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drreporting · 4 years ago

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Infections of A Different Kind of Human

3. ALL IS SOFT INSIDE

“And how long has she been like this?”

“Going on 18 hours now,” Owen explained. Ryan looked at Amelia, unconscious and tubed, with a variety of wires and lines running to her. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair, which he’d recently cut pretty short, so it didn’t do much to quell his anxiety. He couldn’t understand why Amelia had left his name on her medical forms.

“Do you have any idea why she would’ve still had you as her proxy?” Owen inquired, twiddling with the hospital band around his wrist. “I thought she would’ve updated it or something, especially after James…”

“If I remember Amelia correctly, she gambles,” Ryan accurately described, “Perhaps she gambled on your marriage working out.” How could she be so reckless? “I have no problem transferring the proxy to you, if that’s what you want,” he appreciatively offered, adding a joke after, “From one divorcee to the other.” He couldn’t take on the pressure of making life or death choices for her, and Owen would likely know all the medical jargon better than he would’ve, so it made sense to transfer it to him.

“I’m not entirely sure if I should take it,” Owen sombrely replied. When Ryan looked at him with a confused expression, he said, “We weren’t exactly in a good place when…”

“So?”

“I literally caught her cheating on me, I don’t think she’d want me making medical decisions on her behalf,” Owen put it bluntly.

“That’s pretty harsh, don’t you think?” Ryan queried, folding his arms, “Isn’t this supposed to be the love of your life, or something?”

“Yeah, but I am clearly not the love of her life anymore, so I don’t think I should be making those decisions,” Owen clarified, sternly. They were not on the best of terms when the accident had occurred and adding the consent of her medical health to that would only make things worse if she eventually woke up. “Give it to Derek, or Meredith. I think that’s best.”

“I think I’ll keep it, actually,” Ryan pondered, eyeing the trauma surgeon as he unfolded his arms, “She can decide what she wants, once she’s awake.”

Owen sighed, submitting. “Sure, why not.”

“How are the kids?” he asked, changing the subject, “How’s R junior doing?”

“He is pretty shaken up,” the red head confessed, “Rosie is…I don’t know. And the twins are pretty young, sounds think they’re coping alright. They don’t like sudden, loud noises much anymore.”

“Yeah, I could imagine,” Ryan sympathized. He walked over to Owen and patted him on his good shoulder before saying, “I’m gonna go talk to him before I leave, if that’s okay.” Without looking at him, Owen nodded, keeping his eyes on Amelia’s small frame, willing her to wake up.

The next day made it two days since Amelia had been shot, and a little over 36 hours since her surgery had been done. As per usual, there was an entourage in Amelia’s room, consisting of Derek, Meredith, Maggie, Ryan, Owen, and more recently, Tom. He’d offered to stay for the while to maintain her condition, and then hopefully query about the patient Amelia had been speaking of to him, the entire reason for his visit. They lazed about the room for most of the day, offering support to each other, and to Owen, as they patiently awaited Amelia’s outcome.

---

Sometime in the evening, they’d all received overhead pages from a nurse, all calling them to Amelia’s room.

“Tom?” Owen rasped as he all but slid into the patient room, Ryan following closely behind, “What’s going on?”

“She’s waking up,” Tom voiced calmly. He’d already called the nurse and began adjusting her pumps for the medications she was being administered when he began hearing a soft cough coming from her.

“Yes, she’s definitely waking up…”

“Well, is she going to open her eyes?”

“If you’re patient enough, Dr. Hunt…”

Amelia opened her eyes to a crowd of people standing over her. She only recognised two of them in the room and they looked…odd?

“Amelia, can you hear us?” Tom asked, shining his penlight in her eyes. Why wouldn’t she be able to hear them? What was Tom doing here?

“Can you try talking?” he asked further, offering her a cup of water with a straw in it. Amelia took the cup and had a small sip, clearing her throat as she figured out what she wanted to say first.

“Where…where am I?” she whispered hoarsely.

“You’re at Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital, in Seattle,” the Hopkins neurosurgeon expertly answered, a look of concern crossing his face for a flash of a second, “Do you remember any of what happened two days ago?” Two days ago? Amelia shook her head. She looked over at Derek, then at a blonde standing next to him, holding his hand. She figured that was probably the Meredith that Addison had been speaking about. Next to her stood another blonde, more strawberry in colour. His face reeked with fear and stress, and Amelia wondered what would’ve caused him to look so horrified.

“You were in an accident a couple days ago,” Tom explained, “You were wounded, but everything’s okay now; surgery was successful.” She nodded, showing that she understood what he was saying. Looking around the room once more, she observed the faces of the people at her bedside.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Amy?” Derek offered softly, trying to coax her back from wherever in her mind she was right now.

Amelia blankly looked at him before looking away and shrugging. “I wasn’t in Seattle.”

“Do you remember me?” Ryan piped up, garnering the attention of everyone in the room for a moment. She looked at him, at his jet-black hair and icy blue eyes, his loosely fitted plaid shirt and washed-out jeans, and his soft, welcoming smile.

Shaking her head, Amelia responded, “No, but you’re very cute otherwise.” Ryan quirked an eyebrow at her, not expecting a flirtatious reply, while Owen scoffed and averted his eyes as he rolled them.

“Amelia, we met over ten years ago,” Ryan vaguely replied, trying to help her remember, “In LA?”

Amelia raised her eyebrows in shock as though she remembered something, taking another sip of her water. Ryan looked hopefully at her as she continued, “I was in LA.”

He sighed, combing his fingers through his hair. “So, then you don’t remember me…” Amelia furrowed her eyebrows, slightly annoyed that he was asking her the same question again. Why did he want her to remember something about him? “We met at a party?” Ryan explained to her.

“I’ve met a lot of men at parties,” she bluntly replied, “Excuse me if I don’t remember you exactly.”

Owen’s eyes widened. “Wait what-,”

“Okay, let’s give our patient some time to gather her thoughts; she’s only just woken up,” Tom voiced, trying to temporarily brush everything under the rug, “In the meantime, I’m going to need to see her most recent CT scans, and perhaps we can get some new ones?”

“They’re all on the tablet,” Derek explained, pointing at the device that was in Tom’s hand.

“No they’re not,” he replied, “I imagine I’d have to access them physically in your dinosaur hospital?”

“They’re supposed to be available on the iPad.” Derek took the device from him and began scanning through his sister’s patient chart, only to find out that Tom was right. There was no file, nor record, of any brain scans done on her.

With smoke metaphorically piping through his ears, Derek stepped outside and went straight to the front desk, seeing Isaac there. His eye was still shining purple from Owen’s elbow to his face, and he had to admit that he was kind of glad now that Owen had done it. While Tom was still making his way over, the Shepherd asked, “Where are Amelia’s CT scans?”

Isaac looked up at him and furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t know, they’re supposed to be on the system. I sent an intern to request the scans once she was out of surgery.”

“Wow you must really hate Shepherd to have done that,” Koracick chimed in as he arrived at the desk, “What did she do to you?”

“What? She didn’t do anything to me…”

“You secretly in love with her or something? Did she break your heart?” he further provoked the attending neurosurgeon, making him stand up angrily to defend his actions, “She the one who gave you the black eye?"

“No, it was me,” Owen intervened, making his presence known. Looking to Isaac, he added, “And if there’s something wrong with her brain, you’ll have more than that to worry about.”

“I’m sorry, was that a threat, Dr. Hunt?” Isaac challenged, staring him in his eye. “Perhaps I should report you to HR?”

“And maybe I should report you to the board for negligence concerning a missing CT scan on one of your patients who exhibited neurological symptoms,” he retorted. If Owen could only get his hand out of this sling and hit him, he would. Tom watched the lesser neurosurgeon with a satisfying smirk, while Derek glared at him. To say Amelia had an army, was an understatement.

Isaac wanted to respond, but he knew he was in the wrong and had possibly jeopardised the brain function of his boss by assigning an intern to do his job, so he relented. “I’ll call up CT and get it done right away.”

“Perhaps I should take over head of neuro here,” Tom teased as Isaac walked away, knowing he could be heard, “Looks like this place might fall apart without Shepherd.”

---

When Amelia awoke, she was in a patient room, lying down in bed. Owen’s head laying against the side of the bed, and she would’ve thought he was asleep if it wasn’t for his soft snoring. Weak and in pain, she was barely able to stretch her fingers to poke his head, but he felt the action and his face instantly popped up to look at her. “You’re okay,” he sighed in relief, taking her hand as he let more tears fall, fresher than the ones that fell earlier.

“What happened?” she whispered hoarsely, letting him take her hand in his two larger ones.

“You collapsed during surgery,” he explained, not sure how to explain the rest of the story, “You…Robbins said you were having an ectopic pregnancy. 8 weeks.” Amelia closed her eyes as the tears began to fall. “There was blood leaking from your fallopian tube when she went in…” The words coming out of his mouth slowly faded into the background as she absorbed the information. She couldn’t help but feel like she’d spited herself by their earlier conversation about having an abortion, as illogical as it sounded.

“…there was nothing that she could’ve done,” Owen finished, waiting for her response.

“So, I had a miscarriage,” she repeated, to which he nodded. Amelia averted her gaze and looked out the window, unsure of how to process the information, if she could.

“Are you okay?” he asked, not expecting her silence. He expected an outcry, tears, emotions all over, but there was just silence; Amelia seemed unfazed, numb. “I mean, I know you’re not okay, but…”

“I’m okay,” she said unsurely. Truthfully, she didn’t know if she was really okay, or if the emotions were just waiting to burst out of her at some untimely point in the future. It was hard to tell when all she could think of was how stupid it was that she was actually anxious earlier about how to go about raising a fifth child. Now she felt numb, the kind of numbness that came from touching ice for too long. The type of numbness that stung you after a while, and made your hand cramp.

“Is there anything you need?” he further asked, trying to determine what she might want right now, “Should I bring in the kids?”

“No, don’t bring them,” she responded, pulling her hand out of his grasp, “Can you…can I be alone?” Alone? Amelia never liked being alone with her thoughts, Owen knew this.

“Okay…are you sure?” he sought to confirm, a little disappointed that she couldn’t seem to make eye contact with him, “We don’t have to talk or anything, I could just stay here quietly?”

“Alone is fine, thanks,” she coldly answered him, still not looking in his direction. Sighing, Owen stood and left, looking back once at her small figure, still in bed, facing away from him. After that, Amelia had slowly, but surely, begun to shut him out. To the point where he no longer knew if she even had feelings.

---

“How long do I have to stay in this thing?” Amelia complained. They were in the CT room now, with Owen, Derek and Tom on the other side of the glass, awaiting her results.

Pressing a finger on the mic, Tom responded, “If you stay still and stop talking, we could be finished in less time.”

“What are you even doing here in Seattle?” she further complained as the nurse injected the dye, “Did you lose your job at Hopkins?”

“Far from it,” Koracick replied, “You called me on a consult for a patient, but you never told me who the patient was.” He turned off the mic and looked to Owen and Derek, adding, “Did she ever tell you she had a crush on me back in the day?” Derek rolled his eyes while Owen furrowed his brows in confusion; he really didn’t like this guy.

“Just do the scan,” Derek insisted, a disgusted look on his face. Tom chuckled, enjoying the discomfort he was causing amidst Amelia’s colleagues.

“Okay, scans are coming up now, stay still,” he said into the mic once more. The three doctors watched in anticipation as the scans slowly presented, one by one. As the scans showed their final forms, Derek and Tom furrowed their eyebrows in confusion, leaning in closer to assess them.

“Is that…?” Derek began, unable to say the words aloud.

“What? What’s wrong?” Owen asked, scooting closer to look at the screen, “Oh…”

“That is a…” Tom started, for once at a loss for words, “…big tumour.” He looked up at Amelia through the glass, just as she came out of the CT machine.

“So what’s wrong with my brain?” the Shepherd naively asked, noticing their horrified looks, “Do I have a slow leak bleed or something?”

“No, but you definitely have something…” Tom vaguely replied, giving the scans another once over.

—-

“So these are brain scans from over ten years ago,” Tom explained, handing Amelia the tablet to show her the images, “They were done while you were in LA, as part of your hiring process at a private practice.”

She looked at the scans. “I don’t remember this scan.”

“Yes, I know,” the neurosurgeon humoured her. He swiped the images to the left, landing on her most recent scan. “These are the scans that we took just now.” Amelia looked at the scans in front of her with a look on her face that was hard to read.

Looking up at Tom, and the rest of the doctors in the room, she sought to confirm, “I have a brain tumour?”

“You do, a grade one meningioma,” Derek confirmed, “It would explain why you called Tom. Actually, it explains a lot of things you’ve done over the past five months.” Meredith held Derek’s hand, hoping to offer up some sort of comfort as they displayed the truth for her. Truthfully, a massive brain tumour was the last thing Meredith had thought of when wondering why Amelia was so erratically crazy.

“How long has it been there?” she queried in a small voice, looking back at the scans.

“Likely around ten years or so,” Tom estimated, “You would’ve begun showing signs from a year to two years ago. Pregnancy would also speed up the growth process, so it’s hard to determine how long you’ve had it for, or when exactly you would’ve begun to show symptoms.” Looking to Owen and Derek, Tom asked, “Has she been pregnant over the last five years?” Both surgeons nodded.

“Wait a minute,” Amelia stopped them, “I was pregnant? How many times?” Pressing a hand to her chest, she added, “Oh my god, do I have kids?”

“Five times,” Owen relayed quietly, anticipating a negative reaction. He looked to Ryan, who seemed just as uncomfortable as he did, divulging this information.

“Who’s the father?” she asked slowly, looking suspiciously between Ryan and Owen.

“Me,” was the response that came out of both their mouths.

Opening her eyes even wider, the youngest Shepherd pursed her lips, saying, “Two baby daddies sounds like something that would happen to me.” Both men blushed, averting their eyes as they fiddled with the clothing they wore. “So, which one of you am I still screwing?”

“Amy!” Derek berated her.

“I don’t even like kids.”

“Looks like someone lost their filter again,” Meredith murmured coyly, receiving an eye roll from Derek.

“I am…well I was…” Owen tried to begin to explain their relationship, “We were married. We no longer are. We were together, but I don’t think we were around the time that your accident…”

“So, I am a single mother with four children and two baby daddies,” she begun, trying to make sense of the complicated situation, “And…is there an affair I should be aware of as well? Because that sounds like something I’d do.”

“Is this the tumour talking?” Ryan sought to confirm from Derek.

“I’m not even sure anymore,” Derek sighed.

“This doesn’t explain the memory loss, though,” Amelia accurately pointed out.

“Yes, that’s the only problem,” Tom agreed with her, “The seizure you suffered after your injury would’ve likely had a part to play, but we aren’t seeing anything on your scans. Now, there is a possibility that the tumour is masking it, but we won’t know until we do more testing. The other, faster option, of figuring out what’s going on in there, is surgery.”

