#i love soft catlike features jack

[lilacs-echoing]

who up jacking they merridew

[fierypen37]

The Oasis: Chapter 17

Chapter 17

 They whiled away the afternoon snuggled on the couch watching movies. Her choice was a rom-com about a hard-ass businesswoman accidentally falling in love with her assistant. Jon felt for the poor bastard loving his lady from afar. It was easy to daydream and project the two of them into the roles. It suited his romantic streak. Daenerys really was a badass businesswoman after all. He’d pine for her in silence. Her tea would always be hot. Her appointments would always be on time. Jon would be her shadow, her right hand as she conquered the world. Watching them fall in love made him absurdly happy. Watching the firelight dance on her features and shine in her hair, he had never felt more content.

Now, in the kitchen, they nibbled on lush strawberries crusted with chocolate. Mesmerized, he watched Daenerys take a bite, red juice dribbling down her chin. Fuck. He could watch her fold laundry or file taxes and it would make him hard. Jon looked away to distract himself. What else could he think about? Her favorite color was green, like tree leaves in summer and the sea near her home on Dragonstone. She always double-tied her shoelaces. She liked wine and hated beer. She had neat table manners, except with dessert. She snored. And she probably needed glasses from the way she squinted at the warming instructions on the prepackaged tea. Well shit. Now his dick and his chest were aching with longing.

“You ok?” her voice was soft. Jon blinked. Sitting on the counter, tousled, in her dark purple nightgown, swinging her feet as she nibbled on another berry. It was really unfair how cute she was. And too sexy to be real. Daenerys was beautiful. Inside and out. How the fuck would she ever pick him? Awkward. Working class. Too serious. A mess of hang-ups and neuroses. There was a list of men a mile long who would be lucky to polish her shoes or fetch her tea.      

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’re staring at that wall like it personally offended you.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess I never noticed the crack around the support beam. I’ll have to tell Mrs. Stark to check the foundation.”

“Good to know. You’re a handy man to have around, Mr. Snow,” Daenerys said with a grin. Jon sidled closer to sample a berry. The soft richness of the chocolate exploded on his tongue chased by the berry’s bright sweetness.

“Damn, that’s delicious,” he said. Daenerys smile widened. There was a strawberry seed stuck in one of her perfect teeth. She wrapped her leg around him, drawing him closer.

“Let me taste,” she said, bending to kiss him. Yeah, so good. Soft lips, the faint lingering sweetness of chocolate, the stroke of her tongue. Jon hummed happily into her mouth, hands sliding up the strong grip of her thighs. Velvet-soft skin and so warm. Her hair fell forward around them both like a living veil. Jon cupped her hips, growling as her fingernails delicately scraped his scalp. Daenerys drew his lower lip into her mouth, nibbling gently. The sensation sent blood surging south.

“Yeah, you taste good,” she said with a languid lick below his ear. Jon bit his lip to keep from whimpering. Flirty, dominant Daenerys was a whole new level of sexy. The kiss spun on, Daenerys teased and coaxed him into a fever pitch. Trapped against the counter, his cock twitched, eager for the slick heat of her. Her arms and legs hugged him close, her mouth mapping new paths to pleasure as she kissed and nibbled on his neck.

“Dany,” he breathed, desperate and needy. Daenerys did that thing to his ear with her tongue. Gods, he fucking loved that. Something in him snapped. Jon yanked her hips toward the edge of the counter.

“Lie back.” His accent thickened, his voice was hoarse and rough. Pupils blown wide, lips wet and pink, she looked utterly delectable. Gods, he wanted to devour her. His mouth filled with saliva. She sank back on her elbows on the polished counter, legs spread to welcome him. Jon nudged her thighs wider, breathing deep of her sweet musky smell. Mmm, her nether lips were already glistening from just a kiss. A soft lap opened her. He would never slake his longing for her. As he worked her clit, slowly, patiently, he listened to the music of her whimpers and sighs and incensed breathing. So good. With a sharp cry, she came against his face, awash with lube.

“Jon,” she whimpered, her hands fisted in hanks of his hair. Jon smiled against her pussy, nuzzling her nether lips tenderly. He would exploit his intimate knowledge of her body until she was clawing and begging for his cock. Jon teased her clit with his tongue, feeling her shudder.

“Jon, Jon,” her voice was sharp, cold. Jon looked up at her face, confused. All the lovely color had drained away, now she look pale, scared.

“There’s someone at the door.”

Fuck! Jon whirled around, positioning her directly behind him. The doorknob jiggled.

“Get the gun. Now!”

Daenerys slid off the counter and bounded for the stairs. Jon yanked a knife from the block on the island. Fear doused him like cold water. How was he such a fucking idiot? She was on the run for her life and here he was going down on her in the kitchen without a care in the world with Barry’s gun upstairs. Gods, he could get them both killed—

“Jon? Are you here?” Arya’s voice deflated all his tension. His little sister shouldered her way through the door, laden with plastic bags of takeaway. Outside, he heard the din of the rain, and saw her black truck parked on the circle drive.

