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thebookreader12345 · 3 years

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Promotion

Pairing: Kelly Severide x reader

Summary: Y/N and Kelly go to Molly’s to celebrate, but Y/N goes overboard, and Kelly has to take care of her in the morning

Requested: Yes, by anonymous

Warnings: slight swearing, mentions of sex and getting drunk

Word Count: 1,042 Words

I was leaning against the wall across from Chief Boden’s office, watching intently at the lecture that was going on inside. Boden was having a talk with Kelly, which usually wasn’t a good thing. I had my arms folded over my chest, and my right foot was tapping away at the floor. They had only been in there for about minute or two, but I was getting more nervous by the second. Finally, after what felt like forever, Kelly emerged from Boden’s office, and he had a huge smile on his face.

“What happened in there?” I ask him.

“I uh, I got promoted. You’re looking at the new lieutenant for Squad 3,” Kelly told me. I let out a small squeal and threw myself into Kelly’s arm, and in response, he spun me around.

“Congrats, Kelly,” I cheer. “I’m so proud of you. Tonight, we’re going to head to Molly’s to celebrate.”

“How can I turn down hanging out with my favorite girl at my favorite bar?” Kelly questioned teasingly.

“You can’t. Molly’s. Tonight at 7. Be there,” I inform Kelly.

.................................

“There’s the man of the hour!” I shout over everyone talking. That’s when everyone turned to look at Kelly as he entered the bar, and they all cheered.

“Babe, what is all of this?” Kelly asked when he reached me and gestured to everyone around us.

“Did you think I wasn’t going to tell the rest of the firehouse? They’re all proud of you, Kelly. And they have a reason to be. You got a promotion!” I whoop and take a sip of my beer. “Here. I already ordered you a beer. Now, lets celebrate!”

“All right,” Kelly spoke and downed some of his beer. For the next hour, Kelly and I talked to some of our co-workers and enjoyed the alcohol Herrmann supplied us. Soon, it was time for me to make my toast.

“Can I get everyone’s attention please?” I ask into the microphone as Herrmann helped me up onto the bar. Slowly, everyone in Molly’s turned to look at me. “Thank you all for coming tonight. I just wanted to make a toast. Tonight we’re here to celebrate my amazing boyfriend, Kelly Severide, and his promotion to lieutenant of Squad 3. Kelly, you are the most hard working man I’ve ever met, and I know how hard you worked to get to where you are now. You deserved this promotion more than anyone, and I’m really happy that you got it. The position was made for you, and I’m certain you’ll do well. So, lets raise a glass to our new lieutenant at Firehouse 51, Kelly Severide.”

When I climbed down from my place on top of the bar, I was met by Kelly, who tugged me towards him and leaned down, placing a lingering kiss on my lips. I could taste the alcohol on his breath, and at the moment, it turned me on. I smiled against Kelly’s lips and moved one of my hands to the back of his head where I tangled it in the hair at the nape of his neck. When Kelly and I finally pulled away from each other, I was out of breath.

“What was that for?” I breathe out.

“Thank you for doing this. I appreciate it,” Kelly said and placed a kiss on the top of my head.

“You would do the same for me. Now come on. Lets get back to celebrating,” I say. The party continued on for a few more hours, and I may have had way too many drinks. I was in the middle talking with Gabby when Kelly walked over to us.

“Uh, hey,” Kelly interrupted. “Lets get going.”

“What? But it’s not even midnight yet,” I whine. “And Gabby and I were just getting into an interesting conversation about our sex lives.”

“Yeah, well, Otis told me you’ve had too much to drink, so it’s time for us to get out of here,” Kelly stated.

“Come on, Kel. Just 5 more minutes,” I plead.

“Yeah, Kelly. 5 more minutes,” Gabby said.

Kelly sighed. “Fine. 5 more minutes. But that’s it.”

As Kelly walked away, Gabby turned to me. “We need more shots,” she declared. Gabby walked over to the bar and came back with 2 more shots, one of which to handed to me. “To Severide,” she cheered and clinked her shot glass with mine. After 5 minutes, Kelly came back, and that meant it was time to go.

“Bye Gabby,” I giggle and hug my friend. “I’ll see you next shift.” Kelly wrapped his arm around my waist and led me outside where the cold wind hit my arms. I was stumbling a bit, which was probably because I was both drunk and wearing heels. Kelly finally managed to get me to the car, and then he drove us back to our shared apartment.

........................................

I puked into the toilet for the second time this morning, groaning as a wave of pain rolled through my stomach. Man I overdid it last night. Once I was sure I wasn’t going to vomit anymore, I stood up and walked back into the living room.

“Here, babe. Eat something,” Kelly said and passed me a plate of toast along with a water bottle.

“Thanks,” I mumble and plop down onto the couch. After taking a few bites of toast, and sipping some water, I set them down on the coffee table and curled up into a ball. I was thankful that when Kelly and I had gotten home last night, he put me in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, which was the best type of clothes to where during a hangover. “Remind me to never drink that much again, will you?”

Kelly laughed. “Of course. Now, drink some more water and finish the toast. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Uh,” I groan. “I don’t want to move.”

“Well you’re going to have to because we’ve got that dinner with your parents tonight, and it’s the third time we’ve had to reschedule, so we’re not missing this time,” Kelly told me.

“Shit,” I curse. “I forgot about that. All right. Pass me my water. I need to get as hydrated as I can before tonight.”

____________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13 @campingmonkey @winterberryfox @anotherfan07 @giagma

#one chicago #chicago fire #squad 3 #firehouse 51 #kelly severide #kelly severide x reader #kelly severide imagines #kelly severide imagine #x reader #imagine #imagines

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just-a-writer23 · 4 years

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Carried away. Fred Weasley imagine.

Journey Elizabeth Avery, was part of one of the Sacred twenty eight families that had the awful traditional thinking about blood purity. Most of her family members were Slytherins and some even became Death Eaters; following you know who. However, Journey never believed in the blood purity or hated muggles, muggleborn and halfblood. In fact, she believed in moving on from the past and make amends with them to make a brighter future. Therefore, her family members disliked, dishonored and kicked her out of their house when she was twelve years old.

At Hogwarts she got sorted into Ravenclaw and made friends with the same ideals that she had. Although she was a Ravenclaw, Journey befriended people from the other houses; including Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger from Gryffindor. During the first two years of studies at Hogwarts she constantly got pranked and annoyed by the Weasley twins.However, at the end of her second year, he asked her out and they began dating. They clicked when she learned that his family was pureblood but that didn’t controlled or blinded their hearts and actions.

Throughout their relationship, she would help the twins come up with clever ideas for pranks and even artifacts that they could create in order to execute them. Fred and Journey would have dates every Saturday and sometimes they would use the secret passages to go on dates during days in which they were not allowed to go out. Surprisingly, they never got caught and Journey like the feeling of being rushed and do things out of impulse; living in the moment. Sometimes Journey would analyze what could happen if they were caught and Fred would somehow convince her to do it anyway.

There was a moment in which they broke up do to the fact that Journey risked her life in her third year without Fred knowing. That took place during the time that Buckbeak was going to be murdered because of the coward Draco Malfoy and his father. Journey had decided to be with the trio during that night; after the murder took place, Ron was taken by a giant dog. All in all, it was discovered that it was Sirius Black and that he was innocent; they one that betrayed his parents was Peter Pettigrew. Lets just say that there was some craziness going that night that really put the golden trio, Journey and Sirius’ lives in danger.

Actually, Journey got hurt badly at some point and then woke up in the hospital wing realizing that Fred was next to her. She told him what had happened and they started arguing about the fact that she didn’t tell him; saying that it was reckless of her to do. During that argument they said hurtful things to one another and eventually both took the decision to break up. That was really hard on both of them since they practically lived under the same roof in both Hogwarts and the burrow. Yes, Molly Weasley heard about what happened to the young girl and took her in deciding to be the family that Journey deserved.

When it came for the reconciliation, well, it took quite a long time for they were both very stubborn. Fred had started “dating” Angelina Johnson, a Gryffindor girl that was in the quidditch team. He would give a show with Angelina when Journey was around which made her hurt but was good at hiding it. This carried on until the yule ball came around, Fred had asked his current girlfriend to it and Journey was asked by one of the Durmstrang student. Oh, things took a turn when she played the same game that he had been playing for months.

