#serpercival writes

[serpercival]

Starting my year off with another massive project: a fic I've been wanting to write for a really long time, but got horribly distracted from.

Once more unto the breach.

(It refuses to embed, so..)

Return to Sender

Hawkeye Pierce died in the line of duty October 20th, 1951. At least, that’s what they told Trapper when he tried to send him a care package. Two years later, there’s a ghost on the schedule at Boston General. Trapper goes hunting for the very much still alive Hawkeye Pierce. How’s a guy supposed to let the love of his life slip away without so much as a note?

Rating: NR Word Count: 8.6k (Chapter 1/39) Fandom: MASH (TV) Relationship(s): "Trapper" John McIntyre/Hawkeye Pierce Characters: "Trapper" John McIntyre, Hawkeye Pierce, Louise McIntyre Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s04e04 The Late Captain Pierce, Canon-Typical Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Adultery

[serpercival]

Unsurprisingly, I definitely had one for this one (due to my Problems these are both foxtrap pieces)—from the whumptober piece,

“A linguist would have a field day with you,” Hawkeye said as they moved onto the superficial wounds on their second patient. “Yeah, well,” Trapper rasped, “they’d better have some’a Radar’s attunement, ‘cause an awful lotta words are the same noise with different magical field pressure.”

And one from well in the future for Mating Habits that is definitely going to need major reworks,

He took a single step forward, and something unfolded itself from the tree directly across the clearing from him. It peeled its way out of the bark, spindly fingers hooking into the soil like roots as it emerged, a cascade of ivy and moss clawing its way out of the grain of the wood. It towered over him when it straightened, twin pinpricks of fairy lights shining a dozen feet above his head. The something twisted, shifting into the moonlight. The bright, tempting scent of magic filled his nose, pressing out every thought of home as he stepped forward.

This week’s word is…

✨ MAGIC ✨

Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.

[seepweed]

wip-poll game, bc this seems fun :D

RULES!!! make a poll, list some works in progress that you'd like to work on and that maybe don't receive lots of love otherwise. let the democracy take its course and whichever wip gets the most votes, write one sentence for every vote received. then, tag your friends!

"memoirs" is ages old at this point. it's 80% done and about urban fantasy/magical realism and losing your sister to not exactly great choices. and finding lesbianism within death.

"37°" s'agit d'une jeune médecin qui travaille dans les hâutes-alpes et sa meilleure amie - qui vole des hélicos pour sauvetage.

"it's vincent and his baseball bat against this transitory period" (changed in the poll bc of character limit!) is honestly about how crappy vincent must be doing after the whole conclave dies down and how much he misses his family... and how he can find new friends and how life can get a little better.

"Tarek Dingerle" lebt auch seit geraumer Zeit in meinen Ordnern... er besitzt ein kleines Büro mit zwei Freunden, die Ratschläge gegen Spenden verteilen und dessen Pfiffigkeit manchmal tatsächlich ganz hilfreich ist.

and the mash flash-fanfiction bundle is just what it says on the tin. lots of cute stories, lots of sad stories. but i should finish some of these ideas, haha! some erin stuff, some bj/hawkeye/charles stuff, some stuff with sidney, some elaboratory angst...

tagging: @serpercival @cuddleswinchester @p0stscripter @cozybearz @platonickit

if you do not have any creative wips atm, i'm sorry oops! and if i didn't tag you, i'm sorry of course you can steal this just like i stole this from my dash :>

[marley-manson]

tagged by @gayvecchio, thank you 💖

Rules: List five things you never get tired of writing. it can be tropes, themes, characters, phrases, whatever brings you joy. then tag five people!

1. My faves having a bad time

2. Close third person with a distinctive character voice

3. Sex without preamble or handwringing - sex first, talking about it after if at all

4. Fun metaphors

5. Friends/partners/etc NOT giving the kind of emotional support/good advice/comfort/understanding/etc that someone needs or feels they need

tagging: @majorbaby @beansterpie @undecimber-of-joy @rescue-ram @bornforastorm

@hetakiba @hesgomorrah @pomegranate @hawkfawun @ofdemonsandangels

@acanofpeaches @actingcamplibrarian @serpercival

[serpercival]

Okay so there is traphawk in here because I literally cannot help it but I hope you approve <3

~

The day Frank set up the suggestion box was one of the best days of Hawkeye’s life. At least, since he came to Korea. He filled half a dozen pages with suggestions of things he���d like to do to a select few people in camp, then another dozen of decidedly less select people. He even managed to come up with some material on Frank himself, difficult as that may have been.