“You’ll never believe it, but this fucking cattle truck was jack-knifed on the highway. And somehow the cows got loose and--”

“Arya? Seven fucking hells, you scared me!” Jon said, setting the knife down and moving around the island to help her.

“Dany, false alarm, it’s just Arya!” he called upstairs. Arya glared at him beneath her fringe of wet dark brown hair.

“I called you about a million times. Check your phone!” His phone. Wedged between the couch cushions somewhere. Gods, he was a fucking idiot. Jon glanced toward the stairs. Daenerys would be well within her rights to tell him to fuck all the way off and find a real bodyguard to protect her.

Arya’s grey eyes wandered over the scattered foodstuffs, the faint flickering of firelight, Jon standing awkwardly behind the island. He was decent, at least. That zing of adrenaline had killed any arousal. A catlike grin stretched on Arya’s face.

“You were fucking, weren’t you? Gods, Jon! I knew it! I knew you two were fucking!” Jon lunged for Arya, intent on wrestling her to the ground to shut her up. She danced around the island with ease, giggling.

“Shut up! Gods, Arya. Yes, if you must know, we’re intimate. But shut up about it, yeah?” he said. Arya set down her burden. The potent spice and oil wafting from it made his stomach gurgle. Dothraki barbeque.

“‘Intimate,’ he says. Prig. I can’t wait to tell Gendry. He owes me ten crowns.” Jon cast an aggrieved glance up. Gods save him from little sisters.

“You want me to beg, I’ll beg. Please shut up. She’s been through enough.”

Arya sobered, dragging her fingers through her wet hair.

“Yeah, it’s a tough go. You’re mad for her, aren’t you?” The question brought him up short. Jon swallowed hard.

“I am,” he said quietly. Arya whistled low.

“Does she feel the same?” Jon closed his eyes. Daenerys with the sun shining through her hair, smiling in his bed. Holding her hand in the tense cab ride from the city. The way her mouth formed his name as they made love. Did she?

Gods, he wanted it so bad.

“I . . . I don’t know.”

Arya shrugged, boosting herself up to sit on the counter.

“Have you asked?”

A soft clearing of throat saved him from answering. Daenerys glided down the stairs, dressed now in black leggings and a goldish sweater, the neckline loose enough to bare one shoulder. Barefoot, with her hair a wavy silken waterfall. She looked like something out of the fashion magazines Sansa poured over.

“Hey, sorry if I scared you. I’d phoned Jon I was coming over. I brought food!” Arya said with a charming smile. Daenerys returned the gesture with equal warmth.

“No worries, Jon and I had a movie on. We must have fallen asleep. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said with an easy handshake, “Arya, right? Jon’s told me about you.” Arya cast him a sly glance. A touch smug. It said, ‘She’s got your number, Snow.’ And damn if that wasn’t the gods’ honest truth.

“Good things, I hope.”

“Mostly that you’re a bit of a wild card, and could kick his ass seven ways to the sept,” Daenerys said with shy glance his way. Jon slid his hand into hers, hyper-aware of his little sister’s knowing gaze. Daenerys gave his hand a comforting little squeeze. Arya laughed, preening a little.

“That’s definitely true. Gendry—my boyfriend slash manager slash promoter—he says we could get a title shot if my next few fights go well.” Jon’s jaw dropped.

“You’re fighting again? Does your mum know?” he asked. Arya shrugged, her patented gesture when things got a little too uncomfortable—or if her mother came up in conversation. Arya’s desire and skill in the arena were a source of contention between her and her mother. All of her decisions were a source of contention with the formidable Mrs. Stark.

“She doesn’t want to hear about it. I mailed her an invite to my next fight. I hope to see her there. If not, I have a lot of people in my corner.”

Silence fell for a long, uncomfortable beat.  

“Thank you for braving this weather to bring us food,” Daenerys said after a moment, waving a hand to encompass the heavy rain.

Arya snorted, sliding down from the counter to rummage in the fridge for a beer. Deftly popping the cap off on the counter edge, she handed one to Daenerys before taking another for herself. Jon arched a brow at Arya. She grinned in answer, and Jon released Daenerys long enough to nudge behind Arya to snag a bottle of water for himself. No more fucking around. He was on watch. It earned an approving nod from his sister.

“It’s fine. Just a bit of rain. You should see the roads in winter. Sometimes even the snow plows get buried.”

“I’m a city girl. I don’t even have my permit,” Daenerys said as she sipped her beer.

“The north is the best place to learn to drive. Sheep outnumber people five to one,” Arya joked.

