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green-spear-of-causality · 5 years ago

Note

“You’re overthinking– I’m yours. That’s all I want to be.” and none other than Cu Chulainn

//Because I'm a really big dumbass, this is long overdue. @coldpalaceee, I'm sorry if this isn't as good as it deserves to be...I am loving these prompts, and I hope I haven't deterred you from requesting more! (...God I work slow - )

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I'm overreacting.

...Well, that wasn't new, was it? You had always been shy, and awkward, and clumsy, and just so many things you knew you weren't good at or lacked.

The fact that you knew you were overreacting made it ten times worse.

You stared at your boyfriend, the one and only Cú Chulainn, who was making small talk with the (pretty attractive) waiter as you both waited for your meals. You weren't at a fancy restaurant, no; your poor heart couldn't take the stifling formality that came with going to fancy places.

You tended to avoid them like the plague.

So, once you brought it up that you wanted to go somewhere with Cú that wasn't a fancy place, he patted your head and gave you a sun-filled grin that temporarily made your anxiety dissipate. He was always good with that, the comfort; it was like he knew exactly what to do when you clammed up or started to get lost in your own thoughts, resulting in you making more mistakes on whatever you were doing.

You both decided to go to an out-of-the-way cafe, the very same one where you two first met.

He had done so much for you already. Time and time again, he went out of his way to make you comfortable. You honestly wondered why he even wanted to hang around you, much less date you.

So, you presented the idea of this particular outing to him as a treat.

You were supposed to be the one making him feel good. You were supposed to be the one to make him feel comfortable.

He's been talking to this waiter for five minutes... Your gaze became downcast, eyes boring holes into the menu in front of you. You could hear the waiter laugh at a particular joke, one you recognized Cú telling you not even a week ago.

Despite the swirling unease in your stomach, you slightly smiled. Cú always had a tendency to tell other people stuff he learned with excitement that could affect even the most depressed person. He's like a puppy; it's...cute.

Not that you'd ever call him a puppy to his face.

" -ight, (Y/N)?"

"H-Huh?" Your gaze snapped back up to Cú, who was waiting for an answer. You scratched the back of your head, sheepish. "Sorry...what did you say?"

He gave you an odd look, repeating his question. "I said that this cafe is always a treat to go back to, right?"

You blinked, answering with a question of your own. "Was-...Was that supposed to be a pun?"

Now it was Cú's turn to blink, pondering for a fee moments. He then chuckled, the light sound making you smile as butterflies danced in your stomach. "I guess it was! I mean, the sweets here are incredible."

His eyes searched around the cafe, and your traitorous mind whispered that he was waiting for that extroverted waiter to come back, because unlike you they could keep a steady conversation with him without tripping over their own words like the failure they are -

"(Y/N)."

You returned your focus to Cú at his tone, a small frown on your face. The odd look was back on his face as crimson orbs scrutinized you. "What's wrong?"

You tensed. "Wh- ...Uh, nothing's wr- "

"Don't lie to me, (Y/N)." The intensity of his stare was still there, but now some exasperation was mixed into it. "You always occupy your hands with something when there's something on your mind."

Sure enough, you looked down to see that you were playing with the strings of your black hoodie. You had chosen dull colors so that you didn't stand out, while Cú wore a yellow sweatshirt and light blue jeans that you, admittedly, was better than the eye-damaging but endearing Hawaiian shirt he always had on hand; he stood out, and you blended in.

You wanted to scream. No! This was supposed to be the outing where you looked after Cú and coddled him, reassuring him with soft words and hand holding and so much more -

But you messed it up, like always, and he should honestly just dump your stupid ass already.

"O-Oi, I didn't mean to make you upset by that!" Cú had searched for a way to reassure you, since you looked tense enough to simply break at the slightest misstep. "It's just...I want to know what you're thinking, that's all. What's up?"

Your mind raced a mile a minute. Okay, you were definitely overreacting, but you couldn't stop yourself from spiralling further. Your mouth decided to betray you by blurting out, "Why are you even here?"

Ouch. You scrambled for a remedy, but it was too late. You watched a flicker of hurt cross his face before the confusion set in, and at this point you were mortified.

"I-I mean - !" You spoke frantically, frustrated with yourself. Why did you say it like that? Of course he got the wrong idea! Your hands balled into fists, pausing their motions.

Everything was falling apart, and it was because you couldn't muster up even a scrap of courage to tell him properly.

"I phrased that wrong. Oh god, I didn't - I didn't mean - "

"(Y/N)." You looked up. Cú gave an exasperated huff, but he was smiling. "Seriously, it's cool. I understand; just chill out for a sec, and tell me when you're ready."

"Why?!"

Your second outburst shocked him. He opened his mouth to continue, but you weren't waiting for a response; you figured hey, may as well drive the stake in further.

"Cú, you're so...vibrant. You're vibrant, understanding, way smarter than Gilgamesh gives you credit for, exuberant, witty, confident, encouraging, endearing, and just...so much more. Looking at you is like looking at a literal miniature sun, because you stand out and despite the odds being stacked against you, you somehow manage to find the silver lining in a bleak situation.

"Meanwhile, I'm...not nearly as amazing. I'm pretty forgettable in a sea of faces, I'm quiet, awkward, clumsy, I make at least seven mistakes each day, insecure, overbearing, bad with words, and I'm nowhere near as confident as you are. I usually bring the mood down, and I have low self-esteem."

Cú really looked like he wanted to say something, but was restraining himself. You continued, not seeming to notice his struggle.

"Seeing you talk to the waiter from before made me realize that I...I could never be as good as you. Well, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't know why you're dating me when there's other people like the waiter who could easily hold a conversation with you. There's so many wonderful people out there who would be better, and I always screw things up and cause you more trouble than you need since you always have so much on your plate already - "

"I chose you."

"Hah?" You stopped, gaze snapping back up to meet his. Cú's eyes were narrowed, his mouth a thin line as he glared.

You swallowed. Did...Did you just piss off the Cú Chulainn?

"I chose you." He repeated. "You, and no one else. Honestly, (Y/N), what am I going to do with you?"

You closed your mouth, a pained expression quickly making itself known on your face. Yet again, you made him comfort you instead of the other way around -

"Since you don't see what I do, I'm gonna have to pound it into that pretty little head of yours." Pink dusted across your cheeks as his irritated expression gave way to the grin you knew belonged to him and only him. It was sharp and wild, yet filled with so much glee and kindness that you slowly began to unwind your tightly balled hands.

"Yeah, you may be all of those things, but so what?"

"...Huh?" You peered at him, dumbfounded. Didn't...Didn't that just prove your point?

"Nope, it's my turn to talk." Cú held up a hand, and you vaguely registered your food being put in front of you and a "Have a nice day" in favor of listening to your boyfriend.

"If a human didn't have their flaws, then they wouldn't be human, now would they?" He continued. "Which, by the way, I find yours adorable. You're sarcastic and witty once you get enough confidence, mischievous, think more with your brain than rely on instinct, and you have such a big heart that there's no way a sane person could hate you.

"(Y/N), you look around and you see so much more than I think I could ever, and then the most breathtaking look gets into your eye as you appreciate what you're seeing. The best part is that it happens randomly; what I wouldn't look twice at, you take into your hands and go over it with a lot of care. You'd think that you were holding a baby bird with a broken wing from how you hold things. You have bursts of optimism that come and go, and when they do it's hard to even get mad at you.

"Most of all, (Y/N), you...ground me." He scratched his cheek lightly, looking over to the side.

You gaped. Was he...embarrassed? Each compliment had you sinking further in your chair, hands covering your beet red face.

"Yeah, you bring the mood down, but...not in the way you think. Ah, damnit, why is this so hard to say?! ...You're calming, and you help me not get too carried away with whatever the hell I'm doing. Imagining myself without you here is impossible at this point."

"Cú, just -...just stop, goddamnit," You groaned into your hands, wanting nothing more than to melt into a puddle and evaporate. "I-I get it, you love me. But...why the compliments?"

Cú rolled his eyes, leaning over to pry your hands away and giving you a quick but loving peck on your forehead. "Like I said, I had to beat it into your skull somehow. Don't you ever think that you're not worthy, or some dumb bullshit like that. Despite my flirting, I'm a loyal guy; I wouldn't leave you."

You stared at him. "Loyal...like how you were staring at that one couple's asses on the way here."

You didn't even realize that you didn't stutter through that entire sentence. Cú laughed at your retort, at least having some bit of shame to look sheepish. "What? When you see an ass that doesn't lie, you can't help but admire it."

"Cú!" You were laughing at this point too (since he was right - their asses were fine), but you still lightly punched his shoulder from across the table.

He grinned, a twinkle in his eyes. "There's the (Y/N) I know and love."

You spluttered. "Cú Chulainn, I swear if you say one more sappy thing - "

He reached over to hold your hand, making you pause. "Yeah, about earlier? You're overthinking - I'm yours. That's all I want to be."

This time, you were the one to lean over the table (and your untouched food) to kiss him.

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redfoxwritesstuff · 5 years ago

Text

Of Dust and Ashes (Chapter 15)

Happy Friday and Good Morning! Less than TWO WEEKS until I see Betrayal! At this time I do expect updates for the first week of December to run according to schedule. How have you all been? Good, I hope? Things have been stressful here. My husband’s been sick with Man Cold and has had to take time off work so I’m stressed about money. But it is what it is and tickets are bought so stress be damned, Kit is going to NYC.

Want to donate to the trip? Buy me a Kofi or check out @redfoxcrafts for some cool Christmas gifts you can buy!

Clint x ofc

Rating: M for series

Chapter warnings: None

Masterlist

Chapter 15: The New System

Morning had brought nothing but dark clouds, wind and more inky rain. It was a steady drizzle with cutting gusts. Clint woke first, his whole body stiffening as he took in his surroundings. It wasn’t the farmhouse, nor the shed. It was jarring, waking to find himself not where he expected. Still it was something he was growing accustomed to. It was hard not to, with how often he would wake from a half asleep daze, searching. It was the warm body clinging to his that actually rose his alarms.

She was smaller than Laura, was hard in places where Laura had been soft. Laura liked to sleep on her back. Deanna seemed to try to burrow her way into his shoulder and chest, seeking something from him in her sleep.

She wasn’t Laura. Guilt nibbled at his mind as he tightened his arm around her, nestling her closer. Part of him knew damn well that it wasn’t right. Laura had only been gone a month and a half. Part of him wondered if it mattered at all, Laura wouldn’t be coming back.

“Laura, forgive me.” Clint whispered, turning his head to breath in Deanna’s hair. The fruity smell of her shampoo was just a hint now. Guilt haunted him as he clung to her. That guilt wasn’t enough to drown out how comforting it was to have someone to hold.

He dozed as he held her. The rain pittered against the roof as he relaxed into the mattress. A smile tugged at his lips as her fingers flexed, running along his chest in her sleep. Pinned between her stomach and his side was the stuffed fox and plush blanket that meant so much to her.

Eventually, the need to pee drew him from the bed. He tried not to wake her as he slipped out from under her. Somehow, he had managed. Stretching his arms over his head, he gave his back a twist this way then that. The harsh sound of his back cracking filled the room, far louder than he had intended.

“What was that?” She mumbled, sitting up and rubbing sleep from her face.

“My back.” Clint admitted with a wince. “That kind of hurt too. Sorry, I tired not to wake you.”

“I don’t think backs should pop that loudly...”

“Probably not.” Clint laughed and so the morning started.

They took their time, enjoying breakfast and coffee. Once Clint was caffeinated, he went out to tend the travel garden. The weather had let up a bit from the night before but seemed to surge in waves.

It was late morning before they pulled out of the ally. It took over two hours to make their way fifty miles before they called it quits. The weather, though calmer than the day prior, was still fierce. It, combined with a scattering of cars and trucks abandoned or wrecked on the road slowed them down to a crawling pace. Clint drove carefully, but neither of them seemed to mind it.

Most of the day passed with idle chatter as each avoided topics they feared would upset the other. Soon they called it quits and parked for the night. Clint had cooked them dinner that night, dancing to music as she watched with amusement. Once they ate, they passed the time with movies. It was light and tense somehow at the same time. Evening gave way to night, though one could hardly tell a difference between the two with how heavy the cloud cover was.

“Is it weird that this feels too normal?” Deanna whispered as the credits began to play on the latest movie.

She leaned against him, tucked warmly into his side with her legs propped up on the side of the couch. The pain was much better today, likely due to how sedentary she had been all day.

“What? Waiting out a storm with movies and popcorn as the world goes to shit around us?” Clint ran his fingers through her brown waves.

“Yeah.” The movie played on, neither were all that invested but having it play offered a sense of normal. “Feels like we should always be doing…” Words failed her and her voice trailed off.

“Some big survival thing, all the time?” Clint offered and she smiled.

“Yeah.” A yawn ripped from her.

“I learned a long time ago how mundane survival is. It’s okay to enjoy it, while it lasts. It’s times like this that make the hard times easier.”

“Will we make it to your place tomorrow?” Deanna didn't look up at him as she asked the question.

“Probably. Unless the storm shifts enough to keep us in place, we should make it.”

“What are you going to do when we get there?” Strong fingers ran through her hair, soothing her.

“Not sure. Laundry, for one. Hook you up to the electricity. Give you a tour.”

“Are you sure you want me to stay there?” There it was, Clint thought, the real worry. “I mean, it was your home. Their home. Her home. I don’t want to intrude on that.”

“She’s not coming back.” The words tried to stick in his throat. “You can stay wherever you want, in my house or your house for as long as you want. You can use whatever. Make yourself at home.”

“Do you mean it?” She whispered. “As long as I want?”

“Yeah, Dee. I don’t really want to be alone so… yeah.”

“What if I don’t leave?”

“Than you don’t.” He answered simply.

They let the silence reclaim them as they both focused their attention back on the movie. That was as close to a serious conversation either had felt up for. It didn’t take long for Deanna to drift to sleep.

~~~~~<3

The weather was better today. Clint drove as they took turns nibbling on crackers smeared with a tuna spread. In the cup holders was bottles of orange soda, sweet and bright. The sky on the other hand, wasn’t all that bright or sweet.

Clouds still hung thick but now they were whiter. They could even see where the sun was fighting to shine through in places. The radio was an ever shifting sea of soft static as it scanned the channels. They had it on in case someone was broadcasting something of note.

“Clint?”

“Yeah? Wanna stop? We should be there in about twenty more minutes, maybe longer if the road is washed out but it should be fine.”

“What happened?” She asked the question she had been avoiding.

“What do you mean?” Clint knew exactly what she was asking but a man can hope.

“To everyone? To the animals? To the world?”

“Oh.” She picked at her fingers as he sat in silence. She was regretting asking the question until he spoke again. “What are they saying?”

“It’s not a lot that makes sense, to be honest.” She shrugged. “Some people said it was the rapture, that its the end of the world.”

“You could say that, I guess. Hell, it could be what the bible meant. Who am I to say?"

“As for actual news, I’ve heard it had to do with the attack on New York but I kinda figured that based on the timing. Something about aliens, again. I guess there was a battle somewhere in Africa against the aliens or whatever and they won. I’ve also heard that it happened in Russia, New York or China. Some also say Russia or China found a new alien weapon and did it somehow. But how it happened? I- Everyone’s just guessing.”

“It’s crazy. You know, ten years ago, I wouldn’t even believe what you just told me.”

“Yeah. It’s crazy.”

“It’s not all that off, really. I guess there are- were, rather- these magical stones. Only a few existed and the more you had, the more power you had. Gather them all and you’re unstoppable.”

“Gotta catch them all.” Her laugh was brittle but Clint joined her in it for a moment anyway.

“This guy- alien grape who called himself Thanos, managed to get them all.”

“Where were they?” She interrupted.

“All over the universe, apparently. I guess we had a few of them here on Earth.”

“What are the odds of that?” She mused. “I mean, a whole universe to spread them out in and having more than one here?”

“Right?” Clint laughed, keeping his eyes on the road. In a weird way, it felt good to laugh about something that had in reality torn the very foundation of his life apart. “We- They, really- I guess, tried to stop him from getting them.”

“Where were you?” She regretted asking as weight seemed to crash against his shoulders. “I’m sorry, never mind. Forget it-”

“I watched everything that went down in New York from home. But I trusted them to take care of it. I mean, I’m just a regular man with a neat bow when you boil it down. I figured if they needed me, they would call. But they didn’t and I was on house arrest. If I knew it was all going to go sideways, I would have went anyway but I thought they had it taken care of. I should have gone anyway.”

“No, you didn’t know.” Her soft hand wrapped around his forearm. “You didn’t know.”

“But I should have.” His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel.

“You trusted them. In putting you on house arrest they said they had it without you. In not calling you, they said they could handle it. It’s not your fault they were wrong.”

“Anyway,” He cleared his throat and pushed his shoulders down, though his knuckles remained white. “He came here to get the stones hidden here.”

“Where were they?” She asked, not really able to believe the story yet why couldn’t it be true? People were worshiping Thor and even Loki now that the Norse gods had made themselves known.

“Loki brought one here with his mind control stick, Tony had that one and put it in Vision. The other one was apparently guarded by a wizard.”

When she burst into what sounded more like hysterical giggles than anything sane, Clint looked over at her. They’d slowed, pulling onto the dirt road that would in twenty miles lead them to his home. “Are you okay?”

“A wizard?” She laughed more. “What is the world, an adventure quest story? Or game?”

“It seems like it, most days. Shit just keeps getting weirder and weirder for the last ten years.”

Silence stretched on for a bit, uneasy and heavy in the air before she spoke again. “All we can do is go on.”

“Yep.”

They sat in silence as the RV rocked as it climbed up the worn dirt road. It kicked up rocks and mud squished under the tires, leaving deep tracks behind them. The rain had almost stopped and for now was more like a mist clinging in the air. The droplets of water were far too small to hold the dusty and grime. It was the first inkling of a world where they water once again ran clear.

They passed though a fence, standing tall and imposing. It was automated and Deanna was honestly surprised when it simply opened.

“Camera.” Clint remarked. “Facial scans the driver and passengers. It knows me so opens.”

“Neat.”

“Hooked up to the Stark systems.”

The farmhouse was a brown splat on the ridge of a hill. Around the expansive property were hills and trees. It was all enclosed in a fence standing tall in the distance. The property was beyond impressive and with how large it seemed to be, Deanna had expected the house itself to be much bigger.

There was a barn style shed off to the side, doors open wide. Inside was an old tractor, hay and so many things Deanna couldn’t even begin to guess their use. Clint pulled the RV up the last small rise in the road before slipping it into the space between the house and barn. Stacked on the side of the porch was a pile of wood, waiting for someone to come along and finish chopping it.

“This is it.”

“It’s nice. I didn’t expect it to be so open.” Deanna wasn’t sure what to say, as Clint climbed out of the RV and rushed around to help her.

“Yeah. Got a lot of land here. I wanted to make sure no one could sneak up or watch us without going through the fence. Stark put in the security system and backup power when he was here last.” He was silent for a spell as he helped her find her feet.

She couldn’t walk, not really and while she managed almost within the RV, wide open spaces were a challenge for her. She hobbled and Clint wrapped his arm around her back, taking the weight off the still very painful ankle. With his large hand wrapped around her and gripping her side, he held his other hand out in front of her, offering it for stability. It wouldn’t do to help her and end up leaving her so unbalanced they both fell.

He could have easily picked her up and carried her. It would have been nothing for him. She know that, she had seen his muscles and had been carried by him on that first day. It was nice, that he didn’t do that.

Her hobbled steps were slow but Clint was patient with her. With great care, he helped her up the steps and into the house. Inside, he found her a wheeled office chair to roll around in, pushing herself with her good foot and holding onto the back to keep herself balanced.