Of course, it would be too obvious if he dumped a ream of paper into the suggestion box and nobody else participated. It didn’t take a lick of effort to loop Trapper and Henry in, and from there the idea spread from Ginger and Scorch to the rest of the nurses in a matter of days, then to Igor, then Klinger and Radar. Hawkeye barely held in the laugh that threatened to work its way out of him every time Frank came back to the Swamp with his head held high about the number of suggestions for improvements in the box from the weight of it.

He couldn’t wait for Frank to open it at the end of the two weeks he’d decided to wait.

The night before the grand reveal, during a gentle makeout session with Trapper that he desperately hoped was going to turn into something more, Trapper pulled back and smirked at him. “You think anybody wrote anything good about us?”

“C’mon, Trap,” Hawkeye said, trying to pull him back for another kiss. “Is the sky blue? Is Douglas MacArthur an authoritarian psychopath? Is the Easter bunny taxonomically confusing? Who wouldn’t have something good to write about us? We can only hope some of them signed it.”

Trapper kissed him again, chucking against his mouth, then shoved him down to the supply tent mattress by his shoulders. “You write anything good?”

“About every single person in this camp. Even Radar. A bit pedestrian, but you have to wax poetic about a guy’s charming personality when he’s practically a virgin.”

Trapper leaned in, nipped his earlobe, and ground against him exactly once. “Even Father Mulcahy?” he breathed.

“A goddamn novella. Now give me my reward for that, huh?”

Frank opened the box to a gathered crowd of everyone who didn’t need to be on shift somewhere, as well as a few who did. Hawkeye, Trapper, and Henry had found a spot near the front next to a gaggle of nurses who couldn’t stop giggling. Father Mulcahy stood on the other side of the nurses. Hawkeye purposefully avoided looking at him just so he didn’t look suspicious.

The box was so stuffed with paper that a few pieces fell out the moment Frank opened it. He pulled one from the top with great ceremony, uncrinkled it, and read aloud in what he seemed to think was his most impressive voice. “‘Just once, I’d like it if Lieutenant Scorch gave someone else a turn.’” He paused for a moment, squinting at the paper. Trapper clapped Henry on the back when he tried to disappear into his fishing hat. Frank looked out over the assembled crowd, frowning. “Well, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means a big hand for Henry Blake, ladies and gentlemen!” Hawkeye announced, holding his hands as high as he could to clap. Trapper wolf whistled and punched Henry in the shoulder again, hard enough that he jerked forward. “C’mon, Frank, let’s give it to the Colonel so he can do something about it!”

Frank squinted at him and tossed over the paper, letting it flutter to the ground where Henry blushed bright red and rushed over to grab it. “Well, if he understands what the he and/or she who wrote it wants. Now, let’s see here… ‘I’d like it to be known that anybody who hasn’t yet gotten a taste of McIntyre’s c–’”

Frank froze, eyes wide, as he read through the rest of the paper. Hawkeye pulled Trapper closer, pressed his mouth against his ear, and whispered, “That one was mine. I’ll tell you what it said later.”

Trapper swatted him. “Better be some from the nurses.”

Frank crumpled up the sheet and stuck it in his pocket. “Let me be very clear. This suggestion box was meant for things that would make this camp better, do you understand me? Not for– for indecent, unrepentant, smut!”

Of all people, Hawkeye didn’t expect Klinger to be the one to shout “Read the smut, Frank!”

“No! Let’s move on, shall we? ‘Sleepover in the nurses’ tent, girls only, at 2100 tonight.’ Well, that’s a nice idea, isn’t it?”

Trapper and Hawkeye exchanged a glance. “You write that one?” Hawkeye asked.

“I figured it was you.”

Hawkeye shrugged. “Good for the nurses. Maybe Margaret’ll go.”

Frank carefully smoothed out that sheet, folded it, and tucked it into a different pocket. He tugged at the corner of another piece of paper and pulled out a sheets-long packet, dumping half of the suggestions onto the ground with it.

Well, here was his novella.

“‘Sunday services would be better if…’” Frank trailed off. He turned the page. He turned another page.

