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sparkbeast20 · 2 years

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The Suitors Pt1 (Wrath and Envy)

This is Part 2 of I'm a Noble, Not an Avatar

This fic is heavily Inspired by the Ao3 fanfic “Bride of Prophecy” by Fallingunderground13 and a different take on my headcanon “Please take care of MC for me…..” with a GN!MC

Summary: Once you finally made it back home, you saw a crowd of Young demon and demoness in front of the House of Lamentation.

Note: after seeing the poll from part 1, this is going to be a poly!mc and brothers story.

Warning: Jealousy, Demons being demons, and Speciesism towards humans.

Your head is beginning to hurt, stumble your way back to the house. You should never drink like that ever again. But at that time you didn’t remember why you drank in the first place.

Soon the memories start coming back, at a distance you saw a crowd of demons and demoness by the front of the gate of the House of Lamentation.

You quickly hide behind a tree, to the bushes and move closer to get a better look at what the crowd is about. What you saw made you groan in anger.

A bunch of demons holding magazines with Mammon on the front cover, and others with autograph photos of Asmo. and other brothers fan clubs on the lawn/cemetery.

Groan at the crowd of demons, about to leave and head to the secret tunnels that lean to the tomb, when suddenly you heard the crowd cheer as quickly it drop when the door open to reveal not any of the brothers, but a demon with orange hair with his glasses on it, wearing a jaguar pelt walking out the house with an unpleasant look on his face.

“I knew that you were different from your brothers, Satan! The only pure demon knows to stick with their kind.” Then you were stiff to hear the booming voice of Ose, the demon noble from the wrath ring. Walks out the door of the house with a smug look on his face. As the demon with jaguar pelt presuming his kid, let out an annoyed sigh before speaking.

Ose notices the numerous demons looking at him and the other demon with both fear and annoyance. He smirks before letting out a loud roar. Scaring the flocks of demons.

Duke Ose laughs at the fleeing demons, while the other demon faces palms and groans in embarrassment.

“Do you have to be loud about my arranged marriage father….” his tone sounded more refined and calm then his father, if you compare him to someone you know, it would be Barbatos.

“Why should I be quiet about this! We are the first ones to seal an arrangement.”

His son let out another sigh, and placed a hand on his forehead, “You honestly think that was an agreement? Because what I can tell, he and his brothers just want us to get out of that house.” However, Ose just proudly laughs and strongly pats his son’s back.

“Is better that you got him to agree with you to be his suiter”

You start to drown out their conversation, and start heading to the tunnel. It kinda hurts to know that Satan is already moving on, but you keep reminding yourself that you’re the one who broke things off with the brothers. You just have to live with your decision. It still hurts though, but you can move on right?

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Once you see the light from the end of the tunnel, then one of Cerberus’s heads peek into the tunnel, giving you a greeting bark. You smile at Cerberus as you make it in the house.

Then all three heads start sniffing you, with Cer grants and stick his tongue in a dramatic way.

“Hey boys. Yeah I know I smell like a bar.” Both Bee and Rus lean down allowing you to hug them both. Wish this moment of comfort could last longer, however knowing it is a school night and you’re still half drunk. You decided to head to your room and call it the night.

After giving Cerberus a good night pat on each head, you start walking up the stairs. You can hear an all familiar voice, with the snake-like way of talking.

You crack the door slightly to see Levi nervously standing at the entry hall with Duchess Delphyne her long navy blue long hair wearing a snakeskin slick black and blue dress, and a blue snake on her arms with its head resting on her shoulder and her daughter standing beside her with short navy blue hair wearing a RAD uniform. “Oh Lord Leviathan, where'sss the snake I gave you. You know the one I gave the first time we met? Balias here, iss a big animal lover. And she has been taking care of your snake'sss sibling. She would love to see him again.” Duchess Delphyne

“Ah-ah his at the castle, I kinda let him live there since Lucifer doesn't like giant pets in the house.”

Even not seeing his face, by the sound of his voice, you can tell Levi is trying his best to not seem nervous.

“Oh really? That’sss to bad~ I would love to show you how my daughter talent with animalsss~” Delphyne, spoke and giving her daughter a light nudge “She also have a gift for you.” She gestured her head, and Balias processed to hand a wrap gift to Levi, who hestinely accepts.

“It's a vintage Seraphina figurine. This figure has the pink dress raither the blue dress. There were only seven made before they realized the error. I had one of my close friends help me locate this one.” Balias looks away from Levi. While Dalphyne grinning

Levi has no word to describe how happy to receive a rare figurine. But at the same time he knows that their doing this just gets Balias to be his suitor. But then the door behind him opened, startling him and Balias, but Delphyne knew that you were watching the whole exchange. But she acts surprised.

“May, may~ the human exchange student, isn’t it late for humansss to be thisss to be still be up in thisss hour?” Duchess Delphyne walks over to you with the snake on her arms and looks at you. Levi quickly moved and stood beside her to make sure she didn't try anything. There was a moment of silent filled tension, before Delphyne flick her snake like tongue than grins. “Mmm~ may, I can taste the jealousy off you, human. Don’t tell me that you’re jealoussss of my beautiful daughter stealing Leviathan’ssss heart. Even though you already ended your relationship with him and his brothers, how selfish of you.” She reaches out and grabs your face, then starts caressing it, you don’t know why. But you can’t move you. “A low life being like you can compare with demonsss like me or Leviathan…. So do yourself a favor and move on. Let him go.” She leans into your ear. As her snake slither to your shoulder and around your neck

“Remember that you are the cause for the conflict with Diavolo and the noblesss of eight ringssss. With my daughter they have no objection since she is a noble. But with you a human with no power what so even. You will just bring disgrace to Diavolo and the avatarssss.” Delphyne pulls and her snake returns to her arm back while still looking at you with her snake-like blue eyes.

“I mean you are too weak and fragile to protect yourself. It is hilarious that you even survive thisss long. But you have the brothersss and Lord Diavolo to thank for that. So you don’t have any right to interfere with Devildom affairsss. You are just an exchange student. A glorified tourist.”

“Mother!” Balias mutters, grabbing her mother and silently fuming Levi who was about to rip Delphyne’s face. “We-we’re going to be late to dinner with Duke Samael and Keres. An angry noble is a monster noble” Balias emphasizes the last part, which both Delphyne and Levi expression drop.

“Yess, you're right.” Delphyne fixes herself, and looks back to Levi. “Now Lord Leviathan, I do hope you will treat my daughter well.” She gave Levi a glare

“Ye-Yes” Levi stuttered, in which Delphyne’s face softened into a close-eyed smile.

“Glad to hear that you accept my daughter to be your suitor” She turns around and walts to the front door, while waving her hand good bye to Levi. Balias mouthed an apology before bowing to Levi and you, then quickly followed her mother and closed the door. Leaving you alone with Levi. You hang your head low, not wanting Levi seeing you cry.

“MC….”

“It's getting late and I’m drunk and we still have school tomorrow.” You turn and head to your room but you are long been sober by Delphyne's words and you don't have the courage to met Levi eye to eye.

Levi wants to stop you going, but stops himself as he hangs his head low as he drags himself to his room.

You slowly close the door, and drag yourself to bed. You slowly lay down with you grabbing a pillow and burying your face into it. Then you just let the tears fall, as Delphyne’s words echo in your head.

She was right, your just causing trouble to the brothers and Diavolo. Plus you're human in a demon world, you don't have any rights to interfere with their business or have a saying with who the brothers are going to marry.

Letting yourself cry to sleep. Ending the night of the worst time of your life.

Notes: You might have notices that I didn't make the suitor for Satan female, that's because I want to make this whole arranged marriage okay with males to take part of it. And its not forbidden for same sex.

If there's grammar or spelling error, please let me know.

#obey me #omswd #obey me leviathan #obey me mc #obey me original demons #obey me levi x reader #obey me angst

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the-lady-writes-what · 3 years

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21. My Hero Academia

Katsuki Bakugo and Eijiro Kirishima (aged up, because duh)

Theme: Graverobber, graveyards

Content: noncon, blowjob, handjob, spit roasting, slut-shaming, slight degradation, threats against one’s life, semi-public sex, graveyard sex

Word Count: 3723

All characters portrayed are 18+. I do not and will not write about minors. This is fanfiction, it doesn’t matter what the canon age is. In this universe, they’re old enough to be digging graves. Deal with it.

The content depicted below does not reflect the moral values of the author. The content contains nonconsensual sex acts, threats of violence and/or murder, disturbance of a gravesite, implied mutilation of a corpse, sexual coercion, and degradation. Readers discretion is advised.

There are plenty of superstitions about graveyards and cemeteries. Never allow yourself to be the first or last buried in those hallowed grounds if you can help it. Don't spit, eat, drink, or speak ill of the dead while walking through one. Never step on someone's grave and if you do, say "I'm sorry" and "excuse me." You can hold your breath while passing by, but this one might not be necessary. Those were the rules you lived by while living across from your town's local graveyard. Every day, you looked out from your window at the stone monuments dotting the green field. There was a sense of pity for the living and relief for the dead. Most of the funerals you witness through your window had been for those who died of old age or illness, but at least those poor souls were no longer suffering. It's always living that's harder.

Two new grave diggers arrived a few weeks ago, and they seemed to be honored with the task of putting the dead in the ground. There was nothing pleasant about the job. Dealing with grieving widows and families, the tiring task of digging graves just to cover them up again, and the awful hours from dawn to dusk, sometimes even during the witching hour between midnight and three in the morning. If you ventured out of bed to fetch some water or go to the bathroom, you spotted the dull lamplight hovering among the graves like ghosts. You didn't think anything of it.

One morning, you sat in your garden when there were no funerals to attend. The day couldn't be wasted wallowing indoors, and the weather was fair. A little overcast and chilly, but the sun was still out. You sat in your lawn chair, a book in your lap, and a cup of tea beside you. Looking across the street, all was quiet in the graveyard. Peaceful even. Or it would be if not for the murder of crows that lived in the trees. Which came first, you wondered. The crows or the graveyard? Though ominous, there was no better fitting home for a crow than a graveyard. They cawed all day and rarely made a stir at night. Today of all days, they chatted like humans at a family reunion. But the crows fell silent as two men walked down the street.

You didn't know them by name, but you knew their faces. The town's new grave diggers. Both wore dark suits, but their shirts were dingy with graveyard soil and sweat. One carried a thick leather bag slung on his back. The other had a pair of shovels and a trowel in his arms. They walked along your side of the street. How odd.

The red-haired fellow stopped at your fence, making you forget all about your book and your cup of tea. You rose from your chair and walked to the gate. The redhead tipped his hat and introduced himself.

"Hello, ma'am. I'm Eijiro Kirishima." He reminded you of a golden retriever. "And this is my friend, Katsuki Bakugo." His partner, not so much. Eijiro's friend reminded you more of one of the tombstone slabs embedded in the earth. Katsuki's scowl turned into a slight grimace when he turned to you. His friend Eijiro continued to smile, beaming from ear to ear.

"Is there something I can help you, gentlemen?" You asked, looking at one then the other.

"Nope. Just heading to our next job. I've seen you through your windows and thought I'd say hello," said Eijiro.

Your eyes scanned him from head to toe. Eijiro cut a lean and muscular figure, all six feet of him, with a mature face but gleeful eyes. Considering his line of work, you didn't expect his temperament to be so…welcoming. You didn't know many gravediggers, but Eijiro was improving their reputation.

"I wasn't aware that there was a funeral today," you said.

"The madam across town wasn't liked by one of her clients. She was found shot dead in her bedroom the other night," said Katsuki.

His tone wasn't entirely professional as you assumed a solemn gravedigger. Then again, Eijiro wasn't how you would describe a man of their profession either. Katsuki was just as tall but bulkier. He could crush your windpipe with one arm. You tried not to think about how they would feel snaked around your waist like a tight-laced corset. You dared a glance at their hands. They were clean at the moment yet calloused and rough. Both men had hands big enough to choke you into submissive.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" Asked Eijiro.

You blinked and felt your cheeks grow warm. You silently admonished yourself for thinking such perverted thoughts.

"I'm sorry, my mind went away with me. I'll just go back inside before the mourners come. I don't want anyone to think that I sit in my yard and watch funeral processions all day," you said.

"It won't take long. There won't be very many mourners," Katsuki said nonchalantly.

You gathered your things and rushed inside the house. You tried not to think of Katsuki's indifference, but it probably came with the territory. After putting up your chair, you ran to the window that gave you the best view of the graveyard. It was disgustingly nosy of you to linger in front of your window to wait for a funeral. You didn't know that woman or her trade, but you stayed to watch them bury her in the ground. You waited a couple of hours before a plain hearse drove up the road carried by a single black horse. From what you could tell, the coffin wasn't all that ornate, relatively simple. The coffin-bearers included a policeman, the coroner, and the gravediggers. Only one true mourner was a young lady dressed not in traditional black mourning but a dark green walking dress. You could only tell because she wore black bands on her arms and a black lace veil. The procession led to the corner of the graveyard where you couldn't see them lay the coffin into the ground. The young lady appeared soon after at the gate. She handed the policeman, the coroner, and the gravediggers a small amount of money each to pay for the cost of bearing the madam to her final resting place. She paid the hearse driver and turned to walk down the street by herself. Only the gravediggers remained behind once the hearse, officer, and coroner had left, lingering at the gate. You watched from your window Katsuki and Eijiro stand by the entrance. They lit a cigarette each and smoked while leaning against the graveyard's fence. You couldn't tell what they were saying as they stood too far for you to hear or read their lips. They kept glancing at the back corner of the graveyard where they had just buried the madam. It was mighty curious behavior.

