#i like my men millennia old | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thegnomelord · 4 months

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this isn’t a request but you’re the only writer i know who writes the monster!au so

dragon!reader and dragon!price are haunting my thoughts. dragons usually have to hold themselves back when sparring because they’re so much stronger than other monsters but with price & reader they don’t need to, to the point where the other members of the 141 are kinda wondering if they need to intervene.

what they do or don’t know is this is you and price courting, testing each other’s strength to assess whether you’re suitable mates. once you have decided you’re suitable it continues in the bedroom, fighting for dominance and testing each other’s stamina as price rides you or you pin price down and see if he can take all the strength behind your thrusts.

OH god I LOVE the way you think! I know @rodolfoparras also did a dragon price some time ago but I'm happy to let my monsterfucker out lol :D I'll consider this a spitball thingy but GOD DAMN did my hyperfixation hyperfixate on this :Ddd kinda rushed at the end but it's 3AM :/

CW:NSFW

What about if dragons measure not just raw strength, but all other aspects as well? They're prideful by nature and with so little of them remaining no self-respecting dragon will settle for a witless brute or a powerless scribe.

Price had lost hope in finding a mate centuries ago because he's even pickier than most of his kin; in his view, a proper one needs to be strong enough to completely pin him down, needs to be smart enough to see the insults in his honeyed words and give back as good as he does, needs to be clever enough to lead men as good as he does.

A proper mate needs to keep up with him on all levels.

And for a dragon of his age, that's an unachievable set of criteria. Oh sure, many of the dragons he's met over the years have tried to match him, but all fell short, leaving him lonely and unsatisfied.

Then he met you, a fellow Captain, a fellow dragon. Though only a few centuries younger than him, you're a wyrmling in his eyes, your scales like shining metal compared to his muddled gemstones. An arrogant wyrmling if the way you peacock for him the first time you enter the training room has anything to say about it— your wings spreading out and muscles rippling, back straightening out to make you taller, scales glinting in the artificial light; little details that anyone else can brush off as a simple stretch but to a dragon it screams of your interest in him.

His slitted eyes roam across your body, both equal parts disdain and curiosity. "Got somethin' ta say there boy?" His words are rough like sandpaper.

"No, no." You hum as you get into the ring, every little movement purposely done to showcase your hard earned musculature. "Just that you should skip out on this fight. Wouldn't want you to throw your back out old man."

"Old man huh?" His eyes blaze with the same fire at the end of his cigar, your words igniting something in his chest that had long been extinguished. "I'll show you old."

And suddenly he's in the ring, both of you trading blow for blow with the same savagery your progenitors had frightened mankind with for millennia, your claws leaving deep grooves in the concrete when you miss his side, his tail smashing a portion of the ground into dust when you avoid it, the ground between you cracking when you try to push the other away, loose scales and dust and debris littering the ground as you and Price wrestle on the ground.

Both of your teams watch from the sidelines, your team calming the other members of TF141 that this is just how dragons are, pointedly ignoring your victorious snarl when you pin Price down to the ground, your clawed hand harshly pushing his face into the concrete to the point you might break his nose as you bite the back of his neck, forcing him to submit. "I win,"

"Not fer long." He snarls back just as deep, feeling alive for the first time in who knows how long. "Best two out of three." And with that he jerks, remaining wing slamming into your side and knocking you off balance long enough for him to fling you into the wall opposite of him.

You don't know how many rounds you go before you're forced to stop by a very pissed off Laswell, who also pointedly ignores the obvious bulges in what remains of both of your pants, giving both of you a stern talking to about wrecking the damn training room.

You're ready to leave after being chastised like a child but Price is quicker, passing you with a "Good fight back there." rumbling in his throat, the soft scales of his wing brushing along your jaw. Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull when you meet his gaze, and Price has a good poker face but the smoldering look in his eyes and the low grumble in his chest makes it's obvious you've peaked his curiosity.

But that's just the start, the hard part is keeping it. While regular dragons may spend time with a potential mate conversing on scholarly subjects or having philosophical debates, you and him have a more practical way of assessing the other's intellect — Battle plans.

To your teams it sounds like a harsh argument, ideas thrown around and sharp insults tacked on top, their heads ping ponging between you and Price as you look over maps, trying to one up the other. Eventually your teammates leave you to settle this on your own.

"And I'm telling you, old man," You growl, both of you so close there's barely any space between you as you point at the map. "We can push a smaller team through the forest while we lead the frontal assault, our wip's not going to have anywhere to go then." You huff, holding your head up high to make it obvious you're proud of your idea.

Price gives you the stink eye, before he scans the map again, humming to himself. After a few seconds he lets out a scoff. "We don't have enough men for that." He says, but the sharp edge in his tone is dulled. "But—" His tail moves to brush against your own, your rough scales brushing against his smoother ones. "—It has some merit."

Price doesn't draw attention to the way your tails intertwine, wrapping together like two snakes, and neither do you. But the short purr that bubbles out of your chest says everything he needs to know, growing louder when he answers with his own, your shoulders brushing together. "Aight, back to work." He cuts your purrs short, but you can't hide the pleased look on your face as your tails remain coiled together.

Then comes the actual courting dance.

One late evening spent looking over documents in the privacy of his office, your tails once again coiled beneath the desk after successfully having proved your wit to him again, absentmindedly telling embarrassing stories of your respective teams. . . Price has a revelation. You might be it. "Hey lad."

You look up, your full attention on him. "Yeah?"

With a mumbled grunt too quiet for you to hear Price slides a hand beneath his shirt and pulls a large green scale from the meat of his shoulder blade, the wound healing before it can even bleed.

Instinctively you know what this means, for knowing how a prospective mate treats an extension of you will show how they'll treat you. But you still speak up, needing proof for your own mind that you're not insane and haven't been burning the wrong tree. "What?"

Price glares at you, "Don't play dumb," He says as he slides the large scale across the table to you. "It doesn't suit you." There's an underlayer of heat in his words, blue slitted eyes looking you over in a much more appreciative light.

You can't control the big grin that spreads across your face, "Oh, then what does suit me?" You ask as you follow his lead, yanking out one of your larger scales from your own back and sliding it to him. It makes the difference between you two obvious, his green scale muddled with age compared to your shiny one.

"Arrogant muppet." The gentle way he picks up your scale clashes with his harsh words, cradling it in his hand like it'll crack at the slightest of touches, his face reflected in the surface.

You grin, "Just confident." You feel his sharp eyes judge every minute twitch of your fingers as you pick up his scale. Price's poker face hides the way his heart melts at the loving way you brush a thumb across the surface, how it throbs when you don't immediately attempt to make it shine like some whelps once did, accepting him for how he is by putting it in your breast pocket.

God, he doesn't even know how much he'd fantasized about something like this when he was still young, vestiges of a purr escaping his throat at the tender way you treat his scale. "Right." He shakes his head and places your scale in his own breast pocket, handing you another stack of papers. "Get back to work."

You grin and do as he says, wings twitching as a sign of joy, your tail squeezing down on his and receiving a squeeze in kind.

Price feels like a horny teen when he lays awake in bed late at night with your scale held between his claws. He feels stupid for feeling so giddy at the thought of having a mate, a proper mate, yet his body thinks differently. Just holding it in his hand is enough to make him grow hot, your scent still clings to the scale and Price finds himself holding it close to his nose to familiarize himself with it and Hell his body loves it, cocks growing hard in record time and his thighs wet with slick. The poor thing doesn't even know what to relieve first, his free hand constantly going between stroking his cocks and fingering himself, mind craving the heat of another dragon that he'd been deprived of.

What Price doesn't know is that you're in the same boat, biting your arm to silence yourself as you imagine it's Price you're breeding instead of a pillow, splintering the headboard from how hard you're gripping it in an attempt to not damage the scale.

Then shit hits the fan when during a routine mission you two are ambushed, and while two dragons are no easy prey for mankind, humans have long since gone from using rocks and sticks. You catch sight of a sniper's scope glint seconds before the bullet targets Price, and in only a few seconds to think you throw yourself in the way, Price's scale in your breast pocket puts enough resistance to make you survive the bullet, but you feel it crack, and that. . . that sets you off.

Price doesn't even have the time to lift his gun before you're tearing through the battlefield like a man possessed, anger burning like a volcano in your chest for trying to hurt him, elemental breath and draconic strength unleashed to it's fullest potential.

And Price? Price watches the show with that same heat burning in his belly, forced to bite his lip to silence the pleased purrs as he rubs his thighs together while you tear flesh from bone, mate flashing in his mind. Look how he protects you His mind purrs, Good mate. Perfect mate.

"I'm sorry." You whimper when you've finally calmed down, the battlefield nothing but a ruined crater and the shards of his scale held tenderly in your cupped hands. "I failed, I-"

"Come here." Price cuts you off quickly and pulls you down into a harsh and desperate kiss, all teeth and tongue and need. He parts just a fraction of an inch, "You passed." He growls and only then do you notice the sharp arousal in his scent, your animalistic hindbrain jumping for joy as you kiss back because holy shit he considers you worthy.

And now that he's found his mate? You best believe his body is going to make up for all the centuries he'd spent alone.

It doesn't even take a week for him to enter heat, waking in a daze with his twin cocks hard and his thighs glistening with slick, your scent lingering in the sheets and your side of the bed still warm. The walls almost shake from how deeply he growls when he registers that you're not next to him, just enough sense in his head to throw on a towel around his waist before angerly stomping through the halls to find you, sniffing you out like a bloodhoud.

"Bloody muppet." Price growls as he yanks you by the horns back to his room, the scent of his arousal so potent you're struck dumb, letting yourself be pushed down. Price's claws slice through your clothes, his hole so slick and eager for you he doesn't even need to stretch, just jumps onto your lap and in one fluid motion takes one of your cocks to the root. "Fuckin' finally." Price hisses, instantly setting a harsh pace of bouncing on your cock that would have had a lesser race end up with a crushed pelvis.

You grip his hips for dear life, surging up to mark his neck and shoulders with bites as he does the same, his ass clapping against your thighs. "Mate." Price moans, hole clenching around you, his cocks leaking against your stomach. "My mate." He grips your hair and pulls you into a bruising kiss, "Going to last long for me yeah?" He asks, a bit of mockery on his flushed face as he feels you cum inside him, riding you through your orgasm as the sudden onslaught of sensations frazzles the intelligent parts of your brain. "Not going to disappoint me now are you?"

Good thing dragons have really short refractory periods.

"Not a chance." You snarl and flip him over suddenly, rumbling purrs escaping your chest from the surprised sound he makes. You attempt to pin him down and he squirms out of your hold, another bout of wrestling breaking out between you that has you two tumbling off the bed and onto the ground.

"That so whelp?" Price breathes out when you manage to pin him down, your strong hand keeping his face flush with the floor. "Do you really think you can keep up?" A pleased thrill runs down his spine from the sensation of your weight bearing down on him, his knees automatically locking up to hike his ass up, tail flipping up to display his slick hole for you.

"Do you?" You counter, one hand on his head, the other pressing both of your dicks together, your two tips pressing against his ass. "You're so wet and desperate, should have just pinned you down the moment I saw you instead of courting you." With one sharp thrust you push in, a pained and elated moan tearing out of his throat at the sensation of your twin cocks spreading him wider than any toy ever could, scratching that itch he'd had for who knows how long.

The stretch and burn and pleasure muddles his mind, reduces him to low animalistic snarls and growls as he does his best to push his hips into yours. "Hurry the fuck up." Price orders, whole body shaking from the way you set a harsh pace, bashing on his prostate, your balls slapping against his own, each hard thrust pushing and pulling his face across the floor. "I'll- fuck- fall asleep."

"You sure about that?" You push your weight further on him, forcing his wing to spread out, your own partially wrapping around him, "Seems to me like-" A bit of elemental breath leaves your throat when one particularly strong thrust has his hole clamping down on you, his back arching to push his hips as close to yours as one of his cocks spews cum on the floor, "-like you're not in a place to order me around."

"You- ah-fuck-ah- wanker." His insult would be a lot more hurtful if he didn't whine like a bitch in heat, both of you devolving into primitive snarls and growls with the only thought on both of your minds being the need to fill Price with as much of your cum as you physically can.

#Spittballs with Gnome #Idk how this happened #my hyperfixation got wayyy out of hand #n my monsterfucking got out of hand #cod mw2 #gnome correspondence #x reader #trinkets from the hoard #male reader #top male reader #captain john price #john price x male reader #john price x reader #top dom reader #cod modern warfare #cod smut #cod x male reader

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rosie-writings · 25 days

Text

For Just a Moment I'm Whole Again

Request: anon—ghost!Reader falls in love with Colby

Summary: ghost!Reader finds out that her twin flame is Colby who was born decades after she died, and upon meeting him for the first time, she needs his help to usher her on to the afterlife to be free from the purgatory she roams.

Warnings: ghost!Reader x Colby smut, Age Gap, Bittersweetness, light Angst, Fluff, and Twin Flame relationship

Words: 6.6k

No Y/N Use

Title from 'Calcutta' by Sleep Token

A/N: Technically, Reader is 19 while Colby is 27, however she died nearly thirty years before he was born, so who's older?

I stopped crying about it a few years ago.

Maybe a decade or two, I wasn’t quite sure. It’s not that I was upset about how I died, I almost forgot the pain of it all, I was upset because out of everywhere I could have died, it was in a house.

A lonely house.

After I died, apparently my friends were too traumatized to keep the house, so they sold it. I tried to get their attention. Everyday I tried to convince them that purgatory was real and they forced me into it by leaving. What was I supposed to do alone in a house that no one wanted to buy because a death occurred?

When I found out that they also rumored to their realtor that it was haunted, I wanted to slap the lives out of them. Of course it was haunted; that was your best friend trying to get you to look at me for once before I could never see you again—

I cried for years.

No one bought the house.

I slept in the king sized bed in the room upstairs alone and cold.

There was a hotspot in the middle of the house.

The house was built upon a particular mineral that ushered in traveling ghosts, and the convenient vortex in the center of it aided their arrival. Occasionally I met other ghosts and other inhuman beings that couldn’t care less about me. They probably had millennia of experience navigating the afterlife’s purgatory on earth while I was only a couple decades old.

I think I died in 1971. I couldn’t remember.

The day this house was bought, I thought I was saved.

