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mrsparrasblog · 1 month

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MAKAROV X PRICE DAUGHTER FINAL PART (PRICE ENDING)

TW: Blood, dead

previous part part one

As Price watched your wedding from afar, a thousand thoughts swept through him. He couldn't help but feel a sense of regret for the moments he had missed in your life, the milestones he hadn't been there to witness. But amidst the regret, there was love and pride in seeing you so radiant, even if the circumstances were far from ideal. You grew up to be a beautiful woman like he always imagined; you were graceful, confident, and full of joy. If this wedding were just something different, something he could be happy about, god, he would rather have married you off to some bloke than a fucking terrorist.

His mind raced with thoughts of how he could have intervened earlier and how he could have protected you from falling into the hands of a man like Vladimir Makarov. Yet he knew deep down that you were strong, resilient, and had made your own choices, even if they weren't the ones he would have wanted for you. Thoughts flowed through his brain: did you choose him freely? Did you know what Makarov was? Why did you vanish from the world? You probably had Stockholm syndrome; there wouldn’t be a chance in hell that his sweet, smart girl fell in love willingly with a man like Makarov.

As he wiped away his tears, Price made a silent vow to himself. He may not have been your protector in the past, but he would be damned if he didn't become your guardian now.

He waited what felt like ages for him to finally see you for a second alone. You were headed to the bathroom, and the wide wedding dress mopped the floor. Makarov was speaking to some politicians, and that was his only chance. He gave Ghost the agreed signal: don’t hurt Civis; kill that bastard and save you.

He heard you vomiting, so he walked inside the bathroom. He already knew what it meant, but he didn’t want to think or even believe this, there was a different time to sort out that problem.

You turned around, being sure that Vlad had intruded on your space. He was always so overprotective, but you knew he would be even worse after this news, but did you really mind?

You gasped as you saw him—your father. He looked older than you remembered; he had more wrinkles, worried eyes, and a completely unshaven beard. "Dad?“

"Oh God, Sweetie, “ he said, almost running the few steps over to you. He embraced you in a tight hug, trying his best to hide his tears. Everyone believed you were dead; they wanted him to mourn you, hold a wake to you, and finally declare you dead but he knew you were alive, and now you stood there in front of him, with a confused look in your beautiful eyes—but alive.

"I didn't think you would make it, Dad,“ you said bluntly while mustering him. It had been so long since you last saw him.

"Are you hurt? Did he do anything to you?“ He started to grab your arms, pulling the sleeves up, looking for any bruises or any indication that Makarov had hurt you. God, he personally wanted to gut that bastard out.

"No Dad, Im fine; Vlad would never hurt me.“

"He is a terrorist, Sweetie; he kills for money.“

"I know, but he has his reasons, Dad. He never would hurt me or do something bad without a reason.“

He looked towards you with a saddened expression, taking your delicate hands in his calloused ones. "Look, I get it. You had a rough time, didn’t you? Your head tricked you into thinking that you love him and that he is this prince from a fairytale, but he isn't; none of this is real.“

You were fuming at this accusation. How had he the audacity on your wedding day?"I'm not stupid, Dad.“

"You're not stupid; you’re brave.“

"He doesn’t hurt me; he protects me and takes care of me, Dad.“

"And what if he changes his mind? If you’ll be the victim of his actions? Please see reason.“

"At least he doesn’t leave me all the time." Spite and pure spite made you say these words: You always loved your dad more than anything else in your life, but he left you; he loved Tina more; he never cared about you; at least that's what you thought.

"Im sorry- I really am for being such a shitty Dad to you, but I love you more than anything, and I know you deserve a better old man, but you also deserve better than marrying a man who isn’t capable of loving. Come home with me; I divorced your stepmom; I will retire okay; no more deployment; no more war; just you and me and Tina if she wants to stay with us,“ he pleaded. He wanted you so bad to agree.

"Dad, I can't; I'm pregnant." You told him the news, and you were sure he would give up by that, but his expression didn’t change, almost as if he already knew.

"Sweetie, I'll help you, okay? And you can still see Vlad just come home, even if it's just for a bit, okay?“ He didn’t know how to help you anymore; besides lying to you, he knew it would stain your relationship even more, but right now, everything that counted was to have you leave this place.“

"You really would.“

"Of course.“

"Thank you, Dad,“ you mumbled and stood up on your way to leave the bathroom to tell Vlad that your Dad kinda accepts him for the baby's sake.

"Wait“

"Hm?“

"Let your old man hug you,“ with that, he pulled you into one of his famous bear hugs, softly stroking your beautiful hair.

When you left the bathroom, you saw Vlad, the supposed love of your life, your husband limp on the ground. The guards lay dead in different corners, and the wedding party was gone. You were only gone for 20 minutes, and everything was ruined.

You ran over to Vlad, hugging his limp body, trying to search for a pulse or anything but gone. You pressed his body closer to yours, and your eyes slowly started to build tears. The sobs only grew louder as you mumbled I love you all over and over again in Russian to him. You weren’t even sure if you were able to tell him that you loved him, and now he is gone. „You lied to me, Dad,“ was all you said to the military man in front of you, who looked at you like you were a zoo animal. Your white dress had already turned the prettiest shade of maroon.

Your Dad walked towards you, trying to pick you up, but you didn’t want to leave Vlad's body.

"He is dead, Sweetie.“ he crunched next to you.

"You lied to me.“

"I know,“ he picked you up, ignoring your protest, but he also held you the whole night while you cried in his arms, not for one second judging you that you fell in love with Vlad, never dismissing your grief; he was for once in your life there for you.

————————————

1 year later

You moved in with your Dad again, he indeed retired from the military. His friend and aunt Kate helped at first, but now you managed, even got your old job back that you loved so much. Your Dad sent you to therapy, and after a while, you got it—this wasn’t love, this was fear—and you're free now. This made you resent the baby inside your belly first, but when little James was born, everything was different, and you didn’t connect him with Vlad.

You were afraid your Dad wouldn’t accept little James, but he did. He carried him proudly around, showing it off to his old squad, especially the new Captain of the squad, Captain MacTavish, or anything like that. Your Dad always carried a pacifier in his bag, always a picture of James, Tina, and you in his wallet. He was finally at peace, and so were you.

