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

August 20, 2014

I also want to tackle a couple of the other fables, too (mmm, Gren).

I AM SO ON BOARD WITH GREN. I've had a soft spot for that little terror ever since I read John Gardner's Grendel in my teens. And his human form was very appealing, especially when he was all drugged up and adorable and he just passed out -- "Gren won't remember this" :rofl:

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.

I have this weird thing about sneezing and mirrors/reflections? Like it makes it sexier to me (probably because it's more candid/almost voyeuristic). Also I love that his nose is still bothering him. :twisted:

He made the car move! Ahhh I will never get tired of the things his sneezes do to the environment and objects around him <3

August 22, 2014

I have no idea how I missed your Hannibal drabble here because I basically live for your Hannibal drabbles but unffff I love it. Vultures, indeed - I may have to join Will and Alana in their circling. There's always such an interesting undercurrent to your Hannibal fetish stories; you show him as sexy and vulnerable without letting us forget for a second that he's a predator. Weird to say in a fetishy aspect but I really do think your writing is masterful.

Which is the reason I loved these two drabbles even though I have literally no idea who these people are or the fandom. You're just. SO. GOOD.

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.

I could have quoted the entire thing but this part just flips a a switch in me... mmmm.

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!"

Nothing better than struggling to hold back sneezes and failing. And Anonymouse is right - there's just something about sneezing in mirrors that I've never thought of before but all of a sudden is hot as hell.

August 26, 2014

Geez, Garnet. I am in love with your renditions of Bigby and Snow. Like, seriously. I can't stop reading your drabbles, your fic about them QwQ

*sobs of joy*.. They are just so cute, and so well-written, and omgh you handle the powerful, nearly terrifying aspect of Bigby's sneezes with such delicacy~

Your words are just graceful~~ and not only that, but the characters are so real and endearing! I had to laugh when Bigby sneezed the cab into a swerve, and then caught this look at Snow like, "O___O" xDDDD

Gosh, you're just amazing. Seriously, I look up to you as one of the writers I aspire toward xD. I would quote my favorite parts, but I'd be quoting everything, so LOL

Nothing better than struggling to hold back sneezes and failing. And Anonymouse is right - there's just something about sneezing in mirrors that I've never thought of before but all of a sudden is hot as hell.

Also, allow me to second all of this~

August 26, 2014

*sniff out the scent*

Drabbles?!

I found you! Yaaaaasssss! Oh my gosh, I don't need me to tell you how much I love these little gems! Aaah!

August 28, 2014

Aw yay comments!

Anonymouse - Ahhh me too! I really like the design they gave him as a human, but then I have a serious weakness for scars and fucked up eyes. And I'd never thought about reflections like that, but now that you mention it, I enjoy the idea too. I'm all for that subtle voyeurism, especially in all things fetish-related. People sneezing openly when they think they're in private, making more pronounced sounds and faces, etc.

bangbang - Oh jeez, thank you so much! There are so many good, non-fetish Hannibal writers that I endeavor to capture just a fraction of that poeticism. Fortunately, the show is full of so much great imagery, metaphors, and complex images that it makes it pretty easy. Seriously, though, I'm blushing, and as always I especially appreciate when people read outside a fandom (which to be fair I am also doing in part for your Sherlock story, didn't know I shipped it that hard until I started reading).

BlackScatter - I AM SO GLAD because I just want to write a million things about them. Awkwardly dancing around each other in TWAU-verse? Love it. Squabbling, devoted married couple with a flock of kids? Love that too. There's so many scenarios to explore. And hahah, O___O was a perfect description for that moment.

AppleBlossom - Yesss, my hidden trove of uh... serial killer and fairy tale drabbles. I'm glad you found them! And aaa, thank you so much for reading <3 Always appreciated.

OKAY AND NOW that thing I said I'd do. Still planning on doing a couple more in a series for Bigby re: dead cat guy, but in the meantime...

77. Spring

"You know they make medicine for that now, right?"

Grendel looked at her from behind the sloppy lattice of his fingers pressed flush to his face. His bad eye registered a dim, milky cataract blue through the crack. "No shit? What else they got, Holly? Talkin' picture boxes and horseless carriages too?"

She rinsed and wiped his glass out, then refilled it with a fresh shot of Damrak on the rocks, her mouth a stiffly contained smirk the entire time. That was always the way with him, a thin line straddled between exasperation and grudging amusement. "You're an asshole and I should throw you out."

"Yeah, but you ain't gonna." Gren picked up the glass and knocked it back, ice cubes clinking as his throat rippled in a deep swallow. "Thanks, doll." He licked his lips afterwards, then attacked his nose with the side of his hand and a fresh set of sniffles. There was only one way this could go, and it was the same direction it had been headed all night. Gren's long, gaunt features were flushed, ground wet and raw at the eyes and in a chafed spot under his nose where he'd been busily rubbing for days. He thumbed the scar across one cheek, as if even it itched with the same prickling intensity, then made a pass across the hollow of each eye to collect the tears that had gathered there. He had it down to a fine, if brutal science by now.

"Just cover your fucking mouth this time," she sighed, as he gave up and dropped both hands into his lap, fixed his gaze in a bleary squint at the overhead lights. Holly paused in wiping down the bar to watch the spectacle unfold, as unashamed in this as Gren was about letting it develop in full view of God and the world. "I mean it," she added as his slender nostrils wrinkled open, revealing their wet, inflamed lining visibly twitching with irritation. She would have felt bad for him if he wasn't such a stubborn shitbag.

"Get off my ass, woman," Grendel protested, though his voice was too weak and cloudy with the urge to sneeze to carry any threat. "It was -- heih... it was one--... EISSSCH'ew!" He doubled into the fold of both hands, so hard he nearly hit the bartop. The silence lingered for several beats, as he waited for an encore. Evidently satisfied, he picked his head back up and sneered at her through a sniffle, an impressive multi-task.

Holly had half-hoped, once, that Grendel would have a tiny sneeze. Something disproportionately bunny-ish and cute, a soft tchi hidden red-faced behind the palm of one hand that she could tease him endlessly about. The reality of it had been more fitting, an ugly, wet and wrenching sound that was seemingly louder than his slender frame could reasonably produce. That was fine too. She didn't mind the whole production as much as she pretended to.

Stupid adorable bastard.

"Excuse me," he drawled sardonically, then tapped the spot beside his empty glass. "Anyway, be nice to me, I'm sick."

The troll snorted as she dumped the ice, rinsed, refilled. Straight gin. "No you're not. You get like this every spring."

"What, you keeping track?" Gren jeered, then gave his expression over almost immediately to the weak crumple that disclosed a sneeze. "EISCH-ew!" There was less production this time, just a single, irritated blast into the barrier of his coatsleeve. Only some of it blocked the spray.

"Yeah, of how many wet wipes I need to keep stocked," Holly grimaced with disgust. She snatched one from beneath the bar and made a show of mopping down the countertop within a three foot radius in front of him. Gren sniffled liquidly and looked apathetic. He picked his glass up to facilitate her pass beneath it, his free hand grinding itchily at his good eye.

"Ah, whatever. S'just a cold."

"Gren, you have allergies," the Woodsman finally spoke up from a couple of seats down, evidently aggravated with the whole discussion. "Shut the fuck up and deal with it."

Grendel bristled with a mixture of indignation and embarrassment. "We're in the middle of the city, 'case you didn't notice. Last flowers I saw were inked on Holly's ass." He ducked the swat she aimed at him. "Speaking of which, what crawled up yours and died?"

"The sheriff put a beatdown on him last night," Holly provided, when the Woodsman remained grouchily silent. "Again."

"Fuck off, that's not how it went," he muttered. He turned his head slightly to conceal the ugly purple bruise that had swollen one eyesocket. It would be gone by the morning.

Gren barked a quick laugh. "Well we're a sorry fuckin' lot, then, ain't we?" He tilted his glass towards the Woodsman, who sighed grudgingly and leaned over at arm's length to clink the edge with his own.

"Speak for yourself," Holly said. To her amusement, Gren only managed to get the glass just to his mouth before thunking it back down, his oversensitive sinuses tickled by the heady fumes of alcohol.

"Jesus fu-- EISCH'ew!" He erupted, between the defensive frame of his arms on the bartop. Holly sighed and contemplated laying down a tarp whenever the pollen counts peaked. "EISSZCH-ew!" He tilted his head back, lower lip trembling. "Eih...heih...!"

Holly stretched for a cocktail napkin, and placed it pointedly in Gren's curled palm. He clutched it with more gratitude than she'd expected, and plastered it in place just in time to catch a drenching, "--EIIISSZCH-ew!"

"Ble-- Christ, Gren," Holly cut herself off, taking a step back. He looked at her hesitantly over the daggers of his claws now holding the almost comically tiny napkin. Cheap glamours did the trick, but they had the habit of faltering under stress. "Put those things away, you're scaring my customers."

Gren ducked with a flicker of embarrassment as he drew the talons back into his glamour, then craned a pointed look over one shoulder at the empty bar. "Yeah, they looked terrified. Woody, am I scarin' you?"

The Woodsman rolled his eyes and put the rest of his beer back in a single long, pulsing swallow.

"There you go, see? Hell, maybe you oughta put up a sign, drum up some business," Gren huffed, spreading his hands for emphasis. "Come see the dread sceadugenga, the night-goer, sneeze his fuckin' head off."

Holly gave him a long, hard look, then finally broke with a laugh, as she threw the bar rag at him. "Finish your drink, Sniffles. Tomorrow I'm buying you some damned Benadryl."

August 28, 2014

GREN GREN GRWN GNRNIOkomg yes I am seriously in love with you right now.

"No shit? What else they got, Holly? Talkin' picture boxes and horseless carriages too?"

Four sentences in and I'm stopping to squeal at how perfect that was. He is such a little shit. :yay:

He thumbed the scar across one cheek, as if even it itched with the same prickling intensity, then made a pass across the hollow of each eye to collect the tears that had gathered there.

