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greythornelegacy · 1 year

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A Fool's Desperation

A response to my FC's Question of the Day that spun out into something a little bigger. Achenbald is the father of my main, Tobias "Tobi" Greythorne (they/he). Further backstory is... probably forthcoming. At some point. If anyone cares. Mostly I'm posting here so I can link back to it from our FC discord instead of posting the entire thing there.

Mostly unedited, and written piecemeal around working at my job today.

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It was a rare warm evening on Sharlayan. Summer was at its height, and while the sun had edged beyond the horizon, the day's heat still lingered, so the windows of Greythorne Manor stood open to let in the flower-scented breeze from the gardens. Achenbald lingered in the doorway to the study; in his youth, those times they'd visited home from the Colony, it had been his favourite place in the entire manor, heavy with the scent of old books and dusty artifacts, and even before his disappearance he had lost count of the number of times he'd fallen asleep in one of the deep leather armchairs, listening to his mother, or an uncle, or his grandfather slowly turning the pages of one or another ancient tome. (Or, in the case of one uncle, the romance novels he "secretly" read for pleasure that were, unbeknownst to that uncle, known to everyone in the family.)

He'd thought that the manor was empty. Tobi and their husband were spending the evening at the Studium, he knew, while Hrodric and Rocky had left that morning for a trip back to Kugane; it was late enough in the day that those few servants who Tobi had engaged after reopening the house had gone home for the evening. No one else was in residence to Achenbald knowledge, so the flickering light from the study had been… alarming, at least until he saw Fourchenault Leveilleur sitting at the broad, sturdy table that took pride of place in the center of the room. The flickering light was a small crystal orb on a slender brass stand, one that Achenbald thought Fourchenault must have brought with him. "Ah. Hello, Master Leveilleur."

At his words, Fourchenault looked up, startled. "Oh, mine apologies. Alphinaud had indicated the house would be empty this evening, with the goings-on at the Studium, and Tobias offered an invitation to explore the Greythorne's collection. He had suggested that there might be a tome of interest to my current course of study." He began to gather his things -- parchment and quills, a pot of black ink, another of blue, one of red -- into a battered satchel. "I shall leave you to it, Master Greythorne."

"Please, call me Achenbald." At his words, Fourchenault slowed, then stopped gathering his things. "And while it has been far more years than I care to think since I explored these shelves, I might be of some assistance in tracking down whatever it is you're looking for."

Fourchenault considered him for a long moment, then nodded. "Then, please, Fourchenault. I remember you, you know," he said, finally, as he retrieved the materials he'd begun to pack away. "I was younger than you, of course, during the Exodus, but very few had missed the name Achenbald Greythorne. To hear the… stories… from Alphinaud, and from Tobias, it seems your talents with arcanima have only grown in the interim."

"Yes, well. A few years in the godsforsaken Void will do that to a person."

The words still Fourchenault's hands. "I… had not heard the specifics. Simply that you had been recovered, and had aged little in the interim."

"We've been keeping it 'need to know', as it were. Most people don't need to know." Achenbald walked over to the table and began looking over the documents. "You're… some kind of family, at this point. Tobi's all but adopted your twins as the younger siblings we never gave him, so you're… Well. Family isn't always about blood, after all, and with the transitive properties…"

A strangled sound came out of Fourchenault's throat. Achenbald glanced over to see the man had blanched. "I… hadn't considered that," he admitted. "That Tobias viewed Alphinaud and Alisaie as family, yes, of course I had noticed this, and despite my earlier misgivings, I know they have no greater, no more stalwart ally. They could do little better in a mentor. However, that this had implications to… other relationships…"

"All I'm saying is it'd be nice to have you and Ameliance over for dinner," Achenbald said, with a wry grin. "The two of you raised some incredible young people. For all your differences, it is the traits that they each inherited from you that make them who they are. Alphinaud has Ameliance's… softer touch, alongside all that he inherited from Louisoix, and Alisaie's stubbornness -- which, from the stories I've heard, has saved them all more times than I like to think about -- surely comes from you."

"Yes, well, if you're finished listing my faults…"

"It's not a fault," Achenbald said, picking up one of the pages and wandering over to the shelves. There was, he thought, a tome dealing with this exact topic, if could remember the title. "That stubbornness was a significant factor in the success of the entire Labyrinthos project and the development of the Ragnarok. While it may not have been used the way you originally intended, it wouldn't have been ready if not for you and the team you led." He ran his finger along the spines, stopping finally at a title that pinged his memory. "Here. I think this holds what you're looking for."

Fourchenault took the proferred tome, although he did not look at it before he set it on the table. "My thanks. As for my… stubbornness… I will admit, it is difficult to view it through that lens. That same stubbornness nigh destroyed my family."

Achenbald shrugged. "You were desperate."

"I- what?"

"You were desperate," he repeated. He pulled out one of the chairs from the table and sat, gesturing for Fourchenault to do the same. "Tobi told me about… well, everything, while catching me up on what's occurred in my absence. On their adventures, both before the Scions and with them. They felt it meet that I be aware of some of the, ah, potential tensions in the Leveilleur family, so as not to misstep around Alphinaud or Alisaie.

"It's a strange thing, though, isn't it? Standing in front of your children, remembering when you held them as babes, only to find that they've become adults, become your equals, while you weren't looking? So. Desperation. You disowned them, yes, but not out of anger. Not because you wanted them out of the family. You were desperate for any route you could find to bring them back into the fold. You wanted to scare them into coming home, to save them from a threat that you could not tell them about, no matter how much you wished you could. But you didn't know them anymore, not the way you thought you did. You couldn't know that it would embolden them instead."

Fourchenault nodded slowly, sighing. "And full glad am I that it did. I have… wrestled with certain conceptions I have held about Sharlayan and its place in the larger world. Long have I called my father a fool for his acts after the Exodus, for his actions leading up to the Seventh Umbral Calamity. And yet… It is no easy feat for a man to recognise that he, instead, is the fool. That actions, that beliefs, I held to be faultless, to be right, were in fact… flawed. That, through my own adherence to Sharlayan orthodoxy, I neglected to recognise basic facts about the world. We, as a nation, almost to a one, failed to do so, in our own arrogance about our supposed superiority."

Laughing, Achenbald reached over to clap a hand against Fourchenault's shoulder. "It's an arrogance I remember well. Hells, I exhibited it more than enough myself, growing up in the Colony. And… well, I, too, know a thing or two about meeting your child and no longer knowing them. While I have nothing but pride about the person Tobi has become, I can't say that I'm happy I missed all the years in between." He shook his head, dispelling the cobwebs that threatened to overtake him whenever he thought overlong on his time in the Void. "But enough of that. You have work to do, and I may be of assistance with it. Where shall we start?"

#ffxiv #endwalker #endwalker spoilers #fourchenault leveilleur #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv oc

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steveezekiel · 5 months

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THE INITIAL STAGE OF THE ASSIGNMENT

* You have to know God's Vision or plan for your life.

- It is not everyone who would be in the five fold Ministry (Ephesians 4:11). Some are to be in the help Ministries.

- And if you are into the Ministry of helps (1 Corinthians 12:28), such as: administrations, music ministry, children or youth ministry, women ministry, and whatever, you have to work towards it.

* Get to know about it, and know the nitty-gritty of such ministry.

- After you have gotten to know that you are assigned or called to such work or assignment, you would have to start something along that line.

- If your assignment is about the youths or the children, you can start by working in the youth or children department or ministry in the local church you attend.

- And, If yours is about music or singing ministry; you can also start by being part of the worship team or the choir, or choristers, in the local church of yours.

- With time, you might be led or inspired to gather some people who would work with you as a team.

* What are the basic things you would need to do before the commencement of the work—the ministry.

(i) You would need to fast and pray to clarify things and seek the face of God for how to go by the assignment.

(ii) The Vision or the plan which God has made known to you, would have to be shared with the people who would work with you in fulfilling the Vision—the Assignment (Nehemiah 2:17,18).

- This strictly should be with those whom you perceived to believe in the Vision. A number of such people would be those you had ministered to, those who had partaken in the Grace of God on your life and Ministry.

(iii) Be bold and courageous in whatever step you are taking, do not allow fear, and you should not allow the sense of inadequacy or unworthiness—whereby you see yourself unqualified or incompetent for the work (Joshua 1:6,7,9; 2 Timothy 1:7,8).

- God knows you and things He deposited in you, He knows you are able to do it, that is why He has assigned you to do it. God usually chooses the weak things to confound the wise:

26 FOR you see your CALLING, BRETHREN, THAT NOT MANY WISE ACCORDING TO THE FLESH, Not many MIGHTY, Not many NOBLE, are CALLED. 27 BUT GOD HAS CHOSEN THE FOOLISH THINGS of the WORLD to put to SHAME the WISE, And God has chosen the WEAK THINGS OF THE WORLD TO PUT TO SHAME THE THINGS WHICH ARE MIGHTY; 28 And THE BASE THINGS of the WORLD and the THINGS which are DESPISED GOD HAS CHOSEN, AND the THINGS which ARE NOT, TO bring to NOTHING THE THINGS THAT ARE, 29 THAT NO FLESH SHOULD GLORY IN His PRESENCE" (1 Corinthians 1:26-29 NKJV).

- If you allowed any sense of inadequacy, It would limit your potential, what God has deposited in you, and you would not be able to produce maximally (2 Timothy 1:7,8).

- It might seem that there are some other people who are more competent and qualified than you do, around you, but God chose you anyway. Do not allow the presence of such people to intimidate you: "DON'T LET ANYONE THINK LITTLE OF YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE YOUNG. Be their ideal; let them follow the way you teach and live; BE A PATTERN FOR THEM IN YOUR LOVE, YOUR FAITH, AND YOUR CLEAN THOUGHTS" (1 Timothy 4:12 the Living Bible).

- God does not look like Man looks. Humans look at the outward appearance, whilst God looks at the Heart (1 Samuel 16:6,7).

- Those whom you think are more qualified and competent than you do, might not be, in the sight of God; they may not have the right Heart, or the kind of Heart required for the assignment at hand:

6 WHEN they arrived, Samuel took one look at Eliab and thought, “Surely this is the Lord’s anointed!” 7 BUT THE LORD SAID TO SAMUEL, “DON'T JUDGE BY HIS APPEARANCE or HEIGHT, FOR I have rejected HIM. THE LORD DOESN'T SEE THINGS THE WAY YOU SEE THEM. PEOPLE JUDGE BY OUTWARD APPEARANCE, BUT THE LORD LOOKS AT THE HEART"" (1 Samuel 16:6,7 NLT).

(iv) Do not listen to those who might be despising you and what you are about to do (Nehemiah 4:1,2).

- Sanballat and Tobias wanted to frustrate Nehemiah, they were taunting and making mockery of what they were doing, but Nehemiah did not allow that to stop him—he was undeterred and remained focus (Nehemiah 4:1-3).

(v) Do not give place or room to distractions. Such might come through the naysayers, obstructionists and the thwarter or resisters; those who would not want the success of what you are asked to do.

- The truth is, such people would always surface when an assignment commanded or instructed by God is to be embarked on. It is not New, neither is it peculiar to you. Leave them and be focused on what you are doing, they would soon change their minds and come to celebrate you.

(vi) One of the initial challenges that you might be confronted with is, lack of faithful and committed people to work with you.

- Money might also be a big challenge. A Vision without a provision would suffocate.

(vii) Your focus should not be about what you would get or gain. Rewards would come, If you are faithful in the assignment.

- You main focus should be service. How the people brought your way would be blessed by God. If your faithfulness and commitment is seen by God, He would surely reward you. God is not a User, but a Rewarder (Hebrews 11:6).

(viii) Be consistent in the face of the adversities. When challenges and oppositions arose, keep at it, keep doing the work, do not quit.

(ix) Cultivate the habit of thanking God for the trickle results you are getting.

- The glory of every success, or accomplishment, should be given to God the Father.

- This is very important, and it is one of the things that would make you last long in the assignment.

* You will not fail in Jesus' name.

- Whatever is contrary to your health is rebuked and uprooted in the mighty name of Jesus Christ.

- Hold of sickness is completely broken in Jesus' name. And Afflictions will not rise again in Jesus' name.

Peace!

#christianity #gospel #christian living #christian blog #jesus #devotion #faith #my writing #the bible #prayer

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openheartfanfics · 2 years

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Newly Added Fics

Aug 20 - 26, 2022

BRYCE X F!MC / F!OC

Tiramissyou - @storyofmychoices ☁

Bryce visits Olivia at the hospital on his day off and brings her favorite dessert.

ETHAN X F!MC

After Work Treats - @potionsprefect 📷

Ethan surprises Victoria.

Better Days - @bex-la-get 🎭

The Ramsey's reminisce about a loved one, now gone. TW: Major Character Death

Found - @jamespotterthefirst ☁

While away at a conference, she sends him on a scavenger hunt.

Happy Returns - @jerzwriter 📱

Time away at a convention is nearing an end, though Ethan still has one thing to do…. Or make that two things….

I See You - @cariantha ☁

Ethan heads to Donahue's, hoping to see more of the intern who impressed him earlier in the day. [1.2; Donahue’s; Ethan POV]

In A Blink - @utterlyinevitable ☁

Ethan Ramsey could never have understood fatherhood. Not until this moment. [Domestic; Family]

Intern Year - @cariantha 📚 📷

[extended: wip] Follow Sawyer Brooks through her first year of residency at Edenbrook.

Lost and Found

Donahue’s

Jealous - @parisa-kh 🎭

When a patient recognizes Haley from a party long ago, Ethan realizes she has her own way of moving on. [Jealous]

Long Story Short - @genevievemd 📚

[mini:complete] The four times Ethan met Genevieve’s exes. [Ex Came Back]

Ch 4: I Bet You Think About Me

Love Me Like You Do - @bex-la-get ♥

Natalie and Ethan celebrate their honeymoon, the only way they know how. [Domestic; Wedding]

Nursery - @heauxplesslydevoted ☁

Ethan shares how he and Naomi met with their baby girl. [Domestic; Family]

Open Heart/Sherlock Holmes AU Prequel Series 2 - @takeharryandgo 📚 🛸

[extended: wip] Ethan’s mother reenters his life and soon becomes coincidentally tied to their latest case.

Part 3: A Picture of Grief

Photo of Us - @a-crepusculo ☁

It’s Marchia versus Technology, and she’s not winning.

Postcard Memories - @liaromancewriter ☁

As they spend a day with family, Ethan reflects on how different his childhood was from that of his children. [Domestic; Family]

Puzzles - @starrystarrytrouble ☁

The look of absolute concentration on his face was uncanny. But he wasn't immersed in a medical journal.

