Garnet's Drabbles - Updated 09/27/2015 - (Various Fandoms)

[Anonymouse]

Hnngh I do miss writing Warcraft, I could do to work on a few more little drabbles. If you have any races/characters you wanted to see in particular, feel free to leave me a suggestion :>

oh hey I like worgens and blood elves, js.

[silentdreamer789]

I've never even watched Hannibal, and I want more

[Garnet]

I started working from a new set of prompts, so there are plenty more in store. And not all NBC Hannibal based, I promise! This one got a little long, though, so I'm posting it on its own. More to come!

3. Cat - M - Will Graham (Hannibal)

It didn't feel exactly like a cold coming on, but it was the wrong season for any sort of allergy to be kicking up. Fingers tented loosely, Will dipped his head into his hands and massaged the sides of his nose, annoyed to feel the faint, membranous itch receding just out of reach into his sinuses. At least the sneezing hadn't set in yet, although by dint of thinking that, he'd probably jinxed himself.

“Are you feeling well?”

His attention refocused on his psychiatrist with a bleary blink. He'd only meant to stop by for a few minutes, while he was on business in Baltimore. This particular case was niggling a sore spot in the back of his brain, and Hannibal had turned out to be a very good sounding board, as of late. Like most of his unannounced visits, however, five minutes had turned into forty. Somehow, the doctor had seduced him with a tumbler of ridiculously good whiskey, which had miraculously refilled itself once already. It left Will feeling pleasantly warm, sleepy and loose, relaxed even in the museum quality of Hannibal's home.

Relaxed, but itchy.

“I'm good,” he dismissed, allowing himself a single, quick sniff that was wetter than he'd expected, setting a grimace of dismay to his mouth. “Ugh, sorry. I don't know what's...”

He paused, suddenly, as a fluttering sound of tiny footsteps intruded on the edge of his awareness. A prickle of heat and sweat rose at the back of his neck, nervous, as he turned his head. It wasn't the rhythmic staccato of the stag's hooves, but he really didn't want to see what new creature, what harbinger hallucination his mind had conjured up now.

A little grey and white cat trotted past his legs, tail high as it beelined for Hannibal.

Will sat back, and considered his waning sanity. He watched the other man carefully, anxiously for a reaction. Was he seeing this too?

The cat arched herself in a one-two pass of the doctor's shins, trilling a sweet overture of affection. Unfazed, Hannibal drummed his fingers loosely on a knee, then moved an arm as the cat launched into his lap.

Will blinked, and reached for the rest of his whiskey, throwing it back in a hard swallow.

“You... have a cat?” He tried, cautiously, once his throat had stopped burning. Obviously, his brain added, disparaging, but he ignored it.

“Temporarily,” Hannibal agreed, massaging into the greedy thrust of the cat's cheeks. “I'm watching her for an acquaintance, until she can be rehomed.”

Will swallowed again, feeling his eyes prickle with irritation. “Not to the shelter, then?”

“No. I couldn't bear it.”

The feline tried three different times to settle on the uneven topography of Hannibal's crossed legs. She finally found a position that suited her, and looking positively smug about it. The cat stretched herself out across one thigh, making kneading starfish paws as Hannibal idly peaked the fur behind her ears and neck with his fingertips. It was always strangely reassuring to see someone else pet an animal exactly as he would, to see them chuck his dogs approvingly under the chin or watch them zero in with that preternatural awareness for the one spot on Winston's hip. It was like some kind of animal lover empathy.

“I wouldn't have pegged you as...” He started, then caught his tongue, guilty. Hannibal had watched his dogs for him more than once, while he was out of state following one of Jack's merry murder sprees. He'd never seemed to mind the guileless push of muzzles and dirty paws. Still, Will was having a hard time picturing his meticulous friend vacuuming up cat hair or cleaning a litter box, tolerating little claw marks in his suits or coming home to a wet lump of hair horked onto his living room carpet. It was too weird. Humanizing, but weird.

Will wedged a thumb and forefinger under his nose, itching quickly and indulgently. Maybe if he did it fast enough, it wouldn't be so faux pas. “...um. As a pet owner,” he finished lamely.

Hannibal arched a brow, but seemed more amused than offended. "There are some unfortunate side effects," he agreed, absently picking little white hairs from his trousers for emphasis. "Hence the temporary arrangement." His hand resettled between the cat's shoulder blades, scratching an index finger into the dip. Will suppressed a little shiver at the feline's squinted look of pure bliss, very nearly feeling the touch across his own spine.

Cat empathy, that was a new one.

"...however, I'm finding myself enjoying the company more than I expected."

"Oh." That hit Will somewhere right in his gut. Did Hannibal get lonely? He didn't risk a glance at the doctor's face, afraid to bare himself to a shared thread of emotion any more than his teetering and slightly-inebriated state had already. Instead, he watched the last few drops of whiskey track around the rim of the tumbler as he added, "Yeah, I know that feeling."

Then he cupped a hand to his face, and sneezed.

"--kssh! ... huh'kssh!" Quick, hard, and enormously unsatisfying, as his allergy sneezes always were. Face warm from a mixture of alcohol and chagrin, he ducked his head away and struggled to finish out the rest of the fit with some semblance of dignity.

"Sorry, excu-- kssch! ... ksh! .. ksh!" His breath shivered, louder than the sneezing itself. "Uh... h-KSSH!"

Hannibal was staring at him openly, his usual hooded gaze counteracted by the stark black appearance of his eyes in this light.

"Salud. You're allergic," he surmised, with a frowning tilt of his head.

"Yeah," Will croaked ruefully, holding the back of his knuckles cautiously under his nose until he was sure it was done its hiccuping seizure, and wasn't about to run everywhere. He set the glass aside. "Sorry. There's more than one reason I'm a dog person--hh-hh..! KSH!"

