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toms-cherry-trees · 1 year

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Story Of Us|| John Shelby x Reader

Summary: Love is not always ideal. It comes hand on hand with grief

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: Infant/maternal death, grief, teen pregnancy, angst

Author’s note: Nothin to see here, move forward to the story. This took me 2 hours to write and I didn’t proofread one bit

John had always lived in a dilemma. Ever since his dad walked out on them, he tried to get approval from his family, the one thing he never received as a child.. But he only ended up being scolded. When he had to crack the news that he had knocked up Martha, both being just fifteen years of age, Polly hit him across the head with a wooden spoon, and Arthur had to hide him from Martha’s father, who had come for him with a musket.

John and Martha knew they were too young, but they were in love the way only teenagers can be, and the only way they would be allowed together was this. With a baby and the obligation to marry to preserve Martha’s honour. They were wed three months after the musket incident, Martha dressed in a borrowed white dress which did little to hide her rounded bump, and John stuffed in one of his father’s old suits, hastily tailored by Polly. Only the groom’s family was in attendance, since Martha’s father had kicked her out of the house.

Four months later a boy had been born in John’s own bed; a squirming, chubby thing with the most powerful lungs in the whole of Birmingham. Two more babies came in quick succession, another boy and another girl.

And then came the war.

In the time between their rushed marriage and 1914, John had managed to make more or less a living for himself. He had gotten his own home, being able at last to move Martha and the kids out of the cramped quarters of the family home. And they had a young girl from the area helping Martha rear the kids. Life seemed as perfect as it could get until the war struck and the war office came looking for them. Even though the conscription was voluntary at first, it would only be a matter of time before they came and dragged them out of their homes by their feet. John tested his luck as much as he could, even after Tommy and Arthur had already joined the front. But he had started to get dirty looks whenever he left the house, and one morning he woke up to his doorstep filled with chicken feathers. So he went, and left Martha with the kids and the nanny to hold up the fort in his absence.

None of them could know for certain how long they would be away, and it was worrisome to think it could be years before they returned, if they ever did, while the women in their lives were left to fend for themselves. Being granted leave to go home was a privilege mostly reserved for officers, and with John’s explosive nature and cockiness, he spent many months penalised without leave. The first time he managed to go home, in the second half of 1915, Martha and the kids had thrown themselves at his legs and his neck, unwilling to let him go.

In the two weeks he spent in Birmingham, he left Martha with child yet again. The news arrived with delay, as they do when you receive mail in the battlefield, and even more when said letters are heavily monitored by the officers. The letter had been sent a month and a day before it made it into his hands, but the news were not any less joyous, although tinted with a pang of guilt of not being there to support his wife. But John played his part, behaving like a good soldier for once in order to receive leave in time to see his newborn. They estimated the date for the first half of May 1916, a glorious spring.

But the thing is, letters carrying bad news move just as slow and delayed as the good ones. Even slower so, since the war office ordered anything that could tamper with the soldiers’ morale and spirits to be suppressed. John made the entire journey home, on truck, ship and train, only to find Martha had passed 4 weeks before his arrival, alongside their newborn girl. Polly had intercepted him on the train station, having seen him descend from the platform on her way from the market. The toothy grin tugging on his lips slowly fell into a frown as Pol grabbed his arm and practically tugged him into an alley to give him a resumed version of the events, but John didn’t want to hear. He didn’t care how, or why, or when. He only knew, as the ground swayed beneath his feet, that his sweet, lovely wife had left this world without him by his side, and had taken their babe with her to not be alone. Leaving John, aged 22, with a broken heart and 3 young children in the middle of a never ending war.

Polly and Tommy, who also happened to be on leave at that time, had made arrangements for everything after Martha’s passing. Polly had wanted to take in the children herself, to keep them under her wing. But when she even tried to take them out of the house, they clung to their nanny’s skirts like a lifeline, refusing to even step an inch away. Pol understood quickly that having just lost their mother and being in permanent threat of also losing their father, she couldn’t rip them away from the only stable person in their lives. So the girl, having grown deeply fond of her wards, moved into the home full time to look after them in every way a mother would, since the children had grown to love her like one.

When John returned home, he expected to find a gloomy and deserted place, with the hearth cold and empty and lamps out, much like he felt inside his own head. But of course reality rarely matches the expectations, whether good or bad. The children were laughing, playing with some wooden figurines on the carpet. Aged seven, five and three, they were already a force to be reckoned with, being able to mess a room in the blink of an eye. Yet here they were, playing happily under the caring gaze of their nanny. The four of them were startled by his arrival, with the kids scrambling over each other to jump into his arms, knocking over a chair and a side table, sending a vase with daisies crashing down. Home sweet home.

That night, after the kids were put to bed, John sat near the fireplace, nursing a glass of whiskey in his hands. Martha always warned him when the drinks began piling up on the table and his head; her voice whispering in his mind kept him from bringing the liquid to his lips, no matter how desperately he craved the numbness only spirits can provide.

You walked out of the kitchen, untying the apron from your waist. Most of the house chores were neglected during the day, since every waking hour was filled with rearing the little Shelbys. The oldest, David, would be starting school very soon, but you didn’t see how that would come to be, since he refused to be away from you for long. The youngest, Sarah, spent most of her day perched on your hip, although at 2 years of age she was already getting too heavy to carry. Theo, who had just turned five, acted as middle children often do, keeping mostly to himself and showing himself to be independent.

You hadn’t noticed John sitting there, since he was slumped on the floor, his head propped on the sofa and his legs splayed before him. His boots were nowhere to be found and his shirt discarded aside, leaving him only in undershirt. You would have just walked past him if he hadn’t called your name.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes Mr. Shelby?”

“Sit here for a little bit”

Perplexity was not quite the word to describe what you felt, but it came close enough. You had never been afraid of your boss; he and Martha had offered you a job when you most needed it, and they even treated you as a friend, since you were only a year younger than them. You were the one who mediated between them when things got tense, as often happened when very young people were thrusted abruptly into adult life; resentment inevitably building up on the grave of robbed childhood and dreams. And you were the one who took the kids out of the house when they inevitably made peace with each other.

But the situation had changed; the wife dead, the husband away, and you had basically become owner and lady of the home in the meantime, forced to step up for the babies you had known nearly since the cradle. Perhaps taking attributions that didn’t belong to you, but everything done with the best intentions in your heart.

You sat in the armchair farthest away from him, your body perched on the very edge of the seat and your legs laced at the ankles.

John doubted his words, still swirling the whiskey in the glass. Not a tear had left track on his cheeks, but the corners of his eyes were reddened, like those of a man who had learned, either willingly or by force, to hold back emotions.

“Were you here when…when Martha…” The phrase was left hanging in the air

“Yes I was. I had been staying full time already, in case the baby came at night”

Silence. Words slowly dawning on his mind fogged by barely contained grief.

He swallowed thickly “What happened?”

You closed your eyes and breathed in slowly. You knew he would eventually ask, but you hoped he wouldn’t ask you. The desire to know something could turn almost morbid the longer the answer was denied, but you didn’t want to give the grisly details with the wound so fresh, so you hoped he would content with the shortened version.

“The baby came too early, more than a month. And then it got stuck, and the labour dragged on for too long. The girl was….born sleeping. She named her Katie. And then Mrs Shelby caught an infection” You stopped there, hoping the vague narration would be enough explanation so you could avoid the more sensible details.

John nodded slowly, his gaze only fixated in his whiskey glass “Did she…did she say anything? Before she…”

“Mr. Shelby…” You protested, not believing him ready to hear it all

“Just say it!” The words came a lot more harshly than he intended, but they had been dropped and couldn’t be taken back.

You nodded and looked down at your lap, fidgeting with your apron “She told me to look after her babies. And to look after you. She told me we should not be sad for long, because she hated sad faces and life was sad enough as it was and her loved ones had to live happy lives on her behalf. She only asked…she asked that we made sure her kids never forgot about her” Your lower lip trembled. Holding her hand as life slipped away from her had been traumatic for you as well; like watching your own older sister die under your watch.

Your last words broke something inside John. At first, barely perceptible, his lower lip trembled and his eyes glazed while he pondered over his wife’s last words. Then all of a sudden the floodgates opened, tears coursing freely down his cheeks as sobs racked his body. The glass fell and shattered, and you, always acting on maternal instinct, tried to pull him away from the carpet so he wouldn’t land his hand on the shards. But in the brief second your hands touched him, John clung to your waist in the same fashion his eldest son did when he had a nightmare. The force of his embrace pulled you down on the floor, his head burrowed on your lap and his fingers digging on the fabric of your blouse. You had no words to console him, for sometimes, there is no real consolation. So you did the best you could, which was letting him cry out his sorrow and anger in the same apron that had wiped his children’s tears; while you rubbed soothing circles in his back. John cried it all out until his tears had run dry and his frantic heartbeat stilled. Crying is usually followed by drowsiness, and before you knew it your boss had fallen asleep on your lap, soothed by the faint scent of lavender on your clothes. You didn’t want to move him and disrupt the feeble stillness of peace, so you sat there all night, your head perched on the sofa and your hand on his back, dwelling on the creaking of the fire in the hearth.

It couldn’t be helped, the way the bond you and John had of mere friendship morphed into something else. Ever since Martha’s passing, John had managed to squeeze pity out of the war office, being granted leave more often than others to see his children. In the meantime, you took marvellous care of them, and they loved you maybe even more than they loved him.

The way he became drawn to you may seem rushed, but it came from a place of grief. A man with his heart in tatters, finding comfort in the arms that hugged and cuddled his children. Every time he returned home on leave, his barely retained sorrow spilled out the second he crossed the threshold of his home and the memories came crashing like an avalanche. Instead of getting better, he seemed to slowly grow worse. Could it be the grief, could it be the war, seeing his children more grown and mature every time he came, or a mixture of everything, but each leave it became harder to enter his home, and at the end it became harder to return to the front.

John spent many hours of his day locked in his bedroom, splayed on his bed accompanied by a whiskey, inhaling the fading scent of lotion on Martha’s nightgown. More than once you had to threaten to break in through the window in order to coax John into coming out and eating. The children barely noticed his behaviour, far too accustomed to his absence by now, but it pained you to see him miss out on every precious second he could spend with his family, knowing well it could be the last. Not wanting to be mindless of his pain, you gave him a few days to settle and then forced him out of the shell. No one would be called to dine until he came to sit with you all; you would go out to shop alone, making him watch the kids; if one of them had a nightmare at night, you knocked on his door and made him go and lull them back to sleep. You knew it was hard for him, but this is what Martha would have wanted. She wanted John to carry on living, and that he would do, with you behind to support him.

But you never expected to catch feelings in the process. Never had you thought about him as any more than your boss and friend, not before Martha and certainly not after. But looking after him, being his strength at home, even more so than his blood family, it is hard for feelings to not get tangled in the middle. You were the one who saw him sob his eyes out over a picture in the middle of the night: the one who bandaged his hands when he beat the wall in a fit of rage over the unfairness of life, and the one who kept that little family up and running.