Sadie’s Self Care Sunday - @peonyblossom 📚📷

[extended:wip] Sadie posts different acts of self care on Picta every Sunday.

Part 2: Bubble Bath

Seething - @potionsprefect 🎭

She is furious with him, and she had every right to be. [Fighting; Family]

Sound Asleep - @jerzwriter ☁

Kaycee sneaks quietly into bed after a long day, but soon finds herself helping her boyfriend sleep the night through. [Hurt/Comfort]

The Negotiation - @liaromancewriter ☁

Ethan has a huge favor to ask of Cassie. But it’s going to cost him. [Office]

What We Leave Behind - @jerzwriter 🎭

Her residency is now behind her, and Kaycee has important decisions to make. A conversation with her best friend makes her realize that she needs to tell someone the truth. But is she too late? [With Someone Else]

With and Without - @alwaysmychoices 📚

Dr. Charlie Greene doesn’t have Ethan Ramsey. But when Charlie’s life feels like it’s out of control, she finds herself on Ethan’s doorstep. They promise each other that it’s just one night, but once they’ve broken all their rules, they can’t go back to normal…

Ch 35: Waiting for You

Work Intrudes - @lucy-268 ☁

When work intrudes on their vacation, Charley is not having it.

102 Days of Smiles - @genevievemd 📚📷

[extended: wip] One post a day, for 102 days, with something that made our new bride smile.

ETHAN X TOBIAS

Adventures with Dwight Theodore Lewis III - @coffeeheartaddict2 ☁

Whilst Casey is off on a spa weekend, Tobias and Ethan have a boys night and spend much of the night reflecting on the mischief they got up to in their youth. [Platonic]

TOBIAS X F!MC / F!OC

Where It Goes From Here... - @jerzwriter 🎭

Ten years ago, she left. Six years ago, he decided he needed to move on. Now, a chance meeting at an airport threatens to turn everything upside down. Where do they go from here?

SUBMIT OPEN HEART FICS & WRITERS HERE

#open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfics #open heart fanfiction #open heart fanfic #playchoices fanfics #playchoices fanfiction #bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #newly added fics

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nordleuchten · 3 years

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are there any sources that say how lafayette reacted to the death of washington and his other friends from america??

Hello Anon,

yes, we do know La Fayette’s reaction - pretty exactly actually. George Washington died on December 14, 1799 and La Fayette wrote to Washington’s widow, Martha Washington, on February 28, 1800. The letter is today hold by the Digital Collection from The Washington Library.

Dearest Madam

My Heart Has for So Long a time and So throughly Been known to You, that I Need Not, Nor indeed Could I Express the feelings Which Over Whelm it—While the world is Mourning, and Mankind weeping Over the irreparable Loss, What Must it Be to You, My dear Madam, the object of His Love, the Companion of His Life, the partner of His Sentiments, the Happy witness to All His private and public virtues? What Must it Be to me, Who from My Youth Have Been Blessed with His paternal Adoption, and Who Ever Have deserved it By the Most filial Affection for Him and for You, Who United in Every thing were particularly So in Your kindness to me? - Continue, I beseech you, to Honour me with this Maternal Predilection, the more necessary to me, as in you, dearest Madam, I Both Love and Revere What Remains of My Respected and Beloved General - My Mind is so wed to introduce Him in every thought, every Sentiment, every Concern of Mine that I Hardly Can Believe that, While I am Living, He Has left us, Nor Could I forgive Myself No to Have personally received His Last Blessing. Had I Not the Remembrance of the Advice By Which You know He Has Repeatedly differed My Departure for America - the Circumstances are Coming on Which Had appeared to Him to proper- for Our Meeting - But Alas, in this World We Can No More Meet! I would think it for me a Sacred and Staeing[sic] Duty to Go Over and Mingle My Tears With Yours, Had I not Lately Reentered My Native Country Where, although I Live in perfect Retirement, and With not Have Any thing to do With public affairs, I am Bound to forward the Business of My friends, Several of Whom, Who followed me in 1792, are to the paine[sic] of Being Restored to their Homes and families - I owe it also to My Creditors and Children to pick up the Remains of My fortune - My Son, not Less a partaker in My Grief than in My Obligations and Gratitude, Has the Honour to write to you, and would Have Gone to Mount Vernon, Had Not the Continuation of the War engaged Him in the Military Senite where He expects to Be Soon employed - But we Both Live in the Hope to present You Again, dearest Madam, the personal Homage of our Respectful Love; and everlasting Regrets Shall ever Make us worthy of the parental affection which from the Greatest and Best of Men, which from You, Dear Madam, we Both Had the Happiness to experience - My Wife, With a Mourning, affectionate Heart, joins in My Sentiments, and as well as the Rest of My family Beg to Be More Respectfully, tenderly Remembered to You - Be pleased to let me Hear from You as often as You Can - permit me to Hold with You the Correspondence I Had with My Beloved General and think often of that adoptive Son of His who with dutiful Respect, and warm, Grateful, filial affection Has the Honour to be

dear Madam

Your obedient Servant and friend

Lafayette

Martha Washington replied to La Fayette on October 31, 1800:

Mount Vernon October 31st 1800

Dear Sir

It was not until very lately that your sympathetic and affectionate letter of the 18th of febary reached my hands - The feeling manner in which you have expressed your sense of the loss which I have sustained demands my greatful acknowledgement. The tribute of respectful veneration which has been every where paid to the memory of my dear deceased Husband, and the tender sympathy which my friends have expressed for the irreparable loss, excites my warmest sensibility, -- But my consolation arises only from that source of infinite wisdom and good help which alone can mitigate our grief and lessen the poignancy of the keenest affliction -- To his will do I resign my self for the few remaining days of my life - Knowing the strong ties by which you were bound to my departed Friend I can readily conceive of your feeling upon hearing of his decease, and I am sure it was not among the least of the manifold afflictions which you have of late years undergone.

To the amiable partner of your heart and the rest of your deserving family I pray you to have my sincear and greatful thanks for their tender sympathy; and be isured that you have my ernest prayers that your and their future years may be freed from that cloud of suffering in which you have been so long involved -, and that every blessing which heaven has in store for the virtuous may be showered upon you,- should you or they visit this country - I need not say how happy I should be to see you under my roof - and it will always afford me the highest satisfaction to hear of your welfare

The kind letter from your son came in closed in yours, for which I pray you to return him my best thanks and issure him that his friends hear hold him in affectionate rememberance and sincerely wish that his career in life may be glorious and happy - with esteem and regard

Im dear sir your friend and obedient(?) servant.

Martha Washington

There is something special about this letter. Martha received at least 55 letters of condolences that we know of, more than 40 of the people who wrote her received a reply - but most of these replies were not written by her but by others, Tobias Lear for example, in her name. La Fayette’s was one of fife identified persons who received a reply written by herself. Martha also send La Fayette two pistols, that Washington bequeathed to the Marquis in his will. Washington wrote in his will:

“To General de la Fayette I give a pair of finely wrought steel Pistols, taken from the enemy in the Revolutionary War.”

La Fayette’s son, Georges Washington de La Fayette, also wrote Martha. He enclosed his letters in the letter written by his father. Beside these letters, there is also an earlier account that illustrates La Fayette’s thoughts about Washington’s demise. Shortly before La Fayette sailed for France in 1784 after his third visit to the United States, Washington wrote him the following on December 8, 1784:

“In the moment of our separation upon the road as I travelled, & every hour since—I felt all that love, respect & attachment for you, with which length of years, close connexion & your merits, have inspired me. I often asked myself, as our Carriages distended, whether that was the last sight, I ever should have of you? And tho’ I wished to say no—my fears answered yes. I called to mind the days of my youth, & found they had long since fled to return no more; that I was now descending the hill, I had been 52 years climbing—& that tho’ I was blessed with a good constitution, I was of a short lived family—and might soon expect to be entombed in the dreary mansions of my father’s—These things darkened the shades & gave a gloom to the picture, consequently to my prospects of seeing you again: but I will not repine—I have had my day.”

To that La Fayette replied on December 21, 1784:

“I Have Received Your Affectionate letter Of the 8th inst., and from the known Sentiments of My Heart to You, You will Easely guess what My feelings Have Been in perusing the tender Expressions of Your friendship—No, my Beloved General, our late parting was Not By Any Means a last interview—My whole Soul Revolts at the idea—and Could I Harbour it an instant, indeed, my dear General, it would make me Miserable (…)”

On February 8, 1800, France held an official funeral service for George Washington. Everybody expected La Fayette to give a eulogy to Washington but that did not happen. More so, La Fayette was explicitly excluded from the funeral. Why? Because Napoléon Bonaparte, who had just risen to power, did not felt like it and because he was a bit petty.

As with regard to his other friends in America, there is not as much documentation that I know of. Washington wrote to La Fayette on October 20, 1782 that John Laurens had died.

“Poor Laurens is no more—He fell in a trifling skirmish in South Carolina, attempting to prevent the Enemy from plundering the Country of Rice (…)”

I am sure La Fayette was saddened by his friends death, but I have never seen him mentioning it. Moving on to Hamilton, who died on July 12, 1804, La Fayette wrote Thomas Jefferson on October 8, 1804 that:

“The Deplorable fate of My friend Hamilton Has deeply Afflicted me—I am Sure that whatever Have Been the differences of parties, you Have Ever Been Sensible of His Merits, and Now feel for His Loss.”

He further wrote to George Washington Parke Custis after Hamilton’s death that:

“Hamilton was to me, my dear Sir, more than friend, he was a brother. We were both very young, when associated with our common father; our friendship, formed in days of peril and glory, suffered no diminution from time: with Tilghman and with Laurens, I was upon terms the most affectionate; but with Hamilton, my relations were brotherly.”

Another close friend of La Fayette, Thomas Jefferson, died on July 4, 1826 and La Fayette discussed his death in a letter to James Monroe on November 28, 1826. I sadly have no full access to this letter so I can only tell you that Jefferson’s death was discussed in the letter, but not what La Fayette actually wrote.

I hope you have/had an awesome day!

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miserable-pile-of-lies · 3 years

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The Sleeping Prince of Wallachia Ch. 2 (Beta)

Here's a snippet from the upcoming chapter in my latest fanfic, this chapter is going to be a doozy with what I have planned and there will be a lot more focus on the characters, their origins, and motivations. I hope you all enjoy this teaser.

Summary: Wallachia is in great peril at the behest of Death himself; all those who have attempted to battle the creature have swiftly been executed and made an example of. The key to defeating the beast lies in Dracula's castle, located twenty odd miles out from a small village by the name of Danesti. In this village, the headwoman Greta must act quickly to save her people from the onslaught of attacks by night creatures and other ungodly minions who have sworn their loyalty to Death. Will she alone be able to stop Death or will she require additional aid to save her people and those in Wallachia?

Roasted walnuts indecorously bestrewed the forest floor, being tossed from a perch high above that stretched into the sky. Humming a cheerful tune that foretold the story of Queen Dido, a thirteen-year-old Greta smacked her lips obnoxiously as Marius attempted to scamper away from the branch they sat upon. The young girl hurled an emptied shell of a walnut into the air, given to her by the portly baker Grigore, a Wallachian native that had recently settled in Danesti to toil his goods.

“That isn’t how the founding story of Carthage goes, Queen Dido was bewitched by Cupid’s arrow,” a twelve-year-old Marius moaned wearily at his older friend who crossed her lanky arms unimpressed by the explanation. The Roman boy dug into the pouch that sat between him and his companion, uttering a cry when he felt a pinch twist the doughy skin of his love handles. Offering his finest glare, the adolescent lobbed a walnut at the lass who only ducked backwards in response to the sneak attack with a snigger.

“That cannot be, Prince Aeneas deceptively seduced our founding mother with sweet words only to leave her high and dry in the pursuit of his journey, ultimately courting Princess Lavinia of Italy,” Greta bit out with a scowl as she described the cowardly philanderer that covertly escaped into the night when leaving Carthage at the command of Jupiter. Prince Aeneas went on to become the founding father of Rome, previously recognized as the city of Lavinium when the metropolis was founded by his followers to honor their queen.

Marius merely shrugged at the latter details relayed by Greta, knowing how the rest of the myth went. Queen Dido, in a fitful rage, committed suicide out of spite at the abandonment of Aeneas and sparked the Punic Wars that led to the annexation of Carthage. Presently, both civilizations were relics of the past and the descendants of Aeneas and Dido had long forgotten about the dissension that divided the two to begin with.

“Who cares about any of that, it’s all ancient history anyway; more importantly we should talk about Faiza,” Marius clucked out with a cheeky grin as Greta’s face promptly flushed at the mention of the girl who currently held her affections.

Nimble fingers tapped bashfully against the coarse bark of the tree as she thought of the remarkable Moroccan beauty, two years her senior with an unmatched intellect that could not be found elsewhere in the village. Clearing her throat with a thunderous cough that echoed amongst the thicket of trees, thick chestnut brows quirked up to implore Marius to continue his line of questioning.

Sighing heavily in exasperation, the young man reached across to tug at his closest playmate’s cheek, earning an appalled yelp in reply.

“You vexing little runt, what was that for,” Greta demanded with a scoff, lightly slapping the terracotta toned hand away as Marius held his rib from chuckling harshly at Greta’s indignation. Thoroughly riled by the taunts, the daughter of the headman gracefully descended from the tree, stirring up the emerald leaves that laid in the low grass below. Lips curved upward at the sound of an astonished choke, knowing that Marius would take much longer to get down than Greta.

Leaves crunched in protest, alarming the teenager, who speedily pulled out her short sword to defend both herself and Marius from a potential assailant. Green eyes squinted in concentration rising from the thick branch he sat upon, bringing his elm bow and arrow to target the source of the commotion hidden by the overgrown shrubbery. Palms were presented in a mock defense manner and soon both sword and bow were lowered without further questioning; the newcomer was a fellow inhabitant of Danesti who went by the name of Felix. The scrawny queer man looked affright when he saw their weapons drawn, shaking like a white flag in the wind signaling a surrender from a fallen camp of soldiers.

“Greta and Marius, I’ve come to retrieve you both on behalf of Tobias, he says that your mother is nearing the end of labor,” Felix squawked out nervously forcing his hands to his sides while tipping the crooked point of his jaw in the air, an attempt to reinforce his position as an elder among the children who innocently snickered at the poor fellow.

Tobias was the current headman of Danesti, father of Greta and husband of Iman, patiently awaiting the arrival of his second child with the rest of the men in the village. As per custom, Iman was currently being attended by several midwives and parish priests recruited from the capital of Târgoviște; a far journey that took the travelers weeks to make it to the settlement in time for the birth.

