#for three days lord almighty

[basement-buddy]

[nvrcmplt]

if you never communicate with people, how the fuck are you having fun on this website, so help me god. fuckin' speak up if you have an issue or a question, don't just sit there and expect someone to understand things in vague posts, psas or just in general day to day dash stalking each other. fckin' mssg someone, u absolute keyboard worm. maybe that thing youre having a fckin' wet fart over is a nothin'burger

[addledmongoose]

Best of 2024 Good Omens Fanfiction

Welcome to my list of the best Good Omens fanfiction I’ve read in 2024! These are my favorites of all the novels, short stories, and series I’ve read this year, and they’re the ones I have or am most likely to read more than once. There’s so much amazing talent in the Good Omens fandom, and I will never be able to read every great story, but I’m happy to have found these fantastic works. (FYI, I added up the word counts of all the stories on this list, and it’s over three million!)

First of all, if you haven’t read the stories on my 2023 Best Of list, be sure to check out the amazing works there. There are a lot of older classics, like Or Be Nice, Slow Show, and Pray For Us, Icarus and some stories written after season two released, like Factory Setting and Married At First Sight. 

Secondly, here is the entire list of every recommendation I’ve made in 2024. There are far more great stories than can fit in a single year-end list. I’ll be unpinning that list and pinning up a new one next year.

Last year, I was able to split my list up more evenly into canon adjacent/compliant and human AU. This year, I read a wider variety of stories, many of them quite long, and more series. I’m splitting the list into three categories: canon, human AU, and non-human AU. There's no order or ranking to the list; they were mostly just added as I read them.

There are also no WIPs here; all of the stories are complete. The series are also complete at the time of this list or are a series of standalone shorts that don't need to be read in order. My preferences lean toward funnier, lighter stories and are often heavy on plot. If you’re looking for dark stories with a lot of angst, you won’t find as many here as other blogs might recommend. It’s not that some of these don’t have dark, sad moments or moments of angst, but Aziraphale and Crowley must have a happy ending, and I prefer stories that don’t make me cry or cause a lot of stress.

If you like these stories, don’t forget to leave kudos and comments for the authors! 

If you hit that "Keep reading" button, strap in! This is a very, very long post.

Canon

They’re still angel and demon. I’m counting Reverse Omens in this category.

The Seventh Prince of Hell (56K; Rated M) by @evilasiangenius

Reverse Omens. This is actually part of a series, but I’ve only read the first book, so I’m not listing it as a series. Aziraphale is the Seventh Prince of Hell. His animal aspect is the octopus. Crowley is an ordinary angel. Both are assigned to Earth. They have adventures!

Genesis 3:(-7)-5.5 -7   And they assembled all the Lords, the Princes of Hell into a congregation together sometime after the seventh day, but not on a day of rest because even the Dark Council has a day off. -6  When it came to pass that all grew weary of the powerful pointing presentations, Lord Beelzebub spake with a loud voice, saying unto them, One of uzz brotherzz muzzt go to Earth as Hell’s Represzentative and thwart the doings of Heaven; there izz no choice now that the Almighty has created humanzz. Who amongzt uzz shall take up the project? It comezz with a great deal of extra paperwork, much travel, and no overtime pay. And we shall not reimbursze anything and there shall be no per diem. [...] -3  And of the seven Princes of Hell, three stepped forward, and only three; not two nor five, which are the other prime numbers near three and definitely not one, which is not a prime at all but the unit. The first was the Second Prince, who is called Asmodeus and is a demon of lust. The second was the Seventh Prince, who is called Aziraphale and is a demon of collecting stuff. And the third was the Fourth Prince, who is not worth talking about because they only appear in this one scene and for no other reason than to have three characters. I think that Prince is the demon of executive dysfunction or erectile dysfunction or something like that. Maybe both.

***

Nice And Ominous: a reluctant eschatology of the Second Attempt (series) (117K; Rated T/E) by @e-rated-beardo

A three-part, post-s2 series with gorgeous art by the author. Part I is Crowley’s POV as he deals with the loss of his angel. Part II is from Aziraphale’s POV as he tries to stop the Second Coming and deal with the loss of his demon. Part III is the thrilling finale (and the happy ending). Expect a lot of angst but great characters and plot.

It was a shit day. All the days had been shit, and there had been rather a shitload of them so far. Tucked away in a disused corner of a car park in a retail park in Croydon, a lanky man cracked his eyes open and scowled out the side window of his car. There were raindrops hitting the glass and clouds massing towards the eastern horizon suggested a storm was on its way. He had slept uncomfortably across the front seats for a good amount of time (it didn’t much matter what exact amount), and despite the car being a vintage and exceptionally attractive specimen, nobody had paid it much mind—and the few people who had had the idea to come over and have a look at the ostensibly abandoned vehicle had all suddenly realised how much they actually needed to go buy a sofa or something at that Ikea over there, right about now, in fact. Untangling his various limbs, the man in the car—who wasn’t exactly a man, as such, but close enough for government work—reluctantly sat up, his boot brushing against one of the empty bottles on the floor. He had neglected to sober up before going to sleep.

***

Too Hot for Heavenly Handling (2.4K; Rated E) by @hollybennett123

Crowley says yes to returning to Heaven. The two enjoy three fornication-fueled weeks before they’re hauled before the Metatron and the other archangels for a disciplinary hearing. Rating-aside, there’s not any actual sex in this story. It’s implicit; not explicit.

I’ve read this story more times than I can count (ok, it’s seven). I nearly choked the first time I read it, because I was laughing so hard. Every sentence is a gem. The timing of the jokes is impeccable. There’s not a single bad line in this entire piece. 

“No angel shall pretend to be of a lower status than their actual ranking,” Aziraphale reads aloud. “What does that have to do with — ohhh,” he says, wide-eyed, remembering their ongoing little roleplay. Crowley, an angel of the lowest ranking in their little game, seeking favour from an Archangel; offering to service him in secret so he might earn a series of Heavenly promotions. It had been jolly good fun, actually. “Misuse of Heavenly furniture,” the Metatron continues. “One count. Again, the actual number is unknown. Quite frankly, no one here is willing to research it further to gather any more evidence than the minimum required to bring you before this Council.” Looking back, Aziraphale’s desk has seen quite a bit of action in recent weeks. And the chair. The walls, too, if they count.

***

Aziraphale’s Diaries (series) (11K; Rated T) by @fellshish

A series of standalone fics written as Aziraphale’s diary entries. They don’t need to be read in any order. All of them are fantastic, but I probably laughed the hardest at “Adventures of a mystery shopper in the bookshop.” Aziraphale decides Crowley must be bored after the Nomageddon and in need of work and decides to “let” him take care of his bookshop while he’s away, but then he worries the demon might sell some of his books.

29 August 2018 I’ve informed Crowley I’ll be going away for about three weeks, to perform an exciting and complicated blessing abroad. In reality, I’ve booked the Ritz for myself, where I’ll be forced to act human and eat breakfasts, lunches and dinners. Anything to keep a close eye on Crowley!   30th August 2018 It’s my first day away. I decided to go by the bookshop in an “old and confused man disguise” so I could look through the window. I was just in time (a three hour window between lunch and afternoon tea at the Ritz) to see him read the letter I’d posted a few days ago so it would arrive just as I’d left.  It was cleverly addressed “To the owner or the current guardian of this bookshop”. I used all my knowledge of humans, gathered via the cleverest of ways (a lot of reading), to write it. 

***

A Special Place In Hell (50K; Rated T) by @hotcrosspigeon and @mirach

When Adam shifted reality and caused Satan to disappear, the nearest supernatural entity became the new King of Hell. As it so happened, a certain angel was standing just a little closer than his demon.

Aziraphale, while not Falling, becomes the new ruler of Hell and must navigate Hellish politics, find a role for the love of his life, and maybe bring some proper tea time to the infernal realm. I stumbled upon this story purely by accident one night, and it was a pure joy to read. It’s one of those stories I wish was a series, because I could read so much more in this world.

"Hello, Crowley, my dear fellow. I would like to discuss a certain issue with you. You see, I somehow got into a very peculiar predicament..." Aziraphale sighed in frustration, pacing in his bookshop. "No no no, that sounds like I got my hand stuck in the sweets vending machine again." He cleared his throat. "Hey Crowley, what's up? Better sit down because I have some news to tell you... And by some news I mean... errr..." The angel groaned. "Oh Heavens, there's just no proper way to say this. Ugh, come on, Aziraphale, buck up! You just need to get to the point, that's all. Say the things as they are. No going in circles around the matter. Nice and accurate, right. Just tell him..." He turned at the sound of the bookshop doorbell. "Hello Crowley! Nice weather, isn't it?" "Wha..?" Crowley raised an incredulous eyebrow over the top of his sunglasses, a drop of water running along the edge of his nose. His red hair was plastered to his forehead. He turned to look out the window, jerking a thumb at the onslaught of vicious hail and rain that pelted the glass and plinked against the pane. "Oh, ha ha , very funny. It's bloody bucketing down, angel! I legged it in here before I got clonked on the head with a hailstone the size of my fist." He stopped and frowned at the angel in concern. "Er... you all right? You're looking a bit peaky."