You turned from your window the moment Katsuki looked up to see you standing there. You ran downstairs and hoped that they wouldn't come to see you and admonish your overly inquisitive nature. When no knock came, you sighed with relief. The crows cawed in the blackened trees. You poked your head out another window to see that they, Eijiro and Katsuki, had disappeared. The only thing they left was smoldering cigarettes on the ground.

The rest of your day was filled with mundane things like cooking dinner for yourself and washing up for bed. You'd been warned all your life that curiosity killed the cat. You kept thinking about the gravediggers' strange behavior after the funeral. They looked intently behind them at the fresh grave they dug while chatting away. You almost wished you heard what they were saying and knew what they were up to, but another part, perhaps a more intelligent part, thought it might be better to know nothing. Only today did you learn their names. They were relative strangers except for their names and profession. You didn't know them; their business was their own.

The heavy, wrought-iron gates swung open. You woke with a start in bed and sat up and fumbled for a match on your bedside table, and lit a candle. Yawning, you made your way to the window. Sure enough, the graveyard gate was swinging freely in the night wind. The stars and moon were barely visible behind the veil of dark clouds threatening rain. The gate clattered against the fence. You sighed, knowing that if something wasn't done, you'd be up all night. You put on a pair of wool stockings, heavy slippers, and a quilted robe and cinched it tight around your waist. You didn't have much of a plan when you ventured downstairs with your candle or when you lit a lantern and crossed the street. The wind howled at your ear and whipped your hair back and forth. It played with your hair like a child would. Or maybe it was trying to tug on it? The yellowish glow of your lantern helped you find your way to the gate. Your hand gripped the iron bar tight, and you went to push it back, but the air grew quiet. The howling and whimpering wind stood still for a moment. Just long enough for you to pick up the sounds of shovels picking at the earth.

You stood stock still. No one heard or saw you. You could run back across the street and lock yourself indoors before anyone was the wiser. Yes, you could do that, but that went against your nature.

Instead, you let the gate fall from your hand and let it swing. You bit your lip as you crossed the threshold. The stone monuments looked more baneful and watchful in the darkness of a bitter night. Who knew that tombstones could be so judgmental? You tiptoed along and tried to stay on the graveled path. Stepping over a grave during the say was terrible enough, but stepping over a grave at night would be asking a ghost to haunt you. The hand clutching the collar of your robe shook as well as the other one holding up the lamp. The wind whispered between the branches of the willow, yew, and oak.

The path wove around a memorial plaque honoring some dead soldiers or firemen; you couldn't remember which. You followed the gravel path towards the east, where the sound of digging was coming from. The pale glow of lanterns that were not your own appeared as you crested a small hill. Under your breath, you excused yourself as you crossed several graves just to get a better look. You pardoned yourself as if trying to break through a flooded crowd. You ducked behind obelisks and tombstones. At last, you're sneaking paid off. You crouched behind a small mausoleum facing the spot where the lanterns glowed.

In the lamplight, two shadows emerged. Your heart sank as you watched the two shadows dig up a grave. Once the coffin was uncovered, one of them jumped into the pit. He or they disappeared from sight. A wicked crack like someone breaking a turkey bone to get to the marrow echoed out of the grave. They must have broken into the coffin. You covered your mouth with your hand as the person in the grave handed the other fists full of goods stolen off the corpse. The way it all glittered told you that it was jewelry. Robbing the dead of their personal goods was one thing, but your stomach churned after the thief's accomplice handed him, pliers. You imagined they were getting the gold teeth too. The gruesome act was done quite yet, unfortunately. After jewelry and gold teeth, the perverse people took a knife to remove god-knows-what from the corpse. You closed your eyes and looked away.

Once the dark deed was done, the robbers dumped the earth back over the coffin. One of them carried a box of their ill-gotten gain and loaded it onto a wagon while their partner in crime finished hiding their tracks. You slowly backed away from the mausoleum. In doing so, you didn't see or remember the gravestone right behind you. You yelp as cold stone hits your back, and you trip, losing a slipper. Your lantern smashes into a bit, and the flame is quickly snuffed out on the night-damp grass.

"Oi! Who's there?" It was Katsuki.

Blood drained from your face.

"What was that?" Eijiro called out in the dark.

"Be quiet! I heard someone over there."

It took you a split second to take off. You didn't bother excusing yourself as you sprinted over graves. You lost the other slipper in the mad dash across the graveyard, but a pair of slippers meant less than getting across the road and locking yourself behind the safety of your door. Your feet pounded against the gravel. You saw the gate wide open, looming into existing. You booked for it. All you had to do was get across the street and—

Something akin to a boulder plowed you down before you were even halfway to the gate. In a flash, you were grappled to the ground. Bits of gravel cut across your face and neck. Arms like temple columns snaked around your waist and hauled you off your feet. A calloused hand clasped over your mouth as you were carried off. You kicked, clawed, and squirmed, but there was no way to get out of this man's hold. Katsuki held a lamp up to guide his partner in crime towards a mausoleum. He had broken into the vault and waited for Eijiro to bring you there. You were dumped on the cold tile floor. Katsuki sauntered in, lantern held aloft. Eijiro joined him soon after he found a lamp of his own. Bricks and plaques sealed off the dead, but you no less felt their eyes staring at you as you crawled along the vault's floor. Tears streamed down your face as you looked up at the men with their faces cast in ominous shadow.

"Please, please, don't kill me. I swear, I swear I won't tell anyone. Please!" You begged for your life until your throat was hoarse.

The door behind them was closed shut. No one would be able to hear you scream.

"I won't tell anyone! I promise!"

"What do you think, Eijiro? Do you think she can keep a promise?" Katsuki asked his partner.

"Her tears look pretty genuine. I think she's too scared to fib, even if she wanted to. Even with that pretty little head of hers, she couldn't get out of this one unless she does exactly what we tell her."

Katsuki left his lantern on the floor, tucked into a corner. His boots trod heavily on the floor as he crept up on you. From this angle, he and Eijiro stood as tall as giants. Katsuki was draped in shadows, but you could feel him move. He crouched down in front of you and reached out to touch you. You flinched as he cupped your face and pulled you close to his.

"I saw you in your window earlier today. You were watchin' the whole thing, weren't ya?" He seethed.

You swallowed hard. "Y-Yes."

"Now you know our dirty little secret. Are you goin' ta tell anybody?"

You violently shook your head. First thing in the morning, you were boarding up your windows, so you never faced the temptation to look out for them again.

"I don't think I believe you," said Katsuki.

Your stomach dropped like lead as Katsuki stood up properly and adjusted his belt. Your mind thought that this was it. He was about to blow your brains out with a pistol on his belt. When the tell-tale click of a gun didn't reach your ears, you looked up to see Katsuki still standing over you. He reached into his trousers and pulled out his thick, veiny cock, then pulled you to your knees. His cock tapped your cheek. His sticky pre-cum drooled onto your face.

"I don't believe you, but if you make it worth our while, I'll let you live. If you're half a good cock-sucker as you are a nosy neighbor, you might just leave here alive."

You glanced at the walls decorated with the plaques belonging to old bones. Outside, bodies rotted into the ground. It felt so wrong. You pushed on Katsuki's legs in hopes that he would let you have a short reprieve.

"No, please, not here! We can go across the street, and we can do it in my house where it's warm!" You begged as you looked up at him.

"And let you have the chance to run away and get help? Fat chance. Now, open your mouth and start suckin'."

It wasn't as if Katsuki gave you a choice. You opened it and took him inside. Carefully, you bobbed your head up and down his shaft. What you couldn't fit down your throat, you stroked with your hand. Eijiro's footsteps drew near, and he soon stood next to Katsuki. The men loomed over you with greedy, hungry eyes. He left his lamp a little closer, so you could see him going into his pants and fishing out his cock too. Eijiro stroked his member while watching you choke down on Katsuki. It wasn't long before he grabbed your hand and wrapped your fingers around his shaft. He was twice as thick and hard as Katsuki. Your mouth was ripped away from him and forced down on Eijiro. You were made to stroke Katsuki after switching places.

"I think I'm in love with this tight little mouth." Eijiro tilted his head back and moaned.

"Do you want to stick with the mouth while I take back here?"

You shuddered. He couldn't possibly mean…

"If you're—fuck!—in the mood for it," said Eijiro.

"Oh, I am." Katsuki swatted your ass with his thick palm.

Maneuvering in the vault was easier said than done. Eijiro braced himself against the marble wall, holding the back of your neck. Katsuki stood behind you, lifted you by the waist, and made you bend over. You grabbed hold of Eijiro's hips as he bucked into your face. Katsuki's hot hands pushed up all the layers that got in his way. He kicked your legs apart and lined himself up with your cunt.

"Would you look at that?" Katsuki rubbed your slit until his finger came away dripping. "Are you turned on by being fucked in a mausoleum? Or is it because you're about to be ruined by two men at the same time? Which is it, dirty girl?"

Thunder peeled across the sky before you could answer. You couldn't with your mouth full.

Katsuki wasted no further time and bottomed out. "Fuck, shit. Woman, you're fucking tight! Are you sure you're not turned on by any of this?"

Your body was pushed back and forth between the two men. Every time one left your hole almost empty, the other would plug up one end of you. Katsuki liked to smack the back of your thighs and ass as he road you. Eijiro grabbed your throat and gently squeezed. Your nails dug into his side. Tears, sweat, drool, and snot ran down your face as the men used both ends. You couldn't breathe with Eijiro sealing off your airways. The tight space enclosing all of you didn't give either man much room to have their fun. Katsuki rubbed your clit through your nightgown as he slammed his hips into yours.

Eijiro shoved your face against his crotch when it came time for him to finish. You whined helplessly while rope after rope shot down your throat. You had no choice but to swallow it all. Katsuki wasn't far behind. Eijiro continued to pump his cock down your throat while Katsuki pawed and groped at you, searching for his finish. You were only grateful when it came. His body spasmed while buried to the hilt in your aching cunt. He had the sense to pull out, and you felt his cum drip down the back of your legs. He growled like an animal as he spilled himself. Your knees caved out from beneath you, and you pulled away from Eijiro, coughing and sputtering. Katsuki picked you up and carried you on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You didn't fight him like you did with Eijiro; your body was too tired for that.

Katsuki kicked the door open and guessed where your bedroom was. Eijiro pulled the wagon in front of your house and joined him a while later. They stripped you down and swathed your body with a damp washcloth. You returned to bed naked and covered with bruises. Katsuki lit a cigarette and pulled up a chair beside your bed.

"Here's the deal, missy," he sat down with the chair's back facing you. Katsuki straddled it while he filled your bedroom with noxious smoke. "You don't say a word about our little business ventures, and you don't get to join your neighbors across the street. And to keep you busy and out of there, one of us will be fucking you stupid."

"W-Why? Why do any of this? I won't tell because you'd kill me if I did!"

"B-Because," Katsuki mocked. "It would be a waste of such a pretty face and even prettier mouth." He rubbed your bottom lip with his rough thumb. "Besides, don't pretend you didn't like being tossed around between the two of us. You got fucking soaked before I even put it in your tight cunt. You loved every second of it, and you know it."

They kissed you goodnight, and you heard their wagon pull away. You lay naked in bed even when the morning came, and dawn's early light would reveal the blue and purple marks on your body. You were barely able to pull on a robe. Out of habit, you went first to the window. The gravediggers Katsuki and Eijiro walked along the wrought-iron fence that separated the living from the dead. They both looked up to see you staring down at them. Eijiro waved, and you couldn't help but wave back. A tremor ran down your spine. Which one will come for you later that night?

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wickedlehane · 3 years

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@lostsovl gets a starter 20 years late

There were some things Faith might never get used to about living in England. The constant gray weather was one. The accents, another (she and all of Boston had a bad history with the Brits). The local slang, although it did remind her of Spike from time to time.

There were also some things that would never get old.

Now that Buffy’s Slayer operation was largely centered on this side of the world, she figured she should be on hand in case of any emergencies that required one of the original Chosen Ones. (Plus, Ken and her girls had America pretty much covered for now, Cleveland’s Hellmouth all but closed.) She was still getting her bearings, especially since Buffy and her crew were actually in Scotland, but Faith was needed near a place called Glastonbury. Place had so much mystical crap going on they weren’t certain there wasn’t a Hellmouth deep beneath the old church there or something. Patrols across the pond, now that she could handle.

“Yo, Chunky Boy, whatcha got for me?”

Cemeteries here were like, bonkers old. Actually kind of creepy. Faith had grown accustomed to the cutesy lawns of Sunnydale, but these places were old, overgrown, and the grass was actually proper grass. Don’t ask her what that meant, it just was true. Made some patrols a bit easier, telling which of the graves were fresh versus the ancient ones, but it really was a challenge to navigate, especially in the dark away from city lights like America had everywhere. If she wasn’t exhausted by the crop of supernatural creatures here, Faith might have really been charmed.