“And when can we do surgery?”

“Amy, one step at a time,” Derek condescended his little sister.

“Says the Shepherd without a massive tumour in their head,” she sarcastically retorted, glaring at Derek.

“You need to heal and regain your strength before you can qualify to do this surgery. It is a fairly large tumour, after all; even if it’s not cancerous.”

“Let’s reassess in four weeks,” Tom suggested, taking the tablet from her, “That’ll give you time to heal from your abdominal wounds, and hopefully you’ll be able to regain some of your memories, give us a better idea of how your brain is working and healing.”

Amelia nodded. “And what do I do in the meantime? What if I don’t remember?”

“Heal, get back into your routine,” Tom offered as he slowly exited the room, “Maybe learn to like kids?”

At the mention of the word kids, Amelia gulped. “Okay…” She looked to Owen and Ryan, asking, “When should I…?”

“Maybe we should wait a little longer?” Owen offered unsurely.

“Owen, they miss her,” Ryan defended, “especially Ryan. Let them see her for a bit.”

“I don’t know much about kids, but I’m pretty sure they’d be dying to see their mom,” Amelia offered intuitively, “So…why not?” Ryan and Owen exchanged confusing looks. “What, are they gonna hate me or something?”

“Well,” Ryan was the first to speak up, “the Amelia I remember, isn’t very good with kids…”

“And I think one of them may have a bit of an affliction with your decisions,” Owen offered vaguely.

“So is that a no?” Owen and Ryan exchanged an unsteady gaze..

—-

“Are you sure that’s what you saw?”

Rosie nodded her head. “She was there with Dr. Isaac.”

“But why would she do something like that?” Ryan exclaimed, betrayed and confused by his mother’s finnicky behaviour. Rosie shrugged, hugging her arms around her shoulder as she looked around the conference room. She was having a hard time feeling compassion or guilt for her mother’s condition, after having seen her betray her father. Yet she couldn’t figure out why she jumped into action to help save her life. She felt conflicted, and numb.

“What are we gonna do if they break up for real this time?” Rosie asked her older brother. She and Ryan were far too familiar with the back and forth that appeared to always be going on between their parents. It left a consistent feeling of anxiety in the air for both of them.

“We stick together,” Ryan assured her, putting his arm around her shoulder.

“Okay guys, are you ready?” Owen asked as he came into the waiting room to collect them and take them to Amelia. Both kids shrugged, not entirely sure how they were supposed to be feeling right now. Ryan felt emotionally exhausted, while Rosie felt emotionally numb. Realistically, neither kid wanted to deal with anything right now. Rosie just wanted to go home and sleep in her own bed. And Ryan, well oddly enough there was a book he was hoping to get home and finish before all this had happened.

Stooping to their level, the father asked, “What’s going on? I thought you guys would be more excited to see your mom?”

“I am,” Ryan defended lamely, looking down at his lap. No one could ever doubt that Ryan loved his mother with all his heart. “I’m just…”

“We’re just tired, daddy,” Rosie cut in, saving the day with what she would soon learn was called a half truth, “Can we go home?”

Owen frowned, not believing the response, but going along with it. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, we can do that.” He stood up and held his hand out for Rosie, and Ryan jumped off the couch to follow them.

While Owen took the kids home, Ryan sat in the patient room, keeping Amelia company until the trauma surgeon returned. Although a bit odd, it was funny and sentimental talking to the Amelia that he had initially fallen in love with all those years ago.

Taking her hand in his, he asked, “How have you been feeling?”

“I feel like I have really bad food poisoning,” she joked, making him chuckle, “And my head is spinning with all this information.” Ryan nodded sympathetically, imagining how confusing it could be to wake up in the middle of your life and not know anything. “Where is the Owen guy? I thought he was bringing the kids.”

“Oh, he ended up taking them home,” Ryan summarized carefully, “They were pretty tired, and they’ve already missed three days of school, so you know.”

“Oh,” Amelia hummed, looking around her patient room. Mumbling softly, she insightfully stated, “Why do I get the feeling that no one is really fond of me right now?” Ryan opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure of if or how to answer her question.

“It’s a complicated situation, Amelia…”

“Feels more like everyone thinks I’m a bitch,” she retorted, looking outside her patient doors at the personnel on her floor. “I don’t blame them; I probably was a bitch.”

“They’re still dealing with the whole situation,” he explained, squeezing her hand, “A lot happened before you got injured. There were a lot of feelings in the air.” Just then, Owen finally reappeared, seeing the two talking and holding hands and choosing to wait by the nurses’ desk outside her room. Standing up and letting her hand go, Ryan added, “There’s still a lot of feelings in the air. Don’t be too harsh on him.” He patted the back of her hand before exiting the room and going to the desk to speak to Owen. “She’s all yours.”

“Hey, what’s your deal?” Owen accused him in an edgy voice. His eyes were a bit red, and he looked pretty agitated and tired, but Ryan chose to entertain his erratic behaviour still.

“What do you mean?”

“Suddenly, you’re just choosing to stay here and take care of her?” the trauma surgeon assumed, putting his hands on his hips as he tried to tower over Ryan and appear bigger. “I bet you’re real glad she doesn’t remember anything, huh? Now you two can start over…”

“Owen, you’re being unnecessarily weird,” Ryan cut him off, “Amelia is the mother of my son, I just want to make sure that she makes a full recovery.” He was being illogically aggressive, and Ryan knew it was likely because of all that had happened in the last few days, so he tried to be understanding. “I’m not jumping back in the race or anything. I’m just making sure she’s comfortable.”

“By flirting with her?”

“Hunt, I am not the enemy here.”

“Ha, where have I heard that before,” he dismissed him, ready to add to his statement before his phone rang. “This is Dr. Hunt.” Listening to the man on the other line, his anger began to escalate. “I’m on my way.”

“Hey, where are you going?” Ryan called as the trauma surgeon stormed down the hall. Owen ignored his question, making him decide to follow him out of the hospital.

“Owen!” Ryan yelled, following him to the parking lot. When he got close enough, he grabbed him by his shoulder. “Hey-,”

“What?” the surgeon asked through gritted teeth, spinning around to glare at him.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to the station,” he replied, “They found Amelia’s car, and the person who stole it.”

“And what are you planning to do when you get there?” Ryan accused, knowing Owen wasn’t thinking straight right now.

“Look, either you come with me or you don’t,” Owen said, pulling his car keys out of his wallet with his good hand, “But I’m going.” Sighing, Ryan combed his fingers through his hair as he weighed his options, realising the only one was to go with him. Amelia wouldn’t forgive him if he allowed Owen to do something ill-advised. The question now was, would he be able to stop him?

#omelia #owen hunt #amelia shepherd #ryan shepherd #ryan kerrigan #rosie shepherd-hunt #au #infections of a different kind of human #derek shepherd #meredith grey #tom koracick

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nevergiveupneverrun · 6 years ago

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Bodyguard - Chapter Thirty-three “From coldness...”

Hello, I hope you’re all doing great. Here is chapter thirty-three of my story Bodyguard. I’m sorry by advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link of the previous chapter: Click Here. I’m sorry for the slow update recently, tell me which days you want me to post a chapter.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

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« Emerald domain »

These words stand out from a small sign at the edge of a path as I gradually decelerate the pace, our final destination very close. I feel Amelia’s little fingers against my belly slightly loosen. At the end of the journey, I had not felt the constant contact of her body behind me, as if she voluntarily maintained a certain distance. And she allowed herself, as we approached, to undo a little more the only contact that still bound us by the pressure of her hands. We drove well for more than five hours with a single break in the middle of the route at my initiative: she had not directly claimed that we should stop, always immersed in her bubble, not very receptive to my presence or my requests. During this break, she was silent, her shifty eyes: she had merely nodded to the few questions I had asked her, her face as stubborn as a doll of wax. I dreaded, even more, the days to come after this interlude: I did not know how I could handle the situation if she stayed in this attitude… Her behavior during the ceremony had made me hope she was ready to open up, to rest on me in this ordeal. But it was only a short-lived hope. I would have to redouble efforts and attention to try to make her react and get back on top. And in this area, I was going to have to improvise: I had learned how to handle hostage-taking, flying a helicopter or stitching up a wound in the middle of the desert… but my special forces training did not teach me how to make life worth living again to a woman who feels she has lost everything…

Daylight begins to dim on the landscape that unfolds before our eyes when I make a final turn… a landscape that is familiar to me but that I had not seen for five long years. I advance slowly on the last meters by resuming the measure of the image that is offered in front of me: a wooden chalet with shutters decorated with stars on the first floor, rising in front of an almost turquoise stretch of water… a small lake whose color had to inspire its name in the domain. Arrived a few meters from the chalet, I park the motorbike and actuates the crutch to stall the vehicle. Amelia comes off gently from me and I let her down first. I imitate her a few seconds later, watching her leave her crash helmet and immediately release her hair. I also remove the protective accessory around my head and put my crash helmet and hers on the motorbike. I look at Amelia briefly as she looks at the landscapes around us: but to my dismay, she sweeps the landscape with her eyes without the least sign of curiosity or pleasure… or would I miss this stealthy moment while I was getting off the bike?

Footsteps behind us come out of my questioning and I see a silhouette come forward leaving the house. A silhouette that is taking shape precisely through her steps to let me perceive a face that I know… who had aged but still had the same kindness and joie de vivre. - Owen… what a pleasure to see you… - Good evening Rosie, I answer, taking her in my arms. This tiny woman of about sixty years firmly squeezes me for a few seconds then observes me for a long time, passing my face in inspection then my outfit. - Always so beautiful… you remain the most beautiful babies even at your age. I smile at her remark that brings me back some memories of my past. - And you, you are always so lively and in great shape, it’s really nice to see… - But I should tick you off for waiting so long to come back here… I look down quickly before noticing the look of Rosie pointed to Amelia, who is positioned on the side, a spectator of our exchange. - Is this the lady you told me on the phone? - Yes, it’s her… Rosie, I introduce you to Amelia… I pause to prepare the presentation and install a new context, a new connection for the coming days. - And Amelia, I introduce you to Rosie, a longtime friend… of my parents… of my mom more precisely… and who helped me a lot at certain moments of my life… I meet Amelia’s eyes in which I detect for the first time in two days a brand of surprise… this calling « tu » surely took her by surprise, but in my new mission, I had to break down the barriers, the marks of distance… and whit respect to Rosie, Amelia was a friend, I should not at any time make her know the true identity of Amelia, her job, the reason for her presence because it would put Rosie in danger. I take my eyes off the singer and I notice that Rosie stares intently at her, in an attitude that challenges me and intrigues me. Feeling my gaze on her, she redirects her attention to me and I read in her eyes a hint of surprise and as a question that I can not translate directly. - Nice to meet you, Amelia… she declares after a few seconds. Amelia smiles weakly and Rosie kisses her with two big kisses on the cheek, and I look amused the scene including Amelia a little taken aback by the momentum of the spontaneity of Rosie. - Did you have a nice trip? Rosie asks me promptly. - Yes, no particular problems. - You always know the road, then, obviously… - Rosie… Apparently, my absence marked her strongly… even maybe hurt her. It’s true that the last time I came here to spend time here, Rosie had been of great help to me after a difficult ordeal. I had to be vigilant and not to offend her, I was a little ashamed of myself at this moment: my attitude of recent years seemed to me so ungrateful… not worthy of the support she gave me.

I can see Rosie scrutinize the motorbike and then Amelia and myself before taking the floor again. - You only have this backpack with you? She asks, pointing to the Eastpak bag still in place on Amelia’s shoulders. - Yes, I told you that we would come in « light » mode… - I didn’t think it was this level… fortunately, there are still some of your kinds of stuff that you had left during your last visits… and also stuffs of… Her voice stops in the middle of a sentence, but she gets up quickly. - But sweetie, it will take a walk to the market… in any case, I ventilated the house and put a little thing in order… and I did some basic shopping for tomorrow morning. - Thank you, Rosie, I’m sure it will be perfect. - We’ll see each other tomorrow in the morning… She walks away after a wave as she approaches her little red Hyundai parked nearby. I meet Amelia’s eyes before joining Rosie for a few moments. - Rosie… - Yes, Owen. - Thank you, really… and excuse me for this radio silence and lack of news… I was selfish and ungrateful. - Don’t worry, I know you’ve gone through difficult times, but promise me that you will not do that anymore for years to come… - Promised, Rosie… She smiles widely and then lets her gaze divert on Amelia behind us. - You didn’t tell me a lot about your friend? I remain silent for a few seconds, then decide to answer. - I bring her here because she has just experienced something very difficult… she lost her home… and a man who was very important to her… she needs calm, tranquility and I know this place can do wonders on tormented souls… - You didn’t tell me what she looked like… - I don’t have the habit of making an Identikit by phone, you know. - Yes, but in this case, you could have warned me. - Warn you? Would she have recognized Amelia? It seemed so unlikely to me… I knew that Rosie was a bit out of the world of showbiz, just like the majority of people in the region, more interested in the generous nature that surrounds them than in the glitz of the entertainment world. - Owen, don’t tell me you were not troubled the first time you met her? The first time you met her eyes? Rosie’s questions are noticeably disconcerting me, I could not see where she was going… and in parallel, the first moments shared with Amelia come back to mind, and it is true that from the beginning something had fascinated me… captivated in her… - The likeness struck me at first slight… I stare at Rosie as to discern on her face what she insinuates for several seconds. - I have the impression to see your mother… at 30… Her words echo in my head as my eyes find the image of Amelia a few steps from us. - The same blue eyes that seem to me to able to reveal a myriad of rich expressions. The same thin, mischievous face with fake little girl appearance that I could see behind the mask she’s wearing. And this silky and shiny hair, with similar light-brown highlights… I can see you playing with your mother’s hair when you were a baby, to wrap her locks around your little fingers… I listen to Rosie’s comments while observing Amelia and I understood for the first time where I got this fascinating fascination I felt for her… a slap that I take myself in the face… I was completely unaware of this similarity until today… but it’s as if I had always known deep within me, which had made me so quickly sensitive to this little woman, who touched me like no other in such a short time… no other except my mother. - And you didn’t hear her… - She sings? - Yes, she sings… with a voice as pure and sweet as Mom… I look away quickly, surprised by this admission that escapes me despite myself… this information that I spontaneously reveal to her as if it were stronger than me. I stare at Rosie again and distinguish her in front of me with a knowing and complicit smile on the lips. - I’ll leave you, I’ll come back tomorrow… - Thank you, Rosie, for everything… I give her a kiss and let her get into her car, making the last wave as she walks away and leaves the small domain. I turn around and walk towards Amelia a few steps away, the bag lying on the ground, her hair slightly swept by the evening breeze.