On one of his last leaves, in October of 1918, he had, for the first time, sat with all of you for dinner on his first back home without threats or begging. As you served the stew, John cleared his throat to call attention “Tomorrow we are going out. It is a little surprise, but I promise we will have fun”

The children jumped in excitement. It had been far too long since they had all gone out as family, and the prospect of a day out with dad was the best outlook ever. You smiled as you poured a glass for John “What time do you need the kids ready, Mr Shelby?”

“Everyone ready at 10, and I mean everyone. You are coming with us of course, it is a family day”

Your breath hitched in your throat and heat rose to your cheeks, but you just nodded, hiding your shyness behind your glass. The next day the five of you went to an apple orchard, right on time as the sweetest fruits were being harvested. The children ran rampant across the field with wicker baskets, collecting dropped fruits which they would be able to exchange at the end of the day for candy. John and you followed closely behind, both in silence but enjoying the sounds of nature and the laughter of the kids. The autumn leaves crunched beneath your feet making a most delicious sound. For a day, you could all pretend that war had never happened and life was more or less normal. At the end, the children dropped the apples in big wooden troughs, and in exchange were given toffee apples. John bought you two pints of cider which you drank together, sitting under a tree while watching the children play with other kids and trying to sneak more candied apples from the stand

“Look at that, David stole an apple” Far from being outraged, you found the situation amusing “He is your son alright”

John chuckled “Are you insinuating I am a thief, Miss (Y/N)”

“Martha told me all the tales of your youth, Mr. Shelby. Stealing candy is one thing, but stealing liquor from a bar is an extraordinary prowess” You smirked

John’s demeanour dropped ever so slightly at the name, but he was quick to pick himself up “I miss her. She should be here watching the children grow. There should be a toddler here with us, and another baby on the way”

“Missing is part of grieving” You patted his hand “It means you lived and loved. Even if you stop grieving you’ll never stop missing”

John pondered over your words, staring at the bottom of his pint “Thank you for being here…if you hadn’t been here, we would all have fallen apart. I would have fallen apart but you glued me back together out of your pure stubbornness so I would be there for me kids” John squeezed your hand “You have saved us all”

You chuckled “Saviour is a bit too far I’d say. But I am glad I could be of help. You are a good man John, and you deserve good things” It dawned on you a second too late that you had called him by his first name. The apologies were already piling in your tongue but John laughed it out “Seven bloody years it took you to call me John”

You could only join in on his infectious laughter, feeling the worries flutter away. It had been a while since he last laughed, and you took it as a sign of his healing. The rest of the evening went in a blissful blur, with you two sharing bites of an apple while he picked fallen leaves off your hair, and having to haul all three kids home in your arms, them too tired to walk. John surprised you with having stuffed his coat’s wide pockets with apples, and you surprised him in return with a homemade apple pie.

You enjoyed every day of his leave, dreading the moment he would once more part. The children had, now that they were older, come to resent his absences, and it always broke them a little to have him return only to leave, perhaps forever, over and over and over again. But one the last day, right before being due to leave, John arrived back after being out all morning, loaded with parcels and gifts. He had received news from the war office to not return to his post, for truce would be called in less than a week. The men would return home and the nightmare would be over.

“Tonight we celebrate like never before!”

Everyone received presents that day. The children received toys, John sent gifts for his aunt and siblings, and he even bought you a new dress. That night you feasted like you had never before, the evening topped with a marvellous store bought cake and the children falling asleep earlier than usual, stuffed with turkey and cake. After they were put to bed, it was only John and you before the fire, passing back and forth a bottle of champagne. The day was for joy and celebration and all boundaries had been torn down. You two were laughing just for the sake of laughter and the relief of having survived hell.

“So what happens now, once the Shelbys are back on track?” You inquired curiously “Business as usual?”

“I reckon men will be eager to vent off steam and enjoy the things they missed out. I promise the den will be up to the beams with patrons. Future is looking bright” He took a swing of the bottle, foam trickling down the side of his lip. You reached up to wipe the liquid with the back of your hand. John eyed you curiously before bringing up a far different topic.

“Have you thought about getting married?”

You did very poorly in hiding your surprise “Me? Married? Why do you ask?”

He simply shrugged “You are a lovely young lady, in the prime of your life. Surely don’t you plan on spending the rest of your days taking care of other people’s kiddos?”

A smirk tugged on your lips “Are you planning on firing me, Mr. Shelby?”

“Wouldn’t dare to, love. Just wanting to know if someone is knocking at your heart”

Oh someone was knocking at your heart at the very moment. Your heartbeat hammered your ribs, ready to escape off your chest out of your mouth. “No one is, Mr. Shelby”

Those words had barely made it out when his lips came crashing into yours, his warm hand cradling your jaw, the other placed in the middle of your back and pulling you close. His lips were soft and gentle, and his hands kept a firm grip on you. Your own hands came to lay on his chest, feeling his fluttering heartbeat under your touch. The kiss seemed to last forever and nothing at the same time. When he pulled away you were out of breath, but also wanted to keep going until time ended. When John broke the kiss, he remained close enough to lean his forehead on yours.

“I didn’t screw it up, did I?” A boyish grin played on his lips.

“Not one bit, not at all” Your index traced the side of his jaw, feeling the muscles tense as his smile widened

“So you won’t mind it I test my luck again” And just like that, his lips once more came onto yours, this time both hands on your waist as your arms came around his neck. It was funny, but in that moment you knew, after just one kiss, that you never wanted to kiss any other lips but his, nor feel any other hands’ on your waist or your hair.

You knew his grieving had not come to an end, and he would continue to love his first wife to the end of his days. But that did not mean he did not have space in his heart for you, nor that he would feel for you any less. It only meant he had lived, and would continue to do so with you.

#john shelby #john shelby x reader #john shelby x you #john shelby and reader #john shelby and you #shelby reader #reader insert #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x you #john shelby one shot #john shelby fanfic #john shelby imagine #john shelby fic #marsie writes

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kafkasapartment · 9 days

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Lady Florence Norman, a suffragette, rode a motor-scooter to work in London in 1916. The scooter, a gift from her husband, was likely a gasoline-powered Everready, an early mass-produced model. (The initial reports that it was electric and an Autoped are not correct.)

#history #scooter #feminism #histoire #technology #evs #vintage #photography #foto

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 1 year

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Leg Show T

The 1915 Leg Show T was a very famous show car back in the early 1970s and the subject of what was arguably one of the most famous (and dramatic) magazine covers ever taken. The Leg Show T, a 1915 Ford Model T, and a highly customized version at that, appeared on the January 1971 cover of Rod &Custom and was an instant hit. (According to Pat Ganahl, a onetime Hot Rod and R&C staffer) would call this the "best rod magazine cover ever produced". It wasn't eligible for the Americas Most Beautiful Roadster trophy as the car didn't run at the time. (It would later make the 4,000-mile roundtrip to the 1971 NSRA Street Rod Nationals in Memphis, TN.)

#car #cars #muscle car #american muscle #show car #ford

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sixteenseveredhands · 19 days

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Milunka Savić, the Most Decorated Female Combatant in History: Savić disguised herself as a man in order to join the Serbian army during the Balkan Wars, then served again during WWI, earning medals from Serbia, France, Russia & Britain; she also provided medical support to anti-fascists during WWII and spent 10 months in a Nazi concentration camp

This is a total rewrite of a post that I did last year, with much more detailed information, more photos, and some additional sources.

Milunka Savić is regarded as the most decorated female combatant in history. She fought for the Serbian Army during both of the Balkan Wars, before returning to the battlefield again during WWI. Savić was wounded in battle on 9 separate occasions and survived the Serbian Great Retreat, making the perilous journey across the mountains of Montenegro and Albania through the dead of winter with a serious head injury.

Her military career began during the First Balkan War in 1912, when her younger brother was called up to serve in the Serbian army, and she decided that she would covertly take his place. She cut her hair, wore men's clothing, and presented herself as her brother.

The First Balkan War, 1912: Milunka Savić as a young soldier during the First Balkan War, shortly after joining the Serbian army

She was able to hide her true identity for quite some time. Her skills as a soldier quickly became evident as the war progressed, and she earned her first medal/promotion during the Battle of Bregalnica in 1913. Unfortunately, she was hit by shrapnel from a Bulgarian grenade during her tenth deployment, causing injuries to her chest and abdomen, and those wounds (along with the subsequent medical treatment) ultimately led to the discovery that she had lied about her identity.

In recognition of her accomplishments on the battlefield, her commanding officer decided not to punish her for the initial deception, but informed her that she would not be allowed to return to combat -- as a woman, she could only be transferred to the nursing division instead.

As the story goes:

Savić was called before her commanding officer. They didn't want to punish her, because she had proven a valuable and highly competent soldier, and the military deployment that had resulted in her [sex] being revealed had been her tenth; but neither was it suitable for a young woman to serve in combat. She was offered a transfer to the Nursing division. Savić stood at attention and insisted that she only wanted to fight for her country as a combatant.

The officer said he'd think it over and give her his answer the next day. Still standing at attention, Savić responded, "I will wait." It is said he only made her stand an hour before agreeing to send her back to the infantry.

Savić was able to serve in a combat role throughout the remainder of the Balkan Wars.

The Second Balkan War finally came to an end in 1913, but that peace was short-lived, as World War I erupted just a year later. Savić returned to the military once more, serving in the elite "Iron Regiment" of the Serbian army.

World War I, c.1915-1916: Savić was no longer forced to hide her identity when she returned to battle during WWI, and these images show her posing in uniform with her hair grown out

Savić received the Serbian Karađorđe Star with Swords medal on two separate occasions during WWI; the second medal was given to her after the Battle of Crna Bend in 1916, where she was credited with single-handedly capturing 23 Bulgarian soldiers. She received several other medals throughout the course of her career, including the French Legion of Honor (twice), the French Croix de Guerre, the Russian Cross of St. George, the British Medal of the Most Distinguished Order of St. Michael, and the Serbian Miloš Obilić.

WWI, c.1915-1916: Milunka Savić as a Corporal in the Iron Regiment

She suffered a serious head injury while fighting along the Macedonian front, and she was still gravely wounded when Austro-Hungarian, German, and Bulgarian forces gained control of Serbia in the winter of 1915. The Serbian army was then ordered to make a full retreat from Serbia; Savić and her fellow soldiers, along with the Serbian government and more than 200,000 civilians, were all forced to flee through the mountains of Montenegro and Albania in the dead of winter, hoping to reach Allied forces along the Adriatic Coast -- a perilous journey that would later be known as the Serbian Great Retreat (or the Albanian Golgotha). Roughly 400,000 people embarked on this journey, and less than 180,000 of them survived, eventually reaching the Allied ships along the Adriatic coast.

Despite her injuries, Milunka Savić was among the survivors. She was sent to an infirmary, where she spent several months recovering from her injuries, before she returned to the battlefield alongside Allied forces.

At the end of the war, the French government offered to provide Savić with a full pension and living accommodations in France, in recognition of her actions while serving alongside the French military during WWI. She ultimately declined the offer and chose to retire back in Serbia instead, where she and her husband settled down to raise their daughter and three other girls that Milunka had adopted. The couple would later separate, however, and Milunka was left to raise her children as a single mother, working at a local bank to make ends meet.

