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ethereal-night-fairy · 4 months

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Heavenly saviour

This short fic was inspired by this artwork.

What if we had a reverse Knight Au where the reader is female knights similar to valkyries in the Thor movies. And Ghost gets to be the pretty prince who's been unfairly kept and tortured only to be saved by his darling. (Tbh I have no idea who's kidnapped ghost but I just want to see him be saved by a female knight)

I know I said female knight but I wrote this as gender neutral to include everyone who wants to play the saviour for ghost.

Prince!Ghost x GN Knight!reader

Masterlist

Words: 1k

Warnings: MDNI, gore, blood, torture, trauma, love at first sight, pining if you squint.

The dungeon is cold, dark and decrepit. The smell of mold and iron was suffocating. But he had no other choice but to breath it. Thankfully the darkness shrouded his mangeled body. Hiding it from his own view for the time being. But the mutilated images persisted in his mind. Simon heaved the air collapsing in his lungs. They had left him hung and from his ribs, red crimson liquid pooling at his feet. The hook so meanly embedded into his tender flesh. He was no better than a pig hung after slaughter. Though his captors weren't as kind to put him out of his misery. He wouldn't be surprised if it was his father who had sold him to these people for some cheap entertainment. The kingdom was on the brink of collapse anyway, the fucker was probably hoarding as much money as he could. Nor him or his brother could do anything to protect anyone from their fathers wrath. He vowed if he got out of here alive he'd do anything in his power to save his people and family from demise.

His muscles screamed from being pulled and stretched unnaturally. His vision blurry from the pain and stray tears. His pale body scarred beyond recognition. Red hot slashes decorating his supple flesh. His breathing becoming laboured as he whispers his mother's name thinking this was the end.

In his delirium he thinks he hears distant screams followed by shouting. Heavy footsteps by the dozen clambered down like thunder over his head. Their boasterous movement rung out through the manor vibrating down to the dungeon. Had someone come save him? Had God sent him a saviour? Had salvation finally come? If he could scream he would have screamed and shouted until his vocal chords tore but he was fatigued and barely able to keep his head up. If this truly was a hallucination he wishes to see his mother caressing his cheek before he passes. If he truly wasn't forsaken, God would grant him this small request before his last breath.

The screams died down, maybe it was all in his head after all. It was hard to tell if anything was real anymore. Maybe he was already dead and this was his purgatory. All he could see was the congealed blood at his feet. The same blood painted his skin an awful shade of red. He heard heavy footsteps descending the stairs. Ones he would often dread. So he waits patiently for whoever had decided to put him out of his misery.

When the crash comes he desperately opens his eyes to look at the broken entrance to the cellar. Trying to figure out if it was a friend or foe. There you stood in all your glory. The light coming from the lit staircase bounced off your armor creating a celestial glow around you. The tears in his eyes caused the light to distort making it look like the heavens had blessed his knight with golden wings.

He watched you walk towards him with confident steps. Your expression ghastly, a bloody sword clutched in your hand. He couldn't quite make out your features; he was too delirious at this point. But you look like an angel; here to enact divine justice. Everything felt fuzzy and shapeless the closer you got. Like he was floating away.

But that changed the second you touched his mutilated skin. You brought him crashing down to reality. Like Icarus plummeting to his demise, the only difference was you were here to catch him. Every nerve ending springs alive to throw him back in the cycle of his never ending pain. Your words are soft and soothing as you try to get him to settle. He wished he could make out your features properly. Wished he could burn your image into his mind. But fresh tears obstructed his view. Gasps and groans spill from his cut face when you pry away the hook that's lodged between his ribs, taking the brunt of his weight.

You lower his body to the ground as you tell you've got him now. That you'll take care of everything from here. He shows you a smile so kind and sweet you wondered how anyone had the heart to harm him. Though It didn't matter anymore they were all dead now. Laying in pools of their own blood when you had chopped them down like the animals they were. You watch the prince go in and out of consciousness as you tie rags to his most open wounds.

“Captain! King Price has sent word! The castle has been captured! All occupants were killed before the arrival of our army. Reports say the previous King went on a murder rampage before fleeing with a small entourage. Prince Simon wasn't found among the dead bodies!”, one of you soldiers comes down to report to you waiting at the entrance of the cellar. Your body obscuring his view of the person you were tending too. You take the handkerchief off on your arm as you go to tie it around the prince's face making sure not to obstruct his ragged breathing in any way.

“Go now tell the King all noble houses have been dealt with…Prince Simon wasn't found among any of the bodies”, the soldier leaves immediately at your words as you lift the Prince's body in your arms. Ready to carry him to safety. You'll report the truth to the King later. But there was no way you'd let this poor prince suffer any more humiliation than he had already experienced.

His brother and mother didn't deserve to die the way they did. And you'd do your utmost to make sure you'll protect the prince, like he had protected you when you were only but a mere peasant. His smile never changed, not even after all the torment he faced. Even though they had tried to carve it out of him; no bruise or scar could ever take away from his radiance.

This was a new era for him. One in which you plan to be his sword. To be his shield, to be his…just his. He could use you however he sees fit. You will stand by him regardless; come hell or high water.

