#active assailant

[aanews69]

Immerse yourself in the heart of Kentucky's courthouse tragedy, a tale that seems ripped from a crime novel yet unfolds in the tight-knit community of Letche...

[rebuiltzine]

Swatting Hoax Disrupts Frederick Community, Prompts Heavy Police Response

FREDERICK, MD — A major police response in Frederick on Wednesday afternoon turned out to be a dangerous hoax, as local authorities confirmed that a swatting call falsely reported an active assailant in the area. At approximately 4:24 p.m. on May 28, the Frederick Police Department (FPD) responded to a call alleging a violent emergency. Officers rushed to the scene, prepared to confront what…

[eerielakeerie]

“cops don’t fight fair.”

at least they’re saying the quiet part out loud

[6ilent-9ufferer]

petition: They Zip-Tied a Woman and Forcibly Dragged Her From a Town Hall For Speaking Up

That woman did NOT deserve what they did to her. NO ONE deserves this for speaking out.

The local Sheriff, Bob Norris, was in attendance. He simply looked at her and asked: "Do you want me to pepper spray you?" He also refused to answer questions about who these unnamed male assailants were.

Free speech is in danger. EVERYONE'S rights are in danger.

We must demand justice. Sheriff Norris must be fired, and the men involved must be charged for their various crimes - including lack of identification and the assault and battery they committed against this woman. Sign the petition.

[nightingale-prompts]

Lay Me to Rest- DCxDP Prompt

Warning: Blood and gore

There has been a series of murders across the country. Each death was varied and self-inflicted. At first, they all seemed like suicide but each had a strange range of symptoms before death.

Sudden paranoia, incoherent mumbling, screaming or yelling, going in and out of their homes sporadically, random fixations, and finally self-harm.

The victims were teachers, parents, businessmen, truckers, and even a crime novelist. All unrelated and in different states.

Each victim didn't seem to have a connection until an investigation discovered that each one had been an active serial killer. The body counts ranged from as little as 5 to as much as 23. The killer was named the Serial Serial Killer which wasn't creative but it was catchy. Some called them the Angel of Vengeance but most thought it was cringy and overdramatic. Many people didn't want them to be caught but others hotly debated letting a killer dispense justice when their crusade could easily turn into them killing people for innocuous things.

The police were still questioning whether this killer even existed. One thing was clear, there was a trail and it led straight to Gotham. A goldmine for them. Naturally, Batman had gotten a hold on the case and began an investigation.

The biggest question was how the killer found their victims and how they knew that they were killers.

The answer was obvious. They didn't need to figure it out. They just needed to wait. Why just in the effort to investigate when a serial killer tries to convince you to leave with them? So bars are the obvious place. But that's shaky at best since there is a period of torment that takes place that allows the victims to return home. The killer doesn't care if the victims could call the police, perhaps because they know their victim won't.

Bruce started to build a profile. He saw a pattern here. Each of the victims had a preference for their victims as well. They targeted young people, mainly boys. Odds are the Serial Serial Killer matched that description or age range. So bars weren't the hunting ground. So parks were more likely to go unnoticed and boys tended to hang out there longer after dark.

The killer was more than likely a victim himself so he may have a few scars but probably not noticeable enough that his would-be assailants would be turned off. There is no ignoring the predatory nature of the victims. Each killed children for gratification in some form. It's not that the boy is attractive but he probably has traits that the victims found attractive in children. So babyfaced, short, native, and polite.

There was much else Bruce could get. There was nothing concrete and he still didn't understand the method that was used. So far this was guesswork.

It wasn't until a few weeks later while he tracking another killer that he found his answer.

Dr.Kinder a Biologist by day and a killer who experiments on his victims at night had picked up a promising new lab rat a week ago. He had intended to slowly dissect the boy. He had gotten so used to the screams he stopped using anesthetics besides he wanted to see how the fear response caused the organs to shift.

To his surprise the boy didn't fight, in fact he seemed to jump to the table and say he didn't need restraints. Disturbing. But he was restrained anyways.

As the doctor cut him open the boy didn't react, only humming to himself as he watched the doctor.

"What are you hoping to find?" He asked. "I'm getting bored and this bearly hurts."

The boy annoyingly never stopped talking and never missed a chance to ruin the moment. There were never any screams or cries but incessant talking.

Dr.Kinder found the boy disturbing so he simply took an axe and chopped the boy into pieces. Not once did he make a sound. The doctor thought it was over but the next day the boy was back. He sat on the autopsy table kicking his feet in nothing but his bare skin.

"What the hell are you?" The doctor gasped in horror.

"I'm bored. Play with me again." The boy purred.

Bile crawled up his throat as the doctor restained this...thing again.

This time the boy spoke differently.

"You cut me up last time. Did you do that to the last boy. After you...you know." A sick grin spread across his cheeks.

The doctor cut open his neck this time and let him bleed out.

Everyday he came back and every day the doctor killed him until the time between his death got shorter and shorter. The days began to blur and he had no idea how long he had been doing this. But that thing kept talkimg to him.

Dr.Kinder stared down at his desk at the papers trying to think of anything but-

"I wonder what people would think about what you've done. You're a disgusting and depraved man doctor. Look at what you've done to me." The sing-song voice of that demon called out.

He could feel those blood-soaked arms wrapped around his neck.

He flinch as he pushed the thing away.

"Oh, are you going to beat me or stab me this time? Ooo, or are you going to put me through the woodchipper again?" The demon asked as the doctor wrapped his hands around his throat.

He just kept squeezing until the boy went limp. It never ends. The blood never goes away. It covered every surface of the room. Dripping, conjugating, and spreading into every corner. Whenever he turned his head he could see body parts spread across the room in the pools of blood he could they the faces of the others that he had killed. Each face wretched in agony.

"You hold on better than the others. I've been eaten, torched, and disemboweled before but after coming back a few times they usually end it after a few words. But every time they don't feel guilt. They just don't want to face consequences." The boy said. "Do you even remember my name? The one I told you when you picked me up on the side of the road or was I just another body to use and discard? I used the name of your first victim. I hoped you'd notice."

The doctor knew he couldn't kill the boy but he could end himself. He had tried it once but just like the kid he came back without a scratch.

"Not yet. This is your life now. Come on, let's taste death together. Again and again and again and again and-" he repeated over and over.

This was hell. This was his hell.

But it came to an end eventually. Dr.Kinder put an end to himself in a gruesome display.

Batman had only caught the tail end as he faced a young boy standing an a pool of blood.

****

"Yeah, that thing is like a worse version of a revenant. Doesn't really have a name yet to describe it. It's undead for sure. You kill it and it just comes back." Constantine said "Why did you bring it here?"

After a long bath and some new clothes, the kid looked normal as played on a phone given to him.

"Look, I didn't know what else to do." Bruce explained.

"You leave it alone!" Constantine said exasperated "Look they are harmless to anything they don't bear a grudge towards. Think of it as a force of nature." Constantine said.

"I just want to know how to stop him." Bruce said.

"Well you can't kill it but you can't bring him back entirely. You can just soothe it 'till it stops targeting its victims. It must have died pretty gruesomely to go to these lengths. You need to find where it died and lay it to rest. Properly." Constantine sighed knowing that appeasing this soul would be more than just difficult.

"Danny, come on. Let's go." Bruced said putting a hand on the boy's head as Danny stood up to leave.

"Okay. Bye!" Danny waved to Constantine.

[greenglowinspooks]

Honestly I think the fics where Danny’s a Kryptonian have a lot of potential, so here’s me throwing my hat into the ring

Danny was born a human. He was born to two loving (though slightly neglectful) human parents in the painfully mundane state of Illinois.

Then, he died, but he didn’t do it right. He became a Halfa; too alive to be a ghost, but too dead to be human.

Then, through strange, uncontrollable circumstances, that changed as well.

He had been heavily injured, missing a large percentage of body mass, and was at the cusp of either dying fully or just fading from existence.

(Perhaps it was an ordinary fight. Perhaps it was the GiW, or his parents. Perhaps it was a simple accident. That didn’t matter now.)

He fled, phasing through the ground, trying to bury himself as deep as possible.

(Perhaps he didn’t want to be unmasked in death. Perhaps that was already too late, and he just wanted his body be able to rest in peace.)

Unfortunately for him, he was in Metropolis, and ended up in a secret genetics lab below the earth.

Danny detransformed, completely exhausted, falling onto a table covered in different labeled specimen containers. He closed his eyes, and prepared himself for what would happen next.

And… nothing.

Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Danny sat up, brushing off the foul-smelling liquid from the specimen jars, petri dishes, and assorted vials.

He felt…fine.

No, better than fine. He felt normal. Healthy.

He felt like he wasn’t missing most of his internal organs anymore.

Danny looked down at his stomach, and saw that the wounds that were killing him had completely disappeared.

(The blood blossoms, if there had been any, were still there, but they no longer hurt. At most, they itched a little, or maybe just tickled a bit.)

He wanted to question what in the hell had just happened, but he didn’t want to jinx it. He just quietly changed back to Phantom, going invisible and phasing out of wherever he had found himself in, ignoring the loud alarm system that had begun to blare when he broke the samples on that table.

Life mostly went back to normal after that.

If, like Danny, you ignored all the physical changes in a valiant effort to remain in denial that something was horribly wrong.

His skin was tougher, now; he didn’t get scrapes or cuts, even when he accidentally fumbled a knife while trying to cook. His ghost form was stronger, too; he was barely knocked down by his old rogues anymore.

He could fly, even in his human form. Though, admittedly, the flight was much different. It was like using a muscle he hadn’t known existed beforehand. He didn’t just ignore gravity or wind resistance, though he felt more graceful in the air now than he ever did as Phantom.

There were more powers popping up, lasers and cold breath, x-ray vision and super strength. His lungs and heart were larger, and he could handle temperatures much easier. He didn’t have to transform to handle the pressure and cold of space anymore.

His reaction time had improved, becoming much faster than ever before. His senses were much stronger, and he had even seemed to gain a sense of electric fields, like a shark.

The only thing that separated him from a Kryptonian was that he had developed electrokenesis, which he had never seen any of them use on TV.

So, surely, he was fine.

Everything was normal, he hadn’t been transformed by alien DNA in a sketchy lab, he had just had a really weird and specific metagene activation.

—

Clark Kent, Kal-El, was panicking.

It had been around a month and a half since a particularly brutal fight between Intergang and an unknown assailant, and it seemed that Intergang was determined to draw out whoever had scorned them.

Their method of doing this, of course, was trying to level the city.

He and Jon were doing their best to stop them, but with both Kon and Zor-El away on their own business, it was difficult.

And by difficult, he meant almost impossible.

Slowly but surely he was driving them back, but not without massive amounts of damage to the city, especially with only Jon on dedicated rescuing duty.

He was distracted, trying to draw a group away from a heavily occupied building, when a projectile hit him in the back of the head.

The world spun for a moment, and then it went black.

(It was, probably, then, some sort of Kryptonite-metal alloy. Intergang at its finest.)

He woke slowly, forcing his eyes open. He felt like he had been hit by an eighteen wheeler.

Clark jolted up, preparing for the worst.

To his shock, though, the city hadn’t been reduced to rubble while he was out.

Jon seemed to still be working on evacuation, either unaware that he had went down or forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Then, a lightning-quick figure flew into view, and Clark’s mind went blank.

He thought, for a moment, that Kara was back. But, no, that wasn’t right, she was supposed to be off-planet for another week or so.

Besides, this new figure didn’t move like her. They were lankier and more slender, and they flew quicker than any member of his family.

Their powerset was different, too; they focused mainly on using blasts of ice and electricity to drive enemies back, only occasionally using their strength or lasers—ones which came from their hands instead of their eyes.

He had woken up at the tail end of the fight, it seemed. The remaining Intergang members were fleeing from the mysterious metahuman.

They stayed in the sky, motionless, watching them leave.

As if they could sense him staring, they turned.

They were small, still clearly young. Probably around Kon’s age, or maybe even younger.

Instead of the colorful clothing he had inherited from his family, the stranger wore black and white clothes which looked similar to a hazmat suit, their face covered by some sort of gas mask.

Interestingly enough, instead of the S-shape crest that he was so used to seeing, the stranger wore the letter D on his chest.