Mmm I love the idea of the itch spreading beyond the nose, whether it's psychosomatic or... well... somatic. :twisted:

"Just cover your fucking mouth this time," she sighed, as he gave up and dropped both hands into his lap, fixed his gaze in a bleary squint at the overhead lights. Holly paused in wiping down the bar to watch the spectacle unfold, as unashamed in this as Gren was about letting it develop in full view of God and the world.

He didn't cover and he's photic? Auhghghhh. And he just doesn't give a shit if she sees how stupid his face looks, I love it.

The reality of it had been more fitting, an ugly, wet and wrenching sound that was seemingly louder than his slender frame could reasonably produce. That was fine too. She didn't mind the whole production as much as she pretended to.
Stupid adorable bastard.

My thoughts exactly. <3 I loved that he has an 'ugly' sneeze to fit the kind of person (creature, Fable, whatever) he was before Fabletown. I don't think Bigby's the only one who's changed though... did you look at the card Gren wrote at Lily's funeral? Short, simple, and sweet. Nothing ugly about it.

To her amusement, Gren only managed to get the glass just to his mouth before thunking it back down, his oversensitive sinuses tickled by the heady fumes of alcohol.
"Jesus fu-- EISCH'ew!" He erupted, between the defensive frame of his arms on the bartop. Holly sighed and contemplated laying down a tarp whenever the pollen counts peaked. "EISSZCH-ew!"

I love cursing following sneezing, or preceding sneezing, or being interrupted by sneezing. Basically any expression of frustration verbal or otherwise in general during sneezing is a lovely thing.

Everything out of Gren's mouth was so fucking sassy and Holly was perfect. Loved when the Woodsman just quietly entered the scene and I laughed to think he was just sitting there the whole time.

August 30, 2014

Anonymouse - I already chattered back to you via PM about most of this, but yeeessss Gren is such a little shit and I love writing little shits. So there will probably be more of him.

In the meantime, have some more unrelated Bigby nonsense. This got a little long to be a drabble, and might have a small follow-up as a sick human, replete with a cadre of well-meaning but obnoxious kids.

Will I ever get tired of massively destructive giant talking animal sneezes?

NOPE. Enjoy as Bigby tries to figure out how to dad.

10. Worried

He should have heard her coming from miles away. If every one of his senses had been burnt out or occluded, he would still have some preternatural knowledge of where Snow White was, anywhere in the world, at any time of day. Always had.

Except for in the moment, when he was pretty sure he only registered her presence because she wanted him to. A twig snapped pointedly in the lapping quiet as he drank from the stream, and Bigby flinched as if he'd been shot. Shit, found out.

He looked up at her with water dripping from his snout. Across the silver creek that wended its way through their lands, from a trickle to a rapid, Snow stood in the clearing with arms akimbo and a frown sketched across her features. She was upset. He couldn't tell yet where she sat on the sliding scales of anger and worry, whether he was about to be scolded or greeted with relief, but guilt was already caging him in and making his shoulders hunch.

"Bigby?"

"Hi, Snow."

She waited for him to step over the stream and come to meet her, but when he lingered awkwardly in the leaf litter, she sighed and picked her away across. Four, five squelching steps to slick rocks and fallen limbs, and she lit to the shore beside him as easily as if she'd grown up in these woods her whole life. Bigby backed away immediately, creating some twenty feet of safety between them. The look of fractured hurt on her face was almost too much to bear, but she dropped the veil over it quickly. Like a wild animal, Snow White hid her wounds and her emotions when she thought they were a liability. Even now.

They'd have to keep working on that.

"Is something bothering you? You've been gone since before the crack of dawn."

Had it been that long? He'd spent the better part of the day trying to sleep off the ache that was settling too deep into his muscle and bone, stretching his legs and hoping that the fresh air would diffuse the congestion that had been creeping its way in since last night. To no better end, either. His head was hot and thick and full, so much so that blinking was beginning to make his eyes water, and swallowing hurt. Everything was simultaneously heavy and painful, he felt like a steam train that was being derailed in horrifying slow motion. The idea of making her or the cubs feel even a fraction of this was completely beyond the pale.

"Sorry," he offered evasively. "Didn't mean to foist the kids on you all day."

She started to wave him off, as if to say haven't I managed them this far without you? It wasn't a thought he liked to entertain, but he liked even less the hesitating expression that crept in after she'd paused.

"Is it too much?"

He blinked, thrown. His tongue flashed across his muzzle uncertainly. "What?"

She folded both arms beneath her breasts. It was meant to close off her body language, seems stiff and unavailable, but she just looked like was was making herself smaller. Ugh, he was such a prick. Against his better judgement, Bigby skulked towards her, tail tucked.

"With the... kids and the house and..." She flapped a hand limply. "It can be overwhelming. Hell, I spent their entire infancy being overwhelmed, but."

"Wh--... no. God, no," he rushed out, as soon as clarity struck. He closed the last few feet between them, feeling horrible on a completely different level, and put his head against her chest. To his relief, she accepted the entreaty with her hands in his fur and her arms wrapping around his jaws. That was going to be a terrible fucking idea in about thirty seconds, as soon as she bumped his nose a little too hard, but the contact was more important in the moment. "C'mon, Snow, I'm not my father," he mumbled, appalled that that had even been a consideration for her. "You and the cubs are my whole world, you know that."

"I do," she agreed, with a tone that sounded relieved. "I didn't really think... you seem so happy with a pack. It's just not like you to take off all day without them. Or without saying anything."

"Ah, hell," he sighed. He shoved his snout under her arm, suddenly anxious for her to be touching him everywhere at once. He could count on one hand the number of people, offspring excluded, who he wanted to lay so much as a hand on his shoulder when he was in this, his natural shape. Even now, Bigby was not a tame or a friendly wolf. With Snow, however, he could sometimes barely hold himself in check, felt like a puppy that was ready to roll over and show its belly if it meant more tactile attention. "I'm sorry, Snow. Still getting a handle on this whole domestic bliss thing. And I do mean the bliss part." He just had no idea what to do with an actual family, besides hold tight and hope nothing ever made him let go.

Snow seemed to understand the unspoken part of that statement, because she pushed her brow against his with affection. "You're doing fine, dear. The kids are fucking crazy about you, if you hadn't noticed. I'm crazy about you."

"Took you long enough."

She flicked the bridge of his nose in admonishment. At any other time, he would have taken it with a flinch, grinning and growling, before retaliating by mouthing playfully at her hands. At the moment, the light shock of impact sparked a prickle of irritation through his sinuses so immediate and potent that he snarled. Snow let go and took a step back immediately, blinking in concern. At least it wasn't in fear. He didn't think he could live with himself if she was afraid of him.

"I'm sorry! Did that hurt?"

He ached to reassure her, quickly and decisively, but the dull throb was already mounting towards a sneeze so fast that he could only shake his head. Fortunately, Snow put it together herself as he backed away, breath hitching and eyes watering. He heard a soft "oh" followed immediately by her hand on his leg as she paced after him, and stood behind one shoulder. Though it seemed incongruous, it was probably the safest place to stand when he was about to sneeze, well clear of his nose but close enough at hand to avoid collateral damage. He sank to his haunches to better facilitate her grip, even if he felt guilty about jostling her as his sides heaved.

So far he'd gotten away with only one good sneeze and quite a few close calls, today, but even that one had crippled a path of bent and broken trees through the woods. He tried not to, avoided it if he possibly could, but his whole snout was tickling so fiercely that it was all he could do to control his breathing. Even then, just barely.

"Hhh.... hhhh.... HHHH--!"

Leaves skittered through the undergrowth and branches curved inward. The inhalations registered deep enough in his chest that they sounded like a roar, pitched up on the end with a tremble of desperation. Snow's grip tightened reassuringly in his fur an instant before he lurched forward with an enormous and eruptive sneeze.

"--HH'RRRZSSSSSCHHHHHH!"

His whole frame shook with the force of it, as did the ground underfoot. In the hundred feet of space cleared before him, there was a flurry of loose leaves and dirt, the crack of a tree splintering as it caught the blast too hard and collapsed into its fellow. Through the cracking chaos of their fell, however, he was already snarling in another breath, nose quivering with tickles.

"HR'RRSSCHHHH!"

He was relieved to feel Snow's arms tighten around his neck, reassurance that she was still safe amid the airborne debris. He tipped his head back, chest ballooning with breath and his muzzle wrinkling back from his fangs. Were it a physical, microscopic irritant, he would have surely evacuated it out by now. The friction of his sore sinuses shivering and the tic of an overreacting nerve was something far less surmountable.

"HR'RSSSZSSCHHH! ... AH--RFSSSZSSCHHH!"

Miserably, he felt himself gearing towards another with a deep, "hhh... HHHH," when all at once Snow's palm closed over the end of his dripping nose. Bigby cracked his eyes open in horror. Had she gone absolutely batshit? "Snow, don't--.... huh!"

To his surprise, however, she squeezed gently, compressing the irritated spasm of his nostrils as she simultaneously rubbed a knuckle between them. For a second, the impulse spiked, and he gave a sneezy grimace of dismay, positive he was going to blow her halfway to the farm. But then the urge passed, receding like the tide and just as steadily. His snout felt raw and spent with relief.

Snow massaged his nose until his legs gave out and he sank to his belly, head hanging, breath a soft pant. She finally withdrew to wipe her fingertips thoughtlessly on one hip, which he registered with a distant, foggy embarrassment. Not half so much that crept in upon finally squinting his eyes open to survey the destruction, however. The pulsing blast of his sneeze had snapped and uprooted a dozen trees, though their forms were indistinct through the haze of dust, leaves and needles still settling slowly in their wake. His ears flattened and he dropped his chin to the ground with a groan.

"I'm sorry," he breathed in exhaustion.

Once upon a time, he'd wrought that kind of destruction tenfold, and with a vicious purpose behind it. Now he felt mortified that his wife would be put off by a far more somatic loss of control. He waited her to back away with disgust, now that he was done, to dust herself and give him some space while he pretended to put himself back together.

He stirred with muddled confusion as Snow sank down beside him, and folded his whole head into her arms. "Bless you. Jesus Christ, Bigby, you poor thing." He blinked at her. Effusive sympathy had not been on the list of expected emotions. "Are you okay?"