Father Mulcahy stepped forward. “Better if what, Major Burns?”

Frank stuffed the packet behind his back. “Oh, nothing to concern yourself about.”

Another step forward. “Given it’s about me, I’d say–”

“Oh, well, about you–”

“I’m always interested in more attendance, so if someone is having an issue–”

“Issue!? I’d say they have issues, alright!”

Mulcahy reached Frank, grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him around, and snatched the packet out of his hands. “Thank you, Major Burns.” He cleared his throat and flicked the creases out of the packet, clearly skimming the first few lines already by the way his expression shifted. “Oh. Oh my. I should– I should, well– take this to my tent. For safekeeping. In case the person who wrote this would like to… repent.”

Mulcahy stalked away, ears burning, and Trapper elbowed Hawkeye in the ribs. “I think someone’s got an invitation.”

when i get horny comments in my tags about mash characters, i'm imagining some sort of actual anonymous suggestion box somewhere in camp. i would say it's a confessional but half of the comments are about mulcahy (because half of my posts are about him) and i think it would be funnier if he just accidentally stumbled upon a little tin ballot box in which there is a STACK of notecards where people are describing the most heinous fantasies about him. it's imperative we also keep the suggestion box as far away from hawkeye as possible because he would get the biggest ego from the things people are telling me about him

[impishtubist]

wednesday snippet

I was tagged by @strugglequill and @lynxindisguise in snippet games this week, but instead of a snippet, I bring you a lil ficlet (and I'm switching fandoms entirely, sorry not sorry).

@allcanonisrelative and I are fairly prolific coauthors, but our problem is that we cowrite a lot of things that go unfinished 😂 This is my portion of a fic that was supposed to be an AU for M*A*S*H after "Yessir, That's Our Baby". We never finished it, but we had a blast planning/writing it. And what the heck, the fandom can always use more Hawkeye + babies content.

CW for period-typical attitudes/thoughts/vocabulary re: queerness.

Tagging @allcanonisrelative @serpercival and any other MASHoles who see this and want to play along with the snippet game!

---

“She has your eyes.”

Hawkeye barely hears him, absorbed as he is in the tiny hand that’s wrapped around the tip of his finger. When the words sink in, he shoots BJ an unimpressed look.

“My eyes, huh?”

“Well, she certainly doesn’t have your nose.” 

“Ha, ha.”

They’re both sitting on Hawkeye’s cot, BJ pressed up against him so that he’s a single line of heat all along Hawkeye’s side. There’s no reason for him to be so close, but Hawkeye’s not about to question his good fortune. BJ leans over, crowding into Hawkeye’s space, and runs the tip of his finger down the baby’s tiny button nose. Hawkeye’s nostrils fill with the scent of clean soap and stale sweat, BJ’s sweat, and his mind stutters to a halt. BJ always does that, stops Hawk dead in his tracks with a touch or a glance or a smile, and then he carries on without pause, oblivious to the fact that Hawkeye’s entire world has been knocked off-kilter.  

The baby snuffles in her sleep, and suddenly she’s the only thing in Hawkeye’s world. He’s mesmerized by her round cheeks, by her tiny pink lips, by the dark wisps of hair on her head. He strokes a thumb over her silk-soft cheek and she doesn’t wake, merely snuggles closer to him. 

“She looks good on you,” BJ murmurs. His other hand is pressed against Hawkeye’s lower back, and for a moment, Hawkeye allows himself to indulge in the fantasy that this is real, that BJ’s touch is that of a lover instead of merely a friend, and that the baby--

It’s too outlandish. Too perverted. Men with his inclinations don’t have children, and the idea of having one with another man? Sidney Freedman would have him locked up faster than he could say please BJ I want to have your baby.

But because Hawkeye is, at his core, a selfish man, he whispers, “What should we name her?”

He keeps his voice pitched low, like it would break the spell if he said it any louder. He expects BJ to scoff, to move away, to laugh at his joke and tell him it’s time the baby went back to Margaret’s tent.

Instead, BJ murmurs, “Elizabeth.” 

“Elizabeth?” Hawkeye repeats, too startled for a witty rejoinder. He hadn’t expected an answer at all, much less for BJ to indulge him this fantasy.

“Mm. But we’ll call her Eliza for short.” 

