#also maybe feeling guilty because unlike himself. elle knows he killed her father and also knows everything he's done to

[kresnikcest]

it already is impossible to write "ludger and elle both live" without addressing julius raising ludger, but goddamn does violet-eyed elle surviving make it even worse than prime ludger and green elle. especially with whatever victor might feel about julius (and if he knows about claudia).

[walkingdeadjunkie]

Southern Comfort [Merle Dixon x Reader]

Requested by: negansgirl06

I was hopping for something where the reader promises Merle that she doesn’t cut he/her self anymore and when Merle our she’s been doing it agin he makes her promise to stop and it ends in some really cute fluffy cuddles? (I’m not sure if you write about angst but I figured what’s the harm I’m asking)

Summary: Merle Dixon was the last person on earth who you thought would give a shit about anybody but himself. But the man had a soft spot for loners. And that's what you were.

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: self-harm, swearing and attempted suicide.

Word count: 2,885

GIF isn’t mine, but please check out the blog for the lovely person who made it!

You’ve cut too deep this time and now blood is dripping all over the tent floor. You throw your overshirt onto it and wipe it up as best you can then bring your arm to your chest and slide outside. You need to get to the water and clean it up before it attracts the attention of the others or walkers. It’s dark out here but with one arm out of commission and the other supporting it, you aren’t able to carry a lantern and instead rely on the moonlight to help you down the small walkway and rush to the lake. Stumbling on this and tripping over that. You think of them as you make your way down so carelessly. Your brother, sister and mother. All of whom were torn into ribbons right in front of your eyes by neighbors you’d known longer than your runaway father. People who cared for you since the tender age of three- people who were also dead.

You come to the water and kneel at it. There’s no tears that escape your eyes because they’d dried up a long time ago, that’s why the cutting helps. It gives you an emotional release that nothing else does. You’re about to stick your arm in when a hand wraps around your shoulder and you look up to see the frightening half of the Dixon brothers looming close. You startle then fall back onto the cut arm and cry out. He makes no move to help you and your arm returns to the cradled position it was in before.

“Don’ wan’a puh ya arm ‘n there darlin’, shit’ll make ya sicker than a man who sticks his dick ‘n a mule.” His back is against the moonlight and it reaffirms just how hulking he is. Merle squats down and holds a hand out. Your heart is racing by his sudden attendance. “Ain’ gon’ hurt ya fancy lady. Done ‘nough a tha’ ya self.” You chew on your lip and think about the risks. It doesn’t seem like he has ill intentions at all and so you lay the back of your arm on his open palm. He brings it close up to himself then tuts and clicks his tongue. “Well fuckin’ ‘ell, did a numb’a on yaself didn’ ya?” You stay quiet and he looks over. “Got anotha shirt?”

“What?”

“Got anotha shirt?” You didn’t want to answer, the question felt unsafe. “Oh fuckin’ ‘ell, course ol’ Merle’s tha fuckin’ cunt who gotta tear ‘is shit up for a damn city woman.” He lets go of your arm and your eyes widen when he grips the bottom of his singlet and lifts it high. You shift yourself back and begin to whimper.

“Please don’t hurt me.” You beg softly. He freezes for a moment, then lets the singlet fall back down.

“I ain’ a fuckin’ rapist ya bitch. I ain’ even lookin’ at ya skeleton ass- uppity lil shit ain’ ya?” He says roughly. You feel guilty instantly. “Ya need ta wrap ya fuckin’ arm ‘for ya blackout ‘n die.” He pulls the singlet all the way off and tears the bottom of it like butter. Quickly he lines up the fabric at the beginning of the cut, loops it around the limb and looks up. “’s gon’ fuckin’ hurt fancy lady so bite ya otha arm.” You do as he says and when he tightens it your teeth sink into the skin and you let out a muffled moan. “Now hol’ it up.”

You do just that. The thumping and pulsing in your arm is worse than the cutting was and the man throws his singlet back on. You’re too busy floating around in your own world of pain to really pay attention to him until a shuffling sound catches your interest and you look up to see him with his hand out again.

“Need’a get ya ass inside woman.” You look at his hand again and back at him. You still can’t make out his expression but he helped you and so there’s a slither of trust between you both. You put your hand in his and he helps you stand then lets go. “Why’d ya do it?”

