winter prompt 2!

Day 2 – extra limbs / features – will forcibly giving hannibal antlers to "see his true form".

winter prompt time 1!

Day 1 – bloody and beaten – Will comes back from a hunt, covered in blood. Hannibal and Frederick help him clean up.

"Will- oh my god, that's a lot of blood..." Frederick says softly, looking at the man who stood in the doorway. "Hannah, come in here!" Said figure appears, gasping slightly. "We need to clean you up..." Will is picked up by Hannibal, Frederick skittering past them to start up the shower. "Come on, it'll set in the clothes if he's in them any longer..."

Hannibal complies in helping Will out of his clothes, whispering praise to him as Will stands there in shock. His shirt falls to his side, the blood-soaked fabric finding its way to a bucket of hydrogen peroxide, the pants soon following as Frederick strips down to his boxers, stepping in the shower and gestures for Hannibal to walk Will to the cubicle. "Here you go, sweetheart. Go get cleaned, I'll wash your clothes and let Freddie do what he can to ease you out of this stupor." Will nods numbly, going into the shower and points out the door to the main area before closing the door.

"It- he's out there. Fix him up." His voice is soft, fragile, like he's afraid that if he talks too loud, someone will hear him when they shouldn't have. Frederick is softer, cooing gently when he rubs his lavender scented shampoo in Will's mane, smiling when the other sinks to his knees and purrs in content. "I'm sorry I got my clothes dirty, Frederick."

"Nothing to be sorry for, William. Nothing to be sorry for."

prompt time!!

i’m gonna be going through prompts for the next month or so, getting them done for fandoms that i thoroughly enjoy (Hannibal, IT, Stranger Things, and Law and Order: Special Victims Unit). that being said, there will be gore in some of the prompts, and two of them are NSFW, so don’t say i didn’t warn you.

as an addition, Letters from the Heart is still in the works, I just haven’t been passionate about writing it as of late due to other interests, college life and whatnot. i promise that i will get to writing it when i have inspiration to write it.

What is a King to a Bard?

It started like any other day for the Losers, Eddie and Richie walking down the street to the arcade after Eddie got his medications and shoved them all in his fanny pack, Bev and Ben walking hand in hand and Stan and Mike swinging hands and laughing about something obscure and inside that only they knew about. Eddie glances around at their group, noticing one shining face missing from the circle of close friends. "Guys, where did Bill go? I haven't seen him at all this week..."

"I heard from his neighbors that he went to New York City with his folks and they won't be back until school starts." Stan says softly, glancing at Mike and bursts into a fit of giggles, the other boy doing the same and soon everyone starts laughing, though no one knows what they're laughing about. "He wrote me a letter, and he said that he's having fun in the city since he can be on his own and pay homage to the city that way. He misses us all, you the most, Bev, and he can't wait to see us again in school."

"Good news!" Richie says excitedly, seeing Stan and Bev's faces brighten. "I'm getting those newfound contact lenses so I don't have to wear these ugly things all the time!" Eddie makes a disapproving noise, shaking his head. "Eds doesn't like that because he thinks my face is too big without them."

"He looks like a hooligan!" Eddie says loudly, Mike dissolving into laughter at the word. "What? I mean it! Richie, take off your glasses!" The taller complies, taking off his coke-bottle lenses and lets everyone see him. "See what I mean, his face looks ridiculous without them and-"

"I mean, he looks kinda hot, but not that I would do anything with him..." Stan says under his breath, Mike and Bev nodding in agreement. "But the glasses are more familiar, so yeah it would be difficult to adjust to seeing him without them, but it's an alright look for him..."

