#baguette fics

[aaltilis]

I just saw a post about (a very necessary) stats of f1 RPF on AO3. And I found out that pierre/esteban didn't even make it to top 15 pair in 2023. Idk if it just me or that is actually a crime? Like, how can people sleep on that pair?

I mean, they have a lot of potential. Childhood friends to lovers? Yes. Rivals to lovers? Yes. Teammates to lovers? Yes. Childhood friends turn to rivals turn to enemies turn to strangers turn to "shit we work in the same team so we have to be civil" turn to friends (again) turn to lovers? YES!!!

Please if you are an author, considering write something about them. I'm running out of good fics of that pair. Thanks 😭🙏

#pierre gasly #esteban ocon #pierresteban #f1 rpf #f1 fic #alpine f1 #our favourite baguettes

[notallsandmen]

Mourning Glory WIP

(Death of the Endless x Johanna Constantine)

Johanna goes through her decennial grumbling goth phase, procrastinates from her work by hyperfocus-collecting / hoarding memento mori and Victorian mourning jewelry.

Eventually, Death of the Endless turns up in Johanna’s apartment, twirling her hair and going ”Libations? Pour moi?”

Turns out, Johanna has unwittingly built a sex shrine, but Death is really hot, and Johanna is too lazy not to just roll with it, you know?

And, because I have had a ”Morta ex machina” tendency in past fics, a retired Dream will make a brief appearance and give horrible relationship advice

#I will finish my commissions first #and THEN #get lost in this #I will work baguette-spanking into this fic #so help me god #death of the endless /johanna constantine #death/johanna constantine #constantdeath #femslash sandman #death of the endless #johanna constantine #my sandman writing

[writer-of-sorts]

written with @wolfstarmicrofic prompt: train

The stranger on the train is dressed in ripped jeans, a black undershirt and a leather jacket, with heavy mascara lining his eyelids and a row of piercings lining his ears.

Despite his punk appearance, the man undeniably has the air of an aristocrat. He sits straight-backed and prim, one knee crossed over the other. A sketchbook rests atop the expensive-looking bag tucked against his side.

When Remus approaches him, the stranger looks up. The long hair curtaining his face draws back, revealing alabaster skin, sharp cheekbones, full lips and soulful grey eyes.

Quite frankly, Remus thinks this stranger is the most beautiful person he has ever seen.

Which is exactly why Remus stutters incoherently before proceeding to trip over his own lanky legs and swear like a sailor as he goes crashing down to the floor of the train compartment.

Except he’s not crashing down to the floor. Because there is a pair of very strong leather-clad arms holding him up.

Said arms straighten Remus’ body and then drop as he comes face-to-face with his savior. His very attractive savior, who just witnessed Remus nearly fall flat on his face.

Remus feels his cheeks grow hot as embarrassment washes over him.

“Es-tu blessé?” the stranger asks, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

And now Remus feels hot for an entirely different reason. He opens his mouth, then closes it wordlessly.

“Oh,” the man says. He smiles sheepishly. “Are you alright?” he asks, with just the faintest trace of an accent as he rolls his mouth around the r’s.

“Yes,” Remus breathes. He clears his throat. “My name is Remus, and” —he points to the empty seat across from the man— “I believe that is my seat.”

The stranger flashes a genuine smile, and Remus’ heart soars. “Sirius Black. Please sit down.”

word count: 300

#look i know this isn’t the type of train the prompt meant but #this fic has been marinating in my drafts for too long #let me have this #this will probably be part of a micro-series #haven’t decided on a title yet #it takes place in france #sirius is an artist on the run from his family #and remus is a writer looking for inspiration #cue romantic autumn walks thru paris holding hands in the louvre kissing in front of the eiffel tower wine n baguettes n all that jazz #wolfstar microfic #remus x sirius #sirius x remus #wolfstar fic #wolfstar #remus loves sirius #sirius loves remus #sirius x lupin #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar fanfic #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fandom #train

[knickknacksandallthat]

sorry to bother but do you have a plan of when part 4 will come out

ofc it’s perfectly fine if you’re not ready, from the looks of it this is a really big project

Hi anon!!

Oh my goodness, no it's no bother at all! Honestly, I would much rather be talking about fic writing than doing boring things like making a living (which consumed MY LIFE last week).

Ha! And you said it - this fic series has definitely been all-consuming. But I really love this particular AU, so let me tell you I've been working on it non-stop whenever I have time and have the following figured out so far:

My outline currently has the next fic at 12 chapters, though I have a sneaky suspicion that it'll become longer.

I have 53K written so far (but that's before editing😅).

It will have alternating POVs between Jean and Jeremy.

I wish I could give you a better sense of timing, but honestly it all comes down to my work schedule and what free time I have. At this point, I feel like I'm aiming toward April - but don't quote me.

And because I haven't posted something about Once in a Blue Moon on here for a while, here's a new snippet to chew over while I keep hustling as a thank you for your patience! 🥹

OIAB scene under the cut:

The LA airport is hot and muggy. It makes sweat bead down Jean’s neck and uncomfortably gather beneath his collar. Though he wears the lightest long-sleeve shirt he owns, the material still feels constricted and stifling, sticking to his skin. He has the insane urge to tear the garment off him and walk around bare-chested just to feel some relief.  Of course, he would never do so. In fact, the mere thought of it makes him pull his sleeves down farther, covering the backs of scar-ridden hands.  At least his head is cool.  He runs a hand over his buzzed scalp once more, the fuzzy feel of it still odd to him. Abby had suggested it so they could see his stitches better. And since so much of his hair had been pulled out anyway, it seemed to make sense.  Still, he hates how foreign the feeling is. He’s a stranger in his own skin. Has been, for some time he thinks.  He glances up anxiously at the clock on the wall, his knee bouncing as he waits. His flight landed ten minutes ago, and he thought his captain would be waiting here to greet him.  Apparently, he thought wrong.  Laughter erupts from behind him, and Jean jumps. He immediately spins around, only to find a family standing nearby, laughing at the antics of their two-year-old. He watches them for a moment before slowly turning back, clasping his hands in front of him and clutching them tight. Anxiety slowly begins to creep under his skin. Had he gotten the day wrong? Or the time? Did something happen between Palmetto and here that caused a delay? Should he call someone to ask?  He opens his phone and looks through the few contacts on his list.  Abby Winfield David Wymack Jeremy Knox Kevin Day Renee Walker Jean scowls.  His preference would likely be Abby or Renee, though he thinks the latter would have no information useful for this. Wymack, he would tolerate. He skims over the fourth name on the list because he’s never thinking of that fucker again in his entire life, if he can help it. Then he stares at the fifth name, the contact information for him uploaded without his knowledge into this new phone Abby got him. Jeremy Knox.  Starting Trojans Striker. #11. Played 52 games last season, scored 41 goals, and had 36 assists. Captain of the USC Trojans for three years straight. Fifth-best striker in the NCAA.  (Fourth, now that Riko is gone.)  Weaknesses: favors left side for goals, left knee injury in his sophomore year of high school, and overly attached to wellbeing of teammates. Jean scowls again.  If Knox is anything like the person who recommended him, he’s bound to be both a waste of Jean’s time and breath. After all, he can certainly strike punctual off the list.

Thanks again for the ask, anon!

#sassy baguette #oh we got a whollleeee arc coming up for this one #just you wait #jean moreau #jeremy knox #once in a blue moon #my works #all for the game #aftg #the foxhole court #fic asks #lovely people #thanks for the ask anon!

[perexcri]

*speaking straight from the void that's opened below my bed* wip wednesday coming out sometime and it's about guess

#wip wednesday #miwip wednesday #byler #nothing more cruel than to be loved by everybody but you followup i guess #why does my brain hurt #also am beginning to understand why comedians are Like That yknow #speaking of comedians: this fic is partially inspired by bo burnham's country song! #you'll have to guess how :) #anyway #oh and if you can guess which fob song i'll inevitably name this after i'll uhhh send you a million baguettes

[bakugoyelling]

I’m thinking about baker!bf Giyuu and him inviting you over to his place as a casual date and you guys are baking sweet pastries. Giggling and being cute the entire time. You mess up on some of the measurements and Giyuu just swoops in to fix it but can’t hold back a laugh and smile while doing so. He just finds you too cute. Teaching you how to bake these sweets and loving your devotion to making sure they come out pretty and delicious.