~~~~~<3

The wheels rolled noisily on the floor. The dust was heavy and each wheel left distinct trails crisscrossing all over the floor. It was tense at first, being in his house surrounded by the pictures and memories of the happy family that had once lived here. Clint spun the chair she was kneeling on as he walked by. He was cleaning out the refrigerator and moving excess flour, sugar and rice from the RV and into his pantry.

He took clothes, towels and bed sheets out of the RV, load after load, though there wasn’t a whole lot in reality. After dropping the first load in what Deanna assumed was a laundry room in the back of the house, the sound of another set of wheels filled the house. He came back through the living room, this time riding his own wheeled office chair.

She chased him through the living room, laughter flowing out of both of them as he rolled back to the front door. When he brought another armful of bedding inside, he plopped it on the chair and rolled it through the house with Deanna on his heels. She navigated the chair over the bump between the two rooms- something Clint told her he had been intending to fix forever- and into the laundry room where she started loading the washer.

“I can do it.” Clint offered, unloading the bedding onto the ground.

“So can I.” She didn’t even look at him as she put in shirts and jeans. “Some of these are clean?”

“You mentioned that you’ve been washing them in the rivers.” Clint shrugged. “I figured with how gross the rain has been, I’d rewash everything to get it clean for you. Really clean.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Clint nudged her from where she stood, knee planted on the seat of the chair and shirt balled in her hands. “Now go relax, let me get to it Dee.”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I want to help. I’ve been sitting around just letting you do for me. I can at least sit here and load the washer, changed the clothes over without hurting my foot.”

“But you don’t have to. I don’t mind doing-”

“But I do. I’m not useless. Don’t make me be useless.”

It occurred to Clint that this was about so much more than doing the laundry. Reaching out to her, he rubbed her back in soft circles. This was a world that was all about what you could do. This new world, your value was dependent on what you could do. And right now, she couldn’t even walk.

“You know you’re not useless.” Clint offered.

“I am right now.” She snapped.

He pulled her wheeled perch away from the washer as she threw a shirt inside it, far harder than needed. “Hey. Okay.”

She was sniffling now as she tried to figure out a way to say what she was feeling. “I just… If it wasn’t for you doing everything for me, I’d be dead right now. You have no reason to do anything for me. You have no reason to keep taking care of me. You have no reason. Let me do something. Let me give you a reason to.”

Clint wrapped his arms around her, pulling her and her wheeled perch to him and held her tight. “You’ve fed me.” He offered. “What you don’t realize is being alone was killing me. It was driving me insane. While yeah, right now you can’t walk, you’ve given me a reason to do more than sit around being pissed off at the world.”

“That’s nothing.”

“It isn’t nothing. Don’t you get it? Until I found you, I woke up in a half mad grief induced daze and nearly every single night I’d go out looking for them. Because the decimation took out fifty percent of the living universe and how is it fair that I lost everyone. Half the time- I don’t even remember going out, looking and I’d wake up in the fucking town or standing in the fields without a shirt or shoes.” She sniffled, loud and ugly but he still smiled down at her. “When your foot is better, if you still want to be here you can clean and take care of the garden and hunt and build a castle if you want.”

“I want to do the laundry now, not later.” She whined before laughing in that brittle way he had come to realize was very much a sign that she was holding on by a thread. “I never thought I’d say that.”

Clint laughed and leaned forward. It felt completely natural as he brought his lips to hers in a quick soft kiss. He held her for a moment longer before saying, “I’ll bring the laundry in.” and leaving her in the laundry room.

As he walked through the house, the ghosts of his family looked on, judging him. He made a point to avoid looking at the family photos on the walls. Not once did he look the pictures of Laura in the eyes. As he walked by the fireplace he reached out and put a picture face down.

When night fell, the picture remained face down. Blocked from view of everyone was Clint, smiling wide and dressed in a neat black tuxedo. His arms had been around his smiling bride, dressed in a white gown that she had tried to talk herself out of getting because of the cost. She had about skinned him alive when he called the shop and gave his credit card information behind her back.

~~~~~<3

Tag List: @usedtobegoodfriend96, @0-0-0-0-0-0-0-7, @tnystrk-exe, @theoneanna, @alexakeyloveloki, @toozmanykids, @winterisakiller, @j-u-s-t-4, @missaphrodite23, @bambamwolf87, @nonsensicalobsessions, @tinchentitri, @xoxabs88xox, @queenoftheunderdark, @myoxisbroken, @wegingerangelica

#clint barton x original character #clint barton x oc #Clint Barton x Female Reader #clint barton x reader #clint x reader #clint barton fanfiction

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imaginepirates · 5 years ago

Text

Bird

This is my first time writing for Salazar. It's based off one of my imagines about how he doesn't scare you, even in his ghostly form. Also, I'm dearly sorry to anyone who speaks Spanish.

@fablelady @bonjour-frens @mozelym

@tesserphantom

~3450 words

~~~~~~~

The sun dipped below sea-level, leaving pink trails across the sky. You looked out over the white tiles of the roofs around you, trying to catch a glimpse of the water. A warm breeze wafted through the shutters of your room, bringing with it the sweet scents of flowers.

Your coastal town harboured less than a thousand souls. The village mostly had its trade in the fishing industry, but there were plenty of artists and musicians about. The coast was the perfect place for inspiration.

It was a romantic sort of a place, with pale colored houses and bright flora. You knew most of the people on your street, like the baker and the washerwomen. There was a small market with men and women who sold goods made by hand, but you only knew a few of them.

The town was still poor. If someone wanted enough money to raise a family, they needed to sail somewhere else. Whatever they could sell at other ports, they did.

That was how you and your father lived. He sailed off with a catch of fish and returned with money. It was good pay, but it left you alone.

Tonight was another night by yourself. You wandered down to the docks to check if he'd returned, but there was no sign of your father's boat. He wouldn't be back in the morning, either, you knew. You checked anyway. Every morning and every night. You knew that at some point, he would return, and you'd be there waiting. You always were.

In his absence, you cleaned the house and worked odd jobs. Some of the tasks you might have shared with your mother, but you didn't have one, so you worked alone. It didn't bother you much, but you noticed every pitying look. You didn't even have a sibling.

Most people had known your mother before she was taken. You lived in Cuba, which was owned by the Spanish. The British tried to claim Cuba for themselves on multiple occasions. Once, a soldier had taken your mother. He could have done anything to her. She never came back.

You hadn't known her, but the memory weighed on your father. He said you looked too much like her. He tried to be a good father to you, but you knew he couldn't look at you without seeing her. It hurt him, and it showed.

The Brits had attacked since then, too. Once, when you were still a small child, and another time when you were older. You remembered that one, and what had happened, but you recalled feeling terror on both occasions. You didn't want to lose the only family you had left.

The morning brought no sign of your father. You threw on a worn, rust colored dress. You liked the lace adorning the color, sleeves, and bottom. It was not by any means a nice dress, but it made you feel prettier somehow.

The walk to the baker's was uneventful. You were to sweep the entrance room before customers got there. Then, you'd move on and see details into dresses at a seamstress'. What pay you earned, combined with your father's, would get you through the day.

The week. The month. Until your father showed up again. You could make the money last. You only hoped he had what he needed. He wasn't so fortunate as to always have fresh food. Time at sea was unpleasant, to say the least.

You thought of how you missed him while you worked. How you could convince him to stay home longer next time. How you could make him understand how much you wished him home.

You walked home to do your daily chore work. You would dust, mop, and sweep. If you felt up to it, you could bake a fresh loaf of bread, but it mainly depended on how much flour you had left. Then, you'd wash your clothes. You didn't have to worry about your father's.

Upon returning home, you sat on your bed and cracked open a book. A minute or two of reading wouldn't hurt.

A loud sound echoed off the walls of the city, followed by a shaking. The floor to your house rattled ever so slightly. You stepped outside to peek, and you found a large hole through your neighbor's wall.

Screams followed soon after. You knew what it meant; someone was attacking your town. Instinctually, you ran to hide inside. You climbed into a cupboard, squeezing your body in tight to fit.

Minutes later, things went silent again. There was an eerie quality to the lack of gunfire, to the non-existent screams. You guessed people were in their homes, sobbing as softly as they could.

You held your breath. If it was anything like the last time the British attacked, you were afraid you'd walk outside to dead bodies in the streets.

But you didn't walk outside into anything.

You heard the door forced open and the men entering. Before you knew it, the door to the cupboard was being flung open, and you were dragged out.

All it took was the slightest relaxation in the hand of your captor. As his grip on you loosened, you bolted. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to run. You found yourself stuck in a room with no way out.

A figure stalked in. He was much taller than you, and he wore a faded uniform. It was as if he hadn't taken it off in years. And judging by his looks, he hadn't.

You hadn't met any ghosts in your time, but this was what you imagined one to be. His skin was cracked like old paper, and his hair was an oily mess of black. There was a crazed look in his eye, one that told you he was not among the sane.

And whatever blackness oozed from his body came straight from hell.

He lurched out, black slime dripping from his coat and skin. It was like he was moving underwater; his hair floated behind him, and each step he took was jerky, like he hadn't walked in a long time.

You had yourself pressed up against a desk. There wasn't even a window to fling yourself out of in a desperate attempt for escape. "What do you want?" You whispered.

His hand reached toward you, and you shrunk away from his touch. "The compass." His fingers curled around a lock of your hair, and it slid over the cracked skin.

"What compass?" You asked. You owned a compass, yes, but it wasn't of much note. You had two, actually. One was regular and pointed north, but the other was strange. You'd held it once; it was broken, but your father insisted it worked just fine. Secretly, you thought he was a little crazy.

"We know you have it." There was a distinctive Spanish accent in his voice. It was the accent you'd grown up around your entire life. Somehow, it put you more at ease.

"My father took both compasses with him to go sell fish. You won't find either of them here." You tried to loosen the white-knuckled grip you had around the edge of the desk, but you realized it was holding you up. The strange man was bent over you, and in leaning back to keep your distance, you had to hold onto the desk.

"You lie," he accused.

"I do not lie," you hissed. "You are in the wrong place. I'm sorry. Please, leave. Come back when my father is back; he might be willing to deal with you."

The man eyed you. "Who are you? Do you not fear monsters?" Something like ink spilled from his mouth. It made you shudder.

"You aren't the worst monsters I've seen."

He smiled. You didn't think you'd ever want to see such a thing again. "We will see about that, niña."

Grabbing you by the arm, he pulled you off the desk.

"What do you think you're doing?" You screeched as he pulled you down the hall. "Let go!" You tugged at his hand, but it was futile. His grip was as hard as steel, and looking at the color of his skin, you surmised he might be made of such.

"You're coming with me." He said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Absolutely not! Why would you need me? I'm not a stupid compass!"

He whirled on you, which was quite alarming given his hair. Bright eyes bored into yours. You were uncomfortable with all his men in the room watching.

"How do I know your father will deal with me?" He stared at you, and continued when you said nothing. "I don't. I need a bargaining chip."

You did not like the sound of that. Yet no matter how hard you struggled, his grip wouldn't break. You screamed and tore at him, but he ignored you and dragged you on. You could only imagine you were being taken to his ship, and you tried not to think of what awaited you there.

It was so much like your mother. You became frantic, and you were embarrassed to find tears rolling off your nose. You wiped them away with your free arm. You had no intention of letting any one of the men see you as weak.

Nobody came to help you. Everyone was boarded up inside their houses, trying to ignore the activity outside. You'd known some people your entire life, but they didn't so much as raise a finger.

The ship looked as broken as its captain. She stood with wooden beams sticking out at odd angles, and the sails were torn to shreds. How she moved, you didn't know. You supposed the same power kept the crew moving, too.

Though you had stopped crying, you were still afraid. The monstrous ship hulking before you was unlike any other you had seen. And to your horror, it dripped the same slime as the crew.

There were no lifeboats on the shore when you got there. The ship waited out in the harbor without proof of anyone leaving it. Some of the men were so close to falling apart, you wondered if they were even capable of rowing an oar.

At the edge of the water, there was a hesitation. An unspoken something that drifted through the air.

And just like that, it vanished.

Hands wrapped around you, and you felt yourself hoisted into the air. You gasped, and nearly puked when you noticed the slime dripping over your body. You dared not look at his face, but you knew by the sleeves of his uniform that it was the captain carrying you.

The ocean blurred beneath you. It might have been something magical if it hadn't been terrifying. The crew could run over water, you realized. They didn't sink. Apparently, the laws of the universe didn't apply to such beings.

You closed your eyes for only a moment before you felt yourself being let down. You were afraid that you were being dropped into the water and left to drown, but your feet caught you on solid wood.

The captain steadied you, grabbing your shoulders to ensure you wouldn't fall. You looked out, back to your village. It stood where you had left it. The ghostly men would've had to run extremely quickly over the water to have gotten to their ship in the time they did.

Suddenly, home seemed incredibly far away.

When you turned again, men were already moving to grab you. You flinched away, but their hands wrapped securely around your arms, pulling you with them.

"Who are you?" You shouted back at the captain.

He smiled again, and you tensed. "Captain Salazar," he said, "Terror of pirates."

"Are you dead?" You asked impulsively.

He only smiled wider. You turned away sharply, and it made you glad to be taken to the brig. There, at least, you didn't have to see the blackness dripping from his mouth.

When Salazar felt generous, he allowed you to walk around the deck. It wasn't pleasant; the crew jeered at you, and Salazar himself made jests. He often called you a frightened little girl. It annoyed you, and it stung, but that made it no less true. You were a frightened little girl.

You didn't dwell on it. Instead, you took what comfort you could out of the rolling sea. That was to say, the comfort was minimal. To see such an unending expanse of water, and to know you were farther from home than you'd ever been before unnerved you. And to think the waves were your father's only companion during his days.

It was on a day when you were feeling particularly lonely and miserable that Salazar felt particularly cruel. As you avoided being hit by a pail of water, he called out.

"Look how she flits around deck, like some bird that cannot fly. Perhaps I should take to calling you pájarita."