In 1941, Serbia (which was then part of Yugoslavia) fell under Nazi occupation. During this period, Savić was involved in providing medical support to local partisans and anti-fascists who had resisted the Nazi occupation. She was eventually arrested by German officers; there are differing accounts of the events leading up to her arrest, with some sources suggesting that she was arrested as a result of her involvement with the local partisans and other anti-fascist elements, while other sources claim that she was arrested after she offended several Nazi officials by openly refusing to attend a formal banquet that was being held in honor of the German military campaign. In any case, she was imprisoned at the infamous Baljinca Concentration Camp for ten months before finally being released.

She faced other forms of hardship in the aftermath of WWII, as she struggled to support herself and her children. She worked several low-paying jobs over the years, while living in a dilapidated, decaying house in Belgrade. Her name (and her long list of accomplishments) had largely faded into obscurity by then.

Serbia, 1972: Milunka Savić proudly displaying some of her medals in 1972, when her story became more widely known

It wasn't until the early 1970s that her involvement with the military finally began to receive more widespread attention, both in Serbia and abroad. Following the 1972 publication of an article that told her story, her local community in Belgrade quickly rallied to provide her with newer, more suitable living arrangements.

Sadly, she passed away within just a year of the article's publication.

In 2013, Milunka Savić's remains were relocated from the small mausoleum where they had been interred since 1973, and she was reburied in Belgrade's "Alley of the Greats," where some of the most well-known and most widely respected Serbians are laid to rest.

Sources & More Info:

Research Gate: Milunka Savić: the Forgotten Heroine of Serbia

Girl Museum: Milunka Savić

Law and Politics: The Position of Women in the Serbian Army

Medium: The Fearless Woman-Bomber Who Died Proud, Broke, and Forgotten

Wikipedia: Milunka Savić

Mental Floss: The Serbian "Great Retreat" Begins (WWI Centennial)

#history #Milunka Savić #women in history #serbia #women in the military #balkans #military history #wwii #wwi #yugoslavia #milunka savic #challenging gender norms #feminism #femininity #serbian history #women's liberation #women in war #real-life mulan

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bignaz8 · 1 month

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The historic, “Indian Head Nickel” once appeared on a 1970's protest poster that read, "…The only Indian America ever cared about".

~ The true story of the subject of the coin includes the account of the sad fate of, "Black Diamond", the majestic bison that served as the model on the nickle’s reverse face. Black Diamond [nicknamed, “Toby”] was called The, "contrariest" animal in a New York City zoo where he was kept, hailed as the largest of his kind who in his prime weighed more than 1,500 pounds. After the Buffalo Nickel went into circulation, Black Diamond became something of a celebrity, with many people coming to the zoo just to see the buffalo from the coin. Amazingly, after an unsuccessful public auction, the Central Park Zoo sold Black Diamond to A. Silz, Inc., a meat-packing company.

Despite many efforts to save him, Black Diamond was slaughtered. A taxidermist mounted his head and turned his hide into an automobile robe. The A. Silz company began selling steaks to restaurants under the “Black Diamond” brand.

November 17, 1915. New York Times article excerpt “The mighty bison Black Diamond bravely stood his ground in the Joseph Stern & Co. slaughterhouse on West 40th Street in New York City, staring at the man aiming the .38-caliber revolver at him. When the man pulled the trigger, the weapon kicked in his hand as the bullet hit Black Diamond’s head, but didn’t penetrate his four-inch-thick skull, which was covered with a hide two inches thick. Instead, the bullet dropped to the ground, flattened, amazing onlookers [400 people were reported to be in attendance] , Black Diamond, angry and sensing danger, lowered his head to charge his assailant, but a second assassin was waiting, this one holding a sledgehammer. When the bison, nicknamed Toby, lowered his head, that man gave a mighty swing and the sledgehammer made a sickening thud as it crushed Black Diamond’s skull...,"

Image ~ "Iron Tail (Oglala) with a Buffalo named Black Diamond", undated photograph.

#buffalo nickel

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queenquinzel715 · 1 year

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1. Tommy Shelby 18+

Wrd Count 1,779

1. Tommy Shelby 18+

Y/n P.O.V

1915

From how quiet all three of them were just made me question, what did they do now? I look at Ada with a raised eyebrow who then looks at Polly. Polly takes a sip of her tea before looking at the Shelby brothers.

"What did you three do?" She sharply asks.

Polly is the only woman in my entire life that I'm afraid of, and just know better than to lie to her. She's descended from a gypsy princess, and she can tell your soul better than you do. Tommy finally sits his unread paper down as John looks down at his hands.

"Well!" She snaps.

"We.." John clears his throat. "We've decided to skip the draft, and just sign up to join the war." He says with a solemn face.

I couldn't believe what I just heard. I look at Tommy full of shock as he looks at me.

"You did what?!" Ada asked as she stood with her hands on her hips.

"Ada, just take a breath." I sigh. "They would've joined the war regardless." I haven't taken my eyes off of Tommy, but he looks down.

A month later

I look around the train platform at all the crying families, the people that cling to each other, and just can't believe I'm standing here. I squeezed John and Arthur in hard hugs and told them to keep eyes in the back of their heads. When I stepped on Tommy I almost lost my hold. He pulls me to his chest holding me by the back of my head. When we pull back he kisses my forehead.

"Please be careful." I beg him.

Present

The Garrison was packed more than usual today, so I'm cleaning harder to get the spills up. A loud knock coming from the front door makes me drop the mop with a gasp. I walk to the door with an exhausted sigh, stopping at the first set of doors.

"We're closed, come back tomorrow." I call out.

"It's me y/n." Tommy answers.

He rushes in once the door is open. After locking it again I walk in to him pouring himself a drink, and down it in just seconds. Ever since the war has ended I've been worried about all of them, especially Tommy. He walks around like he wasn't fazed by almost being buried to death, but I, as well as Polly, see it in his eyes. He's completely locked his head up.

I decide to leave him to his drink as I start to sweep again. He watches me for a moment before pulling out a smoke, and lighting it.

"Did you know about Ada?" He simply asks, I walk toward him with eyes on his.

"Yes. Thought I'd keep it to myself." I tell him honestly.

He responds with a hum, giving me those narrow eyes, as he takes a drink. I take the cigarette out from between his fingers as I sit across from him. I take a hit with a big sigh as I exhale the smoke.

"All I got to tell you, Tommy, is that she's happy." I give him back his cigarette as I shrug.

After we sit in silence for a few minutes he leans back in his chair.

"The Lees cursed my horse." He tells me.

I shake my head as I stand up, and walk around toward him.

"Come on. You need sleep." I take his hand, slightly pulling him.

I guide us through the streets of Small Heath to my flat. Once we get inside I help him with his wet clothes, hang his and mine on the line next to the fireplace. I walk to him as he's hunched over with his elbow on his knees. He moves his hands so I can stand in between his legs. His hands go from my thighs to around my waist as he leans his head on my stomach. I run my fingers through his hair, down his neck, letting him relax. Ever since Tommy has been back I've been here to help with his demons that swarm his head. I know eventually I'll end up hurt, but I'd rather be here now than never know.

"I had to shoot the horse." He mumbles as he pulls me to his chest.

"You did what you had to do, Love. It would've suffered." I slowly move to straddle his lap as I softly talk to him.

His hands move up my slip to hold my hips as he lightly kisses my shoulders. I rub up his bicep to his shoulder. He holds me to his body as he lays his head against my chest. After a moment he starts kissing up the middle of my chest to my neck. He lays back with me still standing on my knees, and he watches me take my slip off. I lean down to kiss him while he slides his boxers off. The feeling of him brush against my opening is something I wish I could feel everyday.

"Tommy." I lightly gasp as I slowly sink down on him.

His hand holds my jaw to make me look into his eyes, and the other rests on the curve of my back and ass. I feel him lift his legs onto the bed causing me to open more before a hard thrust makes me moan out with surprise. With his forceful thrust I could only hold onto his biceps and since he held my face in place my moans could more than likely be heard all the way to London. His hand travels to my ass gripping it as he starts to slow down. I could finally move my hips with his making the both of us moan out at the perfect rhythm. With a quick flip I'm on my back, and he's pushed completely against me. As he grinds in me he holds my hands over my head. I arch against him, meeting his movements, letting my body go, and just losing myself to him. He gives a final forceful pound

"Fuck!"

"Tommy!" We both moan out at the same time.

He moves us to the pillows, and helps cover me up. I expected him to leave, like usual, but he lies there. His arm goes over my waist as we get comfortably warm. I wake up to the sun in my eyes. I yawn with a stretch, but when I take a deep breath I smell smoke. I just about jump up when I see Tommy sitting at my small table reading the paper with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

"Tommy?" I am confused as to why he's still here.

He sets his paper down with a look of concentration, and when he gets up he puts out his cigarette. When he steps in front of me his eyes look at my face, but they are filled with confusion. He softly holds my face in his hands.

"I'm going to London for a few days." He simply tells me. "When I get back I want to take you somewhere."

"Okay Tom." I softly say with a small smile. "Just come back in one piece." I pull his tie so his lips are closer.

He chuckles at me as he kisses me, rubbing his hands over my lower back, and laying me back. He gives a kiss on my forehead before standing up. I watch as he puts his vest on along with his jacket.

"I'm leaving now, so I'll see you in three days, yeah?" I nod to him, still shocked he's here.

The couple days he was gone I worked helping Polly in the betting shop, and mostly spending my night thinking of Tommy. I always worry when he's gone. I just know he's doing something dangerous.

On the second night I'm woken by my bed dipping, and Tommy kissing me softly. I'm about to question what was he doing here when I realize he's naked down to his boxers, and he climbs into the bed. He kisses along my neck as he gets all the way under the blanket. My hand comes up to grip the back of his shoulder as I gasp. His hand moves to my thigh, lifting it as he lightly bites my ear.

"Tommy." I softly moan.

My night dress is bunched at my waist while I relax my legs on Tommy's waist. He leans back enough to take the dress off completely. My body shivers from the cool air, but once his lips go against my chest it's forgotten. He slides his boxers down while he takes my nipple into his mouth. I arch into him, letting my hands slide down his back. He comes up to lean my forehead against mine, and locks our eyes together. I gasp at him slowly sliding into me. His arms cage around my head while he starts to move. The room is quickly filled with moans, gasps of breath, and the creaks of the old bed. My stomach tightens at his sloppy thrusts. With his face in my neck, my hand on the back of his head, and my other is on his hip feeling his movement.

"Fuck (y/n)." He groans into my neck.

All I could was gasp from how hard my release was, and how great it felt. He falls next to me, pulling me close to him, as we catch our breath. He gives me a kiss on the top of my head before lighting a cigarette. I just keep my head on his chest as he starts moving my hair around. When morning comes he wakes me with a deep kiss, and leaves for the beating shop, telling me he'll meet me there.

When I do finally walk in the shop John is inking at me as he calls out names, and as the day goes John and Arthur crack jokes about when Tommy's and I's wedding. When Tommy would come out of his office Polly would give him grief for taking too long.