Kal’s heart sped up.

From up in the sky, he heard the stranger’s heart, on the left instead of the right, speed up in return.

But before he could say a word to them, they sped off, disappearing into the deep blue sky.

[beabadoobiefanatic]

I Want You (She's So Heavy) ✥ Remmick

Chapter 1 ✥The (Un)Welcome Mat

Other Chapters: ✥1 ✥2

-ˋˏ ༻🎕°⋆༺. ✥ .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-chapter summary: In which Remmick lays claim to his new fiancée and sheds light on his cruel intentions. .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ- chapter warnings: graphic depictions of gore and violence, male-on-female violence, female-on-male violence, mentions/promises of child murder

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ- story summary: The Smiths have long borne sons and daughters of hunters for centuries, tracking and eradicating the cryptids that ran through the Mississippi Delta like blood roots; thus, it would only be assumed that [F/N] Smith should take the legacy on as well. However, her passion for music-- her gift and inclination of it ran within her, deeper than any blood and any 'fate', and so she took her bearings up to Chicago, indulging in the sin of the nightlife. But no matter how far she ran, Remmick couldn't get her songs out of her head-- he couldn't ignore a chance to once again be reunited with his own people, a chance only granted through the turning of a Smith girl. And thus, he sought out to take [F/N] as his little pawn, his little tool, and his little wife.

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ- major warning(s): explicit sexual content, mention of the Klu-Klux-Klan, graphic depictions of violence and gore, blood, blood consumption, minor religious imagery and symbolism, gaslighting, manipulation, rough sex, verbal degradation, very minor amounts of period-typical racism

.༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-tags: black! female! reader, F/M pairing, usage of [F/N] [L/N] instead of Y/N, crossposted on Archive of Our Own (AO3), erotica, vampires, southern gothic, angst, comedy, slow burn, forced marriage, strangers to lovers, roommates, (eventual) mutual pining, enemies to lovers, love/hate, awkward tension, Remmick is a cannon mix of offputting and charismatic, miscommunication, pre-canon, alternate universe - canon divergence, hurt/comfort, mental instability, vampire slayers, soul bond, sexual fantasy, rough sex, hate sex, cunnilinguis, irish language

chapter wc: 2,720

fic wc: 2,720

chapters: 1/ ?

chapter publish date: 5/7/25 story last updated: 5/7/25

-ˋˏ ༻🎕°⋆༺. ✥ .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-

That mojo bag wasn’t worth a goddamn thing; her mother’s roots were so thin you’d mistake them as hair. 

She panted heavily, rolling onto her side as she spat out a mouthful of blood. Her vision was blurred, her ears ringing heavily. No matter how much she wanted to convince herself that her weakness simply came from a lack of willpower, the unbearable tearing feelings of every little muscle in her chest said otherwise. It throbbed and amplified as she attempted to army-crawl away, greedy for air that only stung as it flooded her now sore lungs. Even her coughs felt like an attack, her whole body wincing and convulsing. 

Still, she’d born no tears. Claw marks, kicks, and punches, sure– but no tears.

And like a man who’d just finished having her fill, she too found her limit when her body entirely gave away and went limp beneath her, her cheeks smooshing against her apartment’s living room carpet, her breaths slow and ragged as her head thudded and pounded. 

Just as she’d found a moment of peace or perhaps a small sanctuary amidst chaos, her assailant came sauntering up, stepping over her with his feet planted on either side beside her hips. He came down and flipped her around with such effortlessnes that she almost felt silly for trying him in the first place. She backed up a bit with a great deal of pain, her lips and nose dribbling with blood. And stuck to her chest was a little baggie soaked in blood, unscathed, unlike the one it had been meant to protect.

He’d not gone unscathed. Deep, skin-severing gashes that were just beginning to heal littered his face, his neck split open and actively dribbling liquid that pitter-pattered down at his feet, wetting his good shoes. His left eye was nothing but a gaping hole that let you peek into the frayed, wet flesh of his socket. Despite what looked like man-killing injuries, he was no man, and thus he stood atop her with a smile. Not of perversion and not of amusement– fuck no, she’d easily proven herself formidable and for that she had his respect. So he smiled out of triumph, pride, in a sort of ‘I finally got you without outright killing you’ way. 

He looked to his left and down slowly, spitting a ball of pure blood as he cleaned the remnants off his lips with the back of his hand. He cleared his throat real hard.

“You yieldin’?”

She looked up at him in a hateful silence. She couldn’t properly speak until she’d swallowed the mouthful of her own blood, which ached her throat even further. Her eye had even twitched a little as she winced, but she spat back;

“What it look like?”

The calmness of her voice did not reflect the anger that bubbled to the surface. The giddy white man chuckled at her dry humor, though she was convinced he drew more humor from her misery and the pride he took in the success of his attack. 

He smiled and backed away from her, but not without a quick whim for pettiness. He swung his foot into her knee and watched her lurch forward, immediately regretting the motion due to how the rest of her body tensed. Once he heard what he called a ‘satisfactory’ noise, he nodded to himself with his own approval. He looked down at her and spoke with mock pity. 

“Ah, shit. Well, see– now would be the time to apologize t’ya. As a feminist myself, I don’t particularly believe in pullin’ punches– nor banjos– on perfectly capable women. ‘Specially you. I swear, I tried to take it easy on ya’--”

“Easy on me?” She repeated, scoffing as she looked to her right. The half-split remnants of the banjo lay there as a reminder of what had caused her injury, and it only made her boil more. 

“I know some grown ass men who can't even take a banjo to the head that fuckin’ hard, let alone a young lady” she spat mildly, touching the area of impact with her fingertips, bringing them back and inspecting the blood.

He put his hands up in defense, nodding as he accepted her criticism. He enjoyed his banter with the girl, and so he saw no reason to scare the attitude out of her. Not yet, at least; that always came naturally.

“I promise fo’ God that I did. However, I must admit, I got cocky n’ figured you forgot all that your daddy taught ya when ya moved out here so, I truly didn’t expect sucha fight. Perhaps I panicked a lil’-- overreacted?” 

“What,” she mocked, because mockery was all she’d had at the moment, “you was bein’ cautious? Thought I was hidin’ some kinda strength from ya til’ the last minute?”

“Mmmmaybe,” he chided, “n’ I’d expect you of all people t’know a thing ‘er two ‘bout caution, even though you left a welcome mat outside that there door. I mean hell,” he waved his finger around and gestured to everything– “house smelled like a muhfuckin’ field of garlic ‘fore I came up in here; and yet, you ignored the most important rule: makin’ sure I wasn’t invited in, in any way, shape, or form.”

He thought and stopped himself after a moment of introspection, making a funny face before he looked on apologetically. 

“Huh. Field, that’s a bit offensive, given your people’s history with the word… my apologies, I’ve been so rude, ain’t I? I do hope you know that despite this lil’ encounter, I do in fact happen to be a sympathizer to the struggle of colored folks– ‘specially black folk.” 

“Uh-huh… you a funny motherfucker, aintcha? You must fancy yourself a comedian?”

He thought with a fake and exaggerated ponder, shrugging as he scrunched his face. He broke a smile– 

“Lil’ bit, yeah. I’m glad you agree!” 

His voice was cocky with a deep, southern draw. It had a goofiness that [F/N] recognized in white folks from back home in the Mississippi Delta, except his had a bit of charm to it. 

She rolled off her back and onto her side, lifting herself off the floor to sit up a bit. The taste of copper was subtle in her mouth, but her voice worked just fine. She matched his southern drawl with her own, though her voice was a lot more proper, even if she was fuming. She managed to breathe with more regulation, her shirt clawed halfway to death. She could see a grimace in his eyes as he observed his damage, and although he’d been prideful of himself earlier. he rethought the amount of force he’d used. Now that the thrill of the conquer was over and he’d managed to win their little cat fight, he cursed himself for that fact. 

“Hope you know I coulda ended this a lot earlier,” he said, pacing around her tauntingly— observantly. “Coulda knocked y’out and bit ya, turned ya n’ taken the gift for myself. But nooo, I decided to be civil for once n come to you with a fair offer. I decided to be civil again by not snappin’ you in half like a fuckin’ twig n’ instead, gave you a chance to fight. N’ now, look at how you’ve treated me! N’ these is my good clothes, shit.” 

Her jaw went slack with enraged apallment, pointing her finger at him–

“You came up in my house talkin’ bout marriage– marriage! Holy matrimony with a goddamn demon, don’t that sound a lil’ crazy?! And– I barely even know you! What, cause you left a few gifts on my window when I was younger, I’m ‘posed to shack up with you?” 

The worst of her fate was all out in the open, and that didn’t make her any less horrified. She’d always assumed her family’s culture of superstition was based on nonsensical fairy tales, but because they’d been so scared of sending her off to the big city on her own, she’d taken that bit of culture with her and done everything they’d asked. And although she found the whole thing ridiculous, she too found fear in running away from home, and so she’d easily taken another step to ensure her safety, even if it was from something fake.

Now, that “fake” danger stood before her, clasped in blood and unaffected by all her precautions. She felt scammed, but most importantly, she’d felt scared. 

And now it only worsened; there was more to her fate than a bite. There was another stipulation he had more plans for her, which she couldn’t help but fear were worse than something as simple and (un)natural as feeding. It was a matter of being bound to him, for reasons she couldn’t place. He’d already told her he wanted her gift, but there was no logical explanation in his plight for her hand in marriage. 

He was awfully vague about his motivations, too. He was so nonchalant about the whole ordeal, likely because he knew he held all the power, and to fuss or try to explain himself was simply an unnecessary exhaustion of energy. He was going to marry her, he was going to turn her, and he was going to use her gift for himself. And what could she do? She’d already expelled her arsenal. 

“Well, you could say no,” he reasoned, “but then I’d just bite you here n’ now, and let your family find you and kill ya.”

“They wouldn’t,” she retorted quickly. Too quickly– it made Remmick smirk knowingly.

“Please, you didn’t even believe that one bit. They’d think it a mercy to just kill you rather than let you live as one of my kind. Gon’ tell me otherwise.”

She didn’t even have to think to know he was right, and bitterly she pursed her bloodied lips into a fine line, the blood from her nose dribbling off them and down her chin. She wiped her face with the back of her hand as a bitter silence ensued between the two of them– and when she didn’t respond, the man smiled with satisfaction; a knowing, cocky satisfaction.

“Smart girl. Except, you seem confused about my intentions. Allow me to clarify:”

He looked her up and down indifferently, almost analyzing her, before he spoke up.

“‘S deeper than flesh,” he said, plainly. “I did not go through the trouble that I did to find you just for pussy nor blood, ‘scuse my vulgarity. However, them is commodities I can get anywhere. But you, that gift– that voice?” he whistled. “I mean bea-utiful, truly; can’t find your songs anywhere else– your gift. N’ so, let me tell you how this is gon’ work–”

He knelt to her eye level, getting in close:

“You’re gon pack whatever you may need, n’ leave all the hoodoo-voodoo shit in here; you can gon’ head n’ keep that lil bag, though. Then, you’re gon’ climb in the car, and we’re gon’ pay your folks a lil’ visit.”

At the mention of Remmick coming anywhere near her family, her eyes had shot open. He clocked the fear upon her face and instantly shushed her, watching her face freeze in worry. He paused and almost laughed at how surprised she’d gotten.

“We’re not killin’ em– shit, calm down a lil’! They’re too well-versed for me to not feel a lil’ worried about takin’ em’ on. So, instead, we’re just gon show ‘em you’re in good hands; show em’,” he said, pulling something out of his pocket. When the light hit it just right, a little thin, gold band reflected, as he polished it with his shirt despite the blood. He took her shock-paralyzed hand and awkwardly put the ring on her, feeling reaffirmed in his decisions when he’d seen just how well the damn thing had fit. 

“Show em’ you’re engaged, so you won’t be comin’ round no more, so they can’t come lookin’ for ya when I turn ya, n’ they won’t get suspicious of me. N’ if you give em’ any reason to think the situation is anything but that…” he sighed, “then I’ll kill the youngin’s. Obviously, I know my chances of tusslin’ your whole goddamn family n’ winnin’ are awful slim but, the kids? They can’t defend themselves–”

[F/N] felt a brief second wind at that, the very thought of him even touching her younger siblings (when in fact, he could very easily kill them; they were all but 4, 8, and 12) put such a violent amount of fear and worry into her that hysterics had begun to claw at her. 