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http-paprika · 2 months

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IVY AND IRON THORNS

the epigraph / sir simon riley x lady reader / a medieval au / masterlist

Branches bow and break under the weight of the wind, it howls and sings as the knight straggles through the gardens, unable to make sense of his thoughts. Walls of stone tower over him, ivy clinging to the old rock and his mask has never felt more suffocating.

“Simon!” Her voice fills his ears as she follows after the knight, her dress brushing against the stones of the footpath and damp grass.

Though the sky threatens to break open and pour out on them, she follows and seeks. Unrelenting in the way she’s captured his body and soul, consumed by the feel of her hands and gleam in her eyes.

The knight sinks to his knees when she finally finds him in the maze of hedges, roses, and bushes. Looking up to her shining face as his lungs struggle to fill with air. “I’m sorry, m’lady.”

taglist @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @ghostlythots

#call of duty #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #knight!ghost #medieval!ghost #medieval au #knight au #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #fanfic #ivy and iron thorns #ivy and iron thorns series

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radiance1 · 9 months

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The Ghost Prince does not, under any circumstances, answer a summoning after it was made aware he existed. None know why he doesn't, some are bitter and hateful of it while others are thankful that it's one less bloodthirsty manic to deal with.

The Ghost King meanwhile hasn't been seen in multiple eons, so the magical community who wanted to use his power just, stopped, trying to summon him for a long time.

Most magic users knew that the Ghost Prince never answered a summons, and that the Ghost King just dropped off the radar.

So could you really blame Constantine for not taking it that seriously when some wannabe hotshot cultists try to summon both of them in the middle of a city to wreak havoc?

He'll give them some credit though. Points for doing it in broad daylight and actually being somewhat of a threat with not relying on just summoning the Ghost royalty and figuring out what to do from there.

The area they were in was somewhat destroyed, then the cultists manage to complete the summoning circle to summon both of them and Constantine, well he just light up a smoke.

It isn't going to work anyways so what does it matter?

...

Is that a fucking Ice cream truck he hears? Who the fuck is driving an Ice cream truck while their city is being under attacked with cultists trying to summon eldritch ghost royalty?

He'll give them some points for dedication, though.

Then he looked at the cultists and nearly had a goddamn heart attack to see that the summoning circle is actually fucking lighting up and working.

The Bat is so gonna give him a headache over this.

----

Danny Phantom, crown prince of the Infinite Realms. Does not answer summons.

For one, it is annoying as shit, whenever someone interrupts his day just to ask for infinite power (that he can't give), world domination (that he won't do) or infinite riches (which he also can't do).

It just got annoying being summoned all the time so. One day he just, well, no. And hey, it worked out well enough for him to not continue doing it.

Then he also learned that Pariah Dark is basically the same, after he got out the coffin and stopped trying to take over the world for whatever reason. He was actually a pretty swell guy!

He was just with him too, with him being not so swell at the time for making him go through lessons about Ghost etiquette, rules, stuff that's expected of him as the crown prince.

And don't even get him started on the engagement and marriage proposals.

Overall, he just wanted to find an excuse to leave. Then he felt the familiar suggestive pull of a summoning and, instead of rejection as he usually does in a second. He thought for a bit if he wanted to go with that or crown prince duties.

It was tempting, but dealing with cultists seemed worse than this so he was about to reject.

At least, before he heard an Ice cream truck playing in the background. He doesn't even know how the hell that popped up through the pull but by the gods has it been a while since he's had Ice cream.

So he answers and is gone with a pop.

Pariah Dark just stares for a good second or two, before breathing out and deciding to also answer. Fright Knight is just there, off to side, questioning what he should do now.

Danny wastes no time with the cultists on the other side and in fact, he pushes them out of the way and goes diving for that Ice cream truck he hears. Only to realize he doesn't, have any money on him.

Fuck.

Pariah Dark is less inclined to follow the rules imposed by humans like money, but he does know it can be important. Once in a while. Not that often, but it has its times.

So when he sees his adopted son being sad over being unable to pay for some kind of human delicacy, he digs around in his hair (yes, his hair.) and pulls out some money and puts it on the counter as payment.

The man inside the tiny vehicle had shrieked before getting what they wanted. Which is good. Fear is a good motivator, Pariah thinks.

Unknown to him, it wasn't out of fear (Well, mostly) but because the Ghost King placed down a coin made of pure, solid gold on his counter.

The two then go about their business in the human realm, completely forgetting about the fact that they were summoned here for something.

