#'or look stable but once you prod behind the mask they are Fucked Up'

[rexcaliburechoes]

i have no excuses, we love a man tormented by war

[im-his-druidess]

"It's just...you gotta give me...fuck, please Michael, it's too much," you nearly wailed while clawing at the sheets underneath you.

The man behind you barely even grunted in acknowledgment when he finally bottomed out inside you, breath leaving in a slight huff that you hardly heard over the sounds of your cries, but you did feel his large curious fingers trace the slick seam of your overstretched cunt once you two were finally joined. He poked and prodded as if he couldn't believe he was buried inside such a tight space, even though he made himself fit every single time he fucked you, and you blinked the wetness from your eyes as he removed his hand and instead clamped it back on your hip to hold you in place. As usual, he didn't say a word and he gave you no time to adjust before be began snapping his hips in a brutal rhythm, and you did wail at the feeling of his thick cock mercilessly splitting you open.

"Michael," you sobbed into the sheets, eyes rolling back as pleasure crashed over you like waves in a restless sea and his hands forced your hips back against him over and over again, and his steady even breathing didn't change as you squeezed down on him from the strain of having him inside you.

Any moonlight filtering through your bedroom window was blocked from his broad body completely caging you in, the deceptively soft strands of his long hair tickled across your shoulders in a way that tempted you to turn your head to look at him, but you kept your face buried in the sheets that were damp with your sweat and tears. You remember vividly the last time you tried to look at him while he was inside you and, despite some odd reason he developed a soft spot for you that left you breathing and relatively safe whenever he visited you, he still refused to show you his face. Your stinging backside had bruises that lingered for weeks and the utter humiliation of having being spanked by a serial killer had lasted even longer.

You reach up to clutch at your thudding headboard, desperate to hold on to something stable as Michael continued his punishing pace that left your head spinning, and a few moments later you were shocked out of your stupor by the feeling of a too-warm hand suddenly encompassing yours. It was just as curious as when he prodded at your sex, but it was the most intimate he has been since you felt him take his mask off the first time he fucked you from behind. You whispered his name in question against the material shoved against your face and squeezed your eyes shut when his hips slowed down until he stopped entirely as he started to idly trace your fingers. At that moment it was even more obvious how clearly he could snap you like a twig, not even considering your compromising position, and you slowly picked your head up to look at where his hand was still covering yours. The difference was almost comical, but you soaked in the momentary gentleness of the killer behind you as you stared at your intertwined fingers. His large hand was broad and scarred, rough with callouses with dirt caked underneath the short fingernails, and you were struck at how soft he was being as he explored every nook and cranny of your hand. Eventually, he trailed his fingers over the back of your hand and up your arm and shoulder, before fisting in your hair and shoving your face back into the mattress. You let out an undignified squeak at the unexpected rough treatment and then shrieked as he suddenly pulled out of your dripping cunt and rammed back in.

Your scalp blossomed with pain as he adjusted his grip on your hair and hip to hold you steady before resuming his rough pace and you let your high-pitched sounds be muffled as Michael continued to use you.

[collecting-stories]

Monster | Daryl Dixon

I know they aren't on there, but could you do the song monsters by shinedown with daryl?? - requested by @lokilover2000 

\\\

Good for you, you fooled everybody.                                                          Good for you, you hurt everybody – Monster by Shinedown

Daryl didn’t remember the first time he met you but you did. To be fair it was dark for a majority of the meeting and he was on his knees with the rest of his group, listening to your leader’s long winded and over dramatic speech. The parts he remembered were different from yours. You remembered every moment chronologically. Standing by Simon’s jeep, an ak-47 you’d stolen way back when from your crazy neighbor when the world first ended gripped in your hands as you listened to Negan introduce himself to the group that had been wrecking havoc on your community. You barely listened anymore to his speeches. Young when the world ended you had joined Negan’s saviours at a formative moment in the group. Room for growth allowed you a high ranking amongst them which had benefits though standing around while he terrorised people for fun wasn’t particularly one of them.  

For the most part your eyes wandered, trying to keep yourself interested in the same speech you’d been hearing for the last few years and eventually you landed on Daryl. Though you didn’t know his name at the time you’d heard of him from Dwight and Sherry separately. When you were at the Sanctuary you usually took watch detail on the wives because the gossip reminded you of binging shitty MTV reality shows and kept you occupied for most of the day. Sherry was keen on not fitting in with the other wives completely and she mistook your interest in their drama as camaraderie so she told you about the guy she and Dwight had met when they tried to run.  

Her description was pretty spot on because from what Dwight had relayed that was the guy. Your eyes focused on him over Negan’s constant pacing and you watched the way he watched your leader. Despite the beating he’d already taken from some of the saviours he looked unaffected by Negan’s bravado, as if the bully speech meant nothing to him and he could see passed the character. You suspected he would have gladly taken Lucille to the skull though bizarrely you felt relieved when Negan overlooked him for another.  

Once Negan loaded Rick into the RV and drove off you relaxed a bit. This group would make no moves without their leader and not when they were so clearly outnumbered. And with Negan gone you didn’t feel so bad outright staring. It was pretty sick when you really stopped to think about it. You were seriously checking out this guy in the line-up who looked only slightly more physically stable than the pregnant girl who was turning blue.  