I get the crash helmets on the motorbike, by the way, stalling them under one of my arms and I take the backpack at Amelia’s foot from my other free hand. - We go in? She just nods and I lead her to the entrance of the house. I open the door and let her enter in first: I notice her hesitant walk almost reluctant to enter. She takes a turn on herself and then turns to me. - Can I know where we are? Her question troubles me, especially the slightly brutal tone she uses. - We are at Campbell River, in a locality a little back in the mountains… and… I don’t have time to finish my sentence and explain the context, the whole story of this place that she cuts me short directly. - And you decide to use « tu » with me now? - It’s… vis-a-vis to Rosie… but if it’s a problem… - For me, yes… - Ok, fine, excuse me… I am taken aback by her reaction, this refusal that she sends me to give up this use of vous, this constant mark of our professional relationship… a step that I wanted to symbolically make towards her, to show her that I was present if she needed me… beyond a contract of employment, beyond a role to be held in front of Rosie. I reply quickly, to change the subject and leave aside this unpleasant impression that wins me. - Do you want to eat something? To visit the house? - No, I’m tired, just show me where I can sleep. She specifies her need in a dry way, without looking at me and for the first words she gives me for long hours, I a mat least puzzled by her coldness. - Upstairs… I waved her down the stairs and she moves. I am a few steps behind her and arrived at the top of the steps, I waved her in the right. I then open a large room that Rosie has obviously taken care of. A very special room in this house that gives me a thrill by entering it again. Rosie refreshed it: a bouquet of flowers is placed on the coffee table, the bed is neatly made with cotton sheets with lace patterns and not the slightest trace of dust… A place that wakes up the past, which materializes an absence that surrounds me for so many years, but I close the door to memories as they try to interfere in my mind. - It will be your room… the bathroom is in front of the stairs, the first room in front of which we went. Rosie had to put all the necessary toiletries… I watch her as she sits on the bed and takes off her shoes. I remain motionless and silent in front of her a few moments, not knowing what to say or what to do. - You have… all you need? - One bed, that’s all I need… I understand the message that she sends me: my presence is not really tolerated anymore. I force myself to give her a slight smile not to show my confusion but I quickly leave the room closing the door behind me. I go down to the ground floor and put me on the sofa, facing the fireplace in the living room. I sigh for a long time, tired by these first minutes and slightly worried for the days to come. She seemed to have recovered the coldness and indifference she had shown right after the accident: her behavior in the church was definitely only temporary… and what troubles me, even more, is that coldness now mingles with her words, and it is almost more disturbing and violent for me than silence. I quickly feel the weight of the day and the journey to fall on my shoulders and weigh on my eyelids. Not perceiving any suspicious noise around me, I allow myself to close my eyes only a few minutes… to forget this indifference which hurts me.

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Thank you for reading 💛

#greysanatomy #Owen Hunt #amelia shepherd #owen x amelia #amelia x owen #omelia #omelia fanfiction #omeliafics #rosie #bodyguard #fanfic

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artemstellation · 3 years ago

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tot men + familiars.

artem wing...

.... has three cats, one black, one grey, and one smoke, as familiars. he adores the three of them to bits, and often takes them out on flights during the night.

the black cat is a male, and he's very calm, and likes to cuddle a lot with his siblings and artem. he names him asher, for he's been the happiest since the three felines' arrival. he's also the oldest out of the three cats. he gets a bit chaotic when his favourite plush is in front, though.

the smoke cat is a female, and she's aptly named calixta, as her coat is a sight to behold. she's very mischievous, often running around to bother her brothers, and often accompanies artem on walks because she likes spending time with him.

the grey cat is also a male, and he's named louis, because he always brings artem little leaves and flowers as his 'hunts'. he turns them into dried flower bookmarks and deeply cherishes all of them. he's somewhere in between asher and calixta, being calm at times but chaotic during others.

a bonus; whenever the four of them nap together on artem's couch, asher will always lay on his shoulders. louis is by his feet, and calixta has a permanent spot in his lap. the three of them softly purr a lot as they slowly fall asleep, and often sleep like they're protecting him.

marius von hagen...

.... has an australian shepherd and a border collie for familiars. they were both a gift from his older brother, on one of his birthdays, and have remained loyal to him ever since.

the oldest out of the two is the border collie, named fleur, and she's a really sweet girl ― one who won't hesitate to walk up to you confidently and ask you politely for pets and head pats. she also likes running around and enjoys playing fetch with a ball that marius had specially crafted for her.

the aussie shepherd is named nova, because she brings a new joy to his life everyday, and being a bit on the shyer side, she takes a little time to warm up. she adores going on walks and cuddling with her sister and master, and has this cute little blanket marius had knit for her that's she's really attached to.

a bonus; the first time they met marius, they were so excited that they ran up to him and just tackled him down to the floor. he ended up spraining his wrist, but he says that it was worth it.

luke pearce...

.... very obviously has his pet myna, peanut, as his familiar. it is very close to him, and comes along almost everywhere with him with ease and little to no difficulties.

he gives it a lot of treats, and as peanut has been with him since a long time, he can understand it with just a tweet or a chirp that it makes, being able to differentiate between all the different vocalizations that peanut makes.

it often rests on his shoulder or on the top of his head while he works, and and softly chirps at him whenever it wants his attention, be it because of food or to play. as mynas are highly intelligent birds and can talk and sing too, peanut sometimes talks with luke using words it has learnt from its surroundings.

a bonus; luke once nearly had a heart attack because peanut cursed and wouldn't stop at all. it look a lot of training (actually, bribing) to get it to stop screeching some very colorful words that it had added to its vocabulary.

vyn richter...

.... has an albino rosy boa, who he found severely injured during one of his routine walks in the forest, and nursed him back to full health. he's stuck by vyn's side ever since.

he's named rue, because he often leads vyn to useful medical herbs and pretty flowering plants during their walks in the forest. he likes to sleep by the shade of the flowers and the leaves while vyn studies or collects them, and slithers along with him when he's ready to move forward.

as rue is cold-blooded, he really likes to nap with vyn, and often gently slithers around his neck and rests there. he plays with vyn's tails by swaying along with and following their movements, and sometimes curls up in vyn's lap like a house cat to sleep while he reads. if needed, he brings vyn some of his lighter books from his bookshelf, too.

a bonus; rue often lounges on vyn's furniture, and many a times, used to blend in with it. vyn once nearly tripped over him because he was laying on the white and pink carpet, and has since replaced all the furniture in his house to prevent any possible injuries to both him and rue.

a nxx occurrence; all the familiars are good friends with each other, and one can often find rue and the cats snuggled together, while peanut plays with the dogs, or vice versa. sometimes when both the cats and the dogs are resting, rue and peanut play together.

all seven of them communicate with each other quite well, and brag about their owners to each other every time they meet. they quite adore each other even if they don't speak much about it.

✦ notes; here's the second part to build up the lore for the spooktober! rue really does give out faust vibes to me and i live for it. now to make and post the rest~ oh, and if you're wondering here's what the names mean ―

cats;

asher - happy, blessed, hebrew

calixta - most beautiful, greek

louis - famous warrior, french

dogs;

fleur - flower, french

nova - new, latin

bird;

peanut - you already know, why are you here?

snake;

rue - medicinal herb, english

- rine

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whisper-game · 4 years ago

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Do you read WIPs yourself? Do you have any favourites that you have enjoyed/are looking forward to/would recommend?

There are so many good ones and I am so behind with reading, but here are some ones that I’m really excited for:

Blood Moon - @barbwritesstuff

OFNA: Birds of a Feather - @ofna

The Fifth Horseman: Fear - @superfuckingtired

Exiled From Court - @beeanca-writing

Speaker - @speakergame

The Hunt: Demon Eyes - @tirankawrites

The Golden Rose - @anathemafiction

Task of the Burdened One - @task-of-the-burdened-one

Rise of Etrea: The Royal Spy - @jinxed-games

Smoke & Velvet - @smokeandvelvet-cog

Shepherds of Haven - @shepherds-of-haven

REMEMBER, YOU WILL DIE - @vapolis

Virtue’s End - @crimsiswrites

Ace of Spades - @steph-writing

Into the Shadows - @wynnakang

Arcadie: Second Born - @sofia-d-asb

Summer Court - @summercourtgame

Regrets of the Traitor - @rotten-games

Diaspora - @diasporatheblog

Sentinel - @nyehilismwriting

Snakeroot - @cerberus-writes

Greenwarden - @fiddles-ifs

The Nameless - @parkerlyn

Golden - @milaswriting

The Rosy Ones - @rosykingdom

The Odessa Dating Games - @theodessadatinggames

The Northern Passage - @northern-passage

The Edge of Dawn - @elysianfiction

God of the Red Mountain - @friendlybowlofsoup

Wilhelmina - @fidere-k

Attollo - @attollo

Willow Creek Run - @willowcreekrun

Ab Sanguis - @ab-sanguis

Dark of Night - @darkofnightgame

Scout: An Apocalypse Story - @anya-dev

I don’t know what’s going on with these but I love them and if I don’t mention them I’ll die:

Calling of Metem’s Hollow - @stormheartgames

Heir to the Throne - @heir-to-the-throne-cog

Hunter’s Sacrifice - @fullyfadingnight

#other people’s games #i know in my heart that i am missing something but i canNOT think properly

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asteristories · 5 years ago

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Hello!!!!! I love what you have so far and I’m excited to read more! In the meantime are there any other wips you would recommend? I’ve bought basically all of the cog and hg games so I’m looking for some interesting new stories to follow!

Oh wow! I’m honoured that you’re asking me this! There are a lot of really good WIPs out here on Tumblr (Whose progress I’m also following), and I’ve been trying to check them all out!

I’m assuming that you’re already familiar with the likes of Wayhaven Chronicles and Fallen Hero, so I’ll just recommend you the WIPs that I am currently following/enjoying! There’s quite a lot so bear with me:

(Sorry in advance to anyone I might have accidentally missed. There’s a lot of you 😅)

____

*Until The Colours Bleed Gray by @until-the-colors-bleed-gray

*Nothing Left (To Burn) by @clowdee-works

*Smoke and Velvet by @smokeandvelvet-cog

*AMYGDALA: Encode by @amygdalagame

*Mind Blind by @mindblindbard

*The Porthecrawl Witness by @porthecrawl-witness

*The Rosy Ones by @rosykingdom

*The Passenger by @the-passenger-if

*Regrets of the Traitor by @regrets-of-the-traitor-game

*Curious Cuisine by @cornucopiagazette

*Path of Fire by @path-of-fire

*Supernatural in New York by @llamagirl28

*Triaina Academy by @leo-interactive-fiction

*What A Brilliant Existence and Exiled From Court by @beeanca-writing

*The Hunt: Demon Eyes by @tirankawrites

*Greenwarden by @greenwarden-cog

*Task of the Burdened One by @task-of-the-burdened-one

*Rise of Etrea: The Royal Spy by @jinxed-games

*Just West of Autumn Boulevard by @westofautumnboulevard

*Seven’s Deadly by @sevensdeadly

*Lure of the Gallows by @lureofthegallowsgame

*The Golden Rose by @anathemafiction

*Mortal Hero: Patron of the Gods by @mortalheroseries

*SoS: The Mortal Coil by @sosthemortalcoil

*The God of Red Mountain by @friendlybowlofsoup

*Shepherds of Haven by @shepherds-of-haven

*Spellbound: A Ghost Story by @/CorvusWitchcraft from the forums (I don’t know if they have a tumblr)

___

Every single WIP on this list are super amazing and worth checking out when you have the time!

Thank you for the ask, anon😊!

#asks #astericae speaks #recommended wips #cyoa #other writers

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dongfangxunfeng · 3 years ago

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what do you think of the whole actor in shrine situation? is this why you're moving away from s/h//l?

lol

A medieval fisherman is said to have hauled up a three-foot-long cod, which was common enough at the time. And the fact that the cod could talk was not especially surprising. But what was astonishing was that it spoke an unknown language. It spoke Basque.

This Basque folktale shows not only the Basque attachment to their orphan language, indecipherable to the rest of the world, but also their tie to the Atlantic cod, Gadus morhua, a fish that has never been found in Basque or even Spanish waters.

The Basques are enigmatic. They have lived in what is now the northwest corner of Spain and a nick of the French southwest for longer than history records, and not only is the origin of their language unknown, but the origin of the people themselves remains a mystery also. According to one theory, these rosy-cheeked, dark-haired, long-nosed people were the original Iberians, driven by invaders to this mountainous corner between the Pyrenees, the Cantabrian Sierra, and the Bay of Biscay. Or they may be indigenous to this area.

They graze sheep on impossibly steep, green slopes of mountains that are thrilling in their rare, rugged beauty. They sing their own songs and write their own literature in their own language, Euskera. Possibly Europe’s oldest living language, Euskera is one of only four European languages—along with Estonian, Finnish, and Hungarian—not in the Indo-European family. They also have their own sports, most notably jai alai, and even their own hat, the Basque beret, which is bigger than any other beret.

Though their lands currently reside in three provinces of France and four of Spain, Basques have always insisted that they have a country, and they call it Euskadi. All the powerful peoples around them—the Celts and Romans, the royal houses of Aquitaine, Navarra, Aragon, and Castile; later Spanish and French monarchies, dictatorships, and republics—have tried to subdue and assimilate them, and all have failed. In the 1960s, at a time when their ancient language was only whispered, having been outlawed by the dictator Francisco Franco, they secretly modernized it to broaden its usage, and today, with only 800,000 Basque speakers in the world, almost 1,000 titles a year are published in Euskera, nearly a third by Basque writers and the rest translations.

“Nire aitaren etxea / defendituko dut. / Otsoen kontra” (I will defend / the house of my father. / Against the wolves) are the opening lines of a famous poem in modern Euskera by Gabriel Aresti, one of the fathers of the modernized tongue. Basques have been able to maintain this stubborn independence, despite repression and wars, because they have managed to preserve a strong economy throughout the centuries. Not only are Basques shepherds, but they are also a seafaring people, noted for their successes in commerce. During the Middle Ages, when Europeans ate great quantities of whale meat, the Basques traveled to distant unknown waters and brought back whale. They were able to travel such distances because they had found huge schools of cod and salted their catch, giving them a nutritious food supply that would not spoil on long voyages.

Basques were not the first to cure cod. Centuries earlier, the Vikings had traveled from Norway to Iceland to Greenland to Canada, and it is not a coincidence that this is the exact range of the Atlantic cod. In the tenth century, Thorwald and his wayward son, Erik the Red, having been thrown out of Norway for murder, traveled to Iceland, where they killed more people and were again expelled. About the year 985, they put to sea from the black lava shore of Iceland with a small crew on a little open ship. Even in midsummer, when the days are almost without nightfall, the sea there is gray and kicks up whitecaps. But with sails and oars, the small band made it to a land of glaciers and rocks, where the water was treacherous with icebergs that glowed robin’s-egg blue. In the spring and summer, chunks broke off the glaciers, crashed into the sea with a sound like thunder that echoed in the fjords, and sent out huge waves. Eirik, hoping to colonize this land, tried to enhance its appeal by naming it Greenland.