The End

So this is Price ending , its the first fanfic Drabble whatever I finished, and through the whole process I thought what if my reader don't like the ending, what if its lame or anything but then I thought you don't need always Drama for a good fic or an different love interest ending, sometimes the ending is just good because she finally has what she always craved a family bond.

Tag list: @multifand0midi07 , @whos-fran , @cassiecasluciluce , @the-faceless-bride , @paintlavillered

#cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #call of duty #tf 141 #captain john price #john price #makarov x you #makarov x reader #call of duty makarov #cod makarov #vladimir makarov #john price cod #captain price #price #141 #cod fic #captain johnathan price

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boo8008 · 9 months

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Three Months - Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Fem!Reader

Prologue | Chapter 01: Quadriller | Chapter 02: Mince

Notes: Its been one year since The Bear's soft open, and with everything running smoothly, Carmen's lost in his thoughts, until the final table of the night is seated.

Notes: This is my first time really writing so let me know what you think, I'm probably gonna do more just for me. If there's something I should add/remove from the tags please let me know. I hope you enjoy :)

A year after their soft open, The Bear is like a well oiled machine, working perfectly as Richie calls out the orders and their corresponding tables. Carmen’s on auto pilot as he works, doing his best to not think about where he was this time last year: breaking down in the walk-in and subsequently breaking up with Claire. If you can even call it a break up, he still isn't sure if they were actually dating.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as Fak enters again announcing the final table of the night was just seated. Almost from memory Richie calls out your name and party of one, doing more than trowing Carm from his thoughts; practically gut-punching him through the thick metal wall of the walk-in with memories of New York, not the asshole of an executive chef he worked for but of the calm and blissful three months he had from December to February with you.

Before his life got uprooted.

Before The Beef.

Before Mikey…

He’s brought back as Richie yells at him before he looks up at him, looking at his face.

“Cousin, you good?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don't look fine, chef.”

“I’m fine.” Carmen insists again.

Richie rolls his eyes as he returns to calling out orders for a moment.

“You look like your gonna throw up,” Sydney mutters.

“I’m fucking fine, Jesus fuck,” Carmen snaps. Stoping his task as he looks up to Sydney then Richie, whose still scribbling something down.

“Take five chef.” Richie says, still not looking up.

“Richie, I said-”

“It wasn't a request Carm.” Richie finally looks up at him, ever sense that test night a year ago, and when Richie started wearing suits, hes been more final in his input. Telling and suggesting and researching rather than just complaining. Fuck he even learned to do more prep properly to help out on the busier nights. Why Richie even stayed after that night he isn’t sure, the shit he said was fucked. He wouldn't have blamed him, Syd, or anyone else for walking out on him if they did.

“Syd take over for Carm, Tina for Syd, and Alex for Tina; Carm needs a sec.” If the uniformed call of “Yes Chef” from the kitchen doesn't do it, the sudden movement of the kitchen to function without him more than solidifies it. Carmen’s taking five wether he wants to or not.

Not wanting a repeat of a year ago, Carm takes to the office instead, seeing Sugar seated at the desk looking at paperwork, all shes been relegated to now that shes just had little Mikey. A name Carmen was surprisingly happy to approve of when Pete brought it up to the two of them, asking if it was okay. Nat had nearly bawled her eyes out thanks to the combination of pregnancy hormones and the normal grasp she had on her emotions compared to Carmen.

“You look like your gonna throw up,” she says, glancing up from the papers before her. A half hearted fuck off is all she gets in responce as Carmen flops back on the soft leather couch in the office. She tosses him the pepto before she turns to sign something.

“You wanna talk about why Richie kicked you off?” she asks, her back still turned.

“It’s nothing,” he says before taking a swig of the pink liquid as he sits up and faces her.

“It’s not nothing if you look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that,” she says turning and gesturing vaguely at him. “Like you just found out Santa isn’t real or some-fucking-thing.” Carmen shakes his head avoiding her gaze and looking out the door with a huff. Crossing his arms trying to end the conversation. It wasn't that he never wanted to talk about it, he did. He just didn't have the time.

The last time he had told any one about you, he had talked to Mikey about how awkwardly ended things with you. Mikey told him not to be a jagoff after hearing his rant. That was almost a week before he died. It became easier to not think about you because it always led to thoughts of Mikey. How Carm should have known or should have talked to him more about how he was, how the beef was doing, how ma and Natilie were, if there was anything Michael wanted to get off his chest or was stressed about or something other than Carmen's girl problems.

Then Carm had to worry about selling his apartment in New York, quitting his job, getting an apartment here and moving, running The Beef, which was its own massive undertaking, turning it into The Bear and worrying about Claire, dishes, codes, tests, money that was likely tied to the mob via Uncle Jimmy, chefs, the building, new hires, the test night and the the dreaded walk-in he had to thank for letting him rant until he talked out of his ass and fucked up his personal life even more.

“Fine whatever avoid it if you want but thats not going to make it any better,” Nat huffed out, rolling her eyes as she turned. Carmen knew she was right, but that didn't make it any easier. But if the Al-Anon meetings had taught him anything it was that talking about it did actually help.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, leg bouncing with the nerves of from trying to find the words he wanted to say.

“When I was in New York,” he started, already feeling a nervous sweat breakout on his face, back, and hands. “There was this girl…”

#carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fic #the bear hulu #the bear fx #carmy x you #carmy x fem!reader #jeremy allen white

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gingerylangylang1979 · 4 months

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Does Carmy die in the end? Don't hate me.

Ok @thoughtfulchaos773, here's the post.

I've been thinking for a while that Carmy may die in the finale. I may not be able to write this post as intelligently as it deserves but here it go.

You know how shows tend to end how they begin? The pilot begins with Carmy on a bridge with the bear in a cage. This is a dream and seems like a final showdown with his nemesis/alter ego. They are about to battle and then a car horn and swerving sound breaks the dream state and Carmy wakes up in his reality. We also get a scene of a body in a morgue. We assume it's Mikey but what if it's Carmy. We also hear voices from Micheal as if him and Carmy are in the same realm.

All throughout the show driving is a theme. It always seemed noteworthy to me because it's a show themed around cooking. Why is driving so important?