***

Flowers From Hell (42K; Rated T) by @entanglednow

Crowley creates a hybrid demon flower that turns out to be a little more than he intended. This was such a sweet, beautiful story of found family and love, and you’ll absolutely fall in love with Ivy and want to do everything to protect him.

There's a low, quiet rustle from the atrium, where Crowley keeps his finest plants. The beautiful and often terrified rows of them are always so tall and glossy, and fantastically well maintained. Aziraphale regrets that he hadn't taken more of an interest in Crowley's hobbies. It wouldn't have been too difficult, he imagines, to seek out rare specimens to offer the demon. When he's been given so many long sought after volumes, and unpublished manuscripts in turn. Perhaps he could encourage Crowley to open up more, with a few well thought out questions pertaining to his plants, and their various needs. He knows Crowley has been absorbed in a special project recently, he'll make a point to ask about it today. Aziraphale heads into the stretch of greenery, following the tap of feet on tiles, and the quiet swish of foliage. He catches a flash of red hair at the end of the room, behind a messy spray of deep green leaves, then another flash, of what might be the long, pale curve of a shoulder. "Crowley?" The whole room smells damp, thick with fresh soil and crushed plant matter, and it grows stronger the deeper in Aziraphale ventures. He's sure the room wasn't quite so large before, it's clearly been expanded since he visited last, a deep bed of soil is now packed at the back of the room. "Crowley." Aziraphale eases a large spray of damp leaves aside. "I hope I'm not too early, I was -" Crowley is standing by the far wall, carefully touching the valley in the middle of a large leaf with curious, repetitive motions. He's also quite naked. It's - it's unexpected to say the least.

***

Time Marches Forward (129K; Rated M) by @bellisima-writes

While Aziraphale is in Heaven trying to thwart the Second Coming, Crowley is trying to help a frightened 15-year-old Adam learn to deal with his powers. I consider this the definitive S3 (even having written a post-S2 myself), regardless of what the upcoming finale gives us. Every character is wonderfully fleshed out. The plot is intriguing. I read it as fast as humanly possible, barely stopping to do anything else.

Crowley felt the air in the Bentley shift slightly. “What are you doing here?” Crowley jumped in shock, hitting his head on the roof of the Bentley so hard his sunglasses fell off. Adam was suddenly in the passenger seat, studying him cautiously. “Hey! You can’t just come into my car, uninvited,” Crowley hissed, grabbing his glasses and placing them back on his face. He realized he was still slouching, making Adam appear much bigger than he was. He sat up straight and crossed his arms in an attempt to look more intimidating and less drunk. He wondered if it was wise to try and glower at the Antichrist. “He can, actually,” Pepper said from the back seat. Crowley turned and snarled as he noted the three other teenagers in his car. Wensleydale and Brian sat beside her. “He can do anything.” “Yeah well, that may be so but that doesn’t make it right. Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should,” he looked Adam directly in the eyes as he said this, assuming no one else around him would ever be so blunt. “What are you doing lurking around my house?” Adam asked again plainly. Crowley’s glowering was not working. “Ngk. I didn’t come to see you, if that’s what you're asking. I’m as shocked as you are to find myself here. I was asleep for a few days. The bloody car did it; blame it for the lurking”

***

The Last Angel (162K; Rated E) by @bellisima-writes

Crowley's been Hell's Grand Inquisitor for millennia now. Ever since the Apocalypse, he's managed to carve out a relatively cushy life for himself. Hell won the War, Angels were essentially eradicated and all human souls were Satan's. Everything was fine. Until one day he hears a rumor that the Last Angel in the universe was finally captured. Until Beelzebub is suddenly ordering him to get information from said Angel, information that's critical for Hell's survival. Until the moment he first locks eyes with the last Angel, and everything he's ever known starts to crumble around him.

I can’t come up with a better description than the summary. Much like the author’s previous work, Time Marches Forward, this is plot-heavy, exciting, action-packed, and gorgeous. The characters are detailed and realistic. The plot sings. And you won’t see the surprise until it’s already there.

“What kinds of rumors?” he asked, shifting in his seat to properly face Eric. Words were one thing, but body language was another. As Grand Inquisitor, Crowley learned early on to weigh both when evaluating information shared by a source whose reliability was questionable. Eric was a nice kid, sure. But their reliability would definitely be categorized as questionable . Eric’s mood shifted as they glanced around the corridor. Crowley hadn’t realized how quiet the cells had gotten. The bloody humans were eavesdropping again. He dug deep and pulled up a hiss so loud and laced with demonic power that it rattled every cell door in the entire block. Eric motioned with their hand for Crowley to follow them into a corner and out of earshot of everyone else. As Crowley pulled himself up and started walking he sent searing looks down each row of cells around him. They were all going to have a talk about this later. “What?” he asked when he got close enough to Eric. Still eyeing the cells behind them, Eric leaned in closer and whispered, “Hastur finally found him."

Crowley shook his head. Eric’s shiftiness was starting to annoy him. “Found who?” “The one who killed Ligur. Crowley, Hastur’s finally captured the last Angel.”

***

Kidnapping A Supreme Archangel For Fun And Profit (series) (31K; Rated T) by @waitingtobebroken

Mostly outsider POV. Four short stories told mostly from the points of view of Agiel, the Supreme Archangel’s assistant, and Kric (Eric with a K), the Grand Duke’s assistant as they try to figure out why the Supreme Archangel is so unworried about all the times he’s getting himself kidnapped by the Grand Duke. In the meantime, the two assistants find that maybe they have more in common than they would have expected, being hereditary enemies and all.

Being Lord Beelzebub's demonic assistant had been easier than overseeing the third circle of Hell. Just stay out of the way, don't make eye contact, not that Kric could, having been blessed with a distinct lack of eyes, and do not talk to the Prince of Hell, unless it was a 'Yes, Your Highness' or... No, that was pretty much it. You did not go around saying "No" to Lord Beelzebub. And of course, just as they had finally grown comfortable in their position, had even found the perfect time to ask for an assistant of their own... There had been a change in leadership. And Kric had found themself serving Crowley. The Original Tempter, the Snake of Eden, the Earth Walker. Kric was not impressed. Flash bastard. And suddenly, they were expected to be in the throne room at all times. To answer when addressed. Proper, actual answer. None of that automatic 'Yes, your Highness' they were so used to. The first time His Rottenness had held up two sashes, before the monthly meeting between Heaven and Hell and had asked which one made his scales look more iridescent and Kric had answered in the only way they knew how... Well, let's just say that hadn't gone well. They had been sent to something called Fashion Week. To better their understanding of clothes and colour theory, something they could sense had been invented by a fellow demon. Lord Crowley, most probably, judging by the way His Wickedness had grinned when he had told them that.

*****

Human AU

Fully human characters. No supernatural/magical elements.

Waking Up Slow (88K; Rated E) by @themoonmothwrites

After both being exposed to covid, strangers Crowley and Aziraphale wait out their isolation together (there’s only one bed!) at a cottage by the sea. This is complete cosycore fluff with just a touch of angst (and a happy ending) near the end. This gorgeous story has stuck with me for so long. If you want something that’s just plain pleasurable to read, this is it.

“Lovely view.” The voice was low, with the slightest hint of gravel, and right next to Aziraphale’s ear. He made an undignified noise and spun round in fright. “Where the devil did you-?” he started, high-voiced, before his foot caught on a stone and he lost his balance. The stranger was standing so close that Aziraphale toppled right into him, and the pair of them went down together in a tangle of knees and a solid thunk to the forehead. “Ow,” the man said, squinting up at Aziraphale, gaze unfocused, before his eyes fell closed. “Oh no!” Aziraphale breathed. “Oh dear. What do I-?” He’d left his blasted phone at the cottage, now of all times when he actually needed it! With an unconscious man lying before him! And it was all Aziraphale’s doing! “I can-- I can-- I know what to do!” he told himself, attempting belatedly not to panic. The best thing to do was not to think too hard. Tipping up the stranger’s chin, Aziraphale pinched his nose and lowered his face until his mouth closed over the other man’s.

***

The Prince’s Consort (142K; Rated E) by @ineffable-toreshi

Aziraphale is the crown prince of a fictional nation. Crowley is a Lily, trained in one of Lucien’s brothels and kept a virgin for the eventual sale to a wealthy master. Against the brothel owner’s wishes, Crowley is purchased by the prince’s adviser, Gabriel, as a companion for Prince Aziraphale. Aziraphale didn’t want a purchased mate, however, and decides to court his new consort the old-fashioned way. 