Almost 1,000 years later, New England whalers would sing: “Oh, Greenland is a barren place / a place that bears no green / Where there’s ice and snow / and the whale fishes blow / But daylight’s seldom seen.”

Eirik colonized this inhospitable land and then tried to push on to new discoveries. But he injured his foot and had to be left behind. His son, Leifur, later known as Leif Eiriksson, sailed on to a place he called Stoneland, which was probably the rocky, barren Labrador coast. “I saw not one cartload of earth, though I landed many places,” Jacques Cartier would write of this coast six centuries later. From there, Leif’s men turned south to “Woodland” and then “Vineland.” The identity of these places is not certain. Woodland could have been Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, or Maine, all three of which are wooded. But in Vineland they found wild grapes, which no one else has discovered in any of these places.

The remains of a Viking camp have been found in Newfoundland. It is perhaps in that gentler land that the Vikings were greeted by inhabitants they found so violent and hostile that they deemed settlement impossible, a striking assessment to come from a people who had been regularly banished for the habit of murdering people. More than 500 years later the Beothuk tribe of Newfoundland would prevent John Cabot from exploring beyond crossbow range of his ship. The Beothuk apparently did not misjudge Europeans, since soon after Cabot, they were enslaved by the Portuguese, driven inland, hunted by the French and English, and exterminated in a matter of decades.

How did the Vikings survive in greenless Greenland and earthless Stoneland? How did they have enough provisions to push on to Woodland and Vineland, where they dared not go inland to gather food, and yet they still had enough food to get back? What did these Norsemen eat on the five expeditions to America between 985 and 1011 that have been recorded in the Icelandic sagas? They were able to travel to all these distant, barren shores because they had learned to preserve codfish by hanging it in the frosty winter air until it lost four-fifths of its weight and became a durable woodlike plank. They could break off pieces and chew them, eating it like hardtack. Even earlier than Eirik’s day, in the ninth century, Norsemen had already established plants for processing dried cod in Iceland and Norway and were trading the surplus in northern Europe.

The Basques, unlike the Vikings, had salt, and because fish that was salted before drying lasted longer, the Basques could travel even farther than the Vikings. They had another advantage: The more durable a product, the easier it is to trade. By the year 1000, the Basques had greatly expanded the cod markets to a truly international trade that reached far from the cod’s northern habitat.

In the Mediterranean world, where there were not only salt deposits but a strong enough sun to dry sea salt, salting to preserve food was not a new idea. In preclassical times, Egyptians and Romans had salted fish and developed a thriving trade. Salted meats were popular, and Roman Gaul had been famous for salted and smoked hams. Before they turned to cod, the Basques had sometimes salted whale meat; salt whale was found to be good with peas, and the most prized part of the whale, the tongue, was also often salted.

Until the twentieth-century refrigerator, spoiled food had been a chronic curse and severely limited trade in many products, especially fish. When the Basque whalers applied to cod the salting techniques they were using on whale, they discovered a particularly good marriage because the cod is virtually without fat, and so if salted and dried well, would rarely spoil. It would outlast whale, which is red meat, and it would outlast herring, a fatty fish that became a popular salted item of the northern countries in the Middle Ages.

Even dried salted cod will turn if kept long enough in hot humid weather. But for the Middle Ages it was remarkably long-lasting—a miracle comparable to the discovery of the fast-freezing process in the twentieth century, which also debuted with cod. Not only did cod last longer than other salted fish, but it tasted better too. Once dried or salted—or both—and then properly restored through soaking, this fish presents a flaky flesh that to many tastes, even in the modern age of refrigeration, is far superior to the bland white meat of fresh cod. For the poor who could rarely afford fresh fish, it was cheap, high-quality nutrition.

In 1606, Gudbrandur Thorláksson, an Icelandic bishop, made this line drawing of the North Atlantic in which Greenland is represented in the shape of a dragon with a fierce, toothy mouth. Modern maps show that this is not at all the shape of Greenland, but it is exactly what it looks like from the southern fjords, which cut jagged gashes miles deep into the high mountains. (Royal Library, Copenhagen)

Catholicism gave the Basques their great opportunity. The medieval church imposed fast days on which sexual intercourse and the eating of flesh were forbidden, but eating “cold” foods was permitted. Because fish came from water, it was deemed cold, as were waterfowl and whale, but meat was considered hot food. The Basques were already selling whale meat to Catholics on “lean days,” which, since Friday was the day of Christ’s crucifixion, included all Fridays, the forty days of Lent, and various other days of note on the religious calendar. In total, meat was forbidden for almost half the days of the year, and those lean days eventually became salt cod days. Cod became almost a religious icon—a mythological crusader for Christian observance.

The Basques were getting richer every Friday. But where was all this cod coming from? The Basques, who had never even said where they came from, kept their secret. By the fifteenth century, this was no longer easy to do, because cod had become widely recognized as a highly profitable commodity and commercial interests around Europe were looking for new cod grounds. There were cod off of Iceland and in the North Sea, but the Scandinavians, who had been fishing cod in those waters for thousands of years, had not seen the Basques. The British, who had been fishing for cod well offshore since Roman times, did not run across Basque fishermen even in the fourteenth century, when British fishermen began venturing up to Icelandic waters. The Bretons, who tried to follow the Basques, began talking of a land across the sea.

Bench ends from St. Nicolas’ Chapel in a town by the North Sea, King’s Lynn, Norfolk, England, carved circa 1415, depict the cod fishery. (Victoria and Albert Museum, London)

In the 1480s, a conflict was brewing between Bristol merchants and the Hanseatic League. The league had been formed in thirteenth-century Lübeck to regulate trade and stand up for the interests of the merchant class in northern German towns. Hanse means “fellowship” in Middle High German. This fellowship organized town by town and spread throughout northern Europe, including London. By controlling the mouths of all the major rivers that ran north from central Europe, from the Rhine to the Vistula, the league was able to control much of European trade and especially Baltic trade. By the fourteenth century, it had chapters as far north as Iceland, as far east as Riga, south to the Ukraine, and west to Venice.

For many years, the league was seen as a positive force in northern Europe. It stood up against the abuses of monarchs, stopped piracy, dredged channels, and built lighthouses. In England, league members were called Easterlings because they came from the east, and their good reputation is reflected in the word sterling, which comes from Easterling and means “of assured value.”

But the league grew increasingly abusive of its power and ruthless in defense of trade monopolies. In 1381, mobs rose up in England and hunted down Hanseatics, killing anyone who could not say bread and cheese with an English accent.

The Hanseatics monopolized the Baltic herring trade and in the fifteenth century attempted to do the same with dried cod. By then, dried cod had become an important product in Bristol. Bristol’s well-protected but difficult-to-navigate harbor had greatly expanded as a trade center because of its location between Iceland and the Mediterranean. It had become a leading port for dried cod from Iceland and wine, especially sherry, from Spain. But in 1475, the Hanseatic League cut off Bristol merchants from buying Icelandic cod.

Thomas Croft, a wealthy Bristol customs official, trying to find a new source of cod, went into partnership with John Jay, a Bristol merchant who had what was at the time a Bristol obsession: He believed that somewhere in the Atlantic was an island called Hy-Brasil. In 1480, Jay sent his first ship in search of this island, which he hoped would offer a new fishing base for cod. In 1481, Jay and Croft outfitted two more ships, the Trinity and the George. No record exists of the result of this enterprise. Croft and Jay were as silent as the Basques. They made no announcement of the discovery of Hy-Brasil, and history has written off the voyage as a failure. But they did find enough cod so that in 1490, when the Hanseatic League offered to negotiate to reopen the Iceland trade, Croft and Jay simply weren’t interested anymore.

Where was their cod coming from? It arrived in Bristol dried, and drying cannot be done on a ship deck. Since their ships sailed out of the Bristol Channel and traveled far west of Ireland and there was no land for drying fish west of Ireland—Jay had still not found Hy-Brasil—it was suppposed that Croft and Jay were buying the fish somewhere. Since it was illegal for a customs official to engage in foreign trade, Croft was prosecuted. Claiming that he had gotten the cod far out in the Atlantic, he was acquitted without any secrets being revealed.

To the glee of the British press, a letter has recently been discovered. The letter had been sent to Christopher Columbus, a decade after the Croft affair in Bristol, while Columbus was taking bows for his discovery of America. The letter, from Bristol merchants, alleged that he knew perfectly well that they had been to America already. It is not known if Columbus ever replied. He didn’t need to. Fishermen were keeping their secrets, while explorers were telling the world. Columbus had claimed the entire new world for Spain.

Then, in 1497, five years after Columbus first stumbled across the Caribbean while searching for a westward route to the spice-producing lands of Asia, Giovanni Caboto sailed from Bristol, not in search of the Bristol secret but in the hopes of finding the route to Asia that Columbus had missed. Caboto was a Genovese who is remembered by the English name John Cabot, because he undertook this voyage for Henry VII of England. The English, being in the North, were far from the spice route and so paid exceptionally high prices for spices. Cabot reasoned correctly that the British Crown and the Bristol merchants would be willing to finance a search for a northern spice route. In June, after only thirty-five days at sea, Cabot found land, though it wasn’t Asia. It was a vast, rocky coastline that was ideal for salting and drying fish, by a sea that was teeming with cod. Cabot reported on the cod as evidence of the wealth of this new land,

New Found Land, which he claimed for England. Thirty-seven years later, Jacques Cartier arrived, was credited with “discovering” the mouth of the St. Lawrence, planted a cross on the Gaspé Peninsula, and claimed it all for France. He also noted the presence of 1,000 Basque fishing vessels. But the Basques, wanting to keep a good secret, had never claimed it for anyone.

#citing my sources cod by mark kurlansky xoxo #asks #anon #long post

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linnea-quinn · 4 years ago

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[ EVERYTHING YOU EVER WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT VEELA ]

An Informative Research Document Compiled by The Librarian’s Consortium of Higher Magical Theory, Narrative Preservation, & Knowledge Procurement

Shelved in UK Catalogue: Magical Species: Beings: Veela

Edited by: Sr. Librn. Benjamin Arnold, Intake Officer, European Division {editor’s notations in braces}

In Muggle Folklore

Referred to colloquially as samodiva or samovila in the Veelan country of origin, Bulgaria, the Muggles’ perception of the Veelan race has been fraught with misconception. Locally equated with mythology surrounding fae, forest spirits, and wood nymphs, a brief compilation of relevant Muggle beliefs about Veela is as follows:

The name samodiva is formed by combining two separate words, ‘samo’ and ��diva’. The former means ‘alone’, whilst the latter ‘wild’, or ‘divine’, hence the name literally means ‘wild alone’. The first part of the creature’s name signifies its avoidance of human beings, whereas the second indicates her wild or divine nature. {In truth, the Veelan race are highly secretive in what they share about their kind with magical and Muggle communities alike.}

The samodivi are always described as extremely beautiful women who never age. {Not quite factual; see sec. below: “Lifespan” for facts regarding Veelan aging.} They have long, blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Their attire consists of a long white gown made of moonbeams. Other legends depict them as ethereal maidens with long, loose hair, and in some cases, wings, typically dressed in free-flowing, feathered white gowns, which give them the power of flight. {Perhaps a historical perception of the Veelan Harpy form.}

Stories about the samodivi often portray them as being harmful towards human beings. Although these creatures enjoy dancing, especially when accompanied by the music of a kaval or shepherd’s pipe, they often either seduce or kidnap a shepherd to obtain that music. If an unfortunate human stumbles on the samodivi whilst they are dancing, he would be enticed to join them. The human, not being able to keep up with their pace, would die of exhaustion. Beginning at midnight and finishing at dawn, their dance symbolized the raw energy of both nature and the supernatural world. {No truth to the menacing intent behind this myth, but the Veela’s Dance has been known to evoke a trancelike response in some humans; see section below: “Active Abilities.” Also calls to mind the ritualistic birthing practices of Veela; see section below: “Veelan Conception & Birth”}

Some legends depict samodivas with an affinity for fire. They have the power to bring about drought, burn a farmer's crops, or make cattle die of high fever. It is said that, when angered, a samodiva can change her appearance and turn into a monstrous bird, capable of throwing fire at her enemies. {Another early reference to the Harpy form.}

They are usually hostile and dangerous to people. Men who gaze upon a samodiva fall instantly in love or in lust. Sometimes a samodiva would seduce a person, commonly a shepherd or a trespasser in her forest, and take them for her lover. However, in doing so, she would take all of their life energy. The person would then become obsessed with the samodiva and chase her relentlessly, unable to think of anything else. The samodiva, fueled by the energy stolen from her admirer, would then proceed to torture the person until he died of exhaustion. {See sections below: “Active Abilities” & “Passive Abilities” for facts which could have inspired such myths.}

A samodiva's power is believed to come mostly from her long (usually blond) hair. A samodiva would sometimes give a small portion of it to her lover to strengthen her control over him via its magical effects. However, if her hair is damaged in some way, she will either disappear entirely or be stripped of her powers and beauty. {Little truth to this myth beyond the magical properties contained in Veelan hair, which is infrequently used as a wix wand core.}

A samodiva's close connection to the forest makes her knowledgeable about magical herbs and cures for all illnesses. It is said that if a person managed to eavesdrop on a gathering of samodivas he could also gain knowledge of these remedies. In many stories, this is exactly what the hero is forced to do to save a loved one, as a samodiva would never share her secrets willingly. In Macedonian folklore, samovila's are often seen that they have the ability to hurt people or to heal them. {See section below: “Passive Abilities” regarding accelerated healing.}

Veelan Conception & Birth

The process by which Veela bear children is not fully understood, but what we do know is that to become pregnant, a Veela must copulate with Intent, in sync with the Natural Harmonics of the area, and after a ritual involving one full Moon Cycle.

Births of newborn Veela commonly happen late evening or early morning while the moon is still visible. The birth of a full-blooded Veela is a dedicated occasion that involves a number of members of the community at once, as neither the conception nor birth are as typical as Humans. The birth of two full-blooded Veelan twins is a rarity amongst the species, and is a highly coveted, sacred occurrence.

Due to the mishap of the Birth of the Twins, the birth is overseen by members of the community to ensure no nefarious acts are occurring, that those involved are protected, and that the ritual can take place comfortably beneath the moon. The presence of a matriarch for the Veelan bloodline being sired is preferable during the birthing ritual.

Lifespan

A common misconception regarding Veela is that they are immortal; in truth, Veela do age, albeit very slowly in comparison to humans and even wix lifespans. Full-blooded Veela average a lifespan of one thousand years, while a half-blooded Veela will average 500-600 years.