In "Hands" there is a lot of emphasis on who can drive and who can't. In "Dogs", there is confusion on where Cicero lives. Cicero later discusses a dream about Carmy's dad driving and what seems to imply Carmy is the little boy flying forever in the air. Sounds ominous. Syd names her catering company Sheridan Road. In season two Carmy and Claire make random trips out to the suburbs and needing a ride is central. Why do either of them really need a ride to do these errands? Donna crashes her car into the family home. Syd tells Richie to drive friends and family night.

Now back to it all coming full circle. There has been a lot of speculation of Carmy leaving for a different career or not. If we fully accept that he doesn't leave by choice, he could leave due to death. Why does everyone from the health inspector to Mr. Sirsky (sp?) confuse Carmy as the dead brother?

Carmy seems to be gradually handing the place over and disappearing but it doesn't seem to be conscious. That would make him seem suicidal like Mikey. But it's not that, he has no idea he's setting up his departure. He gives Tina the knife. His new whites have his initials in san serif white font, not the pronounced blue cursive, like he's a ghost. Syd's scenes parallel his as if she is meant to take over. He tells her it's her ship and I'll dial business you are everything else. Syd and Carmy are often shown in ethereal light, like Mikey looking back at Carmy in 1.8. Do they both pass on and Syd is the new hope/destiny?

And then, again there is the reference back to the pilot if this all comes true and full circle. Anybody who watched Six Feet Under gets it. I always found these two stories very similar. In the pilot Nate (Carmy) has an aneurysm. We kind of forget about it because the story shifts to him coming back home as the prodigal son and the whole family dealing with the death of the patriarch and the passing over of the family business. The brother who stayed (Richie) is resentful. He stayed. He didn't really want to be a mortician but it was how he stayed close to the family and tried to bond with the dad. The business is in shambles and they have to "change the chemistry" to make it work. A new talent (Sydney) comes in that makes it all better and offers a different perspective. I won't go into the entire plot but in the end what happens? Nate dies. Aneurysm. Full circle. This is often how shows end. There are often clues.

My theory is that somehow Cicero and his dad tie into some sort of trip to the suburbs. I honestly think Cicero is Carmy's real dad. I feel somehow this will come to light and he makes a trip to see one of them. Why was Carmy confused about where Cicero lives? I don't think that was a throwaway line.

Does Carmy die in a car accident in the suburbs?

I may have left out a few things but I dunno, thoughts?

#the bear fx #carmy berzatto #finale theory #driving

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almostgenerallyalways · 1 year

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where the wild things are (part 2)

Pt 2/? - part 1 here Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem reader Category: angst / light smut (>18!) / eventual happiness Word count: 2,7K CW: language, grief

Two years ago, your sister’s death left a smoking crater in your life, leaving you to take care of your niece. Bradley has lived with loss his whole life, and is in a bad spot on the anniversary of his mother’s death.

Or: there is a crack in everything / that is how the light gets in

Six weeks later Bradley finds himself at Target early one Saturday morning, listlessly looking at socks (keeping on, his mom used to call this, on mornings where she’d throw open the windows to the Tierrasanta house, blasting Aerosmith or Tina Turner to silence the ghosts clinging to the walls, though he personally prefers operating on auto-pilot to think of the state he’s been in for the last few weeks), when a little girl rounds the corner of the aisle at full speed and crashes right into his left knee.

“Oh, shit!” He says, before he can think better of it, but upon impact the child has immediately started wailing so loud that she can’t possibly have heard him.

He drops his red plastic basket to the floor and kneels, helping her sit up. At first glance, there’s no sign of injury, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey, princess, are you okay?” he asks, quickly looking over her head for bumps. She can’t be more than four or five, but she has a set of lungs on her like a much older kid.

Bradley doesn’t know a lot about kids, but he thinks this one may be more shocked than hurt. Already the heaving sobs are slowing down, and she looks up at him with something of curiosity.

“Where are your parents?” He looks over his shoulder, down the aisle, searching for a frazzled mom or dad, or at least an employee bearing a red polo shirt. It’s before nine-thirty, early enough that the store isn’t crowded yet, and the speckled grey linoleum tiles stretch empty as far as he can see.

“Sierra!” He hears a frantic voice exclaim, before a woman appears around the corner, clearly distressed. “Sierra, what the –”

He sees you still, recognizing you at the exact moment you do him.

“Oh, shit,” He says again, and Sierra’s definitely heard him this time.

* * *

You rush over to kneel down beside the little girl before him, gathering her up: “Baby, are you okay? I’ve told you a million times not to run off like that.”

Bradley watches you run your hands over the little girl’s head, down her shoulders, and a comprehension dawns over him that makes his stomach coil.

Having established that she’s not hurt, you look over at him with wide eyes: “Bradley. I’m sorry.”

What you’re apologising for exactly, he’s not sure, but it brings him back to the morning after you met: waking up to his empty bed, and the gut-punch of disappointment it had been. It’s not like he’d never done it – quietly gathering up his clothes from the floor of some conquest’s bedroom before any further entanglement could ensue was something of a modus operandi for him, he can admit that – but that night had felt different to him, had felt real. He remembers the way your fingertips on his bare skin had brought heat to the surface, and incited a pull deep in his stomach he couldn’t quite put a name to. You’d made him laugh and you’d dulled the heavy, hollow feeling he’s gotten used to carrying everywhere, lately, the weight around his neck lessening with every kiss you’d pressed to his overheated skin.

And then he’d woken up alone.

And here’s the reason, he thinks, the sinking feeling in his gut rapidly accelerating. He gets to his feet, anger bubbling up in his chest: “What is going on here? Are you married?”

You get to your feet too, the little girl now clinging to your leg (you look beautiful, he can’t help but think: wearing leggings, a jean jacket and a faded baseball cap. No trace of the dressed-up glamour from the night you met, and all the more endearing to him for it), your eyes growing wide: “No!”

He continues, crossing his arms: “Because I’m not that kind of guy, if you’re wi-”

You cut him off with a hand on his wrist, and he stills immediately.

Truth is, he’d hoped, and what is as dangerous as that? He’d taken you home, had been entranced by you. He’d slept with you and it had felt right, he feels fucking stupid thinking it but it had, and he’d fallen asleep tangled up in you and had felt, for some stupid reason, safe.