“Maybe I’ll learn then,” Daenerys said. She moved toward the bulging plastic sack of food, sniffing appreciatively.

Talk flowed easily as they heaped delicious roasted meat on their plates, redolent with spice. Traditional Dothraki stuff was mostly game, but the spice blend was perfect for beef. Arya told them about her training, her apartment, Gendry. Jon had met him once. Big bloke, a former fighter himself. The pole-axed look he gave Arya told Jon enough. Gendry was made for her.

“Mmm, you have Dothraki barbeque up here?”

“There’s a Dothraki transplant in Winterfell, Quono Riderman. His food is the best,” Jon said.

“I love Dothraki food. I was horse-mad as a kid. Mother hired a riding teacher Irri. She was a stickler for tradition. We’d always go to this authentic Dothraki restaurant after lessons,” Daenerys said. He was aware of Daenerys watching him as he tucked in.

“I’m surprised you can handle it,” Daenerys teased him, laughter in her eyes. A northerner to his core, he had a Westerosi palate. Arya and Daenerys added hot sauce to theirs, while Jon sweated. The meat was good, but gods. His mouth was on fire.

“It tastes great. The salad helps with the spice,” Jon said, trying not to cough. The greens and vegetables were crisp, and the vinegary dressing was cooling. The melty ice cream for dessert was even better, a coffee and chocolate swirl thing that was Arya’s favorite.

“So I hear there’s some bad blokes after you. Tell me about it,” Arya asked as they tidied the dishes. He watched worriedly as Daenerys paused, hands wrist-deep in soapy hot water.

“They call themselves the Harpy Triumvirate. Individuals from the three great cities of the Bay of Dragons: Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen. I run an anti-trafficking organization called Breaking Chains. They’ve been sending me death threats for years. Only this week they’ve backed up the talk with violence.” The words were cold, clinical. Jon could hear the lawyer paring down the terror and death into impartial facts. Arya whistled low.

“That sucks,” she said. The understatement drew a crooked smile from Daenerys. She glanced at him, a soft, shining look.

“It does suck. But Jon saved me. That day and every day since.” Arya’s grin glowed with pride.

“He’s a good bloke to have around in a sticky spot,” she said.

“He is,” Daenerys said. Seven hells, he was blushing. There was nothing he could say without sounding like a fatuous asshole, so Jon took a long draught from his water bottle.

“Daenerys, I’d be happy to show you a couple things. Just in case.”

Daenerys’ face lit up.

“I would love that.” Both looked to him. Jon lifted his hands.

“I volunteer to finish washing up,” he said. Daenerys chuckled, kissing his cheek in passing. The glancing touch sent little tingles through him. He fancied the spot glowed. Their amiable chatter made him deeply happy. Arya was easy to get along with, but she was also very protective of him. Seeing her get on so well with Daenerys set him at ease. It had been the same subtle feeling when he met and approved of Gendry. Jon washed the dishes, tidied the leftovers, wiped down the countertops and set the kettle aside for tea. An ear turned toward the den heard the murmur of their conversation, punctuated liberally with giggling. With women, giggling was usually a good sign.

Jon tiptoed to the den and peeked in. Arya stood behind Daenerys, one muscular arm locked around her neck, the other pinioning her hands behind her. Gods, Arya’s been training hard. She looks like she’s gained a stone in muscle.

“Ok, so if a fucker’s got you from behind, more than likely he’s gonna feel pretty confident. This hand--” Arya jiggled the one holding Dany’s wrists, “—will more than likely be relaxed, ‘cause he’s got an arm around your throat. So first snap back with your hips, create a little space.” Brow forked in concentration; Dany tried. Biting back a smile, Jon leaned against the doorjamb. It made him crazy to think of Dany having to use Arya’s self-defense techniques, but the demo was important.

“Like that?” she asked.

Arya smile grew broader.

“Yeah yeah, once you do that you break the hold of his hands, you can duck under the arm—yeah like that and rip his junk off.”

“Leave the fucker writhing in pain as you run off,” Jon interjected. Arya had Daenerys repeat the move and its variations on both her and Jon over and over again. After forty-five minutes of training, his shoulders and chest felt a little sore, but he counted it worth it. Daenerys winced as she stood after Arya demonstrating some sort of Yi Tish balance-block move. Arya helped her up, nodding in sympathy.

“My first coach Syrio said every bruise is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better.”

“He sounds like a wise man,” Daenerys said. By consensus, they agreed more training would wait. They collapsed back on the couch. Arya sobered.

“Syrio’s a tough old bastard. He told me there is only one god, and his name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to Death: Not today.”

                                                               ~

 Daenerys and Jon stood on the porch waving to Arya as she drove off into the dusk. The rain had let up slightly, but grey clouds brooded overhead. Daenerys nestled closer to Jon’s side. Even in summer, the evening chill was biting. Jon followed her back inside and together they wordlessly began tidying the remnants of their meal. Despite the late lunch, Arya rummaged through the fridge and insisted on a bit of supper. Robb and Margaery’s choice of lobster was excellent, as was the turtle soup sopped up with oven-warmed bread dripping with butter. Calories didn’t count on the lam.

