#winter’s a03 wrapped

[zipperzoo]

TOO SWEET (WHISKEY NEAT)

The Last of Us (2013 - 2024) Joel Miller x f!reader (one use of a gendered word) Word Count: 2.3k A03 Themes: Alcohol, Age Gap, Fluffy, Cute, Winter, First person, one-shot, SFW Summary: Inspired by Hozier's new banger, too sweet and those fantastic Joel miller edits to the song. I just got three things to say: God bless our troops, God bless The last of us and GENTLEMEN- START YOUR ENGINEEESSSS

Orange light of the Tipsy Bison was a welcoming one. After a long week of patrolling and harvesting, the whole town put together a game night. One that had been planned in advance and had plastered posters across every fence of the large commune. 

The blue hue of the evening helped illuminate the inside of the boisterous bar. A contrast of the warmth and the harsh cold outside drew people further inside. The heart of Jackson- makes sense for it to be a classic country tavern.

Despite that, outside stood a silhouette, one hunched over the railing that just nestled outside of the walkway.

Like a guard dog.

The large figure caught my eye while I laughed with the crowd I was with. The bustling of lively folks and chatter was soon washed out as I saw in the corner of my eye that shape.

He captured my full attention.

Turning my head slightly to see the man better. Leaning back to see past the person who sat beside me who was blocking the view.

Frowning to myself, I grabbed my drink from the bar. Nudging past the crowd to then open the glass door just ajar. Maybe it was my curiosity or the alcohol in me that brought out the sociable nature but I wanted to disturb that person’s peace.

Hit in the face with the frosted air, goosebumps run up my arms, it was an unsettling change from the warm and cozy heat from inside that still warmed my back. 

I winced slightly to then look up at the silhouette. Little light that was outside haloed his figure. Looking like an angelic painting. 

It was that poetic artistic appeal that struck me or the cold that was sobering me up. Either way, I wasn't going to argue against something that was visually appealing. Like a scene from a cinematic masterpiece.

Completely committing to the idea of going outside, I pushed myself outside and gently shut the door behind me. Zlip locking the chatter inside the building, locking it away to then have the peaceful quiet.

Wrapping one arm around me while one hand still held my ice hold drink, making my fingers go numb. 

I moved further outside with the goal to talk to this person, or at the very least check if they are okay.

The figure wore a tan coloured coat, with the orange glow from the windows it was hard to tell if it was heavy cotton or corduroy. His hair just fell over the collar. Long with gray streaks peaking through as it curled.

“Cold huh?” I mumbled just loud enough for the man in front of me to catch. In response he tensed his shoulders and stood up straight from his lean. He hadn't heard me close the door, let alone the disruption of the quiet that came with the bar door opening, but did hear me speak.

I was mistaken, this person did not act like a guard dog- more like a moose caught in the woods alone. Alert and easy to scare.

I felt like a rookie out hunting, seeing the slow and magnificent creature and I made the beginner mistake of walking up to it and my callout was the snap of a twig that started it.

He shifted slightly and turned his head halfway, seeing me. I saw his ragged appearance, and worn expression. 

It was Joel. 

Joel Miller.

Joel the quiet rough guy that mainly kept himself to himself besides his brother Tommy or the girl he looked after Ellie. It was hard to see this guy on his own, he was always with either of the two.

When he was on his own though, it very often was naturally uncomfortable. He just had that sort of atmosphere around him.

I remember very vividly when I went on a patrol with Joel. It was just to show me the general route, it was all new to me at the time. I just remember trying to strike up a conversation and he would shell up. Giving one sarcastic response or ignoring what I said. 

Kind of like meeting your friend’s dad for the first time. The same awkward silence and blunt statements of testing the waters to then bad jokes. Often repeating Ellie’s bad puns.

It would have been more pleasurable to rip my own fingernails.

“Hmm.” He hummed. 

I assume it was a response to my comment or to my presence. He moved back to his previous comfortable lean.

I slowly shuffled towards him rubbing my arm to then lean my arms down besides him onto the railing. Not too close to him but also not too far. Just enough space that my shudder of the cold couldn't be sensed- I hoped.

“Enjoying the party?” I nodded back towards the bar. Joel barely moved his head to face me, instead just side glanced to then hum again. Not uttering a word. 

It didn't seem like he wanted to talk. It is just like that patrol we went on.

I inhaled a sharp breath and asked “What’s your poison?” He took a sip, standing up straight and rolling his shoulders. Moving his upper body to then lean one arm on the railing to face me. 

“Whiskey.”

“Ah you do speak.” I teased, giving him a smile. In response he gave me a lopsided smile. “So… Whiskey and out in the cold.” He raised his eyebrows slightly expressing amusement in my comments, slowly warming up to my company but still very much keeping me distant with his blunt replies. “Just wanted some fresh air.” To that he leaned back forward, turning his attention away from me.

“Well the air sure is fresh.” I shivered slightly. “Why don’t you come back inside? I think Maria is about to start another round of card games.”

“I’m fine, you go back inside, you’ll catch a chill.”

“And you won't?”

“I’m wearing a coat.”

“You're old though.” 

A big smile grew on his worn face. “Old huh?”

“Don’t old people get cold.”

He rested his glass on the railing to then move to face me, standing up straight. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Enough.”

“Enough to bother an ‘old man’ who just wanted some fresh air.” He wrapped his fingers around his whiskey glass once again.

“Enough to give an old man who is possibly freezing to death some company.”

“I’m fine kid, I don't need company.”

He was far more chatty than usual, no thanks to the whiskey I bet. “Entertain me for a bit then?”

“Entertain you?” He chuckled, turning to face me, taking a sip of his drink.

His cheeks were slightly rosy, pepper kissed with a strawberry hue. There was do doubt about it. He was merry with his whiskey. 

“Yep, entertain me. I’m bored of the folks in there.”

He reached up his hand to scratch his jawline, turning to look out into the roads of Jackson once more. “I’m not one for company.”

“Oh but, Mr Miller, I’m in dire need of some company that only a miserable and tired old man such as yourself could fill.”

He let out another low chuckle at my dramatic act. “Think you're funny huh?”

“I’m the sweetest.”

With that, he rolled his head back to look at me. My goofy grin I didn't realize I had melted just as I took in his appearance. The way his long hair just swooped over his face, the scar on his nose. The harsh and deep wrinkles that suited his face better than I dared not imagine him without them. His hair was well groomed as was his beard, full and well trimmed. 

 “And I like my whiskey neat.” He muttered. Not paying attention to his words, The way his smile lines just made me feel slightly fuzzy inside made my mind run blank. “Hm? Come again?” He flashed his teeth as he looked away, smiling to himself. I'm guessing. Finding amusement or disbelief of my entire play by play of some sort of hazily morning day dream. “I’m agreeing with you- that you're sweet.”

“Aw, and here I thought that you were a lonely loner old man who had no idea about sweet things.”

“I do prefer bitter things.” 

“Like what? coffee?” “Exactly.”

“Doesn't hurt to have a splash of cream or maybe a little sprinkle of sugar,”

“You just won't take no as an answer wont you?”

“You're having fun aren't you though?” I nudged him playfully and at that he crackled a laugh, a drunken laugh. It was a little rough sounding but it was a pleasant sound. 

It made me feel at ease. I had completely forgotten I was freezing with the rush of adrenaline this entire conversation was giving me.

Completely strange now to recall how hard it was to talk to him, now it felt… Natural. Liquid courage was to thank for that. It softened up his hard edges, just enough he was approachable. I honestly didn't expect him to be like this, if this side of him was more well known across Jackson then he would be far more popular than Tommy. 

“Oh.” He cleared his throat to then shift his weight. “I’m having the time of my life.” his voice dripping with sarcasm. I could drink it up, that Texan accent with that sarcasm with a drunken smile on his face.

It could make me blush. Maybe I was blushing already, it was hard to tell with jack frost nipping at my cheeks and nose.

Raising my drink to my lips, but before I take a sip, I feel courageous. “So, cowboy, why are you here on your lonesome?” I take a sip of my drink, forgetting how strong and sweet my drink was, trying to withhold a reaction.

“As I said, I just wanted fresh air.”

“Outside ‘The Tipsy Bison’?”

I had the feeling he didn't want to argue or bite back anymore, as he just hummed in response then took another sip of his whiskey. 

“Humour me for a moment and could you do me a favour?” That caught his attention, looking at me, waiting for me to continue. “This is-” I pinch my nose bridge, slightly feeling the embarrassment rise up as the question ponders in my head. I sighed “Would you dance with me?” I murmured out finally.

He pushed himself from the railing, leaning one hand against it, holding all his weight. Raising one brow at me as he parted his lips. I guess I was kind of confused by my request.  

“Dance with you?” 

I was too nervous suddenly to respond, I just nodded. He smiled at me and shook his head, placing his glass down on the railing and standing in front of me, firm and steady with his cheeks flushed. 

He looked adorable. How can a man his age and of his terrifying nature be adorable. 

Holding his hand out towards me lazily, I took that as his answer. I couldn't help but have one big goofy childish grin on my face. It felt like a small win. 

Placing my ice cold fingers into his hand, he wrapped his warm ones round them. He flinched slightly- possibly at the realization at how cold I am. Rubbing his thumb over my fingers slowly warming them up.

The calluses of his fingertips were coarse, adding to his textured hands already with his rough and hard touch. It felt like I was brushing my hands over expensive but well worn leather.

“Alright, one dance,” he whispered. Leaning a little closer to me, I could smell the bitter whiskey on his breath. “Then you’ll best go back inside before you freeze to death.”

My expression softens up, I tug on his hand, giving it a light squeeze. “Promise.” “Atta girl.” 

He didn't wait a second longer for me to possibly change my mind, Joel moved to the centre of the wooden boards outside the bar. Hovering one hand over my waist, encouraging me to follow him centre. Hesitating to touch me anymore than he already was with my hand.

Letting him practically drag me along, I gripped one hand onto his shoulder as my hand he held dug my frosty tips into his. He must have found it uncomfortable because he let go of my hand to then intertwine our fingers just so it was easier to hold. A selfish part of me thought maybe to also warm my fingers up better.

Moving my overhand to rest on top of his shoulder, he then confidently finally placed his hand onto my waist.

Taking the lead, Joel began to sway, step by step. I followed like a good drunk dancing partner.

It was so strange. We were in our own little bubble. Inside the bar looked completely unbothered and unphased by us outside. No one had noticed that I even left.

Even if anyone had looked outside and saw us they probably would have written it off as two drunk and merry folk just enjoying the music inside, the strums of the pedal steel that just seeped through the walls.

It was the perfect disguise. I can’t speak for Joel, but I selfishly and unapologetically enjoyed this, in a way you think you are the main character. The way you feel sunlight for the first time after a long and dark winter. The way you think the world revolves around you when folks beam when they see you.

It felt like a moment in a romance novel that made you feel warm and cosy. 

This isn't love of course, this is just two drunk people enjoying one another's company. But I think to fall in love with this man if he allowed it would feel like the world stood still but also spun too fast for anything to make sense.

A privilege. One I’ll probably day dream about often and use this moment as a starting point. 

As I let my mind wonder it's intoxicated thoughts, I closed the gap between us and rested my head on his shoulder and hummed along to the tune that was faintly heard.

He joined in with his soft humming.

How sweet, a man who came across so bitter would be so sweet on just a bit of whiskey.

[cricket-reader]

Selfish Touch

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox

Summary: Bucky is scared to have you stay the night, terrified that he’ll hurt you. You assure him that it’ll be okay.

Warnings: language, Bucky’s negative thoughts, nightmare of Bucky’s time in Hydra, murder, abuse, torture, fluff,

Word Count: 1716

Prompt: "You're doing great." | Injection | Nightmare | Duct Tape Murder

A/N: Day 6 of June of Doom by @juneofdoom

It wasn’t a surprise that the former Winter Soldier got nightmares. After all of the trauma he’s been through, it only makes sense.

That is why he was hesitant to let you sleep over at his house. He knew that in normal relationships these days that was a normal thing. He was anything but normal, however. He often feared that he was talking things too slow. That you’d leave and find someone better because he knew you could do so much better.

You always made sure to reassure him though. You never wanted him to be uncomfortable in your relationship, and you knew it would take time. Hell, it took years for you two to even start to become friends.

He still had issues trusting people no matter how nice and perfect they seemed.

It was a slow process, but you two had begun seeing each other more often. You’d stop by his place and make him food sometimes or he’d invite you for dinner. Each time you left, worries clouded his brain. Should he let you stay? Should he do more? Would you leave him if he didn’t do more soon?

Bucky knew he was broken. It didn’t take a genius to see that. How you loved him in the first place was a mystery he feared that he’d never get the answer to. Did you even know the answer to that question?

When he finally got the guts to allow you to stay over, he had prepared. His bed that he never used was set up, clean sheets and everything. He had a syringe on the nightstand on your side of the bed just in case. He also had to dust since the room was so out of use. Everything has to be perfect for you.

When you both finished your steak dinner that Bucky had prepared, you sat down to watch a movie. You curled into Bucky’s side and he wrapped his arm around you. This was always Bucky’s favourite part of your evenings together. He loved holding you in his arms. He craved every touch you gave him because, although he’d never admit it, he was badly touch starved.

He particularly liked it when you picked out funny shows. Your laugh was infectious, and he loved hearing it. He’d even go as far as to say it was his favourite sound.

Horror movies always came in as his second favourite because he’d love the way you’d gasp and hold him closer when a scary scene came up. He was sure you didn’t even realise you were doing it. That only made it cuter.

After the movie, you yawned and stretched your legs, ready to go home. Bucky on the other hand was freaking out. He didn’t know how to tell you he wanted you to stay over. He knew he should have just texted you beforehand. You were probably going to say no. That would be incredibly mortifying.

“I should head out if I don’t want to fall asleep on the way home,” you smiled at him, reaching out for a hug. You frowned when you noticed how pale your boyfriend was and how he looked like he was about to throw up. “Babe? You okay?”

Bucky cleared his throat and wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans. He was looking anywhere but at you. Noticing his state of distress, you pulled him in for a hug to try to calm his nerves.

“Would you… would you maybe stay? I mean you don’t have plans early tomorrow, right, so I just figured maybe if you want… we don’t have to, I just…”

You pushed yourself away from him, so you could look into his beautiful blue eyes. “Really? You want me to stay?”

“Only if you want to,” he mumbled, his face lowering. You smiled, seeing the red creep onto the tips of his ears. You loved him so much, he was such an adorable gentleman.

“I would love to,” you frowned.

“But?”

“But I don’t have any clothes or my toothbrush…”

“I have some clothes you could sleep in… if that’s okay with you. I also have extra toothbrushes…”

You smirked at him, “Hmm, seems like you’re prepared.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, the blush spreading to his cheeks. You booped his nose and told him how cute he was. That just got him even more flustered.

You smiled as you went to brush your teeth. Bucky set one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants on the counter for you as you were brushing your teeth.

As you were getting dressed, Bucky sat on the bed, twiddling his thumbs. How would he bring up his nightmares to you? Better yet, how would he tell you that if he lost control you’d have to sedate him? You’d probably run for the hills. Knowing you, you probably wouldn’t say a thing even if you were terrified. Maybe he should just go to sleep on the floor in front of the television like usual.

“What’s wrong, Buck?”

His heart beat faster and tears formed in his eyes. He’d never be normal. He’d always be a monster. You deserved so much better than him. He was so broken, broken beyond repair.

“Bucky?” Your voice was soft and gentle, your hands reaching down to hold his own hands. “What’s wrong, hun?”

“I… I still have nightmares… about…”

“It’s okay,” you reassured him as he knew you would.

He shook his head. “No it’s not okay. I could hurt you, and I never want to hurt you… you’re too precious for me.”

“Bucky…”

He got up and grabbed the needle. “If anything happens during the night, I need you to promise me that you’ll inject me with this.”

Your eyes went wide. Bucky saw that and cursed himself, he knew it was too soon. You were going to leave him… as you probably should.

“What is that?”

“It’s a sedative, I got it from Wakanda. It’ll work to keep me down. If anything happens, if you’re ever scared of me just… use it, okay?”

You grabbed his hands in yours. “Bucky, I’m not scared of you.”

“But—”

You gently shushed him. You could never be scared of Bucky. He was a good man, and you loved him with all your heart. You know he’d never hurt you.

When both of you got settled into bed, Bucky was too scared to even touch you. He really was terrified of hurting you. All the things he had done as the Winter Soldier just proved how he shouldn’t ever get to touch you.

Having an inkling of your boyfriend’s fears, you scooted over to snuggle into him. You were well aware of the fact that he loved cuddling with you. In fact, he craved it.

You both fell asleep, tangled in each other’s arms.

Bucky had really hoped that having you lying next to him would erase any nightmare. He should have known better than to hope. Because although you were wonderful, Hydra’s hold of him would never escape.

It was a cold night when the Winter Soldier went on a mission to kill the senator that had been getting too close to finding Hydra. He had dropped down on the top of the building and went through the roof access door. It was the only one without alarms, only helping out Hydra’s assassination.

He walked through the halls and found the senator and his wife in bed. He first sliced the throat of the woman before going to find the senator who had fled. The stout man was scurrying down the stairs.

The Winter Soldier dropped down from the balcony, ignoring the pain it brought to his ankles. He had been through worse. Plus, he had a job to do.

Their Winter Soldier grabbed onto the man’s throat and held him in the air. He began squeezing the life out of him.

When he finished, he went to leave. He froze however, seeing a child with wide tearful eyes. Every witness was to be eliminated. The Winter Soldier couldn’t, however, bring it upon himself to kill this innocent little being. He was skinny and blond with blue eyes, and it pulled at his mind and heart. He just couldn’t do it. The soldier ran from the building and went back to Hydra.

Upon finding out their asset had failed to complete the mission with no witnesses, they knew it had been too long since he’d been wiped. First, he had to be punished, though. The Hydra guards began to beat his body, and he took it like the good little soldier he was. Every kick and punch was ignored as he tried to think about why that little boy seemed so familiar.

They grabbed him and hauled him to the machine. Once they had the restraints around his body, they brought out the boy. Mouth guard already in, the soldier began screaming. He struggled to get out of his restraints. They watched him kill the boy before the familiar sound of electricity began to crackle in his ears

“Bucky… Bucky…”

The Winter Soldier froze in the chair.

You woke up to hear your boyfriend whimpering and pleading. It absolutely broke your heart. Tears streamed down your face as he continued to cry. You knew you shouldn’t touch him, worried that he’d react negatively to your touch. All you could do was call out his name and hope that he would wake up.

When Bucky woke up he awakened with a start, gasping for air. He felt gentle arms wrap around him as small kisses were placed on his sweating forehead. He then remembered where he was, and more importantly who he was with.

He should have felt embarrassed to be crying into your chest while you deftly carded your hands through his hair. He should have been ashamed that you were comforting him after having a nightmare filled with murder. He should have pushed you away like he does everyone else. But he let you stay.

“You’re okay, hun. It’s alright. You’re safe now. I’ve got you. You’re doing great for me, just breathe.”

Call him selfish, but he needed you. He needed your touch, your gentle words, your warmth. He needed all of it.

[athenadione]

heat waves

Read HERE on a03

Rated: E for sexual content

Words: 3,379

The wave of heat hits Damian first as soon as he opens the door leading to one of their outdoor pools of Titan’s tower. Then the humidity in the air wraps around him tight, nearly taking his breath away. It clings to his skin, bringing with it a sticky sensation that he despises. It’s a great contrast from the harsh winters of Nanda Parbat, although right now he’s not sure which is worse. 