Constantine is both relieved and about to have an aneurysm at seeing Infinite Realm royalty only answering a summon because of Ice cream.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #pariah dark #john constantine #The Ghost King and Prince are known to not answer summons #both for different reasons #But Danny instantly answers one because he heard an Ice cream truck in the background #Pariah followed because he at first wanted to get Danny back to Crown Prince lessons #Only to be swayed by his puppies eyes and the absolute delicacy that is Ice cream #Pariah Dark is stuck in the medieval times in terms of money #He would literally pull out gold coins and pay for shit that way #He is rich rich #Like basically a neigh infinite supply of gold coins he keeps in his hair #Don't ask him how just ghost logic #They then spent the day going around to Ice cream shops and taste testing them #Poor Fright Knight is left alone wondering what he should do #Word spreads in the magical community about this and everyone tries it out #It does work #But if there isn't actually Ice cream you'll have an angry Ghost Prince to deal with #And an angry Ghost Prince leads to a less than cordial Ghost King

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illustratus · 2 months

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Cover for Dämonenkiller #132 - Der Ritter vom schwarzen Kreuz

by Vincente Segrelles

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rherlotshadow · 4 months

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A ruined medieval chapel, deep in the woods, called Lidwell. Which might be an ellision of 'Our Lady's Well' as apparently there is a well here too. The place has a dark history. Dark history.

#green chapel #woods #medieval #ghosts #devon

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ghouljams · 8 months

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Viking soap! Viking soap! Viking soap!

Grrrrrrrr Yes ok yes because I am feral for this idea and you're partially engaging a special interest of mine.

You spot him at the same moment he does you. A flash of blue eyes reflecting the shallow river, long hair shorn short on the sides, the fur the edges his clothes marks him as easily as the paint on his face. A viking. He stands as quickly as you step back, his eyes fixed on you. If he's here there must be more at your village. You know well enough that these men don't travel as solitary creatures.

You turn and run towards your home. You hear the crash of him through the forest behind you giving chase. Even knowing the land as well as you do the terrain is uneven, the roots are made to catch your feet, and the branches are low to obscure your vision. You don't have the deer's advantage of darting movement to keep you out of reach. Each step you can hear him getting closer, until you feel his hands grab you.

The man, the viking, catches you around your middle. You kick and scream and make every effort to batter him with your fists, to make yourself difficult prey. You've heard enough stories about what these men do to know you want no part of it. He lifts you, hauls you up off the ground as you fight and twist.

"Would you be still, I'm not going to hurt you," The man tells you in gaelic. You freeze at the familiar tongue.

"You're a liar," You push at him, claw at his grip, "why would you chase me if you weren't hunting me?"

"Why would you run?" He asks, grabbing your wrists to pin them against his chest. You glare at him, your chest heaving as you gather your breath back. He's handsome, for a viking. There's something sort of rakish about the stubble on his face and the set of his brow. "Did I do something to scare you, bonnie?" It's not an honest question, he knows full well why you'd run.

You keep quiet, keep your glare level with him. An easy task with him holding you up, his arm hooked around your thighs. His head tips back to look at you with a smile. "Aren't you pretty," He whispers, hardly phased by the run or your anger. When you don't respond he seems to find his head again, his smile dropping to something more serious.

"Fine, courting later, business now." He sets you back down, keeping a tight grip on your wrists now that you've proven yourself a runner. "I'm here to negotiate a trade, I need an escort," He explains, though you would think a man needing an escort would have a shorter handle on the ax at his hip.

"A bad liar," You amend your previous statement, tugging at his hold.

"Fine," He relents, "I want an escort. Escort me." He insists, tugging you against his chest again. You're really getting tired of bumping into him.

"Why? So you can lead a raiding party back as soon as I turn around?" You spit.

“To what end?” The viking asks, tips his head to the side, his eyes hard on you, “What use do we have for dead healers?”

You stop your struggling, stunned. He’s not wrong, but he speaks to an understanding of your village you hadn’t expected. How much did this man and his company know about you? How many scouts had walked your paths, watched your neighbors work? He’s right, dead healers are useless, but so are port healers. Vikings are only as strong as their weakest man, wouldn’t they prefer to keep healers on hand?

“You said-” You swallow, “You said you were here to negotiate a trade. What- A trade for what?” He looks away from you, and you have your answer. You were right to run, he’s here for one of you.

“Let’s go,” He doesn’t pull you, but you follow him anyway. Your mind races, thinking through the people your elders would offer up. Who was the most skilled, the most expendable, weighing what you might get in return. What couldn’t these vikings offer you? Safety, rare goods, money, animals, friendship. Invaluable intangible things that would aid all of you, for whatever price they set. It’s still only the illusion of a choice.

Your wrist is still held tight in his grip as you walk beside him. An escort, what a joke. You’re not going to put in a good word for him or do anything more than act as a pass for him to walk your streets. You’re busy working on your escape plan when you smell it.

Smoke, just as you step clear of the forest.

"Gods," the man breathes, both of you standing on top of the hill at the edge of the forest, watching your home burn. Your eyes grow wide watching the fleeing shadows of raiders, the sacrifices of you kin. What are they doing? Why would they- A mass of fire belches from the center of your village, the man covers your eyes, shields you from the heat of it with his cloak. The tattered tartan catches your attention, makes your heart pound in your chest. You recognize it, Mactavish. He was one of you.

"We have to go," He tells you. You try to pull yourself free, scream for your family down the hill. He catches you around the middle again, hauls you back into the safety of the forest.

"Tell them to stop," you beg. Your sobbing pleas fall on deaf ears.