The crew found humor his words, but you only felt loneliness. Pájarita. It meant both 'small bird' and 'paper bird'. The perfect word to describe you. Fragile and incapable of escape.

~~~

Shouts echoed above you from deck. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. You felt the ship change course dramatically. It was like the ship was turning completely around. What for, you could only guess, and your imagination was too fond of wandering down treacherous routes.

When the cannon fire started, you screamed. You were terrified that a hole would be blown right through you. The cannons were so close. You felt them fire overhead.

There were other screams that drowned out yours. They came not from Salazar's crew, but from whomever he fought. There was terrible shrieking followed by dull thuds, and you thought you heard men screaming for mercy.

You were going to be sick. The smell of the brig, combined with the noise and the shock of being hit by cannon fire was too much.

Mostly, it was the memories that hurt. And the fact that you were alone, with no semblance of comfort.

Thankfully, it ended quickly. You sat in your cell, staring into nothingness. You vaguely wondered if you could strangle yourself on the bars to your cell.

Footfalls echoed on the stairs, but you paid them no mind. When the door to the prisons flung open, you still didn't look up. Your cell opened, and you were dragged to your feet, but you hung limply from the hands that held you.

Salazar studied you; you could feel his eyes. More gently than you thought possible, he laid you back down. Then, he stormed out. You only moved your eyes when he began yelling, but you couldn't imagine what about.

He returned shortly, and when he did, he lifted you off your feet. It shocked you into changing your expression, though you couldn't convince the rest of your body to move.

"Good." He looked down at you. "You're alive. I told them to put you in my cabin and keep an eye on you." He carried you back to his cabin and laid you on the tattered remains of a bed. "I'm glad you're not hurt."

Glad I'm not hurt because if I was, my father wouldn't trade with you. You kept your thoughts to yourself.

Hearing your silence, Salazar asked, "You aren't hurt, are you, pájarita?"

He said it tenderly, as if he might actually care. You looked up at him again, staring into black eyes. They looked, to your shock, a little more sane.

You shook your head.

"Good."

"Are you?" You rasped. "Hurt?"

He stared at you a moment. "They can't hurt me."

You nodded. Then, "Please. Please never do that again."

"The cannons frighten you?" He wasn't mocking.

"They remind me of darker times."

To your utter disbelief, he set a hand on your shoulder. There was no weight to it. Perhaps he thought you were made of glass. "I'm sorry. We've all had darker times."

From then on, you never engaged another ship. You saw many on the horizon, and the dark looks Salazar cast them, but you never got close.

You were allowed to wander the deck. Salazar kept you in his rooms. He, for one, didn't need to sleep. Apparently, it wasn't a requirement for whatever kind of creature he was. You, however, did, and you used what was left of his bed.

He ceased bothering you. No more taunts, no more condescending tone. It was gone, and shakily, you could rebuild some of your strength.

The battle had left you shaken. You jumped at loud noises, you flinched when people bumped into you, and your limbs were limp. Most of all, you felt empty.

Salazar always had you in his sights. You thought he liked keeping an eye on you. And even behind the horrid appearance, you began to catch glimpses of the man he used to be. Or so you gathered.

He gave you as much privacy as possible while still keeping you as a sort of prisoner. You figured you didn't pose much of a threat.

You awoke one morning to an argument outside your door. There was shouting, but the early-morning fog in your brain didn't let you process it for the longest time.

Then, you heard it. "We should throw her overboard!"

"She's of no use!"

"Feed 'er to the sharks!"

Shouting ensued. You began to grow afraid again. The crew could easily overpower you and do with you as they wished. For an awful moment, you thought Salazar might let them. No captain would risk a mutiny for some little girl.

A voice cut through the crowd. "The girl stays here."

Salazar nearly slammed the door as he entered your room. His room, really. There was a fire in his eyes, but it wasn't directed at you.

"You didn't have to do that," you said. "Why?"

"I still need you for my bargain."

"What's the compass got to do with you?"

"It will lead me to the man I want vengeance on most."

"That's not how a compass works."

"This one does."

You hesitated. "It shows you who you most want vengeance on?"

"It shows you what you want most."

You felt like you'd just been slapped. What you want most. Your father... he must look at it every day. It must point somewhere he can't go, to some other continent. It must point to your mother. How hard it would be.

"Is that really what you want most?" You whispered. "There's a different side to you, a man who wants to escape his shell."

He glared at you through narrow eyes. "You know nothing of me."

"I think I do." You were beginning to understand. "You wouldn't protect me if there was no goodness in you. I would still be in the brig, slumped over in my cell. Whatever this is," you waved your hands at him, "it feeds off your hate. If you let it all go, I think you'd be released."

A sudden darkness made itself known in him. He looked at you with that gaze again, as if he were dealing with a very small child.

"Don't. Don't you do that to me."

If he was surprised, he didn't show it.

Without thinking, you stepped forward. Your arms wrapped around his back of their own volition. You were short enough that your head rested on his chest. Despite the sticky quality of the action due to the black substance, the hug wasn't completely unpleasant.

"You really aren't afraid of me, pájarita."

And really, you weren't.

He stepped back from you suddenly, like he'd been stung. His hands obscured his face, hiding it from you. He looked like he was in terrible pain.

Gently, you pried his hands from his face. When he looked at you, one eye had changed. In fact, a whole section of his face had turned back into skin. You brushed over it with your fingertips.

"You're changing me," he rasped.

"No. You're changing you."

"It would not have happened without you." His still flaking fingers groped at the new skin. "Stay with me, pájarita, and take this curse from me."

You smiled sadly. "You know I can't do that." Your fingers found their way back to his face, tracing the patch of skin. He shuddered at the contact; you figured nobody had touched his skin in a long time. You almost wanted to stay. Instead, you whispered what reassurance you could.

"But I'll be here until you take me home."

#pirates of the caribbean #potc #x reader #drabble #request #writing #armando salazar #potc5 #salazar #fanfic #dmtnt

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writinginstardust · 5 years ago

Text

Do Anything | Part 3

Pairing: Tyler Jones x reader

Warnings: tiny bit of violence

A/N: Tyler’s POV for this chapter in case it’s not clear immediately. Yeah technically I didn’t need to write this bit but I wanted to focus at least a little on Tyler and his own feelings because it’s like one of my favourite things to do. Because like yeah, we all know we love him or whatever character but what we really want is to see how my they love us in this fantasy world. It’s also just a lot of fun tbh. Anyway, there’s actually some vaguely happy stuff in this chapter but not too much.

Word Count: 2028

I stared blankly out the window of the control deck, not really seeing any of the stars or anything much at all. The stars seemed dim now anyway. The beauty that used to mesmerise me as a child, diminished. They felt wrong. Everything did now.

It had been just over a month since we’d lost her and every day the loss seemed to weigh on me more. I hadn’t given up hope though. Not completely. She might already be dead but until I knew for sure, I wasn’t going to stop fighting to get her back. None of us were .

That’s what we’d been doing for the past few weeks. Laying low, planning, preparing, training in between figuring out how to save the damn galaxy. It helped. Took my mind off what might be happening to her and the nagging feeling of guilt for failing her. She’d wanted to be the one that stayed, demanded it even, but I’d promised myself when she joined our mission that I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. I’d failed. The weight of that threatened to crush me if I didn’t keep busy. I only let myself think about it in these quiet times when I kept watch while everyone slept. I could never sleep anymore.

So I spent nights thinking about her, about those last moments. When I’d kissed her, when she’d stayed behind anyway, when she’d cried and told me she was sorry, and when she’d told me she loved me. She probably thought I hadn’t heard but I did, her words somehow carried safely through the shouting and disruptor fire. She might have died without knowing I felt the same. It tore my heart to shreds.

I let myself dwell on happier memories too. They were the only thing that kept me sane in those long silent stretches, alone in the night. Her smile, the hugs she gave whenever she got excited, the first time we’d piloted together, the nights when she snuck into my room and talked about the future until she fell asleep in my bed, taking her to the beach when we had shore leave, late night study sessions when everything softened and she fought to stay awake and help me, being dragged to a karaoke night and seeing her so happy and carefree while she belted out some cheesy pop song. All of it tucked away in my heart. Things I worried I might never have again. I’d give up everything just to see her smile one more time. I’d burn the galaxy to the ground to have her here, rolling her eyes and calling me a dramatic idiot.

Two bleeps and a flashing yellow light drew my eyes over to the control panel, frown settling on my face. An incoming transmission. I walked over and hit the button to answer. A woman in TDF uniform filled the holographic display. Not good.

“Legionnaire Jones,” she said by way of greeting.

“What do you want?” I asked through gritted teeth. Even the sight of the uniform had my blood boiling.

“I am Lieutenant Croft with Terran Defence Force squadron Sigma-Ra-”

“I don’t care who you are. What do you want?” I couldn’t see any reason for a call. If they were close enough to hail us, surely they’d just fly over and shoot at us until we were nothing more than little pieces of flesh and scrap metal floating around in the void.

“We want to offer you a trade. You left something behind when you escaped Colonel Wymack’s custody and we think you might want it back.” A surveillance image flashed up on the screen and it took me a moment to process what I was seeing. It hit me like a physical blow. (Y/N). Clearly injured, locked in a cell, but alive.

“What have you done to her?” I had to fight to keep my voice steady.

“Nothing she won’t eventually recover from. Provided you agree to our deal that is. Hand over Aurora O’Malley and she’s yours.”

“What are your terms?”

“In one week’s time, come to the Sincastri spaceport at 0900 hours galactic standard. Come with your entire squad. Two of you may remain on your ship, the rest will escort Aurora out and one of you may come forward to make the hand-off. We will give you Legionnaire (L/N) alive. Should you try anything we will terminate her immediately.”

“Understood.”

“Do we have an agreement then?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We shall see you in one week Legionnaire.” And she cut off the call. It took me a moment to gather my thoughts again. We had a chance to get her back. The GIA would probably be there and one or both agencies would likely try to double cross us but it didn’t matter. We’d figure out a way to get us all out of this alive and safe, I knew we would.

(Y/N) would say it was a risk, one we shouldn’t take. She’d say not to do it, that her life wasn’t worth it, and maybe to an uncaring authority she’d be right. But not to me. Not to us. We could do this and we would. We were getting her back.

“Guys,” I said over the ship-wide comms channel. “Get to the control deck now. We’ve got work to do.”

I worked to keep my breathing steady and my mind clear as we came in to land. No one failed to notice the extra ships both in orbit and patrolling the port from 100ft up as we entered the atmosphere. We were right to be wary. They were clearly prepared to shoot us down if we tried anything. Probably even if we didn’t. Well, they were in for a surprise.

We’d spent the past week planning and training every hour of the day for this. Kal and Zila had even come to do recon on the area to better plan our getaway and plant a few strategically placed explosives that would hopefully give us a fighting chance. Auri had been practising to within an inch of her life, pushing and stretching the limits of her power further and further. She was in complete control now and what she could do was truly terrifying. So long as we kept her alive to do her thing, we could do this. It was the only reason Kal wasn’t throwing a Syldrathi fit at having her walk into so much danger practically alone.

We touched down and Cat lowered the engines to an idle hum. I looked out the window. A sea of TDF uniforms filled my vision. They weren’t taking any chances.

“Everyone ready?” I asked. Grim faces and tight nods answered me. “Let’s do this.”

Scar, Zila, Auri, and Kal followed me off the ship and the silence out our arrival was deafening. My eyes scanned the crowd, who all looked ready to kil,l and finally found her. Our eyes met and nothing else existed anymore.

She looked terrified, beaten and weak, her eyes pleading with me. To stop this. To leave her. To let the TDF kill her rather than give them Auri. I hated to disappoint her, but I couldn’t do what she wanted. I tried to silently tell her to trust us but I could tell it didn’t register and it was taking all my willpower to stand still and not run straight to her. I’d kill everyone that stood between us if it wasn’t a surefire way to get us both killed and the rest of the squad too. I had to stick to the plan. Get her to safety first. Then, oh then they would all get what was coming to them.

Scarlett and the TDF leader stopped talking and Kal started walking forward, Auri half a pace in front of him. Time to get ready. I cleared my mind, focusing on the task ahead, but then I saw (Y/N) going for the pistol of the agent who was trying to push her forward and my mind was a whirlwind of panic. I recognised the look in her eye and knew what she was trying to do. No. No no no. Not when we were so close to getting her back.

She wasn’t strong enough to manage the follow-through and relief momentarily flooded me when the pistol was knocked from her hand. The agent proceeded to punch her in the stomach and a yell of rage pierced the air. I barely recognised it as my own. Agony lined her face as she attempted to keep walking forward at the agent’s insistence. More than it should be. That lodged in my heart like a shard of glass. Yeah, that agent was going to die. I’d make sure of it.

With every clearly agonising step I felt my anger climb to new heights, my fingers itching with the need to reach for my pistol and start shooting. Once, I’d been hesitant to fire on our own people, but the TDF weren’t our people anymore. Not these ones at least. No following orders defence could let this slide.

Finally the two parties met in the middle. I could her (Y/N) trying to convince them not to go through with this but I could hear in her voice that she knew she was too late to stop it. Still it broke my heart how readily she was willing to give up her own life. It almost sounded like she truly wanted to die, not even for the good of the galaxy. Just to make it all end. She should never have been driven to feel that way. It should have been me there.

A moment later, Kal was leading her back to our side, quickly and quietly explaining as much of the plan as he could and urging her to move as fast as she could manage. We had to get her to safety before Auri could start her own job but every second wasted lowered our odds of success.

Finally, finally, she was standing in front of me and then without me even realising I’d moved, she was in my arms. She was back where she belonged. I cried the second I finally felt her against me. Here. Alive. Safe. Well, safer. It finally felt like things might be okay. I never wanted it to end, never wanted to let her go again.

She was shaking, tears trickling out and soaking into my jacket as she clung to me like I might disappear If I let go. I didn’t plan to. I thought I might just die if I did. But then again, I might very well die if I didn’t. We weren’t out of the woods just yet. Still, I held onto her a little longer, it had to be convincing. At least, that was as good an excuse as any other.

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” I whispered into her hair. She’d refused to give me the option to keep her safe but maybe if I’d done more, this never would have happened. I could have stopped it, should have stopped it, but I hadn’t been able to and I could never apologise enough for failing her. She shook her head against my chest.

“It’s okay. ‘S not your fault. I’m sorry,” she whispered back, her voice thick and scratchy.

“I love you.” She stilled and tilted her head up slightly, eyes shining, face awed. Had she really not believed I felt it too? After everything?

I kissed her quickly, desperately wishing I could linger there but far too aware of how little time we had. Pulling away, I slid an arm around her shoulders and helped her to the ship.

“Stay on it this time okay?” A little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and struck me right in the gut. I’d been terrified I’d never get to see her smile again and seeing just a fraction of one gave me hope.

“I promise. Just please, don’t die.”

“Promise.” I kissed her again, I couldn’t help it. When I stepped back all hell broke loose behind me.

Tag Lists: (send an ask if you want to be added!)

Everything: @wonderfilledness @writingbychelle @ad-astraaaa @moderngenius94

Aurora Cycle: @aurising

#aurora rising #aurora cycle #Tyler Jones #Tyler Jones x reader #tyler jones imagine #Tyler Jones x you #Tyler Jones Fanfic #aurora rising imagine #aurora rising fanfic #aurora cycle fanfic #aurora cycle imagine #reader insert #Fic - Do Anything

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hillnerd · 6 years ago

Note

Idea: Hermione has an accident and loses her memory. What would Ron do to make her fall in love again?

My initial reaction to this prompt: OH NO. That is a good way to F^CK me RIGHT UP. Also I would read the hell out of any fic like this. I’m sure there must be a memory loss fic like this out there- so let me know guys! BUT THEN I HAD TO KEEP WRITING...Lots of ways this can go! Here’s my take (2.7k words) :

So in this scenario- it’s about five years after the war. Things are finally a bit more peaceful, but they’re still rounding up the last of the war criminals every once in a while- one such war criminal is brought in to the Ministry and Hermione is helping with the case- somehow they wrestle a wand off of someone and have Hermione at wandpoint. That’s when they decided to do a terrible spell to ‘teach the presumptuous m**blood a lesson.’ They hit her with a spell and she passes out.

She wakes up in a hospital she doesn’t recognize- her head is pounding. She is sitting up on the bed very confused when a tall red headed man walks into the room holding a mug of tea.

“Hermione, you’re awake!” he says, looking relieved and like he really really cares. She has no idea who he is. Perhaps he’s one of the doctors? He’s not wearing a white coat- but some of them are more casual right? Then he’s holding her hand which seems very odd for a doctor. Then he leans in and kisses her. She slaps him.

“Don’t touch me!”

He looks at her stunned. Some doctors(??!!) come in responding to her yell, they are wearing bright green uniforms, and are waving a bunch of sticks at her. She begins to panic. What is going on?! So she’s feeling insane- and like something is deeply wrong with her and is witnessing people staring at her like SHE’S the one who is nuts as they wave sticks at her like a bunch of lunatics. Finally she lets out a yowl of, “What’s going on? Where are my parents! Stop pointing those sticks at me!’

“Hermione?” The redhead asks, looking at her fearfully. He tentatively reaches towards her.

“I said don’t touch me! I don’t know who you are, but if you think you can come in and start kissing a stranger, you are very much mistaken! I’m going to report you!”

One of the strange doctors/kidnappers points a stick at her and she feels a flash move through her body- making her suddenly feel very sleepy. The last thing she sees is the red headed man looking at her in shock.