When he steps out onto the granite deck surrounding the water, he can hear the loud chirp of crickets from down below. The sun’s already set and the reflection of the water shines bright. He looks up to see the sky in clear view. The stars wink down at him like they know something he doesn’t. Then he sees something else that causes one of his brows to raise. 

A full moon. 

He frowns in thought. Some view it as a sign of something dangerous. A sense of foreboding even. The hairs rising on his arms should be a sign of what’s to come. 

But now that he’s looking at it fully in quiet wonder, he’s seeing it more as a sign of completion. A sense of rightness maybe, or even a symbol of light shining on darkness. Good prevailing over evil. 

It’s a nice reminder to him that he’s on the right path. That he’s making his own choice to stay on that path every day as a Titan. As Robin. 

Self-reflection, although something he makes an effort to do often, isn’t the reason that he’s here at the pool at three am in the morning. 

No, his reason for coming up here is currently swimming what seems like her fiftieth lap around the pool. 

He takes a moment to look around. 

The patio table to the left reveals her clothes for the evening folded neatly. The ones she’d worn at dinner after her day off. There’s been several times Damian decided to wear his civvies too, if only for a small sense of normalcy for the day. Not that he’ll ever really achieve it. No, his grandfather made that clear to him from the beginning of his youth.

Raven doesn’t slow when he draws closer, so he takes the time to observe the rest of the area while she starts on yet another lap. 

The full moon causes flashes of light to reflect off the pool and into the deck. Shapes of that light dance off the panels of the tower. Raven apparently decided to turn the deck lights off in favor of turning on the string lights above the bar. Beside it two palm trees wave gently with a light breeze, giving him a small reprieve of the strangling heat. Although that still doesn’t stop the beads of sweat beginning to line his forehead. 

“I figured you’d find me here eventually,” A voice calls out to him, low and sultry. There’s something predatorial in her tone that matches the growing smirk on her face. Even the heat can’t stop the shiver down his back, and Damian is suddenly thinking this isn’t his best idea. 

“I wanted to come check on you since you said you didn’t feel good at dinner.” He tells her, unsure if he should step closer. It’d taken a little longer than he wanted to admit to find her. The first place he thought to look was the library. The next was the training room. He honestly didn’t think he’d find her here. 

Raven pulls herself up out of the water enough to rest her top half on the deck. One arm rests there while the other cups her chin, and she tilts her head with a curious look. Water from her strappy black bikini top drips onto the deck, along with the ends of her ebony locks. The rest of her hair is slicked back with some of the strands shining a dark blue against the light of the moon. He watches for a moment, eyes traveling down to the cheap strings holding the top of her bikini together. Damian swallows. 

“That was so that no one else would try to look for me, but I knew that you would eventually.” Raven tells him. 

Damian frowns at her with the smallest downturn of his mouth. “You didn’t have to hide. If you wanted some time to yourself you could have said something,” he crosses his arms, “although now I’m wondering why you felt the need to hide at all.” 

Raven’s amusement is clear in her eyes, although her smirk is gone, “I’m not exactly hiding.” 

“Maybe, but you’re not exactly telling the truth either.” 

“Maybe not.” 

Damian watches her dip back underwater after her cryptic answer. Something’s been off about her for the entire week—especially now more than ever. He knows Raven better than anyone in this tower, and yet he hasn’t been able to figure out what it is. It bothers him, even more so because now it’s become more of a challenge to find out why. Too bad she’s not giving me any hints. 

His curiosity draws him closer to her, up towards the ledge so that he can smell the faint chlorine of the pool when Raven breaks back through the surface. 

“Why are you swimming?” he asks her while giving into the humidity by rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. After, he crouches in a squat to look into her eyes. 

Up close he notices that they’re darker—looking closer to plum than lilac. His own eyes widen just a bit when he sees that her pupils are very, very, dilated. 

“Because I like the way it feels on my skin,” she says, her hands gliding up through the water. “It…takes the edge off.”

Damian’s brows burrow further together as he takes in her words, his thoughts taking him through every scenario explaining what could be wrong. He wonders briefly if someone drugged her, but that can’t be possible.They all spent the entire day in the tower. He also knows that Raven spent a lot of that day secluded in her room. 

“What do you mean?” he asks her. 

Raven seems to think about something for a moment, before throwing him another alluring look that sends his heart pounding, “It’s really better if you don’t know. You being here is already tempting enough so you should probably leave.” 

His attention is brought to her lips when she bites her lower one. There’s something in the back of his mind ringing the alarm bell—because something is obviously wrong. Raven’s not in her right mind, but there’s also something compelling about the way she looks at him through her lashes with hooded eyes. It lights a flame, starting a wave of heat inside of himself that can’t be staunched. 

It’s not the first time that he’s hit with the strong urge to pull her against him tight and kiss her until she forgets her own name. However tonight there’s a much stronger urgency that pushes that thought aside in favor of making sure that she’s okay. 

“You can talk to me, Raven. Whatever’s going on we can figure it out, you don’t have to be alone.” 

She stares at him then, taking him in for what seems to be the first time. Her eyes brighten in a hunger that Damian hadn’t noticed before as she puts her arms back out on the deck to hoist herself up. When her face is mere inches from his he can no longer ignore her aura that lures him in. Like a siren singing a sailor to his fate, Raven smiles sweetly when she reaches up to trail his face. The feel of her fingers on his skin burns hotter than the sweltering heat outside. 

“Are you sure? I could tell you…” she pulls his face closer to whisper in his ear, “...or I could show you.” 

The ghost of her lips trails the shell of his ear, her breath warm against his skin. Her fingers make a path down his neck, to his chest. Damian’s breath catches in his throat at her touch. There’s an unspoken opportunity in the air that’s not lost on him. 

But it’s also something he never thought he’d have. And as much as he wants to take it and not look back, he knows this isn’t his Raven. 

Her eyes are too clouded—too vulnerable, and he needs to understand what’s going on before he even thinks about exploring this any further. 

So he opts for sternness in response, “You need to tell me what’s going on before I drag you out of this pool and straight to the med-bay.” 

Raven actually pouts, and that alone nearly undoes his composure. Her bottom lip glistens with water, practically begging to be ravished.

“You’re no fun,” she heaves a deep sigh, “If you’re not going to help me then just go.”  

Damian furrows his brows, “it’s not that I don’t want to help you Raven. I just need you to tell me what’s going on. Did someone drug you?”

Raven sighs again in what he can tell is frustration, but from what he’s not sure. 

“No, no one’s drugged me. It’s…well it’s my heat,” she says bluntly. 

The only show of Damian’s surprise is the blink of his eyes. 

“I—okay,” he swallows thickly, “can you…?” He trails off, the unspoken question asking her to explain further hanging in the air between them. 

“It only happens once a year. On a full moon around the summer solstice. My demon half becomes…ravenous. Only Kori knows about it, and she’s helped me with getting everyone out of the tower before but…”

“Oh.” Oh.

Kori’s in bludhaven right now helping Grayson with a case. 

“Yeah, and to be honest you being here is making this really…difficult,” her eyes flick back over to him, shooting him a dangerous look, “so if there’s anything else that you’d like to know, don’t ask me tonight. Ask me tomorrow.” 

There’s so many questions swimming in his mind right now, but the red beginning to seep into Raven’s irises bat them all aside.

“So you…want my help?” He’s nearly breathless at his own question. 

“That depends,” her voice dips lower as her mouth grows into a smirk, “are you sure you want to help?” 

It’s a fair question, one that he should answer carefully, but the need growing in her eyes dwindles all of his thoughts. He wants to drown in them—do whatever he can to satiate her. 

“I need you to answer.” her whisper is raspier—filled with so many emotions that he can’t even begin to interpret right now. All he knows is that she’s giving him a last chance to walk away—a warning that he should listen to. He can still salvage this moment, turn around, and act like he never found her at the pool. He can pretend that he never noticed that Raven hasn’t been herself lately, and wait for the dust to settle. It would be easy enough, and probably the simpler choice. Probably the right choice. 

The only problem is he doesn’t want to make the right choice tonight.

And maybe it’s the full moon, or something else entirely, but Damian can’t help but feel drawn to Raven’s hazy eyes that speak of a promise. A promise that he wants to fulfill for her. 

So when her hands bunch in his shirt, he takes hold of her wrists, his eyes never leaving hers. 

“Yes,” he murmurs, completely entranced by her. “I want to help you.”  

A moment of silence passes between them, and Damian thinks that maybe she’s changed her mind about the entire thing. It’s long enough to make him hesitate—to wonder if he’s in over his head.

Then Raven suddenly pulls him into the pool with her by the collar of his shirt. 

The plunge is shockingly cold—a stark contrast to the feverish heat around the deck. Damian doesn’t even have time to recover when he feels hands on his body—fast and shaking and making quick work of his shirt. It’s off before he even opens his eyes underwater, and Raven lets it sink to the bottom. Then she pushes her body against his before taking the back of his neck in her hands. Pulling them together just as quick, her lips crash against his in a way that makes him feel lightheaded. Her legs lock around his waist and she grinds against him that causes a groan in the back of his throat. He can’t help but be swept under the wave of her passion. 

All of it makes his head spin. 

Damian can hold his breath for longer than most, but he doesn’t want to stay underwater. After regaining his footing he pushes off the bottom of the pool with his legs. Water splashes between them as he breaks the surface. He shakes his hair to get the excess out. Meanwhile Raven doesn’t waste time latching her lips onto his neck, finding his pulsepoint and sucking hard. Damian gasps, pushing her back with both hands on her shoulders, but she’s unperturbed. 

“R-Raven, slow down—” his breath hitches in his throat as her teeth drag across the juncture of his throat while she grinds against him again. She swallows the rest of his protests with another open-mouthed kiss, her tongue immediately darting out to taste him. 

He can’t help but groan into their kiss. One of his hands finds their way to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her wet strands while the other takes hold of her ass in a firm grip. Raven sucks on his lower lip before nipping it. She grinds against him again and he throws his head back with a groan, breaking their kiss. 

Raven takes advantage by trailing more wet kisses down his neck, sucking just enough to redden the flesh there before moving on. She grinds against him again, and again, until his erection is straining against his pants almost to the point of pain.

Then she wriggles in his grasp with a whimper, unsatisfied with the fabric still between them. 

“Damian,” she pants into his mouth, “I need you to move now.” 

He curses, gathering her up against him as he walks towards the steps. Raven’s legs circle around his waist, legs crossing at his lower back while he steps out onto the deck. Her confusion is notable in the way she slackens, looking around to see where he’s headed. 

“Hold on, just need to get a towel,” he tells her. 

“I don’t need one,” she says, frustration growing in her voice. 

“Wait Raven, just one second—ah” his voice cuts off as she nips his earlobe, nibbling the flesh there as she tries to flex her hips against him again—looking for any kind of friction to help ease her need. 

He lays the towel out on a pool chair, then follows it to lay them down on it. Then he helps her onto her back as much as he can while she continues to cling to him—refusing to let go. 

Damian puts his hands on her, up to hold her face before kissing her there. She leans up, drinking him in, and he allows her to hold him there flush against her for a few minutes. Then his hands start roaming her body, up and down her arms and her chest, tracing the outline of her bikini tops. He leans up to look at her. 

She’s unlike anything he’s ever seen before. With pink, flushed skin with wet hair all askew. The endless curves of her body and that look in her eyes as she watches him, drunk on the pleasure of their emotions. It’s so fucking sexy, and she’s all his because he’s definitely not letting her go ever again. 

Raven looks as if she’s about to protest, and he realizes he’s taken too long to look at her. He uses the pad of his thumb to draw circles around one of her nipples, delighting in her sharp inhale of breath. The other digs into one side of her hip to help hold her still. Every hitched breath, every moan and whimper, he promises to commit to memory. He lowers his face to bite her other nipple through her top. 

She groans, her hands burying in his hair, as she arches up into his mouth—body pleading for more. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs into her chest as his lips trail across to her other nipple in honor of giving it the same attention. 

Raven whines as his mouth lowers, “Enough teasing Damian, I need more,” she says, nearly growling. He looks up, watching as another pair of eyes threaten to form on her face at her demand. 

He acquiesces, releasing her nipple and placing an apologetic kiss at the corner of her jaw. Then he draws further away from her, “Okay,” he agrees, “no more teasing.” 

Raven sits up on her elbows to watch him. “Where are you going—” 

Another whine that does not sound human is pulled from her as Damian settles between her legs and places a kiss on her core through her bikini bottoms. His fingers trail up her thigh. Then he pulls the strings from both sides of her bottoms, allowing them to fall. He doesn’t waste anymore time. 

The second he pulls the fabric down he slips a finger in between her folds and he groans with her, “Fuck, Raven, you’re so wet.” 

She takes him eagerly as one finger starts to ease its way inside of her. He grazes over a spot that has her crying out and arching against the heel of his palm. She’s so warm and her heat entices him further inside. 

He can’t help it. He watches her drown in her pleasure, sprawled out before him, beneath him, all around him. With strands of wet hair spread out wildly around her, and the whisper of his name on her lips—begging him to do anything except stop. 

Raven’s a delectable feast and he’s starving. 

For years he’s wondered how she’d taste. When his mouth lowers onto her for the first time, he knows he’ll never be able to get enough of her. Reveling in her broken pleas, she tastes so devastatingly good. He drinks her in, lips moving expertly to draw out more of her pleasure. Then he works another finger inside of her, setting a brutal rhythm together with his mouth. Continuing until he feels a hand on his head that tugs on his hair, just as his tongue darts out to circle her clit. 

“Yesss that feels so good, mate, do not stop now,” her voice is a deeper and otherworldly growl, and it sends another shiver down his spine. His member throbs against his pants at his new pet-name. 

Then Damian feels her hand against his scalp sharpen with claws. She holds him there against her as her sex clenches around his fingers. He doubles down on his efforts, suckling as he pumps his fingers in and out of her, over and over. 

He murmurs praises against her skin, “That’s it, you’re almost there. I can feel you clenching my demoness. Will you come for me?” 

One more push, and she falls hard. When she releases her scream, it isn’t human, and her claws dig into his scalp. It doesn’t bother him in the slightest. Her pleasure numbs the pain, and he does everything in his power to draw it out for as long as he can. 

A feverish heat settles over his skin as he helps her come down from her high. It sets every nerve he has on fire. He comes to a realization that her heat must be affecting him somehow, because he feels like he can tend to her forever. To her every whim and need. 

He starts to trail kisses up her legs again.

The power Raven seems to ignite in him is indescribable. It’s taking over every single one of his senses. 

And it makes him ravenous.

Damian pins her back down with minimal protest as he sends her a heated stare, effectively sealing their fates. 

“Again.”

[believingispowerfulmagic]

Second Chances

Summary: In the Heroes and VIllains verse, Robin Hood becomes King Robin of Sherwood, a man grieving the untimely loss of his wife and their baby son. When he rescues the bandit Regina and her son Roland from a snow storm, he finds himself staring at a second chance. Will he be strong enough to take it or let another chance at love and a family slip through his fingers?

Chapter 1: A03

Chapter 6: A Wedge

AO3

Excerpt:

"Your Majesty?"

Robin looked up as John entered the room. He clasped his hands behind his back as he said: "Lady Zelena West is here."

"Oh," Robin said, surprised. He stood from his desk. "Where is she?"

"She's waiting for you in the receiving room," John replied, stepping aside so Robin could pass him.

Robin clapped John on the shoulder. "Thank you. Can you have the kitchens send us up some tea and sandwiches please?"

"Of course," John said, bowing. "They should be sent up shortly."

Thanking his friend, Robin left the room and headed down to the receiving room. It had been a some time since Zelena had last visited and he was eager to see his old friend again. Growing up, she had been one of his best friends and for a while, she had been the apparent choice to become queen until he had met Marian at a ball. He realized he only felt friendship for Zelena and she had agreed that she only saw him as a brother, happily stepping aside for Marian. Or at least, he thought it had been happily. He had had his doubts when she left court shortly after his marriage, retiring to her family's estate on the other end of Sherwood. Part of him wondered if she had truly been heartbroken or if she had just wanted to spend time with her aging parents before it was too late.

Don't be silly, he told himself. It was the latter. Zelena has never really been shy with you. She would've told you how she felt.

He entered the receiving room and smiled as he saw the familiar redhead. She wore a pink satin dress with a wide skirt and lace at her cuffs. Zelena stood in front of a portrait of his parents, admiring the painting with her hands clasped behind her back.

"Hello, Zelena," he said, approaching her. "It's good to see you."

She turned from the portrait, smiling brightly as her eyes lit up. Zelena rushed toward him, arms opened wide. "Robin! It's just as good to see you!"

He took a few steps toward her until they met up and she wrapped her arms around him. Robin held her as well, feeling good to be reunited with his best friend. "Welcome back," he said. "I've missed you."

"I missed you too," she replied before pulling back. She ran her hands down his arms. "How are you?"

"I'm doing well," he told her. "It hasn't been easy but I feel like the worst of the grief is behind me. I still miss Marian and our son but I have started to move forward with my life."

Zelena nodded. "Good. I am so sorry I wasn't able to get here earlier and couldn't be there for you during the darkest time of your life."

"You have nothing apologize for," he assured her, not wanting her to feel guilty. "You needed to be with your parents and with the bad winter we had, it was safer for you to stay in Oz."

"I know," she replied. "Still, I thought about you every day."

He felt his smile falter as guilt filled him, knowing he couldn't say the same about her. So he just thanked her instead and motioned to a nearby chair. "Please, sit down. The kitchens should send up some tea and sandwiches soon."

"Oh, that sounds wonderful!" she exclaimed, sitting down in the nearest armchair. "I've missed the food here at the palace."

"I am still surprised you didn't try to steal some of my kitchen staff from me," he admitted with a chuckle as he sat in the armchair next to her.

She laughed. "I did consider it. But I didn't want to insult our staff at home in Oz. They do still make my meals."

He nodded, knowing that every royal and noble family had the same one rule. "Never upset the people who make your food," he said.

"Exactly," Zelena said.

A servant emerged, carrying a silver tray with a tea service on it. She set it down on the table and curtsied. "Shall I serve the tea?" she asked.

"I can do that," Zelena said. She then looked at Robin. "If that is alright with you."

He turned to the maid. "We have it handled. You may return to the kitchens and we'll summon someone when we are done," he told her.

She curtsied again. "Enjoy."

Once she left the room, Zelena picked up the teapot and poured some tea into Robin's cup. "Do you still like a dash of milk and two sugars?" she asked.

"I do," he replied. "You still take it with milk and as many sugars as you could possibly fit in it?"

Zelena chuckled, nodding. "Some things never change, do they?"

"No," he replied, taking the cup from her as he studied her. Zelena seemed to be the same as when she left over a year ago and it was nice to talk with someone who continued to act the same around him, who didn't treat him as if he was made of glass. Leaning back, he smiled. "And I'm glad for it."

"Me too," she said, fixing her own cup of tea. She held out her cup. "To the things that never change?"

He nodded, clinking his cup against her. "And to dear friends."

"Cheers," she replied, sipping her tea as he did the same. She then picked up the plate of sandwiches and held them out to him. "Sandwich?"

[hankcon-bingo]

Interest Check Summary

Hello, Hemlock here!