“Those aren’t my men,” He doesn’t set you down, transfers your squirming to his shoulder with a grunt and keeps his pace. You can still see the lick of flame and smoke through the trees. The only home you’ve ever known, gone in an instant and all you can do is watch. The forest grows thicker around you as you lay against the familiar unfamiliar tartan and let yourself be carried off like a spoil.

#I'm gonna close the ask box if y'all keep giving me aus #Just so you know this would be a slow burn like Knight Ghost #but I have a few scenes in mind #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap modern warfare #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap x you #soap x reader #john mactavish #john mactavish x you #cod x reader #x reader #this fic brought to you by De Selby parts 1 and 2 #viking!soap #I should rename my medieval to just historic

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temeyes · 17 days

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dad-daughter bonding ft. ghost and his bubba girl

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worms-for-brains · 5 days

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MEDIEVAL/FANTASY GHOAP?!

YAY OR NAY?!

#call of duty #call of duty mw3 #call of duty modern warfare #ghost cod #soap cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod #cod medieval au #fanart #cod fanart

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ghostsgrl666 · 14 days

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knight!ghost x handmaiden!reader who can't keep their hands off of each other in corridors and secret staircases, who have to pass each other ten times a day as they both fulfill their castle duties but by the middle of the day ghost can't stand it anymore. He sees you hanging laundry just outside the servant's quarters and he sneaks up behind you, big hands engulfing your hips as his mouth swallows your gasp of surprise. knight!ghost who stares a hole through your tight, full bodice all night during the banquet as you pour drinks and pretend not to notice. knight!ghost who sneaks every night by candlenight through the dark underground corridors of the castle to get to your room, to climb into your tiny bed and press his face into the back of your neck. knight!ghost who has to ride into town the next day to help the king investigate the suspicious dissapearance of one of his lords, the same lord who had gotten a little too drunk and a little too handsy with you at the banquet.

#knight!ghost #medieval au #handmaiden!reader #handmaid!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod x reader #cod smut #ghost smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

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http-paprika · 2 months

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IVY AND IRON THORNS

CHAPTER I

a medieval au / sir simon riley x lady reader / 3.3k / warnings descriptions of violence, gore, death, and religious practice / taglist open

betrothed to the prince of a nearby land, you embark on a journey that changes your life forever…

masterlist / chapter II

Above your head, the sky is deep and dark, the morning stars twinkling as you are drawn awake. Maids hurrying about your bed chambers, packing trunks full of fine dresses in vibrant, rich colors of blues, pinks, and reds. You watch your life belongings stowed away into the heavy trunks and chests as you sleepily rub your eyes, still wishing you were happily asleep in the warmth of your bed and annoyed by the prospects of the journey ahead.

Four days and three nights you will travel with your mother and escort. A long trek to your betrothed and his lands. But it is necessary, every day you overhear the rumblings of your father’s enemies encroaching on farmlands and forests, raiding villages, and terrorizing peasants. This marriage of convenience will strengthen the lands and riches, providing allies from raiders and wars. It is your duty as the only child to ensure the peace of your people and to continue the family line.

“Mistress, you mustn’t be falling asleep now. We still have much to do before your journey.” The head maid scolds you as your head bows while she brushes out your hair. “You can sleep in the carriage.”

“But I’m tired!” You whine, reminding the head maid that you are still treated like a girl. Allowed to do as you please and act out as you want. No one dares to scold the lone daughter, your happiness is of the utmost importance.

“Ach, we all are, Mistress. But you are to be married and become a wife. You must start acting as such and put your childish behaviors behind you.” She reprimands you, tilting your head up right before picking up the ornate silver brush and pulling the bristles through your locks.

Instinctually, your lip pushes out in a pout. A frown forms as the oak door of your bed chambers pushes open and your mother, the Lady of the castle, strides in. Her garments and hair are simple and plain compared to her normal daily wear, she is dressed for the travel and looks over at your dress of choice disapproving.

“Don’t you think it’s a little much for traveling, my dear?” She frowns at the red velvet dress, a gift from your father when merchants from afar visited the castle. It’s your favorite dress, beautiful with fine embroidery. “Shouldn’t you save this for when we arrive at Darenby Castle?”

“No, I want to wear it today. This is my wedding week, and the bride shall wear what the bride wants.” You announce, lifting your chin with a proud smile. Your mother shakes her head but does not pester you further, placing a kiss on your cheek before giving final instructions to the maids and manservants. She departs from the room with one last lingering glance, you are her shining star. The only one of her offspring who’d lived past childhood, she’s been trying hard to hide her grief for your sake. But you’d heard the whispers, her pleading with your father not to send you so far away, and chose to hide away the feeling it left you with.

When your hair is done up, out of your face, and lying beautifully, the chambermaids help you into the dress, lacing it up and tying it closed. You catch your reflection in the looking glass, letting out a satisfied hum, so young and fair to the eyes. It was no wonder that when the Prince first laid eyes on you, he joined the long line of suitors.

“I don’t know how you’ll manage to be even prettier on the day of your wedding. But you will, Mistress.” One of the maids says sheepishly, looking up at you with wide eyes. She is younger than you, only having served in the castle for one year and still learning how to properly behave and address you. But her compliment kept you from scolding her and making sure the head maid put her in her place.