The description makes this sound like a darker story than it is; it’s actually a really sweet story with only one bad guy (and it’s not Gabriel).

I wrote a much longer review here if you’d like more details.

“I...I was just wondering, my Lord,” Anthony said, nervously nibbling on his lip and twisting his fingers in his lap. “Why did you choose me ?” Gabriel cocked his head to the side. He leaned back, reclining with his arms thrown up over the edges of the bench, and seemed to think about the question. By the time he finally opened his mouth to answer, Anthony was practically vibrating with curiosity.  “There were a few factors,” he explained thoughtfully. “I’ll admit that your appearance was the first and foremost. I prefer women, myself, but I know beauty in a man when I see it. And I’ve seen the types who’ve caught the prince’s eye over the years. I’m quite confident that he will find you more than pleasing, from an aesthetic standpoint.”

***

Keep Digging (7K; Rated T) by Appleseeds

After panicking and losing his nerve trying to ask out Aziraphale, the co-worker Crowley has an enormous crush on, he tells a little white lie that ends up completely spiralling out of control since he can't seem to stop digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole. Now he's obtained plans to help him break into a school, inadvertently funded the purchase of explosives, and, knowing his luck, the fake blood will end up permanently staining the tiles. Who knows though, maybe in the end, it'll all turn out to be worth it.

Another one of those stories that are so funny tears stream down my face every time. Even going back through it to find an excerpt had me choking down laughter.

“I actually used to be a music tutor. That was one of the little jokes I liked to tell.” Aziraphale giggled again. Nhhhhh. “Wish you could tutor me…” Crowley muttered under his breath. “Oh! Are you wanting to learn to play a musical instrument?” Aziraphale asked brightly. Crowley’s eyes widened. He wasn’t supposed to hear that. Of course, he wouldn’t have heard it if Crowley had just kept his big mouth shut. “Um. Yeah.” “Wonderful! Which one?” FUCK. How the hell was Crowley supposed to answer that? Whatever he said, he might end up having to get one of said instrument, and he didn’t know much, but he knew musical instruments could be incredibly expensive. There must be something that would be cheap enough to procure if needs be, right? And with that thought, Crowley responded. “The triangle.” Oh Jesus Christ.

***

Temple of the Muses (241K; Rated E) by @ajconstantine

It’s the start of the Season in 1841 Victorian England. Mr Anthony Crowley has left a life of working at a luxurious high end bordello in Paris behind him and is now a courtesan intent on climbing the social ladder in London to increase his status and social connections. After unexpectedly inheriting the title of the Earl of Eastgate, Aziraphale finds himself trying to navigate the complicated world of the aristocracy. Duke Gabriel purchases a month-long contract with Mr Crowley for Lord Fell as a surprise gift to Aziraphale’s astonishment and dismay. He declines to take full advantage of Crowley’s charms but agrees to an arrangement of pretending to be Crowley’s paramour in exchange for lessons on the etiquette and expectations of Society. It’s a practical arrangement, nothing more. Certainly no feelings will be involved...

One of the best, most well-researched stories I’ve read. The historical elements are fascinating, and the world-building is top notch. Set in an alternate 1841 where there’s no stigma on same sex relationships, but same sex marriage is still not allowed. The story alternates between the present time, with Aziraphale and Crowley navigating their growing relationship, and Crowley’s time being trained at one of the most elite bordellos of Paris.

Crowley has a lot of autonomy in this story. He actively chose to become a sex worker. Once he leaves the bordello and becomes a courtesan, he can refuse to sign with a client. And while there are consequences for breaking a contract, a courtesan can walk away from a troublesome client.

“Exactly what position do you think I was hired for?” Crowley interrupted, pulling the shoulder of his robe back up. The Earl looked at him as if he’d asked a ridiculous question. “Valet, of course.” Crowley barked out a disbelieving laugh. “Duke Haven didn’t tell you about me?” The Earl pursed his lips, tilting his head in puzzlement. “Not you precisely. I was at his house last week, and he chastised me when I mentioned that I didn’t have a valet, insisting I needed one even though…” His eyes widened. “Oh no. What… what did you think you were being hired for?” Struck by the absurdity of it all, Crowley fought the strong urge to laugh outright. Instead, he gave the Earl a roguish grin and bowed with a flourish.  “Mr Anthony Crowley, at your service, sir. Duke Haven procured a contract for me to be your... courtesan.” Lord Fell's mouth dropped open as he gaped at him in apparent shock. “You— I��” He floundered, at a loss for words as he looked away from Crowley. His eyes landed on the bed. To Crowley’s growing amusement, the Early actually blushed, red staining his cheeks as he swiftly averted his gaze.  

***

#RAINBOWROAD (series) (407K; Rated T/E) by @nieded

If you haven’t heard of this one yet, you’re one of today’s lucky 10,000. This is one of the best, most well-written human AUs that anyone has produced for Good Omens (or really, of any romance). It’s a three-book, three-short series set in the world of Formula 1 racing. You heard that right. You don’t need to know anything about F1 racing. You don’t even need to like F1 racing. You just need to want to read one of the best romances ever written to enjoy this series.

Ezira Phale is a rookie F1 driver. AJ Crowley is an F1 veteran and an idol of the 25-year-old racer. Everything changes when Ezira meets and falls in love with Crowley, and the older driver (by about 10 years; there’s not a massive age difference here) seems to return his feelings. I wrote a very long review of the series here, so I won’t go into a ton of detail again except to say, if you love human AU, this should be on your list. The author adds notes at the end of the chapters explaining some of the more technical aspects of the sport, or talking about some of the real racers, and it’s fascinating. 

Ezira makes his escape from the after-party after stealing a handful of fig tartlets from the hors d’oeuvres table. He ducks out the service exit before looping back to the front of the hotel. God, he wants to sleep off his tipsiness. It’s significantly cooler at night, and he wraps his arms around his shoulders before slipping inside, making a dash for the elevator. Punching his floor number, he leans against the wall and closes his eyes, waiting to be taken to his floor. Then the elevator jerks as someone jabs their hand between the sliding doors, forcing it back open. Ezira lifts his head and glares at the newcomer before his eyes widen, flushing when he recognizes the red hair and black Renault polo. AJ Crowley throws himself into the opposite corner of the elevator and pulls the brim of his hat down. He turns to look at Ezira from under his cap. "Tough luck out there today, huh?" he asks. Ezira frowns and blinks. And because he’s a little drunk and high on adrenaline, he says, "Didn’t you place seventh? I thought that was fucking brilliant." This earns him a snort, and then a bit of stifled laughter. "You can’t say fuck." "You say fuck in almost every interview you do." Not that Ezira has watched every single post-debrief involving AJ Crowley. This makes Crowley laugh harder, and he wipes at his eyes. "You just look like you should be in a painting or something. You’re like a Hummel." Flabbergasted, Ezira stares. His cheeks grow hot when he realizes AJ Crowley is taking the piss. "I don’t even know what that means." Crowley wipes his eye with the back of his hand and then presses his lips together in a feeble attempt to hold back another fit of laughter. "I’m sorry. I’m just very, very drunk, and was not expecting you to say ‘fuck.’ You look like those cherubs from Italy."

***

Lunacy (57K; Rated E) by @snae-b

@snae-b writes some of the best sci-fi GO stories you’ll ever read. This is hardly the only great story of theirs I’ve recommended; it just happens to be my personal favorite. Crowley is the crew chief of a mining operation on one of Pluto’s tiny moons. Aziraphale is a geologist there to study the structural integrity of the moon. But something seems to be alive, something that shouldn’t be there. This is pure psychological horror, the kind of story where you’re never quite sure what’s real and what’s a hallucination. You’ll find definitely NSFW artwork throughout, so take note not to read it around people you wouldn’t want seeing porn on your screen.

Crowley zones out as they continue their conversation. Things had been weird in the mine today. For the past month really. Tech malfunctioning. Batteries draining when they should have been able to hold a charge for days. Half the lights were on the fritz. As if it weren't dark enough in there already. He'd had to trek nearly a mile into Sheol with only the lights on his helmet to repair them. And his crew had their hands full with extraction, so he’d had to do it alone. The darkness really starts to play tricks on you in there. He spent as much time looking over his shoulder as he did working on the lights. Kept thinking that he was seeing something. Something hiding in the shadows. Something that lived in his peripheral vision. As he tugs a beanie on over his head there’s a light rapping on the wall and everyone glances up to the figure in the doorway. “Excuse me, Mr. Crowley. If you have time in your schedule, I really need to discuss the most recent surface scans with you. Could you come by my quarters before dinner?” Crowley sighs as he snaps on his mag boots. “Yeah. Sure thing doc. I’ll be by in thirty.” The scientist only nods before he disappears down the hall. Dr. Aziraphale Fell. He doesn’t wear the standard issue jumpsuits. He wears thick sweaters and wool trousers that look ridiculous with his mag boots. And when he isn’t wearing them, he can hardly get around. Bumps into everything and everyone. He’s never been off planet before and it shows.