She wakes up restrained, but calm. She’s on some medication of some sort they say- ‘Potions.’ Whatever… Where are her parents? They ask her questions about things she remembers- She can remember her childhood, then snippets of summer and winter vacations, a few dinners with her parents- some odd memories of Australia… Her memories just seem to get vaguer and vaguer. Those are the last memories she has that are clear. Even through the potion, she feels fear gripping her. She asks how old she is- she’s almost 23. What??? When she looks in a mirror she’s shocked, as on many levels she still feels she’s just a teen.

The ‘healers’ do a lot of tests after giving her some sort of medicine that makes her feel even calmer-

They explain magic. It’s a think apparently. She’s magical. She seems to have lost a great deal of her memory.

They just had a vague notion of what the spell cast on her would do after they translated it (because spells are all in latin and there were multiple witnesses to the spell.) They thought it might be a spell to make her unable to remember spells or inhibit her magic. Instead it is something far far worse.

They figure out all her magical memories have been stripped from her mind. This isn’t just spells and such- this is everything linked to magic at all. Every person, every memory touched by magic. The spell caster basically wanted to make her a ‘muggle’ the only way they could.

The Healers have no idea if they can restore these memories or not, as the spell used is not one they had heard of before.

They bring forth a ton of people to see if she can recognize any of them- she doesn’t know any of them- a black haired man, a ton of red heads, a weird girl with blonde hair- an endless sea of people. The only one she can remember the name of is Ron, and that’s only because apparently he’s her fiance, and it’s hard to forget someone practically molesting you in a hospital.

They give her a stick to see if any route memories of magic come to her. She waves her wand about and says ‘abra kadabra’ which makes them all look very frightened as they take the wand from her saying she could have killed someone! What? With the stick? Sorry- the wand?

She wants to go home!

She wants nothing to do with the wizarding world and all its nonsense- she wants her parents.

Her ‘friends’ she’s introduced to all seem to want to push her to stay, so she can try to prod her memory more and do more of the ‘do you recognize this?’ game, but she doesn’t want to listen to any of them at all. Who even are they? The only one who doesn’t push her is Ron. He hasn’t tried to touch her again since he found out about her memory. He has barely spoken to her, but hasn’t left the hospital, even though she’s been there a week since waking.

She tries to give him the engagement ring on her hand- which he urges her to keep. She thinks it ridiculous to be engaged to a stranger- but he almost brokenly says ‘maybe you won’t be one eventually…’ so she keeps it. She hadn’t thought about how hard this would be for him- the stranger who loved her? She feels a touch cruel now for trying to give the ring back. There is something about this Ron fellow that makes her not completely hate the idea of trying to get to re-know him. Someday. Not now though.

Everyone is pushing her and pushing her (except Ron and the odd blonde girl with protuberant eyes)- but Ron mournfully is like ‘I’ll support you… Just do what you want. Whatever will make you happiest.’ She wants something familiar and calming- which is to be with her parents at home.

They seem pleased to have her, though worried. They’re tiptoeing around her like she’d insane- and maybe she is now? How sane can you be when you are missing half your life and everything that you learned. She thought this would be a way to heal- but honestly she feels on edge and like all the thoughts and learning she’d ever done had been stripped away from her. She feels oddly empty and lonely.

The healers said they’d be doing research on her spell damage- as if they blindly go in with their normal spells they could make it permanent- if it isn’t already. So they say she can leave- she can do magic- perhaps try things to spark her memory. They’ll do weekly tests to make sure of improvements/worsening memory but beyond that she doesn’t have to go to the hospital again.

A trunk of items that might help her with her memories is brought by Ron about a week into her stay. He came all this way and is looking at her with such intensity she decides to invite him in. After all, he’s basically lost his fiance. Maybe it would be interesting to get to know him and wants to see why she had wanted to marry a man who, so far, seemed good looking but beyond that not all that impressive. He is polite, doesn’t push things, as they go through the trunk. There is nothing very personal in there. He decided to start with her old school things- nothing all that personal yet- since that was how she was first introduced to the wizarding world, and she’d always been into academics. That was thoughtful, she decides. She definitely wouldn’t have been comfortable looking at photos and being forced to remember things.

There are tons of books, quills, and she sees her handwriting all over the place- not in spiral notebooks but in long pieces of rolled up parchment like she was writing patents of nobility or something. She laughs at how stupid and inefficient it is to have things on scrolls. Ron quietly watches her as she looks through it all. She begins looking through the books and finds them fascinating.

“I could really do… This is real then? Real magic? That I could do?”

“You are the most brilliant witch I’ve ever met,” he says nodding. Being called witch makes her feel uncomfortable. Sounds more like an insult than a positive identifier.

Ron asks if she’s curious to try a spell.

She decides yes. He conjures up a feather like object- from nowhere! And has her try a spell called ‘Wingardium Leviosa.’ She says it wrong and he coaches her to say it ‘Levi-O-sah, not LevioSAH’- and the little flick at the end. She does it! She made the feather float! They’re grinning at each other, though she sees he looks misty eyed.

He’s being really patient with her as she learns such an easy spell. Apparently from their first year at Hogwarts. There’s something fascinating about him; his lopsided grin, his shockingly red hair, his blue eyes- how tall he is, and how genuine and sweet he seems. He doesn’t treat her like she’s nuts or to be pitied.

She asks him to tell him about himself, as she doesn’t know anything. He does- all about his family (A few stories making her laugh as he describes people and does the voices for them), his job, his favorite things including some sport she’d never heard of, and Chess.

“Oh! Let’s play chess,” Hermione says. Her dad has a board somewhere in his study. They play chess and he beats her very quickly. She tries a few times, but it’s like playing a computer. He’s smart.

She has to admit- her ‘fiance’ is seeming more impressive by the minute. He’s good looking, sweet, thoughtful, funny, smart. It was like going on her very first date, really. A very nice first date. And she already knows he loves her- I mean, they’re affianced!- but even if it weren’t for that, she could tell with how he looks at her. He hasn’t tried once to bring up their own history or force anything.

An alarm goes off from his wand, and he looks at her regretfully. He has to go to work- but maybe he can come by again? Beyond taking her to the hospital, as her parents can’t get into St Mungos.. She says she’d like that.

Each week they go to the hospital together, each week she’s the same. Ron keeps coming to the house though! They try more spells, play more chess, he brings her cat from their place (their place!- what an odd thought!) and the cat is the most perfect things in the world she’s ever seen. He goes with her to St Mungo’s for them to try spells on her after a month- they don’t work. This is just the first round! Don’t lose hope!

His visits get longer each time, and by her asking, not his. She asks Ron for more and more of the stories of their youth- the adventures they went through- the war stuff. She’d been through a war? She’s nearly died? It’s especially hard for him to tell of the people they lost, including his brother dying. She holds his hand hoping he know she cares.

He brings Harry over a few times too, and Ginny- and brings over Luna and Neville. George. Little Teddy and his amazing hair. More and more people visit her. The wizarding world really has some wonderful people in it.

She reads about apparition and flying- and he does apparition with her in her parent’s house (Which gives her a thrill as the two of them are so physically close) and he swears he’ll take her for a fly when he can.

She’s feeling more and more herself (well, she THINKS it’s more herself) and slowly she starts to become more and more comfortable with the wizarding world- getting to visit the Burrow, Harry and Ginny’s place (they’ve just found out they’re pregnant!), Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, and Hogsmeade. Ron takes her for a fly at The Burrow. She doesn’t think she’d ever like to do it on her own, but with him it was quite magical, his arms wrapped around her as he guided them around at a steady pace. She gets to watch him and everyone else play quidditch, which is very impressive. He’s so fast- they all are! Especially his little sister! She says she’ll bring Hermione to one of her professional matches soon. Ron shows her his childhood room, which makes her laugh at how adorably shy he is about it- this incredibly tall man, who’s been her guide through everything- being embarrassed to show her his room.

That’s when she realizes- she’s starting to become smitten with Ron Weasley!- he’s a little rough around the edges- he curses a lot, jokes a lot, is informal etc- but he’s been a real gentleman with her, patient, and perfect.

She decides she’d like to see their place- her and Ron’s. He tells her to give him 10 minutes (As he hasn’t been keeping it as nice without her there…) He apparates her there after he’s cleaned, and even though she knows she doesn’t remember the place, it feels familiar. It’s how she would have wanted things to be. He gives her a tour- There are book shelves all over, and it has character- and there are photos of her and Ron kissing and being obviously a happy couple.

He’s keeping his distance from her as she looks at the photos on the mantle. Ron is looking at her with that intense look she’s seen on his face at times- the look of sadness, longing, love? She talks to him about the thoughts going through her head- how it’s odd to think that she’s been kissed. They only had one bed, so most likely she’s done all sorts of intimate things with him she can’t remember. She feels like her body should know it, somehow, but she feels the same. She decides she’d like her first kiss to be with him. He’s uncertain.

‘Are you sure? I mean… I don’t want to push you!’

‘I promise I won’t slap you again,’ Hermione says with a smile.

It’s a very chaste kiss, but it’s wonderful.

She falls for Ron one day at a time. She eventually wants to see where she’s been working- realizing she hasn’t seen it yet- and that’s when it strikes her how broken she feels having all her memories gone. She sees the pitying looks on people’s faces- they seem to think she’s an imbecile now! And she realizes she might just be one now- she doesn’t have an education anymore. What is she fit for? What will her future be!? She’s panicking, but Ron is able to calm her a bit when he says no matter what, she’ll have support for whatever future she chooses- and she can catch up and be amazing at anything.

It’s been several months- they’ve tried cure after cure at St Mungo’s- but no progress is made.

Over the months, she has fallen in love with Ron (again) and is ok with moving back in with him. He’s her fiance, after all- so she doesn’t feel odd for doing this so quickly. They have history she doesn’t remember- but it just feels right.

Things are very chaste for a long time- and they have a good routine where she is trying to catch up on 7 years of Hogwarts education (both on her own and with correspondence with teachers) and magical law.

They get intimate over time and it’s odd how he knows her body better than she does as she’d never done all that much to explore her body’s wants by herself- but he knows all sorts of ways that she likes being touched. She’s happy that some day she will marry him- even if she never remembers their initial timeline again.

One not so special day the healers think they have a solution. They have gathered a tons of memories from Ron and Harry and everyone else they could find- and think they can use this and a lot of other spells to perhaps access the hidden ones in her mind and help ‘unlock’ them if you will- they do the spell. It doesn’t seem to have worked. Hermione didn’t think it would. They go home, feeling a bit deflated but Hermione says: “In the end, it doesn’t matter if I remember all that or not. I’ll always love you.”

She suddenly has a bit of a headache as they go to sleep together, cuddling in a way that makes her feel so protected and calm, despite the disappointing day. She wakes up with her head hurting even worse than the night before- and stumbles into kitchen. Maybe she’s hungry?

“I’d love if you could conjure up some croissants,” she says to Ron who is making some tea.

He recites off Gamp’s Laws of Transfiguration.

“That was impressive!”

“Always the tone of surprise,” Ron says with a smile.

Then something clicks.

“Wait… Say that again?”

“Gamp’s laws? Merlin, I knew quoting that brainy tosh would turn your head. We’re not using that in the bedroom,” he jokes, but she’s not laughing. He looks at her seriously now. She’s making that face she makes when she’s working out a puzzle.

“You’ve said that before…” she says feeling like she’s reaching for a dream she can barely remember. “The ‘always the tone of surprise.’ You’ve said it… And I’ve said it…”

Ron immediately is helping her sort it out. Telling her where the memories are from- as he says it those specific memories from Bill and Fleur’s Wedding and from after the Battle- the feel of hugging him when he was alright- They’re back- clear as day! She can remember them.

“Quick! Say something else you’ve said!”

They start going through memories and they start clicking into place- she is able to provide more and more of the memories without him prompting things.

It takes weeks- but her memory is finally back. There are times where certain obscure things are a bit vague- but they snap into place as more structural memories are snapped back into place.

In most ways she’s so happy her memories are back- She can remember all the good times, all the spells, all the little moments that made her become the person she is today. Some days when she has to mourn for people or remember something horrible she wishes they weren’t back- but getting to remember all the moments she shared with her friends, and with her Ron- they’re worth the hurt.

Plus, it’s not everyone who gets to have two first kisses with the love of their life.

#romione #memory loss #hermione granger #ron weasley #romance #my writing #head canon #Anonymous

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bupperzz · 6 years ago

Text

The Tape

A Dr. Iplierst fanfic. Things to note: My version of Dr. Iplier is named Joel and the version of Host I used in this fic is named Owen.

TW: Alcohol, Suicide.

An amber light slipped in through the blinds illuminating the white walls as an orchestra of mechanical sounds filled the room. Standing near the window, the bearded man glanced from the scenery outside to the other wheezing in his sleep. Today marked a month since Owen was admitted to the hospital and things were looking grim. Watching cars pass by on the street below, the doctor recounted the events from that night in his mind, his grip on the ledge of the window tightening.

It had been a normal work day: the hospital was rather busy and Dr. Iplier, being one of the top physicians, was bouncing around from patient to patient like usual. As he neared his first break, things seemed a bit off. Owen always called when he took a break -- he could narrate to determine when they were occurring. Glancing at his phone, he frowned but decided it was nothing much; he could have got caught up in his own work. Reluctantly, he decided he would ask when he returned home that night and went about the rest of the day as best as he could.

Leaving the hospital that night, the usual call from his husband absent, the doctor drove in silence as his anxiety slowly grew. After parking and walking up the steps to their apartment, he knew something was off. Opening the door, he was met by darkness and silence -- more silence than what was usual. “Owen?” Increasing his pace, he headed towards their bedroom where a faint glow was visible from beneath the door. Swinging the door open, he glanced about the room: the light from the adjoining bathroom left on, pill bottles and books strewn about the floor, and Owen on the bed… And he didn’t seem to be breathing!

Medical instincts kicking in, the man rushed to his lover’s side, checking his vitals while calling for an ambulance; he was still somewhat warm. Frantic and upset, he fumbled with giving out information to the dispatcher while he attempted to perform CPR on the unconscious man. Sobbing now, he frantically kept up the rhythm of the compressions, intermittently checking the man’s pulse. How long had he been out? What caused this? Why did this happen? He had done this countless times, but this was his husband lying on the bed, unconscious, and without a heartbeat.

After what felt like an eternity of performing repetitive actions, the paramedics finally arrived to relieve Joel and take the Host to the hospital. Exhausted and shaken beyond belief, the physician rode in the back of the emergency vehicle holding the other’s hand the entire time. Thoughts still racing, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was in any way his fault. Had he not been attentive enough? Was he working too much? He was doing all he could with the schedule the hospital gave him but… No. He wasn’t going to do this right now. He had focus on doing everything he could to ensure Host got the help he needed.

Arriving at the hospital, Joel did his best to answer the doctor’s questions: it seemed as if Owen may have overdosed on his antipsychotics. From the corner of the room, he watched as a team of his colleagues pumped his partner’s stomach and did all they could to bring him back. When it seemed like all hope was lost, a coughing gasp emitted from the bandaged man alongside the contents of his stomach. Perking up, the bearded man rushed to his side, grasping his hands as tears welled up in his eyes. As the other wheezed out a soft, “Joel?” the physician cried quietly before responding. “I’m here, honey… I thought I had lost you.”

Since that night, Owen was kept under close surveillance at the hospital out of fear of his health as well as a way for Joel to keep a close eye on him while he was working. Yet, the man was just not the same. His waking hours were spent narrating up a storm causing him to need fresh bandages at least every 30 minutes, he rarely ate, and he wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Nonetheless, the doctor did all he could to make sure the man was at least comfortable and well taken care of even if he didn’t want to be. Every day, he would help Host shower, get him dressed, and attempt to feed him breakfast; some days were better than others. Then, every night, he would return to his room to sleep on the cot that the hospital had set up for him.

Things continued like this for a while and they were alright -- Owen was at least stable. But, about a week and a half ago, the writer’s visions got increasingly worse with the bleeding increasing alongside it; the staff was forced to stock the room with boxes of bandages just to keep up. On top of this, the Host refused to eat anything whatsoever and he freaked out any time an IV was suggested. With this sort of behavior, the other physicians handed over the care to Dr. Iplier since he was the only one who seemed to be able to reason with the man. It didn’t matter, though -- Owen had made up his mind.

A few days ago as the two lie in silence attempting to sleep, the blind man finally spoke in a hushed whisper, “Joel… I’m sorry. I just can’t do it anymore.” Slightly shocked from the sudden comment, the doctor sat up and looked to the man. “It’s okay, hon… You don’t have to.” With a pit in his stomach, he laid back down knowing what this all meant. He didn’t want to lose the man, but he also didn’t want him to suffer.

The following day, the Host was checked out of the hospital and moved to hospice care; it was the most logical thing to do. Somehow, Joel had made the decision without a second thought and he was holding up very well. If it meant Owen wouldn’t suffer anymore, he’d do all he could. Yet, each day was more difficult than the last and the writer was growing weaker and weaker with each day. Today was especially terrible: Joel sat, unable to do anything, as his lover cried through the blood of his never-ending narrations. The staff was forced to sedate him in order to stop the bleeding as he was inconsolable and not cooperating with them.