Instead, major renovations took place. They ripped the nostalgic wallpapers off the walls and tore out the carpets that my human and ghostly feet were all too familiar with.

”How about you chose an actually appealing pint this time, motherfucker,” I spat at the contractor who walked right through me in the main hallway upstairs. I rolled my eyes and followed him into the primary suite.

Today was the day they renovated my bedroom.

”I wonder how many years it’s been; you look fucking weird. Do all men have that silly ass haircut or something now?” I asked as I sat on top of the ladder in the middle of the room. “Thanks so much for bringing your tool batteries in here. You don’t need those do you?” I felt their powerful buzzing. I felt the electricity waving through the room and I sucked it all up.

With every minute that passed, I felt stronger and stronger, until.

”Oops—“ I sighed in boredom as I knocked a paint can off the top of the ladder.

The worker whirled around with wide eyes and basically looked at me in mine, but he saw through me. I rolled my eyes again.

“You humans are all the fucking same. God, I was so damn embarrassing as a human. Can’t you at least try to talk to me? I’m so fucking—“

His co-worker called his name and walked in the room.

”What the fuck have you done?” The second shouted. White paint pooled on the concrete below me.

”At least you didn’t put floor in yet—“

”It just-It just fell! I didn’t even touch it! I put it up there like 20 minutes ago and-and it just fell!” The second worker grumbled and picked up the emptying can.

”They said there was some poltergeist activity in this house which is why it took fucking 50 years for it to be sold again.”

50 years?

My lack of heart nearly fell through the floor.

I sat on the ladder looking through them this time. 50 years? I was stuck here for 50 years with nothing to do? No one to talk to? I wanted to cry. Ghost cry sessions weren’t as satisfying as human cry sessions.

I had to get out of here.

I had to—

I stole the energy from all their equipment, but it was still not enough. Even with the electromagnetic energy pulsing through my spirit, the hotspot wouldn’t take me.

“Come on,” I grumbled. I looked through the vortex and saw spirals and spirals of unveiled spirits traveled through this purgatory called earth, and yet none would grab on to me. What was beyond? “Please! Take me! Get me out of here!”

I broke down crying again.

This was the biggest chance I had in order to leave and not even it was enough.

I curled up in the middle of the floor there and cried until I fell asleep.

Later, when the sun was high in the sky and the house was vacant, I woke up.

As I stood, I appeared in the master bedroom so I could sleep in the bed—

“What the fuck?” I asked to nothing.

The walls were white, the flooring was finished with deep warm floorboards, and the bed frame was a plush cream color with a creamy duvet.

“They did this fast. I wonder how long I was asleep for.” There was a dresser, two nightstands, and a desk that all matched in a deep brown, practically black, wood finish. “We go 50 years in the future just to be completely devoid of all color. Jesus fuck.” I curled up in the bed regardless. “Oh my god,” I moaned loudly. “Actually, I take all that back. I will give up any color in my life to feel this mattress if only for a second. This is how technology should be used, oh my god…”

I don’t remember finishing my sentence, I fell unconscious again.

I woke up to the sound of voices.

I shot to the foyer in a blink of an eye and I saw a family. A mom, a dad, three kids, and a dog, and I nearly cried on sight.

”Hello! Oh my god, yes thank everything good and mighty. You bought this house? I’m not alone anymore!” The dad walked through me. “I’m so excited—Oh my god your dog is so cute!” I fell to my knees in front of the Husky and it howled a talking fit at me, and when I raised my hand to pet it, it ran away from me so fast that it slid across the floor on its nails. “I’m not that scary, I don’t think,” I sighed and stood up again.

There was a girl, probably fifteen or sixteen, who walked right past me with something in her hands.

”Oh what’s that?” I asked as I followed her. The rectangle in her hand illuminated back at her like a TV screen and her thumbs furiously typed on some kind of keyless keyboard. “Holy shit! Is that one of those phones that all the futuristic movies talked about? We have them in the real world now?” I nearly screamed. I plopped into a vacant barstool next to her. “I would have loved that,” I grumbled. I devised a plan to steal it from her in her sleep and play with it all night.

I watched as she turned it on again.

”A passcode?” I questioned and I was ready to memorize it, but suddenly a blue light scanned down her face and it unlocked by itself. “Now that’s—“ I got out of my seat and backed up from her. “That’s weird. Can that detect ghosts?”

“Come on! Let’s go in the pool!” I gasped when the younger boy ran right through me and out the backdoor. I smiled when he cannon balled in the pool out back.

“Lukas! It is 40 degrees outside, get your ass in the house now!” His mother screamed, and I laughed.

“Oh yeah, they put so many cool pool toys in the chest out there,” I told him as I stepped foot outside. “You would love them in the summer though. It’s pretty cold—“

I must have walked too far out of the house, because in a blink of an eye, I teleported back in the middle of the vortex.

”God help me,” I sighed, and I started to devise my game plan to get into that girl’s device in the night.

It wasn’t easy.

The moon was high in the sky, and I walked in the girl’s bedroom cautiously. Not like she could see me, but I could make noises and I didn’t want to scare her.

Her phone lay on the table next to her bed with a cord coming from it, and she slept soundlessly next to it. I picked it up.

It illuminated to life and I gasped. I read the time and date.

2:35am, December 20, 2021

”Oh.. my god…” I whispered slowly.

2021? That wasn’t a real year. It had been 50 years that I was—

How was I going to get out of here? I needed out. First I needed this girl’s device. I grabbed it, and when it scanned my face, it said it was the incorrect Face ID.

I pointed it at the girl cautiously, and after a few recalculating aims, it unlocked. I brought it back to me and saw so many colors I didn’t know which to tap first. The entire screen responded to my touch.

I flicked through the squares on the screen and with each one, I read more and more paragraphs about people. It looked like the news or something. I couldn’t believe how amazing this device was at taking photos.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. The squares where it seemed like I could communicate with other people intimidated me; I didn't understand who I was talking to so I tried to get out of it and go back to the original place where all the squares were. I accidentally swiped and it moved the screen and I tapped out of it. That was how you got out of it, got it.

I found another app that was red. I clicked it. This time photos with short captions were the only things I scrolled through. After a second, I clicked one to make it larger, but instead, it brought me to another screen and a video began playing.

The audio was so loud and clear, I gasped and tried to figure out how to silence it. The girl disturbed next to me. The button I clicked turned the volume down.

A video played of the same photo I clicked on—

Those weren’t photos, they must have been paused videos or something. I watched and listened and it was actually entertaining. After the video ended, I clicked another.

And then another.

And before I knew it, the sun peeked over the horizon. The time read 7:30am. I had been watching these videos for five hours.

I put the phone down and walked out of the room.

I would have loved 2021.

I did it again the next night.

I sat there on the floor against the nightstand and watched more videos.

Video after video, I started to remember the names of the people who posted them. I didn’t remember the rabbit trail I went down; recommended video after recommended video led me to one that made me stop my jumping around.

It was a video of two idiotic boys messing around in a haunted house.

Now, I never was into haunted or spooky things when I was alive, and being dead now, I would say that I had a pretty large say in and experience in what these boneheads talked about.

I didn’t expect them to be so respectful. And considerate, too.

I watched as they talked to spirits in the house, and it was startling to watch humans interact with us spirits from their perspective. I forgot that that was all they saw.

I forgot how limited I was when I was trapped in my human skin.

How silly they were; it didn’t matter that they would have been seven years older than I was. Most of the people were children on YouTube, and they were the worst of them.

Sam and Colby certainly made me laugh, and their means of communicating with ghosts even more so.

There were some videos that scared me.

I liked the two a lot, and I didn’t want them to get hurt or manipulated by demonic forces. I had seen demonic forces firsthand, and humans were stupid enough to summon them. If I was afraid of them, humans definitely should have been.

The way they assumed everything was as sinister as they did made me laugh the most because the majority of spirits communicated with them were teasing them and cracking jokes. The boys took everything too seriously, but that was why they were so good.

They cared.

But one of them, Colby, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of. It was like I knew him. Warmth spread through me, and for the first time since I died, I was overcome with the need to leave. The pull teased me, beckoned me.

I was over forty years older than him; I would have never met him, so how did I know him?

Why did I need him?

I needed someone who cared about me like they did for spirits. I needed a human who cared to come in and help me. Certainly there were other humans out there who could help me like Sam and Colby, but they definitely weren’t as loud or had as much faith as they did in their capabilities.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t cry when that family left the house two days later. It wasn’t because I would be lonely again but because I couldn’t drown myself in Sam and Colby’s videos.

Or in Colby’s appearance and voice.

Hopefully someone else would stay for a week and I could use their phones to watch YouTube again.

Two weeks later, the house was booked again.

I finally learned that the house I was trapped in was turned into something called an AirBnb and I supposed that it was a house rented like a hotel.

The same routine spun into effect.

A new visitor spent the week here, I drained their batteries in everything they brought, I drowned myself in YouTube (to be honest, I drowned myself in the force that was Colby’s voice), and spent endless time spinning around the house in boredom wondering when the human chosen to save me would come.

They would come and help one day, I knew it.

The front door opened.

I was out of the bed in a flash and appeared in the foyer to see the new visitors. Two men walked in the house, and I wondered what on earth they were up to for arriving near two in the morning.

It was three years after I first learned what YouTube and social media was. I was ingrained in the politics, culture, society, and hyper-communicative world that was 2024.

I toed the fence. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to stay here and live as a free spirit in 2024 forever or be taken into the next spiritual realm. I knew I couldn’t stay forever, and with every year that passed, I felt the fabrics of my spirit being taken away into nothing.

I needed help.

When I came spirit to face with the two new visiting men, my entire world flipped upside down.

I knew them.

They were the ones with the YouTube channel.

They were—

”I know we said we would do some stuff before we go to sleep, but I literally—“

”No, I know,” the other sighed. “I’m so tired too. We got here a lot later than we planned.”

”We should just sleep then wake up a bit earlier than we planned to have more time to do what we couldn’t now.” The other nodded lazily.

”Yeah, we can do that.”

”Night, Colby,” said the blond one as he walked up the stairs.

”Night, Sam,” said the one I stood next to in between the foyer and the living room.

If I had a heart, it would have pumped loudly in my ears, and if I had a tongue, it would have dried up. Ever so slowly, I turned and looked at Colby as he pulled things from the backpack he had placed on the couch. His back faced me.

And I couldn’t control myself, the intrusive thoughts won. I wondered what he would do if I—

At the sound of his water bottle crashing into the hardwood floor, Colby whirled around with wide eyes and watched as it rolled to a stop.

“What the fuck?” He whispered. I gasped when he walked through me. I turned and watched as he picked it up and placed it back on the table. He watched it.

With a smile, I didn’t take my gaze off his face as I knocked it back onto the floor. He took two steps back.

That was when the realization dawned on me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. When I felt him, when I was near him, it made sense. The pieces shoved together painfully.

“Uh… Sam?” Colby called.

“What?” He called cautiously as he came from his room. “What’s wrong?”

”I—I swear to god, this water bottle fell off the table deliberately. Like someone knocked it over, twice.”

”Really?” He asked hesitantly when his feet hit his floor. At this point, they both stood in front of me and I crossed my arms in boredom. I was nearly as tall as the two; they were a lot smaller in person.

I was tall for a girl; almost five foot nine.

He placed the water bottle back down.

I stared at it. Humans were so dumb. I watched their anticipation knowing full well I wouldn’t satisfy them.

“What is happening, I swore it happened and it’s not now which means it’s not like the table is slanted or something.”

”That’s weird,” Sam said.

“You can go back to bed, sorry—“

”No, you’re fine, stupid,” Sam laughed as he went back.

Of course when he was halfway up the stairs with his back turned I yanked it off the table. Colby already left to the couch though, and so when Sam turned around quickly, he froze when he realized Colby was completely out of reach.

”See? I told you!” Colby cried.

”Oh shit… Yeah I have no idea how to explain that.”

”Wanna get a rem pod and the camera or something?” Colby asked.

“Maybe if something else happens.”

”Okay, okay,” Colby said, and I watched in surprise when Sam walked back to his room. They must have been tired then.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t mess with Colby until he went to sleep.

”You guys are idiots,” I said as if I expected a response. “Are you actually staying up or are you—oh,” I gasped when he turned around and walked through me before I could react. He picked up his bag and walked up the stairs. I sighed.

“That answers that.”

I peeked around the door. Colby stood in his room. I watched as he situated the things from his backpack. Those were some fancy cameras, small ones for that matter, and it looked like he charged the batteries. My eyes couldn’t pull from his skin though. He only wore his black jeans.

He turned towards me and I watched as he walked to the desk in his room. I intently focused on his face and his tattoos. He was so pretty. But he looked so different. I walked into the room and stood at the desk with him.

”What are these?” I asked and I touched the devices on the desk. Then, I gasped as his hand went through mine. My hand paused and I tried to feel the warmth. What would have been my hand burned with warmth, and I didn’t pull it away.

Colby froze in his place and stared at his hand. It burned cold.

But then he turned from the table and went back to the bed.

Now, never once in my life have I snooped. I’ve never pried, intruded, or watched anyone when they didn’t think they could be perceived. But I couldn’t leave his room. I froze in my place as I watched when he pulled his pants off. I couldn’t focus on anything else except his body. The way he moved, settled in the room, got in the bed, and plugged his phone in; every decision and every thought process was so painfully human.

I liked him a lot. Too much.

I wanted him to know I was here too.

The last time I tried to communicate with humans was with my best friends after the accident happened. After, their realtor was a bitch. There was a medium who was more so a dumbass who came to communicate with me. I scared her, and perhaps that went wrong. That might have been why it took so long for this place to be renovated.

I needed to talk to Colby. I wanted him.

I never wanted anyone as badly as I wanted him.

I stood in front of the desk where the devices were strewn about, and as he read his phone, I touched one of the devices.

I recognized one. It was a radio of sorts. One of the mediums who tried to communicate with me used it. Perhaps they were here to try to talk to me anyway.

I turned the spirit box on.

Immediately, Colby sat straight up in his bed. His phone was forgotten on the sheets. I laughed and watched as his confused eyes scanned the room.

”Hello,” I laughed. Then I used energy and found the word on a channel—

Hello

Colby looked around the room.

”Um, hi?” He said.