After a lengthy pause, he caved. "Felt myself coming down with something last night," he admitted in a soft croak. Point-blank honesty was always the best tactic with her, some day he would learn that. "So I made myself scarce. I was hoping I could shake the worst of it by tonight, but I think it's just getting started."

He grunted with surprised pleasure to feel her arms tighten in a fierce and sudden hug. "You ridiculous wolf. I would have taken care of you. I mean, I'm still going to. But you didn't have to put yourself in ex--..." She started to say exile, but that wound was still a little too fresh, even when it was nearly a year old. She wet her lips. "In quarantine."

Bigby rolled her a tired look. "Didn't want you or the kids to catch it."

She kissed his snout. Snow hardly seemed to care that it had just cleared an acre of forest. "Stubborn idiot. That's what kids do, Bigby. They all get sick at once, I pull my hair out for a week trying to keep up with them, and then another week keeping them all from flying out the windows the second they feel even a little bit better, then I disinfect the entire house and six months later they do it again." She bumped her forehead against his, fond. "And trust me, ours are alarmingly healthy compared to mundy children. They're like weeds."

He huffed a weak laugh, and pushed his nose into her lap with a little less hesitation. His eyes went heavy, gratified, as she scratched his muzzle and between his eyes. Having spent all day on a slow decline from pretty shitty to fucking godawful, he'd forgotten how many ills a kind touch from her could cure.

"I... I didn't want to hurt them, either," he admitted, after a space of reluctant quiet. "Hell, you've seen them. They're all over me constantly, if I didn't get my head turned in time..."

Snow seemed to soften. Though she was a little rumpled from the errant gusts that had temporarily funneled through the woods, with bits of leaf in her hair, she still looked regal. Beautiful and delicious. He wanted to fold her up in his arms and jaws and love her until his heart gave out. At least, that was the current plan.

She stroked his head. "Just because you let them get away with murder doesn't mean I do. They respect some boundaries. But like I said, they're pretty resilient, I think they do worse damage to each other than you would."

Bigby went quiet as he mulled this over. His head hurt, he wanted to blow his nose and curl up somewhere soft and warm. Unlike his wife, he actually preferred company when he was feeling in a bad way, although he hadn't had the luxury of it for most of his life. That it was actually available to him now was still a strange concept, although not unpleasant.

"Come back to the house, okay?" Snow intoned, as though reading his thoughts. She rubbed both hands under his jaw. "I'll make you some soup, put you to bed. The whole nine yards." She paused with a wary smile. "Although I am going to put a ban on this form in and around the property, until you're feeling better," she said, with an emphasizing pat to his snout. "Structural stability and all."

He leaned into her and closed his eyes before he welled up like a big damned sap instead of the Big Bad Wolf. "How'd I get so lucky?"

"Persistence, and a strong heart."

She was trying to kill him, he was sure of it.

"Aaand you talked yourself into freeloading a ride back," he sighed, lowering his head. Snow bit back a laugh of amusement, but she didn't waste his offer. If the list of people he was friendly enough to accept a petting from was short, the ones he'd let sit astride him was smaller yet. A few wounded soldiers, a young prince he'd once been quite fond of, even in his most infamous days, and Snow. Admittedly his favorite, and only partially because she scratched him behind the ears and sort of hugged him with her thighs in a fashion that didn't seem strictly for balance. He had no idea how she did it, frankly. He'd ridden horses as a man, back when they'd been the preferred mode of transportation, and generally hated the entire arrangement. Neither did they much like him, probably owing to his scent registering more wolf than human. Thank God for automobiles, but better yet when he could run on his own four feet.

It was a familiar enough rhythm by now that she barely needed to hold on, instead resting one palm between his shoulders, and her legs, as he got to his feet and resisted the urge to shake himself, head to tail. Her torso flexed to counterbalance her weight as he picked up a brisk walk. He just didn't have it in him for a headlong gallop today.

"Where are the kids, anyway?"

"Probably thinning out the local squirrel population," Snow shrugged. "Fortunately I found you before they did."

"Christ," he groaned at the thought. He'd been relieved that Snow didn't mind him teaching the cubs how to hunt, how to be wolves. He'd had half a dozen arguments prepared, expecting her to still be just a little too attached to the familiarity of castles and princes and proper human children, dressed nicely, groomed with good manners. Instead she'd all but shoved the pack at him with visible relief. Go, bring back something for dinner. Just don't kill anything that talks.

His heart had been assuaged, but trotting through the undergrowth and out into the meadows was kicking up a fresh feathering of irritation in his nose. He licked it warily a few times. His breath already felt thin and short in his chest, another self-perpetuating sneezing loop might just drop him where he stood. He was also more than a little concerned about accidentally dethroning his wife in the process, and slowed as his sinuses twitched.

"Uh," he sighed. Snow patted his shoulder in unspoken reassurance, which helped a little. "I think..."

"I can tell. Don't hold back on my account."

Overwhelmed in the misery of a tickling snout, he stopped fighting it. They stood there in the long grasses that reached nearly past his legs, the weight of his companion warm on his back and his eyes prickling with the mounting urge. The press of her legs felt oddly reassuring as his sides doubled with helpless inhalations, pushing her knees outwards. "Huh... uh...!" As his breath bottomed out, the speargrass fluttered wildly in its throe. In his blurry vision, tiny insects skimmed over the meadow, buzzing blissfully through their evening routines and unaware that...

"HUH'RSSZCHHHHhhh!"

He struggled to control the quake of his body, but Snow held on fast. She gripped him with hand and thigh, and rode the spasm of his thrust. Her pelvis bumped hard against his back, along with the warmth of the space between. Good girl. After the initial wave of dust had settled, a path of meadow parted before him, where the stalks bent or flattened into a fan shaped pattern. It was like an afterimage of his sneeze.

He might have been amused if his lungs weren't burning from the effort, his head dizzy. And his nose was still unrelieved, beset with an anxious trembling.

"...hhh.... HHH! ...HUH--RUSSSZSSCHHHH!!"

That one felt immeasurably better, miraculously cleaning the itch from the length of his snout with one solid blast, though he had only a splitsecond to enjoy the sensation. As his body lurched back from the recoil, Snow listed too hard and tipped abruptly from his back, before hitting the ground with a breathless grunt. Bigby flinched like a dog that had gotten the boot.

"Shit, I'm sorry, are you..."

She managed a quick cough or two, with a wheeziness that sounded as though she had the wind knocked out of her. He pushed his damp nose against her side and tried to urge her to stand, but was surprised when her gasping gave way to a helpless, bubbling laughter. Bigby stared.

Snow, resting a hand on his head, cackled until she had run out of air again. Bigby always savored her uninhibited laugh, rare as it was, but he was too confused to truly enjoy this one.

"... did you hit your head?"

Eventually, her mirth died down, as she gripped his muzzle in both hands and planted a kiss to the middle. His chest warmed.

"What the hell is so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing. It's just... I've been thrown off a horse before, more times than I want to admit. That was my first time being sneezed off a wolf." As he pushed her head against her and groaned out a wordless apology, she snickered and slung an arm around his neck, letting him pull her back to her feet. "Shhsh, not your fault. I wasn't holding on tightly, I thought you were done."

"Usually one's enough," he sighed in agreement. He guided his head under her arm, then twisted his neck to nudge her gently back into place as she slung herself up. He was a little surprised that she wanted to get right back in the proverbial saddle, but Snow was a pretty tough cookie and seemed no worse for the tumble. "It all goes to hell when I've got a cold."

Her knees pressed inward, almost compulsively. Something about that seemed to please her, he could sense it even without being to smell anything through the throbbing congestion in his head. Three hundred years, and sometimes he still felt like he knew nothing about her. "I seem to remember that," she said as he trotted lightly over the grasses he'd laid out with his breath. "This is setting up to be a good one."

"There's still time to run away and leave my mangy carcass to its own devices."

"Hmm, I don't think so, Wolf." She leaned forward and hugged his neck, so tightly that he didn't even care how wrung out and wretched he felt for the next few days. This was worth it. "You're stuck with me for the long haul."

August 30, 2014

Wow, do I need to get into TWAU...

As ever, these are so, so good that I'm now a little puddle of incoherent bliss.

You are a gift to humanity, Garnet.

September 1, 2014

Oh man, please do. It's a relatively small fandom on here, from what I can tell, so I definitely encourage anyone to join this tiny circle of sex and murder and fairy tales.

But seriously, the game is a pretty straightforward point and click, I got through it in about a day.

Thank you, also! You flatter me, but I super appreciate the read and especially the comments :heart:

September 6, 2014

The saga of dead cat guy and mystery allergy continues~

41. Nervous

Snow tried not to seem too relieved, when the compulsive urge to sneeze out whatever was bothering him had at last abated. Even under lockdown behind enchantments and handkerchiefs and gritted control, Bigby with a tickle in his nose was a somewhat touch and go situation.

He was still rubbing at it intermittently as the taxi pulled up Bullfinch Street. The fold of the handkerchief hid most of it from sight, either because he was being polite or because the soft fabric felt better than the roughness of his calloused hands.

"Better?" She asked hopefully, when they disembarked and he tucked it away. His nostrils were flushed a bright, damp pink. Bigby looked rent between discomfort at the attention, and gratitude for her concern.

"Mm. I don't know what that was all about."

"Maybe it's an allergy?"

Bigby frowned as he followed her past the gate and up the front steps of The Woodlands. "Never been allergic to anything before."

"They can crop up suddenly." She paused, wet her lips, and then added, "Which, for your sake and mine, I hope isn't the case." She didn't even want to consider the idea of Bigby with hayfever, except with morbid curiosity about how high the property damage bill would be. She was relieved that he looked more amused than offended.

Bigby went after his nose again as soon as they stepped onto the elevator, the back of one hand roughing at the underside of both nostrils with a ferocity that brought the color right back. Snow had a dread vision of him convulsing with another sneeze, too abrupt or too strong to be contained, that would wrench the car off its safety tracks and send it careening back down the shaft. With an eye roll at her own brain's theatrics, Snow tamped down on the welling of anxiety. Quickly, before she really did end up inadvertently hurting his feelings. She was pretty sure he could smell fear, although probably less so at the moment.