And then those moments in between, waiting for the dough to rise, sweets to bake, for them to cool down before putting on the icing, are just so sweet. Giyuu is so so happy you’re here with him and won’t let you forget that. Hugging and kissing you. Laughing each time the timer went off and startled you. The atmosphere is just do domestic and cozy agsjskeks melting. Melting for my cute baker bf Giyuu 🫠🫠💙

(I’m just so in the mood lately to bake sweets lmao this is what made me start daydreaming about him)

Omg yess, I love when you share your thoughts with me, and hello, baker Giyuu!!! 🫶🏼 🥖 This would be so perfect with him 😭♡ He would like how excited you are about it too!! Baking is something you also enjoy, so when you get to his place and see all the ingredients laid out, you’re eager to get started, ooh-ing and aah-ing when he tells you what you’ll be making. He can’t help but smile at your enthusiasm — plus, you look adorable in the apron he gave you — he’s definitely leaning in to kiss the top of your head while you measure the flour 🤭

Grrrrr oh my gosh, This is SO cute crimson!! I can just picture everything 🥹 I love how Giyuu is so happy to be with us! I’m just imagining him hugging us and kissing us in between tasks 🥹 and telling us that our bakes are going to come out perfect and how they’re looking good in the oven and all that, eeee I love him（ʃƪ＾3＾ ）

The house smells so delicious too, which makes the house feel even cozier and when you get to taste what you made — oh, it’s delicious and perfect, and Giyuu kisses you with a little crumb stuck to his lip. he is so in looovveee!!

#crimson! i’ve actually been thinking about baker giyuu recently #I always go back and read that one fic you wrote about going into the bakery for his baguette 😏 #So I was really happy to see this message the other day!! when you said #“Giyuu is so so happy you're here with him and won't let you forget that. Hugging and kissing you.” #🥹😭🤧❤️ omg I love he!! if you bake something soon I hope it comes out delicious #💗giyuu #baker!giyuu #ask

[lady-baguette]

The scene of them play fighting and throwing quips at one another and then ending with the wall pin and the low voices

That was an italicized "oh" moment man

#a scene straight out of some fics ive probably read of these two #and like the one scene i liked lmao #miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #ml movie #baguette rambles

[uefb]

Splitting time today between overdue Tolkien paper revision & my comps (before LotR watch party!!), while occasionally skimming my notes for Part 3 & 4 of With It’s Head Under One Wing, as a break, and I’m sorry but…

my dialogue is occasionally hilarious

#Tolliver as a stale baguette sends me for some reason #I love reading things I’d forgotten I drafted and actually making myself giggle #well done self #doesn’t happen often lmao #Tina goldstein #Percival graves #achilles tolliver #newtina #fantastic beasts fanfic #my stuff #fic: with its head under one wing #current wip

[taz-writes]

object memories

A fic I wrote as part of my D&D druid’s backstory that I’m in the mood to share. Do you ever write something for the sole purpose of splashing around in your own prose like a dog in a kiddie pool?

TLDR: POV character Hush and her father were held prisoner by a cult for 10 years in solitary confinement, before being ritually sacrificed. Unbeknownst to the cult, Hush wasn’t quite dead and woke up later in the mass grave mortally wounded but alive. As a druid, Hush can shapeshift into animals if she’s seen and studied them before. This fic is about how she 'discovered’ her first four wildshapes in the aftermath of her ordeal, while learning to survive alone in the wilderness and fend off the hunger that threatened to consume her.

~4,600 words; CWs: gore, animal death, take ‘em seriously I’m not kidding around. I feel like there’s also something going on here with the hunger stuff, but I truly don’t know what the fuck to even call that CW. If somebody knows, let me know lol.

The rat was the first. 

She doesn’t know exactly when she reached the tipping point, but she grew intimately acquainted with the ways of the rats over the years. She spent an eternity in that dungeon, curled in the corner among her clinking chains, feeling them scurry over her in her sleep. Grew acquainted with how they move, how they think, grew used to fighting them away from what little she had to eat, bartering with them for the space, for help to stay clean, teaching them to bring her things. She watched them for generations, while they nested in the dirty little pallet that she slept on,  until they were closer friends than she’d ever had among humans. 

She knew them, inside and out, long before she knew how to change into anything. When she awoke in the aftermath and the wildshapes came, the rat was like a second skin. She slipped into the shape like a shield, slick with blood, and slithered out with the last of her breath. 

The world outside was big. 

She couldn’t heal. The first word she spoke when she took her given shape again was a rattling, empty gasp that sent sticky gore oozing through the feeble scabs over the gash in her neck. It didn’t matter how desperately she grasped for the language, how well she knew the incantation, how crisp and adamant the gestures were that should have saved her. There was no magic without sound. And her angelic heritage did little to help when whatever the source of her limited innate healing, it simply didn’t respond. 

She spent the first week or so in the glade on the edge of the forest where she collapsed after running out of time as the rat. The summer heat broiled her skin, even through the shield of the canopy, leaving her parched and aching and crisp like a dead leaf. In the haze of exhaustion, she began to treat her wounds. 

The sacrificial shift they’d dressed her in shredded easily. She wound long strips of it carefully around her waist and chest, stomach churning at the horrid sight of the injuries, and tied the rest as tightly as she could across her ragged neck before the pressure made her choke. Every motion left her dizzy and sick. She might have laid there on and off for hours or days or a month, languishing in the softest patch of moss she managed to find and dragging herself back and forth from the clear little stream that burbled a few yards away. As many moments as she could, she hid behind the rat again. The rat wasn’t bleeding. The rat was safe. The rat could forage, devouring whatever it could find, just enough to sustain her. 

She learned the rabbits next. 

Timid creatures, cautious and quick, they watched her with their wide beaded-bright eyes and darted to safety at the sound of her rattling breaths. While she waited to recover her strength between wildshapes, she watched them back, tracking the little families back and forth among the wild grasses. They were solitary, but not alone—never truly alone. 

There was a nest not far from her resting place. She stumbled across the babies on her way to the stream. Their tiny forms huddled together in a depression in the grass and she looked one in the eyes and its little ears trembled, it tucked itself deeper in the shadows, bracing, and a sudden knife twisted in the center left of her stomach. 

It took too long to realize it wasn’t the wound this time. 

Her sunburnt skin ached desperately, throbbing to the rhythm of a heart that wasn’t hers. She fumbled past to the edge of the water and dipped her face below the surface, where the chill could bring her to her senses, but the soft curves of the current brushed their way along her cheeks like the perfect ghosts of her father’s hands. 

Her lungs burned before she came back up for air. 

The next time she changed, the new shape was a rescue. She was a stranger but she smelled like the glade, and the other rabbits allowed her there. In the shadowed night they huddled together, warmed by each other’s skin, and her tiny rabbit’s heart began to calm as it hadn’t before in a very long time. 

She couldn’t remain forever. She was keenly aware, the longer she lingered, that she was far too close to the cult. Any member could stumble across her here, out on a forage or traveling to the compound, and she wouldn’t get another chance at freedom. She couldn’t risk it. When her stomach sealed enough that the insides of her abdomen didn’t spill to the outside after any major movement, she staggered to her feet like a newborn fawn and began the journey. 

She stuck to the woods. Waterdeep was a death trap, anyone could be cult-aligned, anyone could see her and they thought she was dead but she couldn’t know who might know her face. The roads were too much of a risk, populated as they were. Stealth was her only option. The angels guided her when she slept, teaching her how to find north and south in the stars, how to know clean water from stagnant, how to name the leaves and berries around her and tell which ones were safe. She treated her aches with willow bark and bandaged herself with buffers of soft clean leaves. She passed the days in the shelter of her animal forms or huddled in the shade, thinking of anything but the black spots that swarmed intermittent in her vision and the weakness in her limbs. She stayed alive. It was a near thing. 

When the berry season faded, and the leaves began to turn, the hunger snarled in her like a wild beast. 

She stumbled to the nearest town under cover of night, shielding her body with her arms, following the smell of something delicious she couldn’t name that made her gut twist with starving, nauseous desperation. It was too open, the streets too broad, but every building’s door loomed and narrowed and filled her mouth with the suffocating taste of molding earth until her heart pattered the way it did in the rabbit’s body and the outlines of the structures blurred and blackened before her eyes. A too-cold breeze swirled through the streets and she shuddered from head to toe. 

There was a man ahead in dark robes that swirled and her heart moved like rabbit’s feet fleeing in her ribcage. She forced herself to the alley, forced herself back, and bolted into the safety of the sacred darkness. 

It was like that at the next few towns, too. There were kind people, here and there. One gave her a soft dark shirt and soft dark pants when she met him in the night, thrust them at her and skittered off when she tried through rattling gasps to ask if he wanted payment; a few innkeepers let her stay the night and gave her meals in the morning that softened the hunger’s brutal edge. But it couldn’t last, because the figures in the alleyways always came back, and names that she remembered from another life haunted her until she fled back to the safety of the trees. 

The days grew colder. 

The woods were safer further south, deep and dark, filled with birdsong and the golden colors of the waning year, the colors bright as life. She’d taken a sharp rock and cut a stick to hold her weight, easing the pressure on the days when walking was too much. Her breathing was growing easier, and her neck didn’t bleed anymore. But the words that would call magic to her side still couldn’t find their way from her mind out through her lips. 