"See Eds? They love it. You'll have to get used to seeing my beautiful mug like this because as of today I'm not gonna be wearing those fuckers any longer!" He hands Eddie the glasses and keeps a smile on his face. Mike and Stan watch him as he bumps around, Eddie handing him the lenses and keeps them close. "Okay, maybe I'll need them until I can actually get them..." Bev lets out a giggle, Stan and Mike keeping their hands intertwined as Richie practically wraps himself around Eddie, his mess of curls finding their way to rest on Eddie's shoulder. Stan mimicking the motion with Mike, his ashen curls falling onto the stronger boy’s side. Beverly watches as Mike and Eddie soften their gazes at their boys, Mike picking up Stan almost effortlessly and bids everyone farewell, Eddie slowly walking off with Ben and Beverly in tow. The three talk while Richie listens, silent as he's been all day as Mike and Stan go on past the Aladdin and the old pharmacy that Eddie frequents just for the sentiment. He hears Stan sigh into his neck, smiling softly as he nuzzles in and it makes Mike's heart soar as the one who he truly cared about being so close and yet so far away from him.

Mike was hopelessly in love, and yet Stan's heart was Bill's.

Merry Christmas, Tozier

Here’s my gift for @wand3ringwast3land! Hope you enjoy, Del! (with a little santa magic from @nooowestayandgetcaught but shh, we don’t tell anyone!)

The sun was just about to set, the moon finally making herself seen as Richie walks down the empty street. It was a cold December day leading to an even colder December night. His bag is slung over his shoulder, know that even though he wouldn't be doing any schoolwork that night, he just wanted his things to be there in case he got a bug up his ass to do something that was destructive or loud. So here he was, strolling down the streets of Derry with the sun kissing the sidewalk and leaving pleasant warm tones on the grass and everything it touched, and yet he felt like the darkest spot on the map. Beauty surrounded him and he wanted nothing more than to cover the world with a sheet and go the hell to bed.

"Richie?" someone shouts in the distance. They're getting closer now, he can hear the whir of a bike zooming down the familiar pavements. "Richie, it's freezing out!" He's about to swat them away like a fly with a simple 'go away', but the voice in persistent. "Come on, Richie. You need to get inside before you get sick."

"Not now Eds." Richie says softly, his face lacking its normal smile and his voice almost limp and lifeless. He sounded like the snow crunching beneath his feet; cold. Everything was cold, nothing else made real sense other than the pain on the tip of his nose and in his fingertips, the drag of his feet on the freezing gravel, and the cold stare of winter's biting edge in the encroaching nightfall. "I said, not now!" He spins around to see a familiar shock of red curls poking out from under a thick jacket. "Beverly?"

"Yes, it's me. Follow me and get your ass inside or I'm giving Stan your Christmas presents." She says. Everything is more warm now, his fingers still cold and cracking, dried blood on his knuckles. There's something frozen between his nose and lips, but he doesn't make a move to wipe it away in fear of his face being even more cold than it is now. "Come on, are your feet frozen? You were walking fine just a few minutes ago! Let's move!" He picks up the pace, following her as she slows down to let him catch up to her. "You know, you could have called Bill or someone and they could've driven you around. You didn't need to walk outside when it's already balls degrees out." He nods, giving a half-hearted excuse when it hits her. "You got kicked out, didn't you?" His lack of response gives her the answer and she gets off the bike, wrapping him in a tight hug. "Oh my god, what did they say you did now?"

He starts to weep, saying that his mother found his stash of presents, found the box with the promise ring and demanded to know who he was dating that would even insinuate having a promise ring. When he resisted, she started throwing things out the window, shattering the precious glass that he bought for Stan and the figurines for Ben. He still resisted, knowing that he would never be able to put back the pieces, and she threw the books he got for Bill out the window as well, and if they had snow in them and ruined the paper, then that was his fault, not hers. Still, she persisted. He still resisted and she took the dresses he bought at a second-hand shop for Beverly and threw them out in succession to the scarf he knitted for Mike. She got in his face, called for his father and when he heard the heavy footsteps, he cracked. He cried and said that it was for Eddie, saying that it wasn't a promise ring, just something that Eddie had pointed out when he was looking through catalogues for a necklace for his mother. Her face softens at the thought of him looking for jewelry for her, but it hardens when he says that he was going to give it to Eddie and ask him to be his boyfriend. His father roared that there weren't going to be homosexuals in his house and that he had ten minutes to pack what he needed and to get out of the house, otherwise he wouldn't be able to make it out of that house alive.