“Are you sure you’re ok with this?” she asked.

Arya had pointed out rather succinctly that given the odds against them, Jon was outnumbered and outmanned. Winterfell with its high walls, cameras, and hired security were a far better option. Anxiety coiled taut in her belly. A sidelong glance found his brow knitted, a frown flattening the lush curve of his mouth. Jon had been explicit: he wouldn’t risk his family for her sake. Arya had been quick to wave off any concern. The youngest two Bran and Rickon were south for the weekend with their mother visiting Mrs. Stark’s family in the River district. Mr. Stark was in the Storm district on business, Sansa was at uni.

Daenerys buried her hands in the dishwater to hide them shaking. Of course he wouldn’t want her in Winterfell. Even with most of his family away, Arya was still there, who he obviously adored. He had only known her for a week. He owed her nothing. The silence was unbearable.

“Would you say something?” she said sharply. Jon glanced at her, his scowl deepening.

“What?” he asked.

“’What?’” Daenerys repeated, “If you don’t want me to go to Winterfell, just say so. I can find my own way.”  

The words emerged sharper and nastier than she intended, but the thought of being unwanted pricked her deepest insecurities. Her father had wanted another son, Vis had wanted to live without the burden of a little sister, Daario wanted Jeyne. Daenerys chewed on her lower lip, struggling to breathe down the shrieking panic. Jon had become a safe place, a peaceful paradise. Without him, she felt cast adrift, rudderless. Something in his posture stiffened. His dark eyes flashed.

“You want to leave?” he said quietly. No. No, never.

“You’ve done enough. I can--”

“‘Done enough?’ Yeah, nearly gotten you killed, right? Or do you mean fucking you? Was that ‘enough?’” Daenerys flinched as if he’d struck her and shook her head, marching in the direction of the stairs. She would pack up a few things and hike to the nearest petrol station. A phone call to Vis or Jory would be enough.

“Stop, Jon. Now you’re just being nasty.” Jon followed her, dark and thunderous as the stormclouds outside. The bedroom was a wreck, sheets and blankets strewn on the floor from their earlier lovemaking. Tears clogged her throat.

“No, no. Here we are again. Spell it out for me,” Jon said.

“Why are you acting like this? You’re the one who didn’t want me to go to Winterfell!” Daenerys said, her voice climbing to a near shout. Jon matched her in ferocity and volume, squaring off across the bed from her.

“I didn’t know my family was away! If I had, I would have taken you there first!” Daenerys blinked, confused.

“But--”

Jon sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her and raked a hand through his hair.

“Do you realize how fucking stupid I feel about this afternoon?” he said. Daenerys circled the bed to sit beside him. His expression was tortured.

“What if it wasn’t Arya at the door? I could have gotten you killed! You deserve a battalion of guards to keep you safe. If you don’t want a fuck-up for a bodyguard, I get it. If things are too intense and confusing and you’re looking for an easy out, I get it. But don’t ever think it’s because I don’t want you around. That never gonna happen. Get me?” Daenerys choked back a sob. One tear eked free, and Jon smoothed it away with his thumb. The tenderness of the gesture broke her heart.

“I trust you, Jon. I trust you. And I don’t want to go anywhere without you.” I love you. How she wished she was brave enough to say those words.

“We’ll go to Winterfell in the morning. Together,” she said, taking his hand and pressing kisses on the back.

“Together,” Jon said, drawing her close for a kiss.

Perhaps it was the thought of separation, or the fact that privacy would be scarce in Winterfell, but passion boiled quick and sweet. Sensation blurred. Mm, Jon’s dark, worshipful gaze, long, drinking kisses, undressing her as if she was something fragile and precious. She let her touch speak for her, writing words of love on his body. They moved together, a gentle, timeless eternity. Climax washed over her in deep spasms. Jon followed her soon after, panting her name against her neck. They drowsed in the tub together, fell asleep in each other’s arms.

A beam of sunlight woke her. She squinted at the aperture of the curtains, and the sun-dappled blur of greenery beyond. Behind her, Jon snuffled in his sleep. The arm draped around her twitched. Daenerys kissed him awake.

“Good morning,” she whispered. Jon cracked open one eye.

“‘Mornin,’” he rumbled.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll make tea.”

“M’kay,” he said, already drifting off.

She slid from bed, stretching. Gods, with Jon she slept better than she ever had. Braiding her hair and dressing in clean clothes made her feel ready to greet the day. The burner phone buzzed on the nightstand. She snagged it, creeping into the hallway so as not to disturb Jon. Good, she needed to talk to Vis.

