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#Face Death with Dignity
besttropeveershowdown · 5 months
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The Best Trope Ever Showdown: Round 1, Side C
Face Death with Dignity
No propaganda was submitted.
Prolonged Pining
Just people being in love with each other for far to long (typically a few years, if not decades, if not centuries). Is typically mutual pining, but I suppose it could be one sided too. Seen with ships such as Fiddleford McGucket X Stanford Pines (Gravity Falls), and Aziraphale X Crowley (Good Omens)
Propaganda:
Because all my OTPs are made up of dumbasses, and I cant seem to get enough. Because 6000 years is a long time to be in love with someone yet here we are. Because angst and fluff are not mutually exclusive. Because!
It's got the angst of an unrequited love trope but it's hopeful and adorable because you know the love is in fact mutual!
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twinkle-art · 2 years
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At the Hour of Death
I slept that bitter night, cold, and alone, with only the slightest traces of angel wings passing by. Everything aches, even with the armor stripped off, my heart yearns for such precious things.
If the dawn arrives again, I shall walk, ashamed and broken, yet with every step, I know something awaits me. Others have pierced my soul, to get that secret in blood, yet I know it remains pure-- something promised, and bound to no other.
I sought freedom for those chained and strangled, but even then, it is miniscule compared to the release of souls from the besieged embrace morning begets. I bear my cross, small, but never so slight, as I am bound, and the flame ignites.
Charcoal smoke floating, I give up my ghost, offering itself to the heavens, a dove among crows. Yet the fire keep burning everything which remains of me, until my body forms a halo of flesh and ash. Taking my last breath, I envelop myself in heavenly light, for I was born at the end of the world, yet died to create a new one. --Elda Mengisto (written in 2017)
Author's Note: When I saw @nosebleedclub's prompt for "death sentence", I figured I might share a poem I've written a few years ago. It obviously has Joan of Arc imagery in it (in fact, the original title is simply "Jehanne"), but I still think there are still some strength throughout this piece. What do you think?
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sbnkalny · 6 months
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“Now listen well to what I tell you,” said the hen-wife. “You have paid me faithfully and fully, and I am ready to keep my part of the bargain, too. Far and far enough from here, there lies a great dark lake, and the name of it is Lough Erne. Under its waters lives the King of the Fiborg race, a race that lives in the water most happily. There, in the King’s garden, grow three golden apples. In his stable stands a grand black steed. In his castle lies the puppy-hound Samur, and great are the magic powers of that hound. You must send Conn-eda to get these things for you, and to fetch them back within a year and a day and it ’s not a living being who can seek those things and not lose his life in the seeking, unless he has magic to help him.”
However, there has been dissension within the scientific community as to what truth they ADD up to.. I served you faithfully once, lord Nerevar, and you repaid me with it! Oh, yeah! do you get it now? Papa's got a brand new jerky joint down on south st Calld Georges Jerky. Where I put my Big stupid pill Case for MORONS who take idiot pills? I need something to the bottom of a Lake, and a Nord will never see It happen. For the honor And dignity of the dunmer race, and handed over our ancient land to the mongrel dogs of the Empire. The BODILESS Shall rule the world as a MILF fire hydrant, you open me up and I grow three more heads. In the villa of ormen stands a solitary candle. Why are Old wiccan textbooks like the peak of that mountain lies the sky tower. Early one morning shattering life in the face spread the dirt to populace yellow journal yellow journal set the stage name joh Yowza.
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gregtom · 2 years
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how did killing eve give every character a relatively happy conclusion besides its two wlw protagonists who either 1. died horrifically, isolated from their love or 2. left grief-stricken and suicidal
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wereh0gz · 1 year
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Huuuohuhhghohgh.......
I can't be having blorbo thoughts this early in the morning when I can barely verbalize them help
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sidheboggle · 3 months
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Not gonna lie 2024 might be the year I won't make it through, and I have no idea how to prepare the people I love for this conversation. I'm being overdramatic, it's 5 am but right now I'm just going through it and I can realistically see my life ending this year if I can't move out and start living the way I need to. Lol.
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sar-soor · 4 months
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via @ palestinianfeministcollective’s instagram today:
During the past two months, Palestinians have endured another catastrophic genocide. Over 21,000 Palestinians were martyred. Thousands more who have sustained life-threatening injuries are barely surviving without access to emergency medical care. 1.9 million people have been displaced from their homes and are now facing the imminent threat of forcible expulsion to Egypt. Palestinians are systematically being kidnapped and tortured en masse and an end to the bombardment is nowhere in sight.
Palestinians across the world have also been subjects of racist and dehumanizing media campaigns created to manufacture consent for this genocide and discredit our movement for liberation.
Among the many racist, colonial, and sexist tropes animating Zionist propaganda is the age-old Orientalist characterization of Palestinian men as bloodthirsty terrorists, rapists, savages, and loveless monsters who use their children as human shields and oppress Palestinian women.
As feminists, we know that Orientalist tropes about [our] men are manufactured for colonial and imperial aims and are normalized as truth in racist imaginations. Yet even among those who empathize with the Palestinian struggle come endless commemorations of Palestinian women and children absent recognition of the suffering and death of Palestinian men. This dangerously conditions the public to believe that Palestinian men are not worthy of grief or even love.
It is not our interest to counter the racist narratives made about Palestinian men and boys. That would equate to trying to prove our humanity to those actively erasing us. But as Palestinian feminists, we feel compelled to affirm that Palestinian men and boys are our fathers, brothers, sons, grandfathers, uncles, cousins, and partners - they are our family, and we love them.
Palestinian men are our friends, our comrades in struggle, our teachers and protectors, our spiritual guides and healers - and we love them. They are suffering the injury of this ongoing Nakba, physically, spiritually, and emotionally alongside us - and we love them. They are navigating grief, trauma, and pain and we love them. They are practicing defiance, resistance, and steadfastness - and we love them. They are freedom fighters - and we love them. They are full beings with contradictions - and we love them.
Palestinian men are our kin. We stand with them against all those justifing and enacting violence upon their bodies, souls, and dignity. We refuse to allow them to be rendered disposable to the affective world where Palestinian children and women are given some - even if minimal -recognition. As feminists, we want the world to know that we love our Palestinian men, have never stopped loving them, and will never stop loving them.
Our feminist vision advocates for breaking intimate and state cycles of violence by centering and transforming home, family, and community spaces into sites of care and healing. We acknowledge the immeasurable sacrifices and hardships Palestinian men experience caused by Zionism and the relentless hope and courage they continue to foster within US. We uphold radical love as an act of liberation that grounds our collective survival and resistance.
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darthkieduss · 1 year
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I was held by a young soldier. 'Major', said the poor lad, '"I am dying, and I shall never see my regiment again; but I ask you to tell my comrades that the Yankees have killed but not conquered me.'
Major Heros von Borcke (Prussian) encounters a defiantly dying young Confederate soldier at Chancellorsville
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sansaorgana · 17 days
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— THROWN TO THE WOLVES (III)
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PART ONE || PART TWO || PART FOUR PART FIVE || PART SIX || PART SEVEN PART EIGHT
PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Atreides!OC
SUMMARY — Na-baroness finds out a few interesting details about her husband's past as she gets to watch him for the first time in the arena.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is Paul Atreides' half-sister. Thank you to everyone reading and commenting this story! 😳💗 Your kind comments motivate me like nothing else, honestly! 😅
WARNINGS — arranged marriage, mentions of sexual activities including non/dub-con (no actual smut) + exhibitionism, syringes & blood drawing, violent behaviour, death, mentions of planned and scientifical breeding, another reminder that the Reader is not supposed to be a good person 😈
WORD COUNT — 6,060
ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.
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THROWN TO THE WOLVES (III)
Two days to regenerate did not feel like enough. You spent them all in your bedroom, mostly sleeping. You really wanted to work out some daily routine for yourself but there was not much else to do and you were afraid to wander off to walk around the fortress all by yourself. You had a feeling you were not allowed to do that anyway.
“Don’t I have any duties? Meetings?” You asked Astra and Cara on the last day of your freedom as you were teaching them how to do hair and make-up.
“No, na-baroness. Those duties are Baron’s,” Cara told you.
“But he has no wife,” you furrowed your brows.
“If he had one, she would share the duties with him. But na-baroness cannot, my Lady,” Astra added.
“So, I’m free to do whatever?” You asked.
Even as a Princess of Caladan you had more duties. Your father was sending you for the meetings to schools, to the theatre events, not to mention all the banquets with the ambassadors and the nobility.
On the other hand, your new position did not surprise you – the Baron did not treat you like a proper Harkonnen family member. You were nothing but a trophy and an incubator for his nephew’s future heir.
“Na-baroness is allowed to the library and the relaxation area,” Cara nodded her head.
“And the dining room, of course,” Astra whispered.
However, you still had not been in the dining room since your wedding party. All the meals had been brought to you and you would eat them on Feyd’s balcony. At first you had been hesitant but you had been told that there were shields protecting the people living at the palace from being exposed to the atmosphere’s pollution.
And indeed, you didn’t feel like you were choking on a slimy liquid whenever you were on that balcony. It still felt weird to eat food in black-and-white. It felt as if it had less taste for sure.
Feyd was not inside his bedroom when you were walking through it and he was not eating his meals alongside you. Cara and Astra had informed you that he wished to stay away from you until the fight.
Not that you missed him.
You knew that tomorrow you would have to face him and his desires again. If he would win the fight, of course. But Cara and Astra had already told you he would always win because every fight in the arena was fixed for him to win. Other gladiators were drugged and he had all sorts of devices to keep him safe.
Cara and Astra were very talkative once they felt safe around you and it didn’t take long for them. It was the first time they were thanked for doing their jobs, the first time they had names, the first time they earned some dignity for themselves.
The Harkonnen slaves were bred to be this way. Slaves were giving birth to even more slaves. They had no mothers, no fathers, no names and no humanity. Their sad and painful lives were often short because of the violent and impatient men like your husband who would slay them for fun without any consequences. All it took was to say something wrong or deliver the bad news, drop something or breathe too loud.
You wanted to change their fate once you’d become the Baroness but you knew that it would be a long time until then… if it would happen at all. And even if you’d survive enough to get that title eventually, perhaps by that time you’d already change so much that you’d start to enjoy this cruel system for your own benefit. Not to mention Feyd would probably never allow you to make a change like that.