A Veela will mature at a rate comparable to humans through “puberty”; roughly 12-17 years after a Veela’s birth they will experience the most growth and development of their passive abilities, and after approximately eighteen years, a Veela is considered fully mature in their society, and will not appear to significantly age until the last 20-50 years of their life. It is likely this quality that perpetuates the myth of Veela being eternally youthful.

Passive Abilities

Known for their beauty, a Veela’s allure is in fact biological; most humans are drawn to Veela, and have been often noted to experience lust and desire while in the presence of a Veela at a heightened or even sometimes overwhelming rate.

Full-blooded Veela possess the ability to transform into a winged, part-bird Harpy-form when enraged, and while in this form they can shoot fireballs from their hands. This shifted form has not been recorded as passed on to part-Veela historically; however, there are several cases of noted affinity to birds in particular, which is theorized to stem from the Veelan Harpy form.

Veelan blood has accelerated healing properties, which means those of Veelan descent heal from cosmetic wounds more rapidly, have difficulty maintaining piercings and tattoos, and are rarely known to contract common illnesses. Historically, Veelan blood was highly sought after by wix, often hunted for and sold on the medicine circuit to aid in healing. Veelan blood is noted to smell irresistible to vampires, and possess a drug-like high on vampires who consume it. Lesser known about is the healing qualities a Veela’s saliva can have on a human wound; in fact, the modern practice of kissing an injury to “make it better” comes from a very old Veelan medicinal practice of kissing an injury to heal it.

Veela are generally highly in tune with the natural world, including plants and animals, and most report being more comfortable the closer they are to nature. Veela also reportedly possess a latent ability to sense energies that are not perceptible to most humans in a physical way, but it’s a sense that must be nurtured and developed; most Veela have been known to channel these mysterious energies into their own form of wandless magic.

Active Abilities

The Veela Charm

“You have to feel it. It’s like fog; gentle and delicate, but enough for you to sense against your skin. It has its own waves, its own currents, and you, my darling, have the power to guide it. You can slip it into the minds of Men and haze them, make them believe whatever you desire, and bend them to your will to act however you see fit. Or, you can wrap it around despair and smother it where it stands, press it into wounds to cloud and ease their pain. It is up to you to choose how it is used, but however you choose— do it with conviction.”

Also known as glamouring or charmé, the act of imposing a Veela Charm on a human or Being involves drawing in express emotional energy from another and then pushing it back into the mind of the person being Charmed, along with the power of the Veela’s will. Those that are experiencing strong or otherwise turbulent emotions are significantly easier to Charm, due to the emotional expenditure they’re putting out. This is especially true of emotions related to desire and anger (’passions running high,’ related to the duality of the Veela’s alluring female form and the rage-fueled Harpy-form), but can be true also of jealousy, anxiety, sadness, worry, joy, disgust, fear, hatred, love, etc.

The nature of the Charm causes the person being Charmed to be susceptible to a Veela’s suggestion, to varying degrees; for the average or half-blooded Veela, the effect equates roughly to intense emotional coercion or persuasion, that when administered properly is often indistinguishable from the Charmed’s own wants and decisions. Those under the influence of a Veela Charm are noted to experience rosy vision, and an intensified desire to please the Veela who is Charming them by doing what they suggest. Full-blooded and more powerful Veela are able to gain such control over the mind of the Charmed, however, that they can fully persuade the subconscious to their own will, effectively altering the Charmed’s perceived reality. For all Veela, the ability to generate and impose a Veela Charm is a learned skill that can be developed and mastered with practice and time.

The most powerful among the Veelan race who experience the highest level of control over their abilities are even able to perform a Veela Charm on other Veela, though this practice is highly frowned upon in Veelan society {see subsection below: “Sins”}

Less common but still practiced amongst some Veelan circles is imbibing non-sentient lifeforms, such as flowers and plants, with traces of the Veela Charm, which causes anyone in near proximity to the item to experience a highly diluted emotional effect based on the will of the Veela who performed the Charm.

The Veela’s Dance

When full-blooded Veela perform together in a ritualized dance, the effect on humans has been characterized as mesmerizing and even hypnotic, in such a way that those watching will enter a trancelike state in which they experience a loss of words, and will sometimes try to impress the Veela in foolhardy ways.

Link of Kin

Originally known as vrŭzka na krŭvta, or “bond of blood” in Bulgarian, the Link or Nexus of Kin is a phenomenon of consciousness connection between Veela in the same bloodline. While Linked, a pair or group of Veela experience an intense magical empathic connection which allows them to feel each others’ emotions on a sensory and telepathic communicative level, as well as share memories. This process is known to be calming and meditative--a heightened zen-like state similar to the ease Veela naturally feel in the presence of other Veela, but exponentially more powerful the more Veela are Linked. The “blood connection” is thought of as sacred and spiritual to Veela, whose long lifespans place particular gravity on family, lineage, and collective memory.

The Link of Kin is a learned process; however, very rarely, a Veela will be a Nexus Born Natural. Such a Veela would, from the earliest development of their abilities, experience an involuntary empathic connection with humans and other Beings, drawing in emotional energy with noticeable physical sensation, as well as sensing the “lifeforce” of the consciousness of others, and sometimes unintentionally mirroring or reflecting drawn-in emotions that are not their own. A Born Natural’s abilities are notoriously difficult to control and require dedicated focus and training to master, lest the Veela become overwhelmed by the constant influx of outside energetic stimuli.

Cold Iron

It’s been shown through some limited study that both passive and active Veelan abilities can be lessened, minimized, and even warded off entirely through the controversial use of cold-forged iron.

A process known only by Goblinkind and kept highly secretive by the same, the cold iron must be forged using a precise process, and then bound to the wix’s aura for the relative immunity to Veelan abilities to be effective. Any slip up in this process can result in disastrous, irreparable damage to a person’s aura. {Recommend further testing and study on the effects of cold iron in relation to Veela and wix.}

Veelan Society

Veelan society is largely matriarchal, with Veelan male offspring being something of a rarity in terms of percentage. Because of the long lifespans of Veela, a Veelan matriarch’s successor is selected prior to their death, and can be chosen from any of the matriarch’s Veelan kin, regardless of their age; often, a new reigning Veela matriarch will be selected based on merit and their contributions to Veelan society as a whole.

Similarly, the death of any Veela is considered a great loss to the societal collective, and as such, the death of a Veela is mourned internationally. All Veela are made aware of their passing and permitted a compulsory mourning period for their fallen kin.

Sins

A set of rules taught to and followed by all Veela which, should they be broken, are considered Sin(s);

None should use the Charm against another Veela. Despite being difficult to achieve, if done the consequences can be exile or even death, depending on the nature of the Sin.

No other Beings are permitted within or around the spaces owned by a brood without prior approval by the Matriarch.

Veela & Other Beings

Veela & Were-Beings/Half-Breeds

With their connection to the moon and close relationship with animals themselves, Veela and Were-Beings tend to get on surprisingly well; they manage to find a common ground on many fronts, their Harpy blood lending to a softness and kinship.

Veela & Vampires: Siblings

{NOTE: THIS SECTION HAS BEEN MARKED AS SENSITIVE AND RESHELVED FOR FURTHER ANALYSIS}

...

{For further study, known Veelan Bloodlines, historical succession disputes, or notable Veelan figures and historically significant events, please consult Appendices A-E of the catalogue Magical Species: Beings: Veela.}

#this is subject to additions and edits but i literally could not look at it anymore lmaooo #libcon #HUGE THANK YOU TO LISA FOR ALL YOUR HELP ON THIS

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random-thought-depository · 4 years ago

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Also, from Brett Devereaux’s latest Dothraki horde essay that I just posted about:

“This isn’t actually much of a surprise. Martin has been pretty clear that he doesn’t like the kind of history we’re doing here. As he states:

“I am not looking for academic tomes about changing patterns of land use, but anecdotal history rich in details of battles, betrayals, love affairs, murders, and similar juicy stuff.”

That’s an odd position for an author who critiques other authors for being insufficiently clear about their characters’ tax policy (what does he think they are taxing, other than agricultural land use?). Now, I won’t begrudge anyone their pleasure reading, whatever it may be. But what I hope the proceeding analysis has already made clear is that it simply isn’t possible to say any fictional culture is ‘an amalgam’ of a historical culture if you haven’t even bothered to understand how that culture functions. And it should also be very clear at this point that George R. R. Martin does not have a firm grasp on how any of these cultures function.

Once again, Martin has instead constructed this culture out of stereotypes of nomadic peoples.”

Ouch! This is a harsh dunk, but it’s also an insight into how to write speculative fiction that I’m going to take to heart. Well, I mean, it parallels thoughts and the approach I already have. Reading this makes me feel better about having the artistic process I have.

I know it sounds arrogant to think I’d do better than a famous and very successful big name author, but reading these essays I can’t help thinking that I’d have handled that stuff better. Like, at least before writing extensively about a steppe nomad culture I’d Google things like “what did the Mongols eat?” To be fair, I think ASoIaF was started in, like, the ‘90s, when it wasn’t so easy to just Google stuff, but still, I like to think stuff like “how did historical precedents for this culture get their food?” would be things I’d look into a bit before sitting down to write.

To also be fair, I have the opposite problem of spending like 90% of my time “worldbuilding” and taking forever to get around to actually writing anything. Maybe I should be more like George R.R. Martin! He‘s clearly doing something right!

But on the other hand, I think I do better work for actually thinking about stuff like this. Like, here’s another quote from Mr. Devereaux’s latest essay:

“But that leads into the larger problem, which comes out quite clearly in how Martin has carelessly separated the shepherds and the nomads into separate cultures living side-by-side. As we’ve discussed, that’s wrong: the shepherds and the fearsome riders were the same people. But Martin has stripped away not just the shepherding from the Dothraki, but also the cheese-making and wool cleaning and so on – after having already, as we saw last week, also stripped away the artistry, creativity and artisinal skill. His Dothraki don’t do anything as whimpy as herding sheep – something they regard as unmanly because of course they do – they kill the sheep (with arrows, which just makes it a double waste for every shaft that breaks or tip that is lost) and leave them to rot, like (very stupid) badassess.

He has stripped the Dothraki of every part of a Steppe nomads life, except the barbaric violence. And in so doing, he has taken one of only a handful of non-white cultures that we really meet and get a real taste of (rather than merely passing through) and reduces it from a complex culture which grows and nurtures and conserves (but also kills and destroys – we’re not going to don any rosy glasses about the violence of nomads here – that discussion is coming) into a pure vehicle of violent destruction, offering nothing of redeeming value.”

Like ... right now I’m planning out a story I intend to write in January; it’s supposed to be a kind of deconstruction of the Fremen mirage, and very much one of the thoughts going into it is “yo, a Proud Warrior Race would be a horrible society to live in or have as neighbors, we shouldn’t romanticize them!” and yet ... I feel that the “bad guy” culture in it is much better, from a literary viewpoint, for me having given some thought to the material base of their society and how that would shape their culture. I could have just written them as flat edgelordy-grimdark barbarians, but thinking about their culture in materialist terms gave me a more complex and nuanced picture that I think will make for a more interesting and nuanced story and a fictional society that feels more interesting and human and alive.

And to be really fair ... I think if I have an advantage over George R.R. Martin writing in the ‘90s, it’s partly from reading essays like this; because I was shaped by a geek culture that very much appreciates good worldbuilding and that is full of advice about it (of varying levels of quality, but lots of it is at least decent, and there’s a lot of it). If I do better, much of the credit belongs to the people I’ve interacted with and the people whose thoughts I’ve read and listened to over the years. “If we can see farther, it is because we stand on the shoulders of giants” very much seems to apply. Except I don’t like that quote because I think it’s too implicitly elitist; “giants” implies a few outsize individuals. I think it’s more accurate to say that if we see farther it’s because we stand at the top of an enormous human pyramid; it’s not about any particular person, it’s that we reap the benefit of enormous collective efforts. And that enormous human pyramid dynamic exists in science and government and morality and so on just as much as it exists in writing science fiction and fantasy novels.

Side note: it was informative to learn that the big Mongol food animal was sheep (or at least that’s the impression Mr. Devereaux’s essay gave me). I knew Eurasian steppe nomads primarily relied on domesticated animals other than horses for food, but I never had a very clear picture of what animals, and I kind of vaguely thought it was cattle (I guess cattle-herding nomads were more of a thing in Africa and I just kind of assumed Eurasian steppe nomads worked the same way).

Side note 2: seconding a comment somebody with the username “Roxana” left on that essay; if Mr. Martin wanted something plausible-ish that would still make the Dothraki look all macho and badass, a good way to do it would have been to loosely base them on North American horse-riding bison-hunting cultures and have them hunt some sort of terrifying badass fantasy megafauna.

#Brett Devereaux's essays #Game of Thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #George R.R. Martin #writing #writing advice #SFF writing advice #my writing #geek culture

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missdaviswrites · 5 years ago

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4: Lights

John woke up to the sound of Rosie crying. Which was unusual—she was almost four now, and while she cried occasionally if she was injured or unhappy, it certainly wasn't the norm for her, especially not in the middle of the night. Maybe it was the novelty of sleeping here at her grandparents' house—well, Sherlock's parents, but everyone had long ago agreed that they were family.

He pushed himself upright, blinking in the dark. Why was it so dark? Next to him, Sherlock mumbled something incoherent and rolled over.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," John said. He couldn't even be properly resentful, because he knew that if Sherlock woke up all the way, he'd be awake for hours, while John himself could go back to sleep under just about any circumstances.

He turned to check the time on the digital clock next to the bed, but couldn't see it—the power must have gone out. That would probably be enough to make Rosie cry, if she woke up in a strange room in the pitch dark.

He grabbed his phone to use as a light source, then made his way down the hall, only stubbing his toe once along the way. Rosie's crying went up an octave when he pushed open the door to her room.

"Hey, Rosie. It's okay. I'm here. Stop crying or you'll wake up Gram and Grandad."

"It's dark, Daddy! Where's my night light?"

John turned his phone toward the wall, illuminating the unlit bulb of the night light. "The power's out, so it's just a little dark right now. It should come back on soon." He hoped it would, at least. He didn't fancy bringing her into the bedroom he and Sherlock were using—the bed wouldn't fit all three of them, and he knew which of them would most likely end up sleeping on the sofa downstairs.

He sat down on the bed next to her, willing to wait a few minutes for the power to come back on before he went hunting for a torch to leave with her. The living room was full of candles, but he wasn't going to leave an open flame with her overnight.

Before a minute even passed, he heard someone stumbling down the hall.

"Daddy!" Rosie screamed, and clutched at his arm.

"It's okay, darling. It's just Sherlock," he said, as an unmistakable outline appeared in the doorway.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock yawned the question toward the two of them. He hadn't bothered to grab his own phone for a light.

