here are a bunch of fucking fantastic fics I’ve enjoyed and loved reading throughout the month of october. I recommend that you read these great fics in november, if you haven’t already!! also check out theReverse Big Bang and31 Days of Smut!
(all fics with a star are my favorites and if there are two stars then it was a favorite favorite)
“Why is this face of beauty ringing so true?” The genuine confusion in Harry’s voice causes Louis’ chest to painfully twinge. “You’re a complete stranger in my eyes, William Shakespeare, but not in my heart. How is that possible?”
Louis wants to live out every romance plot he has ever written in his own life. He wants to be the protagonist of his own narrative, the hero who finds true love and gets his happy ending. Instead, Louis is stuck with only dreaming of such wild fantasies and writing them down. He can create entire romances in his dreams, yet he can never live one.
Harry Styles was eight years old when Louis Tomlinson kept him from falling into a machine in a Manchester textile mill. He was 18 years old when nothing, not even the threat of death, could keep Harry from falling in love with Louis.
Maybe the crew discussing how long they've been alive for??
They came together over the course of a year or two. For some, that would seem like a long period of time - its 1 (or 2) parts of a lifetime. But for them its like the blink of an eye, like something is driving them together. They all feel a need to go to Los Santos - why, they can’t explain: it’s a bastion of hell, it’s a place of death and fear and rage. There’s no explainable reason to go there, but after so long, they learn to follow these urges when they hit.
Geoff is the first to cross the hallowed land of the city. To feel its thrumming in his bones, to breathe its life and walk its streets. He’s only there for ten minutes before he realizes that it’s his. It has to be; it’s just a matter of time before he owns the place. He buys a penthouse and sets himself up as a King. Orchestrating his hold on this City of Sin would take time, but that was a commodity he didn’t have to worry about. He could be extremely patient when he had to be.
When the others arrive, all are drawn to that same place, to that penthouse door. It takes time for them to grow at ease with one another, but after so long without a friend… well. How do you explain to someone the weight of decades, let alone centuries? When you find someone like you, you tend to hold on. And hold on tight.
Two years later, they’re reclining in the living room of the penthouse after a successful heist, getting drunk on hundred year old red wine and reveling in their victory. Boasting about their roles in a heist, robbing the Bank that Couldn’t Be Robbed, by the Crew that Couldn’t Die. Cackles fill the room, increasingly drunken and warm. They did it. The city was wrapped around their little pinkies. They owned it, hearts beating in time with the thrum of the traffic. It was theirs, down to the lowest of the lowlifes and the highest of the superstars.
Los Santos Police Department had practically given up. No one could kill the myths, the legends, the Fake AH Crew. They try, of course, but rumors flood the city now - they say Mogar took a bullet to the throat and laughed as blood, cherry red and vivid, dripped over his lips. They say The Vagabond fought with the strength of ten men even when he was missing part of an arm. They die, they go down, and then rise back up again a few minutes later, whole and wearing a smile ready to set even the kindest of men on fire.
Waving his arms, Michael laughs, relating some of his shots and mentioning how much better this was than the trenches. They knew they were all inflicted with the same blessing (curse?) but no one pushed about the knowledge of where they had came from. Their First Death, their Real Death - that was personal. Their life Before…. that was personal too.
But drunk on wine and flush with victory, the questions start. And as they start, it becomes a torrential downpour. Michael starts, recounting his time serving in the First World War. His first death, blown to pieces by a mine in front of his best friend. How he served in almost every war since then - he didn’t know anything but how to be a good and loyal soldier. Until he fell in with crime, of course. This, he assured them all, was much more fun. They raise their glasses in toast, red wine shining like blood in their crystal goblets.
Ramsey, laughingly, is the youngest (though not by much). Killed while running illegal liquor in the twenties, he continued on with crime. While he may be young in terms of years, he had the experience, and they all heaped on the praise until he was flushed and laughing, standing up and screaming the glory of their crew until they were all red-faced and grinning like loons, screaming the might of the Fake AH Crew into the setting sun.
Gavin was a young lordling, killed off during the War of the Roses. He lived a variety of roles since then, from the humblest pickpocket to the richest man in England. He knew how to fit in in the highest courts and among the lowest denizens of crime. It fits his position as their Front-runner. Hackers came with a fascination for computers and a dogged desire to learn when they came on the scene late in his life. He leans against Ryan, wine blood red on his lips curled in a wicked smile, blond hair styled just so, teeth blindly white, and bows his head as they sing his fame.
Jack’s also quite old. She wasn’t anyone of huge note, but was killed the first time fighting in the French Revolution, storming the streets and fighting the barricades dressed as a man. She was shot through the heart and pulls down her shirt to show the shimmering scar still there. They all hold their death scars and when they coax her, she screams Vive La Revolution! Vive le FAHC! to a chorus of ground-shaking cheers and stomps and drunken howls.
Jeremy admits he was a witch with a callous smirk. Killed in Boston after the Salem Witch Trials. It explains the ring around his neck, hung until dead, and the aversion to water. He assures them all that men could also be witches and with a sly smile, admits that he was one of the few ‘real ones’. He thought for years it was his delving into “witchcraft” - blood sacrifices in the moonlight, dancing naked with his fellow Sisters and Brothers, etc - that gave him his immortality. He admits he’s since learned witchcraft is nothing of the sort, but hasn’t ever lost his taste for blood and sin and riding on the Devil’s dick. He says the end with a wink and leans closer to Michael and is applauded with shrieks of laughter and many, many kisses.