Tommy and I stayed together somehow. He did ask me to marry him the day before the family meeting where he tells everyone that the Shelby family is legit. Our reception was practically a business party, but my wedding was exactly the way I wanted it, Tommy made sure it happened. Our family started to grow. Our son, Nicholas was born, and Tommy turned completely territorial. I could go anywhere without someone with a peaky cap on. A year after Nicholas our daughter, Marie was born. The girl is the peaky princess.

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the-bottom-of-the-abyss · 2 years

Text

siren song - chapter 3

previous chapter: chapter 2

next chapter: chapter 4

A/N: This is a little dialogue heavy and mostly mission focused. I really want to make it as immersive as possible! I'm like fighting with the taglist rn in getting it to tag everyone properly. If it doesn't notify you just message me and I'll see if there's a broken link in my Excel sheet somewhere! Thank you for all the love on this series!! I makes me so happy!!

Siren

29 August 2022

1915, Mexican Special Forces base, Las Almas

“We got a hit on Hassan’s location. He’s being stashed in a cartel safehouse not far from your current location.”

Maps pinpointing a safehouse appeared behind a picture Hassan as Laswell’s voice rang out in the dark room, the only source of light being the projector.

You stood out some compared to the rest of the room; while everyone else sported tactical gear, you were still in your outfit from earlier with an addition: you wore a jacket that was about three sizes too big on your frame and smelled of gun-oil and pine-scented body wash. You looked like a kid playing dress up in their parents clothes with it reaching your mid-thigh and sleeves being longer than your arms.

You stood next to the jacket’s owner, Ghost, as Laswell and the General went over tomorrow’s plan. Of course, once you caught up to him after your impromptu “conversation,” neither of you mentioned what occurred.

Seemed to be a running theme.

“Ghost, Soap, Siren, and Mexican Special Forces will hit the safehouse tomorrow afternoon. Phillip Graves and his Shadow PMC will be on standby for air support. I’ll leave you to rest and prepare. We need to get Hassan.”

—

While everyone filed out of the room, Alejandro gestured for you to stay. Both Soap and Ghost gave you a look but you waved them on ahead.

“Siren,” he started. “I’m not sure if anyone else will say it, but you did good today, hermana. Others may not understand, but I know what it’s like to give everything for the sake of what is right.” In that moment, the dark look in his eyes made him seem ten years older than what he was. It was clear just by his demeanor that he had been through a lot, had to give up a lot to get to where he was now. “You gave us more than just Hassan. Things that we normally wouldn’t be able to get our hands on.”

“I’m glad,” you said, not really knowing what else to say. Did you say you were suprised but then again you weren’t? On one hand, you were used to discussing your exploits freely with Laswell and Shepherd, and before them, your previous superiors. On the other, you knew this was very different than what the others were used to when it came to gathering intel; likely it seemed very odd that someone would voluntarily let bad men get close in the most intimate way possible for any reason, regardless of importance. You had your reasons though, not that anyone besides a handful knew them.

“Let me show you to your room with Soap and Ghost.”

—

He brought you to a small room that held three cots. Soap sat on the far left one while the far right one had what you assumed to be Ghost’s stuff on it. Alejandro left to go brief his men on tomorrow’s plan while you sat down your stuff on the middle bed and turned to face Soap.

“Where’s Ghost?”

“In the shower,” Soap replied.

“Good. I think he’s a little mad at me.”

“Nah,” Soap said. “He was just concerned.” You could tell he wasn’t really looking at you, instead training his eyes anywhere but you. Since Soap didn’t say anything more on that topic, you decided to breach the subject of your mission.

“Thanks for having my back.”

“O’ course,” he replied. Again, his answer was short and you decided that you should probably just address the elephant in the room.

“You’re allowed to look at me, Soap. And you can talk about what you saw. I’m sure it’s not your everyday idea of intelligence gathering.”

He nodded and finally looked at you in the eyes.

“I just,” he started. “I don’t want to be like them. I’m sure when you’re like that, men stare at you like you’re a piece of meat. I don’t want to make you feel like I don’t view you as equal because of what you do. You’re part of the team now, Siren.”

You gave him a small smile. “That’s very considerate, Soap, really. But I promise, it really does not bother me. I choose to do this work, and I don’t want you to feel awkward with me. Trust me, you’re not like them. None of you are.”

Just as you finished your sentiment, Ghost walked in. You slid the jacket off of your shoulders and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” you said not waiting for a reply before grabbing your things to shower. You did not want to open up the can of worms that was your mission with him, not when you needed to prepare for tomorrow. You could trade smart remarks and barbs another day.

“No one will give you trouble?” Soap asked, likely referencing your outfit, now on display once more.

“If they did, they would regret it,” you said, showing off your still bloody knife from earlier with a sacchrine smile.

---

Siren

30 August 2022

0930, En route to cartel safehouse, Las Almas

You sat squished in between Soap and Ghost with Rodolfo driving and Alejandro in the passanger seat on the way to the safehouse. You were on the way to hopefully capture Hassan and secure any missles still in his hands. Before you could get very far, you saw Soap reach for his gun.

“White truck, four armed in the back.”

“Hey—tranquilo,” Alejandro said, turning his upper body to face Soap. “Easy—that’s normal here. Guns on the street is jurisdiction of the police.”

“Where are the police?” you asked.

“Well, Las Almas has a very serious problem,” he began, looking at you in the rearview mirror. “There are few here to uphold the law. And many of those who resist corruption… Disappear.”

“What about the military?” countered Soap.

“Well, because we are well trained, soldiers are recruited by the narcos…”

“Why not you?” Ghost’s voice rang out from beside you.

Alejandro gave a shrug. “We grew up here. They call us Los Vaqueros… Cowboys. We love this place. And we will die fighting for it.” All you could think about was the brief conversation you had with Alejandro last night. It was clear he really did care for Las Almas. And would die for it as well.

As you continued to drive, you saw a cart with balloons and sweets serving families but with a twist: a cartel member in a skull balaclava holding a rifle was with them, interacting with them.

“Kids, guns and balloons… that’s a new one,” Soap said, giving both Ghost and you a troubled glance.

“Narcos use generosity to win over the people,” Alejandro said in explanation.

“Even the children?”

“Especially the children…” said Rodolfo, glancing at the three of you in the rearview.

Not even a few minutes later, you drove past another disturbing sight, one that made Rodolfo stop the car as you all looked on. An older blue pickup truck had a white sheet covered in spanish taped onto the bed of the truck. Under it lied two bodies covered with a cloth of the same mantra, their blood staining the cobblestone underneath. From the blood alone you could tell these deaths were not due to a simple bullet to the head.

“What’s on those sheets?” Soap asked.

“Narcomantas…” Alejandro said, a haunted look in his eyes.

“Cartel cloths,” explained Rodolfo.

“Messages from El Sin Nombre. Warnings, marking territory,” Alejandro shook his head. “Our streets are laced with death.”

“Who’s Sin Nombre?” Ghost asked.

“El Sin Nombre,” Alejandro corrected. “The Nameless… The leader of the Las Almas cartel.”

“Where can we find him?” Soap asked with a subtle threat in his tone.

“You can’t. No one knows who he is,” As Alejandro spoke, you drove past a mural to El Sin Nombre, along with the Las Almas cartel symbol: a rose with two crossed daggers. That same symbol was tattooed on Miguel’s arm along with the rest of his friends. “But he is everywhere, and this is a challenge,” Alejandro then chuckled and looked at his partner. “But Los Vaqueros like challenges.”

A beat passed before Rodolfo spoke up. “With your mask, you will fit in well here, Ghost.” Ghost looked at Rodolfo in the mirror while Soap made a hand gesture to not talk about it. You mainly just watched the exchange but couldn’t help to harden your gaze slightly at the remark; it doesn’t take a genius to infer that Ghost wore his mask for a reason.

“Hey, easy…” Alejandro told Rodolfo before directing him to avoid the roadblock ahead. “Checkpoint. It’s the army. Turn right, we’ll go around.” Rodolfo nodded and turned down a side street.

“Why?” Soap asked.

“Some troops are in the pocket of El Sin Nombre. Like I told you, he is everywhere. The info on the narco’s phone showed the cartel is hiding Hassan in the village across the river. Let’s hope he’s still there.”

You continued driving out of the main hub in Las Almas with everyone left in their thoughts as the smooth stone turned to well-driven backroads.

You were thinking about last night. The thrill of the game, the satisfaction at getting people to believe your new personality. How you wore so many masks that not many knew the real one, not even you sometimes.

But at least you weren’t the only one that wore a mask. Maybe you wore them for different reasons but you both still hid behind them just the same.

---

Siren

30 August 2022

1000, Cartel safehouse, Las Almas

The car slowed down, the gravel underneath the tires causing you to jerk into both Ghost and Soap. Rodolfo had stopped the car at what looked like a small handful of houses, all hidden between trees.

“Team leaders, circle up on me,” you heard Alejandro say as he exited the car. All of you followed in suit and gathered your weapons. You carried a sniper rifle with a bit harder of a punch, the LA-B 330, and a VEL 46, a submachine gun that was quick to fire and could take down enemies fast in close combat.

You all then gathered around Alejandro to hear what he had to say.

As some of his other teanm passed you, some took a daring glance at Ghost, who now sported sunglasses over his mask. Luckily for them, none commented, not even in Spanish.

“Weapons hot, Vaqueros.”

“Where are they holding Hassan?” As Soap asked, Rodolfo and Alejandro exchanged a fist bump before Rodolfo departed, leading his own group of men.

“White two-story building. Back of town,” Alejandro told Soap. Alejandro lead you, Ghost, Soap and two of his men, Rodriguez and Sanchez, to a solid gate with the connecting archway being made of pieced-together cobblestone.

As you stood outside of the gate beside Soap, Alejandro whispered something in Spanish to his radio, likely telling them to stand by.

Then he counted down from three and Ghost flung open the door for Alejandro to enter, gun drawn, followed by Ghost, Soap, you, then Rodriguez and Sanchez.

“Clear. Move,” Alejandro ordered.

“Civillians?” you asked. It didn’t seem like it was strictly a drug manufactoring hub. There were soccer balls, grills, and gardens around some of the houses, things that were more indicative of families than narcos.

“Gone,” Alejandro replied. “Cartel took over. It’s a hideout now.” You passed two abandoned houses before coming upon a gate like the first one.

“Good place to keep Hassan,” Soap commented.

Just before Ghost opened the gate you could hear voices on the other side.

As Alejandro entered, he radioed to his men to his team to move in while he fired at one of three members. You used your SMG to take out one while Soap took out another.

“They’re down,” Alejandro said. “Push up.”

You moved forward and turned a corner. Bullets were fired towards your team from the end, and you all returned fire, taking down the two men shooting at you.

“Clear,” you said after those two were killed.

“Secure this house, then we go for Hassan,” Alejandro told the five of you.

“Cartel will move him fast,” Ghost cautioned.

“Then we move faster.”

Voices from inside the house could be heard; there was no way they did not hear the gunfire being exchanged.

“Heads up, they’re ready. Take the door, Soap.”

Soap opened the door, revealing a darkened interior. You didn’t have to search for anyone long because as soon as Soap was about to turn down the hall, you hear, “Muere, hijo de-“ before being cut off by gunfire.