Once more, thank you to everyone interested in signing up for Hankcon Bingo! I appreciate the time in filling and sharing the Interest Check form. 💙💙💙

The total interest checks received were 27! 🥳 (One shy away from 28, an important number in DBH 😉)

In summary, here is a short breakdown:

💙 A Hankcon Bingo event running from October to the end of December (with January as a catch up month.)

💙 Mini prompt fests outside the main Bingo with generic or themed prompts. No sign-up required.

💙 3x3 (Nine square) bingo cards with the option to request second cards for extra inspiration and badges.

💙 An A03 collection and hashtags on Tumblr and Twitter will be highlighted to make works easier to find and share.

Please let me know your thoughts or any feedback you have. I am hoping to post a concrete schedule in the coming week for a Hankcon Bingo as well as prompt surveys for both this and prompt fests that could take place this year. 💙

Please find enclosed below the percentage breakdown for each question, followed by summaries on how this can work towards the Hankcon Bingo event.

Q1. Are you interested in participating in the bingo?

66.7% - Yes

25.9% - Yes, I just don’t know if I’ll be able to sign-up.

7.4% - I want to do a fest indeed!

0% - No, but I’m interested in the content.

Q2. What size bingo card would you prefer?

63% - 3x3 (Nine squares per card)

33.3% - 5x5 (Twenty-five squares per card)

3.7% - N/A - I want to do a fest!

Q3. When would you like the event to start?

81.5% - October

55.6% - November

51.9% - December

40.7% - September

29.6% - Sometime early in 2025 (Either February or March)

18.5% - August

Q4. How long would you like the event to run?

59.3% - 3 months

40.7% - 6 months

Q5. Where do you prefer to post Hankcon content?

92.6% - A03

63% - Tumblr

33.3% - Twitter

Based on this feedback, there is a preference for:

💙 A Hankcon Bingo event over a prompt fest 💙

As expected, the thirst for a Hankcon Bingo is still strong! Consider a 2024 Hankcon Bingo event officially set in stone!

There was a smaller mixed response between those wanting to take part but being unsure if they will sign-up, and wanting to do a fest instead.

With this in mind and further clarification from the OG Mod, I have been considering running mini prompt fests outside of the main Hankcon bingo. They would be something fun to do, and be an alternative option for those who are unsure or unable to commit to a full event (but bingo participants are more than welcome to do both, of course.)

These would be week long fests at different times of the year, a prompt a day, that can be generic or themed. Themed examples:

💙 Seasonal like Summer, Fall, Halloween, Winter, Valentines, etc.

💙 DBH anniversaries like the official game release, THE HUG, Connor or Hank’s birthday, etc.

💙 Tropes like AU, hurt/comfort, canon divergence, etc.

No sign-up would be required to take part in prompt fests, just create something if one or more prompts speak to you, and enjoy. ☺️

Depending on the bingo start date, we could try a small fest beforehand. Would that be something that you all would be interested in?

💙 3x3 (Nine square) square bingo cards 💙

There was a majority preference for 3x3 square bingo cards. As clarified in later section, smaller cards might work better if the event runs for 3 months as opposed to 6 months.

Participants will be more than welcome to request second cards if they finish the first cards, and are hungry to create more Hankcon content! There are extra badges for second bingo card achievements too!

💙 October starting period 💙

The majority of responses preferred an October start date for a Hankcon Bingo event. This actually works out in getting everything ready as well as for those of you (myself included!) creating for the DBHRBB which should have wrapped up posting by the time the bingo begins.

💙 3 month event 💙

A bingo running for three months was preferred, meaning that with an October starting month, the event should run from October until the end of December.

January could be a grace month for last minute posts, etc, as December can be a busy month for a lot of people with holidays and the sort.

💙 Posting on A03 💙

A03 is the preferred place to post Hankcon content with decent numbers for Tumblr and Twitter.

There will be a Hankcon Bingo collection available on A03 if you would like to add your works (art very much welcome!)

Anything posted to Tumblr will be reblogged, and hashtags will be shared nearer the time to make finding content easier on both Tumblr or Twitter.

I understand this is a lot to take in, so I appreciate your patience for reading this far. 😅

Thank you very much for your time, and I look forward to any feedback or comments everyone has on the direction of thr Hankcon Bingo this year. 💙

[queerofthedagger]

Hullo~ with much joy I saw that you're doing December fic gifts 😍 (first of all, very kind and generous, and a lovely idea!)

I would love to request a dreamling fic if i may!

Several prompts seem similarly appealing and are essentially just different flavours of the same thing?

So my favourite is of course from the fluff list: #37 "Because i love you goddamnit!". But Fluff only becomes sweeter with a bit of angst, so essentially mixed with the same prompt (#32 from the Angst list)? Maybe a bit of #32 from the drabble list: "I think I'm in love with you, and I'm terrified"?

Does that make sense? I hope you find a way to have fun with it anyway ♡

If you do decide to write this, could it be gifted to me (AHopefulSun) on A03 please? 🥺👉👈

Anyway, once again thank you very much and happy holiday time ♡

Thank you so much for the prompt!! I changed the dialogue a bit to make it work, and I'm afraid it ended quite heavily on the fluffier side of things, but there is a hint of angst? 😄<3

(The languages Hob uses are Basque, Croatian, Hebrew, Catalan, and Gaelic; it'll make sense in a hot second, I promise 😄)

Speaking in Tongues

“Are you sure that you’re not cold?” Hob asks, five minutes into their walk back to the New Inn.

The street they are walking down is quiet, snow blanketing this corner of London in glittering jewels of white, and something treacherous flutters in Dream’s stomach at the open concern.

“I believe to have told you before that I do not experience temperatures as you do.”

Hob stops him with a light touch to his wrist; Dream feels it all the way down his spine.

“And I believe I’ve told you before that it doesn’t mean you can’t be uncomfortable,” Hob says, exasperated affection pressed into the corners of his mouth. He turns Dream with another touch and begins to unwind the scarf from around his neck.

“What—” Dream starts, but the words get stuck in his throat when Hob looks at him, smiling and bright-eyed, cheeks flushed from mulled wine and the cold.

Hob had insisted to take him to the Christmas market in Camden, much as he is now insisting to wrap his scarf around Dream’s neck, calloused fingers brushing the skin of his throat. Which is to say, he hadn’t let Dream protest, no matter that Dream did not want to do so, neither then nor now.  

“I know, I know, self-knitted isn’t really your style, and dark blue isn’t part of your usual colour scheme,” Hob says, and his hands rest on Dream’s chest even as his expression seems to grow bashful. “But at least I have a proper winter jacket, and if you really don’t want to wear it, not even until we’re back at the Inn, you obviously don’t—”

Dream catches Hob’s wrist just as he is about to pull away, heat flaring in his chest that is both terrifying and thawing something ancient he thought long dead. “No, I would—I would like to keep it. For now.”

For as long as you’ll let me have it, he does not say.

Hob tilts his head. “You do not look certain of that.”

“I am. I merely… You are much more likely to get cold than I am; why would you give me this?”

It is a loaded question, is about more than a scarf and Hob’s gentle tenacity.

Silence stretches for longer than it should. Hob is looking past Dream until his shoulders straighten with a shuddering breath.

When he speaks, his voice is too steady to sound light-hearted. “Because I love you, and I want you to have it. To know it.”

He states it like a fact, something axiomatic and indelible; night follows day and humans dream. The sun keeps rising, and Hob Gadling loves Dream of the Endless.

Dream swallows, helpless, even as Hob’s eyes stay fixed on him.

“Does this not scare you?” he asks, voice hoarse as the words trip off his tongue.

“Of course, it does; it’s terrifying. That does not change the truth of it, though, does it?”

Dream searches Hob’s face; he is not sure for what. He searches for his own courage and finds it in the warmth of a scarf wrapped around him with care. Finds it in the memory of outrageously sweet coffee orders and cups of mulled wine, in stories told over centuries, and in an Inn built for him. In Hob waiting, always waiting for Dream to catch up.

He admits, “It is terrifying to me, too,” and watches as Hob’s expression morphs through shock and disbelief, finally settling on caution. “You did not expect reciprocation.”

Hob huffs a laugh that borders on hysterical. “I—no, I did not. The last time I dared to call you my friend, you stormed out on me.”

“I apologised; I—”

“No, I know, I’m not…” Hob sighs, and beneath the lingering caution, a hint of a smile starts to form.

A part of Dream itches to vanish into the safety of his own realm, to wrap layers of iron-clad protection back around himself and hide the soft, tender, human pieces once more.

Stepping closer, Hob slips his hands inside Dream’s coat. His palms are warm on Dream’s waist, and it calms his racing, non-existent heart.

“If I kiss you, would it scare you off for good?” Hob asks. His smile is solid now, warm as if sun-soaked in a way only he ever is.

Dream finds that his terror is melting beneath Hob’s touch like snow in a child’s hand. Distantly, he thinks that should scare him. He also finds that he is quite exactly where he wants to be.

“You may; under one condition.”

Hob laughs, his eyes glistening with it. “Of course. Anything.”

Swaying forward, Dream leans into him and closes his eyes. “Tell me again.”

Hob’s fingers dig into Dream’s skin. When he speaks, his breath fans across Dream’s mouth.

“I love you,” Hob says, voice low with the weight of it. “I love you so much that it burns, and I will tell you as many times as you want. I will tell you in languages that I have never used to tell—”

Dream kisses him, falling into it, inevitable; Hob tastes like winter nights and spices, cinnamon and anise and orange. His mouth opens beneath Dream’s as if he has been waiting for this through all his lifetimes.

“Maite Zaitut.”

Pushing closer, Dream cards his fingers into Hob’s hair. “Again.”

“Volim te.”

He bites Hob’s bottom lip and swallows the sound it elicits, tucking it away beneath his ribs for safekeeping. “Again. Please.”

“Ani ohevet otcha. T’estimo. Tá grá agam ort.”

Any more of this, and Dream fears he might choke on his affection. “You know a great many languages to say this in.”

Hob smiles. “Come home with me, and I might tell you why.”

“Incorrigible.”

“You love me, really,” Hob shoots back; beneath the affected cockiness, he looks as if he might need to hear it a few more times, too.

Dream brushes his mouth over Hob’s temple and says, “Indeed I do. Dearest.”

✨December Gift Ficlets ✨

[hayleythecannibal]

Twisted Minds: Chapter Thirteen Savouruex

TW: Crime scenes, Gore, Crying, Implied Death, Malpractice, Lying, Realization, Injuries, Gun Violence, Betrayal.

Warning this is Fem!reader. You can also find this on Wattpad and A03 under the name @HayleyMarieOfficial. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

Taglist: @punkin-time @miaowkitty @gabriella-aesthetic @urlocalfanficwriter

Twisted Minds Masterlist

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - DAY-

Will is in his bed, dawn light streaking through the windows. He looks drawn, ill, groggy.

The dogs are barking and he throws back the covers. To REVEAL his feet and legs are covered in dried mud which smears the bedclothes. The light hurts his eyes. Will is immediately concerned. A beautiful winter morning. Will shields his eyes on the porch as the dogs rush out barking. WINSTON stays by Will’s side. He looks down at him. Winston pushes his head under his hand. The others bark and mill. Something has them thrown, agitated. Will turns back inside.

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - DAY-

The dogs fuss around Will as he heads for the SINK, and runs the tap good and cold. He drinks from the faucet. GRABS a bottle of aspirin and weighs four in his palm before swallowing them and then bending back to the faucet, feeling bad. He glugs water, sighing breathes between each swallow.

He straightens, wipes his mouth. AND THEN, with sudden violence, he RETCHES and HURLS into the sink. AND STARES. Lying in the sink, spotted with ASPIRIN is a grey, perfectly intact HUMAN EAR... Will STARES at it...

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - DAY-

Will explodes off the porch and drops to his knees in the

yard. Retching and retching but nothing more comes.

He looks up. Around. Nothing. Whirls around. Woods all

Around. Will, his anxiety, his anguish, his fear...

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - DAY -

Will sits on the porch. Shivering. Staring. Hannibal’s car pulls up and Hannibal gets out. Comes to Will. “I went to Minnesota. I took Abigail. We went to Minnesota. She didn’t come back with me.” Will says with this eerily calm and shaken voice. Hannibal is effectively feigning shock and concern.

“Show me.” He holds out as hand. Will looks at it, looks up at Hannibal and then takes it and stands. Hannibal ushers him inside.

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - DAY-

Hannibal wraps a blanket around Will. Sits him down. Through the KITCHEN DOORWAY, Hannibal stares at what is in the sink with stunned silence. Will sits in the living room, looking into middle-distance.

“I don’t remember going to bed last night. But I must have. Maybe I got up to let the dogs out and I…” Will says his face looking stressed and distraught. He knew he could so something like this. But he never thought he would, especially to someone he cares about. What will Y/N think? What will she Do? Will she still love me?  “When did you last see Abigail?” Hannibal snaps Will out of his thought process but Will is still zoning out. “I woke up and my feet were muddy.” Will says softly and almost monotone. 

“Will….When did you last see Abigail?” Hannibal says while slowly walking towards Will. “Yesterday. At her father’s cabin. I had an episode. She said something was wrong with me. She

was afraid of me. She ran away.” Will says softly. “What happened? Why was she afraid?”

“I hallucinated. I hallucinated that I killed her. But it wasn’t real. I know it wasn’t real.” He looks at Hannibal, desperate, terrified. Hannibal is saddened, concerned. He kneels next to Will 

“Will, we have to call Jack Crawford. You can’t run from this. It will only make things worse. Get dressed.” Hannibal says reasonably and Will nods slowly. 

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - ENCLOSED PATIO - DAY-

Hannibal stands patiently next to the door observing the PERIMETER FBI AGENTS and LOCAL POLICE have established. Among the FBI and ANIMAL SERVICES VEHICLES, we can see BRIAN ZELLER, BEVERLY KATZ and JIMMY PRICE patiently waiting.

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY-

JACK CRAWFORD stands with TWO FBI AGENTS, surrounded by the dogs. Will sits, still stunned, in his overstuffed chair. “What are we going to find when we go to Minnesota, Will?” Jack asks Will as he searches for an answer he doesn’t have, then admits: “I don’t know.”

Jack studies Will, his broken pony, then turns to an AGENT:

“Process him.”

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - SLOWER MOTION - DAY -

as the door swings open revealing Hannibal Lecter still standing on the porch, a sadly stoic expression on his face. WILL GRAHAM He is in HANDCUFFS, the TWO FBI AGENTS at his side. Jack Crawford follows Will out, but stops on the porch with Hannibal Lecter. Jack nods to his team and the ANIMAL CONTROL OFFICERS and FBI AGENTS, including Zeller, Price and

Katz, get to work, picking up their gear.

WILL’S P.O.V.

Zeller, Price and Katz move into his home with EVIDENCE COLLECTION KITS, their expressions dour. They look at Will, then look away. Beverly looks back, making eye contact.

Will holds her gaze for a moment then has to look away. Will is marched across the front yard by the TWO FBI AGENTS. They lead him to an FBI VEHICLE. One of the Agents opens the

back door while the other Agent tucks Will’s head and pushes him into the back seat and shuts the door.

FBI AGENTS are removing EVIDENCE BOXES from his home. Two ANIMAL HANDLERS are leading the dogs out of the house on leashes. WINSTON breaks free and runs toward Will.

A HANDLER grabs Winston’s collar and drags him away towards the DOG VAN. Winston barks and whines, looking back at Will.

He watches in anguish as Winston is dragged off. And as the S.U.V. he’s in pulls away from his home, JACK CRAWFORD AND HANNIBAL LECTER Inside Will’s house behind them, FLASHBULBS going off as Will’s living room is turned into a CRIME SCENE.

F.B.I. S.U.V. - DAY-

Being driven away, Will leans his head against the window,

his home and dogs and life receding into the distance.

B.A.U. - EVIDENCE PROCESSING - DAY-

In t-shirt and boxers, WILL GRAHAM stands in the brightly-lit, sterile space on a white paper mat. Staring straight ahead. He hands his pants to Jimmy Price who bags them. His shirt and his right and left shoes are stacked on a nearby table in three separate, appropriately labelled evidence bags. His eyeglasses and watch are also bagged and tagged. Jimmy Price holds Will’s khakis with one gloved-hand and digs through the pockets with another. Zeller logs the evidence

next to an operational video camera. It is painfully awkward for them all. Will stares in silence.

“Right rear pocket. One leather wallet containing 17 dollars cash.”

“Right rear pocket. One leather wallet 17 dollars cash.” Jimmy dips a hand into another pants pocket. Removes KEYS. “Front left pocket. Key ring. Two keys. House and car.”

“Front left pocket. Key ring. Two keys. House and car.” Jimmy checks the other pocket. Finds a POCKET KNIFE. “Front right pocket. Folding knife.” He handles the small folded knife carefully, examining the knife handle, a smudged fingerprint in what might be blood.

“Front right pocket. Folding knife.” Zeller grabs a new evidence bag, drops the knife inside.

WILL  is staring straight ahead under this. RED FALLING PARTICLES come into focus. Falling through the air like snow --

B.A.U. - EVIDENCE PROCESSING - LATER-

Will stands in his underwear alone with Beverly Katz, who is SCRAPING under his nails with a small tool. A dull red RESIDUE falls onto the white paper. They’ve both seen it often enough to know what it is. BLOOD. The file slides under his nail and the red flakes fall onto

the paper...He watches the dusting of blood fall from under his nail. Beverly is looking at Will. Struggling with the situation.

“I can’t do the silent treatment. I can’t pretend I don’t know you and I can’t pretend we don’t both know what I’m finding under your nails.” Beverly says as Will remains silent, in numb shock.

“You called me once because you didn’t trust yourself to know what was real. This blood is real, Will.” Beverly says with concern for her friend, she never thought he would do this. “I know.”

“Do you know how it got there?”

“Not with certainty, no.”

“Certainty comes from the evidence. I didn’t want to find any evidence on you. I wanted to be certain about who you are. But you can’t even be certain about yourself.” Beverly says with solace. “Not anymore.” Will says almost emotionless, Numb even, but really all he can think about is how this happened and what Y/N will do. 

“If you weren’t certain about yourself, then you shouldn’t have been here. This is the FBI.” Beverly says very promptly. “I thought I would get better.”

“How long have you been lying about what’s going on with you?”

“I wasn’t lying –”

“You knew your state of mind. You should have recused yourself from any investigation. You were irresponsible and a girl is dead.” Beverly steps back from him. Angry with him. “However far over the edge you were leaning, I was hoping that you wouldn’t fall.” Will looks at her, hating this. Not wanting to face it. “You always said all you do is interpret the evidence. So do it,

Will. Interpret the evidence.”

“According to the evidence…” Will fights what he wants versus what he thinks. Finally --

a whispered, horrible realization.

“I killed Abigail Hobbs.” Will’s horrible admission… Tears forming and his voice shakes……. F.B.I. ACADEMY - JACK CRAWFORD’S OFFICE - DAY- Y/N on closer and closer onto her growing horror as she listens to Jack Crawford --“We analyzed the tissue. It matched Abigail Hobbs. It was her ear. Her blood was under Will’s fingernails. Scratches on his arms look like defensive wounds. She fought back –” Jack says.

“No. No. No. Shut up.” Y/N is struggling with this information, tears welling. She pushes them back. Finally she can’t hear another word. “Just stop talking.” It comes out more of as a plea as opposed to anything hostile. A long beat of silence, both of them stressed, neither of them above succumbing to the pressure of it.