We? Hawkeye can barely breathe, all the breath punched from his lungs by a single word. We. BJ says it so naturally, like it’s a foregone conclusion. We. Us. BJandHawkeye, HawkeyeandBJ.

“Beej,” Hawkeye whispers, the word cracked-open and aching and raw. 

BJ lifts his head, nose grazing Hawkeye’s cheek, and Hawkeye shivers. He turns--

The door to the Swamp opens, and Margaret breezes in. BJ pulls away from Hawkeye, swiftly putting several inches between them, and Hawkeye feels cold at the loss.

“It’s past her bedtime,” Margaret says sternly, holding out her arms for the baby. Hawkeye hands her over, too stunned to do anything else. What did BJ mean by we? Why had he played along? Had they been about to…

He won’t allow himself to think it. He can’t. 

And then suddenly Margaret and the baby are gone, and BJ crawling under his blanket on the other side of the tent, and Hawkeye is alone, his arms empty and aching.

[serpercival]

Hawkahy 7 perhaps 👀

Post-canon seems appropriate for this :3

hawkahy, to shut them up

Hawkeye wouldn’t stop talking.

Not that this was particuarly uncommon. In fact, it was one of the things Francis liked best about him. He could monologue about nearly anything and make it interesting. He was an extraordinarily good speaker. He had a way about him that made anyone want to listen, and the things he had to say were valuable. He showed people he cared by talking to them.

Other times, he talked because he was nervous. He would pace back and forth in the living room, the same as BJ had told Francis that Hawkeye would climb the furniture in the Swamp, waving his hands so he couldn’t use them to speak and babbling about whatever happened to be on his mind.

Francis would love to listen to it, if he was able to. But they’d agreed not to use up the batteries on his hearing aid while they were at home. Just because Hawkeye had forgotten that Francis couldn’t hear what he was so nervous about didn’t mean Francis was going to adjust that deal for him.

“Hawkeye,” he called.

Hawkeye turned in a tight circle on his heel, eyebrows raised.

“Come over here a moment. Please?”

Hawkeye plopped down next to him on the couch, rumbling out something else that Francis couldn’t quite make out with how Hawkeye was only half facing him.

He just kept talking.

Francis skimmed his fingers across Hawkeye’s neck, feeling the thrum of his voice, and cradled his cheek to turn his head the rest of the way. He kept trying to talk even when Francis kissed him firmly, lips moving against his, before Francis pinched his cheek and he finally stopped.

“If you want me to be able to help, you have to tell me.”

Hawkeye flushed slightly, frustration coloring his face. Sorry, he signed.

“It’s quite alright. From the top?”

[hballegro]

chapter 8. the biggie. part 1.

it is now i reveal a terrible secret to you all;

you can ctrl+f this chapter and compare it to If-- by Rudyard Kipling. and you will find that every god damn word in that stupid poem appears at least once. there are also a few paraphrased lines in there that you might notice.

WHY???

[i am very bad when it comes to gaging ppl's knowledge of poems i think everyone already knows, so yeah, the poem they're sharing is If- by Rudyard Kipling. easy for me to recognize personally because my mom memorized it all in school and would say it to me sometimes]

this process included me writing the whole thing out by hand, ctrl + f for all of the words, highlighting the ones that i had yet to use, and then keeping the list next to me while editing the first draft

and if you didnt notice this fact at all. that means i did a GOOD JOB!! cause its SUPPOSED TO BLEND IN SEAMLESSLY!!

yknow. its the moment hawkeye fell head-over-heels. and bj too, maybe. so ofc i had to include it in the chapter where they finally Kiss. they havent worked it all out yet yeah but. cmon. i cant just not. my options were to either have one of them reference it directly [im bad at that, and would be ham-fisted], or do this insane strat. and i picked the worst option. fuckin Knaves i hate you rudyard kipling for this and other reasons

also; shouted out in the ao3 endnotes but ill do it here to all sneaky-like, shout out to serpercival for both motivating me to put trapper in this chapter via loving the guy a lot and for letting me use their marvelous brain to pick out some subtle nods to Trapper John MD. i dont wanna @ people but hehe i can still link their page >:]

anyway: the painting peg talks abt being erin's favourite is California Spring, as she says, and here it is

folks i can finally use this meme i made back before i even finished chapter 4

shoutout to this video for being great to have in the bg underneath my sad love music to really set the scene. Loon moment

if you liked how papa Daniel Pierce acted in this, good! hes based off my childhood best friend's mom! she was very intimidating and always had this serious look on her face but the very first time i went over to their house she went 'psst. [best friend]. hball. come over here my husband is gonna come up the stairs and you should jump out and scare him' within the first 20 minutes!!