“Hello, Daenerys.” The smooth voice was unfamiliar. Fear sang through her.

“Who is this?” she whispered.

“Where are my manners? My name is Ramsay Bolton. Now, you naughty girl, look at your boytoy.”

“What—Where--?”

“Look.” Daenerys looked at Jon, asleep in bed, a red laser dot floating on his forehead. Oh gods.

“Now listen very carefully.”          

[gabis2r]

#5 Who is more terrifying? Anti or Dark?

Yes, I’m back at it with the fucking headcanon.  

WARNING: POTENTIAL NIGHTMARE FUEL ABUSE & TORMENT & CREEPY SHIT

If you cope with their existence by imagining them as misunderstood or ‘a bit creepy’, to tone down the horrors of demonic possession then this is NOT the headcanon for you.  Move along.  Nothing to see here.  You’ve been warned.

You read the warning right?  No?  Scroll up.

Read it now?  Good.

I’ve toyed over this since I posted who I thought would win in a fight between them.  However, I think their terror levels are unrelated to that result.

Lets break this down a little.  

You’re stuck in a room with one of them.  What are your chances?

Anti:

Let’s face it, he’s a fucking lunatic. Absolutely… fucking… batshit insane.  Yes, he’s probably the prettiest demon ever to hit the surface, but that’s only down to the aesthetics of his tormented host. Don’t be fooled. Jack’s features are emphasised on Anti.  Jack isn’t particularly tall, but his limbs are long and slender.  Anti’s are longer.  There’s nothing adorable about Anti.  That’s not a smile. It’s a grin.  

So you’re stuck in a room with him… If you’re VERY still there’s a chance he hasn’t noticed you yet. Be still.  Be silent.  Even when he crawls, catlike, up onto the back of the sofa with those long, thin, spidery limbs.  Rocking slightly; the occasional twitching interrupting his hummed tune. Be still. Even when he raises his head and sniffs the air.  The slowly curling, Joker-style grin is ironic and unsettling at best.  That detached laugh can peel paint.  But be still. Even when he hunches his shoulders like a cat about to pounce, like a spider about to strike.  Be silent.  Even when his head tilts violently as if he’s caught some exciting idea over the ever-present, tortuous, white-noise static in his head. When his eyes meet yours and flood like black ink in water.

Creep Factor 8/10

Be still.  Even now you have a chance.  Even as he studies you, grinning and twitching, creeping ever closer with nails that clack and skitter over surfaces as he approaches.  Be still, little fly, even as your flesh crawls under the inquisitive caress of a black eyed spider.  Be still.  He may yet be distracted.  Anti is easily distracted by anything that can penetrate the white-noise.  Be still.  Pray if it helps.  Be silent.

Chance of  escape 3/10

Should you lack a laser pointer or the miraculous ability to produce a cat he can chase, you’re pretty much fucked.  Like… fucked, basically.  There’s still an opportunity for distraction, but with every minute that passes you’re closer to death, so… yeah… good luck.

You make different noises for different touches. Squeaks, cries, screams, sobs, begs, hitches, whines… Your batteries don’t last long though, so he has to make the most of the noises while they last.  You’re warm and soft and red and wet and sometimes there’s white, but red is his favourite because it’s so bright and sticky and plentiful.  You’re such a pretty toy while your batteries last…  He can make them last for days if he can only stay focused over the static.

Potential torment 6/10

Six seem a little low?  That’s because you don’t have a frame of reference yet.

Dark:

Dark simply can’t compete with Anti’s subtly Lovecraftian appearance.  If you’re stuck in a room with Dark you’ll still be unsettled, but you won’t be able to put your finger on quite why.  There’s something in the way he looks at you maybe… It’s a little too intense.  His smile is a little too wide and forced, but he talks in a soft, deep voice that’s undeniably soothing.  He says all the right things.  Your sense of danger is something that you’ll pass off now as irrational then have nightmares about later.

Creep factor 2/10

If you’re in a room with Dark he HAS noticed you.  He’s made a point of introducing himself politely and striking up a conversation.  There’s something endearing about how he doesn’t speak about himself despite being obviously self aware. He’s fit and healthy, he’s well spoken, he’s educated and charming, but he always turns the conversation back onto you.  He’s fascinated by you. How could someone who could take his pick of anyone be so fascinated by you? So enthralled by you?  

So hyper focused on you…

Chance of escape 0/10

Life with Dark is amazing.  He’s so attentive and affectionate.  You spend almost all your time together and that’s such a blessing, especially since all your friends drifted away.  You’ve lost touch with most of them, but a few still send the occasional Christmas message on your shared Facebook profile. Dark’s so proud to show off that you’re together.  