“Told you we’d beat those motherfuckers, you owe me.” Simon mentioned, leaning so close you could feel the hairs of his moustache on your cheek. You grimaced but didn’t pull away. There was a lot Negan didn’t stand for but there was even more he let slide.  

“I didn’t bet you anything asshole. Just said they were smart, knew what they were doing.” You replied, eyes still on him. Look up, Sherry said you’ve got the prettiest eyes and I wanna see ‘em.  

“Who knows what their doing now?” When he tried to slide his hand into your back pocket for a squeeze of your ass you pulled away, glaring at him. If this wasn’t the middle of a lineup you’d shove your gun down his throat but you had to show some sort of loyalty to the second in command.  

“Fuck off Simon.”  

When you looked back he was looking but it was too dark to tell if Sherry was right, even with all these headlights.  

Daryl remembered the second time he saw you. The music had stopped rather suddenly sometime during what he suspected was night. It was too dark in this cell to be sure. All he was sure of was that the music stopped and still he could hear it, somewhere distant in the back of his head. Just above the whisper of the song he could footsteps, not as heavy as Dwight’s. Daryl shifted away from the door, drawing his legs up to his chest as the door opened and light flooded into the tiny closet of a room. It had been a closet originally, you could still remember pulling cleaning supplies out of it. Once upon a time it smelled like bleach, now it just smelled like excrement. How Dwight did this job you couldn’t be sure, you wanted to throw up the minute you opened the door. It weighed against your shoulder as you stood in the doorway, holding out a plate with a sandwich on it. Dwight had been specific in his instructions, dog food sandwiches and that fucking song on loop. Despite his orders coming directly from Negan, with both of them gone for the day you were giving Daryl a break. You knew his name now though you hadn’t seen him since they’d hauled back in the transit van after the line-up.  

“Take it.” You urged because he was just staring at the plate. Eggs and bacon on bread with a cashew butter you’d made. “Seriously, take it.”

There was something almost feral in his eyes now. You could see them better in the light of the hallway and yeah, Sherry was right but also he looked halfway between giving up and getting ready to attack you. You almost pulled your hand back when he reached for the plate finally and took it out of your grasp. It hadn’t been what he was expecting and it wasn’t even more so up close. He hadn’t had anything substantial since the morning he headed out with Rosita and Denise and he hadn’t had eggs since Hershel’s farm.  

You pulled the water bottle off the carabiner clipped to your belt-loop and handed that over too, placing it on the ground beside him. “I’ll be back in a couple hours.” And with that he was shrouded in darkness again.  

Too tired and hungry to question your out of place kindness he ate and drank what you’d left for him. You didn’t turn the song back on either because in all honesty it was torturing you too and you wanted some peace and quiet while you were alone on watch. Fat Joey had your detail shadowing the wives today which left you alone in the hallway, sitting on a chair at the corner near the stairwell and reading some old Stephen King book you’d managed to bum off of another savior. There wasn’t much you could do, without clothes Daryl couldn’t leave the cell and you didn’t have access to the oversized gym uniforms that Negan was so obsessed with putting his untouchables in.  

When the couple of hours passed you went back for your water and the plate. He’d left you half the once full bottle and you took a quick drink from it before clipping it back on. “Sorry about all this.” You apologized and he looked at you like he didn’t believe and honestly, you weren’t sure you believed you either.  

Outside of the cell Daryl saw you plenty of times as Dwight prodded him around the Sanctuary. You were almost always with the wives and once, when Sherry stopped in the hall to talk to him without supervision, you’d caught them. Though you’d turned the other way and walked to the stairs instead of calling for anyone. Once he saw you outside on watch when he was at the fence. A walker got particularly close to his left shoulder blade and you’d shot them between the eyes with your rifle. Negan had screamed at you from where he was unloading the trucks.  

“The fuck do you think you’re doing up there?”

“Figured you didn’t want him dead yet.” You knew Negan had taken a liking to that side of Daryl you’d seen in the cell, the feral side that wasn’t ready to lie down and let someone walk over him.

“I better not hear another fucking shot outta that gun or I’ll put one between your eyes sugar.” He replied, voice catching the attention of some of the dead. Daryl was watching you but it didn’t last long.  

The most significant of all your meetings with Daryl occurred weeks after that and found both of you in Alexandria.  

You knew Sherry got him out shortly after your altercation with Negan at the fence and you didn’t see him again until the day after the attack. When you arrived at the gates of Alexandria with Carol. Bloodied but not a prisoner. Both of you had been separated from your groups, caught in the woods with a herd of walkers and you’d shot one just above her as she was flat on her back struggling to regain the upper hand. She’d taken your gun, afraid you’d use it on her though you tried to reason how stupid that would be after you’d literally saved her life.  

She walked behind you back to Alexandria, keeping her gun aimed and silence proceeded your arrival. You’d been at the sanctuary and enough people had seen you there in the crossfire that when the gate was pulled back you were met with more weapons trained on you. When you turned your head to your left you saw Daryl, crossbow aimed at you. He didn’t lower it but you watched the change from hostile to non-threatening in his stance and his eyes. No wonder, you thought, that Negan had been so scared of him. Daryl still looked the same feral and angry that he had the first time you saw him but the part of him that had been dying in that cell seemed to be gone, or at least masked with new purpose.  