***

Miracles on Ice (131K; Rated E) by @henriettarhippo

It’s the “Blades of Glory” AU you never knew you wanted. Crowley and Aziraphale are men’s figure skaters who get banned from the sport after a fight on the podium. Years later, Aziraphale’s coach, Gabriel, suggests the two of them team up to compete in the Olympic’s pairs event. Only problem is, the two skaters hate each other. 

This is very much an enemies-to-lovers story, and Gabriel as their coach and sponsor is the perfect combination of asshole and good guy. He genuinely does care for his two skaters, and he’s generous with his money, but he also has that rich guy attitude of being used to getting what he wants, and he’s not afraid to tell them to stop being dumbasses either.

“Hey angel, was that your routine? Because it looked to me like a lot of swanning about on the ice with a few pirouettes thrown in.” The mocking drawl came from the figure making his way towards Aziraphale on a pair of sharp blades. Clad in skintight black velvet trousers and a black turtleneck adorned with glittering red crystals—to match the striking red curls that stopped at his shoulders—Aziraphale’s skating rival Crowley beamed down at him with a malicious grin. “Also, you’re a bit late. They handed out the women’s medals earlier today.” He pulled down the dark shades he always wore to give Aziraphale a wink. Aziraphale bristled and sat up straighter. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. That was textbook precision, and I think you’ll find it was the same scores I beat you with last year in Oslo.” “The hotel had a free bar I don’t even remember Oslo,” Crowley said dismissively as he approached the entrance to the rink. He turned back and gave Aziraphale a grin. “But I do remember Boston, and that victory was almost as sweet as the look on your face when you botched that triple loop.” Crowley let out a laugh at the scandalised look Aziraphale gave him. The loudspeakers started up with the first booming notes of a rock song and Crowley hopped up onto the ice and skated away from him before Aziraphale had the chance to reply.

***

Friends Don't (33K; Rated E) by @missunderstoodlyrics

Human AU. Another fantastic enemies-to-lovers by MissUnderstoodLyrics. This is the newest story on this list.

Aziraphale and Crowley are rival advice columnists whose companies are merged. The CEO, Gabriel, tells them they now have to do a joint video podcast together. The snark and bickerflirting are top notch, and this story kept a smile on my face. They have to keep their romance a secret, because the whole schtick of their podcast is their very public rivalry, but it gets harder and harder the closer they become.

Aziraphale attempted to drown his mirth in his wine glass, which was precisely when Crowley decided to position his mouth millimetres from the angel’s ear. “Blair. Have you met him? Worst. Comb-over. Since. Thatcher,” he whispered and then found himself helpfully patting Aziraphale's back as the man choked and spluttered, his cherubic face turning a delightful shade of pink. “Absolute fiend,” Aziraphale managed once he’d caught his breath, but the corners of his mouth were twitching traitorously. Crowley clocked Michaela out of the corner of his eye; she was leaning forward to shush them. Aziraphale escaped her wrath by standing and marching to the stage, his back straight and shoulders squared. He planted himself solidly in front of the microphone and proceeded to destroy what was left of Crowley’s sanity. “I once met a man-shaped snake,” he stated, his gaze firmly locked on Crowley. “Whose snark was taxing to take With swagger and pose He turned up his nose But his wisdom was rather half-baked.”

*****

Non-Human AU

One or both of them are non-human, or have some sort of supernatural abilities (like magic) but aren’t angel or demon. I’m including omegaverse in this category.

Mark of the Serpent (150K; Rated E) by @naromoreau and @summerofspock

Prince Aziraphale is about to be crowned King of Angelhaven when he's taken captive by pirates. When he's sold as a pleasure slave to King Crowley, ruler of the nation readying for war with his, he is forced to keep his identity a secret as he tries to find a way home and keep peace. But not everything at King Crowley's court is as it seems and Aziraphale will have to face machinations of a Royal Court that are far more complex than he had thought. A Captive Prince AU with an omegaverse twist.

The first omegaverse story I genuinely liked, even though Crowley is pretty awful toward Aziraphale at first. Since then I’ve come to enjoy more of them, but this is the one that got me into the genre. This is another one I’ve written a much longer review about here including an explanation for the “extremely dubious consent” tag.

"What about this one?" the omega king asked, eyes fixed on his face, a strange curl to his mouth. "He's an Angel," Hastur sneered. "Pretty, isn't he? We were trying to pick a variety for your majesty to choose from since you didn’t deign to accompany us, but we didn’t find out his origin until after we brought him. He probably doesn't even speak the language." The words manifested in Aziraphale’s mind, and he immediately saw the genius in them. If he didn't speak the language, he could hardly be appealing as a consort to the king. He would be dismissed, sent back to Tracy's, and given time to heal before making his escape. "An Angel?" the king repeated, something passing over his face that Aziraphale didn't like. "What's your name?" "I’m sorry," Aziraphale stammered in Angelic, sticking to his hastily made plan. "I don’t...I don’t know what you're saying." King Crowley smiled and said, in perfect Angelic, "I asked what your name was." "Oh, um, I- you can call me whatever you wish," Aziraphale said, not wanting to risk even a part of his name. The king laughed. "I'm choosing the Angel. Send him to my quarters." "But your majesty-" The omega king turned on Ligur. "You wanted me to choose a pleasure beta and I did. It's done. Were there any other highly important council matters or can I get back to my day?"

***

Saltwater on Skin (186K; Rated E) by @candyqueenblog

Another one with a longer review here. Ezra Fell is an award-winning novelist celebrating the millionth sale of his newest books with his friends and baby brother, Gabriel, on a rented yacht. He falls overboard and washes ashore on an uncharted island, and while awaiting rescue, he gets the strange feeling he’s not alone.

This is a low angst love story between the human and the naga who rescues him, and you’ll fall in love with the island and Crowley’s four sisters. Gabriel is a peach here, much younger than Ezra and very much the caring baby brother. 

And if you’d prefer an Ineffable Wives version of the story, you can find that here. I haven’t read it, but I assume it’s equally good.

Ezra couldn’t stifle the flood of tears as he threw his arms over his head with a scream. Then a pair of rough, but blessedly human hands, covered his wrists. “You… scared?” The stranger’s voice was gravelly, most likely from disuse, but to Ezra it sounded more beautiful than all the angelic choirs. He sobbed in relief. “Oh thank heavens! I thought for sure I was going to-” His words sputtered and died when he opened his eyes to look at his rescuer. It was a man… ...from the waist up. The man’s bare torso was thin, but well defined with long arms lean with muscle. His face was all angles framed by a shock of red hair that curled down his back. His eyes were captivating. They were human enough, save for the iris being the color of spun gold and sliced right down the middle by a slit-shaped pupil. That was about where the human similarities ended. From the waist down the man’s skin melded into a massive snake tail that was wider than Ezra’s entire body and covered in black scales with a red underbelly that matched his hair.

***

FAETED (series) (251K; Rated G/T) by @ineffably-good

The only story in this category that’s not rated E. A three-book, one-short series where Ezra, an English teacher at a public school accidentally ends up in the Fae realms and in the hands of the Unseelie king, Crowley. The world-building is fantastic, and the books use some of the side characters so well, especially Hastur and Ligur, two of Crowley’s most trusted advisers. Crowley is good to Ezra, but he’s spent a thousand years ruling over the chaotic and dangerous unseelie fae, and he doesn’t always know how to handle being in love with a human. And Ezra doesn’t understand the difficult and often prickly politics of the fae, so the two have a lot of misunderstandings to work through. It leads to several fights, but they are usually resolved within the chapter.

The stories are heavy on plot, mostly around the world of the fae, which is one of the things I love most about this series. I could easily read dozens of books set in this world.