“I’m sad.” You reply simply.

He laughs loudly.

“Well, fuckin’ do some oth’r shit.” Your brows come together while he steps away to create more space.

“It’s not that easy.” You reply with mild frustration.

“Well ol’ Merle’s got drugs if ya wan’ black out ‘nstead?” He offers easily, like it was normal to do so.

“No. Those are bad for you.” 

“An’ cuttin’ ya shit up ain’? Least ya’ll die happier bein’ high on rocks den bleedin’ out by a blade.”

You realise then just how monumentally different you are regardless of the background or personality. He’s a tweaker and you’re sober. You should have picked up on the signs a lot earlier- but at least he was nice.

“I’m fine.” You reply stiffly. He lets out an amused chuckle and stretches out.

“Nah, ya ain’ tha’s why ya fuckin’ did tha’ and told me ya sad.” He sighs and faces you completely with his arms crossed. There’s a long silence before he continues. “Dun do tha’ shit ta yaself fancy.”

The glare is instant. Your face is exposed to the light unlike his so you know he can see it.

“Why the hell do you care? We don’t know each other. This is our first conversation.”

“I see ya wanderin’ ‘round woman, all mopey and alone. I’m a lon’a too, buh I goh lucky wit’ lil Darylina. You didn’. Us kind gotta look out for one anoth’a.” He replies simply.

“Is that why you’re out here? You’re following me?” He laughs heartily and you feel embarrassed for what he’ll say next because it seems like you were the last thing on his mind.

“Get off ya fuckin’ high horse lady. I came ouh ‘ere ta smoke a bowl ‘nd saw ya dumbass trippin’ down tha hill.” He cracks his knuckles before continuing. “I’m gon’ need ya ta reassure ol’ Merle ‘ere sugar, cause he’s worried ‘bout ya. This ain’ normal shit and it’ll only get worse.”

“Why do you need my word?” And why are you worried about me, you think.

“Cause this is fucked up. If ya sad talk ta me, if ya hate me talk ta Darylina. He’s soft like ya. Ya don’ need’a do this ta ya’self. Shit’s hard- yea. Buh ya makin’ it harder.”

Maybe he really was just trying to be nice but you’ve never spoken to this man before and you sure as hell did not need to promise him anything. But he seems like the stubborn kind and so you grind your teeth and answer stiffly.

“Fine. I won’t.” He rubs his hands together then points one of them up the hill.

“Well tha’s dandy fancy pan’s. Now get back ta ya tent and ol’ Merle’s gon’ carry on ‘is night.” You roll your eyes and move around him to return to the camp. You owe Merle nothing and you will do whatever the hell you want.

*

It’s been a week since your run in with Merle Dixon and you haven’t spoken to him since. He leaves you alone and does whatever he does but every once and a while Daryl will give you a nod when your paths cross. The group here is flimsy and there’s a lot of competing egos and personality clashes in it. It’s enough to make you realize how much you don’t want to be here anymore. You spend the morning helping the women clean, barely listening to their conversations but nodding along with what they say like you were. You’ve already made your mind up on what you want to do and stole one of the men’s blades when they weren’t looking since yours went ‘mysteriously’ missing the day after you spoke to Merle.

You’re deep in the woods now. You had hoped to come across a walker to throw yourself at but all of the ones you see have arrows in their heads already. So now it’s left up to you.

This spot is nice enough.

With a flick of your wrist the blade is unsheathed from its handle. You fall onto your knees and cut your hand to check how sharp it is, it’s decent enough to get through a windpipe. With one last prayer and the smiling faces of your family in mind, your eyes close and the metal presses against the skin of your neck. You only manage to slide it less than an inch across when your wrist is squeezed so hard that you cry out and drop it. When you look up Merle is the one you see, his expression is furious and it panics you instantly. He kicks the knife far before yanking you up with a grunt.

“Wha’ tha fuck are a doin?! Ya fuckin crazy bitch. Tha’s tha fuckin worse way ta die!” His volume stings your ears and makes you feel small. But the shock wears off fast and you remember why you’re out here.

“Let me go!” You scream while struggling to pull yourself away. “I’ll fucking stab you before I kill myself if you don’t do it!” You continue to struggle against him but the man is made of concrete and he easily keeps you in place.