The frantic beeping of the heart monitor tore the physician’s attention away from the window and brought him back to reality as staff rushed in to help his husband. Standing nearby in utter shock, Joel watched as the mob of scrub-clad individuals tried and ultimately failed to bring his partner back. Reluctantly, the head doctor approached him to deliver the news but it was too late. In a rush of emotions, the man was on his knees beside the bed clutching to his lover’s hand and sobbings as the tone of the flatline filled the room. He had done this countless times but it was never like this, never the love of his life lying motionless on a hospital bed.

After being helped to his feet by the staff, he was left to handle paperwork, collect belongings, and able to finally leave; for the first time in a month, he was going home. Somewhat numb and still in shock, he drove in silence as he played various memories of the two of them in his mind: when they first met, their first date, moving in together, their wedding… It was a sea of happy memories tainted by the idea that he was unable to make any more like them with his lover ever again. Tears clouding his vision, he parked the car and made his way up to the apartment before retreating to the bedroom.

He hadn’t stepped foot in this room since that night, yet this time he was able to look around a bit more. Glancing to the night stand, he found a tape labeled “Joel” sitting beside Owen’s tape player. Wandering over, he popped the cassette in and sat on the edge of the bed as he heard his husband’s voice speaking in a soft, loving tone. Tears streaming down his face, he struggled to breathe as sobs overtook him. The pain in his chest growing as he listened to the man speak. As the tape ended, the physician pressed the stop tab before getting up and leaving the room.

Walking into the kitchen, he fished through the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey before returning to the bedroom where he retrieved a half-full bottle of pills off the floor, Lying on the bed, the bearded man popped the lid of the pills and downed them with a large swig of alcohol. This was it, this is how it ends. He saw no point in continuing with this charade of a life, especially if Owen wasn’t in it.

Hoping, praying, and waiting, he had watched the love of his life deteriorate over the past month and it was all his fault. If only he had been more vigilant, if only he had been more attentive, if only he had taken Owen more seriously when he complained about these visions. But, no, he had written it all off as symptoms of psychosis or side effects of medicine and look at what became of it… Grabbing another bottle off the ground, the physician downed the contents with more booze before reaching for the tape player again. After rewinding, he pressed play and he sat back, closing his eyes; he wanted Owen’s voice to be the last thing he heard. After a moment of silence, the message began to play again as Joel surrendered to the effects of the medication.

“Joel, my sweet, strong doctor. You have always been so kind to me and cared for me even when I couldn’t do so myself. You helped me come back from the worst point in my life, that dreaded night, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. But, I can’t keep pretending that everything is alright, that I’m cured and there’s nothing wrong with me. The voices in my head are spilling out through my everyday speech and haunting my every thought; I’m left alone with them without my sight to help ground me. I’m sorry, I truly am. I kept fighting for so long but I’m just exhausted…

Having you as my doctor was the best thing that ever happened to me. You’ve done so much for me, Joel, and I can’t thank you enough. You stuck by my side even when any sane person would have seen it was hopeless. You’re a kind, caring, strong, loving man and I don’t know what I did to deserve you. Please don’t remember me as I am now, try to remember the good times and keep those alive in your memory. I love you so much, Doc, and I’m so sorry it had to come to this.

Take care of yourself,

Owen”

As the tape neared its end, the doctor’s body went limp as the bottle of whiskey slid from his hand, spilling its contents on the floor. His breathing slowed, tears staining his cheeks yet again, as he replayed memories of the Host in his mind. With what little consciousness he had left, he attempted to slur out a response to Owen -- or rather, his tape. “Owen, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve to be treated the way I treated you; I fucked up. What kind of doctor does that to his own patient -- his own husband? I deserve this; I deserve to go out this way. At least it means I get to see you again sooner. I love you, Owen, and I’m sorry.” With these final words, the physician was fading slowly into a sea of black. By the time Owen was signing off, he was already gone. Body limp, whisky staining his lab coat, and remnants of tears lingering on his cheeks, he laid peacefully on the bed, in the same spot his lover was found in, as a somber smile spread across his face.

#markiplier #dr. iplier #the host #dr. iplierst #markiplier egos #markiplier fanfiction #markiplier fanfic #fanfiction #tw: alcohol #tw: suicide #my content #my writing

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teaspoonofdread · 4 years ago

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hey its me ur secret santa! I see you're still on season 3,so no worries I won't include any spoilers. Are there any particular eps/moments you really like? Favorite characters? Or conversely some things you can't stand? Feel free to be as vague or specific as you like <3

hii, thanks for the understanding ❤️my favorite episodes usually fall under the motw section, and now i'll rant about them bc i don't know how else to explain what i love about them and why

Ice: fav things about it are the setting, tension, stakes, side characters, thriller element; but particularly Scully's role in the episode as the only sane man if you will, how she's a peace-maker and makes hard decisions, but ultimately manages to save as many ppl as possible, how she parallels the we-are-not-who-we-are dead guy during the entire episode, even repeating his last words at the end but the context is changed bc of her and her actions; also Mulder's paranoia and actions/reactions, the trust that solidifies between them and the subtle gender dynamics oppositions can't go unmentioned

(somewhat unpopular opinion but i don't find Darkness Falls to be that good of an episode, just bc the premise is too similar to that of Ice, and Ice is better, tho I like how it ends - with the characters failing, and Mulder's guilt as he watches unconscious Scully. And while there is criticism of Firewalker for the same reason, I like it better simply bc it comes right after Scully's abduction and M is extra concerned about her, will do anything to get back despite being held at gunpoint, yet when she gets into the life-threatening situation she manages to save herself, and bonus points for the Trepkos-O'Neil relationship bc M can project onto trepkos' responsibility about putting o'neil in danger, S can note the element of a teacher-student romance since she has had some of these in her past.)

Beyond the Sea: I guess it's safe to say Scully's my favorite character, so diving into her family background was v interesting, but the character of Boggs and the suspense of whether he was behind the kidnapping was really compelling to me; it's the first time S lets herself (or maybe can't help but) believe and while a part of me wishes mulder wouldn't have acted the way he did, it's understandable in the context of the episode (his personal history with boggs affects his opinion on the matter), in the end, we get to the 'I'm afraid to believe' which is just !!! , and also Scully's choice to not visit Boggs (despite her doubts about her father's feelings about her life) bc she's sure her father loved her and how that's enough is heartwarming to me as a person w/ daddy issues

and while we're on 'because he was my father', i think i'd mention One Breath, in which Margaret Scully (a Favorite Character) said sth along the lines of 'I haven't always understood my daughter, but I have always respected her' to Mulder. this ep was a great character study of him and i loved every second of it. introductory ep for another favorite character - Melissa and oh how I wish she wasn't killed off, her interacting with M was great and i wish we got to see more of that and of her and S's dynamic, especially considering all the different believes these three characters have

I've been losing my mind over Pusher for the past week and while I can't be more eloquent (ha) for now, I can say I love that ep

i'm a big fan of Squeeze and The Host, bc they are solid eps with iconic monsters that scared/grossed the shit out of me on the first viewing, but provided exploration/development of the M&S dynamic (and msr), of course, many other eps qualify by that criteria, but these are an all-time favorite of mine bc the continuation Tooms and bc early s2 is very interesting dynamic-wise with the whole no x files division thing, with mulder almost quitting, scully trying to keep them working together somehow, krycek...

also greatly enjoy the comedic episodes (Clyde Bruckman)

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katamaran10 · 7 years ago

Text

THE CRONOGRAPH

On AO3 here

Summary: A slightly alternative telling in my AU of how things go after Will and Hannibal heal post-fall. Will takes charge and Hannibal has to deal with his newly realized murder husband’s determination to have his way in Spain. Character compliant but apparently not radiant enough. Probably the last piece I add to this fandom.

The Cronograph

by Melusine10

PART ONE

“A Denial”

The only sign of Hannibal’s displeasure was a slight tick in his left eye.

Will sat in the shop’s foyer in an overstuffed armchair. It was seating undoubtedly placed there for impatient, antsy husbands like him. Iberian sunlight filtered through the large boutique window and it made his curls shine.

“The credit card,” Hannibal repeated.

Will pressed his lips together. He made no move to reach for his wallet. “I said,” he lowered his voice, “no.”

Hannibal plastered an affable half-smile on his face. “Forgive us, señor. Might we have just a moment to discuss the item?” The elderly shop owner nodded and disappeared into the store room, taking the tray displaying the vintage timepiece with him.

As soon as he was out of sight, Hannibal turned on his heel and his complacent mask evaporated. He wanted an explanation and he had no intention of waiting for it.

“I said we could look.” Will said. “You looked.”

“And now I wish to make a purchase. Give me the credit card. I won’t repeat myself again.”

“I should hope not,” Will shot back.

Hannibal searched his face, stunned to be defied. He quickly settled on a course of action. “Señor?” he called over his shoulder.

There was shuffling in the back and the man returned through a beaded partition. “Shall I fetch a box and bag?” he asked. He already had the sales book eagerly tucked under his arm.

“I believe we’ve decided to think on it. Such purchases should not be made in haste. I’m sure you will agree. Would you be so good as to hold the watch for us?”

The man obliged hesitantly, telling him he could only keep it off display for a week – and not a day more. Hannibal gave a curt bow and thanked him with flatteries that probably ensured he could get whatever he wanted in that store whenever he so chose, and probably at a slight discount. He then opened the shop door to usher Will out, his gentlemanly façade covering the seething rage roiling underneath.

Earlier that day, Hannibal had pointed out a café down a cobbled lane not far from the antique store. It had a view of the sea and was graced by a cool breeze that eased the summer heat. Had they not brought their quarrel along, it would have been a pleasant place to get a quick bite before the whole city shut down for the siesta hour.

Hannibal sipped his coffee in silence. Will perused the menu. The waitress returned and before he could say a word, Hannibal rattled off an order. Will set his menu card down slowly, realizing his input was neither wanted nor appreciated. He kept his mouth shut. The fact that his Spanish was far superior to Hannibal’s probably should not be flaunted at this stage in the argument. Hannibal botched several words and conjugations yet again, and the waitress was slightly confused before she parsed his meaning and scratched the order down on her notepad. How someone whose Italian was immaculate could not quickly pick up Spanish was beyond him.

Of all the things that had come to pass since they had met five years ago, the least of their problems was Hannibal’s crap español. His mother tongue was Baltic, after all, unrelated to any of the Latin romance languages. Will hadn’t learned much Lithuanian yet (his phrases were mostly confined to their bedroom) and it would be a cold day in Hell that he’d learn archaic Italian so he could read Dante to Hannibal after dinner. No, what fueled his anger was Hannibal’s unwavering pride and his imperious attitude.

The waitress looked expectantly at Will. Her eyes wandered over the tan skin of his chest peeking through the collar of his shirt. Will didn’t notice. He didn’t even know whose name was on the label when Hannibal had given it to him. He just wanted some god damned fried calamari and an ice cold beer, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen.

Will shook his head and declined to add anything. The waitress’ eyes drifted appreciatively over the obscene contours of his bare ankles, sockless in loafers. Hannibal cut her roving gaze short with a flick of the menu. “Gracias, señorita. That will be all.”

The food was predictably slow to arrive. Will avoided Hannibal’s stare and took a sudden interest in reading up on every football match reported in the daily newspaper “As”. He couldn’t give two flying fucks about how anyone was doing in La Liga, or the latest rankings in the English Premiere League, or any other sport for that matter. The only accompaniment to their deadly silence was the rustle of Will’s paper and a tinny radio from a window across the narrow street.

The meal arrived in a train of small plates. Will started scooping things out before Hannibal could begin to describe each dish. As he tucked into food, Hannibal told him about the particularities of the barbequed sardines he was shoveling into his mouth. He droned on about the cold pippirana salad and the origins of the porra antequerana set before them.

Will’s temper ratcheted up a notch with every bite and flourish of Hannibal’s hand. As if he hadn’t heard perfectly what had been ordered. As if he couldn’t determine his own preferences. As if he needed a history lesson every time he just wanted to fucking eat.

The two men were in a very dangerous state and it wasn’t even noon.

“How’s the 'tomato soupy' stuff here?” Will asked, letting a bit of the Louisiana drawl he hid so well slip out. “Looks good.” He was purposefully acting like the hick ignoramus Hannibal seemed to think he was. He pulled the bowl of porra across the table. The thick sauce was as red as blood. Hannibal narrowed his eyes at Will, but said nothing.

“Oh, so now it’s the silent treatment? Really? I would say I’m gutted to see you acting so childish, but in our case that metaphor strikes a little too close to home.” He chewed the dipped bread thoughtfully. “The porra antequerana is passable here,” he said in a perfect lilting accent, “but it needs more garlic, don’t you think?”

“You are an astonishing creature.”

Will sat back in his plastic wicker chair, gauging whether Hannibal might actually kill him for denying him something as stupid as a watch. He reached across the table and took his hand. “You need to exercise a little restraint. I don’t think that is too much to ask. You’ve ripped through nearly half a million dollars since we arrived in Europe.”

“Your point being?”

Will was speechless for a long moment. “I am trying to protect us,” he whispered. Even after surviving their injuries and escaping the country, he still felt like Jack Crawford or the whole of Interpol might pop out from around the corner. “Freddy Lounds made sure everyone found out that I filed divorce papers the same day I inherited your fortune. Murder Husbands indeed. If anybody at Quantico gets bored and decides to poke around in my bank records or if Freddy god damn Lounds somehow gets her sticky hands on them, they will immediately know something isn’t right. I have never spent money like this. I can’t even comprehend money like this!”

“We pay for almost everything in cash.”

“Yes! Massive sums of cash! Just like you did before. You think they’ll just shrug it off and say, ‘Welp, Graham sure is going wild in Europe!’ Your expensive tastes got you and me caught by Mason Verger. Your pattern was documented in your case files. Meditate on that for a minute.”

Will knew all this talk about finances infuriated Hannibal in part because it was simply not done among polite society. But that’s what married couples did and he was going to have to get used to it.

Hannibal touched the edges of his mouth with a cotton napkin. “There are hundreds of millions left and that is only the liquid assets. You haven’t even seen the jewelry collection Lady Murasaki’s bequeathed me. Her 19th century sets of Mikimoto pearls and any one of her Harry Winston rings alone would triple that amount overnight.” He haughtily pushed a stray bit of hair behind his ear. “I do understand, however, why you are so upset. Your youth was shadowed by grinding poverty, abandonment, and the rot of fetid bayous.”

“Takes one to know one,” he said through clenched teeth. Lost starving orphan, he wanted to say. Will would have kicked him over in his chair if they weren’t in public and then he probably would have done something terribly regrettable with his blunt dinner knife. Thank god they were in public.

This had gotten entirely out of hand. Why did everything have to elevate to crazed melodrama with Hannibal? They were both entirely cognizant that this was not a healthy or sane relationship, but they weren’t exactly great models for healthy practices and sanity themselves.

Yet neither could, or would, ever let go of the other. Never. Not during their worst days. Not when separated for years. Not even during a brutal eighty-nine foot drop into the Atlantic Ocean. Most thirsts rise and burn in demanding need, then fall away forgotten once sated. Between Hannibal and Will, that pressing desire and ever-rushing ache for more of each other could never be relieved. Obsession, addiction, passion, love…The words didn't matter. They had merged into a single organism that simply happened to live in two bodies. It made for a volatile combination but certainly kept things interesting, as today proved.

Hannibal leaned toward Will with a stern look. “Those scraping, hungry days of your childhood are in the past, dear boy. Look to the future. You are the Lecter family’s sole heir.” He crooked his head and paused to let his point sink in. “Act accordingly.'

PART TWO

“The Heir”

Eight months earlier…

After tirelessly searching the sea, the FBI and Coast Guard could not waste more resources to find a corpse. Jack Crawford, the longtime head of the Behavioral Science Unit, was forcibly retired for having set loose the most prolific serial killer of the modern age. Had Graham not pulled through, that would have been the third agent he had lost to Hannibal Lecter. His closest colleagues in the forensics lab, Price and Zeller, canceled the arrangements they had secretly been planning to celebrate Jack’s retirement later in the summer. Instead of a party, he was sent back to an empty home on a Friday, with no wife there to greet him. He had served his country with duty and honor for three decades. A part-time janitor pulled down his photographs from the FBI’s halls and dumped them into a file box. The executives upstairs wanted to erase any memory of their errors and insufficiencies.

Jack hadn’t been out of the bureau but a month when Hannibal Lecter was officially declared dead by the U.S government. He kicked in the screen of his own television when the report aired at six o’clock.

Miles away, in downtown Baltimore, Will was recuperating at the best research hospital in the city. He had awoken on a sand bar to the glare of flashlights and the shouts of EMTs. All he could remember was the loving look Hannibal had given him before Will threw them to their deaths. But he didn’t die. He was severely injured and almost all of it was his fault.

No one would talk to him about Hannibal. Had he be found? How badly was he hurt? Was he being treated in this hospital too? Was he arrested and in custody? Whose custody?

“Could someone please turn on the news!” he shouted in frustration. From his bed, there was not much he could do. He was tethered down with vines of IVs, a vile catheter, and plastered with heart monitor electrodes.

His primary nurse cracked the door one day. “You okay for a few visitors?” Hope blossomed in his chest for the first time in a month. She let in a man and woman clad in expensive wool suits. Will had never seen them before in his life. They sat down at the tiny table in the room without his invitation. Without even greeting him. He pulled himself upright, as far as his broken ribs would allow. “Well hello. Make yourselves comfortable,” he said. “Who the hell are you, by the way?”