If I had a body, I was pretty sure the feeling I had was akin to my heart falling out of my ass.

“I know who you are, you publish on YouTube, right?”

I know you

Colby’s face turned with distrust.

“What—Are there actually spirits in this house?” He asked. I rolled my eyes.

”Obviously. You’re so dumb. I thought you know how to talk to us—

Duh…

He scoffed and his shock turned into an amused expression.

”What’s your na—“

Don’t be stupid

He stopped talking and his eyes widened.

”How do you know me? I’ve never been here.”

”You literally have 11 million people watching you on YouTube, don’t be silly,” I sighed.

You make videos

”You’re seen my—“ He gasped and thought for a moment. “How old are you? How long have you been here?”

For a long time

”I’m supposed to be nineteen,” I sighed.

Nineteen

”Nineteen—Holy shit wait, someone—the owners said a nineteen year old died here in the 70s—“

”That was totally me.”

Colby looked at the spirit box on the table and I smiled.

“Yeah,” he gasped nervously. “Are you the only spirit in the house?”

”Only one that lives here, anyway,” I scoffed.

Only one

”I’m sorry you’re alone.” I froze.

“What did you say?” I asked quietly, timidly. Silence. It defeated me.

It had been over 50 years since the accident and in all that time, no one apologized.

No one said sorry about my death or that I was alone. Not a single person had the empathy. Colby stared back at the spirit box. His eyes fell from it. He looked around the room in thought.

Suddenly, the urge ever too heavy came over me.

I glided straight over to him and I sat on the bed.

He shot up with his eyes wide.

If I had eyes, he would have looked right into them.

”Are-Are you on the bed with me?”

”Yes,” I confidently said and tried to use all my energy to tell the spirit box—

Yes… On this bed…

”Holy shit,” Colby whispered.

I felt the way his heart skipped.

The way his skin lit on fire.

I moved forward, and when I did, his skin fell cold.

”Did-Did you just touch me?”

“I’m on top of you.”

And it was true. I straddled him. I held his face in my lack of hands, and the warmth coursed through me like an electrical current. I needed him. He tethered me back into reality; the human world. That urge and that desperation to move onto the spirit realm died the moment I touched him.

Top

”You’re on me?” He rested his weight on his hands behind him. When he pushed his hips forward, a gasp left me because I felt the pressure.

Familiarity.

“I remember you, Colby. I know you, we knew each other—‘

Colby

”Why did you say my—“

I know you

“You know—oh shit,” he gasped. My vision hazed. My perception of my surroundings grew blurry as if I was about to sleep.

Heat coursed my body, and I held onto him to keep from falling asleep.

”You feel really good,” I gasped. I didn’t think about this.

We knew each other

“What?” He gasped as his body went rigid. Sexual things were so far from me. I figured that when I moved onto the spirit realm, more doors to explore sexuality would open. I never came across another human I viewed as desirable like him.

I never came across a human or spirit that felt as familiar as he was.

I knew he already had two female ghosts who liked him and messed around with him.

Good

”What’s good?” He gasped again. This time, it sounded like he was more breathless than anything.

”You.”

You

”Is that you making me feel like this? Are you touching me?” I moaned when I thrusted against him over and over. “Holy fuck—I just got so… What am I even doing?” Colby sighed more so to himself and then he laid himself back down against the bed. I gasped when he moved through me.

I looked down at him as his forearm rested across his forehead. His face was flushed and eyes were closed in thought.

I couldn’t deny the pressure under me. I knew he was painfully hard under me, but I had no intention of leaving or letting him do it himself. I looked down and couldn’t look away from his body. It was on fire, and the pressure in his underwear grew and grew.

I wish I could feel him for real with my hands and my skin.

“Holy fuck,” he moaned this time, and I moaned as well. He sounded so good like this. “I feel so crazy. Please tell me this is you doing this to me and not me—“

”I’m doing it. I’m touching you, Colby. Let me touch you.” Colby moaned again and again as I thrusted against him.

It’s me

His eyes shot open again.

Let me touch you

“Fuck, okay—holy shit—okay you’re-you’re actually real.”

”Yes,” I laughed. “I want to see you feel good.”

“If you’re actually real, get off of me and make me stop feeling like this—“

I was on the other side of the room in an instant. Colby sat up with a flushed face.

“What the fuck,” he whispered. I felt as the arousal in his body diminished. “And…” He mumbled hesitantly. “And if you’re real, get on top of me. Turn me on again.”

I blinked and I straddled Colby’s lap.

“Holy fucking—ugh.” And his head tossed into the pillow and eyes rolled back.

”Fuck,” I gasped as I watched him throw his arm across his mouth to conceal his moans.

Immediately, his arousal built again, and I thrusted against him over and over.

”You’re making me—Oh my god, don’t stop please,” Colby gasped.

You feel good

”Fuck,” he gasped.

He looked up at me and I swore he saw me. He didn't look through me, and I wished I could touch him.

Kiss him.

”You’re going to make me come.”

“Oh my god yeah, I want to see you come,” I mumbled. I would resurrect myself from the dead just to kill myself again if he knew I said that so I tried to hold in the energy. I didn’t want the music box to pick up on anything.

I tried to pull his underwear down. It was too difficult, too heavy. I was too tired. My gaze flashed around the room.

His phone.

I focused my energy on his phone and took the energy from it. The strength boiled and boiled in my being until I opened my eyes and watched as the waistband of it ever so slightly pulled back.

”Oh my fucking god—“ Colby gasped, and I cried out in surprise when he sat up straight and kicked himself away from me. “You-You fucking pulled—Are you trying to take my underwear off? Oh my god—You’re fucking real. You really are—“

“Colby it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you I want to make you feel good—“

Don’t be scared

”What?” He gasped and whirled his gaze to the spirit box.

Make you feel good

“I’m—“ he paused. He looked around the room. “I’m not scared. I can’t believe you’re communicating so well with me.”

”I’m taking power from your phone,” I said towards the spirit box.

This cell phone

Colby looked back to the spirit box.

”My phone?”

Using energy

”Oh, you’re taking the energy from my phone? Let me plug it in so you can take as much as you want—“

Yes

”Okay—“ He groaned as he leaned over and plugged it in. He left it on the table next to the bed. I didn’t give him another second to say a sentence. I pushed down against him and he drew in an uneven breath. “I can’t believe I can feel you.”

”Can you feel this?” I grinded down on him, and his arm caught another moan behind his mouth.

“Holy shit—I think I felt-I felt that. I’m so—oh my god!” I pulled at his underwear again, and this time, I pulled it halfway down. “I’m so…” He sighed into a moan, and I felt the way heat traveled down his body. His temperature rose, and I couldn’t look away. Not a second passed that I didn’t utterly consume the image of his real life human body under me.

I pushed again and again, and before his hand could reach into his underwear, he gasped a rather louder moan and spilled in the fabric.

I quickly tried to pull it back again, and this time, his underwear pulled halfway off.

“Oh my god—“ I gasped as I watched the rest of his fluids cover his stomach.

”You just fucking—You actually took them off,” he gasped breathlessly as he gathered himself together after his orgasm.

Pleasure washed through me as well, but it wasn’t as tangible as it used to be when I was alive. I was on fire, and I wanted more, anything more, but it was impossible here.

Then the tug.

I wanted to move on.

It was as if this window of pleasure piqued my interest, and I knew that if I moved onto the spiritual realm, I could live again. I wouldn’t be trapped in this purgatory.

Colby was so cute though. He was familiar; he looked like he was mine. We were each other’s. I wanted him to myself, but there was no way I could take him with me. He needed to finish living as a human first.

Then maybe I would hunt him down and rescue him from his purgatory so he wouldn’t have to live like this for 50 years like me.

“Did you leave?” Colby whispered.

”No. I’m right here.”

Here

“Okay,” he sighed and relaxed into the pillow. “I can’t believe I just had sex with a ghost—wait,” he gasped and looked around the room. “Did I fuck you? That’s so—What the fuck…”

“No, I just touched you. I wanted you to feel good. I can’t feel good until I move on.”

No… For you… I don’t feel good

”What?” Colby gasped. “You don’t feel good?”

”I can’t.”

Can’t

”Oh, because… Is sex only for human bodies then?”

”No,” I said, and reminded myself to be concise for the spirit box

”When I escape I can feel something again.”

When I escape

”You’re trapped here?” Colby gasped. The gears turned in his head and excitement welled in me.

”Help me out, please.”

Help me

”Help you do what? Do you need to move on?”

”Yes! Help me to the spiritual world.”

Yes

”Where do you need me to—”

Spirit world

”Holy shit,” Colby whispered. “You want me to help move you out of purgatory? Is that what this house is for you?’

”Yes!” I exclaimed.

He understood!

Yes

”Well then I’m getting up and telling Sam.”

If I had a body, I would scream and cry for joy.

Also, if I had a body, it would burn alive at the sight of Colby cleaning himself up, so I left the room and waited in the hallway with welling excitement.

“You’ll actually use the spirit box and not make me look like a freak in front of him, right?”

”Yeah, I’ll talk to him,” I laughed.

Yes

”Good,” he scoffed as he pulled on clothes.

“I promise.”

”Dude, that’s crazy if it’s true.” I watched as Colby told Sam what had happened and conveniently left out the part where I touched him. If he didn’t want Sam to know, then I wouldn’t expose him in that way. “Let’s see if she actually communicates as accurately as that,” Sam said as he turned on the spirit box. “Would we need to try the Estes?”

”Maybe we can,” Colby sighed. “There was a vortex downstairs, did you see it?”

”No I didn’t actually,” he gasped. “Do you want to do Estes there?”

“I’m getting bored,” I grumbled.

Let’s hurry it up

”Whoa!” Sam cried when the box spat those words out at him.

”Yeah,” Colby laughed. “She isn’t very patient.”

“Are you trapped here like Colby sai—“

”Yes!”

Yes

”Oh my god.”

”I told you!” I watched the boys as they grabbed their things. “Let's do it now.”

And as they walked through me towards the staircase, I froze with realization upon feeling Colby's body. It ached with excitement, nervousness, and…

Longing?

I followed them and listened to his heart and the rushing of his blood. Something tuned to desperation flowed with it.

It would have been much easier for me to navigate life as a human if I could feel someone’s physical attraction to me like I could feel Colby’s. I didn’t think that was possible, especially since he couldn’t see me. For all I knew, they could still be on the fence about believing that I existed.

But I couldn’t deny the way he felt. The way Sam felt. Sam didn’t hear me or feel me the way Colby did, but I could tell by the warmth of his palms and the racing of his heart that he didn’t linger in denial anymore.

“I’m not even sure how to start this,” Sam said as he sat in the chair. He volunteered himself to be under the Estes method so that Colby could lead the interaction. I stood next to Sam in the middle of the vortex; the darkened mirrors holding endless hypnotizing space hung on either side of us.

“I know, it’s fine. I’ll figure it out when we get there. I’m pretty sure I just encourage her to move on and she uses energy or something. We’ll see.”

Sam pulled the blindfold down. Headphones placed over his ears.

I felt the energy from the spirit box shrill to life.

“Did you follow us down here?”

“Yes,” I said quickly. “I’m here.”

“Here,” Sam’s monotone voice spoke for me.

“Okay good.” Colby’s voice softened. I wanted to leave, I wanted it more than anything, but I also wished I had more time to listen to Colby, to be close to him. Every time I was near him, I zapped with electricity; a desperation I never knew. What would it be like if I was human? If we knew each other back then? What would it be like if we were born at the same time in the same state?

“Why are you afraid to move on?”

“I—All this time I wasn’t afraid, I just didn’t want to leave the human world, but now I can’t leave you. I want to stay with you, Colby.”

“Oh wow…” Sam muttered.

“What?” Colby said quickly.

“That was a long—Those were a lot of words,” he laughed sheepishly. “Um…” I repeated what I said but paraphrased it to make it easier for the box to pick me up. “I wasn’t afraid of it.”

“You aren’t?” Colby gasped. “Why haven’t you—”

“Missed people.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Let me stay with you.”

“What?” Colby paused this time. “So you didn’t move on because you missed people and now you want to stay with us? Is it because you haven’t talked to anyone except for us—”

“No,” I grumbled. “I want you, Colby. No one else.”

“You, Colby.”

“Me?” He whispered. “Why do you want to stay with me? You can’t do that. You need to move on–”

“I wish we had time together then you would understand.” I wished that I could cry like humans did at that moment. I cried, but no pressure relieved me.

“We could have had more time.” Colby’s body froze as he stared in shock at Sam. Or maybe he stared through him. He wanted something to look at; he couldn’t see me. I wished I could reveal myself to him, but I didn’t know how.

“Why do you want us to have more time?”

“Because we would have been together. I could have actually probably loved you.”

“I would have…. I didn’t catch— Love you.”

“I would have loved you…” Colby whispered. “It’s too late,” he told me, but the quietness of his voice sounded like he figured it out for himself.

“I can see you again, Colby.”

“See you again… Colby, dude it keeps saying your name.”

“I know,” Colby spoke absentmindedly. He looked like he was in a trance more than Sam was even though he rocked back and forth in the Estes method. “Are—Do you know me?”

“Maybe in a past life. We can find each other in the next.”

“Past life.”

“Holy shit.” His voice was quiet and I wanted nothing more than to hug him. I stood face to face with him in the blink of an eye.

“I will see you soon, Colby.”

And I kissed him.

He blinked quickly and warm surprise flooded me when he licked his lips once.

“See you soon.” He didn't know what to say. I felt the tension in his throat.

“Don’t cry. Now tell me to leave and then you can find me when you’re done living here.”

“Help me leave.” Colby shook his head.

“No–”

“Please help me, Colby. I need to go on. You can’t stay here forever. I’ll be able to see you still and you’ll be able to feel me until one day you’ll see me for the first time. Well, for the first time in this timeline. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Please help me… You will still… I didn’t hear—Oh, You’ll still feel me.”

“I—I don’t like—”

“It’s okay, don’t be scared.” I stood in the vortex again. “Help me leave. I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t be scared. Help me leave.”

“Okay,” Colby said as he shook himself out of it. “It’s alright, you can move on. Spirits leave this house, move on to the next life.”

That tug returned, but now it was unavoidable. The mirrors lulled me into a beckoning trance.

“Move on and be free from this house.”