She was losing strength. The angels taught her traps and snares, but her feeble hands couldn’t tie the knots tight enough, and the few beasts she trapped slipped free when she tried to claim them. The herd of deer that once bolted at the sight of her now didn’t even flinch, the great many-pointed stag that led their numbers watching her passively while his mate and children drank at the riverside and foraged from the dying grasses. There was little to forage and less to live by, and some days the wavering mists of exhaustion hardly left her vision. 

Sometimes, on the nights the angels didn’t come, she dreamed of the stag instead. Of his glinting eyes in the brush, watching her, unafraid. She murmured prayers in the morning to whatever forces listened. 

She met the wolves in the pits of a moonless night, by way of gleaming golden eyes and an uncanny silence sweeping over her resting place, and she knew they’d come for her. She resolved herself to at least go down on her feet. 

When the first wolf lunged, she lashed out with her staff, squeezing her eyes shut against the wave of fatigue that swept through her body from head to toe and sent the blood rushing out of her head, and felt herself make contact. The beast yelped, and she blinked spots from her vision just in time to fend off a second, sending it sprawling across the scrubby ground. Her hands shook.

“Please,” she tried to rasp, though nothing but a helpless wheeze came out. The wolves paced. She shifted back, making space, feeling acid adrenaline spread slow like venom down her arms and into her fingertips, biting back the way every motion tore at the scabby flesh of her still-healing abdomen. 

The wolves kept pacing. In the dark, they moved like dancers, every footstep intentionally measured. Silent, despite their size, dwarfing her with heavy bodies—direwolves, not just wolves, but their largest and most vicious cousins. 

Her stomach growled with a ferocity that nearly sent her to her knees. 

The third wolf lunged. She grasped for the little magic she knew, one of the rare spells that remained without her voice, and scared it back with a shard of ice that burst into bitter steam across the pack. Its yelp was piercing and sharp and left her dizzy. Through the haze as she recovered, she watched the wolf pack flee. 

She dreamed of the stag that night. She dreamed of blood and the careful steps of hunting beasts, tender in the foliage. She dreamed that she staggered to uncertain feet and the stag was there, his muzzle nudging against her arm, strong and stable, as she found her way upright. She wrapped her arms around him. He was warm and smelled of musk and the gentle decay of the forest floor in fall. He didn’t flee. His fur was soft like the velveteen skin of something whose name she’d forgotten, a precious something she’d loved in another life, beyond her memory, behind the veil of the endless dark. She awoke grasping for it, the name on her lips but not close enough to catch it, even if she’d had the voice to speak. 

She dreamed fitfully, in bursts, interrupted by the empty claws of a hollow stomach scratching at the inside of her vessel like nails on slate.

The next day, something whimpered in the bushes when she went to change her bandages at the stream. She braced herself against her staff, and nudged aside the leafy branches, and found the wolf. It was panting,  golden eyes glazed grey with pain, curled up defensively with hackles raised. It growled at her approach, but the sound was weak, and tapered to a whimper. 

Near its feet, the ground was muddied with black-red blood. She traced the line from its paws to the place in its side where the fur was shaved down to muscle and a thin line of bone. The ghost of a spell and an icy projectile flashed across her memory.

Her hands were shaking again. 

She went to the water. This stream ran clear and cold, down from somewhere in the mountains, carrying the mineral taste of glaciers high above. Flakes of mud and blood trailed free from her hands when she dipped them in the current, and she watched them swirl away through the eddies and whorls. 

It was all mechanical, in the end. She pried a piece of moss from the bank, hefted it, ran it through the water and watched the dirt run off the roots towards the valley. Washed it clean, squeezed it under the surface and watched it fill with water. Stood and turned back to the forest. 

The beast didn’t calm, but it didn’t bite when she pressed the pad of moss as gently as she could against the gash. It snapped, and she looked it in the eye, waiting. Its jaws were wide, teeth yellowed and worn from use. It could tear her to ribbons even now, if it had the nerve. She wouldn’t last long. 

She washed the wound, and padded it with clean dry lichen, and flinched when she touched the beast’s side and a warmth filled her fingers that hadn’t answered her since she first returned to consciousness in the grave. She caught it like a soap bubble, soft as a memory. It settled in her chest and the breath that filled her lungs was deeper than she’d had in years. 

She’d forgotten how it felt, when the warding darkness at her center answered. When the healing power in her blood responded to her call. 

She forgot it again when the hunger returned in a wave of dizzying force, chasing all other thoughts from her mind. The wolf, rising from its rest in the hollow, tilted its head with a calculating glint and watched her. Gold eyes met gold. 

It turned to follow the water, limping ever so slightly, and padded off. 

She followed. 

The pack was waiting in a stony cavern where the stream met a sparkling river. She felt their wary gazes long before she saw them, hidden as they were among the warm grey stone. But they recognized their lost member and pounced on him, tumbling together in a massive joyful bundle over the sandy patch of riverside, and before long it was like they hadn’t even seen her. She found a bright place on a rock by the shore, and waited for the sun to warm her bones more than the hunger chilled them. 

Across the river, the bushes rustled. She knew what she’d see there. 

The stag disappeared into the brush, and her vision blackened. 

She awoke to the hot wet stickiness of a tongue on her face, and flinched, recoiling from the threat. In front of her sat the injured direwolf. 

“Hi,” she whispered, bracing herself. “Hi there.” The words stuck in her wound and scraped. 

The wolf cocked its head, stood, and licked her face again. It… did not try to bite her head off. This was not a situation she had anticipated. She particularly did not expect to be licked a third time. The wolf’s breath almost made her faint again. 

Behind the wounded animal, the packmates slunk forward, watching her. Waiting. 

The hunger in their eyes was a mirror of her own, and the shapechange came in its aching wake. 

She followed them, that night, in a wolfish skin that matched their own. It wasn’t long before she had to pause, the time limits of her wildshapes forcing her back to rest while the pack moved on, but the howl carried on. They didn’t like to leave their own behind. She learned their faces—the mother the first to lunge, the father the second, the grown pups that followed them with their own faces and minds and hearts. They walked the trails of the forest, and she learned their gait, their stalking dance, their silent patience. 

She slept between great warm bodies, and dreamed of blood and meat and the beasts that once wore the bite-marked bones on the floor of the den. 

In the days, she jostled with the pups as one of them while she could. When she couldn’t, she rested on the rock by the river, while the echoes gnawing in her stomach dueled the white-hot claws of her bone-deep scars. She scrounged late-season eggs from a duck’s nest and swallowed them raw, on her hands and knees in the riverbank mud, eggshells scraping her gums and spilled yolk staining the ground, and coughed up half what she found when her scarred neck screamed with pain from bending low. It staved off the ache for an hour. She scraped up the spilled remains in her hands and wept. 

On the fifth night, she followed the pack to a valley full of marsh-weed, where they found a limping boar. The pack struck in a whirl of fur and fangs, iron-stink staining the water. They fought her back from the bounty until the leaders took their share, but the scraps she claimed sated something, hot and vicious in the pit of her gut. 

It was enough for a day. 

She dreamed of it after, the blood that dripped from her fangs, the viscera on her tongue, the hot iron taste of it, the texture of muscle rending against her jaw. The heat on her lips and gums, bone crushing and crunching and cracking in her grasp, the relief like a soft warm pelt at the end of a long day’s journey as the soft squishing prey slid down her gullet like a prayer… 

She dreamed of it night after night after night, waking with saliva in her mouth, thinking of it between the angels’ words, the ghost of that sensation dancing through her mouth in all her forms. She sat by the river and echoed it, conjuring up the giving resistance of flesh under her teeth, biting her tongue till it bled to remember the taste. She dreamed of nothing but. She dreamed even in her waking hours, as the first autumn frost laced over the land and the pack sat full and happy from the hunt. 

She dreamed of it until the dream consumed her, empty of everything but teeth. 

She left the den on an ice-bitter evening under ponderous slate skies when the dull weight of the thought hung heavy like an overripe fruit, when she wondered what the wolves would feel like beneath her fangs, if their heavy furs would rip and tear the way that scrap of boar did or if they’d linger in the teeth and scratch and bristle. She slunk up the hill to the north on the pack’s favored trail, filling her muzzle with the scent of heavy musk and petrichor. 

The stag was waiting. 

His antlers glinted in the cold dead moonlight, graceful as a halo, round as the crescent moon. He turned his head. She met his eyes and lunged. 

She tore out the flesh of his neck like pages from a holy book, paper beneath her fangs as his blood ran like wine at a ritual. His stomach opened just as easily, staining the fallen leaves in garish scarlet, and his legs kicked feebly as she tore through the viscera that spilled free, relishing in the iron stench. Mouthful after mouthful, she ate her fill. She tore through muscle and tendon until she finally sank her teeth into his bright-hot heart and swallowed it in shreds. It might have still been beating, or the pulse between her jaws might have been her own, racing and vicious. She felt every piece reach her stomach, filling the void, hot in her chest like a hearthfire, bright as a star, sweet and tangy in the wolf’s senses and prickling in her own. 