“Doorway, right side,” you told Soap. He swung his rifle into the side room which was clear of any hostiles.

“Hassan could be anywhere…” Alejandro said.

Before Soap could check the next room, shots were already fired from within, the muzzle flash illuminating the room. Soap shot through the door and nothing else could be seen or heard.

“Room clear,” he said.

“Good shots, hermano.”

“No sign of Hassan,” you commented.

“Not yet,” Alejandro replied.

The six of you pushed into the living room. It seemed like a cozy space, once upon a time. A red, well-used couch sat in front of a TV and the connected kitchen had white tile that contrasted with the dark, wood cabinets. It looked like a family home.

Apparently, you weren’t the only one who thought so.

“What happened to the families here?” Soap asked.

“The cartel brings violence, so they leave,” Alejandro said. “Get ready to move.”

Just as Soap went to open the door, Alejandro stopped him. “Stand by…”

He radioed some of his men, with the only word you could translate being smoke.

A hissing noise filled the air as a heavy mist could be seen falling outside the windows.

“Where’s your family, Alejandro?” Soap asked.

“Soap!” you chastised. He gave you a look that was like, “What? It was just a question.”

Alejandro nodded at you and looked back to Soap. “I keep that a secret, hermano… To protect them.”

Ghost, ever the tactition, said, “We have concealment.”

This earned an affirmative nod from Alejandro who then said, “Let’s move. On me.”

You followed him out the door and into the smoke. The house in front of you was two stories, white, with three bay windows. An abandoned red, yellow, and blue toy tricycle laid in the yard, the image causing a pang in your heart.

“This is where they were hiding Hassan. Expect resistance,” Alejandro said. He then radioed to the other team your location.

“¡Vamos, vamos!”

Sanchez shot off the lock and Alejandro rolled a flash grenade in, letting it go off before entering. Shots were exchanged almost immediately; Alejandro took out a few, leaving the rest for you, Soap, and Ghost.

You took out one who was firing through a door before yelling out, “Clear!”

“Clear!” Alejandro confirmed. “No Hassan.”

“Second deck,” Ghost ordered.

“Si. Vamos. Let’s move upstairs and get Hassan.”

You followed Alejandro and Ghost up the stairs while Soap and Rodriguez came up last. As they reached the turn in the stairs, someone began shooting at them. Ghost quickly got rid of the threat before moving to the side of a doorway.

“If Hassan’s here, he’s in this room,” Alejandro said, gesturing with his head to the doorway Ghost stood at. Two cartel members fired at the five of you but stood little chance with five soldiers with automatic weapons aiming for them.

“Move in. Secure the room. I’ll cover,” Alejandro said once the bullets stopped coming from the room. You made your way through, stepping over one of the bodies in order to check the bathroom. You flung the door open and let out a breath when it was empty. “Clear. No Hassan.”

Alejandro radioed to his men that Hasssan was not in the building and Rodolfo seemed to confirm that he had gotten the message.

A desk was sat near a window and it had what looked to be an open backpack, a beer, a plate, and a binder that Ghost was now flipping through.

Alejandro heaved a sigh. “They must’ve moved him.”

“When?” Soap questioned, walking up to stand beside you and Ghost.

“Recently.”

Before you could chime in, Ghost pointed at a flag above the desk. It was a vibrant blue with a yellow symbol on it. It depicted a hand gripping an assault weapon in a fist in front of a world symbol. On it was text you couldn’t decipher but you didn’t need a translation to recognize the flag.

“Quds Force. That’s his flag,” Ghost said.

“He was here,” Alejandro said.

“Siren’s intel was good,” Soap concluded.

Before you could make a comment on it, Rodolfo’s voice came in urgently over the radio. Whatever he said caused Alejandro to curse.

“¡Mierda!”

He rushed to the bay windows facing the village entrance, causing you all to follow.

“What is it?” Ghost asked.

“The army,” Alejandro said ominously.

“We got reinforcements,” Soap said. However by Alejandro’s tone and subsequent orders to his men, you had a feeling this wasn’t an aid in your search for Hassan.

“Negative,” Alejandro said, confirming your suspicions.

“What’re we doin’?” Ghost asked quietly, kneeling in front of the wall between two of the windows. You took a place beside him, looking out the same window as Soap while Alejandro looked took the other side of the window Ghost was peeking through.

“Covering my men,” Alejandro answered. “Once they’re clear, we fall back.”

“You want us to engage with the fucking Mexican Army?” Soap asked, incredulously.

“No, carnal. These troops are paid by the cartel. They’re helping the cartel protect Hassan.”

You saw a couple cars drive into the village. You switched to your rifle to look through the scope at the approaching forces.

“Hold your fire,” Alejandro ordered. “We’ll dig in until my men are clear.”

“Multiple vehicles… Troop transports. Light-armor,” Ghost noted.

A beat passed. “Hold fire,” Alejandro repeated. “Let them get close.”

Then, a Mexican Army officer yelled, prompting Alejandro to say, “Weapons free!”

Bullets rained down into the house, causing the windows to break. You took aim with your scope and shot a few, only to find they didn’t go down in one shot like they should have.

“Shit! They’re armored!” You yelled, trying to take some of them down but it was taking far more bullets than you were used to.

“Target the helmets! They’re weak!”

You did, still annoyed that it was taking two shots to take them down. However, it was much less than the five to shoot them in the chest.

“They’re using shields!” Ghost yelled as he leaned out of cover to take aim at soldiers coming in the gate.

“Semtex out!” You pulled out a Semtex from your tactical vest and chucked it at a combat shield; it luckily stuck and you watched it go off, taking out nearby soldiers as well as the one holding the shield.

“Nice throw!” Ghost yelled over all the noise.

“Thanks!” you yelled back, giving him a grin that seemed out of place with your surroundings.

Rodolfo’s voice came through Alejandro’s radio but you were too occupied to try and listen.

“Okay! My men are clear!” Alejandro yelled.

“Then we need to move!” Soap replied, narrowly, throwing a frag out the window.

“Fall back! This way!” Just as Alejandro ordered it, a canister was thrown into the room, an orange smoke erupting and causing you all to cough.

“Tear gas!” you choke out. Tears came out of your eyes unwillingly and you felt like your lungs were burning. It was all you could do to keep moving one foot in front of the other without falling to the ground to catch your breath.

Alejandro broke a window in the back of the room and you all stumbled over and jumped out after him. Still coughing a little, you followed him as he ran through a break in the cobblestone wall acting as a fence around the village.

“Army’s right behind us!” You heard Soap yell from behind you.

Rodriguez replied to him in Spanish while Alejandro yelled out orders.

“Down the hill! We’ll lose them in the mountains! Fan out and stay close!”

Gunshots went off like fireworks behind you as you ran, doing all you can not to trip on the rocky terrain.

“¿La vieja rute?” Rodriguez yelled.

“Straight to the bridge!” Alejandro told him. A second later, a bullet hit Rodriguez, causing him to fall and roll to the bottom of the decline.

“Rodriguez!” Alejandro called out.

“Army’s on us!” you called out.

“Cover! Cover!” Alejandro gestured to the giant rocks along the path to crouch behind.

“Get to cover and return fire!” Ghost echoed.

You took out one after another with your rifle, pausing only to rechamber and reload. Distantly you could hear Alejandro talking to Rodriguez who was thankfully good enough to stand and get into cover. It seemed the bullet hit him in the backplate, saving him.

And just as you were about to remark that you were glad he was okay, you heard Rodriguez yell out, “Shit-! Sanchez is down!”

You glanced to your right and a couple yards from you Sanchez was face down, blood pooling around where he was hit in the head. He looked so young earlier, about 20 years old.

Apparently, you took a second too long because Soap yelled for you. “Siren! Gotta focus!”

You nodded and put any thoughts of sympathy in the back of your head. He was right; focus was integral to survival; you knew that all too well.

The number of soldiers shooting at you trickled down to none after a few minutes of firing nonstop.

“Are we clear?” Soap asked.

“For now,” Alejandro said, sparing a glance at Sanchez’s body. “We gotta move! Go!”

“You know these trails?” Soap asked as you all began running down another hill, a smaller part of the large mountain you were currently near the top of.

“Very well, but so does the army,” Alejandro answered.

“We can’t hold off an army. We need extraction,” Ghost said.

Alejandro ordered for Rodriguez to call for exfil but before he could, shots were fired, hitting the tree trucks and rocks beside you.

“Contact!” Ghost yelled, running behind a large rock and gesturing for the rest of you to the same.

“All guns, hold here—take cover,” Alejandro said, peeking around the side of the rock to look at the above ridge you just ran from.

“Ghost, Soap, Siren, behind the rocks.”

Soldiers from the Mexican Army appeared at the top of the hill, raining gunfire on the rocks you all used for cover.

Distantly you heard Alejandro speak. “We suppress by fire, then we advance. ¡Disparen! Light them up-!” Then to Rodriguez, he told him, “Rodriguez, get comms up!”

As you shot anyone who appeared in your crosshairs, you heard Rodriguez attempting to hail Control with no success.

Between Alejandro, Soap, Ghost, and you, you had all taken out the immediate threat but knew it wasn’t over yet.

“We clear?” Ghost asked.

“For now,” Alejandro told him. “There’ll be more. Vamos.” Alejandro ran down more of the hill with the rest of you following. Dust was being kicked up due to all the foot traffic and you could feel clumps of grass getting caught in the tread of your boots.

“Any word from Rodolfo?” you asked both Mexican Special Forces officers.

“No—we lost comms,” Rodriguez told you, his response eliciting a curse from his commanding officer.

“Puta… Let’s keep it moving. Through here.”

“Your man get the call out?” Ghost asked, referring to the request for extraction.

“Let’s hope so,” Alejandro offered, having no real way at this point of knowing what got through.

“What’s the plan?” Your fellow Sergeant questioned.

“There’s a bridge at the river,” Alejandro informed. “Extraction will be there.”

As if bullets weren’t enough, a rocket launcher shot, barely missing the five of you and exploded into a tree some distance in front of your team.

“Contact! RPG!” Ghost yelled.

“On the ridge!” Alejandro called out, causing you to quickly take aim there, needing to get rid of the guy controlling it. While you could survive a bullet or two, a propelled grenade was a whole other ordeal.

You lined up the shot, took a quick breath, and pulled the trigger, getting a headshot and taking him out instantly. “RPG’s down!”

More gunfire was exchanged, with soldiers now just throwing regular grenades at the five of you, causing you to have to throw yourself out of the way at times.

Finally, those men were taken out as well.

“Anyone hit?” Alejandro called out.

“Negative!” Ghost replied.

“Good to go!” Soap added.

“I’m good!” you told him.

“Copy. On me!” Alejandro ordered, running down a much narrower part of the mountain.

He stopped at a ledge with a gap of ten feet or so between it and the next. “We’ll have to jump here!”

“Can we make that?” Soap questioned, not sounding convinced.

“Hasta la muerta, hermano,” Alejandro said before running and jumping onto the ledge and sliding down the smooth rock to the next ledge. Ghost went next, landing on his back a little harder than Alejandro but still making it. Soap went and then you did, making sure you got a running start before leaping. The breath got pushed out of your chest when your back hit the ground but at least you made it.