The leader of the village had forfeited several family heirlooms to afford the care needed for Iman and adequately compensated those assisting in the birth. Childbirth was an unforgiving ordeal; one could never be too safe to preserve the life of both mother and child even with the aid of experts.

Honeyed eyes crinkled in joy; the youth absolutely thrilled that she would finally meet her younger sibling. The young girl had been praying that it would be a boy so that their father could be at peace and have a successor that would eventually inherit the role of being the headman of Danesti. If that occurred, her father would stop stifling her fun with Marius and the other village children, forcing her to sit through tedious meetings with the village men about the daily state of affairs of their community.

Regardless of the gender of the newborn, Greta promised her mother that she would look out for her younger sibling and her mother beamed from ear to ear while affectionately carding her rich brown hands through her daughter’s silken hair. Often wrapped in colorful linens covering her form and adorned with intricately knotted scarfs, her mother dressed in the traditional garb that was expected of women hailing from Somalia, a resource rich country found in East Africa. Though it was rare to see out in the open, Greta adored seeing her mother braid her kinky curly hair into the fine thin rows of braids decorated by glassy beads and golden hair cuffs imported from North African traders passing through the area to sell their finery.

The relationship between Tobias and Iman was an anomaly to all onlookers based on the traits of the two; Tobias was a brash man who had no filter and the shortest temper that could set off at a moment’s notice while Iman was quiet spoken yet assertive in her demands, effortlessly carrying herself like a member of royalty. Additionally, Tobias carried the wide frame of a brutish bull, but he was slightly below average in stature while Iman towered over her husband with long slim legs and a slender frame hidden by her garments.

#castlevania #greta #greta danesti #adrian tepes #alucard #sypha belnades #gretacard #I'm so pumped for what I have planned for this chapter you guys #We are finally going to get a formal introduction between Greta and Sypha and so much more #Also it will be a minute before Alucard is introduced in the story so be placated by the shit ton of lore and bonds made along the way #also would anyone like to be the first to take a peak at the chapter once I'm done to make sure it's solid? 👉🏽👈🏽👀#it's going to probably take from a couple of days to a week to pump out this next chapter in its entirety so sit tight #fanfiction #Castlevania fanfiction

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anntoldst0ries · 4 years

Text

Lost in Translation

If someone told me a couple of months ago how invested I’d be in OH and the story, I would laugh at them. But here we are, isn’t life full of surprises :)

Apologies for mistakes, if you notice any please feel free to let me know!

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC

Word Count: 2,358

Summary: What happens when it’s just Dr Ramsey and his thoughts?