She hunted the liver down among the mess and swallowed it next, and the kidneys, and parts she knew no name for that glistened red and pink and sickish yellow in the light. She savored the feeling, the soft wet warm of it, the taste of the life that would fuel her own. She pried out the lowest of his ribs and it crackled in her jaws and she chewed out the marrow until there was nothing left of worth. 

She didn’t know when he stopped moving, only that eventually, he did. It took too long. 

When the wolf’s stomach filled, she lost the shape and scrabbled at the stag with her own weak human-shaped hands, her fingers shaking, nails digging into the slickened meat for purchase and prying up scraps to devour. She shook and shuddered and buried her own face into the stag’s shattered chest, drinking the lifeblood until it dried sticky on the edges of her skin, until she was full, until her aching stomach silenced and stopped and grew bloated with bleeding flesh. 

She raised her head and her gaze caught upon his eyes. They were wide, and glassy, and milky with the haze of death. 

She turned away from the kill and threw up nothing but bile, choking on the taste of steel. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, too hoarse for anyone to hear, shuffling to the side and cradling his head in her lap, the warm blood filling her soft dark pants and seeping through to her skin. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Thank you.” 

She leaned over him, wrapped her arms around his neck, curling her fingers into his short soft fur. Velveteen. Buried her face in his, her eyes hot and stinging, she swore she felt the ghosts of hands in her hair as the blood dried sticky on her face and melted down her cheeks. She clutched him tight enough to strain the scabs down her chest and belly, threatening to once again reopen the wounds. And she stayed there, waiting, until nothing came. Her stomach was quiet. 

As she rose to her feet, she carefully bent and lifted as much of the stag as her body could manage. He was lighter than seemed fair, even to her haggard limbs. 

Her hands didn’t shake. 

There were hunters in these woods. The angels had told her, murmurs in the night, between the endless thoughts of hunger. They could help her. She stumbled through the brush, dragging the stag behind her, listening for someone larger than herself. 

In the hours before the dawn, she found a young man in the valley, carrying a crossbow and a knife. He stiffened at her approach, and stood there wide-eyed, watching. 

The words she spoke to explain herself died in rasping whistles in her throat, but still he watched, rapt, his eyes darting between the stag and her own face. 

“You… you killed that?” the man asked, gesturing. 

She nodded. Her neck twinged. She felt the man’s gaze skirt over her scarred neck, her hands slick with blood, the wrinkled scabby mess of her stomach where it was visible between the hem of her shirt and her makeshift belt. 

“Do you… need to… take it somewhere?” She shook her head. The man swallowed. “That’s a lot of meat for one person. Erm…” He looked around, and she tilted her head. “…Do you know how to treat it? If you’re planning to eat that yourself, you probably want to salt-preserve it, it’ll spoil quickly otherwise. I could… help?” 

She shook her head quickly, forcefully, then nodded, please, and the man flinched.  But he was true to his word. 

He led her to a clearing, his hands fluttering and his soft eyes nervous as she followed like a wraith, and showed her how to lay the stag down and open the rest of its body with a clean sharp knife. How to strip the meat from the bones, careful and keen, and process it into chunks and then lay it in pieces in salt to let it dry. She watched the process with singleminded focus, noting down every last motion, memorizing each flick of the knife. 

He let her borrow his blade, so she could clean the carcass and keep that velveteen skin. With a few weeks’ drying and treatment, it would make a good blanket to last the winter through. She stripped the stag to the bones, and kept those as trophies. That night, the angels taught her to sharpen them into knives. 

When the man had left, knife and bow in hand, retreating into the shadows, she realized that he never once quite looked her in the eyes. 

She kept the skull. Late at night she stared into its face, searching for the glint of the stag’s all-knowing gaze in the depths of his bones, knowing there was nothing on the other side. She stared at him until somewhere deep inside, a part of her became him. Until his eyes became her own. 

She took the form of a deer in the morning, wearing the weight of his antlers like a crown. The herd moved by her in the bushes and watched her like a ghost. 

She went south. The winter was upon her, and it was time again to travel. The herd had enough to haunt them.

#dnd fic #this is... more gruesome than i usually go in for but it was fun to write #the way this feels like cannibalism when it definitely isn't #but at the same time in some metaphorical sense it kind of is #it's more... killing somebody and then stealing their skin #hush is a creepy forest witch who talks to angels and makes people nervous #and i love that for her #the hunter she met in the woods is just some sad little himbo trying to feed his family and thanking the gods he wasn't murdered by the fey #100% that man thought hush was either a faerie or a demon and feared for his LIFE #i told the DM that someday i would love her to just randomly bump into that guy again #because now that she's healed enough to /talk/ again she wants to thank him and will be all excited to see him #'omg it's my best friend!!!' meanwhile this poor guy is shitting himself 'oh fuck oh no i DID accidentally sell my soul to the fey' #hush is one of those characters i categorize as 'obliviously terrifying' #she is just a gal trying to survive and trying to regain her sense of self after being violently dehumanized for over a decade #she encounters other people and is overwhelmed but tries to be 'normal' #she just... fails to realize that between the aasimar angel traits and the inability to talk and the telepathy she uses to compensate... #she is very scary to other people #but then you talk to her and she is in tears of joy bc she had a fresh baguette this morning and it was really good #and it's like... ah. she's just poorly socialized

[simon-x-billy]

Simon x Billy

Year of the OTP: April

April Ch. 4: Are you alive?

April prompt: Seemingly unrequited love

Guest starring, Alfie Jones

AN: Fast-forward two months, and Billy’s still worrying about that American bloke he bundled off back to Brooklyn. Btw, he is also a man whore. No tea no shade, he just loves women (a lot and frequently). This chapter is part of a massive rewrite of Simon x Billy in honor of the Year of the OTP event on ao3. TW: This chapter includes trans themes, which I have hopefully treated with genuine feeling and respect. If you do feel triggered and there is something I can do to be better, please let me know. Gratitude and love.

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-----/Billy/-----

I’ve barely made it two months. 

Billy: Are you alive?

Simon: Who is this?

Billy: You know who this is - are you alive?

Simon: Yes

-----/-/-----

Here I am just leavin to fetch Anna Lucia and my text notification sounds out.  Last time I saw this name on my screen, reckon it’d be about a month past.

First dates. That’s a great feelin, isn’t it? You know you’re gonna kiss, but you don’t know when. Your heart’s poundin. And then the cell buzzes. Hope she’s not begging off. Took her ages to even sustain eye contact with me. To be honest, you know you’re bein flirted with when I come at yeh. Not that I’ve been pesterin her. Her eyes just couldn’t bear lookin straight into the sun. Ah, I’m only jokin. 

Right, give m’self one last lookover. “Teeth, check. Hair, check. Cock in, check. Smell good, check. Phone, check. Text check…

Simon: Are you alive?

Billy: What’s up, man? All right? You well?

Time, check. Tick tock tick tock. Come on, man, I can’t be sat here waitin on yeh to decide whether yer textin back. Anna Lucia’s-

Simon: There was an earthquake in Northern Italy

Billy: Yes, that is correct - there was an earthquake in Northern Italy

Simon: You ok?

Billy: Yeah man, did you worry? That’s so sweet

Simon: Shut up

Billy: Then you wouldn’t know whether I survived the earthquake in Northern Italy

Billy: Don’t be losin sleep on my account, man - I’m well to the south

Billy: Big landmass, we’re not fallin into the sea

Billy: That sorta thing only happens in America

I pause, thinkin that he might take the bait, but it’s been a minute without a response and I’ve got a stunner waitin on me. 

Condoms? Definitely. Check.

-----/Simon/-----

Billy: Simon

Simon: What

Billy: …

The little typing-in-progress dots start and stop, and start and stop again.

Billy: Nevermind.

Nevermind. Nevermind? Nevermind?! What the fuck?! You can’t just - grrrrrr. Sometimes I hate that guy. 

Shit. What if something’s wrong. 

What if he’s lost fingers and can’t thumb in a text. Besides “Simon” and “nevermind.” Yeah, no, that’s ludicrous, Lewis. Obviously. Certo.

Two hours later, and I’m still distracted. ‘Nevermind?’ Rude.

Annoying. 

Fucking obnoxious, is what it is. 

I do not need this kind of thing in my life. And I don’t even know the guy. So I delete him from my contacts. 

I already kinda regret it.

Fuck.

——-/-/——-

So yeah. Fuck. I still regret it. 

For a whole week. Shit. 

Did I put it under Terrazze……. Or di Limoni?  Ah, ok. The phone ringing in Italian sounds weird and wrong. Sorta like me in Italian.