You were certain though, as you looked at him and despite not wanting to, it was manifested in your eyes. How easy it would be to end it all now? But your fear of dying didn’t allow you the chance of considering the option for too long. And before you knew it Carol was speaking up, vouching for you enough that death was no longer an option on the table.  

“She’s not a threat.” Carol said, lowering her own gun though she’d been keeping it on you this whole time so you weren’t sure how convincing she really was. “She helped me.”  

You thought about arguing your case but realized the point was mute when Rick walked through two of the men still holding their rifles on you. You didn’t remember him nearly as well as you remembered Rick but you’d been to Alexandria enough times for pick-ups that you were familiar with their leader. Once, before Negan, he was probably the greatest threat he ever faced but Negan had knocked him down a peg and he was not exactly ready to offer you solace in his home.  

“Search her.” Rick instructed and Daryl was swinging his crossbow easily over his shoulder and patting you down. He pulled two knives off of you and pocketed them.  

You were led to a cell in a basement that still had a lot more light and humanity than the cell Daryl was left in. This room was certainly never a closet. And no one stripped you of your clothing. Aside from your hoodie, which had a zipper, and your boots, you were kept in your t-shirt and jeans. One of them even took the bobby pins that had been holding stray hairs off the nape of your neck. There was a cot and a blanket and a pillow and Carol gave you water right away. Feeling guilty you left the water outside the bars of the miniature prison.  

There was a window and you could see the time pass and no one came for two days until finally the door opened and you heard footsteps on the stairs. Anxiety from a past life found you underneath the cot when Daryl came in with a tray of food. A can of chili, an apple, and some bread. You rolled out and sat cross-legged on the cot. “I’m not trying to double cross you guys.”  

“Ain’t me ya need ta convince.” He opened the door and laid your tray on the ground before shutting it again. There was a pair of handcuffs hanging out of his pocket and you assumed he was supposed to cuff you before walking in, just in case you were crazy enough to think you could take him. It occurred after a minute that this was the first time you’d heard him speak that you really remembered.  

You weren’t sure what else to say but he wasn’t moving. You would like to say that you were happy to see that he made it back alive or that you definitely suspected that he would. He wasn’t the type who caved. You also wanted to ask him how he managed it because you’d be lying if you said that you’d never thought of leaving Negan’s side. But you knew what happened to people who did and you could imagine the satisfaction Simon would’ve taken in stringing you up piece by piece.  

“Sorry, ‘bout all this.” Daryl spoke up, repeating your words back to you.

“This is nicer than my room so...it’s ten fucking times nicer than yours was.” You replied, “that was a closet...I remember cleaning it out.”

“Eat.” He clearly didn’t want to rehash the time he spent locked in a tiny room being tortured. Naturally. You were an idiot.  

“Sorry.” You apologized and reached for the bread only, then back to the cot.  

“How’d ya get mixed up with that anyway?”  

You were young still, he thought you’d be innocent looking if he didn’t know any better. You didn’t fit the bill of the other saviors he’d seen though he’d watched the accuracy with which you’d shot that rifle behind his head and the dead look you got the few times Dwight was being a jackass to you. A little scary in an unexpected way he had been thinking about you since you’d given him a proper meal.  

“First thing I stumbled on after this shit happened...I just didn’t want to die.” You shrugged. It was really that simple at it’s core. You didn’t want to be another dead body wandering around the woods until some sorry sap shot your brains out. You wanted to survive because, as crazy as it sounded, you had such a fear of death that you couldn’t even fathom leaving Negan for fear that you’d meet death.  

“So ya traded yer soul ta that?”

A glare was sent his way and you, a bit overdramatically, tore the bite of bread off. “Don’t judge me. We’ve all done shit to survive. I saw what you guys did at the outpost, not to mention the fucking grenade launcher you fried people with.” You snapped. “I did what I had to do and whether you want to believe it or not Negan was better than being out there alone.”

“Then what’re ya doing here.”

“I want to keep living.”  

“That’s not enough.” He replied, as if he had really expected some more profound answer from you. It’d always been that simple though.  

You could’ve let Carol die in the woods and you could’ve found your way back to the Sanctuary. It would’ve been easy, easier than this. But you couldn’t bring yourself to let her die and when she led you back to Alexandria you had almost smiled. You didn’t want to think about all the complicated parts of it though. Those were the things that scared you more than death. That in this bizarre new world you were starting to feel something once again that you hadn’t felt since the world ended.  

“It’s all I’ve got.” You lied.  

Daryl grabbed the chair in the corner of the room and dragged it over to the bars, sitting down across from your cot. He leaned back and stretched out, taking the water bottle off the ground and taking a sip from it as he watched you. Meeting his eyes you concluded that Sherry was definitely right, they were the prettiest eyes you’d ever seen.  

“So, tell me about yourself?” You requested and watched the smallest of smirks pass over his features.  

