away, to allow you to treat her with your medical and arcane knowledge. In fact, you become the only one she wishes to see in her elegant rooms at all. Despite her current weakness, her ethereal beauty and soft smiles make it hard for you to concentrate…

.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Out of breath, you hurry to Gandalf’s beside with that one legendary flower needed to cure him. He insists you be the one to prepare the potion, too. Day and night, you try to perfect his medicine, always worried his state might get worse. When Gandalf finally drinks your potion, the wound on his chest closes magically. But it’s nothing to Gandalf, who has trusted you entirely: “I never doubted you for a moment, my dear.”

.

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

After Gimli’s accident in the mine, you were right by his side to ensure his head injury wouldn’t get much worse. His headache is hurting badly though, and your proud Dwarf is but a shadow of himself. He knows rest would be best for him, but it’s hard for him to stay away from work and banquets alike. Still, he appreciates that you pamper him with his favourite baked goods and healing kisses on his head ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Haldir.

Haldir is not an easy patient, but that doesn’t stop you from treating his catastrophic shoulder, which he has ignored for days on his way through the woods of Lórien. Spread onto linen sheets beneath you, he grunts and cringes – as much as his half-dead stone face can, that is – under both your touch and your harsh words. But deep down, he knows you were simply worried – and honestly, he doesn’t quite know how to deal with that!

.

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

It seemed inevitable that Legolas would someday break a leg because of his acrobatic archery skills, and yet you are surprised. Elves heal quickly, but Legolas suffers greatly under his involuntary immobility. You help him by recounting his favourite quest stories and eventually by supporting his first tentative steps outside, which he thanks you for with the stormiest embraces ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

Merry thinks he can walk of anything – even an injured knee. He doesn’t want you to think of him as weak or unable to take care of himself. But even Merry can only play down a limp for so long. Truth be told, he is actually relieved that he no longer has to hide the pain, and that you spreading balm on his knee is no ordeal but in fact a very sweet gesture.

.

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Pippin has been sneezing and stumbling for days, eventually falling into bed with the biggest groan you have ever heard come out of him. He is a “suffering” patient and you know it. But while Pippin greatly enjoys you pampering him with food, tea and blankets, he secretly cannot wait to take care of you in return – no matter if you’re sick or not! “It’s you’re not actually sick, or else I couldn’ave kissed you!”

.

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

Gardening involves many dangers, and although Sam has been practising it since childhood, he eventually hurts himself on his gardening knife. The cut is deep and won’t stop bleeding, but you are quick to bandage it and remind him to change the fabric once a day. But Sam has trouble keeping his thoughts straight, when all he can think about is you holding his hand in yours, all close…

[batboysanonymous]

Always, My Darling

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, love means letting someone else carry the weight—if only for a moment.

───────────────────────────────

The City of Starlight shimmered below, its beauty lost on you as you sat hunched over your desk in the House of Wind. The towering windows framed a sky painted in hues of amethyst and gold, stars beginning to prick the canvas of twilight. But your attention was tethered to the parchment scattered across the polished mahogany, each document a reminder of the endless responsibilities piling atop your already strained mind.

Correspondence from Illyrian war camps, trade reports delayed by early snows, diplomatic letters from Day Court—all demanding answers only you could give. Your fingers trembled slightly as you scribbled notes, the quill dragging ink across the page with more force than necessary. The tension in your shoulders felt like iron chains, each knot a testament to sleepless nights and days filled with obligations you couldn’t escape.

Because you were the High Lady of the Night Court.

And High Ladies didn’t fall apart.

You told yourself that as you ignored the ache behind your eyes, the burning tightness in your chest, the way your heart raced even when sitting still. You told yourself that as you replayed the faces of your family in your mind—Azriel, his shadows darker than usual, haunted by demons he wouldn’t name. Cassian, hiding the stiffness in his movements after an injury, his bravado thinner than usual. Mor, her radiant smile not quite reaching her eyes lately.

You worried for them all. Poured yourself into fixing their burdens. You could handle it. You had to handle it.

But somewhere in the hollow ache of your heart, you wondered how long you could keep pretending you weren’t drowning.

You didn’t hear Rhysand enter.

But the bond between you whispered of his presence before his footsteps echoed across the room. It was a subtle shift, like the air itself recognized him before your senses caught up—a warmth that curled around your frayed edges, threading through the cracks you tried so hard to conceal.

He didn’t speak right away. Just stood in the doorway, his violet eyes drinking you in, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. You didn’t have to look up to feel his gaze—sharp, perceptive, the kind of stare that saw too much.

The furrow between your brows. The restless tapping of your foot. The way your fingers twisted your wedding ring—a nervous habit he’d noticed long ago.

And then he moved.

Swift, graceful, predatory in the way only he could be.

You barely had time to react before strong arms swept you from your chair, your body lifted effortlessly against the solid warmth of his chest.

"Rhys!" you squeaked, clutching at his shoulders as papers fluttered to the floor like snowflakes. "What are you—put me down!"

His response was a soft hum, his lips finding your temple in a kiss so gentle it unraveled something tight in your chest.

"I’ve seen enough," he murmured against your skin, his voice a velvet caress.

You squirmed in his hold, your protests weak and half-hearted. "I have work to do. The Solstice is next week, and the logistics—"

"Hush, darling." He tightened his grip, one arm cradling your thighs, the other wrapped securely around your back, fingers brushing dangerously close to the curve of your breast. His wings flared slightly behind him, a silent warning that he wasn’t about to let you go.

Despite your wriggling, your body betrayed you—melting into the warmth of him, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your ear. By the time he carried you into the bathroom, your protests had faded into soft sighs, your arms wrapped loosely around his neck.

He set you down on the cool marble counter, his hands lingering at your waist before sliding up to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, tilting your head so your gaze met his.

And gods, those eyes.

Violet, flecked with starlight and shadows, filled with so much love it made your heart ache.

"Rhys," you whispered, trying to summon your earlier indignation. "What are we doing? We don’t have time for this."

His smile was soft, knowing.

"Darling, I don’t mean to hush you, but… hush."

Your mouth fell open slightly, indignant words caught on the tip of your tongue. But he was already leaning in, peppering soft kisses across your face—your temple, the slope of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Each one a silent plea, a prayer, a promise.

"You, my mesmerizing mate, are too stressed out for your own good," he murmured between kisses. "I don’t want you to worry about a single thing tonight. I’ll take care of it."

The words unraveled you more than you cared to admit.

"But I can handle it," you blurted, your voice trembling. "I’m the High Lady. This is my duty. I know what I’m doing."

Rhys didn’t argue.

He just listened.

As you spilled excuses, listing responsibilities like armor, he rubbed slow, soothing circles into your tense shoulders, his lips brushing against your skin in feather-light touches.

"S’alright, baby," he whispered eventually, his voice rough with emotion. "I know. I know you can handle it. I know you’re brilliant and capable and strong."

His hands framed your face again, his thumbs catching the tear you hadn’t realized had escaped.

"But if I’m being honest… sometimes I get overwhelmed too."

The admission hit you like a tidal wave, stealing the breath from your lungs.

"And when that happens," he continued softly, "do you know what I need?"

You shook your head, your throat tight.

"I need you." His voice was raw, a fragile truth laid bare. "I just need you close to me."

Tears welled in your eyes, the dam breaking under the weight of his love.

"So will you please take this bath with me, doll?" he asked, his grin softening the ache in your chest. "I’ll even feed you chocolate-covered strawberries and give you a massage with that lavender oil you love so much."

You didn’t bother pretending anymore.

The smallest quirk of your lips was all the permission he needed.

With a snap of his fingers, both your clothes vanished, and before you could protest, he was lowering you into a warm bath infused with lavender and bergamot. The heat enveloped you, pulling a sigh from your lips.

Rhys slid in behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you against his chest. His hands moved with reverence, massaging your scalp, fingers threading through your hair with practiced ease. He let the conditioner sit while his thumbs worked the knots from your shoulders, coaxing soft, content sounds from you.

The tension bled from your muscles, replaced by warmth and the steady beat of his heart against your back.

After rinsing you off, he wrapped you in a plush towel, carrying you to your bed—the one designed for his large Illyrian wings. He tucked you under the soft blankets, his body molding around yours, wings cocooning you both in warmth and safety.

"You always take care of everyone else," he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. "Let me take care of you."

And for the first time in too long, you let him.

You let yourself be held. Loved. Cherished.

Sleep claimed you, soft and irresistible, as Rhysand’s voice was the last thing you heard:

"I’ve got you, my darling. Always."

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊

Taglist: @willowpains

[the-edge-of-great]

Are there any other interesting tidbits/changes in the Sonic movie novelization?

I’ll be honest, I didn’t read the first book lol I was really only interested in whether the writers had given Tails more of a backstory (which they did… kinda), so that’s why I read the second. However! I did read reviews online that said the first developed Tom & Sonic’s relationship more than in the movie.