Nurse Lisa had been so loyal and protective, running off psychiatrists hungry for fame and tabloid hounds hoping for an exclusive interview with him. She had even socked a paparazzo in the eye when he tried to break into his room to get a shot of him in his hospital gown mottled in purple and black bruises. Will could not fathom why she had let these two stooges into his private space.

The two visitors gave their names as if he should already know who they were. They shuffled through their sleek leather briefcases and pulled out a pile of papers. It took a moment for the woman to find the correct page.

“We apologize for bothering you during your convalescence, however it took quite a bit of convincing to get the FBI release the name of your hospital and locate you. We’ve tried numerous times to contact you by phone.”

Will clenched his eyes and hit the button for his pain medication. “My cell phone is at the bottom of the ocean after I was attacked by a serial killer and chucked off a cliff, in case you aren’t aware of why I am here.” The two looked each other. Clearly they weren’t familiar with Will’s particular brand of acerbic snappishness.

“Mr. Graham,” the man said. They both had overly sculpted helmets of hair that didn’t move. Will disliked them immediately. There was not a hint of sincerity radiating off of either of them. Lawyers, he realized. These were lawyers. “We have been apprised of the situation and everyone at the firm offers their deepest sympathies, truly.”

“My Dad died?” he cried.

“Ah, no, Mr. Graham. As far as we know he is fine.” Will flopped back in relief.

Nothing – absolutely nothing - could have prepared him for what she said next.

“We are here today because Count Hannibal Lecter made revisions to his will before his passing. We know you had a-” she searched for a diplomatic phrase “- a close relationship. We are so sorry for your loss.”

Time slowed to a creep. The title of nobility did not even register with him. All he heard was that Hannibal was dead and the syllables of his name lingered in the air like dust. A scream was caught in his throat. Will pitched over the side of the bed and vomited repeatedly.

“Oh dear. Are you okay? Should I call the nurse?” Will motioned for her to continue. He was in shock.

The rest of the meeting felt like a terrible nightmare, far worse than any of his blood-soaked fever dreams. Surely he would wake up. Surely.

The lawyers kept saying Hannibal's beautiful name as they read through the legal documents. Will stretched and flailed to get his oxygen mask. He thought he was going to pass out.

“It’s quite simple,” the woman said. “Just sign here and we will take care of the rest - no fee, of course. We would recommend moving most of Count Lecter’s American holdings into the Cayman Island bank account he kept for tax purposes.” She held out a paper and Will shakily took the pen she offered.

He was desperate to get them to stop talking about Hannibal. He couldn’t abide the sound of those words coming out of these horrid people’s mouths. If they didn’t get out of his room immediately he was giving very serious thought of beating the hell out of them. When they finally took the hint Will smashed the call button for his nurse about twenty times too many.

She came in and saw the vomit on the floor and how badly he was shaking. “Oh my! What happened?"

His teeth were chattering so hard he could barely get out the words. “Sedate me.”

“Sugar, I’ll go get a doctor.”

“Sedate me, Lisa. Sedate me right now.” She glanced up at his heart rate monitor and his numbers were dangerously high.

She came back with a syringe and injected it into his IV port. He was out like a light in 10 seconds. Fussing with his wires and taking his temperature, she tucked him in and turned out the light.

What transpired that day did not hit him until much, much later - and it would hit him hard.

Will had finally been released from the hospital and was searching online for an apartment that wasn’t completely shitty. The life he had tried to make with Molly in Maine was sadly done. Will buried the regret with bourbon. His Wolf Trap home had long been sold away and there was only so much he could take of his run-down motel room with paper-thin walls.

When the sedatives had worn off later on that ill-fated day, he called Molly immediately. “Hannibal died in the fall,” he choked out. “He left his entire estate to me.” The line was silent on the other end. He softly asked if they should divorce. She quickly agreed, now knowing there was a lotmore about Will’s association with Hannibal Lecter that he hadn’t told her.

“We used to work together,” he had told her. “Then I realized he was a serial killer and after a lot of hassle trying to catch him, I finally got him locked up where he deserves to be.” He shrugged, as if there was no more to say.

Will's excuse made zero sense when Hannibal sent a serial killer to take out Will’s new family – just her and her son. Then after Will’s accident, she got smart and started researching whatever she could find about the two online. There was a lot of trash to wade through, but a clearer picture started to form in her head. Will had remained friends with Hannibal long after he publically accused him of being a serial killer – and turned out to be absolutely right. They had been close. Very close. So close there was a lot of speculation that they had been lovers. In all the crime scene photos she found in old newspapers, they were always standing nearly shoulder to shoulder while everyone else did their jobs in the background.

Will vaguely mentioned going to Europe once in passing. He failed to mention it was to chase after Hannibal even though he had recently gutted him and killed a girl in a blowout fight where two other people were severely injured. Even more outrageous to learn was that they both had assumed custody rights over her. Like fathers. Who runs after a man who could do that? The fact that Will never let her touch the scar across his stomach in bed now seemed a lot less like not wanting her to focus on his body’s jagged imperfections and a whole lot more like he was protective of it. Like it wasn’t hers to touch.

Now hearing Will sob the news to her on the phone, Molly didn’t need to know any more. Nobody left their entire fortune to a man if he did not love him in some way or another.

After he hung up, Will asked Nurse Lisa if she could explain how to file the necessary paperwork to initiate divorce proceedings. She had been through it before and knew the drill.

“I’ll do you one better since you’ve been such a sweet patient. I’ll print the forms out, you can sign them, and I'll fax them over to the court clerk right now.”

The court hearing was blessedly quick and amicable. That a divorce should be easier than finding decent housing came as a surprise. But Will knew there shouldn't be anything surprising about how he'd let his life go horribly awry.

From the moment Hannibal had kneeled in surrender on Will’s driveway, snow glittering in his sleek hair, the two men already understood how they had just played their chess pieces. They were at a stalemate and the only one who could make the next move was Will. It was precisely why he refused to visit him during his incarceration. It was why Will hid Hannibal’s letters from his wife and cried in front of the hearth fire late at night and then burned them, never to send a reply. Will avoided the inevitable for three years, desperate to create a normalcy he could never achieve with so many monsters hidden within him. He truly didn’t know quite what would happen if he walked back into that Baltimore sanatorium. But Hannibal knew. He had bet everything on it. He believed Will had greatness within him - the sort of greatness only Hannibal and he could understand.

The guard pulled open the heavy mahogany door into Hannibal’s jail cell and Will’s throat went dry. Simply seeing him confined as a caged beast allowed the repressed murder inside him to the surface – the desire to look at death, to inhabit it through others' eyes, to commit it inside his incredible imagination. Hannibal turned and looked through the glass partition and saw straight through Will’s farcical life. Within minutes he pulled him apart, dissecting the lies Will had been telling himself. Then, with the slightest ribbon of a smile, Hannibal silently reminded Will that he was the only one who could put him back together.

If Will had been undecided before about whose side he was on, that Devil’s smile settled it the matter. He helped Hannibal escape. But disaster upon disaster followed subsequently. After their kill, their fall, losing Hannibal to the sea, his hospitalization, the divorce, after all of it, Will just wanted some peace and quiet. He composed an email inquiring about a studio apartment in a semi-dodgy part of town with tragic brown carpeting, but it was near a nice park for the dogs. The only thing he had asked of Molly was to have Buster and Winston back. He stopped typing mid-sentence. A new email popped up in his inbox.

Dear Mr. Graham:

While the paperwork has all been filed on your behalf and all the titles and land grants have been changed into your name, there is still the matter of transferring the numerous keys and bank access codes to you. Please inform us when you could stop by the firm at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely,

Sheridan and Cooper LLP

Will stumbled back from his computer and covered his mouth.

The sudden reminder was almost too much to bear. How he had managed to lock this in the basement of his memory palace for so long was a stunning psychological feat.

Hannibal had changed his will and left absolutely everything – even his castle and ancestral lands in Lithuania – to him. Will didn’t need a crummy apartment in a rough neighborhood. He needed to come to terms with a reality that was surreal. He now owned extravagant properties across the globe. The idea of moving into Hannibal’s Baltimore home was out of the question. He couldn't bear being that close to their shared memories. But there were other secret safe houses hidden behind layers of shell corporations and offshore banks. There was a grand pied-a-terre apartment in Paris. A villa in Tuscany. A stunning Meiji-era country home tucked in the Japanese mountains of Hokkaido.

Then there was the money. There was so, so much money. Will did not want to begin contemplating what absurd contents sat inside the many safety deposit boxes sprinkled at various banks. He had no idea what to do or where to go. He deleted the email for the apartment and paid another month for the motel, suspended in state of inertia. He had vainly hoped the heavy medications he needed for his injuries would dampen the heart-rending pain of this tragic gain from the loss of his greatest love and friend. They could not. Nothing could.

So, it was a hell of a surprise when Hannibal showed up one night, very much alive.

“You really should not mix those pills with alcohol, Will.”

Will’s eyes were wide as saucers and his tumbler of bourbon slipped from his hand and crashed on the floor. Hannibal had survived and was standing at the doorstep of his crappy motel.

PART THREE

In the café in Spain, Hannibal laid down his fork and knife, his appetite suddenly gone. His middle finger lingered over the tang of the knife blade, toggling it slowly on the placemat.

Though Will had just been mulling on a similar line of thought, he spoke up. “Please stop considering stabbing me with cheap cutlery and listen to what I am saying. Just wait until we get to Switzerland. I will route anything and everything you want to whatever account suits you and you can buy every Patek Phillipe watch ever made.”

“Tell me. How did it make you feel to deny me?”

Will ran a hand down his face. “I am only asking you for a little prudent patience.”

“Which thrilled you more? Wielding this middling power over me in front of that ancient clerk or knowing that in refusing, you were withholding my own birthright?”

“Your birthright is not a €30,000 chronograph!” Will hissed and slammed a fist on the table. Other patrons began to cut their eyes and whisper. Will looked up at the fluttering café canopy and breathed deeply, praying for strength. “Nothing we own is more precious than our freedom. Nothing is more precious to me than us. You’d risk it all for a little bling?”

“I wonder whether you experienced thoughts of doubt and hesitation when you bought your custom sailboat? It was quite the extravagance for a man who wears threadbare t-shirts.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Will huffed an incredulous laugh. “I suppose not. What ocean was I crossing? Where was I headed? Who was I trying to find?”

Hannibal looked past him to the waitress bending over, her skirt slightly too short. She was serving a table with a pitcher of the abominable cocktail called calimocho. Cheap wine and cola. Mixed. He shivered and had to look away.

“For your information,” Will spat, “I rigged and outfitted the Nola myself. I scraped and sanded and painted it every day for more than six months after you ran off to Italy to play curator and…whatever you were doing with Bedelia. If your refined senses approve of the Nola’s aesthetics, it isn’t because I bought it with my spotty consulting checks and measly teaching salary. It is beautiful because I crafted it with sweat and tools and time and skill.”

People were watching them now. This was exactly the sort of thing that would get Hannibal identified and caught.

Hannibal narrowed his incarnadine eyes and set his napkin on the tabletop. “I believe I shall head back to the hotel. The heat seems to be getting to me.” He rose and pulled out his money clip and considered the thick bundle of cash for a moment. Then he tossed it on the table at Will. Will’s jaw fell wide that he would do something so astonishingly rude. “I’d be obliged if you would settle the bill with when you are done.” He ducked under the scalloped lip of the restaurant’s awning and sauntered off down the street.

Will swore and hung his head in his hands.

Behind closed eyes, his imagination took over. He couldn’t stop it. He envisioned the nightmare that might await him at the hotel. The pale crème walls would be blood splattered, and not by the fine mist of cast-off which comes from a knife. No. These would be thick, gushing, arterial sprays erupting from his body. His bowels would be hanging from the ceiling fan, twisting like gory party streamers. There would be a hole where his heart was once seated and something greasy and gauche would be replaced inside to insure the insult was complete. He knew too well what a betrayal to Hannibal cost. Yet even thinking on this scene, he was fairly sure that Hannibal knew now to expect the exact same sort of reckoning from him.

The sound of water refilling his glass drew him out of his morbid thoughts.

“Honey?” said the waitress. “I don’t know what the problem is, but there’s not much a nice, heavy dinner and a good blowjob can’t fix.” She winked at him.

“My husband’s idea of a big dinner is more complicated than most.”

“He’s a fussy eater?”

Will grasped the arms of his chair and laughed ironically. “You have no idea.” He paid his bill and headed back up the hill to the antique shop, praying the man hadn’t closed it yet.

Will unlocked the door to find their rented flat plunged in darkness. The heavy gold damask curtains had been drawn shut, blotting out the living room’s spectacular harbor view. Will slipped his shoes off and set the keys in the dish by the door. He put Hannibal’s money clip there as well.

From the bathroom he heard a slosh followed by the slow gurgling hiccups of the tub draining. Will took a seat in a chair with a direct line of sight to the bathroom door. Minutes dragged by as he waited. Hannibal emerged in a robe and glanced at the large bouquet of flowers laying across Will’s lap. He turned haughtily and dawdled, fussing with his clothes in the armoire and disappearing again to the far side of the bedroom. He must have been satisfied with the time he kept Will waiting, because he finally came into the parlor.

“I am sorry I upset you,” Will said. He held out the bouquet and Hannibal took it.

A small frown tugged at one corner of his mouth. “These are not from Astrid’s flower cart.”

Again Will needed to close his eyes and breathe deeply. “No. She was sold out and had already gone home. We’ll buy twice from her next time.” If his words placated Hannibal, he did not show it. He abandoned the bouquet on a walnut side table, still in its wrappings.

“Would you mind arranging them for us?”

Hannibal didn’t respond. He searched through the papers and notebooks on his desk, as if looking for something. As if Hannibal ever misplaced anything. The charade was ridiculous.

Apparently not locating whatever he was trying to ‘find’, Hannibal took the flowers to the sink in the kitchen. He slipped off the packaging and paused momentarily. Shaking his head, he set the small wrapped box tucked inside the bouquet on the counter and kept working, trimming the stems of the star lilies and violets at perfect angles.

“You aren’t going to open it?” Will asked.

“I have an idea of what is inside.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Drop the act and talk to me.”

Hannibal gritted his teeth. “I abhor it when you swear at me.”

“I know. But it does tend to get your attention. Do I have it now?”

“Apparently so.”

“When do I get my apology? You’ve shut me out over something trivial and it is intolerable.”

“If the point of your display earlier was to avoid an expense that might alert the authorities as you so claimed, your actions now would suggest otherwise.”

Will got up and wended his arms around Hannibal’s torso and pressed his face between his sculpted shoulder blades and sighed. Hannibal continued snipping at the flowers in the sink. “My signatures on your accounts are simply a formality that you yourself created as a contingency plan.”

“A plan in the event that you uneventfully killed me in my prime, say, by tossing us off a ledge and drowning me in the ocean. I’d hoped at least the guilt of receiving my wealth would haunt you long after I was gone.”

Will rolled his eyes. “You thought no such thing. You did it because you’ve loved me since the day you met me. Once we are able to shift the funds around under your aliases, this is not going to be an issue. I’m only trying to keep the FBI, Interpol, and every bounty hunter watching the Most Wanted list off your trail and not get myself incarcerated as well for aiding and abetting the most stubborn husband that ever lived. Please, Hannibal. I would never deny you anything just to be petty.”

Hannibal remained stiff, but he set the scissors down, which boded well for how this tiff would play out. Will would be seriously pissed if he got stabbed in a kitchen again.

Hannibal was not so easily mollified. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. How did it make you feel when you rejected my request to purchase something?”

“How did it make you feel?” Will retorted, hating when he resorted to psychology tricks.

He did not hesitate. “It was disorienting. Unfamiliar. I am rarely told ‘no’. You may have denied me yourself in the past, but you have been nothing but an indulgent partner since overcoming that particular hurdle. It helps that we are perhaps the wealthiest renegades in the world, so let us not squabble over vulgar financial matters. It is simply a strange and unexpected turn of events to now rely so greatly upon you.” Hannibal gave a ghost of a smile.

Will tried to decipher the human hieroglyph standing before him. “How would you prefer I handle this kind of thing in the future? he asked. “Assuming, of course, that you’re not going to paint this place red with my guts tonight.” Will left the counter for the large living room window and pushed the thick curtains aside.

“You were correct to intervene as you did.”

“Yes, but as usual, you still got exactly what you wanted.”

Hannibal placed the flowers in a vase and redid most of the greenery that came with it. He had chucked the baby’s breath into the trashcan the instant he saw it. “I hope you will continue to serve our best interests so diligently, Will.” He paused, thinking. “Most casual observers would assume that I was the ‘sugar daddy’ in this relationship.”

Will balked at his words. “Why…would…oh...”

“I take it you had not considered how our age difference might be perceived.”

Will laughed in embarrassment. “No, I hadn’t. I never think about it. And Hannibal?” He turned from the window and was wreathed in the violet, oranges, and pinks of the setting sun. “I never will.”

The radiant man had fully come into his own. The sight of his dear Will framed more beautifully than a Botticelli painting left him breathless. Will’s words left him stunned. He still could not predict him. “I am sorry for my behavior,” he said at last. Apologies were not common or easy for Hannibal.

Will nodded. “Now open your gift.” Hannibal went to the counter and pulled the black ribbon off the white box. He smiled when he saw what lay inside.

“There’s an inscription.”

He flipped the watch over.

For the man I will love until the end of time.

Hannibal’s eyes misted up. “I will cherish it always.” He hugged Will and kissed him hotly, tears now streaming down his face. “I love you, my darling.”

Will ran a hand over his cheek. “But if you don’t like it I can always get it changed to read “For my Sugar Daddy, forever.”