-

A/N: So I originally wasn't gonna do this request because I’d never heard this song but after looking at the lyrics I feel like it really fit with this idea I’ve kind of been toying with for a while. So...this might in the next month or so evolve into a full-fledge series if anyone would be interested. 

taglist: @thinkingsofamadwoman @mixedwiththemoon @titty-teetee  @queenmissfit @marvelismylifffe @iluvmesomemarvelndc @absentmindeduniverse @his-paradox @medievalfangirl @gigilame @sabertooth-potato @enrapturedbythemoon @cbarter @onemorebeautifulnightmare @born-in-19-96  @mainokutan @uh-i-think-its-frank @nikki082489 @qrangr  

[tartagilicious]

love is a bad word (arthur x reader)

“This city night looks like you: brilliant but a little lonely. Your knotted heart, I’ve followed it downthese strange streets. Tell me how you want it, tell me how you need it. There’s enough time. We dive into that sky and melt into the night.”

title: love is a bad word

pairing: arthur x you

genre: smut

requested: yes, thanks so much for the support, anon :)

song: stay up by baekhyun + beenzino, gymnopédie no. 1, erik satie

edit: the original copy was deleted by accident through me trying to edit this on mobile, so, if text wasn’t appearing for a while, that’s all it was. 

—

Beyond the windows of his bedroom, the street lamps hung brazenly against the star-studded sky and cast warped shadows across your face. Your expression weighed down with dim longing, yet inexplicably, you still somehow remained as ethereal as the stars not so far out.

No longer was there a blindfold over your eyes, and no longer were you inept to the tension that had arisen between the two of you. Just mere months ago, the premonition of even a friendship between you and the author had seemed unlikely, yet still, there you were, living in the very situation you’d deemed as impossible from the start.

Starting out in the mansion, Arthur had done things you thought were unforgivable. His unsolicited touches and damningly flirtatious words putting a mark in your brain that you were sure you’d never forget as long as you lived. But between things like his sincere apologies, the way he regarded you with friendly intent and talked with you as if he’d known you for years — the dynamics had confused you to no end.

By now, you knew him almost as well as you did yourself, and everything about him proved to only add onto the fact that you were irrevocably in love with the writer. Maybe he would never forget the lives that slipped through his fingers. The people he tried so hard to save — and couldn’t. But when the darkness creeps up to tell him he’s a failure or that he’s not worth it, you want to be there to say it’s wrong.

You want to be with him for as long as you could to remind him that he would never be alone. He didn’t need to push himself. You want to shield him so he didn’t have to mask his pain anymore.

You want to stay with him to remind him that he too was deserving of happiness.

You’d jokingly named this feeling love one night, once upon a time. But you’d had no idea then.

He brushed your cheek with the lightest, most tender of touches, keeping an achingly teasing distance even without his gloves on. His actions were slow, but his eyes showed the real depth of his yearning. He wanted you as much as you wanted him.

“Arthur,” you mumbled, reaching out to slide beneath the line of his jaw. The simple action made his lips quirk up in a silent motion, and before you realised it, your lips were almost touching. His lips brushed over yours with a tantalising sensuality that made your knees weak and had your heart skipping beats as he whispered,

“Tonight, I’m going to fill your heart to the brim with me.”

You closed your eyes as his paced words reached your awaiting ear, your fingers tangling into where his hairline ended at the nape of his neck.

“You can try,“ you whispered, your voice light. “But I don’t think you can do it much more.”

He hummed, his lips brushing yours with every word he spoke. “My dear ___, victory goes to the swift I’m afraid.”

Arthur took his time kissing you, kissing you deeply as though he ached to. His hand then moved to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth to open as his fangs teased your bottom lip ever so slightly. It only became more obvious with the passing time that Arthur wasn’t messing around, every action going straight to your core.

“Arthur-!”

You cried out as his hand that was once pressedfirmly to your hip now gently twisted and prodded at the sensitive peaks of your chest through your shirt. He did nothing but smile against your lips, though; the sensation driving you mad.

He hummed almost jovially, as if silently approving the sounds that escaped your lips. “It feels so good you can’t help yourself, hm?”

An uncouth whimper left you as you stared up at your partner with wordless yearning.

“My.” Arthur laughed teasingly as he merely sped up his actions for sake of getting more reactions out of you. “That’s a naughty look you’ve got there.”

“It’s your fault- " You pulled Arthur closer by the hand resting near his nape to rest his forehead against yours as you panted, your words cutting off as he began to unbutton your shirt. “It’s always your fault that I’m like this.”

His fingers played attentively with your nipples through the fabric until the clothes that had been covering your upper half were completely discarded, leaving part of you bare for him.

“And, my little bird, I hope it will stay that way.” He smiled so sweetly you almost forgot about the burning sensation between your legs, your chest swelling with endearment.

But he reminded you quickly enough.

Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly as he lifted you into the air, giving you the feeling of weightlessness for a few fleeting moments before dropping you to straddle his lap as he sank to the couch behind him. His lips encased yours again immediately, his mouth warm and insistent as your arms wrapped around his neck tightly.

Arthur wasted no time in moving to your neck now that you had a comfortable position, alternating between licking and sucking on your skin before coming across your jugular veins. They beat hard and fast against your skin, showing just how much of a frenzy the author could throw your heart into.

You moaned as he dragged his fangs down your neck, careful to give you just enough pleasure without breaking the skin just yet. He left the action halfway undone, though, ultimately deciding to save it for a later time. You lost the thought of any protests when he turned his attention back to your since hardened nipples.