Notable mentions in the 2nd book:

•Sonic 2 takes place 8 months after Sonic 1

• Tails spent many months seemingly looking for Sonic… He built those weapons Maddie & Rachel used at the wedding to account for the “natural disasters, dangerous adversaries, and booby traps” he encountered. (I mean!! That’s a whole tv show in itself!!)

• He also built a gun that atomizes things and he’s afraid of it, but he keeps it in his arsenal as a last resort. The text says that he isn’t sure it should be used, which is so interesting to me.

• I think he originally set out to look for the Master Emerald, but the Miles Electric (not what it's called in this universe but that’s what it is) kept picking up its energy across different planets... and somehow he knew that energy belonged to Sonic?

• Earth is the planet the rest of the galaxy is warned about lol

• Knuckles calls Sonic a Child of Mobius. Tails says that's "the traditional home of our kind".

• Tails is looking to find Sonic before “their enemies” do (weird that they have common enemies when they’ve never met?? WHO has Tails pissed off?????? Paramount!! I need to know!!)

• He was ready and willing to prepare Wade's garage for a siege attack (in exchange for stealing the police cruiser and driving it off a cliff). So, again—who has Tails pissed off?

• Instead of "The Master Emerald? That's just a bedtime story!" "Well, he believes it's real," it's "That's just a bedtime story!" "No, it's real. I should know. I think I’m one of the few still looking for it.” (What if one of his ‘enemies’ is Rouge? 👀)

• Tails runs the red light, and Sonic takes the wheel. Meanwhile, Tails climbs in the backseat of the cruiser to build speed boosters mid-chase 'cause Sonic was complaining they were going too slow xD. (This is where the "Promise? Promise you won't go anywhere?" happens :'))

• Tradition among the echidnas was to do an organ swap to make an alliance. Knuckles just breaks Eggman's hand instead, but that's… a part of the lore now. (edit: this is in my Top 5 favorite things from this book. I can imagine someone pitching this idea & the writer’s room going “what the fuck this is a kids movie” lmao)

• Tails offered to help Sonic in Siberia. No "I'm not a field guy!" protests here!

• Short Tails vs Eggman on the mountain (with very Sonic Raised Tails vibes 🥹; the text even says "Tails mocked the villain, almost like Sonic would have")

• Sonic doesn't believe he can fight Eggman and Knuckles alone after the wedding. Tom actually gives him a pep talk.

• Eggman's full name is Ivo Gerald Robotnik (Is that canon in other sonic medias?? I tried looking it up, but I don't see his name like that anywhere, yet I swear I already knew before I read it… *Is his full name canon, I mean. Ivo Gerald Robotnik.)

• Book Sonic reminds me of Modern Sonic more than his movie counterpart sometimes tbh

• There are multiple holograms of Sonic, Knuckles, and Tails at the start of the robot fight instead of just Tails.

• Maddie and Tom literally run through fire to reach Sonic

• Tails names Super Sonic!

• Instead of summoning a chili dog to prove he's not been corrupted by the Emerald, Sonic makes a fart noise with his armpit that has the "decibel of a bomb blast"

• Sonic recreates the Master Emerald, not Knuckles

• "Gotta go fast!" (when Sonic is running across the ocean to meet Eggman and Knuckles at the temple) and "Way past cool!" (post-battle when Tails introduces Knuckles to the power bump)

[lvsjuno]

MIDNIGHT SKY CH. 01

pairing: rafe cameron x thornton! fem reader - John b x thornton! fem reader

navigation: 01 - 02

main masterlist - story masterlist - request/thoughts - wattpad (spanish version)

Hurricane Agatha, that was all that could be heard across the island since the news arrived.

In Outer Banks, storms are not just a natural phenomenon; they are a reminder of how nature doesn’t follow human rules. For some, like the Kooks, storms are something to watch from behind reinforced glass windows, like a beautiful and catastrophic summer postcard. But for the Pogues, sometimes it's an opportunity.

Chaos never comes without leaving something useful behind.

But the storm wasn’t something that scared the Pogues at all; there they stood with their boards ready. The wind began to lash harder, and the waves rose with fury, perfect for those daring enough to challenge them.

"Are you really going to surf in this storm? It's pretty dangerous, and I don't think you can handle it, B" you commented with a mischievous smile, teasing him slightly. Your tone was full of challenge, but something in your eyes showed that the idea of a challenge intrigued you.

John B gave you a playful look, as if he had been expecting your question.

"That's what makes it more interesting," he said, his voice full of amusement and a spark of mischief.

You raised an eyebrow, enjoying the moment.

"Are you going to leave me here alone while you risk your life?" you said, crossing your arms, unable to hide a smile you couldn’t suppress. In the distance, the waves crashed with fury, but what truly captivated you was the way your boyfriend's gaze was fixed on you.

John B walked toward you with slow steps, his smile still present.

"I could never leave you here alone, princess" he replied, getting closer, close enough to feel their breaths crossing between them. "You know what they say? The storm gets much more interesting when you have company."

"Yeah, I've heard that, but if you're at home lying in your bed, not in the middle of the beach eating all the sand."

Without warning, he grabbed you by the waist, his fingers brushing your skin lightly, and in a quick move, he pulled you closer. You didn’t even have time to protest before your lips met in a fleeting, but intense kiss, as if the storm itself had been just a prelude to what was to come. It was a kiss in harmony with the storm that surrounded them, chaotic and wild in a way only you both shared in that moment.

When they pulled apart, you looked at him, breathing a little heavily, your eyes sparkling with adrenaline.

"You’re gonna make me lose my mind, John B," you whispered, your tone playful and slightly nervous.

"Lose your mind? You can't lose something you never had, darling" the boy said, smiling again, this time with more mischievousness.

And before you could say anything else, your boyfriend took your hand firmly, and without thinking, you both began to run toward the sea. The storm roared, but nothing mattered more than that moment between you.

A few meters back, Pope watched them from the shore, his face marked by uncertainty.

"This isn’t right" he murmured to himself, looking at the waves with doubt. He knew John B wouldn’t stop, but that didn’t give him the courage to follow.

"What are you waiting for, Pope? The water’s amazing!" John B shouted, his voice resonating through the wind.

Pope bit his lip, unsure.

"These aren’t waves to surf, John B..."

John B looked at him with a confident smile.

"You’re missing out, Pope!" he yelled toward the shore before turning to look for the waves.

☆

The storm had calmed slightly, the waves had settled, but the air was still charged with electricity, as if the ocean and the sky were holding onto the last traces of their fury when they decided it was time to head back to the Chateau. When they arrived at the cabin, the door closed behind them, and the silence of the house enveloped them.

JJ was asleep in his bed, unaware of everything that had happened on the beach, resting with a beer can by his side. John B and you exchanged a glance before dropping their backpacks beside the couch, while you took off your soaked shirt, leaving you in just your bikini, as John B watched you, a slight smile curving his lips.

"It’s incredible how all the fun can be so exhausting, my whole body hurts" you commented as you collapsed onto the couch, looking at John B with a calm yet knowing gaze.

"Well, if you need to relax, I know a skilled masseuse" John B said, smiling mischievously as he approached you. "I can tell you I’m really good with my hands... but let’s go to bed, you’ll have neck pain tomorrow" he continued, not giving you a chance to respond, getting closer without hesitation, as if there was no world outside of them.

John B lay beside you, wrapping his arm around you, feeling the closeness as something natural, while Maeve rested her head on his shoulder. For a moment, the sound of the storm faded, replaced by the beat of their hearts.

"This... this is all I need," you whispered, not wanting to think about anything other than the safety of that moment. "I love you, John B."

"I love you too, babe" John B murmured, kissing you gently on the forehead.

The night continued peacefully, without further words, just the sound of the storm far away and the murmur of your shared breaths.

☆

The noise of the waves entered through the window along with the daylight, revealing that the climatic disaster had already left them.

The island was covered with fallen branches and trees, scattered leaves, and the echo of destruction in every corner.

You woke up first, your head still on John B’s shoulder. You stayed silent for a moment, observing everything around you, how the sunlight began to clear the darkness left by the storm, and how the rays passing through the window fell across your boyfriend’s face.

"We need to do something to fix this mess" you murmured, sitting up slowly in the bed, watching as John B checked his phone for a signal and electricity in the room.

There was no power in the Pogue’s area, and the situation wasn’t favorable for anyone. You knew they needed supplies, you already knew how things were on this side of the island, and it was the least you could do to help.

"I’m going to go to my house to grab some things" you told your boyfriend, preparing to get up. John B looked at you, a bit worried, but you continued, "It’ll be fine, I just have to hear some shouting from my mom, and that’s it."

"Let me take you at least," John B quickly responded, getting up too and walking toward you. "Then we’ll go looking for you with the others."

You smiled, touching his arm gently.

"Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I promise everything will be under control. I’ll bring you those snacks you love."

John B looked at you for a moment, as if wanting to say something more, but in the end, he nodded.

"Alright, but I’ll be waiting for you at the dock. I love you..."

With one last soft kiss on your lips, you walked away, ready to face the chaos of the storm and make sure the guys had what they needed. As you left the door, the sound of the storm was now just a distant echo, and all that was left was to face the disaster that Agatha had left behind on the island.