“Ciao, Terrazze di Limoni, parlando Rosalina. Come posso aitutarti?”

“Um, si, I’m good, thank you…um, I don’t parlo Italiano.”

“Si, signore. How can I help you?”

“Thanks. I’m looking for Billy Delaney. Or, actually, I just need his phone number. I lost it.” 

Nothing. 

“Billy from the restaurant?” I clarify.

Again, nothing. “Yes?” I ask.

“Yes? Is this a question? I do not understand you, Signore Laywees.”

Ok, redirect. “Do you know his cell phone number? Please?”

“I can not, no.”

“Is there someone who does know his number? Maybe the computer?”

“No. Non signore. I am not permiso. Emmm, how you say, permit to give to you the informazione that is personal to him.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I can understand that. Makes sense. But since I know him?” Please please please.

She is silent, again. Until, “Is this a question? I still do not understand you, Signore Laywees.”

“I’d really like to talk to him. Via text, I mean. Send a text - to him.”

“Sí, signore.”

“Yes? You’ll give it to me?”

“No.” She makes it sound so final and permanent.

“Do you remember that he and I are friends? I stayed in the suite up on the top floor?”

“Si. You are the American on the roof.”

“I what? No, nevermind. He is still at the hotel, though, right?” Maybe I can just ask to speak to the mana-

“No.”

“Wait, what?”

“No. He is no longer at the hotel,” she informs me.

“But he’s still in Sorrento, right?”

“No.” It sounds so final and permanent.

Panic. “But-“

“He is in London,” she adds.

“Wait, what?”

“He is in London.”

“I didn’t know that,” I say quietly to myself.

“Certo.” Obviously? She thinks I’m obvious.

So now it’s even more important that she give me his number. Cuz if I ever need to get in touch with him, they wouldn’t give it to me. Not a chance.

“No.”

Goddammit, Lewis. “Did I say that out loud?”

“It was quiet, Signore.”

“Pardon?”

“Si. I perdonna you.”

Help? Confused. “Please, I need to talk- to text him. Even more now that he isn’t in Italy anymore. If you don’t share his number,” I say, kinda more to myself than to her, “then that’s it.”

“What is it?”

“I mean-” Shit, I suppose that really is it, then. I won’t get to tell him I’m over Voldemort and her nighty. I was kinda looking forward to that. “I guess it’s just that that will be it. In terms of knowing him. Friends. So, yeah. I guess I just won’t know him anymore.” This is the single most embarrassing experience I have ever had. Since my trip to Italy.

“Ah, si. Ssssssi.” She stretches out the last word, so it sounds like she’s mulling something over.

“Signore Laywees,” she says in a muffled whisper. “His numero is-“

——-/-/——-

Simon: Billy

That Irishman: 

——-/-/——-

Rude! 

——-/-/——-

Three days later it’s even ruder. More rude. (I’m allowed to think with bad grammar.)

I shouldn’t have bothered getting the number. That’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back. I mean, how many more days is he… You know what? Fuck it. I don’t even care.

This is me not caring.

At all.

—--/Billy/—--

Fucksake, Simon. I was with a girl. Lucrezia with the long legs, and what, you want me to pull out to answer your text? 

Y’ know what - I’m done with this. He’s alive. That’s fine. All I needed to know.

Deleted.

—--/Simon/—--

Simon: Where are you?

That Irishman: New phone, who dis?

I - wow. That kind of - stung.

Stings. 

—--/-/—--

It’s been a week and it’s still stinging.

Simon: Are you alive?

I couldn’t go a week without texting. What the fuck is wrong with me. 

That Irishman: New phone, who dis?

Ow. 

He ghosted me. Actually, like, in reality, intentionally ghosted me.

Simon: You know who this is.

You know what? I’m done.

I do not need this in my life right now. My book placing Simon out front as main character is due in two months, but Me Simon, the author? I’m still stuck. I still suck. I’ve scrapped everything I’ve written about him.

So of course I start writing an entirely different story. Which then turns into an idea for a Warlock spinoff series for my most flamboyant and interesting character. 

It’s a love story between boys. It’s been building over the course of all three books, and I just can’t shove it out of my head. And the fans want that just as much as they want a Simon book. Easiest way to avoid doing something you need to do? Do something else you need to do. 

Shit. I need to do some research.

That Irishman: Why?

Huh. Interesting point. I-

Simon: I don’t know

—--/Billy/—--

I think we’ve gotten past our - whatever it was a few weeks ago. That was weird. Yeah, weird. We were up each other’s arses about - what? Nothing at all. Immature and grating, and yet, we’re still texting. A little more often now. But usually it’s of the “are you alive?” variety, with single word, single syllable answers from Simon. “Are you over her?” “Yes,” that sort of thing. I can’t tell whether he’s pissed, or just wants to know I’m alive. I thought I was supposed to be knowing that he was alive. 

Billy: Are you alive?

Grumpy: I guess

Billy: Two words! We’re making progress

Grumpy: Shut up

I laugh.

Billy: I’m not talking, I’m texting. If you want me to stfu, just put the phone down

Billy: Try it - now

Billy: See? Silence. Wasn’t that nice?

Grumpy: You really can’t can you

Billy: Can’t what

Grumpy: Shut up

Billy: Jaysus, Simon. Put the phone back down. I don’t need to be hearing you being mean

Grumpy: Funny

Billy: You know man, you’re like the Hemingway of texting

Grumpy: So literary

Well, he’s not biting. Much. Why do I bother? Have a better conversation with the cat. 

Of course my friend Rachel’s a cat person. I like that about her. And her cat.

So I feed the cat. And Rachel, before she’s back to her pub downstairs. I potter about the kitchen, tidying up while I wait to hear back from my best mate, Alfie.

I feel my cell buzz in my back pocket, just as I’m puttin the several thank-you meals I’ve made Rachel into the fridge.

Alfie: We still on mate?

Billy: Do you really have to ask?

Alfie: Yes! 

Alfie: I mean no

Alfie: I mean I know - just looking forward to seeing you mate

Alfie: Worried you wouldn’t want to see everyone - you know what I’m trying to say

Billy: I think what you’re trying to say is you’re leaving the house now

—--/-/—--

Is this… I think this is shot #3. She gave us two, and then… so that’s 4? I think. 

Oooh, my arse is vibrating. But not for the fun reason. 

“Whoa-what Alfie?!” has just grabbed me - bodily - and pulled me up against him. 

“Alfie, I love you, mate. You’re a mostly good friend and I guess you’re kinda cute, but-”

He flips us around, drops his arse onto a bar stool, and makes himself very small.

“Tired, mate?” I’m frowning down at him when Rachel sets up another pair of shots.

“For the birthday boy. Where’d he get off to?” she asks, pretendin to survey the room.

I snort. “Here’s yer man. This tiny human here in front of me who appears to find my Vegas belt buckle fascinating. Alfie, mate, what’re yeh-”

“I’m hiding,” he hisses.

“But why?”  

And of course it’s just as I’m throwin back shot #5 (4?)  when the great eejit grabs me about the waist, yanks me to him, and buries his face in my navel. 

So now I’m chokin on vodka and he’s hissing at me to shut up and stand still. “The fuck? What’re you doin?! Stop it,” I wheeze.

“Shhh!”

Still tryin to see past the blindin fire in my sinuses. “Fucksake, Alfie! You know I just blew a shot of clear alcohol out my nose. And I know you do cos you’ve vodka snot in your hair, and runnin down the side of yer face, mate. What the fuck?”

“I don’t care, shhhh!”

So I stand very still and speak very quietly. “Alfie, mate. Why don’t you care that you’ve vodka snot – my snot – runnin down yer face?”

That’s when he grabs both my arms and slaps them on the bartop, caging himself in. 

This once again catches Rachel’s eye at the other end of the bar. As it should do. And she shoots me a quick look. I answer with a shrug. 

“Do I even want to know?” she asks, headin back our way.

“Would both of you shut up? Hide me!”

Rachel rolls her eyes and leaves me with the child in my arms. 

“I’d say I’m flattered, mate,” I whisper. “But you’re freakin me out now. I’m assumin it’s a girl, yeah? Which one is she?” 

I’m looking into the bar mirror and spot a face from a lifetime ago. 

“Alfie, is that-”

“It’s that fit Thai bird from Bangkok.”

“Alfie, is that Ken?” 

Guest starring, Ken

Alfie buries his face in my navel again.

“Yes?” he says in a guilty squeak. 

“Why is she here?” I ask very slowly, as if I’m speakin to someone not so bright. Because I am speakin to someone not so bright. 

“Erm, well… Because I live here? Probably?”

I need another pint. And vodka’s put me off, as that’s a pain that’s gonna linger in my nasal passages. I signal the lovely Rachel, who nods as she begins to pull me a pint.

“Alfie. Why are yeh hidin? From Ken. Who is now where yeh live. And not in Bangkok.”