Your threat is nothing anyway, one half-assed slap and he could knock you into next year.

“Ya gave me ya word.” He growls. Brows together and creasing a line between them.

“I don’t care! My choices aren’t yours you hick. Fuck off!” He doesn’t flinch at the insult. He’s been called a lot worse no doubt and something so generic bounces off of him like styrofoam.

You kick at his legs and he waits until the steam runs out and you’re left breathing heavily. When you stop resisting he lets you go with a frown. For some reason or another you find yourself wrapping your arms around his middle and bunching the back of his shirt with your hands. You feel it then, a wetness on Merle’s shirt that tells you that you’re finally crying. After so long of nothing it comes out like a burst dam and you can’t stop. Your body is shaking and his hands are on your back while his head rests on yours.

“Ya gon’ be alrigh’. Shit’s jus’ hard at tha’ momen’. Life ain’ tha same way.” He says.

After a while the sobs turn into sniffles and then become whimpers. He’s warm and hard, like a stiff hot water bottle that makes you feel a comfort you hadn’t in a long time.

“I don’t want to be here Merle.” You admit. The grip on you is tightened a little more. “I hate these people, I hate what we’re doing, I hate everything.” He puts a hand on either arm and keeps you in place so he can step back. There’s nothing particularly soft in his expression, but he does seem aware and his attention is yours completely.

“Hate it all baby doll, buh don’ let it kill ya off. We’re all gon’ die. Buh die fightin’ fa somethin’, helpin’ someone- ya don’ like these people? Hell, neith’a do me or Darylina. Buh it works fa now, it ain’ gon’ be forever.” He replies.

You shake your head and break the stare for a moment.

“I can’t help anyone.” You whisper. “I couldn’t help my family so how the hell can I do anything?” Your gazes meet again. “These people don’t need me.”

He lets out a scoff and rolls his eyes. You didn’t expect something like that in such a sensitive situation but it does make everything feel less tense.

“Ya don’ know tha’. Ya migh’ be tha one cunt ‘round who will kill a walker tha’s about ta bite someone. Don’ blame yaself fa wha’s already done. Ain’ no manual on how ta survive a dam’ apocalypse and keep ya people ta’gether.” There’s nothing in his words that feel forced.

“I should have done more.” You say softly.

“Do more now.” He counters.

“But what if I do something wrong? What if somebody needs my help and I fuck up again?” The tears threaten to come back and you have to chew on your lip to keep it together.

He shakes his head.

“At leas’ ya fuckin’ tried fancy ‘n tha’s wha’ matters.” He stands tall again and brings you in for another hug that feels more intimate than it did before, like he cares. “ Ol’ Merle’s gon’ teach ya a few thin’s. Shit that’ll help ya feel strong an’ safe.”

“Like what?”

“Fightin’, huntin’, how ta kill a dam’ walker so ya don’ feel like ya can’. Shit that’ll make ya see how important it is ta be alive fa yaself an’ other fuckers.” He lets out a sigh that you feel deflate in his chest. “Ya ain’ gon’ be alone again.”

“You don’t know that.” You reply with a scoff.

“I fuckin’ dam’ well do woman. Only a Dixon can kill’a Dixon. An’ Darylina ain’ killin’ me yet.” The comment doesn’t make any sense to you because it isn’t true but you don’t correct him. His words feel nice. “And if he do, then ya still go’ ‘im. He’ll watch ou’ fa ya.”

You laugh at the comment and if your head could shake you’d do it.

“We’ve never spoken before Merle.” You say. “I doubt that.”

He lets out a laugh and once again you’re thrown off.

“Well don’ cause he’s tha only reason I knew ya fucked off ou’ ‘ere. An’ why ya didn’ get ya ass eaten by a fuckin’ walker. Cause he don’ wan’ ya dead neither.” You loosen your hold a little and the pieces begin to come together.

“He saw me come in here? Those arrows were his?” You ask.

“Sure as shit did. Boy walks like tha wind. Got a head’a ya ta kill ‘em off while I followed behind. Told ya woman, us lon’as gotta stick ta’getha like flies on shit.” He boasted proudly.