““He won’t. Get too close.” You Told Alana you would cover him. You could see he was breaking.” Y/N says loudly, she just found out her surrogate daughter is dead, and her partner and Lover killed her. You would be upset as well. Well if you believed it. “Yes, I could. And I kept pushing him because he was saving lives.” Jack says Feeling for the woman in front of him. “Not Abigail Hobbs’ life.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you couldn’t see he was breaking.”

“Of course I could see it! Alana even told you not to put him out there.”

“Every decision I made about Will Graham’s mental health was under the advisement of a respected psychiatrist, who Alana Recommended.” Jack says as he glares at her pointedly. 

“Hannibal had to know. He had to see something was wrong.” Y/N knew, she knew Hannibal saw something was wrong, he very clearly wasnt stupid, and he definetly wasnt one to shy away from something he could study. 

“Not until it was too late. Just like the rest of us. Hannibal said Will was exhibiting signs of dementia.”

“Dementia isn’t a disease, it’s a symptom of disease. We have to find out what’s causing it and treat it.”Y/N exclaims, its an act, Will doesnt have dementia, this is something Y/N knows, she knows so much and speculates so much more but who can you trust when you know too much. 

“The concern is that there may not be anything to treat. Will had a brain scan. They found nothing.” Did they? Did they find nothing or is that just what Hannibal told Will? “This started with Garret Jacob Hobbs.”

“Maybe Will did what Garret Jacob Hobbs couldn’t do. Kill his daughter.”

“Abigail’s blood is on all of us. And so is Will’s.” the weight of that responsibility hangs in the way...

FBI PARKING LOT - Y/N L/N’S CAR - DAY-

We HEAR a MUFFLED SCREAM coming from the inside of the vehicle until it FINDS Dr. Y/N L/N behind the wheel of her car, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles as

she lets out her frustration and anger and sadness.

B.A.U. - INTERROGATION ROOM - DAY-

Will sits at a table in his jump suit. Y/N L/N ENTERS. She can’t hide her distress at seeing him this way. And he can’t hide his relief at seeing her walk through the door.  “Hi.” he akwardly smiles, he hopes she still loves him.  “Hi.” I say as i look at him, i dont believe he could have killed her, nor anyone else besides Garret Jacob Hobbs. 

“You’re flushed. You been yelling?” Will notices, it makes me smirk. “Screaming is more like it.” I say with a raised eyebrow as I lean on the wall. “I could use a good scream. I can feel one. Perched under my chin.” Will says honestly, he would probably benefit from a good scream to be honest. “Let it out.” I say softly. 

“I’m afraid if I started, I...wouldn’t be able to stop. I’m surprised Jack let you in here.

Given our romantic relationship.” Will says softly as his eyes traces my features as if he would forget them. “Jack doesn’t know about our romantic relationship. Didn’t know.” I sit down across from him and self-consciously glances at the two-way mirror. He slides his hand out, but catches himself and withdraws. Will glances selfconsciously at the two-way mirror.

“Been in touch with Animal Services. I’m going to pick up your dogs in a couple of hours. I’ll bring them back home with me and take care of them until... whenever.” I say softly and kindly, Of course i still love him, but i cant tell him that now, especially with Jack on the otherside of the mirror. “Are you sure? Whenever could be a long time from now.” Will says with suprise, “I’ll take care of them until then.”

“Thank you.”

“We have to do some tests. They’ll be the standard psychopathology tests. Thematic Apperception. Minnesota Multiphasic.” I explain, Im torn between wanting to be the one who does this and not the one. Because its hard to act like i do not care nor that i dont love the person that i have been through the most with. 

“Suppose you’re going to ask me to draw a clock while you’re at it.” Will says with a amused chuckle, i meet his eyes with a confused expression. “Hannibal ask you to draw a clock?” I ask confused, if He has what i think he does, Hannibal’s gonna get an ear full.  “Said it was an exercise to help ground me in a present moment. A handle to reality to hold onto.” 

“Was the clock normal?”

“Would I be here if it wasn’t?” Now My interest is raised. My antenna humming. I pull out pen and paper and slides it across the table. I swear to god. “Draw me a clock please.” I ask nicely and i watch his hands. Will takes the pen and paper and starts to draw a CLOCK.

My anger and horror grows as i watch Will draw a clock with all of the numbers and hands stacked on one side. Dahli-esque. Just like he did before with Hannibal. Will turns the picture and slides it to me. “See. Just a normal clock. Telling the time isn’t my problem.” I look at Will with growing dread.

“It’s the least of your problems.” I knew it, just need a brain scan to confirm it.  The truth of that weighs on us both.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - DAY-

We are TRACKING along the dark, empty hallway towards where light shines through from a window by the door. CLOSE and CLOSER to the FRONT DOOR. It OPENS to reveal two LOCAL COPS, guns at the ready. they make their way down the hall. One tries the LIGHT SWITCH but the power is dead. They move to the Kitchen doorway. They flash their flashlights, SCANNING the room. And the beams pick up splashes and sprays of BLOOD, slick black in

the shuttered gloom, turning red in the beams....The floor is covered in a pool of blood.

The TWO COPS hold on the charnel scene and stare...

B.A.U. - EVIDENCE PROCESSING - DAY-

Jack, Me, and Alana are with Zeller, Price and Katz. “Will was a fisherman. He tied all of his own lures.” Jack says to them. “Most anglers use feathers, twine, fur, bits of shell. Designing their flies to catch specific fish.” Jimmy says as he anaylzes the lure in his tweezers. Beverly displays a LURE --

“This one caught my eye. I noticed the hair color. Took me a few to accept what I was seeing. I ran a chem-set to confirm the connection.” Bev says as she looks at me with sadness, i can feel all of the deep emotions in the room. Its almost Overstimulating but i need to know everything to prove Will innocent, I know for a fact he didnt do this. 

“What connection?” Alana asks confusedly, she was Just as angry with Jack as i am. 

“Four of the lures are made from materials including human remains.” Bev says, well this keeps getting interesting.  Alana is stunned. Jack Crawford has heard many strange things in his career, but this requires a beat to process.

“We have DNA matches on all of them.” Jimmy says grimmly, As Beverly explains, she displays her grisly discoveries – “This one is Cassie Boyle. Bits of bone fragments and pieces of lung. Marissa Schuur. Antler velvet, a fingernail, wound with her hair. Doctor Sutcliffe. Crushed teeth, soft tissue from inside his mouth, bound with cartilage from his jaw.” Bev says as she displays the different lures. 

“All victims of the Copy Cat?”

“Other lure was made with hair and fiber matched to Georgia Madchen.”

“He kept trophies from his victims.”

“Trophies. Now Will Graham is a serial killer taking trophies?” Jack say incredously, he was in disbelief that any of this is happening.  “Something is wrong with Will, physically, neurologically. He’s not a serial killer.” Alana says, she was also upset after i showed her the clock. 

“Abigail’s just his latest victim. Must’ve been working together. She was probably going to expose him.” Zeller says in a tone that i do not like but i just stay leaned on the wall and watch and feel the comotion. Jimmy and Beverly glare at him but is unrepentant. “We let the fox into the chicken coop. And he played us all.” Zeller says and i glare at him.  

Jack Crawford winces at that horrible possibility...

B.A.U. - INTERROGATION ROOM - DAY-

Will sits alone. A MUFFLED CLICKING SOUND can be heard. Faint, but getting LOUDER. Will looks to the TWO WAY MIRROR. The MUFFLED HOOF STEPS draw closer and closer. Will stands from the table and crosses to the MIRROR, cupping his hands to see through it. nothing. Just the dark reflection of his eyes. Then a SILHOUETTE rises from the darkness behind the mirror, as if made from it. The ANTLERED MAN, Will’s personal Devil. As Will shudders with horror...

B.A.U. - INTERROGATION ROOM - REALITY-

Will is sitting back at the table, staring absently at the TWO WAY MIRROR. He realizes not only did he not get up and cross to the mirror because of his shackles, but now…JACK CRAWFORD...is sitting opposite him, his face slack with worry. A tiny startle from Will. He was off in a nightmare when Jack walked into the room and sat opposite him. “You’re sick, Will.”

“I wasn’t consistent with taking my antibiotics. My fever came back.” Will admits, he knows Y/N and Hannibal would scold him for doing so. “We’re going to move you to a secure medical ward where we will find out what’s wrong with you. And get you the treatment you need.” Jack says with distaste, how could he be so blind he thought to himself. How could he let any of this happen? 

“And then what? Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane? Have Chilton fumbling at my head?” Jack analyzes Will, hoping for any confirmation of something. “This job doesn’t generally lend itself to optimism. I desperately want to be optimistic about an alternative to what every fiber of evidence is telling me you did.”

“I can’t confess to something I don’t remember.” Will says, and why would he? For a lighter sentence? No, the courts and media will rake him across the coals. “Question is, how much more is there that you don’t remember? We found your fishing lures.” Jack says with a look. 

“I should hope so. They were on my desk next to the front door.” Will says oblivious to what they found entwined in them. “We found human remains in the materials you used to make them. Cassie Boyle. Marissa Schuur. Donald Sutcliffe. Georgia Madchen. Will’s mind reels, he shakes his head, unable to accept what Jack Crawford is telling him. “No. I wasn’t sick when Cassie

Boyle was murdered. I wasn’t sick when Marissa Schuur was murdered.” 

“That’s not an argument you want to be making right now. Not to me.” Jack says with a warning look. “Because then I’d be a psychopath.” Will says and his jaw clenches, “My biggest fear is learning you knew what you were doing all along.” Jack says as he looks into Will’s eyes and for once he doesn't avoid it.

“Don’t have to be afraid of that, Jack. But there is something you should be afraid of and that’s whoever is doing this to me.” Will says leaning closer. “Someone is doing this to you? Is that what this is? A set up?” Jack asks confused because Will has made some crazy claims but this- this is insane.

“They’ll be close to you. It could be someone here. Working with you. They know the cases. They know forensics. They know I’m unstable.” Will says, who is doing this? Certainly not Y/N.  “Do you hear how paranoid you sound?” Will allows himself a sad smile, not believing what he’s about to say, but also not knowing what to believe.

“Or it could just be you. Then I’m pretty much screwed, aren’t I?” Jack’s heart breaking at the state of Will of mind...

F.B.I. - DAY-

Will, now in IRONS, is being shuffle-walked to an AMBULANCE by a PARAMEDIC and a GUARD. Jack looks on, despairing. Will looks out at Jack as he is stepped up into the

AMBULANCE. Hold their look till the doors slam closed.

AMBULANCE - DAY-

The moving ambulance. Will Graham is sitting back on the GURNEY. His CUFFS round the gurney rail and fastened. Will is watching the solitary GUARD opposite him. He glances away with trepidation, he knows what he has to do, but doesn’t want to do it. He steels himself.

Will looks down, takes a deep breath and CRACKS his thumbs out of joint. A horrible SHRIEK/GROAN of pain as he slides his broken hand from the cuff in one move. The GUARD looks up. Will turns on him with a mixture of malice, pain and regret. And lunges.

HANNIBAL’S OFFICE - DAY- 

Hannibal stands with Jack and Me, mid-conversation.

“Broke his thumb getting out of the restraints. Disarmed his guard, threw him and the driver out of the vehicle. They found the ambulance in an alley in Dumfries. These are not the actions of an innocent man.” Jack says, sounds like what Able Gideon did when he went around killing his psychiatrists. 

“They’re the actions of a man who is impaired. I had Will draw a clock to test for cognitive dysfunction.” I place Will’s DALI-ESQUE drawing of a clock on the desk. Hannibal reacts, very concerned. Like he didn't already know. 

“That’s extreme.” He reaches for his notebook and opens it REVEALING the drawing Will made in his office. “This is the clock Will drew for me two weeks ago. It’s normal.” Bullshit.

“What disease progresses gradually but plateaus for lengths of time?” I raise my eyebrow as I pretend to buy his Bullshit. “Will has periods of clarity. We’ve seen him lucid and aware one moment and then the next moment he’s not.” Hannibal says looking me in the eyes. 

“It has to be some form of encephalitis.” I say with a deep breath, I crack my knuckles individually without breaking contact with Hannibal.

“Autoimmune encephalitis. Body’s immune system attacks the brain as if it is itself an infection.” Hannibal says as he searches my eyes for something, i'm not sure what he's looking for but i'm sure he won't find it. “It’s hard to diagnose. There are no tumors. No lesions. Wouldn’t show up on a brain scan unless you knew you were looking for it.” I say, I know this is whats wrong with Will. But I also know someone is setting him up.  Jack Crawford puts the train back on the tracks:

“Just tell me if he could’ve killed five people and not known about it.” Jack asks us. Neither I nor Hannibal can bring themselves to answer. “It’s unlikely.” Hannibal answers finally.

“Doesn’t feel like dementia. Feels like an intelligent psychopath. This killer called the Hobbs house, warned Abigail’s father. Hobbs then hung up the phone, killed his wife and cut his daughter’s throat.” Jack says but I just look at him with a sad look. “I and Dr. L/N were with Will that entire time.” Hannibal says, and i nod my head. 

“Did he have an opportunity to make a phone call?” Jack asks, my eyebrows furrow, No….He didn't but- Hannibal did. 

“At the construction site. Before we went to interview Garret Jacob Hobbs. Will was in the office

while I was outside loading the car with files, but he was only in there a minute or two.” Hannibal says as he looks at Jack to my face that's contorted with furrowed brows and a clenched jaw. 

“Dumb luck and bad bookkeeping. It’s how Will said you and him caught Hobbs.

How would you say you two caught Hobbs?” He glances at me, as if to prepare me for what’s coming.

“We were looking through the files and it was as if Will plucked his name out of a hat, based on little more than an incomplete address.” Hannibal says as he studies my face. I shake my head, 

“That’s what Me and Will do. We make those kinds of leaps.” I say with a bewildered look. 

“Allow me to play the devil, Dr. L/N. This clock test. Would Will Graham know how to fake it?”

After a long moment, I finally answered. “Yes. But i know Will and he-”

I’m fighting the sad apparent “truth” of it all and realizing there's someone in the room that likes to play god... Y/N’S HOUSE - DAY-

I come through the door after WILL’S DOGS, holding them all on two group leashes. The dogs pull until…“Tssst.” The dogs focus.

“Sit.” The dogs obey. Except for one. “Everyone.” The final dog sits. Alana allows herself a small, sad smile as she unfastens each of their collars from the lead.

“Okay.”  She gives them each a small treat. Y/N shrugs off her coat and drops her bag on the counter as the pack of dogs mill. She crosses to the REFRIGERATOR. Y/N Pours a glass of bourbon. The dogs follow her. She takes a deep sip and sighs. She rests against the counter as Winston cuddles at her feet. She’s exhausted. Just as she’s noticed the dogs have all trailed away...

“Y/N.” I STARTLE, dropping My glass of Bourbon.  Will Graham is now standing in the room with me, the dogs milling about, sniffing and greeting him with wagging tails.“Please don’t scream.” Even if he didnt ask, i wouldn’t’ve screamed. 

“Will…You can’t be here,  I can’t harbor you. No matter how much I want to.” I say with concern, “I know. Just got a little confused. I needed to get my bearings. It’s good to see the dogs. Thought I wasn’t going to see them again. Or you.” He says as he squats and pets the dogs.

“I know you didn't do this, I know it. You didn't kill anyone other than Garret Jacob Hobbs.” I say softly, I know this, Hannibal knows this. Will would never, even in hallucination, hurt Abigail. Let alone Kill her. 

“If I don’t find out who is doing this to me, I’ll be going away. They already think I did it.

They’ll diagnose me with something and they’ll keep diagnosing me and they’ll keep being wrong.” Will says as he shakes his head, and I agree. What's happening to him isnt mental. It's physical. And I know Hannibal knows it. 

“I’ll work from the inside. I’ll figure it out honey, I'll do whatever it takes.” I say softly as I look at him. I do mean it. I will figure a way out for Will.  I won't let anyone put him away. I won't let anyone take away his freedom. I'll give him the help he needs and I'll make sure justice is served. 

“I love you.” He walks towards me slowly, takes my face in his hands and kisses me softly. My breathing hitches as i kiss him back my hands going into his soft hair. I pull away. “I love you.” I say and I lean towards him, my mouth at his ear, “I’m gonna flash the lights of my car, I’m gonna pretend to be frightened. I’m not gonna stop til I figure out who did this to you.” I whisper in his ear and pull away, becoming the character I need to play.  Will smiles at me and takes the car keys, sad and disappointed. He considers them a moment, then hands them back to me.

“You were pretty slick about that. You just unlocked your car doors, didn’t you? Flashed the lights? They’ll be waiting for me outside.” Will says in a dark tone, getting into the character he needs to play, though he plays it a little too well. “If there was somebody out there, wouldn’t they already be coming through the door?” I say shakily,taking a shaky step back. “No, they wouldn’t. Because they know I could kill you before they got up those stairs.”

The reality of that hangs in the air, then:

“Goodbye, Y/N.” He quietly moves toward the back door, disappearing down the hall. I wait there for a moment, afraid to move. I realize she stopped breathing and takes a jagged breath.

OFF that moment...

HANNIBAL’S OFFICE - DAY-

Hannibal works at his desk in his darkened office. Then: “Hello, Will. How are you feeling?” REVEAL Will is up on the landing, tucked in the corner. “Self aware.”

“You frightened Y/N.” Hannibal says concerned for her. “She’s confused about who I am, which I can relate to. Are you confused about who I am?” Will asks as he stares off into space. “I’m not confused. I’m skeptical. Meaning I’m willing to change my mind should the evidence change.” Hannibal says as he stands from his desk.

“Do you believe I killed Abigail?” Will asks as he looks down into Hannibal's eyes. 

“I believe it’s entirely possible, if not nearly indisputable based on how you discovered her ear.” Hannibal say as he maintains eye contact. “If it was just Abigail, I would have believed. I would have believed I got so far inside Hobbs’ head, I couldn’t get out.” Will says softly. “But it wasn’t just Abigail.”

“I know who I am.” Will says surely.

“All sense of who you are has been distorted by your illness. You know who you are in this moment. That isn’t always the case.” Hannibal says to him. “I didn’t kill any of them. Someone is making sure no one believes me.” Hannibal sighs, debating how to best help his friend.

“If we’re to prove you didn’t commit these murders, perhaps we should consider how you could have. And then disprove that.”

HANNIBAL’S OFFICE - THERAPY - LATER-

Will sits opposite Hannibal, a session like any other save for the fact that Will is wearing a prison jumpsuit.

“If you are this killer, that identity runs through these events like a thread through pearls. Cassie Boyle would have been your first victim. You said her crime scene was practically gift wrapped.” the crime scene in the darkened shadows of the room as if in the recesses of Will’s mind: CASSIE BOYLE MOUNTED ON THE STAG HEAD, all of it PAINTED BLACK.

WILL GRAHAM

“It told me and Y/N everything we needed to know to catch Garret Jacob Hobbs.” As Hannibal speaks, Will can see out of the corner of his eye, movement near the crime scene, A SEPARATE AND DISTINCT DARK SHAPE with ANTLERS, prowling near Cassie Boyle’s body.

“You’d seen one of Hobbs’ victims, you knew how he killed. You may have been exploring how he killed to better understand who he was.” 

“I wasn’t in Minnesota when Cassie Boyle was murdered.”

“She disappeared on a Saturday. Found her on a Monday. You would’ve had the weekend to do your work.”

“I know I didn’t kill her.”