so basically hes stern/serious/intimidating [formal letters, the kind of man to not want to worry his son, idk just feels right] but goofy as shit and its all a facade [had hawkeye so he gotta be a lil silly, dinner table talk in Sons and Bowlers]

if you liked how i described hawkeye's childhood home GOOD!! i was describing my grandmother's house the whole time and you didnt even know. that ugly sofa is a thing my grandpa did. get pranked. always draw on experience when possible folks

i plan to have the next chapter out two days from now. THREE at the LATEST. and tomorrow i plan to publish the next Operating in Limbo chapter ~sometime~ before midnight [my time. central time.], or like 1am at the latest since i can stay up late tomorrow. unless the Troubles.

reward for scrolling this far; my saga of proto-names being shit like 'ooga booga' continues in the form of this being the working title for the Big Conversation chapter;

[serpercival]

Hey I wrote that fic

dont ask about the title dont ask about the title dont ask about--

society if they'd kissed here

[serpercival]

traphawk and "where it hurts" for the kiss prompts??

traphawk, where it hurts

“You know, this is kinda your own fault,” Trapper said as he held the cold pack to Hawkeye’s ankle. “You followed curfew, you wouldn’t get into this kinda trouble.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Hawkeye snapped.

“Hey, you want me to leave you there the next time you go sneakin’ out with some nurse and fall in a bomb crater?”

Hawkeye felt petty. He crossed his arms. “It wasn’t there this morning,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should think about bringin’ a flashlight.”

“You’re just jealous I didn’t bring you.”

Trapper shrugged, fluttering his eyelashes. “Inviting me to your hole, are ya?”

“I’ll let you fall in my crater any time.”

It got a laugh: one of those bright, barking ones that made Hawkeye’s entire day a little better. “Take ya up on that later, honey. Let’s see the damage.”

Trapper took the cold pack off Hawkeye’s twisted ankle, shimmied his chair closer to the exam table, and set it in his lap. “Could wrap it, but I dunno if it’d do much good. Prob’ly best just to stay off it best you can. We’ll steal Henry’s stool for the OR.”

Trapper bent in closer, squinting as he ran his thumb down the side of Hawkeye’s ankle, close enough to ghost his breath over the skin.

“Kiss it better?” Hawkeye heard himself ask.

Trapper laughed again, but he didn’t break eye contact as he lifted Hawkeye’s leg higher and pressed a careful kiss to his malleolus, lips lingering far longer than they needed to.

The bedroom eyes were always so enticing.

“Carry me to Supply?” Hawkeye asked.

Trapper swatted him on the thigh. “Don’t press your luck.”

[serpercival]

Cowboy brainrot strikes again (traphawk flavored)

Hawkeye licked his lips. Whatever that was had felt… strange. The flutter wasn’t going away. It was ridiculous to have a crush on a guy who could probably crush Hawk's head between his thighs. Thinking about Trapper crushing his head between his thighs was helping exactly nothing. Hawkeye stabbed him about it.

Rating: T Fandom: MASH Word Count: 1.5k Relationship(s): "Trapper" John McIntyre/Hawkeye Pierce Characters: Hawkeye Pierce, "Trapper" John McIntyre Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Western, Meet-Cute, Pre-Slash

[serpercival]

hello percy !! for ur kiss ask

traphawk on a scar (of course :D)

and

beejtrap out of spite

BEEJTRAP!!! Brain immediately said "that thing people joke about where BJ and Trapper show up in Maine at the same time, Hawkeye isn't there, and BJ thinks very hard about killing Trapper"

beejtrap, out of spite

“So he’s out of town for another twenty-four hours,” Trapper John said with a shrug, sprawled over Hawkeye’s couch like he owned the place. “Way I figure it is that if we’re both here, and we’re both waitin’ to tell the guy we love him, why not have some fun, you know?”

BJ took a deep breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. He vaguely remembered Sidney telling him that it was supposed to be calming, but it mostly just made the situation clearer, which made him even angrier. Trapper John McIntyre had driven to Maine, politely asked Daniel Pierce for the keys to Hawkeye’s house, and was waiting to tell Hawk he loved him.