He teased you almost unbearably, suckling lightly on the pert nub as your fingers tangled in his hair. You knew that he had been somewhat of a casanova before your arrival to the mansion many months ago, but you still never quite understood what kept women coming back even without the promise of a genuine relationship. His tongue continued to explain all you needed to know, wordlessly answering any sliver of doubt remaining.

Arthur pressed up into you as he nipped at your chest, a moan slipping from his lips in turn as you began to feel just how hard you had made him. So, tightly gripping his hair, you tried your best to entertain him as well as he was you. You pressed back with a sharp inhale, the only thing standing between your goal being your skirt and his pants, respectively.

He gasped under his breath, ceasing his actions for just a moment as his eyes fluttered shut in bliss. But before you could get very far, he put his hands on your hips, and with a gentle yet overwhelming strength only a vampire could possess, stopped your movements all-too easy.

“Not so fast,” he panted, his lips curving up into a mirthful simper. “Didn’t I say tonight is about you? Lay back and close your eyes, ___.”

You spent a long few moments staring at him without a word. But having finally made up your mind, you simply shook your head.

“Did you?”

Just watching Arthur as he quirked a brow, you guided him to lie down across the couch instead. He made little attempt to stop you, and even groaned as you went up to straddle his stomach, his eyes fluttering shut once again. You felt the coil in your stomach tighten again at the very sight, and soon you inevitably began to grind against the man’s taut chest, looking for any stimulation you could.

“Ah, ___-”

The skirt you adorned was hiking farther up with each movement of your hips, letting your arousal drip through your already soaked panties almost virtually unguarded. This, unbeknownst to you in your state, had left a sizable spot on his oxford, the sweet smell driving Arthur more insane with every second that passed.

And while he enjoyed the way your eyebrows bunched together so delicately as you worked, his hard-on was enough to cut the experience short. He hurriedly helped you out of your remaining clothes, leaving you bare on top of him before calling up his strength to help you over his face.

You cried out in pleasure as you sank down onto his tongue, fingers going to grasp anything near you as he face-fucked you mercilessly. He licked long stripes along your pulsing lips, sucking lewdly as your moans filled the otherwise empty room. You were sure that the whole mansion could hear you by then — but that still didn’t faze you. You began to quiver on top of him, his name falling from your lips over and over again as you came right onto his tongue.

But he still kept going, even after lapping up everything you’d given already him.

Your pussy throbbed against his tongue that just seemed to go deeper and deeper, leaving no crevice of you out. Moans fell out of your mouth sporadically, but you didn’t pull away. You knew Arthur would let you — yet, you just couldn’t bring yourself to deny the pleasure he was giving you.

“Arthur!” you hissed, small tears forming in your eyes as you leaned over him. This just prompted him to act faster, though, only pushing you back when you came for a second time.

Your breaths were equally heavy, your eyes meeting over the faint haze you both felt.

“Arthur,” You repeated, your hands going out to stable yourself with his shoulders as pulled himself up to sit. You were now straddling his waist, and with his erection poking up directly between the apex of your thighs and your juices coating his chin in a light glaze, you were hard-pressed in finding an excuse not to move on.

He smiled tenderly, though his words came out with a sly huff. “By jove, I could get drunk on your sweetness all night, ___.”

“You’re always even more flirty when I have you like this,” You couldn’t help but smile back, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning into kiss him sweetly and uncircumstanciously. In that moment, you might have both been silently wanting the same lustful thing, but you still stopped to enjoy the feeling of simply being together.

The fates had been against you from the start, placing you in a relationship full of misunderstandings and bad first impressions with almost no guarantee of a time above that. But you’d both found your way to each other despite that, overcoming your past mistakes side by side and growing off one another. That, you thought, was what made your bond so strong to begin with.

You broke away slowly, a thin string of saliva connecting you as Arthur said, “How could I possibly resist? With such a beautiful woman staring down at me, it would be exceptionally strange to act normally.”

Smiling into your next kiss, he cupped your face delicately. To this day, it still managed to astonish him that you’d fallen in love with someone like him. He’d frightened you terribly upon your first meeting and had continued to put you off your wits in every meeting, but you had still seen right through everything he’d done. You’d been the first person to tell him that he had a pure heart, and he wanted to hold on to that memory in his heart forever.

Because coming from you, the one person who had him enamoured from the start — it meant the world.

Your hands moved to unbutton his shirt as you consciously slipped your tongue between his lips, the change in demeanour catching him off guard, but still being all-too easy to follow. Your skillful hands slipped off his shirt, throwing it to the side to lie on the floor along with your own clothes.

“You’re fast,” he praised you lightly, his words carrying you into yet another blissful smile.

“I could go on like this all night.”

—

this is the second time i’ve ever written smut and it shows 🗿

[ren-c-leyn]

Past, Present, Well Past Returning

 Let’s try this again, without my keyboard slipping and posting it for me -_-

 Time for... another fusion story! This time, I’m using these 1,2,3, amazing prompts from @thependragonwritersguild and these 1,2,3 incredible prompts by @givethispromptatry.

Warnings (mostly for people unfamiliar with my work): Just like many of my other shorts on here, this one contains fight scenes, character deaths, wounds, swearing, and is a generally angsty piece. Please tread with caution.

I could spend days staring out into the castle grounds, watching every move around. In fact I have. The last three days to be exact. Today was the last day, I decided. I knew the patterns well enough, I had seen and accounted for everything. It would work, it had to work. Tonight was the night I’d been waiting for since the last time I had been here.