Despite the crudeness of the comment you hold Merle tighter and the tears come back again.

The Dixon brothers were the last men on earth that you ever thought would give a shit about you, yet they did. They cared enough to keep you alive, to show you that they were worried and gave you the time of day when nobody else has. Because they were alone too.

You pull far enough away to still be in his hold and he looks down, eyes widening a little as you tug him down by the front of his singlet. You stretch high enough to reach his cheek and plant a soft kiss on it. When you pull away from the embrace Merle stands tall with a high brow then looks you over slowly. He hasn’t said anything yet. But you know that whatever comes out isn’t going to be as platonic as it was when he was comforting you.

He lets out a low whistle.

“Well goddam’ fancy, if I knew ya would’a done tha’ ol’ Merle ‘ere would’a turned ‘is charm on ta get a little more.” He says throatily with wiggling brows.

Your eyes roll and you wipe at your face with a tired sigh.

“Don’t ruin the moment Dixon.” You say dryly.

“Oh I can make this momen’ even bett’a darlin’. I’m a givin’ man with a lotta love in ‘im.” He says playfully with a wink that you can’t help but smile a little at.

You walk around him and find the blade easily. The weight of it is heavier than you remember. Maybe because now you realise how close you came to leaving because of it. The scent of sweat and something like burning plastic comes close and you look to the side and see Merle staring back. You hold it out for him to take but he shakes his head.

“Shit’ll keep ya safe an’ give ya life instead’a takin it away. Hol’ on ta it. And don’ do this ‘gain.”

“I won’t.” You promise. And this time you mean it.

The sentiment is something you didn’t expect to come from somebody like him. But you take the advice with a smile, sheath the blade and pocket it. Instantly Merle wraps an arm around your shoulders that feels like a tree trunk and directs you back to the camp while whistling. Strangely enough it feels good to be held by him. A part of you wants it to stay that way even when you do get back.

“Merle?” You say while looking up at him with a smile he focuses on. “Thank you.”

He shrugs and let’s out a long sigh.

“Shit das wha’ friends is for fancy! Buh now it’s time ta show ya how ta skin a squirrel so ya can make ol’ Merle ‘ere some food when he too pissed ta cook.”

Squirrel?

“Why the hell can’t you make it? You have hands.” A laugh vibrates through his thick chest and his tone switches back to the flirty one he gave you after the kiss. His eyes brush over your tense expression and he grins.

“Cause tha’s wha’ lady friends is for sugar, well, tha’ and kissin’ ol’ Merle’s cheek.”

[koressecretidentity]

A new future - Thomas Sharpe x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, bad writing, slightly heated moment at the end

Word count: 2229

Characters: Thomas Sharpe, Lucille Sharpe, (y/n) (l/n), (y/n)’ parents

Pairing: Thomas Sharpe x Reader

Reader gender: Female

A/N: English is still not my first language and I do have two beta readers but they are Dutch too so if there are any grammar mistakes, please forgive me. I also hope the usage of language is correct.

GIF is never mine unless stated otherwise masterlist

Nerves wrecked through (y/n)’s body. She had never met this man in her life before, how was she supposed to act in love and content if it would turn to be everything she feared.

Everything seemed to slow down. It was everything she wanted yet everything she feared. A marriage. That’s what she had always dreamed of. An arranged marriage. That’s what she had feared for so long.

Her father had decided on an arranged marriage if (y/n) couldn’t find a fitting

husband herself before she turned 18 and her 18th birthday came much sooner than she had appreciated.

So here she stood. (h/c) locks falling over her shoulders while other locks were neatly put up in a bun. A few pearls decorated her hair and shined brightly in the light that bathed on her back. (e/c) eyes met her father’s who held his arm up expectantly for her to hold. He’d walk her down the aisle and towards her new lover. Or the one that was supposed to become her lover.. So her parents hoped.

“It happened with us too,” her mother had said, “We fell in love while we were on our honeymoon and look where that brought us.”

Well apparently that had led to her birth and her own arranged marriage. (y/n) had heard so many stories of women who were basically a prisoner in their own house, stuck to the chores and the kids while the husband was out to work, earn money. And while that wasn’t new for her, she feared that her husband would be someone who wouldn’t give her one ounce of freedom.