It verged so quickly that he barely had time to reroute into a forearm. Ugh.

Hannibal blessed him again, then scooped the cat up off of his lap and into a tuck against his chest. Her ears airplaned in dismay. "My apologies, I'll quarantine her."

"N-no, don't," Will interrupted hastily, making a patting gesture at the air to stay the egress. "I uh... should be going soon anyway." He sniffled, grimaced. "And I do like cats, actually. Always tried to bring home strays as a kid, though that went about as well as expected. I wish they didn't make me sneeze."

Hannibal looked at him reluctantly as he lowered the cat to the floor. She stood there for a second, offended beyond reason, then sat down and began washing herself with wounded pride. Will sneezed.

"Gesundheit. I can give you an antihistamine." He tilted a meaningful glance at the empty tumbler. "I'm not certain that driving is advisable just now."

Will considered that. He held his whiskey just fine, but it was admittedly an end-of-the-night indulgence, and he hadn't eaten anything today. It was metabolizing a little faster than usual. He wondered if Hannibal had known that when refilling his glass, but quickly shook the suspicion. There was nothing sinister about that, most people knew how to feed themselves more than once every two days. He let his face sink into his hands with a sniffle. "I thought you weren't supposed to mix drugs and alcohol."

Hannibal didn't answer, but regarded him thoughtfully. "Stay for dinner."

It was in him to immediately decline, even as he smothered another pulsing "--kssh!" against the back of his hand. Will thought about his dogs at home, and about Hannibal and his cat in the big, empty house. He sighed.

"Okay."

[Bruyere]

More Hannibal fic? Yay! \0/

He paused, suddenly, as a fluttering sound of tiny footsteps intruded on the edge of his awareness. A prickle of heat and sweat rose at the back of his neck, nervous, as he turned his head. It wasn't the rhythmic staccato of the stag's hooves, but he really didn't want to see what new creature, what harbinger hallucination his mind had conjured up now.

A little grey and white cat trotted past his legs, tail high as it beelined for Hannibal.

Will sat back, and considered his waning sanity. He watched the other man carefully, anxiously for a reaction. Was he seeing this too?

Oh Will.

Will suppressed a little shiver at the feline's squinted look of pure bliss, very nearly feeling the touch across his own spine.

Cat empathy, that was a new one.

Hee!

"...however, I'm finding myself enjoying the company more than I expected."

"Oh." That hit Will somewhere right in his gut. Did Hannibal get lonely? He didn't risk a glance at the doctor's face, afraid to bare himself to a shared thread of emotion any more than his teetering and slightly-inebriated state had already. Instead, he watched the last few drops of whiskey track around the rim of the tumbler as he added, "Yeah, I know that feeling."

Oh god, Will.

She stood there for a second, offended beyond reason, then sat down and began washing herself with wounded pride. Will sneezed.

Hee!

He wondered if Hannibal had known that when refilling his glass, but quickly shook the suspicion. There was nothing sinister about that, most people knew how to feed themselves more than once every two days.

No, Will trust that feeling!

It was in him to immediately decline, even as he smothered another pulsing "--kssh!" against the back of his hand. Will thought about his dogs at home, and about Hannibal and his cat in the big, empty house. He sighed.

"Okay."

Oh Will. I can't help feeling like you were (even moreso than usual) totally outmanoeuvred by Hannibal on this one.

[Garnet]

Aw, thank you Bruyere! Poor Will. To be fair, I'd probably be duped by Hannibal + kitties, too.

Aaaand finally, here's a non-NBC Hannibal piece. I started playing Warcraft again, and made a worgen priest the other day, since Anony mentioned it. For anyone not familiar, they're essentially werewolves that willfully change shape between monster and man. Harp is a human.

100. Gratitude - M - Helvarde (anthro warning!)

"You're making faces again," Harp observed, studying the priest without a semblance of shame.

Helvarde's attention came back to her slowly, thoughtfully. Having been her steadfast travel companion the better part of a week, she was just now testing the waters of playful jibing. So far he'd been receptive, but not reciprocal. Better his vague, aloof amusement than a curled lip or disparaging glare, however, so she took it for encouragement. It alleviated some of the inherent, nervous discomfort of trusting her life to a worgen.

"Faces," he repeated, with just enough inflection to suggest a question. He passed a large, clawed hand over his expression, indicative of its permanent quasi-snarl. A resting state, almost, and a far cry from the weathered, but handsome human features she'd met half a fortnight ago. She was still getting used to it. "I'm afraid this is the default."

"No, no. This is different. You're doing this funny... wrinkling thing, with your muzzle." She gestured over the bridge of her own nose, scrunched for emphasis.

Helvarde hesitated, averting his whole face from her, although not fast enough to disguise the little rippling sneer to his lip. Wary that she'd nudged and bullied him past the realm of comfort, Harp allowed for a few extra steps of berth between them. He was a hard man to get a read on, even when he was tan-skinned and furless.

"I'm sorry, I just thought--..."

The worgen gave a rough, hitching grunt from somewhere deep in his throat. Ears folding back and snout creasing, he suddenly threw his head down with a wolfish sneeze.

"--HFSSCH!"

Oh.

The priest was all teeth and narrowed eyes upon straightening, his expression snarled up so tightly that she could see the precise black-and-pink mottling of his gums. Harp slowed to a stop in time with his lagging pace, watching unapologetically as his tongue curled back and head dipped.

"--HUFSSSH!" Even under the dim and shadowed canopy of Duskwood, the aerosol glittered visibly. Once, and... "HFF-ISSCH!" Twice, this time with furious satisfaction and a rushing sigh to chase it.

A pale eyetooth gleamed in the aftermath as Helvarde wrinkled and relaxed his expression a few times, as though trying to work it back into the stoic repose Harp was accustomed to seeing.

