#qsf

Adamantine and Unyielding [alpha Will/omega Hannibal; underage; explicit]

The boy laughs, and pulls another strip of meat from a bag at his side. He wraps it around a cloth ball, then throws it as far as he can into the woods, the Cerberus bounding after it.

A human playing fetch with the great dog. Curious, indeed.

“He likes you,” Will says, calling out from the trees. The boy doesn’t startle, merely turns his head, and oh, how Will wants. High cheekbones; a prominent jaw; eyes that rival Midas' gold. “What is your name, boy?”

“Perhaps I am Faust,” he replies, a small smile playing across his face, sharp fangs within his mouth. “Assuming you are Mephistopheles, that is.”

Will has acted as Hades for hundreds of years, but never once has he claimed a Persephone of his own. Hannibal, however, may prove to be a fruit impossible not to taste.

#SummertimeSlick: Trope Tuesday II [alpha Will/omega Hannibal; 01x01 “Apéritif”]

Finding a true mate is nigh impossible, since the psychic bond required to discover one can only be established the closer in distance one mate becomes to the other. Hannibal has hoped to never find his due to his homicidal tendencies. When his moves into the psychic radius, however, Hannibal may have to reconsider. (for @hannigram-a-b-o-library)

It started as a vague hum. Hannibal visited an auditory specialist, but she determined it wasn’t tinnitus. There was nothing wrong with his hearing whatsoever. After a while, Hannibal became accustomed to the sound. He even found it comforting, at times.

A few years later, Hannibal woke up to the sound of barking dogs. He searched his property, his neighborhood, the surrounding area. No dogs. Hannibal knew he wasn’t losing his faculties, which left only one possibility.

After decades of dreading such an event, Hannibal's true mate had moved into the area.

Given the slow acquisition of his true mate’s ambient noise, Hannibal was certain that the alpha remained miles away, perhaps an hour or more in any given direction. Given his illicit activities, Hannibal had hoped to go his entire life unbonded. Being found by his true mate was inconvenient at best; Hannibal knew that killing his alpha, whether his death was desired or not, would tear a deep hole within his psyche. He would never be the same person.

Nevertheless, if his mate sought him out, Hannibal had no other choice if he wished to remain unfettered.

It soon became apparent, however, that Hannibal’s alpha had no interest in finding him, either. Hannibal could feel the bond slowly growing, a low murmur, and then a delicate growl, and then a stream of pleasant-sounding grumpiness. He shut his mate out as often as possible, but there was a bite to his words, a harsh poetry that Hannibal found himself loathe to erase. It made Hannibal want to meet him just long enough to satisfy his own curiosity, to hear whatever obscene litany the man might drawl into his ear as they made love for their first and last time.

#SummertimeSlick: Historical Middle Earth AU [alpha hobbit Charmont/omega human One Eye]

Charmont might be too outspoken and curious about the outside world to belong in the Shire, but he’s not sure he’s prepared for whatever adventure his one-eyed human visitor promises to bring. (for @hannigram-a-b-o-library)

Living near Bree as he does, this certainly isn’t the first time Charmont has come across a human in the woods. He never makes contact, and neither do they, though Charmont would certainly offer them shelter or a meal if they asked. Still, Charmont prefers the quiet and the solitude after the chaos of his exit from the Shire.

Perhaps he is too much like his second cousin Frodo, as his uncle accused. Whatever the reason, Charmont was glad to have his old life behind him, and his old love, and the insular community that became suffocating at a young age. It’s why he’s never actually ventured into Bree; Charmont can’t stand the idea of stepping foot in another village or city again.

And so, here he is, making do in the forest like the Elves, though they too have exiled themselves elsewhere.

And there he is, a truly imposing human, tattoos stark against his skin, staggering his way toward the stream where Charmont is fishing. Charmont might be an alpha, but he is still very much a Hobbit; he might have a small sense of adventure, but that doesn’t mean he’s looking for it right now. It would be safest to turn for his hill in the meadow, to pick his way up the stream to throw off his scent.