For years (y/n) dreamed of such freedom and she had hoped her parents would’ve showed mercy and let her travel the world, explore new countries and everything. But that didn’t seem to be the case.

As (y/n) and her father made it down the aisle, the bride couldn’t help but notice that most guests were ones she knew or at least had seen once. Except for one woman. Dark long hair fell down her back and the look she held in her eyes was rather cold. It send small shivers up (y/n)’s spine. It was like that woman didn’t seem happy at all that her male relative was getting married.

Well, (y/n) figured it had to be a relative of the man at the end of the aisle for she herself couldn’t recall meeting that woman and she was sure she’d remember a cold look as hers

“Don’t stare, keep walking.” Her father demanded her and it was only then that (y/n) noticed that she had hesitantly stopped walking for a few seconds to take in the woman’s looks. She quickly made her way further down and then her hand met very soft ones. Probably the softest ones she had ever felt.

Then she had to turn her face to look at the priest that made them say their blessing.

Due to the thick veil covering her face, she didn’t get a clear look of her soon-to-be husband but she had seen the outlines of his face and she felt lucky that she didn’t get an ugly one. It sounded a little rude but she’d have to survive with that man for the rest of her life whether she wanted to or not.

So when the priest pronounced them husband and wife – the whole room cheered happily – and the veil got lifted, her breath hitched as her (e/c) irises met gorgeous blue ones. The man – Thomas if she recalled correctly – had the softest look in them and he cupped her face thus gently that she could’ve sworn that man thought she was fragile and breakable.

And then his lips were on her own. They felt a little rough in contrast to her own soft ones but she didn’t mind one bit. She even felt the fireworks every lovesick woman talked about when they kissed their lover.

Way too soon to her liking, they pulled away again and Thomas wrapped on arm around her waist, holding her close as they made there way down. Both smiling happily and when they were alone for a few minutes she heard him speak clearly for the first time.

Sure she had heard his voice at the altar but she hadn’t really paid attention. She had  noticed his accent was British though and that might’ve explained why he acted like such a gentleman.

“I’m such a lucky man,” Thomas whispered while now cupping her face again and leaning his forehead against hers, “I know we barely met but I can’t help it but feel for you.”

Well.. Now (y/n) at least knew he felt the fireworks too when they kissed.

“I understand that when we take our leave to my home country and when we get there you’d rather sleep on your own, in your own room and maybe even on our honeymoon. I know we’ve never met before and I shan’t force you into a more intimate relationship than we already have-“

“I don’t mind,” she interrupted suddenly and tilted her head a little, her lips brushing against his as she spoke, “Pardon me for the interruption but I don’t mind at all. I’ve never felt more safe with any other man than you and I am willing to give this a chance.”

Thomas smiled brightly, his lips still curled upwards as he pressed his lips once again against hers.

It was days before they went on their honeymoon. The newly wed travelled around the world and made various stops. But never once did they make love to one another. Mostly because they had to get to know each other still and let it build up to a healthy relationship before they could do such things. Despite (y/n)’s parents constantly asking whether or not she succeeded in getting pregnant. Whenever they knew where the couple was staying, they send letters that way with the same question and every time they did, (y/n) and Thomas send one back with the same explanation over and over again.

It had gotten thus much out of hand that (y/n) one night after receiving yet another letter – they were in Paris at the time – constantly kept apologising for her parents and kept on assuring Thomas she did not want to force him in such things much unlike them. Thomas had laughed good-heartedly and pulled her into his embrace. He assured her how it was alright and that he understood more than anyone.

He had gotten private letters too. Ones he hid from (y/n) and more often than not didn’t even open or respond to them. They were from Lucille, asking when he’d come back to get back to their usual routine.. A routine he didn’t want to repeat again. A routine he wanted to save (y/n) from for he had fallen in love with her. A routine that was thus disturbing he couldn’t tell (y/n).

“Whose is that?” (y/n)’s soft voice rang through the quiet room and her head was tilted down a bit, her eyebrows were shot up a little bit with curiosity.

Thomas had been reading a letter from Lucille for the first time in a while again and it was safe to say his sister became annoyed with the delay of the plans. Her handwriting wasn’t as neat as before and her words were less careful must one open up a letter.