[system-to-the-madness]

Cherry Blossom Rests 🌸 Inumaki Toge x Reader

Pairing: Inumaki Toge x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: fluff Word Count: 1 223 Warnings: mentions of wounds, blood Summary: After a mission, Toge and you rest under a tree

Sakura Festival Masterlist - Masterlist

“Toge, can you move your arm away? My neck hurts.”

“Okaka.”

“Asshole.”

With a groan you sat up enough to be able to grab Toge’s arm and move it away from where your head had been resting on it. Any other day you would have appreciated him offering his arm up as your headrest, but not today. You were sore all over from the mission you had just returned from. Your body was littered with small cuts, dust stuck to your skin and your sweat drenched clothes, and every muscle in your body felt like it had been robbed of any and all strength.

The mission itself had not really been dangerous, only exhausting. So much even, that you had fallen asleep in the train back home, and as soon as you had made it up the sheer infinite number of steps to the school, Toge and you had collapsed under the closest tree, not even bothering to make it back to your rooms. Here, on the school grounds you were safe from the prying eyes of public, so you had not made the effort to go further, and instead decided to rest here for a moment. Or a few moments. You had been laying underneath the blooming cherry tree for almost an hour now.

Toge protested loudly as you flopped back down, spread out like a starfish, but without the support of his arm this time. You knew he considered it his sacred duty as your boyfriend to always make sure you were as comfortable as possible.

“Toge, my neck hurts, stop it,” you protested as he tried to wriggle his hand back under your neck. “I just want to lay like that for a moment, okay? We can cuddle later.”

At your side, he whined, but pulled his hand away. You sighed quietly, focusing on the way your spine seemed to stretch out on the ground. It felt like a weigh was being removed. Experimentally you turned your head, trying to stretch out the tension in your neck, when suddenly something warm and heavy flopped down on your chest.

If you weren’t so familiar with this exact sensation, you might have been startled, but you knew what had happened, and so you just groaned a little from the way your chest got compressed by the suddenly added weight. Toge had thrown himself on top of you, arms around your waist, head resting on your chest, his bright hair tickling your chin.

“A warning next time,” you grumbled, but brought your hand up to his head anyway, running it though his strands. They were sweat and dirt coated. It had been over an hour since the fight had ended, but his body was still warm underneath his by now chilly clothes.

“Saamon Tsuna,” You should have seen it coming.

“You’re such a spoiled brat,” you sighed, craning your neck to press a kiss to the crown of his head.

Toge turned his head, resting his chin on your sternum and glanced up to you, indigo eyes scanning over your face as if he was uncertain whether you meant it. Of course, you didn’t, and he knew that, but sometimes you couldn’t shake the feeling that he still doubted your feelings for him. Was it really so hard to believe that you loved him? That idiot. But he was your idiot, and if you had to, you’d reassure him of your love for him until he got sick of it… which was a bold statement considering he always insisted he could never get enough of you.

“Okaka”, he pouted. I’m not a spoiled brat. “Takana-zuke.” You are.

“Oi,” you complained. “What did I do?”

Toge just kept pouting, giving you a moment to take in his appearance. You had been too exhausted to give him a proper once over, earlier only having made sure he was not injured too badly. Like yours, his skin was littered in cuts, his uniform dirty and still wet from sweat. At the corner of his mouth, he had missed a droplet of blood, that had by now dried and turned a dark shade of brown against his pale skin. He had used his technique too much, again. Over the past months he had gotten quite good at estimating how long he could use it, and how the impact of different commands shortened that time. But there were still moments where he went over his limits, and you hated it, hated seeing him hurt.

Reaching up, you ran your thumb over the corner of his mouth, trying to brush the dried blood away, but instead Toge turned his head to kiss your thumb.

“Hold still,” you demanded, “you have some blood there.”

Toge just rolled his eyes and pouted, but let you clean the small stain away, before looking at you expectantly.

“Tsuna Mayo,” he requested.

You furrowed your brows. “What do you want me to do?”

He rolled his eyes again, signaling you that he had expected you to understand him, before he pushed up on his hands and shifted himself so he could kiss you on the lips.

Something about Toge’s kisses always took your breath away. Sure, there were the heated kisses you shared in the privacy of your rooms, but even the smaller, almost innocent ones always made you swoon. His lips were soft and warm, his breath fanning over your cheeks in a familiar way as he pulled back after a moment to look down on you underneath him.

“Okome,” he whispered, making you smile. I love you.

“Okome,” you repeated to him, and satisfied you watched as a smile of his own spread over his face.

“Sujiko,” he smirked, lowering himself down again, so he could rest his head on your chest again.

“What’s that supposed to mean,” you complained. “You can’t make fun of me for saying I love you when you were the one who started it!”

“Shake.” Yes, I can.

“You’re awful,” you whined, your hand immediately finding its way back into his hair. “Why am I putting up with you again?”

“Takana-zuke okome.” You love me.

“Yeah, unfortunately.” You picked a cherry blossom petal out of his hair, the colour of the petal almost identical to that of his strands.

“Okome.” And I love you. Toge’s voice had gotten quieter, heavy, and you knew he was about to fall asleep.

“I know,” you whispered, carding your fingers through his soft hair. “And I’m so happy you do.”

Toge only hummed in affirmation, his eyes fluttering shut as he kept his ear pressed to your chest, listening to your breath and heartbeat. Warm sunbeams fell through the branches and blinded you, making you close your eyes too. Rationally you knew you should get up, go back to your room, shower, get patched up and write the mission report. But you really didn’t want to disturb your sleeping boyfriend. Besides, when would you get the next chance to cuddle with him on a spring afternoon under the blooming cherry trees? You sighed, relaxing against the ground. Nobody would mind if you took a little longer with that report. And if they did… their offence, no matter how big, could not compete with the feeling of peace that flooded your body from feeling Toge sleep with his arms wrapped around you.

@delzinrowe

[goddessofmischief]

can i request anything mihawk related and him pining after y/n

       —   I CAN SEE YOU (YOUNG MIHAWK X READER)

A/N: this is part of this series, which requests are open for! These fics are all one-shots, so they can be read separately.

He'd been thinking about you a lot lately.

You, the pretty girl who sailed with the Roger Pirates and made port in the same towns he did from time to time. You, who seemed to always be flanked by the boy with the red nose and the other boy with the red hair.

You. You. You.

You were clever - he noticed that at once - you had to be, to hold your own with so many men stronger and older than you, and he watched as you navigated through one dangerous situation after another, always escaping unscathed. The other boys tried to help, of course, but you didn't need them at all. Mihawk noticed that, too.

He liked the sort of clothes you wore - usually a bit oversized, which made sense, so you didn't have to buy new ones every time you grew, an unfortunate practicality for anyone growing up at sea - and often velvet, or satin, or with embroidered patterns, and usually in dark shades of olive, maroon or black. Sometimes cotton dresses of the palest ivory, which he also liked.

Mihawk had made a habit of always noticing the appearance of others, and judged them quite harshly on it - not their looks or dimensions or things they could not change, but how well they presented themselves. Living the way he did, the way you did, did not lend itself to luxury or composure or cleanliness, so he noticed whenever anyone paid special attention to how they looked.

You did. He never caught you without loosely wound curls, brushed out, or loose buns, or intricate braids that he sometimes heard the red-haired pirate protesting at doing for you. Mihawk noticed all of these things because they were things he liked about himself, and he liked them about you, too.

But even after all this liking and appreciating, which had gone on for many months now, he could never have the strength to talk to you. It wasn't for his own insecurity, although Mihawk was a good deal less boastful and more shy than most of the pirates his age, but more for fear of what he might say when he actually spoke to you for the first time. He had never struck out with girls before, but that was mostly for lack of trying. They found him, most of the time, and either liked his Hawk-Eyes or they didn't.

It was on one of those days, where Mihawk had made port at a small island and was sipping on a flute of wine at a small bar, that he found himself gazing at you again. You'd just stumbled off Roger's ship, and seemed in awe of your surroundings. Your friends already held drinks far too big for them and had wandered off, staring at the skyline, but you were clearly unsure of what to get. Mihawk watched as your fingernail dragged against a small menu, tracing every option, hesitating around the ones with dried flowers in them. You liked dried flowers, evidently, and he would remember that.

The thought crossed his mind that he might go get a drink for you, and perhaps begin some sort of conversation-

No. No. Stupid.

You could get your own drink.

And you were about to, it seemed, when a rather terrifying-looking mercenary pressed a blade to your back. Mihawk immediately reached for his own, which he had fondly nicknamed 'Yoru,' and had not yet seen much action.

"How'd you find me?" you said, voice trembling.

"Followed you," said the mercenary. "You owe us. We know you only gave us half of what you found when you raided that vault."

"That's not true," you said, and Mihawk felt you were telling the truth, although he may have been biased. "It just wasn't as much as you thought it would be-"

The mercenary forced his blade closer, and Mihawk decided he couldn't allow this to go on for one more second. Moving quietly, he removed Yoru from his scabbard, and drew the blade against the mercenary's neck.