Warnings: None, just a tiny bit of angst & fluff. A lot of introspection!

~~~~~~~

After what felt like the longest shift ever, Dr Ethan Ramsey finally entered his apartment. He closed the door, leaving the whirlwind of his professional life outside.

A biscuit golden retriever jumped at him with all the might in his paws and the sore muscles of a 37-year old diagnostician almost gave up under the pressure of furry ball of fluff.

“I’m happy to see you too, buddy. But you need to go easy on me today.”

Jenner just stared at him with those big black eyes, licked his hand and went back to solving the most important problem of the day: how to cadge some real food, the one hooomans eat.

Although he was far from contemplating whether dogs have what resembles an intelligence (it was someone else’s specialty) he couldn’t help but think Jenner knows. This constantly salivating, instinct-driven creature somehow understands what it is that Ethan asked him to do and why.

“Great, Ramsey. You are going crazy, may as well admit yourself to the psychiatric ward right now. Dr Keller will be delighted to see you. And all the predators of Edenbrook will finally have a proper fodder - Ethan freaking Ramsey has officially freaked out.”

Having poured himself a decent glass of scotch, he stood in front of a giant window overlooking the bay. The waters were quiet and calm, a total contrast to the fire burning inside him after taking a long sip. There was something soothing in the almost painful feeling. 10 years ago downing a whole glass of neat scotch was way beyond his repertoire. One of the perks of being over 35, he guessed. It was scientifically proven that man’s tastebuds change drastically after reaching certain age. He had to admit, there was at least a grain of truth in this. The gold liquid was no longer just bitter and harsh; it had texture, flavour, a complexity - something he wasn’t able to appreciate before. As a doctor, he also knew that he’s got 20, maybe 25 years of this experience left - until ruthless time and ageing will blend all tastes into one.

The lights of the night danced around the spacious living room, their gold reflections creating an aura of mystery in a dimly-lit apartment. He looked around and his gaze landed on antique vase, a present Naveen brought him from Greece for his 35th birthday. It complemented tasteful interior design, expensive decorations and custom furniture perfectly.

As beautiful as they were, all these things made him feel nothing. It was almost ironic that this unquestionably beautiful property, paid for with his own blood, sweat and tears, he couldn’t possibly care less about. Right now, he could have been in some shithole in Roxbury, sipping cheap beer and it would make no difference whatsoever. Except, it would have saved him a mini fortune, which he was now spending on this goddamn penthouse in Beacon Hill. A place he never ever spent more than 4 hours at a time in.

He smirked at the thought - that’s exactly what Naveen said about his own lake house before saying goodbye to his mentee last year. Back when he thought he was going to die soon. Was it surprising? No, everyone was expecting that Ethan will one day take Naveen’s place as the best diagnostician in the world. He considered this not so much an honour, but rather a tribute to his biggest idol, his friend, his father figure. If he was to ever repay Dr Banerji for everything he’s done for him, there was only one way - he needed to be the best among the best.

They called him the best diagnostician of his generation. Although he resented the title, this label given to him by the mutual admiration society (that he had zero respect for), he was very much aware that he was exceptional at his job. Ethan never thought of this as bragging, because bragging made people vain. He liked to think of it as self-confidence, which, as it grew stronger, made him work for his patients even harder than he ever thought possible. The people whose lives he saved, they had to have confidence in him. They had to believe that he knows what he’s doing. And how could he instil a sense of confidence in them, had he not had it himself?

“You can’t give what you don’t have.” - the sentence kept echoing in his head. Tobias used to say that to him all the time, he lived by these words. It was probably the only relic of their once unbreakable (or so they stupidly thought) bond and also the only thing relating to Tobias that didn’t make him want to gag.

So Ethan accepted his role as a successor of the greatest diagnostician in the country. Because there was a mission and a responsibility behind this fate. Because there was a sense of safety in predictable realms of medicine. Also, because… it felt like kicking Tobias right in the crotch. Although he’d never admit this to anyone, least of all himself, the unwritten competition they were subject to for the past 17 years, helped him keep a laser focus on the tasks in front of him. And every time he was able to wipe the smile off Mass Kenmore’s ‘star’ handsome face, Ethan felt satisfaction.

Becoming the man he was today required a lot of changes. He got rid of all the needs of usual Everyman. First, he swept his feelings under the carpet of indifference and cynicism. Then, he learned how to live among people, but without delving into deep and ‘meaningful’ relationships. This was his bauble and he was perfectly… content with it. That is, until it hadn’t been smashed to pieces because something happened to him.

Someone happened to him.

Oh fuck.

He made a desperate attempt to try and stop the inevitable, but it was too late.

His head was instantly flooded with images, followed by ubiquitous tingles that filled his body. In his mind’s eye, a face shaped instantly, the image so vivid that he was almost blinded by it. It’s as if the person was standing right in front of him. The feeling was as mesmerising as it was painful.

Damn it. She didn’t even have to be here to do things to him. To make him see things. Smell things. Hear things. Feel things.

Ethan and The Feelings. This band rarely played together. Ethan wasn’t really a team player and The Feelings were loud, untameable and too unpredictable for the likes of him. He had to learn to tolerate them, because wherever she went, they followed.

He couldn’t rid of her presence, no matter where he was or what he did. Not that he wanted to - he just couldn’t, for the love of god, comprehend all this. Having been a king of self-control and master of his own life, it was beyond Ethan’s understanding how this woman, almost a decade younger than him, managed to turn him into… well, Jenner. He’d do anything she’d ask him to do. He was an electric ride-on, the one they buy for children. And she was holding the remote.

No, this wasn’t the most fortunate comparison. Because an electric toy was not capable of feeling things. And he was. A lot. More than he ever thought possible and more than he wanted to.

The fear of being misapprehended stopped him from telling her that sometimes he hated what she was doing to him. Not her, he could never hate her. He hated this unexplainable power she had over him and wasn’t even fully aware of. It frightened him. That she clawed his composure back so easily. That her youth, enthusiasm and energy were like a tornado to the illusionary beach he used to inhabit in his head. The force of her personality wreaked havoc on the well-oiled cogs of the machine that was once his life.

It took all the strength he had to stay away, from the day he first saw her. No, that’s not right. From the first time he felt her. Ethan’s mind was definitely against him today, because the images materialised within seconds, before he even managed to fully accept the presence of the thought.

He was sitting in his office, wondering why the hell has he agreed to help Harper with reading pages of blabber from wannabe surgeons and doctors. They were all the same and if he got a cent for every time they got under his skin, he’d be a millionaire. But Harper was an old friend and his ex, he had a lot of respect for her. She’d just been promoted to the Chief of Medicine and although she was more than capable to do the job, he understood that transition from theatre to bureaucracy was scary and challenging for her. It was the least he could do to help and certainly a task way easier than being a shoulder to cry on.

Having gone through pages of “I wanna change the world and find a cure for cancer” he almost fell asleep on his desk. Not that there was something wrong with medical research or a quest for deeper meaning of one’s career - but what he read in those applications sounded like an extract from a beauty pageant. And, frankly, when he looked at some of the photos attached to applications, he couldn’t help but think beauty pageants were a better fit for some of these people than a hospital.

“Christ, are they giving away medical degrees for free these days?” He sighed loudly, sending another handful of pages onto the pile of would-be Grey’s as he called them, because he was more than certain that majority of these people derived their idea of work in hospital from the TV series Grey’s Anatomy. All Ethan knew was that he’s never seen anything more divorced from reality, having watched one episode after all the nurses kept chirping about Dr Derek Shepherd for a whole week.

Fully prepared for yet another disappointment, he turned the front page of next file. Looking at him was a young, beautiful woman with raven hair. Her gaze was daring and gentle at the same time. Even though it was just a photo, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she looked right through him.

Things only got better as he kept going through the next pages. Her application was a riveting read, it was honest, filled with passion and well written, all without being cliche. He saw the most incredible potential, but more importantly, he felt it. She made him feel things, even though he never met her. It was all just pouring from the pages. Ethan would always remember how excited and nervous it made him feel. He almost suffered from a head-on crash with gurney whilst running to Harper’s office, because he had to make sure that she gets the residency position in the hospital. His own feelings played no role here, she simply deserved this position and he knew Dr Emery won’t even question his judgement.

And then he met her.

To be honest, he completely forgot about the interns’ induction, he’s seen so many in his life already that he couldn’t care less. The new case Diagnostics Team took onboard was occupying him completely on that day.

Looking at it now, he couldn’t help but think of one of his favourite movies, Picnic at Hanging Rock. There was this line that he always felt drawn to, but could never fully understand:

“Everything begins and ends at exactly the right time and place“

He was walking down the long corridor, when he heard Danny, one of the nurses, screaming. A minute later Ethan was on his knees, next to a woman in her 50s. He figured out quite quickly what was happening to her, but if his diagnosis was correct, he was going to need some help. Having lifted his gaze, he looked for a familiar face. But there was no one around. That’s when he remembered about the stupid intern induction.

“Damn it, where are the doctors?!” - he asked out loud.

“I’m a doctor!” - responded an unfamiliar voice. Ethan turned around and saw a young woman with black hair in fresh scrubs. He never saw her before and figured she must be one of the new interns.

“You, Rookie. Come here!” - he literally wouldn’t mind if she was an actress playing a doctor, he needed an extra pair of hands. Right here, right now. She kneeled on the patient’s left side, her sight piercing him, waiting for instructions. That’s when it hit him.

It was her.

The fate didn’t spare her - Ethan knew as well as she did that having to deal with Hemothorax on your first day was a tricky business. But she was brilliant. A little nervous, yes, but brilliant.

All she needed was a push. That’s why he picked her to pieces, leaving her confused and probably upset. She will understand one day and she will be grateful.

He said what he had to say and then he just disappeared behind the corridor. He couldn’t be around her more than necessary. Because she made him feel. And this was the last thing he needed right now. Or ever.

What the hell?

Dr Ramsey shook his head and woke up from his daydream. He felt his loyal furry companion licking his hand with a pleading gaze. Suddenly, the weight of the thoughts crushed him like a tidal wave, the feeling so intense that his legs instantly turned into Jell-O, forcing him to sit down. That’s exactly what he was afraid of. The moment he’s had a minute, he immediately gave into thoughts. That’s what she was doing to him. Every part of him wanted to take an extra shift, but common sense and medical knowledge prevailed. He needed 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep, otherwise his body would give up soon, making him no use to anyone, especially not all the patients who desperately needed him.

But he was a fool to assume this was going to happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list (please let me know if you wish to be removed, I tagged the accounts I follow and truly admire!): @terrm9 @openheart12 @openheartthot @rookie-ramsey @alwaysmychoices @brooks-eden @drethanramslay @starrystarrytrouble @justanotherrookie @caseyvalentineramsey @incorrectopenheart @heauxplesslydevoted @perriewinklenerdie

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #edenbrook #pixelberry #open heart choices #play choices #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart fanfiction #open heart fic #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week

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henryobsessed · 4 years

Text

The Widow and The Widow - Epilogue

Jaskier sat to their right playing beautiful tunes on his lute. Jaskier finished his song his face wrinkled which reflected in the warble of his voice as he spoke to Julia "Ahh the good old days, adventures and romance, monsters and money" Geralt growled low as Julia laughed "You didn't go on any of those adventures Jask you were too busy playing with the children"

Word Count: 1950

Warning: Grief

A/N Awwww I didn't want to do this ending but I knew it was needed.

First I want to say Thank you for finishing this book with me, For my first story I know there may have been a lot of mistakes but I wanted to get the story line out.

If your willing and would like to help I am going to edit now so can you comment of the Chapter that you think need the most immediate correction? Which one did you think was weakest?

Which chapter was your favorite?

Epilogue

The Sun was dipping over the garden, the sky was streaked with pinks, reds and deep hues of purple. It had been a full day of laughter and joy, as the estate's families had all returned to celebrate Julia's 98th Birthday. That morning Geralt had bathed his beloved in kisses and cuddles before helping her bathe. She had dressed in her favourite dress the Royal teal satin dress that she had cherished for many years, it was slightly too big for her now thinning frame but it still lit up her face whenever she wore it.

Geralt had settled her in her garden on a special day bed that Tobias had made for her so that she could enjoy the sunshine and watch the children play. Today there were many children running around the garden playing hid and seek and running underfoot of the Adults who were eagerly catching up after some time apart. Jaskier sat to their right playing beautiful tunes on his lute. Jaskier finished his song his face wrinkled which reflected in the warble of his voice as he spoke to Julia "Ahh the good old days, adventures and romance, monsters and money" Geralt growled low as Julia laughed "You didn't go on any of those adventures Jask you were too busy playing with the children"

Laughter rang out from her lips as Jaskier pouted and then smiled a devious smile as he began to strum "Toss a Coin...." Even before he could finish the sentence Geralt gave him a look that silenced the old man. "No fair Geralt, I need to revel in my youth. You still look that same as you did when we first met and Julia and I, well we've seen better days." Putting a soft wrinkled hand on Jaskier arm Julia smiled and said "It's ok Jask, why don't you play me Caleb's favourite lullaby. I always loved that song" a gentle sweet smile formed on Jaskier's face as he began to play a gentle lullaby that almost succeeded in taking Julia away into slumber.

As the morning's festivities moved into lunch and then Mid-afternoon a large cake was bought out for Julia. Large enough to accommodate the myriad of candles adorning the top, she asked the children to gather around and help her blow them out. Geralt loved how much she enjoyed her great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren. He knew however that today she would not have had the breath to blow out one candle let alone 98. He sat behind her as she lay comfortably against his chest, their familiar position as the procession of Gifts were paraded before her. First came Tobias and Renee who both looked remarkably young for being in their late 60's easily mistaken for being in there 40's. Followed by Wilfred and his family and their children and Amelia and her family and their children.

As they moved forward Vesemir, Eskel, Lambert and Cohen bowed low before her Julia the only one looking even remotely as old as Julia was now was Vesemir his frame slightly bent and eyes watery but he looked in his mid 80's rather than the possible 600yrs that he was. The brothers blew her a kiss each and they moved along to allow Visenna and Yennefer a chance to present there good wishes presenting the only Gift Julia would agree to accept today a small bottle of her favourite Honeysuckle oil.

As each servant presented before her Julia remembered her cherished ones those who had passed on ahead of her Nessie her beloved cook who had become a cherished friend. Ruth and Hannah who had died in an outbreak of the pox 20 years earlier along with Jolnar and Petra. She had done all she could for them and it still it haunted her knowing she could not save them.

As the last couple walked near, she recognised both the beautiful lady standing before her and her handsome son standing taller than his father broad shoulders carrying their youngest child. No longer a teenage girl but a regale Queen, Cirilla had rightfully taken her place as the Queen of Cintra along with her husband Caleb beside her. She and her children now ruled the lands of Cintra and had enjoyed peace for many years. Ciri and Caleb kneeled before Julia and took her wrinkled hands in theirs. There eye's meeting, Ciri's full of unshed tears as she kissed Julia on her hand whispering "Happy Birthday Mother, I love you" handing their youngest to Jasker who was happy to cuddle with his nephew Caleb leaned forward and embraced his mother. His deep baritone voice whispered "You're looking well today mum, has dad been looking after you?" the cheeky glint in his eye speaking to how well he knows his parents the even after all these years their passion for each other had never wavered.

Now Geralt had Julia wrapped up in his arms in their favourite place, a blanket sitting over their bodies snuggling on the day bed in the healing rooms looking out over the place where so much love and warmth was met today. As the stars began appearing Geralt whispered to Julia "did you enjoy today my love?" he could hear her gentle soft breathing as she nestled further into his arms "Yes, it was so good to see everyone. This place seems so quiet when they are off living their lives" Geralt hummed in agreement as he ran his fingers through her hair now just as white as his own. They stayed that way for quite some time just enjoying the stars and each other's warmth until Geralt felt something change. It was an imperceptible shift in the way Julia was breathing he looked down at her, as their eyes met. Her pale now milky blue eyes smiled as she said "Take care of them my love" and with that she breathed one last breath and was gone.

He had known it was coming, they had prepared for this moment since Julia had started to feel her strength decline, but it didn't make the feeling of loss any less. Rather than moving Geralt relaxed into the day bed content to hold his beloved in his arms for just one more night.