"Excuse," he gruffed, world-weary once more as he gave a knuckling pass at his nose, manipulating the damp black shape of it quietly.

"Bless you!" Harp corrected, cheerful. She quickened her gait to make up for his longer strides. Helvarde turned his head just enough to fix her with a wary look, his battered ears pricked.

"...what did you say?"

"I..." Harp blinked, losing some of her gumption. "...bless you? Is that not... I don't have to say it," she offered, hitching her shoulders in an apologetic shrug. Maybe it was a tradition that had fallen out of usage in the long years of Gilnean isolation.

"No, no," Helvarde corrected, giving a final, quick snort to clear his nose. "I just don't hear it often when I'm..." He made another open-palmed motion to his face. Harp frowned.

"You're a priest. Surely there are some exceptions."

Helvarde spread his claws in a gesture of calm bewilderment. "And yet. Nobody thinks to bless their hunting hounds or guard dogs, so perhaps..."

Harp tilted her jaw up defiantly. "Of which you are neither. Well. Light bless."

Chuckling, the worgen dipped his head in gratitude. "Thank you."

[AngelEyes]

I love your Hannibal writing. You just suck me in and I can't break free. So much. Yes.

[tenderwarrior]

Cat was such a great drabble!

[Anonymouse]

Hannibal fic was fantastic, those soft, persistent sneezes are just too adorable.

omg yes Worgens are one of my favorite races in the game.

A pale eyetooth gleamed in the aftermath as Helvarde wrinkled and relaxed his expression a few times, as though trying to work it back into the stoic repose Harp was accustomed to seeing.

Loved that part. Awesome drabbles.

[March Hare]

Ohh the tasty. I'm getting a thing for this NBC Hannibal, but the original is bound to be a disappointment now...

Your Warcraft stuff is very nice, too. I love the way you write anthro.

[Garnet]

@AngelEyes - Oh gosh, you flatter me! Thanks so much, I do love writing Hannibal stuff. I'm sure it's only bound to get worse with the new season starting on Friday :q

@greetingsfromboston - Aw, thank you much! I do love cats, aaand allergic!Will 8>

@Anony - D'aww thank you, love. And yes, worgen are definitely growing on me (uh... fashioning one loosely after Mads didn't hurt).

@Maru-chan - Oh man, I always appreciate when people read stuff outside of their own fandoms, but I would flip if you checked out the original! I haven't seen it disappoint anyone yet, although your mileage may of course vary :q

Aaand since you revived a tiny seed of Schwarz in my brain, here's a little somethin' somethin' just for you.

10 - Worried - Farfarello (Weiss Kreuz)

It's two hours past the drop, and Schuldich is throwing in the towel. A slim pair of forefingers dip into his coat, sliding a pack of smokes free from an inner pocket.

"To hell with it," he hums, tapping the box once and drawing a thin white wand free with his teeth. Around the obstruction, he decides, "He's not coming."

Farfarello is a being of preternatural stillness. If not for the slow, shallow bellows of his breath, Schuldich might assume he's calcified from the inside out. His own little battered limestone gargoyle. At the first permission to break from their repose, however, Farfarello straightens up from his coiled crouch, cracks his back, and exhales a long and reedy sigh.

"You're sure?"

"Mm," Schuldich hums, patting himself down for a lighter. "He would have shown by now. I'm not going to freeze my balls off for another four hours out here. I'll call Crawford, we'll get some dinner while he detonates."

"Heh," Farfarello croaks. It's not really a laugh, and it's not not a laugh. Schuldich appreciates the ambiguity, but not half so much as he appreciates the book of matches Farfarello recovers from his vest. He doesn't smoke.

Schuldich strikes a match and cups it in one half-frozen hand to protect the weak flame. The comforting red glow of the cherry is just sustaining itself when he hears Farfarello draw a long, sharp breath beside him.

"--AESSSH!"

Schuldich arches a brow at his companion's sneeze. It's not an unfamiliar sound, although just infrequent enough that his amygdala triggers a brief bolt of surprise.

"Gesundheit. How long were you holding on to that one?"

Farfarello recovers from the cup of his hands, breath just visible on the air. His remaining eyelid is still heavy, so pale that it's almost translucent. It's too dark to see the feral glint of gold underneath. "A while. Feels good." His head tips back, narrow chest swelling. There's not a hint of shame or restraint in the delicate spasming of his features -- he just lets it come on like a wave, a surging impulse that would be pointless to resist.

Schuldich takes a slow drag from his cigarette and enjoys the show. He likes watching the fight, but sometimes it's nice to just dig into a free piece of chocolate cake.

"--AESSCH!" Farfarello crumples forward like he's taken a sledgehammer to the middle, like he's trying to scratch an itch in his entire brain.

"Gesundheit." His voice is purring. "Two? You were holding out."

Farfarello wets his lips, doesn't relax his expression although there is the faintest dip of a nod. "Huh...!" His fingertips tremble loosely a few inches from his jaw. He looks like a man on the cusp of orgasm, right up until his nostrils arch and his whole expression crumples into the waiting prayerbook of his palms.

"Huh-AESSSH-ue!"

Schuldich exhales a long, thin silver stream of smoke, and hoods his eyes appreciatively. "God bless you, Schatz. Now I'm worried. "

Farfarello recovers with logy relief, finds him with the amber dart of one eye. "Really," he prompts, with just enough inflection to suggest suspicion and amusement.

"Yes. You never sneeze in threes." Schuldich takes him by the jaw with a thumb and curled forefinger, tilts his head left and right. Farfarello lolls loosely on the pivot of his neck, perfectly but lazily obedient. Schuldich smirks and lets go, giving the scar-bisected cheek a quick, friendly swat. "Maybe you're getting sick."

"Maybe. I think take-out will put me right."

Schuldich grins like a Cheshire cat. "Then, let's get you some pre-emptive treatment."