"Move aside," said Mihawk, trying to make his voice more steady than it felt.

The mercenary stared him down.

"Who are you?"

"Dracule Mihawk," he said. "And I'd like you to step away."

"I refuse."

What happened next was completely uncalled for and also fated. Mihawk simply moved the sword very quickly to the side, and the mercenary fell, and that was the end of it.

It was not the first blood Dracule Mihawk had ever spilled. It was, however, the first blood he had spilled with this particular sword.

This sword, which would live on in infamy long after he was gone, this sword, which would become synonymous with not only his name, but swordsmanship itself.

First blood, this sword, and it had all been over you.

History would forget.

...But you would remember.

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XIII. — OVERSTIMULATION

cw: Dub-Con Implied, Overstimulation, Torture, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Gore, Violence, Bodily Harm and Incapacitation, Unhealthy Relationships, Yandere, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Fem! Reader. Reader discretion is advised. 18+ Only!

author's note: I can't stop thinking about the different possible routes that a relationship with Overhaul would look like. Would he be so distant and confusing yet needy and desperate at the same time? Would he be completely transparent and firm to the point of torture? Would it be a mix of anything and everything—just never good? I like to explore different aspects of how he could be. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 1.6k words.

“P-Please, Kai, stop!” 

But your plea goes ignored, hidden within the thick gusts of smoke and murky shadows that spill from Kai’s mouth. He’s breathing so thickly against your skin, head buried within the bend of your neck and folding his lips over the prickly flesh. You gasp whenever his teeth graze you, but it’s lost whenever Kai thrusts in again—hard—and your eyes shutter before you whimper. 

“Kai, I can’t take this—can we please stop? Can we—” 

“We can’t stop.” 

His response is curt, each word clipped and sharp. You’re taken by surprise, left dangling by his sorrowful tone, suspended by those deep and husky chords that guitar their way into your silly mind. Kai sounds apprehensive, but it doesn’t make sense, so you’re positive that there’s something more underneath the shoddy threads. What does he even—but his cock is sturdy and rough whenever it retracts and shoves itself back into your cunt, punching through your guts and making you sick. How long has he been laying into you? Time keeps fumbling through the edges of your fingers, and you find yourself left perched on a dangerous balcony. 

“W-Why can’t we? Kai, it’s… this hurts so much … !!” 

At your words, Kai’s thrusts slow down by half a mile but he doesn’t stop rolling his hips, sawing through your velvet walls with hissing agony. His head is no longer hidden within the depths of your neck, instead he hovers, eyes wide and imploring. Those golden honey hues glowing in the dark of the night, small, pinpricks, impending needles filled with chloroform and doxepin. It’s almost like he’s stopped breathing. 

“It can’t hurt. Why would this hurt? You’re still wet, aren’t you?” 

Those strange and unusual thinking patterns, a depression that compresses your lungs and makes the back of your ribs flare in protest. Kai’s become nothing short of a total stranger lately. It’s like you don’t even know him anymore—or, maybe, maybe you never did in the first place. Sometimes when he talks to you, it’s like he’s become a shell of someone long gone, a gravestone chipped and faded underneath a stormy gray. It’s always like this whenever you have sex with him anymore. You stutter. 

“It’s because I’ve—already cum a few times. A-And haven’t you?” 

Kai’s eyes never waver. 

“Yes.” 

Bold, firm, and absolute. That one word makes your head spin, makes you swallow. 

“Th-Then isn’t this, umhh, haa, getting to be a little too much for you, too?” 

Those eyes seem to shrink. 

“No.” 

You’re left gaping. 

“K-Kai. I… don’t…” 

Kai’s hips have started slowing down, like the dying embers of a candle wick, fading, dreamy. His eyes just continue to grow, grow, grow, and they’re full moons, they’re stars in the universe, galaxies filled with unknown territory and possibilities. A needle threads his brows, a line down the center of his face. 

“This is all I’ve ever wanted and more. You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted. Don’t you need this as much as I do? Why would you make love to me in the first place if you didn’t?” 

Oh, Kai’s so gone, he’s the hurricane, and there is no eye that you can ground yourself in. It’s all sweeping planes, underbrush and wildfires. 

“Please d-don’t say it like that. I did want you—” 

You can barely comprehend what’s happening before Kai’s cock slices through you, through your heart, thirsty for you, rust and dust crumbling over you, seasoning, and his arms are caging your head. His elbows dig into your breasts, his paws are scratching into the frame of your face. Terror frosts through your veins, phosphorus and venom, a headless snake in the grass. Kai grits his teeth together so loudly that you hear them squeak, he’s shivering, he’s trembling, and he’s breathing faster than ever. Tornadoes of insanity, hyperventilation that slips into those hooked fingers. 

“Did want me? What are you trying to say to me, angel? Do you not want me anymore? Is there something wrong with you? Because I can’t understand why you’d back out of us now.” 

Shaking your head is difficult, claws. 

“That was—Kai, God, of course, I still want you—I just. Kai, that was just a slip of my tongue, I—I don’t know, but I do want to have sex with you. I do, but you’re hurting me.” 

Your eyes are wide and lifeless as soon as those words leak over your lips. The haze from your orgasms, from the highs that kept you bouncing cloud to cloud, everything happy, and every tickling sensation that nibbles away at the edges of your nervous system—gone, vanished before your being. Time is still, everything is still. If you prayed hard enough, could the Universe wink back in on itself—because you can feel it, can feel the pressure building up beneath the surface. It’s an emergency, urgent, and it starts to swell, an infection ready to implode. Kai isn’t human anymore. 

And then, 

An anguished yell, something furious, tearing through the bottom of his throat, screaming, vibrating behind clasped teeth. Kai rips his hands away from your head so that he can lean back on his haunches, the smiles of his fingernails raking down your abdomen to your hips so that he could easily drag you along with. And maybe you scream too, something silvery and scared, but Kai’s growl rumbles dangerously. His cock is thumping inside of you again, rocking, riding, and he’s thrusting into you with a fever that makes you cough and choke on your own spit, hot tears trickling down your cheeks. 

“What the hell do you mean I’m hurting you? This is all for you—I’m all yours and I’ve always been all yours, but now I’m hurting you? I can’t…” 

He doesn’t finish his train of thought, too focused on pounding into your abused and aching cunt. The heartbeat of your clit is buzzing through the walls, gone and pained, and you feel bloody and raw—full but so empty. Kai’s abhorring words—the blame that slices through your skin, that’s a dagger hitched into the center of your soul. You should have stayed in the shallow end, you should have just let him keep pouring himself into you, you should have just let Kai finish, you should have just kept your stupid fucking mouth shut. 

“Angel.”

Your eyes are all on him. 

“Angel, do you not want to be with me anymore?” 

Each time the head of his cock finds the dead end of your cunt makes these stepping stones of gasps dry on your lips. You start violently shaking your head. 

“I do. I do want to be with you, Kai—” 

Kai interrupts you with a thunderous thrust, stars and bullets that zip into fireworks, making the whites of your eyes show their underbellies. He’s all the way in you, he’s in your tummy, he’s in your everything. 

“I’ll make sure that you don’t lie to me.” 

It’s like a trumpet that sings into the night sky, modulating, and electricity that blares into your eardrums. Nothing feels real whenever your eyes roll back down and you meet Kai’s deranged visage. Your lips are quivering, your body is, your cunt is, your clit is, your heart is, your brain is—you can feel yourself losing yourself, amplitude. And yet you can still focus on his cock inside of you, primal and divine. 

His hands leave your hips, palms flat on the home below your belly and above your mound. Kai never looks away, never leaves. He presses down once, twice, and whenever you open your mouth to speak—it’s everywhere. 

Confetti, strings of flesh torn up and serrated, blood swimming like a school of fish, weightless and flying around your intertwined bodies. And it digs deep, and horror and tears and a barely shaking head watches in disbelief as the you below the origin just explodes into nothing but something. Screams, high-pitched and feminine, something animalistic, something begging, something so unbelievably afraid that vomit shoots into the back of your mouth and your bladder twists. But before you can comprehend it, before the trauma imprints on the carpet of your brain—it all comes back together, neat and tidy. 

Kai is crying. You don’t understand why he’s crying. What is he always crying for? He’s stopped thrusting into you, but the faded chemicals and emotions from your timeless sex make you dizzy and confused. 

“K-Kai, what—” 

Your legs won’t move. 

You blink. 

“K-Kai! W-What’s wrong with my legs—what did you do to my legs? Kai, Kai!” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll… I’ll fix you once you prove that you don’t want to leave me. Now you can’t leave me. You can’t leave me.” 

Your fists are bound around his wrists, sinking in, and you’re yelling. The palpitations of your heart send your body into the atmosphere. 

“Kai! No, no no nooo, no! Please fix me now, please, Kai—fuck, Kai, I was never going to leave you—I just, I just needed to stop having sex for a little bit. Kai, Kai, Kai! Are you listening to me? Kai—Kai!” 

He starts thrusting again, and the insanely subtle feeling of wet cotton and plumage start to tickle up your body, dead weight sagging you below the surface. 