Instead, Charmont is frozen to his rock, watching the man and his axe come closer and closer. He’s not too terrified to pull his farsight spectacles from his sack, though, to take a better look at his visitor. The man is covered in terrible scars--a fighter, then, Charmont decides, or perhaps a poorly-trained scout. He has a single eye, the other only a gnarled, frightening knot. His clothes are tattered, and he has no shoes, and he seems to be injured, and Charmont doesn’t even realize he’s moving until he’s catching the man as he tips forward toward the forest floor.

#SummertimeSlick: Werewolf AU [alpha wolf Will/beta human Hannibal; 01x08 “Fromage”]

When omega wolf Alana turns down alpha wolf Will, who is entering rut, Will goes to Hannibal for help. (for @hannigram-a-b-o-library)

Inviting Tobias for dinner had been a strategic risk. At least, Hannibal had assumed so, until his guest showed how utterly starved for recognition he was. Granted, Hannibal longed for the same acceptance, but he was hardly so forward and gauche as to talk about it over a first meal. Even if he were inclined to share his own loneliness, Hannibal would certainly not do so in such frank, unveiled language.

This was hardly a game, at all. Putting Will onto Tobias’ scent would prove a simple task. Hannibal was utterly bored with the whole endeavor. No wonder he couldn't shake off Franklyn.

Hannibal had excused himself to the kitchen to plate the dessert course when he noticed his phone blinking green, signifying a notification. Typically, he wouldn't check his phone at any point during a meal, shared or not, but the back of his neck prickled, as though another predator had entered his home uninvited. He flicked his eyes back toward the door to the dining room, then set down the dishes and unlocked his phone.

Three missed calls, all from Will. Interesting.

#SummertimeSlick: Psychic Bond [for the Alien AU fic Priority One; android Hannibal/omega xenohybrid Will]

Hannibal reboots in the science bay, much to his surprise, but that isn’t the only unexpected development.

Slowly and with great effort, Hannibal’s eyes creak open, lids attempting to slide over his acrylic implants. Honestly, Hannibal is shocked to be opening them, at all. He had been very sure that he was going into a state of permanent shutdown, but here he is, staring blearily up at the ceiling of the science bay, the warmth of the overhead lights recognizable.

A pipette clumsily pokes into his left tear duct, and Hannibal feels his eye flood with lubricant. He blinks his eye once the pipette retreats; his right lid malfunctions and gets stuck halfway across his iris. Hannibal tries to open his mouth, but it apparently hasn’t been repaired yet. Instead, he swivels his eye to his left.

Even though the only sight Hannibal has currently is thermal, he would know Will anywhere.

Hannibal manages to wiggle his fingers, though his middle one won’t go back down. Will reaches over and adjusts it, and Hannibal’s skin must still be offline, because he can barely feel his touch.

It doesn’t make sense. Will hates him, so obviously and overtly hates him. Why is he here and repairing a synthetic he despises?

#SummertimeSlick: Fluff and/or Angst [for the Alien AU fic Priority One; android Hannibal; gen fic]

Hannibal begins to develop a plan for making his xenomorph hybrid Will feel more human, male, and omegan, having decided it will help Will cope with both his trauma and his post-life existence. (for @hannigram-a-b-o-library)

As noted in my submitted records to the Company database, I have been pouring over the documented xenobiological traits of XX121 trying to piece together what dynamics, if any, exist with the species genotype. This is especially difficult to determine given that XX121 have no visible or otherwise distinguishable genitalia. Even during the initial dissection of Specimen Prime, there was nothing that could be labeled as a unique set of reproductive organs. I find this odd, given that XX121 do, in fact, reproduce. Still, no matter how much I analyze and reanalyze my past reports and sketches and notes, I can find nothing that would even create the endoparasite which are forcibly injected into a human host.

Into Will, who is thus far the only reported incubatee. Victim, I suppose, given the lack of consent. Yet another facet of the incident I failed to consider.