You had to become a Harkonnen, there was no doubt about it. But you also did not want this new life to kill every single good trait in you. In fact, maybe you needed those good traits to actually rise above those monsters surrounding you. Maybe the remaining goodness in you was not a weakness but an advantage.
“Thank you,” you thanked the girls and stood up to take a better look at yourself in the mirror. They put make-up on you a little clumsily but the effect was satisfying. They were quick learners. However, the lipstick they used was black and the eyeshadow bright red. You didn’t have to ask, you assumed that was na-baron’s order. “Thank you, you’re so talented, my girls,” you told them and they smiled shyly at each other.
You approached them and placed a kiss upon Astra’s head and then Cara’s. They looked almost startled at the affection they had received. No one had kissed them like this before. Not even their mothers who had not really been allowed to raise them after all.
“I am very glad the Baron has assigned you two for me, you’re special,” you cooed to them and they giggled.
Oh, they would die for you already.
But it was easy with the girls like them. Winning them over was no victory for you to celebrate. Even women much more stupid than you would succeed at such an easy task.
Not that you were using Astra and Cara. You really liked them and felt sorry for them. You weren’t faking your affections but you were exaggerating them for sure.
You were certain that the Baron had told them to spy on you. But now you were also certain they would never tell him anything that would get you in trouble.
Because love makes people more loyal than fear – those were your father’s words. And you hated to remember them and you hated them for being so true. Because your father still hadn’t written you any letter. You didn’t want to look up to him. You didn’t want to make him proud. You just wanted to survive.
“Tomorrow, for the tournament,” you told your girls, “I think I will look very pretty when you’ll do my make-up,” you assured them and they sighed with relief. “My hair, though…” you sighed and they looked down. “It’s okay. We will think of something.”
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After breakfast you were asked to follow the guards who took you to the medic. He was already waiting for you with all sorts of syringes and a smile that pretended to be kind but it made creeps go down your body.
“Na-baroness,” he bowed down so low that it was almost funny. You still remembered his lack of respect towards you before you had held this title. “How are you feeling?” He asked and you laid down on the examination table already prepared for you. 
“You’re asking physically, am I right?” You wanted to make sure. Of course you were aware he wouldn’t be interested in your mental state.
“What else would I ask for, my Lady?” He seemed to be confused at the question and sat next to you.
“I’m feeling… tired,” you admitted and he hummed as he examined your body. This time he was gentler and more careful. He didn’t tell you to remove your robe fully either.
“He’s going to do it again today,” you told him when he was staring at one of the faded bruises. “It hurts,” you added.
“I can give you something to regenerate faster, my Lady,” the medic nodded and you gritted your teeth.
Of course. It was easier than to tell Feyd-Rautha to be gentler.
You only nodded your head at him and then he proceeded with all injections and with drawing the blood from you.
“Are you taking your pills, my Lady?” He asked. “After every sexual intercourse?”
“Yes,” you answered and hissed at the feeling of the needle.
“It’s the last one today, I promise, my Lady,” he shushed you.
He was so calm and almost kind but so terrifyingly scary at the same time. You did not like that mix. You’d prefer him to be rude and rough, at least he’d be always honest with his intentions.
You knew that he was acting nice to make you trust him. As if you were that stupid. You decided to play his game, though. Perhaps it would be useful one day for him to think that you trust him.
“Does he get such injections, too? My husband?” You asked, innocently batting your eyelashes.
“Yes, na-baron’s getting them, too. And I run tests on him as well. It takes two people to create life,” the medic smiled at you.
“How does it work, exactly?” You sat up when he was done with you and he walked away to hide all the empty syringes and samples.
“We are making sure that all your eggs will be filled with the best genetic material and all of them will be able to only create boys, my Lady,” the medic told you.
“And later…?” You swallowed thickly. “After I give birth to an heir?”
He looked at you with… pity. It was not a good sign.
“Let’s not worry about that now, na-baroness,” he nodded his head. “You are free to go. It’s a big day today.”
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Astra and Cara were waiting for you in your bedroom already with a gown you had never seen before. Well, the word gown was an overstatement.
It was made of leather stripes that left very little to imagination and it reminded you more of the costumes that Feyd’s pets were wearing. You winced at the sight.
“What is this?” You asked with contempt.
“Na-baron requested for you to wear this, my Lady,” Astra looked down, nervously.
“I will not,” you shook your head and approached your wardrobe to search for something else.
“But, na-baroness…” Cara started. Her hands were shaking already.
“I will not wear this,” you approached Astra and took the hanger with the gown from her hands to throw it on the floor. “I am his wife. Not his whore,” you stated and went back to looking through the dresses.
“A-as you wish, my Lady…” Astra nodded and crouched down to pick the dress up and hang it in the wardrobe.
You didn’t blame her for having no courage to take it back to your husband.
It would be the first time you’d present yourself to the people of Giedi Prime. Ordinary people of this planet who would watch the tournament, not those important noble men and women who had been invited to your wedding. You were aware, thanks to Cara and Astra, that people were very interested in you and they already adored you because you were so different in the way you looked. If you played your cards right, you’d become the beloved na-baroness of the citizens.
You didn’t want to present yourself to them looking like Feyd-Rautha’s pet. You wanted to show them the dignified na-baroness you aspired to be one day.
At the same time, you didn’t want to make Feyd too angry. So you chose one of the dresses he had gifted you before. It was soft, red leather and it covered most of your body almost modestly but the cleavage was quite big.
“This will do,” you pointed at it and the girls nodded before approaching the hanger to remove the dress from it delicately.
You walked up to your vanity and looked through the jewellery. Dress like that was asking for a necklace. But then you spotted a black choker with a red stone and a few ornamented chains with smaller red stones dangling from them. It would cover your throat and fall down your neck so deliciously; you already made up your mind.
“With this,” you told your girls. “What do you think?”
“V-very pretty, my Lady,” Cara nodded, still scared about your change of outfit.
The dress fitted you perfectly. You wondered how they had known your size so well. The medic had measured you right before your wedding, it would be too late for them to prepare those dresses so fast unless hundreds of people worked on them. No, the most possible scenario was that your father had sent them your measurements earlier as they most likely had requested amongst the other things.
They had requested a lot. Your portrait, your health statistics, your family’s tree for the past ten generations, the sample of your voice. And in return they hadn’t even sent you Feyd’s picture. You still were getting angry at the memory of how humiliating the whole process had been.
When the dress, shoes and jewellery were placed on your body, the maids worked on the make-up. This time you chose black eyeshadow and red lipstick to match the gown’s fabric.
“What about the hair, my Lady?” Astra asked, worryingly. “Last night we were practising a little on a wig,” she informed you.
“Where did you get a wig from?” You asked and chuckled.
“We stole it,” Cara whispered and you raised an eyebrow. “There are a few wigs in this fortress, my Lady. Previous Baronesses liked to wear them for special occasions to look more pretty. Baron Harkonnen’s mother for example,” she explained.
“We saw her having hair in the old pictures,” Astra joined, “so we thought she had to have a wig. We decided to find it so we can practise.”
“You did that for me?” You looked at them with disbelief, visibly moved.
“Y-yes, na-baroness,” Cara nodded. “The wig… Its structure is different from your hair, my Lady. But we learnt how to do braids.”
“And how to attach decorations,” Astra smiled gently.
You reached out to hold their hands and squeeze them lovingly.
“My girls,” you told them and they giggled. “But look,” you glanced at yourself in the mirror. There was something very attractive about your hair loose in that outfit. It was making you look less proper and more raw, savage even. Especially in that make-up and outfit. It was a mix of a dignified person and a barbarian from the pictures in your old anthropology books. “I think I will go with my hair loose,” you decided.
If you were the only person on Giedi Prime with hair – except for your two poor previous maids – you wanted to show it off proudly.
“But keep going with your training, I might not always want to go out like this,” you told your girls.
“Yes, my Lady,” they bowed down.
Someone knocked upon the door and Cara went over to open it.
“Is na-baroness ready?” The guard asked.
“Yes, she is.”
“We are ordered to take her to na-baron before his fight,” he informed her.
You sighed and fixed your hair for the last time in the mirror. You didn’t know why he wanted to see you before the fight after avoiding you for two whole days. Perhaps he wanted to get riled up even more. That was probably the reason why the dress given to you was so revealing.
You couldn’t wait to disappoint him.
You nodded your head at Astra and Cara and you walked outside to follow one of the guards. He led you outside the fortress and put you in a vehicle waiting for you with another guard and a driver inside.
“They will take you to the arena, my Lady,” he informed you and bowed down before walking away.
You nodded your head and coughed already from the outside’s air. Inside the vehicle the air was a bit better but still not as clear as in the fortress.
“Na-baroness better get used to,” the guard sitting next to you told you, “there are no shields in the arena.”
You only nodded at him and cleared your throat.
The ride was short because other vehicles waiting in the line were moving away to make a way for you. Through the window you saw faces of the Harkonnen people staring at you with big eyes.
“They cannot see you, my Lady. Only you can see them,” the guard told you and you nodded once again. “They are wondering if you are inside the vehicle,” he added.
“Can’t I make myself visible to them?”
“What for, my Lady?” He asked, surprised.
“To wave at them,” you answered like it was the most obvious thing in the whole world.
“That is not a custom, na-baroness,” he nodded his head gently, trying very hard not to laugh at you.
The vehicle entered the underground parking lot for the vehicles belonging to the top-priority members of the family and your guard helped you to get out of it. 
Your father never liked the unnecessary splendour and all those little privileges that could get into one’s head. The Harkonnens couldn’t disagree more. Even treated terribly by your husband and his Uncle, you still felt superior with all those people bowing down all the time and being able to walk around places where only the VIPs were allowed. Feyd could do anything he wanted to you but to most people on this planet you were untouchable and unreachable. Your one glance could make your guard behead someone. It was a dangerous amount of power that you had always dreamt of. You never wanted to abuse it and become a tyrant, but you wanted to hold it.
Getting used to this part of The Harkonnen culture would come easy for you, surely.
But the closer you were to the room where Feyd had been waiting for you, the less superior you felt. It was difficult to tell if you actually hated him or the fact he was making you feel scared.
You were led through a dark corridor, seeing cells of other gladiators with the doors half-open and the medics injecting drugs into their bodies. You had already been told by your servants that Feyd’s opponents were drugged. You couldn't count on him to die in the arena. Sadly.