And then when he’d woken up, you’d disappeared.

He shrugs off your hand, straightening himself to his full height, and looks down the harshly lit aisle. “Right, I guess I’ll –”

“Bradley,” You say softly, and he looks back down. You’ve picked the little girl up off the floor, holding her on your hip now, and she looks up at him with eyes that resemble yours, and he feels his chest constrict.

You bite your lip. “I owe you an apology. But can we have this conversation somewhere other than the sock aisle?"

* * *

You commandeer a small table outside the adjacent Starbucks, which has a view over a thin stretch of arid plants interspersed with a few palm trees, immediately followed by the parking lot. Behind it, Saturday morning traffic is swelling over the Mission Valley Freeway.

Giving Sierra a book from your bag and some water, you look her over once more to make sure she’s okay. She’s been on a wild streak lately, slipping away from you when you least expect it, no matter how vigilant you are. You try hard not to consider it as another one of your failings as a parent, but it’s getting difficult.

Right now, though, she is surprisingly compliant, settling down into the metal chair with her legs crossed, already engrossed in her picture book. You suspect it has everything to do with the man currently pulling back the chair next to you.

Just a second too slow, you realise that he’s pulled the chair out for you. “Oh. Thanks.”

You sit down, and he mirrors you.

You’d forgotten how handsome he was, or really you’d tried not to think about him at all. He’s dressed differently, on a Saturday morning: shorts and a worn raglan tee, sunglasses hooked into the neckline. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, lightly bouncing the right one, and you don’t really know how to take it.

“I’m sorry I just left,” You say, not sure where to start. “I had a great night with you, and then… It was a cowardly thing to do.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I’d like to play it cool and say it didn’t bother me. But I don’t know, I kinda thought we hit it off.”

“We did,” You sigh, glancing at Sierra. Truth is, it had scared you, how easy everything had felt with him: The conversation at the bar never running dry, the way he’d kissed you (outside, you blaming the rapidly cooling night air for the goosebumps on your skin), the way he’d whispered into your skin, in his bed, clutching your hips as he buried his face into your neck, setting every nerve in your body alight.

You’d been fooling yourself, because things weren’t easy, were they?

“This is going to sound like a huge cliché, but… I never do things like that. Anymore, at least.” You can’t meet his eye, staring instead at a crack in the pavement where dry weeds poke through, trying to grow against the odds. The previous time you’d had sex at all, you recall, was with your ex-boyfriend, who’d dumped you three weeks into grieving your sister. Who, when you’d still been reeling from it, the sound of the impact still hissing in your ears, had sent you a text: It seems like you have a lot going on right now. Maybe we should hit pause on this until you get back to Boston.

You look at him finally, cringing at yourself. “I thought I could be selfish for a night. And after you fell asleep, reality hit me and I couldn’t face trying to explain that I… can’t get involved with anyone. Maybe that’s presumptuous, or maybe I shouldn’t have gone home with you in the first place. I’m sorry.”

Bradley looks down at his well-worn pair of running shoes, not meeting your eyes. “Oh. I see.”

Maybe it’s the fact that Sierra was up half the night, and so you barely got any sleep. Maybe it’s the undeniable fact that sitting across from Bradley again has an effect on you – the way his jaw works, the subtle smell of his aftershave. That stern set of his brow, a premature groove indicating he may spend too much time wearing that expression.

The sober, aggressively sunny reality of the Mission Valley Target parking lot isn’t enough to fully dispel the pull you felt towards him.

You hesitate. Sierra is the most guarded part of your heart, but you feel you owe Bradley an explanation. Glancing over at her, you see she’s in her own little world, absorbed in her favorite book. You take a deep breath.

“Two years ago, my sister died.”

Bradley’s head shoots up, at that, and his brown eyes rest on you.

You look down, smoothing your hands over your thighs, bracing yourself because you will not cry before 10 AM. “It was stupid. She went in for routine surgery. One in a million.”

Thinking back to that phone call always pulls you back under, and you have to make an effort to keep your voice even. “I was living in Boston at the time, and the entire flight back here I…” You shake your head, ousting the memory of the worst six hours of your life, when you’d tried to bargain with a God you’d never believed in, when you hadn’t been physically confronted yet with the cold, hard reality you knew awaited you after landing. “Anyway. Sierra has been with me since.”

The man across from you nods, hands still clasped together by his knees. “I’m sorry I assumed… I just saw you, and she looks so much -”

You cut him off. “I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you. It’s hard to talk about, sometimes, and at Callie’s party…” You pause, trying to sort through your thoughts as cars slowly roll by a short distance away, looking for parking, families transferring their weekend shopping into the trunks of their cars.

“I don’t go out much, anymore. My dad’s not in great health, and my mom takes care of him, so they can’t take care of Sierra. I take on extra billing hours all the time to make ends meet. There’s a medical malpractice suit and the lawyer fees are horrendous, and it’s so painful to keep dragging it out, but I have to pursue it if I want any chance of sending Sierra to college. It’s just a lot, all the time.” You take another deep breath. “I guess I wanted to feel like my old self for a night.”

You look up, feeling your eyes tear up. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m crazy, I just wanted to explain-”

To your surprise, he takes your hand in his. It dwarfs yours, and the feeling of his rough palm on your skin grounds you. “Hey. It’s okay.”

* * *

Hangman has been trying to reach him for two weeks, but this time, when his Bagman moniker flashes up the screen of his phone just as Bradley pulls his truck into his driveway, he picks up.

“Bradshaw.” Hangman is, of course, already coming in hot. “So you do still know how to answer the phone. What gives, man? If it wasn’t for Penny telling me you were still coming to the bar, I might’ve thought you’d burned in.”

Bradley makes a mental note to skip the Hard Deck’s tip jar, next time.

“Been busy, Bagman. I know you’re living it up there on Oahu, but some of us still have work to do.”

“Fuck you, Bradshaw,” The other man says good-naturedly. “Just wanted to make sure you’re not moping around too much.”

Bradley sighs. Since the uranium mission last year, the relationship between Hangman and him has changed, into something that may be the kind of friendship you can only have with someone who saved you and your kind-of-estranged, kind-of-uncle’s life while also still being annoying as shit. Bradley has spent over a year unlearning the decade-long honed itch to punch Hangman in the face, only to find Jake Seresin to be… a good man. A thoughtful friend. A tenacious friend who will keep calling when you’re pointedly ignoring anyone’s attempts to get in touch with you.