“I sort of…”

I give him the ol’ eyebrow encouragement. 

“I’ve kind of been sending her sexy pokes…erm, sexy poking with her.”

“For a year?! Wait, no. How long has it been since Thailand? Have you been sexy poking her all this time?”

“Shhhh!” And back to my navel he goes. “I didn’t invite her! She’s just here! Over there,” he says with a muffled rumble into my belly. 

“I have a feelin that’s just the beginning of a very long, very embarrassing story. Don’t let me stop yeh. But yer steamin up my stomach and my vodka snot has now migrated back to me. On my shirt. And you know how I feel about laundry.”

Sighing and shaking my head. “Mate, stop it. Yer actin like a baby. Face yer fears or face responsibility or buy her a drink. Those are yer options.” 

“How about we buy me a drink instead?” He looks up hopefully, his hands loosening the vice grip he’s got on me.

“And by we, you mean me,” I state the obvious.

“It is my birthday.”

“And we have a history of phenomenally fucked up birthdays here. Are you plannin to make a regular habit of it?”

Rachel places the perfect pint in front of me. I sigh. “Sure’n I suppose you’ll be wantin my pint then.”

He grins sweetly up at me. “Birthday?”

“Thank yeh, Rachel, love. That’ll be one more. But I’ll be takin this one.” 

Alfie whines unintelligibly.

“Alfie!” rings out the voice of a high tenor.  

I move aside like the terrible friend that I am.

“Judas!” Alfie cries.

“Ken!” I cry. 

“Billy. I like seeing you again. I don’t like seeing this one with his face in another man’s chest!”

“Another man’s-”

“Pickles!” Alfie cries.

Guest starring, Pickles

“Lord Jaysus, Pickles!” I cry. I’m over the moon to see our old mate Cheese & Pickles. Another one Alfie made a hash of a start with, leadin him on. But at least in that case, it had been an honest mistake with a cheese and pickle baguette, and quickly sorted. And we made a solid mate out of the mess. I’d hoped I’d get to see him again this year. 

Ken, on the other hand, I never had much interaction with her. Nice girl if memory serves, but she is a bit of a wild card. Certo.

I round on Alfie. “Alfie, why is Ken here? How long has this been going on?”

“Two years!” Ken shouts.

Oh Alfie, you feckin brainless eejit, look at the state of yeh. 

“He said he wanted me. Me. He never said anything about you.”

I watch as Pickles’ jaw drops open at the implication, and his eyes slide from side to side like it’s Wimbledon. 

“I say it again, Billy. He told me he wants me. So I came.” Ken is trying to keep a lid on her emotions, but they’re right there at the surface ridin her.

“Erm,” Alfie begins, looking like things are starting to fall into place in that thick skull of his. 

“What was that? Squeak up,” I press. “Today’d be grand.” 

“Erm, well,” Alfie begins again. “I-” And his face turns cherry red starting from his collar, ending at the very tips of his little mouse ears. “I may have said-”

“I want you so much. You told me over and over. I want you. I want you so much. Come with me. So I came.”

Pickles zips his mouth shut.

Simon would have relished this moment.

“I am beautiful. You told me! How could you be with him? He is not beautiful.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Pickles mutters again. 

“Thanks, mate,” I say. No harm in hearin it, if I’m honest.

“And just where were you when you were telling Ken how much you wanted her? How beautiful she is?” Spit it out, man.

“Erm…” says Alfie, eloquent as ever.

“He was on the computer. Where else would he be? He was not in bed with you!” Ken turns on Alfie. “Were you?”

“Erm…” repeats Alfie. 

“Have you no sense, you great eejit? You’re makin it worse.” All skull, no brain. Don’t know why I bother.

We need to get her calm, get her some privacy in a nice, cozy snug in the corner, sit down and sort this out. This is too personal for the floor of a pub. Not fair to Ken. 

Guest starring, a snug

Looking disgusted with Alfie, Pickles steps in and picks up Ken’s hand. “You deserve better,” he says softly but with honest conviction. Good man. 

Ken’s eyes are welling. “Yes. I do.”

“Oi!” Alfie exclaims in indignation.

I cut him off with an elbow to the ribs and a glare. “Not helping!” I grit out. 

“Oh. Oh!” Alfie takes in a deep breath and gives her a sincere apology. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he says, and once again buries his face in my navel. 

“Alfie!” Ken looks like she’s about to cry quite a lot of tears. “You said-”

And right before my eyes, Pickles’ face goes all soft. I watch it happen right in front of me. That moment you see in films when the boy looks at a duckling like he’s never seen one before, and suddenly she’s the loveliest water fowl he’s ever met. “Ken, is it?” he says softly. “Come sit down. I’ll get you something to drink, and we can figure it out.”

I incline my head toward the snug at the back part of the room. I can see it’s empty.

Ken raises her head high, and pins Alfie with a deadly glare. “You are not worth my tears. Or my frequent flying kilometers.”

Alfie looks ashamed, as he should do, and wisely keeps his fat trap shut. Wise - for Alfie, that is. Pickles leads Ken across the floor as far from Alfie and me as he can be. “Do you have luggage?” I hear him ask as they walk away. Good man. Damn good man.

“You owe Pickles, mate.”

“All my birthday beer is his.”

“That’s right,” I agree. 

“That’s right,” Alfie whispers as he downs his two forgotten shots. “That’s right.”

“Alfie. What’s really goin on here, mate?” I ask him. “You realize you’ll be needin to have an honest talk with Ken, don’t yeh? Pickles may have put the situation on pause for the moment. But she does deserve better, man.”

He looks a bit lost.

“What were yeh thinkin?”

He starts to fidget. “Look, man.” I reassure him. “I’m here for yeh, thick, thin, wide, narrow, tall, short. Female. Male?”

“Or maybe somewhere undefined in-between?” he asks.

“Alfie. I love yeh, mate.” I’m bendin down gettin in his face, bein that the man is avoidin eye contact with his head down. “Nothin else matters, yeh see that, don’t yeh?”

Alfie peeks up and looks at me, barely. He’s unsure and deeply unsettled. Ken, in person, has him rattled — profoundly rattled. And can I blame him? Somethin private – and very likely somethin he thought was just for fun with no consequences – just became public and hit home in a very, very she’s at my home kind of way. So much for no consequences.

“Life is real, Alfie. Life happens. Life has consequences. Life is full of good people, in with the bad. Ken’s one of the good ones, mate. If yeh don’t want anything to do with her-”

“I didn’t say that!” busts out of his mouth, before he can think on it. Which, if I’m honest, describes everything that comes out of Alfie’s mouth. He squeezes his lips together, willing them not to speak.

I let it float for a minute, not wanting to give him any outs, but also not wanting to make him afraid to speak. But I break. “No judgement, mate. Do you want Ken?”

He finally lifts his head, and gives me frightened eyes I’ve never seen him wear. “I don’t know?”

“No reason to panic like this. No need to have it all worked out of a sudden, all at once. But you do need to be honest with her. And you need to walk over to that snug with me, sit yerself down across from Ken, and talk to her. Tonight. Let her know how yer feelin, that you might be conflicted, questioning. She’s got to know what that feels like, mate. Hasn’t she?”

He gives me a one-shoulder shrug, lettin me know he’s heard me.

“Go take a piss, do a shot, smoke somethin, whatever. But you’ve got 5 minutes before you have to act like a grown man. I’ll make your excuses til then. And I’m lettin her know you’ll be joinin us in that snug. No runnin from this, mate. She knows where yeh live. Because I’ll give her the street number and drive her there m’self if ye run.”

—--/-/—--

When I finally arrive back up at Rachel’s flat, I’m drunk enough to bump into every wall between the entry and the stairs, which I manage to fall up, and then “Ow!” as I knock my hip against the railing at the top.

I’m tripping as I try to walk out of my jeans and open the bedroom door at the same time. Seems like something that should be possible, walking out of a pair of jeans. It isn’t.

As I fall on my arse with a loud thud and grunt, my guest for the evenin begins laughin at me. I can’t really blame her. I’m drunk. She’s drunk. Neither one of us remembers each others’ names. Doesn’t matter. Except-

Guest starring, Guest

“Oh, Saints preserve us! Jaysus no!”

“What are you on about?” Somethin-somethin-somethin, “on me.”

I’ve no idea what she’s sayin, and couldna care, because I’ve fallen on my phone. “Mary and the sweet baby Jesus, oh thank you. Ohhhh thank you. Oh lord.”

I caress it lovingly – which is really what I should be doing with the bird crawling across the bed in a relatively alluring way. The screen lights up revealing a text notification, and I vaguely remember it buzzing in my pocket at the start of the night. I’d sort of forgotten it, what with Alfie’s nose in my navel. And my nose shortly due to be well below her navel.

Grumpy: Why

“What? Oh no, not you love. Don’t move a finger. I want yeh just like that.”