"I have to file an incident report about all of... that," she sighed. "Can you stop by the Business Office for a minute?"

"Of course."

Some distant and long-forgotten deity of bureaucracy was smiling upon them, because there was no impatient line of fables queued up outside her door, and the vastness of the offices within were cool and quiet. The Telltale Knight swung gently from his tree, and somewhere far above there was the groan of a passing ship, accompanied by the cheerful song of a drunken monkey.

Almost quiet.

"Sorry, I know you hate paperwork," Snow said as she assembled the appropriate forms and Bigby folded into the chair beside her desk. He shrugged.

"Everyone hates paperwork. I just complain about it more."

She hmmed her concession, and performed a cursory search of her desk drawers for the financial reports. "Bufkin!"

The librarian glided down from the shadows of the rafters, deceptively graceful on outstretched wings, right until...

"Oof!" Snow White, knowing better, was prepared to catch the twenty pounds of flailing monkey in both hands as he overshot the landing on her desk and went careening into her. At least he hadn't crashed into Bigby.

"Sorry, Miss White," Bufkin offered, flustered and tipsy as she set him carefully back on the edge of the desk. He was grinning.

"Jesus, how many have you had?" Bigby intoned, which drew the monkey's attention with a flicker of surprise.

"Oh, hello sheriff!" He paused to count on his fingers. "I've had... mm... ah. One."

Bigby raised an eyebrow. "One drink?"

"One... bottle."

"You need an assistant who isn't shitfaced all the time," Bigby advised with a glance at her.

"Unless you're gunning for the job, I make do with what I've got," Snow said, and handed Bufkin one of the financial logs from a damage report -- courtesy of Bigby -- she hadn't yet filed. "Can you find me the blanks of this form?"

Bufkin, looking a little cowed, dipped his head meekly with a nod. "Be right back."

Snow White watched him wobble away with a few ungainly flaps before he managed to straighten out. She liked Bufkin plenty, and no one knew the stacks better than he did, but Bigby was right. He made a better librarian than a fill-in assistant. A competent fable to handle some of the job's secretarial work would take a lot of pressure off. Maybe some day, when she had five minutes to think about herself. She gestured back to the task at hand.

"What do we do about this?" She prompted, as she began blocking in most of the information.

"Not much to do with no leads. If there's something that big roaming around the city, though, we'll hear about it sooner rather than later." Even with one hand gritting at his eyes, rendering the whites bloodshot and watery, he caught her uncertain look. "I don't like the hurry up and wait game either, but unless you've got something better..."

"No," Snow agreed with a sigh, and pushed the log across the desk to him. "How does that sound? And don't rub, you're just going to make it worse."

"Can't help it, itches like crazy." Bigby blinked away the tears to skim over her notes, then accepted her pen to jot in a few of his own. She shifted in discomfort as he crinkled his nose, the fingers of his free hand twitching with want to assault his nostrils again and scratch away their twitching. Snow wasn't the only nervous party, as Bufkin returned to stick a better landing on the edge of her desk this time.

"Here, I made extras," he said, handing her a fresh stack of blanks still warm from the Xerox. Or duplication spell, she wasn't actually sure which one he'd used. He bristled immediately as Bigby finally gave into a sniffle and a grimacing pass at his nose. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Bufkin."

"You're not sick, are you?" The monkey persisted, the alcohol having clearly loosened his tongue. Snow put a hand up to cover her smile. She wasn't sure which was cuter, Bufkin with his feathers and fur all puffed out like an angry cat, or Bigby's exasperated embarrassment as he turned his head away to hide the massage of his nostrils. "Please warn me if you feel like you're going to blow me to Kingdom Come. Again."

"I'm not gonna sneeze."

"All the same..."

Bigby shot her a save me glance, clearly very much about to sneeze. The Big Bad Wolf henpecked by a flying monkey. Trying so hard to keep her frosty exterior in check and not to dissolve into laughter, Snow reached for another form whose original might take the librarian some time to find.

"I'm sorry, Bufkin, I forgot to ask for more of these, too?"

The distraction worked. Grumbling and fluffing up, Bufkin snatched up the paper and flew away into the deeper annexes of the Business Offices. As soon as he'd disappeared from sight and presumably earshot, Bigby grit out a trembling, "scuse me" and seized his nose shut.

"--hh'KNXT!"

Her humor quickly dissolved. Even tightly contained in the grip of one hand, Snow jumped a little and cringed with sympathy. Especially having felt how much full-body force it took, in close quarters, to hold them in.

"Bless you."

"Tha--...hh...HH!" The space in between had given him just enough time to recover the handkerchief from his pocket. He hid his snarl behind it, and pinched hard to stifle the next with a wrenching, "--knxxht!"

"Ugh, Bigby. You're going to rupture something."

He gave her a bleary look, then crumpled up for another two... three sneezes, held into near silence in the vice of his throat. He seemed determined not to draw any more attention than was absolutely necessary. Snow was torn between respecting those wishes and expressing her sympathy, which he always seemed to receive with shy appreciation. She settled for another earnest but quiet "bless you" when he lowered the handkerchief jerkily and tested his nose with a sniff. To no surprise, he sounded painfully congested, and barely took in any air.

"Fucking hell. M'sorry about that."

"Don't apologize to me," Snow winced. "I just feel sorry for your poor nose."

"Heh. It's been through worse."

She took the form back and looked it over, but she could barely concentrate. His stuffy voice was doing weird things to her heart. "You know, whatever's irritating you is probably still all over our clothes."

"Probably," Bigby agreed, already digging the heels of both palms into his eyes. "You need me for anything else?"

"Not at the moment."

"I'm gonna go shower and change, then," he breathed, and stood. "Let me know if you hear anything else about this."

"Of course, likewise," Snow said. "And... feel better."

"Thanks, Snow."

She watched, both grateful and a little disappointed as he slunk back out of the office, and left her to her own thoughts.

September 7, 2014

Yay! I'm loving the Dead Cat Guy/Mystery Allergy set! You continue to be amazing.

Things about this installment that made me especially happy:

gritted control

Lovely choice of adjective.

- the idea of Bigby's hands being uncomfortably rough against his poor nose.

although probably less so at the moment

Pffft. More amused than I should be. Poor Bigby.

The Telltale Knight swung gently from his tree, and somewhere far above there was the groan of a passing ship, accompanied by the cheerful song of a drunken monkey.

I really do admire your ability to be concise (I'm one of nature's wafflers). It's a beautifully constructed sentence, and it establishes the change of scene without interrupting the flow of the narrative.

Bigby folded into the chair

Again, nice word choice.

"I'm not gonna sneeze."

.... Yeah right.

Bigby shot her a save me glance, clearly very much about to sneeze.

This image makes me extremely happy. Yes, very happy indeed.

Especially having felt how much full-body force it took, in close quarters, to hold them in.

Dear goodness. You trying to kill me? Because it's working.

"Tha--...hh...HH!" The space in between had given him just enough time to recover the handkerchief from his pocket. He hid his snarl behind it, and pinched hard to stifle the next with a wrenching, "--knxxht!"
"Ugh, Bigby. You're going to rupture something."

.... yeah.

Snow was torn between respecting those wishes and expressing her sympathy, which he always seemed to receive with shy appreciation.

D'awwwwh...

His stuffy voice was doing weird things to her heart.

And mine by proxy.

In conclusion- I have been melted. All of the Yes to this drabble.

September 12, 2014

RiversD - Aww, thank you so much for the thorough commentary! I really appreciate that. I'm glad I'm not just writing to a wall, haha. I too am one of nature's wafflers, and have to try to consciously slap my own wrist, but I still catch myself rambling and being needlessly verbose. Then again, this is mostly just for fetish-y fun so... hey?

And with that, here is some more dead cat guy and mystery allergy. This got a bit plotty and I probably should have moved it all off the drabble page, but oh well! I didn't even follow a prompt for this one.

------------------

She didn't hear from Bigby for the rest of the day, nor most of the one following. Snow wasn't sure if that boded well for the case or his general health, but his office was closed each time she walked by, and she was too mired in managing the day to day functions of Fabletown to spend much time worrying.

As the paperwork slowly began to ebb, however, her attentions wandered to matters beyond the Business Office, and her fingertips grew fiddly and anxious. There were already too many cases that ended like this, even after the system overhaul. If they couldn't manage to find enough leads, if there wasn't enough time in the day, things had a habit of slipping through the cracks. She was only one woman and Bigby was only one wolf, and even they couldn't rearrange the fabric of space and time to find the answers they wanted.

She was both surprised and grateful when he came lurking around the office in the early evening, looking worlds better than the previous day. No watery eyes, or lingering pinkness around the edges of his nostrils.

"Good news?" She asked hopefully.

"Maybe. Just got a call about our friend from yesterday, spotted in Central Park. I was going to go sniff around, if you wanted to come."

Snow was pleased by the invitation. She'd initially expected Bigby to be more reluctant about this arrangement, out of some misplaced sense of wanting to shield her from harm. The same kind of predisposed babying she'd grown to angrily expect from the world, even long since they'd left the Homelands. But he'd been surprisingly accommodating, seemed to enjoy the company and the sounding board. When she'd mentioned it to him a few weeks back, he'd rolled his shoulders and admitted that anyone who could hold their own against him in his less friendly years could probably deal with whatever New York's modern fables had to dish out.

She'd appreciated a few centuries of popularity among the mundies, anyway, and sometimes seemed to bounce back even quicker than he did. If you bought into that whole reputation equals functional immortality concept. Not every fable did.

"Do you think it's going to get ugly?"

Bigby scratched his jaw and shrugged. "Hard to say." Catching her look, he hesitated and corrected himself. "I mean I'm... gonna do everything in my power to not let it get ugly."

Snow White rolled her eyes and pushed away from her desk. "I'm not sure I'm convinced, but sure. I could use a change of scenery."