I ran through a list of assurances, of my mentor’s mottos, of everything I could do. Not a single negative thought stayed in my mind for long. I had survived too much, gotten too strong, to fail. Everything was ready, waiting for me to reclaim what was mine. I just had to take it.

Sleep and rest made up the entire late afternoon til dusk. I prepared everything at dusk, watching the last wisps of sunlight fade from the sky like my innocence had all those years ago. A bitter smile pulled painfully onto my lips as I pulled the cloth mask over it.

My mentor once told me that assassins have no trade secrets. Their trade is the easiest to replicate. I found it funny coming from an assassin of their caliber. All of those years studying the way they moved so I could do it too. All of that time listening the way their voice flitted from male to female and leaped from accent to accent just to throw me off, just to ingrain them all in my own speaking. All of that time trying to learn their trade secrets, only to be told they never had any. If the situation wasn’t so dire, I might had laughed. But now was not the time.

I crept around the walls, all the way to the hidden escape passage, the same one I had left all those years ago. After making sure it still wasn’t watched, I preyed the ancient stones apart before slipping inside. The familiar scents of moss and old stone filtered through the dark cloth. Old memories spilled through my mind... but now wasn’t the time for them, either.

At the end of the passage, I stopped. I stopped thinking, stopped breathing, stopped everything and just listened. My ears waited for what felt like forever, searching for a telling sign of watchers. A scuff of a boot, a click of shifting armor, a cough or a sigh of a bored guard. When none came, I slowly pushed the door open to reveal an empty throne room. My heart twisted at the sight, but I forced myself to stay focused. The past had no place here right now.

I stepped into the room, and knew there was no turning back. Retracing familiar paths, I made my way to the study, where I knew he’d be. The stairways were silent, the doors all still, and everything perfect on my way there. Too perfect....

I paused outside of the grand double doors, something in my gut staying it was time to walk away. My heart burned, though, screaming that we had to. We had to open the doors and face him, or we never would. My mind understood both arguments presented to me. Now was the best time, when everyone was busy with the preparations for his wedding. It was possibly the only chance I’d ever get at this. On the other hand, it shouldn’t be this quiet, this silent. There should have been at least one servant, one guard, one witness.

I stood in a stalemate with myself, until the past seeped back in. The smell of blood, the stains slowly seeping through mother’s dress as she forced me through the hidden passage, the death cries of father echoing behind us. The rage bubbled up again, growling and snarling. The fear and anger of child me was what made the choice.

 Before I could catch up with myself, one hand drawing cold steel while the other slammed down the door handle and threw it open. I didn’t fully comprehend what happened, not until the crossbow bolt had embedded itself into my shoulder and knocked me to the ground. The condescending laugh from my nightmares echoed around the halls and chambers, ringing in my echoes so loudly I wished for nothing more than to cut my fucking ears off.

 “It’s been a long time, little one.”

 “Screw you, brother,” I hissed as I drug myself up into a sitting position, glaring at him, ignoring the two guards.

 Of course that pathetic coward would be the one with the crossbow. His men wore swords and held spear and shield, like the damn fine warriors I was sure they were.

 “That’s no way to speak to your elder sibling.”

 “I think it’s a fine way to address the fucking monster that murdered their own family for power.”

 I slowly forced myself onto my feet, gritting my teeth and willing the throbbing, burning pain in my shoulder. Bastard probably poisoned the bolt. It would be his style.

 “Oh really?” he replied in that smooth, oily voice, the one that made me want to rip his tongue out. “And I think this is a good way to deal with assassins and traitors.”

 He snapped his fingers and the guards obediently raised their weapons and began their advance. I snarled my favorite curses and fled, sliding down railings and running as quickly as I could. More guards poured out of random rooms, forcing me to change directions so many times that I eventually started running blind.

 I had had several escape routes planned beforehand, but I was far from them all now. I bolted through the kitchen, destroying platters of perfectly good food and knocking over one of the maids. From there they turned me down another hallway, where guards came rushing from the one that joined it. I had two seconds to decide, window or spears. Window it was. I leaped through it, feeling the unforgiving shards of ancient glass tear into me and snag the shaft of the bolt.

 I screamed in agony as I slide down the one of the buttresses, barely able to get my battered body to cooperate with me long enough to land on my feet when I hit the shingles. Unfortunately, I had been going too fast and they slid out from under me, sending my flying onto the stable roof. Winded, exhausted, bleeding, and probably broken, there was nothing I wanted more than to just lay there. Unfortunately, the bowman had other ideas.

 I rolled over to the side as a second arrow plunked onto the roof. I caught the edge and swung myself onto a pile of crates. They were more fragile than they looked, crumbling under me and nearly trapping me. It took precious moments to free myself, and by then I had no time to steal a horse. Footmen were racing up to me, and I had no choice but to flee.

 I was herded up the stairs of the walls and chased like a rabid animal halfway around it before I found myself stuck between two groups of swordsmen, panting, bleeding, finished.... The river bubbled and murmured its condolences as one of them stepped up. I tried to parry, but my blade moved too slow. His sword slipped past without resistance and ran me through the gut. I saw more coming and my body reacted on instincts built from months of training.