“How do you know?” Will’s mind spins for an answer. Hannibal doesn’t allow him to articulate it, continuing to draw a psychological picture

as  another crime scene in the room: MARISSA SCHUUR MOUNTED ON ANTLERS, all of it PAINTED BLACK.

“What did you think when you first met Marissa Schuur? How much like Abigail she was? Same height, same weight, same hair color, same age.”

“How could I resist?” The BLACK ANTLERS around Marissa Schuur move REVEALING the INHUMAN SILHOUETTE of the DARK SHAPE, only now it becomes clear it is the MAN STAG that haunted Will’s nightmare. “So much like his daughter, you may have wondered why Garret Jacob Hobbs didn’t kill her himself.” Will fights the confusion, sickened by it.  another crime scene behind Hannibal’s desk: DR. SUTCLIFFE NEARLY DECAPITATED AT THE JAW. PAINTED BLACK.

“Dr. Sutcliffe wasn’t killed how Garret Jacob Hobbs killed. He was murdered how you imagined yourself murdering a woman only days before.”

“How Georgia Madchen killed. She said she dreamt I killed Sutcliffe. But she couldn’t see my face. And then she was murdered.”

“You catch these killers, Will, by getting into their heads, but you also let them into yours.”

BLACK ANTLERS rise in the darkness behind Hannibal, the MAN STAG taking shape from the shadow. It has Hannibal’s face. Will winces at the image in his head, shaking it off. “I’m trying to help you, Will.”

“Then take me back to Minnesota. I want to see where Abigail died.” OFF Will’s determination...

HANNIBAL’S CAR - NIGHT-

Hannibal drives, windshield wipers thumping rhythmically as rolls RAIN off in sheets. He glances over at Will Graham who dozes fitfully in the passenger seat.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - DAY-

Hannibal’s BENTLEY pulls into the driveway, Hannibal behind the wheel. Will Graham in the passenger seat. Hannibal and Will get out of the car and head into the house. Even though the car has been turned off, the PURR OF THE BENTLEY’S ENGINE continues to haunt Will beneath the PICTURE and carry on into and throughout the next scene.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - FOYER - DAY-

Will ENTERS. He walks cautiously down the hall, Hannibal no longer behind him. He walks into:

THE KITCHEN Breakfast time. LOUISE HOBBS is cooking eggs, Garret Jacob Hobbs helping her prep. Abigail sets the table. It’s the moment before everything in Abigail Hobbs’ life changed.

Will Graham stands in the room, watching the scene. The phone RINGS. It startles Will. A sense of dread as Abigail crosses to the phone and answers it. “Hello? Just a second. Dad, it’s for you.”

“Who is it?”

“Caller i.d. said it was blocked.” She hands her father the phone and as he raises it to his

Ear, GARRET JACOB HOBBS is NOW WILL GRAHAM. Will puts the receiver to his ear. The pervasive purr of Hannibal’s Bently engine suddenly stops. “Hello?”

“Will?”

“Yes.”

“We’re here –”

He opens his eyes. 

HANNIBAL’S CAR - NIGHT-

Hannibal sits in the driver’s seat; we can still hear the carCOOLING and PINGING. Will takes a deep breath and heaves a sigh as he OPENS HIS CAR DOOR and climbs out.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - BASEMENT - NIGHT-

The SLIDING GLASS DOOR slowly ROLLS OPEN and Will and Hannibal ENTER. They move cautiously through the room. Will turns and sees Hannibal standing behind him, a familiarity to

their placement in the room takes us to...

Will stands where he is now, Hannibal in the same position, only Y/N, Alana and Abigail are also present. Abigail asks: “Are we going to re-enact the crime? You be my dad. You be my mom. And you be the man on the phone.” Hannibal is caught off guard. More so by Abigail’s steely nonchalant stare that follows her comment.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - BASEMENT - RESUMING-

Realization dawning, Will dares to stare at Hannibal only briefly before averting his eyes and turning away. “Are we going to re-enact the crime?”

“If it would help you.”

“It may come to that.” Will shrinks into the shadows of the house. Hannibal follows.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - FOYER - NIGHT-

The house is cold. Will and Hannibal climb the stairs to the main floor. Will pauses, bracing himself, as he moves into: THE KITCHEN. the Kitchen is empty. Blood stains everywhere. A processed crime scene. Forensic markers etc.

Will STARES – Steps into the room. He bows his head, his face crumpled with emotion. He takes a breath and then looks up again. “It’s as if Abigail was supposed to die in this kitchen. Nothing we did was able to change that.” Hannibal is as horrified by the room as Will, feigning as though he is seeing it for the first time. Will looks at the ARTERIAL SPRAY on the wall, deeply saddened.

“Her throat was cut. She lost great gouts of blood and there’s an unmistakable arterial spray –”

He stops himself, unable to speak for a moment. “They haven’t found her body.”

“Just the one piece.”

“If you were in Garret Jacob Hobbs’ frame of mind when you killed her, they may never find her body.”

“Cause I honored every part of her?” Will says as he turns around and looks at him. “Perhaps you didn’t come here looking for a killer. Perhaps you came here to find yourself. You

killed a man in this very room.”

“I stared at Hobbs and the space opposite me assumed the shape of a man filled with dark and swarming flies. And then I scattered them.” Will says as he puts his hand into his jacket pocket. “At a time when other men first see and fear their isolation, yours has become understandable to you. You are alone because you are unique.”

“I’m as alone as you are.”

“If you followed the urges you kept down for so long, cultivated themas the inspirations they are, you’d become someone other than yourself.” Hannibal remarks as he gazes at the mural of blood spray. 

“I know who I am. I’m not so sure I know who you are anymore. But I am certain one of us killed Abigail.” Will raises his gun and steadies it at Hannibal. “Are you a killer, Will? You. Right now. This man in front of me. Is this who you really are?”

“You called here that morning. Abigail knew. You kept her secrets until she found out some of yours.” Hannibal eyes the gun in Will’s hand. “You said it felt good to kill Garret Jacob Hobbs, Will. Would it feel good to kill me now?”

“Garret Jacob Hobbs was a murderer. Are you a murderer, Dr. Lecter?”

“What reason would I have?”

“You have no traceable motive, which is why you were so hard to see. You were just curious what I would do. What Y/N would do.  Someone like me. Someone like Her.  Someone who thinks how we think. Wind them up and watch them go. Apparently, Dr. Lecter, this is how I go.”

Betrayed and confused, Will’s finger tenses on the trigger.

Jack Crawford ENTERS, gun drawn, sees Will is preparing to shoot Hannibal, and in a terrible re-enactment, SHOOTS WILL. BLAM! A bullet slams into Will’s shoulder and he is knocked against the counter, slides down it. Right where Garret Jacob Hobbs died. Blood flecks Hannibal’s face and shirt. Jack comes forward, still holding his smoking weapon. He kicks the gun from Will’s loose fingers. Looks down at the bleeding Will with anguish. Will looks up at Jack and Hannibal. Will holds Jack’s gaze. “See? See?” His vision begins to dim and LOSE FOCUS, as it does HANNIBAL BLURS AND SHIFTS into the BLACKENED MAN STAG, and we...

HOBBS RESIDENCE - NIGHT-

The gurney is being moved to an ambulance by PARAMEDICS. Jack Crawford is moving behind it, concerned. They take us past - HANNIBAL LECTER, who watches Will being put in the ambulance. Flecks of blood still on his face... the gurney is rushed into the ambulance and the doors are pulled closed on Jack Crawford. The ambulance pulls away, lights flashing. Leaving Jack to  watch it go and then he turns to Hannibal. Their eyes meet.

HOSPITAL - ER - NIGHT-

As an ER team work on Will, his clothes have been pulled away. A DOCTOR is cleaning the BULLET WOUND in his shoulder. The wound is ugly and red. a blood bag goes up on a stand. A needle is slid into the crook of Will’s elbow. Monitoring machines start to bleep. A bloom of BLOOD in the barrel of an I/V needle as Will is injected with drugs. Another I/V bag - antibiotics, slid into his other arm. from the foot of the bed. Will Graham, unconscious, drips and drugs and machines working on his behalf… Sleeps. In a hospital bed. Wired up to drips and monitors.

HOSPITAL - WILL GRAHAM’S ROOM - DAY-

Down the corridor and into Will’s room. Will Graham unconscious in the bed. Two chairs

pulled up by the bed. Hannibal sits in one, eyes on Will. He looks up as Jack enters. Jack takes the other seat. “Right hemisphere of his brain was inflamed. Been placed in an induced sleep. He’s being treated with antiviral and steroid therapies.”

“Is he responding?”

“More or less. He’s expected to make a substantial recovery. Over time.” Hannibal looks at Will in his comatose state, then asks: “Would you have gone to Minnesota if he didn’t have a gun on you?” Jack asks Hannibal as he gazes upon Will who has the feelings of Betrayal dripping from the very essence of his soul. “Even now I feel that I’ve failed to satisfy my obligation to Will.”

“Any regrets?”

“More than I would care to admit. Psychiatrists can have divided loyalties. We have to protect our patients from becoming victims of the pressures we face to help them.” Hannibal says as he sits with the fact that Will  does not trust him anymore.  “Will Graham isn’t your victim.”

“Nor is he yours.” Jack considers that, not so sure it’s the case. “In my life, I’ve seen some hideous and offhanded ways in which the world breaks people. This is worse than anything I’ve seen on the autopsy scales. What I experienced with Will Graham has caused in me a small tectonic shift. I am not the same man I was yesterday.” Jack says.

“No one in this room is.” Hannibal studies Jack Crawford’s regret as B.S.H.C.I. - CELL BLOCK - DAY- 

The cave-like cell on the high security block. The security gate opens and Hannibal Lecter steps inside. He stops and takes in the surroundings. The smells. Straightens his tie. Hannibal walks down the block, aware of the inmates. He continues down the corridor until it finds the last cell on the block REVEALING WILL GRAHAM INSIDE. He wears a B.S.H.C.I. jumpsuit. His cell bare except for bed and table. They appraise each other through the safety barrier.

“Hello, Will.”

“Hello...Dr. Lecter.”

[starsarefire824]

Fanfic Guide

Been meaning to organize this here for a while and just haven't so here goes!

I am JustMyName on A03! (some people have told me they had no idea)

Here are some fics I've written for Stranger Things:

✨Touch Me Like You Know Me ▻rating: M ▻status: Complete ▻words: 14,894 ▻ ship: Byler ▻ description: Mike doesn't go home anymore, not unless absolutely necessary. Instead, he stays far away from Hawkins, quietly shutting himself off from the world, and burying the pain of the things he never said to the boy he'd left behind. But when his mother convinces him to return home for his thirty-fifth birthday, Mike is finally forced to confront just how much he'd given up when he runs into Will by accident. Mike-centric. Estranged Byler reconnection fic. Soft and Sweet.

✨Death Lies in Wait ▻ rating: M ▻ status: Ongoing ▻ words: 13,322▻ ship: Arranged Madwheeler, Byler, Lumax, Mileven, Secret Ship ▻ description: Massachusetts, 1890. Max Mayfield is twenty-six years old and at the hand of her parents, settles for a marriage of convenience to a widowed lighthouse keeper. A stranger she'll be trapped with for the rest of her life on a lonely strip of land surrounded by nothing but endless, lonely sea. But, as she settles into her life, and she and her new husband try to coexist, they get wrapped up in a mysterious presence on the cape. It calls to them. It's lulling and coaxing and sings to them at night. Max discovers the secrets her new husband keeps. Mermaids and ghosts of the past come to haunt them. Madwheeler/Byler//Lumax Gothic AU- Mermaid Will. UPDATED 6/13!

✨The Pact ▻ rating: M ▻ status: Ongoing ▻words: 97,440 ▻ship: Madwheeler, Byler, Elumax ▻ description: A pact between Max and Mike gone wrong gets them both unanimously voted out of the Party and they find themselves stuck with each other the summer after Graduation: fighting, commiserating, and begrudgingly discovering they are a lot more alike than they originally thought. UPDATED 4/30!

✨Certain Slant of Light ▻ rating: M ▻ status: Ongoing ▻words: ▻ship: Byler, Will x OC. description: Will just wants to get through his last year of high school without incident, to feel normal for once in his life, and try to survive the building tension between him and Mike that grows with every word left unsaid. On the first day of school, Will meets someone new who may finally offer him the acceptance he craves, but he’s unsure what to do when it causes his relationship with Mike to hit a breaking point, forcing them both to confront their true feelings. And to make matters worse, Vecna is always there, whispering in his ear, and letting him know his fated role in the inevitable fall of Hawkins. Slow Burn. Will-centric. Mike-centric later chapters. UPDATED 5/31!

✨ Mashed Potatoes ▻rating: G ▻ status: Complete ▻ words: 1,352 ▻ ship: Byler ▻description: "Wait," Mike says, grabbing the carton of milk out of Will's hand. Will blinks, his brows creasing in confusion. "What?" he asks with uncertainty. "We need milk, don't we?"

Mike stares at the carton Will has chosen. It's labeled with red lettering and a stamp of a picturesque farm across the front. Whole milk. Mike shrugs. "I mean----yeah. But-----" he raises an eyebrow. "Whole milk?" Will huffs and rolls his yes. "Yes. Whole milk? What milk did you want?" Mike shifts on his feet and pulls at the waist of his usual black jeans. "Well, I mean----we always drank skim at our house." Now, Will's mouth opens up a little. Offended.

"Skim?!" he asks, completely appalled. "Who actually drinks skim milk? You might as well drink water."

OR

Mike and Will really think the other is wrong in their grocery shopping decisions. NEW!

✨I Held On As Tightly As You Held Onto Me ▻ rating: T ▻ status: Complete ▻ words: 7,014 ▻ ship: Byler ▻ description: After years of life getting in the way---be it by distance or choices made--Mike hasn't seen Will in almost a decade. But one cold winter's night, he's back in town and Mike cooks him a meal.

✨Demons of Change and Wildflower Eyes ▻ rating: M ▻ status: Ongoing ▻ words: 9,609 ▻ship: Byler, minor: Henderhop, Lumax. ▻ description: High school hasn't been easy for Will Byers, and he's had to live with the emotional scars of a loveless father and supernatural worlds as well as the physical ones from the hands of the bullies that make his everyday existence hell. One night, when he's looking for some peace and quiet Will comes upon one of them and something surprising happens. As he and Mike Wheeler tentatively open up to each other, they just might discover they may be exactly what they need to give each other much needed healing and self-acceptance. Can they survive everything that comes along with that?

✨When We Wake Up ▻ rating: T ▻ status: Complete ▻ words: 23,428 ▻ ship: Byler ▻description: Will and Mike having to share a room while waiting for the impending apocalypse and the utter torture it is for both of them.

✨Come Away With Me ▻ rating: T ▻status: Complete ▻ words: 18,760 ▻ ship: Byler ▻ description: “Two shots ring out! BAM!-then a pause-BAM! Mike’s head snaps towards the sound, squinting his eyes to orient himself to the darkness. A guttural, pained wail echoes through the trees as if some forsaken wraith howls at him in this lonely forest, it’s voice sounding all too familiar. Then, a loud screeching roar follows close behind it. Another shot! Mike sucks in a wretched, frightened breath, his heart thrashing in his chest so hard that it feels as if it might shatter his ribs. Dread settles sickeningly in his belly. "Will….” OR: The one in which Mike gets to be Will's knight in shining armor. Tending Wounds Fic.

✨ We Are All Fools In Love ▻ rating: T ▻ status: On Hiatus ▻ words: 13,098 ▻ ship: Byler ▻ description: Fifteen years after being forcibly separated as children, William Bennet recognizes a familiar brooding face, plucked from another lifetime across a crowded ballroom. As his and Michael Darcy's paths begin to merge once more, they discover they are now separated by more than only time and distance, but faults which lie within their own hearts. Matters of pride and prejudice. Regency au of our dreams.

Other Fics:

🌙 I'm Trying All the Time ➢fandom: Turn ➢ rating: E ➢ status: Complete ➢ Words: 22,020 ➢ ship: Townhull ➢ description: In which Abe and Robert end up in the coat room after all. The aftermath of an unexpected moment between them forces Robert and Abe to come to terms with their feelings.

Season 4 alternative timeline. 4 parts.

🌙 We Could Be the Embers ➢ fandom: Turn ➢ rating: M ➢ status: Complete ➢ words: 13,347 ➢ ship: Townhull ➢ description: Robert must stay in Setauket after delivering the intelligence that saved Washington's camp. With Abraham, of course.

🌙 I Find Myself in the Morning's Light ➢ fandom: Severance ➢ rating: T ➢ status: Complete ➢ Words: 2,656 ➢ characters: Devon and Mark ➢ description: Devon and Mark's immediate conversation following iMark's stunning revelation. Season Finale spoilers. Loving Siblings.

[jadzio-writing-prowess]

It’s gonna get worse, before it gets better (Papers Please fanfic)

Rated: T

Sergiu Volda & Calensk, Sergiu Volda & Calensk & Inspector (in bg)

A terrorist attack happens at the Grestin border checkpoint, Sergiu gets hurt and Calensk takes it upon himself to help his friend.

Warnings: Discriptions of blood and injury

Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic (kinda), No Beta - We die like Sergiu when a terrorist attack, Developing Friendship

A03 link if you want to read it there

The cold barrel of the rifle is being held steadily, in Calensk's big hands. It's another slow winter day, at the border checkpoint. Line of immigration is moving lazily. The hollow voice of the Inspector, methodically breaks up the silence. A few detains here and there, nobody is putting up much of a fight today. The air is cold and clear. The sunlight is harsh, but not warm. It's starting to get late, ⅔ into his shift, soon they will be able to all go home. Calensk closes his eyes, lets them rest and tries to welcome, in his own way, the cold embrace of Arstotzkan winter.

After a few minutes, there is a stir in the line, uneasy steps and voices fill the air. Then quick and frantic taps of boots, against the concrete. Some gasps from the crowd. The terrorist speeds past Calensk, creating a small breeze and scales the border wall with ease.

Dammit, his pay. He hopes the detainment bonus will be enough to cover for it. Uneasy steps turn into panicked running. Calensk  opens his eyes. The line of immigrants is evacuating. His fellow guard is already retreating - not their side of the wall anymore. But he chooses to stay a little longer. He listens to the sounds of the commotion on the other side. Nothing, but frantic running and shots from the other guards. He waits for the Inspector to do his usual. “For Kolechia!” resounded against the concrete walls. A gunshot echoes in turn, from the Inspector's booth and a pained moan follows.

Explosion rumbles through the air on the ground. Pained moans multiply and Calensk can hear quick shuffling, mixed with swears from the booth, followed by a shrap door swing and sounds of running. Calensk starts to make his way toward it, an uneasy feeling creeping in. He steps through the still open checkpoint and starts running.

The tranq dart was accurate and made its way deep, in between the ribs of the terrorist. Effectively neutralizing the target in seconds, while not killing or doing any major damage. The guards weren't so lucky. The late shot didn't stop the grenade that was already flying through the air. Red stains decorate the post. A medium sized hole has been blown, before the guards and large rock chunks were sprinkled all around. 

All of the guards managed to back off far enough from the grenade, to still be clinging to life. The first one had pieces of debris lodged all over his leg. The middle one had been pushed back by the explosion, now he is lying on the ground, treated to grenade parts and sharp stones all over his body. And the last one - Sergiu, kneeling on the ground, clutching his right arm in pain. The Inspector is already tending to him.

