Our Stars Will Always Be The Same.

some sketches for @hannibalcreative‘s JustFuckMeUp Fest 2k19

FEEL IT’S MIGHT 

Young Mason and Margot

2019.3.18

Hannibal wakes from his nap, head still stuffy from his damnable cold, and shuffles into the living room to see if Will might make him a cup of lemon tea.

“Will?” he calls out, despite his scratchy throat.

He receives no answer.

Paulette isn’t in her bed by the fire, either, so Hannibal supposes Will has taken her for a walk and left him to fend off the onslaught of viruses alone.

He sniffs the air. He can just detect the aroma of oats and peanut butter, with a touch of cinnamon. The olfactory trail leads him into the kitchen, and to a small plate of cookies. Hannibal feels ashamed for thinking Will wouldn’t tend to him in this state.

He eats one cookie, and then another. Before he knows it, they’re all gone. A bit bland, perhaps, and flavored with an odd note of something meaty that he can’t quite identify with this cold. Chicken broth, perhaps?

Will walks in through the back door with Paulette in tow. He brightens when he sees Hannibal. “It’s good to see you up and abou—wait.” His expression changes. “Where are the dog biscuits I just made?”

Hannibal feels himself go red. “Dog biscuits?”

Will gasps and looks at the empty plate. “Did you… Hannibal, did you think they were cookies? Regular cookies? Paulette was looking forward to those! Didn’t you notice they were cut into whimsical bone shapes?”

“I thought they were femurs,” Hannibal says. “I thought you knew how much I love femurs!”

Will claps a hand over his mouth in a vain attempt to hide his laughter. “You really are sick, aren’t you? C'mon, I’ll make you some actual cookies.”

“Shaped like femurs?” Hannibal asks.

“Shaped like femurs,” Will agrees.

Prompt from @heyndrix:

“Will.”

Silence

“Will, please.”

No response.

“I had thought you might be…”

Will spun around and jammed a finger into Hannibal’s – now bright red and scaly – chest. “You thought I might be what? Impressed? Awestruck? Thought I might swoon at your infernal power and big, manly horns?”

Hannibal stroked one of said appendages furtively. They were fairly impressive, he thought. Many new arrivals to the underworld fainted at the mere sight of them – Will seemed more likely to break one off and stab Hannibal with it.

“I get down here and it turns out you’ve been the fucking Devil the whole time and oh, by the way, we’re married somehow?!” Will kept jabbing, and Hannibal found himself taking several uncharacteristic steps backwards.

“Shedding the blood of our shared enemy created a covenant, which in the context of our subsequent embrace-”

“And if you think I’m spending the rest of eternity in this fucking corset-”

“If the clothes are a… I believe the term is ‘deal-breaker,’ they can easily be exchanged. Though if I could request something slightly more tailored than your usual attire?”

“Sure, because it would be inappropriate to wear flannel when you’re CONSORT TO THE LORD OF THE FUCKING UNDERWORLD, WOULDN’T IT?”

“Again, if it’s-”

“The clothes are not the deal-breaker, Hannibal! The deal-breaker is you lying to me for the last five years – literally the last five years of my life – and making me believe you were just a garden variety human psychopath when you’re the actual Devil!”

“Garden variety?” Hannibal pouted. That wasn’t what Will had said during his lectures.

“Oh do not look at me like that. We haven’t even gotten to the frame-job and the stabbing and the marinating my brain in anticipation of serving it as fucking canapes!”

“That is unfair, Will. I would never have used you for such a pedestrian thing as canapes.”

“Unfair? UN-FUCKING-FAIR?! You know what’s unfair, Hannibal? What’s unfair is that you tortured me for years, hurt everyone I cared about, dragged me down to hell, and I still haven’t got to kiss you yet!”

Silence reigned inside hell. Even the sinners seemed to have stopped their screams of eternal torment to eavesdrop.

“Yet?” Hannibal said, trying not to grin.

“I… I mean it’s just because… oh, fuck it.” Will grabbed Hannibal by the horns and pulled him into a kiss that rivalled the firepits surrounding them for heat.

A few aeons later they broke apart.

“I still hate you, you know.”

“Would it help if I brought your pack down to live with us?”

“Did you just offer to mass murder my pets as a romantic gesture?”

“…Yes. Inappropriate?”

“Well, wait a minute, I didn’t say no.”

My take on how Will would react to Mads’ and Bryan’s headcanon that Hannibal is literally the Devil xD. Written for @lovecrimebooks Fannibals Raise Hell campaign in support of the RAVAGE ANTHOLOGY, a fanthology inspired by Hannibal and Dante’s Inferno, available now on Kickstarter!

Post-Fall Drabble #10

He knows he shouldn’t drink, because whenever he does he doesn’t want to stop.

Dimly he’s aware of Hannibal’s shoulder under his arm, the warm brand of an arm encircling his waist and - uncaring now, weak - he lets himself burrow in, face to neck.

It’s only afterwards he realises the swirling weightless feeling that followed was Hannibal carrying him to bed.

Anyone else would bring it up the next day, but instead there is freshly-made coffee and croissants made from scratch.

      “Sorry about last night,” he mumbles.

Hannibal’s gaze is fox-bright,

Hannibal: I mean you deserve to be pinned up against a wall.

Hannibal: You are a masterpiece.