“You can’t leave me. You can’t leave me. You can’t leave me. 

You can’t leave me. 

You can’t leave 

You can’t

You…” 

[labeteenmoi]

Kings of the Subura

Part 2

Fandom : Those About To Die

Pairing : Tenax x OC

Warnings : Mentions of violence, rape and slavery

Summary : Wavering feelings and power teachings

Note : if you want to be tagged for the next chapter, just raise your finger

The bell rang.

“The race is on! Bets are over!” the man behind the counter shouted as he closed the jar filled with betting odds amid protests from the latecomers.

Another chariots race Tenax already knew the results of. He didn't even have to fix it anymore; he had the greatest power in the Subura: information. Tenax knew all there was to know about anything race related: who runs for money, who runs for glory, who runs for life. He also knew about all the power struggles involved: who owed who, who owned who, who fucked who. Incidentally, what the horses ate for breakfast and how much quality shit they had had mattered too, and he knew that too.

However, all that power, his pride and joy, mattered a little less lately. As he was distractively watching the chariots enter their second lap in a cloud of dust as they passed in front of the stable’s door, his mind shifted to the creature that roamed his house like a caged tiger, yearning for freedom, or at least for a hint of it in the streets of Rome, something he had always denied her.

Almost a month had passed since he had brought her home and the least he could say was that this woman’s pride was beyond imagination. No matter how good the care and security he provided to her, she resisted fiercely and that was probably the very reason she was growing on him. He liked it, her irrepressible spirit of rebellion—not in deed, she did what she was told, but her attitude was untamed, her eyes insolent, her repartee sharp on the rare occasions she bothered to answer him. Briga was far from purring while rubbing against his leg — she still seemed constantly tense, on alert, watching his every move whenever he got too close to her, but Tenax could see a change in the way she looked at him, a formal coldness had slowly replaced the ostentatious hatred she used to address him, and sometimes, he could swear, there was even a hint of curiosity.

It was only in the quiet, soothing moment of Claudia's bath that she seemed to find real comfort. The occasional glances he threw at her at that moment, a moment far too tempting for him to constantly be able to hold back, gave him the opportunity to witness a few rare moments when she let her animal sensuality express itself. In the incandescent darkness of that room, she looked something like a snake, undulating and glistening. Then she would see him and stare as if she had spotted a prey; fascinatingly deadly.

What never ceased to amaze him was how oblivious she seemed to all of this, oblivious to this aura of danger that emanated from her, unconscious to the attraction she exerted on him. Either she had no clue, or he was extremely good at hiding it. Anyway, it could be of use for his business. Not that it was his plan all along, he wasn't the kind of man to do things on a whim usually, except when it came to her apparently. Tenax could recognize an opportunity when he saw one.

The last silver fish tipped over to a cheer from the crowd announcing the final lap. Tenax's eyes widened in the ray of sunlight that streamed through the door's skylights as if suddenly coming to. The rider of the blue faction, Scorpus, had taken the lead, as usual. He didn't seem very happy about it though, whipping his horses with rage.

Tenax didn't linger after the race ended that day, each time a little less than the last. His home had gained in appeal lately, in a way, he wanted to return there more and more as the days went by.

At this twilight hour, it was bath time, so it was not surprising to find the first rooms empty. However, the quiet of the place struck him as soon as he passed through the door. No light came from the kitchen which was unusual, and the slight whispers of Claudia and Briga's conversations in the bathroom were muted.

Tenax stiffened, moving cautiously towards his room. He pushed the door open wide with a slight creak. The air that reached his face was thick, loaded with humidity and floral scents. Someone had indeed used the bathroom but as he moved a little further into his bedroom he saw the bathroom was empty.

When he turned again, peering into the darkness at the back of his room, a movement of air made the hair on the back of his head stand on end, immediately followed by the cold contact of a blade on the side of his neck. He froze for a couple of decisive seconds. Gritting his teeth angrily, he suddenly stepped back, hitting hardly the body of his assailant that he carried in his momentum against the wall behind him. The knife bearer let out a slight hoarse gasp under the heavy shock. Tenax immediately realized that this body was much lighter than he had anticipated. It was her, of course. He turned around quickly, pushing aside the hand that held the blade with one arm and grabbed the slave's neck, who didn't seem surprised.

"What are you doing?" he growled sharply.

Briga grabbed the hand on her neck.

"...You should have knocked." she muttered sarcastically under her breath.

Tenax took a breath, trying to calm down a little. He loosened his grip on her throat just enough to let her gulp.

"Drop the knife now." he snapped with a hint of worry in his wide opened blue eyes.

Her eyes narrowed as she formed a slight smirk before letting go, the kitchen knife fell heavily to the floor with a loud clatter.

Tenax sighted lightly, she could have pressed a little harder on that knife if she had really wanted to, cut just a bit at this exact point of his neck and he would have bled to death at her feet no matter how quickly he had reacted. She knew how to kill, now he knew, and it could be useful in the future, well, since she had chosen not to end his life on the spot of course. He should have felt dread but instead, he felt somehow aroused. The aftermath of gambling with his life when the odds seemed quite off. Suddenly, his thoughts interrupted: something on his peripheral vision seemed strange, there was way too much skin.

Lowering his face, his eyes fell on a damp chest to which were stuck soaked strands of her black hair that heaved with each deep breath she made. He moved away a little, realizing that he was still pressing his all body against her, and then saw her stomach and further down, her legs; she was naked and still wet. Tenax's hard gaze faded little by little, as it travelled the firm contours of her body.

The fine grain of her skin, tanned no doubt by the sun of her native province, appeared clearly to him now that he saw it so close. Claudia's care had borne fruit; she was immaculate, as if she had never been bruised. Despite the dizziness of such a magnetic vision, he began to feel observed and suddenly raised his head and met her piercing gaze. Briga was indeed watching him in silence, without any sign of embarrassment at being thus exposed to Tenax's eyes, without any sign of aggression despite his proximity and the contact of his hand on her neck, the elbow of which grazed the tip of her breast. She was too busy scrutinizing his reactions to her nudity to care much.

Briga still didn't know if she could trust him and somehow, she needed to prove to herself that he was just like these others perverted men who caused all her troubles. She needed to confront and kill this increasing attachment feeling he had awakened in her over the weeks she had spent with him. She had seen his haunted eyes when he thought he was alone in the room, the inner struggles he sometimes seemed to have when coming home. She had heard the screams at night, his wanders in the darkness of the apartment trying to catch his breath. He had secrets and dark thoughts that usually seemed to disappear as soon as he laid eyes on her. Do vile men ever feel remorse?

Maybe he was different after all, and that mere thought was enough to make her mad. More than once, she had trusted a Roman only to be painfully played in the end, how could she still be so naive? So, she often looked on his face for the same scornful looks that she had seen on the faces of her Roman delinquents. His occasional, not-so-accidental glances while she was taking her bath couldn't be that innocent.

Tenax suddenly had the feeling he was somehow being put to the test. That was some vicious way but certainly the most effective one, clever girl. He did want to feel more than just her neck under his hands, he wanted to smell these scents of rose oil all over her body which turned out to be all the more intoxicating once applied to her skin, to kiss her lips, but above all, he wanted her to want it too. He was closer than ever. So close, and yet, that enticing creature was expecting to see him losing control. He would hate not to disappoint.

He raised his head in a controlled inhale, hardening his expression.

"Where is Claudia?" he curtly asked, closing a little harder his hand on her neck.

She startled slightly, blinking at the pressure.

"She’s resting," she let out looking him straight in the eyes, "she felt ill.”

Tenax sustained her look, he wasn’t sure she was telling the truth. After all, she had just reminded him that she wasn’t as harmless to him as she had let him believe lately. He searched her face for any signs of a shifty glance but saw none, she seemed sincere enough to reassure him. He asked more calmly:

"Where is she?"

"In the guests room."

As she had answered in a soft voice, veiled by the pressure on her trachea, his eyes had landed on her lips. She talked so rarely that he had barely ever seen them moving. Fleshy velvety dark-rosed lips that never smiled, only sometimes grinned disdainfully at him when not firmly shut. But now they were parting slightly under his sudden hypnotized glance. Briefly looking up, he saw a glimpse of confusion in her eyes as she witnessed his softening mood, felt her breathing becoming barely perceptible under his hand but her pulse quickening.

Strangely, his own pulse caught the same rhythm as hers. A warm sensation invaded his own chest, a shiver ran up on his skin and before he knew it his hand was no longer holding her neck but simply laying on her collarbones, still held by hers.

It was as if time had frozen, the surroundings had disappeared, and they were all alone in the middle of an undefined mist. Their gazes travelling over their faces, he slowly leaned in, uncontrollably attracted towards her mouth that trembled a little at his approach when, suddenly, the walls of the apartment began to shake from violent blows.

Tenax and Briga opened their eyes wide in surprise, abruptly emerging from whatever spell they were under. The knocking started again, someone was banging on the apartment door with their fists and shouting "Tenax!! I know you're here!"