“Yes, I will. Won’t I?” She shakes her head vigorously at your question, before returning to her work and allowing you a moment to take a final good look at your room. Many years had you spent in here: sleeping, learning, playing, and growing. It’s your fortress of refuge from everything, a place you can run to. And you will never return. Even if the Prince allows you to visit, they will room you in the dreadful East Wing where your horrid aunt stayed for so long.

Eventually, as the sun begins to paint the early morning sky shades of pale blue, orange, pink, and purple you journey through the halls of the castle. Down stone steps and over wooden floors to the bailey where the carriage, cart, and horses are loaded and preparing for departure. Your father is talking with the escort, giving instructions for the journey as you approach him.

“Ah, my dear! What a beautiful rose you are this morning.” He beams, approving of your appearance which took after your mother. “And a bride you shall be. I received a letter from the Prince just last night, he is looking forward to your arrival with much anticipation.”

“As am I.” You reply cheeks tinged pink from praise. Though you will miss your home, the gardens, and the grand hall, you are anxious to begin the new journey. To receive a new title, one far greater than you would’ve inherited from your parents. Princess has such a beautiful ring to it– like you were born for it.

As the carriage begins to drive away, all of heaven seems to shine for you as you and the escort depart from the castle. The colorful songbirds singing your farewell, the flowers blooming alive for the spring, the world was awake for you.

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Thunder drums out, the noise exploding in your ears as you startle awake. Heart racing as wind howls and tears at the curtains of the carriage, rain beginning to pelt out. Your eyes shift around the interior of the carriage as you try to compose yourself as your mother had, but fear of the storm holds onto you.

The escort is yelling amongst themselves, one of the knights speaking to your mother about what must be done. For the past two days, the journey was passing well. Besides being jostled around on bumpy dirt roads and having to listen to your mother read passages of Latin, you hadn’t minded. And the growing excitement of seeing your fiance made everything fade away.

But the sun has hidden, dark clouds bursting open as all of heaven’s floods fall to the earth. Another clap of thunder scares you, lightning cracking along the blackened sky as the escort pushes through the weather. The choice had been made to push through, you’re told there’s an abbey not too far away that will provide safety from the storm.

Rain continues to soak into the carriage as you move to your mother’s side, clinging to her for warmth and security. She stays calm, praying the entire time and holding you close as the carriage drives on slowly, bumping through the mud and puddles. The horses fighting against their handlers, every time thunder sounds and lightning strikes, you can hear the creatures neigh in protest.

For a moment, you close your eyes and cover your ears. Trying to block out all the noise and chaos hoping it will all pass. But it only gets louder, violent shouts muffled by the storm, the sound of metal clanging and snapping as swords battle. When you open your eyes, an arrow cuts through the curtains of the carriage. In fear, you scream as it pierces into the wood.

Your mother’s prayers fall on deaf ears from God as the door is thrown open, and a man in a torn brown cloak and scarf wrapped around his face sneers down at you. In his hands, a silver blade is still covered in scarlet blood.

“Please, we’ll give you whatever you ask for. Gold, silver, merchant goods!” Your mother offers as he steps into the carriage, towering over you.

“Oh, I know what I want.” He looks down at you, pulling the scarf from his face. In the dim light from the lanterns, his yellowed teeth glint as his eyes trail over you, his face littered with scars and marks from the years.

Another scream rips from your throat as he lunges at you. But your mother pushes you aside, causing you to tumble out of the carriage landing in a puddle of sludge with a painful thud. The cold water seeps through your dress and undergarments as you stay frozen. Around you the troop of bandits are slaying your escort, men falling lifelessly into the mire. All you can see are the silhouettes struggling in the carriage before the lantern is knocked down.

With horror, stuck in the mud, you listen to the blood-curdling scream as your mother is murdered. The sound of the blade piercing through her dress, skin, and bones haunting you before the bandit turns out of the carriage to find you.

In vain, you try to crawl away and out of the mud. But you let out a cry when you put your palm down on the road, snapping your wrist close to your chest as you rub the skin. Everything hurts, everything. Your heart, your hips, and your hands all sing with pain as the bandit grabs at your hair and yanks you back. A sharp cry leaves your lips from the pain as he drags you close with a sick look on his pasty face, his blade pushed against your throat. One slice and you’d be done for.

“Please! Please! I’m too young!” You cry, begging at the final chance of life. Tears fall from your eyes, mixing with rain on your cheeks. And you wonder if maybe you should perish, joining your mother in the afterlife. Even hell sounds better than this misery as you wait for him to inflict pain.

But it doesn’t come, instead, something squelches and cracks. Warm liquid spray onto your face before the bandit drops you, his body crumpling to the ground beside you. Finally, peeling your eyes open another scream tears from your throat as you look at the headless body, his blood being washed from your face with the rain.

You do not look at your savior as you stare at the bandit. Another scream threatens to spill out when the head is dropped mere feet from you. Whatever nightmare this is, you hope and pray you will wake from it soon. Back with your mother alive and the sun shining down on you.

Lightning dances across the sky again, the light strikes and blinds your eyes. The deep red velvet of your dress is ruined by the rain and mud. Your cries are drowned out by the roar of the thunder as you shake from the cold.