The Slayer caught up to her beloved pit bull slash slaying dog (found him abandoned in a bush after a nasty scrap with some demons who probably thought puppies were practically caviar) who was growling softly in the direction of a well-dressed woman cutting across the grasses. Now, Chunk wasn’t shy or trigger happy- he was trained to sniff out magical things, like blood, demon sweat, undead flesh. Faith didn’t know what whiff he’d caught this time, but seeing as there wasn’t anyone or anything else worth looking at here, this stranger was definitely worth a stop.

“With me,” she commanded the dog, who stayed in stride with the Slayer as she intersected the lone entity. “Little late at night for a woman out on her lonesome. Could be dangerous... unless you’re the danger.” Faith put what looked to be a casual hand to her hip, disguising the motion of preparing to draw her stake while the dog heeled beside her.

#lostsovl #lostsovl 02 #{ you became the things they did to you | lostsovl }#v: what comes after the end of days #interaction: OC #OC interaction: Val the Vampire #long post #{ dude you just rescued a puppy! | chunk }

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seizethecarpe · 3 years

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Know By Hart || Solo

Timing: Current Summary: No matter how practiced he was, Dave had never been good with grief. Triggers: Somehow… none. Contains grief. Author note: Before you read this, I want us all to remember that I’m completely innocent please file your complaints to the local mime ungulate

In 2004, José De Nueves had walked into Dave’s life. He’d had an easy smile and slightly glassy eyes. It had taken a rusalka, a Swedish fortune teller, and three drinks for José to hold up his hair and reveal in true depth the feathery scars that framed his face. He grinned with two teeth missing as he’d explained the tendril like creatures he’d hunted for one night. “Made me the perfect soldier,” He’d said with a laugh as he downed his whiskey glass. “I don’t give a fuck about anything.”

When Dave had followed his scent to a crypt a year later, he’d found a spawn chewing on José’s drained neck, a stark reminder of how the smallest mistakes could make even the routine hunt a death sentence. He’d wondered that night if José had even cared as they’d ripped his guts out in front of them, felt anything at all as they’d dragged it out of him until his intestines had torn all over the cemetery lawn. Or if he’d screamed and begged for his family anyway, right at the end, his soul returning to life only when it was too little, too late.

Unsure which fate was worse, Dave’d raised a glass in the man’s memory, and chose to forget.

——-

In ‘11, there had been Jasmine. Her honey warm skin highlighted the feathery scar that tucked under her jaw. Her bar, her spare room and her bed had all been Dave’s home for a little. But she’d always been clear that when push came to shove, he wasn’t her priority, he wasn’t human enough to risk her life for. All the same, they’d talked for hours under the thick cover of clouds as they waded up mountains to find the monstrous beast contaminating the local springs, they’d talked through her thick cigarette smoke, outside the fading wooden sign of her bar. They had talked more than Dave had spoken to anyone in years. She bared his soul, little by little, and in turn one day she told him about the nest nearby that she sent her friends too when they had lost one thing too many. Dave had listened intently, harder than he’d listened to anything, until the glass in his hand had shattered.

Not too long, she’d warned. You could lose too much of yourself too fast, and end up more ghost than man. The next day Dave had hiked five miles, peering into the edge of a dried out lake, and saw the silvery creatures there, languidly floating through the air with a dozen tentacles. Dave thought of José, all light gone from behind his eyes, and Jasmine whose grief sometimes sounded wrong, like an untrained actor on the stage. Dave turned and left, hungry tendrils chasing after him fir half a mile.

Two years later, Jasmine had insisted she was retired at forty two, but there hadn’t been another slayer for a hundred miles, so she had come when he’d called anyway. Some cruel unnatural winds had extinguished their fires, and when the aipaloovik wrapped its arms around her and pulled her underwater, Dave made just one attempt to get her free before he told himself there was nothing he could do.

The white polyps she’d told him about haunted his thoughts longer than she did. A quiet, gentle what if.

——-

Last year, Dave had met a boy wearing a grin like armour and who considered his enhanced healing another weapon in his arsenal. Dave had saved him from drowning, the kid had saved his life with the penance for the murder of Winn Woods. And then the saving had happened again, over and over, until it became as routine as the wise cracks and eye rolls.

He loved you. It rattled around in his head. When he’d seen the words on his phone in what had obviously been a final goodbye, Dave hadn’t let them ring any more true than the promise that they’d go fishing with beers. Now, the caster’s voice was stuck in his head, sneaking up on him when he was elbow deep in the bowels of his van’s engine, as he garroted a fish to eat in his human form, when he covered his body with slime to slide into his seal pelt. Sixty feet of ocean above him and he still wasn’t safe from Nell Vural’s voice. Thanks for that, Adam.

It was worst in the mundane moments, like folding laundry, because his mind churned while his hands were busy. See, Dave found it easiest to associate with hunters because he always knew they were destined to die. Everyone agreed there were things no one talked about because there was the deep undercurrent of knowing that Dave probably broke most of their codes, but as long as they didn’t know, it could go ignored. It was an emotional barrier that suited everyone just fine. Until now, apparently.

Dave smoothed his fingers over the edge of a shirt that had seen better days, folding it down as tight as he could before putting it away in a drawer that clipped into the wall of his van. His van was a mess, fishing gear scattered across the floor, seaweed drying on a bucket he hadn’t cleaned out, photos hanging skew on the wall. He wasn’t ever perfectly neat because how humans took care to keep their possessions perfectly in line was alien to him (the sea was never tidy), but he damn well knew he could do better than this.

Humans considered it a sign of intimacy to show someone their living spaces. Dave couldn’t remember the last time he’d let anyone in here that he wasn’t giving a ride elsewhere. Adam hadn’t known him, not really. Hadn’t seen the emptiness in Dave’s heart, that the fire that kept him going ran on fumes. Who the hell was he to speak of love, when Dave hadn’t let him deeper than his second skin? That there was so little left in Dave worth loving.

He looked down at the shirt he was folding, the collar pressed down skewed and the sides lined up at angles, and realised at some point he’d picked up the wonkyphoto from the wall, and the cracked, bloody compass Nell had given him that Dave had put on his bedside table and not looked at again. In the photo, three toothy sharp smiles were yellowed with age, teenage boys tussling in the sand. The photographer’s shadow stretched across the sand beside them, and even twenty five years later he could see the impatience behind the boys’ expressions at the doting woman behind the camera. The brass of the compass offered no such warmth, and filled the interior of the van with the scent of the last blood Adam had ever spilled. He flicked it open, and saw it pointing south west again. How could he forget, his home wasn’t a house but an underwater grave.

Fucking ironic, that each grief pointed so sharply to the other, blurring the lines of his most defining pain. Dave didn’t know how long he stared between one and the other before he returned to folding his shirts, and putting them away. He hung the photo back on the wall, and carefully put the compass away along with the rest of his fishing gear, tucked into fabric so that the scrapes it had taken in Adam’s final moments would be its last. When he was done with the laundry, Dave’s mind was set.

His grief had always been a call to action.

--------

In the hours of hiking since Dave had set out, White Crest becoming a distant blip on the horizon, Dave hadn’t changed his mind. More doubts should have crept in, but they hadn’t once, his mind clear of thought and feeling already. Just one step past the other, past the purple heather fields and overflooded lily pad ponds, under canopies drooping with pine needles and summer chirping birds.

White tiny flecks began floating past his face through the trees, which slowly grew as he walked deeper into the heather moors. White floating tendrils extended out, brushing against his clothes and hair. The deeper he walked into the cloud, the more the air felt like water, as if the trees had become kelp forests and he was swimming through clouds of chrinoids. The only thing that made the masses of them different than a mist was that Dave could not feel his way through it. They pulsed around him like Jellyfish, glowing under the setting sun.

In the densest part of the mist, he turned instead to an ethereal white creature at his side, as large as an old TV. Its mass of white tentacles fluttered against Dave’s skin curiously. Shame prickled in his veins, flinching away from those delicate touches. The sick, sinking feeling that this was wrong finally set in, worse than most vices that people leant on for their grief. If Adam could see him- but Adam couldn’t. He wasn’t a single damn person’s role model, and didn’t owe anyone his grief. Not even for a good man whose connection to him had been skin deep and yet reached him to his core. Dave swallowed, and turned back to the town for the first time since he’d made this choice, but all he saw was the clouds of white as he weighed the same thing as so many others had before him.

Grief had always been a call to action. He stepped a little closer, and didn’t flinch as the tendrils brushed against the side of his face, then latched on.

The tendrils were as gentle as a kiss. He’d expected it to be like the time he’d gotten tangled up in an octopus, suckers bruising his skins for days, but if he hadn’t felt the white static encroaching on his mind, this wouldn’t have been unpleasant at all. Tendrils which hadn’t attached traced over the planes of his face, lulling his eyes closed. Peace spread from those pinpricks deeper into his mind, and he could see the appeal of staying here for eternity. Let them clear him out, until there was nothing left except his mission.

Dave sighed quietly as he felt himself become lesser. He pulled away, and the tentacles let him, and Dave couldn’t even feel the absence of whatever they had taken. That was good, feeling the loss would have been too close to more grieving. The flickering tendrils of the hartvlinders trailed after him as he hurried away, through the clouds of gentle creatures until he burst out into the dying of the sunlight.

Dave tested a memory like he might tongue at a broken tooth. Deep in a swamp with the rotting corpse of a giant fish clogging up his nose. Dave gave a countdown before lowering Adam into the cleanest water they could find, working quickly to wash off the last of the acid gunk. Adam had been weak kneed and badly burned after his adventure in the monster’s stomach, but he had shut his eyes dutifully and held his breath as Dave washed the worst of the acid out of his hair with exceeding care. As soon as he was out of the water, he’d cracked a joke filled with post hunt exuberance, one after the other while they waited for their stamina to return, until holding back his grin made his cheeks hurt. They hurt again now, hot tear tracks prickling his face. Dave sagged against a tree, and then down onto his knees. Something was gone, he was sure, but not this. The hartvlinder hadn’t been so goddamn kind as to take away his newest, sharpest grief. Or even what he’d really wanted gone: the regret of words left unsaid, the guilt of outliving another kid, the shame of envying a good man for a life where he’d completed his mission and saved everyone.

Dave would have to learn to wear it until it became another ropey scar on his heart, another line on his death-weighted net.

#para #solo #wickedswriting #adam

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todaviia · 2 years

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Its insanely fascinating to me that even with the renaming, they kept the Habersack (formerly Schönfelder) starting with Nr. 20. Like realistically speaking it's probably because it's continuously updated with Ergänzungslieferungen and has been so since before the Nazis and changing the numbers now would probably be a nightmare as you'd confuse the established system, but at the same time... it's a memorial.

And not like one of the official memorials where people put up a sign that says "Here Is Where The Nazis Where", but rather one that just... naturally formed around a part of normal everyday life. But the memorials that are memorials just because of how obviously they aren't memorials, like old Jewish cemeteries in rural areas that aren't exactly abandoned, because there is a hired service that will make sure it's in non-objectionable shape, but where nobody actually grieves because the people whose loved ones lie there are pretty much all long gone. Or formerly bombed out houses that have been renovated and are perfectly usable for their intended purposes, but the new stones have a slightly different color so you can still see the scars (the Alte Pinakothek in Munich and the Neues Museum in Berlin have done this really well). Or the concentration camp subcamp that was like ten minutes away from where I grew up that was, for most of my childhood, completely erased from oublic memory and had been turned into suburban real estate, but the foundations of the barracks were still partly there and people complained about them being in the way when they mowed the lawn.

Nobody decided to say "the most important collection of law texts in Germany should carry a visible reminder of the Nazi era." On the one hand, nobody needed to say that, because it does, because it still to this day contains laws introduced by the actual Nazis and on the other hand, ironically, nobody wanted it to, like they didn't want to acknowledge the Nazi history of Schönfelder himself - or the majority of the German legal system post-1945.

So they just took them out, numbers 1 to 19, the NSDAP party program and the 1933 Enabling Act, and the Nuremberg Race Laws, that used to be so important that they had to be featured in the very front of the book and now there's nothing left except a gap that wasn't consciously preserved by anyone, but is rather just one of the little unexplained absences left behind, caused by the fact that while it has been constantly changing, German law is not the same, but within a direct continuity of Nazi law, like the Ship of Theseus in which not all the parts have been replaced yet.

And it's not something that people even really acknowledge, because it's at the same time so completely mundane and so completely unimaginable and if you look at it to long it will shift into something terrifying (one day I read one of the administrative notices that the Nazis posted in the Warsaw ghetto and I realized that I know both the individual legal terminology as well as the overall tone of it so well that I could have probably written it in my sleep).

So most first year law students just notice it once or twice when they open the book because it's a bit peculiar and some don't really care and others want to google it at some point but then forget about it and others do google it or get told by someone else and then think "oh."

It's honestly making me crazy! It is the same country!!!

#sorry for getting so emotional about german law but #ITS THE SAME COUNTRY #ITS SOME WEIRD FORM OF COMPLICITY THAT COMES FROM KNOWING THE SAME LANGUAGE #and even the parts they tried to erase... remained as absences #its not gone its never going to be gone

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ofmermaidstories · 3 years

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I really like your blog because you have this really life loving vibe, the type of people that see all the beauty in the world and stuff, so I wanted to ask you for some advice, if that's ok. By nature I'm also like that, kinda mushy, very heartfelt, but a lot of mistreatment from people in my life made me also very cynical, judgy and distrusting. How do you manage to keep this wonderous mentality about life?