The guard finally stopped in front of a tall, black door and he knocked upon them before pushing them open.
You followed him inside, trying to keep your posture straight. Feyd was in the middle of the room, surrounded by the servants who were showing off blades to him and painting stripes on his muscular body with black paint. His three whores were there, too. They hissed at the sight of you and that was what made him turn around and lay his bright eyes on you.
You feared he’d get angry seeing you in a different outfit but he only chuckled contemptuously.
“My beautiful pet,” he beckoned you over and squinted his eyes, “haven’t seen you in a while,” he continued. “Why aren’t you wearing my gift?” He asked when you were standing right in front of him already, trying to keep your poker face on.
“I’m not a whore,” you informed him casually. His pets gave you hateful looks and he laughed at you, showing off his black teeth. You moved slightly out of discomfort.
He stopped laughing all of a sudden and became so serious that it seemed unnatural to change his mood so fast. He approached you, closing the small distance between your bodies. You could feel his hard muscles through the soft leather fabric of your dress. His fingers traced the longest chain dangling off of your choker and he let them go lower and lower until he reached the hem of your cleavage.
“Hungry, my Lord?” You dared to ask him. When he was turned on, it was easier to test him and play with him. He was letting his guard down a little when he wanted to fuck desperately.
Such a scary, brutal man. Yet so desperate and pathetic sometimes.
He looked up and met your gaze. There was an animalistic desire in his eyes as his pupils darkened.
“I wouldn’t say such things if I were you,” he warned you, his voice even raspier than usual.
You smirked at him, taking a deep breath in to calm yourself down but it made his eyes drop down again at the sight of your breasts rising up and down.
“Get out of here,” he gritted his teeth. “I’ll ask for you later.”
“My Lord,” you bowed down ironically and turned around to join your guard who was waiting for you by the door already.
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You were taken to the lift and all the way up to join the Baron on the balcony. It was placed on one of the corners of the triangular arena and it was protecting the VIP members from the polluted atmosphere to some degree. The average Giedi Prime citizen had no such privilege and had to take one of the seats in the overcrowded auditorium.
The Baron hummed at the sight of you. You bowed down and he nodded his head. You were given binoculars by the Baron’s servant and you stood by the Baron’s left side as his servant was already standing on his right. Your guard remained in the back alongside other guards.
You watched the audience through your binoculars and you noticed that lots of people were actually looking right back at you. You smiled to yourself.
“How to make them like me?” You asked the Baron.
“What?” He looked at you, surprised and you moved the binoculars away from your face to look at him.
Standing so close to him and taking a better look at his pathetic form, he somehow became less scary to you. Of course his one order could end your life. But it was his power that was dangerous, not himself.
“How to make the people of Giedi Prime like me? Any tips, my Lord?” You repeated your question.
“Their opinions don’t matter, baroness,” he let out a laugh and you looked away, pretending that you found something interesting somewhere else.
You didn’t like the way he addressed you. Everyone knew that the title of baroness belonged to a woman who would be brave enough to be his wife. The very thought made you sick.
The fight started and you sat down on the chair prepared for you next to the Baron. Feyd-Rautha was announced as the audience cheered enthusiastically. His enemies were greeted with the sound of booing and whistling. Through your binoculars you could see that they were barely standing on their feet, drugged and dulled.
“What is the point of this?” You asked the Baron. “It’s not a real fight. It’s a show.”
“For now, yes. Until he is fully ready. I want the people to see him as my natural successor,” he explained to you.
“I thought their opinions don’t matter,” you pointed out and the Baron laid his eyes on you.
“Let me expand my sentence, baroness. Their opinions don’t matter when it comes to whether we decide to keep you alive or not,” he smirked and went back to watching the fight as it had just begun.
Your heart skipped a beat at that statement. Everything started to make sense now. They would get rid of you after giving Feyd an heir because you would no longer be needed. You had to play your game right and buy yourself more time.
“If you get rid of me, my father will intervene,” you reminded him.
“Like he’s intervening now?” Baron chuckled to himself and you clenched your jaw at his words. You couldn’t argue with that.
“You will need more than one heir. What if he dies? It’s more than possible with the way you’re raising boys on this planet. It’s safer to have a few options. And daughters are useful, too, to make alliances. I am the best example,” you tried not to reveal how nervous you were while saying these things.
“Adorable,” Baron looked at you again. “You think I don’t know you’re trying to buy yourself more time?”
“No, I don’t think that. I know I’m being pretty obvious,” you gave him a fake smile.
“Give us one boy first and we’ll see. Anyway,” Baron went back to looking down. You pretended to do the same but you couldn’t focus. “The final decision will be Feyd’s. You are his.”
For some reason it made you a bit calmer now. Feyd was visibly attracted to you. You just had to play your game right. Perhaps become less rebellious but at the same time not too obedient – it would bore him. You already started to plot all the ways you could make him addicted to you.
“Oh, you think he won’t do it…” Baron’s voice brought you back to reality and you looked at him, confused. He was smiling ironically at you. “That boy killed his own mother. Don’t be so sure that he will think twice before getting rid of a woman who pushed out his brat. He would have already broken you if I hadn’t told him not to. I am the one to keep you safe here, baroness,” Baron gave you a wicked smile. “And I’m not going to lie, it was tempting to let him break you. It would help his reputation if he fucked his first wife to death on the wedding night.”
The blood in your veins immediately turned cold at that revelation. You brought the binoculars closer to your face and observed Feyd in the arena.
He was having fun down there, playing and teasing with his opponents. Even if they were drugged, he was still giving a show. He was an amazing and brutal fighter. In black-and-white, with nothing but murder in his eyes and a psychotic smirk on his face – you had never seen him more terrifying. Yes, now you could see him slaughtering his own mother.
Then, suddenly, one of the gladiators stabbed your husband. Feyd reacted immediately and fought back but his opponent managed to hurt him a few more times before getting slayed. At the sight of the bleeding wounds, even you hissed out of pain, despite hating the man who had been hurt. The Baron chuckled, though.
“Why are you allowing this?” You asked him as you put the binoculars away, not being able to watch this anymore. “He’s your nephew, he’s in pain. Didn’t you put him down there to win?” You couldn't understand. “He almost got killed.”
“Barely,” he laughed. “And he loves the pain anyway.”
“Who would love to get stabbed like that?” You shook your head.
“A boy who had been trained to like it since he was a child,” he looked so deep into your eyes with the most serious expression on his hideous face that it sent chills down your spine.
A long silence occurred between you two.
“What have you done to him…?” You whispered eventually as your lips opened a little in disbelief. The Baron only chuckled and went back to looking through his binoculars.
You did not. You put yours on your lap and you looked away, trying to process everything you had just found out.
Feyd-Rautha was nothing but a hurt boy. He was a tool in his uncle’s hands, a brutal guard dog, a killing machine. Most likely manipulated to kill his own mother, too. Strapped of all humanity and emotions. He was not your oppressor. He was his uncle’s victim as much as you were.
Feyd-Rautha was not your enemy. It was the Baron.
It was the Baron who would in the end decide your fate. Feyd would do what his uncle tells him. You had to make the Baron find you likeable, not your husband. This option was the safest but it was also giving you the least amount of control.
You could also make Feyd-Rautha your pet and turn him against his uncle. It would be risky and it would take lots of time, lots of mistakes and lots of disappointments. But in the end it would give you power.
The cheering audience and fireworks made you look down again. Feyd was holding his bloody blade up and yelling in triumph as all his opponents were laying lifeless behind him.
He was terrifying but you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him now. He was just a hurt boy, you tried to remember.
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There was a feast after a fight but Feyd was not sitting beside you. You asked your girls to find out where he was and they informed you that he was with his pets. You assumed he was keeping his promise to fuck a whore before taking care of you in order not to break you.
You focused on the food in front of you. You had to admit that the food on Giedi Prime was delicious. The Baron loved to eat. As everyone was able to see.
From the corner of your eye, you watched Count Rabban sitting next to his uncle. You wondered about him. He hadn’t spoken to you even once after your introduction on the first day. Was he an important piece of this puzzle? Did you have to worry about him, too?
Then you felt someone watching you as intensively as you were watching the Harkonnens. You turned your head around and spotted a woman with a veiled face. She had to be a Bene Gesserit sister. You went back to your food and ignored her. You didn’t want any Bene Gesserit around you.
Growing up with Lady Jessica made you allergic to these women and their mending. You hated how much influence they had in most of the Empire.
“My Lady,” one of the guards approached you and leaned in to whisper in your ear, “na-baron wants to see you. I am supposed to walk you to his chambers after you’re done with your meal.”
You nodded your head. How considerate it was of your husband to let you finish your meal first, you thought. Perhaps the medic actually had told him something about treating you too rough. He hadn’t looked very pleased with some of the marks on your body either. Maybe it was making the whole process of controlling your cycle more difficult when you were too weakened.
You didn’t hurry with your meal at all. And when you finished it, you drank some of the wine and wiped your hands and the corners of your mouth clean. When you stood up, Astra approached you and reapplied your red lipstick discreetly.
“Thank you,” you smiled at her and nodded at the guard before following him outside the room.
On your way to face Feyd again, you tried to remember what you had realised earlier – that he was just a hurt boy. In many ways his upbringing did not differ much from your slave girls’ one. And in many ways you could work on him in the similar ways as you worked on them. Only that he would not be so easy to win over.
You fixed the choker on your neck and nodded at the guard. He opened the door and you walked inside Feyd’s bedroom. An odd feeling filled your body – since his and yours chambers had been a place where you’d spend most of your time so far, you almost felt as if you were finally home after a long day.
And after spending a whole afternoon with the Baron, Feyd’s presence was almost comforting in comparison to his uncle. He was the devil you knew. 
He was waiting for you on the balcony wearing nothing but his pants. He was shirtless and watching the fireworks. You joined him carefully, not wanting to startle him and trigger some violent reaction.
“You’ve missed the feast,” you said and dared to touch his arm with your fingertips. He moved away rapidly as if your touch was poisonous.
“My feast has just arrived,” he licked his lips at the sight of you. “Get out of this dress if you don’t want me to tear it off of you,” he ordered and you nodded.