I have failed him so utterly in my quest to reanimate and improve him. I knew he didn’t want to die in xenobirth, which would have been probable, given the location of the endoparasitic spawn. It never occurred to me that Will might, given the circumstances, simply prefer to die. Such a desire is incomprehensible to me.

After speaking with Beverly and listening to the conversation of Price and Zeller, it is little wonder that Will hates me. I have taken his humanity and replaced it with something he considers monstrous. In awakening his beast, his primal nature, I have robbed him of his agency. I am no better than the xenomorph who attacked him.

Why has Will not taken the opportunity to visit such horrors on me during my repair?

#SummertimeSlick: Surprise Heat [omega Will/alpha Hannibal; modern AU; part one of two]

♪♫ Heat in an el-e-va-tor; knottin’ it up while they’re go-in’ dowwwn ♪♫ (for @hannigram-a-b-o-library)

His IUD had shifted and was misaligned in his uterus, because of course it had. The gynecologist said that it would have to be removed, because of course it did. He couldn’t replace the damn thing for at least three months, because of course he couldn’t.

And now, Will is waiting for the elevator, and his first heat in three years is barreling into him like a freight train on steroids, because of course it is. Will canceled his afternoon classes for this privilege, and he’ll have to cancel them through next week because of a goddamn surprise heat, like he’s one of his students begging for an extension because they’d conveniently lost track of their cycle. His fingers shake as he types out a quick message to post on the group boards; Will thinks he hits send, but it’s a toss-up at this point.

They’d given him a pad after his exam, but Will’s pretty sure he’s going to soak through. Both the doctor and the nurse had offered him a knot plug to get him home, but Will knew from experience that it would only make his symptoms worse, and they’re terrible enough already.

Sweat is rolling down the back of his neck--he loosens his tie and the collar of his shirt enough to still look halfway put together. His gut feels like the inside of a poorly-tuned kettle drum; it’s certainly loud enough to be one, gurgling with the promise of nausea. Will’s heart is racing, and his chest heaves with his struggled breathing, and there’s absolutely no way he’s going to be able to drive home. He certainly can’t take the bus in this state. Even calling for an Uber is too risky, and that leaves Will with exactly zero options.

He has always been sensitive to hormone shifts, but this is fucking ridiculous.

#SummertimeSlick: Unrequited or Requited Love [omega Will/alpha Hannibal; 03x07 “Digestivo”

Not even Hannibal's rescue of Will from Muskrat Farm is enough to forgive him from sawing into Will's head. Will spurns Hannibal's strange love and turns him away; in the process of destroying his relationship with Hannibal, however, Will begins to destroy himself. (for @hannigram-a-b-o-library)

He doesn’t remember the last time he ate, to be honest. The kitchen is haunted by a man he never saw standing there, by dogs that have new families, by a daughter who was never really his to parent.

It’s cold, but he hasn’t used the fireplace since the last fire built there burnt out. There’s nothing here but the bed he couldn’t sell, and the chair that likewise refused to leave, and a few other odds and ends that used to serve a purpose, just as he did.

He’s certain that he wasn’t the one to put the chamber pot under the bed, wasn’t the person who moved it out from under the bathroom sink, a remnant left by the previous tenant, the man they found dead in the bedroom upstairs, though no one knows exactly when he died. After all, he was alone.

Will feels dead. But he isn’t.

Starvation is the worst way to go—someone told him that, at some point, back when he was more alive. Will knows better. It’s loneliness that kills the hardest, and regret that atrophies the muscles and rots the bones, that makes the meat too gamey and tough to even stew.

He looks out the window onto the porch once in awhile, when he isn’t asleep or freezing or both. If he squints, Will can still see him looking back. A face streaked with tears, painted with the sting of rejection, a little boy lost out in the snow who doesn’t truly understand what he did wrong, who’s too smart to draw the right conclusion until it’s too, too late. Red-rimmed eyes and slightly parted lips and words lost to the wind and the wood of the porch.

Jack followed his footsteps. There weren’t many to follow. Hannibal had simply disappeared.

And so had Will.