In a mere moment, all you had known, the world that had been promised for you had been torn from your trembling hands. God had abandoned you as quickly as the sun had abandoned the sky. You are plagued by the darkness as your mother and escort are delivered from this life to the next.

Then warmth floods in your arm as a man in black armor sinks to your level, his knee digging into the mire. You cannot see his face, the intricate design of his helmet somehow scares you more than you already are. The skull helmet shines as lightning brightens the sky momentarily before he pulls up his visor and stares at you with concern. His nose and mouth are covered with a black cloth, but his eyes are aflame in the darkness. Only softening when they see how helpless you are as you shrink away from him.

Your savior.

“Can you stand?” He asks over the wind. You shake your head, still frozen in place as he stands. You do not know this man, this knight is not one of your own. In this moment, you can only hope he is truly an ally and not a foe.

The knight towers above you, his stature tall and broad, calling to his companion for aid. Another knight in the same dark armor joins you with the reins of a horse in his hand. You catch sight of a crest on the shaffron of the creature, but you do not recognize the marks.

“Help her on while I set the beasts free.” The knight orders his companion. You tremble as the smaller knight wraps an arm around your back and another on your stomach before pulling you up from the mud. It splashes when you stand and struggle to walk, your knees threatening to buckle as he leads you to the mare.

Slowly, you use what strength you have left to mount the horse. Wincing when he pushes you up and your dress tears along the side seams. It’s ornate, not meant for riding a horse, especially since you are not sitting side-saddle. If you were not in such a ruined state of mind, you would’ve been humiliated by your stockings and underskirt showing. But you can only think of how you were still breathing, damp air still clinging to your lungs.

You turn your head and watch as your horses that had not been killed are set loose, turning and running into the deep, wild forest before the tall knight returns to you and his horse. In his hand, he holds a torn piece of the carriage curtain and throws it over your lap to warm you, your cloak doing nothing to fight against the rain and cold.

When he mounts the horse, saddling behind you, reality finally dawns on you. They’re taking you away. You’re being taken away by strangers, away from your escort, your mother, your life!

“No, no. Please, I can’t leave her! Don’t take me away from her!” You twist to look at the knight, pounding your fists into the metal of his chest plate. Wincing with every hit as your right wrist continues to sting. “Please! She’s my mother! She’s a baroness, a lady, a woman of God, she deserves a burial!”

“There is nothing we can do for her.” He states, flipping his visor down to cover his face again. And when you try to push off the horse, his arms cage you in as he picks up the reigns. “And if I leave you here, you’ll meet the same fate as her. There’s nothing around for miles. You’ll starve, or be eaten by wolves, or killed when the rest of the bandits come looking for their brothers.”

“I won’t leave her!” You cry again, but your pleas fall on deaf ears as he orders the horse to move. “Mother! Mother!”

With grief, you watch as the carriage, cart, and bodies disappear behind you. The forest surrounds you and blocks your view as the knight and his companion abandon the road. With a steady pace, they traveled through the dark thicket, relying on the silvers of lightning as their only source of light.

When the rain ceases, night has fallen over the land. And with the full moon peeking out of the clouds over you, the horses tread to a halt. Your body is aching when the knight dismounts, his boots heavily stomping against the damp grass. He offers a gauntlet hand out for you to take, and just as slowly as you mounted the horse, you dismount.

“We’ll camp here for the night. By twilight tomorrow we’ll reach Tharn Castle.” You blink and furrow your brows. How far had your escort strayed from the main road and their destination while you had slept? The castle's name doesn’t even sound familiar to you as the knight unloads his horse, and to your right, his companion does the same.

“John, find some wood. This one’s teeth were chattering the whole ride.” He remarks, pointing to you. You had concluded that this knight was the leader, he’d only given orders to the shorter one and had directed the party through the forest. Whoever he is, he demands respect and attention from his presence alone.

You stand unsure, your face numb from crying as they set up camp. The tall knight unrolls his bundle, laying the ragged blanket down on the grass. “Sit,” He orders you, before turning to sift through his pack. You sink onto the thick fabric, still shivering as John prepares a fire for your camp. Slowly, your senses calm down, grief numb in your veins as you watch the two work.

When the fire is crackling happily, embers sparking and jumping, John begins to pull off his helmet and gauntlets. He shakes out his hair and you note how peculiar the cut is. You wonder if you had completely fallen into a crueler, strange world that is steeped with death and knights in black armor.

“So, you gonna tell us your name, lassie?” John speaks up as the other knight prepares food. “Or say anything to us?”

“John, she just witnessed a horrid tragedy.” The knight says warningly, glancing over at you. “I don’t think she’ll say much unless we force her.”

“Aye, you’re probably right, Simon. Sorry, lassie.” Simon, that was the name of your savior and captor. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to scream at him or thank him.

A wolf howls deep in the woods and startles you back into attention. They both notice how you jerk back to caution, watching as you wince. The sharp pain in your wrist has only gotten worse with time.

“Let me see it,” Simon orders you, pulling bandages from his pack. When you hesitate, he rolls his dark eyes. “I won’t bite.”