You began undressing clumsily as he watched. You weren’t used to undressing yourself on your own without any maid’s help. Finally, it dropped down on the balcony’s floor and you crouched down to take it and throw it inside the room.
Your hands moved up to find the clasp of your choker.
“Keep that pretty thing on,” Feyd said and licked his lips as you stopped. He approached you and turned you around to press you to the railing. You were facing the courtyard and you could see people walking through the corridors of the fortress through the windows. You also could hear distant laughter and conversations from the dining room.
“How did you like the fight?” Feyd asked you, standing so close behind you that you felt his breath on your neck. He gathered your hair in his hand and threw it on one side so he could bite your bare shoulder blade. His hands grabbed your breasts.
“Does my opinion matter?” You asked.
“My servants told me that people of Giedi Prime are pleased with their new na-baroness,” your husband changed the subject. “They love your hair,” he added and you felt his face burying in your hair as he sniffed you like a dog. “And they love your breasts,” his fingers pulled on your nipples. “All men on Giedi Prime want to fuck you, my na-baroness,” his lips brushed your ear.
It obviously turned him on that you were such a prize. 
“But only you can do that, my Lord,” you breathed out and he froze for a moment.
Feyd grabbed you by your arms and turned you around to face him again. He was looking at you as if he was trying to read you.
“You’re different tonight,” he noticed.
You chewed on the inside of your cheek. It would be easier to play those games with him if he was more stupid. You had to come up with some lie.
“I changed my opinion about you after seeing you fight in that arena,” you batted your eyelashes and reached out your hand to caress his hard abs. He flinched at your delicate touch way more than he had flinched at the cuts he had received during the fight. Speaking of them, you moved your hands to the fresh wounds and caressed them, too. “Now I know I was given to the real warrior,” you continued.
“Stop it,” he grabbed your wrists and pushed your hands away. His jaw was clenched and he looked angry, yet confused. “I don’t like it,” he said.
You really felt sorry for him at that moment. You couldn’t imagine what the Baron had to be doing to him to make him this way. Any sign of delicacy or affection was confusing and angering him.
You had a lot of work to do. He often threatened to break your body. But you would break his mind.
“Forgive me, my Lord,” you bit on your lower lip.
“Turn around,” he ordered and you obeyed.
You hated yourself for actually being a little excited at the idea of being fucked on that balcony, facing the courtyard, with the possibility of someone looking out of the window and seeing you.
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Feyd was tired after the fight and after using his pets before he dealt with you. Three rounds was all that he could give before being completely knocked out. You watched him sleep beside you and for a moment you wanted to go back to your own bedroom but then you decided to stay. He had also been more gentle on that night than on the previous ones. Of course he had still been rough but it was bearable. Or perhaps you were starting to get used to it.
You gasped as you almost forgot to take your contraception. You left the bed and approached his desk to open the black box and swallow one of the white pills inside.
You closed the box gently and took off your choker to put it on the desk before going back to your husband’s bed. You pulled the duvet up to cover you both and you laid on your side to watch Feyd’s profile and listen to his heartbeat.
You moved your hand up carefully and tried to caress his cheek but he flinched and winced so you took your hand away and sighed in defeat.
A plan started to form inside your head as you were drifting off to sleep:
Feyd-Rautha – to break him
The Baron – to get rid of him
Count Rabban – a friend or an enemy…?
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MASTERLIST
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besttropeveershowdown · 5 months
Text
The Best Trope Ever Showdown: Round 2, Side B
Power of Friendship
Friendship makes you stronger (No TVTropes page submitted)
Propaganda:
Its the power of friendship. Turning bonds into strength. Being fueled by the love of others. It gives great moments of everyone coming together. Or of one person getting stronger for their friends, their (found) Family! What's not to love?
Face Death with Dignity
No propaganda was submitted.
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littlemiss-yeehaw · 16 days
Text
You're Gonna Be Quiet
Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader
Summary: It's just an undercover mission, anyone could be married for one night - even you two.
Warnings: profanity, flirting, yucky old men, suggestive content (?), possessive Bucky <3
MINORS PLS DNI
Word Count: 2.2k
A/N: y'all.... im not an author. im an artist, not an author, so PLS go into this with that knowledge. but I have been convinced, no, coerced into posting this little funsy by @ellemj
she threatened to withhold vacation pictures from me as if I didn't draw her bucky barnes dick earlier today and I'll be damned
anyways,, please enjoy and manage your expectations :,)
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“Okay, rumor has it the target, Mr. Beaumont, has a thing for married women,” Sam says casually as he holds a ring between his thumb and forefinger, “so for this mission, you get to be Mrs. Barnes.”
He tosses the ring in your direction and you catch it with a sour expression. You slip the rock on your finger and admire it, your scowl slipping just a moment as you watch how it catches the sun. That is until you see Bucky with an equally foul look on his face. Suddenly, your frown reappears.
“Sam, I feel like there is certainly someone better suited for this than me,” you grumble as you put your hand down and look back up at him, “I mean, aren’t these undercover missions more of a Natasha thing?”
Sam rolls his eyes before turning to face you, a hand on his hip. You were in for a scolding. “Natasha has her own mission. So today, you get to be Mrs. Hart. And you,” he turns to Bucky with a smug expression, “will be Mr. Hart. Any questions? No? Good, you two lovebirds go get your outfits on.”
You turn quickly, but not quick enough to miss the death stare Bucky shoots Sam. This one seems even more lethal than his typical one.
~~~
The ride to the gala is silent. Bucky is always silent, but this silence seems more… suffocating. You fiddle with the ring on your finger before glancing over at him. “Are you planning to even look at me before we get there? I mean, we’re supposed to be a marri-”
“You’re supposed to be a woman in an unhappy marriage who's looking to fuck a billionaire,” he says bluntly, not even turning towards you, “I’m just making sure that you look plenty unhappy.”
He would never admit out loud that the real reason he won’t spare you a second glance is because the first glimpse of you dolled up sent almost all the blood in his rational mind straight to his cock. He needs to preserve what little sense he has left.
~~~
You get out of the car with a huff. Just as Bucky intended, you look unhappy and thoroughly irritated. You pull the hem of your little black dress down in an attempt to recover some of your dignity, but all Bucky notices is how the little tug causes your breasts to be even more apparent. Yep, there went the rest of the blood.  
He sighs and grabs your hand before plastering a fake smile onto his lips. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
You sigh and forget anymore yanking on your dress, looking up at him with a grim expression. “Let's,” you mutter under your breath before letting him lead you into the gala. 
As expected, the event is extravagant and no doubt costly. You feel out of place, and you can’t help the way you move a little further into your ‘husband’s side. You let a breath of air past your lips as you look around the room for your target. Nowhere to be seen, you nearly move further into the room before Bucky squeezes your hand gently and nods to his left. You’re quick to ignore the flutter of butterflies that his touch sends shooting through you and casually look where he’s pointed. Surely enough, at the bar, sits a piggish man nursing a flute of champagne. Your eyes find Buckys and you shoot him a look before you drop his hand and make your way over.
You take a seat a few bar stools down from the man, making sure to fail at getting the bartender's attention. “Sir? Sir, could I-” You drop your hand with a sigh, feigning a disheartened expression.
“Sir, this lady would like a drink,” like a mouse in a trap, Mr. Beaumont waves him down for you and orders you a drink, “you look like you’d drink something fruity, a little thing like you. Maybe a sex on the beach?”
You wish you’d missed the way his lips pulled up in a foul grin and the way his eyebrow raised ever so slightly, and you really wish you hadn’t seen his greedy eyes rake over your body. Nonetheless, a soft laugh and a bat of your lashes grace him instead of the scowl that wants to pull at your lips.
“I’ve never had one before,” you say with a saccharine smile, “maybe we could share.”
You notice how his eyes nearly bug out of his head and then slowly trail to your hand. He slides his fingers, not dissimilar to link sausages, down to your left hand where he trails a thumb over your ring. “Are you sure your husband wouldn’t mind,” he asks with that same vile grin, moving his hand to rest on your knee.
“Not particularly, but I’m sure I don’t care,” you whisper teasingly, leaning forward and showing off your tits that practically beg to fall from your dress. ‘Hook, line, and sinker’ you think as the man runs a heavy hand up the side of your leg and his eyes trail down your neck to your cleavage.
Trembling anger washes over Bucky as he watches the man practically feel you up in the middle of the bar. The beads of perspiration running down the target's neck and the way he keeps nervously licking his lips give Bucky all the indication he needs to know this man thinks you’re his. Then Bucky turns to look at you. You. You’re just letting the man have his way, no, you’re encouraging it. Yes, it’s the mission. And, no, Bucky has no reason to feel such vile hatred for the target in any sense other than the professional one. But for some reason, he finds himself wanting to dismember any part of the man that graces your body where he hasn’t yet.
Yet?
Yet.
~~~
“Who’s this, darling?”
You bristle as you feel a breath of air pass your ear before the deep timbre of Bucky's voice even registers in your mind. You whip around to look at him, an expression of anger and bewilderment replacing the flirtatious grin you were just donning. You look back to the target, trying to mask your surprise.
“Honey,” you manage to say through gritted teeth, “I didn’t even see you come over.”
You pull your hands from the target's grasp, nearly cringing at the moist feeling left behind on your skin. You feel Bucky’s firm hold replace Mr. Beaumont’s slimy touch, and your body reacts all too positively. You lean back hardly at all, but it’s enough to feel his chest rigid against you. Was he standing too close or were you too eager? There was no way to be sure, but one thing you could be sure of was the fact that neither of you shied from the contact.
“Hmm,” he hummed lowly, a disapproving air oozing from the short sound, “when you never brought our drinks over, I got curious as to where you’d disappeared to.”
His eyes shift from the side of your face to the man across from you, who grows increasingly uneasy at the sight of your tall and broad ‘husband’. Bucky leans down close, so close that his lips brush against the curve of your ear and you hope he can’t hear your blood rushing in your head.
“I’ll ask again, who is this?”
You’re not sure if it's what he says, or the way he says it, but his words send a wave of arousal through your body. Suddenly, the too-tiny dress feels too hot and you’ve nearly forgotten his question. That is until he quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head expectantly. You clear your throat and look back to a flustered target, presumably intimidated by your colleague.
“This,” you reply before turning back to the sweaty man, “is Mr. Beaumont. He owns a software company and..”