The mirror pulled me in, the house was unreachable now.

“Love you.”

As Sam pulled off the blindfold, Colby’s eyes darted towards mine from where I traveled through the mirror, and from the look on his face—the pure focus on me, drift of his tear filled eyes across my face—he saw me.

Then all I saw was light.

A/N: I took a much needed break. Not to info or trauma dump, but my mom moved about four hours away from me a week ago, and I only found out three weeks before that. After helping her move, it's been pretty hard for me since we've only ever lived at most 10 minutes from each other. Thanks for being patient, and I'm going to hop back on that writing grind because I miss it!

Also, Comment if you would rather read multi-chapter fics on Tumblr or Ao3. This will help me navigate where to post if I do not cross post.

✧˖*°࿐

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@graceciesiels22

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#sam and colby #colby brock #18+ only #minors dni #rosie writings #rosie hub #colby brock smut #colby brock x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 writer

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cnt-21 · 1 month

Text

Endless Nighttime Sky

pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x f!reader

summary: feyd-rautha was never supposed to be a harkonnen.

wc: 2240

warnings: angst, canon typical violence, referenced sex, references to the baron being a creep, major character death

a/n: i merged pt 2 movie feyd and book feyd bc my antidepressants won’t let me sleep or cry or feel so now we all suffer

⟢

Feyd-Rautha’s life has never been colorful, even before his Uncle brought him and his brother to Giedi Prime after the incident. But Lankiveil was a different type of colorless than Giedi Prime. Endless snow and endless sea and endless sky were only ever interrupted by the occasional building or boat or cloud, it was a natural absence of color. On Giedi Prime, color wasn’t absent, rather, it was stolen. Extinguished by the light of the black sun.

As a child, he could step outside and see the pink of his skin, the blue of the sea, and her cerise colored lips stretched into a smile. Feyd tried not to think of such things underneath the black sun of Giedi Prime, focusing instead on the blades in his hands, the rush of blood in his veins, and the roar of the crowd as he cut down his opponent. It’s easy in the arena, watching the blood seep out of wounds of the fighting men, like watching ink bleed across paper.

As the second son of a second son, Feyd shouldn’t have been the heir to anything, let alone his Uncle’s Barony, but his Uncle’s preferences and his brother’s violent tendencies all but shoved the title of na-Baron into his lap. He wishes he could’ve kept his mother’s name, wishes the name Rabban hadn’t been tainted by his degenerate brother, wishes he hadn’t been corrupted by the Harkonnen name.

Glossu was supposed to be Uncle’s heir. Glossu “Beast” Rabban should’ve been na-Baron Glossu Harkonnen. Glossu was supposed to go to Giedi Prime by himself, and Feyd wouldn’t have had to learn to fight as a gladiator, to hide poison needles in his clothes, to seek comfort in pleasure slaves and pain. Feyd-Rautha Rabban would’ve learned how to navigate using the stars and how to sail the icy seas and how to love his wife, a girl promised to him since conception.

He thinks he already did love her, when he was a child and still the future Count of Lankiveil and she was the future Countess. He remembers her fondly with a burning behind his eyes and a tightness in his chest that he suppresses because that is a weakness he cannot afford. But sometimes when he’s alone, after a fight or a fuck or another filler, he allows himself to think of cold nights. Whale fur kept the two of them dry and warm in the snow as they made their way to the lighthouse. They’d race up the stairs and he would win every time because his legs were slightly longer and he could take two at a time and only trip once.

The door to the gallery was heavy, but he’d manage to open it before she could catch up with him. He would hold it open for her until she joined him outside, and they’d laugh at their mingling breath visible in the frigid air before leaning against the railing, uncaring of whether or not the old metal could hold their combined weight. She would point at which constellations were visible in the sky and list off the most memorable stars. Feyd would listen even though he already knew which constellations were out and every star in each one, not just the brightest or prettiest sounding, because he was the future Count of Lankiveil and he would need to know those things. But letting her talk meant he could watch her, admire her red nose, rosy cheeks, cerise smile, and messy hair.

Feyd can’t remember which stars she had chosen to name their children after, can’t even remember which constellations were visible on Lankiveil from the Rabban manse. Giedi Prime is far, surrounded by different constellations, different stars, and polluted with millennia of industry. Even if he looked to the sky, there wouldn’t be any stars to name.

He doesn’t think of stars in the arena. Or even the black sun and the colors it stole. He focuses on the blades in his hand, the drugged Atreides soldiers he is meant to kill, and Lady Margot Fenring. Except one of the soldiers isn’t drugged. It’s not really a problem, Feyd is an excellent fighter. Gladiator fights are mere public training matches for him. It’s been years since he struggled against anyone in a fight. But it’s unexpected, which means someone planned to catch him off guard. He would accuse Glossu if he thought his brother had the intelligence to come up with such a plan. It could only be his Uncle and that twisted Mentat of his.

The sober soldier’s movements are too exact, missing the sluggish, inaccurate movements of intoxication. If he were a lesser man he’d let his surprise affect his fighting, slip up, make a mistake, but he was trained for this. The fireworks go off, signaling his victory with inky explosions in the sky, all color and brightness consumed by the black hole sun, and Feyd represses the memories of his first fight—not in the arena, but at home. On Lankiveil, in the snow, him against Glossu.

Lady Margot Fenring proves to be an excellent comfort. She provides the necessary pain and pleasure while he’s free to relinquish control. But he’s grown too accustomed to the almost inhuman appearance of those on Giedi Prime. Their hairless, paper white skin, dilated pupils, androgynous figures. It’s easy to lose track of who is who, to pretend the pain and pleasure is entirely him, that he is whole. But Lady Margot Fenring doesn’t subscribe to the beauty standards of Giedi Prime. In the unnatural lighting of his chambers, he can see the pink of her skin, her pupil surrounded by her iris, and the peach fuzz on her arms.

When Lady Margot Fenring leaves, Feyd allows himself to remember the girl that would have been his wife. They would have been married by now. It would’ve been a winter wedding regardless of season because there was always a pileup of snow near the Rabban manse. Her dress would have been as white as the snow, made of silk and lined with whale fur to keep warm, and dripping in diamonds and pearls. She’d be a woman grown, bust and waist filled out, but her nose red, cheeks rosy, and her cerise colored lips curved in a smile. They’d consummate their marriage in the warmth of the Rabban manse and he’d have his own future Count of Lankiveil on the way.

Feyd can understand the economic allure of Arrakis, but actually being on the desert planet feels wrong. He was born on the snowy seaside, the complete opposite of Arrakis. Dry heat feels uncomfortable on his skin, reminding him of the warnings his parents told him about frostbite, becoming so cold you believe you're overheating. But his presence was necessary, otherwise his Uncle’s scheming for him to end up on the throne would all be for naught.

He’s not particularly worried when Arrakeen is attacked. When he’s rounded up with the Emperor and his people to meet the leader of the fremen, the one they call Muad’Dib, he allows the guards to take his weapons and ignores the one that openly glares at him with pure loathing. He stands at the back of the crowd, vaguely listening to the apparently not dead Paul Atreides bicker with the old crone before addressing the Emperor. It’s much the same drivel as before, until—

“Majesty, is there a Harkonnen among you?”

“I believe my entourage has been placed under the protection of your ducal word.”

And again Atreides begins his bickering with the Emperor, setting a trap until he gets what he wants.

“Kanly!”

Feyd has grown tired of this.

“Your father named his vendetta, Atreides. You call me a coward while you hide among your women and offer to send a lackey against me!”

There is no black hole sun on Arrakis to steal away the color, no blades in his hand to wield against inebriated flesh, no pleasure for comfort. Only pain.

The Emperor and his truthsayer discuss the rules of kanly. Atreides’ own people try to talk him out of the challenge.

“Is the Atreides ready?” Feyd called once the Emperor’s blade sat alone on the floor, everyone else cleared away for the ritual duel.

“May thy knife chip and shatter!” Atreides forwent the ritual words, gesturing for Feyd to pick up the Emperor’s blade.

“May thy knife chip and shatter,” Feyd mocked, getting a feel for the knife in his hand.

“Shall we fight, cousin?” Atreides asked, cat-footing forward with his own blade in hand, crouched low to the floor.

“How beautifully you dance,” Feyd said as they began to circle each other, meeting his eyes and forcing himself to remain composed as he’s reminded of a frigid sea. “Have you been shriven?”

No response. Only blue within blue.

They circle each other.

He continues his taunts, earning only a smile from Atreides as they turn. Feyd leaps at him, feinting with his right hand only to switch the knife to his left. He tries not to remember her hand in his, switching so that she’d be farther away from the cliff face and the choppy waves crashing against the frozen rocks.

“Perhaps you think this dance prolongs your life a few moments,” Feyd said, standing still and straightening.

Atreides doesn’t attack, still hesitant.

“Why prolong the inevitable? You but keep me from exercising my rights over this ball of dirt.”

In truth, there was nothing he wanted more than to leave Arrakis. He wanted to return to Lankiveil where he could rule as Count, wear whale fur-lined clothes without poison needles hidden in the fabric, and look for his children among the stars.

“Why don’t you speak?”

Somehow, even with the threat of death, Atreides managed to make a fight boring.

“You smile, eh?” Feyd asked, leaping mid sentence and catching Atreides’ left arm with the downflash of his blade.

The two return to circling each other, crouching low to the floor.

“That woman you were talking to over there. The little one. Is she something special to you? A pet perhaps? Will she deserve my special attentions?”

Feyd’s chest tightens as he sees the imagined white silk dress embellished with diamonds and pearls, a cerise smile, and her hair messily done up to make room for the fur capelet tied around her shoulders.

Atreides remains silent, smiling, and Feyd leaps forward, stabbing. Feinting slowness, Atreides managed to land a cut before Feyd jumped away, switching the knife in his hands.

Again, they begin to circle each other, watching. Atreides moving his knife to his left hand to match Feyd. Blue within blue, Feyd can see her smile frozen on her face, lips turning blue and the waves rising higher.

Feyd approaches Atreides, feinting right and under, until they’re pressed against each other, knife hands straining. Atreides forces them to turn right, barely missing the poison dart flipping out from Feyd’s belt, trapping himself beneath the Harkonnen.

Even though he’s the one speaking, Feyd isn’t quite sure what he’s saying. Something about the poison dart, most likely. But staring into the Atreides’ eyes of Ibad, Feyd only thinks of the girl that would’ve been his wife. Of his first fight in the snow, the rage he felt after his brother threw his betrothed aside carelessly, over the cliffside into the frozen, rocky waves. How his father tried to stop the beast, only to be killed himself, and the two brothers were left on the cliffside alone. Breathing ragged, bleeding, and their eyes burning with unshed, frozen tears.

His hair had been long then, he’s sure Glossu ripped out part of his scalp along with a lock of his dark hair when he first tackled him. He can still see her soaked to the bone lying broken on the rocks, so drenched and frozen was she that her whale fur coat had no chance of helping, her messy hair plastered to her graying skin, lips turned blue.

“I will not say it!” Atreides gasped, stunning Feyd out of his reverie.

Atreides used the fraction of an opening to find a weakness of balance in Feyd’s leg muscles. Suddenly their positions were switched, and Feyd was partially underneath Atreides, unable to turn due to his poison needle catching on the floor, and Atreides twisted his left hand free to plunge his knife up through Feyd’s jaw and into his brain.

His body sagged to the ground, lifeless. There was no black hole sun to hide the paling of his corpse, to liken his blood to spilled ink, to steal the color of the scene.

“Feyd!” A girlish voice snapped at him.

“You’re not even paying attention,” she sighed, leaning away from him on the balcony of the lighthouse.

“Then tell me again,” Feyd said, sliding along railing to be next to her again.

Her cerise colored lips curve back into a smile as her hand dashed out to grab his jaw to force his eyes to the stars. The underside of his jaw is warmed by the soft skin of her palm, her small fingers freezing fast in the weather now that they’re not sheltered by the pocket of her coat. Still, she doesn’t move her hand, waving the other one wildly at the sky, focusing his attention on the stars as she tries to convince him that Mirzam is the perfect name for their son.

#feyd x reader #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen x you #dune x reader #dune #dune part 2 #dune part two #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen

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thecouchshifter · 3 months

Text

Hazbin Hotel NSFT HCs

Husker

He’s a service top and probably the biggest on checking boundaries and aftercare, like more than Charlie and Vaggie. His biggest priority is making sure whoever he’s with has a good and safe time. He’s got experience and he knows how to make anyone feel good. Also whenever someone calls him a manlet he will remind them that height doesn’t matter when you’ve got them on their knees anyway.

Charlie and Vaggie

Put them as a duo because who else are they boning? As a general note, they’re both switches and Charlie is the more experienced one of the two, though mostly with men. They’re generally pretty vanilla but have some light kinks and sometimes do some roleplay.

Vaggie loves a good strap, pulling Charlie’s hair, and biting when topping/domming and has a fucking insane praise kink when bottoming/subbing. Also likes the fact Charlie is taller than her in both (shadow of the colossus type shit or being absolutely towered over). Uses princess or doll to refer to Charlie while domming and generally uses ma’am or my queen while subbing.

Charlie is super soft and romantic when topping/domming and absolutely has to touch and kiss everywhere. When subbing/bottoming, she likes some soft under the bed restraints, maybe a blindfold every once in a while, and has a bit of a mommy kink. Either way she likes setting the scene with some candles and flower petals because she’s extra like that. Has a big praise kink too that goes both ways. Uses sweetheart and more recently little angel when domming to refer to Vaggie and when subbing pretty much exclusively uses mommy. Has one very pretty old school lingerie set that she will whip out when she really wants to impress Vaggie.

Nifty

There’s no polite way to say it, she’s a fucking freak. Doesn’t matter how you do it she’s gonna do some crazy shit to you or ask you to do some crazy shit to her. Crazy on masochism and sadism in particular. 90% of the bad boys she plays with get scared after the first time and she quickly loses interest after that. Such is the way of Nifty.

Sir Pentious

He prefers romance to sex but if it helps him bond with a partner he’ll do it. Sadly, nobody has actually stayed with him past the first date before. He’s a hopeless romantic but hopes one day he’ll find someone who loves him for him. If he did bone, he’d be really awkward about it and not really know what he was doing but inconceivably keep falling upward and in the end do a really good job. After the fact he’d need a solid 20 minutes to recover while just laying there in shock before thanking his partner profusely.