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

Visenna placed a hand on Geralt's shoulder, she had found him sitting on the day bed looking out at the stars. Thankfully the family had been still in town allowing for a funeral to take place before they all went their separate ways.

At the contact of her hand on his shoulder she sat as he turned, and her son curled into her sobbing. No matter how much they had planned for this, talked about this she knew he would feel the grief and loss for many years to come. She was just glad she could be here to comfort him, to walk it thought with him. She knew he would be ok, that the love of their large family would help him remember the good times. To remember the love that Julia had shown to so many, and to celebrate the life that they had together. Still right now it was raw, and he needed to be allowed to grief so she did what she could she held her son and let him cry.

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

It had been a few months since Julia had passed and Geralt was only just beginning to start to feel more that just the loss. He had woken in his empty bed his arms aching to hold her again. Just wanting to feel close to her he went out to the stables and saddled Roach. The chestnut mare had been a present to him from Julia after Rose had passed away. They had clicked straight away, and roach had been a faithful companion. Today he knew where he needed to go, to their special place. Getting into the saddle he urged Roach into a gallop as they flew over the hills, past the Witcher keep that now rose up to the east of the main dwelling, past the orchards and finally to the river. He had pushed Roach fast needing to feel the wind and adrenaline through his veins.

Here, he found their favourite place, the watering hole had not changed too much since that day he had proposed to her. The trees were still strong and created the sound of waves as the wind rustled the leaves. The birds had come and gone, and now new generations occupied their branches. Even the ant's nests continued their cycle completely unperturbed by the destruction of their colony all those years ago when he had landed his beloved directly on top of their home.

Sitting down on the same bank he shut his eyes, picturing her face he spoke "We miss you Julia, I miss you. Your smile and your hugs. I miss your constant prattle about the grandchildren, and your worry about their safety. I wish you could have lived as long as I did, and that I wouldn't have to live without you" He opened his eyes looking at the water, he realised the biggest thing he missed was the peace that she exuded. Even in her worry she was peaceful.

As he sat a voice seemed to carry on the wind from long ago, her voice as it recited "The lord is my Shepard I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil, my cup overflows. Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." As the words swirled around his mind a peace settled in his heart. It wasn't just Julia that he had missed is was the presence of her unnamed God that seemed to follow her wherever she was that he missed.

Speaking to the wind his deep voice carrying around the river he said "I know you, I watched you work through Julia's hand, her compassion, her heart for her family for her patients for me. I saw you work your miracle to bring us the child she so longed to have. If she's with you I want to be there too. I have never believed in higher beings, help me find you. I want to know you like she did" With that a peace greater than he had ever felt before wrapped itself around his heart. In that moment he knew without a shadow of doubt that he would continue to protect and love the family he had on this earth, and that he would one day see Julia again. Filled with a renewed strength and peace he went to Roach mounted and set off for home.

THANK YOU FOR READING THE WIDOW AND THE WITCHER

Previous Chapter Twenty Nine Masterlist

I have Tagged people who follow me and who I follow if you want to be removed or added please let me know :)

@keanureevesisbae @darkverrmin @viking-raider @littlefreya@madbaddic7ed @the-soot-sprite @thelastsock @lovetusilver20@crimsonrae @demivampirew @ladyreapermc@henrycavillobsessed @nitannichionne @runawayolives @heartfelt-pen @omgkatinka @star017 @llly113 @sad-ghost-of-garbage @ayamenimthiriel @starstruckkittyangel @lebguardians @summersong69 @notyouraveragemochii @imneonpanda @carriebee1 @ivyfatale @thereisa8ella @lucy930 @sarahmichelle5 @stuckupstucky @cleodoramer @kmuir1 @elliepower @xobriellaxo24 @xxxkatxo @supernovacocorocha @hennerslionhat @xo-mery-ox @waitedforlove743 @ladamari68 @coksy @wickedrum @harleyfranquinn @mysticalstrangerearthquake @justrae9903 @willkatfanfromasia @daddys-littlewhitegirl @cavilladdict @lebguardians @theblondetumbleweed @snowbellexx @radaofrivia @geralttheewitcher @acdd22 @thullyana @fanfictionaddiction99 @beckythfc1882 @heyheyharry @sauve-et-libre @shy-violet-soul @elliepower @msamericanrebel @minion-of-the-lord

#thewidowandthewitcher #geralt #geralt x ofc #the witcher #henry cavill

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utterlyinevitable · 4 years

Note

Please can you continue the angst and do Bryce and MC breaking up after OHSY?

OK but... why would anyone break up with Bryce Lahela?????

Bryce and MC (Becca) OHSY/OH3 Breakup

Bryce and Becca’s relationship has always been easy. Everything flowed - their bodies fit together divinely. It was natural.

So natural that they didn’t need to verbally define anything. They didn’t need to.

Now that Keiki was at boarding school Becca could stay over more freely and more often. Nothing could have been better than evenings curled up on his couch with the duvet and a bucket of kettle popcorn.

As soon as they got the official letter that Edenbrook would not be operating any longer, Bryce put in for a transfer at Mass Kenmore. He’d applied to other places but Boston is where he needed to be. He has his apartment and needed to be close to Keiki.

He was happy and a weight lifted off his shoulders when he got his acceptance letter.

He kept the news mostly to himself, only casually dropping the info one night when he was grilled about his plans by the gang.

He was attacked with a hug. Everyone was so happy for him. They celebrated with shots and then the afterparty in Becca’s room was slow and sweet. Savoring.

For purely selfish reasons Becca would not apply to MK. She did not fit in with the likes of Tobias, June and Landry and really couldn’t trust a hospital that did. The idea of working beside them made her skin crawl.

But she didn’t want to be too far away from the life she built in Boston.

So she applied everywhere within a 3-hour drive.

Nothing.

No responses from anywhere, or bland rejections to try again next term.

So she threw caution to the wind and applied to other cities: LA, Miami, Dallas, San Fran, Phoenix, New York.

Still, she hadn’t heard back from a single one.

In the office one night, while reassigning paperwork, she spoke of the issues with Ethan.

He considered things and offered to reach out to Chief Fredricks at Weill in NYC.

She wasn’t thrilled about moving back home, but she accepted the gesture nonetheless.

The next week, she had a truly competitive offer from Weill.

The salary package and benefits were astounding. She couldn’t believe it. This opportunity was too good to be true.

She called Bryce immediately. “No way! That’s awesome, Becks!” “I know! And it’s not too far either, we can still spend long weekends together” “Totally. Look at us getting our lives together!”

Then, unexpectedly, Edenbrook was saved and Ethan offered her her position back.

She wanted to accept. Oh, man, did she want to stay. But the Weill gig was too good. Edenbrook could never match that. She’d be a fool to throw this opportunity away.

She declined and Ethan told her the position will still be available whenever she wants it. “You’re one hell of a doctor, Lao. When you’re ready, we’ll be here.”

She thanked him and promised to revert back after her final year. “We’ll be on the same level then, you ready for that?” “No,” he huffed with a smirk. “You’ll always be a rookie in comparison.”

Later that evening, Bryce was waiting for Becca at her apartment. Every staff member at Edenbrook got the same email about their jobs being reinstated should they want them back.

He was miffed she didn’t take the Edenbrook job.

He understands her issue with the MK internal team but... her old job was safe. Nothing has to change for her.

That was the start of the longest goodbye.

They still made the best of their moments together.

He packed up all her things and they took a road trip down to move her in. She stayed in a family-owned apartment in Brooklyn and was lucky enough to save money that way.

It was a cute one bedroom. They christened it immediately.

As they settled further into their residencies and the weeks turned into months. The weekend meetings became less and less.

Becca made a whole new group of friends and even ran into a few from her youth. She had a new local bar and 24/7 eatery. New parks and food trucks and cocky colleagues to help her destress after an egregious shift.

Bryce couldn’t stand some of the MK doctors - they were arrogant and cocky, and not in the wholesome way he is. He tried to see the gang as much as possible. But Donahue’s was a bit farther now.

He spent most nights commuting home and leaving Becca video messages about his day when she’s unable to pick up his call.

Bryce never really noticed how lonely he was before Becca and Keiki made his apartment a home.

They’ve spent 4 weekends together before the distancing feelings started settling in.

They were growing apart.

For their 5th weekend, Becca had to cut it short one day because of a case and then two hours before leaving Bryce was called into emergency surgery. Besides Tanaka, he was the only one available that knew the procedure forwards and backwards.

Instead, they had a video chat date. They got in their pajamas and snuggled on their respective beds with a snack, some beer and started watching Deadpool 2 together.

“I was thinking of coming back to Edenbrook next year,” she said randomly during the movie. That week was one of the toughest she’s ever had and all she wanted was the comfort she found in Boston. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in months!” “Better than when that hair product company sent you a free gift basket?” “100%. Without a doubt. I can’t cuddle my hair gel every night and leave kisses all over it’s body. I mean... I could but it’d be weird as hell.”

They talked about what that would be like and how fun living together for real would be.

Everything seemed good.

They seemed happy.

They seemed like they were planning a forever.

Well, one of them was.

Three months later Bryce finally made it down to see her. Their last few trips had been rescheduled again and again and again and it was finally here.

He ran out of MK so fast no one dared to stop him.

Becca planned a very lowkey date night for them in Williamsburg. They had Tacos at a pop up and drinks at an improv studio. Nothing seemed to be different. They held hands over the table at dinner, she rested her head in the crook of his neck perfectly carved to fit her. They joked and laughed as they walked arm in arm back to her place.

Then why did they feel so distance?

Why was she having trouble look him in the eye?

Why did the edges of her lips curl down when she smiled now?

He held her in his arms, folded her around him as they snuggled on her couch.

That’s when she told him. A mumble into the heat of his skin.

“I thought you were coming to Boston when you’re done?” Bryce was stunned.

He thought they had settled on a plan weeks ago that she’d be back in Boston and they’d share his apartment and they’d start their lives together.

“I was. But they offered me an opportunity of a lifetime, B. And it’s kinda nice being close to my family... I didn’t realize how much I was missing out on..”

He said the next words so quickly and full of honest intentions: “Do you want me to move?”

She didn’t expect him to offer that. He knows how important his career is to him.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” “Sure you could. I still have three years left of residency. Could transfer nearby.” “Another transfer? Don’t you think that’ll put you behind?” “I’m the top resident at MK and was at Edenbrook. Didn’t you know?”

He tried to joke but the way she wouldn’t look him in eye has his chest constricting.

“Do.. do you not want me to move?”

Tbh she hadn’t given much thought to her relationship or goals in months. It was all just wishful thinking when she spoke of things with Bryce.

She had her eyes on the prize and that was becoming the best doctor of her generation. She’d been much too busy fabricating her new life.

“I don’t know.”

Bryce sat back. He thought she was the one. “What are we doing, Rebecca?”

She gave a confused furrow of her brows.

“Are we end game?” he clarified, trying to keep his calm.

Her jaw opened and closed, trying and failing to find all the words she needed him to hear; “I don’t know.” “Okay. I’ll tell you what I DO know. I love you and want to spend the rest of my life making you snort and smile. I can transfer residency and move here for you. All I’m asking, is if you feel the same way.”

There was a wall of silence between them towering so high.

“I love you so much, Bryce.”

It was said so softly he might’ve missed it if he kept talking.

The sadness etched on her face and the light reflecting off the glistening in her eyes told him she wasn’t ready to commit.

She wasn’t going to commit.

Bryce grabbed his bag, snatched his keys and wallet from the table, and walked out the door.

#Anonymous #asked #open heart #open heart headcanons #bryce x mc #bryce lahela #hc

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alexandrablake · 4 years

Text

restless soul, lie down

Prompt: 16. “Do the drugs still get you high?” from this prompt list and 52. “Sometimes, memories are the worst torture.” from this one! Pairing: platonic!Hotch/Reid Word Count: 1,537 Warnings: mentions of drug abuse. references to the events of “revelations” (2x18). A/n: ooh baby, we’re late again. didn’t even start this one until 10 minutes before i was supposed to post it!! nice one, eva!!! (this is my interpretation of how they should have dealt with reid’s drug addiction btw)

It was a fitting day- dark and dreary, rain pouring down as if to drown the world. The droplets splattered the windows, and the clouds blocked out the stars that would normally dot the night sky. It was quiet, too, the normal sound of people hard at work long gone. Two figures remained in the office, a tall, pale, and wiry one and a dark, serious, and concentrated one.

Hotch looked out his office window and saw Reid still sitting at his desk, hunched over with his head in his hands. Sparing a quick glance at the clock hanging on his wall, he noted the time far too late for even Reid to be there. He abandoned the report he had been working on and walked out into the bullpen.

His footsteps were heavy as he descended the stairs, but the normally over-observant Reid took no notice. Hotch grabbed Emily’s chair and rolled it over so he sat in front of Spencer. It was only then that the younger man noticed his presence.

“Hotch,” Spencer breathed, eyes darting wildly, “what are you doing here?”

Hotch leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Filling out reports. Why are you here?”

He received a light shrug as his answer. Hotch took in Reid’s disheveled state. His desk was in complete disorder; pencils were scattered, notes with indecipherable words scribbled onto them were placed haphazardly, and the essence of Reid was just gone. His normally ironed clothes were crumpled. It didn’t escape Hotch that they were the same ones from the day before.

His physical appearance was almost worse. Reid’s eyes were sunk into his sockets, and dark circles sat beneath him. He hadn’t slept properly in weeks, and it was evident. His hair was a mess of brown hair, and it was clear that it as well hadn’t been cared for in a long time.

Hotch knew exactly what was happening.

Rather than stating the obvious, he gave the young profiler a chance to admit it himself. “Are you alright?” “Hm?” Reid had become engrossed with fiddling with the array of pens across his desk. “Oh, yeah, no, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” “Yes, Hotch, I’m sure,” he snapped, completely unlike himself.

Hotch tilted his head to the side and eyed Reid’s messenger bag. “Do you mind if I look through your bag?” “Yes!” Reid picked the bag up from the ground and clutched it to his chest. “Yes, I mind,” he added in a much softer voice.

“Why?”

“Stop profiling me.”

Sighing, the unit chief moved his chair closer. He pushed away the mess on the edge of the desk, and leaned his elbow onto it. He was done dancing around the issue.

“Do the drugs still get you high?”

Reid dropped the pen he was twirling around his fingers. He began to bounce his leg as he reached down to grab it, hands shaking the whole time.

“I-I beg your pardon?”

Very calmly, Hotch repeated himself. Spencer seemed just as taken aback by the question the second time. He blinked harshly a few times, and wiped his palms on the top of his pants.

“What are you-are you talking about?” His voice was shaky, and he stumbled over his words.

He was nervous. Hotch had struck a nerve.

“I mean, it’s very obvious you’re having a drug problem.” He held his hand out and began to tick his fingers as he listed off the reasons. “You’re snappy. You disappear periodically throughout the day. You’ve just undergone a traumatic experience. You very clearly have trouble focusing. You’re jittery.”

Reid pushed his hair behind his ears.

“Need I go on?” Hotch blinked slowly and gauged the man’s response.

“Those are all indicators of post-traumatic stress disorder. What makes you think I am doing drugs?” Hotch smiled grimly. That was more like the Reid he knew. “What are you using? Adderall? Something harder?”

The mop of brown hair flew around as he shook his head rapidly. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” “Reid…” Aaron trailed off, looking at the man with concerned eyes.

Spencer’s shoulders sagged, seemingly in defeat. “It’s not my fault, I didn’t mean to get addicted!”

“I know it isn’t. It’s never the victim’s fault,” Hotch said softly so as not to deter Reid from telling the story. “How did it start?”

“Back in that barn, Tobias- and it was Tobias- gave me some. Uh, he said it was to help me, that it made the beatings better. And it did. Then, um, when I shot him and I, uh, I asked you to let me stay back, I took the vials he had in his pocket.”

“Dilaudid?”

Reid’s face showed more years than he had lived as he answered quietly, “Yeah.”

“Is it to help the pain?” Hotch asked in an equally hushed voice.

“It was at first, yeah. I mean, it really started as most addictions do. Uh, you start to distract you from the world around you. It makes everything easier, you know? Well, no, you don’t know, but-”

“Reid,” Hotch stopped him, holding his hands up, “breathe.” “Breathe, right. Uh, yeah, it was a distraction at first. But then I had to have it. I think- I think I got used to the high? And then the flashbacks started, and I needed more. I just wanted to forget, Hotch. And it let me forget,” Reid stopped and looked away from the ground to the still droplet-covered windows. “I just wanted to forget.”

They sat in a saddened silence, the only sound being the rain falling from the sky and hitting the roof. Hotch was the first to break from the trance they had fallen into.

“You’ve seen more horrors in your short years than almost everyone will see in their entire life. I don’t think wanting to forget is something anyone would blame you for. But using isn’t healthy, you know that.” Reid nodded. “We’ve both seen the effects that long-term drug use can do on a person’s mind. I’d hate to see what it would do to a mind as great as yours.”

They fell into silence once again, unspoken words hanging in the air like fog over a harbor.

The youth shined through Spencer as he asked, “Am I in trouble?”