[doggo]

Cold-ridden Will!!! Damn, I haven't been on this forum in ages, but it was well wotrh coming back. Just simply delicious. He is the perfect cold victim.

And what is it that I'm hearing about Levi?!!! Omg omg omg eating all this yummy fic up!

[AngelEyes]

I have never seen and know nothing about Weiss Kreuz except your tics. But I absolutely love them. You make me feel like I know the characters! Love it.

[evermissing]

Oookay, so my life has been at not-quite-but-unsettlingly-close-to-Will-Graham levels of nuttiness lately, but with the season premiere airing tonight(!!!), I finally got on top of shit enough to comment on the important stuff! Shamefully, I still don't have the right words to tell you how much I like your Hannibal/Alana story (although I do now have Adult Board access, so I can comment on it there and that's awesome), but let me just say here:

I REALLY REALLY LIKE THIS TOO.

the faint, membranous itch receding just out of reach into his sinuses.

Ugh, what a phrase--I love "membranous" here.

Somehow, the doctor had seduced him with a tumbler of ridiculously good whiskey

The show hasn't yet used terms as explicit as this, but it's so clear that a lot of Hannibal's agenda is geared toward Will's (psychological) seduction. For me, it became really really clear in... what episode was this... "Fromage," maybe? Anyway, the scene where Hannibal offers Will wine during a session, and Will takes it. Hannibal frames it as "Hey, my 100% legit (and not at all emotionally entangled, RIGHT?) shrink gives me booze, so this is totally okay and not crossing any therapist-client boundaries at all." But Bedelia says that she only, y'know, wines and dines Hannibal "when [his] hour is up," which is... still sketchy, but very different from liquoring your patient up during a session.

Anyway. I like that you caught that nuance here.

Will sat back, and considered his waning sanity. He watched the other man carefully, anxiously for a reaction. Was he seeing this too?

OHHHHH WILL

massaging into the greedy thrust of the cat's cheeks.

Great phrase (and also how wrong is it that I find this sort of hot oh god I am so gone for this show and also going to hell)

“No. I couldn't bear it.”

<3 <3 This is actually something I've thought a lot about--Hannibal's attitude toward animals. I'm just going to copy-paste part of something I wrote to someone else a few months back: I was thinking about how pigs also play a disturbing role in Hannibal-the book and Hannibal-the-film [. . .] and wondering if this here [ed. note: Will intuiting that the Ripper kills in "sounders"] is a callback to--or, in the timeline of this universe, a precursor of--those later pigs. Actually, domestic animals in general turn up in interesting roles in a lot of these stories. Obviously dogs and cats are significant to Will both professionally (he gets breaks in cases on the show and in Red Dragon the novel by noticing odd things about the family pets) and personally (dogs show up in his personal life at least in passing in all four versions of the Red Dragon story, with the show making them most central). A lot of that has to do with the notion that a person's behavior toward animals is a predictor of behavior toward people.

I feel like somewhere in Harris's novels, either in Red Dragon or Hannibal Rising, there's a reference to some undefined example of animal cruelty in Hannibal's past. But it never reoccurs, and in the show, Hannibal seems quite attentive to animals, at least superficially? I mean, he feeds Will's dogs and shows no distaste about it, even if he does so with ulterior motives, and it's worth noting that not ONE of Will's dogs is territorial toward or spooked by him; he talks about using "an ethical butcher" (even though really he's the butcher and the food source is human); etc.

...anyway. Somewhere in there, I had a point. Actually two points. The first was: "I couldn't bear it" kinda melts my heart, because in a way I believe Hannibal? There are all sorts of complicated lines that people can draw between "deserving"/"innocent" victims, and I think that show-Hannibal's lines are quite possibly independent of species, if that makes sense. More importantly, the second point was: I'm so, so impressed and pleased that even your apparently off-the-cuff* "drabbles" make me think about this stuff.

(*Also I haaate you; I can't consistently write prose this good without agonizing over it for months.)

It was always strangely reassuring to see someone else pet an animal exactly as he would, to see them chuck his dogs approvingly under the chin or watch them zero in with that preternatural awareness for the one spot on Winston's hip. It was like some kind of animal lover empathy.

Ohhh yeah. "The one spot on Winston's hip"--yes. As a very very emotionally invested pet-owner who also works with dogs for a living... I know exactly what you mean here, and that's so cool. I think I've noticed this in some of your other stories where you deal with Will's dogs. I am ALL ABOUT Will's dogs and what they mean to him.

Will wedged a thumb and forefinger under his nose, itching quickly and indulgently. Maybe if he did it fast enough, it wouldn't be so faux pas.

hngsdh'jkhfhrh

Will suppressed a little shiver at the feline's squinted look of pure bliss, very nearly feeling the touch across his own spine.

omg sorry beyond words right now. This is the best. THE BEST.

Quick, hard, and enormously unsatisfying, as his allergy sneezes always were. Face warm from a mixture of alcohol and chagrin, he ducked his head away and struggled to finish out the rest of the fit with some semblance of dignity.

Sorry, let's talk about how occasionally I pretend to have some higher-order thinking to share about your prose, but then you do things like this whole section and I am once again ID-TASTIC PUTTY IN YOUR HANDS?

Her ears airplaned in dismay.

Heee. This made me laugh out loud. I know what that looks like!

it was admittedly an end-of-the-night indulgence, and he hadn't eaten anything today. It was metabolizing a little faster than usual. He wondered if Hannibal had known that when refilling his glass, but quickly shook the suspicion. There was nothing sinister about that, most people knew how to feed themselves more than once every two days.

ohhhh goddd, thank you for punching me in precisely the soft(/sore) spot that Will Graham opens up in me.