Cherri Bomb

She has fucked a lot of ways and is generally open to trying anything. Has a few utterly bizarre kinks and fetishes. Not even particularly disturbing just very oddly specific. Like fleshlight between the legs while a replica dildo of her partner’s dick fucks her and their real dick fucks the fleshlight type strange.

Angel Dust

I mean sure he’s down for pretty much anything but slow, romantic, vanilla sex is his fucking kryptonite. He doesn’t get it in the studio or god forbid with Val, so when he does he’s surprised for a minute before he gets completely lost in his partner’s eyes. Don’t get me wrong he loves kinky shit, especially bondage, but getting back to basics is such a treat for him. Very into body worship for a similar reason. Boy just wants to feel loved. Has a set of lingerie for every occasion

Alastor

“Ha! No.”

Vox likes to think of him as a massive sub tho.

Lucifer

He’s a switch that will absolutely commit to the bit if he’s doing any kind of roleplay or D/S stuff. This man is a grade A actor to the point where Lilith was worried on several occasions as to if he was possessed. He has had millennia to perfect his technique and you will find no soul in hell bar maybe asmodeus who knows how to use all the tools at his disposal better than him. Has a bit of a ringmaster/circus fantasy and has referred to Lilith as his little acrobat multiple times. Lilith also gets a bit worried when Lucifer is horny because it usually means he hasn’t taken his depression meds. Calls Lilith goddess a lot too.

#Hazbin hotel #NSFT #Cherri bomb #vaggie #Charlie Morningstar #Husker #lucifer #sir Pentious #niffty #nifty hazbin hotel #angel dust #Alastor kinda #best

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saintsenara · 1 month

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I know you responded with a meme, but if you're able I'd love to hear your thoughts on harry/hermione 👀

fine. i'll scream into a pillow periodically and get through this...

obviously, i don't actually find the concept of harmony sincerely upsetting - people shipping things is never that deep, and because, as i've said before, i subscribe to the principle that any pairing is possible if you just have enough nerve. i've been recommended some harmony fics by people who are fonder of the ship, and while i've not found them immediately compelling, i do appreciate that there are plenty of people who disagree.

but my feelings are basically the same for harmony as they are for dramione: that it's never done interestingly.

harmony is - like all hermione pairings except [broadly] romione - a breeding ground for fanon!hermione, who is perfect and flawless and so clever she can solve millennia-old mysteries in afternoon. i hate this version of the character because i find her boring - it's just standard self-insert stuff, which is fine but not something i have any interest in reading. i similarly dislike the version of harry who appears in these stories, who ends up - like all men in hermione pairings except [broadly] ron - being either this impossibly sophisticated and suave intellectual with the body of a greek god or a doormat who's happy to shut the fuck up forever and do whatever she says.

[i also hate - obviously, since he's my king - the way harmony stories are often even more egregious than dramione ones in writing ron as a cruel and violent misogynist who is ontologically indistinct from your average death eater. and i think it somewhat proves my point that neither of these ships work particularly well that this character assassination has to take place in order to make them plausible...]

and i think the flattening of harry and hermione's personalities within most harmony is the main thing which keeps the ship from being interesting. because - while i certainly don't go in for the common anti-harmony argument that harry actively dislikes hermione - it's undeniable that there is a lot about the two of them which wouldn't be conducive to a harmonious [lol] relationship.

their communication styles - hermione works through problems by debating them, harry prefers not to be challenged - are the obvious one. their ways of expressing affection - hermione shows people she cares about them by nagging them and meddling in their lives, harry very much does not - are another. they have extremely different views about authority, they decompress in different ways [harry is someone who clearly needs to keep physically active to clear his head, hermione is much more of a homebody], and harry's impulsiveness is a poor match for hermione's fondness for planning.

they are also similar in ways which would cause them to butt heads. both have a tendency towards obsessiveness, which they rely in canon on ron pulling them out of. both have a significant capacity for cruelty and extremely black-and-white moral codes - harry has a tendency towards forming judgements on people and situations based on whether they are people he likes or things he benefits from [i.e. how he's appalled by dobby's treatment because his masters are the malfoys, but doesn't give a shit about kreacher's because his abusive master is sirius], while hermione tends to regard any rule-breaking she does as justified even if she'd regard it as outrageous from anyone else [i.e. her fury over harry appearing to use felix felicis to improve's ron's performance at quidditch when she herself confunded cormac mclaggen to get him onto the team...]. both have a tendency towards giving people the silent treatment when they're angry. both are incredibly stubborn...

and so on.

obviously, they also have positive qualities in common too - a shared loyalty, for one - but it always seems to me that the standard move in harmony is for authors to completely ignore these conflicting traits, either really over-egging what makes harry and hermione compatible platonically in the books or just inventing similarities [especially intellectual ones] to justify the pairing. whereas i would much prefer to see just how difficult it would be for harry and hermione to fall and sustain being in love with each other, and i've never seen that done compellingly.

but the conflict i'd love to see explored in harmony fics most of all, but which never seems to be acknowledged by fans of the pairing, is that [despite the fanon slander that ron is the person who behaves poorly towards her] harry is often horrible to hermione and hermione is often scared of harry.

this is at its most profound after ron leaves the horcrux hunt in deathly hallows, but we see several times throughout canon that - if ron isn't there to mediate between them - harry often treats hermione in a way which can be considered downright cruel. if she criticises him in a way he considers unjustifiable, he tends to side with other people against her [ron in prisoner of azkaban over the firebolt; ginny in half-blood prince over snape's textbook]. if she tries to reason with him he often beats her down with the force of his emotions [i.e. when she tries to get him to think about whether his vision of sirius in the department of mysteries might be a trick] or his convictions [i.e. when he lures her into near-death by being certain that nagini is really bathilda bagshot], and she often ends up having to soothe or appease him when he's the one who's screamed at her.

hermione is also scared more generally of harry's experiences - she's by far the least amenable of the trio to talking about voldemort [even though she says his name earlier than ron does] - and mission, which puts up a barrier between them which will be difficult to bring down post-war. i think there's something which could be really interesting there - the most interesting dynamic in hinny, after all, is when harry and ginny's tendency to not actually be honest with each other is explored - but unfortunately at the minute that sort of character work is drowning in a sea of "ron is so stupid and harry and i just love talking about classic literature, come darling, put on your leather trousers and let us solve world hunger; i look like emma watson" nonsense.

dull!

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #harry potter #hermione granger #i'm not tagging the ship for obvious reasons...

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bluecookies02 · 1 year

Text

bottom/switch/top+headcanons with genshin men

coming from a very top leaning and not objective reader

➭pure blooded bottoms

venti-his dick is for decoration only, drools so much when he's getting fucked. loves getting railed while tipsy

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➭bottoms but will top if you want them to

heizou- he knows how to but am a firm believer he's just a spoiled pillow princess if you r willing to indulge him

gorou- very needy when he tops too, will cry when he breeds, ty very much. shy bottom tho

tighnari- he fucks. like...mind numbingly. bashful bottom, can't stop grinding against you. will cum from humping too, dunno what tht has to do w anything but he will

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➭switch

scara- will be bratty about it, v embarrassed about how often he lets you top tho, can be a lil mean when he tops but that's okay, he knows how to angrily pound into it👏

aether- pretty boy, waist so brrr. whines in both cases, awfully breathtaking either way.

kaeya- whore...a whore tht doesn't pick favorites, he's just a lil mondstat slut. loves dolling up in the bedroom. will also spoil you with pretty soft clothes and fuck you silly in them too

al haitham- legit lazy to top sometimes hence the category. He'd rather just have you do all of the muscle moving on occasions. I feel like he tops when he's especially horny, otherwise he'd rather lay down and spread his pretty legs or just make you bounce on his lap.

albedo- expert at both, has trouble picking what mood he's in tho. a gentleman nonetheless, everything is very soft and mellow and he'll rarely do anything rough.

diluc- lets you top as a treat once in a blue moon, secretly enjoys it so much but he's also pussy drunk so he opts to just breed you instead.

xiao- don't let him discover the joy of a prostate, he will demand it every time until he's satiated

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➭tops

itto- had a finger up his ass(more than once), was not a fan of it. dick too big to just sit there and not be utilized. is down to try bottoming a few times but he is too horny to hold still and leave matters in your hands

thoma- service top through and throughout. you say it he does it. actually can get too carried away and surprisingly fucks hard. i will fuck him tho, watch me.

cyno- not only does he top he also b r e e d s. doesn't need to know where the clit is bc he ruts so deep tht his navel bumps into it anyways. he knows tho. his ass is my buffet nonetheless.

kazuha- gentle top, obsessed with doing everything, will not even let you suck him off without pouting about it.

zhongli- ik this but something in me wants to fuck him anyways , smth about tht millennia old ass makes u wanna enter the forbidden chambers

ayato- i literally have no words, i wouldn't be able to top him because i wouldn't want to. who would want to. give me tht rich princess treatment s i r

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➭childe

his own category, his existence is a mystery to me. Kaeya vibes but also much more vile. A mean top that secretly rides a dildo in the privacy of his locked room

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[a/n]: as i post this im falling asleep, have a giggle hopefully

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literatecowboy · 8 months

Note

*opens ur window and sits on your bed* greetings, fellow König enjoyer. Have you ever considered! War God König who has a relationship with the goddess of victory! Reader? Have a lovely day!! *creepy back into my void*

Hi, and thank you so much for being my first-ever ask!! You have handed the steering wheel to a 90 year old lady who should have had her license revoked and we are going on the highway >:)

I pondered this for a little while last night and I really like it! I’m not sure if you wanted NSFW or had a specific mythology in mind so I’m just going to write down the flow of ideas that kinda went through my head. This will be mostly NSFW and the imagery is inspired by ancient American cultures :) I hope you like it, this is my first one and my first time writing real smut!!!

I'm new to tumblr and I don't know if I have to tag you in this for you to see it so I'll do it here just in case :) @polnareffsbouncybaraboobies

Smut under the cut!

—

Your bare feet made no noise against the carefully chiseled stone stairs of the temple as you climbed them. Lights from flickering braziers illuminated hairless watchdogs chained outside of the temple’s upper room, but they did not react as you passed them by. They could not see you.

Nothing mortal could see you - unless you revealed yourself. It would remain that way for now. You were deep in the heart of the territory of your people’s enemies - a people you had little love for. They worshipped you too, of course, but less…fervently. Their offerings were fewer, more pathetic. It was almost as if they thought they didn’t need your favor.

You brushed past the curtain over the doorway to the inner sanctum. It was smoky inside and smelled of coppery blood and sweet incense. Upon a dais in the center of the room stood a larger-than-life golden statue of a proud warrior holding the head of an enemy to the sky. Offerings of incense, money, food, pelts, and other luxuries surrounded it, but the god they had been offered to almost seemed unsatisfied.

König reclined at the base of his statue, his bare, rippling muscles shining in the firelight. The pelt of a jaguar was secured around his waist with intricate golden clasps and his arms and legs were wrapped in snake-shaped golden bangles. His broad, muscular chest was bare, decorated only with intricate tattoos and warpaint fashioned from the blood of the men he’d slain.

You’d never seen his face before and you could not see it now. He always wore the same helmet - its beak curved down over his face and ended in a sharp point that caressed his chest. A proud headdress of colorful feathers spilled out of the top and trailed down his back. König was terrifyingly large in size and personality - and yet you knew you could sway him to your side.

When he saw you he smiled and sat up straighter, pushing aside his war-club and decorated shield to make room for you on the chaise he lounged on.

“My love, you have been away from me for too long.” he practically purred, standing to his full height. You slunk forward and he embraced you as you traced your fingers across the muscles in his chest.

“You think I have not missed you?” you murmured, meeting his eyes with a teasing smile. He grasped your hips and lifted you into the air, pushing you back against the temple wall as his lips found your neck.

“You are as beautiful as the day we were wed, even all of these millennia later,” he growled, his voice low as he bit gently at your collarbone. You could feel his hardness pressed between your legs and you were glad you’d worn little other than your jewelry to see him.

“I have a proposition for you,” you whispered, wrapping your legs around his waist as he cupped your breast gently.

“Oh? Have you come to seduce me for a favor? I am your husband…you need not resort to such measures…” König trailed, biting your breast and trailing kisses back up to your lips. You groaned softly, and he smiled into the kiss, tracing two fingers over your entrance and ghosting over your clit.

“Already wet for me, hmm? Has it been too long since I have given myself to you?” he growled, kissing you again, more fervently this time as he slipped one finger into you, slowly pumping it in and out.

You gasped and arched your back against the wall, raking your nails down König’s chest. He hissed in pleasure as small beads of blood dripped down his chest and you could feel precum drip onto your thigh.

“Koni…” you murmured, pushing your hips down against his hand as he slid another large finger into you.

“Yes, love? What is it you want?” he smiled against your neck as he kissed and bit at the exposed skin.

“Fight for my people. Guide them to victory - ah! They will give you gifts…fuck…more than you have here. You will be their - oh, fuck, Koni - patron. They will build a bigger temple than the one you have here.” you gasped out. König was quiet, considering it for a moment.

He surged away from the wall with you in his grip, pulling his fingers out of you and dropping you on your back onto the chaise he had been reclining on when you’d come in. He tore the leopard pelt loincloth free from his waist and his cock sprang free.

“Koni, please,” you begged, half for him to be inside you and half for him to protect your people. He crawled onto you and with a single, powerful thrust, pushed his cock into you. You moaned together, your back arching as you grasped at the pelts you were laid on as he began thrusting slowly, pulling all the way out before slamming back in.

“I will do anything for you, my love,” he growled as he bit down hard on your neck, doing his best to leave a mark all of the other gods would see. He began thrusting faster and you raked your nails down his back, crying out in pleasure.

“These people…mean nothing to me.” he barked, pulling your hips closer to his as you bucked forward desperately, trying to take him deeper inside of you.

“They treat me as a secondary god. I do not even have the biggest temple in the city,” he growled bitterly, reaching down to circle your clit as he frantically pounded into you. You could feel your orgasm building and your eyes rolled back as you gasped.