“No, you are not in trouble.”

Reid sighed in relief and leaned back in his chair a little. His leg had stopped bouncing, and he could finally shift his gaze to meet the older profiler’s.

“You know that my office door is always open if you need to talk,” Hotch told him gently.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Is now one of those times?”

“Not really.”

Hotch didn’t press the matter. “Okay.” He held his hand out. “Now, let’s work on getting the real Spencer Reid back.”

Hotch could tell that Reid knew what the offered hand meant by the sloop in his shoulders. The younger man reached a shaky hand into the bag he was still clutching but paused before removing it.

“Hotch, I don’t want the memories.”

A wave of sadness swept through Hotch at the question. “I think sometimes, memories are the worst torture. But I also think sometimes, they are the only cure.”

Reid frowned at the sentiment. “And how do I know which time this is?”

“You won’t until it happens. Is that a chance you are willing to take?”

Reid removed his hand from the bag, clutching three bottles with a clear liquid sloshing in them. “This has to work,” he said, his voice raspy. He sounded as if he were on the verge of tears as he continued. “This has to work because I don’t know what I will do if it doesn’t.”

Hotch pocketed the bottles and stood up from his chair. Spencer followed suit, wiping his hands on his thighs again.

“There’s a group I’m going to sign you up for, alright?” Hotch said, not unkindly.

Reid cleared his throat as he gathered his things. “What- what kind of group?”

“Drug support group. You’ll be surrounded by people who have and are experiencing the same thing you did and are.”

Pausing in his clean up, Reid looked to him inquisitively. “And what about Strauss? What happens when she gets wind of this? She already has me on thin ice because I failed the field exam.”

“I’ll deal with Strauss if it comes to that. I’ll be with you every step of the way. I’ll even go with you to the meetings so you know you aren’t alone, if that’s something you would like.” Reid swallowed harshly and gave Hotch a weak smile. “Yeah, I think- I think I would like that.”

“Okay,” Aaron responded softly and walked away from the desk.

As he grabbed on the railing that supported him on the stairs to his office, he paused.

“Spencer?” he called.

“Yes?”

“You’re going to be okay. You know that, right?”

Giving him a lopsided smile, Reid told him, “I have never wanted to depend on people because I have always been afraid it will make me seem weak. But I think that I am learning that there is nothing wrong with asking for help sometimes.”

“Good.”

#title comes from the song blood- the middle east #eva's 25 days of christmas #advent calendar of fics (ACoF)#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #criminals minds fic #eva writes occasionally

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whump-town · 4 years

Note

ajadhkhdh that's okay! The gist of my ask was: what do you think abt Derek and Aaron's (platonic) relationship? I really think it's the most underrated friendship within the core 7. (Then again, I'm generally biased towards the two of them) so I was wondering if you had any headcanons/fic ideas for them specifically? Like after the events of Restoration, or after Hotch reveals thst Emily is not dead, that sort of thing.

I do have an ask for Restoration Hotch and Morgan so I’m going to go ahead and include what I wrote for that plus what I thought of when you asked this^^:

They’re a match made in Adrenaline Crash Hell.

Problems with authority?

Issues trusting men?

Trouble magnets?

It unnerves Haley every time she kisses her husband goodbye knowing she’s sending him out there with his equally as injury-prone partner. She loves Derek Morgan. He’s a doll and she invites him over for dinner all the time (also to occasionally get him to help Aaron do handy-man stuff around the house because she loves her husband but the man doesn’t understand woodwork at all).

They’re an unstoppable pair.

Hotch is a fantastic sharp-shooter and he makes quick work of tongue-tying any cops that get into their way. Not to mention his legal knowledge gets them one foot in the door and guaranteed loopholes in problems that other pairs can’t solve.

Morgan is a charmer and paired with his good looks, he gains the trust of victims with ease. Not to mention, he’s fast on his feet and a close reader which means he won’t miss a single piece of evidence in a file. He excels in defusing explosives and that’s what sets them apart.

It’s why Morgan gets sent back to Quantico with fragments of a bomb to put back together when Hotch gets sent to the hospital.

Morgan stands in the bullpen, numb as he watches over and over as the news plays that scene on repeat. Just as it ends, they play that little clip-- the men wearing FBI kevlar and cops infiltrating the building. The radio static and Gideon’s voice giving the okay to move in. Morgan wonders when he’s going to get the call-- when Gideon’s voice is going to come through his phone and tell him he has to call Haley.

To tell her Hotch is dead…

and Jason Gideon killed him.

He manages to forgive Gideon for making him feel that hopeless. What he can’t forgive is what Gideon does to Hotch.

“The Black Queen--” Hotch informs him, one hand firmly planted on the wall ahead of him and the other tightly gripping a sleek black cane. He’s breathless and struggling to work through the pain that feels like it’s in every nerve of his body. But he’s refused Morgan’s help three times and he won’t cave on that now.

With a sigh, he forces his body upright. His leg gives and Morgan grabs his shoulders. “Alright, man,” Morgan grunts and he forces Hotch back into the wheelchair the nurse had given them just in case. Good thing too. He lets out a breath of his own, feeling extremely better now that he won’t have to watch Hotch force his body to move in ways that it clearly does not want to.

Morgan pats Hotch’s shoulder, “what were you saying about this Black Queen chick?”

Despite just being taken off of bed rest and only being okayed for short walks this week, Hotch has already hired two new members of the team. Of their team, because as far they know, Jason Gideon will not be returning and Hotch is acting Unit Cheif until they can find somebody better-- which they know is a ploy because no one else can do the job.

Which makes the two of them the only members of the team.

Living, that is.

Hotch chews on the end of his nails as he informs Morgan about the hacker recently caught in the FBI’s web. It makes him smile, Morgan can appreciate Hotch’s creativity in this new team. He’s good at this.

JJ had been the first person Hotch hired. She’d joined their little force last week as a media liaison and Morgan liked her right off the bat. She’d come to the hospital and Morgan had watched in shock but extreme amusement as she took right to arguing with Hotch. Not in a bad way but more of a “No, sir, you won’t be getting any paperwork until your doctor signs off on it. As that is the requirement you have to meet under federal guidelines and… because I said so.”

Needless to say, they love her. Not many people have the balls to tell Hotch no. It makes her perfect for the job.

She makes their jobs easier and she fully understands that while Hotch and Morgan are not currently physically capable of the job, it is in no way waiting for them to be ready.

There’s a slightly maddened look in Hotch’s eyes as he leans forward and tells Morgan about how much a genius this woman, the Black Queen, is. Then again, the poor man has had nothing to do for weeks and he’s taken this small task and really ran with it. It definitely doesn’t help that he’s desperate need of a hair cut and in pajamas.

Going to interview Penelope Garcia is the first time Hotch leaves the hospital in months.

He’s promptly taken right back but he’s smiling the whole way.

Their team of four has weekly meetings in the hospital.

Then Hotch hires Reid.

It’s strange at first but one night, as Morgan’s falling asleep it suddenly occurs to him-- That son of a bitch. Hotch and Morgan both struggle to trust men which has had a lot to do with Hotch’s hires being all women. Then Hotch does hire another “man” and it’s some scrappy-ass runt of a genius-- so, of course, Morgan hadn’t even flinched. He hadn’t even thought twice before taking the kid under his arm.

Of course, Hotch has Reid spending all his time with Gideon but he’s still a part of the team.

But Hotch heals and returns to active duty. Gideon stays on campus.

And then it all comes crashing in once again.

Morgan is the one to advocate for Elle. He doesn’t say a word to Hotch-- he doesn’t know why. He just goes straight up to Gideon and tells the man that they can’t pass up on a spunky woman like Elle Greenaway.

He gets the impression Hotch doesn’t completely support this idea-- not Greenaway, just not the idea that Morgan went to Gideon instead of him.

Their friendship... struggles as Hotch takes on the full responsibilities of Unit Cheif. He’s not as fun and Morgan would prefer hanging out with the kid and Elle, so he does.

Tobias Hankle forces them to confront that ruined friendship the moment Derek Morgan utters those simple words: “you’re a drill sergeant”.

But they remain one in the same.

“I have and always will entrust you with my life. Can you do the same for me?”

“I love my job, man.” “You love him more.”

“I don’t want you going to see Burford.”

The stand-off between the federal agents standing in the middle of the police station is clear. A battle that goes past wills and the inhibitions of troubled youths. The kind of trouble that runs deeper than still water. Trauma that grown men can’t shake. That these grown men haven’t shaken.

“Hotch, I can do this.”

Maybe, Hotch considers. Maybe Derek can to a certain degree. The way that Hotch handles it after case. The way they all handle it. “Fine,” he relents. He can’t burn the bridge between the two of them over something as stupid as egos and abusers. Not when their pasts intertwine the way they do. Braided. “Fine but I’m coming with you.”

Because if they’re going to do this, they’re going to do it together.

More or less.

There’s no denying how weak his own knees feel as Hotch watches Morgan take Buford’s hand. So, when Morgan looks him dead in the eyes and lies-- and deceives him with the excuse that he’s going to “use the head before we leave” Hotch lets him. It’s the same small infraction he’d need Morgan to allow him. The same infraction Morgan has allowed him.

“Derek? You did a great thing out there.”

The jet has been silent, for the most part. It’s only the right amount of small talk, mangled by Dave’s encouraging words. Mangled by the call.

Hotch recognizes the tone, the far off look in Derek’s eyes as he pulls his phone away from his ear. “What happened?” he can hardly push the question past his lips. Because he already knows the swell of tangled emotions. The way that anger melts into fear and doubt. The way relief wraps its cold fingers around your sternum and burns with the passion of loss.

Because deep, deep down… Hotch still loved his father.

“Carl Buford is dead.”

Bile stings the back of Hotch’s throat but he remains silent and still when Morgan stands. He assumes the other man is feeling the same burning disgust. Anger with himself for being upset. Anger with Buford for making him love him in some twisted way.

And Morgan can’t find the means to understand it. Hotch loved his abuser because he was his father. Carl was… Carl was nothing and everything and Morgan crawled his way from the muddied pits of hell without Carl and yet--

“Breathe--” he can’t even make it to the bathroom before he sinks to his knees. “It’s alright.” It’s taken Morgan years to get to a place where the presence of another man, hell an older man, doesn’t startle him. Still, sometimes someone steps too close and he flinches or gets frustrated and he can’t even explain why.

But Hotch surrounds him. He uses his body to block the other’s from Morgan’s direct line of sight and all Morgan knows is the painful throb in his chest and the reassuring hand placed on his back. Morgan finds comfort in that hand. In Hotch who he knows without a shred of doubt not only understands but shares a fraction of his pain.

“Just breathe, Derek.”

Hotch looks up, his knees aching from squatting. “Blake, can you grab a water bottle? JJ, can you get me a rag?” He stays right here beside his old friend. So much as changed from those beginning years as two young and dumb agents.

But they’re still the same broken men.

“Hotch?”

Hotch shakes his head, “I’m right here, Derek. Always.”

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josephinelouiseobrien · 4 years

Text

Worlds Colliding (2)

concept: Spencer Reid x OC • NCIS x criminal minds

Synopsis: Allison Gibbs returns from the navy only to end up on a long list of victims. Now the only hope of keeping her out of harms way and solving this case is a socially awkward doctor by the name of Spencer Reid.

A/N: thank you to anyone who read the first chapter !!! It genuinely means the world to me when I get feedback and stuff 🥺

Masterlist

Worlds colliding Masterlist

Chapter 1

——————————————————————————

Allison woke up the next morning to a knock coming from her bedroom door. Her eyebrows furrowed as she sat up, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “Come in...?” She’d said it as more of a question, confusion setting in.

As the door opened her father was seen on the other side, two coffees in hand. “Come on, get up.”

“What? Why?” The strawberry blonde asked, this time becoming slightly more alert. Her father was giving her serious flashbacks to her youth. Every morning he’d wake her up at the crack of dawn and drag her to work with him because he was scared someone would break in and murder her.

“Do you want to come to work with me or not?”

Allison sighed, “yeah, I got nothing else better to do.” The strawberry blonde smirked slightly, “and based off of what happened yesterday, I think I’m even better at your job then you.”

Gibbs stared at his daughter, shaking his head. “Don’t push it. I’d hate to start slapping you like I do Dinozzo.”

With that her door was shut and she was given time to get dressed. She was quick to pull on her navy green cargo pants - the military seriously killed any fashion sense she thought she had - and an ROTC t-shirt. Throwing her hair into a long ponytail she laced up her converse - that surprisingly still fit - the last time she wore them was in high school.

The ride to the navy yard was quiet, Allison still trying to force herself awake. Her father wasn’t a big talker either, usually it was her to start conversation between them. If it wasn’t for her motor mouth she doubted her and Gibbs would even speak outside of necessary conversations.

As the car rolled to a stop, Allison pushed herself out of the front seat only to forget that her coffee was sitting in her lap. The styrofoam cup hit the concrete as the strawberry blonde stared in shock.

Gibbs sighed in disappointment, patting his daughter on the back as he handed her a five dollar bill. “Go buy another one at the coffee cart.”

Allison blinked before taking the money silently and forcing herself to walk to where the coffee would inevitably be. She never functioned well without caffeine in her system - maybe her father had somehow genetically passed on his coffee addiction. ‘Is that possible?’

Her thoughts were cut short as she walked into a wall - no, just a very tall lanky man. Blinking her eyes trailed up to see his face. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Apologies fell from the mans lips at a rapid pace, but Allison could barely comprehend what he was saying as her eyes traveled over his features.

There was a light stubble on his, surprisingly sharp, jawline. Bags clung to his under eyes but the tired look suited him in a way. His hazel eyes reminded her of coffee - which is what she was doing in the first place! Getting coffee.

“No, I’m sorry.” Allison finally forced out, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “I’m barely even awake right now. My dad dragged me out of bed - you don’t want to hear my life story.”

The man chuckled lightly shaking his head for her to go on. “No, it’s fine. I’m waiting for a coffee order anyways.”

Allison smiled but before she could continue speaking the man behind the coffe cart beat her to it. “Ally, the usual?”

The strawberry blonde nodded, “yeah, thanks Martin.”

“I’ll get on it. Its good to have you back.” The man then retreated towards the coffee machine and Allison’s focus was back onto the mysterious man.

“Where are you coming back from?” His gaze was curious - eyebrows furrowing, head titled slightly.

Allison sighed, “Iraq. I was deployed there for awhile. My names Allison, by the way.”

“I’m spencer.” The man replied, his eyes widening slightly but not by much at her revelation as to where she’d been. “Marines?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Your shirt.”

Allison’s gaze traveled down to the cropped marines t-shirt she wore. Originally it was her fathers but when she in high school recycling clothes became a hobby of hers and thus she raided her fathers closet. “I forgot I put that on...”

Spencer smiled, finding her confusion quite adorable. “So, what are you doing here?”

Allison snapped back to reality her gaze coming up to meet his. “Oh, my dad works here.” The strawberry blonde then squinted slightly as she realized how strange it was to see someone she didn’t recognize - she knew everyone on the navy yard. Okay, that was a stretch but she would’ve known if she’d seen him before. He didn’t have a face you could forget that easily. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, work.” Spencer replied pointing out his visiting badge. Before he could explain what his job was the coffee order was set in front of them. Spencer’s consisted of several different orders well Allison’s was just the one cup. “Which way are you going? I’ll walk you.”

Allison smiled, usually when someone offered to walk her she’d politely refuse - she could take care of herself. This time though she nodded towards the NCIS main building, with a smile on her lips. Something about him was different then the guys she’d dated - usually they were all of the ‘alpha male’ variety, most of the time feeling the need to assert their masculinity to her. In fact three out of the four she’d dated had ghosted her upon finding out she was a marine.

“I’m going that way too.” Spencer reveled, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he smiled.

Allison looked him up and down - he looked like a teachers assistant. If he was working for NCIS then he definitely had to have been some sort of intern. The strawberry blonde hoped to god that he’d gotten lucky enough to not end up interning for her father.

“I haven’t seen you here before - and I’m sure I would’ve if you had, my dads been dragging me to work with him since I was eleven.” Allison divulged, “are you a new intern by any chance?”

Spencer laughed, shaking his head. “No, I work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. We’re here to help with a case.”

Allison’s smile dropped, “oh god. Tell me your not here with Fornell.”

“Uh... how’d you know we were here with agent Fornell?”

“Oh god.” Allison simply muttered in reply her pace increasing as she neared the building. This was going to be a shit show.

——————————————————————————

“Allison, what’s going on?” Spencer asked as he rushed to catch up with her, nearly slamming into her back as she was stopped in front of the bullpen.

“That.” The strawberry blonde whispered, watching as her father stared down Fornell who was sitting at his desk. The entire office was eerily quiet - the other members of the BAU seemed terribly confused whereas Gibbs’ team seemed frightened but also amused.

“Someone get the popcorn.” Allison could hear Tony whisper, shooting him a glare in response.

Slowly Fornells gaze landed on Allison, a smile coming over him. “Hey, Ally, your back.”

Allison nodded quietly her gaze then landing on her father who was still death staring Tobias. God, if looks could kill Fornell would be six feet under. “Get out of my damn chair, Tobias.” Gibbs finally snapped pushing the man away.