No, but seriously. I always feel like my comments to your fics are so effusive and detailed as to be creepy, but I really just want to (1) express how FUCKING WELL you write and (2) encourage you to write more, assuming that this kind of feedback errs more on the side of validation than of weirdness?

[Garnet]

@Pig - D'aww, I'm glad you're back! I do the same thing, disappear for a few months, come back and OMG WONDERLAND. Although I've been pretty consistent lately, so who knows.

Yisss Levi. I went through a little Attack on Titan stint for a while, and may yet revisit it.

@AngelEyes - Thank you so much! I'm always flattered when people read outside their fandoms. I haven't seen Weiss Kreuz since I was about 17 so our familiarity is probably around the same level, haha. It's a weird show, but I loved the characters.

@evermissing - Ohoho, you clearly underestimate how much I look forward to you commenting on my fics. I do a little happy dance in my head when I see your name bumping up my "recent content" page. So, um, yeah :q KEEP DOIN' DAT.

And I am so with you on Hannibal's regard for animals. Harris did mention in Red Dragon that he was cruel to animals in his childhood, but then he never mentioned it again, which suggests to me that it's a.) either a detail that Hannibal deliberately made up to screw with his profilers or b.) a detail that Harris made up and then later changed his mind about. He was obviously invested in the well-being of the swans and the horses in Hannibal Rising, even though I consider that book the most divergent from the theme of the others.

I'm pretty sure he dog whispered Krendler's German Shepherd too, I forget whether it was in the book or movie. My headcanon is because he's experienced with creeping around Will's house without alerting the dogs' suspicions.

Anyway, I agree that I think there are certain boundaries to the show, books, and movies that don't get crossed. In a recent interview, someone asked Bryan Fuller if there was a territory he didn't plan on exploring with the show, and he intimated that he was never going to do anything for shock or horror value beyond the... "murder aesthetic" already established. No sexual abuse or rape, etc. Which I think is why I like this show moreso than a few other modern takes on serial killers or the supernatural (Bates Motel, American Horror Story, etc.) Obviously it's still terrible, but there are rules to it, and artful, elaborate murders and cannibalism is so far removed from common, real world scenarios, that it's not as uncomfortable to watch. Hell, it's probably pretty telling that the skeeviest part of the show for me is the psychological manipulation.

So that was a mouthful. Also, aww, I didn't know you worked with animals. Me too!

Aaand no worries there. I'm sure once I'm done FREAKING OUT over the new season (OMG TONIGHT OMG), there will be many, many more fics. Maybe I'll do a drabble for each episode? Hmm :q

[evermissing]

Maybe I'll do a drabble for each episode? Hmm :q

More later--I don't have a TV so I can't watch the season premiere until tomorrow ahhhhhhhhhh--but I would like to state for the record that I endorse this idea wholeheartedly. And now I kinda want to do it too.

[March Hare]

....oh gods. Ohhhhhhhhhh...

back when can brain. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH KTHNXBAI.

[Triosk1]

Oh gosh, where do I start. Garnet, your Hannibal drabbles are basically the best thing I've read in months. I'm a massive Hannibal fan, both the films, and the couple of books I've read, but also a raving Mads Mikkelsen fangirl, so, yeah, the series is brilliant. Also, loss of control from incredibly controlled, elegant, sexily accented and dressed men is basically all my buttons ever, so I was really hoping someone would write Hannibal based drabbles, and that they'd be good. And yours are great.

I just wanted to rock up and show my support and appreciation, and to say, with everyone else, what a compelling, elegant writing style you have, and how beautifully you've captured the characters and I think the style of the series as well.

[Garnet]

Maru - D'aww, I like it when you can't brain :B Love you too!

Katrelle - Oh my gosh, thank you so much! I feel bad I didn't reply to this earlier because your compliments totally made my day. I remember your writing from way back, and am very flattered. I too am a ridiculous Mads fan and have been slowly working my way through the rest of his movies. Some have even gotten fics as well :B

Your appreciation is much appreciated, and I'm always super glad to find other Hannibal fans afoot.

And now, here's a shamelessly fluffy drabble based on a what-if relationship I established on a fic posted to the Adult board. Because I'm not emotionally ready to deal with that season finale yet, and I'm still firmly rooted in happy Season 1 lala land.

69. Attack

Hannibal turned from them both, brought the crook of an arm to his face, and sneezed powerfully enough to make his eyes water. Will blinked in surprise, Alana with sympathy.

"Bless you," she said.

Hannibal nodded, clearly wanting to offer the courtesy of a neat thank you. Instead, he only managed to hide his nose and mouth as he grimaced with another tremendous sneeze.

"HHRSSSH-ue!"

It was restrained, but just barely. Alana exchanged a private glance with Will, blue eyes and tiny smiles and the pleasure of a mutual kink.

"Ble-..." She started again, and paused when Hannibal held up his free hand to stall her.

"--HRRSSH-ue!" And again. "--HHRISSH-ue!" Amazing. He rarely got the job done with one, but four in a row like that, especially with that much force behind them, was suggestive of something further amiss than a few errant motes of dust.

"You're going to give yourself whiplash," Will mused, as he helped Alana out of her jacket. She rolled her shoulders and sighed. In the cool darkness of the foyer, he could feel her heat and his own, growing stifling in long cuffs and too many layers. It was winter outside, but the quiet repose of Hannibal's home was without time and season.

Somewhere in between sneezing and shrugging out of his own overcoat, he'd managed to produce a plain white handkerchief. He fit it to his nose just in time to accept the quick "-WHFF!" of three identical sneezes. The last seemed to finally usher out whatever had been tickling him so badly.

Will was fairly certain that he would have hit the floor after that kind of attack, but Hannibal blew his nose and shook it off like a daydream.

"Bless you," he offered, and felt Alana's tingle of excitement at the novelty of him saying that phrase. Oh? He met her gaze from the corner of his eye, mouth pressed into a wry, twitching line. She didn't take him for the type.