Although the Business Offices were so cavernous that even she didn't know how far back the catacombs of them reached, they could still feel oppressive. The city air was at least different. She'd grown to enjoy Bigby's company, too. The sheriff wasn't much of a conversationalist, but the quiet spaces between them were comfortable, born of decades sharing the same little microcosm of the world. Working on cases together only improved the rapport, until they were often milling around terrible 24-hour diners together, by dint of neither having slept in at least twice as long, and stealing french fries off each other's plates.

It was kind of nice. Stable, familiar. Until it got too familiar, at which point she'd put up her hackles and run, but she'd deal with that when it happened.

"How's the um...?" She made a circling gesture at her own nose, wary of jinxing it by mentioning the mystery allergy aloud.

"Fine," Bigby said shortly, then softened. "Cleared up on its own, last night. Thanks."

Her shoulders sloped with a sigh of relief. At least one thing had been resolved. They made their egress from the Woodlands and hailed a cab outside. As she tucked beside him into its back, she prompted, "Do you know what it is we're looking for, exactly?"

"Not exactly. Mary works for the Conservancy, you remember her?"

Snow gave him a hesitating sidelong glance as she spun through her mental rolodex. "... quite contrary?"

"That's the one. She maintains the grounds near the nature sanctuary, she mentioned finding some pretty fucked up, half-eaten animals here and there. Not the kind of thing a hawk or raccoon would leave behind, and there's not much else in the park that would do that. Said she caught sight of something big and fast near this pond this morning, she couldn't get a clear look at it."

"That's only... what, four acres or so?"

"Mm, shouldn't be too hard to find if there's something in there."

"Let's hope so."

The walk through the park was nicer than she'd expected. Summer's last, dying gasp had left the entire city sweating and fetid, but a few days of rain since had blown in the cooler weather. Now it was almost crisp, with the promise of autumn just on the corner and weeks that would be cold enough to justify long sleeves and boots. She had a sudden recollection of Bigby in his winter trench coat, and an odd feeling of contentment settled in her heart.

Mary was a lean, middle-aged fable with streaks of white intruding in her hair. Snow remembered her better on sight, and greeted her cordially as she unlocked the gate into the Hallett Nature Sanctuary for them. She was grateful for the courtesy, and pretended that her partner wouldn't have broken the lock either way.

"It's not open hours, and we closed guided tours today, so you shouldn't run into anyone else," she offered as Bigby and Snow slipped past the chain link into the wilder sections of the park blocked off from the public. "That said, you're... going to keep this discreet, right?" Mary said, with a pointed look at the sheriff.

"Sure," he said dryly. "I'm Mister Subtlety."

Mary sighed and locked up again behind them. "I'll leave the north gate open for a couple hours, don't be too long or my ass is on the line."

"We won't disturb anything," Snow offered, with a pointed elbow into Bigby's ribs. He grunted agreement.

The sheltered quiet sanctuary would have been pleasant, too, if there hadn't been a clear shift in the mood as soon as Mary left. Bigby was immediately on low alert as they ventured into the preserve. Which was a generous title, as far as Snow was concerned. The tiny woodland, closed in by the city on every side, had nothing on the deep wilderness of The Hesse. She could walk from one end of this to the other in an hour, and still never forget the concrete and steel looming just beyond the trees. In the forest of her youth, you could take ten steps outside your front door and be lost to the woods forever.

Still, if she were an animal fable trying to lay low from mundane eyes, this would be the place to do it.

They kept to the dirt trails, some more overgrown than others. The canopy of trees overhead made the woods seem darker than they probably were, but nightfall wasn't far off either. Every so often, Bigby paused to scent the air. The back of her neck prickled inexplicably at the soft sniff and arch of his nostrils.

"Anything?"

"Nothing unusual," Bigby shrugged. He gave his nose a lazy swipe. "There's a dead groundhog a few hundred feet ahead."

"Lovely."

When they came upon it, however, the sight gave her some pause. Much like the other birds and small game he'd mentioned, this one had met a very grisly end. The head was nowhere in sight.

"Weird," Bigby muttered. Snow crouched down beside him at the kill, where it had been abandoned just off the main path.

"A cat, maybe?" She guessed, putting aside her disgust as she lifted a hind foot to examine the wounds. It felt a little ridiculous examining a small woodland creature in place of a mundy or human-looking fable, but less traumatic. "They toy with their prey."

"Housecats do," Bigby agreed. "There's a few ferals in the area, I can smell them. Pretty fuckin' big cat, though, those claw marks are about the same size as the ones on the guy yesterday." He swept a finger across the long furrows in question. "Probably why the thing's damned near obliterated."

"I'm starting to believe that whole tiger in the bathtub thing, to be honest."

"Hm." While Snow had been trying her best not to breath, however recent the kill looked, he sniffed the air again, cautiously. He grimaced at once and stood, backing away. For a second, Snow wondered if it was in a surge of revulsion, but her heart sank as he drew a shaky breath and fastened a thumb and forefinger tightly over his nose.

"--hh-CHHDT!"

They shared a dreading, anticipatory glance in the wake of the suppressed sneeze. Bigby relaxed slowly.

"Scuse me," he sighed. His throat sounded a little tight from the effort of holding it in.

"Gesundheit. You okay?" Dusting herself off, she rose and returned to his side. His gaze darted away, shy.

"Yeah, just a one-off."

"You never sneeze," she pointed out. Not casually, she meant. Not without some particularly potent irritant or virus, however sensitive his nose. Bigby looked a little amused as he caught a glance back.

"Not in front of you, maybe."

That gave her a moment of confused pause. Did he... actively avoid it in her company particular, or...?

Before she could question it, there was a soft, trilling chirp from near her feet, as a large brown tabby came sidling out of the underbrush. They both paused.

"... okay, I was half-kidding, about the cat thing," Snow admitted, after a space of silence save for the chirping of birds. The cat approached her with its tail in a friendly quirk. It greeted her with a meow.

"That's not a feral," Bigby observed. He was rubbing his nose, perhaps subconsciously but with increasing conviction.

"It doesn't look like a fable, either," Snow said, looking down at the cat. It rubbed against her ankles. They usually said something, by now.

Bigby shrugged at her, helpless. She sighed and bent to scoop the feline up in her arms. It must have been someone's pet at some point, because it melted amenably into her, thrumming with a purr. "Hey, cat. You have a big brother hanging around here somewhere?"

"Jesus, Snow, that thing probably has fleas."

"You probably have fleas," she told him, without removing her attention from the cat, or breaking her soft tone. At least not until she heard another shivery inhale, and looked up in time to see Bigby cringing away.

"--KCHHT!" She winced in sympathy as his shoulders swelled. "--KNNXT!"

"Bless you." The cat had stiffened in her arms, perhaps alarmed by the ferocity of even Bigby's held-back sneezes. She rubbed its thick neck until it relaxed again. "Are you sure that's not an allergy?"

"To what, cats?" He muttered, sniffling and blinking rapidly as he palmed into a back pocket for a handkerchief. "It'd be a new one. I'm not sticking my nose in that thing to find out -- heh!"

He broke off into an anticipatory pant, nostrils trembling open and lip wrinkled back from eyeteeth which seemed rather more pointed than usual. It occurred to her that she should probably put the strange cat down before it really spooked and launched six feet into the air, but she was a little hypnotized by Bigby's urgent I have to sneeze face, an instant before he buried himself in the more forgiving cloth.

"--HRFFSSHHHHZHoo!!"

While it must have felt incredible to purge it out of him, after holding them in so violently a moment ago, she had predicted correctly. The cat was not having any of that shit, and shot out of her arms as if fired from a canon. It hit the ground a few feet away, back arched and tail puffed as if to make itself bigger.

Oddly enough, it seemed to work. Snow had her lips parted to both curse the feline and bless her partner. She fell silent and took a step towards Bigby however, sniffling nose and all, as the big tabby became an enormous one. In the space of a few seconds, it gained fifty pounds, then a hundred, then a quarter ton, until it was the size of a small horse. Laying its ears back, the oversized housecat hissed at them menacingly, then turned and fled into the woods.

Bigby and Snow stared after it in mute surprise for a moment. Snow glanced at him sidelong, still holding the handkerchief in place as he blinked, and tried to process that.

"... friend of yours?" She joked weakly.

September 13, 2014

He ached to reassure her, quickly and decisively, but the dull throb was already mounting towards a sneeze so fast that he could only shake his head. Fortunately, Snow put it together herself as he backed away, breath hitching and eyes watering. He heard a soft "oh" followed immediately by her hand on his leg as she paced after him, and stood behind one shoulder. Though it seemed incongruous, it was probably the safest place to stand when he was about to sneeze, well clear of his nose but close enough at hand to avoid collateral damage. He sank to his haunches to better facilitate her grip, even if he felt guilty about jostling her as his sides heaved.

This entire paragraph… and that moment where Snow realizes what’s happening.

Miserably, he felt himself gearing towards another with a deep, "hhh... HHHH," when all at once Snow's palm closed over the end of his dripping nose. Bigby cracked his eyes open in horror. Had she gone absolutely batshit? "Snow, don't--.... huh!"
To his surprise, however, she squeezed gently, compressing the irritated spasm of his nostrils as she simultaneously rubbed a knuckle between them. For a second, the impulse spiked, and he gave a sneezy grimace of dismay, positive he was going to blow her halfway to the farm. But then the urge passed, receding like the tide and just as steadily. His snout felt raw and spent with relief.

YES I’ve been waiting for Snow to stop a sneeze by squeezing his nose <3

Beautiful and delicious. He wanted to fold her up in his arms and jaws and love her until his heart gave out.

I love the wolfy predatory undertones. Delicious, wants her in his jaws.

"Where are the kids, anyway?"
"Probably thinning out the local squirrel population," Snow shrugged. "Fortunately I found you before they did."
"Christ," he groaned at the thought. He'd been relieved that Snow didn't mind him teaching the cubs how to hunt, how to be wolves. He'd had half a dozen arguments prepared, expecting her to still be just a little too attached to the familiarity of castles and princes and proper human children, dressed nicely, groomed with good manners. Instead she'd all but shoved the pack at him with visible relief. Go, bring back something for dinner. Just don't kill anything that talks.