“Don’t you fucking dare–!”

“-- Then don’t put me in that position,” he interjected, sternly this time. “Neither of us want it to come to that, so let's avoid that situation, hm? You hear me on that?”

She ignored him entirely; “You trifling piece of no-good horseshit–”

“Are we clear?” 

He came again, more sternly this time as he locked his simmering-red eyes on her, scanning her face for any indication of understanding and thus, submission. He didn’t let up while he watched her chew her lip, and while he watched her eyes gloss over with frustrated tears despite her hardened, angry expression. 

And after a few seconds, without ever looking at him, she nodded slowly. The lump in her throat burned so much that she could barely muster the words, nodding half-heartedly.

“Fine.”

He cupped his ear in her direction. “Might be old but I ain’t hard of hearin’: I didn’t quite catch that?”

Smug motherfucker. [F/N] repressed the flurry of curses, tears, and insults that had gurgled and cooked in her chest, clawing up to her throat in an attempt to get out and attack the vampire. But, she loudly swallowed it down, her voice cracking a bit as she fought to be louder this time despite her restraint. She had to be smart; this wasn’t a personal matter anymore, and she had to be considerate with her words. Still, she couldn’t extinguish her anger entirely.

 

“I said fine. Fine, alright? Fuckin’ fine. The hell else am I ‘sposed to say, no? I don’t got no other options, do I?”

He shrugged, “Coulda’ left em’ for dead; not everybody’s fond of their kinfolk. Just happens to be my luck that you are.” 

She mulled over the gravity of her situation with bitter resentment.

 

She couldn’t stomach the thought, and it had all felt so fictional. For him to break into her little apartment above the jazz bar she’d worked at these past few years and immediately proclaim a wife for himself simply because she’d lost a fight. She bit the inside of her cheek and wondered, ‘Had I fought harder, would I even have to worry about this?’. What would it have taken to keep her out of this situation between a rock and a hard place? 

The restraints of her situation were not physical. She was not bound by the wrists with rope or rags, and she wasn’t paralyzed either. However, she sat before a man whose maw was soaked in nearly-fresh blood, his teeth razor sharp and his eyes bearing the red gleam of hot, simmering coals. She couldn’t overcome the lump of cowardice in her throat that would bubble to the surface if she confronted the situation for what it was– confront it as an extension of her failure to kill him for the second time. 

But her fate was so obvious; she didn’t even have to say it, and so she didn’t have to believe it either: it simply was. 

He could see the shift in her expression and nodded, unveiling those awful, jagged fangs. And although he would’ve appreciated a sob or a cry of terror, the priceless expression on her face was enough. He reveled in her horror-stricken silence. With a sly, smug eye, he reveled in her recognition of her hopelessness. His chest only brightened as he watched her painfully stumble up onto her haunches and lift herself off the ground, moving limply like a corpse. 

She turned towards her bedroom, almost swaying.

“I’ll do it, all of it– just.. I’ll..” She swallowed hard.

A morbid acceptance burrowed itself in her mind and heart. 

“I’ll start packin’.”

-ˋˏ ༻🎕°⋆༺. ✥ .༻⋆°🎕༺ ˎˊ-

a/n 1: first of all, PLEASE leave comments, them shits were so funny and so supportive when I had posted my OG snippet; I love engagement like that so much! brings me back to the wattpad days of giggling at the comments more than giggling at the story. a/n 2: finna update this bitch w/ a double feature this week (its 5/7/25 rn, let's aim for at least one of those being published by 5/9/25-- you're allowed to *respectfully* ask about updates in case I do fall behind); first, with a contextualizing chapter and then a chapter that gets back in the main plotline.

[hijinxinprogress]

Does the JL know that YJ has just casually been beefing with darkseid??

imagine there’s a all hands on deck battle against darkseid and everyone is there but darkseid points out the nearest yj member (it’s probably Bart) like ‘you!!! You managed to escape with your lives last time but this meeting will be our last’ and for a split second Clark’s so fucking confused bc we haven’t fought in years wtf are you talking about then he hears ‘oh shit, look it’s Doug’ and everyone turns to see Bart nudging Kon going ‘he’s talking to you…damn he must still be mad about the coal’ and kons shoving him back bc ‘you were the one fucking around with his coal, you fucking walnut’ while Cassie’s being scruffed by wonder woman bc they’re trying to avoid being around when the jl finds out and tims having a very intense silent conversation lecture about why tf there’s at least half a dozen yj mission reports that mention an assailant named ‘Doug’ 

then Constantine shows up with Greta and everyone (including darkseid) starts yelling and if you don’t know her Greta seems like the one with the ownership of the braincell in yj (she is not but I guess she looks like it from a distance if you squint) which goes one of two ways:

retired-civilian!greta is giggling and waving excitedly to each member of yj along with hal before she practically tackles each of them in a tight hug while the titans, jl, & jl: dark lose their collective shit bc Constantine brought a tiny civilian dressed in pastel floral prints from head to toe into an active battle with fucking darkseid, a civilian who doesn’t register as a threat in any capacity until she makes eye contact with darkseid and gives him the most disgusted look imaginable “Doug… you look…well.” and then like three jl members have to stop her from leaping at darkseid while Hal’s like ‘no! No no, bad Greta! We don’t fight supervillains with…what is that?? I really fucking hope that’s not a gun…Is-is that fucking silly string?! Greta no we don’t silly string supervillains! We’ve talked about this!’

or

never-retired!/recently-out-of-retirement!greta who does the same thing but when she notices darkseid she rocks his shit in eight seconds flat and starts muttering about ‘that fucking Doug, always ruining my goddamn day’ and Hal is the first one to recover from the shock/confusion but only to tell Greta she’s grounded which gets another irritated ‘fucking doug!’ while Wally and Barry are losing it at Mach 6 while Bart tries to explain himself also at Mach 6, Cassie manages to catch Wally’s exasperated ‘where the fuck did you get Doug from?!’ And responds with ‘Apokolips’ in a tone that means they’re questioning his intelligence which leads to more screaming bc ‘so you knew who he was?? Why didn’t you come to us??’ and they all back up Kon when he claims they told Lex bc that means they have at least 3 hours of freedom while Lex is getting yelled at by the jl (and honestly every cape over 24)

[mimiii-3]

im OBSESSED with saboteur!! also off topic but pizza steve pfp a throwback i love it 😭. what if reader runs away and the gotham city sirens (ivy, harley, catwoman…) or like what if they get kidnapped and turned into a meta!! maybe like x-23 or jinx from arcane!! i also can’t help but imagine she’s like okay fuck yall and frees darling and they run off together LOL.

Yay, I’m glad! Yes, the pizza Steve pfp might be revealing my old age😬

…

Saboteur: Cherry Bomb

Yandere Platonic Batfam x GN Neglected Reader

Extra notes: criminal activity, jumping/physical assault, dangerous use of explosives, blood/gore/violence

…

What if batsib makes some new and dangerous friends…

🦇

You trudge through the trash-flooded streets of Gotham. Eyes peeled and waiting to find even a fraction of crime. You needed to vent. Every Gotham-mite knows the best way to relieve your pent up feelings is a good ol’ fashioned beat down.

Your aching heart befuddles your common sense and you drift through a series of dark alleyways. You fiddle with the combat knife tucked in the pocket of your hoodie.

A distant screech catches your attention. You jog towards the direction of the shrilly scream. As you round the corner, the violent scene unfolds before you.

A small woman, cowers against a dumpster as three armed men jeer and kick at her. Her tattered clothes are covered in blood, a result of their nail-covered baseball bats.

One of the men looks freakishly tall, maybe inhumanly tall. The other two have a strange green substance oozing out of their tear ducts.

You act on instinct and bark your demands, “Leave her alone you creeps!”

You pull out your knife and flick it dangerously between your fingers. A simple trick you had learned from the internet but it might be enough to scare the perps off.

Your trick and strong words fall flat and the three masked men turn to face you. The tallest one of the group grins. There’s something eerie about the way he looks at you. Like a supple piece of fruit, ripe for the taking.

You soon realize you’re in over your head as they stalk towards you. “Go, run!” You shout to the distressed woman. She takes one last look at you before high tailing it out of the alley.

You try to run back from the way you came but a pair of scarred arms warp around you. You kick at the assailant’s knee causing him to hiss angrily.

The tall one reaches out to grab your neck and you jam the knife into his wrist. The tall one seems unfazed by your attack and pulls the jagged knife from his arm. He turns the knife back on to you and drags it lightly across your jaw.

The knife pierces your skin and you can’t help but whimper in fear. Where was your family when you needed them?

Before you can fall into a pit of despair, a small red ball rolls past you and bumps against the dumpster. The two infected attackers lean closer to get a better look.

“Hey, I think it’s a-” The one man’s word are cut short as the blast from the small sphere tears his face off. The other man rolls in agony, having sustained horrific burns from the bomb.

While you survey the carnage before you, a ‘crack’ comes from the man behind you. The arms around your torso grow limp and his body slumps to the ground.

Too scared to turn around, you hold your breath and pray you aren’t next.

“Hiya, Suga’!”

…

Extra notes: yandere platonic Harley (and other birds of prey members) perhaps😌

Tag list:

@jjsmeowthie

[truerhearts]

Wait for me.

🗡 Astarion x female!reader.

🗡 3.5k words., 2nd person pov

🗡 tw: violence and lotsss of blood !

🗡 summary: Astarion and Tav (reader) face a brutal, overwhelming battle that pushes them to their limits. Tav gets badly injured and Astarion brings her to safety, after begging and pleading for him not to leave her, and Astarion begging and pleading for her to stay where she is, he hands her his crossbow and heads off to finish off their assailants. 🗡 masterlist | ao3

The ruined cathedral had long since been abandoned—forgotten by the gods and swallowed by ivy, the bones of it left to rot beneath the quiet weight of dusk. You sat in what appeared to be an altar room in the depths of the crypt (most likely used for cultish activities, given the strange inscriptions and dried blood on the walls) feet braced against crumbled stone, back pressed to a broken altar. A starved little candle burned beside you, its light too small to fill the vast, hollow dark. Your crossbow lay across your knees, loaded. Waiting.

You could still feel the press of his fingers when he handed it to you, his crossbow.

“You shoot at anyone who comes through that door who isn’t me.”

He’d said it like a vow. Like a line drawn in blood. His eyes didn’t flinch when he spoke it.

There’d been word of hunters in the next valley. Not bandits, not cultists—the other kind. The kind that watched from the shadows, learned your habits, waited until the light was gone and your guard was down. They weren’t hunting just any vampire. They were after Astarion.

He’d always known. Always shrugged it off with that infuriating, cheeky smirk, voice dripping with mock charm: “Everyone wants a taste of me. Can you blame them?”

But now, the joke had run dry. The hunters were here, and the danger eminent. The gravity of the situation weighed on him far heavier than any jest could mask.

Whether they’d been sent by Cazador or were in it for gold, it didn’t matter. They were trained, they were many, and they were close.

He hadn’t wanted to bring you, the others begged you not to go with him, but you’d insisted.

You should have listened.

They found you, in the end. The attack came swift and brutal. Though you’d both been bracing for it, it still caught you off guard. Sparks flew, arrows whistled through the air, fire cracked, and chaos raged across the nave. Stone chunks rained down from the ceiling, turning the floor into a treacherous obstacle. The stained-glass windows (whatever was left of them from neglect) shattered completely, their colors lost in shards scattered across the floor. Another piece of the chapel’s soul torn away.

In the midst of it all, a hex slammed into you, sending you crashing to the floor. Your head struck hard against the cold stone, the world spinning and your skull pounding. Gripping your staff, you forced yourself to your feet, desperate to fight back. You willed a fireball, but only a weak, flickering spark sputtered from your fingers, barely enough to light the darkness. The magic that once flowed strong now felt fragile, like it might vanish the moment you needed it most.

You clawed at the air, desperate to summon even a little thread of magic, but only weak sparks sputtered from your fingers—tiny sparkles that fell like dust, vanishing before they even reached the floor. Like matches struck again and again, flaring briefly before dying out. Panic clenched your chest as you pushed harder, reckless and unfocused, your desperation blinding you to everything around you.