“How’s Vanny?” He asks, knowing Jake will tell him anyway, because he can’t not talk about his girlfriend. Meeting the younger aviator changed his friend, sanded down some of his rougher edges.

“She’s great. Getting her double stripes next week. She’s been asking about you.”

Bradley grabs his gym bag from in front of the passenger seat (he never did get any new socks), clutching the phone between his ear and shoulder as he slams the door shut. “I’m fine. Tell her that.”

He hears Hangman inhale on the other end of the line. “Fine. Okay. Where does that fall on a scale of, say, zero to going to the gym at three AM and dodging Penny’s invitations to dinner?”

Unlocking his front door, Bradley sighs again. One thing about Seresin is, he’s extremely perceptive, and once he’s zeroed in on something he will not let it go. It’s infuriating, but on some level, Bradley knows he should be thankful for it. “Let’s say a four, okay?”

Sometimes he thinks about the crash that nearly cost him an eye, and left him with the scars on his face, and wonders what his mother would’ve said, is almost glad she wasn’t around anymore to get that call (Ice got it, instead). Just last year he and Mav went down in enemy territory, and the moment he turned the yoke around he’d been sure he was signing his own death warrant, and still he couldn’t have made any other decision.

“Alright, man.” Jake knows which boundaries not to cross, as well, when to respect the territorial integrity of Bradley’s defenses. “I’ll take a four. If you feel like a change of air, you know you’re welcome in Hawaii any time, right? We’re probably getting our assignment here extended until at least the end of the year.”

“Appreciate it, Bagman.”

Goodbyes exchanged, he hangs up and steps out of his running shoes in the hall, dropping his gym bag on the floor. He stands there, for a minute, letting the cool air of the dark entryway hit his skin, a welcome contrast to the day’s accumulating heat outside, and closes his eyes.

He’d taken your hand, and you’d both sat there for a minute, the dry breeze across the parking lot carrying with it the fumes of traffic crossing the freeway, mingling with the smells of tacos and ceviche from a food truck preparing for the lunch rush, until Sierra had gotten impatient and started trying to get your attention, dropping her book to the floor.

“We should go,” You’d said, inclining your head to the girl, who’d seemed not to be holding her earlier run-in with Bradley against him, grabbing at his sleeve as he’d gotten up to retrieve the book off the ground.

Picking it up, he’d frozen.

It was a newer edition, but the design had been familiar, the cover picture immediately calling him back to his mom reading to him at night, pitching her voice low and high at intervals to emulate all manner of different monsters, Bradley exclaiming at every turn in the story as if he couldn’t recite it by heart, as if they hadn’t read this story together a million times over since Goose had been killed.

“Where the Wild Things Are”, he’d said, a little hoarsely.

“Yeah,” You’d smiled, somewhat watery still. “It’s her favorite.”

Something like resolve had settled in Bradley’s stomach, then.

Phone still in his hand, he swipes the lock screen and scrolls down from Hangman’s name to the newest entry, freshly saved under his contacts as Paloma, dove emoji, and hits call.

Authors note: soooo pt 1 of this didn’t gather much interest but I have the rest of the story loosely plotted out and i’m enjoying writing it (ask me if i’m working through my feelings re: deciding not to have kids by writing fic lol) so i will probably finish it anyway, just not sure on what timeline. anyway, comments/reblogs always appreciated <3 here’s my masterlist for other stories

#bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x you #bradley 'rooster' bradley x y/n #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x y/n #tgm fic #top gun: maveric fic #top gun: maverick #bradley bradshaw imagine

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slavghoul · 1 year

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Phantomime is the band's third album of covers, after If You Have Ghosts and Popestar. Cover songs are usually the preserve of young, inexperienced bands. Is doing covers a way to maintain a link with your formative years and not forget where you come from?

Tobias Forge: Absolutely. I think it does that. It serves as a return to the roots, in the same way as for... I don't know, let's say someone who practices martial arts, who starts in a certain dojo and ends up changing it. If you want to become a good fighter, you have to move and train with different people. It's the same for a footballer: if you play with the same team all the time, your team might be very good, but you always have to play against others. I think the same logic applies with covers: it can help to go back. You don't necessarily have to release them. We chose to do a real album, but in parallel I worked on other songs - not only Impera music, but other covers. We selected the best ones, and said, "Let's put these out; this looks coherent and presentable".

How much did learning to play other artists' songs contribute to your formation as a musician? What were the most formative songs in your youth?

The answer to the first question is yes. Listening and playing at the same time is very formative. I've never really been... A lot of guitarists, especially, take the time to read tablature and learn how to play something very precisely, and in my opinion, theorise the music too much. I can't say that I'm not theoretical; I just don't follow the rules or the classic terminology. I try to categorise and understand the logic, but I do it in my own way, based on what I have learned over time. I never spent much time with tablature; I just played to the music. I would put the music on and play. I wasn't trying to learn how to play the song in the same way as the band. I would play as if I were invited to play with them. So my style is very free, because I played The Doors as well as Kiss, Slayer and DJ Bobo! It could be anything. Whatever I heard, whatever I listened to, whatever song I could get my hands on, I would play it. I think the chaos of it all made it... When you understand that, you understand the way I write, the way I do things, and why I sometimes seem to be a bit scattered.

That's what may surprise you when you listen to the EP: you can find Iron Maiden as well as Tina Turner...

Yes, I grew up with both, so it's not strange to me. But of course, in order to go from just wanting to do something to a homogeneous work that is supposed to have some commercial appeal, you have to make decisions. One of those decisions was, "If we're going to do this Tina Turner song, it really needs to be punchy." It's supposed to be a rock EP, it's got to be set to 10. I think that's what sets this cover apart from the moose. By the way, thematically, I didn't think of it as 'a Tina Turner cover', but as 'the Mad Max song'. It fits with the times we're living in.

Phantomime features a cover of Iron Maiden's "Phantom Of The Opera". Two years ago, you also recorded a version of Metallica's "Enter Sandman" for the Blacklist compilation. In rock, people like to pit the Rolling Stones against the Beatles, and I think the metal world tends to do the same thing with Metallica and Iron Maiden. Do you feel more affinity with Metallica or with Maiden?