Tenax suddenly turned his head towards the door behind him:

"Scorpus!" he breathed shortly. "Get dressed," he addressed Briga eagerly.

She took a few seconds to react, her mind still foggy from what had just happened, then hurriedly grabbed the dress lying on the bed. Tenax opened the door without waiting and at the same time Scorpus burst into the apartment in front of a dazed Claudia who had rushed from the corridor.

With a quick glance, the man caught a glimpse of bare legs in the half-open bedroom door as Tenax was closing it.

"Scorpus! What's going on, my friend?" Tenax said hurriedly, opening his arms wide to the newcomer with a faked smile, pretending to ignore his rudeness.

The man had stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the closed door behind Tenax with a disconcerted look, before looking back at his host who was advancing. He seemed to regain his senses and pointed an accusing finger under the latter's nose:

"Where's my money?" he barked.

"Scorpus, I warned you not to bet on the lap," Tenax sighed, "the white faction has been running new horses that are younger than yours..."

"What?!" Scorpus shouted indignantly, "You didn't tell me anything!" he bellowed.

"Of course I did, you were probably still drunk…" Tenax retorted, shaking his head in disapproval.

The man sighed heavily, ostentatiously rubbing his eyes in disappointment. He looked up at the closed bedroom door, holding his hips, and seemed to ruminate for a few moments before fuming loudly:

"I lost big on that, Tenax!"

Tenax approached him, opening his arms again in a gesture of comfort as the man cast furtive glances at the door. Ignoring his friend’s approach, he kept on:

“And who’s in your room there?” he asked suspiciously, pointing toward the bedroom.

"Nobody." Tenax hastened to answer as innocently as possible.

Scorpus wasn’t listening, he walked around Tenax who didn't have time to hold him back, and pushed the door open, revealing Briga inside who suddenly sat up. Seeing that she had had time to get dressed, Tenax let out a discreet sigh of relief.

The newcomer stared at her for a few moments, stunned, while Briga, motionless, gave him a stone-hard look.

"Who are you?" he finally asked, visibly intrigued.

Briga remained unmoved, eyeing the visitor up and down.

Scorpus tilted his head, seemingly offended by the girl's silence.

"Who is she?" he insisted to Tenax behind him.

"No one," he sighed as he stamped his feet on the ground, "just… a slave..."

"A slave!" Scorpus exclaimed, a smile growing on his lips. He looked back at the girl, ogling her without shame. "What's your name?"

Silence still as the only answer, the man was starting to look seriously upset.

"Briga is her name, and she won't answer you..." Tenax intervened.

"Why? She can't talk?" he asked curiously before returning his interested gaze to the girl. "I bet this pretty mouth can do other things though..." he mumbled to Briga, whose eyes narrowed in return in a murderous glare.

Tenax heard it too and rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Because she hates you, Scorpus. She hates all of us, don't take it personally." he sighed heavily, shooting a complicit grin at Briga whose fierce eyes oscillated between him and the visitor. It had been a while since Tenax hadn’t seen such a fierce look on her face, he could tell a cold anger was slowly rising in her, her knuckles were turning white.

Scorpus stamped his feet, hesitantly waving his body towards Briga but held back in the face of the hostility emanating from her.

"No one hates Scorpus, I'm not a fucking Roman." He retorted in a mock-outraged tone, ostensibly giving her a smile of the kind he usually gave to his future conquests. Nothing seemed to stop this rake in front of a beautiful woman.

The thought of the knife left on his bedroom floor crossed his mind; Tenax started to fear for his friend’s life if Briga ever remembered it as well.

“What else can I do for you, my friend?” he cut in impatiently, loud enough to catch both their attention.

“Oh, well…” Scorpus mumbled, trying to stall for time before being openly dismissed from the place, “you’re not going to help me, then?”

"There's nothing more I can do Scorpus…"

"You should take her to the races one of these days," Scorpus unexpectedly eluded, "I'm sure she'd appreciate seeing the great Scorpus at work!"

He puffed out his chest, a display that still didn't seem to impress Briga whose gaze had not softened one bit.

"Or else you introduce her to your debtors, Tenax, if she looks at them long enough like that, they'll quickly settle their debts!" Scorpus noisily laughed.

Tenax chuckled. Of course he had thought of it, he had realized her silent hard looking presence could indeed have a certain power of persuasion. Surely others besides him could perceive this feeling of danger that her attitude gave off, Scorpus did seem to feel it as well or he would have been closer to her already, Tenax believed.

“I’ll consider it Scorpus,” he answered, “now I have things to do.” He concluded firmly, tilting his head towards the door.

Scorpus bit his lip in frustration, nodding at Briga with a salacious look.

“Of course, my friend!" he eventually gasped, "I’ll see you at the Circus in three days!”

Slowly stepping back without taking his eyes off her, he added with a wink:

“See you soon, Briga…”

Tenax accompanied him through the entrance door, holding his breath for any new try at poking at his slave. Scorpus passed the door but suddenly turned back and whispered in his face with a dubious look:

“What were you doing in there with her?”

"Goodbye, Scorpus" he replied with a contented smile, closing the door in his face.

Tenax held the door for a little longer, taking some time to recollect his thoughts. Finally turning around, he caught eyes with Claudia, holding her hands together in a confused expression.

"I’m sorry, Master, I…"

"I know." Tenax interrupted gently, "Are you feeling better now?"

"Hum… yes, thank you, Master."

He glimpsed at Briga, just long enough to see her staring into the void, when Claudia kept on:

"I’ll prepare supper right away, Master. Briga, please come, child." She called in a still sleepy hoarse voice.

Her name came to her as a distant sound in the air, only after some instants she seemed to have heard it and raised a confounded face to see Claudia and Tenax looking at her in puzzlement.

The way this man had looked at her had shaken her core. All these weeks locked in the security of Tenax’s apartment almost made her forget what it was like to be preyed upon like this, submitted to the depraved eyes of men willing to abuse her.

Regaining her senses, she saw concern in Tenax’s eyes, and it reminded her that she could breathe, he was there. Swiftly seized by the soft and warm sensation of being so close to him only instants before, for a mere instant she wished he was holding her again, leaving her all the more stunned.

"Briga?" Claudia called gently.

She shook her head and walked across the room quickly at the renewed call, unconsciously avoiding all the eyes on her; a confusion that first left Tenax speechless. It seemed so unlike her to appear overwhelmed like that and something told him it wasn't just about him and the unexpected letting go they had experienced a few minutes before. In some way it was bothering him and that was so unlike him.

Briga had eaten with Claudia in the kitchen as usual, mostly in silence from what Tenax had perceived from his sit at the table, only to reappear in front of him for the sole purpose of clearing the table. He tried to cross her eyes that she seemed to avoid.

"That will be all Claudia, you go rest home, the cleaning can wait." He announced suddenly, staring at Briga who finally met his eyes with a hint of suspicion; it was unusual for him to send her home so soon.

Briga immediately stopped and waited by the table in silence, staring at Tenax, both wary and curious about what would happen once Claudia left. When she did, the heavy silence between them lasted for a moment until Tenax calmly ordered:

"Sit. Please."

Please? That was new and rather intriguing to her. She was more used to him showing who the master was than that. Further arousing her curiosity, she complied and took a place at the table in front of him, keeping her hands on her lap and her eyes firmly locked on his.

He took a slow sip of wine, pondering how to address the elephant in the room.

"You didn't like the way Scorpus looked at you." Tenax finally let out.

Briga took a breath.

"I've seen this filthfy look on Roman's faces before." she bitterly said, thinking back to what these men had done to her.

Tenax nodded slightly, showing he knew well what she was referring to.

"Hmm… You see, I’ve learned in the streets that rage arises from fear, it’s like a defence mechanism. As impressive as your rage mays appear at first sight, it mostly reveals weakness."

She slowly tilted her head and intensely glared at him, unsure to appreciate the direction Tenax was taking there.

He softly smiled at her expected reaction; calling her weak and getting away with it was probably a privilege all his own and he certainly appreciated the sensation it provided. But beyond that, he mostly wanted her to understand his point, it was key to the purpose he aimed for. So, he resumed, calmly but more firmly than before, imposing her to listen through.

"When men look at you like Scorpus did, it means they covet you and that, Briga, gives you power; the power to either refuse… or accept, at your own terms. In my world, that is called an opportunity. You could use that to get what you want. You could use them..."

"Refuse or accept?" she interrupted sharply with an ironic frown, his voice almost hissing, "As when you have the choice? What power do you have when you are held by both arms… or chained?"

For a split second Tenax felt his mind on the verge of wandering; finally, there was a chink in her impenetrable armour, willingly giving away an ounce of what might have happened to her. He felt the urge to know more, but now was not the time, so in a controlled inhale he simply nodded thoughtfully, holding her stare with a surprising intensity:

"We are all bound to something."

Briga narrowed her eyes, wondering in what way could a man like him ever feel restrained. It just then occurred to her that outside these walls she did not know anything about him. She didn’t know much about him even inside these walls for that matter.