Hannibal burst out laughing and hid his face behind his hands, shaking his head. “My astonishing, rude boy. I think I’ll keep it as it is. Thank you.”

Finally they were smiling in their knowing, secretive way. They turned to watch the sun sink slowly into the sea, hand in hand. Only now, one of those wrists bore a very, very nice chronograph.

#hannigram #hannibal fanfiction #will graham #hannibal lecter

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cyberstabbing · 7 years ago

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Crime

Playing With Power - When a mafia boss, Gerard, wins Frank in a poker game he sets out to be the first man to break Frank as his pet. But Frank is tougher than he looks and his pride refuses to back down. As their relationship unfolds their feelings for each other manifest into something much more dangerous - love. Trigger warning: This is an extremely dark story involving S&M and some non-con sex. 87k

Under the Hide of Me - Prohibition in New Jersey means mob bosses and bootleggers running hooch up and down the shore and into the city. Gerard Way, his brother, and their friend Ray are running an operation for the Capo Maranzano. Rival factions are trying to take over the business, and Frank Iero, from a prominent Mob family, is sent to them as their new driver. But the Ways and Ray are hiding two secrets: their own still on a farm in the Pine Barrens, and something darker yet. They’re werewolves. 18k

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I keep thinking about this. There’s just something about it.

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godspeed us to sea - His first thought is oh Jesus, it’s over already. He wonders if Gerard will even bother to bury him. i don’t know how long this is … maybe around 30k?

Mob! AU. I cried. Not that much gore tbh.

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a must-read.

The FBI Gets Shit Done - A new series that’s like a cop show but with words.

Gerard, the boss, is an expert profiler and an easily irritated man at the head of a team that is dysfunctional and somehow functional at the same time. The arrival of newbie, Frank, is what sets the story in motion with the instant hatred instituted between Gerard and Frank. Their two styles of crime solving clash perfectly to make the team efficient and productive. However, the two men at each other’s throats may be a disguise for the feelings just below the surface. Three parts, 16k, 35k and 18k (70k in total)

Thicker Than Water - Frank used to be able to count the number of times he's killed for the Family on the fingers of one hand. That was years ago, but he'll always remember the first one. Gerard was daydreaming, and Frank had only just learnt how to use a gun. Frank was twelve years old. 1.9k

;_;

You Keep Me Sane - Gerard has become infatuated with a young librarian that had only spoken to him once before, and he realized that he didn't have the usual, unrelenting craving to kill. No, He had a different urge, one that seemed a little more dangerous... 144k

I read some of this before I started keeping track of read fics, so that’s why it hasn’t been on here until now. But aloooot more words have been written since 2016 (144k now. holy shit), and someone just reminded me abt it, so here’s to rereading!

Shook-Up World - Part 1 of the 1930s Dragverse series - Frank is just a kid when he discovers Gerard's secret, and it changes his life. When they meet again by chance years later, Frank's carrying around a few secrets of his own. 5k

On the Getaway Mile - Part 2 of the 1930s Dragverse series - It's the last year of Prohibition, and bootlegger Frank Iero wants to sever his ties to the world of organized crime and go straight, but his mob connections have other plans for him. No one would like to see Frank get away from the mob more than Gerard, but he's got problems of his own--like the fact that he's a cross-dressing cabaret singer constantly struggling to keep his true identity secret from those who can't be trusted. With the help of a devoted brother, a detective who just might be as trustworthy as he claims, and a wealthy, eccentric Scotsman who features prominently in Gerard's past, Frank and Gerard just might be able to get out and start a new life together, but it's not going to be easy.

A tale of gangsters, garter belts, love (hopefully) overcoming all obstacles, and a whole lot of coffee. 40k

Here’s the comment I left - not too spoiler-y I hope: God, this fic needs a fucking movie. Also, I googled '30s halter gown' to better understand what Gerard was wearing and *waves fan* holy shit. No wonder G could jerk off at the thought of dresses. Now I want to re read the whole thing again and google all the outfits! Kudos to you, seriously, the amount of research that must have gone into writing this ... insane.

Like Fog on Glass - For Gerard, love can only come in the form of possession. If he is owned, he is loved--if he is sold, he becomes nothing. Untouchable in the eyes of the man, his Master, whom he held above all others.

For Frank, love is...enigmatic. Romantic. You can't buy it on street corners or in seedy bars on the outskirts of town. You can't steal it. You can't force it or kindle it from nothing. At least, you're not supposed to.

Love was certainly not what Frank expected to find when circumstances led him to spend his final $5k on a broken human being put up for auction on the bad side of town. Love...you didn't give that to creatures like Gerard. 111k

The Collision of Your Kiss - Gerard can hardly believe it when his new neighbor and latest obsession, Frank Iero, agrees to go out to dinner with him. It seems as though Gerard's dreams have come true, but he soon discovers that Frank's "hobby" is a little unconventional. Gerard still wants to be with him, though--if Frank's deadly secret doesn't put a wrench in their relationship. 4k

A Lap-Dance is so Much Better (When the Stripper is Crying) - Ray—and his ambiguously named friend ‘John’—force a depressed Frank to go the strip club downtown after he’s been broken up with. It’s a shame no one would listen to him when he insisted that this wasn’t just a strip club—it was a whore house. And no, he did not appreciate the lap-dance. 4k

Purgatorio - While on leave from the police force, Detective Frank Iero occupies himself with three things: drinking, brawling, and being alone. But when a series of brutal murders calls him back to active duty, he must find a killer while confronting people from his past, including estranged best friend turned businessman Mikey Way, and deal with his unwilling attraction to Mikey's enigmatic older brother Gerard. 27k

It’s been a while since i read this, but i remember it really good. It had such a mysterious vibe to it, and I loved how dark and gritty it was. Oh and Gerard makes really fucking cool metal sculptures in this one. ‘Twas awesome.

Rising With the Heat - "Bullet?" he says, voice high and confused. "Um, hi?" Frank says, dropping to the ground. "You're the one – have you been following me all week?" Gerard asks, slowly lowering the spray can. Bob's going to give him so much shit for this. "I just wanted to make sure you got home safe." 2k

Frank is a superhero sidekick who’s fallen for Gerard, who he previously saved from getting mugged. Gerard finds it cute. And maybe a little bit hot.

#frerard #frerard fic #frank/gerard #rec list

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loveinpanem-blog · 8 years ago

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Love is...Unconditional (Epilogue)

Banners by the astounding @akai-echo . Beta’d by the talented and inimitable @eala-musings . Written for @thegirlfromoverthepond .

Summary: Even after three years, Katniss Mellark still cannot resign herself to the death of her husband. When Peeta Mellark returns, she is willing to go to any lengths to keep him with her, even agreeing to abandon everything and embark on a journey that will change everything she believes about love, regret and the persistence of hope. A story in three parts.

Also on AO3/ffnet

Epilogue - Five Years Later

I wiped down the last of the tables just as the sun set beyond the mountains that were visible from the main thoroughfare of District 12. Open only one year, Mellark’s Tea and Coffee Shop was already considered a fundamental part of District 12’s downtown culture. Some of it had to do with the clever nature of the shop, which doubled as a used bookstore where people could read as they took their coffee or tea. But I could not deny that the use of the already familiar Mellark family name was also critical to its success.

Why not? I will always carry the name Mellark.

Switching off the lights, I walked towards the stairs, where the sound of my daughter’s laughter mingled with that of my sister’s. After completing her nursing degree, Prim had moved back to 12 around the period when I’d returned home, just in time for the birth of Amada. There was a great deal of shock when my family found out I was pregnant, and a powerful suspension of belief was required to absorb my explanation: that somehow, Peeta and I had availed ourselves of a sperm storage facility so that in the event we could not conceive naturally, we would still be able to have a child that was biologically ours. It was a ridiculous fabrication and, because I was a terrible liar, the doubt persisted all throughout the months I carried our child, especially on the part of the Mellarks, who believed me to be crazy.

But when Amada was born, those widely-held doubts were dispelled, melting away further and further as she grew, to the point that even Mrs. Mellark had to begrudgingly acknowledge the girl’s connection to her family. Olive-skinned, like me, with the same Indian-black hair, it was her eyes that could not be denied - round and uniquely blue, with brilliant, gold flecks, just like her father’s. The sweet expression, an invitation to an open and gentle spirit, was one that Peeta had always possessed, the same one that now graced the little girl’s face. Whether it defied all logic or reason, there was no denying that Amada was Peeta Mellark’s daughter.

I opened the door to the apartment to find Prim seated cross-legged before the coffee table covered in a child-sized tea set. Amada primly served her aunt tea in the company of a pair of stuffed bears and a tiny pink pig. When Amada looked up, she smiled and dropped the things she held to run towards me.

“Mommy, mommy!” she squealed, melting into my arms.

“Hey, baby,” I said, snuggling into her neck, the warm, sweet smell of baby filling me with a deep sense of contentment.

Prim stood, dusting off her pants. “She did all her reading and had a snack.” She poked Amada’s nose, provoking another round of giggles. “She also got into my things again and tried to put on my nursing uniform! I even took a picture of her.”

Amada giggled, hiding her face to escape the accusations.

“Honey, I told you that you shouldn’t take things out of your aunt’s room. Remember?”

A muffled “Mmm...hmm” came from somewhere below my chin but Prim protested, “I don’t mind. She was too adorable!”

“Trying to discipline here!” I hissed but that only resulted in more giggles and my squeezing Amada to me even more.

“Are you all packed up yet?” I asked, setting her down finally. She was four years old but she was a heavy child.

“Yes!” she said. “I packed all the toys I’m going to take.”

I looked at Prim over Amada’s head and winked. “Are there some clothes in there too?”

“I double-checked and made sure,” Prim reassured me with a laugh. “One whole week of beach clothes for my little goose!”

“Do you want to come with me while I pack?” I asked Amada, hoping to give Prim a break. She had picked Amada up from school and stayed with her the entire afternoon.

“Yes, yes!” Amada said, grabbing Prim by the hand. “You help too, Primmie!”

I began to protest, hoping to give Prim a reprieve, but Prim just held Amada’s hand tighter and let herself be dragged to my bedroom.

“We should help your mommy. Then we’ll call grandma together so you can say goodbye. Your train leaves too early tomorrow morning to call her.”

“Okay!” she said, letting Prim’s hand go and skipping ahead of us, having become distracted with some scheme or other. I watched my little girl, my heart swelling with love and gratitude, as it often did, for the gift of her existence in my life.

“I’ll try not to take very much - just a few dresses and my bathing suits,” I said as we entered my bedroom and Prim reached into my closet to take out the rolling suitcase.

“Makes sense,” she said. I could feel her eyes on me as I moved about the room, pulling things from drawers to place them inside my suitcase. “Are you staying in the same place?”

“In the Sea Comber? Yes. Cecilia and her family know me already. They are always so kind to Amada.”

Prim nodded, passing the things I’d set out so that I could fit them in the small space. No matter how practical I was, I always ended up taking too much.

My sister went quiet again, like a song that pauses but you know will soon start playing again. “Katniss?” she asked, her voice now sheepish and small.

“Yes?” I answered, pretending to be oblivious to the way her voice, her entire attitude had changed.

“I know you like to go alone to the sea with Amada - your own special vacation and all. But...I mean...are you really alone when you go there?” She looked up and caught my eye, holding my gaze. She knew how hard it was for me to lie when she stared at me like that.

“Why would you ask something like that?” I asked defiantly.

She glanced away at her hands, releasing me momentarily from her penetrating examination, which she took up again after several moments. “It’s just...I’m your sister. You can tell me anything. About you. Or about Amada…”

“I…” I tried to break eye contact with her but she rounded the bed and stood before me. My sister - all grown up, her thick, blond hair loose and wild, gentle eyes capable of turning to steel at a moment’s notice. Besides Peeta and Amada, Prim was always the great love of my life.

“You’re right. I’m not. Peeta’s there. I go there because it’s where I feel him the most. And he never leaves me alone.”

“Katniss...” she began, the disbelief clouding her eyes, making her hear, not the truth, but what she wanted to hear. That’s what we all do, I guess. When things are too incomprehensible or unbearable, we bend reality so we don’t have to accept it.

“Look, I don’t want to hear the ‘It’s time you move on’ lecture from you.” I took her by the shoulders, squeezing her gently. “Some days, I pray that you will love someone the way I loved Peeta. But then there are other days…” I bite my lip. I don’t want to be foolish and cry. “I hope you will never love a man the way I loved him. Because that kind of love takes hold of you and never lets you go. He rooted his way into my heart and I will never pull him out again. I’m perfectly fine with that. And you need to be, too.”

“Is it enough, though?” Prim asked.

I sighed, thinking through my answer. “We didn’t get much time together, but what we had is enough to sustain me for a lifetime.”

“It just sounds so...lonely,” Prim said, pulling me into her embrace.

I shake my head, holding her close to me. “I’m not lonely. Peeta is always with me, no matter what.”

XXXXX

We took the first train out of District 12. It was the express so we were scheduled to arrive by the next morning. This worked out for Amada in particular, who would have had a terrible time staying inside that train for more than a day and a night. The novelty would have worn off, and she would have become unrequited.

As it was, she spent a good portion of the trip familiarizing herself again with the train, visiting the different train cars while I trailed her to keep her from getting hurt or lost. When lunchtime arrived, we ate in the dining car, after which she finally settled down enough to color and work on her own drawings, being in possession of a talent for art similar to her father’s.

Those moments of calm gave me a chance to think about this trip, the one I have taken every year since Amada was born. Prim thought it a lonely journey, but what she couldn’t understand was I had left someone on that beach, not once, but twice, someone who was integral to who I was a person. She didn’t understand the way I missed him, the way I needed to feel that he was still there, waiting, so that I could find the courage to get through the rest of my life without him. It was crazy, I know, but I had never claimed to be a perfectly sane woman.

One day, I might invite her to come. I can’t help but think that was what she was waiting for. But not yet. These trips, these moments, they still belonged to my husband and I, and eventually, to my daughter. I was not ready to invite the outside world, with its cold rationality and its therapies and ‘moving ons.’ I didn’t want anyone trying to talk my way out of this. I had lived something, real and concrete, even if it involved things I would never completely understand. But I was prepared to coexist with that uncertainty.

When the trained pulled into the station and opened its doors, I was assaulted by the exact same smell of sea and vegetation as my very first visit. I gripped Amada’s hand as our bags trailed behind us and began the usual running commentary of the place, pointing out the shops and restaurants that Peeta and I had visited. Amada was getting to an age where she was beginning to remember my stories.

“There’s an ice cream shop down that road. I’ll take you there. They make homemade ice cream in a funny machine.”

Amada giggled, nearly jumping up and down in excitement. “Can we go now? Can we go now?”

“Not right now. I want to check in first and put our clothes away. But I’ll bring you tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

Amada was captivated by everything she saw. I know she remembered something of our previous trips but she had been so small, and had napped so often, that I wonder if it was only an impression of the place that had stayed with her.

When we finally arrived at the Sea Comber, Cecila greeted us warmly, scooping little Amada up into her arms as Caleb took our bags. I protested that I could carry them, but Caleb shook his head and said, “You have enough with that little one right there.” I didn’t miss the wistful look they gave Amada, fawning over her to the point of ignoring me completely, but they had never spoken to me directly about Rue and I would not be the one to press the issue.

I searched the small office for Thresh, but Cecila told me he’d gone out on a supply run and would be back soon enough.

“We’re a little early,” I said, signing the room receipt. “I’ll catch up to him later.”

“He’s doing so well. He’s been working at a small firm not 15 miles inland so he commutes from here every day. Says the day will never come that he’ll leave.”

“He’s a good, loyal man,” I said sincerely, to which Cecilia responded by giving me a strong hug.

“He thinks mighty well of you, too. He was looking forward to you ladies coming all week,” she said.

“Mommy’s going to buy me ice cream tomorrow!” Amada exclaimed.

“Is she, now? Why, if you have dinner in the diner today, I bet we could rustle up some dessert for you. What do you think about that, sugar pie?” Cecilia said.

Amada squealed in delight and it was all I could do to tear her away from the front desk.

When we arrived in our room, Caleb had already left the two bags inside. It was the same room every time - the honeymoon suite, overlooking the sea. When I’d settled Amada in front of the television, I stepped out onto the large balcony, letting the feeling of the room settle over me. I closed my eyes and imagined Peeta behind me, his arms around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder, and I had to take a deep, noisy breath to keep from crying. He was everywhere in this room, this beach, this sea, and I let my mind wander, let myself self search for him.

The blaring of a television commercial pulled me from my thoughts, forcing me back into reality. After washing up, we descended to the small restaurant and ordered our dinner. Thresh bounded up, bigger and stronger than before, if possible. There was a special understanding between the two of us - he was the only person in the world who had captured Peeta’s true nature. We had both held back the ones we loved with chains made of regret. We had both glimpsed behind the veil of reality and seen things few others ever would in their mortal experience.

Thresh hugged me tight before tossing Amada up into the air. “You just keep growing, don’t you, half-pint?”

“I’m flying!” she cried out as Thresh flew her through the air like an airplane.

After they’d tired of their game, she raced to the large window of the dining hall and looked out at the surf. She was ready to get into the sand, her restlessness causing her to squish her face against the glass, leaving cheek and nose marks on its smooth surface.

“She’s a happy kid,” he said, watching her slide ever so stealthily towards the door that lead to the beach front.

“Yeah. She’s the only girl in the family right now, so she gets spoiled by everyone.” I glanced over at him, appraising him. “You look pretty content too.”

He smiled a wide, toothy grin that was designed to turn heads, while hiding all its own secrets, secrets that every young person should have. “I can’t complain.”