"Power's out," John said.

"I see that. Why are we screaming?"

"Your hair scared me," Rosie said. "I thought you were a monster."

John shone the phone's light on him, trying not to laugh. "His hair is a bit monstrous, but I think he's pretty harmless."

Sherlock stepped into the room, running a hand through his hair without improving it at all. "Sorry, Rosie. Gram and Grandad do tend to lose power frequently out here in the country, especially when it's this windy outside."

There was another flurry of movement in the hallway; Rosie tightened her grip on John's arm but didn't scream this time. A moment later Gram and Grandad appeared in the doorway, wearing matching plaid pyjamas and each carrying a torch. "Is everything okay?" Gram asked.

"Grammy, it's too dark!" Rosie said.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry. Let me go find one of our camp lanterns for you."

"I used up all the batteries for the lanterns listening to my CDs in my workshop this summer," Grandad said.

"Are you sure? Why didn't you buy more?"

"Haven't got around to it yet. But don't you worry, little Rosie-Rose. I know just what to do." He turned and dashed away, moving much more quickly through the darkened hall than John would have expected.

"Where is Grandad going?" Rosie asked.

"I'm not sure," John said, as they heard him descend the stairs to the living room and the front door open and close.

"Oh, I hope he put some shoes on," Gram said. "It's chilly out there tonight."

John frowned, wondering why he would have gone outside at this hour. "Do you have a generator?"

"No. Why would we have a generator?"

"Because you live in the middle of nowhere and lose power at least once a month," Sherlock replied.

"Hmph. It's not been a problem for us. We can use the fireplaces if it starts to get cold in here."

"I'm cold," Rosie said.

"No, you're not." John put his arm around her. "You've got plenty of warm blankets and fuzzy pyjamas."

"But it's dark in here and I'm tired, Daddy. I want to go home. Take me home."

"Not until Tuesday. Don't you want to go ice skating with Gram and Grandad tomorrow?"

"Yes, but it's too dark now." Rosie crawled onto his lap and began to sob against his chest.

"Oh, dear. Let me go get her a glass of water." Gram bustled out of the room.

John gave Sherlock a look that he probably couldn't even see. He knew Sherlock's parents meant well, but having them around was making Rosie less likely to go back to sleep. Maybe he should just lie down with her in this room and tell everyone else to go back to bed. He was just about to suggest it when he heard Grandad come back inside. The power hadn't come back on, and John still had no idea what he may have been doing outside.

"Grandad!" Rosie shouted, and John had his answer, as Rosie's grandfather entered her bedroom with a string of fairy lights looped over his shoulder.

"Rosamundio!" Grandad unwound the string of lights and draped it over the foot of her bed frame. "Here you go, Miss Rosaboo. Some lights just for you." He handed her the battery-powered remote that controlled them. "If it's too bright, you can turn them off, then if you get scared you can turn them right back on again."

"Thank you, Grandad!" Rosie bounced off John's lap and into Grandad's arms. He caught her and then guided her back into bed with the ease of a man who had done the same thing many times in his life.

John leaned over to pull the blankets up around her and dropped a kiss on her forehead, then moved quickly to shepherd everyone out of Rosie's room. "Goodnight, sweetheart," he whispered, and tiptoed away from her bed, grateful for her grandad and the string of fairy lights that had saved the day...and night.

______________________________

Read all the ficlets here: So This Is Christmas

#2019 advent ficlet challenge #johnlock #parentlock #rosie watson #mummy and daddy holmes

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drreporting · 4 years ago

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Infections of a Different Kind of Human

1. FORGOTTEN LOVE

Derek and Owen sat in silence in the CT room as they waited for the scans to load on the screen.

“There?” Owen asked, pointing at a white spec on the scan.

“No…that looks kinda like artefact,” he murmured in response. As his eyes glazed over the screen, Derek asked, “How is everything home?”

“Hmm?” Owen hummed, slouching in his chair with his hands behind his head, “Oh, everything is okay, calm.” He was lying, but Derek didn’t need to know the details of how much of a terror his little sister had become.

“And Amelia?” he further prodded, his eyes analysing the screen tirelessly.

Owen stiffened up at the mention of her name. “Same thing the last time you asked.”

“I asked about a couple months ago, Hunt,” Derek chuckled, “I just want to find out if my sister is doing better.”

“I know,” Owen affirmed, “She hasn’t changed.”

“Meaning?”

“She’s become so apathetic that I can’t even tell if she’s depressed or…I barely see any emotions.” Except for when they were having sex. “Hostile, paranoid; sometimes she’s fine. Other times, it ranges from extremely angry to extremely horny.” Derek hummed, letting the silence pass between them as he thought.

“I suspected at one point that she was having absence seizures,” Owen spoke up again, “But she denied it. She keeps zoning out, and I can tell when Amelia’s pretending not to listen to me and when she’s genuinely lost in her head.”

“It’ll be hard to tell which it is if she doesn’t get a CT scan,” Derek snidely replied. He pointed on the screen to a small spec, “There it is.”

Owen leaned closer to the computer screen, looking at where he’d pointed. “That small thing? On the optic nerve? Wow.” He didn’t think such a small thing would cause such a huge neurological deficit in the patient.

“Yeah, that’s the thing about the brain and neurology,” he advised Owen, “The smallest imbalance in the brain could cause the largest issues.”

“Are you insinuating that Amelia’s behaviour is symptomatic of a brain tumour?” Owen interpreted.

“I’m saying,” Derek corrected him, snidely again, “You won’t know unless you take a scan.”

“If she finds out that I’ve been monitoring her, she might actually kill me,” the trauma surgeon voiced, more terrified of the repercussions of his actions than anything, “especially if I’m wrong.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say then, Hunt,” Derek sighed, exasperatedly, “Don’t worry about it if you’re not going to do anything about it.” Owen pouted to himself at his words, knowing he was right.

---

“Owen, can you come in the bathroom for a minute?” Amelia called from upstairs, the sense of urgency in her voice not going unnoticed by him. Owen left the kids at the kitchen table, under the guidance of Ryan, and sprinted up the stairs in two’s.

“Everything okay?” he asked once he opened, the door, a little breathless. The first thing he saw were the letters PREGNANT, staring at him directly from the little purple stick in Amelia’s hand. At first, his mind went blank, maybe a human response to the shock.

“Is this the only test you took?” he asked, not wanting to get his hopes up just yet; false positives still happened here and there, and they hadn’t even been trying for a baby. Did they even want more children?

“I took six, Owen,” Amelia answered him, pointing at the five duplicate pregnancy tests, lined up on the floor, by the toilet. Each one had the letters PREGNANT on it.

“So then you’re definitely…” he trailed on, awaiting her reaction before he divulged his feelings. If she took six tests, then it meant she was hoping the results would be false.

“Yep,” she answered, sighing as she sat on the toilet and began collecting the tests from the ground. She threw them all in the trash while Owen locked the door behind him and slouched to the ground, leaning his back against the door. She covered her face in her hands and sighed again, and this time, Owen could hear the tears in the sound of her exhale.

“You don’t seem happy about this,” he observed, scooting forward, closer to her.

“I just thought that we were done with the baby stuff,” Amelia confessed truthfully, smacking her hands to her knees, “I have my research, and you have your trial waiting approval, and we already have four kids, Owen.” She finally looked at him, a couple tears flowing slowly down her cheeks. “I just don’t think we’re at that point in our lives anymore, where having a kid sounds like a good idea.” She knew she was breaking his heart, she could see the sad look on his face, although he tried his best to hide it. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you want to get an abortion?” he dared to ask, not wanting to make her feel obligated, even though it was his child too. The word felt like taboo coming out of his mouth, but it was clearly something that they had to consider. Amelia let the statement linger for a bit as she slightly contemplated the option…

“Mommy?” came a voice from downstairs, Rosie’s. “I think I need big girl help!”

Tears came to Amelia’s eyes as she listened to the sound of her daughter’s voice, berating herself for even considering the option. “I…I can’t.” She stood up quickly, and Owen stood with her, walking over, and holding her by her waist.

“Let’s talk about it later?” Owen suggested, pressing a kiss to Amelia’s forehead. He wrapped his arms around her and sighed, kissing her forehead again. “We can get a blood test and go from there.” He pulled away and looked down at her, smiling softly. “Hey.”

She looked up at him. “What?”

“Imagine if it’s twins again,” he teased her, a cheeky grin on his face, “Family of 8.”

He managed to get a small giggle out of her. “Oh God, I hope not.”

---

“I’m not seeing the mug, Owen.”

He knew better than to answer her back, so he just remained silent and walked to the cabinet, retrieving the cup from one of the higher shelves. “Someone must’ve moved it.”

“Whoever moved it must have forgotten how short I am,” she bitterly responded. The two were still festering from an argument they’d had earlier today, about laundry, of all things. It wasn’t the laundry that they were fighting about, though; they both knew that. The laundry was just a catalyst; a metaphor for how unkempt their relationship had become, and how much they’d been fighting. It was a build-up that, in a matter of time, would eventually make them explode.

“Probably,” he grumbled, returning to his locker to change his shirt.

She stiffened at the edge in his voice, her blood already beginning to boil with a fresh argument. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

Owen inaudibly sighed, thinking back to Derek’s words earlier today. “I don’t understand what you mean by that.”

“Well, there’s obviously some reason you’re constantly upset with me,” she blatantly put it.

“I’m constantly upset with you?” he exclaimed, turning around as the dam of frustration began to burst in his head once more, “Amelia, you are always finding something to be upset with me about, always.”

“No I’m not,” she denied, “But I’m not surprised that you’re, yet again, playing the blame game.”

“I am not playing the blame game!” he yelled at her, “You are constantly upset with me for whatever frustrations you’re having at the point in time, and then you take it out on me; even after we have sex!”

Her cheeks blushed at his statement, but she remained hot-headed as ever. “Because you’re constantly angry with me! Owen, I can almost feel your hatred for me every time I walk into a room you’re in!” Her comment was the last straw for him. How dare she accuse him of hating her, when it was very clear that she was the one who hated him?

“Amelia, you’re delusional,” he plain out said, “You have been acting crazy ever since the miscarriage, and it’s like you can’t even see it!” Mistake number one, calling her crazy. He stuffed his personal belongings into his laptop bag and turned around. “You won’t even go see a psychologist, or maybe even an OB.” Mistake number two.

“A psychologist, or an OB,” Amelia repeated, chuckling bitterly to herself, “So we’re having a fight and the reason is either I’m crazy, or I’m menopausal?” Wow, did she know how to twist a situation.

“Amelia, that’s not what I meant,” Owen exhaled, scratching the back of his neck as he slipped his bag onto his shoulder, “Can we…let’s just get the kids and go home? I don’t want to do this right now.”

“Oh, so when do you want to do it, Owen?” she inquired, crossing her arms in front of her as she leaned all of her weight to one side, “In an hour? A day?”

“Just not now,” he begged, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I can’t keep doing this with you, Amelia. The back and forth, over silly things like this, a mug. I can’t. I’m done.” Tears welled in her eyes as she read between the lines, forming her own interpretation.

“Let me make it easier for you then,” she said with a shaky, watery voice, as she neared the exit to the Attendings’ lounge. Before he could even respond, or react, she slammed the door close, the noise echoing down the halls of the hospital. Owen simply plopped down onto the couch, still in shock and confusion at what had just happened, and how quickly it had escalated. It felt almost like she was gaslighting him.

---

Amelia stood in the viewing room she’d frequented much over the last month, staring at the scans she’d become so familiar with. She could barely see them amidst the blurriness of her own tears, forming and reforming once they fell. She’d messed up, big time, and she didn’t know how to fix any of it. She just threw away her relationship, and over what, the fact that she couldn’t tell him she was ill? That she knew he suspected something was up with her because of her behaviour, yet she continued to deny it? And why did she even deny it?

But how? How could she tell him, after everything they’d been through, that something else was happening to her again? That she had a brain tumour the size of a small grapefruit, pressing against all the logical parts of her brain? And that it had likely been growing there for years, much before she’d ever met Owen, or maybe even had Ryan? She couldn’t tell him; it would be too much. It already was too much for her, to not be able to trust any decision she’d made over the last 8 years. Her decision to move to Seattle, to get involved with Owen, to marry him; was any of it true? Was it her decision, or the tumour’s? She had to fix this herself, and then she would tell him once she was healthy and able to make her own decisions.

“This is Tom,” the voice said over the phone, “Leave a message after the beep. Better yet, don’t leave any message, just call again or something.”

“Tom, this is Amelia,” she said into the phone, “When are you going to get here? I know I’m asking for a lot, and I would operate if I could, but I can’t. Please call me back.”

“Everything alright?” Amelia spun around, startled by the sudden presence of another person; she could’ve sworn she’d locked the door.

“Isaac?” she said, inhaling sharply as she quickly turned back, wiping her face clear of the tear streaks, “What are you…do you need something?”

“No, I just…” he quirked an eyebrow at her as he slowly closed back the door, “I wanted to make sure you were okay? I saw you slammed the lounge door earlier, and I just figured I’d check in to make sure you’re not burning out or anything, with your case and all.” He looked from left to right as he felt the awkwardness of the silence creeping. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she lied, reaching across the computer to close off the displays of her scans, “Just looking at patient scans.”

“You sure?” he sought to confirm, walking forward to stand up in front of her, “You’ve been crying.”

“I’m just stressed,” she dismissed as she looked away from him, wiping her cheeks once more. As she raised her hand to her cheek, Isaac gently took the hand and held it away from her face.

“You’re devastated,” he noted, eyeing her tears, “Just tell me what happened, I only want to help.” She simply stared at him, not responding. “Is it Hunt?” he asked. She shook her head. Although it was partly Owen, he wasn’t the entire reason for her remorse.

“Your kids?” She shook her head again. “Is it a patient?” As the words left his mouth, the tears began to well again, running down her cheeks. “Please don’t cry,” he whispered to her, holding her face, and wiping her tears with the thumbs of his hands, “Who’s the patient, Amelia?” She opened her mouth, but no words could form. If she told him she had a brain tumour, then that would make it real, and she wanted more than anything for none of this to be real. She didn’t want to be hospitalised again, to have Owen watch her as though she was more fragile than glass, to be poked and prodded and prayed for. To have to relearn her normal way of living, she couldn’t do that again; she’d done it almost four times already. How could she tell him? How could she tell anyone?

And yet, somehow, she found herself saying, “Me.” As quickly as she said it, she regretted it.

“You?” Isaac exclaimed, his eyebrows furrowing. Of course he wouldn’t understand right away. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Isaac, I can’t…I don’t want to talk about it,” she mumbled weakly.

“Is it serious?” Reluctantly, she nodded, a tear escaping from her eye as she looked at him. “Well, promise me you’ll at least get it checked out?” he asked. She nodded, wiping her eyes. Isaac let go of her as he watched her, saying, “Will you be okay when I leave here? I can give you a hug if you want.”