I love Snow’s attitude towards the kids and how she trusts Bigby’s judgment. I love that she keeps surprising him, by letting him take the kids hunting, by being sweet and caring with him after he sneezed away a forest, so on and so forth.

When Snow tumbled off! Poor thing, but she was a good sport about it.

"Jesus, how many have you had?" Bigby intoned, which drew the monkey's attention with a flicker of surprise.
"Oh, hello sheriff!" He paused to count on his fingers. "I've had... mm... ah. One."
Bigby raised an eyebrow. "One drink?"
"One... bottle."

Oh Buffykins

She wasn't sure which was cuter, Bufkin with his feathers and fur all puffed out like an angry cat, or Bigby's exasperated embarrassment as he turned his head away to hide the massage of his nostrils. "Please warn me if you feel like you're going to blow me to Kingdom Come. Again."
"I'm not gonna sneeze."

He then proceeds to sneeze not one, or two, but FIVE TIMES. I love those tightly contained, near silent stifles every now and then, even though I feel bad for the poor guy given his... situation

More of the cat man saga! I love that it progressed to another Bigby/Snow mystery. Cat allergies are so so lovely. <3

"Fine," Bigby said shortly, then softened. "Cleared up on its own, last night. Thanks."

I love how he hesitates but then kind of gives in and makes himself trust her.

"To what, cats?" He muttered, sniffling and blinking rapidly as he palmed into a back pocket for a handkerchief. "It'd be a new one. I'm not sticking my nose in that thing to find out -- heh!"
He broke off into an anticipatory pant, nostrils trembling open and lip wrinkled back from eyeteeth which seemed rather more pointed than usual. It occurred to her that she should probably put the strange cat down before it really spooked and launched six feet into the air, but she was a little hypnotized by Bigby's urgent I have to sneeze face, an instant before he buried himself in the more forgiving cloth.

Most excellent build-up to a sneeze ever and you did it in two sentences!

These are awesome! Looks like there might be more?

September 13, 2014

Garnet, good gravy. I need a minute. These Bigby drabbles are just-.. I CANNOT EVEN~ I JUST CANNOT EVEN AND IT IS GLORIOUS~.. You write him like you forged him, girl! You're amazing! And these little situations you're churning out are just perfection~ I am in love with all of these QwQ~ <333 Thank you so much for always writing such fantastic stories and drabbles x3

September 14, 2014

Anonymouse - Yaaay thank you! I love your play-by-play commentary.

YES I’ve been waiting for Snow to stop a sneeze by squeezing his nose <3

Haha, I originally had a scene in that very first fic with something to the same effect, but it didn't fit with the story flow so I took it out. I could write whole drabble about this, though, because aww wolfnose.

He then proceeds to sneeze not one, or two, but FIVE TIMES. I love those tightly contained, near silent stifles every now and then, even though I feel bad for the poor guy given his... situation

It is my headcanon that holding them in just kind of prolongs the whole thing. It's necessary, but turns one sneeze into ten, and so forth. WHAT A SHAME.

And oh yes, there are just an endless amount of Bigby drabbles piling up in my Drafts. I'm just taking a quick break to play with some other fandoms and fables, here, to space it out a bit.

BlackScatter - "You write him like you forged him" may be one of my favorite compliments I've ever received. Thank you for reading, and commenting, aaahhh! This makes me very happy

And now, after chatting with evermissing a bit, I wade tentatively back into the Hannibal fandom. I meant to do more with my little threesome AU, and still plan on it, but it didn't quite fit the set-up for this one. Also, trying to format these better so they don't get lost so easily.

30 - Scent - Male

Fandom: NBCHannibal

Words: 670

"Can you stay? I just made coffee."

"Only for a moment," Hannibal offers. The edges of his mouth crease with an apologetic micro-smile. Alana takes it, and steps back from the door.

"You really didn't have to go to the trouble, though I appreciate it." She holds the book he's brought to her chest, handling the worn spine gently between her fingertips. As he follows her inside from the late autumn chill, his silhouette long and sweeping, she finds a safe place for it on an end table.

"It wasn't any trouble, I was in the area."

"At the academy?" She guesses, and leaves off the unspoken with Will?

"Yes."

She hums a thoughtful note, passing back into the kitchen. "We should--..." She starts, then stops, with the sense that he's no longer drifting behind her at a contented heel. Indeed, when she glances back, there's a buffer of some feet between them, and Hannibal looks vaguely perturbed. His brows cinch together. His hesitating expression, meanwhile, progresses to a grimace and then to a sneeze so abrupt he can't get a hold on it and releases it wetly to one side.

"--IDZSSSHH-ue!"

Alana nearly jumps a blessed mile. Hannibal looks deeply chagrined. He is a quiet and dignified man, but his sneeze is decidedly not. She's heard it a few times, enough to identify the inherent power behind it, but he usually has it locked down tight behind the polite veneer of a handkerchief or the crook of an arm. It's the first time she's heard it unfettered, and it sounds more like a very large animal desperately trying to clear its nose. Her blood quickens.

"Bless you!"

"Please excuse me," Hannibal says, collecting himself with a disoriented blink. "I barely felt it co--...hh!"

That she can actually hear the weak catch of his breath makes her feel half an animal, even if his control is much improved as he twists into an elbow with a more characteristic, "--hrsssh-ue!"

Standing in her kitchen, lit with late afternoon light, Alana is slightly blindsided by the spike of aphrodisia. She tries to shake it off, as she clicks her way back towards him, but there must be just enough intent and menace in her gait that Hannibal actually takes a step back. That makes her feel oddly powerful.

"And again."

Hannibal has a gloved hand fitted loosely to his nose, but he lowers it warily, and she can hear the soft breath of his inhale. Purposeful, this time, even if he has to quickly blink away the glaze that comes over him afterwards.

"Are you burning a candle?"

"I don't--..." She has to think a moment. "Oh," she says, straightening. "I was, upstairs. I put it out this morning." The brief but potent flash of fervor extinguishes much the same way, as concern takes its place. "Can you really still smell it?"

Alana can only get the aromas of fresh coffee and dish soap, but she occasionally forgets, or underestimates how keen his nose is. She wonders if that has something to do with how vigorously he sneezes -- when he actually lets himself -- if he feels a tickle more strongly than most.

"Scented candles are always somewhat problematic, for me," Hannibal admits, with a final wrinkling touch to his nose. "My apologies, it's not something that I can..." He stops, lips parted and profile averted, with an arm hovering uncertainly at the ready. Her skin prickles, even as he comes down from the edge with a sigh. "...that I can shut off," he finishes, with a note of congestion in his tone that thickens his accent.

"No, of course not," she says quickly, and finds herself straightening the loose drape of the scarf around his shoulders. It's a thoughtlessly familiar gesture, and seems to take some of the stiff resistance out of his posture, absolved from the threat of offending her. "I can open some windows, would it help?"

"It's freezing outside."

"I'll start the fire, it will be cozy." She's teasing, now, with a curl of her lips. He'd barely consented to stay for coffee, but he submits to this, and her, with a smiling sigh.

"Yes, alright."

September 14, 2014

I have followed this drabble (rather short story) thread for a while, though never commented until now. I am astonished by your talent in writing. You are outright amazing! I have absolutely no words to fit how much I appreciate and love your writing. Thank you for your amazing writing!

Every single piece of writing is appreciated here in my land.

September 15, 2014

Mmmm. More Hannibal. Lovely!

September 16, 2014

Yay! I love your Hannibal pieces!

Hannibal and Alana conversations are the best!

September 16, 2014

Your Hannibal drabbles are my favourite things. You play so beautifully with Hannibal's supernatural sense of smell, and even in cosy-ish little pieces like this where Alana and him are chatting and leading up to something, you always keep the undertone of darkness that's present in the show - there's always a vague sense that Hannibal is his own construct, just like when Bedelia talked about his "person suit". It's really wonderful how you manage to capture that in a fetishy little drabble and I think you're an amazing writer in your own right.

September 18, 2014

Sophie - Aw, well thank you very much! That is flattering, and makes me very happy to know they're read and well-received. Comments like these make my day.

Angel Eyes - Thank you! I need to get back into the swing of some other fandoms a bit, Hannibal isn't exactly a new one for me but at least I'm mixing it up haha.

mystic-chibi - Yesss, I love their conversations in the show and in fics. I love this relationship and while I'm grateful for what we got, I always want more. Solution: fetish torture. What a shame. Thank you!

bangbang - Cozy is a very good term for how I felt about that drabble, thank you! I always worry if I'm verging too close to "fluff" (inasmuch as this fandom allows for it) so I'm glad that there's still a threatening undercurrent to the slice of life and fetish overtones. Seriously, much appreciated.

And now, a brief excursion back to Fables because Snow White is the queen of my heart.

62 - Fur - Female

Fandom: Fables/The Wolf Among Us

Words: 770

His ears pricked at the distant thrum of a car in the drive. A quick whiff of the air registered the cocktail of a familiar engine grease and exhaust, which put an immediate crackle of excitement under his skin. Feeling like a dog scrambling to the return of an owner who had only been gone an hour, Bigby shook himself nose to tail and loped down off the ridge.

In the five minutes it took to clear the woods and the meadow, Snow had already set her bag inside and resigned her heels to the crook of two fingers. She padded back out onto the deck and lingered barefoot at its edge, as if expecting him. She smiled, more elated than terrified of a giant wolf trotting towards her with head down and tongue lolling.

"You're back early," he greeted.

"Ugh, I couldn't sit through another minute of that shit," Snow agreed, as she set her shoes on the railing and stepped down into the grass. "I made them cut me loose a day sooner. Miss me?"

They'd been parted for months or even years at a time, and he was usually the one doing the going. A week for his wife to handle some business in the city shouldn't have been a hardship, but the answer to her question was always an unequivocal like crazy.

"A little."

She grinned. "Right, that's why you're out of breath and your tail is wagging."

"It isn't." It was. He didn't care.

"Where are the cubs?"

"Your sister kidnapped them. I'm sure they'll catch your scent in a few minutes and come screaming back. In the mean time, I'm gonna ruin those nice town clothes."