Billy: Why what?

He replies almost instantly.

Grumpy: Why are my texts like Hemingway

Billy: Brief.

I turn off my phone, and drop it on the crumpled and growing mass of clothing on the floor. After all, it’s important I focus all my attention on my guest’s needs. And I’ve a feelin she’ll have many.

—--/Simon/—--

Fuuuuuuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Again.

I have no idea how to write the Simon book and it’s seriously sucking my will to live. Which, you know, vampire Simon and all that.

OK, so here’s the thing. I can’t just suddenly claim I’m totally different from the character, when the fans know I’ve based him on me. And they know I’m a nerd. A huge nerd. I can’t turn him into some super, supernatural, sleek, and sexy vampire. Nope. He has to be confused half the time. And show periodic feats of great courage, followed by moping and pining and loyalty. The fans love it. They eat that shit up. On paper – not in my actual life. Me Simon, I mean. Other Simon gets to mope all he wants and they still think he’s worth reading about. Fuck if I know why.

I can’t turn him into an amalgam of like, hipster-bass-player-shoegazer-vampire. We’ve all already read the one about the rockstar vampire.

So what kind of person would Other Simon wish he could be?

Ugh, well, 15 year old Me Simon just wanted to be cool and get the girl. 15 year old Other Simon is… a vampire, and will get the girl. Maybe two. Eventually.

I think he needs confidence. Other Simon, I mean. That’s what being a vampire gives him. That and killer abs. (Vamp abs are killer. I crack myself up. This is me cracking up.)

I think that’s his real growth arc – the confidence, not the abs. Wayyy back at the beginning I started him from a place already lagging behind his peers, saving himself for his crush. So becoming a vampire boosts his confidence immeasurably. That’s why we can more easily believe it when he finally gets the girl. For like five minutes.

I dunno. Now maybe he’ll go be a rockstar at being a super-supernatural superhero, rather than an actual rockstar of music. Nobody cares that I play bass.

You, self in mirror. Nobody cares that you play the bass. Just let it go.

Ok fine, me. You win. As usual. Nobody wants to hear the stats on my vintage Marshall stacks. Or about my priceless Rickenbacker, played by Sir Paul himself. Oh my god, why? Whyyyyyy? This should be exciting to everyone, everywhere.

I wonder if Billy would say I’m whingeing. How do you even spell that. Winging? Winjing? Whinging?

Actually, wait. Billy’s a confident person. He’s gregarious. Everybody fuckin loves that guy. Sometimes I hate him, just to prove to the universe that it is possible. Sometimes he deserves it, too. Wanker. Twat. Neither of those sound good in American.

Maybe Ma’s right and I should get out more.

Nah.

What would I even do? I’m supposed to be writing. I’m supposed to be writing. Writing.

Writing.

Writing.

Writing.

I can’t believe I went to Italy and didn’t take one picture. Not one. I had a couple good conversations. All with an Irishman – no one Italian. That would be stupid, Simon. (Me Simon, not Other Simon.)

Fuuuuuck.

——-/-/——-

Simon: I was in the seat of the Roman Empire, on possibly the sexiest sea in the world, and I didn’t fucking notice

That Irishman: Yeah, I noticed

Simon: Where are you?

That Irishman: Sorrento, dinner rush, can’t talk

Simon: Pick me up tomorrow

That Irishman: Wait what?

That Irishman: ???

That Irishman: Simon

That Irishman: Simon!

#year of the otp 2023 #year of the otp #simon x billy #simon-x-billy #simon lewis #billy delaney #April chapter 4 #are you alive? #robert sheehan character fic #alfie jones #pickles #cheese and pickle baguette #me and mrs jones #bbc me and mrs jones #the mortal instruments #tmi #year of the otp event #event #writing event #tmi fanfic #italy #yotp 2023 #April chapter #chapter 4 #simon is simon #Rosalina #year of the otp April #yotp April #pin #pinned post

[mustardyellowsunshine]

not me rereading Warm Tape by @somekndofnature for the dozenth time and slowly growing more obsessed with their MMA AU version of InuYasha 👀👀

#i am living for the possibility of that long fic eventually being shared #i will eat it up like baguette #fic rec

[timetoddddavis]

i'm assuming (don't) tell me everything is another lupat fic, which is very 👀👀👀 cause that's simply one of my fave lupat series of all time. is kairi learning to love himself?

Oh thank you for saying so!! Yes, this would be a third fic in the (don't) series, this one set between '(don't) worry about me' and '(don't) say you love me', which, as you can imagine, means this would be the fic where they might, perhaps, get together.

While I don't think I can promise that I'll ever write Kairi really truly loving himself, it would involve Kairi being forced to reckon with that another person loves him, and how awful he feels that he - in his mind - manipulated that into happening.

What I have written out is sort of the opening two scenes as a proof of concept/playing with how to render text messaging into a fic, since the plot relies on Kairi receiving texts, some that he's expecting, but a whole lot that he was not.

[February 15, 2019 Halted another attempted breakout last night. Injuries low, thankfully. Head office approved the science department’s plan, using his chains to hold him in place. We had to spend the day holding him down to get it done, but he isn’t going anywhere, I promise you that.] Kairi frowned at the phone, trying to absorb what he was reading. This was secret stuff, layouts and locations, everything but blueprints. This was big time important GPO stuff, the kind of thing that went into a red folder with ‘for your eyes only’ stamped on the outside. The kind of thing Kei-chan could be in real trouble for leaking, the kind of thing Kairi could be arrested just for receiving. He definitely shouldn’t have been reading it, and so Kairi read the whole thing a couple more times, just to be sure. ‘I promise you that’? Promised who? Was this supposed to be going to the head office? Or to Hilltop?

I fully intend to write this one someday, but it needs a lot of work, and it just hasn't really come together.

#wip tag meme #stickers-on-a-laptop #fic thoughts #also noel is there #hon hon baguette i invented emotions #as kairi might say of him

[jeonride]

seungcheol reading list / fic recs !

don't forget to like + reblog the fics that you like to support the authors <3

navigation

FICS ! ✧*

written by @cheolism :

In The Eye of The Beholder (smut but also fluffy and soft, boyfriend!cheol and he's such a simp) by

Couch Comfort (fluff)

The Great War (historical au, fluff, smut, enemies to lovers) by @amourcheol

written by @lovelyhan :

Down Bad (So So Bad) (friends to lovers, fluff, smut)

Thirst Trap (smut, fluff, established relationship)

Sonder (angst, smut, knight!cheol) by @jundundun

Gryffindor Captain (hogwarts au, angst, smut, one sided love) by @http-mianhae

written by @toruro :

Exes and Oh's (angst, smut, rebuilding relationship)

The Cake In The Back (smut, fluff, rich dilf!cheol)

All For You (smut, fluff, hurt/comfort) by @gfcheol

Push It Down (Sooner or Later It All Will Comes Out) Series by @dontflailmenow

Crossing Boundaries (smut, fluff, single dad au) by @wonusite

written by @duhnova :

A Witches Apothecary for All Your Desires and Needs (smut, angst, witch!au)

Who's in Control? (smut)

Setting The Mood (smut, fluff) by @playmetheclassics

Black Suit (smut, mafia boss!cheol) by @gyuranhae

Lover (smut, strangers to lovers, sugar daddy au) by @starlightxsvt

Terrifyingly Innocent The Series (smut) by @twogyuu

I Like You (smau with some written parts. fluff, angst, doctor!cheol x nurse!reader) by @taeyegu

Your Touch; My Lullaby (fluff, smut, angst) by @j6shua

After Class (smut, professor!cheol, with several continual parts) by @rubyreduji

Tomorrow Tonight (friends to lovers, angst, mutual pining) by @cheolbooluvr

Bite That Lip (smut, fluff, mild angst) by @beahae

Romance at Mistletoe Inn (smut, fluff) by @1-800-hwahui

written by @smileysuh :

Sapiosexual (smut, sugar daddy au)

Cherry Cheollie (smut)

written by @yoongiseesawmp3 :

Cupid (smut, brother's bestfriend!cheol)

Get You (fluff, neighbor!cheol)

Banana Pancakes (smut)

Reliable (smut, humor, bestfriends au) by @ncteez

Indulgence (smut, vampire!cheol) by @sluttywonwoo

Shiver Me Timbers! (smut, fantasy au, pirate captain!cheol x siren!reader) by @beefboyandbabygirl

Just Friends (smut, childhood friends to lovers, slowburn) by @lvscoups

Shiny Star (fluff, hurt comfort, university au) by @wonwoonlight

To Boil A Frog (fluffy, childhood acquaintances to lovers) by @seungkwansphd

When You Love Someone (angst, eventual fluff) by @shuahoonie

Exam Szn (smut, a bit fluff) by @azamf

11/10 (smut) by @bluejeanstrash

Track 1 ; Hotel (smut, heir!cheol, old money au) by @drunk-on-dk

Clouded (smut, slight fluff, established relationship, idol!au) by @hoshzone

It's Always Been You (smut, fluff) by @heartkyeom

Lusty Gallant (smut, roommates fwb au) by @onlyseokmins

The Devil Said... (angst, smut, half demon!cheol) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