In the afternoon, I like to stretch out on my bed, amid my pillows and my blankets, and soak in the late light and the autumn chill. I follow a grocer on instagram in a city three hours away from me because they post pictures of the produce they sell: pumpkins cut in half, jewel-bright tomatoes held in someone’s hands, sourdough loaves made by a neighbour. On the weekends they offer bouquets of flowers, supplied to them by a woman who bills herself as “a weekend florist and full-time mother” — this weekend it’s red berries and sunflowers, bundled up like babies being brought home from the hospital.

On Sunday it’ll be Mother’s Day: I’ll be spending the day deep cleaning the house and ignoring instagram and facebook (mostly bc they’re boring tho, let’s be real).

I live a two-hour car drive from anyone I remotely socialise with who isn’t the cashier at the supermarket I go to. Sometimes, I get so mad that I have to force myself to mentally and physically shut down, like, complete black-screen mode, sit there and stare at the wall — it’s a self-defence tactic to spare whoever I’m getting angry at, and to spare myself: unfortunately, I’ve developed a bit of a talent for being able to say the right thing in which to hurt someone with. Unleashing it comes at a high price, and I like the people in my life, so I would literally rather bite through my own tongue then let any of that vitriol fly when I’m angry and not thinking straight.

The rubbish trucks come for the bins every Tuesday. On Monday evening, around 9pm, I’ll wheel mine out to the road. There’s no streetlights out here, and I live in a rural area — so on dark nights when we’ve lost the moon, you can look up and see the Milkyway, like you’re standing underneath a river of stars.

I buy myself flowers; the women at the florist in town treat me like I’m their most favourite person in the world (and I eat that shit up). Afterwards I’ll be carrying whatever weeds I’ve bought with me, through the supermarket or whatever, and someone will always comment on them. I’ve lost one of the pearl earrings that belonged to my Grandmother’s set, a woman long gone, now; I’ve also misplaced my favourite hairclip, pale blue with a shinning shell clasp, that I got from a seller that shut down during the mess of last year.

Last weekend, I visited the cemetery; I sat with who I was visiting and watched an old man half a lawn away from me sit in a folded chair and read a book, play a little radio. A couple, visiting one of the plots behind us, carefully took the decorations on it - frogs, lots and lots of frogs - and brushed them off, wiped them down. Reglued a few and then set them all back into place, proudly.

There’s a young boy, interred next to my person, who I never met in life; he was fifteen years old and it’s been five years, now, and his site is littered with rubgy scarves and laminated letters from his friends, photos of them together, photos of them separately, growing up without him. Empty bottles of beer, badly written poems about meeting again. I say hello to him as I peel mandarins as a offering for the possums that forage around the cemetery at night, and occasionally I brush the leaves off his footy scarves and when I go to leave I say goodbye to him, too. After my last visit, I went to the busiest shopping centre in the city and ate braised beef noodle soup, from a place where they make the noodles in front of you, pulling them and stretching them easily. I messaged a friend with updates about my meal, laughing as she kept me company even from thousands of miles away, and then just as I finished, some friends who live in the city asked if I wanted to have some cake with them — from their favourite cafe. They’d given me a key to their home, earlier, so I could come and go as I pleased. The key meant a lot to me, though they’ll never know it; it meant a lot because it felt like a physical manifestation of trust, of them saying that yes, they did want me in their lives, no matter how limited or what kind of time left we had together.

People are multifaceted; like gemstones. We can be mean and delightful and trusting and hurt. I lean into the soft, squishy parts of myself with abandon — a lot of the time it works out. I tell people I love them. I let them say they love me. A couple of times, people have left my life because they didn’t have the space in theirs for me anymore — it was hurtful and ugly each time. Humans can come together so easily, sometimes, that the joy and brightness of it can make you forget how ugly and hard it is when we leave each other in the wrong way. People and things will hurt you. That’s just a fact. Some days you’re not going to have the energy for anything but the self-preservation of being distrustful, or cynical, judgemental, and that’s okay — I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, sometimes we have to be selfish to protect what’s left of our hearts.

I keep a list of things that make me smile. I also keep a list of things that fucking shit me right off. The list of things that shit me is longer than the list of things that make me smile, but it’s because when I see something good — a bright red letterbox, a little kid that’s waving to everyone, a pleasing colour of the sky — I don’t think to write it down, because it’s generally so fleeting and so cheery. It does its job. Find the small things in your day to day that you like to linger over, that make you happy; the bad stuff still happens, and you’ll still have waves where it doesn’t seem worth the effort, but the small bright things fill the moments and remind you that it’s all part and parcel of this universal existence.

Here’s to a gentle weekend ahead, Anon. ✨🌻🍊🌿

#ofmermaidstories-asks #wow someone muzzle me i did not mean to ramble like that lksdfjlksdjfklsdfj #hopefully it was even a fraction helpful though UGH #mer muses on the nature of love and connection and seperation

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densi-mber · 3 years

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In Remembrance

A/N: For today’s prompt. This one is set sometime after Kensi and Deeks got together, probably season 7.

***

“Do you remember where your dad is?” Deeks asked as he and Kensi walked along the concrete paths, lined by immaculately kept lawns. He carried a large tote over one shoulder, filled with sandwiches, a couple of plants, and some tools.

“He’s in one of the back lawns,” she told him, looking back as he stopped to pull his jacket off. It was a beautiful, sunny autumn day. When he caught up with her, she reached for his hand and they set a leisurely pace.

They passed a large memorial and a family plot with several generations listed. Kensi paused for a moment to read the names before continuing on.

“It’s a little bit of a hike.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I remember the first time I came here on my own,” Kensi told Deeks a few minutes later. “I was 18, in my first year of college actually. I scraped together just enough money to take a bus here on a Saturday.”

“That must have been really hard,” Deeks said, giving her an extra squeeze. “Doing that all on your own, I mean.”

“It was.” In some ways it had nearly broken her all over again. “But you know, it was also nice to come without anyone else. Before when I came with my mom, or during the funeral, I didn’t feel like I could really express myself. I thought everyone expected me to act a certain way and especially when it first happened, I was angry one second and then felt like crying the next.”

“That makes sense. And I don’t think anyone would have judged you for your feelings.” Kensi glanced up at him, remembering one of thousand reasons she loved him so much. No matter what, he was always her biggest supporter and champion.

“I don’t know, but I thought they would. I think that’s when I started keeping everything in. I wouldn’t let anybody see me feel anything and that felt so much safer than the alternative,” Kensi explained, wondering if she’d ever put exact words to those horrible years and moments. She led Deeks off the path and they carefully walked between plots marked by miniature American flags and many, with flowers or small stuffed animals.

“So what happened once you got here?” Deeks prompted.

“I took out dad’s journal and started reading one of the last pages. I only got about two sentences in before I started sobbing.” Her eyes burned a little with the memory and Deeks bumped her shoulder, drawing her back to the present. “Then I think I started shouting at him. I told him he shouldn’t have left me alone...I screamed some pretty terrible things.” She snorted. “And I’m pretty sure I scandalized a couple of older ladies who were taking care of a nearby plot.”

“Unbelievable,” Deeks said with mock solemnity. “Shouting in a cemetery.” She rolled her eyes at him, stopping in front of a modest headstone. Her eyes automatically scanned his name, the dates that marked his birth and death.

“Here he is,” she said a little unnecessarily. She glanced at Deeks a little self-consciously and then stepped forward, leaning down to kiss the headstone the way she had every time she visited him. “Hey dad.”

Kensi could sense Deeks holding back, letting her have the moment just to herself. She brushed her fingers over the top of he stone and gestured for Deeks to come forward.

“Dad, this is Deeks. The guy I’ve been telling you about for years. He’s pretty great.” When she glanced at Deeks out of the corner of her eye, she realized he looked a little nervous so she added, “Even if his hair is ridiculous.”

“And your daughter absolutely adores these curls,” he teased. She spent a couple more minutes telling her dad about the past few months while Deeks unpacked the tote. Maybe it was a little silly, but it made her feel closer to him.

Together, they cleared the leaves and grass that had gathered around the marker since the last time she’d visited. When the area was neat and clear of all debris, Deeks planted two red geraniums-the lady at their local greenhouse had suggested them because they didn’t require much care-directly in front of the headstone.

“It looks nice,” Kensi decided when Deeks finished. It certainly looked better than when she tried her hand at gardening. Maybe the little flowers would make it through a couple months before she visited again.

“Thanks.” He flashed her a smile as he handed her the other half of the blanket to lay out and then held up two sandwiches. “Do you want turkey or ham?”

“Mm, ham. Wait, does it have mustard?” Deeks nodded. “Then the turkey.”

Kensi leaned against Deeks chest as they ate, feeling more relaxed than she ever had here. Some people might have found it weird or morbid to be eating across from her father’s grave, but it gave her a sense of peace. And like she’d told Deeks, made her feel closer to her dad.

“Tell me about a good memory you have of your dad,” Deeks requested as they finished their food. Kensi thought for a moment while she popped a chip into her mouth and slowly chewed. She tossed the the last bit of her sandwich on her plate and rubbed her hands together, turning to face Deeks.

“Ok, so my dad was always pretty adamant about eating healthy and exercising when I was a kid,” she started, her lip turning up at the memory of her dad serving a healthy portion of broccoli onto her plate while she pouted. “The thing was, he had a massive sweet tooth.”

“Hm, who does that remind me of?” Deeks rubbed his chin, smirking at her. “Maybe someone who ate all the ice cream last weak.”

“Anyway, whenever we would go on vacation or take a day trip, we had to check out a new ice cream shop, or bakery. Sometimes we would try to find the most outrageous dessert and order it just for fun. One time we ended up with this massive split-dad hated bananas so I don’t know why he let me order it-and we spent two hours trying to finish it. I didn’t eat chocolate for a week after that.”

She sighed at the memory, resting her head on Deeks shoulder. He cupped the back of her head, gently caressing the nape of her neck with his thumb, and dipped his chin to kiss her.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” he said. “I wish I could have met him.”

“Me too,” Kensi said, smiling up at him. “He would have really liked you. He would have given you hell about your hair, but he would have liked you.”

“I hope so.”

“He would,” Kensi repeated firmly, kissing him again. “Thank you for coming here with me. It means a lot.”

“Always,” Deeks promised.

They stayed until dusk, Kensi sharing random stories about her dad and childhood, and she had never felt more at peace.

***

A/N: I’m not completely certain that I’ve stayed completely canon with this, but I tried.

#densimber 2020 #densimber 4.0 #densimber day 16 #densimber #densi #Kensi Blye #Marty Deeks #ncis la fanfiction #by ejzah

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captainjimothycarter · 3 years

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Steggy Au prompt: after accidentally using the reality stone, Steve wakes up in a world where the procedure of becoming a super soldier failed, but he is healthier and has a life with peggy.

Ahh this is so what you not had asked, but my brain just kept writing this.

Of all places, this wasn’t where he wanted to be. It was quiet in here, set outside of the worst of the city. It sat on a few hills, offering a pretty view of some sparkling water a distance away, the sounds of the wind blowing around him. While he didn’t want to be here, he had to be here. Steve left himself no choice.

He’s only been awake in this century for a few weeks now, a few months. He’s done a few missions for SHIELD here and there, a few diplomated things, a few smiles and sign some papers, an autograph here or two, everything reminding him of his SOE days. A dancing monkey.

While he didn’t want to be Captain America right now, SHIELD left him no choice. Fury’s words basically said that. That was fine to Steve, almost, he didn’t want to work, but he also didn’t want to think, and in order not to think he had to pretend to be busy. That was better than sitting here in a reminder that all your friends and your life you knew beforehand were dead.

This is the cemetery where the Howling Commandos was buried, where his ma was buried, Bucky’s ma, father, baby sister, where even Howard and his wife, and yes, Peggy was buried. Weirdly enough he’s crossed over his own grave once, seeing his own name, date of birth, and death date etched into the marble set a bone chill about him. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about Bucky’s grave either. Or Jim’s or Jones or Dugan’s or...anybody.

Hell, he didn’t want to think about Peggy’s, but here he was. He knelt in front of it and tenderly brushed off a few clumps of grass that had been grown on it from the lawn care crew. His fingers traced over her name with a soft sigh.

Loving mother, aunt, grandmother. Doing what no one else would.

“I loved you,” Steve breathed, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead into the stone. “I’m sorry, Peggy. Sorry I couldn’t give you that dance. Sorry I-I failed you. I wish I could take it all back...to be with you. I’d give anything to...to be with you. I don’t regret...anything, only that I lost you.”

His throat tightened at the need to cry, more than familiar with locking the pain away for a rainy day. As he pulled back, a glittering red in the grass beside the headstone caught his attention. It looked almost like a diamond, but who would lose a diamond out here?

Steve frowned as he reached down to pick it up, his world turning black around him.

“What happened?”

“What do you mean what happened? It worked.”

“He’s still small!”

“We don’t know what the serum would do or not do.”

“So it failed.”

“It did…”

The voices faded to the background as the door closed with a sharp snap. Peggy stood in front of the door, hands behind her back. She looked nervously up at Steve, biting her lip. Her eyes flickered over Steve’s form before breathing a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry about those two - Erksine and Colonel Phillips have never-”

Peggy jerked back as Steve instantly hopped off of the table and hugged her tightly around the middle. His head came just to her chest, breathing her comforting, floral scent in.

“Peggy!”