“Pinche cabrones aren’t far behind.” You were up fairly high, able to see a whole forest below from the rocky mountain you currently stood on.

“Where to, Alejandro?” Soap asked him.

“Soap push forward. Rodriguez, keep working the radio, rest o’ you watch for snipers.”

Alejandro directed Soap where to go while you scanned the cliffside from where you came for any soldiers.

“Got anything?” Ghost asked. You shook your head at him while Alejandro replied to him.

“They’re out there… believe me…”

As you looked, Rodriguez still tried to get signal but the effort was fruitless.

“We need to get to the river…” Alejandro said in response to the lack of radio contact.

“Found it!” Soap yelled out. All of you followed him but before you could get very far, you could hear blades whirring, indicative of only one thing.

“Escucha… You hear that?”

“Incoming heli…” you muttered. Just what you all needed.

“Si. Get to a firing position. We’ll take them by surprise.”

“Which way to the bridge?” Ghost questioned.

“Straight ahead. Past the helo. They’ll try to cut us off.”

“We’ll have to go through them,” Soap chimed in. You took cover behind large rocks once again and waited for soldiers to get closer.

“Weapons free!” you heard Alejandro command.

You peaked out and shot whoever you could see. Most came in through a bottle-necked opening but the others got smart once their comrades had been shot down. They fanned in from the sides as well, causing you all to have to take the out quickly before they attempted an all-out flank.

Another RPG was shot, but just like last time, you took them out quickly, allowing the team to focus on just shooting instead of worrying about being blown up.

A few minutes later a symphony of “Clear!” came from the five of you, allowing Alejandro to give his next order.

“Up the ridge! The bridge isn’t far! They may position shooters out here. Watch your backs.”

You all moved up, cresting the top of the hill and seeing a waterfall flowing from the top of a mountain in the distance. If this weren’t a true life and death experience, it would be painstakingly beautiful.

“There’s the bridge.” Alejandro pointed down to a bridge over a river at the base of the mountain.

“No visual on extraction,” you told him, looking with the scope on your LA-B 330.

“Comms didn’t get through. Hijo de puta…” Rodriguez said, muttering the last part.

“We’ll radio when we’re down there,” Alejandro assured. “This way.”

You continued to jump down ledges with Alejandro cautioning to watch your footing. Rodriguez seemingly agreed, saying something about it being dangerous.

“You know your way,” Ghost observed.

“We used to cut school and play here,” Alejandro told the four of you.

“Until the cartels moved in?” Soap asked after landing on a lower ledge.

“Exactly. The narcos changed everything.”

As you all continued moving along the mountain side, a bullet struck the wall next to you, making you jerk back.

“Sniper!” Ghost yelled. “Move!”

Rodriguez followed by Soap then you attempted to make your way to Alejandro and Ghost, both of whom already made it past the part where you had to hug the wall and take small sidesteps to make it across.

In front of Soap, a bullet hit Rodriguez right in the chest, causing him to fall forward and off the edge, tumbling down the steep cliff. If the bullet didn’t kill him, the fall would have.

“Rodriguez!” Alejandro yelled. A second later he informed the remaining three of you, “Sniper’s down!”

“Bloody good shot, mate!” you heard Ghost praise. Soap and you followed behind the other two listening as the Mexican Army could be heard looking for you.

“Army’s still trailing us,” Soap said.

“We’ll gain some ground!” Alejandro replied before jumping down to a ledge below. You jumped as well after Ghost, cursing when the impact hurt much more than you were expecting. As you followed the Colonel and your own Lieutenant, your heart dropped into your stomach.

Ghost then echoed your concerns to Alejandro. “You lead us to a dead end, mate.”

“We jump from here!” Alejandro said, leaping off. “Don’t lose your weapons!”

“Oh fuck,” you whispered, looking down at the height currently between you and the water. You weren’t necessarily afraid of heights. You had been to the top of many buildings before and you were no stranger to skydiving. However, you did have a fear of falling without any protection, which you assumed was a fear every human had.

Except Ghost apparently with the way he was talking.

“Your turn, Sergeant!” he told Soap. Soap hesitated for a second before running and leaping off, clutching the straps holding his guns to him.

“Siren, you’re up!” Ghost said looking at you. After a second of hesitation he addressed you again. “Siren, we stay here, we’re dead! Now jump!”

Honestly, you were going to jump but apparently it wasn’t quick enough for Ghost because he grabbed your hand in his.

“Hold onto your weapons, Sergeant!”

He backed up with you and you both ran off the edge, jumping off hand in hand. You were probably squeezing his hand half to death but you weren’t thinking about that. You were thinking of the air rushing past you and how quickly you were falling to the water and how all your bones could break if you landed slightly behind the water.

You closed your eyes before you got too close to the ground. Luckily, instead of rocks, you felt cold water wash over you. The force with which you hit the water caused your hand to be pulled away from Ghost’s. Not that it mattered; both of your hands were occupied swimming upwards.

You took a gasping breath when your breached the surface.

“You good, hermanos?” you heard Alejandro say, though it wasn’t as clear due to the water still in your ears.

“Affirm,” Ghost said from beside you.

“Soap?”

“Breathing.”

“Siren?”

“Alive,” you confirmed.

You looked over to Ghost to find him already glancing at you. You nodded to him in thanks before turning your attention to Alejandro’s orders.

“Move down river to the bridge. Use rocks for cover,” Then he spoke into his radio. “All stations, this is Victor 0-1—How copy?”

To your surprise, the radio crackled to life, an American accent coming through, although broken up.

“-dow 1! Do you—? -ay again, -o you re—?”

“Radio’s picking up somethin’,” Soap commented.

“Sounds American,” you added. You suspected it was the PMC group but couldn’t know for sure until you got confirmation.

Gunshots started to hit the rocks you were behind as the Mexican Army stood on the other side of the river.

“Here they come. Weapons free!” the Colonel ordered.

“Contact front!” Ghost yelled.

You used your SMG to shoot back but it was difficult; the current was stronger than you had expected and it was a struggle to shoot straight and stay behind cover.

“Army reinforcements rolling in!” Alejandro yelled. “Keep pushing up the river!”

You dove under the water to avoid being seen and tried to move quickly to the next rock. Like before, you all exchanged fire for a few minutes before being ordered by Alejandro to move up. And again, you dove under, this time to get under a large tree trunk that spanned the width of the river.

“Enemy vehicles! Right bank!” you heard Ghost yell, his voice a little distorted from you being underwater.

You came back to the surface behind another rock in the middle of the river. Not only was it hard to shoot but you were beginning to run low on ammo as well.

“The river’s slowing us down, mate!” Ghost yelled to Alejandro.

“It gets shallow up ahead,” Alejandro cautioned. “Swim up! Keep moving!”

Now you could see the bridge that you did above. However, it wasn’t empty.

“Vehicles on the bridge!” Ghost called out.

“They’re not ours!” the Colonel replied. “Fuck—! It’s the army!”

“Get to cover!” Your Lieutenant ordered.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you muttered, trying your best to return fire, but it was becoming increasingly clear this was turning into a disastrous situation.

“We have to hold here and get extraction,” Alejandro said, narrowly missing a bullet by leaning more towards the rock you were all behind.

Soap continued to shoot and yelled out his frustration. “We can’t do shite against that armor!”

Before the four of you were overrun, which looked to have been coming up soon, the radio crackled to life once more.

“This is Shadow-1! Engaging the bridge north of your position. Danger close!”

“Who the hell is that?” Alejandro asked.

“Commander Graves,” Ghost answered, “Shadow company. They’re with us.”

Shots came from the air, pelting down on the bridge, causing you to feel relief well up within you.

“Shadow-1, Bravo 0-7!” Ghost hailed. “Good shots! Fire for effect!”

Before long, the entire bridge collapsed, unable to take all the firepower aimed at it.

“All stations, no enemy movement detected. You’re clear. It’s good to see you boys and girl.”

“Likewise, mate,” Ghost told him.

“This way!” Alejandro ran out of the river and into the side forest.

“Graves, we’ve located a vehicle for exfil,” Ghost informed him, following behind you.

“Roger that. Be advised, we got a possible hit on Hassan, two klicks north of your position.”

“That’s cartel land. They have a compound there,” Alejandro commented as you all made your way to a camo-covered pickup truck.

“Load in!” Ghost commanded.

“I’ll drive!” Alejandro said, getting into the driver’s seat while Soap got in the passenger’s side, leaving you and Ghost the backseat.

“You guys good to roll up Hassan with some fire from the sky?”

“Let’s wrap this fucker up, Graves,” Soap replied.

“Solid copy. We are pushing to the target di-rectly. Shadow-1 out.”

Taglist:

@jinxed-yep@july4th1918-mycaptain@rickgrimes12643@sarcasticwalrus0@aykxz98@midaribaby@your-highnessmarvel@ssqra@voidinfernal@nobody-000@theyounglingslayer@untoldshortsofthefandoms@memeorydotcom@kuutski@sodbos@lenasvoid@caleb-bailea@clayzayden@thelesbianwithissues@luxuricious@kwiltshire13@summerbbygirl@persephones-garden@andromacher@jaysealynn@eternallysarcastic@cryingdvst@mystic-of-fire@bakusatsuhoe@tranquiiit@multiple-boxes-of-earthworms-de@kc-957@scaredknight@mrsspector-grant@polar-pluto@orcishkitty@sodbos@iyaheartsabbyanderson@fluffyspaceprincess@itsagrimm@chiggennuggie@comedinewithmeyeh@muffinsz@bingblomp123@blazinghost@berrxessi @elentiyaiswriting@scaredknight@lovingly-kc@almostcrystalized101@spider-thot0115@starcoveredhoney@cvpitvno@harmssss@somnolentintrovert@callyum@rosegxoxo@thatawokenhunter@syd-vixious@orestukassss@ryunniez@kaitlynisinfinite@peachfridges@cocosie@plutogamer@way-of-love@anitdot@sleepynyx@swissy23@seasaltt99@isasinterlude@cynicalmnm@euovennia@ho3forghost@spoonz@teaties@stilestheabominablesnowman@embers-of-alluring@ohh-theaudacity@raswiet@freegardenstudenttree@angelsquid@workof-a-rr-t@le0thely0n@skulli33@lovely29701@fantasticcopeaglepasta@un1k0@stupidstupidstupids@tojisprincess@urfavgay67@doodle-cat16@ryzetop@experienixie

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #cod mw22 #ghost #ghostface #ghost x reader #ghost x you

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singonavine71 · 10 months

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Billie Holiday (born Eleanora Fagan; April 7, 1915 – July 17, 1959) was an American jazz and swing music singer. Nicknamed "Lady Day" by her friend and music partner, Lester Young, Holiday had an innovative influence on jazz music and pop singing. Her vocal style, strongly inspired by jazz instrumentalists, pioneered a new way of manipulating phrasing and tempo. She was known for her vocal delivery and improvisational skills. Holiday won four Grammy Awards, all of them posthumously, for Best Historical Album. She was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame and the National Rhythm & Blues Hall of Fame. After a turbulent childhood, Holiday began singing in nightclubs in Harlem, where she was heard by producer John Hammond, who liked her voice. She signed a recording contract with Brunswick in 1935. Collaborations with Teddy Wilson produced the hit "What a Little Moonlight Can Do", which became a jazz standard. Throughout the 1930s and 1940s, Holiday had mainstream success on labels such as Columbia and Decca. By the late 1940s, however, she was beset with legal troubles and drug abuse. After a short prison sentence, she performed at a sold-out concert at Carnegie Hall. She was a successful concert performer throughout the 1950s with two further sold-out shows at Carnegie Hall. Because of personal struggles and an altered voice, her final recordings were met with mixed reaction but were mild commercial successes. Her final album, Lady in Satin, was released in 1958. Holiday died of cirrhosis on July 17, 1959, at age 44. In 2000, she was also inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame as an early influence; their website states that "Billie Holiday changed jazz forever". She was named one of the 50 Great Voices by NPR; and was ranked fourth on the Rolling Stone list of "200 Greatest Singers of All Time" (2023). Several films about her life have been released, most recently The United States vs. Billie Holiday (2021).