Before you knew it, Astarion was at your side. Without waiting for a word or glance, he swept you up over his shoulder and carried you through the twisting, narrow corridors of the cathedral.

He didn’t stop until he reached the crypt below.

He told you to stay behind—to remain in the ritualistic altar room this while he flushed them out. You could see it in his posture, the strain in his jaw, things were dire. He was already coated in so much blood.

You reached for him on instinct, fingers curling around his arm in protest, trying to pull him back.

He spun, pressing you hard against the altar, his breath ragged, his voice low and trembling with fury. “You hit your head—you’re bleeding, your magic’s not working, and you just stood there?” His hands trembled where they gripped your arms. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was trying to cast Fireball,” you said, the words barely leaving your mouth before a wave of pain rolled through you.

It was only now, in this narrow sliver of stillness, that your body caught up with what it had endured. The heat of the fight had masked it, but now your skull throbbed with every heartbeat. You winced and reached back with trembling fingers, feeling through your hair until you found the tender spot. When your hand came away, it was slick with your blood.

His eyes darted to your fingers. You saw it in him then—a flash of panic, too fast for him to hide.

“Gods—” he hissed through clenched teeth, and then his voice dropped into something hoarse and gutted. “You almost got yourself killed.”

His fingers curled tighter around your arms. “I can’t lose you,” he breathed. “Not like this. Stay behind this door. You shoot anything that moves. That is all I’m asking. Please—just do it.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he stopped you, raising his voice “Do it! Do it for me, please.”

It wasn’t about fear. It was about you. About keeping you out of it.

He turned toward the door—toward the dark beyond it—without another word.

You couldn’t stand to see him go. A fracture began, which cracked further with every step he took closer to that damn door.

“Wait!” you cried, voice cracking under the weight of it, scrambling after him on unsteady legs.

You barely made it two steps before you fell—knees hitting the stone hard, palms skidding raw. The crossbow clattered from your hands. The sting was nothing next to the wave of desperation rising in your throat and how quickly the tears flooded your eyes.

“Astarion—please—” you choked out between sobs.

He stopped.

Spun around.

“No!” he roared, the sound tearing out of him like a beast forced into language. It wasn’t just fury—it was terror, panic, heartbreak all wrapped in one shattering note. “You are staying right here!”

The words ripped through the air, each one thundered and trembling, so full of dread you could feel it pulse in the marrow of your bones. It wasn’t a command—it was a plea flayed raw.

He stormed back toward you, fell to his knees before you, and grabbed your shoulders again with shaking hands. Not to hurt. Not to hold you down. To anchor you. Like he thought you might slip away entirely if he didn’t.

His eyes were wide and burning—red-rimmed, rimmed with exhaustion and blood and fear.

“You stay here,” he said again, softer now but no less sharp, his voice breaking on every other word. “You wait until I come back. You don’t run. You don’t follow. I’m begging you—” He choked on the last word, the breath stuttering out of him. “please, please, just stay right fucking here.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe.

You were still on your knees, shaking in his grasp. The cold from the stone floor had nothing on the cold seeping into your chest.

He was holding you like he couldn’t afford to let go. Like he’d already buried you in his mind a hundred times and couldn’t stand to do it again.

You searched his face—his beautiful, battered face. There was blood dried along his jaw, fresh cuts across his lip, a bruise darkening near his temple. Strands of his silver hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat and streaked with crimson, wild from the fight.

But worse than all of it was the look in his eyes.

You had never seen him like this. So undone. So exposed. Like all the elegance, all the wit, all the charm had been stripped away and left only this—a man kneeling in front of you, begging not to lose what little light he’d ever found.

Tears fell, hot and soundless, down your cheeks. “I can’t—” you whispered, barely forming the words. “I can’t let you go alone.”

He shushed you with a breath, forehead pressing to yours. His grip on your shoulders loosened just enough to become an embrace, his trembling arms circling you like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

“Please,” he whispered again, this time so quietly it could’ve shattered glass. “Please.”

You saw it—a single tear cutting through the grime and dried blood on his cheek. It slipped down in silence, unnoticed by him, but not by you.

And then—his voice, low and wrecked and barely holding together: “If anything happens to you, I won’t survive.”

That was the truth. Not a flourish. Not a dramatic line. Just the raw, bleeding fact of it. You saw it in his face. In the way he held you like a man already grieving. He leaned back just enough to see you again, thumbs brushing the corners of your eyes, messily wiping away tears he couldn’t stop from falling. But then, your brow twitched, and your breath hitched. The words knocked something loose in you. “Well what about me?” you snapped, louder than you meant to. Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. “I just have to sit here? Wait? Hope you come back? But what if you don’t? What if you never do? What the hells am I supposed to do then?”

The tears came hard and fast now, hot and overwhelming. “At least we could both go out together—”

“Stop. Stop!”

His voice cracked like a whip. He gritted his teeth, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying to hold something in.

“You’re making this harder,” he rasped. His eyes snapped open, burning. “Gods, you’re making this so much harder.” He swallowed hard, jaw trembling. “I need to try to get you out of here. Because one of us making it out is better than neither. I have to try. I have to.”

He swallowed hard, mustering the strength he needed. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Moments passed, he held his breath, then you finally nodded. It was subtle, you didn’t want to do it, but you had to let him go.

“Then let me do this. Just this. For you.”

He kissed your forehead. Soft, breathless, like a goodbye he refused to say aloud.

Then he stood, staggering once, one hand dragging against the stone for balance. He didn’t look back when he opened the door again. He couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough.

You didn’t call after him.

You just sat there, knees burning, crossbow limp beside you, and listened to the heavy thud of the door as it shut behind him.

And then—only silence.

Only your heartbeat in your painfully throbbing head.

Only the weight of his absence stretching out into the dark.

You’d imagined waiting would be the hard part.

It isn’t.

The hard part is not knowing.

A candle lay toppled over beside you. You turned it upright and sparked it with what little magic you had left.

You grip your crossbow right, finger resting firmly on the trigger. You close your eyes for a moment, and he’s already there behind your lids: his blood-wet grin, the satin curl of his voice, the way he touches you like he’s never known softness until now. That kiss by the dying fire. His mouth warm. Greedy. Reverent. The way he’d pulled away like he didn’t deserve it.

“You trusted me.” He’d whispered that night like it hurt him.

You did. You do.

So, you keep the crossbow ready, like he asked. You watch the door, wait, and stay put, like he asked.

You wait.

⸻

Time passes. How much time, you’re not sure. You’re on your second candle now, about halfway burned. When the first one started to gutter, you took the next one from the altar and carefully brought it to the dying light, making sure the flame didn’t go out. It was eerily quiet; it had been for ages.

Then, the sound comes softly—so soft you almost convince yourself it’s imagined.

A chill runs down your spine when you hear the careful pacing of footsteps drawing nearer, slowly but still coming.

The door opened slowly, the creak of the rusted metal hinges piercing through the silence of the altar room.

Your pulse slams into your throat as you raise the crossbow, hands trembling, it’s mechanisms clicking with every twitch you radiate. Breath caught in your lungs like it, too, has been hunted. Your finger hovers near the trigger. You’re already bracing for the worst.

A footstep inside.

And there he is.

Astarion.

You don’t lower the weapon. Not at first. It takes a full second—two, maybe more—before your body can even register relief. Because what stands there barely looks like him.

He’s drenched in blood.

Soaked through. His boots leave red-black prints across the stone floor, the leather of his armor slashed and torn. One padded sleeve is nearly gone, hanging in ragged strips from his shoulder, exposing a gash that splits the muscle down his upper arm like a raw seam. His jaw is tight, teeth clenched, a dark bruise blooming across one cheek where the skin has split clean through.

His daggers are still drawn, slick with dark, drying blood, ready in case anyone had made it to you.

His eyes glow a sharp ruby red, piercing through the darkness. Not with fury. Not exactly. With something worse. Something wretched and hollow and shaken. There’s violence in him still, but not the kind that reaches outward. This rage turns in on itself, coiling around his bones like a curse.

He doesn’t speak. He just stands there in the doorway, blood drying in streaks and spatters on his skin. His chest rises and falls in slow, deliberate rhythms, each breath heavy and ragged.

You lower the crossbow. Your arms feel numb.

A moment passes.

And then he’s moving, sheathing his daggers once he realizes that it’s all over, and you’re safe.

Not with urgency. Not with grace. He just walks—slow and heavy, every step laboured.

When he finally reaches you, he drops straight to his knees like the strings had been cut. The sound of it echoes. His body folds in on itself, shoulders hunched, blood still dripping from his fingers.

“I said I’d come back,” he breathes.

The voice that leaves him is not the one you know. It’s ruined and hoarse, cracking at the edges, like it’s been dragged across glass. You can hardly hear it.

Your breath catches. You shake as you look at him—really look at him.

He is a ruin of himself.

There’s a split down his bottom lip—wider now than before, stretched open by the way he’d been snarling, baring his teeth like an animal while he tore through them. A welt swells above one brow, angry and red. His hands are scraped and raw, knuckles split, nails caked with grime and something darker.

His eyes, gods his eyes, hollow, vacant, and exhausted beyond words.

His body trembles beneath the weight of whatever he’s endured—whatever he’s done—to make it back to you.

You set the crossbow aside and reach for him.

He doesn’t hesitate. He leans into you like a drowning man claws for air. His forehead presses against your stomach, blood and sweat soaking through your clothes. His arms slide around your waist and hold fast—desperate, unrelenting. Like he could crawl inside your skin and hide from everything. His breath hits your abdomen in short, unsteady bursts.

You thread your fingers into his hair. It’s sticky and damp, matted to his scalp in places, warm from blood and heat. Your other hand cups the back of his neck, cradling him gently.

The strength goes out of him all at once.

“What happened?” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away, he just holds you tighter.

The silence stretches. You can feel his pulse hammering beneath his jaw. His body trembles with it.

“They kept coming,” he murmurs. His voice is low. Muffled. Like it hurts to say the words. “I thought I’d finished them all. But more were waiting. Down the ridge, past the trees…”

You flinch.

He senses it and his grip on you tightens. “I took care of it,” he says quickly. “All of them. It’s done now. We’re safe. You’re safe.”

He breathes that last part like a prayer. Or a plea. But you can hear the break in his voice. The guilt threading through it. He’s shaking again, worse now.

You pull him closer.

He buries his face in you.

“They almost got down here.” he says. “I didn’t realize at first, I thought I was too late.” He chokes on the words. “I thought I’d find you dead.”

A pause.

You hold him tighter.

“I tore them apart,” he says.

Soft. Barely more than air.

“I didn’t even think. I just… I ripped them. I didn’t know I could. Not like that.”

His voice sounds… small. Frightened of himself.

And for a split second, you let your mind go there. Let it conjure the image: his daggers flashing red, bone splitting beneath his grip, that raw, unthinking violence in his eyes. Blood coating the walls. The floor. His hands… Maybe even his teeth.

You stop yourself.

You swallow the picture before it finishes forming, pushing it down where it can’t reach you. Your curiosity—foolish, unguarded—had gotten the better of you. But you don’t want to know.

Not really. Not like this.

So you hold him instead.

You press your lips to his temple. He lets out a shuddering breath at the contact, some invisible thread inside him fraying loose.

“You came back,” you whisper. “That’s all that matters.”

His body curls tighter. His hands fist in your tunic like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “I didn’t know if I’d make it,” he admits. “I left you with nothing but a crossbow and an old wooden door.”

“You left me with silence,” you murmur. “And I didn’t know what to do with it.”

Your voice is barely a breath, trembling at the edges. “I thought you were going to die. I thought I’d never see you again. And I didn’t know how to feel—I was angry, terrified, praying to gods I don’t even believe in…”

Your throat tightens. You swallow hard against the sting rising behind your eyes.

“I didn’t know if you were ever going to come back through that door,” you whisper.

His breath stutters, catches—and then the tremble overtakes him. His whole body curls inward, as if the weight of the moment, the truth of it, has unraveled something vital inside him. Slowly, he lifts his head.

You see him.