The tears burned his eyes but the shock of her jerking away and holding him at arms’ length, eyes nervously glancing at the windows around them to see if anyone saw them. “Steven, what in the world has gotten into you? Are you okay?”

Hang on - she was able to move him? Since when? And why was she here? Why were Phillips and Erksine arguing over him? Wasn’t Erksine…

Steve jerked away like he’d been burned, stumbling over his own two feet. He retreated to a mirror to look at himself, patting himself down in the uniform. His uniform. His face. His height.

He was smaller. Yet, the procedure, Project Rebirth, he was still small. Did that mean it failed? That he wasn’t a super soldier? Small and yet...he could breathe, he could taste the dust in the air, her floral scent didn’t send him coughing, he could see color. What happened?

And he’d just hugged Peggy in the middle of an SSR medical room, where thankfully people bustling around outside, and the two arguing next door hadn’t paid much attention. He turned back to see Peggy looking at him with a worried expression.

“Steven, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. I know this isn’t what you expected, but you heard Erksine, you’re healthy!”

“No, no, Pegs…” Steve sat down heavily onto the medical bench and flinched at how cold it was. He ignored the pinched brow look she gave him. He wasn’t helping his case here. How could he? He couldn’t understand it himself. He didn’t know what was going on. The last thing he remembered was touching the stone…

And now he was here, younger, smaller, and the serum hadn’t worked. He said he’d give anything to have a life with her...this was anything, wasn’t it? The serum. To be healthy, but to be with her.

“Peggy,” Steve tried again, clearing his throat. “I have something I-I need to tell you, something you won’t believe, but it...it has to be…” He looked around the empty room, not trusting their surroundings.

Clearly, Peggy caught on because she nodded. “Elsewhere, yes, I see.” She pursed her red lips, her hand reaching out to ghost over the back of Steve’s before fixing his suit jacket. “I can get us somewhere that isn’t so...busy, but we can’t be seen touching like that again, do you understand?”

It was clear by her body language how she wanted him (he could once remember her (drunkenly) saying how she was ready to jump his bones), so he understood. His head jerked. “Of course, ma’am. That was an overlap in my judgment. It-it’s been so long since I’ve last seen you...you-”

He stopped himself, his throat tightening up and squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears. He didn’t need to look at Peggy’s face to see how confused she was.

“You just saw me half an hour ago, Steven, what-”

“I’ll explain later, can you get us out of here?”

Somewhere safe was the hotel room Peggy was renting, it seems. She had snuck Steve out in the chaos, only making mention to Erksine and Phillips that they were stepping out for some fresh air. No one needed to know where they went. Far as Steve was concerned, he was officially sacked. The serum had failed to make him a super soldier, he wouldn’t get to be a dancing puppet, wouldn’t get to rescue Bucky… oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

By the time they’d reached the hotel room, Steve was defiantly panicking. It felt odd to be in this small body and not be thrown immediately into an asthma attack. He started to pace the room by the time Peggy closed the door, hands continuously running through his hair. He only stopped when Peggy was forced to grab him by the shoulders and sit him on the bed.

“Talk to me,” she said in a firm tone, driving him out of his spirling thoughts. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not Steve.”

No, no that was the wrong thing to say. She jerked back and frowned at him, her hand at the ready to go for her gun.

“No, I-” Steve groaned and gripped at his hair. “I am Steve! Steve Rogers, just not the Steve Rogers you know! Just...I am…” He stood up this time to start pacing again. If he didn’t, he was feeling antsy. He couldn’t sit still.

“I am a-a Steve Rogers...the Steve Rogers… I just…” He looked back at her, hands flopping to his side. “This is going to sound insane, but you have to believe me.”

“Okay,” Peggy breathed, sounding on the side of cautious. “I don’t...necessarily have any other choice right now besides calling Erksine to check that head of yours.”

“No, Peggy.” Steve took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. Panicking will get him nowhere. “I’m Steve Rogers. In another...I-I don’t know...Timeline or something, the serum worked. It worked and I-I was big and strong and everything Erksine desired. He was killed because it worked by Hydra. We caught the-the man but he used a cyanide pill to kill himself, found out he tried to steal the serum too. Phillips sent you to the front lines because of it.”

Now she was on the edge of the bed, hands gripping the sheet. Her face was schooled in a manner that told Steve she was between believing him and shooting him right then and there. “How do you know about Hydra?”

“I just told you!” He flinched as he shouted, giving an apologetic look. “I...the-the agent. He was up in the...he was sitting with ya’ll up there.” He waved his hand, growing more frustrated with himself by the second.

“Right...beside me.” Her lips pursed in thought, eyes on the floor. “Phillips said one of the men was arrested shortly after...you came out. I wasn’t told about what or how before he started on Erksine. Okay, let’s say I believed you...where did he send you? The serum worked, right? You must’ve been sent somewhere important.”

“I wasn’t...I was…” The blonde’s shoulders slumped and the story spilled out how he became a dancing monkey for war bonds. He appreciated how she flinched at that, how it was clear she was enraged at the idea too.

“Bloody Nora, Steven, you...deserved better than that.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust and Steve couldn’t help the smirk forming. She was starting to believe him. “What happened, then?”

“You did.”

Peggy blinked slowly, sitting up fully. “I don’t understand. I did?”

Steve chose to sit down this time, his body still tingling and aching lightly from the serum. His hands collapsed in front of him, shoulders hunched. “You told me I deserved more than this. I deserved more than being some dancing monkey. You gave me a way out, you helped me get my way out, even if it was dangerous and stupid, and put you and Howard Stark’s life at risk.”

“You know Stark?” She shook her head, the question not important. “What did...I do?”

“Personally, yes.” The last question drew a sigh from him. “You helped me rescue the 107th. Bucky and...a group of lads that become our closest friends.”

It grew more complicated from there, from Steve spilling out every last detail he remembered. From rescuing Bucky to Red Skull to Zola, the Howling Commandos forming, Phillips’ downright praises at times, from the various missions, and yes, even them growing closer together. He explained it all as he could remember. To how they grew close as a couple and even shared a few kisses (his ears burned at that idea) and Peggy gasped, unable to help herself.

To Bucky dying.

To...him dying.

To waking up in a new future, 70 years from now to a hell hole where everyone knew he existed, but he knew no one.

“I died?” Peggy asked, swallowing. She leaned closer, they were separated by just mere centimeters at this point. He could feel her breath ghosting over his lips. “I...died.”

“In your sleep, yes, of old age, or so I was told.” Steve was the one to lean back, working the rest of the way out of his shirts until he was in the undershirt. Peggy had long undid her tie and suit jacket. “Do you believe me?”

“I’m afraid I have no choice but to. None of this has happened yet, but all of it...you sound so sure, to where it all can happen. And we have to prevent most of this, from Schmidt to your friends dying. To you ever stepping onto a bloody plane.”

Steve snorted, unable to help himself. He could kiss her from the relief that filled him. He did. He kissed her softly on the lips, the shock washing over both of them. She took him by the shoulders and pulled them closer until he was kneeling beside her.

Peggy’s smile was warmer as she pulled away, using her thumb to wipe away the lipstick.

“How scared of heights are you?” She asked, checking her watch with a frown. At his questioning look, she said, “I have an idea. It’s going to require Stark’s help but he’s been requesting a test pilot for weeks now. I think we just found him one.”

She gestured to their clothes and Steve hurriedly dressed, making sure the last of the lipstick was wiped from his lips. “Where are we going?” he asked, pulling his jacket closed.

He forgot (and missed) how hurriedly she walked, quickly taking two steps to her everyone. “We’re going to meet with Phillips to discuss the possibility of you becoming Stark’s new test pilot and use your knowledge to change the world.”

Tip Jar (it’s 100% optional!)

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Steggy Prompt #Nonny Prompt #TFA AU

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 3 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 194

194

Lance knew better than to turn to sex for emotional comfort, he told himself he did, and he still let himself get swept away by Keith’s overwhelming desire to confirm he was loved... and loved a lot.

Cuddled together, the emotional exhaustion had Keith falling asleep in his arms. The position uncomfortable for Lance, but he didn’t have it in his heart to move Keith. He loved him. He loved the soft puffs of breath that tickled his stomach. He loved the long dark strands of hair that had escaped Keith’s ponytail. He loved his warmth. He loved that this ego and Keith’s seemed to understand that they were crazy about each other, despite the clash in their scents. He’d never ever thought a vampire could love a werewolf. Not with the long going open hostility... but he loved Keith. Heck. His stubbornness over a proposal so soon into dating had faded. Keith could propose with a piece of used dental floss and fluff from under the bed and he’d still be over the moon.

Tolerating the pain in his hips, and his need for the bathroom, as long as he could, Lance had to move Keith off of him. His boyfriend trying to grab him as Lance moved his hand away and kissed his forehead

“Bathroom break”

Keith huffed unhappy about it. So terribly cute. Being a werewolf was wasted on his boyfriend. Not when he was an octopus when it came to cuddles

“I’ll be back in a moment”

Huffing, Keith let his arm drop, Lance escaping and grabbing his phone as he went.

Calling Shiro was a spare of the moment decision. He didn’t want to alarm him in the middle of the night, but he also wanted to give him the heads up on what they were doing. Sending a text first, he was done in the bathroom by the time his phone started ringing. Anxiety sent his stomach dropping. He hated how things were between him and Shiro. He’d said some cruel things, Shiro had said some cruel things. They both messed up, yet he seemed to be stuck on fear mode when talking to Keith’s brother. Sliding his thumb across the screen, Lance took a deep breath before moving his phone to his ear

“Lance?”

Oh god. He couldn’t go back now

“H-hey... Shiro. Sorry if you were sleeping”

“It’s the middle of the night”

Shiro sounded like he’d definitely been sleeping

“Sorry. Keith’s asleep and I wanted to give you the heads up. We’re going to visit his dad’s grave today. I thought I’d let you know in case he didn’t want to talk, or didn’t answer in chat”

“I thought you would have gone yesterday”

There was a kind of blame in Shiro’s voice... Lance didn’t blame him

“We were both tired, so we had a lazy day to let Keith build up to it”

“Okay. I see”

Well. This was awkward

“Yeah. We actually met a man who knew Keith’s dad and it rattled him. We didn’t tell him that he was talking to Keith, but this town wants to forget that fire and it’s hard on him”

“Of course it’s hard on him”

Shit. There was no reason for tears and yet his eyes were getting watery

“I’m sorry for calling. I just wanted to let you know what was going on. I’ll leave you to go back to sleep”

Shiro sighed deeply. There was no way he could know he’d upset Lance

“Is he okay. Is he eating?”

“Yeah. Yeah. He’s been eating, he hasn’t gotten angry or stormed off. He was a bit emotional tonight. Oh, can you bring some of his camera equipment? I think it’ll be a good distraction. We’re going to get a copy of the council records on the fire... so I want him to have something else to think about”

A stupid sniffle escaped. He wanted happiness for Keith...

“Lance...”

Nope. He had to hang up. He was going to start crying if he stayed on the phone

“I’m sorry, Shiro. I... have to go... I’m sorry”

Cutting the call as Shiro tried to reply, Lance left his phone in the bathroom. He didn’t want to go into the day in a down mood. Then again, he’d thought the same thing the previously and... well, ugh. He’d had fun with Keith, acting like they were children again. With Blue, having a sandpit at home wouldn’t work, but his mind was already planning a future family holiday to the beach where he’d bully Keith into making sandcastles with him. He’d have someone twin sit so he and Keith could have a proper day being dumb at the beach, then come home slightly sunburnt, and regretting things, but at the same time not because they’d had a lot of fun. Keith was his whole future. As Coran would say, they were soulmates. He really would gift Keith his whole being just to be lucky enough to call him his.

Crawling back into bed, Keith instantly drew him close for snuggling. Their positions now switched with Keith laying on his back and Lance laying half on top of him where he could fit. Yeah. He wanted to marry this guy... One day he’d marry the heck out of him, and Keith would marry the heck out of his right back.

Keith didn’t try to hide his anxious mood as they got ready for the day ahead. He knew Lance was anxious as the vampire had tried to clean the hotel room, grumping that there was no vacuum cleaner to do the floors with. Sullen over breakfast, Lance covered for him. Smiling and thanking the waitress that brought their breakfast, smoothing things over while Keith sat slouched and glared at the world.

All too soon they were headed to the cemetery, Keith not really remembering the drive despite being the driver. Parking in the parking lot, his whole body shook. He wanted to flee. They were so close and he hated how much he wanted to flee. This was his dad. He shouldn’t have been as nervous as he was, but all of this left just as shaken as he’d been to learn to Lance was pregnant. His dad knew about the creatures of the night, and now he was turning up at his grave as one of those creatures.

Lance didn’t push him. He undid his belt, but waited until Keith was so cranky at himself for his cowardice and made a move of his own, before climbing out the bronco. The cemetery wasn’t like the one in Garrison. There were more weeds than grass. Sand skirted the edges of the area, with a few very old trees in place. It felt lonely. Not a place people would want to visit... and he’d left his dad laying there for all those years... Somehow it’d been easier to say goodbye to Mami than it was to face his dad. Mami being gone hadn’t been real until he’d seen her grave. There was no denying the proof thrust onto him. Moving to take his hand, Lance squeezed softly to tell him he was there for him. Keith wanted to pull his hand away, not feeling he deserved support after leaving his dad alone. Hearing the police officer from the previous night describe how much his father loved him had shaken him. Reminded him dangerous it was to fall in love. How freak accidents happened every day and the ones you loved were stolen away unfairly.