#billie holiday #black culture #black archives #jazz #jazz singer #rock and roll hall of fame #vocalist

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ruiniel · 3 months

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Remember

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: Kokushibō x fem!Reader

Count: 13k (ongoing)

Rating: 🔞

Tags & Warnings: Multichapter, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, POV Second Person, Darkfic, Angst, Ambiguity, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Reincarnation, Toxic relationship, Codependency, Blood Drinking, Non-con, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Kokushibō's wife, Her name is Hisami, References to childbirth but nothing graphic, POV Tsugikuni Michikatsu, Emotional Sex, Mild Smut, is it gratuitous yes and no, Human!Kokushibō, Kokushibō | Tsugikuni Michikatsu-centric, Sengoku Period (1467-1590), If there's anything Upper Moon One fears it's his memories

On AO3

Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII

Summary:

"...and I can't remember my wife's or children's faces..." —Kokushibō Taishō era, 1915. A lonely young woman's life changes after a strange encounter where the surface of a hidden world is revealed. A story of contrasts.

You foolish girl...

You run shaking fingers over your dry lips, feeling a sear that rushes through your veins like hot, poisoned wine.

It was not supposed to happen this way, and maybe it was indeed all your fault. You’d been weak, tried to show him you didn’t care what he was or what form he took, no matter how divorced from reality it appeared. You only wanted to show him that... that you wanted.

And what precisely did you want? You gaze up at the sky, where the night is cloudless yet there is no moon or stars: as if they, too, fled the aftermath of his fury.

Once, you said you did not fear him, standing like an unmovable pillar before the potent dread and despair that seemed to consume the living breath of everything in his presence. You didn’t know better, and it was easier that way.

“We should never have crossed paths,” you tell the nothingness outside. You wish he could hear it. Then you’d have your dignity back, and maybe he’d be satisfied knowing he was right.

A spring evening. It was early April, the air drunk on the bloom of cherry blossoms. You were returning from the festival, feeling too warm even in your thin yukata, strands of hair sticking to your temples. It was the herald of a mercilessly hot summer.

Alone, you took the streets towards home, yearning for your refuge after the day’s agitation. You felt safe in your small town and thought nothing of the steps echoing behind: until it was too late.

You offered them whatever money you had, but that was not their intent. Terror paralyzed you, choked you so you couldn’t even yell for aid. You tore at their faces, kicked and thrashed. You’d never known true hatred, but as you cried in despair you wished the grizzliest death upon them.

“How pitiful.”

Words echoing like a hollow wind, words you’ll never forget until your years are spent and the spark of life fades from your body. The grip on your arms froze, and in your own heart fear unending spread like rot.

There was nothing there when you looked, though, only a shadow in the shape of a... man?

“Humans have not changed. You all remain disgusting… and weak.”

His voice was deep. Cold like a winter moon, resonating within you like the shuddering vibrations of an earthquake. A speech strange and antiquated, the tone laced with contempt, and through the blur of tears you couldn’t see his face.

“Even to your kind, preying on others seems to be the norm.”

They... there were two of them, both of which had simply forgotten all about you and turned to run.

You must’ve cried, you must’ve screamed. Your mind couldn’t comprehend what your eyes showed you. You could not even move.

But where two men stood a moment before, now were merely two widening pools of blood, flowing into one another.

The stranger stood there, turned away from you.

You retreated back on your hands and legs, your back hitting the nearest wooden hedge. You tried to speak, but what would you even say? “Will you kill me?”

He looked over his shoulder at you. He had long, shining dark hair, tied back from his face. He wore a kimono and hakama. Was that a blade fastened at his waist? His features were still muddled, or perhaps it was your fear toying with perception but try as you did, you couldn’t discern them.

The stranger—the murderer—turned back ahead, saying nothing.

For a mere moment the paralysis in your limbs eased, and you took the chance: you up and ran, as fast as your legs could take you, never looking back.

You sit alone on your bench, wiping your forehead. An early summer evening falls. It was another hard day of labor, but you are pleased: the garden now looks as you’d wanted it to, and that brings a sense of peace as you watch the silver slice of the moon, set like a brooch in the velvet sky.

The sensation of being watched is sudden. The surprise is great when you gaze ahead and see the Shadow. The now familiar frost encircles your heart, and the world has become eerily still as even cicadas stopped their endless chirping. You stand.

That night, that gruesome, surreal experience still lingers in your memory, no matter how many times you tried to forget. And now it’s here, a living nightmare having taken two lives that you know of—saving you from your fate in the process. But your curiosity of all things unexplainable is innate, and instead of fear, you find a voice to speak. “Have you... Have you come to take your due from me?”

What does one even ask a revenant? Is this presence such an entity? You’d never been deeply spiritual or religious, but now, this feels like a haunting.

He is not looking at you, as though he’d not heard your question. He appears taken with the small pool mirroring the golden light from several lamps, highlighting the crimson tips of his hair.

You try again. “Am I being haunted?”

No answer comes. He is as still as the stones in your garden.

“Did you make this arrangement… yourself?”

You recall that timbre and odd fluctuations, soft and umbrous. His archaic speech, as from another age. His voice akin to an ill omen. But within, you feel no threat or peril, not this time. Might as well humor him. Or it. “I did,” you answer. You are surely mad… surely, you think, even as your feet drag your body closer until you stand at his side.

His long locks hide most of his features, but despite that you can tell they are youthful, those of someone in their prime. He feels very present, for a ghost.

You watch the water in silence, the sickle moon reflected in the shallow pool. In its mirror-like surface, you, too, look like a shadow next to him. A single petal falls, causing a ripple that breaks the vision.

“I did not thank you, sir. For... that time.” When you blink, you are alone. “Wait!” You look around, darting to and fro in the garden, finding not a wisp of him.

“Well, then. It seems I am being haunted after all.”

At first, it is morbid curiosity. You go, night after night, sitting in the same place, waiting. The wraith does not show itself again, but still, you go.

One night, you play the flute—an old thing your late father used to entertain you with once upon a time, until you begged and insisted you wanted to be taught too. You’d use the pastime to fill the empty spaces in your day, and it became a habit. It reminded you of him.

An intriguing meld of thrill and fear unfurls in your chest, and you know.

This time, he is seated on the same bench, back straight, posture dignified. His sheathed blade rests over his knees. He never looks at you, your haunting spirit. But he’s returned and this time, you don’t speak at all, you ask no questions. You keep playing, and he listens, and an ancient joy fills you to the brim.

You play the flute often after that. Sometimes, you also sing, alone. When the moon is full, he stays longer. Now he speaks more than before, though his words are measured and at times even curt. Some questions he never answers: such as his name, his origin.

Once you asked who he’d been in life.

“Different.” Not quite an answer, but the most you’d gotten on the topic.

You slowly set down the flute. “Do you play?”

A hand twitches nervously on his knee: the most human reaction you’ve seen from him to date. It charms you, that same meld of unease and thrill flowering through your body. Wordlessly, you extend your hand, offering him the instrument.

The shock is great: for the brief moment in which his fingers brush yours, there is no other sensation but that of calloused human skin touching skin. He feels as solid as any other man. And this, now this gives you pause.

Your fingers close around his without thought and you gaze upward, finding...

Him, staring back at you, lips parted, revealing... fangs.

His features are indeed young, but like a veil lifted you see him: three pairs of eyes stare back at you, at first in surprise, then narrowing. The next moment he is on his feet, the flute fallen on the ground between you.

“You... You are no wraith.” What are you, then?

He turns around faster than you can see.

You’re shaking, you remember the deaths, his manner, and now the inhuman, impossible make of his physiognomy. Are you hallucinating? You must be. Perhaps loneliness has sickened your spirit, perhaps the effect of his presence instills madness in minds. But you’re boldly pulling at the sleeve of his patterned garment, rounding and facing him.

“Upper Rank… One,” you read in his eyes. He is still as Death, the void of silence surrounding him stronger than ever before. “Is that your name?”

You stare, fascinated. Your body cries flee but as in a spell you lean closer, balancing on your tiptoes. He is tall, taller than any man you’d seen or known; what are you doing? Your arm wraps around his neck and finds hot iron beneath silk. His lips are just as warm as the rest of him, but the rumble of a growl bursts through your chest.

You cannot breathe; the air refuses to enter your lungs.

He faces you, standing a distance away now with veined hands balled into fists.

“You foolish girl...”

His icy voice hurts your ears, the raw hatred in it so scathing your legs fail you as though severed, and you fall to your knees.

“How dare you... I could crush you like a fallen petal.” That same voice, dripping malice withering the life around you. The crimson in his eyes is aflame. “Perhaps, I will...”

“Yes I’m human, and I'm flawed, and overstepped! But you do not even have the courage to say what you are. Why? ... Why do you keep coming here?”

He stares you down, silent, cruelty twisting his mouth.

“Please, tell me. At least tell me, and then do what you will… but why?”

Please… tell me why.

His expression morphs from cruelty to utter horror, yellow pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow the red. His entire presence disrupting the world around you now seeps... regret?

Why? Why must you leave?

He raises a hand as if to ward you off, even though you still kneel and plead.

He takes one step back—away from you—and whispers, for the first time in a trembling voice. “You... your face...”

Michikatsu, please...

He retreats another step, a hand to his head.

We are a family... are you not happy? Are you not...

You slowly rise, against all reason trying to reach him again.

“Begone!” he thunders, and though you near him, though you wrap your arms around him driven by a need so deep its roots reach beyond your own life, you find yourself alone again; unscathed, holding nothing.

The song of cicadas fills the night. Your chest hurts, your heart feels bruised and broken behind your ribs. An overflow of emotion wells in your eyes.

I will never see him again.

A voice within, your own and not your own. But you wish...

You wish it were his fingers playing through your hair instead of the empty wind.

The moon above is blood-red, partly hidden beneath a cloud. The flute lies at your feet, abandoned by the bench.