“Lucille..” he found himself ready to confess everything. Everything he had done wrong. Every single piece of his sins.

“Come sit down with me and take a look at this letter,” he placed the letter next to his leg and held his arms out for his wife. (y/n) took his hands and let him pull her into his lap while she picked up the letter. As she read it, he kissed the exposed flesh of her shoulder softly, eyes closed as if that would make the truth less painful.

I’m tired Thomas.

Tired of waiting. You better come home soon again. I’ve been waiting long enough for the two of you. The poison is even starting to loose it’s power gradually. We better let her sign the papers and then kill her instantly. I took care of her parents, they are dead.

You better hurry up too, Thomas, because you know I will not harm you in any way if I can help it. I love you too dearly for that, but my patience is growing thin.

I expect to see you in three days.

Love Lucille

(y/n)’s eyes widened as she read the letter. She figured already who Lucille meant by ‘her’. No doubt it was her.

“And you.. Want to kill me too?” she whispered sadly. For some reason her eyes couldn’t leave the paper and Thomas had to place his hand under her chin and turn her head to make her look at him. He shook his head with a determined look in his eyes.

“My love, why do you think we’ve been away this long? The day we were gone, Lucille killed your parents so you inherited the riches but I don’t want to go back to the same old dance,”

Thomas sighed and pressed his lips against hers for a few seconds, surprised to find her kissing him back.

“There is so much more to this story than you think. But for now, I want you to know.. I want to stay here in Paris. We can buy a nice house, any house you’d like. We can start a family again and.. If you’ll still have me.. maybe grow old together.”

He saw the hesitation in her eyes. He couldn’t blame her. After everything he had done, he wouldn’t dare to begin a future with him either if he were in her place.

“First explain to me what exactly is going on.” She whispered after a few beats of silence.

Thomas nodded slowly and tucked her head underneath his own so he wouldn’t have to look at her as he confessed every single sin.

He told her how they killed their own mother in the bathtub and how had started something new. A mistake he could punish himself for every day. They had a baby but something was wrong with that baby and it died soon after Lucille had given birth to it. Or died.. Lucille had it killed.

He told her how he used several woman to their advantage the same way that they had been planning to use (y/n). It was all for an invention and Allerdale Hall.

After he had told her every single piece of his past he found himself in tears. He felt incredibly guilty and while he didn’t dare to look at his loved one when she pulled her head from under his. She turned her body, straddling his lap that should’ve led to intercourse if it weren’t for the moment. Soft hands cupped his head and her beautiful voice called out his name as her thumbs wiped away his tears.

“It’s.. It’s not okay what you have done but I am proud of you. I am proud that you dared to confess it all to me and told me the truth. Thomas I love you. More than anything. I forgive you for what you have done. I do want to start a family with you here, in Paris. We’ll go looking for a house tomorrow.. How does that sound?” she suggested. Thomas looked her in the eyes. Scanning them for any sign of disgust but he could find none. In fact, they were filled with love and adoration. For him.

“Please stop crying,” she whispered and pulled his head against her chest, holding him closely, “It breaks my heart to see you this sad.”

He calmed down, focussing on how her hand raked through his hair, massaged his scalp gently. He focussed on her heartbeat and her steady breathing. It calmed him down.

When the tears had also stopped he looked up and kissed her passionately, turning them around so he was on top of her.

His hands were at her sides, holding her close and he pulled away a little,

“I love you (y/n).. Please let me make love to you.”

A nod was the response that gave him the consent he needed and soon her kissed her again. Lips hot against hers, tongues in a passionate battle. Only breaking away when they needed air. His lips though didn’t stop moving. They went down her neck, kissing gently, showing how much he loved her as his hips rolled against hers in need of friction.

All the layers of her skirt were pulled up to her midsection. His head was in between her thighs as he kissed her gently close to her most intimate flower. Blue eyes never leaving the sight of her face as it contorted into an expression of pleasure.

Once they both were warmed up enough, he lined up and gently penetrated her. Careful so he wouldn’t hurt her too much for it was her first time.

Through the whole night, they made love to one another.

The next day, their life begun for real by looking for a fitting place to settle down together and live their own lives. No Lucille – for her letters were thrown away as soon as they got one – and no more lies.. A new future.