Lord Crowley watched as Ezra emerged from the coach, curious to see how this strange mortal would react to his first sight of the Dark Court. Would he blanch in terror? Would he be curious? He didn’t know or understand the creature across from him, but he knew one thing— his reactions, to date, were not what the Prince expected. This was oddly refreshing. It had been so, so long since anyone had managed to surprise him. He watched as Ezra emerged, his fluffy golden hair sticking out in all directions above the dark gray travel cloak he’d donned. He smiled faintly and with studious politeness at the horrifying gremlin who helped him down the steps, brushed the nonexistent dust off himself, and  took in his surroundings. Crowley was gratified to see his eyes widen as he looked around. They were standing in the center of an immense cavern, almost as if a mountain had been hollowed out inside by an immense blast. The rock walls climbed up above them and came together at an unmeasurable distance overhead and were dotted everywhere one looked with cavernous openings, some of which flickered with the light from a fire further inside. Creatures here and there, too murky to make out fully, hovered near the openings of some of them, peering down at the return of their Prince with eyes he could not read. Further ahead, the floor cracked into a massive chasm which ranged across the rest of the cavern and was crossed here and there by rickety-looking bridges. It was lit from below by the light of flames and the scent of sulfur. Stalagmites rose from the floor at irregular intervals, some of them paired with stalactites dropping from the ceiling like large, rocky icicles. Their surfaces glittered here and there with what looked like mica or gems. Crowley watched as Ezra took all of this in at a glance. “Thoughts?” said Lord Crowley, sidling up to him. Ezra turned astonished eyes the color of blue sky to him. “It’s beautiful! I’ve never seen anything like this.” Crowley searched his face for mockery or insincerity but found only earnestness. The Prince felt a tingle of pleasure at this, at least for a moment, until he ruthlessly slammed that feeling down inside himself and returned to his usual sardonic detachment. He hadn’t brought the human here to be his friend.

***

If He’s Your Cleric, Why Is He Putting Me In His Bag of Holding? (300K; Rated E) by @noodlefrog-omens

I read this twice in a row. Literally. I stopped it and almost immediately started it again. I played D&D 3.5 for many years, and I absolutely loved seeing a D&D adventure played out in the GO universe. Aziraphale is the cleric of an adventuring party that stupidly decides to abandon him in the dungeon (you don’t abandon your healer!). Crowley is a very hungry mimic who ends up nearly dying in Aziraphale’s bag of holding before the cleric rescues him. (Look, if you’re going to look like a fancy book, don’t be surprised when the man tries to steal you).

Aziraphale still needs to find his adventuring party again, and the mimic decides to travel along with him. Along the way they find kobolds, a doppelganger, traps, and the obligate dungeon maze, all the while getting to know each other. Aziraphale recognizes his feelings toward the mimic fairly early on, but it takes Crowley longer to even understand what his feelings even mean. 

The porn doesn’t start until chapter 33 (of 40), and only covers maybe three of the remaining eight chapters. You can read the entire adventure and stop once they leave the dungeon if you don’t want any monsterfuckery, or you could skim past the smut to the ending. I don’t know if the author has any plans for sequels, but if he does, I’ll be right there ready.

In that moment, Crowley knew that he had found the right bait to lure this human right to his doom. He waited as patiently as he could while nearly vibrating himself into a puddle, watching as Aziraphale puttered around the room cooing over all the books and scrolls in the room as though they were living creatures. “Just you wait,” Crowley thought to himself, inordinately pleased to have figured out what made this stubborn human tick. “One of them will be.” “There must be centuries’ worth of knowledge collected in just this one chamber,” Aziraphale said in a reverent whisper. Finally, finally he started touching things in this dungeon. He even took his heavy leather gloves off, tucking them into his belt before running a fingertip along the spines of the books chained to the shelves. Crowley watched him take one right off the shelf and thumb through a few of the pages. “We must have walked right by this room. I don’t know why Sandalphon told me there wasn’t anything behind this door. He must not have looked closely enough.” Aziraphale turned his back to the shelves to glance back at the door, and Crowley took his chance to crawl up the side of the bookshelf and arrange himself in front of the chained tomes in pride of place. It wasn’t difficult to change himself into the shape of a book, but this was always about the details. It was an art form. Which books, exactly, had Aziraphale been drawn to? Old ones with leather covers, mostly. Ones with bits of fiddly decoration on the spine. Ones with a bit of mystery. Aziraphale was a cleric, so he was probably interested in talking to the Gods and shite like that, or at least understanding them. That was an angle Crowley could work with. He gave his skin a supple leather texture, inky black and vaguely shimmery in a way he knew would catch the flickering light being thrown out by that sword. Gold edging and lettering crept across his cover and spine, promising divine secrets and cosmic mysteries to anyone who would just reach out and touch. He couldn’t see himself, but Crowley knew that he was a very sexy book right now. Aziraphale would have to be mad not to notice him.

***

Crowley And The Chocolate Factory (55K; Rated E) by @entanglednow

Crowley has to step up for his nephew Adam when he wins a ticket to tour the famous chocolate factories, run by the reclusive and deeply strange Zira Zonka. It doesn't take Crowley long to decide that he wants nothing to do with the man, who's clearly hiding dark and mysterious secrets.

Do you like your Crowley grumpy and cynical? Do you like your Aziraphale weird? Did you think the one thing missing from Charlie and The Chocolate Factory was sex between Wonka and one of the parents in a vintage Bentley? Then this is the story for you!

Crowley doesn’t know what to make of the definitely strange Zira Zonka, but he finds himself drawn to the man nonetheless. The story is set in modern times, but if you know the original (at least the movie version; I can’t speak for the books), you have a general idea of what’s going to happen to the children. 

Zonka releases the arms of his partners for long enough to jerk his cane towards the sky, which erupts in a shower of flower petals and candy - a large proportion of which fall on the immediately excited crowd. Crowley's fairly certain he gets hit on the head by a soft fudge. God, this is humiliating. Zonka dances right and then left while the audience cheers in appreciation. He does another circle, separates from the row to do some unimpressive spins while trying - and failing - to find a good rhyme for liquorice. "My candy emporium has so much in store. Just step right up and walk through the door!" Zonka's gold and white cane snaps up into the air again, this time leaving a burst of light and his name written across the sky in sparkling gold calligraphy. It seems to be a dramatic ending, Crowley certainly hopes it's a dramatic ending. "Half of those lines were a stretch," he complains, but quietly and mostly to himself, because the audience seems to have found the whole thing captivating, Adam included. "And there's only five kids, not six, he can't even count." The Erik's all unlink arms, to thunderous applause from the crowd behind him, and Zonka gives the widest grin Crowley has ever seen. His hands flung on his hips, like the world's most enthusiastic children's entertainer. Crowley half expects him to ask who wants to see a magic trick. "How has this man possibly managed to stay out of the limelight for twenty years?" he wonders. "Or twenty minutes."

***

Villainous (217K; Rated E) by @ineffablepenguin

Once Upon A Time… There was a red-haired sorcerer who lived alone in a high tower, and a blond prince who lived in a palace full of people. And they were both of them desperately lonely. The Kingdoms of Empyrion and the Sorcerers of Apollyon have hated each other for hundreds of years, ever since the Great War. They do not interact, other than to occasionally try to kill one another. And they certainly do not make friends. Crow is an exhausted sorcerer who just wants everyone to leave him the hell alone: for the Sorcerer’s Council to stop harassing him to live up to his potential, and for wannabe Empyrion Heroes to stop attacking his tower to try and kill him. Until one day when he meets Prince Azra of the High Fells, who doesn’t behave anything like he’s supposed to…

This is one of those stories a lot of people recommend for good reason. It’s a fantastic fairy tale full of love and romance between two people who seem destined for one another. The writing is gorgeous, the world-building is fantastic, and there’s really great artwork scattered throughout. Some of the artwork is fairly suggestive, and all of it is stunning.

Crow slowed to a stop, and his gaze flickered bemusedly over him. The man was…not tall. Or remotely intimidating. He stood a couple inches shorter than him, even with the thick boots. Wide eyes shone resolutely grey-blue, the precise shade of his doublet, under a tumble of feathery white-blond curls cut a bit too short to be fashionable. And... his stubbornly-set jaw was rather less chiseled than Crow was used to seeing. No conveniently placed scars, no gritty dents or smudges on that immaculate armour. Heroes usually had cheekbones that could cut glass, but this one’s were rounded, and slightly rosy to boot. Cherubic was the word that came immediately to mind, and Crow nearly snorted out loud. He looked to be roughly Crow's own age, and was staring determinedly, if anxiously at him from behind that enormous broadsword. There was a long, tense silence as Crow and the armoured man sized each other up. The Hero spoke first. “Now see here, villain, I don’t want to have to kill you, so just turn about and head right back where you came from.” His voice was precise and educated, nearly fussy, and while self-assured was lacking in the usual bravado. Crow blinked, taken aback, and the flames in his hand faltered. “You don’t want to kill me?” “Well…no, not particularly.” The confidence wavered for an instant, then solidified. “Which is not to say that I won’t! Rest assured I will if you cause trouble!”

***

The Crawly Chronicles (series) (179K; Rated T/M/E) by @theladydrgn and @sylwritesstuff

When Aziraphale Fell, reporter for The Daily Messenger, is tasked with a simple story on smuggling, he isn't expecting to find out that Lightbringer, Inc. has been experimenting on something that could be an animal, an oil slick, or something else entirely. He especially isn't expecting that being to come home with him and change his entire life.