Ryan’s last, the least drunk of them all but still sipping out of his decanter. He slowly admits that he was a Roman gladiator, hundreds of years older than even the oldest among them. He was killed as a young man in the Rings and traveled all around the Roman empire, fighting for the thrill and for the glory, changing his name every time he died. He grew to infamy and eventually picked up a life of shadowy crime, muscle and death for anyone who crossed him. Its silent for a moment as they all consider how long he must have been alive, but then a true chant of his name rises up: “Ryan!” “Ryan!” “RYAN!” as he takes an elaborate bow.
They all come from different places and different backgrounds, united by both the sense that they cannot die and their desire to make the world quiver under their feet. They are Gods, for all sense and purpose. No doors can hold them out, no life they have not lived. Lying on the couch, wine that costs more than some people make in a lifetime spilling out onto their white carpets, they shriek and laugh and tease. Screaming their glory to the highest heights, laughing at the failure of the LSPD and at their own sick achievements.
They are many things, apart. But together, they are the Immortal Fake AH Crew. They are one with the city, they breathe as it breathes, their hearts beat in time with the flashing of the city lights. They own it and it owns them, and they will be there until they turn into legend and song…. the legends of the crew that owned Los Santos.
I MISS MY TABLET but I couldn’t not doodle this when it came to mind, apologies for the slightly blurry quality 3
Remembered reading he is one to train, though idk if he’s ticklish, I doubt anyone has the guts to try it out like 99% of the time. Either way: Trust no one not even your gf who is helping you train weights, especially that actually.
Author’s Note: This is long and full of fluff. I really hope you guys like this. I put the Met’s game he had pitched in it, along with a tiny bit of the premiere he had the next day. I like it, a lot. Thanks to @mf-despair-queen for proofreading this for me and giving me some ideas and @dumbass-stilinski for her Met’s knowledge and helping me with some of the names of the players! Enjoy!
I walked out
of our building’s elevator, groceries in hand as I went on the weekly shopping
since Dylan eats a lot of food throughout the week. You’d think he’d be fat by
now, but nope. Still skinny and I couldn’t be anymore jealous.
I attempted to
unlock the door without putting the bags down. I hate having to make more work
for myself as I groan, dropping the keys to the floor. As I was about to bend
down and attempt to pick them up, the door opened, Dylan standing on the other
side of it.
Me:“I want to make a high fantasy story! With adventure and magic and elves and dwarves and stuff!“
Also me:“But first let me just figure out their genetics really quick…”
(I swear I’ll get back to stuff I’m supposed to be working on soon…)
A really quick evolutionary tree of the five main races in this one fantasy setting of mine. (For more stuff check my tag #I STILL don’t have proper tag for this setting) Represented here by the main cast of the story, given how they’re very conveniently each representing each of the races.
Dwarves diverged first from the rest of the races by getting stuck on an island. They are adapted to their home island environment of ginormous dense forests and cavey rock base, so they are actually about as well adapted to climbing trees as they are dwelling in caves (hence long arms and dense muscles similar to great apes, though the muscle density also means they can’t float which isolated them from the rest of the world for such a long ass time). By a fluke they’re technically able to reproduce with humans, but the chances of that happening are very low, and the resulting offspring isn’t healthy even if it manages to survive long enough to be born.
Humans and the elvish races were separated in different continents, and somewhere in the early development of the pointy eared kind they had a mutation that changed the number of chromosomes they had, before splitting on to orcs and elves. The pointy-ears can breed with humans, but this results in sterile offspring. (Dwarves can’t reproduce with the pointy-ear people at all.)
The elvish peoples have divided themselves pretty arbitrarily. Orcs and elves were originally separated first by a desert and/or mountain range, the orcs being more ambush predators while the elves being more of a pursuit hunters, both of them being slightly more on the carnivorous side of omnivores than humans and dwarves. The final and most recent split happening when the elves split in two groups, the other moving up north and becoming smaller and lighter in coloration, around which time the taller elves and orcs were reunited and started to mingle culturally, mostly in a friendly way. Culturally speaking the two races consider each other sisters, while othering the northern elves completely. You call a high orc an elf only to insult them.
The “high orc” is an elf term, since the “high” ones themselves don’t see the highness. They themselves consider orcs to be divided in two, to fire and earth, and that those elf people are just being arrogant by saying that since the fire orcs look more elvish they are by default of “higher” quality. The orc folks generally don’t really like elves all that much.
(Also worth noting that none of them are immortal or live to be thousands of years old. You won’t get extra free lifetime coupons in my worlds.)
“Roman, you’ve been staring at Virgil for five minutes. You’re going to end up creeping him out,” Logan commented, raising an eyebrow at his friend. Roman shook his head and tore his eyes away from the leather jacket-wearing junior across the lunchroom.
“Shut up, Lo. Not everyone can easily gain a boyfriend,” he snarked, scowling at Patton and Logan’s intertwined hands.
“Now, Roman, that’s no reason to be angry. We just want to protect you from… You know…” Patton’s words trailed off as he grimaced. Sending one “bad look,” no matter if its intention was harmless, at Virgil could and would end up with you having at the very least a black eye.
“I know, but just look at him! He’s so handsome!” Roman cast another gaze at Virgil, who was sitting alone at his lunch table listening to music. Everyone at the school was too intimidated by him to even dare try and sit near him, let alone at the same table. Yet they all thought he was the coolest guy on the planet. Girls, guys, and nonbinary kids alike were all drooling over him, bending at his every whim, even after he’d made it very clear that he was only interested in guys. Of course, he payed them no attention, preferring to be alone.