[He thinks] Good question. I'm trying to formulate a coherent answer. I think... It's so fifty-fifty. Both. Not just in terms of inspiration, but in terms of their whole careers, especially when I was a kid. In many ways, like many fans of both bands, there's a cut-off date where my interest in new music started to wane. But I have such a love for everything they did before that it doesn't really matter. The limit is basically the Black Album and Fear Of The Dark. I mean, I like The X Factor, and Brave New World was an absolutely great comeback album. But as a kid and a teenager, settling down with Live After Death was such an inspiration - not just for what I was hearing, but for the tour dates and everything to do with that. Same with Metallica and the Black Album. That was the first time I saw them, and it was the first time I was confronted with commercial greatness in metal, when a band is on top. It's happening now, they're the biggest band of all time. They're playing in such and such an arena, but when they come back next year, they'll be doing such and such a stadium. Even back then, I had a hunch that not only were they great, but they were doing well in life. These guys are getting richer by the hour [laughs]. That's the kind of thing that matters when you're twelve. "And imagine all the girls they get!" That kind of nonsense.

And of course, these bands inspired me musically and professionally and brought me a lot of joy, but they also became mentors in my professional life. I have so much gratitude and respect for those two bands. If I were to be super picky and specific, I would say that since we are a more melodic band, we are probably closer to Maiden. Metallica is more of a "speed" band, I think. To be honest, what I've always liked most about Metallica, and especially on my favourite albums, which are a lot of people's favourites, is not the speed. The speed and the violence on those albums are just added value. The reason their music was so great in the 80s was because it was so melodic. It's the melodies. What changed in the 90s was that they stopped the melodies. They became a blues band, and all of a sudden all the movements were different. It wasn't neoclassical like in the 80s or on the Black Album. I'm very neoclassical myself, that's why I feel so close to the melodic side of Metallica. On the other hand, I spent my teenage years listening to death and black metal, so I love big riffs and speed and stuff like that, but that's not what we do with Ghost.

For a long time, fans have been asking who could be the Maiden or Metallica of tomorrow. Considering the impressive success of Ghost, do you think you have an answer to that question?

Obviously, I know that George Lucas and Steven Spielberg will die one day, but I don't think Wes Anderson or Quentin Tarantino can be considered as a replacement. These directors don't have that much in common, but you know what I mean, I hope. I don't see us as taking their place. You know, I try to be as transparent as possible. What I do is very much inspired by those two bands. I try to do it in a different way, and with respect. But of course, from a practical point of view, when the day comes when there's no more Iron Maiden and you want to see a rock concert with staging and solos, you can come and see us. It's a very curious concept, but it's obviously relevant, because we live in a time when the previous generation is disappearing one after the other. I think Lars [Ulrich] and James [Hetfield] have spoken about how the physicality of their music is not the same as the Rolling Stones. Charlie [Watts] playing the way he played when he was seventy-nine or eighty, it's nothing like what's expected of Lars. And what is expected of James is also very different from what is expected of Keith Richards, with his very open chord style. The meticulousness of James' riffs and Kirk's solos can be difficult to achieve at eighty - and they're approaching sixty. Kirk already has them, by the way. So, as much as I don't want to think about it or remind people, nothing lasts forever. Sooner or later, fans are going to have to decide which bands they want to go see, because a lot of the people they grew up with won't be around anymore.

Your cover of "Enter Sandman" was very "ghostified", while "Phantom Of The Opera" is more faithful to the original in comparison. How do you decide how to approach a cover? Are there songs that offer more latitude in terms of arrangement and appropriation, and others less?

There are several factors, which differ from song to song, and the result can therefore be different. If you go back in time and take "Waiting For The Night", for example, I always thought that song in its original form... Obviously it's cool, but I thought there was a bigger song underneath. In the original, it's diffuse, vague, underlying. The chords are just hinted at, and the vocals suggest that you can build something bigger around it. When I did the cover with Dave Grohl, he asked me, "Can we do a really slow version of it like Trouble?" I said, "Yeah, that sounds cool." And of course, working with Dave Grohl, it seemed like a good idea at the time. In the end, we thought it was too slow, too heavy and too long. It was a good idea, but the result was not very convincing.

Enter Sandman' and 'Phantom Of The Opera' were conceived in two different ways. If someone had asked me to do a Metallica tribute, I would have accepted, but I would never have chosen 'Enter Sandman', in the same way that few people would choose 'Paranoid' or 'Smoke On The Water'. You automatically try not to pick the biggest hit. But in this case, it was Swedish television that asked me to play. It was for a music award, and they said: "Since Ghost and Metallica are close, you are seen as friends, so you should open the show. And we want you to play their biggest song, 'Enter Sandman'." I asked, "Do I have a choice?" And they said, "Not really! We want you to do it, otherwise we have to rethink the whole show. Could you think about it?" OK, I'll think about it and see what I can do. So I started to play the song and see what I could get out of it. The original structure of the song is very simple, and the melody, like "Waiting For The Night", suggests chords that they don't play. All I had to do was see which chord suggested the melody and fill in the gaps. I ended up with a five-minute arrangement. If I sing the melody with a guitar, this is what chords it suggests. That's the somewhat academic version of the song. I was at the stage where I had a completely different version of the song, and I recorded it and thought, "Fuck, I hope James doesn't hate it..." Because I don't want to disappoint anyone. It's supposed to be a tribute. My version was like, "You guys have all my love, but I was forced to do this! And in the end, the result was great.

"Phantom Of The Opera' was a bit different. I knew I wanted to cover a Maiden song, but not just anything, of course. I wasn't going to do 'The Number Of The Beast'. I've had fun with 'Phantom' in the past, because it's a long song and quite complicated. As a musician, it's quite common to sit on the couch and try to figure out a riff. What are they doing there? [What's the rhythm? How are they counting? Because I couldn't hear the beat. And suddenly, once I understood how the beat works in this song [he sings the riff while snapping his fingers], I thought: "Wow, you can't hear that at all on the record. You can't hear anything, it's just a controlled mess." I managed to figure out how to play other elements of the song, and I was like, "Now I have a reason to record it. Not because I want to improve it, but to come up with a different version where you can clearly hear the different parts." First of all, it was a personal experiment in the studio. I wanted to record it to see what it sounded like, and suddenly, after working on it for a few hours, doubling the guitars, adding the drums and playing everything perfectly with metronomic precision, the track was different and a bit updated, so to speak. So I said to myself, "I'm going to take the gamble of covering this song, and see what happens. It seemed like a good reason. I'm not saying my version is better, I'm just saying it's different. There's a bit more contrast and fluidity, you can hear the different elements better. It underlines how good the song is.