That had been BJ’s plan. It had taken him so long to come to terms with what he felt for Hawk, and now that he was here, he was getting beaten out by Trapper John McIntyre again. He was always there first. He always had Hawkeye’s heart first. There was nothing BJ could do to win except convince him to leave.

And instead of realizing how dire the situation was, Trapper John was propositioning him.

“What, precisely, do you think you’re going to get out of this?” BJ demanded.

Trapper shrugged again and popped another blueberry in his mouth. “I kinda figured you bein’ here meant I’d get a two-for-one deal outta the whole boyfriend picture, but I dunno how we’re gonna do that if you won’t even come kiss me.”

“I don’t know you!”

“Sure you do. Hawk didn’t tell you about me? He told me about you when he wrote me back, y’know. Get to know me better if you fuck me.”

“What?”

Another blueberry in his mouth. “You know, if ya want. We can wait for Hawk, too, I don’t mind. Long as I get dicked down outta all this, I’m happy.”

BJ swept his eyes over Trapper’s form—athletic, leftover football muscle, dick big enough BJ could see it against his pants even though he was soft—and tried to make his brain process that the man wanted to let a complete and total stranger sodomize him rather than the other way around.

It would feel good to put him in his place.

“Take it you wanna wait?” Trapper drawled.

BJ stalked over to the couch, grabbed him by the front of the shirt, and pressed a burning kiss to his juice-stained lips.

“Now,” BJ growled, darting forward to nip Trapper’s bottom lip when Trap grabbed his shoulders. “We’re doing this now.”

[serpercival]

Traphawk "come back to bed" perhaps

YAYY finally getting back to these. I was really sick for a couple of days (still am, but somehow wrote the last 400 words of this in 10 minutes? who knows, man) and also got really absorbed in Fun New AU so these prompts were on the back burner 😂

Restless Recreation

“I don’t think it’s unreasonable to be worried,” Hawkeye said, kicking a pillow around. “Do you think it’s unreasonable to be worried? Because I don’t. I know, I know what Radar said, but even he can’t predict everything all the time or he wouldn’t have let Tommy go back out there, so–“ “Hawk.” Trapper turned on his best smile, the one he knew made Hawkeye’s knees go to jelly if he even thought he could see it under a surgical mask. “Come back to bed, honey.”

[serpercival]

Genuinely kinda embarrassed by this one but ❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜ with Trapper/Margaret

YAYYYY HI MOLL. Had a whole ton of fun with this one <3

Night Songs

Margaret turned as McIntyre sauntered towards her, his hands tucked in his pockets and tongue probing at his cheek. “What do you want?” she snapped. “Mighty riled up there, Major.” He rested his elbow on her shoulder and crossed his legs, staring up at the stars. “Tell ya what, we never saw lights like this in Boston.” The prickling heat returned, stronger now, but she couldn’t understand why. Yes, McIntyre was attractive, but he was her lesser. A captain rather than a general or even a lieutenant colonel. Just because she had fantasized about standing under the stars with a tall, handsome man who could fill her completely didn’t mean she wanted one who was a captain.

[serpercival]

Return to Sender (Chapter Seven - For Ever and Ever)

Rating: NR Word Count: 44.8k (Chapter 7/39 - For Ever and Ever (+6.7k)) Fandom: MASH (TV) Relationship(s): "Trapper" John McIntyre/Hawkeye Pierce Characters: "Trapper" John McIntyre, Hawkeye Pierce, Louise McIntyre Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s04e04 The Late Captain Pierce, Canon-Typical Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Adultery

END OF ACT ONE! Hope everyone's looking forward to a two year time skip~

[serpercival]

Return to Sender - Chapter Eight (Queer Lodgings)

Rating: NR Word Count: 53.3k (Chapter 8/39 - Queer Lodgings (+8.5k)) Fandom: MASH (TV) Relationship(s): "Trapper" John McIntyre/Hawkeye Pierce Characters: "Trapper" John McIntyre, Hawkeye Pierce, Louise McIntyre Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s04e04 The Late Captain Pierce, Canon-Typical Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Adultery

Welcome home Hawkeye! We're into Act Two, which means a change in background literary reference, some Hawkeye POV, and that two year time skip I talked about last time...