twenty blocks away

Title: Sugar Sugar

Pairing: 6yr old Junhao

Genre: fluff horendous levels of fluff

Summary: Five year old Minghao and Junhui have a system, one which involves Minghao evading having to eat his vegetables and gain a best-friend


To say that Minghao dislikes vegetables would be a gross understatement; he absolutely abhors eating anything green. He doesn’t believe it when his mom says carrots will help his eyesight—he can see like twenty blocks away—or that eating them will make him grow big and strong like his dad. So he doesn’t understand why his mom always packs vegetables for his lunch when she makes him suffer with the stupid green things for dinner.


Minghao survived just fine last year in second grade eating snacks and sticky jelly sandwiches so he doesn’t understand why this year it has to be different.


“Is your mom a veterinarian,” Mingyu asks, mouth drawn in disgust as he peers into Minghao’s lunch box.


Jihoon sighs from across their brightly orange coloured lunch table “It’s vegetarian.

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Fic: Shelter of Old (Hannigram; PG)

Will and Hannibal need a place to lay low for a few hours, and unfortunately, Will has just the spot in mind…


This was one tricky prompt, let me tell you. It’s something I’ve considered writing even before this prompt and passed over because I couldn’t get a feel for it–so what better time to tackle it than on Christmas day after a very tense evening and a whole bunch to drink. This for @ripleyandthecat, and is sort of Christmas-y. I hope you enjoy it! (I picked a name at random–if there’s a canon one I’ve missed, please let me know!)

Also on AO3

“I never intended to do this,” Will mutters, as he pulls up to the crumbling curb and puts the stolen car into park.

    He’s driven them twenty blocks from their hotel, away from the affluent, white neighbourhoods. There was a non-descript undercover car across the street from the entrance when they arrived, and Will just kept driving. Hannibal is absolutely certain the authorities don’t know who it is they’re after, or they never would have bungled the operation so thoroughly.

    Will, who apparently has more than a passing familiarity with these streets, drove like a man who knew precisely where he was headed. The neighbourhood is, to use a colloquialism of the locals, rather shady. Certainly not the most dangerous Detroit has to offer, but the houses here have seen better days–green-stained siding, cracked windows, front stoops littered with spent beer cans and broken bottles.

Hannibal takes in their surroundings as Will leads him down the uneven sidewalk. There are scattered Christmas decorations, no doubt an attempt on the part of the residents to bring some cheer to this desolate stretch of city and failing miserably. The chipped, fading lawn ornaments have seen better days, the gaudy strings of lights are more out than not.

“The car will be gone and stripped within the hour,” Will says. By the time the authorities know it’s missing, it will be as though it never existed. A thorough, if inelegant, solution to their predicament.

    Will leads them around the corner to a single story house painted a dusty yellow. This house is undecorated. There’s a broken glider on the front porch, and the screen door is torn and hanging crookedly from its hinges. Hannibal can sense Will’s emotions as he climbs the steps and raps three times on the doorframe, lips pulled in a tight line. Disgust, sadness, and most intriguingly, embarrassment.

    There’s shuffling from inside. Hannibal could hear the television from the street. This close to the house, he can distinguish the words. Some nature channel programme. An older man is grumbling. Hannibal can smell the faint scent of rot under saltwater, and when the door opens, he is hit with a waft of whiskey and old books, their pages musty with age.

    He is bald on the crown of his head, his remaining hair thin and greying brown. His skin is dark and worn from sun exposure. Wrinkles deep around his eyes and in the space between his brows speak of decades spent squinting into the light and frowning, but the lines carved around his mouth speak of an easy, friendly smile.

    Though most others might not notice the similarities, there is little else Hannibal can see but Will. In the shape of the man’s brow, his cheekbones, the curve and slope of his mouth. And in seeing this man, Hannibal can fill in all the gaps left behind and begin to draw a mental image of the woman who contributed equally to the genetics of his Will.

    “Dad,” Will says, tone resigned.

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