Amelia sighed and tried to smile and be polite as she wiped away the remaining tears off her face, “Thank you, Isaac.”

He smiled softly as he opened his arms, enveloping her in a bear hug. “You’re welcome.” And, as Amelia rested her head against his chest, and felt the comforting and care of someone who didn’t completely hate her, she felt herself making another bad decision already. He would be lying if he said he didn’t anticipate or hope for what Amelia did next either, because with all her emotions aired out, and the tension so high, he should’ve expected that she would do something ill-advised, like kiss him. And she knew what she was doing, she knew he wouldn’t stop her. She grabbed at the laps of his lab coat, pulling him closer to her, desperate to feel anything other than the numbness that never seemed to go away, the flattening affect.

“Hey, can we switch ke-,” Owen stared in silence, only for a moment, before quickly pulling Rosie behind him by her hand. He knew she’d seen it, seen her mother doing what she could only rationalise as something she was not supposed to do. Evidently, Amelia and Isaac pulled apart, neither wanting to make eye contact with Owen first. He wanted to say something, to have the most bitter voice as he asked, “Really?” But he was just plain tired of her at this point, and they were possibly already broken up, for all he knew. “Can we switch cars? I have to take the twins to a sleepover with Callie and I think the car seats are in the SUV.” Amelia quickly reached for the keys in her purse, beginning to walk over to him when he stopped her. “You can throw it, thanks,” he snidely remarked. Sighing, Amelia threw the keys across the room to him. “You can go back to what you were doing now, sorry for intruding.”

“Owen, we weren’t…” Amelia begged, just as he closed the door behind him. As if things couldn’t have gotten worse. “I have to go,” she suddenly said, gathering her things.

“Amelia, are you sure you’re okay?” Isaac called after her as she neared the door, “What happened just now is not something that you’d normally do…”

She stopped at the door and looked back at him, a bitter gaze in her eyes. “I’m absolutely sure I’m fine this time, Isaac.” She couldn’t make any more decisions right now, not until she saw Tom and got rid of this stupid thing in her brain that seemed to be tearing her life apart.

“Are you really trying to blame me for what just happened?” he sought to confirm, pointing a finger at the door that Owen had just been standing by, “Because I know I didn’t just kiss myself.”

“No, Isaac,” she responded slowly, “But I do find it incredibly convenient that you’re always nearby, willing to be my talk therapist in my times of vulnerability.” She couldn’t control the words coming out of her mouth, almost as if she had surrendered her will, but it was entirely her fault.

“Hunt was right,” he replied in a snarky demeanour, wanting to hurt her back, “Something is wrong with you.”

“Yeah, I just told you, actually,” she said. He sighed as she forcefully shut the door behind her.

---

“Drama in paradise?” Derek jokingly commented as he joined Meredith at the ER front desk. She, and Owen, appeared to be deep in a conversation while Owen held the twins in his arms.

“Do you wanna…?” Meredith gestured, looking from Owen to Derek.

“I just found Amelia in the viewing room, with Isaac,” Owen explained to Derek, careful not to divulge too much information for the twins to hear; it didn’t matter what Rosie heard at this point. He used his eyes to gesture to the little girl standing next to him. “She saw.”

“Are you sure?” Derek sought to confirm, quickly correcting himself, “Okay, dumb question. But why?” He was quite surprised that Amelia would do something like that; usually she was smarter about discretion when it came to sneaking around. “And how long has it been going on?”

“I don’t know,” Owen sighed, feeling more tired than he had ever felt, “Amelia has been in that room religiously for the past month, god knows what they’ve been doing.” As his eyes glazed around the ER, they met with Amelia’s, making him even more emotionally exhausted. She came straight towards them, Ryan following close behind, to clock out by the desk.

“Daddy,” Rosie whispered to Owen, looking up sadly, “Can I go home with you?”

“No,” he responded curtly to the girl, nudging her gently with his hand in Amelia’s direction before her mother could realise there was an issue, “Go home with your mom.” Rosie reluctantly obliged and dragged her shoes all the way out of the ER, following Amelia and looking back sadly at her father in hopes that he would take pity and let her stay with him.

“She is a drama queen just like Amelia,” Derek joked, referencing the girl’s puppy eyes. He looked to Owen now, hands on hips. “So, what are you going to do about Amelia?”

“Break up?” Owen half-heartedly suggested, “I don’t know…I think she already broke up with me.” They had invested so much time in each other over the years. There were kids involved. Although they weren’t married anymore, it wouldn’t be as easy as just breaking up and moving on; they had baggage, a routine, connected accounts, a shared space. None of that could change overnight. Would he move out, or would she? He just felt tired, and he wanted to go home and not have to deal with anything, or anyone. “I’m beginning to doubt less and less that she’s sick. What kind of disease makes you do that?”

“Narcissism,” Derek chided, receiving rolled eyes from both Meredith and Owen, “Or maybe she’s having a mid-life crisis.”

“Whatever it is, it’s bad,” Meredith confirmed for the brother, “Half the staff has complained about her at least once in the past four months, and it’s getting worse.”

“Hmm, maybe the chief might have to suspend her,” Derek teased, winking at Meredith.

“Has anyone tried talking to her?” she queried, “Like, actually sitting her down?”

“You don’t sit, a person like Amelia, down and expect a good outcome from that conversation,” the Shepherd divulged, “She’s like one of those rabid stray dogs.”

“Back them up into a corner and they’ll bite back,” Owen finished for him. Derek nodded, agreeing with the statement. They bantered on for another five minutes, their conversation cut short by the muffled echo of a loud noise, sounding almost like a blown transformer, but no electricity had gone.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Owen joked, readjusting the twins in his arms before turning around, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Hopefully, things cool down by then.”

“Good luck,” Derek told him, smiling knowingly as he wrapped an arm around his wife, “Maybe in a couple years, she’ll see the error of her ways.”

“Ha-ha,” Owen sarcastically remarked as he crossed the automatic doors of the ER. He looked to his right, seeing Amelia finally exiting the parking lot, although he’d anticipated she would’ve been gone by now. He flagged her car, making her come to a halt as he said, “Pull down the glass.” It took almost ten seconds for her to do it, and something didn’t sit right with him as he watched the window roll down. His gut was correct, because as the window came down, he came face to face with a man that was not Amelia.

“This is not your car,” Owen told the man. If he didn’t have the twins in his arms, he would’ve reached in and pulled the guy right through the window and out of his car. The guy looked pretty shocked too, almost as if he didn’t anticipate that someone would realise he was driving a car that didn’t belong to him. “Where is my-,” Before he could finish the sentence, the man raised a gun at him and, without hesitation, fired. And, as Owen turned his back on the man, trying to evade the shot and protect his children, he remembered the noise they’d heard a few minutes before. And he instantly felt sick.

#omelia #amelia shepherd #owen hunt #grey's anatomy #au #ryan shepherd #rosie shepherd-hunt #finn and isabella #meredith grey #derek shepherd

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nevergiveupneverrun · 5 years ago

Text

Bodyguard - Chapter Fifty-three “Dead end”

Hello everybody, how are you? Here is chapter Fifty-three of my Story Bodyguard, yay!! I hope you will like this chapter.

I’m sorry in advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link to the previous chapter: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

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- I hope that it will work, Mer… I have no other way anyway… hurry up… I have to find a source of funding, otherwise, I will have to delay or cancel the construction of the home…

Amelia has been in the corner of the living room on the phone with her manager for a few minutes.

I wait wisely letting my gaze stop on the elements near me in the room.

I came back to this apartment with a strange feeling: I didn’t feel like I was in my place yet. To belong to this place.

I was trying to find my markers and my automatisms alongside Amelia.

Her attitude was, however, a little more distant than before: she often avoided my gaze, isolated herself as soon as possible. As if she had a course of action in mind that she set out to apply. Maybe I was having ideas, or I was just more sensitive to the least of her reactions… the fact remains that a host of contrasting sensations mingled when I return as Amelia Shepherd’s bodyguard.

My eyes get lost around me when I suddenly make out o CD cover that calls out to me, placed near the player.

How could it be there?

I approach it automatically and my fingers slide on it.

I caress this piece of plastic with my fingertips and I recognize my handwriting on the sheet of paper that is used for cover.

I open the case, but no CD inside… would she have listened to it?

This disc was so special to me… which allowed me to not be overwhelmed at certain moments of my life… but by what miracle did I then have it in my hand?

- Ok, I got a text from Jackson, he’s going to spend the afternoon at the hospital with April, we will be able to go, I am reassured to know that April is surrounded, Amelia informs me, approaching me. I hope he will boost her, for her physiotherapy exercises…

I turn my back on her, still focused on my discovery.

I can see her presence on the side, her shadow growing near me.

- You can enlighten me… this CD… how come it is here?

- It was a surprise that I discovered when I finished unpacking the boxes from the chalet two days ago, she replies.

In her voice, a soft and calm tone calls out of me. Like a veil of tenderness.

And a suddenly more relaxed attitude which takes hold of her at the mention of the CD.

Almost an Amelia who metamorphoses before me.

- There was an envelope in one of them that I hadn’t paid attention to and that slipped to the bottom when I removed the clothes. There was a little post on it that said: "to keep some of this haven of peace"… signed by Rosie.

I smile while listening to Amelia’s explanation.

It looked like spitting Rosie.

She knew what this cd meant to me… she thought having it with me would be more useful than being locked in a closet.

- I think that she had to undo one of the packages to add this disc before sending them… Amelia concludes.

- Yes, Rosie is full of resources, I add, keeping my smile. You… did you listen to it? I asked a little feverish.

Amelia stares the plastic case, hesitates for a few seconds, then decides to answer me with a smile on her lips. Frank and spontaneous.

One of the first I observe since our reunion.

A show that fascinates me.

- With a title like "Hunt’s symphony" how did you want me to resist… it’s a wonder this cd, I never tire of it for two days…

I remain silent listening to her answer.

This cd indeed contained a series of titles sung by my parents, some songs that I had recorded myself with my father when I was still a teenager… and a song that I had written especially for him… a bit later…

- Your mother’s voice is overwhelming… I guess it’s your father accompanying her…

I nod while the echoes of the melodies of the cd echo in my head.

I am surprised that Amelia develops her impressions and does not immediately end this exchange, but I welcome her words carefully.

- You have a great voice too, but I already told you… I truly like the title "goodbye"… which seems to stand the test of your father’s death… but my favorite is the duo of your parents… it made me dream…

This song that she evokes, it allowed me to keep my head above the water.

To defeat my demons.

It was sacred to me… a song that we don’t touch and that I was unable to sing or even hum… this title has been repeated thousands of times, by many different artists, but for me, it was only my parents who were legitimate to sing it: two beings madly in love with each other… forever.

I would never know that for my part.

- Their cover is magnificent, we perceive all the love that emerges from both… I understand better when you told me about little things that allow us to keep in ourselves the people we love, to make them live and resonate inside us. Is it that song for you?

- You got it right… I weakly confirmed.

- It’s a great declaration of love to sing this song like this… they were really in love with each other… in love and happy…

She stares at me intensely at the end of her comment and our eyes remain connected for long seconds. At this moment, strangely, Amelia doesn’t dodge this silent exchange.

She stays focused and fixed on me.

The moment is destabilizing, I perceive electricity vibrating between us… my old reflexes are expressed again: this chemistry suddenly makes me uncomfortable and leads me to finally look away.

I clear my throat slightly to break the connection.

- Uh… are you ready… can we go?

She takes a few seconds, then sighs quickly confirming to me that she reluctantly goes to this meeting.

- Yes, let’s go, she says. Let it be behind me… I don’t like being trapped in a situation, having no choice but to ask for help… from the last person on my list…

She retrieves a leather jacket, which she quickly wears while tying a light scarf around her neck.

I imitate her and also put on a leather jacket over my suit, then grab my crash helmets and give her hers. Jackson is no longer available, I decided to take her on a motorcycle. This vehicle was also much more practical than a car to escape a possible chase.

We leave the apartment in a few minutes and find the motorbike parked a few steps down in the street.

- Can you remind me of the address, please?

- Uh… you take the direction of Bellevue, the domain address should be indicated next…

I nod my head at her directions and help her fasten her crash helmet securely, as she struggles with the fastener.

I put my crash helmet on and put myself on the motorcycle first.

I take a hand from Amelia and help her sit behind me, stepping over the mount.

I give her a few seconds to find the ideal position, well wedged behind me, and I turn the key.

I turn my head slightly towards her to give her one last instruction before I start.

- Above all, you hold me well, in all circumstances…

She does not answer but supports my request when I feel her arms tighten tightly and her hands cross against my stomach.

Thirty-five-minute drive later, we arrive near Bellevue and I notice a sign effectively designating a domain.

Amelia points her finger at me and tells me in a loud voice behind me: "it’s over there!".

I then scrupulously follow the other signs and after a few minutes, we enter a large paved alley, bordered by plane trees: it thus leads to an immense wrought-iron portal, beyond which there is an imposing building… a castle…

I have to stop in front of the closed gate.

Amelia gets off the motorcycle and removes her crash helmet while approaching a case that looks like an intercom.

- Does he know you were coming? I ask, letting my voice carry beyond the helmet and worrying that entry will be denied.

- No… I preferred not to warn him to prevent it from lasting too long… I have no desire to get stuck here for several hours.

She presses a button unlaid in the case and a female voice eventually rises.

- Yes, hello, can you announce and indicate the subject of your visit?

The question is of a rather surprising formality which makes me smile slightly.

- Hello, I’m Amelia Shepherd, I’m coming to see Alex Karev.

- Do you have an appointment?

- Yes, he is waiting for me…

Amelia’s response is pronounced without hesitation and proves effective when we perceive the portal to open gradually.

- I didn’t know you were such a good liar.

- It’s not quite a lie, since the time he makes it easy for me… she says while putting on her crash helmet and sitting again behind me.

I restart at low speed and enter the domain.

We drive for a few meters before I cut off contact, in front of the large castle door in front of us.

We both get off the bike and take off our helmets. I rid Amelia of this accessory which I place on the motorbike and she hastens to move her head vigorously to replace her hair.

A creak awakens behind us and I turn my head: a silhouette takes shape in the doorway… a male silhouette descending the steps to meet us.

And a face that I recognize immediately.

- Amelia, what a pleasure to see you! He announces with enthusiasm.

Amelia faces him quickly and gives him a big smile… an attitude the complete opposite of what I had observed during the evening for her foundation where she had done everything to avoid him.

But I’m not fooled: I know she is playing a role right now.

She did not come here for pleasure but forced to finance her project.