“I will return with you,” he said, looking up to stare you deep in the eyes as you dragged your hands down his chest, smearing the intricate warpaint and leaving delicate handprints behind. “And I will rule with you, and I will fuck you like this in my temple every night.”

You came with a shriek, your back arching and pushing your trembling chest into König. He wrapped his lips around one of your nipples and sucked as his thrusts became sloppier and harder. His hips stuttered as he came deep in you, filling you until your belly swelled slightly with his seed.

You both panted together and he collapsed on top of you, laying his head on your chest as you caught your breath.

“We will not be apart again,” he murmured, gently rubbing your sides as you drifted off to sleep.

#konig modern warfare #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig x reader #konig #konig fanfiction #cod konig #konig call of duty #könig call of duty #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig cod #könig #call of duty #cod

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beyondthisdarkhouse · 2 years

Text

Content warning: Discussion of grievous bodily injury

So, both my first two theories on the origin of high-heeled shoes in European fashion turned out to be bunk. I mean, I know that originally men wore high heels, but I did not expect the manner in which they appeared on the fashion scene.

(And no, the answer isn’t “butchers” either. Butchers in ancient Egypt wore high heels. Then they went out of fashion for, uh... a while.)

(And yes, I already said that high heels weren’t integral to my line of research. I spent a day writing up this post anyway. NOT EVEN I CAN STOP MYSELF SOMETIMES.)

My first theory was kind of wild. I thought high heels might be descended from the wooden platform shoes medieval Europeans wore to keep out of muddy conditions:

It would have been cool because platform shoes got RIDICULOUS, but we’ll have to get back to chopines another day. They don’t feature in this story.

As I got deeper into the research, I had to admit to myself that I was subconsciously expecting high heels to evolve from what I thought of as “conservative” and “natural” heels, to the more “refined” and “unnatural” heels.

But that’s projecting modern sensibilities into the past. These days we’re concerned with whether shoes will fit with our lives, the ways we move and the spaces we live with. We don’t even know what the concerns of the past are, and therefore aren’t good at predicting why they’d pick one shoe over another.

I therefore did not expect the shoe that convinced sixteenth-century Europe that high heels were the Next Big Thing to be... this one.

Not that exact pair, you understand, so it’s not just because of that absolutely divine aquamarine colour. But those are one of the best extant examples of 16th century Persian cavalry shoes.

In fact, those are

elite tactical military gear

I’ll explain, but it’s gonna get dark.

Let’s talk horses

(HORSE PEOPLE: DON’T GET UP MY GRILL ABOUT INCONSEQUENTIAL DETAILS, PLZTHX)

Horses are big round sleek bundles of nerves. They’re prey animals. They like to jump and start and flee from anything they find dangerous. Their nerves and smooth round sides make them amazingly easy to fall off of, if you don’t have a saddle. Generally people doing complicated or quick maneuvers bareback ride with one hand on the reins to guide them, and one hand gripping the horse’s mane tightly for balance.

As you might know, humans only have two hands. This setup leaves no hands free for anything like weapons; if you want to do anything else, you have to sacrifice either steering or stability. Before the stirrup was invented, horses were mostly used in warfare to pull chariots, or as moving platforms from which warriors could throw themselves before joining the fight.

But cast your eyes back to that horse up above. That horse has stirrups. The stirrup is the little square hanging below its tummy, hanging by a line to the saddle. The saddle is held stable by a strap around the horse’s midsection, so by putting their feet into stirrups on either side, the rider is able to stay much more balanced and steady. And now? They can ride with one hand free. They can even have both hands free for short periods of time. They can hold weapons and get close to their enemies.

Over the last century horses have almost completely disappeared from military and civilian life, except as quaint curiosities. It’s easy to lose sight of how absolutely pivotal they were to warfare, for millennia. The thing that’s replaced them, the modern “cavalry”, are tanks and helicopters. And the core mythos of European aristocracy is that they’re the descendants of old and mighty mounted warriors. Cavaliers. Chevaliers. Caballeros.

(Cowboys are misnamed. They oughta be horseboys.)

And stirrups have a fatal flaw. (CN: Grievous injury. Horse people, you know what’s coming; take a deep breath.)

If you fall off your horse, your horse will probably be startled (if it wasn’t already startled before you fell off) and want to run away from the thing that startled them (you).

If you fall off your horse and your foot stays in the stirrup, the horse will want to run away from you–so it will drag you after it.

If you are fortunate, you will stay to the side of your horse’s back legs, and your foot will come free or your horse will be stopped quickly. If you are not fortunate–let’s say, the stirrup is around your ankle, so your foot and heel are essentially anchoring you in place–your torso or head will end up under the very solid hooves of a thousand-pound animal as it panics and tries to escape you, and it is quite possible that you will be dead before your horse gets tired of running.

Being “caught up” or “hung up” in a stirrup doesn’t always result in death, spinal injury, broken bones, or other grievous bodily harm, especially when riders wear head and torso protection. But... I found an illustration of the phenomenon because it’s a picture of a person who died 700 years ago, not 30 or 20 or 10.

Also because looking at photographs of people caught up in stirrups makes my gut churn, because I used to be a horseperson so I’ve seen that shit live. Watching it happen feels shitty and helpless, and if you’re not already on the ground near the horse and able to catch it, there’s almost nothing you can do.

And so, therefore, you are now equipped to understand just how valuable it would be to have a shoe that stopped your foot from getting stuck in your stirrups, even if it forces you to walk funny when you dismount.

This 15th century Persian picture demonstrates just what’s going on: The stirrup rests on the forward part of the foot, and the heel prevents it from sliding any further back. That fatal anchoring is way less likely to happen.

Now that we’re all appropriately somber and appreciative of this shoe’s full context, I feel that we’re ready to behold what seems to be that same aquamarine shoe (or its mate) as a boot, which you could walk down any Parisian runway today in and look completely avant-garde.

Isn’t it glorious?

The military stiletto was not a long-lived fad, either in Europe or Asia. I would wildly conjecture that this had to do with the increasing use of cannons and firearms on the battlefield. They could punch through the heaviest armour from a long way away, and people sitting on horses are very visible targets, so cavalry soldiers had to focus on their ability to fight on foot if unhorsed. This is also why the period of 1500-1600 saw knights dump a great deal of their heavy plate armour.

(It’s not that you can’t fight on foot in full plate armour, it’s just... there’s a cost/benefit thing going on between weight and protection and stamina and speed, especially if you have to, say, not be the slowest man at the back of a pack of lightly armored infantry running for your lives from an enemy with a rifle, you get me?)

Civilians, meanwhile, got hold of the high heel and never looked back.

Italy, and especially Venice, was Europe’s first point of contact for most things coming from Asia or North Africa, and what records we have say that Venice is where Europeans got on trend, in the 1580s. Venetians fell for high heels with absolute glee.

Context: Back before freedom of religion was a thing, The Catholic Church and the governments in its sphere waged a never-ending legislative battle against the sins of, uh... I’m not up on my catechism, but basically, People Thinking They Look Good, People Having Nice Things, People Getting Ideas Above Their Station, and People Being Horny. In previous centuries the battle had primarily focused on things like Absolutely Gigantic Sleeves, but in the 1500s the real hot zone in Italy became Astronomically Tall and Gorgeous Shoes, which is the subject for a future post.

So the high heel was the perfect end-run around those laws. The ball of the foot stayed close to the ground, so it wasn’t really an illegally nice shoe! It still gave that extra something, but it was easier to walk and dance in, and it made men’s calves look super nice. And anyway, with this version, there’s some kind of reasonable human limit to the height of the heels, where previous Tall Gorgeous Shoes sometimes approached the proportions of low stilts.

We get these “slap-sole” shoes because the biggest civilian concern was the high heel’s tendency to sink into mud, so they made flat platforms for the sole to rest on. The toe would be fixed in place with the heel left free, so the foot can move more normally through the gait cycle. This means the heel would lift up a bit in the air, and then hit the platform during touchdown; apparently the clacking noise it made was distinctive and carried a cachet of elegant luxury.

I honestly don’t know why Louis XIV decided that chunky heels were the way to go. My only working theory is maybe... they made better ballet shoes? I’m not joking; the man was an avid ballet dancer, and danced at every opportunity he got. Maybe chunky heels are less likely to wear out, break, or come apart than smaller ones. But that’s still only a theory.

In conclusion: God, humans are so fucking weird. I love us.

Further Reading:

Bata Shoe Museum - Standing TALL: The Curious History of Men in Heels

Bata Shoe Museum - The Height of Fashion: Conservation of a Pair of 17th Century Slap Sole Shoes

Shoes: A History from Sandals to Sneakers, edited by Giorgio Riello and Peter McNeil. Book; 2006. It’s massively huge and heavy and also full of scholarly research and not just a glorified Pinterest board, which is more than I can say for everything else I checked out of the library.

#it's shoetime baby #if i infuriate pedantic equestrians or bibliography formatters oh well #I really don't care

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shadow-prime · 6 months

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Seeing Ratchet in a domestic setting was cute at best, but something about him in his holoform sitting on her couch with a cup of coffee was just extremely sexy. The grouch rarely used his holoform out in the field unlike many of the others who used them more regularly but when he did, it was usually with her. She was no spring chicken, but hell Ratchet made her feel like she wasn't as old as she felt. For a human in her mid 40s, she was envious of Ratchet's seemingly endless supply of energy. She did have to take into consideration that the mech was considerably older to even the bots but he at least could still kick ass when he needed to. These realizations were painful that eventually her life will expire while he will live on for possibly several million years if he took the time to take care of himself. "Do my eyes deceive me? Doc Bot is actually taking time for himself?"

His eyes narrowed a bit at the nickname she called him by, granted she was the only one who could get by calling him that without having something thrown at her. But oh! did that look send a small shiver down her spine. Shutting her door y/n started taking off her coat hanging it up on the coat rack by the door. "Y/n… I'm not in the mood for any of your shenanigans," He grumbled, sticking his nose further into the newspaper he was reading. "I've had enough of it from Wheeljack today."

Sighing softly Y/n set her bag on the dining table, the satchel making a soft thud with its weight hitting the wood. Her laptop was sturdy enough to withstand the abuse. "What did he do now?" It was better for him to talk it out, for someone who has had a millennia of time to work on his people skills he sure did suck at not letting others get to him. Especially when Wheeljack purposefully did it to antagonize Ratchet. Jackie was a good bot but he just didn't know when to take a hint when it came to people's feelings.

"What doesn't he do?" Ratchet rolled his very blue human-like eyes. Somehow she never could get used to how vividly blue they were for how tired and beaten down he was. She could tell how much this one affected him, and she would have to have another talk with Wheeljack. It would definitely be better then Ratchet giving him another dent that required the mech to sit with an already angry Ratchet to ruthlessly buff it out. Y/n grabbed Ratchet's cup of coffee and took a drink from it

"What does it mean about how an old dog can't learn new tricks?"Coffee immediately flew everywhere as y/n choked on it laughing. Strike one for Wheeljack learning Earth Lingo. Ratchet the ever concerned boyfriend patted her back some before he left to grab a few towels to wipe up the mess. After trying not to die, and easing Ratchet's concern, she finally pulled herself together.

"It means a lot of things actually, just depends on the context," She said, taking one of the rags to wipe herself down. "The most common one is used in a derogatory way saying that older men and women are so set in their ways that they can't learn to adapt. It's like a double edge sword really." Yeah Wheeljack will definitely be getting a serious talk from her. The dark look that crossed Ratchet's face had her grabbing his hands, a small smirk on her lips "I wasn't laughing at you first of all, it just surprises me what new shit he picks up every day. But I know you better than him and whatever the meaning he meant behind it, is not true. I think you're very adaptive." The hint was easily caught and Ratchet face softened some to an almost cocky assurance. She had him now and stroked his ego to get his thoughts away from Wheeljack and had never let her down. Gripping his chin she pulled Ratchet a bit closer to her before pecking a kiss to his lips "He's just jealous that this Old Dog probably knows more tricks than he does," Ratchet harrumphed against her lips, a hand rested against her neck to hold her there just a bit longer.

When they pulled away Ratchet had the smugest look on his face "This Old Dog just might have to show you those tricks."

"I think that can be arranged, I'm always up for learning."

#Transformers #Transformers Prime #ratchet x reader #Ratchet #tfp

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thoughtsafterdark · 1 month

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Stigmata

The world is quiet. So quiet. The silence deafens, bends backs, breaks minds. It holds its breath, waiting, biding its time. Still and poised yet tense, every pebble and grain of sand prepared to strike. Like a big cat stalking its prey, shoulders rolling so smoothly as it inches closer and closer. Like oil sliding off the skin of the water. Those moments when it crouches and becomes one with the Savanah. When the golden light of the setting sun sets the land aflame and blades of grass blend with raised heckles until they are one and the same.

It waits for you, for your conception and birth. Molecules aligning, cells dividing, flowers blooming. The water of your mother’s womb is surprisingly thin given the precious life it cushions. It is expelled from your lungs like a sacrament, like a fountain that once erupted from a desert rock millennia ago. Strong lungs as befit a firstborn son. Your first cries pierce the air and shatter the stillness into a million shimmering fragments. The diamonds spill across the inky blackness. A burst of colour from the Lord’s brush, arcing across the sky. Another promise, another new beginning. Yet Gods are foolish, lonely creatures. Their promises ring hollow and false to our suffering ears. The whips crack and our skin splits, oozes all the same. Where was God when my brothers withered and died, the cries ripped from their throats going unanswered?

And yet tell me why as I gaze upon you now, I am compelled to fall to my knees? As if every fibre of my being yearns to bow, to yield - as if your voice bursts from somewhere deep in my squirming gut and heart and not your lips?

Tell me why I itch to bury myself in the crook where your thigh meets groin and inhale the musk there as if your scent holds the Eye of the Needle, as if the grooves of your skin map Heaven’s Kingdom. Would you let me cry tears of rapture at your coming and wash your feet with them and my tongue?

I wonder if such a wonton display of devotion would anger you, frighten you. Would you toss me away in disgust, smash my face into the ground? Break my nose against rock and let me feel the warm flood of blood flow backwards down my throat, let me savour the salt and iron as I swallow devoutly. Tell me why I have never felt so alive as when your holy wrath rains down upon me like fire, like the destruction of Sodom.