He didn't bother being offended, barely knew the emotion, and instead took up the impulse agreeably. He could do concerned.

"I hope you're not coming down with something."

Beside him, Alana gave a tiny murmur of either agreement or pleasure.

"I don't think so," Hannibal sighed, as he tucked the handkerchief away.

Will and Alana must have mirrored the same disappointed expression, because he gave them each a narrow look, amusement threatening somewhere behind his eyes.

"Vultures," he accused mildly, and swept towards the kitchen. Coffee for three, probably. Spiked, very probably.

"Opportunists, not scavengers," Will retorted, smirking as they drifted after him. "Hyenas, maybe."

"Hyenas are a fiercely matriarchal society," Hannibal observed as he turned the stovetop on with a hiss and soft bloom of flame. He was sniffling idly to himself as he milled about the kitchen, fetching this and that. Alana was still more at ease here than Will, and melted herself lazily onto the counter, watching him with her chin propped up in one hand. "I believe that means Dr. Bloom is in charge."

She lidded her eyes calmly, lashes so low that Will nearly missed her wink. "I'm glad we're in agreement."

[Anonymouse]

Hannibal nodded, clearly wanting to offer the courtesy of a neat thank you. Instead, he only managed to hide his nose and mouth as he grimaced with another tremendous sneeze.

Oh man

I love the started (and interrupted) "Bless you!" And so many sneezes

Sweet sweet hyenas <3

[VoOs]

"Vultures," he accused mildly, and swept towards the kitchen. Coffee for three, probably. Spiked, very probably.

"Opportunists, not scavengers," Will retorted, smirking as they drifted after him. "Hyenas, maybe."

"Hyenas are a fiercely matriarchal society," Hannibal observed as he turned the stovetop on with a hiss and soft bloom of flame. He was sniffling idly to himself as he milled about the kitchen, fetching this and that. Alana was still more at ease here than Will, and melted herself lazily onto the counter, watching him with her chin propped up in one hand. "I believe that means Dr. Bloom is in charge."

She lidded her eyes calmly, lashes so low that Will nearly missed her wink. "I'm glad we're in agreement."

Dat ending though. *cackling with glee*

Guh. So, so, so good. <3 <3 <3

[Bruyere]

Because I'm not emotionally ready to deal with that season finale yet, and I'm still firmly rooted in happy Season 1 lala land.

Permission to come aboard that raft floating down the good river denial with you? I feel like this whole drabble was just what the doctor ordered.

Will and Alana must have mirrored the same disappointed expression, because he gave them each a narrow look, amusement threatening somewhere behind his eyes.

"Vultures," he accused mildly, and swept towards the kitchen. Coffee for three, probably. Spiked, very probably.

"Opportunists, not scavengers," Will retorted, smirking as they drifted after him.

Ha!

[Garnet]

Anony - Ahaha, interrupted blessings might be my very favorite thing.

VoOs - Oh you Thank you! And yes, I am always in favor of playing with the power dynamics of those three :q

Bruyere - Permission granted, all aboard the S.S. Fuck That Noise!

[Garnet]

I'll be done with this fandom when I damned well say I am :| Have some more Bigby stuff, working loosely off the prompt list I posted a while back.

31. Hold Back

"That's awful," Snow murmured. The body's final resting pose was twisted and ugly, limbs bent at angles that shouldn't be possible. She had a strong constitution, and it wasn't the most gruesome murder she'd seen, but she still had a hand over her mouth. From the arm of the sofa, one of the dead man's dozen cats was watching her thoughtfully. It didn't seem all that remorseful about its owners unlikely demise.

"You okay?" Bigby's attention was not on the corpse, but on her, eyes golden in the gloom, preternaturally brighter than his glamour should allow. So it was bothering him too.

"I'm fine," she dismissed quickly, and lowered her hand. "We should... do this quick, before the mundy police get here." That was a bureaucratic and legal mess even she didn't want to get caught up in, if they found them here. Memory wipes were expensive, even when they were a write off. "You're absolutely sure this was a fable?"

"Positive," Bigby agreed, toeing the dead man's head to the side just enough to reveal the long clawmarks that had rent him open from throat to belly, likely responsible for the dark stain that had spread deep through the grungy carpet. "An animal one, unless he was keeping a tiger in the bathtub. Been getting reports all week."

"Other murders?" Snow gaped. Surely he would have told her?

"No, just sightings," Bigby said, nudging the body carefully back into place. "Shit that looks out of place, even in New York."

He sniffed the air experimentally and grimaced, putting the back of a hand to his nose with an aggravated rub. "Can't smell anything over all this cat piss, but I'll hear anyone coming. Check the bedroom."

"Right."

He was right about the smell, even she noticed it. Sharp, hot and pungent, it got worse as she ventured deeper into the apartment, mindful not to touch anything or leave any fiber of hair or clothing behind. Hopefully the overabundance of cat hair would slow down the mundy forensics team, even if she did. She wondered if Bigby's DNA would register as wolf or human.

She almost wished the victim had been a fable as well, then at least they could claim jurisdiction and drop an enchantment over the whole mess.

There were definite signs of a struggle in the bedroom. Beneath the trio of cats dotting the mattress, the sheets and covers had been wrenched and torn, and pools of that same dark, sticky ichor dotted a trail out to the living room. A litterbox had been overturned in the corner, and an assortment of junk looked as if it had been cleared from the top of the bureau in one angry sweep. If she didn't know better, and hadn't seen the body for her own eyes, the chaos of it would have looked almost perfectly staged.

"Snow," Bigby called abruptly from the next room. She spun on a toe and hastened back to his side, nearly tripping over an amorous grey tabby in the process.

"How many cats does this guy have?"

"Too many," Bigby muttered quietly, taking a swipe at his nose, then jerked his head towards the door. "Someone just came up the stairs. Could be a neighbor."