Wandering through the cemetery, it smelt... unnerving. Lance’s death scent was the kind of scent he wanted to roll in. The scent of the cemetery should have been the same. There was so much death there, which was logical, but this was a cold death. A fine layer of goosebumps covered his skin as he tried not to read the names of the people they passed. His dad should have been buried somewhere nice. Somewhere like in Platt with its rolling green lawns, or in Garrison where there was no chance of his resting place being disturbed. When Lance came to a stop, Keith didn’t get why until his eyes met the gravestone. His heart doing a flip as he realised just who they’d finally found.

“Jeong” “Joe” Steven Kogane”

The word seemed glaring almost on his senses. His dad was right there and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say. Under his birthday and date of death read “A hero taken back to heaven”. No “beloved father of Keith”. No mention of him at all. Erased from his father’s grave felt as if his whole existence had been erased. He was “beloved”. He’d loved Keith and Keith loved him.

“Babe”

“I’m not there”

Lance tugged him close, Keith shaking

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay”

“I’m not there...”

“As unpleasant as it is, babe, and this is going to sound hard, but with no money to pay for the grave, I’m sure his friends put in for it. Some places charge a hundred dollars for each lead letter”

Pushing Lance away, his boyfriend stumbled but saved himself. Keith was mad Lance could reduce this to money, even if he was right

“So it’s okay for me to not be in there! I’m his son! I’m his son and they don’t even care! They forgot me! And you don’t care!”

Lance shot him a wounded look, taking a few deep breaths as he rubbed his stomach. He’d scared him. He’d scared him and he knew it. Why had he pushed him? That behaviour wasn’t okay... He was such a moron

“It’s not that I don’t care... I care. I love you and I care. You dad loved and he cared. We don’t know what they were thinking, but they were hurting too. You had your dad torn away from you. They had their friend torn away from them. I think it’s nice that they gave him a proper stone when he was laid to rest. People these days are so self centred it’s not something you’d expect to see. Anyway, you haven’t even introduced yourself to your dad, babe”

Keith flicked his gaze from Lance back to his father’s grave. He was showing his dad the wrong side of him... but he felt stupid standing there. He wanted Lance to take the initiative and introduce both of them... yet... He couldn’t keep running away

“Uh... um... Hi... dad... it’s me, Keith. I don’t know what to say. He’s not here...”

Lance moved back to his side

“You don’t have to say what you want to say out loud. Jeong... Joe... I’m Lance. I’m a vampire and I have the honour of dating your son Keith. He’s a total handful, but he’s a good man. We’ve had our ups and downs, but we’re here. I wish I could have met you. You’re going to be a grandfather to twins. Krolia’s excited about it all. Yes, she and Keith found each other again... I know you didn’t want to leave him, but I promise to love him as long as we both live. To make him happy. And to stay by his side for the rest of our lives. You fathered an amazing man...”

See. Lance was a million times better at this than him. Keith’s heart going funny as Lance sounded like he was all but proposing in front of his father

“Babe, you don’t have to be afraid of your father. He may not be here in spirit, but he’s always a part of you. You should tell him about you. And next time we come, we’ll bring flowers and tidy his grave up properly. Fuck... I was going to bring him a photo of the twins... Shit... I swore in front of your dad”

Keith mentally rolled his eyes at Lance swearing in front of his father... twice. That was more something he would do. He guessed he could try something more... He couldn’t really disappoint his father any more than he already had by pushing Lance

“Uh... yeah... Um... Lance is my boyfriend and he’s carrying my twins... and I... I’m a werewolf. Shiro... uh, he’s like my adopted brother without the paperwork, he um, had to have me turned to save my life... um... Lance... makes me really happy. I know you’d be disappointed that I... um... pushed him. I’m disappointed in myself too... I... I’m no good at this”

“Babe, you’re doing fine. You’re doing more than fine. You’re doing good. Do you want me to give you a moment?”

Keith shook his head. He couldn’t face this alone. He felt dumb and left alone would only make him storm off angry at himself

“No. Stay... please”

“Sure. You can tell him anything you want to say, but don’t... don’t feel like you have to rush into telling him everything. Your dad would be so happy to see you. He loved you and he was proud of you. That’s the important thing. And now we know where he is, we can come back and visit. We’ll bring the twins, and I’ll tell them about him. And you’ll tell them about him. Just because they’re gone, doesn’t mean we don’t love our parents any less. I miss Mami every single day. Whenever I need advice, it’s still imprinted on me to turn to her. It’s okay to not be okay about seeing your dad again, especially when life was so mean as to take him away when you were so young. But, babe. You’re not alone. I’m here. I know how much you have to say. You’ve said it all to me. It’s okay to tell him you love him and miss him”

If only it was that simple. He felt so unbelievably stupid. His dad wasn’t there. He couldn’t tell him face to face. He didn’t even know if they’d recovered a body...

“I don’t... I’m...”

“Babe, hey. You’re not stupid”

Keith ducked his head. He hadn’t realised he’d been venting out loud

“It doesn’t feel like he’s here”

“I know. I think humans starting erecting grave markers not only to show that someone was once alive, but to give you somewhere to go to talk to that person you miss. It’s like looking at picture and asking them “What do you think I should do?”. The picture can’t reply, but you think about that person when you’re looking at it. I know you have very few memories of your father. I know and it sucks. I’m hoping we can learn more by looking at the council records. I want you to know him. He wants you to know him. The time you spent together wasn’t wasted... that’s... kind of why I questioned that cop. I want you to know whatever there’s to know about your dad... and it was clear to everyone around at the time that you and your dad were tight. That he loved you. That he’d done all he could to be happy and make you safe and loved”

Keith of old wouldn’t have been convinced. He still wasn’t sure he was convinced and Lance wasn’t simply telling him what he wanted to hear. Yet, this pregnancy had changed him. He adored the twins. He already knew he’d do absolutely everything and anything for them. He never wanted them to feel the pain he’d gone through. He didn’t want them to be scared to ask for the things they wanted or needed. He didn’t want them not knowing him... Lance would tell them all about him, should something ever happen to him. He knew that. He’d spent so long angry that his father had left him. So many years were wasted with nowhere to direct that anger into anything other than destruction. But... if his father felt as he did, then he had been loved. He’d been loved and wanted. The last thing his father would have wanted was to leave him behind. Somehow he’d managed to survive, to survive long enough to meet the best man he could hope for to spend the rest of his life with. He wasn’t the same man who’d pulled a gun on Lance. The idea of it still made him feel like a total douche canoe. His father might not have approved... but maybe... maybe he didn’t need his approval... because Lance made him happy. He made him grateful to be alive in this world.

“I really love you, babe. I’m sorry I pushed you away. That was really uncool of me. You didn’t deserve it”

Lance immediately shook his head

“No. I’m okay. You’re all messed up inside and that’s understandable”

“It might be understandable, but that doesn’t make it okay. I love you. I love being with you... I... don’t want to hurt you. I want... to be the kind of boyfriend you’re proud of”

“Babe, you always make me proud. Even on the days you can’t find it in you to like, or even love yourself, I love you. I’m proud to be your boyfriend, and I’m thankful that I’m here with you, to meet your dad. I think he truly would have been proud of you. You’re hot headed and reckless, and you’re still grieving everything, but you’re so strong. You’re a good man. And the man I want to spend every day with for the rest of my life. I want to make you happy. I want to be the one who makes you laugh and smile. I want to shout out to the whole damn world that you’re mine. I wanna have kids and grow old ... older... with you. I wanna be there for the good and the bad and be your family as long as we both shall live”

Keith blushed. Lance shouldn’t be so kind and quick with his praise, his ego was lapping it all up, and he could almost feel it swelling inside of him in the literal sense of the word.

“I’ll never get used to you praising me when I’ve done nothing”

“You don’t have to do anything. You being you is all I could ever want”

Again, what Lance was saying was sounding dangerously close to a proposal. Keith knew he was overthinking things. Lance wanted to date for a while before considering making it all official on paper. He could wait. His ego might not be happy, but their love wasn’t any less without a ring on Lance’s pretty little finger. With his boyfriend’s praise, he could stand before his dad... maybe finally feeling a little less stupid about trying to talk to a grave stone than he had before. Holding Lance’s hand, he shook his head, trying to shake off his earlier stupidity

“Dad, this is Lance. He’s a vampire and I love him. We’re a family... we might not be the perfect family, especially when you think about everything, but he’s perfect to me. He... he’s... really all sorts of amazing. Mum... uh, um... Krolia... I met her again. She’s... weird. But I guess that’s okay... I... um, didn’t have the best life before, but things are better than they’ve ever been. I used to be into photography, but... um... lately I’ve been into Lance. Um... my brother, Shiro... I think you’d like him... he and his partner Curtis are going to come meet you... mum had worked. She’s still with Blade. We didn’t really get along but that’s better now... next time we come, we’ll clean up your grave... I still... can’t believe you’re right in front of me”

Lance let out a hum as Keith mentioned cleaning his dad’s grave. Keith automatically jumping to conclusions, and that conclusion was that Lance was thinking something

“What is it?”

“Huh?”

Scrunching his brow, Lance cocked his head at him

“You hummed...”

“Oh. I was thinking we should ask the council if we’re allowed to put up a little fence and make it look nice”

Where was Lance building this fence? And what did that have to do with his father’s grave?

“You want to build a fence?”

“Not a “fence” fence. But like a little border and we could put in a couple of cacti to give it some colour. I was just thinking it would be nice to show his resting place some love”

You could take the vampire out of the... something witty and to do with handyman antics, but you couldn’t take them out of the vampire

“Babe, you don’t have to do that”

“I want to. I want to make it look nice, so everyone knows he’s loved. And when the twins come, they’ll know it’s their grandfather’s grave and that he would have loved them very much”

“Wait... this is too much”

“Sorry. Sometimes I go off in my own head, which you know. I don’t mean to sound like I’m pressuring you. I mean, it is making an assumption and stuff. I just thought it’d be nice to come back to”

“You... want to come back?”

“He’s your dad. I think I’m going to make it a thing... but only if it’s okay with you”

They’d only just found his father again. This was a bit too much for him right now

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course. Sorry, I’m being overbearing. Okay. In the future I think it’d be nice to put something here, but for now we’ll pick up some nice flowers to bring back”

“Yeah. That’d be nice... I don’t even know where to start...”

Lance wanted to track down as much about his father as he could. It still felt kind of weird that Lance cared and wanted him to know about his dad... then again, Mami had filled Lance with so much love that Lance probably couldn’t help himself

“Then we’ll figure things out together. I’m sorry, I’ve got to sit for a bit. Will you be okay with having a few moments alone?”

Keith blinked. Then realised Lance wasn’t simply blushing, he was getting sunburnt...

“Yeah. I... I feel better about talking to him”

“You take your time. I’ll be waiting in the car. Please don’t rush because of me”

“I won’t... I mean, maybe a little”

Lance bumped him with his elbow

“Don’t be mean to your dad. He’s waited all this time. Make sure you have a good talk with him. I mean, how am I supposed to tell Mami I made you fuss too much? She’d kick my arse”

“Yeah. She would. I won’t be too long... because we’re coming back... right?”

“Yeah, babe. We’ll be back so many times he’ll be sick of us. I love you”

“I love you, too”

Lance left him with a kiss on the cheek. Keith needing a few moments to steady himself, before deciding maybe he could start with the easy stuff then work up to the really painful parts of his past. His dad loved him... he loved him and he had so much to tell him.

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #ashratherose

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knightdale-secret · 3 years

Text

Today I learned a haunting truth about a secret hidden right in my very neighborhood. An ugly truth that has been hidden, covered up and mostly forgotten, until now.

In Knightdale, North Carolina the prominent plantation owner, Charles Lewis Hinton, purchased and built a plantation home for his son David Hinton and his new wife Mary Boddie Carr as a wedding present on a stretch of land that would come to be known as the Midway Plantation because it was halfway between two other Hinton family properties. The beautiful, two-story Greek Revival plantation home was built in 1848 as a forced-labor farm. A slave plantation.

I’m not certain how many people were enslaved there over the years, but I do know that at least 130 of those slaves were buried on a site that would later be knowingly built on top of to create Widewaters subdivision. MY neighborhood.

Right behind the community pool and club house there is a strange white gravel path that leads up a slight hill to a black wrought iron fence gate that is always latched. There is a rickety wooden fencing surrounding a wooded area on a hill. This is in the middle of the neighborhood. There was never any explanation for it - for why, in a development, this overgrown patch of trees is fenced in and gated off, untouched, where normally there would be another few houses perhaps. I pass this area almost daily in my car or on leisurely walks. I had noticed the fence but thought maybe it was part of someone’s property. I didn’t think too much of it.