I’m a fan of the Tom Hardy Venom movies, which made this two-book, two-short series perfect for me. The books follow the plot of the first two movies, though book 2 also starts with the sexual relationship between the two characters. 

My favorite parts of the story are of the two learning to live together while sharing a body, and Aziraphale trying to figure out how to handle having feelings for a creature he’s permanently attached to who is so completely alien (literally) that he’s not even sure that romantic and sexual love are even an option.

The food the human was making already smelled good enough to eat to them, and they did not want to wait twenty minutes. This time their control of the human's hand was less subtle as they dipped fingers into the leftover batter and brought a generous scoop of the chocolate mix to their mouth. “Nasty human's is what they were.” Aziraphale froze or at least tried to. His mouth seemed to have other ideas, cleaning the mixture from his fingers. “What- Who said that?” he demanded messily, looking around. “I did.”  Aziraphale took several steps back, grasping for the cane he'd left leaning against the counter. The voice sounded as if it were everywhere around him or- or in his own mind somehow. “That's hardly reassuring. Who are you? How did you get into my home?” “Got in the same way you did, human.” They grabbed the bowl of chocolate mixture before the human stumbled too far from it, fingers scraping the last dregs of it to not waste a single bit. The cane fell to the floor.  Aziraphale tried stopping himself, but he couldn't seem to make his hands do what he wanted them to do. “Stop! How-” What in the world was happening and how did he stop it? “No. I'm hungry.” “That doesn't make any sense! Stop!” he demanded, struggling to keep his chocolate covered fingers away from his own mouth. “Fine.” They still felt so weak that fighting this human for control was a struggle and a challenge that they did not want to have. It was just so much easier to slip out between their cells and wrap a long tongue around their fingers instead.

***

And finally, if you made it all the way to the end, thank you!

I have three Good Omens novels of my own I hope you’ll check out, a post-S2 with an upcoming sequel; a “they never met”/fake marriage adventure; and a reverse omens (a WIP as of 27 Dec, 2024; chapters are released on Fridays, and it should be completely posted around mid-February 2025).

[viking-raider]

Syverson Family War

Summary-> You've just gotten off a 12-hour shift at the hospital, only to return home and get swept up into a Syverson Family War, between your husband and three children.

Pairing-> Austin "Sy" Syverson/Reader

Word Count-> 3.2k

Warnings-> PG: FLUFF, Cotton Candy Fluff, Light Teasing, Soft!Sy, SAHD!Sy, Nurse!Reader

Inspiration-> This Instagram Video (If this isn't Sy vibes, idk who Sy is!)

Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction!

Divider by->  @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

You were more than excited to be home after a nearly twelve hour shift at the hospital. Your back throbbed and your feet were screaming at the top of their arches from running up and down the ER department. You didn’t even bother gathering up your tote of stuff, as you got out of your car, since you had the next two days off. So, they would wait until a two hour long bubble bath and a nap with eternity.

But upon entering your modest, two story Ranch house, you were bombarded by silence. Your eyes narrowed as they scanned the dining room to your left and living room to your right, ears pricking up for the slightest movement from the bedrooms upstairs.

Something was clearly off. It was almost never this quiet in the Syverson household.

There was always some sort of ruckus or chaos in motion. Your husband blasting music in the garage, where he had set up a small work-out area or telling off whatever game was playing on the enormous tv in the living room. If it wasn’t Sy, it was a combination of your three kids. Your two boys wrestling each other over a toy or giggles, or your daughter discovering a new, little critter from the backyard and bringing it in, before promptly losing it. Or all three kids getting into mischief with each other somehow.

But when it was silent, you knew there were real shenanigans afoot.

You drew in a deep breath, mustering what energy you had left inside yourself, for Syverson Madness. “Guys! I’m home!” You called out, swinging the front door shut with a little more strength than usual, as you moved a step deeper into the powderkeg. “What are you nuts up to?” You mumbled to yourself, moving towards the living room, still trying to keep yourself alert for any kind of trap or scare.

Little good it did, as a strong hand suddenly grabbed your elbow and yanked you backwards into the dark portal of the laundry room door, with a yelp. The hand shifted to your mouth and the door closed with a soft click.

“Ssshh.” Sy cooed at you, moving his hand away. “Gotta keep quiet, Sugar Butt.” He chuckled at you.

You could hear the smirk on his bearded face, before he clicked on the tactical flashlight he was carrying. You looked him over in the dim light, discovering him in his full Army tactical gear, minus his bare feet. He even sported his night vision goggles clipped to his helmet.

“What in the he-” You were about to demand, scanning him again, but spotted one of your son’s Nerf Rifles strapped to his back. “Give me that!” You huffed, gobsmacked, as you took the light and started checking him and the laundry room out. “Good Lord, Almighty!” You laughed, shaking your head.

He had a Nerf pistol in his thigh holster, a pump gun on the dryer, a blaster beside that, and copious amounts of ammo on the washer, with pop grenades. Which you knew were filled with either baby powder or flour from the last time a Syverson War had been declared on the house.

You looked up at your husband, bottom lip trapped between your teeth for a moment. “How long has World War Syverson Seven been going?” You asked, completely amused by how lost Sy got into playing with your kids, and how much they loved it when he did.

Sy looked at his watch. “Since just after breakfast. Myles chose violence and shot Ada in the back, while she was trying to color a picture. Tears ensued, which caused Colt to declare revenge on Myles, in Ada’s name.”

“You got roped into this, how?”

“Ada got in on it, insisting she didn’t need a man to defend her honor…”

“That’s my girl.” You chuckled, smirking.

“It is.” Sy laughed back. “But, in defending her own honor, she shot me in the leg, while I was trying to get them to chill out.”

You nodded your head, seeing all the pieces fall into place. “Which, obviously, by the Syverson Code, requires you to defend your own honor.”

“Obviously, Angel!” Sy answered, faking outrage. “You should know that, after fifteen years!”

“Fifteen years, and I’m still jotting things down in the Syverson Code of Conduct booklet!” You laughed, shaking your head, there were a lot of things Sy lived and would die by.

They were many of the things that made your heart swell with love for the burly, ex-Army vet.

“So, how do I configure into this madness?”

“You just got home from a super long shift, Sugar.” He answered, brow pinching. “You’re an innocent bystander. I just had to save you before one of those hellions out there shot you.”

“My savior.” You cooed, pushing up on your toes and kissing him. “My back and arches appreciate you.”

“The Lair is off limits, per usual.” He informed you. “We just have to make it out of here and upstairs.”

“Quite the way.” You commented, mentally mapping your and Sy’s route out of the laundry room, through the living room and entryway, then finally up the stairs and home free to the master bedroom, which was referred to as the Lair, where you could rest without having to worry about the family war.

“All right, Captain, what’s the plan?”

He gave you the Syverson wink and reached over your head, there was a sharp click and from outside the laundry room, you heard the kids’ screech. Sy had thrown the power switch to the house, plunging it into the darkness. You chuckled, smirking, understanding his tactic now.

“Stay close.” He whispered to you, clicking his ammo to his vest on, before moving to the door. “The enemy is sneaky and uncivilized.” He said, pressing his body against it, listening carefully to the other side.

“Like their father.” You mumbled under your breath with a snort, huddling yourself against his back.

“I’d say more like their mama.” Sy commented back, reaching back to pop you on the bum, then slowly cracked open the door.

You shuffled out after him, casting glances over your shoulder every few seconds. It was easy going, getting through the living room. Sy had defended it mightily throughout the day, so the kids had become shy about entering their father’s domain. You trusted Sy to protect you, from everything, your kids included. Silly as that was to think.

“We have movement at 12!” Sy called out, catching your nine year old, Myles, through his night vision in his fort, consisting of the dining table and chairs that he was hunkered down underneath, belly crawling from one end towards the other, closing the gap between himself and the entryway. “He’s under the table. A sneaky little sniper boy.” He snickered, shouldering the Nerf-AR resting against his side.

You scrunched yourself up behind Sy’s wide and muscular back as Nerf Darts started whizzing by, striking the scuffed wood floor or sticking to the walls. Both Sy and Myles laughed maniacally as they shot at each other; tossing weak insults on top of it.

“Milk drinker!” Myles shouted, hustling to reload.

“Lizard eater!” Sy shot back, smirking.

“Now, boys!” You scolded weakly, snorting.

They continued their assault, Sy guiding you towards a pocket the bottom stairs provided coming down into the foyer, allowing you to take cover and him to shoot through the bars of the steps.

“Are you hit?” You asked, playing along with the game.

“Nothing I’ll die from.” He answered, reloading his weapons. “But, you can be a good nurse and kiss them all better.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“That’s cheating!” Myles yelled out.