- Hello Alex, excuse me, I come to see you without warning, but I wanted to speak with you on a very important… and an urgent subject…

- There is no problem, he says with a smile. I have no particular constraints and my parents are traveling… besides, I was expecting a bit of your coming, I think I know what you want to talk to me about, I had a few comments…

I perceive Amelia tense up near me, uncomfortable by understanding that Alex has a very precise idea of the purpose of her visit.

I remain surprised to hear him say that he still lives in this domain with his family: he was however at least 35 years old. But apparently in families of this stature, the blood ties are different and dissipate less quickly: an inheritance and a fortune to be managed seem to give rise to certain duties.

- By the way, I heard the sad news that your friend April had a serious accident, I hope everything is fine? He inquires in a soft and compassionate voice.

- She is recovering slowly, but she is in good hands, thank you for caring, Amelia answers weakly, looking down.

A presence is suddenly guessed behind the host of the house: a young woman, dressed in a strict suit.

- Sir, are you sure I should leave you? My service should not end in two hours, she announces shyly, a little embarrassed.

- Yes, Marie, as I just told you, take your afternoon. I don’t need you anymore… he confirms without looking at the one who turns out to be a housekeeper.

- Alright sir, see you tomorrow.

She advances a little more, nods respectfully, and joins a small car, parked a few meters away.

I feel a piercing look at me and quickly notice that Alex is watching me intensely.

- We weren’t introduced, I believe, he says, holding out a hand.

I shake his hand firmly while perceiving the voice of Amelia by our side.

- Alex, I present to you… Jackson. He’s a musician friend, he kindly wanted to drive me to your house, because my driver is sick.

I listen to Amelia’s words, a little surprised that she doesn’t reveal my true identity, but I don’t let anything show through.

She was probably afraid that Alex would recognize me…

He indeed stares at me intensely as if he was studying each feature of my face precisely.

But he ends up turning his face and tearing his hand away from mine, addressing Amelia again.

- I suggest you come in, Amelia… Jackson, you can park your motorcycle in the garage, there are threatening clouds coming. I think it would be more prudent.

I take a look at the sky and note that it has largely darkened, raising fears of an impending storm.

- Thank you very much, my motorcycle will appreciate, I answer with a weak smile to reduce the tension that I perceived between us.

- I’m going to open it from the inside, it’s the brown door that you see 100 meters in front of you.

- Alright, thank you, I answer politely.

- Amelia, please, come in, he says placing a hand behind Amelia’s back and guiding her up the stairs.

I take a last look at Amelia who is looking for my eyes before turning around one last time: I read in this look all the weariness that already inhabits her… she was forcing herself to ask for his help.

I place my hands on the handlebars of the motorcycle, helmet in hand and the other hanging on the handlebars, and advance to the section of the domain indicated by Alex.

The door opening is engaged, I hear behind me: I can see the brown door rise and gradually reveal a car body.

I turn around towards the entrance of the castle but it is a closed-door that already faces me whereas Alex and Amelia entered inside.

I arrive at the entrance to the garage, the automatic door is completely raised from now on.

I take a few steps in the place that has just been revealed to me while guiding my motorbike: the surface of the room impresses me directly. It’s not just a garage, it’s almost a whole ground floor full of cars.

I go a little further and scan the different vehicles around me, lit by several neon lights installed on the ceiling: Rolls Royces, vintage cars, Porsches, legendary American cars, 4x4…

I try to find a place for my motorcycle and find the ideal place in a corner at the back of the room, facing me. I push my motorcycle carefully, sneaking between a Rolls Royce and an old Cadillac, then set it aside by operation the kickstand.

I can’t help but quickly glance at all these cares with sparkling bodies again, giving me a quick tour of the different models almost installed here on display.

Questions are promptly asked during my contemplation.

What does life in an environment of this nature look like?

An everyday life where you can have everything you want, where everything is accessible?

Do we still only have dreams?

Is that enough to be happy?

Experience had shown me the opposite: all the artists I had encountered, some of whom could, in the same way, afford everything they wanted, were mostly tortured, neurotic, and alone… deeply alone.

I instinctively think of my parents, of my conversation with Amelia a few hours earlier at the apartment: happiness is not just a garage full of luxury cars… happiness is as simple as sharing a song…

I didn’t know Alex and yet I was sure of one thing: this man had everything he wanted, but he lacked the most important… what it takes to be happy.

My thoughts fade when my attention suddenly stops on a vehicle.

The front bumper is damaged and spots of color intrigue me.

I kneel and distinguish shiny traces on the body… my piqued curiosity, I slide my finger there.

The sensation allows me to define more precisely the substance: it is not painting, it is more fluid than a chemical component… sliding easily on my finger and dressing it in a bright red color…

My heart suddenly accelerates by identifying this liquid on my skin…

I lean a little more, to observe the license plate as if by reflex.

But I’m going wrong: this plate is quite usual with a series of numbers and letters.

And yet… I keep this disturbing intuition in the back of my mind.

Something suddenly strikes me when the elements making up the registration number do not seem perfectly straight and aligned to me.

I touch the piece of metal, nothing abnormal… although, by scrutinizing the metal plate a little more precisely, I discern two very distinct shades of white: the one near the edges is less vivid, more beige than white.

My fingers roam the expanse of metal and I surprisingly perceive an edged revealing itself under my skin as a junction.

An edge.

My fingers grip it and so I detach with surprise the license place. It is a magnetic section that can be applied and removed just as easily.

I watch the object in my hand in disbelief: a removable license plate, this is not something common on the market…

I feel the tension increase in me and I end up looking down again at what this plate hid: what appears before my eyes, doesn’t surprise me, but confirms all the suspicions that were beginning to be expressed deep inside me.

Because of no letters or numbers on the real plate of this car… of this matt black 4x4… just a sign, a symbol that I have long looked for in the streets of Seattle… which I recognized with horror on the evening of Amelia’s concert.

It is there in a few inches from my eyes: this mysterious Ferry Boat which has haunted me for many weeks.

Amelia…

A name that invades my mind… that repeats itself with the rhythm of my heartbeat and the intensity of my pulsations.

Without knowing it, I just lead her straight into the nets of our worst enemy…

I have to find her as soon as possible.

A click sounds as I sit up, ready to pounce, and the darkness suddenly surrounds me.

No more light in the room and a metallic noise echoes simultaneously.

My eyes are destabilized by the sudden darkness and I lose the space of a few seconds my bearings.

I groped my way along against the cars to head for the door.

This metallic noise… it seems familiar to me and I realize that it corresponds to the mechanism of the door. But this time, it marks the closing of the garage entrance…

An adrenaline rush spreads throughout my body and mobilizes all my senses in a fraction of a second. My vision quickly adapts to the low light and I note with fright that the door is already half-closed.

I move as fast as I can, in a fight against the mechanics.

I slide on the hood of a car to gain ground, but I watch helplessly the rapid descent from the entrance to the garage.

I’m just a few steps away, I run without paying attention to the shocks against my legs as I hit vehicles. My heart is pounding under the intense effort and tension that assail me. I finally reach this automatic door… but only a handful of free centimeters, too little for me to sneak…

A deaf clatter rises after a few seconds.

The entrance just closed completely in front of me.

I am trapped in this garage.

The fault of my lack of speed.

The fault after a few seconds of hesitation and reflection… very useless. I can only blame myself. And the tension turns into nervousness against myself… then into sharp and guilty anxiety.

Amelia is only a few meters away and yet I can’t reach her.

Here I am stuck… in an impossible situation…

Like the ultimate twit to a bad disaster movie.

What’s worse for a bodyguard than being away from the one he must protect…

What could be worse for me than being helpless, facing this closed door, being fully aware from now on that Amelia is in the greatest danger.

One of my fists violently hits this metal wall in front of me.

A deaf sound pierces the silence that surrounds me.

Behind this gate.

In the castle.

What is going on?

Does he intend to harm her?

Is she safe and sound? Injured? Sequestered?

Because Amelia is alone…

Not with Alex Karev, heir, and privileged donor of the singer’s foundation.

But with the man who has been harassing her for months.

The author of the threats, destabilizations which have marked these last months.

The crazy who inscribed this veil of terror and anguish that now dresses the singer’s face and eyes.

The monster, responsible for the dramas that clouded her life…

–––––––––––––––––––––––

Thank you for reading. Have a great week 💛

#greysanatomy #fanfic #omelia #omelia fanfiction #omeliafics #amelia shepherd #owen x amelia #amelia x owen #Owen Hunt #alex karev #bodyguard

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michael-langdon-appreciation · 6 years ago

Note

Michael manages to smuggle Jim, Duncan, and you into the Outpost and obviously the no sex rule is broken, so Venable comes stomping into the room to break it up but she's so shocked by what she sees she ends up watching

😏😏😏

She can hear the sound of fucking, she’d know it anywhere. Her keen ears so often likened to a bat by the occupants of the Outpost have hunted it down and today will go the same as any other. The rule breakers would pay for their sins and be executed, she could already feel a sharp thrill at the idea of murder and the smell of blood soon to be wafting through the air.

As Venable nears the door she can make out deep voices, grunts and the most salacious whispers, promises to destroy, to ruin, to mark. She presses down her own desires, to be looked upon as something desirable just as Langdon had made her feel. Venable would rather murder Langdon than admit that their interview had been playing on her mind, the ghosting of his lips over hers and his cruel rejection. She wanted more of it.

Venable pushes the door open just a chink and her mouth drops. She’d already guessed that Langdon would be responsible for this latest debauchery. On of the desperate animals would give into him, it was just a matter of who was going to die along with him. But Venable’s vow dies as her eyes travel over the tight, shining skin of Langdon’s back. He’s as naked as the day he was born, his buttock on display and clenching tightly as he fucks whoever as it his mercy. His golden locks bounce and she can hear a beastly growl building up like a motor that’s soon going to explode. She slides the door open a touch more and makes out the spill of hair lying flat on the bed, Y/N. Now Venable wasn’t too surprised by that, there was certainly some odd chemistry between the two that you would have to be a simpleton not to pick up on.

Y/N looks decadent, matching Langdon’s thrusts as she plays with her breasts. She seems to have been constructed to take Langdon, Y/N absorbs all he gives her and mewls loud into the air without a care in the world for who should hear, ‘That’s it.’ Langdon praises, ‘Let it be known to everyone in this room how even I can make you touch heaven for a second.’

Langdon jolts to a stop, his head falling back in orgasm, tipped over by Y/N’s scream of delight. She pulls him down and their lips meet. Venable waits for Langdon to discard her, to head for the door having gotten his fill but Langdon remains. He scoops his arms under Y/N, kissing her back with a gentility Venable could never have guessed he possessed. The man was chaos and destruction, he should be pressing kisses to the woman lying underneath him, he shouldn’t be rolling them over so she can curl into his arms. It should be her, if anyone who deserves such an honour. Y/N settles as if this is a routine, not an honour and Venable feels the hot lick of jealousy strike her. It hurts more than anything, even her secret shame is less painful than this.

The door slides open right as Y/N lifts her head and pull in another body. Venable’s cane clatters to the floor because there’s Jim Mason, the quiet boy who keeps to himself kissing her back. Y/N straddles Langdon, pulling Jim in close as if she’s still starving.

Greedy bitch.

Langdon’s head falls to his left, in the direction of the doorway and Venable freezes. He’s seen her, she’s not exactly being subtle anymore. But Langdon smirks as yet another person joins the trio. This one is less surprising, but still sends a jolt through Venable. Duncan Shepherd, the arrogant ass who has more money than sense. Langdon’s tongue dives inside Duncan’s mouth, his hand travelling over the expanses of bare skin. They’re all bare in fact, writhing and joining together. Y/N abandons Jim to slide down Langdon’s body, settling by his still erect cock. She laps up his cum and gathers it in her mouth, meeting Duncan in the middle and pushing Langdon’s cum into her mouth. Jim is making out with Langdon now, replacing Y’N and soon he starts thrusting his cock against Langdon’s chest. Distracted by Jim’s show, Duncan and Y/N separate. Duncan pushes Jim onto all fours, Y/N sliding underneath as Langdon removes himself. Jim braces himself, his full focus on Y/N as she takes his cock and aligns it with her. He pushes in and Y/N delights in the stretch, the bliss and satisfaction of having three of the most beautiful men left in the world all for herself. Duncan jacks himself once, twice, three times and then he’s pushing into Jim’s ass. Jim groans at being so full, his thrust getting sloppier as Y/N’s onslaught of praise continues.

Langdon paces round, observing the three going at it. He looks pleased, saited and more relaxed than Venable has ever seen him. His hands slide into Y/N’s hair, massaging the scalp as she sighs from taking Jim’s cock. Langdon kisses her upside down, slow and when he lifts his head he makes direct eye contact with Venable, ‘I see you’ve met my family, Ms Venable.’ His tone is so smug because he knows and Venable feels the sting lash her again. Langdon knew all along of her longing for connection, to have even an inch of what is being presented to her. Venable knows what Langdon’s doing, tormenting her, getting double the pleasure from seeing her eyes burn with unshed tears. Langdon grins, kissing Y/N’s forehead. ‘Now I trust you will be on your way and keep this to yourself.’ Langdon smiles, waiting for her to break. His cock stands facing her, daring Venable to make a move. She can’t resist staring at it’s perfection, swollen and pulsing and ready. Langdon cups himself, just as he did in that interview earlier, ‘What was the phrase you said?’ He taunts, ‘Swinging my dick around…a man such as myself?’

The darkness enters his eyes as Jim cries out, cumming loudly in the background. ‘Did you think I would be willing to soil myself with the likes of you? I have three beautiful specimens which are all mine and the reason I love them is because I can trust them.’ Langdon spits the words out, ‘You will never be a part of my world, Wilhelmina because you are a blot, a stain that needs to be wiped out.’ Langdon chuckles, feeding Jim his cock. Jim takes Langdon in at once, right as Duncan finishes and Y/N cries again underneath them all. Langdon lets his cock get sucked, guiding Jim with one hand. He doesn’t look at Venabel as he continues, ‘Your treachery and your baseness is commendable, but it makes for an awful bed partner.’

She’s fleeing, out the door as fast as she can. Langdon’s laughter mingles with the others sighs of contentment, Y/N cry as she orgasms again. Venable feels like a schoolgirl all over again, embarrassed and abused by something beyond her control. Her tears come hard and fast as she cups a hand over her mouth to silence her sobs, her body sinking down the wall. It’ll remain with her till she dies and in that moment Venable can’t wish for death sooner, to live with the humiliation of Langdon knowing how desperately she had wanted to join in. How all she ever wanted, all she craved was to be valued. For Langdon to look on her like he did them, to be worthy of his respect.

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#the foursome!#michael x reader x jim x duncan #wilhemina venable #ahs apocalypse #ahs michael #ahs venable #Jim Mason #Duncan Shepherd #michael langdon #reader #the kinky quartet #outpost 3 #dom!michael #Michael being a dick #hot #sorry not sorry #little different but still juicy

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