He’ll do anything for you.  He dotes on you. He treats you like a queen.  He doesn’t even ask for much in return.  Just the occasional little thing.  Just little things.  Nothing compared to what he does for you.  He does so much for you.  He does everything for you.  When you shake without knowing why, he’ll soothe away the fear.  When you sob uncontrollably he’ll hold you and apologise for the broken plate that wasn’t hot enough, or the scattered flowers he bought you, that you forgot to water.  He’ll clean away the crockery he threw at you.  He’ll force on a cold smile and be kind to you.  He’ll whisper sweet nothings while you cry yourself to sleep. He’ll change the sheets.

He does everything for you.  You’re so lucky to have someone so attentive and handsome.  He doesn’t ask for much in return, just little things.  Just do exactly what he wants exactly when he asks it of you and there’s no need to spend the rest of your life walking on eggshells.  

He doesn’t ask for much…

Potential torment 10/10

Conclusion.

There is something inherently tragic about Anti. Something that, despite his reign of terror over Jack, makes me want to pity and protect him. I fucken love him.  Don’t get me wrong, he’s not cute.  Pretty, yes, shut up, but he’s not cute. He’s vicious and more cunning than even I’d like to admit and he’s dangerously insane.  I think it’s the static in his head that detracts from his intelligence.  It’s definitely there, he just can’t focus for long over the white noise.   Anti is definitely utterly terrifying. But you do have a slight chance of escape and even if you don’t, your torture lasts a few days at most.

Dark is not tragic.  Dark is handsome, calculating, manipulative, intelligent and subtly abusive.  If you catch Dark’s eye your torture could last decades. Stockholm Syndrome is his speciality.

Most terrifying:  Dark

[victorineb]

Fic Recs Mega Post

A little weekend reccing for any fannibals in need of a good read, this time we’ve got catmen, daemons and a goblin king... and that’s just for starters!

No Man’s Land by @empathalitis and @cannibalcuisine: Following a drunken, clumsy encounter with Hannibal… and Hannibal's lips, and Hannibal’s hands (depicted in previous instalment In My Head There's A War), Will finally has to confront his desire for the man he's run away with. But, well, it's Will and Hannibal, which means things are never going to be straightforward and between memories of ex-wives and a total lack of emotional intelligence, both men continue to tie themselves in knots rather than getting down to business. This wonderful fic skilfully flows between Will and Hannibal’s POVs, with an amazing handle on both characters and their emotions. And when that dam finally bursts? Well, let’s just say it is very, very much worth the wait!

Stray Cat by Not_You: Taking the “Hannibal is really a cat” theory to its logical conclusion, this AU finds Will working not for the FBI but for the government division that oversees the rights and management of human/animal hybrids. Some of these beings live as pets, others as humans, still others as part of the “Feral Nation” which operates outside of human society. And then there are Will’s worst nightmare, those who are kept in labs and cruelly experimented on. Hannibal is one such case, a human/cat hybrid placed into Will’s custody after escaping and murdering those who kept him in captivity. For a dog person, Will quickly grows attached to this fiercely intelligent, oddly endearing catman (and Hannibal, as usual, cares for no one but Will) but there are many, many hoops for them to jump through before going too far down that road… This is just a stunningly assured piece of writing – the worldbuilding is smart and intricate, Hannibal’s catlike characterisation is perfect and canon elements are woven in with care and intelligence.

Housewarming by @wrathofthestag (Mwuahna): In this latest part of the utterly wonderful, adorable Giving Themselves series (in which Will and Hannibal started dating after the Tobias Budge Incident™), the boys are moving in together. And a milestone in Hannibal Lecter’s life can mean only one thing: a big, fancy party (much to his dear Will’s horror). Invites are sent. Caterers are hired. Booze is stockpiled (well, Will and Bedelia will be in attendance). And shenanigans, inevitably, ensue. Not least of all when Will’s father shows up to set the cat amongst the pigeons (and to flirt with every female in sight). I love and adore this series with all my heart, and this latest part is no exception. It has everything: drunken hook-ups, Will and Bedelia bitching at each other, Mrs Komeda being fabulous, Will getting a handful of the Hannibooty, Jimmy Price saying words… it is, in other words, utterly glorious and I must insist that you read it. Now. Go!

The Vessel by @weconqueratdawn: Ok, I admit, I went into this assuming it was going to be an entertainingly kinky Hannigram romp (c’mon, the tags include “Coming Untouched,” “Threesome,” and “Wendigo porn” XD). And while plenty of kinks do get an airing, this is a much deeper and more complex fic than I had imagined, with an intense storyline exploring religious corruption, sexual slavery and the power of knowledge. Will is the Vessel of the title, a slave elevated to a sacred position within his society’s religion – which means that he suffers and bleeds for their sins, as well as being drugged and used as part of a sexual ritual by the holy men of his temple, including its Father, Jack (yep, there’s a bit of Jack/Will here!). Conditioned from his childhood to believe that he is performing a vital service for his community, doubts begin to creep into Will’s mind when Hannibal is installed as the temple’s new seer. This is an example of a brilliant writer taking elements of our beloved show and using them to create something fresh, intelligent and insightful, while always remaining completely true to the characters. It’s immensely impressive stuff that will linger in the reader’s mind long after the last chapter.