Phantomime's covers also include Genesis' 'Jesus He Knows Me'. Genesis is a rather peculiar band, which started out in progressive rock and ended up with huge radio hits. Do you find yourself in this ambiguity, in this duality?

Yes, I do. The other band on that level that did something similar is Pink Floyd. In the beginning, their music was really strange, really eccentric, and then they became more and more pop as the albums went on. People still mistakenly think they're a prog band, whereas 'Wish You Were Here' is really just a series of four pop songs stretched to the max. Not only am I very inspired by that, but I also feel an affinity with that kind of thing. You try to come up with variations of the traditional, if you like. You try to change the form, to present elements that people know in a different way. It's a bit like running a fusion restaurant and offering an Asian-inspired onion soup and adding coriander to the dish. It's still recognisable, but you try to make the recipe different. Another analogy is Stanley Kubrick, who told stories that weren't very complicated, but presented them in an epic way because of their façade - literally. It was the choice of set and costume and the attention to detail that made the difference. That's why, as a composer, I always try to go back to the simplicity of the writing; the simplicity of 'Another Brick In The Wall'; the simplicity of 'Comfortably Numb'. It sounds like a huge, epic song, but it's not complicated at all. They have a lot of songs like that. For a lot of songs in the Genesis catalogue, especially in the later part of their career, the only thing that makes it a bit weird is the middle part. In "Jesus He Knows Me", that's one of the things that made me want to... Not only have I always loved that song, but there are three factors that made me want to do my own thing with it. One: it's a very upbeat rhythm. The way they play it is so quiet that it literally sounds like they're playing on the table [he beats the rhythm on the table] with an acoustic guitar. There's a real metal track in there.

Do something with those guitars! [Laughs]

Yeah, but I'm glad they didn't, because that means we can! I'm really surprised that a band like Metallica never covered this song, because it sounds like a song from Garage Days. It has the same atmosphere. So I thought, "I'm gonna make it sound like a Garage Days song by Metallica. And I fucking hate the bridge of the original, when they go into white boy raggae. I like reggae, but this is the whitest reggae in the world! And it totally destroys the song. As much as I've always loved the song as a whole, I've always hated that part. So getting rid of that section and making it very heavy was also on the to-do list. I had to go into Trouble mode on this. And of course, that goes without saying, but the lyrics were also perfect. It's meant as a tribute, even though I spit on that bridge a lot. But they've done a lot of these kind of prog bridges, like "Let's do anything here", and they'll throw in a rumba or something like that. Some people might find that really interesting, but in most of their songs, I don't think it adds anything. But yes, Genesis has a lot of... I like a lot of their older prog music, with Peter Gabriel, although I think they almost became even better after they split up. Peter Gabriel did his own music, and he did it very well - very epic music. And Phil [Collins] came in on vocals and they did their own thing. To me, it was the best of both worlds, even if it sounds sacrilegious to say that. I'd love to see Peter Gabriel come back and sing with them, that would be cool, but their separation brought so much to the music, between Peter Gabriel's career, Genesis' career and Phil's career. That amount of work, man!

It's one of the few cases where the split was a real success for everyone, and the result is as good as the original band.

Absolutely, I think so. The most amazing thing they could do now, especially now that Phil is not in good shape... What I wish they had done, or could have done, or would do one day, is a triple tour. For example, Phil and [Peter] could do a solo show each to start with, maybe just five or ten songs, and then get together with Genesis. That way we could have 'Here Come The Flood', 'Another Day In Paradise' and 'In The Air Tonight', and then a bunch of Genesis. I think everyone would love to see that. It would be the perfect concert. For me, it would be one of the best experiences possible.

You see, that's the kind of idea that made Ghost into Ghost. If you can come up with a plan like that for other bands...

[Laughs] You can always call me before it's too late, guys!

Another band that has come up with sophisticated yet super catchy music is Def Leppard, especially on their multi-platinum album Hysteria. Speaking of which, this year you released a new version of "Spillways" with Joe Elliott on vocals. When you hear him on this track, the link is obvious, especially with the very elaborate backing vocals. Would you draw a parallel between your approach to songwriting and arranging and that of Def Leppard?

On this album, yes, because I tried to emulate elements of... It's something that's been done throughout their career, but especially on their two biggest albums, Pyromania and Hysteria, the length of the songs is remarkable. It's very common these days, especially in pop, to be very fussy about the three-minute limit. In the pop world, there's this need to always get to the chorus very quickly. You have to start with the chorus, go straight to the point all the time. In the 80s, there was more courage in songwriting - a more adventurous side. Songs like 'The Riddle', for example, were very strange, very proggy. There were weird chord progressions and stuff that nobody does anymore. The pop world has been so chicken for so long. Of course, I've always had an ear for pop; I'm not exactly impressed with what I hear today, but in my life I've always listened to the radio and liked a lot of what I heard, especially the 80s super hits. That's totally my thing. And I love Eurodisco from the early 90s. There are a lot of great composers in that scene. Max Martin started in Eurodisco, at least professionally, but before that he was in metal. What makes him such a great composer is his metal ear. He was writing Eurodisco songs, and then all of a sudden he started writing huge pop songs for the Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears. This whole school of Swedish songwriters is made up of former metalheads, former rockers, former guitarists.