Calensk runs up to them. “Calensk! Friend, don't worry, I didn't get hit hard. Pyotr is already helping me out.” Sergiu looks up at Calensk with a weak smile. His painfully trembling arm and panic in the Inspector's movement, contradict his words. Pyotr is muttering apologies for his slow reaction and gently wraps Sergiu's arm in his shawl. It's blood soaked by now. He turns to Calensk. “It's not good. He will have to be escorted to the hospital, with the rest of the guards.”

Sergiu objects at the idea. “What! No, it's fine, it's barely anything. I've lived through worse during the war.” Sergiu turns white, his voice weaker than before. “Sergiu, this is serious. Rocks and grenade parts are deep enough in your arm, to be piercing through your veins. If you were to remove them on your own, you might bleed out. And if you leave it like that, your whole arm can die. I also wouldn't be surprised if it got infected and after that, it'll be just a matter of time before it reaches your bloodstream.” Inspector tries his best to sound stern and commanding, but the mix of guilt and fear in his voice are unmistakable. Calensk can tell that he is exaggerating a little, but the amount of blood coming from Sergiu's arm, his pained expression and the injuries of the other guards, are enough of a sign that he needs immediate medical help.

But all this, does little to change Sergiu's mind. “I won't… I can't go. If I do… they will get me off this checkpoint. I will be assigned a new job, or in the best case, I'll be moved to a less busy checkpoint.” Sergiu's words are broken up by painful gasps for air. “I will be fine… I can take care of myself. I can take care of this wound, on my own. Nothing, some bandages, water and sleep won't fix.” He tries to stand up, but his legs quickly start wobbling and he almost falls to the ground. Inspector and Calensk quickly catch him, before he reaches the ground. Sergiu lets out a painful groan, but does his best to stand upright, with their help. He clings to Calensk's side.

“You can't be left alone, like this, to deal with it on your own. You can't address your wound properly, in this state. It won't heal right.” Calensk shifts a bit, to get a better grip on Sergiu. It causes his friend to slightly hiss in pain. “You need to get your wound cleaned by a doctor. You need to go to the hospital, Sergiu.” Sergiu is visibly in pain, but that doesn't stop his protests. “It's impossible, Calensk.” He's weak, but seems to get ready to put up a fight, if need be. If this argument goes for longer, he will inevitably tire himself and pass out. Calensk sighs, knowing his stubborn friend enough to tell that trying to argue more, will be futile. "Someone should go with you, to help. Do you have any bandages at your place?” Sergiu shifts a little and avoids eye contact with Calensk. “No… I hoped to get some, on my way home...”

The Inspector chimes in. “He can't go to his apartment. The Ministry of Information agent, will visit him in his apartment, for an interview about the attack today, if he doesn't go to the hospital with the others.” He looks over at the other guards.

“Won't that make him suspicious?” Calensk raises an eyebrow. At the same time, he almost never gets interviewed for terrorist attacks. Most of them happen on the other side of the wall. So he's not accustomed to after attack procedures.

“Not necessarily. The agents are used to those situations and if there is no one at home to open the door, they schedule the audit for the next day at work. Only after you don't show up to it either, do they start an investigation. The rules are stricter than this, but no agent wants to spend the rest of their day searching for someone, who - is, most likely, just at some bar getting too wasted to be answering any questions, when found.” The commotion on the other side starts to shift, they seem to be starting to get on with the transport of the guards. The supervisors start to take notice of the three.

“I see. Sergiu, you will go with me.” Calensk looks at Sergiu. “My apartment is close by and empty. My wife and kids went to visit my mother-in-law. I should have something at my place, to patch you up.” He said in a commanding tone. Sergiu was getting worse and worse, there was no point in drawing this out. Calensk trusted that his friend had a good reason to be so desperate. To stay at this checkpoint, wounded and sick.

The Inspector shoves 5 credits into Calensk's hand. “Should help cover the rent today. I might come around later, in the evening. My wife is sick, so I won't stay long, but I might be able to drop off something useful. I will try to get your supervisors off your back for now. And hey-” The Inspector lowers his voice. “take good care of him, ok?” Calensk takes the money, he will need it with today's cut pay. He could use an extra set of hands to help, but he nods along understandably. Sergiu stays silent, looking like he is going to pass out at any moment.

They split, Calensk and Sergiu go towards Calensk's apartment and the Inspector walks to the rest of the guards. The two friends slowly make their way to the apartment. It's close by, mere 2 streets from the checkpoint. But with Sergiu's dwindling health, it took a while. Calensk also lived on the 6th floor, so getting through the stairs was another hurdle on their way. Sergiu needed to catch a breath every two floors. Slowly, but surely they made their way up and got into Calensk's apartment.

It's small. No hall. You almost immediately walk into a room that's a fusion, between a living room and a kitchen. It's humble, just a sofa, table big enough for a family to eat together, and a bookshelf. On the kitchen side, a counter fused with a sink, some cabinets and a fridge. Deeper in, there are 3 doors leading presumably to a bathroom, bedroom and the kids bedroom.

Calensk helps Sergiu take off his rifle and the uniform, then does the same. He pulls two chairs from the table and puts them opposite to each other, next to the sink. He sits Sergiu down on one of them and takes a seat himself.

He gently, but decisively unwinds the flimsy, applied layer of shawl that substitutes for bandages. Finally getting to have a look at his friend's wound.

“Jesus Christ…” Calensk mumbles. He has definitely seen worse, in the years he served under the Arstotzkan government. But that doesn't compare. If the wound gets any worse, the consequences will be gruesome. Pieces of debris and the grenade are sticking out of Sergiu's mottled skin, inserted in deep. Blood was slowly dripping out of some tears, mixing with the dirt, creating smudges of brownish paint all over the arm. Some of it managed to dry into dark reddish-brown clumps of unnatural shapes. The whole gash was covered in dirt and pieces of concrete, after the fall. There wasn't any water on hand to clean it at the border. But now there was.

Calensk puts the bloodied arm under the tap and turns it on. Lukewarm water starts to swiftly make its way down the uneven path, taking chunks of blood and dirt with it. Sergiu hisses lightly at the sensation, but keeps his arm steadily under the flow. Water eventually brings some relief, but there is still a lot of work to be done. Sharp stone fragments still firmly in their place and some dirt, still stubbornly clings to his skin.

Calensk looks down at his hands, big and bulky, but most importantly incredibly dirty. Chunks of dirt and grime on the palms, some of Sergiu's blood and some cigarette residue under all of it. He feels that he is the last person that should carry out such a procedure…

But there is Sergiu, looking up at him. With trust and hope in his eyes. Calensk can see the fear and pain hidden deep within, but Sergiu puts his hopes in him and he was not going to leave him like that. He knows that the younger man, if left untreated, will probably end up trying to treat himself and end up infecting and opening his wounds even more.

So, he gingerly pushes his friend's arm to the side, to wash his hands. He does it with as much care and attention as he can, while also trying to not take too much time. He knows it’s not perfect, probably not even good. That it would take way more, to clean the cigarette traces off of his fingers. He wishes he had some clean gloves, but no luck. He puts Sergiu's arm back under the stream, goes to the nearest cabinet and grabs a bottle of ethyl alcohol. He pours it onto a kitchen cloth and wipes his hands clean. Then he goes to get a clean cloth and a pair of tweezers, runs them under the water and alcohol, lays them beside him and turns to his friend.

Calensk starts to work. He gently puts his hands on Sergiu's arm and slowly and methodically, scrubs any dirt the water didn't take care of yet. Even the slightest touch of Calensk fingers sends hot waves of pain through Sergiu's arm, but he does his best to keep it to himself. Once the skin is cleared, Calensk turns off the tap and lays Sergiu's arm on the counter. He wipes the wound with alcohol. To Sergiu, it feels like he is getting his arm, gradually roasted by a fire. To add to that, the sharp stones in his arm, no matter how delicate Calensk tries to be, dig deeper  and tear his skin. Calensk puts down the cloth and gets out the tweezers, but then immediately notices that half of the stone chunks are too big for them and he will have to use his hands again. He puts them aside and patiently, with as much care as he can, pulls out bits and pieces of debris and the grenade.

Sergiu bites his right fist to muffle the sounds of pain, he can't keep inside anymore. His vision starts going white, tears show themselves at the ends of his eyes and nausea starts to wreak his guts. His war deteriorated body and mind, are not what they used to be. He desperately tries to keep his clam and starts breathing heavily, desperately trying to stabilize himself.

Calensk stops and looks at Sergiu. He wants to say something, but he stops himself and immediately softens. “...Listen to me.” He puts his hand on the shoulder of his friend's healthy arm. “Focus on my voice. In one, in one two, in two three.” Calensk looks at him, patiently waiting. Sergiu's unfocused eyes and mind fail to catch his friend’s movement, but he manages to ground himself in his unusually soft voice. “...In one, in one two, in two three…” Voice weak and trembling like he was about to break into pieces. Slowly his vision comes back and the pain gives out a little. Calensk decided to pour him a cold glass of water, Sergiu slowly drank half of it. It helped with the nausea.

“Thank you my friend, I… my endurance is not the same as before.” Sergiu's eyes drift to the side, unable to face the judgmental look Calensk is probably giving him right now. Instead he gets a short response and an empathetic look. “I don't mind. War and Arstotzkan lifestyle took a toll on all of us. ..The thanks we get… .. Stupid terrorist. Just tell me when you need a break again.” Calensk's voice is back to normal. He's looking at his friend searching for any more signs of distress. “...I will keep that in mind. Thank you again, not everyone has as much patience when dealing with wounds and...” Sergiu gains a little courage to look at Calensk. His face is the same stone cold expression, he always carries and yet it feels a little softer now, a little more understanding. It gives Sergiu the courage and ease he needs. He releases a shaky breath.

Calensk resumes cleaning the wound. Picking out sharp, uneven rocks and grenade parts. Slow and tedious work, of digging out every speck of dirt from under the debris. Calensk, careful as before, does his best to not drag out the process. Sergiu lets himself catch a break, every few minutes. Calensk is always there, patiently waiting. Sergiu tries his best to break out the uncomfortable - in his mind - silence,  in those moments. But he gets more and more tired as time goes on and finds it harder and harder to speak. Calensk doesn't mind and always just silently listens or answers the best he can.

Time passes, the sun has hidden under the horizon a some time ago, but neither of the two men noticed. Finally, after a few hours of tireless work, it's done and Calensk is only left with going over Sergiu's wound, with alcohol, to make sure it won't get infected. Sergiu is too tired at this point to react to the burning sensation. His eyelids heavy, he still tries his best to stay conscious and help Calensk with what he can. 

Calensk after clearing the wound, stands up and looks around, searching for something to wrap the arm in. Unable to find a bandage and realizing it's far too late for any medicine shop to be open, he settles on tearing up a new shawl he bought recently for clean cloth.

“What… what, no don't use it on me…” Sergiu's weak protest, didn't even manage to register in Calensk mind, before he teared up the shawl and applied it to his wound. “Nonsense. It's cheap cloth that can't even retain heat properly.” He swiftly wraps Sergiu's arm and puts a firm knot at the end of it. “Besides, I can't let all this work to now go to waste.” He says in a no nonsense tone and shoots Sergiu a look. Sergiu relaxes a little. “I'm in debt to you friend.” Sergiu smiles at Calensk and looks around for a clock. “It's late, I should be going home. I'll find a way to make this up to you. Thank you for everything again…” He tries to get up, but his legs almost immediately give out. Thankfully Calensk managed to catch him in time, before he reached the floor. “You are all fired up. You are not going to go through Arstotzkan winter night, in this state. Especially if you hope to stand guard at the checkpoint tomorrow.”

Sergiu, overcome with dizziness, didn't protest much and gave in to the support of his friend. Calensk carefully held his friend upright and started to guide him to bed. Slow, ginger steps. Tired, but strong arms supporting the wounded. Sergiu broke out into fever shivers every few minutes, but Calensk managed, to safely, get him to lay down under a blanket. He wondered if he had any medicine left, that he could use to lower the fever. He searches through the cabinets and finds some leftover pills, from the time his wife fell ill. He also remembers an old blanket he had stashed in the closet and took it with him too.

Sergiu was already sweating bullets under the current blanket, but he appreciated the second layer. Calensk wondered if he had any clothes for tomorrow morning that would fit Sergiu. For now, he helps him to take the medication and brings him a glass of water. Sergiu downs it almost instantly.

He goes to refill it and comes back to Sergiu. He notices fresh tear stains, decorating his cheeks. “Are you in pain, my friend? Did I knot the bandage too tightly or is the sickness getting worse?” He isn't sure if Sergiu is even capable of answering him in this state, but he managed to mutter a few words. “No… no.. it's just..” He takes a few painful, desperate breaths. “I.. I think… I'm dying, Calensk …” Sergiu tries to muffle a wet sob that tumbles through him.

Calensk takes a close look at his friend - fever shivers still not giving out, sweat running down his face, the way he curls in pain and the way Segiu's eyes dart around the room. Calensk takes out a clean tissue cloth and wipes Sergiu's face. “Bullshit, you are not dying. You are strong enough to get through this fine.”

These words hit Sergiu deep, they act like a firm punch to his guts and everything unravels. “...I don't want to die.. not now.. not now.. when we are so close.. ..I can’t.. I need to see you again.. ..I can't now… ..I don't.. I can't…” Sergiu now fully breaks into muffled, ugly sobbing, mixed with incoherent mumbling.

Calensk, taken aback a little, tries to soften his approach. “Don't say that. Fever messes up your senses. You are going to be fine, I promise. Now deep breaths. Remember?” He tries to help Sergiu stabilize himself.  Slowly, uneven and deep breathing is the only sound breaking up the silence, with an exception for occasional sobs and shivers from Sergiu. Little by little, Sergiu calms himself.

Calensk stands up to find some clothes, he hopes will fit his smaller friend, for him to change into. He searches through the closet and the dresser. Not much luck, everything is at least two sizes too large. He wonders whether to use some of the clothes his wife left behind. But ends up settling for his for now, concluding that Sergiu's sleeping clothes can be a bit too big and decides to possibly use the other ones in the morning.

He takes the clothes, uncovers Sergiu and helps him to dress himself. Not the most grateful job. He would gladly leave up to Sergiu, but he knows that he can't when he is in this state. He goes from down to up. It goes semi smoothly with Calensk's help and Sergiu's collaboration. Sergiu is too weak to do much at this point, so Calensk gently removes Sergiu's two shirts himself and-

“Blyat! What happened?! When did this happen?” Calensk uncovered Sergiu's torso, to reveal a bandaged up stomach, blood staining his left side, mottled skin spreading from it. “Please, don't shout….” Sergiu takes a long pause to compose himself. “.I.. During the war.. near the end, I was shot.. they sent me away back into Arstotzka … to a hospital to get treated. I was unable to get help … There were many more like me ..and the civilians..  …and I wanted to quickly come back to Kolechia to finish some business… so I used the money they gave me for the hospital stay… to buy some supplies and I cleaned and patched myself up. It wasn’t much.” Sergiu with great effort strings together sentences. Calensk gives him a sign to stop talking and straining himself.

He carefully starts pulling back bandages. Thankfully they weren't that old. But what was under them... Calensk can't shout, no matter how much he wants to and just mutters: “Suka blyat. Here is the dog buried... When was the last time you cleaned this?” Sergiu squirms at the sensation, hot waves of pain overtaking him again. “It's fine, it's healing ok, it's just flaring up because of the arm and the stress-”

“It's not healing ok. I can still see parts of the bullet inside it. It's infected.” Calensk interrupts Sergiu, keeping his voice low, but stern. He remembers Inspector's words ‘I also wouldn't be surprised, if you got it infected and after that, it's just a matter of time before it reaches your bloodstream.’ They keep ringing through his mind. Where is he either way, he said he was going to be here, at some point.

The infected wound before him, Inspector and Sergiu's words mix in Calensk's mind. He is at the verge of passing out. He doesn't know if he has the strength to do this, nor what he would even use to clean it. He used up most of his supplies, for the arm. He lets out a big sigh. “Stay here. Rest and gather up energy. I'll be in the kitchen trying to figure out how to tackle this.” He takes one of his shirts out of the drawer and uses it to cover the wound for now. “Calensk…-” Sergiu tries to say something, but a stern look from Calensk is enough to stop him. Sergiu gets hit with a new wave of pain and nausea, so he tries to focus on that for now.

Calensk leaves his bedroom and goes to the kitchen, to brew himself a coffee. He will need it. Ramped thoughts course through his mind. As he is finishing boiling the water, he hears a knocking on the door. ‘About time…’ Calensk opens the door to a tired Inspector, holding a material bag in one of his hands. His eyes are bloodshot and the expression tired. “Apologies for the hour, she got worse...” His eyes darted to the side in shame. “But I managed to get some supplies. Though I'm not sure if they will be of any use now, you probably already took care of the wound. Well I hope it can at least compensate-” Calensk steps aside, in a clear sign for the Inspector to come in. “No, no… Come in. He… also just got worse and I was wondering what to do. My supplies had run dry.”

The Inspector came in and they went to the kitchen. Calensk poured more water into the now, lukewarm kettle and started to heat it up again. The Inspector sat down by the table, while Calensk tended to the coffee. “So what happened? Was the wound that serious?” Pyotr started to pull out his supplies on the table. “No, there wasn't much trouble with his arm. He will probably come out of it with some scarring. If he cleans it regularly, it shouldn’t get infected.” Kettle starts to boil, Calensk takes it off the fire, before it starts to wheeze. “It's just that… he got shot during the war. Never got treated for it and well you can imagine the rest yourself.”

Calensk turns toward the Inspector. On the table lined up neatly, were a roll of gauze and bandage, a pair of gloves, a safety pin, a medi pad and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “Did… Did you rob a United Federation hospital, when you were gone?” Calensk raises an eyebrow at the lineup. He struggled to get a few cough pills out of the medicine shop, Arstotzkan stores being notoriously understocked. “Heh, no. I went to the hospital with the guards and the agents, was close to my apartment anyway. They keep the local hospital pretty well supplied, with all the attacks going on the border. It's not much, but I wouldn't be able to get half of it, if not for the fact that I work at the border and that some of the staff seems to know Sergiu and was willing to lend a hand.” 

Calensk finished brewing the coffee, handed one cup to the Inspector and sat beside him. “I'm impressed. This will surely come in handy. But I'm not sure if he will be able to come to work tomorrow, even if the wound gets cleaned.” Calensk takes a sip of the coffee, it's not much, being mostly water, but it's exactly what he needs right now. “Well you at least got time until 2pm. The Investigator will be out of town, with our Supervisor until then.” The Inspector sipped the coffee, his 4th cup today. He isn't sure if it will do anything at this point.

“Could use some extra hours. Thank you for the news and the supplies. …About the debt from the det-” Calensk starts, but gets interrupted by the Inspector. “Don't even mention it. You needed the money, I get it. Now I need time to be with my wife, rather than helping here… and you understand that. That being said” He stands up, having already finished the cup. “I'm afraid I need to go. Can I take a look at him before I go?”

“Sure. He's weak and resting now, so try to not wake him up, if he's sleeping.” Inspector nods and as quietly as possible, goes to see Sergiu.

Calensk finishes up the coffee, while he meditates over how he will tackle this whole thing. Inspector doesn't stay by Sergiu for long and quietly makes his exit. Calensk gives himself a few minutes, after the door closes to gather himself. He takes all the supplies from the table, grabs a pair of tweezers, a bottle of ethyl alcohol with whatever is still left in it, a new cloth for wiping, a bowl and a pair of scissors.