 I had ripped myself free of his blade and tumbled over the stones, off of the wall, and down into the river. I sunk into the water, blood drifting from the stab wound in my burning stomach. As my vision tunneled I saw something flash by. I found myself hoping that whatever it is ate me quickly. Or at least killed me first....

 My body was ripped free from the water, limp. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see whatever monster my brother had unleashed to track me down. Instead of the tearing of teeth or slicing of claws, all I felt was a gentle prodding at my wounds. I reopened my eyes, barely able to make out a blurred silhouette. A man’s voice hovered just above me. He hissed like the autumn wind, murmured something about blood loss, and then, there was silent blackness.

 When I woke up, everything hurt. I couldn’t feel anything but pain. My throat and nose burned, my stomach was swearing at me, my shoulder felt like someone had tried burning it off, and my muscles... I didn’t even want to remember they were attached.

 “Alive? Awake? Good, I was afraid you’d starve if you stayed out any longer.”

 I blinked and rolled my head over. Immediately, I wished I was fucking dead. He swished his tails around, the cat-like eyes watching me from beneath ragged black hair.

 “From one monster to the next.... Which limb do you want?”

 “I think if I was out to eat you, I would have done so already.”

 “I’m not making deals.”

 “Good, because neither am I.”

 “... Then what do you want?”

 He laughed so hard his leather wings opened slightly.

 “It never fails, does it? If humans can’t kill it, manipulate it, or decimate it emotionally, they can’t seem to trust it. Even if it did pull you out of a river, patch up your wounds, and give you the antidote for the poison. Or, maybe, you’re ungrateful brat attitude is less to do with human and more to do with royal?”

 I groaned.

 “You sound like my mentor.”

 “Because your mentor is my cousin.”

 I tried to shoot up out of bed but found myself groaned and flopping back down.

 “Fuck, what?”

 “Yeah, my cousin. I’m half human.”

 “Oh. I thought the voice changing and running up walls and other weird stuff was maybe... but I guess not.”

 He snorted.

 “I hear ya. I have no clue how anyone can do that shit and not break something, but that’s my cousin.”

 “So, my mentor asked you to save me?”

 “They mentioned you were up to something interesting.”

 “So, you came to help?”

 He laughed again.

 “Nope.”

 “Then... what the fuck were you doing there?”

 He grinned.

 “My goal.”

 I stared at him, feeling even more dizzy than I had before.

 “What?”

 “My goal is to keep you alive for no other reason than because it seems pretty damn difficult. Just started and look at you. One stab wound, one bolt to the shoulder, tons of cuts, and don’t even get me started on how long it took to dig all of the glass out of your thin skin. This is going to be the best challenge I’ve had yet.”

 He continued babbling about it, but I had retreated to the relative safety of my own mind, trying to figure out just what my mentor had gotten me into....

[thealmightyshoes]

All the secrets of the world

             Paula sits on her cell bed, the room they stuck her in is inhumanly small, she couldn’t even fully stretch her leg out. She sighed knowing it didn’t matter, it’s over, no plan to escape, no backup forces standing by for her signal. Her empire was in ruin and she is finally facing the consequences of her many sins. She lays down, her head not making a dent in the pillow. Still, it’s not like being out there was the pinnacle of freedom. Most of the time she was stuck doing business, figuring out supply routes, planning strategies, organizing troops, selling slaves to the highest bidder. When she wasn’t doing any of that she was usually on the front lines, fighting with her army and planning counterattacks, there was no time for rest.

               She hears her cell door open, it’s time, she thinks. Standing up she sees the guard standing in the entryway. She looks him over, and he was big, easily over 6 feet and packed with muscle. He stared her down, making her feel smaller than she already was. She wasn’t going to fight regardless, but he made sure any thought of that was gone.

“Turn,” he says. Paula complies, when she does, he roughly grabs her hands, pulls them behind her, and handcuffs her. He leaves the cell, having to crouch to get through the door, Paula turns around confused.

“Hey!” she yells at him; a feeling of unease comes over her. She knows what’s coming, she’s actually surprised that it hasn’t come sooner. A woman steps into her cell, she’s not as tall as the man but still taller than Paula, and just like the man she’s solid muscle. No hair, must’ve shaved it off when she came here, her dark skin shines in the bright florescent light.

“I’ve been praying for this moment, I never actually believed it would happen,” the woman says, as she steps further into the cell, Paula back away until her back meets the cold concrete wall. “I had lots of family and friends in Niger, I never heard from them again after your little campaign through there.”

Paula doesn’t say anything; she just stares at the woman. She remembers Niger, it was her first official victory, her first country conquered. A lot of good memories surrounding it, this woman must’ve been on the wrong side of the war. She’s still talking. Paula got good at tuning people out, part of the job, so many people beg and cry and try to bargain so they can live another day or stay with their family. Not many were unique, they always offered the same amenities or sob stories. She must stifle a laugh as she remembers some particularly funny attempts to escape.

Her thoughts are interrupted when a fist connects to her cheek. Her head swings back and connects hard with the wall, two loud cracks ring out. She looks up, her vision hazy, she’s disoriented, the woman has a smug look on her face and says something about payback. Another punch, this time straight on. Her head hits the wall even harder this time, and she falls to the ground. She’s able to catch herself before her head hits the ground. Her vision is still hazy, her hands and the floor are covered in read droplets. Her head slams against the floor, the woman is stomping on Paulas head. She stops for a moment to catch her breath, Paula facedown in a pool of her own blood gurgling on it.