DRABBLES / SCENARIOS ! ✧*

Wine & Dined (fluff, smut, established relationship) by @celestiababie

Silky (fluff, smut) by @playmetheclassics

Driving Me Crazy (smut, bandmate!cheol) by @1-800-hwahui

11.00 PM (smut) by @celestialpearls

dry humping (smut) @sluttyminghao

written by @idyllic-ghost :

birthday sex (smut)

written by @lovelyhan :

when you're having a bad day (soo fluffy)

forced orgasm (smut)

you sound pretty hot when you shut up (smut)

written by @toruro :

take care (smut)

escapades (smut)

written by @onlyhuis :

wedding night (smut, fluff)

more please (smut)

written by @yikesmary :

three : he falls first (fluff)

pregnancy cravings (fluff)

Insomnia (smut) by @jaestrz

written by @bluejeanstrash :

manspread (smut)

giving road head (smut)

unholy (smut) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

6.29 am (fluff, established relationship) by @ksywoo

ice cream (smut, fluff) by @/seonghwalogy

baguette (fluff) by @/bwinnies

possessive cheol (smut) by @/meltwonu

fwb with cheol (smut) @/wonwoonlight

written by @/fairyhaos :

what's good? (fluff) by

4.15 am (fluff)

5.02 am (fluff, dad!cheol) by @/slytherinshua

winter (smut, husband!cheol) by @/xmyunghoe

#choi seungcheol #seungcheol drabble #seungcheol fic #scoups imagine #scoups smut #scoups #scoups seventeen #seungcheol smut #choi seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol scenarios #seventeen seungcheol #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen headcanons #seventeen drabbles #seventeen scenarios #seventeen scoups #kala : fic recs #scoups fic #fic recommendation #seventeen fic #fic recs #kala : reads #scoups scenarios #kpop fanfic

[baddestbittyontheblock]

choi seungcheol fic recs

you are responsible for the content you consume‼️

✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

♡ﾟ･🍓 down bad (so so bad) by @lovelyhan seungcheol x pet-sitter!reader (ft. exo's sehun just 'cause LOL) | friends to lovers, lots of denial, a twinge of fluff, smut, graphic sexual content (MINORS DNI), 5.7k

-it’s not like you’re curious about how the word would taste in your mouth whenever seungcheol calls himself daddy while talking to kkuma. nope. definitely not. 

♡ﾟ･🍓 thirst trap by ^ choi seungcheol x reader | established relationship, fluff, smut, implied hand kink?, graphic sexual content (minors dni!!), 2.8k

-whne your boyfriend posts a deliberate thrist trap for millions to see, you end feeling just a little bit sulky.

♡ﾟ･🍓 seungcheol blurb by @sluttywonwoo  choi seungcheol x reader | smut

-s/o is having a rough day so seungcheol takes his time eating her out

♡ﾟ･🍓 the morning by @venerex gn!reader x scoups | mentions of previous sexual activity

-the sunlight from your bedroom windows makes you squint as you try to open your eyes, blinking away the sleep while the light vibrations from someone’s texting hum through the room – 

♡ﾟ･🍓 always better by ^ scoups x f!reader | oral (f receiving), overstimulation, talks about preferences in bed, reader has stretch marks

-"you mean like, something like spanking?"

♡ﾟ･🍓 distracted by @bluejeanstrash choi seungcheol x reader | suggestive conversation, mild smut

-you get distracted by seungcheol’s arms during your dinner date. that’s it. 

♡ﾟ･🍓 love no longer by @vnti-vntiety-recs dom!s.coups x fem!reader | smut/slight humor?, MDNI, 18+, mentions of drinking, sexual acts, face fucking/deep throat, a lil man handling, rough cheol, asphyxiation, overstimulation, lying for a bet, 5.1k

-what happens when your friends dare you to break up with your boyfriend over text?

♡ﾟ･🍓 dating seungcheol feels like... by @ssentimentals choi seungcheol x reader

-being in a cocoon of safety and care.

♡ﾟ･🍓 open your eyes by ^ seungcheol x gn!reader | friends to lovers au featuring mutual pining and a bit dumb seungcheol

-'all this time, it was always, it has always been you.'

♡ﾟ･🍓 boyfriend headcannons by @sweetkpopmusings  boyfriend!seuncheol x gn!reader | fluff, 1.3k

-seungcheol is 100% boyfriend material and the bestest boy.

♡ﾟ･🍓 baguette by @bwinnies choi seungcheol x reader | fluff , some cursing , food is mentioned (they’re in a grocery store) , seungcheol may make u kinda weak ngl, 1.2k

-to choi seungcheol, you are the epitome of perfection.

♡ﾟ･🍓 seungcheol boyfriend habits by @odxrilove choi seungcheol x reader | headcannons, fluff, established relationship

-zips your jackets up whenever it's cold

♡ﾟ･🍓 towards the sun by @cheolism choi seungcheol x reader | angst and comfort, insecurities. mentions of depression, anxiety. seungcheol talking abt his own struggles with depression. quiet anger, crying. seungcheol loves you sm and spoils you accordingly. childhood sweethearts, promise rings. you two worship each other <3 tons of metaphors.

-sometimes you wonder if seungcheol will one day regret being tied to you.

♡ﾟ･🍓 frozen cold proposal by ^ seungcheol x reader | cursing, bickering but nothing serious. a little brother is mentioned. a lot of choi seungcheol stubborness, 1.5k

-seungcheol is stubborn and decides to try and make soup over the fire. you stumble upon a surprise in his pockets when trying to huddle against him for warmth.

♡ﾟ･🍓 all through the night by @sluttywoozi choi seungcheol x fem!reader | M (18+), 4.5k

-you've been working too hard and sleeping too little, an unfortunate habit of yours. not to worry, cheol has a way of getting you to sleep.

♡ﾟ･🍓 argument by @sweetiesicheng seungcheol x reader

-"no, you're not listening to me! it was just for two seconds, and my manager wanted us to have the photo taken,"

♡ﾟ･🍓 kick in the right direction by @httphannie football player!seungcheol x fem mascot!reader | fluff, comedy

-t's obvious choi seungcheol has a crush on you but no one expected him to launch a football at you.

♡ﾟ･🍓 bad habits by @honeykyeom frat president!seungcheol x gn!reader | 18+ content, (oral (male receiving), teasing reader and teasing seungcheol, college party setting)

-you and seungcheol had been talking for awhile, almost 2 months; you could say you knew his style and type.

#choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol smut #scoups x reader #scoups smut #scoups #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt scoups #fic recs #fic rec

[belladaises]

SEVENTEEN FIC RECS (S.Coups/에스쿱스) pt. 2

back to directory ＼(^-^)／

Sweet Danger by @edenesth

cinnamon buns & warm hugs, pranks by @forcheol

to be in love by @daegutowns

a love that burns brightly by @wooahaes

dad of the year by @wondernus

Fireflies with you by @welcometomyoasis

take a chance with me by @hrts4hanniehae

Snowed In by @stayteezdreams

must love dogs by @nevernonline

All of the Girls You've Loved Before by @highvern

ONE LAST TIME by @spamgyu

boyfriend!Cheol // meeting the members by @wonwoonlight

drunken call by @magisland

Drunk with Love by @beomboomboom

[20:37] [20:17] by @gyu-effect

[2:08] glimpse of us, in which you get hurt in a car accident by @wongyuuu

your cherry flavored kisses by @hannyoontify

그렇더라고요 (when you love someone) by DAY6 by @shuahoonie

BANDAGES + KISSES by @hanggarae

Pucking Chemistry @minnieminshi

drabbles 1, 2 by @seungcheorry

9:47 am, eat. play. love. by @husbandhoshi

Still In This Holy Ground by @hirayaaraw

cherry bows by @slytherinshua

nightcap by @j-pping

third eye, For You by @writer-k-pop

april showers bring may flowers by @hannyoontify

live stream by @pileofwords

baby-proofing by @sluttywoozi

our ending is made for each other by @savventeen

Diamond, Mi Vida by @ontowanderlust

loved by @rubywonu

love by rubywonu-deactivated20230712

Raising Roses {on-going} by @hannieehaee

my pillow by @alohajun

53: the relief of fatalistic recklessness by @97-liners

baguette by @bwinnies

tripped by @sebastiannewai

how seungcheol says “i love you” for the first time by @boowanie

the truth untold by @viastro

virtue of humility by @haokyeom

#seventeen x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #scoups imagine #svt fic #seungcheol fluff