She observed him silently for some time. Being used by people, using other people… This would have never occurred to her before, not in the simple life she used to have back in Lusitania. But now she was in Rome, very far from her home, her way and her life. Adapting may well be her only way out of there someday.

"So, does that mean… I could use you?" she finally addressed him, biting her lip in an equivocal way.

She was getting it. Tenax rejoiced inwardly. He grinned back and playfully answered:

"You are free to try."

"Am I? You do want something from me… but you’ve never looked at me like that." Briga dared, eyeing him up and down ostentatiously. There was indeed a shift in the balance of power between her and Tenax, she could feel it now; something about domination that felt quite pleasant.

Tenax straightened up imperceptibly, a contented pout on his face. He knew the feeling that Briga was displaying, maybe a little too much. She still had a lot to learn though, he had to put her back in her place. He stared deeply in his slave’s eyes and softly said :

"Hmm…Well, that must be because I don’t covet what I already own."

[forgivenpunishment]

⩥ @orangetintedglasses || tripwire [plotted starter]

Sometimes, when Wolfwood closes his eyes, he's back in that place.

JuLai, but not the operating table—not anymore. Those nightmares are much rarer than the ones where he's suspended in mid-air, pinned to a sleek metal platform that looms over where Vash—

—No, not Vash. It was Knives's will, Knives torturing him, Knives controlling Vash's every move, every decision...

...Where that thing wearing Vash's skin would rest occasionally. It didn't need to rest, but it'd spend time with him by gazing upon Wolfwood as though he were a work of art. It'd marvel at how the undertaker's wounds would close around kingpins that it personally pushed through precisely chosen locations on his body. They were symmetrical, clinical, and impossible to break through.

It was exactly what he deserved for leading Vash to JuLai in the first place.

Day after day, he'd spend sleepless hours with his eyes forced open due to pain; the needles would provide him with the bare nutrients required to survive, along with doses of serum to keep the wounds shut. If Wolfwood deigned to struggle, it would only make the pain worse.

His reward at the end of each day was always a genuine smile from Vash.

Not Vash.

He'd managed to escape once by feigning death—it was risky, but the trick caused doctors—the Doctor included—to take him down and run tests on him before attempting to resuscitate him. The Doctor found himself at the edge of a blade for scolding his boss for keeping his prized subject at death's door, which quickly shut him up.

By the time he returned, Wolfwood's departure was marked by dead assistants—one of their coats missing.

Wolfwood met up with Meryl after that, who was assisting the survivors of the twins' wrath. He never did give her details.

Not that it mattered, since Vash was hot on his tail as soon as he noticed his darling moth was missing.

'Why risk your life out here, when it's safe at my side?'

'Don't you know it hurts to watch something so precious to me throw itself into danger?'

'Let me protect you, darling moth; you don't belong with humanity. You never have.'

———

The final words caress his mind with barbed wire before he awakens with a jolt. Wolfwood's heart pounds too fast for its cage, wishing once more to be let out. It's still dark, the room is too hot, the blankets are too suffocating—but he has chills as he sweats with wide eyes and a panting mouth. Vash, somehow, sleeps beside him, curling up against the wadded up blankets that Wolfwood shoved aside and making a noise of protest.

On nights like these, he wishes he could see the moment for what it is—a nightmare about some place he'll never return to—but generally the emotionally dense undertaker must get up out of bed, take a shower, and smoke.

Smoke... a lot. Until the suns rise. He's starting to believe that the smell and the hiss of his breath keep Vash asleep, like a soothing lullaby. Thankfully, this gives him plenty of time to shove that nightmare back where it belongs—in a trunk with a broken lock, hidden in an attic that someone hid by covering the entrance.

He ignores how the trunk seems to open more often lately.

Vash always asks him about what's wrong, and Wolfwood never gives him an answer other than, 'Just a nightmare, don't worry about it.' While it was a point of tension once, now it's just more of an annoyance than anything else for the both of them. The silver-eyed man's capacity for affection breaks on these days, often not wanting to be touched until finally, finally he sidles up to Vash at night and offers an apology. It seems to hurt them both, but there's a mutual understanding. Sort of. Sometimes he makes it up to Vash in bed, just to make him forget anything was wrong in the first place. It only sort of works.

This time however, the spell of the nightmare has lasted two full days. Wolfwood didn't sleep last night and added whiskey to his medical routine at four in the morning. Just... something to take his mind off of it. Just for a little while.

(It doesn't work, it only makes the memories louder.)

Though he goes through what would be enough to get a normal man plastered, it barely affects him as they drive onward to the next town without power. They're finally almost done with fixing all of these damn power grids that got shorted out from whatever took out Vash for almost a whole day. He just needs to get through these last few towns, and then maybe he can muster up the strength to tell Vash just how much he needs him—how much he cares, how strongly he loves him... something like that. It sounds nice.

(It doesn't soothe him like it should, though. The thought stresses him out even more, worrying that he can't love him when these bouts of tension haunt him like a swarm of earthquakes.)

He hasn't said a damn thing all day by the time they reach the next town—some backwater place named New Plymouth. Wolfwood parks Angelina someplace he deems secure, then tucks his goggles into a sidepack and autonomously circles around the vehicle to help Vash out of the sidecar. His eyes almost look devoid of life as he holds out a hand, staring over Vash's shoulder instead of making eye contact.

It's going to be a long day. Again.

[dr-chosenberg]

On my recent rewatch I felt the inspiration to design my headcanon for what Dr. Potterswheel's late wife might have looked like! Born Marie-Thérèse Praxineaux, her maiden name is based off of the Praxinoscope which is an animation device that came after the Zoetrope

Voice: https://youtu.be/2MaiJtecGmI?si=H6h5nLCUQsk9039K

CW: Dr Potterswheel's gore fetish, infection, death, miscarriage,

She moved to Moralton because you know The War and was shunned because of the rumors around town of her being a foreigner and France being a place of sin and lust. The librarian there gave her a job because she assumed no moralton man was going to be interested because of her reputation and took pity on her. Oh another reason the moraltons hate her lol, France is a majority Catholic country. Marie was part of the minority there that was Protestant but obviously the Moraltons didn’t care.

In comes a young Quentin.

He was studying for his medical school exams and often came in, staying the often inaccurate statesotan medical books for long hours. Sometimes when it was just the librarian and the two of them she would avoid him at all costs, not wanting to further her reputation.

He was aware of Marie-Therese, she was pretty and always helpful when she knew where to find a book he needed.

One day some kind of accident happened, not serious enough that she was in any real danger but enough that she needed medical assistance. Maybe a bookcase fell on her and she needed some stitches?

M-T was not one to speak up or make a fuss, but Quentin had a handsome deep voice and spoke with so much authority. He did his best to reassure her she would be ok and in a sense it coaxed the words right out of her. She had a way with words and could describe her pain like she was painting a picture, I like to think she enjoyed writing poetry, but you and I both know that’s not why it attracted him so intensely.

Despite the town doing its best to shun her she still attended church every Sunday and every Sunday Quentin would inquire about her wounds progress and ask to see it. One day a few weeks after her wound had healed they were conversing and Marie-Therese joked sadly that they could no longer be seen together as she didn’t have the excuse of being his practice patent.

At which point Quentin proposed. It wasn’t the most romantic affair to most, he said it matter of factly as he does most things. But that was ok, she would have the bedside manner and the way with words for them both.

Their relationship itself….well they had a foot up on many Moralton couples as they were truly in love. Many would consider Marie a fool as he was not the most romantic man. He was soft when she would fuss or worry (think about the way he spoke to Bloberta when she said her wound was bad) but when she really took issue with something he wouldn’t get more emotional, but even less, she found herself at times disheartened at the way he would dismiss her worries and talk down to her. She insisted to her newfound housewife friends that they just didn’t know him like she did, which was *sort* of true.

She honestly didn’t mind his “preferences” she assumed that taking charge was what a husband was meant to do in the bedroom, and that a “little” pain was just what a good Christian woman had to put up with after a life of chastity. When she had other wounds and he would take a bit too much of a vested interest she thought it was just his way of showing he cared. She never understood why he would discourage what he called “unnecessary” medications like, allergy meds, antacids, etc. always feeding her a line about the lord helping those who help themselves.

She tried her best to become more like the other wives of Moralton, she even took up sewing and embroidery. She made a comment once about how she was just like him, sewing up patients. He stroked her head and smiled, “How cute. You’d worry yourself sick if anything important was counting on your little stick ‘n’ pokes.”

Things got better when they got the wonderful news that Marie was pregnant. Her pregnancy was very rough, unlike anything Quentin had ever seen. He would comfort her by telling her of the many strong mothers he had seen in his career so far, if she couldn’t handle the pain of the pregnancy how could she handle the birth? The smile he would give her when she would nod in agreement was all the soothing she needed.

She was nearing the worst of it when she used the last of her energy to embroider a handkerchief for him, with his initials on it. Sometimes he would use it to clean her face when she would cough up one thing or another, or wet it to soothe her forehead.