Not the vampire. Not the monster with red-stained teeth or the graceful predator shaped by centuries of survival.

Just the man. Broken and bare. Wide-eyed. Real in a way he’s never allowed himself to be.

“You make me feel…” His voice is raw, hushed like a confession whispered in the dark. His throat works around the words, but they don’t come easy. “Gods,” he breathes, “I don’t know what you make me feel. I’ve never… I’ve never had a word for it.”

Your fingers cradle his cheek, and he leans into it instinctively. Starved for touch. For safety. For you.

He presses a kiss to your wrist. Then to the soft bend of your elbow. Your shoulder.

Not demanding. Not hungry.

Grateful.

As if you’re the first thing he’s ever truly chosen for himself, and choice wasn’t ever something he was familiar with. As if your skin alone could cleanse him of what he's done, what he's endured.

“You trusted me,” he whispers, like he still doesn’t believe it. Like the words burn and soothe all at once. “You stayed.”

“I’ll always stay.”

His arms tighten around you, and for a moment, he just breathes. Against your ribs. Against your heart. As if syncing his rhythm to yours is the only way to hold himself together.

He shifts up and buries his face in your neck, lips brushing your skin as he exhales.

And you let him.

You hold him as if he might vanish otherwise, as if your arms alone could shield him from every sharp thing in the world. You kiss the top of his head, his temple, every bloodied inch you can reach. You anchor him in silence and warmth and the steady promise of your body.

Because now you know what he’s made of.

Not just moonlight and sharp teeth. Not just rage and ruin.

But ache.

Longing.

Hope.

And you will not let him go.

Not until the last candle gutters out.

Not until the final enemy falls.

Not until he believes—truly believes—that he is more than what his master made him.

And maybe… not even then. ---

🗡a/n wow you made it to the end! i hope you enjoyed it! the story idea came from this prompt list

🗡masterlist | ao3

[savanir]

continuation of this thank you again @mynameisjag for the inspiration, this prompt currently has me by the throat

Death of the Father, Death of the Son

The evening is dreary, rain pouring from the skies like tears. Typical Gotham fare to be honest.

This evening was the stage of the latest gala in the crime filled city, another fundraiser for something, or at least pretending to be. 

Vlad brought his dear Madeline as well as Jasmine with him, he was planning to do some light networking but this was also his latest attempt to cheer his sweetheart up. The new experience might distract her a bit.

She had not taken the news well… when the search party found Daniel’s clone corpse in the woods.

It’s been months since the funeral, but her spark for life still has not yet reignited.

And in those past few months Jasmine has seemingly taken over Daniel’s job and has become a most persistent thorn in Vlad’s side, absolutely refusing to let him make any sort of progress with Maddie.

But this evening wasn’t about any of that. There would be no bickering between Vlad and Jazz about him aiding her in finding her lost brother. Not like she even needed his help, she and Daniel’s old friends were probably doing the best job possible in finding the boy.

And it’s not like he could tell her he knew her brother was probably being kept by one of the world's greatest mercenaries. 

Revealing that would open a whole new can of worms he didn’t want to explain.

Maddie was mostly distracted at the gala, staring morosely at Wayne and his brood.

The sight fills Vlad with an insidious sort of anger, the kind that lays heavy and molten on the bottom of your stomach. She better not get it in her head to try and replace one bumbling oaf for the next.

Also… getting rid of a Wayne is apparently a weirdly difficult thing to do… Vlad would rather not bother.

And even though he feels bitter, it is rather nice to see Madeline cheer up when she gets to introduce herself to the boys. Vlad again thinks about his plan of conceiving a new son of their own, not to replace Daniel of course, the boy is irreplaceable but… well, yeah to replace him.

After all, is it really worth it to find Daniel anymore at this point?

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

The gala is uneventful right up until Vlad leaves the main area for a breath of fresh air, hopefully find the designated smoking area and have a cigarette (it’s not like those things can kill him anymore anyway) but on the way there he saw a shadow darting around the corner and he just couldn’t help himself.

If there was any illegal activity afoot, he rather be on top of it himself, that way he’ll know what he can pull and get away with.

It wasn't until he entered a room and promptly got ambushed that he thought that maybe he had walked into a trap of sorts, oh well, nothing Plasmius wouldn’t be able to fix.

Gotham is a city of freaks but none of them are on his power level after all.

Still, precious decisive reaction time got wasted because he’s thinking of an approach that would not result in him having to permanently silence his assailant. Murder is probably rough to cover up in the city that’s home to the world’s greatest detective and bribing the corrupt police force is such a hassle… a scuffle of a mugging/abduction or whatever gone wrong is much easier to explain.

Instead Vlad finds himself tazed, tazed of all things. Perhaps an ecto infused blast into the nearby wall isn’t such a bad idea after all.

But then he finds he can’t access his powers anymore, and a mild sense of dread takes root in his chest.

That taser… it couldn’t have been….

He isn't given much time to think about it as he’s expertly incapacitated and worked against the ground.

Vlad thinks he hears the faintest mutterings, something along the lines of “we do rely too much on our powers” perhaps it’s some veiled insult directed at his current situation. Uncalled for in his opinion…

Of course he struggles, he fights back. His attacker is way smaller than him, lighter and quick with their moves, whomever this is they certainly know what they are doing and Vlad hates to admit it, but without Plasmius he’s actually outmatched.

That leaves plain ol’ shouting for help.

An idea that quickly got snuffed out when a big army knife that crackles with sickly neon green energy gets pressed against his throat and a detonator gets shown off in his assailant’s hand.

“Quiet now, or I’ll blow this place sky high”

“That seems counterproductive” Vlad can’t help but snarl.

“aww, worried about me? there is no need I’ll be just fine, them on the other hand…”

the attacker puts a tablet down that shows a video feed of the main gala area with all the people milling about.

None of them matter to Vlad, but his Madeline and her daughter are there as well, he easily spots them too.

“What do you want, money? I’m sure there are better targets for that out there”

All of a sudden there is a strangely familiar staticy growl in his attacker’s voice, “I want two things from you, I want you to suffer and then I want you to die”

this is personal then… not good.

His attacker takes a moment to more firmly incapacitate Vlad against the floor before redirecting his attention to the video feed on the tablet screen. In the main gala area a big screen of it’s own has come down from the ceiling, usually meant for big fancy presentations (but those had already been carried out for the evening) and was now showing Vlad’s latest illegal activity for all the people to see.

Inside the room people are worriedly looking to and fro, wondering what rogue attack this will lead to, others are already gleefully taking to social media and broadcasting the events happening to the rest of the world.

Personnel are scrambling about to figure out what’s going on, and a couple Wayne’s have now subtly left the area.

“There we go, all out in the open. No more secrets”

Vlad’s eyes darted over the screen in horror.

“I like this right here,” his attacker zooms in on Maddie’s face as she’s realizing in real time that Vlad paid someone to kill her husband, “that’s a good face”

People are looking around and starting to notice Vlad is not among them anymore.

“You cannot possibly expect to get away with this, the Gotham bats are most likely already aware and hunting you down”

“I know-” His attacker shushes, “don’t spoil my fun, at least let me enjoy this show. Even if you somehow manage to get away from me now your life is completely ruined” 

Vlad makes another attempt to escape, growling, “who are you and why are you doing this, how do you even know about half of these things-”

He gets his hands ran through and pinned down fully on the ground with the knives in return.

Vlad figures he must have made some noise but the painful pressure that his assailant keeps on his back is also making it harder to breathe.

“C’mon now, you always boasted about how you’re better and more experienced in every way. Surely you can use that big brain of yours and figure this mystery out, here I’ll help-” the attacker painfully twists his head to the side, “have a look”

It’s dark and the figure is still very much in the shadows but the first thing that catches Vlad’s eyes is the mask over his assailant’s mouth that’s black on the right and orange on the left, a rather obvious hint towards ties with a certain mercenary.

The dark hair styled in that one familiar way brings someone else to mind.

“Daniel”

The boy doesn’t hesitate to twist one of the knives in his hand.

“Don’t call me that”

“Danny-” Vlad doesn’t hesitate to correct even though it does come out rather strangled because of the pain, this is a bad situation and he’s not stupid, “whatever he said-”

there is a faint crackle and it’s only through Vlad’s still slightly enhanced senses that he hears the gruff voice talking to Daniel.

“Wrap it up Memento”

Danny glances at the live feed on the tablet. Proper security is starting to swarm around.

Maddie is holding Jazz close and appears to be talking to someone in charge. One of the Wayne brood has decided to stick with her, the eldest son. How kind of him.

Vlad is still trying to get Danny to listen to him.

Danny sighs, “I kind of wish I could drag this out longer, but this is fine” he twists his knee against Vlad’s neck and now properly restrains Vlad’s legs before pulling out something new.

“This is something my dad was working on before you got him killed, I was planning on sabotaging it and getting rid of the blueprints but... things change”

Danny puts it in the middle of Vlad’s upper back, “I’m sure you’re dying to know what it does. Well, it’s the Fenton Ghost Core Crusher. A bit of a mouthful admittedly. I’m still workshopping a better name, but at the very least the purpose is obvious”

“Daniel-” Vlad is starting to sound like a parent who is realizing that their kid is about to do something dangerous and stupid. It's honestly too bad that he’s not a parent and Danny is not his kid, otherwise it might have actually had it’s intended effect.

“I would have loved to see you deal with the full aftermath and consequences of your horrible choices in life but I don’t really feel like dealing with you as a full ghost so I guess this is it, goodbye forever, it really sucked to have known you”

Vlad has a second to fully regret Deathstroke taking Daniel and not taking it as seriously as he should have and then he’s too busy feeling what must be a supernova and a blackhole manifesting in his chest at the same time somehow.

After that he hears, or perhaps he just feels… a sickening crack and everything fades away.

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

There is a corpse at Danny’s feet. It’s Vlad, fully dead, the not coming back kind.

Danny figured he’d feel different, there is some vindication, and the slight satisfaction of a death avenged, but other than that he just feels rather empty, and kind of tired.

Danny doesn’t realize he’s getting a little lost in his head until Slade’s voice cuts through his mental spiral and snaps him out of it.

“Memento, time to move” 

“right”

A part of Danny wants to stay, be found. As he goes invisible and floats right through the ceiling he takes some time to fantasize about it. Would it be a bat? or perhaps one of the security guards checking the rooms, maybe it would even be one of the attendees, they would probably scream once they noticed Vlad on the ground. A security guard would be smarter about the situation, but not by much.

A bat would probably attack him once they realized Vlad was already dead.

Later on they would put a little addendum in their rogue list at Deathstroke’s name, a little side file that’s just for Danny, affiliated with Slade Wilson, name; ???, gender; male, age; somewhere between 14 and 18, threat level; capable of killing people, something like that.

A few buildings away Danny catches up with Slade on the roof.

“Did you have fun? did you get it all out of your system?” Slade folds his arms over his chest.

Danny just growls at him.

“In that case it’s time to move on” The man is already turning away.

Well, Danny can agree on that, so he follows Deathstroke away from the mess he caused at the gala and away from his mother and sister.

And here is my idea for a Deathstroke affiliated Danny

[suuuupernovaaa]

Aemond’s betrothed is threatened, and he will stop at nothing to save her.

Content Warnings: violence, blood, mature, 18+

Soft footfalls were enough to wake you from your light slumber. Through you were not yet married, it was rare that Aemond did not find sleep in your bedchambers at night.

So, you assumed it was Aemond, come to join you at last, when you heard the footsteps approaching.

Your groggy mind took too long to process that it was two sets of footprints, not one.

Sitting up, you pulled the blanket to cover your night gown, and watched as two strange men entered your room.

“Guards!” you screamed immediately, and the taller man laughed, revealing rotting teeth. You winced at the sight and sound.

“They won’t be coming, Princess. Not til we’re done with you, at least,” he snarled, and they approached your bed.

Frantically, you tried to scramble to the head of the bed, meaning to get your footing and make a run for it, but they were on you, daggers drawn, before you could get anywhere.

The smaller one, who could not be much older than you at nine and ten, grabbed your ankle, and roughly pulled you from the bed.

You hit the stone floor with a thud and a grunt, sharp pain emanating from your elbow and hip, before he grabbed your arm, hoisting you up so you were face to face with him.