You turn to the target, a ditsy smile on your lips as you try to recover your role, “what else did you do? I forget.”
He laughs nervously, shifting on his bar stool to make himself appear taller. Still pitiful in comparison to the man currently staring daggers at him over your shoulder. “I develop software and coding for various companies and organizations to use where they deem fit.”
Another low hum sounds from Bucky’s throat as he lifts his head from your ear, he meets Mr. Beaumont's eyes and sighs.
“Very impressive, Mr. B,” he says condescendingly. You frown, peeking over at him. What is he doing? This was not a part of the plan, “so you must be a smart man?”
The man in question smiles smugly and nods. “I’d think so, yes.”
“Well then, pray tell, why have you been feeling up my wife,” he asks coolly, Bucky’s turn to look smug. You, on the other hand, whip around to stare at him with an irate expression. He looks down at you with a matching frown, hardly able to mask his irritation, “Don’t worry, dear, I’ll handle you later.”
You’d like to think you were subtle in your shock, in the way his words leave you flustered. You had no idea Bucky could smell the wave of arousal that flooded your panties, or that he could hear the beat of your heart like a snare drum. Neither of you even noticed the target’s pitiful stuttering, too caught up in the most sexually charged staring contest ever.
~~~
“What the fuck, Barnes,” you hiss quietly, walking ahead of him to the car with steam practically flooding out of your ears, “I mean, what the actual fuck!”
You don’t wait for him to catch up before you get into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind you. You didn’t care for appearances, your mission having been sabotaged by your own partner. What appearances did you have left to keep up?
He gets into the driver's seat a few moments later, pulling his gloves off with a sigh before running his flesh hand over his face.
“Are you done?”
“No,” you snap, turning to face him, “I’m not. You have the audacity to call me reckless, but you go and pull a stunt like that? I had it under control.” Your cheeks are red with irritation and your hair is a mess from you running your fingers through it, but he’s too caught up with thinking what else would have you looking so flushed.
“If you’d just shut up and listen-” he starts, but you’re quick to cut him off.
“I was getting the intel,” you’re practically ranting now, “and you just had to swoop in. And for what? To be all macho? To fluster me?”
The scowl on his lips that once matched yours turns into a scoff, and you narrow your eyes at him. Why are you looking at his lips? And why can’t you pull your gaze away from them? “What? What now,” you ask with a huff.
“You really need to learn when to stop talking,” he mutters, looking at you out of the corner of his eye as he tries to wipe the smug smile from his face, “y’know that?”
You’re startled by his words, the flush on your cheeks no longer caused by his irritating actions but by his shocking words. Your eyes travel over him shamelessly, ready to jeopardize everything just to get rid of the tension that has lingered and grown exponentially over the course of the evening.
“Then why don’t you shut me up,” you ask softly, your tone opposite to the defiant one you’d held only moments ago. Judging by the minuscule way his eyes widen and the way his lips part around a sharp inhale, you’d be safe to guess he’d beat you to the idea.
You aren’t sure who moved forward first, or even if you’d moved at all. All you can be sure of is the feeling of Bucky Barnes kissing you like he’d never have the privilege again. 
Your lips move feverishly against his own, the car filled with quiet pants and sloppy smacking. His hands tangle in your hair and he tugs you away from him, his expression turning stern when you whine petulantly. “Did you know you were a fucking brat tonight,” he asks lowly, his stare hard. You swallow thickly, pressing your thighs together to relieve the ache between them.
“I was not,” you rebut, your brows furrowing and your lips turning down in a pout. He didn’t like that.
“You were,” he chides coolly, releasing his grip on your hair and sighing, “especially after we walked back to the car. You never even let me explain why I stopped you.”
You would like to focus on his words, but you’re too worried about the way his metal fingers nimbly undo the buckle of his belt. Silence sweeps over the car, the only sound being your shaky breath and the clank of metal on metal.
“So here’s what we’re gonna do,” he continues, “I’m gonna talk, and you’re gonna listen. Quietly.” You’re salivating as he tugs the zipper of his dress pants down, allowing the tent in his boxers some much-needed reprieve. “You know why you’re gonna be quiet?”
“Why,” you ask in a breathless whisper, only just now meeting his eyes again. 
“Because your mouth is gonna be full."
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jewish-sideblog · 5 months
Text
Clearly, y'all don't care about Jews, and the fact that Hamas is violently antisemitic doesn't seem matter to any of you. So let me go with a new approach, of equal truth and value. Hamas is violently anti-Palestinian.
This past week, Hamas attacked evacuation routes and prevented Gazan citizens from fleeing an active warzone. [1]
They did that because they routinely use Gazan civilians as human shields. Hamas intentionally builds military targets close to schools, hospitals, and mosques, putting soft targets in the way of both incoming and outgoing fire. Hamas encourages Gazan civilians and children to stand on the roofs of buildings they know the IDF is targeting. [2]
Hamas has refused to allow elections in Gaza since 2006. Not just Palestinian National Authority elections, mind you. No open elections for any office have been held in seventeen years. Palestinian rights to free elections and self-determination have been denied by Hamas. [3] (And good luck to anyone who tries to blame that on Israel, because elections were held by the PNA in the West Bank in 2012, 2017, 2021 and 2022. It's Hamas's intention alone to purge democracy.)
Hamas's track record on human rights is appalling. Palestinian prisoners in Gaza face unfair trials and death sentences after being tortured by police. Palestinian women are prevented from accessing the legal systems to escape domestic abuse situations. Political dissidents in Hamas, even ones who merely support the other half of the Palestinian government, have been summarily executed. [4] [5]
Peaceful organizers in Palestine protested Hamas's massive tax hikes in 2019. Hamas security forces responded by assaulting demonstrators, tracking them down, raiding their homes, and detaining them. And, as previously mentioned, prisoners in Gaza are not treated well by Hamas. [6]
Edit Nov.5, 10:30 PM: I forgot to add arguably the most important thing-- Hamas manipulates the humanitarian aid they receive away from helping Gazans and toward killing Jews. 5% of Hamas's budget actually gets used for humanitarian aid, while 55% goes to military use. Construction equipment intended to rebuild Gaza's crumbling infrastructure is used to build a complex series of underground tunnels. Those tunnels in turn are used to smuggle Iranian military equipment into the country. They were also used for human trafficking in the October 7th attacks. [7]
If you actually want Palestinians to be free, you can't just replace Israel with Hamas. But it's not like they're the only option for supporting Palestinian liberation. While Fatah doesn't have an immaculate historical track record, it now operates as a leftist, democratic socialist, secular Palestinian government that fights for a two-state solution. Similarly, Arab-Israeli political parties like the Hadash-Ta'al coalition support leftist, anti-Zionist, and two-state solutions from within the Israeli parliament.
You can and should support Palestinian liberation movements that abuse neither Jewish nor Arab human rights and dignities. Plenty of them exist out there. But if y'all continue to throw your weight behind an antisemitic and anti-democratic terrorist regime, Palestinians and Jews will both take note of exactly where you stand.
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inupibaldspot · 22 days
Text
Blue is the color of royalty.
Pairing : Gojo Satoru x Reader
Note ₊˚⊹♡ : Staring Gojo as the crown prince and you crown princess in an arranged marriage! Sexual intonation is there but nothing major. Mentions of death and cheating as in infidelity. 4.3k words (this is usually too long for me to write)
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Gojo remembers that day very clearly, his throat felt constricted, breath felt raspy with the strenuous inhale and exhales, the cuff of his shirt now soaked wet as he wipes his tears furiously trying to console himself amidst the crowd.
He was six when it was announced by the emperor, his father announced an arrangement of love between the Royal Family of Gojo and the Duke of the South. The young crown prince with as equally young you, the second child to the Duke of the South.
Through his tears he hears clanks of fork and plate beside him as his two friends were eating away while Gojo was wallowing in despair, he didn’t want to marry you—he has never even seen you!
Shoko the daughter of the Duke of the North simply liked coming to parties because this was the only place she didn’t have restrictions on how much sweets she could eat. While Geto Suguru, son of Count Geto simply came because he was told to by his father.
He sniffs as he tries to console himself, he already had a fixed idea on how he wants to get married and it was not this! He wanted to save a damsel in distress-be of noble or commoner blood and wanted that event to be a ‘love at first sight situation.’
He peeps over to where a outburst was as people surrounded a small figure muttering congratulations. Surely you were there. He thinks that you were probably surrounded by leeching adults, awaiting an opportunity for a slip-up which would cause an exaggerated rumors. Adults from high society were simply like that.
Gojo stands on the ball of his feet, trying to see over the crowd and from the push in between the cracks of the crowd, he does see you.
And you were beautiful.
You were adorned with the finest jewelry, size fitting your petite figure, with a beautiful dress adorned with classic lace and pearls. He swears in between his mesmerization that you were perfect.
So mesmerized he loses balance and falls over, his butt now on the floor as he soothe the ache while trying to stand up. Geto cackled at the sight. “ What’s wrong? Your expression is so dumb right now,Satoru.”
Gojo clears his throat as he tries to maintain dignity, the dignity of the crown prince. “The lady I am betrothed to is a pleasure to the eye. I am pleased…”
Geto sighs at his friend’s already being stupid. “But you know what I heard-“ he starts. “The young child of the Duke is like a machine.”
Gojo sooner or later (over the years you visited him quite a lot, often staying over at the palace as the travel time between the capital and the south was quite long.) he totally gets what Geto’s words that day meant.
You were literally a golden child for the Duke and now, a golden wife for him; the purest of all pure bred nobles. any work done is to be completed in a day, you oversee everything that is going on in the palace and doing a good job—so much so that his mom the empress was even letting you over see some matters.
“y/n,let’s go out on a walk.” Gojo would beam, excitedly walking over to you. “The afternoon sun is pleasant today.”
You had a straight look on your face as you stare into Gojo’s eyes, as if you were judging ever inch of him. “I rather suggest you get some training done, your highness. Your body seems quite feeble.”
Gojo gwaks at you who is now walking away,with a book at hand either to the library or his mother’s side—the empress.
Somewhere along the line Gojo realizes that you were coming over to butter up the emperor and the empress. You were not there to see him. Gojo seethed . Over time any attraction he felt when he first saw you is now crumbled and blown into dust by the winds. He could not care less for a person who was so busy to even spare a glance at him—fiancée or not!