At some point, the Durmstrang student that was dancing with Journey started making certain approaches that she wasn’t comfortable with. During a slow dance he began touching her in areas of her body that she would only allow Fred to touch. Although she kept taking his hands off of those areas, he would not stop making the advances. Journey began getting angry at him but before she could slap him, someone pulled her away and punched the man that was dancing with her. Subsequently, Fred started making out with Journey in front of all the people that were in there; kissing and biting her neck to leave a mark that said “She’s mine”.

Afterwards, they had to run off from Professor Snape who was set on catching them and probably take points from their houses. Thankfully, Fred knew many secret passages which helped in this particular situation. Later that night, well...Journey’s favorite Weasley twin made sure to show her that she only belongs to him. That is how she found out that the whole thing with Angelina was an act that they decided to do in order to get her jealous. Journey teased him saying “That didn’t turn out well for you, did it?” and he rolled his eyes knowing that ignoring him was an act of hers.

Things had gotten better with the couple as they were communicating better as time passed. When it came to studying and living at Hogwarts, well, it became a bloody hell with Umbridge around. Everything changed so drastically and everyone was bloody unhappy with all the rules she had given. Journey had become quite angry at the fact that they didn’t have a proper defense against the dark arts when Voldemort was back. Thankfully, Harry created Dumbledore’s army in order to practice and learn defensive spells that were going to be needed in the near future.

In order to celebrate the beginning of Dumbledore’s army, the group went to the three broomsticks in Hogsmeade. Hermione decided that it would be a fun idea to play certain muggle games and that was when it was decided to play seven minutes in heaven. Its this muggle game in which two people go to a closet or private area to do whatever they wanted in seven minutes. Fred started whispering in Journey’s ear things that he wanted to do to her during those seven minutes while he was touching some sensitive areas of her body; knowing it would turn her on. On the other hand, while Journey was trying to act normal so nobody would suspect anything, she was also teasing Fred by touching him as well.

Once it was their turn Fred picked Journey up and took her to a secret room that not many knew of. Needless is to say that they made love and seven minutes were not enough for the young couple. Both of them got carried away as they were just focused on one another as they showed how much they love every single aspect of each other; forgetting to use protection as Molly always told them to do (always use protection). When both of them fell of the cliff at the same time making them scream each other’s names, Fred’s body fell on top of hers. He said as he chuckled “I think that seven minutes will never be enough for us love” after saying that he looked at her with love as she laughed at his comment.

_____________________________________________________________

Everything was going well for Dumbledore’s army and everybody was thankful to Harry as they were learning so many things from him. Three weeks after they had that celebration for the beginning of the group, they were all learning about the spell to fight dementors “Expecto Patronum”. When Journey was finally able to cast it, it turned out that her Patronus was an Abraxan Winged Horse; a rare patronus which she was amazed by. Ginny’s patronus was a horse and she joked saying “Seems like you and I have more in common than you and Freddie” and then she asked what memory she used to conjure it.

Journey laughed at her comment and then said that the memory she chose was when Molly and Arthur took her in by giving her a family and a house that loved her. After the practice had finished they all went to eat in the Great Hall, the twins were talking about their patronus and the memories they used. Fred’s had being the moment in which he reconciled with Journey and he made sure she knew about it. She smiled at him and then he gave her a plate with her favorite foods. As she looked at it, she began to get nauseous by their smells little by little the nausea got worse then she stormed off and ran to the nearest bathroom; Fred was ran after her and helped her with her hair.

When Journey had finished “puking”, Fred asked her if she was okay and she she nodded saying that the smell was too intense for her to handle. Subsequently, Luna got out of one of the stalls and washed her hands then look at her housemate and friend with concern. “Are you sick again Jo?” she asked to which Journey just nodded and Luna said “Make sure you drink the tea I gave you. It will make you feel better but you should go to madam Pomfrey because you have been sick throughout the whole week”. After saying that she looked at Fred and said “You better get out of the girls bathroom before you get caught” and with that she left.

Fred and Journey left the bathroom and went to a private area to talk about Jo’s sickness. As they were having this conversation Journey revealed that she had indeed being sick for a whole week. Then proceeded to tell him that she had not gotten her period and that it was late for two weeks. At that point, Fred’s face became pale as a ghost and she said “I think I am pregnant Freddie”. He looked at her while being frozen as he didn’t know what to do or say, however, when her eyes got watery he hugged her saying that everything was going to be okay.

During the next day, both of them went to the hospital week and explained the situation to Madam Pomfrey who gave them a judgemental look. Then she proceeding in verifying whether or not the fifteen year old was pregnant or not. As they were waiting for the results she said “Both of you should have been more careful. Do you know how hard it is to raise a child as an adult? imagine as teenagers. Also, now that Umbridge is around things will be hard for the two of you but...I will help you the best I can if you are indeed pregnant”.

The results were ready...

Journey Elizabeth Avery was indeed...pregnant.

Oh the journey they were about to encounter (Pun intended).

____________________________________________________________

Tag: @bl597

#fred weasley imagines #fred weasley #weasleytwins #luna lovegood #harrypotter #harry potter imagine #fanfic #pregnancy

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rainythefox · 5 years

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Blessed are the Peacekeepers (RDR2 multi-chapter Fanfic CH.2)

Synopsis: A fateful encounter with a mysterious stranger shifts the tides of fate. Arthur has a second chance to save the ones he loves, to stop the demise of the only family he ever knew. To stop the man he swore his loyalty to from his own self-destruction. But even second chances come at a price. (AU Arthur doesn’t get TB, eventual ArthurxSadie)

AO3 Link

Chapter 2: Familiar

Arthur felt he could breathe again, felt the unease that had sunk its teeth into his skin withdraw once he returned to Horseshoe Overlook. He hitched his horse, leaning in to smell the horse scent, patting the steed down with a mumbled, "Good boy."

He let his eyes scan across the camp. He saw the familiar faces lounging about or doing chores. He could smell the stew for tonight cooking, could hear the clucking of the chickens behind Pearson's wagon.

He let the words of the Strange Man fade away in his aching head, and pulled out the money from his satchel to take to the donation box. He had been so confused and spooked by his exchange with the man in the black suit, he realized maybe he came back sooner than what he should have, and hoped no one would suspect anything.

Hearing Uncle ramble off a crazy story, camp members' laughter, and even Reverend Swanson's slurred singing all eased him. He felt better now than he had when he awoke this morning. Hell, even the bickering between John and Abigail nearby grounded him, told him everything was fine. Everything was normal.

Arthur went around behind Dutch's tent and tossed the money into the box like it was cursed. He didn't want anything else to do with it. He would tell Strauss the collection was made and would let this whole thing rest.

Out of sight, out of mind, as Uncle would always say.

Speaking of rest, Arthur knew he should take Dutch's advice and go to sleep, but he was no longer tired, no longer reeling from those dreadful feelings he had this morning. Instead, he felt some time alone on the cliff overlooking the Heartlands with his journal would do him some good.

He made his way towards the cliff, stopping by to see Strauss as the scrawny man scribbled on a parchment.

"Hey, I got the money from Mr. Downes. It's been turned in so make sure you scratch it off in your records," Arthur greeted.

The Austrian looked up from his writing, a sleazy smile forming on his face as he peered through his spectacles. "Ah, good, Herr Morgan. I take it he gave you the run around as he did with me? Squabbling little toad."

"You disgust me. And you shame us…if we could be shamed anymore than we already are."

"You and me, we ain't decent…but those folk…they was."

Arthur ignored the faint words in his head, feeling the lingering ache in his skull. "I got the money, alright? Does it matter? Just write it down, and stop loanin' money to fools who can't pay!"

Strauss raised his eyebrows, taken aback by Arthur's snippy answer. "I…I'll be sure to, Mr. Morgan. You look tired from your trip. Perhaps you should rest?"

Arthur waved him off, turning towards the cliff. "I'll do that, thanks."

He only took a few steps before someone called his name. The voice pierced his back, clamping down like the jaws of a man-eating predator. He tensed up, suddenly not feeling too well as he turned around.

Micah strolled over, a crooked smile forming, blue eyes that burned with unbridled mayhem catching Arthur like a trap. He spit out some tobacco, eyes staying on Arthur.

Arthur gritted his teeth, sickness swelling within him, like he had been kicked in the stomach and was about to puke. He sensed the familiar dread from this morning once more, but with it he felt his nerves burn afire with hate. Hate he had never known before.

"You're back early, cowpoke. You musta rode like the wind to get there and back. Did the feller give ya any trouble?"

"It ain't none of your business."