“I was thinking about asking for it in our divorce settlement,” Fornell just had to push it, still not standing from the chair. A smirk was plastered on his face, “I know better then to think I’ll get any alimony money.”

Allison was honestly suprised that they hadn’t murdered each other yet. Sure, Tobias and her father were friends - but he’d also married her fathers ex-wife and it put a strain on their relationship. Half the time she didn’t know if Gibbs was going to slap Tobias or kiss him. Either one freaked her out equally as much.

“Out. Now.”

“Touchy, touchy.” Fornell replied raising his hands up defensively as he got to his feet. “And you wonder why no one wants to work with NCIS.”

Director Shepard chuckled from her spot at the stairway. She was leaned against the railing as she looked over the group of agents and Allison was surprised she hadn’t seen her yet. Jenny had been like a second mother to her.

“You’ll be working the investigation together.” The director explained as she made her way down to the entrance of the bullpen. “NCIS will be leading and the BAU will help to formulate a profile. Tobias is only here as a liaison between both agencies.”

As she finished speaking she pulled Allison into a hug, the strawberry blonde reciprocating the action. “Hey, Ally.” Director Shepard spoke quietly her tone suggesting that she’d missed the shorter girl much more then she was letting on.

“Hey, Jen.”

“I’ll let the unit chief of the BAU handle introductions.” Fornell decided, his gaze then landing on Allison. “Come give me a hug, kid.”

Allison laughed as she allowed Tobias to pull her into a hug. Despite her fathers constant arguing with the man, in the end Gibbs decided that he would be her godfather. “Hey, Tobias, hows Diane?”

Tobias recoiled at the mention of the women, “we divorced.”

Allison snorted, “did she drain your bank accounts?”

“Yep. That hell beast sucked me dry.”

“So, dad was right?”

Tobias rolled his eyes, “don’t rub it in.”

The strawberry blonde only laughed in return, shaking her head at the subject matter. At that point the unit chief has cleared his throat, his gaze cast on the room in front of him. “I’m Arron Hotchner, Unit chief of the BAU and this is my team.” The man gestured first to a blonde girl who stood with her arms crossed over her chest as she spoke to McGee. “First our media Liasson, Jennifer Jareau.”

The blonde smiled and waved politely, “you can call my JJ.” She seemed sweet and welcoming - she kind of reminded Allison of Kate; Caitlin Todd had been killed on a case a month before ziva joined the team and took her place.

“SSA Derek Morgan.”

A handsome, buff man smiled at the group - specifically ziva, who sent him a sultry wave in return. Allison found herself suppressing a chuckle at the jealous expression on Tony’s face - anyone with eyes could tell that Dinozzo had a thing for the mossad liasson agent.

“SSA Emily Prentiss.”

Dinozzos attention was taken from ziva as a dark haired women stepped forward. She sent the group a firm nod - she was all business, that much Allison could tell. Still she was very gorgeous - just like every other member of the BAU. ‘Did they just come out looking like this’ Maybe Allison would just have to join the FBI and find out.

“SSA Jason Gideon.”

An older man waved and nodded at the group before returning to the evidence. Allison has heard of Jason Gideon before, he was kind of a legend - it also helped that he’d lectured in one of her college classes her sophomore year at Stanford.

“And agent Spencer Reid-”

“Dr.” Gideon corrected the unit chief as Spencer - the man Allison has bumped into stepped forward.

“Dr. Spencer Reid, our expert on well... everything.”

Spencer seemed nervous under everyone’s gaze, something that Allison found adorable. For some reason confidence didn’t attract her in the slightest - maybe it was because of the toxic masculinity that surrounded her in the navy but something about an overly confident man just turned her completely off.

“I’m Gibbs.” Allison’s father was quick to introduce himself before moving onto his team. “Special agent Tony Dinozzo.”

“Very special agent.” Tony corrected which only received a slap to the back of the head from Allison. “Hey!” Dinozzo shouted his gaze moving to Gibbs, “boss!”

Gibbs ignored it, trying to hide the smirk on his lips as he gestured to McGee. “Special agent Timothy McGee.”

Tim smiles over enthusiastically at the group, waving. Allison cringed, shaking her head at him as a signal to tone it down - which he did quickly but the damage seemed to have already been done.

“And Mossad liaison officer, ziva david.”

Ziva had her head propped in her head, before she pushed herself back to lean in her chair as she nodded at the group. Only her eyes were quick to meet dereks as she propped her feet up onto her desk.

Gibbs was quiet but everyone’s gaze was set on Allison, before flicking back to him. It was clear they were curious so the older man sighed, before introducing her. “Allison’s my daughter, she’s only visiting.”

As some agents went to work, others began introducing themselves further. Allison, as usual, inserted herself into the case. “I think it’s someone with personal ties to the marines - either someone enlisted or a sponsor.”

Gideons gaze landed on her immediately, as well as Spencer’s and Emily’s. “Why do you think that?” He wondered, almost sizing the strawberry blonde up. He was profiling her and she knew it.

“The only thing connecting the victims is gender and their job - he’s probably stuck in a misogynist mind set and feels, offended that women are allowed to enlist.”

“What do you do for work?” Emily asked, a half smile making its way onto her face.

Before Allison could even get the words out of mouth Reid was already answering for her. “She’s a marine. Just got back from deployment in Iraq.”

Normally Allison would be upset, but it was the way that Reid spoke almost instinctively that peaked her interest. His gaze was focused on his shoes and to anyone else he seemed zoned out - which he probably was but he was still able to answer.

Upon noticing his coworkers curious and alarmed gazes, his eyes rose from the floor to meet theirs. A crimson blushed began to coat his cheeks realizing it wasn’t his question to answer and he most definelty seemed like some crazed stalker. “We met at the coffee cart.”

Allison laughed, nodding in confirmation. “Yeah, I’m a lance corporal.”

Emily’s eyebrows furrowed, “why didn’t you go into psychology? You seem to know a lot about it.”

“I studied it in college.” The strawberry blonde revealed, shrugging slightly as she answered - her hands stuffed inside her pockets. “Joining the military just runs in the family.”

Before the conversation could continue, her fathers voice caught the groups attention. “Grab your gear, we’ve got another body.”

——————————————————————————

A/N: I have no idea if this chapter was actually any good or not, nor do I have the ability to read over it for errors (I’m just a little bit tipsy). Anywho, I somehow constantly think of this book and am constantly coming up with ideas but at the same time have massive writers block... Is there a reset button on my brain I can press to fix this?

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benkouji726 · 4 years

Text

So I wrote my 5+1 Forlex fic, as I was saying earlier. I really lack impulse control when it comes to rnm, sigh.

Jealous Guerin may have some appearances in this fic too, but it’s eventually Forlex.

This is the first part of it. I will try to update it daily, before I lose my nerves.

Five times Alex surprised Forrest and one time he didn’t

It was supposed to be some harmless fun, at first.

Forrest was intuitive, to put it mildly. You didn’t grow up in a Long household and become this well-liked and popular family member by being dense, especially when you were gay. Besides, his gut feeling had saved him more times than he could count in battles, it was one of the reasons his buddies trusted him with their lives.

He was very good at reading people and situations around or between them. He didn’t always care what people thought of him, of others or of themselves, but he noticed all the same and would efficiently use that information to his advantage. Call it his people skills, but it was how he managed to live through his rebellious youth period, his military years, and now his adult life in a backwards town like Roswell, while never stopped being his colorful-haired, emo-poetry-writing, 20 pounds of personality in a 5 pound pocket-sized body self.

So he had known there was something between Alex and Alien Guy even when they first met at the Long farm. As they talked, it was like there were only them in the whole world. The air seemed thicker and more tangible, the atmosphere charged. Then at the diner, Forrest noticed the meaningful glance Alien Guy shot his way. When Alex sang that song, Guerin walked in and they seemed to have some soul searching conversations through their eyes only, well, it was really not that hard a guess who the song was for. And frankly, Alex needed to work on his poker face a LOT if he was ever gonna sell that obvious “it was a long time ago” lie.

But at the time, it hadn’t really mattered. Whatever it was between them, it seemed neither of them was going to make a move. And Alex was so hot sometimes he wondered how the hell he remained single in the first place, but he WAS single, and a smart guy like Forrest was never gonna miss out a perfectly good opportunity to make out with a hot guy and have some fun time with him.

It was supposed to be just like that, some fun, some company, some glorious make out sessions. Nothing heavy or potential heartbreak or anything.

Which was probably why he didn’t even realize he was falling for Alex until it was a bit of too late.

They were dating for two months at that point. Forrest had met almost all of Alex’s friends and family members (the ones who counted as friends and family in Alex’s book anyway), minus Michael Guerin. And Forrest had won them over one by one. He once overheard Liz call him “charming, funny, honest and loyal to a fault”, to a reluctant Isobel Evans, who had been giving him stink eyes ever since he and Alex had gone out, but in their last get-together thingy (Forrest honestly didn’t know how to call these, because they were irregular as fuck, both in schedule and in attending member counts), Isobel joined him at the bar when he was getting them the last round, considered him for a second, patted him on his shoulder without looking at him and said in a small but genuine voice: “You are not half bad”. So Forrest would call it a win.

In hindsight, it should have been his first warning sign that he cared so much of what Alex’s friends think of him. But in his defense, Alex was most at ease when he was with his friends, which meant he would always be sweet, adorable, sometimes sassy, sometimes soft, and had the unique sense of humor in a deadpan way, and Forrest was too busy being charmed to notice it.

So when his platoon buddies, Tony and Chris, came into town to visit him and he brought Alex to have a beer together, he was so caught off guard when Alex went to bathroom and Tony said:

“Man, you’re so gone on him, aren’t you.”

It wasn’t even a question.

Forrest spluttered, red faced, and said, eloquently: “uh, what?”

Tony and Chris changed a look, both amused. “You’ve been staring at him all night, Long. You look at him as if he hung the moon. You can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself, not to be PDA or something, but little touches, I think you didn’t even notice. He made a joke earlier, granted, it WAS hilarious, but the way you laughed, like you think he is the most funny guy in the whole world, which, no offense, is really not the case.”

Tony drank some water after his long ass bullshit, and Chris went in for a final blow. “So in conclusion, you’ve had it bad, dude, like, we’ve-never-seen-you-like-this level bad.”

Forrest was dumbstruck at that. He must’ve seemed like a dumbass too, because they decided to take pity on him, and changed the subject.

“Anyway, you know we’ve been relocated to the nearby base, Tobias and Leo are near enough too. The others all cashed in some long-overdue vacation days so we can have a little get together for our platoon in Santa Fe next month. You should come too.”

OK, that was exciting news. He missed his buddies and would be very happy to spend some time with them.

But Tony hesitated a little before continued: “There is a catch though. We thought it would be nice that we all bring our significant others, or even our children. So it would be a more family style setting. It may not be your thing.”

The thing was, it would totally be Forrest’s thing. He just didn’t know how to say it. With his platoon buddies, he always seemed like the free spirited lone wolf, easygoing, open and honest, but never the one to talk about family issues or kids problems with. But he would enjoy being surrounded by family love and loud but innocent kids, so he opened his mouth to just say that when he was interrupted by a light laugh.

“What are you guys talking about, family and kids and platoon buddies all under the same roof? It’s totally his thing.”

Forrest was startled, both by Alex’s sudden reappearance and his seemingly psychic ability to read his mind. When he remained silent a second too long, Alex apologized.

“Sorry, did I overstep? You actually don’t want to go or...?”

“No! I mean, yes, I wanna go. I just, something they said earlier, it was a lot to unpack. But you are right, I would love to go.” Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie.

Alex didn’t seem to buy it, but he was kind enough to drop it at the time.

On their drive home though, Alex picked it up again, as Alex would do, because he was a stubborn son of bitch like that.

“You wanna talk about what happened earlier?”

Forrest sighed. Best to just cut to the chase.

“Why did you say it was totally my thing? We didn’t often talk about family and kids, if any.”

Alex frowned, “No, we didn’t normally talk about that stuff. But it’s obvious you like family energy and friendly gatherings, isn’t it? Am I not supposed to know that?”

“But how? I served with my buddies for a long time, we trust each other with our lives. But almost none of them know it.”

“Forrest”, Alex smiled, “you like almost all of your family members, stay friends with a lot of them, despite some of them are real assholes. You even like hanging out with my friends and family too, not just because we are dating, but because you love being around people who give you warm family-like feelings. You organize every open mic night at the pony, and are genuinely interested in the acts and the people behind them, you like to talk to them about their lives and their relationships. You volunteer at the youth shelter. You are, simply put, a people person. You like people, you see good in them, you want to be around them and be a positive influence for them. You don’t necessarily tolerate stupid bigots, and you would be the first to call out their cowardice, but if they are willing to change and be better, you would want to believe in them too.”

He exhaled, oblivious of Forrest’s stunned expression, and continued.

“For a man who has that big a heart, I’d imagine spending some time with his buddies and their families would totally be his thing, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah, but...”

“And there’s also your poetry.”

Forrest was getting whiplash tonight, he could hardly keep up.

“My poetry?”

“Yeah, you gave me your emo poetry journal the other day and asked for my opinion?”

“I remember that. In fact, I remember it was a week ago and I still haven’t got any feedback yet.” If he was being honest, he would say he had been a little hurt by that too.

Alex’s face turned a shade pink. “I know I was being a little slow. But I just want to do them justice, you know? I’ve been reading each of them multiple times, so I can get the gist right.”

OK, hurt instantly healed. He really should be concerned how Alex’s words could so easily affect his mood.

“Anyway, the poems you wrote, they are all very pro-humanity, at least in my opinion. Like, the themes vary, some about personal journeys, some about lost love, some about struggling life, some about anger and pain. But the words have something like warmth attached to them, like despite all, there’s hope, and there’s good, in people, in humanity, in the whole world.”

He looked down at his hands then, voice quiet.

“And that’s the thing I like most about you.”

Shit.

“Shit”, It was definitely too soon, but Forrest just can’t not say it. “I think I might be falling for you.”

Alex looked at him right then, hesitated then determined: “I don’t think I’m there yet. But I think I could see myself heading down that road someday.”

He added in a more unsure voice: “Is that OK?”

Forrest reached out, squeezed his hand, and reassured him: “It’s OK”.

And it really was.

#forlex #forlex fic #my fic #alex manes #forrest long #roswell new mexico

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lanottedellastrega · 5 years

Text

Out of the Shadows

Metal Hammer, Summer 2015. Transcript behind the cut.

OUT OF THE SHADOWS Poised to release their third album, Ghost have returned from their unholy slumber to reveal how their conversion mission is progressing - and when their end times might come... Words: Chris Chantler. Pics: John McMurtrie

Surely this can't be right. Hammer is awaiting an audience with a Nameless Ghoul from the Swedish Devil-worshipping cult of Ghost, half-expecting to be blindfolded and ridden to the ruins of a deconsecrated church for a clandestine rendezvous with the masked and robed envoys of Satan. Yet we're in the executive lounge of a Kensington hotel, and there's an extremely polite, alarmingly youthful-looking short-haired man in a leather jacket being introduced as "the author of Ghost." Hammer experiences some cognitive dissonance, imagining that this is a hoax, that Ghost are slyly pretending to have human faces and interpersonal skills to divert attention from the true nature of their esoteric origins or seduce us into foul practices. The only visible clue to this young man's role as Ghost mouthpiece is the symmetrically matching pair of skull-and-crossbones patches on his leather sleeves. Yet when he starts talking about Ghost's third album, the majestic Meliora, it's clear this guy knows what he's talking about.

"The first album [2010's Opus Eponymous] was about the impending doom of a more old-school Biblical sort, where death and destruction will come in the form of locusts and dark fog: it was the coming of the Antichrist," he explains in soft, measured tones, choosing his words with care, maintaining near-constant eye contact. "The second album [2013's Infestissumam] was about the presence of the devil, taking place aesthetically in a 1700's milieu with a more Baroque theme. Whereas this album is the absence of God. It's a futuristic, pre-apocalyptic record. The cat is out of the house and the mice dance on the table. But at some point, the cat comes home..."

Meliora is a godless state, where Ghost's totemic frontman-cum-sigil Papa Emeritus wields power and terror with fearful impunity. And like his spiritual predecessor, Iron Maiden's Eddie, he's renewed with each new phase of band activity, so we're now on Papa III. His city bears more than a passing resemblance to the world we live in.

"Meliora is the metropolitan landscape in which this album takes place; a backdrop that looks like a big city with a lot of hopeful people living in fear of not succeeding," he explains candidly. "Many of the lyrics on this album deal with ambition. It's ridden with a certain degree of self-loathing. I really hate ambitious people - that's why I live in a place where there's not a whole lot of them."

Ghost may not have had any grand ambitions, but five years on from their debut demo, single and LP, some of their original concept has had to be compromised by unimagined levels of growth and demand. For example, talking openly and earnestly to the press in his street clothes, his face and voice undisguised (rumours suggest he's singer-songwriter Tobias Forge, but his real name is politely unconfirmed) is something the Ghoul never intended to do. But he admits that the success of the band thus far - and the enthusiastic patronage of superstar superfans such as James Hetfield, Phil Anselmo and Dave Grohl - has greatly surprised and humbled the men behind the masks.