When he was fifteen he was sent to a neighboring smaller country which excelled in military and academic—the country was said to be 10 years infront of any other when it came to their literary and research.
Gojo felt like he could breathe again, his bone pops as he stretches as he is finally free. Away from you for atleast four years. This new found freedom away from your judging eyes was making feel as if he were floating—he studied he swears, his academic score was always great but more than that he also spend his royal gold coins as he drinks away even though he was under age , and maybe even a few gropes to the beautiful ladies passing by.
This was the first time Gojo had been to the red light district and certainly it was not the last. But who would scold him, he was the son of the one of the most powerful empire Gojo Satoru and was the crown prince. Who would are say anything to him? The thinks to himself as he lays currently in bed, chest bare with a lady who is not his fiancée.
But don’t worry too much, Geto was by his side too! If his parents know about this— Gojo is at least relieved that he won’t go down alone.
At the age of nineteen, he finally comes back to the empire,now standing at a taller height and broad shoulders. The air around Gojo itself feels mature…and extremely attractive—to bad he was engaged at the age of six. He loves the gaze the maids near him gives, affirming and stroking his already enflated ego.
He sends a flirtatious wink at one of the better looking maids with a larger bottom as he signals a ‘follow-me’ as his head nods to a empty room.
Just as he was about to turn the corner,a figure popped up. He had crumbled when he was six and he has once again at nineteen. You stepped out of the corner in a beautiful blue dress with inside frills of white lace, the blue puff on your shoulder adorned with gold and you wearing the same metal on your ears and neck made it so much more ethereal.
“Your highness.My apologies, I’ve been so busy with the revolt at the south border it must have slipped my mind.” You speak, why were you not as fazed as he was. “I had not known you had arrived.” Why was your heart not racing like his was?
But he must say, the years have been good to you. You were taller but now shorter than he was, the fats of your cheeks now slimmed down making the rest of your features more enhanced ,more beautiful. You blink confused as Gojo’s eyes trail around, relishing every part of now an adult you. In this instance you are the most beautiful piece of existence there is in man kind.
“What?” He wears a smug expression as he crosses his hands and stands tall. “Did ya miss me?”
You blink, as if you were genuinely confused. “Yes I did. You are my fiancé after all,your highness.”
And there goes Gojo’s resolution to not fall for you—just with these simple words, he is once again head over heels for you.
You did miss him after all! Gojo giggles to himself when he remembers the interaction,while Geto sits on the sofa, as he sips in the evening tea that was brought in. “But it’s been what? Four years since been you’ve been away.” Geto says, trying his best to control his smirk as he sees thunder clouds form on top of Gojo’s head. “Maybe y/n had been seeing someone else.”
Gojo shakes the part of his brain which reprimands him for his hypocrisy, he had been with women, lots of them when he was away but now the simple idea of a man being with you, makes him worry as if he is ill. His stomach burns with jealousy; it would be worse if it were a single man.
Many men would be worse than a few, a few would be worse than two, a two will be worse…than one? No-
—It would be the worst if you have a simply been with one man who you’ve completely undone your heart to. Does your expression form to a loving one—one he is yet to see? Do you whisper sweet words into that man’s undeserving ears? Oh how he wishes there could be a battlefield where he could fight for your love then he would not lose!
Shoko blows out a puff of smoke, which comes out of a tobacco filled-elaborately design hookah—pipe. “Nope. Your fiancée has been single as a nun.” She says in a matter of fact tone.
“Wha-wait…none?” Gojo manages to whisper out, head still wrapping around Shoko’s reply. “She must have! She does well in high society, is beautiful, anything she wears becomes a fashion statement, and she known for being intelligent! She must had a man or two to console her in the absence of her fiancé!”
Nobles have always done that, husbands leaving for the red light district as soon as he is away from his wife, while the girls wife is in bed with younger workers in bed while the husband was away.
Shoko thinks Gojo is simply bratty as she waves him off, taking another pull of air from the pipe. “Nope—your lady doesn’t play,I think I’ve only ever seen her in work mode.” While Gojo giggles to himself on how Shoko referred to you as ‘his’ lady making her and a Geto raise an eyebrow.
And boy— in work mode you certainly where in his absence of his studies because now he sits in the dinner table,completely silent.
The long table filled with lavish food,the royal couples will most likely never finish and Gojo, the crown prince sits with his mother and father, the emperor and empress with his fiancée.
It was then when he realized—no felt it to his bones that he was replaced! Your smart brain and smooth tongue had worked his way into his parents' hearts and now he sits silently, not knowing how to join into the conversation as if he was the one who was to be married into the family.
“My…your highness.” Your doll like eyes blink at him and with a flutter of your lashes and a hand placed on his thighs, Gojo feels heat rush to his cheeks. “You must eat.”
“Gojo!” His father shouts from the other side of the dinner table. “Don’t be picky, you’re an adult now!” His mother giggled, bringing her hands to cover her mouth.
“Oh shut up, old man.” Gojo seethed , he stands on his feet, ready to walk away from the table. But of course his body freezes when you hold onto the fabric on his pants. He grits his teeth.
You were looking at him with a pout, eye brows furrowed as you shake your head in a disapproving manner. “You mustn’t speak to his majesty in that manner, your highness.”
But Gojo wasn’t really listening as his eyes trail down to your cleavage which was entirely exposed from this angle. God—he almost sees red, so much so that it even drips red…drips red?
You shriek, losing your cool as your fiancé stands with a confused look and blood dripping down his nose. You quickly turn to the Royal couple, “My apologies your majesties but the crown prince seems rather unwell so we will take our leave.” You grab a cloth piece from the table and rush to aid Gojo.
You place the piece of cloth on his nose as you lead him by his fingers with a gentle tug, you call out for the maids for help and a doctor while you make him sit on his bed.
The doctor shakes his head. “Your Majesty must’ve been stressed about something…or he may have overworked himself with something.”
You hum as you look at Gojo’s dumb look, a nostril filled with cotton. “What has been stressing your mind,your majesty?”
“Why don’t you think I have been overworking myself?!” He barks back, hand shooing away all of the workers in the room,leaving only him and you.
“Ever since you came back, you have simply been wasting your time away.” You shake your head as Gojo jumps,he is as guilty as charged. “You hardly even frequent the training grounds anymore, your majesty.”
Gojo turned his body and his eyes in your direction while he sits on his lavish bed as he reached out to wrap his hands around your hips,pulling you closer to him.
He rests his chin on your stomach as he looks up at you, you look down at him with a confused look. Why was he acting like this?
“Your majesty this, your majesty that—!” You almost laugh at the amount of sass in this man when he spoke those words. “Quit that and call me Satoru.” He demands.
You let out a smile, gojo thinking that this moment when he is graced with your smile has blessed his years to come. “Okay Satoru.” Gojo is simply undone when it came to you, a clumsy mess. As he feels hot in his head.
“Oh my —“ you shriek again. “Satoru, your other nose is also bleeding.”
Gojo thinks the best way to begin the day if at times when he sees you at the training grounds. After you had reprimanded him for skipping his training, the following day he wake up at 5am and trains till his training was completed by about 8am.
He sometimes see you walk down the near by pathway as he wipes his sweat, clinging to his body from the now heating sun and intense training. Gojo normally trains with Geto Suguru, now a Royal Knight of the Palance, as he is the only one who can keep up with him.
And when ever he does see you, people see the flowers bloom and the air suddenly becomes a tad bit hotter. Gojo waves his hand in the air like a child waiting for you to do the same. You lift your hands gently and offer a small wave, smile hidden shyly behind your other hand, a dignified princess indeed.
But one thing bad about your visits to the training ground? You were alone.
Gojo swings his sword, acting cool making his muscles on his back ripple as he knows your presence is in attendance for todays training. He is sure to impress you!
After his routine was done, he turns to you giving the most handsome stare he could muster with a personal gust of wind to help him today only to find you with another man… You, the crown princess with Haibara, another knight belonging to Geto’s team.
To make matters worse, you looked so adorable and cozy,body heat completely warm as he noticed you were in a jacket, a larger one, one belonging to the military. A jacket that was not his!
Gojo rushes over and quickly takes of your jacket gently before he swings it on the ground, before he gives you his jacket despite your complaint on how ‘Haibara was simply making sure I was not cold.’
He pout as you give him a confused look. “When ever you’re cold, just come to me… Don’t use other men’s jacket…”
There was one day when Gojo realized how easy you could slip away, gone forever.
You and him were in the Royal Garden, Gojo beaming at the thought that you finally decided to hang around him. Your eyes opens as you take a sip from the cup ,confused as to why Gojo was acting like a puppy when thier owner comes back home. Loveless marriage or not, you had to act like you two were in love. The palace walls have ears after all so sometimes you liked to humor Gojo—just a little.
Gojo hums as he has his chin on his hands,pupils turned to heart shapes as he beams at how lovely you are. When you suddenly dropped your cup as you look into his eyes. “y/n…?” Just then blood seeps through the crack of your lips as you tumble from your seat.
Before you fall to the ground,Gojo is quick to reach your arms before you head ground first. He shouts for help as workers and doctors rushed to them,as he wraps his hands around you pleading to the gods above that you are safe. “My love…please come back to me.”
You did gain consciousness the next morning to find Gojo looking at you with gaping mouth, the color under his eyes were darkened. Did he not sleep for the duration of your unconscious state? “Sato..ru..?”
His eyes well up as the skin near his eyes and cheeks flush red, with the first stream of tears you are engulfed and pushed into his arms as he bleeds your ears on how worried he was.
While he was away, he had not been a good human being if he were to be honest. Many of his letters from family,friends and you remain closed, probably burned to ashes by now. If he had gone through his letter maybe he would have been aware that it was found that you had a rather frail health.
While Gojo sniffles into the crook of your neck( he is definitely taking advantage of the situation ) you smile to yourself, a tiny one. Yes. This is the Gojo you remember being engaged to. A clumsy spoiled but good kid.
Shhh—Did you know the walls have ears?
But this time they are talking. There are whispers among the maids, worker, butlers and even the stable cleaner that her highness the crown princess has an affair—a lover. I mean after all your fiancé is a tall attractive man who is literally the crown prince. If such a person was showing such open affection but you were not reciprocating it? Hmmm? Suspicious! I rest my case.
“I was careless…” you mutter to yourself as your look outside the tall palace windows, eyes a few workers who were cleaning up stray leaves by the poarch.