You relent, stretching out your wrist for him to see in the gleam of the firelight. Deep, purple bruises have bloomed along your skin and are burrowing deep below, aching to the bone.

“It’s not broken, it’ll mend soon.” He tells you, his gloved thumb runs over the skin and pushes your sleeve up further. You watch as he slowly wraps the bandage around, pulling it tight and firm before tying it. “Try not to put pressure on it until the bruises fade.”

You nod, still unable to speak to either of them as he moves away and back to the rations of food. He offers you a slice of bread, but after the horrors you’d witnessed in the hours prior, your appetite is gone. Buried deep in the pits of your stomach that bubbled with sick.

“If you’re not going to eat, try and rest. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us and you need all your strength after today.” Simon encourages as he stands, wrapping up the remaining bread and putting it back into his pack.

“What about the wolves?” You quietly ask, your voice wavering as the sound of distant howls fills the night. John snorts from his side of the campfire, quickly glancing down when Simon glares at him.

“They don’t like fire.” He tells you, but his sword stays in its sheath on his hip for a quick draw. “And after this afternoon, you should know that you’re safe with us. No harm will come to you in our care.”

Cautiously your eyes wander over the camp as you shift down onto the blanket. Simon has stalked to the edge of the camp, looking out into the forest and John is watching you as if you might spring away. The rough fabric digs into your skin and dress as you lay down, but it is better than the cold grass. You are too tired to complain about how uncomfortable you are, and it scares you that just a day before you would have.

It’s cruel how time works. How quickly the sun rising and setting destroys one’s whole world. This morning you had awoke a lady with the world offered on a silver platter, you were ready to be married to the Prince, and to give a proper farewell to your mother.

Now your fate was in the hands of the men who’d found you and whatever waited behind the stone walls of Tharn Castle.

taglist @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @ghostlythots

#call of duty #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #medieval!ghost #medieval au #knight!ghost #knight au #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost mw2 #ivy and iron thorns series #ivy and iron thorns

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kneelingshadowsalome · 6 months

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Ok but what if

What if Ghost was a knight (again) and then there's a spoiled, presumptuous lady who's bored (again)

She's the kind of princess who was dearly loved because she was a girl. No one knows why, because everyone knows girls are a liability. But she has been treasured and sheltered all her life, she always got everything she wanted, and now she's stupid enough to fall for Simon who has lived a life full of war and torment and who is not the kind of stray dog you would want to feed.

Our poor lady doesn't know she's playing with fire when she's toying with her father's (Price?) most loyal soldier: a brooding, tall, broad man who got his knighthood after this campaign or that. This outlander, Simon, catches her attention because he rarely speaks and never smiles, but makes her smallclothes wet because he has an ill look about him: a broken nose and a thin lipped, downturned mouth. This sir is looking everyone from under his brow like they're mere children in his eyes. The only time she's heard him speak is when he's barking orders in the courtyard.

She teases and teases and teases him: flirting every chance she can get, giving him soft brushes that barely remain within the bounds of propriety. She bestows heated stares that linger a little too long, she licks and parts her lips when they walk past each other in the cold, dimly lit corridors of the castle. He never returns any of her flirts.

Except the stares.

She can feel his eyes on her even when she's not looking. That coal-like stare is fixed on her wherever she goes: it's hot and cold at the same time, like embers that are kindling under long-forgotten ashes.

He's interested… But only in a way that a hungry, beaten, suspicious dog is interested when it's staring at a meaty bone, trying to decode if it's a treat or a trap.

He finally has enough one day when she dares to smile at him: softly, knowingly, like a whore in a tavern.

The gauntlet closes around her neck like an iron collar. She can smell the horses and the sweat and the dirty leather as the man she has dreamed of seizes her and pushes her back against a wall.

"Is this what you want? Hm?"

She finally hears him speak: dark, gravelly, and borderline exhausted from all the games she plays. Were he to hold her a little more tightly, she would call it a choke, a soft and slow strangling. The intensity is enough to make her heart flutter and her stare escape somewhere to the grey stone wall. There's no way she can meet that heated stare, now filled with flames and lust.

The knight she used to fantasize about is about to snap. The stoic, cold man is about to lose control at any given moment, and she's about to lose her maidenhood along with that shattered self-control.

He presses his whole body against her: leather and steel and hardened muscle, all that rough, well fed, thick flesh forged in countless battles is pressed against her frame like she is nothing but a flower. Her woolen dress is a poor shield against all the hard ridges of his armour, the pommel of his sword digs into her side painfully, but she pays it no mind. There's something equally as hard and demanding pressed against the apex between her legs. She's forced to rise to her toes from the way he drives his swollen cock up her cunt, and even if there's layers and layers of clothing between them, she can feel the heat of him.

"'S not a good idea to tease a starved dog," he snarls while watching her lose her confidence. All of it, because it was only ever a charade. A silly daydream of a silly young woman, just an attempt to distract herself, a pastime game that happened to turn into a dangerous obsession.

