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hobbit-feets.livejournal.comWHOOPS I've not been reliably crossposting my stuff here for the past few months, so prepare to be INUNDATED with all my new fic. This one isn't really properly Booshfic, but I'd say it counts about as much as any of the Mint Royale stuff that's been written does. Characters loosely inspired by Noel and Julian, et al, let's say.
Title: Bitter Resin and Salt
Pairing: fae!Noel Fielding/OFC, with a side helping of fae!Dee Plume/fae!Sue Denim/OFC, and implied fae!Julian Barratt/fae!Julia Davis
Author: Culumacilinte
Rating: M
Word count: 2511
Warnings: Some dubious consent (ish– faerie enchantment being what it is) and a bit of disturbing imagery
Summary: Follow him into the woods, you know you want to. Here, aren’t you hungry? One of these little fruits, he’ll hold it to your lips for you (just the barest brush of his fingertips against the skin under your mouth, and his skin is so soft, and he smiles so bashfully, as if it were a mistake). Take his hand, this way, watch the roots. (but if you come in, you can never leave).
He twists around the trunk like a glittering, pale-and-black snake, hand uncurling in the air between you. An imperious command to follow, or a childish invitation to join him, a dare, a wicked invocation in the sly scroll of his fingers. Take his hand, this way, watch the roots. (but if you come in, you can never leave).
Title: Bitter Resin and Salt
Pairing: fae!Noel Fielding/OFC, with a side helping of fae!Dee Plume/fae!Sue Denim/OFC, and implied fae!Julian Barratt/fae!Julia Davis
Author: Culumacilinte
Rating: M
Word count: 2511
Warnings: Some dubious consent (ish– faerie enchantment being what it is) and a bit of disturbing imagery
Summary: Follow him into the woods, you know you want to. Here, aren’t you hungry? One of these little fruits, he’ll hold it to your lips for you (just the barest brush of his fingertips against the skin under your mouth, and his skin is so soft, and he smiles so bashfully, as if it were a mistake). Take his hand, this way, watch the roots. (but if you come in, you can never leave).
He twists around the trunk like a glittering, pale-and-black snake, hand uncurling in the air between you. An imperious command to follow, or a childish invitation to join him, a dare, a wicked invocation in the sly scroll of his fingers. Take his hand, this way, watch the roots. (but if you come in, you can never leave).
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