“About what,love?”
A sudden reply to a question where you weren’t expecting an answer made you jump slightly as you peered to see Gojo looking at you with a smile on his face. “Good morning,love.” His hand reached around your waist as he bends down and kisses your forehead. Gojo has been acting far too much like a husband ever since he has been back from his studies and you were still not used to it.
“Kyaa— look it’s the prince and princess.”
“They’re so love dovey first thing in the morning.”
“I guess the rumors on the crown princess is fake…”
You two stilled as hushed whispers were heard. Gojo seemed rather displeased that he was interrupted plus evesdropped on as his hands comically tighten into a fist. “Those insolent fools must not want their tongue…How dare they listen to us speak—“
But you on the other hand had your eyes wide, hands near your mouth as you gape in realization.
Bingo!
You quickly turn to Gojo who seems to still at the unfamiliar attention as he jumps slightly, as you walk closer and place your hand on his chest which sends his heart heat racing. “I need you to act like a lover to me.”
Gojo blinks once.
Twice.
“Was I not a lover to you all these time—?!” He barks, a vein popped on his forehead.
You stare at him with pretty blinks of confusion along with furrowed eyebrows, “what are you saying? You’re my fiancé through arrangement.” You say in a matter of fact tone. “You and I are not lovers, Satoru.”
Gojo bites the inside of his cheeks, his heart is filled with unwanted emotions—anger, sadness,disappointment,shame? Fine! If he wants you to act like a lover— he’ll act like a love. Your lover.
Before you know it, one of his hands slips around your waist as the other grabs your face, his nose now against your cheeks making you shudder at the sudden change in vibe.
He smears his lips around the corner of your lips first, your makeup which took too long for your taste now smeared. He decides to now nip your lower lips, making you gasp as you feel him make tiny licks and nips. “Sa-satoru…” he groans when you say his name.
His lips are finally on yours as the corner of Gojo’s lips tug upwards when he was met in realization that you are eagerly waiting for him with soft presses of your lips as his tongue slips in pretty easily. Something bubbles inside you chest when your thoughts trail to the fact that Gojo was an exemplary kisser—your chest tightens harder when you are reminded of Gojo’s visits to women of the red light district.
You were aware of these but back in the days, you were not bothered at his actions at all—Gojo was simply beautiful after all. You did not mind ever since you first got engaged but at this moment, it tightened your heart as if leaves a nasty aftertaste.
You probably don’t know that Gojo has never stepped inside such business ever since he got back home—to you.
As he sucks, wet presses on your tongue and bites —just as you were feeling lightheaded and wanting more Gojo pulls away.
“Satoru…?” Gojo muttered as swear when he sees your disheveled state, hair a mess, clothing slightly crumpled and lipstick smudged in the sexiest way possible.
“What?” He feigns cool as if there isn’t a significant tightening in his pants as he turns around. “I’m just acting as your lover.” If he wants you to act like a lover. He will do as you say.
Now the walls are giggling, yeah…this phrase isn’t going to cut it anymore. The maids whisper hush talks to the chefs and chefs to the delivery man and then the public. The news is that the crown prince and princess were so in love, they could hardly be apart.
The crown prince sweeping the princess of the ground pulled into a hug, the crown prince sheepishly nuzzling into the princess’s crook of her neck as he comes from behind, quick passionate kisses along the lavish hallways when they think no one is looking( the pair know that they are looking.)
The opportunist in you quickly suggests to his father that it is wise to release the copies of letters you had sent to him when he was away—yea, you made copies of your letters. The emperor was pleased, he laughed and entertained your suggestion. Gojo at this point has given up on making you realize his feelings and simply does what ever you say…
The public raved over the release making the royals more likable to the public, there were even talks on how they already could dream of you and Gojo as the ruling royals.
For the public that wish does come indeed true in the worst possible manner.
The emperor had suddenly fallen ill as he falls into a rough bloody cough, sometimes can hardly eat plus with no energy that he could barely stand. By rule book, in such scenarios the duty as the governor of the empire falls onto the crown prince—Gojo thinks he is ready, he was born to do this after all but all preparations were interrupted when the revolt in the South became a bigger issue more so because that is the region you came from.
Your father, the Duke’s troops kept getting ambushed and were losing morale quickly. Gojo watches you who was praying , to the gods that your father and your people be safe. If that is your wish, he shall be your god.
The same night Gojo groups up his men and marches south. This is the least a husband can do for his lover.
You almost faint when you hear this news,muttering nervously under her breath when you were having a fig-jam toast breakfast in bed. The toast falls from your mouth. “What?”
Now you think you are dreaming, it was one disaster after another! You gently rub circles on your father in law’s hand as Gojo’s father calms you. “It is a duty of a ruler to help his people… Gojo will come back victorious,my dear. You worry too much.”
The empress soothes you, otherwise a straight faced person with never an emotion on your face becomes such a mess for her son. As long as you are by Gojo’s side, his mother can stay assured for the rest of eternity. If you were by his side, Gojo will remain smiling.
It took one season for the idiot to arrived, his hands broken and now hangs on a sling. “I hope you’re not too angered by my actions.” Gojo knew he was wrong to march off that day, he was unprepared too but when he saw the tremble on your fingertips, he simply wants nothing but to make you secure, safe.
He watches you walk towards him before you say. “I think I am dreaming your highness, I had not known you had arrived.” You still has a straight faced look as if your fiancé is all injured with even a broken arm, voice still so steady.
Gojo laughs at this but just as he was about to reply with a snide remark he is cut off, your lips are on his. “You worry me too much, your highness. I fear you are not good for my heart.”
Gojo kisses you. His working hand snaking around your waist. Your lips are softer than he imagined it to be when he was away and when you let out a small moan he deepens it, stronger and desperate as if trying to mark every inch of you.
“How ever m-“ you push him away, gojo whine’s already craving the plush of your lips. “I am very displeased by your action. Even if you are the crown prince it is wiser if your discussed with the strategists and make a plan first. That was very—very unwise of you you highness. I cannot from the depth of my heart believe you would do something so stupid— honestly Gojo I thought you were so much smarter than that . Your behavior is very much unacceptable-“
Gojo almost bleeds from his ears as he listens to you lecture him, the crown prince, future ruler now on his knees. He fights back a smile fearing you would be further angered but his mind was filled with thoughts of , ‘shit, I can’t wait to be with this person for the rest of my life.
‎‧₊˚✧[Ending Thoughts ]✧˚: I almost made this a smut halfway through buahaha (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)
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libertyybellls · 3 months
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KISS IT OFF ME !
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pairing; finnick odair x f!dist4!reader
summary; finnick can’t take his eyes off of you in any crowd- but he can take care of you, what’s new?
contains; FLUFF, established relationship, finnick is still pining for reader, alcohol consumption- but positively i guess, reader is anxious in the beginning, objectification by the capitol as per usual.
a/n: i hope im not misunderstood but when i put specific photos or outfits/hairs in the headers of my works that is not directly what i am picturing the reader as! its more-so the hairstyle, or the outfit- or simply the aesthetic of the picture. not the race, hair nor body type. ur all cutie pies. ok anyways onto the fic kiss kiss.
☾⋆。𖦹 °✩
“well would you look at that!” your stylist squeals in your ear, “from the moment you won your last games i have just been dying to design for you again and… here we are!” she ushers you to spin around.
she’d always been kind to you, perhaps less kind to your dignity- always wanting to flaunt you like a show pony- but nonetheless her support had always been there.
“it’s beautiful, thank you.” you smile small at her. so bittersweet, she was oh-so ecstatic to dress you up once more but to you- this meant less serenity to you. more agitation, more distress, more death.
it felt like a paradox, to be adorned in this sweet, innocent, baby pink before you’re sent away to a grim world once again- you’d already gone off on a tangent to finnick. you’d both sobbed solemnly about the cruelty of it all, how you would never be able to live in peace.
but finnick just wanted you both to have this one night, to indulge in the capitol before you were sent of to your deaths, obviously he would see the brighter side of thing- blabbering about plutarchs plan and how he only needs to protect you, katniss, and peeta until he can get you out of there.
sounds so very simple doesn’t it?
once you’d finished your interview you attended a party, a celebration for the third quarter quell. how ironic, what was there to celebrate?
you’d seen the food platters, the spiked drinks, and indulge you did.
your brain had been fuzzy by the time you’d escape the overbearing class of the capitol citizens, who wanted to know every detail of your life.
it was then- finnick had spotted you- so inebriated you’d genuinely laugh at something the woman next to you said.
feasibly being that she’d said something so pretentious you couldn’t help but tilt your head back in laughter. but nonetheless he admired.
he admired your dress, your smile, the way your eyes slightly disappeared when you laughed, the way your hair was laying down your back. he was simply under the spell of you.
it was then your eyes met his smitten ones, so love drunk- or possibly just drunk- that you’d excused yourself and made a beeline straight for him.
he’d encaptured you with warm arms, a leather corset-like article of clothing consumed his waist- followed by his white buttoned down that seemed to be unbuttoned.
you noticed the way his eyes consumed you- not like the others did. not like you were a piece of cake, not like you were something they had to have for the night, but someone who lit his chest alight.
“you look beautiful.” he murmurs into your hair, his hands around your waist.
“i hardly feel that way- im scared, i think.”
he shook his head, pulling you from his warm embrace much to your dismay. “don’t be. you’re with me right now.” finnicks plush lips lay atop your forehead now.
you laugh as he continues to peck your face, giggles leaving your lips.”so beautiful.”
it was only when you nearly toppled over your unnecessarily long pumps that he took not of your consumption.
“so head over heels it seems you’ve had a little to much to drink. what do you say i get you back to your room now? hm?” he straightens you back up. “run you a bath?”
you let out a muffled mm into his chest, your other hand placed on the side of his chest holding you steady. “love you s’much finn.”
it was his turn to laugh now, there was no mockery, no heinous act behind it, just you and finnick. “i know baby.”
-
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gremlingottoosilly · 4 months
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That Unwanted Animal [COD Fantasy AU] CursedKnight!Ghost x fem!Reader
Ghost was cursed ever since his king helped him get back to life from his grave. A stench of death, strong and inescapable, renders him unable to find a woman who will be willing to bed him. What will happen when he finally finds a perfect mate? CW and Tags: Dub-con, power imbalance, Medieval Fantasy AU, knight!Ghost, servant!Reader, sex work, brothels, dub-con kissing and touching, obsessive Ghost, dark Ghost, basically Ghost finds a girl and forces her to be his, Ghost is a half-dead resurrected knight, soft reader, submissive Reader.