Beverly stops him., holding him close as he cries. "Shh, it's okay. We're gonna get you inside and you can get warm. I'll call the others and ask them to try and find the presents-"

"They're in my backpack, Beverly. I-I grabbed them when I left the house and Ma got mad and started throwing hot water at me and calling me all sorts of names. I-I can't get back those figurines or the glass..." She looks in the bag, seeing the dress and scarf wrapped around a wet paperback book. "I-I can't find the ring either.... I need to find that fucking ring, Bev! It took me three months to get the money for that ring! We need to find it otherwise I'll-" He breaks down again, Beverly holding him tight as a car revs next to them. "I-I won't be able to live with myself if I can't find it..." A soft honk blares through the silent street, scaring Beverly and Richie.

The window reveals a certain brunet, his blue eyes crestfallen on the couple in the road. "H-hey! Get in the car, y-you'll freeze out there!" They look up to see Bill Denbrough in all his glory, sitting in his cozy and worn Volkswagen Golf. His hair is pushed down by a thick knit beanie, a thick scarf of the same color wrapped around his neck, making him look just a bit smaller than without it. Beverly sits up in the street, helping Richie up as the two get into the car, the bike strapped to the back. "D-did you really steal Silver to find Ruh-ruh-Richie?" She nods, watching as Bill unravels his scarf and gives it to the other who was shaking in the backseat. "O-okay, where to?" She whispers something in his ear, making him nod and start going in the direction of Richie's house.

When the other boy sees the familiar church he passes when going home and starts freaking out, letting out a strangled gasp. "No, no! I can't go there! Ma's gonna kill me if she sees that I came back!" Bill gestures for him to sit back and lay on the back seat while he went in to calmly talk to Mrs. Tozier. "Please don't die in there, Big Bill..." Richie says softly. Suddenly he hears a shriek and Bill yells for Bev to 'start the fucking car, Beverly!' and they're off. He jumps in the car right as Wentworth makes himself heard, roaring about how 'that damn Denbrough kid is gonna fuckin' ruin us, Maggie! He already took our faggot son!' and Richie can't help the tears that well in his eyes, silently slipping down his cheeks and get absorbed by the scarf. He feels something be pressed into his hands, the small box making him smile again. "You got it?"

Bill nods and takes off, tearing down the streets and making himself be heard, not seen as the rubber of his tires screams down the worn streets of Derry. Beverly keeps her hand on Richie's knee until they pull up to a familiar white brick house and Richie's heart goes straight to the floor. "Why are we at Eddie's?"

"Movie night, did you forget?" Beverly asks, hopping out of the car and offers her hand to Richie. He takes it and gets out, following her into the house and sees the other four sitting in the living room, Stan curled up in Ben's lap and Mike's hands rubbing Eddie's worry-ridden shoulders. They see Richie and everyone relaxes, including Stan who wakes up from his little cat nap to see Richie and break into a grin. "We found him in the middle of the street with no coat on. Hope you don't mind we took your scarf and gave it to him to warm up in, Stan." Said boy waves his hand, not bothered by it. "Go on, take your rightful place, Trashmouth." Richie complies, sitting next to Eddie and combs his fingers through the brunet's hair, feeling him relax into the touch. Eddie whispers something Richie, Mike hearing it as his cheeks tinge a bit pink.

Richie smiles, huddling close to Eddie as they watch something that Stan picked out for the night, the boys slowly dozing off one by one. Bill takes a Polaroid of the sleeping group, putting it in a scrapbook with the simple sticker stating 'for Richie'.

Earned It

for @yalocalemo for the IT Secret Santa!

Bill finds out about Stan’s secret pastime and likes it. Maybe a bit too much (sorry there’s just a lil bit of kaspborough, it needed a bit of hurt near the end. it’s just a smidge)

“You know, if you really listened, Stanny Boy-”

“Shut UP Richie! I don’t need to hear about what Eddie said that made everyone laugh. He does enough talking here, and you do more than enough.” Stan groans, falling onto his bed. “Just take me to the building and I can hitch a ride home for Bev, okay?” Richie mutters under his breath about Stan being a prude but takes Stan to the address on the phone, not questioning it. The night was just starting, teens finding their ways to parties and getting into mischief, while Stan prefered to stay in and do what he adored most.

