thrillingdetectivetales: Davie and Alan from the play, Kidnapped, kissing on the moors. Both men's faces are obscured. Davie has a hand on Alan's cheek. (HAN - Hannigram office tall)
Hey y'all! Just crossposting the fic I did for [community profile] eatdrinkmakemerry here, in case either of them catch your fancy.

ENTREMETS
Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Tags: Post-Canon, Mentions of Murder, Food Porn, Discussion of Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Minor Food Play, Murdy Talk

Summary: Safe in Le Havre nine months after the fall, Will treats Hannibal to a picnic.

“I think I must’ve been about sixteen the last time I did this,” Will grins. When Hannibal arches a curious eyebrow at him, he waves a hand at their surroundings and clarifies, “Lazing around in the woods, passing a bottle of liquor back and forth.”

Hannibal hums his understanding and tilts his face up toward the sun, closing his eyes and basking in the distant warmth. He can feel the heat of Will’s knee where it brushes his arm, too, picked out in stark counterpoint to the crisp air of early spring. “Shame that it’s been so long,” he laments, opening his eyes again when Will nudges his shoulder with the butt of the bottle. “We ought not let decades go by between this time and the next.”

“I could stand to make it a habit,” Will agrees, flashing the sweet, boyish grin that Hannibal favors for its unthinking sincerity. “Provided the company is always this good.”


Read it on AO3.





NOT ONLY THE SUGAR, BUT THE DAYS
Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo/Gaby Teller
Tags: Fluff

Summary: Illya and Napoleon get a little side-tracked on date night, so Gaby sets them straight.

Gaby frowns, “You’re cooking dinner for the cat?”

Napoleon wrinkles his nose. “The quality of the canned food at the grocery left something to be desired.”

Beside him, Illya nods, face somber and aggrieved.


Read it on AO3.
thrillingdetectivetales: Davie and Alan from the play, Kidnapped, kissing on the moors. Both men's faces are obscured. Davie has a hand on Alan's cheek. (MUNCLE - Gaby hat)
Guys guys guys! The [community profile] eatdrinkmakemerry exchange collection is open and I received a truly beautiful piece of pre-OT3 Illya/Napoleon/Gaby fic from a yet-unrevealed author. If you're at all interested in this trio, you should go and check it out. The author sets up a beautiful avenue for character growth and lays out the perfect scenes to lead these disaster babies through their first year of partnership and toward...y'know. Partnership. It's a nice short-and-tight fic too, so even if you're not in Man from U.N.C.L.E. fandom but you're looking to kill twenty minutes or so, I highly recommend giving it a shot.

MEZE
Creator TBA

Summary: In Istanbul, Napoleon cooks, Illya eats, and Gaby drinks. Over time, over food, they come to some better understanding of one another.

“You don’t like it,” [Illya] said, frowning, setting down his fork.

“It’s not bad,” [Gaby] said, defensively. “Just...different than I’m used to, is all.” He could imagine it easily. In East Berlin she’d likely not faced serious privation--though as a child just after the war, it might have been a different matter--but from his own experiences he was sure her diet had been...unvaried, without connections to the West that her foster family had certainly not enjoyed.

“I don’t think about food much,” she continued, spearing a piece of fish and toying with it on her plate. “It’s just...not important. Not really.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes not,” Illya prevaricated, hesitating, but his training and the desire to share with his colleague won out over the opportunity to exercise discretion. “I do not think Cowboy’s taste for fancy things is always wise, gets him in trouble more often than not, but food can tell you about a place. The people. What they prefer, what they avoid.”

“Whose tastes are important, and whose are not,” she muttered, a challenging look in her expression as she eyed him across the table, clutching her wine glass. He nodded shortly.

“Yes.”


Read it on AO3.
Dec. 1st, 2019 10:33 pm

Sunday Six

thrillingdetectivetales: Davie and Alan from the play, Kidnapped, kissing on the moors. Both men's faces are obscured. Davie has a hand on Alan's cheek. (Webgott - Lieb lights up)
It’s that time again! I’m doubling down today because the two items I’m quoting likely won’t see public consumption anytime in the near future. Both were begun as options for Spicy Advent but either tonally didn’t match where I wanted to go or grew enough legs to be their own actual story separate of the prompt that inspired them.

Here are a few lines from a Webgott post-war thing:

“Holy shit,” was the first thing Joe said after he’d wrenched the damn thing open, which was clearly not the greeting Webster had been hoping for, from the way his smile stiffened into a proper grimace. Joe blinked at him for a long, bewildered second and then offered by way of recovery, “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Webster agreed. He swallowed, throat clenching and tongue darting out over the chapped pad of his bottom lip, and then added like he was afraid Joe might’ve forgotten, “You invited me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joe replied, flapping a hand at him and stepping back to swing an inviting arm into the hallway behind him. “I know I did, I just - ” he cut off sharply as the words abandoned him—there were shockingly few polite ways to phrase the sentiment ‘I was only half-serious when I said it and the part of me that was serious didn’t really believe you would come’ without offending Webster’s timekeeping abilities at the very least.


And here are a few from a Man from U.N.C.L.E. Ritchie remake pre-Napoleon/Ilya thing:

“You understand what I mean when I say ‘cozy up,’ don’t you, Peril?”

Ilya canted his head and waved a hand lazily back and forth in the air between them. “Of the two of us, which is fluent in the other’s mother tongue?”

“технически говоря - ” Napoleon started, protest splintering into an affronted laugh when Ilya fished a decorative seed pod out of the potpourri bowl on the table at his back without looking and flung it hard at Napoleon’s face.

“I’m trying to look out for you!” Napoleon chided, sucking his teeth and brushing the pod to the floor. “After Burma, we all know that you’re perfectly capable of fighting your way out of damn near any impossible situation you may find yourself in, but I think we can both agree that it is overall best to simply avoid the necessity, yes?”

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