AO3 Word Count: 2209
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“I won’t go to him, he smells!”
“Drop the act, princess, not even half of our guests reek of anything more than their drinks and foul meat.” 
“You know how he smells, Katherine. You know what he is.” “What he is, is a client. Rich one. Do you wish to moan under the belly of another failing merchant? Or a peasant’s dick is more to your liking?” “I bring this place more than half of its earnings! I won’t bed a man who has barely got out of his grave and should be put back!” Ghost sighs, his head pressed against the wooden wall. For a brothel, this place has remarkably thin walls. For a brothel, girls out here have remarkably potent noses – and acquired tastes for anything that doesn’t taste like a man who was brought back to life with dead souls still clinging onto every inch of his very being. 
For a man of his regals – the blessed knight, the cursed knight, the kiss-your-enemies-goodnight, the spill-your-blood-he might, he has a particular choice in the brothel he tried to entertain himself with. Not like any willing woman would bed him without a sum of gold enough to feed a family for months – and not like he stood low enough to force himself on poor servants of his castle, bringing his dignity and family name down with each handmaiden he tried to grope while on meeting with the king. 
“Do you think he is really dead?” “Dead man wouldn’t need a cunt to drown himself in. He had to have something working.” “Maybe he likes to watch? Or to hurt.” “Maybe, we can’t afford to turn him down, princess. Drop your act before he is willing to burn us down for refusing him.” “Well, I heard he went through every brothel in town. Not a single soul bedded him!” “I heard he doesn’t even like girls. Has his royal knight by his side all day.” “He came alone.” “He will be coming alone for the rest of his life with a smell like this!” “Dark magic. King should have known to not trust the Empire and their lurkings.” “Having a blessed knight is good, no? We’re not at war.” “Cursed knight is good in your army, not your bed. But if you are so willing…”
He hears women – from the madam of this fine place, a woman of fine manners, exquisite figure, and the way of looking at him that almost convinces that she doesn’t want to press her fingers against her nose, blocking the smell of death that follows him ever since he became…that. He hears girls of not-so-fine manners, with fine bodies and perfect pretty faces, gentle hands that don’t know about the trials of war. He remembers the way they looked at him – the way they always looked at him. 
Scary, horrendous, dangerous. A skull mask and dark tendrils of smoke follow his body, the Grim Reaper himself embedded in his dark armor. No matter how many perfumes he uses, no matter how many washes per day he forces himself onto, nothing can hide the stench of death. He thought he’d be fine with it as long as his battle brothers were with him – as long as he was with them. 
Then he got lonely. 
Finding a lay in the brothel would be a scandal for a man of his status – but Simon Riley is no man. Not anymore, at least. 
“I bet he wears a mask because he is hideous.” “Maybe he is just wounded?” “What kind of wound would make him hide his face while not being hideous?” “Maybe, he just doesn’t want to show his face here.” “No use. By the dawn, all women in the capital will know about great lord Riley, refuced at every brothel.” “What if he kills us?” “What if he burns us?” “What if he…” “Let the servant bring him tea. Make her useful.” Before he could react – as if eavesdropping on a bunch of whores was something of a pleasant chore he was dealing with – a door to his room had opened. Girl, in much simpler clothes than the ones that courtesans were wearing. With a tea tray in her shaky hands, grabbing the poor thing like there was no tomorrow. Huh. Perhaps, with a mug like his as her client, there is no tomorrow for a poor girl. 
Ghost sits on the bed, large, muscular legs spread, his dick swaying with attention the longer he is looking at your face. He can’t be picky, not in his state as a not-dead not-man, but he has to admit that you’re pretty. Without all the mannerisms of a prostitute, you look like a poor deer stuck in the predator’s den. Your hands are shaking – but he looks at your face, having no shame in drinking up your expression like a vampire – and he didn’t once saw you wince at the smell. Hm. Must be potent tea you’re serving. 
— I didn’t ask for the tea. 
Rude, as always – he didn’t come here to be ridiculed by poor attempts at pleasing him without a girl under him, getting her pretty legs open for his cock. He didn’t intend to come here and listen to all of the workers laughing at him like he was a monster – yet, he can’t leave now, his wounded ego grows into something ugly. 
— Most of our clients prefer to drink this before the…act. It makes them more potent, as they say. 
His cock didn’t have any warm body to dump his semen in years. He doesn’t need tea to make him hard – he sees the glimpse of your skin under those simple robes of yours, and he can already feel it stir, standing up for attention. 
— You don’t sound too certain. Your client must not drink it then. 
— I…I am not a prostitute, sir. Merely a servant. 
He knows already – your makeup is too plain, your manners are off, your clothes are simple grey wool with not a dash of color. If you were his – as a prostitute, a wife, a lover – he would bring you something much brighter and skimpier. You’d look good in silks, he thinks. 
Not like you’d allow him to bring you home – not willingly, at least. 
— So I figured, love. You’re pretty enough to be one, that’s clear. 
“You’re pretty enough to be a prostitute” is a compliment that only sounds good in the head of a man who hasn’t talked sweetly to a woman in ages. His whole life, perhaps, exchanging the embrace of a lady with tight hugs of the war. 
— You’re flattering me, sir. 
— Bloody hell, woman. Not a flattery if that’s the truth. 
— If you say so. 
You shift under his gaze like a rabbit in front of an apex predator. Ghost doesn’t want to force any woman to sleep with him – but he looks at the sway of your chest, at the softness of your hips, at the way you tug and scratch on the rough fabric of your skirt as you’re too nervous to look at him…
He must contain himself. 
— Why you work as a servant? 
— I…tried to be a prostitute, sir. Most clients here don’t like it when you’re not…
He slowly rocks his body closer to you, his head almost laying on your shoulder. He saw the way you looked at him as he leaned to you – you’re surprised, scared, but not disgusted. your nose didn’t twitch a single time, and he is sure that no tea would ever make you this blind to the stench of death lingering on your shoulder now. 
There must be something wrong with you – and he wants to save you like a rare treasure because of it. 
— Most clients here don’t like what, luv? 
— I…have damage, sir. 
So he figured. Just didn’t exactly know what you have. 
— What is it? 
— A…after a bad cold, my sense of smell…never returned. Not for the last three years. 
— You don’t smell anythin’? Must be bloody hard. 
— It is. But…I manage. As much as I can. 
He slowly drapes his hand over your shoulder – you wince at the touch. He thinks of the madam of your fine establishment. The woman didn’t seem the type to beat her girls, but you had such a shy, scared expression as he started to touch you, he can’t wait to burn this fucking place to the ground. Maybe spare a few of your friends if you’d ask him nicely. You won’t be working here again, ever – that much he can be sure of. 
— Doin’ a good job, love. 
— I hope so, sir. 
He drags his hand on your face, squeezing the soft skin of your cheek. You’re adorable – servants shouldn’t be so pretty, it makes him feel bad, it makes him sinful. He should try to hit on the girls who actually work here – not the poor soul that as sent here to bring him here, as a little lam sacrificed to a vicious god. 
— You don’t smell me, then? 
— I don’t smell anything, my lord. 
He chuckles, but your pained expression only makes him chuckle more. Poor thing, living in a place like this without a sense of smell – he can’t believe how you could survive without the smell of heavy incense and creams that all of the whores were using. He loves it when a pretty girl is making herself even prettier – makeup, all of those little elixirs they are putting on their faces, the flowery smells that make his rotting existence a bit easier. It never worked on him, on his disintegrating skin and stench that followed him everywhere – but then it dawned on him. 
You have such an adorable, shy smile and a small posture, playing with the edges of your clothes like a girl who is extremely embarrassed to be in a room with a man of his position. But women aren’t shy in his presence, not anymore – they are disgusted, horrified, they want to put their noses into little candy boxes and smell roses just to get rid of the smell. 
But you, adorable creature, aren’t disgusted. Hell, how he missed a pretty girl being so shy around him. 
Ghost kisses you before he can think of anything else. Before he could give you space to escape, to come to your senses and understand what kind of man he is. Broken, wounded, pushed to the cage, and locked with a key dangling from the side – god knows, Simon Riley isn’t a good man, never tried to be. Devil knows, he will drag you to the grave with him. 
Your lips are soft, untouched, you smell of cleaning supplies and sweet tea. Your hair smells like roses and dust, your hands are covered in little scabs – probably from the days spent cleaning and doing the hard work. He will make sure you will never have to work again, not with your hands, at least – he will kiss your callouses and nourish the skin into something delicate, fragile, to the smell of home he lost long ago. 
Your mouth tastes like heaven, and Ghost isn’t a man who deserves to push this angel further, isn’t a man who deserves to have a pretty girl moaning under him. He makes you cry, he terrifies you, he kisses you relentlessly and can feel the way your skin burns, tears streaming down your face. If he was a better man, he would oblige to your hands, pushing him away, your mouth is trying to cry for help. 
Simon Riley isn’t a good man, and he pushes you on your back, firms hands on your back, on your hips, touching, groping, feeling the skin of a somewhat willing woman. You’re scared, but you should know the kind of job girls here are doing – he didn’t pay all of this money for charity projects, after all. As much as he would pay even more gold just to take you away, to push your legs apart in a scenery much nicer than a room in a brothel. You deserve a real bed, a nice dress that he can rip away from you, 
All you get is his hands on your body, ripping your simple skirt apart because he can’t wait to get to the soft skin underneath. He looks at you, precious girl, as adorable as you are, and can’t resist kissing you, stealing breath from your skin. When he finally hears you moan, when his hand goes to grab the softness between your legs – moist, prepared, smelling of roses and arousal, of all things sweet and sinful – all of his sense of self-control shatters. 
He will take you on the floor of this room – over and over, claim you as his little maiden, his favorite girl, until he is sure his cursed, rotten seed has filled you to the brim. He will take you away, bringing as much money to your madam as he can manage, buying you all for himself – taking you as his prized possession for the new castle he was ordered to as a lord knight. 
Ghost will make you his, hells and heaven be damned. 
You cry, but he knows you’ll come around. And he can be very, very patient. 
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