#writer!will

He's articulate, knowledgeable on a wide variety of topics, and has very keen insight into the human mind. If he wrote fiction, he'd probably create some of the most realistic characters seen on paper. It'd also be a good way to get his demons out.

Of course, a lot of people make him either a true crime writer or a journalist, a sort of competitor to Freddie. Also things he'd probably excel at.

But imagine Will Graham writing horror. It'd be some of the scariest shit. And not just a straight retelling of cases - look at the way this dude dreams. The way he describes things. Garrett Jacob Hobbs talks to him as a shadow suspended on dust. The space opposite Will assumed the shape of a man filled with dark and swarming flies - then he scattered them.

Will Graham, never an agent, rejected for his 'instability'. He writes about the cases they can't solve without him. But it's abstract and weird enough that nobody really gets what he's writing about until he answers a question about where he gets his inspiration. The headlines, Tattle Crime, true crime forums.

Maybe Freddie gives him a shout out. Writes a column on his short story about the Fly Man who infects and consumes his own daughter. Connects it to the Minnesota Shrike, writes an expanded profile based on Will's character.

The FBI gets a hold of it. Takes another look at the parents of the last missing girl - Abigail Hobbs. They find their killer.

Freddie starts doing monthly posts analyzing Will's work. At first it's just a fun collab between two sort of colleagues. Will gives her clues, Freddie guesses the profile. He makes corrections in her comments or just tells her to try again when she gets something wrong. Or maybe he comments in poems that are written as though they're from the killers.

Their fans eat it up. Hers buy his stuff in hopes of catching a glimpse into the dark minds, his go to her for insight into their favourite author. A profitable game for both of them.

Then cold cases start getting solved. The lonely forest spirit who hides as a healer and makes human gardens so he can have friends. The tortured angel who punishes sinners until he can finally ascend. The children who disappear only to come back as murderous changelings.

Jack Crawford himself comes banging on Will's door. Accuses him of withholding vital information from law enforcement. And Will's like whoa, I'm just a writer and nobody listens to my tips anyway? Aren't you the head of the BSU how did you not figure any of this out?

Based on AUideas Advent Calendar December 7th prompt: Extra Letters

The soft thud, thud, thud of his own head banging against the mahogany desk was the solitary sound echoing in Will’s ears. The space between these ears seemed to be as empty as the screen in front of him. He was an author, yet he had no words whatsoever. The rest of the manuscript sat waiting, already printed out and ready to be sent to his editor. However, the ending seemed to be proving rather difficult.

Will had read plenty of novels, but most were rather predictable as to how they were going to end. He needed something to make his stand out among the many other bland books of the industry. But such an important line couldn’t just be fabricated. No; it had to come to him. The only issue? Right now the only thing coming to him was his slightly overweight cat, Cecil.

The umber and charcoal tabby sauntered across Will’s keyboard as if this wasn’t the most important deadline in his entire career as a writer. Will picked up the cat in his arms, rubbing his cheek against the animal’s soft fur in the hopes of refilling his creative juices.

No such luck.

In any case, Will scratched the cat’s head between his ears before releasing him to go find a comfy pillow that he would undoubtedly tear to shreds. And now there was cat fur all over his keyboard. Not that Will could really complain. Cecil certainly kept things interesting around here, and at least now Will had someone to talk to- if only a creature who meowed in response to the slightest of sounds.

Cecil had got farther along on the page than Will, but only because the jumble of letters had been autocorrected to ‘red as gun.” It was a nonsense phrase Will had no use for, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to delete it since it at least put something on the screen of his computer.

Will groaned, leaning back in his chair before letting it slam back down on the ground and standing up to refresh his tea. He shuffled back towards the kitchen in his mismatched socks, with a fuzzy blanket drooping off one shoulder. No matter how much he turned up the heat it seemed to always stay freezing cold.

Will poured more hot water into a new mug and dipped a tea bag in, along with a bit of honey. When he turned around, Will almost dropped his cup, for standing silently in the corner of the room was a young man, maybe twenty two years old at the most. His pale skin seemed even more so in contrast to his deep chocolatey eyes and inky hair. How had he even gotten into the apartment.

Will stared at the young, pale man with wide eyes, “There’s a ghost in my apartment. My apartment is haunted.”

The dark haired man rolled his eyes, “I’m not a ghost.”

“Oh thank god,” Will responded releasing the breath he had been holding, “You almost gave me a heart attack. Wait, so if you’re not a ghost, then who are you?”

“I’m Nico, a friend of Lou Ellen’s. She sent me to get your latest manuscript,” the young man answered, “When you didn’t answer I used the key she gave me to get in.”

“She told me I had until Tuesday!” Will complained.

“It is Tuesday,” Nico responded.

“No it’s not! It’s-” Will glanced at the home screen of his phone, “....Tuesday. Just give me a few minutes- I only have one line left.”

“I think ‘red as gun’ pretty much sums it up though, don’t you?” Nico smirked.

“What do you… oh that. That was Cecil,” Will corrected.

“Cecil?”

“My cat.”

“Your cat can write?”

“What? No! It’s just- well he just- Cecil sat on my keyboard and autocorrect changed it to-”

Will turned to the screen, but what was sitting typed on the screen was not ‘red as gun’ but rather. Sitting there was the perfect end to his book.

“I took it upon myself to fix it,” Nico mumbled.

Author Summary: Will Solace was a university art student and he had a final project coming up. He’d spent the best part of his morning banging his head against his desk in frustration because there was literally nothing to draw for this huge assignment. It was due in a week, too, and he hadn't even started.But now he’d seen this guy, Will could genuinely visualise the curves of pen lines he’d use and what shades of colour he’d splash onto the canvas he needed to do.Or more accurately, what shades of black.

Rating: General