Micah chuckled, a low, venomous sound that sickened Arthur further. "Still constipated from this mornin', huh? I heard 'bout your little nightmare or whatever. Come now, Morgan, we're far too deep in this game to let our consciousness catch up. Don't turn yellow now."

"Watch it," Arthur advised.

The warning just enticed Micah, and he stepped closer to Arthur, as if to goad him. "Watch what exactly, cowpoke? I'm just givin' friendly advice."

"I believe in winners and losers…and nothing else besides."

The hate burned within him like the tip of a branding iron scalding flesh. Arthur wasn't sure where it came from. He never liked Micah, never trusted him, and never understood what Dutch saw in him. But this…this was different. This brought back all those terrible feelings from this morning, and he couldn't ignore it.

Arthur slammed his fist into the side of Micah's face. The punch made Micah stumble, and he laughed, holding his jaw.

"You gotta do better than that, Morgan."

The taunt riled him. He moved in and punched Micah a few more times. Micah took the swings, but countered with his own that caught Arthur in the gut. His arms were snagged before he could do anymore damage to Micah. Familiar voices yelled in his ears, but Arthur saw red when he glared at the sneering Micah. He fought whoever had their hold on him.

"Let me go, let me go right now, dammit!"

"Arthur, what the hell has gotten into you?!" Javier yelled.

"Arthur, knock it off. This ain't like you!" John snapped.

They each held one arm, trying to hold him back, but Arthur's strength slid them across the dirt as they tugged. Several camp members came around, drawn in by the sounds of the fight.

Micah laughed, amused as he spat out reddish-brown saliva that was blood mixed with tobacco. "It's alright boys, he's just delusional. Still messed up from his bad dream this mornin'!"

"Shut yer goddamn mouth ya fuckin' turd," Sean snapped as he and Bill came into view from Arthur's right side. "Ya probably deserved the ass beatin' in the first place."

"Arthur, calm down!" John said, more pleading than demanding this time.

"What in God's name is goin' on over here?"

It was Hosea, approaching with Pearson and Grimshaw, and he looked miffed. A single glance over of the situation, and he pointed at Arthur.

"Arthur, stop this at once."

Arthur stopped. Javier and John slowly let him go, but remained ready to grab him if he lunged for Micah once more. Micah sneered at Arthur, blue eyes wild and amused.

"Yeah, cowpoke. You better listen to your papa like a good little boy."

Micah stepped towards Arthur with that jeer, clapping his hands. Sean balled a fist next to him, ready to jump in next as always.

Hosea didn't have time to say anything else. The gang parted to allow their leader through and he stopped beside Hosea and Susan, a hardened scowl creasing his face.

"What the hell is going on?"

Dutch's angered voice caught them by surprise. Micah tossed up his hands in surrender, slinking backwards away from Arthur.

"Boss, I don't know what happened! He just went off on me!"

"That's a fuckin' lie if I ever heard one! That ain't what I saw!" Sean drawled.

"Sean, shut up," Dutch snapped.

Arthur straightened his jacket, still glaring at Micah, but he tore his eyes away to look to Dutch and Hosea. Their disappointed glares hit him hard, and they awaited an explanation. Arthur suddenly felt like a child in trouble in front of his parents. It killed his temper real quick.

"I...I uhh…"

Arthur didn't know what to say. He had never lost his temper in such a way before. He had never felt such raw hatred before. Shame crept over him, embarrassed that he went off in such a way. He was the top enforcer of the gang. It was his job to prevent these kinds of fights in the first place.

He wasn't about to make an excuse. This fell on him and him alone. "Yeah, I went off on him."

"Why?"

"I don't rightly know."

Dutch heaved a sigh. "Arthur, you're supposed to prevent fights, not start them."

"I know."

"I-I just want to say, that I was, uh, just tryin' to have a conversation with 'ol Arthur, and I may have unintentionally offended him in some way. For that, I'm really sorry."

Arthur narrowed his eyes on Micah. "Yeah, I'm real sorry too."

The venom in his voice was more noticeable than he intended. Dutch nodded at Grimshaw with a small wave of his hand before his eyes went back to Arthur.

Grimshaw shoved nearby onlookers and hollered, "Alright, enough gawkin'! Back to work, all of you!"

Arthur caught the worried glances of John, Javier, and Sean before they reluctantly left his side. He overheard Karen mumble, "Fucker deserved it anyway."

Micah stepped towards Dutch with a poorly attempted appeasing smile. "Boss, I just-"

Dutch held up a hand to cut him off. "Just stay out of trouble, Mr. Bell."

"Of course, boss."

Micah slunk away after one last glare at Arthur. Dutch rubbed his temple, sighing as Hosea glared at Micah's back as he retreated like a kicked dog.

"Come on, let's go to my tent for a moment," Dutch said.

Arthur followed the two men who raised him. They entered Dutch's tent, although Arthur could feel everyone's stares on him. Molly was in the tent reading, and Dutch cleared his throat.

"Molly, my dear, could you give us a minute?"

She closed her book, looking between the men in light confusion. "Sure, Dutch."

She left the tent, and Dutch closed the drape to give them some privacy. Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, still trying to figure out exactly what came over him. Someone patted his back, and it brought him out from his thoughts and he saw Hosea, a reassuring smile accenting his aged face.

Dutch sighed. "You don't look well, son. I-I thought a ride out to collect that debt would clear your mind. What's bothering you? Talk to us."

Arthur groaned inwardly. He would've much preferred getting a scolding from Dutch and Hosea over this. He looked between them, both looking concerned and waiting for him to open up.

"What was that dream about? You obviously need to talk about it…get it off your chest," Hosea said.

Arthur shook his head. "I don't even remember it! I…I've just bit off more than I can chew these past few days, is all. And-And I just took it out on Micah."

Hosea snorted, unconvinced. "You mean the little shit just finally goaded you into giving him a beating."

"Hosea."

"What?" Hosea grumbled, glaring at his old friend. "It's the truth. All he has done these past few weeks is get us into more trouble! And now that he's back, he's done nothing but antagonize camp members. You know my feelings about him, Dutch. Arthur feels the same way."

"There's no doubt he started it," Dutch appeased, showing his palms with a slight upcurve of his lips. "I ain't disagreeing 'bout his behavior as of late, Hosea. He's on thin ice, and he knows it."

"He sure ain't acting like it."

"Look," Dutch said, looking between Hosea and Arthur, hands going to his chest. "I'll have a chat with him about his-"

"No!" Arthur snapped.

He startled them both. He blinked and swallowed, realizing his outburst, and not exactly understanding the reason behind it. Hosea looked more concerned now, but Dutch's dark brows furrowed more into suspicion.

"No, what?" he asked.

"Don't talk to him. It's fine, Dutch. It's on me."

"It ain't fine. You are worrying me, son. Talk to me. Have I asked too much of you as of late?"

"No, 'course not."

"I know we've been through a lot these past few weeks, but we are slowly recuperating, Arthur. Everything's gonna turn out alright."

"I know."

Dutch put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, his face softening. "Then please, get some rest."

Arthur nodded, looking away from them and slipping out of the tent. He went straight over to his own tent. He saw Sean and Lenny waiting for him. Arthur grumbled, glancing over his shoulder. Dutch had opened his drape, and now he and Hosea watched him. Their heads were slightly turned towards each other as they whispered.

Sean folded his arms as Arthur came up. "You better've not got in trouble."

Arthur chuckled. "And what if I did? You gonna go give Dutch a piece of your mind?"

"I would if I had to!"

Lenny snickered beside him. "Uh-huh sure, Sean."

"You callin' me a liar? I'll give that fuckin' stook a piece of my mind as well!"

"You ain't givin' no one a piece of nothin'," Arthur said, pointing a finger at Sean's face. "Keep outta it."

Sean scowled. "Hey, I'm just tryin' to watch out fer ya."

"I ain't just some dumb kid. I've lived a lifetime of shit already."

Those inner words brought some kind of sadness over him, but also a familiar respect. Arthur smiled, reaching out and playfully smacking Sean's head.

"I know, I know. Just don't wantcha to get in trouble. It'll be taken care of. Leave it be, kid. You too, Lenny."

Lenny dipped his head. "Whatever you say, Arthur. We were just checking on you."

"He taught me to judge people for what they are. Not how they look. But one thing he couldn't teach me was…how not to care."

"I'm fine. I appreciate it, just get outta here before you get in trouble now. Go on, get."