I crossed my arms, nodding. “I bet.”

When I looked back, Amada had succeeded in slipping out the door onto the wooden deck that led to the sand dunes, and eventually, the sea. I waved Thresh off, who let his gaze linger on me in a way I was no longer accustomed to. It was an invitation, a promise perhaps but I didn’t think I’d ever again be a girl who would hope for such things. I’d had my moment of perfection with Peeta and it had been enough. I turned, breaking that weak hold his gaze had on me, pushing it firmly out of my mind and followed my daughter out the door.

I set up our beach blanket and toys along the shore while Amada did her best to scatter the birds that settled in flocks to dig for sand crabs with their narrow, sharp beaks. She ran between them, dispersing them like a cloud of smoke before they coalesced and settled a few feet from her, only to invite Amada’s attention again. I laughed at her as she raced down the beach like a wild puppy until she got too far and I had to run after her, carrying her back to our spot on the sand.

“Sand castle time,” I said, handing her a neon-green plastic shovel. I collected water from the sea, my mind only half on the task as Amada became more and more focused on her construction. I’m here, I whispered to the breeze. I’m waiting.

Amada worked and I drifted mentally, the sun waning slowly until it was just hovering over the horizon. I leaned forward as my husband’s colors banded, warm and gentle, over the sky. The wind picked up, caressing my back, my shoulders, resting warm and soft on my neck, my cheek. I watched my daughter who, in the eternal purity of a child’s instinct, paused in her work to cast a glance at that sunset. The foam shimmered, silver and grey as the water became insistent, reaching for my feet. I allowed it. Touch me, I whispered. I’m here.

He never appeared. He was no longer in a place where he could do that. But Peeta was everywhere - in the beauty of the sunset, the warm rush of water on sand, the wind that engulfed me, held me, rocked me in welcome, like a prodigal returning home. My daughter sighed, unconscious but not unaware of her father’s embrace, even if she could not quite verbalize it. He said we were all made of the same things - of light and mass and love, so much love. And I bathed in the warm glow of his love and sent it back to him, fierce and eternal. I whispered his name and he whispered mine back, on the salt and current of the sea.

One day, she will ask me if it is her father she feels on the beach at sunset. And I will tell her the truth. Yes, he is here. He is more than your father. He is love. And he surrounds us with himself. Because you are beloved. We are beloved. It is the fuel of my vigil, the secret to my survival. It is at the very heart of my existence. And it is in this place of hope and love where he can be found. Waiting for me.

Always.

#LIP 2017 #valentine's day 2017 #LIP drabbles #VDAY 2017 Day 4 #loveinpanem #titaniasfics #unconditional #everlark #everlark fanfiction #thg fanfiction

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brandyfields66-blog · 6 years ago

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I Ate Like Supermodel Kate Upton for Three Days-and It Wasn't That Hard

What It Is: Kate Upton x Urban Remedy Meal Plan

Who Tried It: Grace Gavilanes, PEOPLE.com associate editor

Level of Difficulty: 4/10

When I think Kate Upton, three things come to mind: Her laugh-out-loud role in The Other Woman, her picture-perfect relationship with husband Justin Verlander and her totally enviable physique (and body-positive attitude to boot!). Upton's a supermodel whose hectic schedule keeps her on the go, but she makes sure to eat clean, nourishing meals throughout the day no matter what.

In late June, Upton announced on Instagram that she partnered up with Urban Remedy and its founder, Neka Pasquale, to create an exclusive Kate-Upton-approved meal plan that promotes an organic diet.

The three-day meal plan ($189; urbanremedy.com) features salads, a veggie burger, a black rice bowl and several shots of juice for fitness fans to take before, during and after their workouts. As People.com's self-proclaimed guinea pig, I was immediately intrigued and knew I had to try it out. But this isn't just another celebrity who has no personal attachment to the product she's endorsing. Upton tells PEOPLE she's long been a fan of the company and its delicious and healthy offerings.

So, what advice did she have for me before I kicked off my living-like-a-supermodel adventure? She recommended I pay extra-close attention to subtle and noticeable changes I'd be experiencing in those three days. “I always can tell when I'm eating clean because I sleep better, my skin clears up, and I have significantly more energy,” Upton tells PEOPLE of her own experience with the service. “It truly makes a huge difference.”

And with that heads-up, I was off:

Day One

Tell Me About Your Day: I don't even know how to describe what I felt on my first day. Surprise? Total satisfaction? I was just happy, and yes, most definitely surprised. I kicked off my three-day journey on a Wednesday, which in theory sounded perfect. I'd end this meal plan right before the weekend so if I'm miserable I can just treat myself to cheese fries on Saturday, I thought. But here's the thing: The meals were really, really good - even the smoothies, which I was skeptical about at first. I usually start my day off with a big ol' cup of oatmeal and a banana, but the Green Berry smoothie was first on the meal plan's Day 1 list. I don't have an ongoing relationship with smoothies so I was curious about my very first beverage on the plan. The drink was sweet and thick, but not in an overwhelming way. I was immediately satisfied and much to my surprise, felt satiated. A much lighter green juice (Slender Greens) came next for “mid-morning.” Clearly unexperienced, I kind of forced myself to drink Slender Greens 1.5 hours after the Green Berry, despite still feeling quite full. Lunch called for Thai Veggie Noodles and Chicken. The noodles were made from zucchini, and the dish was delicious. It even came with a spicy ginger lime dressing! And because Kate Upton knows every sane person needs an afternoon snack to get them through the mid-day slump, she included Sour Cream & Chive Zucchini Chips (1/2 bag) in the plan. I was extra cautious about not eating the entire bag. At around 5 p.m. I ate dinner, a Vegan Caesar Salad that came with parmesan seed cheese made from hemp, sesame and sunflower. I did feel hungry a few hours later, though, so I ate an RX Bar after coming across a “plan tip” written at the top of the meal plan schedule card that read, “Listen to your body and eat when hungry.” I took it as a sign to enjoy the chocolate sea salt bar, which I do end up doing while also vowing to not force-drink the mid-morning juice so soon after my breakfast.

How's Your Skin? I've always been prone to breakouts so I'll be honest and say I wasn't expecting an overnight miracle. Regardless, I did keep an extra-close eye on a bump I saw forming on my right cheek that morning.

How'd You Sleep? Like a baby. But I think it had less to do with the meal plan and more to do with my A/C being on the whole night.

How About Your Energy Levels? I will say, I did feel healthier since I was being encouraged to focus on portion controls, and not just eating cupcakes or cookies whenever I needed a break from work.

Day Two

Tell Me About Your Day: I felt like a contestant on the early-aughts reality show Temptation Island, but instead of hunky guys, my temptation came in the form of a catered company lunch and DIY sundae bar. I must persevere! And I did. Somehow. In the morning, I happily gulped my breakfast - a Mint Cacao Chip smoothie - which almost made me cry because it tasted like a cheat meal but is so, so good for you because of the vitamin-loaded spinach, banana, cashews, mint and cacao in it. Lunch and dinner were comprised of Rainbow Salad + Chicken and Ensalada Bowl salads. The afternoon snack, a Cacao Chip Protein Bar, was exactly what I needed after being tempted with goodies. Oh, I also downed almost two liters of water throughout the day … which I mindlessly end with an RX Bar while reading a few articles on my phone. What can I say? I'm a creature of habit.

How's Your Skin? The bump on my cheek got bigger. Again, not your fault, Kate Upton. I blame that one night earlier in the week when I didn't deep-clean my face for this soon-to-be volcano-sized zit on my face.

How'd You Sleep? Not very well but it's entirely my fault. I stayed up late to watch a re-run of Southern Charm. I am too invested in the Thomas-Ashley-Kathryn drama to feel guilty.

How About Your Energy Levels? I definitely started feeling more confident on Thursday, mostly because I coolly rejected the free sandwiches and ice cream being served at work. I did, however, stand within feet of the free food just to see/smell it but found myself back at my desk minutes later (hair flip).

Day Three

Tell Me About Your Day: My morning started off with a 7 a.m. boxing class at Shadowbox, which meant I was finally able to try out the plan's pre-, mid- and post-workout shots. Since I'm only really used to chugging water while exercising and making a protein shake right after, the shots - made with ingredients like beet root (pre), cucumber (mid) and ginger (post) - were a nice little departure. The post-workout shot, in particular, was a nice kick thanks to the ginger and turmeric. It claims to reduce inflammation and officially woke me up. After that, I made my way to work, had a Green Berry smoothie and a Happy Belly juice hours later, when my body was finally ready. In terms of food, Day 3 of the plan is the best one yet. Lunch and dinner were comprised of an umami plant Veggie Burger - which I had to stop myself from eating so fast because it is that good - and a Black Rice Umeboshi Bowl that came with salmon. Salmon! I was thrilled because as much as I love salads, I do appreciate a variety in my protein (i.e. something other than chicken). The afternoon snack called for the last half of the Sour Cream & Chive Zucchini Chips bag, which ended up being more than half because I was so paranoid about eating the entire thing on Day 1. I was very satisfied throughout the day, mostly because I finally got the hang of drinking my mid-morning juice when I felt less-than-uncomfortably-stuffed. That evening was a little trickier. My good friend was treating me and four of her other bridesmaids to a nice dinner a week before her wedding. It took me a very long time to order because I a.) wasn't that hungry at all and b.) wanted to make Kate Upton proud! In the end, I chose roasted chicken with veggies for my entrée … and a little slice of peach cobbler with blackberry ice cream for dessert. (Sorry, Kate!!) It sounded too delicious to pass up.

How's Your Skin? The little bump on my right cheek grew into a full-fledged whitehead, which - spoiler alert! - eventually disappeared almost a week later.

How'd You Sleep? Pretty good! Waking up early for a fitness class before work usually catches up with me at the end of the day.

How About Your Energy Levels? I felt pretty good at work. Not tired one bit.

Conclusion

The meals were delicious and very easy to prep since all I really had to do was mix in the dressing, chicken and salmon. No microwave needed! It was a much-needed reboot to my system, which up until starting the meal plan, only recognized the chocolate chip waffles and chicken nuggets I continuously ate during a weekend binge. The only downside is that the meal plan does have a hefty price tag, which makes sense considering every meal is fresh and packed with nutrients your body needs. That being said, I would definitely still treat myself to the Veggie Burger and a few Mint Cacao Chip smoothies in the near future. The best news? You can buy any item individually.

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reynoldslevi10-blog · 6 years ago

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I Ate Like Supermodel Kate Upton for Three Days-and It Wasn't That Hard

What It Is: Kate Upton x Urban Remedy Meal Plan

Who Tried It: Grace Gavilanes, PEOPLE.com associate editor

Level of Difficulty: 4/10

In late June, Upton announced on Instagram that she partnered up with Urban Remedy and its founder, Neka Pasquale, to create an exclusive Kate-Upton-approved meal plan that promotes an organic diet.

And with that heads-up, I was off:

Day One

How'd You Sleep? Like a baby. But I think it had less to do with the meal plan and more to do with my A/C being on the whole night.

How About Your Energy Levels? I will say, I did feel healthier since I was being encouraged to focus on portion controls, and not just eating cupcakes or cookies whenever I needed a break from work.

Day Two

How'd You Sleep? Not very well but it's entirely my fault. I stayed up late to watch a re-run of Southern Charm. I am too invested in the Thomas-Ashley-Kathryn drama to feel guilty.

Day Three

How's Your Skin? The little bump on my right cheek grew into a full-fledged whitehead, which - spoiler alert! - eventually disappeared almost a week later.

How'd You Sleep? Pretty good! Waking up early for a fitness class before work usually catches up with me at the end of the day.

How About Your Energy Levels? I felt pretty good at work. Not tired one bit.

Conclusion

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psmf-diet · 6 years ago

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I Ate Like Supermodel Kate Upton for Three Days—and It Wasn’t That Hard

What It Is: Kate Upton x Urban Remedy Meal Plan

Who Tried It: Grace Gavilanes, PEOPLE.com associate editor

Level of Difficulty: 4/10

When I think Kate Upton, three things come to mind: Her laugh-out-loud role in The Other Woman, her picture-perfect relationship with husband Justin Verlander and her totally enviable physique (and body-positive attitude to boot!). Upton’s a supermodel whose hectic schedule keeps her on the go, but she makes sure to eat clean, nourishing meals throughout the day no matter what.

In late June, Upton announced on Instagram that she partnered up with Urban Remedy and its founder, Neka Pasquale, to create an exclusive Kate-Upton-approved meal plan that promotes an organic diet.

The three-day meal plan ($189; urbanremedy.com) features salads, a veggie burger, a black rice bowl and several shots of juice for fitness fans to take before, during and after their workouts. As People.com’s self-proclaimed guinea pig, I was immediately intrigued and knew I had to try it out. But this isn’t just another celebrity who has no personal attachment to the product she’s endorsing. Upton tells PEOPLE she’s long been a fan of the company and its delicious and healthy offerings.

So, what advice did she have for me before I kicked off my living-like-a-supermodel adventure? She recommended I pay extra-close attention to subtle and noticeable changes I’d be experiencing in those three days. “I always can tell when I’m eating clean because I sleep better, my skin clears up, and I have significantly more energy,” Upton tells PEOPLE of her own experience with the service. “It truly makes a huge difference.”

And with that heads-up, I was off:

Day One

Tell Me About Your Day: I don’t even know how to describe what I felt on my first day. Surprise? Total satisfaction? I was just happy, and yes, most definitely surprised. I kicked off my three-day journey on a Wednesday, which in theory sounded perfect. I’d end this meal plan right before the weekend so if I’m miserable I can just treat myself to cheese fries on Saturday, I thought. But here’s the thing: The meals were really, really good — even the smoothies, which I was skeptical about at first. I usually start my day off with a big ol’ cup of oatmeal and a banana, but the Green Berry smoothie was first on the meal plan’s Day 1 list. I don’t have an ongoing relationship with smoothies so I was curious about my very first beverage on the plan. The drink was sweet and thick, but not in an overwhelming way. I was immediately satisfied and much to my surprise, felt satiated. A much lighter green juice (Slender Greens) came next for “mid-morning.” Clearly unexperienced, I kind of forced myself to drink Slender Greens 1.5 hours after the Green Berry, despite still feeling quite full. Lunch called for Thai Veggie Noodles and Chicken. The noodles were made from zucchini, and the dish was delicious. It even came with a spicy ginger lime dressing! And because Kate Upton knows every sane person needs an afternoon snack to get them through the mid-day slump, she included Sour Cream & Chive Zucchini Chips (1/2 bag) in the plan. I was extra cautious about not eating the entire bag. At around 5 p.m. I ate dinner, a Vegan Caesar Salad that came with parmesan seed cheese made from hemp, sesame and sunflower. I did feel hungry a few hours later, though, so I ate an RX Bar after coming across a “plan tip” written at the top of the meal plan schedule card that read, “Listen to your body and eat when hungry.” I took it as a sign to enjoy the chocolate sea salt bar, which I do end up doing while also vowing to not force-drink the mid-morning juice so soon after my breakfast.

How’s Your Skin? I’ve always been prone to breakouts so I’ll be honest and say I wasn’t expecting an overnight miracle. Regardless, I did keep an extra-close eye on a bump I saw forming on my right cheek that morning.

How’d You Sleep? Like a baby. But I think it had less to do with the meal plan and more to do with my A/C being on the whole night.

How About Your Energy Levels? I will say, I did feel healthier since I was being encouraged to focus on portion controls, and not just eating cupcakes or cookies whenever I needed a break from work.

Day Two

Tell Me About Your Day: I felt like a contestant on the early-aughts reality show Temptation Island, but instead of hunky guys, my temptation came in the form of a catered company lunch and DIY sundae bar. I must persevere! And I did. Somehow. In the morning, I happily gulped my breakfast — a Mint Cacao Chip smoothie — which almost made me cry because it tasted like a cheat meal but is so, so good for you because of the vitamin-loaded spinach, banana, cashews, mint and cacao in it. Lunch and dinner were comprised of Rainbow Salad + Chicken and Ensalada Bowl salads. The afternoon snack, a Cacao Chip Protein Bar, was exactly what I needed after being tempted with goodies. Oh, I also downed almost two liters of water throughout the day … which I mindlessly end with an RX Bar while reading a few articles on my phone. What can I say? I’m a creature of habit.

How’s Your Skin? The bump on my cheek got bigger. Again, not your fault, Kate Upton. I blame that one night earlier in the week when I didn’t deep-clean my face for this soon-to-be volcano-sized zit on my face.

How’d You Sleep? Not very well but it’s entirely my fault. I stayed up late to watch a re-run of Southern Charm. I am too invested in the Thomas-Ashley-Kathryn drama to feel guilty.

Day Three

Tell Me About Your Day: My morning started off with a 7 a.m. boxing class at Shadowbox, which meant I was finally able to try out the plan’s pre-, mid- and post-workout shots. Since I’m only really used to chugging water while exercising and making a protein shake right after, the shots — made with ingredients like beet root (pre), cucumber (mid) and ginger (post) — were a nice little departure. The post-workout shot, in particular, was a nice kick thanks to the ginger and turmeric. It claims to reduce inflammation and officially woke me up. After that, I made my way to work, had a Green Berry smoothie and a Happy Belly juice hours later, when my body was finally ready. In terms of food, Day 3 of the plan is the best one yet. Lunch and dinner were comprised of an umami plant Veggie Burger — which I had to stop myself from eating so fast because it is that good — and a Black Rice Umeboshi Bowl that came with salmon. Salmon! I was thrilled because as much as I love salads, I do appreciate a variety in my protein (i.e. something other than chicken). The afternoon snack called for the last half of the Sour Cream & Chive Zucchini Chips bag, which ended up being more than half because I was so paranoid about eating the entire thing on Day 1. I was very satisfied throughout the day, mostly because I finally got the hang of drinking my mid-morning juice when I felt less-than-uncomfortably-stuffed. That evening was a little trickier. My good friend was treating me and four of her other bridesmaids to a nice dinner a week before her wedding. It took me a very long time to order because I a.) wasn’t that hungry at all and b.) wanted to make Kate Upton proud! In the end, I chose roasted chicken with veggies for my entrée … and a little slice of peach cobbler with blackberry ice cream for dessert. (Sorry, Kate!!) It sounded too delicious to pass up.

How’s Your Skin? The little bump on my right cheek grew into a full-fledged whitehead, which — spoiler alert! — eventually disappeared almost a week later.

How’d You Sleep? Pretty good! Waking up early for a fitness class before work usually catches up with me at the end of the day.

How About Your Energy Levels? I felt pretty good at work. Not tired one bit.

Conclusion

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