"Contrary to popular belief, we did not know that we were gonna get that much heat," the Ghoul affirms. "It's fun to play high horse and say it's just a trick and we're fucking with everybody, which we obviously are not. We had no idea. When we were rehearsing our debut, we had a conversation with Rise Above and were contemplating whether to make 500 or 1,000 copies. And maybe we could do a show at Roadburn. It was very innocent - even though that's a word I've never used in terms of Ghost! We've had to grow with it, and we had a lot of catching up to do between the first and second albums. But aesthetically a lot of things we're planning on doing are things we had on paper to begin with."

Realizing something magickal was happening, Ghost made a concerted decision to spread their message of Satanic arch camp horror out of the underground, moving from cult indie label Rise Above to Spinefarm, an imprint of Universal, the world's biggest major. But from their first recordings, Ghost were a musically accessible, traditional, melodic pop-rock showbiz act with influences from some of the biggest bands of the past (Kiss, Abba, Blue Oyster Cult), a strong visual identity and a mischievously lurid theology; it was clear this band needed a level of production above the average low-key doom band.

"In order to present ourselves in the way that we intended, we needed a larger setting," agrees the Ghoul. "We want Papa's hat to not touch the ceiling. We want the band to look like we're performing a mass rather than in a punk squat. What we saw in our minds was something that looked and felt solemn and larger than life."

From their earliest pronouncements, Ghost were demanding the world's attention, and with "a lot of touring," they made sure they got it. But the question of how long they can hold it for is one that the Nameless Ghoul is acutely aware of.

"We have our figure. We have our concept. We can work with that. But we're just on our third record. Out of all our favorite bands, where were they on their third record? They sure weren't chickening out and doing the same safe shit. That's not how you make a third record; that's not how Master of Puppets or Number of the Beast got made. You have to build and be as bold as you can be, even though it feels a little scary. Because we know, we can fuck this up. Especially on the third record, when you're supposed to take a big step. Are we gonna go down to the basement again? You don't know how many chances you get. This might be our last one."

To make that all-important leap forward on a pivotal album, as Metallica or AC/DC can tell you, the secret often lies in the choice of producer. Although there's a great metallic crunch to the music on Meliora, and a psychedelic audacity, Swedish pop savvy is the band's trump card. To further that end, Ghost employed knob-twiddler Klas Ahlund, best known for his songwriting collaborations with Britney Spears, Kylie, Katy Perry and Madonna.

"We felt, 'Maybe we should work with someone who can really help us redefine what we're doing,'" the Ghoul reasons. "He was keen to find a rock band with their own material, and we were looking for a producer with more of a songwriting skill, so it was a good match. As much as we could drive a car on the energy of thinking we're the best band in the world - a very small car! - we knew there must be things we can do better. Every band with self-respect should work with someone who can really challenge what you're doing, and we did that with Klas. When you're on a major label with bigger expectations, you have the opportunity to get a yes or now from people you'd like to work with. But early on we realised, as much fun as it is to look at records we love and say, 'Let's get Mutt Lange!' or 'Let's get Bob Rock!' it felt like we should get our own man. Many of these big producers weren't big producers until they did that big record that we associate them with."

As they await the world's reaction to Meliora, Ghost have already amassed "the ground basics of what will become the next album." Nevertheless, for a band with such clear vision and attention to detail, it's tempting to wonder if they've planned an exit strategy.

"I had one vision two years ago and I have another vision now, and I may have another two years from now," muses the Ghoul. "We can catapult our concept around a few times, into different eras and spheres, but it has its time and place. I don't think anybody would enjoy having us around doing this forever; when there's nothing more to say, I hope we're sober enough to yank out the cord. We're not going to use Ghost for every musical dream we have. It's all fun and games to be in robes, but it's also lots of fun playing three-piece punk rock in your t-shirt."

However, with the musical development evident on Meliora, happily Ghost look set to continue expanding their sound and mythology. Have you joined the cult?

---

WHO IS PAPA III? Three things we know about our new, mysterious leader...

Papa Emeritus III is younger than his brother, Papa Emeritus II, by three months. Nameless Ghoul: "There are several Mamas. And one big, old, really, really bad Papa. That might give you an indication of what's gonna happen in the future. There's one shark in the water you haven't met yet..."

He controls his followers in Meliora. Nameless Ghoul: "Papa is the authoritative religious leader among his followers. He comes into the vacuum of the godless contemporary world and manipulates the people. We are, together with our fans, agreeing that you are here to worship us, and we are telling you what to do. And in this era, it's all taking place in the futuristic dystopian city of Meliora."

He was inspired by Sir Christopher Lee. Nameless Ghoul: "From Scaramanga to The Lord of the Rings, Sir Christopher Lee played a large role when it came to the concept of Papa. A scary, sophisticated, handsome older man who inflicted terror and arousal. I greatly admired him."

#metal hammer #the band ghost #papa emeritus iii #interview #tobias forge #meliora #meliora era #transcript added

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 5 years

Note

I don't know if you've read/watched IT, but if you have, how might you think a crossover between IT and Animorphs would go? (Either IT characters in Animorphs or Animorphs characters in IT--I'd be equally interested in either)

Cassie’s hand has gone cold around the phone. Distantly, she realizes that it’s still held to her ear. That she has yet to move, even though the line is dead.

“Cass?” Ronnie says from the bedroom doorway. “Honey, what’s wrong?” He sounds scared. More than just on her behalf.

Cassie gets calls when the truly bad things happen, before almost anyone else. She was the first to hear about the Missouri tornado that left 143 dead. About the domestic terrorist who blew up the Dominican-Catholic church in Arkansas.

In its own way, this is worse. Or it has the potential to be.

“I have to get to Los Angeles,” she says, dropping the phone. Her hands shake as she wrenches open the closet. Drops a duffle on the bed. Grabs clothes at random to stuff them inside. “The town itself is an hour north, but if I fly into LAX then…” She loses track of the sentence. Gives up on it.

There aren’t words, she knows, to explain to Ronnie what’s happening right now. Not her gentle Ronnie. Ronnie has reported on active war zones. But still he can’t know. Not really.

“Cass, you’re meeting the president tomorrow,” he says. “You can’t just go to California—”

“She’ll have to wait.” Jerking the zipper shut, Cassie swings the bag onto her shoulder. “I’ll explain when I get back,” she says. “I love you. More than you know.”

They send Menderash in, after an hour. Technically it’s been an hour and a half since they patched in the civilian call to their commanding officer, but Captain Aximili was only audible on the phone for about twenty minutes. Normally they wouldn’t intervene at all, but they’ve got a bomber exercise in less than an hour and the admiral’s on board right now. In a way, Menderash is honored to be sent. It’s the closest anyone has ever come — can ever come — to acknowledging him and Ax for what they are. Don’t Ask Don’t Tell is gone, but that doesn’t mean that U.S. Navy commanders can date their captains. Regardless of gender.

“Sir?” Menderash sounds tentative even to himself.

Ax is staring at the far wall, back turned to the door. He stiffens, but still doesn’t turn. “Did I ever tell you I had a brother?” Ax asks.

“No,” Menderash says, “I don’t think you ever mentioned that.” Which is strange, and verges on hurtful — they’ve been together for over five years.

“It ate him.”

“What?” Menderash steps forward.

“The thing that killed him.” Ax’s voice is robotic. Out of place with the tears on his cheeks. “It ate his body. No.” He swallows, throat working. “Not his body. He was still alive, when it started eating. He fought it, my friends said. To the last. Did so to try and save them. He was still fighting. Still struggling. When it.” A wet breath. “It.”

“Was this… recently?”

“What?” Ax turns, seeming to see him for the first time. “No, of course not. It all happened twenty-seven years ago.”

“Is that why you’ve never mentioned him before?” Menedrash ventures.

“No.” Ax swallows again. “It’s just that I’ve been away from that place for too long. I began to adjust to this version of reality. I began to forget just how bad it became, that place where we came from.”

Menderash dares to put a hand on his arm now. To pull him close enough to get him into the light, at the very least. “Where is that?”

“I can’t tell you,” Ax says. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Ax…”

“I’m scared,” Ax whispers. The admission is almost as foreign as the tears. “I must go back there, Menderash. I must, if I want justice for my brother, and I…” He closes his eyes, jaw clenched. “I’m not sure that I’ve ever been more scared in my life.”

Marco is… Honestly, Collette’s not sure what Marco is right now, just that something is definitely happening to him. He’s ping-ponging through his office with frantic aimlessness, muttering to himself, hair flying in all directions.

“Your plane’s all prepped and ready to go,” she says.

“Collette!” He whirls around. “As I live and breathe. You ever have one of those moments, when, like, reality just—” He snaps. “Fuckin falls away. No, not reality. This is not reality. Reality is the thing that comes out of nowhere and—” He makes a motion like an airplane zooming through the air. “Bam! Takes you off your feet. Everything you thought you knew, all gone in an instant. Because it’s all illusion. Reality is reasserting itself, that’s what it is. Twenty-seven years, just gone! Like it’s all been a daydream all along. And guess what? Big Jake’s calling to wake you up!” He grins maniacally. “Have you seen my glasses anywhere?”

Collette doesn’t say but you don’t wear glasses. She’s been in Hollywood long enough to know that there are plenty of celebrities who never wear their glasses, or retainers, or leg braces anywhere they might be seen. She’s a talent agent who uses a wheelchair. She’s seen it all. “Bend down,” she says instead.

Marco whips his head forward so that she can see the top of it. In the process, his glasses go flying out of his hair and clatter on the floor. She hadn’t meant for him to bend over quite that hard, but at least now he knows where they are.

“Ah yes, a million thank yous!” Marco goes scrambling across the carpet after them.

“What did you take?” Collette asks him. She didn’t think Marco was a cokehead, but then she didn’t think he needed glasses until ten seconds ago.

“Three Xanax, half a handle of vodka, and my entire stash of pot cookies,” he declares. “And look at me.” He spreads his arms.

She takes his point. He’s speaking clearly, forming full sentences. He looks… well, not sober, but also not as though he’s had anything relaxing in the last few hours. “Fine,” she says. “But I’m still driving you to the airfield.”

“Don’t go,” Melissa says. Tobias stiffens where he stands, but he doesn’t put his suitcase down.

“I don’t have a choice,” he whispers, shame and smallness.

“Don’t be ridiculous—” She blows out a breath. “Be safe,” she says instead. “Be here. Forget the past. Let somebody else…”

“Die in my place?” Tobias asks. This is so unlike him, to be even this angry.

“If this Jake person thinks it’s so dangerous there, why doesn’t he just leave?” she asks quickly.

Now Tobias does look over his shoulder. “The fact that you’re asking at all…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He just pulls the door closed behind him, and clicks the latch into place with infinite care.

“Are you sure?” Rachel demands into the phone.

Jake doesn’t answer. He wouldn’t be calling if he wasn’t sure.

“Fuck.” She slams a hand against the drywall. “Fuck.”

“You don’t have to come,” he says.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She hangs up.

“Rachel?” Jordan says, watching wide-eyed from across the room.

“It’s nothing.” Rachel pulls her lips back into a not-smile. “It’s fine.”

“The thing that took Saddler… that took Tom… It’s back, isn’t it?” Jordan asks.

Rachel hadn’t thought she knew. Had thought her sisters believed the story about Saddler’s car accident, about Tom’s running away.

“No,” Rachel says. “Of course not. That’d be impossible.”

Jake doesn’t know who told David, or how. All he does know is that he couldn’t have timed the phone call worse if he’d tried.

David’s widow’s cell phone goes off smack in the middle of his eulogy. Her ringtone, as it so happens, is the Bee Gees’ hit single “Stayin’ Alive.”

“So.” Marco rubs his hands together, looking around the table. “Let the thirty-somethingth non-annual meeting of the Losers’ Club… commence!”

“Are we?” Rachel asks. She looks around at them as well. “Losers, that is.”

“She’s right,” Tobias says. “Marco’s on the Hollywood A-list. Ax-Man has, like, a dozen military awards. I’ve got three different pieces in MOMA, Rachel’s book about… what was it, Being a Badass Bitch Boss? That was number-one in the country for over a month. Cassie’s freakin’ Secretary of State. And…” He comes to Jake, and trails off. There’s an awkward pause.

“The county library’s still open,” Jake offers. “In spite of the mayor’s best efforts to the contrary.”

“No kids, though,” Cassie points out. “For any of us. Not even David.”

“Why would we ever bring children into this world, knowing what we do?” Ax says softly. “Oooh. D. Do.”

There’s another silence. No one disagrees.

“Anyway.” Rachel pulls them back in. “I’m just saying, we’ve come a long way from being the kids that only hung together because no one else would hang out with us.”

Cassie was the only black kid in town. Rachel and Jake came from the only Jewish family. Tobias had been the odd dreamy kid with his head in the clouds, Ax the one with a tendency to repeat sounds. Marco had just never known when to keep his mouth shut, not even when doing so would have been a survival tactic. Small towns could be brutal, even the ones that didn’t have sadistic gods at their hearts.

But they’d found each other, entirely by accident. And together, they’d taken on that god. Because back then, they were too young and stupid to know just how screwed they were.

Jake outlines the grim facts. Fourteen disappearances, two known deaths in this last year. No adults in town paying any attention. The local youth organization might be actively recruiting sacrifices for this thing, or at the very least looking the other way.

“So what’s the plan?” Marco asks. “Same as last time, we all cower behind Rachel as she takes this thing on with a slingshot and half a dozen ball bearings?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Rachel smirks. “Kind of.” The smile fades. “For a while, anyway.”

“It takes power from fear.” Cassie cups both hands around her mug, hunching close to the fading warmth of the coffee. “We can’t let it force us to run or hide. We have to face it. We have to be brave.”

“Yep.” Marco pushes away from the table. “Tell that to David. Or to any of the kids who got torn to shreds. That’s fuckin peachy, ‘don’t be afraid.’”

“We have to do something,” Jake says. “It killed Ax’s brother.”

Funny, Cassie thinks, how they always bring up Ax’s brother, but never Jake’s. Maybe because Alan’s death was simple, in its own way, a clear self-sacrifice. Tom didn’t get anything as glorious as death in battle. It ate Tom from the inside. Sucked at and corrupted his soul until he was unrecognizable. Not even himself anymore. Until Rachel’d had no choice but to put him out of all their misery. Not a clean death. Not the kind of thing you could sum up in a single sentence.

There are other slow deaths like Tom’s, even more than the fast ones like what Al got. David was starting to go, Tobias thinks, even before he got out of town. One too many times he turned and ran from the thing instead of facing it with the rest of them. Once or twice he even tried to bargain with it. Tobias didn’t blame him, not once it’d taken David’s parents and started parading them in front of his eyes.

In parallel with those thoughts, Tobias finds himself rubbing fingertips along the right side of his stomach. The scars faded, and yet now they’re livid again. One shaped like an A. One like an N. Andy Mitchell only got through carving the D in his name before Jake got there in time to save Tobias.

Not in time to save Andy, though. He was gone by the end of the day. Missing, with no one left to look. No one even to comment on his being gone.

A-N-D, carved into Tobias’s skin. A transition. The middle of a thought. The only sign he’d needed, if he’d ever thought to look for one, that this thing isn’t over. That maybe it’ll never be.

“It’s a thought-form,” Jake says. He sounds confident. He almost feels it, too. Looking around at these successful adults who grew from the hopelessly awkward kids he knew, he starts to think that maybe, just maybe, they can find a way to live through this. “So we fight it like Cassie said, just by fighting back at all.”

“Thanks for the motivational speech.” Marco is clutching the plastic gun in both hands. It’s a toy — and yet, twenty-seven years ago, it fired real bullets at that freak clown. “What a day, what a lovely day to die.”

They’re walking toward the sewer entrance, heads held high. Palms damp with sweat. Because they have no choice. Because it’s what must be done.

“What are you even doing here?” Tobias asks. He’s got a baseball bat dragging at his side. It was his mother’s. No one knows for sure what happened to her, but then that’s true of a lot of people in this town. No one knows, and yet some of them can guess.

“He is here because he must be,” Ax says. “And so must we all. Aaah-wwlll.” That’s new, the playing with sounds. In the sense that it’s old. Like so much of them, it faded and then returned.

Rachel is walking close, too close, to Tobias’s side. They keep exchanging charged glances. All of them are regressing to childhood all over. Or maybe it’s just that they had to become their own adults, back when they first faced this monster, and it never really wore off.

“I’m here,” Marco says tightly, “because all my life, I’ve never had friends like I did when I was thirteen.” He laughs. “Jesus, does anyone?”

Rachel slips her hand into Tobias’s. On her other side, she’s holding Cassie, who’s holding Ax. That’s the weapon, Jake thinks. The one they’ll swing and shoot and bash at this Joker-knockoff fucker until they put it into the ground. For good this time. Stomp it to so many pieces that it can never put itself back together.

Jake puts the flashlight back on his belt. Takes Marco’s sweaty hand in his, waits for the inevitable bad one-liner about buying him dinner first.

It’s enough. Enough to hold back the darkness. Enough to keep them alive. It’ll just have to be, because it’s all they have.

Together, a daisy chain of madness, they plunge into the tunnel ahead.

#animorphs #animorphs au #au fic #it #stephen king's it #animorphs crossover #it crossover #it chapter 2 #long post #irresponsible drug use #violence #gore #bullying mention #suicide mention #anonymous #asks

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