Arthur watched them go before moving over to his cot. He took off his gun-belt and satchel, even his hat. He sat on his bed and rubbed his face with a groan. He looked over the camp. He was sure his scuffle with Micah was the camp's main gossip right now. He didn't care.

Arthur lied down on his cot and went to sleep.

His sleep was afflicted with strange and familiar voices, but none of their words and pleas and demands made sense. He heard crying and screams, heard accusations of betrayal and mourning of unknown faces. A terrible cough echoed within the shadows of his dream, and Arthur felt the burn in his chest as he slept. He saw blurry images of blood on his hands, saw an old black and white photo of the gang ripped in half.

"Aside from my Jake…you're the best man I've known."

"When I was a kid out east, they said there were dragons in the west. Well…I guess we found them. Found them or made them or…became them."

"You saved my life more than once…to give mine for yours…it's as it should be."

"My whole life I tried to fight change. It's a waste…I see that now…"

"There is nothing to be afraid of, Mr. Morgan. Take a gamble that love exists…and do a loving act."

"There's a good man within you, Arthur. But he is wrestling with a giant. And the giant, wins, time and again."

"Ain't never gonna see my son grow up, ain't never gonna atone for my sins, ain't never nothin' but gonna get shot for 'em. I hope God can forgive me for what I done on this earth 'cause ain't much I'm proud of. And a whole lot I hope he's forgotten about."

Arthur was in a large boat of some kind. He looked out across the water, looking for any sign of land, but there was none. Looking down into the river, it was the darkest, murkiest waves he'd ever seen. So muddled, not even his reflection shone.

He awoke to someone lightly shaking him, his name coming off their lips in a gentle call. Arthur raised up, the fresh, confusing dreams swirling in his head. He rubbed one eye, peering at Hosea as his father figure held out a bowl of steaming stew.

"I didn't want to wake you, but you need to eat," Hosea said.

Arthur gave a grateful nod, taking the bowl. "Thanks."

Hosea leaned on the table across from Arthur as he dug into the stew. It was dark now, and Arthur could hear Javier playing his guitar, singing in Spanish to others around the campfire. Nearby, Sean followed Karen with drunken mumbles as she cursed profanities with a bottle in her hand.

"You looked like you were having another bad dream. Although, not near as bad as the one this morning," Hosea informed.

"It's nothin'."

"You're full of shit."

Arthur muffled a laugh as he took another bite of delicious stew. "There's no pullin' the wool over your eyes, old man."

"Dutch and I practically raised you, Arthur. If I'm unable to tell if something's wrong with you, then I did a piss poor job."

"You got a point there."

"Talk to me, son. What's eating you?"

Arthur finished his bowl and sat it to the side. He kept his head lowered, not sure of what to say. He sighed in frustration. "I…I don't know. The nightmare this mornin', it was the worst feelin' I ever felt in my life, and I don't even know why…or what it was. I think…I think everyone was dead…or dyin'. That the gang was…torn apart."

Hosea moved over and sat beside Arthur on the cot, propping his arms on his thighs, slightly bent forward as Arthur was.

"You're worried about the future, sounds like," he said.

Arthur shrugged. "I guess."

"That ill-fated ferry job…I feel…well, sometimes I feel it will be the beginning of the end for us all."

Arthur swallowed. "Yeah, me too."

"But…we've been through tough times like this before. We just have to stick together and be smart. It will blow over. Don't let it eat at you, Arthur. We'll make it."

Hosea was more often a realist over an optimist, but Arthur felt his father-figure was trying to comfort him more than anything, and he was moved by that.

"I wish I had acquired wisdom at less of a price."

"Thanks, Hosea."

Hosea touched his back. "Get some rest."

He rose to his feet. Arthur looked up at him, his heart felt more at ease now, but a sudden thought crossed his mind.

"Hosea."

"Yeah?"

"The King will always lose his way if he loses his Compass. Don't let him seek solace with the Viper, for it will unleash the darkness that lurks within his heart."

Arthur gauged Hosea's expression, saw confusion fall over him. "You know what it means? Is it from a book or something?"

"Not that I've ever read. Where did you hear it?"

Arthur knew if he told Hosea or anyone else about the well-dressed stranger that they would think he had gone completely insane. Which was probably true. He weakly waved him off. "It's nothin'. Forget 'bout it."

"Sounds like a riddle of some sorts."

Arthur silently nodded. He assumed as much, considering the man who first spoke them. He just didn't know what the words meant. He would have to figure it out on his own.

"Get some rest, Arthur."

Arthur watched as Hosea walked away. With a tired sigh, Arthur laid down once more. His stomach churned with apprehension and he prayed he wasn't plagued by more confusing dreams.

When dawn broke, Arthur rode out to do some hunting and clear his head. His normal hunting grounds had been down by the Dakota River, but now Arthur wanted to avoid it altogether. He chose a new area instead, east into the plains and ragged buttes where the bison roamed.

He didn't see much wildlife in the dim morning light, the temperatures just sharp enough to bite skin and give a chill. He avoided the buffalo, remembering the recent hunt he had with Charles with the buffalo poachers.

Arthur started to think he wouldn't have much luck in hunting out here, but he didn't want to return to camp just yet. While letting Ace graze on the green grass of plains, Arthur perched himself on a rocky outcrop overlooking the Heartlands. He wrote in his journal. His thoughts mostly, but he also tried to remember every detail of the dream he had, and the voices he heard. Most of the voices he knew, but a couple were unknown to him, although their words were just as impacting as the familiar ones.

He doodled afterwards. The pencil scratched dark lines on a fresh page, forming shapes…symbols. He studied them. He drew a crown, a rattler poised to strike, and a compass.

The more Arthur stared at the drawings, the more his head hurt. They burned into his eyes, his hearing ringing, faint voices and cries and gunshots filling his head, until the caws of retreating crows in the sky snapped him back to reality.

Slapping the journal shut, Arthur got to his feet and dusted himself off. He walked over to Ace and mounted the steed, kicking the horse into a gallop to return to camp.

He lost track of time. It was mid-morning now. And he returned to camp without any food.

When he arrived, he hitched his horse and dismounted. He immediately took notice of all the activity within camp, activity that normally didn't stir until afternoon. Arthur scratched the light scruff on his chin, looking around. Were they packing?

While heading for Dutch's tent, he nearly barreled into Sadie, who carried a saddle.

"Oh, sorry Mrs. Adler, I-"

He trailed off when he caught her eyes. There was still so much sorrow there, but Arthur saw the burning of…something else. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it stirred something within him.

"They turned me into a monster, Arthur…"

Just like the sudden, overcoming emotions that hit him with John yesterday, Arthur felt just the same right here suddenly. He felt he needed to hug her. He barely knew the woman, but could feel…knew this deep respect and some sort of affection that he held in his heart.

In the weeks since they've saved her, Sadie had slowly integrated into the group. She didn't cry as much, but she still mourned her husband fiercely. She was more brazen, hardened, with a fire in her eyes that Arthur suddenly understood on a much deeper level.

"What?" Sadie asked.

Arthur stuttered. "U-Uh, s-sorry, Sadie. Excuse me."

As he slipped by, he realized he used her first name that time. He had never done that before. As he neared Dutch's tent, he heard Hosea's voice, slightly raised and tense.

"So…we just keep heading east. Is that the plan?"

"For now," Dutch said.

Arthur came around, the flap open, his father figures sitting across from each other. Dutch had a large map spread out, looking it over. Hosea barely acknowledged Arthur, and appeared to be lacking a good morning coffee.

"And when do we stop? When we reach Paris?" he grumbled.

Like instinct, Dutch reacted with a quip. "Oh, that'd be nice, join the Commune? We stop when we find someplace sensible, shake them that's following us and lie low."

Arthur looked between them. "So, we movin'?"

Dutch barely nodded. "Yeah."

Hosea gestured around them. "And this is lying low? Turned into a bunch of killers, I mean it. We ain't even got the delusion of being anything but a bunch of killers."

Dutch's patience started to wear thin. "We are just tryin' to survive, Hosea…we don't have a choice. This'll end soon."

Hosea got up out of his chair and pointed at Dutch. "Damn right, it will!"

He left the tent behind, leaving Arthur feeling like a child stuck in-between the argument of his parents. He turned to Dutch, seeing his mentor slightly shake his head as another joke found its way to his lips.

"Constipated as usual."

Arthur joined him at the map, curious to see what was up. There were a few areas marked already, probably all recently debated on which would be their next settlement.