“Well, If I was over there, I’d do the same thing to you, Bud!” You called back, planting a kiss on Sy’s cheek, his well-groomed beard tickling your skin.

“An aid relief truce then?” Myles suggested, poking his head out from under the table.

“Certainly not!” Sy barked back, popping a Nerf dart off over his son’s head, sending him scurrying back into his fort. “She’s my nurse! I found her out wandering the battlefield, unprotected. If you wanted her to be your nurse, you should have found her first, yourself!”

“I almost did! Before you kidnapped her!” Myles huffed, hotly. “You’re holding her hostage!” He suddenly insisted. “Don’t worry, Mama. I’ll rescue you!”

“Oh my, a hostage situation.” You sighed, licking your lips. “I appreciate your devotion, son.”

“Ha.” Sy scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, boy. I’m escorting this lovely lady to the Lair.”

As Sy and Myles argued over who was going to have the pleasure of accompanying you upstairs, you caught a slight movement behind you and Sy, lurking in the darkness of the living room; moving slowly. It vanished behind the couch, and for a moment you thought it was just Aika, but when something popped up over the back of the couch, then quickly ducked down again, you were then positive it wasn’t the old girl. But your Daddy’s girl, Ada. Of all the children, six year old Ada was the most like her father. She’d been attached to Sy’s hip from the moment she left your womb. Hanging on Sy’s every word, movement and action, that sometimes it spooked you.

So, watching her stealth around in the dark of the living room was both impressive, amusing and a tad terrifying. Especially since you knew the little hellion was coming for revenge on her father and brother. There were no alliances between them during a Syverson war. You were the only ally allowed to go between the four of them. Mending wounds, mostly pretend ones, but sometimes there were real ones. Sometimes, you’d team up with one of them, to take on the other three.

“On your six! In the living room, babe!” You warned, snagging the Nerf pistol from Sy’s thigh holster as he reacted, purely by instinct, removing one of his baby powder pop grenades, tossing it behind him without looking, trusting your instruction.

Ada startled, surprised that you had noticed her, followed by a cloud of baby powder obscuring her view. She came to a halt, upon hurdling the back of the couch, in an attempt to overtake you and Sy. You took aim and fired, the Nerf dart hitting her square in the chest.

“Nice shot, hon.” Sy nodded, patting your leg, then called out to his daughter. “Sorry, Cricket, but that’s a kill shot.” He told her, his voice soft, but uncompromising.

Ada huffed, pressing her lips together. “Not fair, Mama isn’t supposed to shoot us! She doesn’t have anything to avenge!” She protested, crossing her arms.

Sy chuckled, cocking his head at her. “Mama has her own special rules in our Wars, you know that, Cricket.”

“I’ll come kiss it better, but you know Daddy’s five minute rule.” You chimed in, feeling bad about it, you honestly hadn’t meant to hit her, it was just a lucky shot.

But rules were rules. You could go and kiss her boo-boo better, allowing her to enter the War game again. However, Sy had made a rule that anyone hit with a Kill Shot had to be dead for at least five minutes, before you could render aid to them.

“All right.” Ada sighed, before flopping to the floor with a dramatic sound.

“Where were we?” Sy asked, then nodded. “Right, Myles, kindly allow me to escort my Nurse upstairs.”

“No deal, Pops.” Myles replied, shaking his head.

“Can I just go upstairs on my own?” You asked, peeking at your son through the spindles of the stairs.

Myles was quiet for a moment, considering. “Only if I get to keep you to myself for an hour!” He finally answered.

“Oh, he drives a hard bargain, that son of yours.” You teased Sy, tickling the back of his neck.

“That he does.” Sy agreed, shivering, as he brewed over Myles' offer. “You can have her for thirty minutes!” He negotiated with him.

“Thirty minutes!” Myles barked in outrage.

“You have to go to bed in two hours, boy!” Sy reminded him.

“So, give her to me for an hour!”

You smirked and pressed your palm to the base of Sy’s neck, leaning in close, your lips brushing against his ear, so only he could hear you. “Let him have me for the hour, Austin. I’ve been gone for twelve hours, and they have to go to bed in two. It’ll give me a little bit of time with them.” You reasoned with your husband. “We’ll have all night together after they're asleep, and the next two days, when they're at school.”

Sy nodded, rubbing his lips together. “You’re right.” He whispered back to you. “All right, you can have her for an hour, after you let her go upstairs and do what she pleases.”

A muffled yes came from the dining room. “Deal! You’re free to come out, Mama!”

“Thank God! I have to pee really bad.” You chuckled, kissing Sy, before scurrying out of your hiding place with him and started up the stairs, as you reached the top, you wondered where your middle child, Colt, was.

The seven year old was oddly missing in action the whole time the rest of you were battling and negotiating downstairs. As you reached the top, a cry filled the air, startling the life out of you, before a fury of Nerf darts peppered you all over.

“COLT!” You howled at the boy, dashing for your bedroom door and taking cover behind it.

“Colt Nero Syverson!” Sy’s voice called up the stairs. “You know the rules about firing upon your mother!”

“I’m sorry, Mama.” Colt’s soft voice whimpered in the dark to you. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“It’s fine, little man.” You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Just mind yourself.”

“Okay, Ma.” He smiled, ducking back into his hiding place; his room.

“Oh, this family.” You sighed again, closing the door and rushing for the en suite, tugging off your shoes as you went. “Ooo.” You cooed, enjoying the feeling of the icy tile on your bare, throbbing feet.

Bladder empty, you splashed some cool water in your face, then got out of your nursing scrubs, replacing them with a comfortable pair of shorts and a tank top. You laid down on your and Sy’s enormous bed, dozing off for a couple minutes before getting back up to fulfill the promises you made to Ada and Myles.

“Colt, I’m coming out, please don’t shoot me.” You called through the crack you opened in the bedroom door.

“Okay, Mama!” He called back.

Coming out of the room, you stood at the top of the stairs, but frowned and turned, heading down to Colt’s room. “What are you doing, buddy?” You asked, peeking around the doorframe, seeing he had made a little barricade and was hunkered down behind his bed. “Why haven’t you come down to challenge your dad, brother and sister?”

“Oh, I have, Ma!” He answered, his smile showing off the two front teeth he lost a month before. “I’m just waiting for the most opportune time to go back downstairs to finish off whoever is left.” He sat up on his bed a little more, eyeing you. “How many of them are left?”

You smirked at him, slyly. “You know I’m not allowed to give away information to someone, especially if I’m not teamed up with them, little man.”

“Poop.” He huffed, slapping his mattress and sitting back. “Do you wanna be on my team?” He asked, hopeful.

“Sadly, your Papa had to bargain me off to your brother for an hour, so I could go to the Lair and change.” You informed him, giving him a sympathetic smile. “But, how about this? When it’s bedtime, I’ll come and read to you, whatever you want.”

“Eragon!” He gasped, enthralled again.

“Deal.”

“Deal!”

“All right, wee man, if I don’t see you before then, I’ll see you at bed time.” You cooed at him.

You headed back downstairs, pausing on the middle landing. “I’m coming downstairs, don’t shoot!” You announced to Sy and Myles.

“All clear!” They both called back.

You joined them downstairs, finding them just as you left them.

“Mommy, can I be alive again?” Ada called to you from her spot behind the couch.

“Yes, love, I’m coming right now to fix your boo-boo.” You replied, crossing the entryway and leaned over her, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “There, sweet girl. All healed and alive again. Off you trot. Why don’t you watch a movie on your tablet, until bedtime?”

“Thanks, Mama!” She giggled, hugging your waist, then ran off.

With your daughter resurrected, you joined Myles in the dining room, and despite the soreness in your body, got under the table with him. “Just you, Colt and your Papa now, big man.” You told him, propping your head up on your hand. “Tough crowd.”

“But I got you, Mama.” Myles countered. “You can heal all my wounds.”

“Mm, that I can.” You nodded, casting your eyes past the table legs and made out Sy’s outline. “But, that’s about all the energy I’ve got for you. Bringing your sister back to life took a lot out of me. So, I can’t help you fight either of them.”

“That’s fine. I can finish them.”

You reached out and brushed your fingers through his tamed, black curls. “I have all the faith in the world in you, my sweet boy.” You cooed at him, lovingly.

“Moooom!” He groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Time’s wastin’, kid!” Sy called out.

“You stay here, mom. I’m gonna sneak around.” Myles said, wiggling back up the table towards the back entry of the kitchen.

“I’ll be here.” You replied, propping your head up on your hand, eyes drooping for a moment.

At least, you thought it was for a moment, until you felt a pair of strong hands grab your ankles and yanked you out from underneath the table, startling you awake from the nap you dozed into.

“Jesus.”

“Naw, just me, Angel.” Sy grinned, helping you up.