Labyrinth by @llewcie: Labyrinth was one of my favourite movies when I was a kid. Hell, it’s still one of my favourite movies – the amazing songs, the adorable characters… trying to figure out which is bigger, Bowie’s hair or his codpiece… So a Hannigram take on the 80s classic was pretty much guaranteed to appeal, and this fic does not disappoint! Will Graham wakes from a six-month coma to find that his father is dead and nobody seems to remember he has a sister, Abigail. Well, no one except the strange, alluring man sitting at his bedside – who claims to be the goblin king and that Will must defeat his labyrinth in order to get his sister back. The genius of this crossover AU is that, instead of a simple retread with the Hannibal characters standing in for those from the movie, Llew carefully redesigns the ‘verse to reflect Will and Hannibal. Which means we get a labyrinth that is much more dangerous and threatening, a “hero” who is long on sass and short on patience, and a “villain” whose intentions and morality are far more complex than they first appear. Oh, and a boatload of mutual flirtation, of course.

Quicksilver (series) by @weconqueratdawn with artwork by @theseavoices: I know, I know, I’m horribly late to the party here. This is just one of those series that I’ve been saving for special, but having been told off for my reticence by some fellow fannibals, I mainlined the whole series in a oner. And damn, it is as good as everyone says it is. In this AU, Will is a nineteen year old psychology student, who requests a meeting with Hannibal to discuss some coursework. Hannibal, impressed by the boy’s proposal, agrees to the meeting, little knowing that he will soon be utterly, irrevocably, life-alteringly besotted by the beautiful, confident, gender-fluid student who turns up at his office. Accompanied by some jaw-droppingly gorgeous artwork by theseavoices, this is an utter gem, a thing of beauty, featuring one of my all-time favourite versions of Will, who is sharp, sexy and empowered in these stories and a total joy to read. Don’t be like me and put off reading these – get over to ao3 and devour them now!

En Garde! by @artbyvictoriaskye (VictoriaSkyeMasters): VSM ends up on these lists pretty much every time she writes something new because she is a complete genius of AUs and rare pairs. Her latest is an absolute scream, taking the logical step of pairing Mads!Rochefort with Hugh!D’Artagnan in a brilliant funny, deeply sexy romp involving horse thievery, secretly soft villains and an impressive amount of spanking. It begins with a typically hot-heated, self-absorbed, vainglorious D’Artagnan once again search of adventure after his famous adventures with the Three Musketeers… and managing only to head back to the little village he had abandoned in search of glory. Where he makes the terrible mistake of splashing a certain eye-patched villain with mud and not apologising for it. And we all know what happens when you’re rude to a Mads… D’Artagnan soon finds himself a captive of the fearsome Rochefort but, as it turns out, he might not mind it all that much. This is easily one of my favourite fics ever, one I know I’ll be returning to over and over again.

Sweet Sanatorium by @thewanderingcannibal (wanderlust96): Sometime in the 1930s, a teenage Will Graham is institutionalised at his father’s request – partly for his sexuality (at a point in time when being gay could get you locked up) and partly for his uncanny empathy. Fortunately for Will, his new doctor finds these aspects of his character extremely appealing and Will soon finds himself under Doctor Lecter’s wing (not to mention, consensually, between his legs). Unfortunately for Will, though, not everybody’s happy about Hannibal taking favourites… One of the interesting things about Hannigram is that, by any measure of logic or reason, being with Hannibal Lecter is a terrible, awful, no-good decision. Except that, if you’re Will Graham, he might also be the person who can best love, protect and cherish you. And this AU hits that duality right on the button. It also contains a pleasing amount of murder and mayhem, so everything you could want in your Hannigram!

Tevelis by @shiphitsthefan: Ok, daddy kink is not my favourite. It’s not that I actively avoid it but I don’t go out of my way to find it either. And it certainly takes something special to make me truly enjoy it. So take this as the huge recommendation it is meant to be: I LOVED this fic. Post-fall, Will and Hannibal are playing a game. Their usual game, aka: “Hannibal is a cryptic bastard and Will can’t let him win.” Except this time, the stakes are even higher than murder and entrapment – this time, the boys have been discussing kinks, and Will’s tired of waiting for Hannibal to give. So he kidnaps a third party, one with empathic powers to match his own and, in something of a deviation from the usual Murder Husband M.O., doesn’t kill him. Instead, he uses him to finally find that one little word to light Hannibal’s fire... Daddy kink is definitely the marquee attraction here but it’s far from just a hook to entice readers. The kink is written with imagination, inventiveness and insight, used as a means of exploring Will and Hannibal’s dynamic as it develops into (somehow!) something even deeper and more intimate than it was before.