"I had a talk with Micah last night…bout his behavior," Dutch said. "And well, he told me of a spot we can lie low. Look here." He pointed to a place to the south of the map. "Dewberry Creek, he said."

Arthur didn't like the idea, or the person behind it, and sighed. "Okay…"

"Maybe you and Charles can go take a look? Clear off anyone you find before the whole lot of us move in looking so conspicuous."

"And how we gonna do that?"

Arthur knew the joke before his father figure even said it. "I don't know. Start dancing?"

Arthur clenched his jaw, backing out of the tent. "Looks like I've turned into the goddamn errand boy."

Dutch rose and followed him out. "You have turned into my son! You worry, because I worry. We are just the same!"

That conversation felt eerily familiar, but Arthur cast it aside. He found Charles Smith nearby helping pack up some of the camp's supplies.

"Hey Charles, come on. I need you for something."

The burly half-Native American, half-black man stopped what he was doing and came over to Arthur.

He gave a curious look, but didn't question Arthur. "Okay, sure."

Charles was reliable, collected, and always ready to take action. There were few men that Arthur knew who would have his back no matter what, and Charles was one of them. He respected the man, not just for his prowess, but for his loyalty and friendship. Arthur was always happy to ride with him.

"You're lucky. You got the chance to…to do something better…"

Charles picked up his weapons nearby and they walked to their horses. They mounted up after checking their horses over and making sure they had everything they needed. Arthur led the way. Dewberry Creek was to the southeast, over the state line into the state of Lemoyne.

"So, where are we going?" Charles asked as he moved Taima up beside Ace.

"Find a new spot to camp. After that mess back in Valentine…we have to. S'pose to check out an area called Dewberry Creek."

Charles sounded surprised. "That's south."

"Is that a problem?"

"No, not that. It's just…I've only known Dutch for a few months, but…the way he talks, I never thought I'd see him wanting to head south."

"You ain't the only one," Arthur admitted. "To be honest…every bone in my body's tellin' me not to go south. Like we'll be walkin' into a land of monsters and curses."

"From what I heard…probably."

Arthur chuckled. At least someone agreed with him. Just like the familiar chat with Dutch earlier, this ride seemed familiar. And the farther they rode south, the more his gut twisted. He fleetingly thought back to the well-dressed Stranger, and his words.

"It's yet to happen, and yet, you've already experienced it."

Arthur shook the Stranger's lucid, articulate voice from his head after Charles called his name.

"Huh?"

Charles dark eyes studied him as they cantered along the prairie trails. "You alright? You haven't been yourself for a couple of days."

"I'm fine."

Charles wasn't fooled. Arthur wasn't surprised by it either.

"It's not my place to pry. I'm just…concerned."

Arthur weakly laughed. "Have I become the camp gossip with my bad dream and goin' off on Micah?"

"He had it coming. Besides…I think most folks are just worried about you just the same."

"Nah."

Charles slightly shook his head. "Whatever you say. Just remember that I will help you with whatever I am able to."

"I appreciate that, Charles. For now, let's just see what we can find for a new camp. Folks are countin' on us."

"Understood."

https://ko-fi.com/G2G3OQ4J

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13171236/1/Blessed-are-the-Peacekeepers

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #john marston #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #sadie adler #micah bell #red dead redemption 2 spoilers #fanfiction #fanfic

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elfnerdherder · 7 years

Text

Where the Wicked Walk: Ch. 10

You can read Chapter 10 on Ao3 Here

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Chapter 10: Berenice

Three Years Before:

She was a lovely sort, from the tip of her head down to her feet. On the rare occasion that Hannibal had correspondence with her, her letters were always well-written, to the point, and articulate. Molly Foster wasn’t the sort to mince words, let alone waste time.

In person, she was even more charming, even as he wanted to rip her throat out with his teeth. He wondered if he’d taste Will’s kisses on her skin as he did it.

“I wonder at him ending your relationship once again,” Hannibal said, studying her. “I’d rather thought the two of you were getting along nicely.”

“He’s a commitment-phobe, Hannibal,” Molly said, flipping her hair over one shoulder. “If I get too close, he backs away. When you crowd Will Graham, he shuts down. You have to make him come to you.”

“He shuts down?”

“It’s a defense mechanism that I’ve noticed. He’ll share some things, but you can’t pry. I think he’s afraid to commit because he honestly believes that he’s on borrowed time.”

“Borrowed time,” Hannibal murmured, and he licked his lips. “Is he drinking again?”

“Definitely.”

“What was the catalyst?”

“I’ll need to figure that out,” she admitted. “It was bad enough he spent the weekend puking everything up before going right back out again. I went back to the apartment to make sure he was alright on Friday night, and whatever set him off, it was…bad. It’s a bad bender.”

“Bad,” Hannibal repeated, and he tasted the scent of her perfume and her unease. A disquieted smell that muddled the air, turned it fetid and foul. “You wouldn’t give me this detail if it was not important.”

“You’d wondered before if he still thought of you. You asked if he ever mentioned you.”

Hannibal felt a thrum of interest at her tone, and he leaned in. “Naturally.”

“I put him to bed when he got most of it up, and I told him that he was being reckless with his life, constantly doing this. One of these days, he wasn’t going to have someone nearby to help him in his drunken stupors. No one deserved to have to bury his body.”

“The guilt of implying people need him alive rather than dead because of the extra work it’d be,” Hannibal agreed.

Molly licked her lips, pressed them together tight. The color fled them, left the edges pale and wrinkled with the effort. “He laughed then, and he said, ‘Don’t worry, Molly…I’m already dead.’”

“I’m already dead,” Hannibal murmured. His skin, thin and stretched over his bones, felt too tight, and the breath left him.

Molly nodded, shifted in her seat. “He looked…unwell. Like he wasn’t there. When I asked what he meant by that, he’d already passed out. I wondered if he was thinking of you.”

“I’m already dead,” Hannibal repeated, and the words rang, resonated deep within him as the doors of his mind palace fell away, left him with the memory of Will Graham staring at him in the courtroom, pulse fluttering in his neck, too fast for comfort. They’d only exchanged words once in the courtroom, in the midst of witnesses and forensics and verdicts. Hannibal could imagine Will’s pulse, heavy and full of life, thudding so hard he could feel it against his teeth as he smiled, stared into the eyes of the only person in this world that could move him and somehow not be moved in turn.

“I’ll give him his space because he was convinced that I deserve better than him, but I’m genuinely concerned, Hannibal. I don’t know if it’s a simple depressive episode, or if there’s more to it than that, but he’s not well.”

“Molly, have you forgotten the date?” Hannibal asked lightly.

“No?” Her brow wrinkled in confusion.

“It’s a commonplace date, all things considered, but for him it holds a special place. It’s the anniversary of his father’s death.”

“…I see.” Realization made the wrinkles of worry smooth away, falling to a twist of pity and remorse. She’d have done more if she knew that, tried harder to break through walls that he lifted between himself and the world.

That was why, ultimately, she was no good for him, though. Hannibal was. Hannibal knew Will Graham better than Will Graham knew Will Graham. While she stepped away when he built his walls, Hannibal knew the cracks in the foundation to help Will lower them instead. She was a proxy, a stand-in until he could break past the walls that contained him. She would have to do, for the moment.

“He held his father in his arms as he died from cancer,” Hannibal explained lightly. Kindly. “In his death, he took some aspect of his son with him.”

“I’m already dead,” Molly repeated with better understanding. She nodded. “Thank you, Hannibal.”

Hannibal dipped his head in acceptance, a small, thin smile about his lips.

He thought about it, though, for long after. Long after she’d left, her perfume light enough to tease but not stifle, long enough for him to be deposited back to his cell where the corner light flickered pathetically, long enough that Multiple Miggs had already masturbated and fallen asleep in a corner, and long enough that the lights in the hall had been turned off, Hannibal thought of those words, of a desolate and broken Will Graham saying them as he curled around a trash can desperately.

I’m already dead.

He thought of Will Graham walking by him in order to take a seat behind the partitions, having done his part in giving his testimony. Hannibal’s memory gave him every detail, from the sweat dotting his temples to the twitches of his fingers at the probing attention. Will never enjoyed close attention, let alone from so many at once. He could smell his sweat, a horrid combination with the cologne he’d worn throughout the entire trial. He could still smell it, something putrid that tickled his nose and tightened his throat. It reeked like something with a ship on the bottle. Cheap, encased in plastic, and set in the back of a medicine cabinet for far too long.