“Who sent you?” you asked.

They must have been inexperienced in this sort of nefarious activity as he replied eagerly, “The Black Queen.”

You shook your head, in disbelief that your cousin would want this fate for you, no matter how bitter the blood was between you now.

His knife was at your belly, pressing gently. “Come with quietly,” he hissed, and you shook your head.

The blade pierced skin then, and he covered your mouth to keep you quiet. Fear was like lead in your belly, keeping you frozen to the spot.

Over his shoulder, you glanced at the older assailant, just as a sword passed through his neck, severing his head from his body with precision and ease.

Seeing the look in your eyes, the man holding you turned, and dropped you at the sight of his partner’s headless corpse.

“Please-“ he began, raising his hands and dropping his blade, but Aemond was not one to listen.

The Dowager Queen burst into the room then, followed by the head of the king’s guard, and you ran to them. Alicent opened her arms, pulling you to her chest, and you sank to the floor together as Ser Cole joined Aemond.

Your body was shaking violently, and you clung to Aemond’s mother as she whispered to you in hushed tones.

“Don’t dispatch him yet, Aemond. We need information from him,” Ser Cole was saying.

“They said, they said that, they told me,” you stuttered, and Alicent pushed your hair from your face.

“Breathe, child,” she said.

“They said Rhaenyra sent them. I don’t believe them,” you said, and the former Queen frowned at you, and looked to Aemond.

She nodded once, and you heard the whistle of a sword through the air. You did not turn to see as Alicent pulled you up, and lead you out the room.

xx

Though the Queen insisted on bringing you to her rooms, Aemond convinced her that you would feel safer with him, and she relented - after all, the wedding was in three days. It was only slightly improper, given the circumstances.

Aemond all but carried you to his rooms, and instructed a bath be drawn. As you waited for the hot water, he held you, pressing your head into his chest, whispering that it was safe now.

“I may need a maester,” you said, pulling away. You removed your night clothes to reveal a cut, long but not severely deep, just below your naval. Your elbow was also bruising quickly, with a matching blooming mark on your hip.

Aemond’s eyes lit with renewed rage. “Would that I could kill them twice, and savor it the second time,” he hissed, and called for a maester.

No stitches were required, and so you were cleaned and bandaged, and it was to be a sponge bath instead of a submersion.

You were too worn out to be embarrassed as you stood next to the hot bath that you so desperately wanted to sink into while, with painstaking care, Aemond cleaned every inch of you, from head to toe.

He was silent all the while, a reverent concentration on his face. Were you not still trembling with fear, it may have been one of the most erotic experiences of your life.

When he was finished, he dressed you in one of his under shirts, and led you to bed.

“Come, wife,” he said, pulling you into the warm cradle of his arms. “No harm will come to you now.”

Tears finally pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you could not hold them back. The flowed over your cheeks and onto Aemond’s bare chest, and try as he might to wipe them away, they were coming to fast.

“We will double your guard. I will do anything to make you feel safe. I will not leave your side again. Where I go, you go too,” he said, and the thought of that did ease the panic in your chest.

“Thank you for saving me,” you managed to say, and he tilted your face up to his. He placed a gentle kiss on your wet nose, and then your forehead, and both cheeks.

“In this life and the next, I will always keep you safe. I’m only sorry I did not arrive sooner.”

You held his waist tight, feeling a little safer in his arms, knowing the guards outside were doubled and your protector was here in bed with you.

“Sleep now, beloved. I will never leave you again.”

You closed your eyes, and finally allowed sleep to creep up on you, tucked safely into Aemond’s embrace.

[that-smallinjured-bowylamb]

Just finished reading this and I LOVED IT!!!

May I ask for another part but with Jade, Kalim, and Silver??? Pwetty pwease??? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

If you read this, thank you for taking the time to do so and please have a nice timezone!!!

A/n: Hihi!! Srry I just woke up a few minutes ago!!! And sure I can! Thank you for the request, @onegianthotmess !!! And thank you for the kind request!!! Love your pfp btw!

💋🪽Wifey material, but can still kick ass💋🪽

Characters: Jade Leech, Kalim Al-Asim, Silver Vanrouge (omg I'm so terrible at writing Silver-)

Warning ⚠️: fem!mc is the warning itself, OOC(cuz I'm not sure if I wrote it right.. I mean, hc, yes?), I'm terrible at describing fights (help), maybe slight cussy as well??, Reader takes a random brick somewhere (Jade's part), violence(?), <-idk it's just the guy bleeding, Jade is a warning bc I said so (and his stupid gorgeous face), idk what else is in here, amazing Grammer/j, it is not accurate since it's future 🫶, idk what else to add.

Fem!Mc [<-but the kid calls you momma bc u give off those vibes.]

The last part here <-💋🪽

Jade Leech (When was the last time hisui-dreamer was active on Tumblr??)

You and Jade were a very happy couple, a bit too perfect (ahem). You are a very sweet and dedicated wife, yet you tend to forget things. Oh, no worries, my dear~ sit back and relax, he'll do it for you. He insists. But, of course, in the end, you'll give him a nice reward. The two of you are just lovey-dovey behind closed doors or subtly outside until both of you had [insert name]. [Insert name] was almost like a Jade 2.0 (when will there be a timeline your kid gets most of your genes? Idk), but had the same fcking compassion for mushrooms as your husband... oh dear heavenly fathers... but it's okay, you still loved them. [Insert name] was kind of like you, having the same hair color and that distinctively obvious black hair strand from Jade's [If your hair is black or dark, just pretend the strand is longer than the rest of the hair, and tends to stick out]. So, your kid was sweet... And cunning asf. Floyd liked calling the kid 'sea bunny' but since the kid was a half-mer (<-eel), it was an inside joke... now, how would you feel if your man/kid got hit/kidnap?

Your man gets hit:

•Idk how that happened. But, let's say he got caught off-guard for once and didn't expect the weak looking client to jump him like that.

•Well, isn't that interesting? And, to think that this client was capable of packing a punch-

•Oya?~ who's that- *A brick being thrown at the assailant with sound effects.*

•Ah... Well, if it isn't his lovely wife coming to the rescue!~ and, to think that you had this wonderfully fierce side of you? How delightful. It felt like he was at the courting stage all over again.

•So fiery, so protective... How come you haven't shown this behavior in a while? He'd love to see more of it. Come, after this, let us go to a private dinner, yes?

•So Cue to weeks later from the incident, he's here just spoiling you, oh. Don't mistaken him for being afraid of you, no, no, what a silly thought. He's just... a bit more infatuated than usual...

Kalim Al-Asim

•No, he isn't planning anything (other than torturing the poor soul that you had to deal with) he just wants to spoil you.

•And keep you to himself, making sure you wouldn't have to deal with 'those' anymore.

When your child gets kidnapped:

Your child isn't really going to get kidnapped. Rather, it was the opposite. It was the kidnapper getting kidnapped. No, your child isn't weird, they're doing the right thing, momma! Look! Aren't you happy?

So your child gets hit instead.

•Jade is enraged. No one should be touching his family. Not his kid, nor his wife.

•So imagine he masked all that, but then you bolted in again.

•With an aluminum bat with spikes. (Club? Bludgeon?) Sprinting toward the assailant with the speed equivalent to a horror movie chase.

•Oh, my. You're wearing the formal dress he gave you when you two were attending an important event! How interesting it is, seeing you wear it now. And in that state of anger as well. Ah, and look at his child, giving you words of encouragement. He beams, revealing all razor-sharp teeth he has. His co-workers trembling, because WTF? WHY IS THAT FMAILY FILLED WITH PSYCHOS?? They really thought you were the normal one (but comparably saying, you ARE the normal one in the family of Leech).

•Then you went back to normal (and no, let your imagination go wild with whatever happened to the guy you hit with the bat..), oh, it's playtime! C'mon [insert name] let's go to your favorite location! Yayayay!

•Yes, a normal family...

Your man gets endangered (<-yes):

So, you were doomed by the narrative bc you're being married to a merchant's son. Not only that, he's the HEIR to a massive FORTUNE. So, what I'm saying in short is... you're cooked. Especially your child. But you two can watch out anyway (maybe not Kalim, but you). But Kalim is emotionally intelligent (hc), so, he's not entirely dumb about his situation either. He's worried you'll be next, getting poisoned, assassinated, kidnapped for ransom, blah, blah, blah... yeah, you had to shut him up for that. And you two eventually had a kid. [Insert name]. Or more, depends. But, nonetheless, what's happen is your man/kid gets hit/kidnapped?

•He knew this would come, but he didn't know exactly WHEN. But it did anyway, so as he was preparing- what?

Silver Vanrouge

•You were there, tackling armed men. Throwing one assassin to the other (<-accidentally kissed), threw the other one downstairs(<-broke his spine and more), another one was hanging on the ceiling (<-doesn't know how to get down bc equipment broke), the rest was being whooped by you.

•Oh...guess he didn't need it anymore! (<-what was it? Don't ask me.) Haha! Whoa! You can fight!??! Hey, teach him! Or both our child! Haha! That being said, the family said no (bc Kalim doesn't need too, the next heir as well. But, shh you snuck the kid out to practice), so let's not tell anyone what you and your child do at night, okay? You totally weren't teaching the kid how to swiftly attack your beloved archenemy. Haha, never.

•Okay, maybeee a little. But hey, never too careful in this family, right?

When your kid gets kidnapped:

•Fuck no. The kidnapper should've heard about the motherly beast of Al-Asim (whom, is you),and they should know. NOT to touch your child, right? But...money... well then they die like [dumbass] men.

•So que to you snapping one of their necks, choking some of them, half of them killed themselves bc they didn't wanna deal with you, most of them pissed their pants seeing you, then getting crushed by a big-ass pillar (dk where you got that from), and using one of their men as a weapon itself.

•Uhm, well...nvm they're letting your child go now... IS THAT A BLINKY- *POW POW POW POW*

•Kalim arrived just in time to see his wife and kid safe. Phew!- wait. Huh?

•How are you guys- nvm. He remembered now, you probably pulled the gun on them. Well, uh... now he knows his wife is fully capable of protecting his family! No, he does not want you to be an servant. You are his wife, not maid. Get back here, and cuddle with him.

You and Silver lived happily ever after. A simple life, a simple house, Silver financially supporting you, and the cycle of love (between his parents) happens all over again. With you being his sweet and dedicated wife, although tending to forget important things, you know you'll never forget to wake up your important Silver, and [insert name]. Actually, [insert name] looks a bit like you, and has the eyes of their father. They have your dedication and tendency to forget, while they also have the determination, soft-spokenness, humility, and kindness from their father (And sweetness from you). So what happens if your man/kid gets hit/kidnapped?

Your man gets hit:

•Ain't no way.

•huh. You really think you could be slick with all that? No. Don't touch Silver dumbass.

•Though, personally thinking, I don't think he needs much protection so let's say you and Silver team up and jump the guy (Silver was doing the talking, he was holding his feral wife back...) but when he couldn't get the message? Oh no, all of a sudden. His hand slipped. Oh, and if they hit Silver's wife? Wallah. That guy asked to meet God.

•So after the entire conflict was over (personal crash-outs, BBW-ing the guy, doing a sumo stance, literally every martial art mechanism) the guy (crawled) ran away.

•Safe to say no one messed with you or him.

•Never.

Your kid getting kidnapped:

Okay so maybe your child was sleeping (like Silver), and unfortunately, Silver was sleeping. He didn't know there was a stranger coming in to take his kid away, thankfully you were awake. You heard the scream, Silver woke up to a very normal morning of you beating the shit of an intruder...

•Ah...What a fresh start in the morning. Really. *Watching you throw hands with somebody while spitting bars of insults.*

•What? You said that [insert name] almost got kidnapped? Ah, well it can't be helped when he felt the feeling of uselessness in him. Because he couldn't protect his child. What kind of father is he?- "Silver! A little help here!" Yes, he's on it.

•*Unsheathes sword.* No Silver, not like that/j

•But anyways, after this, the child was safe, "Momma!" [Insert name] cried out. The child was safe, you were safe, and lastly, Silver's family is unharmed.

•But he must be vigilant from now on, though.