Hold for Release by @sunshinexlollipops (cloudsarefluffy): In this AU, omega Will Graham doesn’t use his empathy to consult for the FBI and BAU Chief Jack Crawford. Instead, he uses it to write for the Virginia Tribune and editor-in-chief Jack Crawford. This does not mean that he isn’t obsessed with the Chesapeake Ripper. Indeed, the nigh-on admiring tone of his articles about the serial killer is putting his job at risk. So being a sensible man who easily lets things go, Will starts a new story about… ha ha, no, of course not. Will, being an idiot who can’t leave well alone, takes his heat leave and his stored up vacation and (with a little help from Chilton being his usual idiotic self) winds up on the doorstep of one Dr Hannibal Lecter, an alpha who turns out to be quite a fan of Will’s journalism… especially his very flattering articles about the Ripper. I love and adore journalism AUs and the fact that this is an omegaverse version just makes it even more entertaining. Nothing is ever quite what it seems in this intricate and intelligent fic, with Will and Hannibal running rings round each other and thoroughly enjoying the process.

Turn the Page by @disraeligearsgoestumblin (DisraeliGears): I have a bone to pick with this fic – upon heading to bed one night I needed a new fic to read, and thought I’d get started on this. Cue me, still up at 4am, utterly unable to even think about sleeping until I finished this masterpiece. @disraeligearsgoestumblin, I entirely blame you for my inability to concentrate the following day! In this canon-divergent AU, instead of marrying Molly after Hannibal is imprisoned, Will sells everything, buys a motorbike and starts driving… and doesn’t stop for a good couple of years. Not until he, in quick succession, realises he wants Hannibal back, gets majestically drunk, and essentially gets adopted by a middle-aged Mexican woman who puts him to work in her bar. This beautifully atmospheric piece takes Will on a very different voyage of discovery than in canon, one in which, without the distraction of his ready-made family, Will has to confront the truth about himself and his feelings for Hannibal with rather more honesty. And the results are… interesting, to say the least… especially when a familiar face turns up at the bar…

One Way Out Of Many by @hellotailor and @nakamasmile: I cannot possibly describe to you the depth of my love for Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials series of novels – I utterly, utterly adore them. So reading this Hannigram crossover AU was a complete delight, especially given the lovely, inventive divergence it takes from canon. Set in s1, just as the symptoms of Will’s encephalitis are growing truly disturbing, Hannibal’s daemon (Daiva, who takes the form of a stoat) decides that Will and his daemon (Poppy, a crow) belong to her and Hannibal. So she sabotages Hannibal’s conspiracy with Sutcliffe, ensures that Will gets the treatment he needs and persuades Hannibal onto a new path: to ensnare Will via care and affection. The addition of daemons to the Hannibal ‘verse makes for a fascinating new perspective on the characters and their relationships. And, most pleasingly, both Poppy and Daiva are utterly fascinating creations in their own right, often getting sections written from their own POVs and given agency and agendas of their own.

A Companionable Silence by @hotsauce418: One Eye has been alone for a long time, believing it to be for the best and not seeing much chance for change anyway. Until the alpha rescues a young omega named Charmont from a cage and finds himself growing irrevocably attached to the fierce, spirited young man to whom he lends his protection. Raised as royalty, and an alpha besides, Char has serious issues of his own to work through, but living in close proximity makes it hard for either man to ignore their growing attraction, and when Char’s first heat hits, well… Soft alpha One Eye and sassy omega Char is surely one of the greatest madancy pairings yet – they’re a beautiful example of that contrasting yet complimentary dynamic that makes the rare pairs phenomenon so compelling. And hotty writes them with such obvious affection and care, it’s an absolute treat to observe. Valhalla Enchanted is a thing of beauty and you should all treat yourselves by reading this!

An Unorthodox Dinner by @ratbagqueen: This writer’s one and only Hannibal fic and it’s so damn good, I can only pray they’ll bestow another on us someday! Set post-season 2, Will is recovering from the events of Mizumono (and trying to figure out just why the hell he seems to be missing the man who gutted him), when he receives an invitation in a familiar, elegant hand. Hannibal, it seems, is still in Baltimore, somehow, and still has designs on having Will for dinner. Both more and less literally than Will fears… I rushed straight through this fic, utterly hooked by the slowly building tension between our boys. Both characters are beautifully rendered and the writing is pleasingly redolent of that sinister-yet-intimate tone of the best Hannigram scenes. Although I must warn you: anybody who has issues with seafood might want to steer clear!

As ever and always, if I’ve mistagged anyone or there are bad links, please let me know and I’ll fix them lickety-split. Until next time, lovely fannibals <3