"Rather not risk it," Snow dismissed in a quick hush, feeling her blood pressure spike. She reached for his sleeve. "There was a fire escape off the bedroom, come o--..."

The door suddenly reverberated with a heavy, pounding knock. From the hall, a woman shouted. "Mr. Graves? Management!"

Shit. Snow grabbed his whole arm this time and yanked her partner unceremoniously towards the coat closet. She all but shoved Bigby inside, and hid the click of its lever under the next assault on the front door.

Bang bang bang.

"Mr. Graves! I need to speak with you. It's about a noise complaint filed last night."

There was barely enough room for the two of them in there, between the heavy, musty winter coats and a broken cat tower taking up floor space. Bigby had one arm pinned between her and the wall, and the other against the door, while hers were jacked up against his front at an awkward angle. She hoped he couldn't sense her blush burning through the stuffy heat between them. She put her cheek carefully to his chest to avoid rubbing against the coats, and listened to the rush of his breath beneath the pounding on the door. Under the bitter, stale smell of cigarettes and beer, he smelled reassuringly warm and masculine. She pressed her nose into his shirt to escape the stink of cats and old clothes.

"Mr. Graves, I'm coming in!"

Snow screwed her eyes tightly shut as she heard the rattle of keys in the lock. Trapped against her hip, she felt Bigby's hand tighten, and even through the fabric of her skirt she detected the prick of claws that hadn't been there a moment ago. If she'd glanced up, his eyes likely would have been luminous in the darkness, and teeth long. Even his nerves were getting the better of him. He couldn't just growl and bite his way out of situations with mundies, much as he might like to.

The door came open with a creak, and Snow counted down for the shriek. Three, two, one...

"Jesus christ!"

And there it was. There was a clatter of keys hitting the floor, followed shortly by the thump of the woman's knees where she had probably folded in place. Snow silently willed her to work through her shock a little faster and hustle away to call the police, so they had a window of time to bail the scene. Thirty seconds and a stroke of luck was all they needed.

And then, to her horror, she felt Bigby's breath catch under her ear, chest hitching. As her heart cooled with dread, she crept a halting look upwards. His eyes were dim, but through the faint cracks of light filtering in around the closet door, she could detect a sheen of tears gathering across their surface, threatening to spill. His body had gone rigid against hers, and a tide of panic pulled at her gut. He had to sneeze.

Fucking hell. Was it the dust, the cat hair? She desperately hoped he wasn't allergic to them.

"Hhh... hhh...!"

Considering the strength and volume of his usual inhalations, the weak jag of his breath was heroic in its restraint, barely above a whisper. But that still wasn't good enough. Snow was positive the property manager would hear them through the muffle of coats and closet door, even if he could hold back the sneeze. She wasn't confident about that, either. Bigby's lungs were a force to be reckoned with.

Fisting a hand in the fabric of his shirt, Snow shook her head at him frantically, silently. Don't.

Bigby crinkled his nose, and struggled to turn his face into one shoulder. The angle was all wrong, as was the attempt to free one hand to press against the quivering yawn of his nostrils. Too much movement would disturb the stationary contents of the closet, and make more noise than just his weak, hesitating gasps.

Outside, she heard the manager stagger to her feet and hold back a retch in her throat as she fumbled for Graves's phone. Snow groaned inside her own head. Dammit, woman, just make the call from your office.

While the woman clattered with the receiver -- dropped it twice -- and tried to remember how to dial 9-1-1, Snow exerted her every ounce of will against the tickle in her partner's sinuses. Unsurprisingly, it didn't seem to have much effect, as Bigby tipped his head back and hitched, hitched, hitched. She felt like she was staring down the double barrels of a shotgun as his nostrils widened, and for the first time she had a thought for her own safety. She wasn't entirely sure what would come of being in the point blank range of a Big Bad Wolf sneeze, but it probably wasn't good.

Shit, he was going to lose it, and the property manager was still making her tearful call to the police.

Snow was in a better place to squirm an arm free than he was, and so without any further pretense, she stretched a palm up until she could feel the textured grit of his jaw, and then promptly seized his nose shut just as his restraint faltered.

"hh...--nkktt!"

The pressure of her thumb and forefingers and the tight snarl of his teeth reduced an otherwise explosive sneeze to a tiny, nasal squeak, but Snow felt it rock through them both like a depth charge. His whole body trembled against hers, arms tightening like banded steel. Sometimes she forgot how strong he was until he was accidentally crushing all the wind out of her.

By some miracle, the woman outside hadn't appeared to notice. She was still wrapped up in a conversation that Snow could hear through the door.

"Should I wait here? No. No, I don't... God, I don't think I can. Downstairs. Okay. Yes. No, I'll close it."

Holding in the sneeze hadn't actually relieved the irritant, so Snow was prepared as Bigby recovered from the demolition inside his own head just in time to catch another shivery inhale. Rather than subject him to another potential aneurism, she crooked a finger and pressed hard against his septum. Bigby stiffened in surprise.

"Hhh...hh!"

Snow pressed tighter, and slowly worked the pad of her thumb against the side of his nose, feeling it tic erratically beneath her touch. Gradually, the impulse seemed to lessen, until Bigby was leaning slightly into the massage of her fingertips, presumably more because it felt good than because he was about to go off with the force of a tornado touching down.

"Yes, I'll meet you there. Please hur-- yes. Thank you."

There was another fumble of clicks as the property manager struggled to seat the receiver back in its cradle. Her footsteps wobbled around the scene to the door, paused, backtracked to retrieve her keys. The door clicked shut, and Snow let out the breath she'd been holding. Bigby did the same.

She reached at once for the door, but Bigby caught her wrist, his head tilted to listen in on something beyond her range of hearing. Snow waited another few beats, until his grip lessened, and he nodded her on ahead.