I watch you now, standing proud against that same setting sun, gazing across the expanse of your new kingdom. Here as it dips low upon the dunes and the sand lashes at us. Its rays frame raven curls and fracture all around you, as if afraid to touch you and be seduced. A halo that revers yet fears you. It hardens your features as if you were hewn from granite Your jaw tightens against the onslaught, sharp enough to fell armies. Your eyes become the harsh ringing of blade against blade. Gone is the boy with the easy smile tugging at the corner of a mouth, crow’s feet wrinkling eyes. In his place is the cold pyre of divine righteousness. The commander of earth and sky, made to wield sound and air itself. I think of the icons of old, the waxy mournful faces of saints and note what a pale imitation they must be, if they had even a third of your weight.

You are a black hole - all-consuming, inescapable, inevitable - and we are all trapped in your orbit, edging ever closer to the Event Horizon that will surely destroy us. But tell me if our path is so doomed why my heart leaps at the prospect of pledging my death to you? What finer gift is there but that of my last breath, freely given?

In your face I see rivers of blood and the thrum of charging men. I hear the chants of our forefathers and the long line of prophets that came before, accumulating across the centuries into the tapestry that is your flesh.

Yet as you lie here beside me, the darkness kept at bay by the stubborn flame of a lone candle, your face serene with sleep and your sweat acrid and sharp in my nose - I see just a man plagued by a crown of thorns. I think of my hands, bathing in the blood of innocents in your name. Your name, a mantra, a hymn that ignites us all with awe and hunger. I wonder if knowing deep down you are just a man makes me more or less the fool.

Then your eyes open, lashes fluttering, and I see the light burning there and I know messiahs are not born but made in the hearth of a home, in the fierceness of a loyal heart and the beating lifeblood of a people starved of hope. I care not if you bleed red or ichor, I know only that I will follow you into hell itself, until we burn to ash and we become whispers, legends. Until we are nothing but dust floating across the dunes, the wind that stokes the flames of a thousand more rebellions.

#creative writing #poetry #religious trauma #religious imagery #love #devotion #stream of consciousness #love poetry

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 1 year

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Hi! I was wondering if you could do a request (WHEN YOUR NOT BUSY) about prince nuada where he meets the reader at the station when the fighting is over and she’s like a beast tamer humming lullabies to tooth fairies and other dangerous things like that?? ☺️❤️

Hello! I'm not sure what sort of theme you wanted, so I stuck to a soft/fluff/kind of angsty at the begining enemies to possible lovers theme. I hope you like it.

The beast tamer and the prince

Pairing: Nuada x Fem. Reader (Parts human and elf | Beast tamer)

Word count: 823 words

Themes : Some angst, maybe | Soft | Fluff | Enemies to lovers

Warnings : None

Want to be tagged? Want to know the reader request rules? Read all here

If you like this, please consider giving it a reblog. Thank you!

p.s. the bit with the wife and tea and biscuits was inspired by a scene between Sheldon and Penny, on The Big Bang Theory.

Nuada returns to his palace in an abandoned station after a brutal few weeks, helping Hellboy and the BPRD fight and defeat Nimue, the Blood Queen.

He’s completely exhausted, lost to the world, and not paying any attention to what is happening around him. Due to this, he misses the baby tooth fairies trailing him, looking for their first meal. Only when they take off and come after him does Nuada realize he’s been targeted as prey. He whips out his spear, ready to defend himself. Except that nothing happens, save for someone singing in a language Nuada has not heard in over nine millennia. As this eerie, otherworldly tune floats through the tunnels, Nuada looks around, his ears twitching. The tooth fairies looked dazed, not moving, barely even breathing. It was as if they were hypnotized. When he demanded you show yourself, you do, armed with only a strange flute and your own voice.

He discovers you are half mortal and half elf, a descendant of a long-forgotten line of beast tamers who once worked for King Balor. Nuada is shocked, as everyone thought your clan was wiped out by the great wars of seven thousand BC, when the Golden Army marched against the armies of men. The tattoos on the inside of your right forearm showed otherwise, as only those who have proven their gifts to the clan elders could receive such tattoos.

Despite his reservations, Nuada assists you in capturing the tooth fairies and transporting them to an off-realm reserve where they will not harm anyone. He asks you to live with him as royal etiquette decreed such an invitation, as repayment for saving his life.

The giant troll lives with him, Mr. Wink, takes to you in a heartbeat. Nuada, on the other hand, keeps you at arm's length. He is cold and aloof, as is his personality, and always high prince to everyone else. And he insists on being treated as such.

This infuriates you, and the two of you constantly butt heads and trade insults. Usually, these insults revolve around epithets such as prig from your end, and wasp-tongued-viper from his end. Even after the two of you cooled off with the insults, bickering would follow whenever you were together. Quests to capture another beast or creature on behalf of the BPRD would always end up with the two of you bickering like an old married couple. At least, that's what Abe believes.

"If we were married," Nuada would say, "The wife would bring me tea and biscuits in the evening."

"You hate my tea," you'd retort. "And we have no biscuits."

"My wife would keep them on hand."

"Your wife demands a divorce."

"Wonderful," Nuada would say without missing a beat. "On the way back from the temple, could you stop by the troll market and pick up some Bethmoran rose biscuits for my afternoon tea?"

Epic huffs and eye-rolls will abound. Hellboy would ask if the two of you needed a room. Nuada would shiver in horror. You'd look at Hellboy like he had grown another head. The two of you would skulk off in different directions.

In time, however, mutual respect blooms between the two of you.

Nuada comes to appreciate your skills, for it means children of the old gods no longer have to be killed unless absolutely necessary. He starts fighting in your corner during BPRD meetings, backing you up against Manning and his orders.

You come to respect Nuada's love for his family and his people, his willingness to go to great lengths to protect them and keep them safe.

The two of you have saved each other's lives more times than either of you can count.

Nuada comes to find your nicknames for mythical creatures all rather amusing.

Tooth fairies you call: Teethcinerators.

And dragons are called: Winged fire breathing danger noodles.

Unicorns, on the other hand, end up being called: Rage ponies, given their violent and unpredictable nature.

These nicknames end up being used by him and many others at the BPRD, much to Manning's eternal frustration.

You teach Nuada how to charm animals just by using his voice. He tries it on Mr. Wink. Mr. Wink ends up in a trance for two days, and you go through every book you have to get him out of it.

Mr. Wink was naturally unhappy about it, and complained about it for weeks.

You realize Nuada has the most beautiful voice you have ever heard, and you come up with every conceivable excuse to get him to sing.

Nuada catches on to your tricks but finds them all rather endearing.

"If you just want to hear me sing, y/n, you need only ask."

You go red in the face and flee his presence.

Nuada decides to talk to his father about you.

King Balor approves, and insists on meeting the person who brought about such positive changes in his son.

#asks #reader request #reader insert #prince nuada #prince nuada x reader #nuada x reader #nuada imagine #hellboy #hellboy imagine #head canon #fanfiction #writeblr #enemies to lovers

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autumnmobile12 · 3 months

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Felt like sharing some speculation today:

All right, so we know My Hero Academia has the something of the same premise as X-Men in the sense that select a group of humans were suddenly born with powers, the whole 'evolution leaps forward’ deal.

We see in My Hero how the First Generation of people with Quirks, especially the ones who appeared non-human or semi non-human, were originally ostracized like the mutants of X-Men are, but then more people were born with powers and then more people had powers until it became a widespread phenomenon and ‘normal’ people became the minority and society had to restructure itself to accommodate the new normal.

But have you read The Resurrectionist: The Lost Work of Dr. Spencer Black?

The plot is a 19th century doctor who theorizes that mythical creatures like the minotaur, harpies, sirens, and the like all existed millions of years ago but slowly interbred with humanity and eventually died out altogether. So he believed that when someone was born with extra fingers, limbs, a tail or otherwise didn’t have the typical human shape, it wasn’t so much a mistake in genetic coding as it was the extremely recessive genetics of those ancient creatures trying to reoccur in the modern day.

...

Definitely an interesting premise, so now I’m wondering if the My Hero world has a cult, conspiracy theorists, or even some scientists/historians that have similar views regarding mythology.

If this whole Quirk thing happened back in the Stone Age where no one had the benefit of science or awareness of DNA, anyone born with an otherworldly power would have been worshipped as a deity. Or the ones born with a non-human appearance would have been reviled as monsters.

So following the idea of The Resurrectionist, maybe the sudden appearance of superpowers did lead people to take a closer look at the old myths and consider the stories of the gods/goddesses of old were originally stories of people with 'Quirks' who rose to power. Humans with meta-powers ruled the world for a few centuries, then those powers inexplicably died off. For a variety of reasons or maybe unknown reasons, humanity lost that history but remembered the old stories and chalked them up to just myth until the powers that made it possible began to reappear full force several millennia later.

Some myths began as historical events but in being handed down hundreds of generations, the multiple tellings and retellings exaggerated them into the realm of impossibility.

Lightning/electricity powers: Zeus, Thor, Hinon

Fire powers: Hephaistos, Surtr, Hestia, the phoenix

Foresight: Any seer, prophet, or oracle that appears in any myth ever

Ice powers: Yuki-onna, Skadi, Morana

Water powers: Poseidon, Chalchiuhtlicue, Anuket, Tlaloc

Plant-related Quirks: Demeter

Gigantification Quirks: Giants, titans, nephilim

Ryukyu: Is a dragon. ‘nuff said.

All Might: Herakles

Tokoyami having a bird head but otherwise appearing human is pretty reminiscent of the old Egyptian gods.

Hawks: Any winged creature; take your pick. Personally, the one that comes to mind for me is Hermes. He only had wings on his sandals, sure, but the trickster archetype resonates.

Tsuyu: Naiads, nymphs, rusalki, any kind of water fae

Momo: Sedna (created sea life from her finger bones), Ukemochi no Kami (produces food from her own body)

Best Jeanist: This one's a bit of a reach, but the fabric thread thing coupled with the long, spider-like limbs kinda brings to mind the story of Arachne the weaver.

We do get a nod to Ancient Greek mythology with the prison Tartarus. What better place to lock away beings with god-like powers than the prison of the Titans itself?

Obviously an incomplete list, but you see my point.

Personally, I'm leaning toward cultist ideology with this one as I find it hard to believe every civilization would have forgotten about a previous appearance of Quirks. But civilizations die off, civilizations are overrun by others and their histories are suppressed, maybe this hypothetical 'previous Quirk phenomenon' wasn't as widespread as the current one and so fewer people were affected and therefore fewer people were alive to verify the truth of facts, maybe this hypothetical time was from an age of oral history and nothing was documented properly, so not impossible just really, really improbable.

Still, I love mythology and I find it an interesting headcanon to think about.

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eaturheartout2021 · 1 year

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Daydreaming (Simon ‘ Ghost’ Riley x Reader)

Genre: smut

Warnings: fem!reader, descriptions of sexual activity, praise (probably missed some, just lmk)

Summary: After reader meets ghost at a safe house she must use his body heat for warmth, her mind wonders, and she gets caught.

The cold bit through you like a razor. The snow falling heavily from the sky covering your thick coat as you trudged through the dense trees, shivering into yourself. You cursed audibly and shoved your numb, tingling hands further into your pockets trying to salvage any remaining body heat you had left to warm your brittle appendages.

You had been walking through the bitter cold and ice for what seemed like a millennia. High stepping over fallen trees and logs that had succumbed to the harshness of the winter and achingly jumped over wide frozen streams that would set hypothermia within mer seconds if they consumed you, but you pressed on. Pulling up the balaclava that covered the lower half of your face to completely conceal you from the onslaught of the raging winter winds, you sped up your pace.

Then, you noticed the markers donning and old fence line weaving within the trees. The rifle and medic bag fit snuggly to your back became much more heavier when you realized how much closer to the safe house you were. How much more closer to getting out the the elements, to warmth. You shook the distractions from your mind and pressed harder, the heavy numbness in your limbs weighing you down noticeably but you pushed on without cause. No doubt to be cussed out by the Lieutenant once inside but you’d deal with that later.

Slowly, ever so damn slowly you climbed a steep embankment that followed the fence line that held the markers that Soap had told you lead to the safe house where he and Ghost would be waiting. There lie warmth and shelter from this onslaught of cold and snow. At least for a moment.

Peaking the ridge, your breath was coming in short pants and gasps. The cold shocking your lungs and making them burn with each sharp intake of air. Your mouth was dry, tacky and in desperate need of water. You hastily pulled your mask down and grabbed a fist full of the soft, powdery snow and shoved it into your mouth. It slowly melted away easing, your thirst for the time being until you could reach the men waiting for you to arrive.

You covered your face once again and squinted against the flurry of white and grey in your vision and struggled to see anything solid. But then out in the distance, a solid black mass. A cabin, to the north of you. A haven. You almost cried with relief and you held onto the rifle strap and slid down the ridge and onto the plateau at the bottom of the hillside. You were borderline running, as much as you could with near frozen limbs to the dilapidated shack.

When opening the door, a gun barrel meet you along with a muted gaze. Immediately your frozen hands went up and looked down the barrel to meet Ghost’s gaze, his eyes unwavering as he took in your white, snow and ice covered form. He signed heavily and dropped the gun from you.

“One of these days, you’ll be at the wrong end of someone’s gun for barging in like that.” His tone uninterested and bored as he cleared his gun, put on the safety and walked back towards the small fire in the stone fireplace on the far side of the room. You closed the door quickly to not let anymore heat out than you already have. You stomped your heavy boots on the floor to knocking away the ice and snow and shook, spraying snow in your wake. Ghost groaned at your movements and continued to stoke the small flames with a branch.

“Then, I can say I’ll have learned my lesson.” Your voice was nothing but chatter as the cold was set in your bones, your soul, freezing your very core. Ghost looked to meet your shivering frame, eyes glinting in question. The skull mask hiding any form of facial expression to be read from you. You kicked your boots away to reveal how far you pushed yourself out in the snow and you new it was close. The skin around your damp socks was cherry red, hard and cold to the touch. The beginning signs of frostbite.

You didn’t let on to Ghost and you continued to undress the heavy layers of winter clothes. Keeping him unsuspecting was beneficial to not getting your ass chewed out and tonight wouldn’t be the night.

“Where’s Soap? He said it would be the two of you RV-ing with me here.” You asked as you hung up your thick coat on the wooden pegs sticking from the wall beside the door. He didn’t meet your gaze as he spoke.