He comes into his bedroom. Sergiu is laying down, but clearly not sleeping. His eyes have a distant fog to them, not too unfamiliar for Sergiu to have. Calensk wonders what thoughts cloud his vision now. Is it the war, the terrorist attack, the image of his wounds, or is it simply clouded by pain and nausea. Calensk goes to grab another shirt, in case the bleeding gets worse. He puts down the supplies on the bed and floor, next to the bed. They lack the precise organization of the Inspector, but it will suffice. He kneels next to the wound.

Calensk looks at Sergiu, sweat and tear stains cover his face, his expression remains unchanged. He takes the cloth on the stand and wipes Sergiu's face. His face changes expression slightly, Calensk isn't sure what it exactly means, he just hopes it's a little of a relief.

“I'm sorry, I was too harsh to you before. I was tired …and worried.” Calensk takes a slight pause before saying the last part. His voice wobbles a little. “Don't worry, I've heard worse. At least you scream and swear, because you are worried about me. It's a nice change of pace.” Sergiu smiles weakly, but his eyes remain unchanged, still distant. “Don't say that. You deserve better.” Calensk eyes land on the floor, unable to look at Sergiu's face anymore. “Do I, though? I got my arm blown up, then refused to get professional help, becoming your burden. You already helped me so much, but I've taken up even more than you could give, or I could ever repay. You have the right to be upset.”

Calensk looks straight into Sergiu's eyes. “No, I do not. It’s not your fault that the terrorist attack happened,” Sergiu tries to interrupt Calensk, but he doesn't let him. “It's not your fault you are wounded. It's ok to get help from your friends. You didn't want to get to the hospital, for an unknown reason, I get it. But what is not ok and what I don't get, is why did you have to hide this from us too.” Calensk puts emphasis on certain words to hammer the point home. “You don't want to take more than you can give back, but… if we lost you, how do you imagine you could make up for that?”

Sergiu averts his eyes from Calensk's gaze. His expression changes, giving to a mix of sadness and distant grief. Calensk puts his hand gently on his friend's shoulder. “You don't need to hide anymore, you are among friends. You don't need to handle everything on your own. You are always ready to give a helpful hand to us, why not extend this kindness to yourself?” Sergiu's glances back at Calensk. His usually sharp features are softened, his face wearing the same sadness and grief to it as Sergiu. Except his grief feels closer and more tangible right now, than his.”You are right. Though I will find a way to repay you friend, it's only fair.” His voice gets quieter. “Trust me there is no need. So… ready for a round two? And don't you worry about the state of my medicine cabinet. When Pyotr came by, he made up for his absence by robbing a hospital.” A small smile graces both men's faces. Sergiu seems to be more at ease now. 

Before Calensk takes care of the wound. He unravels the shirt protecting the wound. It didn't get any better during all this time, maybe except for the bleeding slowing down. Sergiu winces at the sensation.

Calensk looks into Sergiu eyes. “It's gonna get a lot worse. It’s gonna get worse, before it gets better. Are you ready?” Sergiu takes in a shaky, deep breath. “I am ready.” Calensk gives him a small reassuring smile and the tissue cloth to wipe his face, if he needs to and to bite down on, instead of his hand. 

Calensk puts on the gloves and starts to dig out the dirt and grime out of the wound. He puts it in the bowl. Slowly and methodically, already familiarized himself with the rhythm. Segiu does his best to keep his pained moans and whimpers to a minimum. It feels like he is on fire again, but somehow it's even worse. Waves of nausea hit harder than before. His vision goes blank several times.

Calensk grabs the pair of tweezers every now and again to pull out a rock or a bullet fragment. He does his best to be gentle, but most of em had grown into the skin and had to be pushed and pulled out the flesh. Sergiu needs a moment, every time this happens. Calensk doesn't mind the countless trips to refill Sergiu glass, it's a neat break from the look and smell of the blood that starts to cling to him more and more.

It's been like that for hours. Digging dirt out, break, back to digging, break. It weighs on both of their minds and bodies. When it feels like it's almost over, Calensk takes off his gloves and Sergiu feels some relief. Before he hears a soft “I'm sorry.” from Calensk. He pours alcohol down into his wound, to disinfect the gash. Sergiu instinctively thrashes and Calensk gently and carefully holds him down, with his second hand. He breathes heavily, eyes hazy, alcohol digs deep into his flesh, scorching everything in its wake. Sergiu passes out from pain.

An unknown amount of time passes. When Sergiu gets dragged back to consciousness, his wound is bandaged up and the room cleaned from the medical supplies. Calensk is sitting on the floor by the bed, looking over him. When Sergiu opens his eyes, a relief washes over him. His cold hand brushes his face and stays on his forehead. “You are a strong horse, you will live through this. You already went through the worst, now you can only go up from there.” Sergiu enjoys the cold sensation of Calensk's hand on his face. “Your fever rises again, you need to take this.” He hands Sergiu some pills and water. He struggles to take them, but eventually manages to swallow them down. His eyelids are getting heavy and soon enough he lets himself drift off to sleep, tired and restless.

Calensk waits a few minutes, looking over his friend, checking if he is truly sleeping. When he confirms that Sergiu is deep in sleep, he takes the tissue again and wipes new sweat off of Sergiu's face. He puts his hand on his forehead and checks the temperature again. The medication should be slowly kicking in. He stands up, to go to sleep himself.

In the small living room, he opens his convertible sofa and thanks his grandfather for passing it onto him. With Sergiu occupying the only spare blanket, he makes due with his winter coat and an old sleeping bag, he hoped he would never have to use again. He changes his clothes into something more light, tosses the dirty and bloody ones in the laundry basket and settles on the sofa. Imagines of lines of immigrants, the terrorist's neutralized body, Sergiu's wounds, his distraught face, sounds of explosions, gunshots and soft sobbing fill Calensk mind as he drifts off. He knows full well that he is not the only one, with such things occupying his mind and that it will be a tough night, before Sergiu gets any better.

Sergiu's fever rises and falls throughout the night. Cold shivers break up his tired dreams. Sometimes he wakes up, nightmares, memories and reality meshing together into an unholy abomination that Calensk has to pull him out of. In the flurry of visions, seeing Calensk and his soft expression, his hand on his forehead, is like a lighthouse guiding him back to reality. Fever fights within him, slowly giving in to the medication, but never fully stops. Calensk is at least able to quickly fall back into calm, dreamless, but restless sleep every time. To be just as quickly, pulled from it by Sergiu. He doesn't mind it much. Be it his experience, with his sick kids, wife, or in service to Arstotzka. It's not his first night like this and it's not going to be his last.

Night quickly turns into a cold morning. Calensk wakes up, sun up above the horizon and gets himself ready. He finds some fresh spare clothes for Sergiu, for when he wakes up. Makes a light breakfast for both of them. Gets ready the last few remaining medicine pills and carries everything to his still sleeping friend. Sergiu sleeps deep,  drenched in sweat. Calensk checks Sergiu's temperature with the back of his hand. Still warm, but he doesn't shiver so much. He puts breakfast and the medicine on a small bedside stand, next to an empty glass. He goes to refill it and thinks what a shame it will be to wake Sergiu up like that. He could really use a day off and stay in bed, but from his yesterday's reaction, there was no convincing him to stay. Calensk understands.

What is left now is to hope - that the weather is better and that there are no terrorist attacks happening in the near future. But with the sharpshooting guardian angel, he has in the Inspector, Calensk's patient helping hand and his undying hope to live another day on that post, he just might make it out alive, long enough to see his lover.

[crimsonwing62]

Eddie Munson has this shirt and you can't tell me otherwise...

Steve and Eddie have been dating since spring of '85. They keep their relationship quiet with only Robin and Jeff knowing. Robin only knows because Eddie kept coming in to bug Steve during his shifts at Scoops Ahoy and they weren't exactly the best at being subtle. and Jeff is Eddie's best friend so he had to tell him.

Anyway Friday 14th February '86 is their first Valentines day together and for the first time ever Eddie cancels Hellfire that night. When he announces it the week before, it causes ruckus. All the boys start shouting, except for once, Dustin - the only one who can talk to his Girlfriend on Valentines day. But Eddie's word is final. No Hellfire Next Friday.

It comes to Valentines Night they have their date a candlelight dinner at Eddie's trailer, Steve cooked, they watched a movie and exchanged gifts.

"I know we said only get one present but I saw this and it was too funny to leave behind, so consider it a jokeish present and this other one as the serious present" Steve nervously rambled as he hands over the neatly wrapped square.

Eddie rips into the paper confused yet intrigued. He holds up the t-shirt to read it.

He giggles at it, an excited grin spreads across his face as he looks back at Steve.

"I love it" he already moving to kiss his awesome pretty boyfriend.

Steve's other present for him is a beautiful leather bound notebook since his other note book was running out of pages and falling apart. He wrote on the inside the front cover "Never stop writing, ~ S xxx 14/02/86"

Eddie gets Steve a keyring with a red and black D20 with only the number 20 visible. Steve's confused at first but Eddie explains that the D20 in DND is the decider dice, there's only a 5% chance to get the number you want, and the 20 is guaranteed success. The message clear: What are the chances we found each other in this cruel world? Inevitable.

To say the following weeks the t-shirt became a staple of Eddies wardrobe is an underestimate.

And if anyone notices the blush that Steve gets every time he sees Eddie in that shirt, no one says anything...

_______________________

TLDR: Steve got this for Eddie one year for Valentines day as a funny/joke present and Eddie wore it all the time after...

BTW the D20 gift idea isn't mine. I got it from a fic on A03 called "The Man I Could be" by Ohstars. it reimagines season 4 through the lens that Steve and Eddie date the Winter before Season 4 began but broke up at Christmas and then the aftermath of the battle with Vecna. Its cute, beautiful 100% worth every brain meltingly adorable moment...

[popjunkie42]

Hate Me Instead - Chapters 10 & 11

It is here!

Thank you for your patience and support, loves. Life, work, and writer's block hit me hard these past few weeks. But I am happy to get the ending to you! I hope you enjoy, may it fill and break your heart in equal measures.

I ended up writing so much that I split it into two chapters, but I have posted them both for you!

All my love and appreciation to @rosanna-writer @thefloweredskull and @witch-and-her-witcher for beta reading and putting me on the right track!

Hate Me Instead - read on A03

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Snippet:

Feyre emerged from the stairwell an hour later, dressed in a dark tunic and fitted pants, warm and practical. Her face and eyes still looked hollow, but she had a glimmer of curiosity as she approached me, eyeing my wings and my casual training leathers. Interested.

I held out my arms. “Ready?”

“Is it safe?”

“Nothing is ever fully without risk, darling. But I’ve had centuries of practice. I promise,” I said with a grin, “I won’t drop you.”

She looked me over again, considering with a downturn of her mouth.

The Illyrian and the beast had joined forces and were working against me. All I wanted was to wrap my wings around her in the dark until she could breath easily, to take her in my arms and fly us both somewhere far away, alone.

But today was about Feyre. She would retreat if she felt any pity from me, but her broken state yesterday had me scared. I might not know exactly what she needed to drag herself away from the precipice, but like her training, I would work through all the possibilities until I could bring her back from the edge. There was so little time left, and no room for my selfish desire for her. 

As much as it pained me.

She was looking at my wings and I couldn’t resist preening. I flared them a bit against the warmth of the sun streaming through the open balcony. Her eyes roaming over me felt almost indecent. With my wings I felt exposed to her. I wondered if this was how she looked at her subjects before she painted. 

And then she stepped towards me.

Her hands were tentative as they went to my shoulders, as I lifted her into my arms. I felt a now familiar jolt of her against my chest. The first time we touched today. Tomorrow she would be back in Spring but today, she was in my arms.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her face close to mine.

“It’s a surprise. But it’s not far.”

“Is it something I’ll like,” she asked, “or is this more of your scheming?”

“It is something I hope you’ll like and it is also a scheme.” She snorted at that.

“Hold on tight,” I told her as we stepped off the balcony and into the air.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

I landed us as gently as I could on the sand, my boots slipping into the soft dunes.

Even in my own pride I knew the eastern shore of the Night Court held little to the white sands of Summer or even the long warm stretches of gentle ocean in Day. But the day was fine, with the sun shining on us now that we were free of the mist of the mountain ranges, and the ocean sparkled a cold azure blue. Lazy clouds drifted past and the ocean was dotted with dozens of small islands, the black rocks fuzzed over with brown winter grass. You could see for miles until there was nothing but horizon.

Feyre took a few tentative steps towards the water after I set her down, the end of her braid whipping in the chill ocean breeze. Her shoulders moved with her deep breaths of the salty air.

At first glance, I knew the coarse rock and frozen ocean looked harsh, locked in the deathly stillness of winter. But looking closer I could see the small crabs skittering across the black rock, the lichen and urchins soaking up sun and salt. In the surf even the clams were burrowing and bubbling in the cold foam. Even here in the harshest of places, life persisted. 

“It’s not exactly the prime season, but I’ve always enjoyed the ocean in all her forms.” I said to her back.

She turned to me with a softness in her eyes, and a question.

“You said you had never been,” I said with a shrug.

I leaned down and started unlacing my boots.

“Take off your shoes. You have to put your feet in the water.”

“Why?”

“You have to greet it. Soak it up, leave with salt and sand on you. Take a little bit of the place with you. Besides,” I said, “the ocean is healing.”

“Is that true?” She asked.

I shrugged again. “It feels true.”

Wariness was in her face but I had tugged off the first boot and she leaned down to slip off her shoes and roll up her pant legs.

At the first wave that kissed her feet Feyre practically yelped and jumped back onto the shore.

“It’s freezing!” she yelled, as if I had controlled the temperature of the ocean in order to spite her.

I laughed and took a step farther towards the rolling waves. 

“It is winter, although you can be forgiven for forgetting in your eternal spring. Come on in,” I motioned to her. “You’ll get used to it after a moment.”

“Will anything bite me?”

I couldn’t help my smile. “You face down the Middengard Wyrm and you’re afraid of some tiny crabs? I’m glad we’re alone, otherwise your reputation might be shot.”

A full on glower at me as she stomped back into the cold waves. 

I thought it might be my favorite look. Well, amongst a few more, that I had recently discovered. And when she was curious and peppering me with questions. And when she was teasing me. And…

Feyre’s whole body locked up and a hiss escaped from between her teeth as the next wave rolled freezing water up to our knees.

“My family used to come here in the summers. I’ll bring you again when the water is warm, and the sun gets so hot you can’t resist going in.”

Indeed, the whole place was dripping with memories for me. Of a brighter, hotter sun, sand burning my feet as my sister and I ran, launching into the air on wings when the heat got to be too much. 

I had barely begun to come back to who I was before Under the Mountain. But the long history of these shores were threatening to break me wide open to my earliest memories.

Sand squelched under Feyre’s feet as she lifted them from where she had been sinking. Her body was relaxing as she got used to the cold. She was flexing her toes like she was memorizing the feel of the dripping sand in the waves. Her bare legs were white and prickled with the cold, and in that outfit I remembered her Under the Mountain, fierce and battling Wyrms and brandishing pokers at High Lords. And when a wave sent her stumbling and she reached out to grasp my hand for balance, I couldn’t help but revel in the feel of her skin on my palms.

“Stop that,” she said, not looking at me.

“Stop what?”

“Imagining what sort of scandalous outfits you’d give me to come swimming in.”

I chuckled. “Are you sure you’re not reading minds?”

She gripped my hand tightly at that, her eyes locked on the waves. 

My heart started thudding in my chest. Daemati . I had met so few of them in my long life. Nine, to be exact. If Feyre…

“I did, once. It was…Lucien. It was only for a few seconds, and I didn’t mean to,” she stammered out.  

I was quiet for a long moment. It would explain much. How strongly words and feelings flowed down the bridge. How sometimes her nightmares could exist inside my head.

I huffed out a laugh.

“What?” She asked quietly, now searching my face.

“When you master your powers, Feyre, no one in Prythian is going to be able to stand against you.”

She looked a bit stricken. I looked back over the waves, watched the gulls circling the rocky islands.

“We’ll want to start your training there soon. Needless to say, it can be very powerful, and very dangerous. Did you have a sense of casting your mind out? Reaching towards him?”

A nod of her head.

“You’ll want to try and control that, until we can train further. I’ll help you master it. Think of it like your shield, but a barrier to keep your mind contained within you. Besides,” I said, “I can’t imagine Lucien’s mind is a pleasant place to be.”

Feyre glared. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she said. 

I wouldn’t soften it, couldn’t, with all the mistakes I had made over the years. Bones and sinew could heal, but minds were delicate places.

“That’s why we’re training. You will be the master of your powers, not the other way around.”

She was chewing on her lip, the waves still rocking us back and forth. “I thought I wanted to train but…” she finally looked at me. “It feels…frightening. Like it might be too much.”

“It is, at first. But that’s why I’m glad you have them, Feyre. Because you’ll keep that feeling and always have a healthy respect for using them.”

She eyed me. “You don’t seem to be too afraid.”

We had drifted further out into the waves, now up to our thighs. A large swell washed through us and threatened to pull Feyre away, light as she had become. But I held tightly to her hand.

“Then I must be doing a very good job of pretending,” I said, pulling her closer to me. “Because you are terrifying, darling.”

Something close to a smile was on her face. “Terrifying?”

I nodded. “The next time you decide to throw a shoe at my head, you might do some real damage.”

“You liked it,” she challenged.

“Oh, I did.”

I told myself it was the waves, the cold ocean pushing us together, but I couldn’t deny the tether deep in my chest that was always trying to draw her closer. 

She steadied her hand on my arm as I held her from the waves with a hand on her waist. Vaguely remembering some promises and vows I had made to myself just a few hours ago.

Are you decent?   Cassian’s voice reached out to me from the edges of my mind.

And if we aren’t?  I asked.

“I’m afraid we have company.” I said to Feyre.

She jolted as Cassian landed with a soft hiss of sand on the shore behind us, dropping a heavy bag on the ground with a thud.

“Ready to train?”

Feyre and I emerged from the waves and I dried our clothes with a snap of my fingers as she found her footing and walked to Cassian.

“Train what?” she asked.

“All that fancy magic can only take you so far. We’re going to make sure you can fend for yourself first. If you’re interested, that is.”

Feyre took in Cassian’s sly grin, his leathers, his wings tucked in tight. I felt a glimmer of something down the bond as she took a deep breath and a step towards my general. It felt a bit like…confidence.

She looked back at me. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I’m going to enjoy the show.” 

Feyre scoffed and rolled her eyes.

Cassian led her into some warm-up stretches as I moved to the blanket, closing my eyes and leaned my face up towards the sun. 

After Under the Mountain, I hadn’t yet had time to visit all of my territory. And although Velaris gave me life, and the Illyrian Steppes held me in the nostalgic sway of their vicious beauty, this place felt soft. Gentle with happy memories. I came to the ocean to feel small, much like getting lost in the night sky. But the sand and rocks and hills held the memories of my childhood. When I was a different person, not better perhaps, but still so loved and protected from the weight of the world.

Sitting here, I remembered my mother and I would spend hours floating on wings above the water on the ocean breezes, seeing how long we could drift without a single motion. There were rare moments when my father, always cold and fearsome and distant, would relax in tiny increments under the warmth of the sun. Would watch, with an uncommonly soft look, my sister building castles in the sand, without a letter in his hand or surrounded by advisors.

The loud thwack of knuckles on leather jolted me from the centuries past.