The End

A/n: OMG IM SO SRRY FOR POSTING THIS IT WAS MEANT TO STAY IN DRAFTS??? BUT ITS OKAY ITS DONE ALREADY

[tragedygroupie]

babysitter blues

cw: LEGAL age gap, fingering, praise kink, loss of virginity, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), daddy kink, blink and you’ll miss it dacryphilia, authority kink (???), imbalanced power dynamic kinda???, alexandria rick, kind of long winded buildup to the smut, brief substance use (alcohol), soft dom! rick… yeah that’s all i can think of rn.

your entire life had been colored by an overwhelming sense of inertia. tucked away in the mundane labyrinth of the suburbs, not even the advent of the apocalypse could blot out the pervasive sense of ennui that had followed you since childhood. the horrors of the newly established outer world, the grotesque undead and the occasionally more dangerous still living were completely unknown to you. the apocalypse had not annihilated your reality, it merely redefined the confines of your sequestration.

life in alexandria was largely a matter of finding a way to pass the time. girls that barely qualified as adults weren’t exactly hot commodities, rarely sought out for anything, so it fell on you to fill the hours until the end of the world.

sometimes it was reading, which slowly morphed into a project of creating a library for the community, almost entirely curated from your own collection, with some generous donations here and there from bemused older folks surprised that young people still cared about that kind of thing.

other times it was babysitting, which started largely as preemptive measure to get out of being assigned any kind of work that would require any amount of physical activity. sure it was lazy, but you enjoyed the company of most of the kids, and they all liked you, enchanted by the whimsical dresses you wore and the stuffed animal army you had at your disposal.

truly, the only visible sign that you were experiencing an apocalypse rather than another red hot american summer were the bags under your eyes, perpetually exhausted from the never ending parade of nightmares that left you jolting awake, violently gasping for air.

a girl like you had no business hanging around a man like rick grimes. perpetually tense, eyes wildly darting around like he was itching to drive the butter knife he spread his jam with into the throat of some unspecified assailant. a bloody splash of color in your grayscale world. he was unlike anything you’d ever seen, a Marlboro man, blue collar through and through, from the dirt that he could never seem to fully rid his nails of to the rough, calloused hands that secretly made your mouth water.

this was the apocalypse, yet your sense of self preservation was as brittle as it’d been when you were sixteen. all your snark, that goddamn mouth that always got you in trouble evaporated when you were around him, replaced with an unfamiliar earnestness that made you cringe internally. you tried, really you did, to not follow him around like a lovesick puppy, to think of reasonable pretenses for your incessant need to be in his proximity, and fortunately enough, you quickly found an in.

no matter how adept rick was in this new world, he seemingly struggled when it came to childcare. when it came to his daughter, he was wildly protective yet somehow simultaneously clueless, and the first time you saw something approaching relief flash through his eyes was when you offered to look after her.

truth be told, rick didn’t quite know what to make of you. you were soft without being stupid, sheltered but not maddeningly clueless, and your eagerness to listen to him when everyone else dismissed him as paranoid endeared you to him in a way no one else in Alexandria quite managed. when you offered to look after judith, the last thing he thought was that you’d become a distraction. you were pretty, sure, but you were young enough to be his daughter, and if there was one thing rick grimes wasn’t, it was cliché.

but goddamn did you make it hard. his life in the new world had been characterized by leaving absolutely no room for error, every potential outcome identified and accounted for. yet in his brief respite from having to care for his daughter entirely by himself, he failed to consider that you wouldn’t just be a hot flash of want that pulsed through his veins whenever he happened to run into you, you’d be in his home. he was a stronger man than most, but he was still a man, and being in such close proximity to that kind of temptation was enough to drive anyone crazy.

every time he walked through the door it was something new. sitting on the floor with your hands outstretched, beckoning judith to crawl towards you, oblivious to your skirt riding up your parted thighs. bending over the cradle to kiss her good night, while the cotton of your already short dress just barely covered your ass.

you may not have been completely clueless about the dangers outside the walls, but you were downright brainless when it came to the effect you had on him, and it was that very lack of awareness that had him fucking his fist in the shower, coming with a groan to the thought of those pretty, naive eyes looking up at him as he split you open. it wasn’t enough, like putting a bandaid over a cut that sliced to the bone, but it was a safety valve, it kept him from doing something stupid.

today shouldn’t have been any different from the routine he had established. he got home as dusk started to settle, having made an extra effort to see judith before she went to bed. he tried to leave the frustrations of today at the door, determined to be a good father, to exact control over the flaming emotions that licked up his chest, stopping the spread before he became engulfed.

as soon as he hears your voice, with its lilting quality as you respond to judith’s babbling, the hard lines that have taken up a virtually permanent residence on his forehead soften. he walks across the threshold, into the living room where you’re sprawled across the couch, judith sitting on your lap. you get up, and he has a blissful few seconds to admire the dress you’re wearing, a little white dress with embroidered flowers better suited for frolicking in a garden than waiting out the end of the world, before you open your mouth to greet him.

“look who’s here judith! daddy’s here!”

fuck.

he knows you didn’t mean it like that, and a better man wouldn’t have thought anything of it. a clearly innocent comment shouldn’t have the blood draining from his head and rushing towards his dick, but the way that word rolls off your tongue is downright sinful. his face is an impenetrable mask of cordiality, concealing his desire as he answers.

“how’re my girls?”

it’s more forward than he’d be under any other circumstances, but he can’t help it, he needs to see if his words affect you the way yours do him. sure enough, a rosy blush blossoms across your cheeks as you hand Judith to him. the words rattle around your head, and you make a mental note to remember it for later, when you’re alone and twilight has fallen, so you can replay it in earnest.

“she’s been wonderful, we had so much fun today, didn’t we Judith?”

you go on, filling him in with details about the day, your voice becoming a pleasant hum that barely filters through, he’s too busy looking at you. all soft curves to his taut muscles, hands that’ve never seen a day of hard work. fragile things like you normally fill him with a vague sense of irritation, if not downright disgust, but with you it’s different, the overwhelming need to lay claim to the last bit of silken sweetness in this apocalyptic wasteland threatening to undo him.

dimly, he becomes aware that you’re asking if he wants to put Judith to bed tonight, and a dull panic sets in. you can’t leave, not yet, not until he’s gotten to feel you.

“i’d like to see how you do it. for future reference” he says, his voice cool and glacial, completely devoid of the growing desperation blooming in his abdomen.

you nod, secretly proud at the prospect of teaching him something. he’s so worldly, so knowledgeable in things you hadn’t even conceived, and the idea of him wanting to learn from you about anything makes you feel mature, no longer a lovesick puppy yapping at his heels.

you three go to judith’s nursery, and when he passes her to you, you begin to show him the routine you’ve established. it’s quick, nothing flashy, just getting her changed into her pjs, singing a quick song, and stroking her hair until she falls asleep. mercifully, she’s out like a light, and the two of you creep out of her room, careful not to disturb her. when you get into the hall, you avoid his eyes, unsure of what to do now. you see him so rarely, and without the buffer of Judith, you feel small again, all that newfound maturity fleeting, like it was never there.

rick has to suppress a smirk at your shyness, and after a beat of silence, he’s unable to resist making an offer.

“you want a drink?”

you look up at him, trying in vain to hide your excitement.

“sure.”

one drink follows another, though you never quite manage to get rid of the grimace that accompanies each swig. its endearing, he knows you’re only drinking this shitty beer because he offered it, trying to convince him that you can handle yourself. you’re sitting together on the couch, and the once respectable distance between the two of you has shrunk down considerably, your knee against his as you go on and on, talking about anything that catches your fancy. to his credit, he doesn’t seem to mind, nodding and trying to focus on your words rather than how soft and warm your thigh feels pressed against his.

“i know the whole library idea seem… frivolous, but you should come by sometime. i can recommend you something good.”

he smirks, his voice coming out low and measured.

“never said that darlin. i just don’t have a whole lot of time for reading.”

you shake your head, your voice earnest in a way that would leave you mortified if you were sober, trying to ignore the pang of need in your cunt at the pet name.

“bullshit. you’ve probably just… never read a good book. with the way the world is… who doesn’t need escapism sometimes?”

he nods, clearly humoring you. it’s nice to see you passionate about something, even if he shares absolutely no interest in it. he notices how you shift next to him, your thighs pressing together at the pet name, and makes sure to take note of it.

“amen to that.” he says, taking another swig from the bottle you’ve been sharing.

when he looks back at you, you have a dreamy, far away look in your eyes. he raises an eyebrow at you, his voice coming out teasing.

“have i got something on my face?”

you shake your head earnestly, your voice coming out achingly sincere.

“you have really nice eyes.”

he scoffs, amused by the observation. it’s something you’d normally be too scared to say to him, but the beer has clearly loosened your inhibitions, and goddamn if he doesn’t love it.

when you lean towards him, your lips meeting his softly, all unsure and sweet, it’s all he can do to not groan. this is wrong, you’re young enough to be his daughter, he should be the adult here, put a stop to this and gently tell you that you deserve better than him.

instead, he finds himself kissing you back, all those good, proper sentiments dying in his throat as he pulls you into his lap, his mouth never leaving yours. his hands are all over you, exploring every inch of the soft, supple flesh he’s been craving for god knows how long. you’re trying to keep up, your mouth clumsy and shy against his, but he’s relentless, his tongue slipping into your mouth as he kneads the plush of your ass through your white lace panties.

your dress is riding up your thighs, and it’s all he can do to not tear it off you. he knows he needs to be gentle, he gets the sense that you haven’t got much experience in this arena, even though his more primal instinct is to push you against the wall and fuck you till you see black. instead, his hands creep up your thighs, until he’s cupping your clothed cunt, your panties already dewy with arousal.

“fuck baby, all this for me?” he asks, his voice teasing as he marvels at how easily aroused you are. all this from a few kisses, it’s really just too easy.

you let out a keening whine, your hips instinctively rocking your cunt against his hand, desperate for any amount of friction. you nod desperately, too dumbstruck for words.

he chuckles, slowly starting to rub you through your underwear.

“use your words, pretty girl.” he says, his voice half joking, but with an undercurrent of seriousness, a warning that he’ll stop if you don’t comply.

your eyes flutter shut, the puffy sleeves of your dress falling down your shoulders as your hands go to grip his big arms.

“all.. for… you” you pant, your cheeks burning red.

it’s embarrassing really, how soaked your panties are. it makes you feel like a slut, but you know you wouldn’t get this way for just anyone. you couldn’t imagine being this easy for someone else, and if you were more clear headed you’d try to tell him, but all you can do is mewl pathetically, frustrated by how the lace of your panties dilutes the feeling of his fingers on you.

he chuckles, reading you like a book. he moves the lace aside, dipping his index finger into your aching cunt, biting back a groan when you gasp.

“that feel good, baby?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

you let out a whiny mhmmm, and he allows it, pumping steadily while the rough pad of his thumb rubs circles onto your clit. when he curls his thick finger inside you, you swear you see stars, and your nails dig into the weathered muscles of his arms.

“oh fuck, daddy” you mumble, too far gone to notice or care that you slipped up, oblivious to how his eyes light up at your words.

“poor thing… those little fingers just don’t do it for you, do they? can’t reach that far, isn’t that right?” he says, condescension dripping from his voice.

you nod furiously, your hips bucking into his touch as your head lolls forward, letting him pull you closer into his arms as you whimper out a response.

“s-so close daddy”

he coos at you, that sweet desperation making him throb in his jeans. normally he’d make you work for it, make you respond to all his questions to build good habits (because there would be a next time), but he figures he’ll go easy on you just this once, especially when you plead so pretty.

“go on baby. make a mess f’me.” he says encouragingly, and that’s all it takes for you to come, burying your forehead into his chest as you ride out your high.

when you go limp, he starts stroking your hair, maneuvering your head so you’re facing him. he kisses you again, and it takes a moment before you kiss him back, your brain still partially fogged over from pleasure.

“you act like no one’s ever made you cum before” he says teasingly, and when your face flushes it just confirms what he already thought: you’re a virgin.

you avoid his eyes, your voice coming out all shy and flustered.

“i don’t really have much experience… is that a problem?”

he has to resist the urge to scoff, because no, that is absolutely not a problem. if anything, it makes him want you more. but he doesn’t want to scare you, so he just tilts your chin up so you’re looking at him, his hand cupping your cheek.