But that changed today. Today I was bored and looking up about local plantation owners in the area because history has always interested me. I learned a little about the Shoppes of Midway being built where the plantation house once stood and that the original house and its outbuildings were moved 2 miles up the road so a Target could be built and the ever expanding road wouldn’t keep encroaching on their lawn. This made way for growth in Knightdale. And grow it has. What was once a small town on the outskirts of Raleigh has become busier and more built up as available housing in the city has decreased and people leave it in search of quieter suburbs to live and raise their families. So as I was researching for no reason in particular other than personal interest, I stumbled upon an article about Midway Plantation and it stated that there was a slave cemetery that was surveyed and a neighborhood was built on top of it. It said it was across the street to the east from where the Midway Plantation house originally stood and that all that was left of the cemetery was maybe 50 graves on a hill in some trees surrounded by a black wrought iron fence. The article states that after the building of the subdivision was started, it was clear that houses were more important than the graves of the many slaves that worked the plantations. And yes, the builders did know about the cemetery. It was surveyed and it was signed off on to be built over. I think this is when the downplaying, lying and covering up started. A letter was reportedly written according to the below article when the preparations for the subdivision were being made that said that such a large slave cemetery couldn’t have existed in this area based on the shaky reference that the present owners didn’t have enough slaves to have this type of burial ground and no church could be identified on the grounds (cause cemeteries only are constructed on church grounds?) this mysterious letter writer conveniently failed to recognize that the land was originally Hinton land and they had slaves numbering in the hundreds here and could most certainly have amassed a deceased slave population of that size over the years it was in operation.

There is a saying about guilt : “A given excuse that was not asked for implies guilt.” If this letter writer submitted this without prompting from any public outcry than he was already defending a guilty mind. He was trying to persuade people away from the truth and to avoid any public outrage over the very wrong they knew they were committing by building here.

That article link is here: http://www.knightdalehistoric.com/pdf/plantations3.pdf

This was the only article or snippet of information I could find about this cemetery that very clearly under my neighborhood and whose remaining grave sites lie just mere feet away from our community swimming pool. This disturbed me greatly because to date, this site is unmarked and unrecognized. So i first decided to submit a request for a historical marker to be made for the site. I was met with an emailed response by a very helpful administrator for the NC Marker Historical Society who said that they no longer do markers for cemeteries but she would contact the National Register for Historic Places and see if the cemetery could be added to the Midway plantation that is already registered as a historical place. She has been talking with archaeologists who are working on this and she’ll be in touch. I also emailed someone in archives to see how I could find the site survey that was done but haven’t received a response yet.

Next I decided to post this information on Facebook to the local community groups and see how they felt about it, and to inform them as well as pose that a marker be made and that I would try to get that facilitated. An outpouring of support and offerings to donate to help fund its creation were given. I knew I was onto something that was important not just to me as a person living in a neighborhood with a secret of this magnitude, but to a community of people who would also want this recognized.

Now, I myself am not African American. I am pretty much as white as they come, I have the genealogy report to prove it. I struggled with the idea that I would be lambasted as trying to be some sort of “white savior” or something by trying to make this happen. I felt guilty that I was the one that found this information and had to be the one to put it out there. I felt like this belongs to the descendants of slaves. this is something that would affect their community,feelings and hearts maybe more than the white community’s in its ramifications and would of course be more important to them on a more personal level. Who am I to come in and make a big stink about something that isn’t even my history someone might say,but it is America’s history. It is the history of the land I now inhabit. And it is an issue that I hold dear to my heart because these men and women and children that lived, worked and died here were not just property or possessions, they were people and their graves should be respected just like anyone else’s. More so I think. Their graves can serve as a reminder of the great bloody sins that occurred in the building of this country. In the building of the south. The only monuments I’d like to see in the south would be to commemorate the slaves, not the enslavers and the people that tried to tear the country apart. The hero slaves that helped build this nation against their will and with great laboring and suffering due to an abhorrent institution that stains our history. They are the ones that should be remembered. Their stories told.

I have always been a sympathizing person. My first hero in elementary school was Martin Luther King, Jr. I gave an oral report on him and did papers later in junior high. I have always been the type of person that hates seeing injustice done to people and the hatred that divides communities and people over nothing more than color or ignorant biases. It never made sense to me and I never understood why people can’t be kind to one another and celebrate differences rather than fear them.

Some people made the point that many cemeteries have been likely built on over the years including white cemeteries, which I also think is awful, but in this situation PART OF THIS CEMETERY IS STILL HERE! Part of our history, this city’s history is still here in OUR NEIGHBORHOOD. We pass it every day! It is here with us and it should be recognized. It should be visited and reflected on. It should be acknowledged.

I visited the cemetery site today and saw the indentations in the ground and the old stone markers left on some of the sites where the slaves were buried. I couldn’t believe that this was just here, between houses and a pool, not in a historical site that you had to pay to see. No fanfare or brochure handouts. Just dusty old bones in the ground marked by grey stones in a patch of trees in the middle of a subdivision, silently waiting to be seen. I whispered to them before I left that I would do all I could to make sure they were not forgotten. That a marker in their honor would be made so they could be remembered. I sincerely hope I can make that happen.

Thru my posts on Facebook, I met a man named Keith Gibbs who has apparently already done a lot of work to try to have this cemetery recognized with a small group of others but they hit many roadblocks. He told me that there are cover ups and corruption surrounding the area from higher ups and people that don’t want this information out there. He was unsuccessful in his journey to get the site recognized, but he has agreed to hand over his research and findings to me in hopes I will be the one to get something done. ME, a curious girl with no real clout, lol. Yeah, ME, I’m the one. I’m the one that will make this happen where others failed. RIGHT?? Right.

Now, it should be said that I have never really been the figure head for anything in my life. I have never been the spokesperson, the leader the public person, the socialite. I am a shy person that works best from the shadows, behind the scenes. The one that does the work but doesn’t get the credit. And I have largely been okay with that role. It’s less stressful. But now people are looking to me to lead them on this issue. To call the shots and take the donations and create the marker. And that was all fine and dandy…. until CBS 17 messaged me asking if I’d like to do a story for them to help get attention and funding for the marker. I got excited and also nervous. I let her know that would likely be a good Avenue to take to get it done but I am still in the information gathering stage. I let her know of my meeting with Keith and told her I’d get back with her when I knew more. She was okay with that.

Honestly, I was relieved I had a reason to stall. I’ve never been on TV before! Cameras DO NOT love me unless its a selfie photo with a Snapchat filter that i’m taking of myself lol. I’m no public speaker. And also I still feel like it shouldn’t be me. I mean, it should since I discovered it and put it out there for the masses, but how can I be the face of this? Me, a white girl from small town Pennsylvania, be the face of a covered up slave cemetery? I feel guilty but also I do feel like there is something to white privilege and power and I hope to only use it as a force for good in this world and to help those with less privilege than I where I can. We only live once and I think a whole lot about how I want to be remembered when I am gone. When someone is building houses over my grave. I’d like to know somewhere out there I might be remembered fondly for doing something that was right in this world of wrongs.

I’m terrified to do the story, but I feel like it is my duty now and my responsibility. I am just so scared of fucking it up. What if I say something stupid or that can be taken out of context? This is such a touchy issue after all. I just want to do them justice. God help me. I just want them to be remembered.

#knightdale #slavery #history #coverup #cemetery #historic preservation #historical #north carolina #plantation #the south #scandal #civil war

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theotherackerman · 3 years

Text

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

NOTES: New Year’s Day January 1st, Friday

Trigger warning: mentions of self harm and suicide.

song credit:

exile- taylor swift featuring bon iver, Ymir is singing the first verse that bon iver sings

CHAPTER FOUR: second, third, and hundredth chances

As she drove out the cemetery, she began to realize how strange this truly was. Eren used to be the one who drove everywhere. Mikasa wasn’t a big fan of driving due to the car accident she had been through as a child. It was a necessary evil in her mind. Yet here she was driving Eren home. Their roles had reversed in a sense.

“Do you not drive anymore?” She broke the awkward silence between them.

“Not really.”

“Can I ask why?”

“You can but I won’t tell you.”

Mikasa was glad the roads were empty as she slammed on the breaks. Eren jolted forward and then back again.

“Mikasa!”

“Stop it! Just stop! Stop acting like this. What could I have possibly done to make you act like this? What did I love you too much? Did I give you too much? Just tell me what I did!” Mikasa had broken. The sadness inside her had been replaced with nothing but pure rage. “You owe me that much, Eren.”

Eren sighed, “fine, just get out of the middle of the street.”

Mikasa began driving again.

Eren sighed again. “I don’t drive because I don’t have a license anymore.”

“Why don’t you have a license anymore?” She had a feeling, in the pit of her stomach, that she already knew.

“Because I crashed my car when I was drunk. Hit a building. No one was hurt besides me. Car was totaled. Building was set for demolition anyway so the people really didn’t care. Spent the night handcuffed to a hospital bed while Zeke worked everything else out with lawyers. Just ended up losing my license.”

“Is that why you couldn’t walk?”

“No, that was because of my liver.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

Mikasa stopped at the red light and looked over at Eren. He was staring out the window, no emotion on his face.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence until they reached the old house. Mikasa knew this house as well as she knew her own home with Levi. She was shocked to see a for sale sign on the front lawn.

“You’re selling it?” She asked as she pulled into the driveway and parked.

“Yeah, I’m never here. I’m at Zeke’s place most of the time. I only moved back here temporarily to get the house in order to sell.”

Mikasa hadn’t expected that to hurt but it did for some reason. She had spent a lot of time here as a child. She could still see Carla in the kitchen watching over her, Armin, and Eren.

She understood it though. She had moved to the city with her friends, after all.

“Did you want to come in?” He asked after a few moments of awkward silence.

“Yeah, I’ll come in.”

“Okay,” Eren got out of the car first and she followed him, locking her car behind her.

Eren unlocked the door and held it open for Mikasa to come in.

“Thanks,” she told him as she walked in.

Stacks of boxes were all over the living room, that was the only thing that had changed. The walls were still covered in pictures, the bookshelves were still full. Mikasa began to wander the room but she didn’t dare look at the pictures. The couch was still in the middle of the room, tv mounted on the wall. Grisha’s leather chair and Carla’s rocking chair were still side by side.

She missed Carla. She could see her sitting there in her mind. Her welcoming smile. She missed the woman as much as Eren did. She rested her hand on the chair for a moment as if she was willing Carla to come back to life. She couldn’t help but wonder if Carla was here, would this still have happened?

“What did I do wrong?” She asked again as she turned around to face him.

Eren sighed, “nothing.”

“Well, there has to be something for you to say those horrible things! Eren…”

Eren sat down on the couch. “It’s better this way.”

“Why?”

He stood up and began to walk away.

“Why?” She knew she was pressing her luck but she didn’t care. She could feel the rage running through her veins like she had in the car.

“Because I’ll be a burden to you!” He yelled.

“You don’t get to make that choice!”

Eren stopped and silently turned towards her.

“Maybe I wanted to share your burdens!” She took a step closer to him. “That’s what friends do. I thought I was more than that. I thought I was family.”

“That’s all? Family?” he scoffed.

“Eren...I thought I was your future.”

Eren moved from across the room so quickly Mikasa wasn’t able to process what was going on until his lips were on hers. His hands were in her short hair, he wasn’t pulling away this time. She responded, moving her lips against his. Oh, how she had missed this. Her hands gripped onto his shirt pulling him closer to her. He walked her backwards so that her back was pressed against the wall. Just as she wrapped her legs around his waist, the front door opened.

“OH! I’ll come back later…”

With that, the door closed again.

Both of them began to blush as they untangled themselves from one another.

“Zeke?” Mikasa asked and Eren nodded.

“Zeke. Guess he got done with….whatever he was doing earlier.”

“He says you’re an asshole and a fucking idiot. His words, not mine,” Mikasa laughed a little.

“He’s not wrong,” Eren laughed before looking away from her.

“Talk to Armin. He needs you. Talk to me. Don’t...push us away...again.” She reached out and touched his face, making him look at her again.

“Mikasa, I’m fucked up, more than you know and once you know….” He placed his hand over hers on his face.

“What am I going to do? Run? I’m not a coward!” She removed her hand from his face and took a step back.

Eren sighed again, “you two are better off without me.”

“I told you, you don’t get to make that choice. Armin and I will. I leave on the 8th. I’ll talk to Armin, we’ll meet before then.”

“You’re not giving me a choice here, are you?” He asked as he walked back over to the couch and sat down.

“No, I’m not. You owe Armin and I the truth. All of it. You have the same number?” She pulled out her phone.

Eren nodded, “yeah. I didn’t change it. Do you still have it?”

“I couldn’t delete you. I tried but...I couldn’t.” She put her phone back into her pocket.

There was a knock on the door before it opened.

“Sorry to interrupt but I seemed to have locked the keys in the van,” Zeke announced as he walked in.

“I should be going anyway, Levi is probably wondering where I am.”

Eren just nodded.

“I’ll see you later, Eren,” she promised.

And with that, Mikasa walked to the door.

“OW! What was that for?!” She heard Eren yell as she began to close the door.

“You are a fucking idiot, that’s what.” Zeke replied.

Mikasa couldn’t help but smile to herself as she walked to her car.

----------------------------------------

“So I see you listened and talked to her. I can leave once we get the car unlocked and you can continue...wear protection..” Zeke said as went to the closet to grab a wire hanger.

“I’m not going to have sex with Mikasa after you leave. It was just...the heat of the moment…” Eren said as his face went red and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“And if I would not have walked it?” Zeke smirked.

“Please stop,” Eren pleaded as he walked out of the door.

“I just want to make sure my little brother is prepared,” Zeke called after him as he followed Eren out the door.

“Stop. I hate you, you know that?” Eren said as he walked towards the van.

“That is a lie and we both know it. I told you to talk to her and I was right.”