Dance.

The studio was empty, just as he liked it. It was in pristine condition, all the dancers that once inhabited it leaving for the day to go home to their familial lives. Stan sets down his bag, slowly pulling off his street clothes until he was in a pair of tight high-waisted shorts he snagged from Eddie when he wasn’t looking (all with the promise of “I’ll give them back when i can’t wear them anymore! It’ll be two weeks, three tops!” and it’s been three and a half months since that promise- Eddie hasn’t asked for them back) and a thin shirt that draped off the shoulders of one Beverly Marsh, her throwing it at him when he complained about needing a sleep shirt when he had stayed over at her house with the losers. (“It looks cute on me, so it’ll look even cuter on you!” Beverly shouted at him, letting him change and let everyone’s mouths drop slightly at the sight of someone usually so proper be dressed in that fashion) He starts with a few basic stretches, giving a chance for his tired bones to wake up and prepare for the beating they’re about to take. After he falls in a split, Stan makes his way carefully into the spot he dropped his phone and his bag, connecting it to the room’s speakers, hearing gentle soundscapes fill the empty space. The sound is cut off abruptly, the familiar bass filling the room of a routine he all but memorized. It felt as easy as his speech for his Bar Mitzvah, the steps coming to him as simple as breathing. He drags a chair to the center of the room, dancing around it slowly before straddling it and moving his hips suggestively. He keeps his eyes on himself, locking with his reflection as his hips do the dirty work and make himself feel almost weightless. The music blares through the room, leaking into the hallway and attracts a visitor, the alluring beat and the slide of someone dragging their feet across the tiled floor.

‘Cause girl you’re perfect

You’re always worth it

And you deserve it

The way you work it

‘Cause girl you earned it, yeah

Girl you earned it, yeah

Stan’s ragged breathing resounds in his ears, hearing soft footsteps through the hallway and he stumbles to stop the music on his phone. “Whoa, mind showing a third party what you can do, pretty lady?” the visitor asks, Stan rolling his eyes as he bends back to his standing height, shaking his curls lightly. “Aww, not gonna give me a smile and show that face, princess? The name’s Bill.” No. It can’t-

“Bill?!” Stan all but shrieks, spinning around to give the other a good look at what he was wearing. “What are you doing here!”

“I could ask you the same thing!” Bill responds, his eyes grazing over the other’s body slowly, taking in the sight of his normally uptight friend in such a revealing outfit. “Why are you doing dancing around in an empty studio when you could be making some serious cash just shaking it around on a stage?”

“BILL!” Stan yells again, grabbing his sweat pants and pulls them on over the shorts, the music now softly playing through the speakers. He looks at the other, seeing the ruffled curls and disheveled shirt on his frame. “Let me do this alone, please?” His eyes are softer, more begging and Bill nods, turning on his heels and struts out the door. He rolls the pants down once more, looking down and starts the music up again, circling the chair before dropping in it heavily, swaying and moving to the beat.

Bill doesn’t tell him he watched from the other side of the mirrors, no. That would be wrong. He also doesn’t tell Stan that he wishes he was in the chair with him, being danced on and whispered dirty things, hearing Stan’s ragged breathing in his ear as he works himself into a sweat. That would be a violation of their trust for each other. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but in the weeks to come, he would keep giving Stan subtle hints that Stan should try out dancing in a club, and he certainly doesn’t show up in person when he sees Stan’s name under ‘Amateur Hour” on the board of his favorite bar. He doesn’t watch, but he knows from the first notes of the song that it’s his best friend, and he tears his eyes away from the glass he had been nursing for an hour to see Stan in a tight corset, booty shorts and a face full of makeup waltzing around and getting more money in tips than the professional dancers did. He didn’t see Stan the next night either, because he decided it was best to retire that bar from his list and stay at home, watching Eddie struggle to tie knots in the ropes on his hands and make love to him in the empty darkness of the once warm room, thinking of not the soft curves, feathery straight hair and gentle caressing hands of Eddie, but of the sharp angles, messy curls and calloused hands of one Stan Uris.