"Stop. You beast, you monster," Snow protested, dry, though there was no disguising the curling smirk as she opened her arms to catch his head against her. Bigby pushed enthusiastically into the embrace. She hugged him tightly, jaw and throat, though she made a sputtering noise shortly thereafter. "Ugh, pffthht, are you shedding? You're awful," she said, finally breaking into laughter while her fingers raked indulgently into his fur.

"The worst," he agreed, and thrust his nose fondly under her arm. He was definitely shedding, along with most of the kids. A ban on four feet before entering the house had saved him from having to vacuum twice a day, but being in human form only prolonged the inevitable. Her blazer was already clouded with a dark fleece of his undercoat, where he'd rubbed against her. Oh well.

"Missed you," he huffed with pleasure. In case that wasn't clear.

"Missed you too, Wolf." She buried her face in the thick pelt of his neck, and added, muffled, "But seriously, I could brush you out and make a second husband."

"Probably good to have a back-up," Bigby chuckled. He closed his eyes and enjoyed her attentions right up until her shoulders suddenly stiffened and breath caught. For a second, he misplaced it as a knot of emotion -- she couldn't be that choked up to see him after only a few days, had something gone wrong in the city? Whose skull did he have to crack? His hackles smoothed a moment later as Snow pulled away and half-stumbled under the force of a cringing sneeze.

"--chsshh!"

Oh.

"Thank you for not sneezing in my fur," he observed, craning his head back slightly in amusement. Snow waved him off, her elegant features already crumpling again.

"--ih'CHSSH-ue! Ugh, I got enough of it up my nose," she grimaced as she ground her wrist against it. Bigby grinned fondly.

"Sorry. Can't do much for it unless you were serious about the brushing."

"At this point, I might be--...hh!" She started to raise a fur-coated arm to her face, then seemed to think the better of it and sneezed uncovered to one side. "--CHSSH-ue!"

It pitched into a slight cough, so Bigby turned a shoulder towards her invitingly, feeling a little more genuinely guilty now. Even if she did also look kind of adorable with nostrils pink and hair in a slight disarray. "Jesus, Snow. Bless you."

She leaned one hand on him for support, but seemed to put herself quickly enough, blinking. She worked a thumb and forefinger over her nose, wrinkled it and exhaled against her palm to chase the last of the downy threads away. "Whew, thanks." She shook her head once, then pulled a face and wiped a hand over her tongue. "Gross, it's everywhere."

Bigby snickered. "Could be worse," he said, and butted his snout affectionately up against her side. "I could have fleas."

September 19, 2014

"Scented candles are always somewhat problematic, for me," Hannibal admits, with a final wrinkling touch to his nose. "My apologies, it's not something that I can..." He stops, lips parted and profile averted, with an arm hovering uncertainly at the ready. Her skin prickles, even as he comes down from the edge with a sigh. "...that I can shut off," he finishes, with a note of congestion in his tone that thickens his accent.

Your Hannibal writing is as delicious as ever and I love the idea of Hannibal being bothered by something as innocuous as scented candles.

September 30, 2014

Bruyere - Thank you! I don't play nearly enough with the trope of Hannibal's sensitive nose, for how perfect a silver platter the canon serves that on. Hopefully I'll get a few more in soon.

And in the meantime, I'm going through another Mads phase (it's cyclical, shh) and have always liked the character he played in Valhalla Rising. It's a very surreal, bleak movie, and doesn't seem well received by many, but I enjoyed it. I don't think you really need to know much about it for the following drabble, since it's so vague anyway. Enjoy!

42 - Stare - Male

Fandom: Valhalla Rising

Words: 2075

After One-Eye has first dispatched his captors, the boy trails him like a scavenger does a larger predator. Warily, with a flight distance between them should the fiercer beast choose to turn and snap his jaws at his unwelcome shadow. Still close enough to glean his scraps, and to take safety from his intimidating presence. He follows him because he has nowhere else to go.

He doesn't think One-Eye has any real fondness for him, but when the first crewman makes an attempt on the boy's life, it's the old northman's hatchet that liberates his head from his shoulders. The boy folds himself up beside One-Eye's knees after that, sizzling with awareness. The Crusaders leave him alone. They follow a strange god, yet death is the same in every tongue, and they know when it stares blankly back at them from the prow. Grizzled, quiet, watchful.

They reach the New World (or else it's Hell, the boy doesn't care which) and he sticks closer still. One-Eye seems not to mind, if he notices at all. Gradually, however, he catches the steadfast warrior pausing hip-deep in the estuary, or atop a steep and thicket-covered ridge, waiting for the boy to catch up. He sharpens his hatchet with smooth, grinding strokes of a whetstone, and when the boy is sure that its edge is fine enough to halve a fly's wing in mid-air, he takes the boy's small belt knife and sharpens that too. Sometimes The Crusaders follow them, for lack of any other leader or direction, but the boy likes it best when they don't. That's when the old Viking opens his palm to him to reveal the redness of tart young berries rather than the blood they are normally dried with. The boy eats them all with ravenous, guilty pleasure while One-Eye shows them the plant they come from, and he is not sick all night as the other men are, turning out their insides to purge the local flora's poison.

They leave The Crusaders at the coast, one day, and venture deep into the taiga forest. Where the treeline breaks, dense fields of flowers mat the valley with their velvet. The boy finds comfort in its alien beauty, though he's not sure whether to be startled or amused that One-Eye promptly begins to sneeze halfway through their traverse.

He's barely seen the man sleep or eat, he's never heard him speak. That he can sneeze at all seems surreal, the boy can't recall it from any time before, when One-Eye wore a cage and leather collar and sat half-bare, exposed to the elements for whole seasons. Never a cough, never a fever.

The sound should make him more accessible, more reassuringly human, but instead the boy just feels stranger still.

He's still at it when they stop for the night. The boy doesn't even know how One-Eye managed to catch the rabbit he's now skinning with his bare hands, his remaining eye blurry and his nose dripping. One moment he was crouched beside him in the tangled wood, head bent and a wrist working casually against the fine arch of his nostrils, and the next he was holding a squealing handful of their supper. The boy is too happy about the game to question it. Even he was beginning to think that this land had nothing but buzzing flies to offer them. The berries have kept the edge of his hunger just at bay, but he is so ready for a proper meal that his stomach growls desperately through the whole preparation.

And in the meantime, One-Eye sneezes, with just enough bearing to get his head turned from the rabbit before he cringes into the release. "--HEIFSSH!"

"You know this New World, but it does not agree with you," the boy teases, as he watches the Viking shake his head, then spit the skinned carcass and set it over the flame of their fire. It's small, easy to break down and toe over when they are done.

He doesn't realize how long he's been silent, unconsciously mimicking his mentor, until his own voice comes out creaky and thin. One-Eye, should he still have a tongue, must be nigh unintelligible even if he did want to speak.

He gives the boy a slight look now, wrinkles the bridge of his nose for a massive sniffle. His missing eye is an ugly knot of scar tissue in the firelight, bringing the strange topography of his face into divots of shadow. Dirt and blood and sweat, he does not look like a man or an animal at all. He looks like a god crawled up from the earth or down through smoke and fire from the heavens. At least until his features crease together into a horrible grimace, and he ducks to one side.

"-IFSSZH!"

He can't get any hints of voice through the rushing, wolfish sound. It's pure irritation and relief, cause and effect that subsides into indifference as soon as it's over. He's not upset about it. It just happens

"Prosit," the boy says uncertainly, because he feels he must acknowledge it in some way, even and especially if One-Eye does not. He inches a little closer, holds his hands out to the crackle of flame. The days are hot and full of biting insects, but the nights are surprisingly cold.

"Those men," he says at length, after many minutes of listening to One-Eye clean his nose and blade with mixed success. "They're saying you led them here to die."

One-Eye gazes at him evenly with the damp sliver of his good eye, gleaming from beneath its heavy lid. He puts his back to a tree, inspects the edge of the knife, and sheaths it..

"I think they will," the boy goes on. He finds a stick thick and green enough to poke at the fire with, and rearranges the small tower of kindling slightly to his liking. The rabbit cooks slowly. He tucks his knees up under his chin. "But not because of you. They don't want to believe that their god has led them astray."

One-Eye, unsurprisingly, says nothing.

The smell of roasting flesh is almost unbearable. The boy's stomach cramps as the fat melts off and hisses in the fire, he desperately hopes that One-Eye will let him have a leg to gnaw on, even though he did not help with its capture. He tries to make up for it by turning the spit while the Viking itches his knuckles quietly at his nose, and alternates between waking and dozing. The boy starts to drift himself, he's not sure if it's because they've walked all day or from the onset of starvation.

He doesn't realize he's drifted up until One-Eye gives into a tremendous, "--IFSZZSSH!" that starts him to to wakefulness. He wishes the old man would give him some warning: a loud, shaky breath or a little grunt at the back of his disused throat. Instead, he only knows it's coming if he catches the silent snarl of irritation and the backwards tilt of his head.

"Prosit," he croaks, and swallows appreciatively as One-Eye leans to test the meat. It both looks and smells done, though the boy is startled when he is handed the whole spit. "I can eat first?" One-Eye only sits back again and watches him calmly, relaxed. The boy does not argue.

The meat is hot and greasy and rich. He tries to eat slowly, so it won't shock his system and come back up, but he's still surprised at how much he puts away before it occurs to him to share his bounty with its original owner. Swallowing guiltily, he tries to hand it back, but One-Eye doesn't reach to accept the offer. He stares back at him coolly.

"... don't you want any?"

Maybe the Viking isn't just wrinkling his nose at the annoyance of summer's perfume. Maybe he's ill. But he looks healthy enough, lean and tired but with the same calm, even breath and stride as ever the boy has known. His fingertips groom guiltily at the rabbit's skeleton. He eats until he can't anymore. One-Eye consents to pick at a few scraps of meat, just enough to keep himself going, but otherwise seems disinterested. The boy feels a strange sort of sadness as he puts the bones into the fire and disassembles their makeshift spit.