I’m already dead.

His eyes had said that, as he looked at Hannibal, truly, honestly looked at him. As much as Hannibal could see every detail of his starched shirt, his new slacks, and his scuffed shoes, Will Graham saw Hannibal, too. Will saw him, saw the hunger in his eyes, saw the calm, detached manner in which he sat. He’d swallowed so hard his adam’s apple bobbed painfully along his five o’clock shadow, and he ducked his head. In speaking against Hannibal, he knew that he was dead.

“On borrowed time, Will?” Hannibal had asked kindly.

“I advise you not to speak,” the DA urged.

Will looked away from him, and he pushed the partition open, fingers stuttering across the solid, wooden frame before they gripped firmly. Resolutely.

“Oh, yes,” he said absently, like remembering something last minute at the grocery store that he needed to buy. “In reality…I’m already dead,” he added, and he took his seat behind the prosecutor’s bench, utterly and impossibly alone save for the beating of his frantic heart.

Will woke with two blue eyes on day seven.

He marked them triumphantly, a small, savage smile at his mouth at the sight. Even when Matthew Brown unlocked the door and stood poised in it, a slight curl to his lip that had no real purpose other than to look intimidating, it didn’t quite reach Will the way it was likely intended. He wondered if Matthew had spoken to Hannibal Lecter yet of Will’s early morning ‘walk’.

In the kitchen, a plate was made ready for him, pancakes with peach slices and a glaze. Bacon sat on a separate plate next to it, as well as what looked like fresh orange juice.

“Dining alone?” he asked Matthew.

“Everyone is busy at the moment,” Matthew explained. “Although Dr. Lecter wanted to ensure that you had a proper meal.”

“That’s…considerate of him.”

Will ate everything except for the bacon.

He then wandered the house, time an odd sort of thing that didn’t quite sit right. He passed a grandfather clock in the foyer, marked the passage of the secondhand and felt distinctly separate from it. Time may have moved, but he didn’t.

Truth be told, he hadn’t really left the space that he’d stood in while Nate bled to death.

The sole comfort, as small as it may be, was that he could reasonably assume that Nate had deserved it. If he’d tangled with the FBI, he deserved what happened to him. If he was anything like Francis Dolarhyde, he most certainly, unequivocally deserved what happened to him.

That didn’t clean the blood off of his hands, though. It didn’t stop him from dwelling on other nasty, ugly things that liked to crawl deep into his ear to rot.

He paused in the doorway of a parlor at the sound of voices and stared into a room full of people. Followers. Cultists. The word sounded funny in his head, grave depictions of men in robes with curved knives. Usually there was a virgin running around in the trope, and they were generally the captive –captive he may be, but virgin he wasn’t.

These people, for all their odd stares and touching, appeared relatively normal. No robes. No curved knives. If anything, it looked like a book club was meeting, one person standing and gesturing aimlessly while others nodded along, hands grasping at leather bound works.

“You know it,” the speaker said, smiling. “You know it as you live and breathe, as you sit here and look at me; death is just another part of the journey. All of you that have taken a life –those that have felt changed, moved –you know the reality of what we do. What we’ve done.”

Heads nodded, bobbed along. Far too many heads nodded. Far too many killers.

“We know how life is nothing more than light and sound and sensations. Their loss fueling our radiance, our growth and beauty as we become more than what we are in those moments.”

“In those final seconds…I’ve always felt a little bit like god,” someone chimed in, and the main speaker laughed.

“Yes, yes! We are made powerful through them. They give us a precious gift, that they first were seen, and in being seen, Became.”

A squeaky floorboard betrayed him, interrupting the discussion. Heads turned back to survey him, and Will froze next to the entryway, swallowing heavily when multiple eyes rested upon him. He was pinned by their scrutiny, more so when they recognized him than anything else. Expressions of confusion and annoyance gave way to utmost delight.

“Mr. Graham,” the speaker said, pleased. “Please, come in.”

“…I don’t…” want to, he finished silently. He licked his lips, tried again. “…want to interrupt you. Please continue.”

“No, no,” the man urged, and he made his way through the onlookers in order to coax him further into the room. More from a desire not to be touched than anything else, Will reluctantly followed. “With your education, your knowledge…please, share your insights.”

He reached the front of the room and turned, balking under the stare of shining, fervent eyes. Too many stares, like a toy shop with the marble-eyed dolls placed right at the entrance.

“…Uhm…” he swung his arms by his sides, shifted his weight. At least fifteen people sat and stared with naked hope –that was probably the most frightening thing about it, in truth. They were waiting for him to say something. To be something. “…You’d…said that people are nothing more than light and sound.”

“Yes,” the speaker agreed.

“Quick noises, first started and ended because you decided that it should.”

“In those brief moments where we can see their life and death, coinciding in that final moment of something beautiful,” he added with a smile. “Is that not lovely, Mr. Graham?”

“…No.”

He wasn’t surprised at the shock that rippled through the water, soft breaths and even softer murmurs.

“I beg your pardon?” the man asked.

“It’s the ugliest thing in the world,” Will added, glancing to him. “You make it very poetic and artistic because that somehow softens its reality, but killing is…disgusting. That moment where life and death coincides is a revolting and intimate thing to witness.”

“You…you saved Agent Crawford. Surely you saw that moment then?” a woman asked, raising her hand. It was a half-raise, the sort made when they’re not quite sure if they even want to speak. Emboldened by their confusion, Will snorted.

“I did.”

“Did it not invigorate you?”

“No.” He sighed, rubbed his mouth to remove a barely formed curse from his lips. “He said…light and sound, sensations fueling your radiance. What a load of shit.”

“Excuse me?” The speaker’s cheeks darkened.

“Tell me… everyone, be honest, raise your hand if you’ve actually murdered someone,” Will said, ignoring him. “Don’t…don’t lie.”

He was just barely mollified when only three people raised their hands in the room. Just three out of fifteen or so. Not bad, all things considered. Still pretty bad, though.

“Depending on how you did it, surely you realize it’s not all poetry and aesthetics, right?” At their stupefied expressions, he sighed. “It’s…heavy. Dirty. Messy. Slack mouths, a person at their most vulnerable, and you made them vulnerable. You made them that way.” He scoffed, glancing to the speaker again. “Air and light and sound…yeah, it’s not…like that. It’s more…a breath you cut short. Wasted. That’s what death is when you choose to administer it the way he’s preaching. It’s a waste.”

“Dr. Graham, I don’t think-”

“No, you wanted to know, didn’t you?” he asked. “You wanted my insight, and there it is. Your leader took Jack Crawford’s life in his hands, and he tried to waste it. He lived, though, and that’s life and death. You either live or you die, and no one here has the authority to decide who gets to live and who dies. None of us have that authority.”

The room sat in silence, disquieted by his admission, somehow still keen on his words. Their quiet emboldened him, made him feel just strong enough to drive the point home.

“Your friend just died,” he said, looking over all of them. As many mismatched eyes as matching eyes. “Nate? I held him up as he died. There was no poetry in that. Shot from a shotgun shell fell out of his stomach when we were lowering him onto the medic table. It was dirty.”

“He had a soulmate,” one of them protested. “You can’t just…refer to him…like that.”

“He had a soulmate,” Will sneered. “I guess that’s a huge focus for you people, right? Because of your leader?”

“Dr. Lecter has a half-connection to you,” one of them agreed.

“He will bridge the gap so that you can connect back,” another chimed in.

Will’s lip curled, and his gaze looked over the crowd, surprised to see Hannibal watching him just at the doorway to the room. “…What a load of shit,” he murmured.

“You’re a soulmate psychiatrist. Do you truly find no value in their existence?” the speaker asked.

Will stared directly into Hannibal’s eyes as he replied, “I think that I’d rather end my own light and sound and color than deal with the overwhelming disappointment of a soulmate.”

After a pained, taut silence, Hannibal smiled.

“Dr. Lecter said that you understood us,” the speaker stated, appalled.

“I don’t.”

“But he will,” Lecter interjected, still smiling. “That…is simply something we’ll have to show him. How our lights and sounds and colors can blend to something truly beautiful.”

Will didn’t wait to be beckoned. He waded through the onlookers and made his way to the exit, ignoring the sensation of what it must feel like to have someone walk over your grave.

Hannibal followed him out.

His office was the same as before, apart from a small tray of lunch foods set out for them. Will picked at a sandwich, his back to Lecter. It must have been lunch time.