So I wanted to challenge myself in my own songwriting, because sometimes I keep it too short. Even though "Square Hammer" is a good example of a well-written song, it was almost frustrating, because I thought, "OK, that's one more song like that. Now I have to stop doing that, because it was almost too simple." It was a very intuitive song; I literally wrote it in ten minutes. I had the melody, I played it, and the song wrote itself very quickly. There's almost no finesse in that song, and I thought I should avoid doing the same thing again, because it would be too easy. I wanted to see if I could write in a Def Leppard way. On Hysteria, there are six, seven, eight singles, a good half of which were huge hits. In 1987 or 1988, they were on a par with Coldplay at the height of their career, that's for sure. How could they write five-minute songs, with like five distinct parts? It wasn't conventional, verse-chorus-verse-chorus writing. It was verse, another verse, pre-chorus, bridge, and then finally, after two minutes, you'd get to the chorus. And it was so rewarding, because it was such a long way to get there. I thought, "This is what I have to work towards. I want to dare to add another part, dare not to follow the path. That was a mental exercise I did on Impera, and I'll try to do better in the future. It's an interesting way to challenge yourself.

When people talk about the length of songs on the radio, I always think of the story of "Bohemian Rhapsody": "This is going to be a disaster, it's never going to be played on the radio!" That's it, yes...

For a long time they called that song "Freddie's thing". It's such an anomaly in the middle of what we've just been talking about. Of course, I don't recommend... For a young band that's just got a contract, it's best to avoid the six-minute "Rhapsody". But if you can find a compromise between 'The Passenger' and 'Bohemian Rhapsody', I think you've got something.

On that subject, how did Joe Elliott end up on "Spillways"?

The story is very simple. I talked about Def Leppard a lot before Impera came out because of the mental exercise I mentioned, and both Phil and Joe had been talking about Ghost for a few years. It got to the point where our respective managements wanted us to do something together. In the modern world, that often means collaborating, as hip-hop artists do. I explained that I was willing to explore the idea, but that for me, a collaboration is a trendy but outdated concept. We do it all the time. In hip-hop, it's almost ridiculous to see... If an artist is hot this week and you go look at the American top 40, it's just "this artist feat. this other artist". I totally understand that one plus one can sometimes be three, but it gets very cynical. I don't want to do things cynically. I sing cynical things, I'm a cynical person, but I don't want to be cynical about my fans or my career. So I said yes, I would discuss it with Joe, but we'd have to see if we could agree on something, if there was romance in the air.

Joe and I sent a lot of messages to each other to try and arrange a meeting. He lives in Ireland, but also in LA. I live in Sweden, but I also spend a lot of time in LA, so we tried to find time to see each other. He was getting ready for his tour, I was getting ready for my tour, and we were just hanging out. And then out of the blue, he wanted to experiment; he went into the studio, recorded some vocal lines and sent them to me. I thought it sounded really cool and I said, "Look, I have nothing but good things to say about what you did. It sounds great. I'm not surprised by your voice, but by the fact that we sound so good together. I like that very drawling vocal, you really added something. But I have no desire to throw this on Spotify and say to people, 'Here's another thing you can buy.'" I asked him, "You know we do little skits to communicate with our fans in a funny way? Instead of posting on Instagram saying we'll be in such and such a city, we come up with little episodes." He had seen a few and said, "Yeah, that's funny. Let's do something funny with that." The gag is the important part, and the end result is a bonus.

It's like what we did with 'Kiss The Go-Goat' and 'Mary On A Cross'. The idea for the episode came first, and then we said, "OK, but we need a song. So I came up with the idea for this 60s-style sketch that was "Kiss The Go-Goat". Then, as I was writing and recording 'Kiss The Go-Goat', 'Mary On A Cross' came up in the process, and I thought, "Great, now we have a B-side! It'll be a physical single." So I put that in the script: "Let's start showing the single, now that it's official." Things work in tandem. Looking back, we now know that the end result was different. It was meant as a joke. There was 'Kiss The Go-Goat', which was the joke itself and was very successful. And then it turned out that "Mary On A Cross" was completely different. That's also what I told Joe: we do this to mess around with the band. My job is to write records and entertain people, but apparently I also have to communicate with my fans, and do all this promotion that I'm not really interested in. I have no problem doing this interview, but I don't want a fucking Instagram account where I post pictures of myself. I don't want to be that person. So, I'm doing this so that people... They're diversions, and sometimes those diversions become cool. "What do you say, Joe?" In the end, we found this way to spend time together and do something fun. Instead of turning our creativity into songs, we turned our creativity into episodes. It became something fruitful and fun, and I think it was a great success.

The title of the EP is clever, as it mixes the terms 'ghost' and 'pantomime'. The latter term is defined as "a type of musical for the entertainment of the whole family". Is this your goal with Ghost? Do you see the band as "a musical for the whole family's entertainment"?

Broadly speaking, yes. Of course, that suggests that the more adult elements and innuendos in our show are suitable for children, which I don't claim. But I would also like to stress that I have never asked people to bring children to our shows. So if the children in question are exposed to jokes involving penises, farts and copulation, that's their problem. I grew up in a very liberal family, where there were very few barriers and no censorship. I think it's possible to have a conversation, if others are open to it. I have no problem with whole families coming to us, as long as no one suffers. So, for me, it is indeed entertainment for the whole family. But I wouldn't sell it as such to most people, because there are still elements that are not suitable for all children.

I remember a Rammstein concert where I noticed children in the audience. I thought it wasn't really a good idea... Ghost seemed a bit more appropriate, but for young children, some things can still be a bit biased.

It's hard for me to have a clear line on this, because I'm not just speaking as a musician, but also as a parent. There's a constant debate about the right age to talk about certain things. Now, with two teenagers, things are more open. But that's one of the weird things about being a semi-public figure, talking openly and publicly about your life and what you do and sharing your opinions. My kids read that, too. They are aware of it. As soon as I say something, especially nowadays, where everything becomes a meme or a clip... People may think what I say is funny, which I don't mind, but my son and daughter, now fourteen, heard it when they were eight or ten. It's hard for me to be a parent and say, 'Go to school! Don't do that", when they know perfectly well that I didn't follow any of these precepts. I'm not trying to lie to them at all. I tell them: "I did this, I don't recommend it. I did this; I totally neglected this other thing. But I was lucky and I got there. My career isn't over, so I don't know if I've really "arrived", but for now, I'm here. It was a bit silly of me to be so confident, to think I could burn all the bridges, burn all the ships and throw the oars. I was lucky enough to make it to land, but I don't recommend this technique. Don't do the same thing! [Laughs]

#the band ghost #Tobias Forge #interview

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