"Are you--..." He starts, but stops when One-Eye holds up a hand. He's rarely seen the warrior offer any non-verbal gestures to supplement his muteness, so it's both obedience and surprise that holds his tongue. He finds himself dully mesmerized as the Viking's eye unfocuses, and rolls back beneath its lid. He would half-suspect him to be having a premonition, if not for the delicate crinkle of his nostrils, and the tightness around his mouth, a grimace visible even under his short beard. The boy half-forgets why he is staring at all, slack-jawed and bewildered, until One-Eye takes a sudden breath, nostrils rounding open, and averts himself.

"--HHFFSZH!"

He jumps, in spite of himself, then blurts, "Are you going to die here, too?"

One-Eye, recovering, freezes with a long forefinger itching beneath his nose. He stares back at the boy, his brow hitching in confusion. It's the most expression the boy has ever seen on him, barring his sneeze.

"You don't eat, you barely sleep," the boy explains, picking at his threadbare tunic. "You're... resigned, like you were before the chieftains would fight you. I know when you are. Did you have a vision?"

One-Eye lowers his hand, and inclines his head. He looks at the boy with such solemnity as to confirm his fears. There's a dark, twisted feeling in his chest.

"I don't want you to," he whispers.

One-Eye seems like he wants to sigh through his nose, if he had the capability. Instead, he pulls his mouth taut, thinking quietly, then leans forward. The boy watches, thrown, as he reaches for a fallen branch and scratches out a shape in the dirt. The boy doesn't read the tongue he speaks, but as he tilts his head around, he recognizes the shape of a rune. "Home," the boy says, after a long pause. It's the first actual word One-Eye has said to him, written or spoken. He didn't even know the warrior knew how to write. "That's where you're going?"

One-Eye folds his hands in his lap. He sniffs once, and seems content.

The boy can't argue with this, but he can't help the pall of disappointment and fear that creeps in.

Darkness descends, and their fire slowly dies to a few glowing embers, so that he can't see anything of his companion's face but the white of his eye, where it reflects brightly. He doesn't know where they'll go tomorrow, maybe back to The Crusaders, maybe to find the coast again or deeper into the woods. He should get some sleep, but he's restless. The boy gets up and paces around, never ranging beyond where One-Eye can see or hear him. He looks at the stars, through the trees, and searches for familiar patterns.

Somewhere behind him, a little ways off, One-Eye sneezes: "--IFSH!"

It's becoming less frequent, as his body filters out whatever had aggravated it, but the sound puts a pang in the boy's heart, now. He paces back through the trees and stands before him with his fingers and toes frigid, breath ghosting just faintly on the air.

"I don't want to be alone in this place," he admits.

One-Eye looks at him passively. He doesn't have an answer for this, and the boy knows inherently that it's something he must face on his own. The embers pop. He is startled when One-Eye opens an arm outward, and nods to the spot beside him. Full of confusion and gratitude, the boy drops clumsily to his knees and inches into the little space of warmth. One-Eye smells of blood and dirt and iron, and his arm is heavy with muscle, the weight of years. The boy has not known kindness for many, many years, and he's not certain if One-Eye ever has, yet he shifts naturally until he can rest his head on the old warrior's chest. His heartbeat is a dull thrum under the boy's ear.

Here, in the New World, with naught but a slave or maybe a god to protect him, he memorizes its rhythm until his eyes weigh with sleep.

October 3, 2014

Wow. This is amazing. Makes me want to see the movie. Your writing is so descriptive and rich.

October 13, 2014

I queued Valhalla Rising up in iPlayer and then forgot to watch it before it expired, so I've not seen it but am vaguely familiar with the plot (such as it is) of the film.

I like how much of the character you got across considering he never speaks and his sneezes were delicious. This was such a beautifully atmospheric piece of writing :heart:

November 3, 2014

AngelEyes - Thank you! It's definitely an... odd movie and not to everyone's tastes, but I think it's worth watching at least for Mads Mikkelsen being a grubby, stoic viking.

Bruyere - Ooh, you should watch it if you get a chance! And "atmospheric" is a really big compliment since that's pretty much exactly how I felt about the movie. Thank you!

And now... this is at least partially Spoo's fault for headcanoning things about this stupid flash in the pan fandom with me last night, especially regarding Arthur being a neurotic little germaphobe. Poor dude (and poor Lewis). So this is set, obviously, before Lewis dies horribly.

83 - Dream - Male

Fandom: Mystery Skulls

Words: 1134

His heart felt like a bird in a too-small cage, breaking its wings against the bars. In another moment, It would be on him, choking out his lungs, puppeting his limbs and rolling his eyes until he was trapped screaming in the automaton of his own body.

"Arthur? Arthur!"

A hand closed over his arm. He shot awake, hit the roof of the van with a yelp so loud and high-pitched it was embarrassing.

At least he wasn't crying. Yet.

Lewis and Vivi were staring at him over the back seat. Even Mystery had scrabbled to his feet and was growling restlessly at phantoms and shadows. It was still dark out. Arthur exhaled a shaky breath, and pressed a hand over the clamor of his heart, beating hard enough to hurt.

"S-sorry. Did I wake you guys?"

"I think you woke the whole county, Art. Are you okay?" Lewis touched a palm to his brow, and Arthur realized with a prickle of shame that he'd broken out into a cold sweat. He wanted to duck away, but instead sagged forward into the support, pushing Lewis's fingers into his hair. Lewis scruffed him gently, almost like he would Mystery.

"Yeah, it was just a..." His tongue tripped, hesitating. Calling it a nightmare or bad dream made him feel childish. "There was..." His heart rate picked up again as he struggled to sort out the details. Fortunately, Vivi came to his rescue.

"Get back here," she said, with a tug to his sleeve. Arthur was glad it was an order rather than a question that he would have weaseled his way out of, blushing.

He climbed awkwardly over the bench seat into the back of the van. It was a snug fit when all four of them piled in back here, so they often spread themselves out a little more. Right now the close quarters sounded appealing. Many people felt claustrophobic when threatened by the weight of a verging panic attack, but Arthur had always preferred to have something solid at his back and sides, like an animal hiding in its den.

He shrugged out of his vest to keep from overheating, and to feel the reassurance of Lewis's heartbeat thudding rhythmically against his back. Vivi sandwiched him neatly in from the other side, and let him tuck his face into her shoulder until his breathing evened out.

Mystery poked his nose over the back of the seat.

"Alright, you too," she invited, as she twined her arm across Arthur's back and scooted in close enough that Lewis could fold a long arm around them both. Arthur tested his restraints slightly, and was satisfied that he could barely move. Good. The dog settled behind Vivi with a contented huff.

Arthur lost track of how long they lay like that. His mind slowly drifted into a comfortable limbo where he was neither awake, restless and fretting in the dark, nor asleep, where faceless and nameless entities could reach their insidious claws. At some point, Vivi drifted off. Her breath slowed into a series of tiny snores and her arm slipped off his side into the tight valley between them. Arthur allowed himself a last moment to memorize her scent before carefully extracting himself enough to turn over and press his face into Lewis's broad chest. Vivi was a notoriously restless sleeper, this was probably safer for his vital organs.

In actuality, he only managed to snag a few peaceful moments of dozing before Lewis stirred and pushed him gently away.

"Hey...?" Arthur got out groggily, a little offended.

"Sorry," Lewis said in a breathless waver, "I'm gonna--...!"

Oh, shit. Arthur suddenly braced himself for impact as his friend struggled through a disproportionately light, quivering intake of air before crushing inwards with a tremendous sneeze.

"--HSZ-SCHSSSHH!"

He caught it wetly into the crook of an arm, for which Arthur was grateful, although he still pulled a slight face. "Bless you. Gross, dude."

Lewis gave his head a quick shake and sniffed once. "Whew. 'Scuse me, thanks."

Arthur watched carefully, eyes narrowed, to be sure that he kept the victimized arm away from him, then carefully resettled himself against his friend's ribs. Probably just a one-shot, he could abide by that.

As soon as he had gotten comfortable, however, Lewis's chest expanded beneath him so abruptly that it shifted Arthur's whole body. Neither had time to cringe away, Lewis only managed to steady him with one hand as he erupted into the other with an irritated sneeze.

"Ah, jeez-- ... HSZ-SCHSSH! ... SCHISSHH!" His head tipped back with an open-mouthed grimace, eyes shadowed under a fringe of forelock, before finishing off the itch with a sharply declarative, "HEH-SZSSCHOO!" that rocked the whole van.

"G'sundheit," Vivi mumbled sleepily as she pushed herself up onto one elbow.

"Excuse me, sorry," Lewis sighed, with a brief pass of one forefinger at his nose, though he seemed relieved. "I'm done now, I promise -- hey!" He grunted in surprise at Arthur's sudden scramble to get out from between them. Nope, nope, nope. All the nope.

"C'mon, Artie, I said I was sorry."

"It's not that," Arthur hissed, and he meant it. He wasn't upset by his friend's occasional and natural urge to sneeze, so much as... ugh. His skin crawled as he went the extra mile and shouldered himself into the front seat. "You only sneeze more than once when you're getting sick."

"I--..." Lewis started, and then broke off with brows furrowed. "... do I? Who notices that stuff?"

"I do!" Arthur scowled as he dug under the front seat for a spare blanket and shook it out. He cocooned himself up in it and frowned at them in the rear-view mirror with a strange mix of guilt and annoyance and sadness. The front seat suddenly felt much safer, but very lonely.

"I'm not sick," Lewis sighed, with his arm draped over the back seat and his chin rested on its fold. "It was just a random tickle. Probably too much dog fur."

Mystery snorted.

"Yeah, come back, Artie," Vivi said, draping herself next to Lewis to match his plaintive appeal. Arthur was having none of it, and scrunched himself up tighter in the front seat.

"I'm fine up here," he said, shortly, then turned just enough to give them a glance that he hoped was appropriately apologetic. Sorry for all the ways that I am a complete and total headcase, please bear with me. "Um, thanks. For earlier."

Vivi gave him an uncertain look. "Well... okay. Let us know if you change your mind."

Lewis still looked a little like a kicked puppy. "Sorry, bud. Um, goodnight."

"Night," Arthur mumbled, feeling awful as they settled back down together. He scrunched his knees up to his chin and stared through the front window, waiting for dawn.

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

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