And he growls. He actually growls like a hound when she's suddenly so weak she can't even provide him with an answer. It's a dark rumble that meets her chest, a hot, slow breath that passes across her frightened skin. She feels like floating: his cock raises her from the ground as he tries to fuck into her through their clothes. The ironclad hand has never even seen mercy as it turns her head to the side for him to have a good sniff of her neck and hair.

"Sir," her lips tremble; her whole jaw is making it clear that she's about to cry soon. There's not enough stones on the wall for her to count if he decides to take her here. "Simon…? Please, sir. I'm a virgin…"

#cw: dark content #meeting on the turret stairs but with more dubcon #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #knight!ghost #medieval au #sansan vibes

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streysteal · 1 year

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aaaaand a medieval AU for the bbg’s I’ll take drawing armor and swords over guns any day!

#knight #armor #simon ghost riley #Simon riley #ghost mw2 #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghoap #MW2 #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap mctavish #soap cod #ghost cod #medieval #alternate universe #mw2 AU #how many tags are too many?

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lurrlonde · 3 hours

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training

#mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #call of duty #ghost mw2 #medieval ghost #just wanted to put him in this drip again #myart

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ghouljams · 8 months

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I am begging on hands and knees please write something about knight Ghost being sick and princess reader taking care of him.

PLEASE

OOOOOH ok maybe not sick, but how about injured?

Ghost hisses as you pull your thread tight, your needle held between deft, if shaking, fingers. You've read about wound treatment, even seen Ghost stitch himself up, but you've never had to deal with it yourself. He hardly looks at you, eyes glued to the pull of your needle through the skin on his side. His arm raised out of your way gives you a clear canvas to stitch, even as the wide expanse of his ribs expands and contracts with every loop. Your fingers are coated in his blood.

He's so firm under your hands. Well built and maintained muscle covers every inch of him. It's a shame to count the scars that litter his torso, or it should be. You have to keep yourself from running your fingers over the soft white scars that cover him like constellations of a life lived dangerously. It's too bad that this is your only moment of pleasure(small as it is) in this whole excursion, and it's coming at Ghost's expense.

"I'm sorry," You tell him for the hundredth time. This whole trip has been a nightmare. Diplomatic your ass, the next time someone needed to visit a warring neighbor you weren't volunteering. And now Ghost is hurt because you were wearing what was supposed to protect him.

"Don't be," He tells you, also for the hundredth time, "it was a lucky shot, won't happen again." You nod and tie off the last stitch. Ghost grunts, letting out a pained breath as you snip the thread, and tries to lower his arm. You stop him.

"I need to bandage it," You remind him.

"Beggars can't be choosers Princess, we gotta get moving." He pushes himself up onto his knees, and you wince watching his skin tug at your stitching, his wound oozing between the looped thread. You're quick to grab the hem of your dress as he stands, finding one of the seams and ripping it. Ghost freezes at the noise, looking down at you from his half stance.

He sits heavily back on the ground to watch you tear a length of cloth off your skirt. Almost curious, his eye heavy on you. He raises his arm again when you reach to loop the expensive fabric around his middle. The blood on your fingers hardly seems to make a dent in it when you see the way it clings to his wound, already soaking dark with his blood. You wrap a few more layers of it and tie off the makeshift bandage.

You stand when you've finished, Ghost's arm dropping back to his side as you enjoy the sway of your much shorter skirt as you do. This is nice, more ladies should wear their skirts at their knees. Ghost keeps his eyes on yours as you stand, unwilling to look at your immodesty. His hand however... His hand grips the back of your calf, slides up behind your knee, rough calloused fingers just grazing the back of your thigh so improperly far up your skirt. Well, up your usual skirt, here it seems he's just dipped above the ripped hem.

"I'm sorry," He rasps. His hand squeezes your soft flesh, enjoying the give of your skin the same way you enjoy the heated drag of his fingers.

"Don't be," You breathe. You keep your hands to yourself, though you ache to touch him. You don't want to sully your precious knight with any more blood than has already been shed. Ghost's hand moves from your leg to hold the tattered hem of your dress. He bows his head to kiss it, his eyes hot on yours. You feel a pang go through your heart, he looks good on his knees like this.

You do your best to control your breathing, school the heat on your cheeks, as he pushes himself to stand again. He leans carefully to grab his undershirt from the ground, and you watch the interlocked planes of muscle over his chest work as he pulls it over his head. His pain is quieter now, short breaths when he moves too quickly. Beautiful, you think as you watch him move.

"There's a stream nearby," He grunts, pulling his bloodied longsword from where he'd thrust it into the earth, "let's see if we can't get you cleaned up."

"I'm alright," You insist, your heart clenching tight at his care. How can he think of you when he's the one that's hurt?

"Got more of my blood on you than I do," He chuckles, holding out a hand for you. You hesitate to take it and his expression softens. "Come on sweetheart," He entreats, "A little blood won't scare me off."

He must be delirious, you tell yourself taking his hand. To call you something so affectionate so casually, as if he's called you that his whole life. You tuck it away in your heart to touch later when you're feeling especially masochistic. For now you let him lead you through the forest towards running water, so you can wash your hands of him before continuing your journey.

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley #knight!Ghost #princess!reader #medieval au

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