"Clear," he rasped softly.

"Window?"

"She went downstairs, we can bail out the stairs at the other end of the hall."

Thank God for back doors. To her relief, the property manager had forgotten to lock the door in her dizzy egress, absolving them from having to figure out how to reset it behind them. They wasted no further time in ducking out of the apartment building, dodging eyes and security cameras, and spilling out onto the street. Bigby held his nose roughly in one hand the entire way. She was surprised that he even made it a block from the scene of the crime before snatching for a handkerchief in one back pocket and clutching it in place.

Snow slowed her pace, and herded him gently off the main thoroughfare as he bent nearly double into the spellweave. He was lucky to have one on his person, she didn't think that sneeze was going to wait another moment, failsafe or none.

"HH-RHHFFFSSHH!"

Even with the enchantment in place, Snow lingered nervously nearby, casing the area for any passersby paying too much attention, or errant gusts that would knock them over. Fortunately, Bigby seemed to have it tightly under control as he bent aside with another enormously relieving sneeze.

"Huh... ! HUHRRFSSSHHHoo!"

That seemed to take care of the tickle, though he leaned against the railing of a small brownstone for a few moments and breathed hard in recovery. Snow had no idea what to do but reach out and rub his arm. Even that felt too candid and revealing, out where all the world could see rather than tucked up against him in a dark, musty closet that smelled like cat pee, with her finger under his nose.

This was her life now. Once upon a time, she'd been a goddamned princess.

"Bless you."

At least Bigby seemed to appreciate the gesture, as he gave her a tired nod and resigned the handkerchief to a back pocket.

"So. That was close," she added, as they resumed their pace.

The tips of his ears darkened. He ducked his head and scrubbed a knuckle against the tip of his nose. "You're telling me. Almost put you through a fucking wall, up there. Uh, thanks. For that."

"Thanks for not putting me through a wall," Snow returned, amused. "What was setting you off, anyway?" She wondered, noting that his eyes were still running and itchy, judging by the half-blind grit of his palm against one.

"Not sure. Too much of something." He sniffled thickly, and shook his head. "Mm. Wish we'd gotten a better look at the scene. You find anything else in the bedroom?"

Snow nodded, and filled him in on the details as they made their way back towards the Woodlands.

[Anonymouse]

I'll be done with this fandom when I damned well say I am :| NEVER Have some more Bigby stuff, working loosely off the prompt list I posted a while back.

Fixed it for you.

It didn't seem all that remorseful about its owners unlikely demise.

aahhh the indifference of cats

I feel like it's hard to do a sneezing-while-hiding situation that doesn't come off as contrived, but you always seem to do an amazing job! I was dying at the position they found themselves in in the closet (because I knew what would come next ) and Snow getting pissed at the property manager taking too long.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't seem to have much effect, as Bigby tipped his head back and hitched, hitched, hitched. She felt like she was staring down the double barrels of a shotgun as his nostrils widened, and for the first time she had a thought for her own safety. She wasn't entirely sure what would come of being in the point blank range of a Big Bad Wolf sneeze, but it probably wasn't good.

o. m. g. can. u. not.

This was her life now. Once upon a time, she'd been a goddamned princess.

Oh man. I love these stories. I love TWAU and I hope you never get tired of it.

[Garnet]

Anonymouse - B'aww, thank you! I'm still going strong, owing probably to the fact that Fables is so long and I keep rereading my favorite arcs, so hey! Why do I always pick the bitty fandoms to write in, though. Seriously. I'm so glad you're reading, your comments make my day!

And haha, I hear you on the contrived thing. Although I started a second playthrough on TWAU today and cracked up when I did a different set of actions at Prince Lawrence's apartment than I did last time, and Bigby and Snow literally ended up hiding in a closet together. Like, really? Is this a habit for you two, now?

Here's a continuation of the above, I might make it into a series of mini serials. I also want to tackle a couple of the other fables, too (mmm, Gren).

72. Muffled

Snow was sure that the tightly covered but otherwise unrestrained pair of sneezes would have put her partner to right again. He didn't do it much to begin with, at least not in front of her. Excepting his last cold, she was pretty sure she'd gone months if not years without noticing one, either because he'd spent so long in desensitizing his nose to the smells of the city, or he was purposefully avoiding it. It wasn't something that would normally even blip on her radar, but Bigby was...noticeable when he sneezed.

He did so twice more in the back of the cab. They both hated the subway.

"--WHFFFH!"

And at least here, there was only the driver witness to his grimacing loss of control.

"Huh-RHHFFHHhhh!"

He muffled them neatly into the folds of the spellweave, inasmuch as he was able. Even contained, they seemed huge in the tiny space of the backseat. Her stomach still lurched a little each time he opted to let one blow rather than try to squelch it in his sinuses, but she couldn't blame him, either. Holding back that kind of force looked and sounded painful.

"Bless you. Still?"

Bigby was turned away from her, faintly embarrassed, but she could see the reflection of him in the cab window, hovering the handkerchief uncertainly in both hands. After a few beats, he relaxed with a sigh and wiped at his eyes again, blinking rapidly as if they itched.

"Sorry," he growled. "I'm trying not to, if you can believe it. I just -- ..." He stiffened, shoulders locking. Snow resisted the urge to put a hand on one as he folded with the muted force of the third sneeze. Whatever was tickling him seemed potent.

"HUH-WRHFFFHHH!"

The cab swerved slightly as its driver made a sudden micro-adjustment, seeming bewildered by its shudder.

"Jeez, these old Crown Vics," he muttered apologetically. "They say they're sturdy as anything, but..." He laughed it off in confusion.

Bigby lurked a silent, whale eyed glance at her from above the handkerchief. She crimped her mouth hard in amusement, but nodded along with the cabbie, as if she bought the explanation perfectly.