#adfaugust2023

In light of the one-year anniversary of Interior Night's As Dusk Falls, here is the first-ever AS DUSK FALLS AUGUST! Throughout the month of August 2023, feel free to create fan content (fics, fanart, or anything else your heart desires) with these prompts as a guide. Please mention this blog in your works and tag your works as #adfaugust2023 if you'd like to be featured!

A text version of these prompts is under the cut.

day 9 : wound ( from @adfaugust )

this isn’t the war they were promised, not even close. no safety in trenches, no bombs deployed from the air, far away from any damage. instead, they’re thick in the jungle, getting their heads blown off by traps, assailants nowhere to be seen. paul didn’t even want to be here, fought the draft to the last second, and now here he is, clutching a rifle and feeling sick to his stomach. wishes, not for the first time, that he’s just one of the ladies in the sick bay. sure, the injuries are horrible, but it’s better than being out here. 

he’s playing nurse right now, surprised by his own strength as he starts lugging bear to the bushes, rifle swung dangerously over his back, where he can’t take it out if someone attacked. he needs his arms, anyway; bear’s in no shape to walk. he’s losing blood fast, a bullet in the side. and when paul pulls up his shirt to check, there isn’t an exit wound. considers, stupidly, if he could just pluck it out with his fingers, but he knows that’ll be worse, that he’s gonna give bear an infection. which he’s sure the poor guy already has, or maybe he’s just delirious from the pain.

“paul,” bear coughs, and he shows his teeth in a smile that’s gnarly, but not in a good way. it still seizes paul like his hand’s got a heart in its vice grip, and the sight of him must do something for the guy, since that grin only gets wider. “at home, in the barn… we got this kayak.”

bear’s got a tone in his voice that tells paul he’s on some long-winded story. he debates telling bear to save his strength, but there’s a real chance he’ll die out here before paul can get him help, so he lets it go. “yeah? what … what kayak?”

“beautiful — ” and bear cuts himself off with a series of coughs, blood coming up on his shirt in a way that makes paul feel faint — “beautiful boat. some men like their fancy cars and impressing women with ‘em. like their… their speedboats. but there ain’t no better joy than being the engine to your own vehicle.” still smiling broadly, bear claps a hand over paul’s. “i’ll take you out one day. once the war’s over. once the fish come back.”

“you’ll get there,” paul promises, shirt off so he can use it as a bandage, ripped all the way around and then some so he can get it wrapped. bear’s always been a big guy, hence the nickname, but he’s stronger than anyone else paul’s ever known. a little rough around the edges, and dante never liked him, but paul’s never liked dante much either. at least, he don’t got a lot of faith in the guy. paul didn’t know much about bear before getting drafted, where bear was already on his last few years. seemed like, if all went well, paul’d get out of this place four months before bear’s time was up. he signed up, twice — but he’s still in the trenches like all the other draftees. makes paul wonder if there was ever much of a choice. but bear sticks up for the little guy, and he prays with whoever needs it. lotta guys here are turning to faith. hard not to when people’s legs and arms are getting blasted off, when they go flying. and bear always matches paul drink for drink, indulges him when they get too drunk to keep pretending there ain’t an issue with what they’re doing.

he remembers now, suddenly, how many times bear has clapped him on the shoulder and told him he’s a good man. asked him earnestly if he’d make sure sharon’s cared for if he don’t make it back. paul has to wonder if bear knows. if he knows what feelings paul’s had for his girl. what feelings he used to have about bear — jealous and envious and hateful and awed all at once. similar, he guesses, to how he feels about his cousin. 

bear squeezes paul’s hand. “we’ll get there.” paul’s always wondered why bear talks like he’s older than he is, like he’s on his deathbed. it makes it all the more chilling, knowing this is just a normal conversation, that bear could be anything, could be drinking or taking a swim or laughing by the fire, but instead, he’s dying and he talks the same.

paul flags down a tank and a couple of guys work to hoist bear up onto it, planning to take him out to where the copter can pick him up, take him to a hospital. can barely bring himself to let go of bear’s hand. “just take it easy, buddy. don’t you dare die on me.”

the guy only laughs, soft and self-loathing. “take care of sharon for me. take care of her.”

and when paul sees joyce with the bottle of alcohol, his lips twitch. gaze drifting to the woman bleeding out on the couch. and when he’s asked how she’s doing, he says, hard to say. i’ve seen it go a lot of different ways. cause it’s true. what’s also true is that a lot of those guys that made it still strung themselves up in the end, or took a bullet to their skull, or drowned themselves in drink. sure, the physical wound mended up, no infections, but what they suffered up there? in their minds? it ain’t as easy as getting an operation done.