Of course she wasn’t *just* facing pregnancy complications, she had caught a whole other sickness entirely, an infection. The days went by and Quentin got more desperate. Out of love for his wife? Out of a need to prove his abilities as a doctor? Who knows. He would never admit fault for anything let alone a patient, he sure as hell wasn’t going to take the blame for losing the woman he cares for. He tried everything, except actual medical science.

Finally he relented and began to give her painkillers. I believe it would be more in character if he didn’t tell her. Visitors from the town and a young Reverend Putty suspected it but she was none the wiser. She used to say things like, “Ma moitié having you pray for me and care for me is so healing, I am feeling better already.”

When she could form full coherent sentences.

With the way medicine was at the time while some painkillers are safe for pregnant women these probably weren’t, but they weren’t what took her. It got to the point that she wasn’t herself anymore but spent her days lying in bed in a haze, barely awake.

She swore sometimes that she could see Quentin there at her side, watching her, even feel him stroke her hand. But when she got her eyes to focus he wasn’t there anymore.

One day Quentin went in for a morning check up and the sheets were covered in blood. He had lost his wife and his child in one fell swoop.

It was a horrific scene but she looked so serene. So comfortable. She was clutching his handkerchief.

Notes:

This takes place with the assumption that Moralton is not modern day, I headcanon Quentin to be around 50

This was fun, nothing is set in stone truly as this was part of a stream of consciousness conversation with my friend @cheonsa-n I’m fully up for criticism if anything seems out of character. I’m also happy to explain the reasoning behind certain choices!

I don’t personally buy the idea that Quentin killed his wife on purpose, a man with Quentin’s disposition who actually committed a murder wouldn’t resort to almost stabbing the man who accused him of it, that’s how you get people to think you killed your wife on purpose lol.

I hope you guys enjoy what I came up with. Their relationship isn’t fully this way as he was attracted to her and subjected her to some of the same treatment we saw Bloberta go through, but their marriage in my mind had a bit of a Madonna-whore complex flavoring to it. I also believe this is somewhat of an origin story for his habit of treating everything with almost exclusively painkillers. Marie-Thérèse couldn’t be saved but she was, as Quentin puts it, very comfortable when she passed.

In the AU where she lives she still suffered a miscarriage and Clay calls Dr. Potterswheel a babykiller instead. She is still as sweet as the day she and Quentin met but she isn’t particularly keen on giving Orel the time and attention he needs either, it’s too painful. When she does give him advice she tends to advise him to wait things out and not rock the boat. She tells him that good things come to those who wait.

[theevilmaninyourcomputer]

A soft critique of Luigi Mangione:

We have to keep in mind that this ties into a much larger conversation about the morality of gun violence.

 Been thinking about the weaponization of non-violent protest. We're taught that Gandhi, Mandela, MLK, etc. are the heroes, whereas people like Malcolm X are dangerous, insurgent threats to public safety. And the 'peaceful' revolutionaries DID enact change, but their ideologies are being manipulated. When we're told that the solution to systemic injustice is 'non-violent protest,' the outcome is complacency. Empty picket signs, and inaction.

But vigilante justice is really, really dangerous, and it's been popularized by this image of the 'gun slinger,' the lone rider who is subservient to no one, but whose moral compass is unfailingly and unequivocally correct. This is ESPECIALLY exacerbated by the whole, idk, FIREARM PROLIFERATION THING !!! We need legal safeguards, if we don't have legal safeguards, innocent people get hurt. Even though, in this case, everyone can generally agree that Brian Thompson 'deserved' what happened to him. For what that's worth. Thompson was a figurehead, and this assassination is HOPEFULLY the catalyst for something larger.

It's easy to praise Mangione for what he did because it was 'good', but then you have to consider where assassinations slot into the larger discussion of vigilante violence. It's messy. Think about ‘stand your ground’ laws, wherein a person can shoot someone based simply on the feeling that they are at risk even if walking away and avoiding the confrontation is a reasonable alternative. These laws effectively legalize lynchings. There was this one case, Ahmaud Arbery, who was a black jogger who was shot and killed by three men on conviction of having robbed a store. Obviously, that's fucking morally reprehensible. And it furthers my point. There isn't a lot separating Ahmaud's shooter from Mangione, legally. Just that we FEEL like one was deserved, while the other was unjust.

As a note, violence doesn't immediately cease to be vigilante violence when it's systemic. Take police brutality, for example. Cops kill on conviction, and exist as arbiters of the law. They are bound only to themselves, and so, they are unbound. They are the law, and so exist above it.

I brought this up to a friend, and they responded, "would you punish someone for killing Hitler?"

Can killing on conviction be righteous? Can violence be moral? Who are we to decide that Mangione is innocent?

School shooters decide who deserves to die. Mangione decided that Thompson deserved to die. Again, I'm not saying that Mangione was wrong, just that TikTokers flagrantly echoing 'free Mangione' is a little unsettling. I want people to understand the breadth of this situation, because non-violence CAN TURN INTO complacency, that's true. And sometimes, violence is absolutely necessary. But not in every circumstance.

I saw this comment under an Instagram post, and it really speaks for itself.

That's the problem. In this instance, I think it was really, really effective. I'm not anti violent protest. But, we're so detached from reality and chronically online we say things like "our generation is so unserious 🤣🤣🤣" and in doing so, we squash movements before they actually get off the ground.

Furthermore, the response to this reminds me a LOT of the Jeffery Dahmer fandom, the people who disregard the incredibly fucked up things he did because he was attractive. I'm not equating the two, but we need to have these conversations. It's dangerous if we don't. What if Luigi Mangione hadn't been a hot white man? What if he'd been black? What if he'd been middle eastern? Would the response be the same?

I'll spell this out - the answer is NO.

I'm SICK of performative TikTok liberalism. So help me God, we're not going to do performative activism. We're not going to write fanfiction about the shooter. We're not going to aestheticize this assassination to the point of ineffection. We're going to strike fucking terror into the hearts of the 1%. We're going to incite legitimate change. And we're not going to let this live and die when the current cycle of memes dwindles out.

I hope insurance CEOs everywhere are fearing for their wellbeing right now. God knows, so many Americans have been for so long. 

[notafiredemon]

Y'know, after reading the story again, I think a lot of the dislike Near Light gets as an event is predicated on it being the endpoint of the Nearl's and Kazmierz's story, which it doesn't really seem to be.

There are still a lot of threads hanging: the nature of the corrupted Robin Hood figure who runs the Armorless Union, the disappearance of Maria and Margaret's parents, not to mention the continued unsettled politicking between the big factions there after the major (heh) shakeup.

As for being a character assassination of Margaret, I also don't truly think that's the case. Like I said, there was just a huge shake up in power there at the top, and even though she is communicating, and sometimes cooperating with the powers that be, she's really doing it in a way that is more asserting and leveraging her individual power to fight for the rights of the infected. Like, her profile also states as much that she is NEVER making deals with any of the factions, she is simply asserting her (considerable) presence to make life better for the infected right now.

Likewise, this is clearly not a state that is going to hold forever: Rather than the gradual change from within that some suspect she is compromising for, it seems more likely, and in line with her established character, that she has some actionable goals she wants to accomplish before leaving. And we know she DOES intend to leave and join back with the Followers in Victoria. Remember, this is not an event she planned for, it's been a reaction to her sister being in danger from the system, and the immediate follow-up to that.

As for the other major sticking point, Margaret not actually being infected, Hypergryph had planted the seeds for that from the beginning: her medical information has always been classified, unusual for Rhodes Island, and we knew already that her being forced out of the country was predicated on her being infected.

Why didn't she tell anyone? Why was it hidden? In the eyes of the wider world she WAS infected, despite any protest she might make; the state had declared it so, and infection itself is not always immediately, physically obvious. Any protests she personally made would be met with suspicion and derision of one trying to claw their way back into society. Certainly attempting to say as much herself during the major would quickly lead to accusations of lying or jockeying for advantage by the state. No, the only way it would be believable for Margaret Nearl to not be infected would be by the very people who declared it was so to suddenly declare it not.

As to the more personal reasons for being called infected... the Followers at least, knew Margaret wasn't infected after her long travels with them. So why hide it at Rhodes Island, why not declare her health, her innocence? It's because truly, being "infected" isn't a matter of health, it's one of class, of social difference. Oripathy, certainly, is a painful and life-shortening disease, one that Margaret doesn't actually have. "Infection" is a social malady, a declaration by the powers that be that you do not matter, that you are lesser, different, inhuman, despite any protest you might make, despite how human you feel. And Margaret certainly has suffered that malady.

So when the KGCC declared, as soon as she won, that no, actually, she is not One of You, she is One of Us, she is human, she is not your champion, and when Margaret walked arm in arm with the Blood Knight to the hall of champions despite this, mutely declaring them both the victor, what she is doing, what the story is doing is putting the truth to the lie of this social malady. There IS no real difference between the infected and the uninfected, the story declared. Infection is a whim of power, meant to conquer, meant to divide.

Solidarity among the people is possible, even when ideals clash.

In short: Kazmierz attempted to assassinate Nearl with the truth of the lie they themselves made, but there's no reason for us to believe them