Romans & histoires Love By The Iron Fist

“Felix, you idiot.” When I woke up, my face was already streaked with tears. I had been holding onto Eugene’s hand so tightly that my nails had dug into his skin. “Sorry, I got drunk,” I muttered. Eugene was quiet for a while before he finally asked, “Who’s Felix?” I couldn’t remember the last time I had heard someone say his name. It was as if the world had chosen to forget him. “He was my love,” I replied softly.

"Yes, but you hate me, you all do." Ferris sighed, his body language shifting as he turned to face me. He reached out and grasped my arm, pulling me closer. Wrapping one leg over mine and the other against my back, he enveloped me in a gentle embrace. "Jambalaya," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. "We don't hate you, we can never hate you. We knew it was love and manipulation, and we understood, and we knew it would end eventually, and when that time came, we'll be there for you. We would accept you anytime."

Kiran inquired as he grabbed hold of Ironwood, the last one not yet sent flying. Ironwood, looking at his fist captured in Kiran's hand, felt like a child fighting an adult, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. "How is this possible?" he thought. Ironwood’s punch was powerful enough to deform steel and yet, Kiran was unscathed. "Is this your idea of not showing mercy?" Kiran's words were followed by the sound of cracking bones from his palm. Ironwood screamed in agony as he watched his fist deform and blood seep through Kiran's fingers. His fist was crushed, and his right hand was rendered useless.

LOVE IN THE CROSSFIRE Florence A.S Chapter 019: McCarthy v Rodrigo. Spencer was so shocked to find out that Bruno had been working with Mr Rodrigo feeding him information about his business and personal life. Spencer grabbed the gun and aimed at Bruno's head, Bruno begged for mercy and pleaded for his life shaking as the gun was facing in between his eyebrows, sweat dripping from his face, and a cool shiver down his spine. “what have I gotten myself into?” Bruno thought to himself.

“You lost her? My little investment, gone?” “We were taking her back, but some tourist… she interfered,” Sean stammered. “We’ll find her. We swear.” Anton didn’t wait for another word. He pulled the red-hot iron from the fire and stalked toward Sean. Without warning, he slammed it against Sean’s chest. Sean screamed, the searing pain tearing through his body as the iron branded his skin. Anton stood, his voice cold and final. “You have eight hours. Find her, or next time, it won’t be your chest.”

When people asked who she was, she only said, “Someone who listens.” And that was enough. --- The Man of Iron In a great city of glass and lightning, Liora met a man named Daren Voss. He was a scholar, head of a council devoted to progress — a man who believed in machines, not myths. He saw her standing in the square, barefoot and radiant, singing softly to a broken fountain. “Who are you?” he demanded. She smiled. “Someone trying to help it remember.” He frowned. “Water doesn’t remember.”

I take a breath, plant my feet down, and swing through an opening. She’s fast, but her feet drags, she lacks aim but has power, and she leaves her left side too fucking open. My fist connects to the flesh under her jaw with a sickening crack that seems to vibrate through the whole ring. Iron Fists’s head snaps back, her eyes roll inward, and she falls like a giant boulder. The silence is immediate and deafening. People leave their seats, and beyond the lights, I see the fat bastard’s face, white as a sheet.

At this man who had broken me and searched for me and built a plan at midnight and carried my son to bed and stood between us and a threat and learned the shape of our boy with anglerfish and bioluminescence and chess and a gift shop book. At this man who had said I would have chosen you and drive carefully and not never and I want to and now this, plain as something solid, I am in love with you. Seven years. Four hours on a train. A worn sofa and a promise. A boy in a good jumper. A last wall, gone. "I know," I said. He waited. "I am also," I said. "In love with you." I held his gaze. "I have been not being in love with you for approximately seventeen days and I have been extremely unsucces

I’ll deal with the rest. I set the phone down, poured myself another drink I had no intention of finishing, and sat alone in the dark of my office turning that word over in my head until it stopped meaning anything at all. Loose ends. Felix wasn’t a loose end. Felix was the whole reason any of this mattered in the first place. But I was starting to understand, sitting there with the ring light of my phone the only thing cutting through the dark, that a man could love someone with his entire chest and still be building, brick by careful brick, the exact kind of prison that love never

Felix of Ironfang was on the left flank with his shoulder torn open to the bone but still fighting. His left arm was not working properly. Hanging at an angle that meant something structural had given way inside it. He was using his right arm only and compensating with his body weight and he was still killing Ashmoor soldiers with focused rage. An Ashmoor soldier drove at his exposed left side. "Felix!" I shouted. He dropped instead of turning. Pure instinct. The soldier's strike went over him and Felix came up from below and drove the soldier back and the soldier was dead before he hit