“Did you enjoy riling them up?” Lecter wondered. Thankfully, he didn’t sound angry at the idea of it; merely curious.

“…They love the idea of what you do. In application, they’d find it messy.” He thought of how the blood felt, drying within the cracks of his skin. “Sticky,” he added.

“Most of them, yes,” Lecter agreed. His voice came closer, crawled along Will’s shoulder as he paused just behind him. “A lot of the people that came to me are, in truth, nothing more than lonely hearts; those left in the wake of despair or delusions, seeking comfort and stability. Quiet places like this are a haven for them.”

“They were easily manipulated.”

“Easily convinced that this is a safe place for them,” he corrected. His arm snaked around Will to grab the other plate where a sandwich waited. “It’s not so nefarious as you make it sound.”

A weird sound gurgled in Will’s throat, a mix between a laugh and a sob. When Hannibal withdrew from him, Will made his way to one of the chairs near the fireplace and sunk into it. He considered the meat on the sandwich, thin slices of white with Cajun seasoning.

“It’s chicken from a specialty deli,” Lecter said, sitting down in the chair across from him. He watched Will with an inscrutable expression, his plate perched precariously on his knee.

“You must hate that I’m making you take lunch here rather than set up at a table with twelve courses,” Will said, inspecting the meat with extreme prejudice. It looked like chicken.

“I can be flexible,” Hannibal assured him.

Hannibal could be flexible. The meat tasted like chicken when he took a bite. Human meat hadn’t tasted like chicken when he’d first had the horrific experience of dining upon it, and he took that as a sign that this came from a deli rather than someone’s ribcage.

It still made him uncomfortable, though. If he managed to live through this, Will would probably consider some form of vegetarianism. Maybe fish. Maybe not.

“Nate didn’t survive,” Hannibal said as Will took small, suspicious bites of his sandwich.

“I know.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“I’m more than happy to discuss it. I know that death is…a delicate topic for you.”

He took a larger bite of the sandwich, far hungrier than he wanted to admit. He’d forgotten to eat the day before. “…I didn’t know him,” he said, swallowing it down. “And what I do know of him corresponds to this house and everyone in it. He didn’t exactly have a glowing reference for me.”

“You still held him in some of his final moments.”

“…I did,” Will agreed. Reluctantly.

“Did it remind you of Agent Crawford?”

“I walked into your office for therapy and found an FBI agent bleeding out on the floor, Dr. Lecter,” Will said, fingers digging into the soft bread. He wasn’t sure how many times he’d have to say it, but saying it made it real, resurfacing from the deep dark waters of his mind where he sent sordid thoughts to drown. “He was investigating you for the murders of several people, and you stabbed him. I find no correlation between him, a servant of the law, and the guy that stumbled out of a car from a wound that was likely given to him by a servant of the law.”

“For hours after, though, you stared at your hands, clean but somehow still stained, and made the associations against your will,” Lecter replied calmly.

Will jerked back, stung.

“You’re wrong,” he managed.

“You can pretend all you like that I don’t know you, Will Graham, but I do. For two years you came to me and opened your mind, laying out each piece so that I could examine it, to better understand it. You asked me to build you walls because you didn’t know how to, and you asked me what it was like to be able to compartmentalize your feelings and associations the way that others could. The way that I could. You wanted to know what it was like to be ‘normal.’”

“I shouldn’t have asked you,” Will ground out savagely. “Seeing as how you’re not normal in the least.”

“No, but for once in your life, someone understood. You claim that you don’t make the associations between Nate and Agent Crawford, but it is a lie, and a poor one at that. You stared down at the blood on your hands, and you wondered if you’d always feel that pull, that drive that whispers that maybe one day you will be the one to cause such violence. You wonder when the blood will flow because you willed it, rather than you having to catch it in the aftermath. Then, a quiet part of you said, ‘this is somehow your fault, anyway. If you hadn’t caused a half-connection to Dr. Lecter, none of this would have happened.’”

Lecter had a way of speaking that was almost drug-inducing. His tone, the rhythm and melody of it, had a lulling effect, and Will found himself setting the sandwich down as he stared, enraptured. He swallowed a lump of barely chewed food down his throat, and he coughed.

“…Let’s…say that you’re right,” he said slowly.

“Alright,” Dr. Lecter replied with an encouraging nod.

“It doesn’t matter. Even if I…feel the same, think of them as the same, see myself in their weakest moments, their…balancing act, it doesn’t matter. Even if I can see myself as the one to pull the trigger, the one to take a knife to skin, that’s not reality.”

“In the nightmares you dream while awake, though, it is your reality. That is why you fight it so much. That is why you, for all of your degrees and education and capabilities, are a person that is driven purely by fear.”

“Fear.”

“When you’re afraid, you’re rude,” he explained lightly. “Most others entertain a fight or flight response in aggressive situations, but due to your fear of losing yourself within the minds of the people around you, there is an almost constant companion at your side named fear. That is what motivates you, what creates your reactions.”

“His name was Winston, actually, and your thug left him behind,” Will retorted. “Kind of relieved, seeing as I was brought here instead of a safe house.”

“I did maintain that animal therapy was an excellent idea,” Lecter replied. “I’m glad you took my advice.”

Will busied himself with his sandwich, picking over the pieces of it that he didn’t want. The pickles he set to the side, along with the spinach leaves and tomato. He stared at the dressing that’d been drizzled over the meat, and as it oozed over the sides of the bread, he imagined the bloodstains on his shirt from Nate. From Jack.

“His death was inevitable,” he said after a long, stunted silence. “I could see it, even as I couldn’t fix it.”

“It reminded you more of your father, then,” Lecter observed. “Helpless as you were.”

“The medicine made him vomit,” he murmured to the sandwich. “And I caught it in my hands. Called the hospital, but he was already gone. I called anyway, just in case.”

“You helped Nate to our small infirmary, just in case.”

“I didn’t hear screaming,” he said, glancing up. Lecter’s sandwich sat forgotten on the end table near his chair, focused as he was in watching Will decimate his own meal with plucking, nervous fingers. “His soulmate wasn’t here.”

“Alyss has unfortunately been detained by the illustrious FBI,” Lecter informed him. “Therefore the pleasure of her grief was given to Jack Crawford, not us.”

Will knew he should feel some sort of glee in that, Jack managing to get his hands on one of them. He thought of the pain, though, and how horrifying it’d be to hear the screams of someone that thought they were dying. The severance. The shock. He wondered if she’d torn at her own skin to try to pry the hurt out.

“His wife has cancer,” Will said, then instantly regretted it.

“Then Agent Crawford likely witnessed Alyss’ pain and knew that one day he’d share it, should Mrs. Crawford not survive.”

“…Yeah.” He took another bite of food to have something better to do with his mouth than talk.

“Your welcome here was sporadic, I know,” Lecter said as Will tried to focus on his food. “You haven’t properly met these people as a whole entity. They’re all really quite kind.”

“Yeah, well, the first time I met them, they all started grabbing at me and Agent Dolarhyde had to get them to stop touching me,” Will said around a mouthful of food. “Second time, they were in a book club meeting talking about lights and colors and sounds. I’m not exactly impressed.”

“’Slack mouths, a person at their most vulnerable, and you made them vulnerable. You made them that way. Air and light and sound…it’s not like that. It’s more a breath you cut short. Wasted. That’s what death is when you choose to administer it the way he’s preaching. It’s a waste,’” Lecter quoted quietly. “That is what you told them.”

“It’s true,” Will said curtly.

“I find it poetic, in its own way. You chastised him for speaking of death beautifully, but you did the same in your own rendition of loss and life.”

“There’s nothing poetic about deciding that you get to be god,” Will snapped.

“It reveals far more about you than you realize, though, Will,” Lecter replied. He stood and walked over to the small lunch tray, picking up a wine glass and taking a sip. “How would you administer death? Would you be wasteful with your choices, or would your choice in who lives or dies carry far more weight because you’d take the time in choosing?”

“I don’t take on that responsibility. I’m not god; I’m a human being.”

“You’ve thought about it, though,” Lecter chastised lightly. He sauntered over to Will, staring at him as he set his glass on the mantle. “Your adamant and passionate response tells me you’ve dwelled on the thoughts before, enough to make you defensive of them. Enough that once again it is your fear speaking for you.”

Will had no answer to that. He wasn’t quite sure he could make the lie sound convincing if he did.