“He stayed behind to help Price. He needed the extra hands and Soap was the unlucky bastard that was caught up in it.” His voice was sneering almost as if he enjoyed Soap’s small torment of whatever price had him cleaning up. You shuttered at the thought. Being a medic, you helped heal the wounded, not be the cause of them. The idea rattled you. The rifle and medic bag now sat on the small table in the even smaller kitchenette covered in ice crystals and snow. You moved to swiped them away and you let out an audible hiss and Ghost’s head whipped around to you in a matter of milliseconds.

“Where?” Is all he said. You looked over to him and gave him a look that said ‘please, as if.’ You turned away and stifled yourself for another step and held in that gasp of pain your legs begged you to cry out. The cold had done its job and cut deep within your flesh. Ghost’s heavy steps were behind you moments later. The medics bag taken from your grasp.

“Where.” He spoke more firmly. More assertive. You looked up at him. Your small 5”5 frame against his 6”4 was obvious and he just peered down at you waiting for an answer. You removed your balaclava and shook out your hair, taking in a deep breath of the warm cabin air. Relishing in the earthy scent.

“I’m fine. I’m not hurt anywhere.” But a rack of uncontrollable shivers went through you. No amount of will power stopped them. Ghost merely gazed down at you and clicked his tongue and hummed in reply.

“Hypothermia is extremely dangerous, Phoenix. You, if anyone should know that.” You turned away from his gaze. You grew to despise your call sign after all these years and he still marveled at letting it roll from his tongue like honey.

“Yes, I’m well aware and I’m telling you I’m fine.” You snap walking towards the fireplace with a very obvious limp and sitting heavily on the dusty and molded couch. He followed you and sat opposite, mirroring your crossed arms. Your body is racked with violent shaking that even your chattering teeth cause Ghost to groan with annoyance.

He lifts his shirt over his head and reaches for you. You can’t help but stare as his toned, defined chest and stomach stare back at you. The tattoo on his left arm stark and bright in the soft warm fire light. You put an arm out in front of you to stop him and it’s quivering form does nothing as he grabs you and forces your thick shirt over your head, leaving you in nothing but your bra and cargo pants.

Shock fills you and you push against him.

“What in the hell are you doing!” Your words are stuttering out of your mouth as you try to form sentences and push the mountain of a man away from you but the warmth he’s admitting is addictive.

“Do you want to die out here? Where’s your head at? I’ll slowly warm your core temperature so your body doesn’t go into shock more than it already is.” His voice was nothing but control and assertiveness. He wasn’t taking no for an answer, and you let him. You settled into his chest and folded your hands to your chest and let out a breathy sigh. Ghost swore violently and rubbed his calloused hands along your arms and shoulders.

“You’re absolutely freezing. Any longer out there and you would’ve died.” He hugged you closer and rested the hard mask of his cheek to the top of your head. Survival. This was purely survival. You kept chanting it like a mantra in your mind and Ghost kept rubbing your arms, slowly warming you. He was your Lieutenant, your superior. Any relationship between the two of you would be disastrous and it’d be a one way ticket to an early retirement.

The thought racked you. But, there was the thought. The slinking, inkling thought of Ghost. Laying beneath you Ghost is breathlessly gasping your name, your actual name. Maskless with pupils blow wide as he took in your naked sweat beaded form atop him. His large hands grasping your hips, thighs, waist, anywhere he could just to feel you; touch you. You rocking back and forth on him, gasping as he reached depths within you that you dreamed you could alone, causing him to whimper at the motion.

“So good for me love.” His gravely voice drifted to you and covered you like a shroud. Warming you skin with praise. His hands guided you faster, lifting you and slamming you down onto himself sending groans and whines from you both.

“Please. Please Simon, I need, I need more.” You begged him, grinding desperately as silent tears fell from your eyes. He smiled wickedly up at you, eyes glinted mischievously.

“Anything for you.” He lifts you away and throws you below him. He hovers above you and aligns himself and plows deep with one swift thrust. A sharp gasp steals your breath and a deep satisfied moan replaces it. Ghost is relentless in giving you what you asked for, pounding you into the sheets, shaking the bed frame, rattling the picture frames that hung on the wall beside it. His throaty grunts melted in your ear as your soft whimpers caressed his.

“So close dove, you gonna take it? Gonna take it like a good girl ya’ are?” The words he ground out was like liquid bliss to your core, molten heaven in every sense of the word. You felt your walls clamp down on him and felt his hips stutter as he let out a primal groan as he let the hot ropes of come paint your walls. Your own orgasm sent your head flying back and stars flecked your eyes. Your gasping breaths was the only thing that could be heard.

“Phoenix.” Ghost cooed. You smiled into the crook of his neck and kissed it fondly and gave a content sigh. Happy.

“Phoenix!” Ghost yelled, fulling snapping you from the daydream you had let yourself unknowably slip into. You quickly looked up at him. Shirtless, the same from the daydream. But donning that ever so infamous mask of his with a slight hint of curiosity in his hazel eyes.

Your face felt as if it was fueled by a thousand suns. You pushed away from him and shot to your feet.

“I feel much warmer thank you please put your shirt back on.” You gushed out. You hastily grabbed yours and slipped it on and walked to the oak chair by the kitchenette and faced away from him, legs bouncing like you had just drank 10 cups of coffee.

“You thought about touching me didn’t you.” His sneer was evident even without you looking at him. You face grew warmer at his words.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice quivering. His heaving boots echoed through the small cabin as they trailed to where you sat. He grabbed the heavy oak chair, spun you around to met his hardened gaze. His hand cupped you chin, forcing you to meet his hazel eyes and spoke clearly and gently.

“All you had to do was ask, dove.”

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod mwii #cod mw2 #call of duty mwii

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bestworstcase · 6 months

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@nightmare-foundation from here

To be completely fair Salem has kinda been harassing, killing, and ruining Oz's lives for millennia 😭 she tortured a 15 year old boy who wants nothing to do with her, and it's directly stated by jinn that Salem manipulated Oz. I love Salem as a character, but as a person she's repulsive. Oz isn't perfect but he's infinitely better than her (no pun intended lol, also not looking for an argument or anything)

not out to pick a fight here, just want to lay out my thoughts:

the question ruby asks is "what is ozpin hiding from us?" and the answer jinn gives her is couched explicitly as a fairytale ("once upon a time, there stood a lonely tower..." and of course the episode itself is named the lost fable). this in a narrative where the veracity of fairytales is consistently questioned and ozpin explicitly leverages fairytale and legend to conceal information and control the narrative.

(see also 'the story of the seasons' and 'the two brothers.')

moreover, in "fairytales of remnant" ozpin's commentaries on 'the infinite man' and 'the girl in the tower' specifically discuss propaganda and the importance of skepticism: "no one who wasn't there could know what really happened. and even then, they would only have a small part of the story." and "one must always be prepared to think about and question everything they read or hear, especially if they are told it is the absolute truth."

likewise, "question everything" is a key theme of V5 and that theme largely centers around ozpin's dishonesty. so this is the narrative context in which TLF occurs: is jinn an objective narrator, or... is she answering exactly the question ruby answered, and telling the story as ozpin remembers it?

i think TLF sits firmly in the "ozpin's side of the story" camp, and i read it with the presupposition that the narrator is unreliable.

so, with that in mind: jinn insinuates that salem lied to ozma ("salem, fearing ozma would reject her, blamed the end of the world on the gods") and draws a rhetorical equivalence between salem's rebellion and what she tells ozma they should do ("the hearts of men are easily swayed.") the implication that salem manipulated him is quite clear.

however: TLF is what ozpin was hiding.

by definition, you cannot hide things you don't know; ergo, none of the information revealed in TLF was unknown to ozma prior to ruby asking jinn this question.

it follows that either salem told him the whole story, including her own part in it, or ozma asked jinn what happened. given ozma's utilitarian usage of the lamp ("where are the other relics? what powers do they possess? how can i destroy salem?") and the effort he devotes to burying the past, i think it is much more likely that he heard it from salem.

further, what salem told ozma according to jinn isn't a lie. in fact, salem blaming the gods for the end of the world corroborates the explanation the god of light gave to ozma ("a... tragedy has befallen your home at the hands of my brother"). yet: "ozma, still unsure of where the truth lay, kept his task and the relics a secret."

salem's account of what happened differed significantly enough from what the god of light told him for ozma to doubt her; where light blamed his brother, salem blamed both gods.

the scenario that i find most likely is that salem initially glossed over the rebellion but told ozma everything else: that she petitioned the brothers to bring him back, that they cursed her, and that they eventually decided this wasn't punishment enough, declared humanity a failed experiment, and wiped everyone out. then, later on, she admitted that she incited rebellion against them and told ozma why she hid that from him at first.

after all, "salem blamed the end of the world on the gods" tells us absolutely nothing about how much detail salem went into. just the conclusion she came to about who was to blame.

meanwhile, we do know exactly what secrets ozma kept from her: he didn't tell her about his task or the relics. this is important, because ozma later voices concern about humanity being "more divided than ever," and salem answers without having the full context.

"we could become the gods of this world. [...] we can mold these lands into whatever we want—what you want!—create the paradise that the old gods could not." <- this is a course of action she suggests in response to ozma bringing up "humanity is divided" as a problem he would like to solve. from salem's perspective, ozma just told her that he has an ambition (uniting the world) that dovetails with her own desire to make a better world without the gods, and she really does believe they can do it!

but what ozma actually wants is to unite the world on behalf of the gods, then summon the brothers back to remnant to judge whether humankind has earned redemption or not. his true goal is the exact opposite of what salem proposed, but he doesn't tell her!

"the hearts of men are easily swayed"—but she did not exactly twist ozma's arm, here. all she does is enthusiastically go "we could fix that!" in answer to ozma fretting about the state of the world, and ozma... doesn't object, at all. her wording makes it abundantly clear that she would never accept the divine mandate, so he... keeps that a secret from her. for years!!

one of them is being manipulative here. it isn't salem.

and—well, look at how she reacts when he finally does object.

"are we sure this is right?" <- he's explicitly asking for her opinion.

"you said we needed to bring humanity together; in order to do that, we need to spread our word, and destroy those who would deny it." this is an indirect answer: whether right or wrong, their actions now are what's necessary to achieve his stated goal. but is it a manipulative answer? does she intend to shut him down?

or is she trying to broaden the discussion? he asks, "is what we're doing right?" and she answers, "well, it follows from our objective. does the end justify the means?"

he says, "this isn't what he asked of me." <- hard objection.

she says, "what did you say?" <- request for clarification.

he tells her everything: "the true reason the god of light had brought him back, the relics that lay scattered around the world, and the day of judgment he had been told to prepare for."

salem—though visibly unhappy—listens calmly, without interruption, until he's finished and turns to her for an answer. and of course her answer is to reject the mandate altogether ("don't you see? none of that matters anymore!") because in her view the brothers are tyrannical monsters and the world is better off without them, as she made crystal clear from the very beginning.

but she doesn't reject ozma; she holds out her hand and asks him to forsake his task and try things her way.

and what stands out the most to me about this whole scene is that at no point does salem appear to be unwilling to have the discussion. she answers his first question in a very open-ended way, asks him a question when he says something she doesn't understand, sets her own feelings aside to hear him out, and then couches her rejection as a question—why does it matter what the gods told you, why should we try to "redeem" these humans?—whilst making a gesture that very explicitly invites ozma to engage with what she's saying.

but like, at no point in either scene does ozma reciprocate that; he doesn't push back at the start, and when he doesn't like the answer she gives him he appeals to divine authority rather than engage with what she actually said, and when she questions the mandate he straight up just walks out. is that salem's fault? does it make sense to read this as learned behavior caused by salem's treatment of him when he acts the exact same way from the start?

in the real world we call this missionary dating.

just as ozma isn't to blame for salem attacking him, salem isn't to blame for ozma doing this to her.

anyway, as for the idea that salem has been hunting him and tormenting him ever since:

jinn says, "no matter where or how he lived, her presence was always felt"—and what we see is two beowolves attacking the town.

but:

salem does not control every grimm in the world, and there are many, many examples throughout the story of grimm attacks happening without her knowledge or control. most notably, grimm attack the argus express, with oscar on it, at a point in time where salem doesn't even know ozpin is back yet.

as per 9.10, twelve years ago, ozpin's last-minute secret urgent missions so regularly turned out to be false alarms that he had a catchphrase about it. his own inner circle told inside jokes about his paranoia! and the sheer level of destruction salem has achieved in just two years calls into question the assumption that this is a normal state of affairs.

over the course of the show, we've seen ozpin make several grievous miscalculations based on the assumption that salem will prefer to remain in the shadows. her first move involves orchestrating a massive terrorist attack on an internationally-televised sporting event. she openly lays siege to atlas and smiles while she watches ruby reveal her existence to the world.

ozma sees salem's hand in every grimm attack and every crisis he's weathered throughout the years. he also very badly misjudges her strategy and tactics when she actually goes to war.

do we trust his perception that salem is the mastermind behind everything bad that has ever happened in his vicinity?

on the other hand, ozma explicitly believes that "if humanity were ever to stand a chance of being united," salem has to be destroyed. he explicitly decided to search for the relics in order to "rid the world of her." and after asking where to find those relics and what they could do, the third question he asks jinn upon finding her is "how can i destroy salem?"

there is zero ambiguity about this. for thousands of years, his main goal has been to get rid of her. and... considering that she was legendary when ozma first returned ("during his years of travel, he heard the same frightened whispers that spoke of a terrifying sorceress who commanded dark powers in the wilds among the beasts and monsters..."), he's been quite phenomenally successful in eradicating her influence and presence even though he cannot, of course, actually get rid of her.

the point of this is not to justify any of the things salem has actually done—ozma is no more responsible for her actions than she is for his—but to argue that she is justifiably angry at him.

i think the text makes it quite clear that salem was profoundly traumatized by the way he treated her, because he took advantage of her trust to lie and manipulate her into serving gods she vocally rejected and then spent thousands of years crusading to get rid of her. i think the common fanon—that salem is a spoiled brat who abused ozma while they were married, "ruined her own happy ending," and now unfairly blames him and wants to destroy the world to spite him or punish him for "leaving" her—is flatly countertextual.

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