“it’s not a problem at all, honey. just wanna make sure you’re okay with all this.”

it takes all his self restraint to ask you that, because his jeans feel far too tight and all he wants to do is bury himself inside you before he preemptively blows his load, but he knows he needs to make sure you’re ready, that you want this too. despite everything, he’s still trying to be a good man.

you look up at him, and you nod, your pupils all blown out and hazy.

“ ‘m sure.” you say softly, before reaching up to kiss him.

he savors the kiss, giving you a moment before he stands up. you let out a small squeak, your thighs immediately going to wrap around his waist, looking at him in confusion.

“what, did you think i was gonna take your virginity on the damn couch? i’m not a goddamn animal” he grumbles, looking at you with fond irritation as you giggle.

he presses his lips to yours to keep you quiet, sloppily making out with you as he makes his way to the bedroom. when he gets inside, he lays you down on the bed gently, his mouth never leaving yours.

he gets you undressed in no time, not giving you a hard time about the fact that your white lace panties and bra are matching (almost like you were asking for it), and when your unsteady hands finally finish fumbling with his belt you get to see his cock for the first time. and fuck is he huge.

he looms over you, his arms caging you in as he presses warm kisses to your neck, trying to ease your worry. when he pushes in, he goes all the way, burying himself to the hilt. your eyes roll back in your head, letting out a soft cry as you snake your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you as he lets you adjust.

when he starts to move, he sets a slow, steady pace, and the ache gives way to newfound pleasure, your eyes screwing shut as he goes deeper than you knew was previously possible.

“fuck baby. you’re so fucking tight.” he mumbles, sucking a bruise onto your neck as you let out a moan.

when he’s sure you’re not gonna break, he starts to pick up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder and more pointed, earning whimpers and moans that seem to come from deep in your gut. tears start to fall down your cheeks, not from pain but from a combination of pleasure and being so overwhelmed.

“you cry so pretty, baby.” he says, angling his thrusts to hit that spongy spot inside your walls.

your face scrunches up as you get that newly familiar coiling feeling in your stomach, and you blearily open your eyes to look up at him, your bottom lip quivering.

“daddy… can i cum, please?” you whimper brokenly, and if he wasn’t almost there already, that definitely pushed him.

“such a sweet thing, asking permission on her first time. you can come baby, go on” he responds, his firm grip on your hips teetering dangerously close to bruising.

when you come, he can feel you pulsating around him, squeezing him like a goddamn vice, trying to milk him for all he’s got. it only takes a few more sloppy thrusts for him to join you, coming in you with a groan.

once you both came down from your highs, you turned to him, your body exhausted and spent. you weren’t exactly sure what he expected of you, you’d never hooked up with your employer before and all conventions about appropriateness were completely out the window when you had his spend dripping down your thighs.

“can i stay the night?” you ask quietly, your cheeks red with embarrassment.

to your relief, he just chuckles and pulls you closer, your head resting on his chest as he wraps an arm around you.

“sweet girl, i’d be a right asshole if i sent you home like this.”

you smile, quickly falling asleep in his arms. and for what feels like the first time in months, rick finds himself dozing off without much of a fight too.

[nortsauce]

Phoenix Wright Learns How to Drive

The fic idea i had that I will never write

Had like the stupidest Au in the world. i’ll already tell you “I am not phoenix wright” is so WACK but atleast it has like a cohesive story.

my other au was “Phoenix Learns to Drive” and it goes like this:

It was gonna be a fic of everyone constantly berrating phoenix for never getting a drivers liscense in the city of LA / sanfransokyo / japanifornia

(Which, if you ever lived in a big city, you know is asenine bc most of driving consists of sitting in traffic while two yahoo’s argue about the round of bumpercars they played on the freeway.)

So he finally gives in and takes the permit test and then the drivers test.

and shit goes OFF THE RAILS.

His first lesson behind the wheel started normal, until it turned into that episode of teen titans go where Robin tries to learn to drive only to find out he’s been the getaway driver for a bank robber instead (Got the robber arrested! Failed the test.)

the next lesson has him driving away from an accidental flood of (???) from an exploded factory that gets him and the test car and the teacher into the ocean (They got out alive! Failed the test.)

another test has him in a whole ass other state helping people escape from a group of killers/the mafia/the cartel you name it he’s accidentally helping them. (Got them to safety! Failed the test.)

In another test it has him driving into traffic only for the bridge to explode and he quickly opens the test car to house all of Trucy’s school bus friends and clown car their way out of there carnage (Saved the kiddos! Failed the test.)

Another time he crashes the car into a getaway driver that edgeworth and interpol were trying to arrest leading him to save the day but STILL fail his drivers test. (Got the bad guy, tho! still failed the test.)

Yes all of these are failed attempts at him passing the drivers test but inadvertently helping his friends and family out

• Like, accidentally transferring all of the Gavinners’ band setup to the show when they forgot it and he mixed up the cargo truck for his test car

• crashing into the courthouse and knocking out a witness who was about to harm Apollo/Athena

• Getting lost and finding his way to Kurain Village just as a fire is raging and getting the people to safety while he calls the fire department from his crappy Nokia

• Reluctantly driving Larry away from a bad date

etc. All of these failed attempts at passing the drivers test had him accidentally helping his friends and family out as he’s actively having the most embarrassing worst days of his life

It all comes to a head when all of phoenix’s friends/family get kidnapped by some bad guy in a fortified truck while Phoenix is about to finally pass the behind the wheel test. He has to make a quick decision to make a U-turn and pursue the trucker himself at an epic high speed chase in his shitty test car. All the lawyers inside manage to lockpick their way out of there truck’s back end and jump onto and into phoenix’s shitty car. As they are driving away from the assailant, phoenix utilizes all of the lessons he learned in driving school (the most unrealistic part about this i know bare with me) to get everyone back to safety, leading the trucker to the cops just in time. And ofc the car just gives out lol.

At the end, phoenix gets his license, and then Trucy asks “So what car are you gonna buy? :3”

And phoenix decides to put his license in a frame and continue to never drive again.

The End!

🚗💨

[literaryvein-reblogs]

I’m not sure if you do nsfw words or phrases. But is there something you can post for the writers who need words for sex scenes? Ones that won’t make reader cringe or throw up? And ones that won’t sound repetitive?

110 "Beautiful" Words for Your Sex Scenes

A-E

Agitate - to move with an irregular, rapid, or violent action

Amatory - of, relating to, or expressing sexual love

Ardor - sexual excitement; extreme vigor or energy

Assail - to encounter energetically; to afflict in a manner that threatens to overwhelm

Austere - harsh and threatening in manner

Bemoan - to feel sorry or dissatisfied about

Bestrew - to lie scattered over

Carnal - given to crude bodily pleasures and appetites

Cavernous - suggesting a cavern; composed largely of vascular sinuses and capable of dilating with blood to bring about the erection of a body part

Coax - to gently urge by caressing or flattering

Compulsion - an irresistible persistent impulse to perform an act

Concrete - to become physically firm or solid

Constriction - the act or process of reducing the size or volume of something by pressing

Curvature - a curved surface of an organ

Delectation - delight, enjoyment

Deluge - a great flow of water or of something that overwhelms

Devoir - something one must do because of prior agreement

Dew - moisture especially when appearing in minute droplets

Douse - a heavy drenching

Ecstasy - rapturous delight; a state of being beyond reason and self-control

Enraptured - to fill with delight

Entreat - to make an earnest request; plead

Entwine - to become twisted or twined

Erogenous - of, relating to, or arousing sexual feelings; sexually sensitive

Exult - to be extremely joyful; rejoice

F-O

Fervid - marked by often extreme fervor (i.e., intensity of feeling or expression; intense heat)

Feverish - marked by intense emotion, activity, or instability

Flushed - tinged with red especially in the face (e.g., from physical exertion)

Flutter - to vibrate in irregular spasms

Foment - to promote the growth or development of; rouse, incite

Fragmentize - fragment (i.e., to fall to pieces)

Frisson - a brief moment of emotional excitement; shudder, thrill

Fuse - to come together to form a single unit

Gasp - to catch the breath convulsively and audibly (as with shock)

Gluttony - greedy or excessive indulgence

Harmony - pleasing arrangement of parts

Ichorous - of a thin watery or blood-tinged discharge

Immovable - incapable of being moved

Impetus - stimulation resulting in increased activity

Imprint - to mark by pressure

Impure - lewd, unchaste

Incantation - a written or recited formula of words designed to produce a particular effect

Intensity - extreme degree of strength, force, energy, or feeling

Inundate - overwhelm; overflow

Kindle - to stir up; arouse

Lecherous - given to or suggestive of lechery (i.e., inordinate indulgence in sexual activity; lasciviousness)

Levitating - to rise or float in or as if in the air especially in seeming defiance of gravitation

Licentious - disregarding sexual restraints

Lissome - easily flexed; lithe (i.e., characterized by easy flexibility and grace)

Luscious - sexually attractive; seductive, sexy

Mantra - a statement repeated frequently

Murmur - a soft or gentle utterance

Nectar - something delicious to drink

Nimble - quick and light in motion; agile; responsive, sensitive

Oceanic - vast, great

Overflowing - a flowing over; inundation

P-S

Palpate - to examine by touch

Palpitate - to beat rapidly and strongly; throb

Partake - to take part in or experience something along with others

Pearl - something resembling a pearl; precious

Pining - to yearn intensely and persistently especially for something unattainable

Piquant - agreeably stimulating to the taste; engagingly provocative

Plaint - wail

Plunge - to cause to penetrate or enter quickly and forcibly into something

Propulsion - the action or process of propelling (i.e., to drive forward or onward by means of a force that imparts motion

Pulsate - to throb or move rhythmically; vibrate

Rapacious - ravenous (i.e., very eager or greedy for satisfaction or gratification

Rasp - a rasping sound, sensation, or effect

Relish - enjoyment of or delight in something that satisfies one's tastes, inclinations, or desires

Repine - to long for something

Rhapsody - rapture, ecstasy

Ripple - to have or produce a ripple effect; spread

Salacious - arousing or appealing to sexual desire or imagination

Silken - soft, lustrous; harmonious

Siren - resembling that of a siren; enticing

Slaver - to let saliva or some other substance flow from the mouth

Sluice - to drench with a sudden flow

Sob - to catch the breath audibly in a spasmodic contraction of the throat

Sodden - heavy with or as if with moisture or water; to be soaked

Stirring - marked by much life, movement, or activity

Sublime - to elevate or exalt

Succulent - full of juice; moist and tasty; toothsome

Succumb - to yield to superior strength or force or overpowering appeal or desire

Sumptuous - extremely costly, rich, luxurious, or magnificent

Supple - capable of being bent/folded without creases, cracks, or breaks; able to perform bending/twisting movements with ease

Supplicate - to ask for earnestly and humbly

Surge - to rise and move in waves or billows; swell

Surrender - to give oneself up into the power of another; yield

Svelte - lithe (i.e., easily bent or flexed)

Swirl - to have a twist or convolution

T-Y

Taut - tense; not relaxed; rigid, stiff

Tempestuous - marked by bursts of intense activity

Tenderness - sensitivity to touch or palpation

Throes - pangs, spasms

Thrum - to sound with a monotonous hum

Torrid - ardent, passionate; hot

Undulate - to move in waves; to rise and fall in volume

Unyielding - characterized by lack of softness or flexibility

Unyoke - to take apart; to force apart

Vehement - marked by forceful energy

Vigorous - carried out forcefully and energetically

Vitality - power of enduring

Voluptuous - conducive to or arising from sensuous or sensual gratification

Voracity - the quality or state of being voracious (i.e., ravenous; excessively eager)

Wanton - causing sexual excitement; lustful, sensual

Whet - to make keen or more acute; excite, stimulate

Winded - cause (someone) to have difficulty breathing because of exertion; panting, gasping for breath

Worship - extravagant respect or admiration for or devotion to

Writhe - to move with twists and turns; intertwine

Yearn - to long persistently; to feel tenderness or compassion

Hope you use these words in ways that won't make your readers cringe or throw up, dear Anon! But it's fine if some of them do—as long as you are satiated with your own writing :)

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 ⚜ More: Word Lists