“Please stop talking. When does Pieck get done today? Isn’t it time for you to annoy her yet?”

“No, unfortunately she is booked with engagement shoots today.”

“Just give me the damn hanger,” Eren sighed as he held his hand out.

------------------------------------------------------

When Mikasa arrived at the Ackerman house, this time she was not greeted by two barking puppies. As she took her shoes off at the front door, she noticed the dogs were nowhere to be seen.

“Levi and Hange left with the dogs,” she heard Ymir’s voice say.

“What are you doing here? I thought you went with Historia.”

“I did. Then Rod kicked me out. Historia had the limo drop me back off.”

Mikasa could hear the coffee maker running.

The amount of coffee that Ymir drank in a single day was ridiculous.

“Why?” Mikasa hung her jacket up on the coat hanger by the door. She then remembered she still had Eren’s in her bag, wherever Levi had put it. She made a mental note to find it and give it back to him.

“Because he’s an ass. I don’t know. He wanted to talk to her and Freida about something. Apparently, I’m not family as he likes to remind me constantly. So I came back here. Levi and Hange were leaving just as I came in. I have no idea where they went. ” Ymir came from the kitchen holding a cup of coffee. “So you going to tell me why you have sex hair?” She asked as she raised an eyebrow.

“ I don’t have sex hair!” Mikasa protested.

“Okay, if you say so,” Ymir said as she lifted the coffee cup.

“....I ran into Eren at the graveyard.”

“So you had sex with your ex at the graveyard. I mean sounds weird to me but if that’s what you’re into, I’m not going to judge.”

“I didn’t have sex with Eren at the graveyard! I drove him home and we got into a fight. I told him he owed me an explanation for everything. So he invited me in.”

“So you had sex with your ex at his house? Boring but okay.”

“I didn’t have sex with Eren! We just...kissed...but more than last night.”

“You kissed Eren last night?!”

“Well he kissed me but it wasn’t long. Then he left but this time, Zeke came in.”

“So his brother cockblocked him. I’m starting to like this Zeke guy more and more.”

“Yes but no. We talked for a little bit more and then I told Eren he owed Armin and I an explanation. I was here until the 8th and I’d set him up. I didn’t give him a choice, actually.”

Ymir wrapped her arm around Mikasa’s shoulders tightly. “There’s the Mikasa I know and love! I mean, your angst is great for the album and you needed to heal so I didn’t say anything. But that’s...that’s the girl I met in high school. Take no shit Ackerman style!”

Mikasa could feel her cheeks turning red.

“So why were you at the graveyard?” Ymir removed her arm from Mikasa’s shoulders and sat down in Levi’s chair. She put her coffee cup down the coaster on the coffee table.

Mikasa wandered over to the couch and sat down.

“Visiting Mom and Dad and Carla. I visit them every New Year’s. Christmas….too many people. I like to talk to them.” She didn’t know why she felt embarrassed about it.

“That’s the look Armin gave you, that makes sense.”

“Yeah….”

“I haven’t gone and seen my mom since she died. Dad….longer than that.”

“Do you remember anything about them?”

“Not really.”

Ymir didn’t open up about her family very often. Mikasa never pushed for answers with her. She knew the basics. Ymir had been in foster care as a child, just like Annie had. Neither of them had any family step up to take care of them after their biological parents had passed. Annie was adopted by her first foster father while Ymir had moved around from place to place until she was sixteen. Then Ymir went through the emancipation process.

“Alright, let’s work on the new song you wrote,” Ymir said as she walked over into the sunroom.

Mikasa’s keyboard was still set up, music resting on it.

Mikasa pulled the piano bench from the grand piano over to the keyboard. She sat down, Ymir sat down next to her.

“Okay, so how is Historia going to hit this low note right here? The notes for the entire first verse are too low for her. Do you think she planned for this to be a duet?”

“I hope so because I wrote it as one. So the first verse is for you to sing. I wrote it from your perspective too. “

Ymir stared at Mikasa for a moment. “Wait, what? Do you not write all of these about Eren?”

“No, I write from my friend’s perspectives sometimes. You and Historia happened to be having problems so I wrote this as you and her. The first verse is you speaking to her.”

Mikasa began to play the introduction of the song.

“[lyrics redacted due to copyright],” Ymir’s voice rang out through the house.

Mikasa enjoyed the fact that Ymir had a lower voice similar to hers.

“Is that about the farmer or Reiner?” Ymir asked.

“Both. So you sing this whole first verse.”

“[lyrics redacted due to copyright],”

“Yeah, is that okay?” Mikasa just realized maybe her friends weren’t okay with her writing about them.

“It’s fucking brilliant,” Ymir reassured her. “What’s next?”

“This is the chorus but I thought for the first one, you’d sing it alone.”

“[lyrics redacted due to copyright].”

“So then there’s vocalization which I thought Annie could do. Then Historia would do the next verse and chorus. Then there’s a….”

BANG!

Someone was pounding hard on the front door.

“Who the hell is that?” Ymir asked as she went towards the window to see who was out there. “It’s Historia but there’s no limo, no car. How the hell she’d get here?”

Ymir threw the door open to a sobbing Historia.

Mikasa left the sun room as soon as she heard Historia’s sobs.

“It’s gone. It’s all gone. My money. My car...the recording contract. I’m so sorry.”

#mmtylif #my writing

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29-pieces · 4 years

Text

Whumptober day 6 - The Musketeers

Day 6: No More Fandom/Setting: The Musketeers, pre-series (new recruit!Athos) read on AO3 read on FF.net

~*~

Athos could smell the blood as he pushed into the tiny cell ahead of the other musketeer, a burly brawler named Porthos. It boded poorly for the man they'd been sent to find. Though the careful blankness of his expression never shifted, Athos couldn't help but pause as he took in the sight of the prisoner.

Porthos, in contrast, shoved past him with a cry.

"Aramis! Aramis... God, don' be dead, please don' be dead..."

Athos raised a hand to his mouth and forced himself to remain calm and in control. He'd only worked closely with Aramis once, long enough to know the man as a perpetually cheerful if somewhat roguish lover of life, the constant center of attention, ready with a quip or a fight depending on the situation. Athos had few, if any, friends; he could have seen himself befriending this one. It didn't seem he would have the opportunity now.

"Help me cut 'im down," Porthos snapped, drawing Athos back to the present moment. "We gotta stop the bleeding. Stitch 'im up, maybe. Something."

Biting back his fear that it was too late for Aramis, Athos nevertheless moved in swiftly to help Porthos, supporting Aramis's weight as the taller musketeer drew a dagger to slice through the rope holding Aramis's arms high overhead. Athos moved to set him carefully on the floor, but Porthos scooped him up instead.

"Not in here," Porthos bit out. "Outside. I've got him, just keep our path clear."

Again, Athos bit back any remark. He had the impression that the two were close, and since he himself knew the feeling of finding a beloved brother already dead, he also knew there were no words of comfort to be had. Though they had already dispatched all of the guards, Athos nevertheless drew his sword again and led the way from the dungeons and out of the castle. None of the household staff dared show themselves and the Comte himself had yet to be seen. This, Athos knew, was not good. Soon there would be awkward questions they would have to consider.

After all, Aramis had been meeting with a Spanish spy, and the castle was a mere handful of miles to the border. The identity of a traitor and spy was valuable information. And Aramis, though a musketeer with an obviously loyal heart, had to have a breaking point like any other man.

"Where's his horse?" Porthos grunted once they'd reached the sweeping lawn out back where they had left their mounts. Aramis's had been found wandering on its own, though Athos gave Porthos an incredulous stare. Clearly Aramis wasn't riding anywhere, unless it was in the back of a cart headed for a cemetery. Perhaps Porthos read this on his face, because he snarled, "His horse, damn it! I need his bag! An' we need water, somethin' to wash these cuts out!"

"Porthos..."

"He's alive. I, uh... I ain't ever stitched anyone up before. You?"

Athos regarded the bloody mess of a musketeer that Porthos laid carefully down on the ground. "Once or twice. But-"

"Good. He's got a medical kit he keeps in th' saddlebags, dig that out. I'll get the water."

Athos watched him lumber off. He still had his doubts, but he had to admit, Porthos's ferocious faith that Aramis would still make it out of this urged him to try anyway. Rifling through the spare horse's saddlebags, Athos retrieved a leather pouch which he unrolled to reveal some of the more basic medical instruments. Also in the bag was a swath of bandages and clean rags, which he likewise retrieved. Kneeling over the unconscious musketeer, Athos looked him over helplessly, not sure where to even begin. It looked like mostly cuts and gashes from a blade, deep and nasty, and almost all would require sutures. He saw at least one burn and three broken fingers. Aramis's left shoulder was clearly dislocated.

Getting his doublet off would be a good start, but would jostle the arm too much. Athos regarded the limb, then took Aramis's arm.

"Apologies," he murmured to the unconscious musketeer, before swiftly pulling until he heard the pop of a bone returning to socket.

Aramis's eyes flew open as a garbled cry was ripped from his throat. The musketeer immediately began to thrash back from Athos, arms flailing in an attempt to protect himself. Athos grabbed Aramis's wrists in fear that the musketeer would only cause more damage to himself.

"Aramis," he called. "You're safe. It's me... Athos."

"Aramis?" Porthos had returned, carrying a bucket of water he'd procured, some of which sloshed out over the downed musketeer as Porthos flung himself by his friend's side. "Hey... hey, you're with me, you're alright."

Aramis sank back down, staring up at them through pain-glazed eyes. "Porthos," he whispered.

"Yeah, it's me. We're gonna fix you right up, okay?"

Aramis nodded, then his head drifted back to the side, eyes falling closed. Athos traded a look with Porthos over his still form, but neither spoke. Together, they worked Aramis's doublet off—it would need a myriad of repairs as well, if he survived to wear it again—and surveyed the mess. Athos retrieved the needle and thread from the medic pouch as Porthos started washing the blood away.

"Damn, he's lost a lot of it," Porthos growled. "When I get my hands on that Comte..."

"There isn't time for that," Athos reminded him as he pinched one freshly cleaned gouge together and set the needle to skin in determination. "I can sew these wounds, but we should consider the possibility that Treville needs to be warned."

Porthos stopped what he was doing to stare at him. "Warned about what?"

He really didn't want to be the one to acknowledge the risk, but if Porthos didn't then he would. "What cause would there be to torture him like this if not for the name of the spy he was sent to meet? The Comte must have learned about his mission somehow-"

"An' you think Aramis told him?"

There was a dangerous rumble in Porthos's voice, so Athos offered a deferential shrug. "I'm only saying, no one can be expected to hold out forever, no matter how loyal, and this- Porthos, they spent a lot of time on him."

"I know yer new here," Porthos seethed, jaw clenching. "An' you don't know Aramis like I do. He didn't give 'em anything. Got it?"

Torn between admiration of the loyalty and exasperation at the frank denial, Athos only nodded and went back to sewing Aramis up. He couldn't tell if Aramis was awake or not, breaths shuddering and lids closed, but if he was awake he didn't make a sound. It took what must have been hours, until Athos's hand was starting to cramp from holding the needle, back aching as he stitched as well as he could. Doubtless these would leave visible scars—he had only a rudimentary idea of how to do this, nothing fancy. But at least Aramis wouldn't bleed out from them. This done, Athos splinted the broken fingers together to be looked at when they returned to Paris and simply put a bandage over the burn, as there was no healing ointment on hand.

"What else?" he asked in exhaustion, starting to roll Aramis back onto his side to check for further injury.

The movement jostled the tortured musketeer, who inhaled sharply with a pained cough.

"No more..."

"Aramis," Porthos murmured, sounding pained himself. "I know it hurts, but we gotta make sure there's nothin' open for infection, right?"

Eyes still closed, Aramis nodded. "No more," he repeated, a little stronger.

Athos felt his shoulders grow heavy and he shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, a rare slip of emotion and regret coloring his tone. "I believe we're almost done and then you can-"

"No... there's no more," Aramis cut him off, opening his eyes with a wince. "You got them all. I c-counted. That's all they ever managed to do."

Athos stared at him. "...That's... all?" he echoed in disbelief. There had been enough blood to drown a village in that cell, yards of thread needed to finish all the stitches, but that was "all" they'd done to him? He saw Porthos barely bite back a smirk, but in this case Athos would be more than happy to have been proven wrong.

"What did they want?" the burly musketeer asked his friend now, cupping the back of his neck carefully.

Aramis coughed. "Wanted to know who I was meeting. I don't know how word got out."

Athos traded a look with Porthos. "And...?"

"And nothing. They thought they could convince me to tell them." He snorted. "Amateurs."

Porthos laughed, relief and fondness evident in the gentle squeeze of Aramis's good shoulder. "Good thing we found you, then," he said gleefully. "Before they died of embarrassment."

"Good thing," Aramis agreed. "Was s-starting to get bored." Nevertheless, his eyes were still pained as he gripped both of their arms and didn't try to move. "Thank you."

Athos found himself smiling, not something he often did. These were men he could get used to being around, he decided. "Let's not make a repeat of this though, alright?" he dryly suggested, to be met with a tired chuckle from Aramis.

"No," the musketeer agreed, closing his eyes. "No, no more."

#whumptober2020 #no.6 #no more #the musketeers #fanfiction #BBC musketeers #Aramis whump #Porthos and Athos to the rescue #sorry Aramis #pre-Inseperables #blood #torture happens off screen

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