Part II

#kokushibo #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #kokushibo x reader #kny #michikatsu tsugikuni #ruiniel:fanfiction #kny fanfic #kokushibou #黒��牟 #継国巌勝 #鬼滅の刃 #demon x fem reader #demon x reader

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nils-elmark · 9 months

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First African American in the Great War

Brave men and women from my new book

The young man on the drawing is Bob Scanlon. He was the very first African American, who joined the First World War where he showed extreme bravery. Here, he is drawn by a fellow-volunteer, the artist John Jocob Casey who like Scanlon 'for the duration of the war' joined The French Foreign Legion in Paris on 25 August 1914.

Bob Scanlon - whose real non-artistic name was Bob Lewis - was a talented boxer from Mobile in Alabama and came to Europe in 1907. Most of his boxing career was in France, where he amongst others sparred with the legenday Jack Johnson.

'Jack' Casey was an illustrator and artist from San Francisco. He had studied at the Mark Hopkins Department of Fine Arts of the University of California, the Art Students' League in New York, the Boston Museum and the New York School of Fine Arts. He had frequently exhibited his paintings with success at expositions in America and in Paris at the Salon des Artistes Francais.

Casey was wounded at the Battle of Champagne in 1915 and ended drawing maps for the French Army, and Scanlon - who otherwise was considered to be born under a lucky star - was wounded at Verdun in 1916 when his famous left hand was hit by a shell case. But they both survived the war.

Bob Scanlon plays a key role in my book: Fighting for the French Foreign Legion.

#ww1 #la Grande Guerre #american volunteers 1914 #nils elmark #Bob Scanlon #African American #alan seeger #david king #eugene bullard #fighting for the french foreign legion #french foreign legion #Pen and sword books

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ctitan98official · 5 months

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Mother Miranda angst drabble

When you had first met Miranda she was a beautiful, thriving young mother with a lovely daughter named Eva… Tragedy strikes and Miranda changes… A lot. (This one made me legit sad for a second)

TW/CW: Mentions of suicidal ideation, child death, and slight gore. Please be safe and take care of yourself.

August, 10th - September, 13th 1914

You had been traveling through Eastern Europe on a solo trip to research various plants and their medicinal properties. The Great War had broken out just one month prior and you had volunteered to join the medical corps. You were desperate to find anything that could help your country and its allies heal their wounded. You happened across a small farming village in a remote part of Romania. You were relieved to see that it had remained untouched by the destruction of war. Some of the towns that you had passed on your journey were unrecognizable as the fighting forced people to flee from their homelands amid brutal attacks.

As you walked through the village, trying to acclimate yourself, you ran across a young girl who couldn’t have been more than five or six years old. You smiled and waved at her which caused her to burst into a fit of giggles. She cheerfully ran up to you and asked you what your name was.

“Hello! I’m Y/N. What’s your name?” You asked her.

“My name’s Eva! I’m five!” She grinned back at you and pointed at your medical corps uniform. “I like your costume!”

You couldn’t help but laugh and playfully salute at the little girl’s exuberance. It was nice to have a pleasant interaction after seeing so much pain and misery. Suddenly, one of the most gorgeous women you had ever laid your eyes on walked up and gently scolded Eva for bothering you. She had luscious golden brown hair and the intensity of her inquisitive blue eyes made your heart skip a beat.

“Eva, let’s not bother this nice person, alright? I’m sure they are busy.” The woman spoke in a velvety voice.

“Sorry, mommy.” Eva offered up sheepishly.

You blushed and stood up straighter when you noticed the woman staring at you. “No trouble at all, ma'am! We were just getting acquainted. Right, Eva?”

The little girl hid behind her mother’s legs, now shy, but nodded her head happily.

“Well, I can’t say we have had the pleasure of being introduced. I’m Miranda.” The woman held out a dainty hand for you to take which you did gladly.

You were a mess.

“O-oh! That’s right! I’m Y/N, I’m new here- well, actually I’m just passing through. T-to do some research!”

Miranda’s eyes sparkled with curiosity and she grinned softly. “Well, it seems I’m in good company. I am a studying scholar myself, however, I had to defer some of my education because of this little one.” Miranda turned and rubbed Eva’s head affectionately making the girl smile at her in adoration.

Your heart warmed at such a gentle display of love. You explained that you had been sent on a research mission to find healing plants to make salves and medicines with. You and Miranda hit it off immediately. She had so much knowledge and wisdom for somebody so young. You both worked side by side to come up with formulations and solutions.

You ended up spending a month in the tiny village with Miranda and Eva. You grew fond of the pair and felt yourself starting to fall for the brilliant woman before you were assigned to frontline medical care. When you left, Miranda gave you a locket with a picture of her and Eva in it to remember them by. You promised that you would write to her and that as soon as you got leave you would be back. She shocked you by giving you a tender kiss on the lips. She said that she would wait for you.

September, 30th 1914 - March, 16th 1915

Being a frontline medic was a scary and dangerous job. You worked hard and tried to help as many people as you could. You were stationed in Belgium for a few months while you tried to heal broken bodies. You made sure to write Miranda every chance you got. Sadly, a surprise attack killed most of the troops in one of your assigned trenches one night and badly burned your right leg. You were soon medically discharged from the medical corps, so you decided to make the trek back to the small village.

March, 28th 1915

When you arrived, people from the village recognized you and ran to get Miranda. When Miranda came out and saw you, she wept happy tears to see you back again. She ran up to hug you (being careful not hurt your injured leg) and held you tight. Eva was not far behind as she smiled and ran up to hug your legs. She was delighted to have her friend back.

Not long after this happy reunion, you had proposed marriage to Miranda and she excitedly accepted. You, Miranda and Eva led a peaceful and happy life for many years, unsuspecting of the hardships you would face.

October, 25th 1919

You and Miranda lived and worked in her home as healers for the village. Earlier that year, you had gotten some correspondence from old buddies who were in the medical corps with you. They warned of a serious strain of influenza that was wreaking havoc across Europe. You had looked into the limited reports about it that you could get in your village, but so far, much like the war, the village had seemingly been untouched by the disease.

November, 10th - November, 12th 1919

A few villagers complained two days ago of headaches, fevers and body aches. As scary as those symptoms were in light of the pandemic gripping Europe and other continents, you and Miranda had reasoned that there was not enough trade coming in and out of the village to warrant too much concern, although you both had always been advocates of personal hygiene and hand washing. Now, it seems those same villagers had taken a turn for the worst. Fevers that you normally dealt with in this region would typically break within twenty-four hours, however this illness was clinging on and not letting go. The apparent outbreak was also causing multiple people to present with the same symptoms almost immediately after coming in contact with the infected. This suggested a high likelihood of fast onset and an even faster incubation rate. Once you and Miranda returned home to get some rest, you both made sure to wash thoroughly and keep away from Eva as a precaution.

November 13th - November 21st 1919

Eva had woken up with a stuffy nose and a fever a few days after the illness had started spreading through the village. Miranda stayed home and watched her while you went out to help others. Eva did not have particularly severe symptoms, so you were praying that her young and otherwise healthy immune system would wipe out the disease.

As time wore on, Eva began to decline. Her spunky blue eyes started to dull with each passing hour. You were so scared. Terrified that you would lose the little girl who you loved as your own flesh and blood. While you remained rather stoic, Miranda was outwardly panicking. Every time Eva would break out into a coughing fit Miranda could feel her heart drop to her stomach. Your wife began lashing out at you and blaming you for having brought home this plague to your daughter. You felt guilty, but to be fair, both you and Miranda had been out tending to the sick. Also, there was little you could do without vaccines and effective medicines to treat this illness.

Finally, on November 21st 1919 your worst nightmare became a reality. Eva took her last breath in her mother’s arms. Your little playmate and constant companion was gone. You screamed and cried while Miranda was eerily silent. After a few hours, she calmly cleaned Eva’s body, dressed her in her finest clothes and buried your darling girl near the tree she always used to play by. You both were sobbing as you said your goodbyes, but Miranda seemed so broken. She couldn’t function.

November, 29th 1919

After multiple relatively sleepless nights, one morning you awoke to an empty bed. Miranda’s side of the bed was cold, alerting you to the fact that she had been up for a while. You thudded into the kitchen with what little energy you had only to find a note on the table. As you read through the note from Miranda you felt a sense of dread in the pit of your stomach. Miranda kept saying how she needed to be with Eva and how she deserved to have her mother with her. You were scared your wife might try to hurt herself.

You started searching for Miranda all over the village. You eventually came to a large cave and wandered inside to look for your wife. As you called out Miranda’s name, a somewhat familiar blonde woman appeared in front of you. She had swept back hair and a piercing silver stare. You fell onto your back in fright at what had become of your beloved Miranda. You called her name and she was immediately at your side explaining how she had somehow seen Eva’s consciousness when she touched the root of a large fungal colony. You couldn’t believe your ears and ushered Miranda to come back home. You hated to do it, but you had to snuff out any hope Miranda had of getting Eva back. She was gone and holding on like this would only prolong you and Miranda’s suffering.

“Miranda, she’s gone. Eva is gone! You have to accept this! It’s not healthy to ignore reality!” You had pleaded with her.

Miranda surged forward with a feat of strength you had never seen her possess and slammed you so hard into one of the cave walls you were afraid it might disintegrate. She grabbed you by the throat and yelled at you. “You know nothing of what I feel! Eva is MY daughter, not yours! If you won’t help me, I have other ways of making you useful!”

Miranda’s words cut you to the core, but you knew (hoped) that she was just lashing out from her grief and she didn’t really mean what she said.

Miranda’s grip on your throat tightened as she dragged you back to the lab in your home. She roughly threw you into a chair and tied you down with rope. Miranda was a completely different person now. Her sweet but direct manner had all but vanished. What you were looking at now was a shell of a woman with only one ambition. Miranda took out a jar from her coat that seemed to contain samples of the fungal colony she was talking about. She came over to you before ripping the front of your shirt open.

“Miranda! What are you doing?! Stop this!” You said to Miranda.

In her all-consuming rage, the now deranged woman slapped you in the face and yelled at you to shut up.

“I’ll have my Eva back!” She shrieked at you.

Miranda grabbed a scalpel and started mercilessly cutting into the flesh of your chest to reach your heart. You writhed in agony as Miranda mutilated you. Miranda eventually grabbed a pair of tweezers and picked up a sample of the fungus before placing it next to your still beating heart in the hopes that it would attach itself to the organ.

As soon as the fungus began melding into your body, you started to scream and seize violently. Miranda watched in morbid fascination, and shame, as she saw what the fungus was doing to you. It seemed that her moment of pure mania had passed and she was seeing the effects of her lack of self-control.

Tears streamed down her face as your body stopped moving all together. She stared into your now unseeing eyes and wept as she realized you were dead. She choked out apologies as she laid her head on your lap. Miranda couldn’t believe the horrible act she had just committed. She had killed her own spouse in one of the most gruesome ways possible. She loathed herself and cried for hours by herself in that lab.

As she picked herself up off the floor, finally ready to lay you to rest, Miranda was now determined to get both you and Eva back. No matter the consequences…

Masterlist

#re8 #re8 village #mother miranda #mother miranda x y/n #mother miranda x reader #angst drabble #angst #resident evil village #resident evil imagines #resident evil 8 #resident evil

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