“How would you choose?” Lecter inquired when Will didn’t –couldn’t –speak. “How would you choose who to kill, if you could do so without repercussion?”

Will mulled the question over, even as he finished the sandwich, even as he was relieved of his plate. Even as Lecter coaxed him to his feet so that he could stare into his eyes, mismatched and ugly and clever, Will thought on the question, dangerous as it was.

Enticing as it was.

“I’d probably start with you,” he said, staring into Lecter’s appalling gaze. “If I was to kill anyone, I’d probably start with you.”

A lovely thanks to my patrons: Sylarana, Frosty Lee, Emily Elm, Heather Feather, Matilda, Starlit-Catastrophe, Duhaunt6, and Superlurk!

#LiaS scribbles #hannibal fanfic #soulmate au #hannibal soulmate au #Where the Wicked Walk #hannigram #slowburn hannigram #the following au #someone help will graham

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couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name · 7 years

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So....it was my friend’s 21st birthday party last night...

- I got there and Raychel was immediately like “Molly are you planning on drinking?” and I was like “Yes duh” and she, deep-voiced, goes “Good. You deserve it. You deserve the world and I deserve to see you get it”

- I forgot that I hate chocolate vodka and got a spiked milkshake at the restaurant

- People were just. screaming about anime. Everyone else in the place must have hated us

- “the asshole is my enemy and needs to be punished.”

- “So...my girlfriend like, bought chloroform?” “Have fun with that.”

- I literally forgot to get her a present whoops

- birthday girl, on her third drink: “Listen I know we’re going back to my house to drink after this but don’t worry!!! I’m not gonna get that drunk tonight, it won’t be bad”

- l m a o

- we get to her house, immediately start doing shots. I hadn’t touched anything yet bc there was a bottle of electric blue shit and I knew damn well that was going into my body but I was told to wait until people got back with sodas for mixers

- but this guy Patrick who I went all thru grade school with goes “Molly, you’re a real man”, hands me a bottle of whiskey and was like “I feel like my entire childhood was leading up to drinking whiskey with you” and honestly I couldn’t argue??? I felt that way too

- a wholesome experience I'm sure all of our old teachers would be so proud to see us finally bonding and getting along lmao

- Jacqui wanted some whiskey and we’re like “you had two margarita’s at the restaurant maybe not” but she didn’t listen and after she took a shot I had to hide the bottle from her to stop her from having any more lol

- Jacqui, drunk “Mollllly you’re my wiiiiife!”

- Raychel (bd girl) also drunk, across the room “But she’s my alpha husband what the fuck!!!!”

- I was not fucking looking when Raychel’s drink was mixed but it was like. Emerald fucking green. I know it had the sour apple shit vodka in it but idk what else. And then they added food dye and cake glitter so it turned into a galaxy drink holy shit

- Jacqui mixed the blue stuff with sprite and I took a sip and it tasted amazing??? So then I poured my own and I don’t know if I used too much alcohol or too much soda but it tasted like draino I literally had a brief Heather Chandler moment

- Kept drinking it but that’s besides the point

- Now, we need to talk about my alcohol tolerance. It’s high. It’s strong.

- So almost everyone else was drunk out of their asses and I’m sitting there like???? What the fuck???? I want to be intoxicated???? This is hell???? Like at this point I had to have had??? A total six or so shots of vodka and the whiskey and I was FINE and mad about that lmao

- That’s my thing it takes me forever to get drunk and then I get really drunk and blessedly never have hangovers so I can’t really complain I guess?

- But when this happens the logical next step is to drink more lmao Raychel started insisting I share her ridiculous drink with her

- That thing....tasted like everything Jesus died to save us from.

- Also I think I ended up drinking more of it than she did lmao

- Pocket full of sunshine started playing and half the room got turnt while the other half watched in confusion

- I kept trying to take selfies with Raychel and in ever one??? She looks inhumanely gorgeous???? And I look like a goblin???? What the fuck

- At this point I was finally getting drunk so Raychel gave me her phone going “you have my favorite face in the world take so many selfies for me!!!” and....bitch I did. I had that phone for about three hours, barely put it down, loved every single one of my angles for the first time in my life, and I honestly do not know how many selfies of me she’s going to find later lmao

- “I once made an art piece out of my pubic hair but like I lost it in someone’s apartment”

- Garrett, who’s apparently never drank before, whisper-yelling in horror “I took a lot of shots....On purpose!!!! ....I’m sorry,”

- He got very wasted very fast and then went upstairs to sleep lmao

- Raychel started crying telling me I was pretty and I was like “Thanks but you do this when you’re sober so I don’t believe you??” and then her friend who barely talks to me comes over and is like “Honey listen I’m the least drunk person her and you’re gorgeous” and it eventually spiraled into “Molly, CHRISTINA AGUILERA thinks she’s ugly. Lady GaGa- BRITTNEY SPEARS CLEARLY HAS SELF ESTEEM ISSUES EVEN THO SHES A FUCKING SEX ICON. So you’re- OH my God!!! Adam Lambert probably thinks he’s the ugliest fucker in the world!!!!! So you’re beautiful!!!!” and like honestly? Feeling good rn

- To counter this I spent like half the night telling Patrick’s shy and quiet girlfriend Maura that she was the prettiest person I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t leave this poor girl alone she was adorable omfg

- Raychel, the one who ‘wasn’t going to get that drunk’: *spinning wildly, holding 13 conversations at once, constantly yelling about the pubic bone and the vulva, crying about plastic babies in a glitter tube*

- UPDATE AS IM TYPING THIS: Raychel has announced that she found a total of 438 pictures and videos on her phone OH MY GOD @PAST ME

- And that’s only on her phone I got a lot on my phone too and other people had cameras out lord knows how many were taken

- So when I’m drunk I feel a little lightheaded but ultimately fine until I like move a limb and it’s like ‘holy shit my head isn’t connect to my body’ like. so fucking dizzy. At one point I stood and was like ‘who wants to bet I can’t walk to the bathroom’ and someone decided to walk me there lmao

- Someone made glitter bombs out of eggs and we threw them in the street while angrily screaming things like “I LOVE MY FAMILY!” and “WHY DOES EVERY ACTUALLY NICE GUY I MEET HAVE A SMALL DICK!”

- Raychel gave me a tiny ball of clay and I really treasured it but then it broke apart I was so sad

- “Burt Macklin is a fucking bitch!” “Don’t talk to the kitten that way he’s the prettiest cat I’ve ever seen!”

- Jacqui got a slice of cake and then remembered she cannot eat when she’s drunk so I ended up eating. just a lot of cake

- My Little Pony songs were playing on the tv???? I’m still not sure how that got started

- Screaming about Alaska Thunderfuck

- I bet Patrick he’d be the first to puke but he left and I think I threw up in the bathroom???? I’m not 100% positive I did but the fact that I have doubt means he wins unfortunately

- There was one guy there I don’t think I actually got his name but he gave me a great hug when he was leaving. You know when like a bird lands on you and you feel like you��re special and have been chosen???? That’s what the hug felt like lmao

- Someone pulled buffalo chicken dip out of thin air which is my weakness and she told me to have some but like. I put one dipped chip in my mouth and knew it was a mistake. I felt it in my stomach. I hadn’t even fucking swallowed yet it was literally just in my mouth and my body was like ‘bitch can you take a break and let me live!’ omfg

- Since Raychel finally dumped her boyfriend I had no qualms about telling her I didn’t like him and she asked why and I was like “he tried to mansplain Greek mythology to me and he wasn’t even right!!!” and for some reason that made at least five people loose it.

- At the stroke of midnight, Raychel, pointing to the crucifix in the living room. “JESUS....HE’S HERE. HE’S ALIVE.”

- At some point I apparently started drunk texting a few of my friend’s that weren’t there w h o o p s

- Me, trying to explain myself to them this morning “You know, that Easter wine just really gets to me”

- I was stuck in the ‘coming down’ stage for like a million years. Like, still clearly drunk but Not As Bad

- And I was trying to get better before I texted my mother for a ride so like. I spent so long chugging water. I literally don’t think I've ever had that much water in my entire life. Raychel’s father and sister kept getting it for me as I continuously told them they were life savers. But it barely helped omfg

- Was definitely still a little wobbly when I woke up for water at like 6:30 but all good now and the hangover skipped over my soul @my genetic makeup bless you

- Fun night though!!! But now I’m off to an Easter family party so...we’ll see how that goes lol

#molly mumbles #drinking cw #birthdays #lmao #true stories

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