She’s dizzy, her head is screaming, and pain is rippling through her body, but she knows if she stays down that means she’s given up. She plants her arms on the ground, wobbly pushing herself up, her feet slipping on her blood underneath. She falls back down, another wave of pain shoots through her, but she tries again. More confident this time, more stable, she slowly gets back up. The woman watches, wanting her to stand, she’ll be much more fun to beat this way. The woman reaches into her jumpsuit and pulls out a small shiv.

Paula finally stands, unsteady and liable to vomit, but standing, nonetheless. The woman throws another punch, this time hitting Paulas stomach. She doubles over, heaving for air, and leans back on the wall to support her. The woman grabs Paulas hair and forces her upright, pushing the knife up against her throat. She stares into Paulas eyes expecting to see fear, but what she sees is strength and confidence, Paula has yet to break. The woman is taken aback, no one in this position should be in a place of confidence. She pushed the knife harder, cutting skin and drawing blood, but the knife is dull, it crushes more than cuts Paula.

“Stop!” A voice from behind commands. The woman immediately pulls the knife back, looking to see who interrupted. Paula falls to her knees. Several guards stand outside the cell. “She needs to be alive; we have an interested third party.” A shorter woman states.

“This is bullshit,” the attacker says, “I payed good money to kill this bitch.”

“Yeah you and thirty other people, and you just got outbid. Now move,” she commands.

               Several of the guards disarm the woman and escort her back to her cell, she curses and screams as she’s taken away. The five leftover guards are assigned to transport Paula and keep their buyer safe. Two guards enter her cell while the others stay outside, weapons hot. The ones who enter are easily over 6 feet and have the muscle to match. They uncuff her, only to move her hands forward and cuff her that way. They cuff her ankles as well and take a moment to debate on if she needs a mask or not. After some poking and prodding they decide that her jaw is busted enough. They go over a second time, making sure she doesn’t have smuggled weapons or that the cuffs are somehow loose. Once they’re confident that Paula is secure, they shove her out of the cell. The ankle chains snap tight as she stumbles forward. She falls forward and puts her hands out to try and catch herself. A sickly snap from her left wrist.

“Jesus man, is that what you call keeping her safe?” One of the guards shouts out. The two come out of the, looking down at Paula who is slowly standing herself up. “Who gives a shit? The buyer won’t know the difference if we did it or that bitch from before,” the one who shoved her states. “Besides it felt great doing that, she deserves all the pain an- “he cuts himself off. Paula has stood herself up and locks eyes with him.  She doesn’t blink or waver as several cracks and snaps happen, she shoved her wrist back into place.

               They all remain quiet, unsure what to do. She’s still, unwavering and staring deep into the guard. To him he can’t move, something has locked him in place. Seconds slow to a crawl, and each instant feels like an eternity. Until Paula breaks her gaze and starts walking away. The guards are all confused and unsure what to do, at least until they remember their orders. They chase her down and start taking her down the right path. All of them uneasy, shaky, scared. They all saw the news reports of her, and any crazy rumor that passed, but they never expected to actually be face to face with her. The fact that she remains quiet and stoic even when almost killed, and most certainly in considerable pain, brings out fears they weren’t even aware they had.

                They walk down hallway after hallway, occasionally going through checkpoints. The only noise is their footsteps, the buzz of the florescent lights, and the rattling of chains. Two guards stand at either side of Paula, while the other three lag behind, their guns trained on her at all times. Fingers hovering over the trigger, almost hoping that they get an excuse to shoot her, hoping that they get to be the hero that ends this hellish nightmare. They have several apprehensions, if they miss Paula might go berserk, if she dies and they ruin the deal they might get tossed in here. Or the worst case, Paula ends up escaping. After a long walk they finally reach their destination.

               They slide open the heavy door, the room is dark, only lit by a small light in the center. A metal table with several folders strewn out across it, and two small stools. Paula enters and the guards quickly shut the door behind her. She takes the stool closest to her, it’s unstable and feels like it could collapse at any second, and beyond that its just not comfortable. She picks up one of the folders and thumbs through it. It’s huge easily weighing four pounds, with hundreds of pages inside. She sees that they’re instructions on how to preform rituals, extremely specific. One states that a group of three people, one weighing no more than seventy pounds, must hand carve a two-foot circle out of a cedar tree trunk. Oddly enough they don’t state the purpose of the rituals.

“Ah I see you’ve already taken to my research,” a voice from behind her says. She turns around, and sees a man standing in front of the door. He’s tall, probably around six feet, definitely an older man, if she had to guess forty to fifty years. He’s wearing a fancy suit, a deep blue color. His hair is white, and short, he wears a monocle and has your stereotypical rich man mustache.

“Yeah I had a look, it looks like some weird ass witch shit,” she says. “You know in my country, we lynched witches.”

“Oh my you’re as lively as they warned me,” he walks around the table and sits in the other stool. “That’s good, I need all employees to be like that.”

“Employee? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Well you see, I’m starting a company. It’s not your average one, but that’s neither here or there,” as he says this, he pulls another folder and a pen out of his suit. “To get to the point, I want you to be my chief of security.”