Feyre was bouncing on her toes, too stiff and unbalanced, but focused. Her hands were balled into fists as she made her first attempts at some basic punches.

I didn't worry. I knew Cassian would drill the right steps into her.

She had some direction with her right arm but her left side was completely undeveloped. I watched as she stumbled again, falling into Cassian who kept her upright. I expected a flash of anger, and while I did see the muscles clenching at her jaw, she took a deep breath and got back into her stance, her eyes on my general.

So different than with me. I suppose I should have guessed that Cassian’s blunt irreverence would be familiar to the girl who grew up not in courts and palaces but wandering the woods. But there was something more I could sense. She was eager to learn. She didn’t want to disappoint him.

I watched as Feyre dusted herself off, shook out her shoulders, and got back into her stance.

Read the rest on AO3

[scapegrace74-blog]

The Man from Black Water, Chapter 20

A/N  With this epilogue, I’m wrapping up the crazy crossover that was bringing Jamie and Claire into the Man from Snowy River universe.  Thanks to everyone for reading, commenting, liking and reblogging.  It’s been a real joy to introduce many of you to this world that I’ve loved since I was you.

Previous chapters are available on my A03 page.

“Twins?” sapphire eyes rounded with tentative excitement.  “How can ye be sure?”

“If you put your hand here, you can feel one head,” Claire patiently explained.  “And over here is another.”

“Tang dhia,” Jamie offered up a heartfelt prayer of thanks for this abundance of good fortune.

“Ye’ll be able to deliver them safely, Sassenach?” his smile faltered as worry set in.

Claire looked up from where she was crouched on the barn floor.

“That’s really up to this lady here,” she patted the cow on the flank as she rose to her feet.  “But I’ll do whatever I can to help her out.”

Jamie nodded, relieved by his wife’s reassurance.

“That was the last heifer ye needed tae examine, aye?”

“Yes, I’m all done.  With a little luck, we’ll have eleven calves joining the herd come springtime.”

It was better than Jamie could have hoped, and it was all thanks to his wife.

***

After a blissful few days sequestered indoors, familiarizing themselves with the many carnal delights their new marriage offered, Claire finally convinced her husband to don enough clothing to step outside on a crisp, clear day, and show her his ideas for improving Lallybroch.  Excited his humans were no longer abed, Rollo lolloped ahead of them.

“A larger stable would go aboot here,” Jamie indicated a relatively flat piece of elevated ground, “wi’ space enough fer six stalls and a wee storage room fer yer instruments an’ such.”

Claire marveled once again at her husband’s easy acceptance of her chosen profession and his utter certainty she would be successful in pursuing it.

“Around the bend in the river there is a spot that’s sheltered from the northerly wind where I’d build a shed fer the cattle,” Jamie continued, his voice growing eager with anticipation.

“Won’t it be too cold to keep them out of doors all winter?” Claire wondered aloud.

With no little pride, Jamie preceded to spell out his grand plan. By crossbreeding hardy Highland cows with Lowland breeds better known for their meat, he intended to beat the cattle barons like Henry Beauchamp at their own game, albeit on a much smaller scale. The resulting livestock would be far cheaper to over-winter and would not need to be driven back and forth to the rich upland grazing, thus saving time and increasing yield.

“Jamie, that’s brilliant!” Claire enthused.  Her husband blushed beneath his winter tan, delighted by her praise.  Caught up in her excitement, Claire then proceeded to suggest several refinements to his plan.  The most important of these was to purchase slightly older heifers, rather than the one-year-olds he’d planned to procure from her father.

“Wouldna the older mothers ha’ fewer years tae produce?” he asked.

“Some animals bear young that are carbon copies of themselves, no matter the sire.  If you look at a cow’s previous offspring, you’ll know whether she’s going to pass along the longer coat and that Highland hardiness that you’re after.  You lose a few generations of calves, but what you gain are the characteristics you’re trying to ensure.”

Jamie looked at his wife in awe, the cold breeze staining her cheeks the colour of summer apples and blowing her hair amok.  It made him wonder.

“Will our bairns take after their sire’s red hair, do ye think Sassenach?” he half jested.  “Or will they have a mad curly wig like their mam?”  In truth, he rather hoped for a combination of the two.

Still a bit shy about speaking openly of their romantic life and its consequences, Claire bit her lip and looked down the glen, rather than meeting his eye.

“I suppose we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

***

“When do you leave for Inverness?” Claire asked as they walked hand-in-hand back to the main house after examining the cows.

“Day after next, if the weather holds.”

“I’m so proud of you, darling.  Perthshire’s first crofting commissioner.”

The Napier Commission had finally achieved its aims, and Parliament had passed the Crofters Holding Act the previous summer.  No longer could the Campbells or any other landlord turn Jamie or his fellow crofters out of their hereditary homes, so long as they continued to occupy them and used the land productively.  Rents couldn’t be arbitrarily increased.  The various counties of Scotland had elected representatives to a Crofting Commission that oversaw all disputes between crofters and their landlords.  Well-respected, charismatic and intelligent, James Fraser had been a natural choice for their region.

“Will ye visit wi’ yer Aunt Rosemary and Murtagh while I’m away?” he asked as they closed the door against the wind and moved into Lallybroch’s new ground floor sitting room.  A beautiful pine stairway Jamie had crafted by hand led upstairs to the three bedrooms.

“Maybe for the day, but I’m looking forward to having the time to do a little reading, perhaps catch up on some mending.”

Jamie settled into his favourite overstuffed armchair beside the fire, pulling Claire onto his lap before she could sit elsewhere.

“Are ye tired o’ yer husband awready then?” he teased, kissing the velvet skin beneath her jaw.

“You are rather distracting,” Claire purred as she extended her neck to invite further exploration.

“Aye,” he agreed, too pleasantly occupied to feign indignation.  Claire shifted her weight, rubbing her ample bottom against his groin in a move he was quite certain was deliberate.  She looked like an angel, but his wife was an incorrigible wanton, God be praised.

“Jamie?” she interrupted as he began the laborious process of peeling off all her winter layers.

“Hmm?”

“Maybe, by the time you come back from Inverness, I’ll have news for you.”

Even nose deep in her cleavage, Jamie heard the tentative, expectant tone in his wife’s voice.  His heart started to pound like a fist against his ribs.  He looked up into her bright, hopeful face with tears stinging the back of his throat.

“Then I shall rush home wi’ all due haste, Sassenach.”

[seamayweed]

Wanna do the a03 wrapped thing? Because you should be! Here are some BTS things with the writer I would personally love to know (doesn't have to be for 2023): 

- favorite title (for a work or chap) 

- what relationship are you excited to explore next year? 

- what do you listen to while writing 

- fav line written this year, whether it's published or not 

- biggest surprise while writing this year?

 and anything bts with the writer you want to add!

aaaa thank you so much, i’m so flattered and touched that you would send me an ask like this 😭 i always feel like ppl aren’t that interested in my writing (or are annoyed by it), so this is a very pleasant and extremely encouraging surprise!!

(more underneath the cut since to absolutely no one's surprise i got very wordy yet again whoops)

favorite title (for a work or chap) 

the candles burned out the light since this song, and this line in particular, gave me so many ideas, both writing- and giffing-wise. also the latest chapter of Half of Your Fate (“two rings, one heart”) since i like the meaning behind it: there may be two rings, one for hwi, the other for seon-ho to keep, but their hearts are one.

what relationship are you excited to explore next year? 

1. bangseon bangseon bangseon - there are so many stories i want to tell about them that i haven’t told yet

2. seonrok as i’ve been promising for so long. i’m determined to be braver about tackling their relationship and writing them!!

3. myeonggun from bloodhounds

4. the jang bros from vincenzo

what do you listen to while writing

i listen to a lot of florence and the machine and paris paloma, for seonhwi i listen to a lot of joji, the weeknd is also a favorite, otherwise cigarettes after sex, the instrumental ost for the crowned clown is great for Half of Your Fate (esp. Snow Field is so seon-ho-core that it hurts my heart), and i know i’ve recced these two seon-ho playlists before.

fav line written this year, whether it's published or not 

1. if it’s a line, my mind always goes back to this one again from time to time; it's from the goblin king:

Cold unfolds inside her like a long winter night.

it was partially inspired by this translation of a beautiful sijo poem by hwang jini (1506-1567) who was a famous kisaeng (although this translation on wikipedia may express the double entendre better):

I will break the back of this long, midwinter night, Folding it double, fold beneath my spring quilt, That I may draw out the night, should my love return.

2. otherwise it’s the last 2-3 lines here, from the as of yet unfinished sequel of and bloodless again:

(for context: they are conintuing their arrangement where seon-ho helps bang-won fall asleep)

Seon-ho holds him, rocking him like he’s a child. He strokes his hair and his back, hums in his low, soothing voice. Lullaby-soft. The way Bang-won might do with his own daughters and sons. Seon-ho doesn’t have his own children. He doesn’t have a wife, doesn’t have a brother or a sister, nor a mother. Not anymore. His father might as well not be one. He has no family to speak of, in truth. So where did he learn such tenderness? Such love? Or—perhaps he did have children, once. Two of them, things spat out on the roadside, rotting and dying. A tragedy, certainly, but nothing special. Only more casualties of Goryeo. Of Bang-won. No one else would have given them a second glance. No one except Seon-ho. He didn’t walk past or look the other way, in that cutting way he has, seeing to the core of everything. He cannot make himself look away like other people do. It’s not in his nature. Maybe his life would be easier, if it was. It’s what makes him so terrifying. He picked them up from the ground and fed them from his bosom. He held them, long ago, before father, king, and country. Before they were ripped out of his arms, the way he was stolen from his mother’s. Bang-won wonders what it would be like to hold him, instead of just being held by him. To hold his heart in his mouth like a quail egg, small and fragile, and crack it between his teeth. To crack him in two: pieces of soft eggshell and blue.

biggest surprise while writing this year?

didn’t expect to be writing for bloodhounds!! gun-woo and myeonggun really took me by storm. also didn’t expect park sung-woong and knife daddy myeong-gil to completely take over my brain haha.

aside from that, i’ve become more confident about posting fics, even if i think they might not be good enough for posting or the fandom isn’t big enough for anyone to care. i’m proud of myself for going off anon on my darkfics. i think i’ve also become better at recognizing when i’m writing for others, instead of myself. the audience i should always be writing for first and foremost is myself, and sometimes it’s easy to lose sight of that. having learned all these things, hopefully i’ll be able to grow as a writer and become better at just having pure, mindless fun in the future!!

and anything bts with the writer you want to add!

not really... i think i've talked enough about myself and my writing by now /o\ if you've made it this far to the end of this very long and rambly reply, thank you for listening and i wish you all the best!! 💙💙💙

[moon-ruled-rising]

I was tagged by @girlwithakiwi for the Self Rec Writer Tag.

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💕💗

(Please note: To protect my work from AI Scraping, my A03 fics are only visible to registered users. Thank you for your understanding.)

begged and borrowed time — If you're going to read a WIP of mine, I suggest this one! I'm really proud of it and it lives rent free in my head always. Submitted for Jonerys Summer Lovin' 2k22. Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Dragons, and Romance— it's everything you could ever want.

The Glass Dagger and the Winter Rose — My first submission to Jonerys Remix 2021. Whenever I'm feeling uninspired I go back and read this one. I love writing fairy tales (or things with a fairy tale tones) and to me, this is just splendid. Cinderella is also my favorite and I combined elements of the Disney live action remake (2015) and the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical. Cinderella AU, Ella!Jon, Prince(ss) Charming!Dany, and an unexpected happy ending. (Available on FFN)

this town's too small too keep secrets — The completed first installment of my High School AU Series. Originally, the whole series was meant to be a single one shot based off a country song but the muse to write a whole series of oneshots hit me like a truck and so I wrote this one as a sort of framing device for all the ones to follow. High School Jonerys, High School RobbxMargaery, lots of inter-personal drama from the parents, Friday Night Lights vibes.

A Christmas Coincidence — The first installment of a series dubbed The Brie-mark Channel. Submitted for Jonerys Winter Wonderland 2k22, this was my first time writing a oneshot like this and I just love the way it turned out. If you want holiday nostalgia, good vibes romance all wrapped into one, then I highly suggest this one.

sad beautiful tragic — Submitted for Jonerys Remix 2023. This one will be slow to update but the first act is up. This was my first time not doing a true 1:1 remix and instead choosing elements about the pairing (Anna/Vronsky (Anna Karenina) for this one) that were intriguing. This is definitely more serious than anything I have ever written before and I am living for the challenge. Adultry, implied age difference/maturity difference, Up-and-Coming Actor!Jon, Actress!Dany reclaiming her career and finding a perhaps misguided sense of self in the meantime. There's drama, angst, I believe it was also described as "a fresh take on Hollywood Noir" so do with that what you will. (Thanks @jellybeanficwriter for that comment, I think about it ALL. THE. TIME.)

As per usual, I'm opening this up to anyone who wants to share their fics! Boast, gloat, and share your lovely art with us!

[legend-of-thyme]

This was a secret santa gift that went up on a03 last week, but since it's also about the chain celebrating the winter solstice in Ordon, today seems like as good a time as any to cross post. I hope you enjoy and happy solstice!!

------

Realizing they've arrived in his time is always a bittersweet experience for Twilight. The excitement of seeing his family and showing his brothers his home is sharply tempered by concern over the idea that danger has, once again, found its way so close to Ordon. But after scouring the woods for two days and finding nothing more dangerous than a nest of particularly irate baba serpents he's hopeful that this is Hylia giving them a chance to rest. Especially since it’s the third day of Midwinter.

He grins, a new spring in his step and kicks at the light dusting of snow. Tomorrow will be the peak of the Midwinter celebrations and if they hurry they’ll be home in time to help with set up and to join Rusl and Uli for family dinner. It’s a good thing he’s been picking up souvenirs for people as they go, because Colin had excitedly told him his own gift would be wrapped and waiting for him when he returned. It would break his heart not to be able to give him anything in return.

“Happy to be home for the holidays?” Time asks, pulling him from his train of thought.

“I wish we’d been here earlier in the week, but no one does the solstice like Ordon. You’re not sorry to be spending it away from Malon?” Time would never complain of course, not about something that truly upset him, but his smile reaches his eye and he chuckles as he ruffles Twilight’s hair.

“We’ve spent many Midwinters together, and we’ll have many more,” he waves him off. “Besides, I left a week's worth of gifts with Talon and he’s promised to hide them around the ranch for me”.

“Your solstice celebrations last a whole week?” Wind shouts, elation and jealousy warring on his face. “We only get one night! No wonder you were so excited to be home”.

Twilight slings an arm around the shorter boy’s shoulders trying not to smile at how the sleeves of his borrowed coat cover his hands and flop around as he gestures. “Nah,” he says and gently tugs Wind’s ear, “I’m just excited to have help carrying all the firewood and decorations”.

Read the rest on ao3

[cricket-reader]

Hi!

If it's not too much trouble, I would really like to see a part 2 of "Side of the Road"

Hope you're having a good day!

I would love to (sorry it’s so late)! Hope you are having a good day as well

Side of the Road (2)

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox

Summary: the mystery woman is rushed to the infirmary. Now only one question matters: will she make it out alive?

Warnings: probably incorrect medial info/jargon, needles, hypothermia, injury, near-death incident

Word Count: 886

Series Masterlist | Part 1

Exiting the vehicle, Bucky gently picked up the woman covered in their winter jackets. The cool wind nips at the woman in Bucky’s arms. She shivers and unconsciously nuzzles closer to Bucky, seeking his furnace-like warmth. His stone cold heart breaks hearing the little whimpers she lets out. Wasting no time, Bucky rushes her inside to the heat.

Pepper is waiting at the door and catches a glimpse of the trembling woman covered in coats. Her attention is diverted when her inebriated boyfriend stumbles through the door. Muttering under her breath, Pepper drags Tony to bed.

Sam and Steve are hot on Bucky’s heels as he makes his way to the infirmary.

The group startle Dr. Cho, who has been busy working on Avenger’s paperwork. Her eyes grow wide upon seeing the young woman in Sergent Barnes’s arms. Helen shoots up from her seat and rushes over to the woman. “Barnes, set her on the table, take off those jackets. Wilson, get me Banner. Rogers, get me some blankets and a warm compress from the med kit” she rattled off, quickly washing her hands.

Bucky removed the coats from her body, his heart breaking as the woman moaned in protest. She tried to get the, now wet, coats back from him, but Bucky threw them aside. Cho grabbed a few towels and threw them at Bucky, ordering him to dry her body off. It was still damp from the snow she was lying in. Helen wasted no time in hooking up electrodes to her body to get the cardiac monitor set up. She is relieved to see the green spikes followed by the infamous beeping of the monitor. The woman has a pulse, albeit weak.

Sam returns with Bruce striding into the room. Sam had explained the whole situation to him on the way there. “Banner! Get me a warm saline solution now!”

Bruce hustles to get the solution as Steve enters the room with a mountain of blankets he could find nearby. Cho tells him to help her envelop the patient’s body in the blankets, needing to insulate her body to prevent further heat loss.

Dr. Banner returns with the solution and a kit. He quickly yet efficiently washes his hands and puts on clean medical gloves. He hangs the bag and fills the tubing with the saline solution. Taking her arm out from under the blankets, he secures a tourniquet above the vein he’s going to insert the solution into. Bruce cleans the skin before inserting the plastic tube into the vein using a needle. Once the needle and tube are in, he removes the needle and unsecures the tourniquet. Taping the tube in place, Banner wraps the area with Coban to ensure that the patient wouldn’t try to remove the line when she wakes up. He looks to Cho for further instructions when he’s done wrapping her arm.

“We need an ECG when her vitals are stable. Get a finger-stick glucose, I think she might be hypoglycaemic. We need to prepare for a CMP too.”

“You got it, boss.”

Dr. Banner returns with the supplies needed hastily. He takes the patient’s left arm, his brows furrowed, and inserts the small needle into her vein to draw some blood. “I’ll take the blood to the labs to process the CMP, I trust you can handle the finger-stick?”

“I’ve got it.”

As Helen predicted, her glucose levels are below 70 mg/dl. It doesn’t surprise her given how malnourished the woman looks. She would just have to monitor her levels closely.

“She has some injuries on her back too,” Bucky informs her, restlessly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He wants to help, he needs to do something to help her.

“I know, I saw them. I was planning on putting her in the cradle as soon as her vitals are stable.”

“Is she… gonna make it?” Steve questions, breaking the silence in the room. Cho sighs, worry-lines etched into her face. She isn’t sure quite yet. It’s hard to tell until she can get her body temperature back to normal.

“I don’t know yet. Where did you guys find her?”

“It seems like she was just dumped on the side of the road on the way to the compound. We don’t know where she could have come from in a state like this.”

“Who would do something like this?” Helen mutters, tears threatening to form in her eyes. As a medical professional, she didn’t often cry during work, especially in a patient’s room, but just thinking of how horrible the situation overwhelmed her. She honestly doesn’t know how this woman is still alive. With wounds like those and being left in the cold so vulnerable, she should probably be half-dead.

Bucky just watches in silence. As if on repeat, the moment from the car plays in his head. It really bothers him. The more he thinks about it, the worse it is. Disgust churns in his gut, twisting violently. Just what exactly has this poor woman been through?

All four of them stay in the room, keeping close watch over the woman. Her heart rate is slowly elevating and her temperature is normal. That’s a good sign, at least. When her body temperature is stable, Helen puts her in the cradle.

Ssries Masterlist | Part 3