“Where’s Myles?” You asked, rubbing at the sleep in your eyes and noticing he wasn’t in his tactical gear anymore, but just a pair of shorts.

“Out cold in bed.” He answered, steadying you with his hands on your hips.

“But…” You frowned, glancing at the stairs over your shoulder.

“Colt came down not long after Myles tried sneaking around me through the kitchen.” Sy explained to you, a proud little glint in his blue eyes. “Took out both of us, the little rascal.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “We found you asleep and they understood you had a long day, and would spend time with them tomorrow, after they came home from school.”

You pressed your forehead against his chest. “What in the world would I do without you?” You cooed, sighing heavily.

“I don’t know what we would do without you.” He replied, encasing you in his muscular arms and resting his chin on top of your head, rocking gently. “Let’s go to bed, love.” He whispered, scooping you up off your sore feet and carried you upstairs, to bed.

You moaned softly, sinking into the mattress as Sy tossed the blankets over you and kissed your temple, before joining.

[jelloia]

a post on how yanqing's monologue in the 2.4 quest aligns perfectly with his character story (+ why jing yuan is a great father figure / mentor)

so we all know that yanqing is regarded as the best swordsman on the luofu (character story part I), and when you read his character story part II, it's obvious why:

When hunting near a distant star, the monstrously huge mechabeast Windguard created by the Denizens of Abundance was pulverizing defense forces as though they were ants. But this young boy met against it face-to-face, claiming its head and routing the enemy to the point of collapse. As for subsequent victories: He broke the borisin's Devouring Wolf formation with Jing Yuan, beheading three Brood Lords. He also fought viciously against the wingweavers, ultimately sinking their almighty Cloudseizer Fleet... These are just a small footnote in the annals of his courageous swordplay.

yanqing mentions himself how he isn't like normal kids, but it's kind of startling and unnatural to read about how fearless he is. after all, he isn't like kafka--who literally cannot feel fear--he's just genuinely that good at his art

to jing yuan, yanqing's constant improvement is a reminder of how even though long-life species don't need to fear time decaying their body, their warped sense of time means they are often stagnate in their ideals and ultimately how they live their lives

"General... I finally... won." The general pauses. He suddenly realizes that, compared to the boy trying to improve every day, he himself has endured too many years and is used to stagnation.

the paradox though is that if you only win, that in itself is a form of stagnation.

so if you always succeed while being constantly praised from a young age, what happens when you lose for the first time?

from the average honkai star rail player's perspective, it's laughable that we see someone as decorated as yanqing be defeated multiple times in a row. it makes us wonder whether he even deserves his title, seeing how weak he is compared to jingliu, blade, and imbibitor lunae.

in actuality, this is a genius writing move. by bringing the player into the story right when yanqing starts losing, we begin having the same doubts and suspicions about yanqing that he is about himself. all the scorn and hatred he gets from the fandom are things i'm sure he's thought about himself.

what's even more interesting about yanqing is that most hsr characters are grown and had their early development offscreen, but we are experiencing yanqing's first big low firsthand, right along with him.

but believe it or not, this is exactly what jing yuan wanted.

according to yanqing's character story part IV:

Yanqing became an unrivaled fighter aboard the Xianzhou Luofu as his skills grew more and more advanced. Jing Yuan gradually began thinking about ways to restrain Yanqing's edge, to take him down a peg without curbing his confidence. Too solid and it can shatter. Too sharp and it can blunt. More than just a sharp edge — a sword also needs a scabbard that can restrain it. In Jing Yuan's view, Yanqing has grown up exceedingly fast — beyond expectations. What Yanqing needs right now is not more strength, but the ability and experience of curbing that strength — something that can only manifest by the passage of time.

jing yuan knows exactly what can happen to those blessed with enormous power. unchecked strength and confidence is a double edged sword--it's precisely this overconfidence that got yanqing into fighting with blade/il and challenging jingliu, yet it's also one of yanqing's best features. what jing yuan wants is for yanqing to continue to believe in himself and be courageous, but also practice control and resilience, even after resounding defeat.

"All's equal in war, and sneak attacks are a good idea. It's too bad your sword is so focused on the flourish and can't conceal its form. Is this what they call youthful vigor?"

there are some things you cannot directly teach, and it's not as though jing yuan planned for yanqing to meet jingliu/etc. jing yuan believes that only time can teach yanqing, yet it's also tricky because for long-life species, time is not just a wheel pushing progress but a cycle repeating the same things over and over.

this is why i believe it's a testament to the stellar quality of yanqing's character and jing yuan's raising of him that so relatively quick after all of yanqing's failures...

...yanqing hasn't given up nor run away, but rather discovered that he no longer fights solely for an extrinsic reward--victory, honor, approval--and instead, for something much more permanent

this doesn't mean yanqing's going to stop throwing himself into difficult fights--just take his bickering with yunli as an example--but rather his perspective has changed. yanqing will enter battle even if defeat is inevitable and will keep on going even if he loses. he's continuing to improve, both physically and mentally.

(i also want to point out the juxtaposition of "letting go of everything" and "giving it my all" in yanqing's purpose above; it sounds contradictory but i think it means how fighting helps yanqing feel free and forget the weight on his shoulders, yet it's also a show of passion where he'll fight for his family/friends/ideals to the best of his ability and beyond)

to conclude, yanqing is an insanely complex and well written character, and i'm so happy that the 2.4 quest is exploring everything that has been set up for him so far. connecting this to the final character story i haven't covered yet (part III), i believe that yanqing is closer to achieving his dream than ever before:

It's completely natural for teenage boys to love swords, but a specific dream flickers and dances among the Xianzhou swords in his collection. To become the best on the Luofu — no, the best across all the Xianzhou ships. To take the title of Sword Champion on the Luofu, and even take the title of Sword Preeminence across the Alliance. Since the Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae, the title of Sword Champion among the Luofu Cloud Knights has remained vacant for centuries. Not that nobody wants to claim it, but for a rather more embarrassing reason: The previous Sword Champion, a legendary swordmaster with 13 outstanding accolades, violated the laws of heaven, resulting in her name being wiped from the face of the cosmos. Even the prestigious title that she bore became a sore spot for others. But for this vastly impressive teen, it's now time to turn over a new page in the annals of history and write another chapter.

ultimately, i think jing yuan said it best:

"You will soon be better than everyone, and that will only be the beginning..."

[moodymisty]

'We float for Macragge.' That is the cutest quote ever omg. Thank you for blessing me with this, I'd never seen the meme before. The blueberries are so charming sometimes 🥺 -anon that likes excerpts

It's one of the less popular iconic WH40k memes, but I see people reference it sometimes. Here's some more funnies because I like forcing people to read this stuff.

There's also the fucking hilarious scene of an astartes with new terminator armor falling through a floor, and his buddy has to call a crew with a crane to get him out, which is fucking hysterical. (master of sanctity)

‘Some kind of sub-level here,’ reported Daellon. ‘Descending.’ ‘Wait!’ yelled Telemenus, but his warning came too late. The audio pick-ups brought the sound of splintering woods and crumbling ferrocrete followed by an almighty crash. Daellon cursed without pause over the vox. ‘Report,’ barked Arbalan. ‘Brother Daellon misjudged the load bearing of some internal stairs, brother-sergeant,’ said Telemenus, trying not to laugh. For once he was glad somebody else was attracting the negative scrutiny. There was a chuckle from Cadmael and a sigh from Arbalan. ‘Daellon, can you climb out?’ asked the sergeant. ‘Negative, a three metre drop at least. The floor will not hold my weight to pull myself up.’ ‘No threats detected,’ Telemenus added, his auspex sensors encompassing the long row of huts. ‘Understood,’ said Arbalan. He sounded impatient. ‘Daellon, remain in place, I will signal for an armoury extraction team. Telemenus, rejoin the squad.'

There's also a book I don't remember where a group of baseline humans are descending from tight steps with an astartes, and are VERY concerned at the creaking of the stairs from his weight. Chunky boi

Also here's Guilliman making a joke in Armour of Fate about him being stuck in this massive bulky armor and Sicarius just, doesn't get it. This moment was another reason why I always recommend Dark Imperium to people, it just kind of gets Guilliman and how different he is from his legion now.

Sheaves of blueprints were scattered across the desk in front of him. He spotted something of interest written on one and reached for it, gritting his teeth against the purring of the suit. He always reached with his right hand. The integration points for the Hand of Dominion on his left made picking anything up nigh on impossible, even with the over gauntlet and its underslung bolter removed. Day-to-day tasks such as this were a struggle. His armoured fingers pushed at slick plastek. Ceramite skidded across the papers, knocking them to the ground in wafting flutters. ‘Oh, for the love of…’ he grumbled as he bent awkwardly to pick them up. The Armour of Fate was bulky. As its waist joint prevented him from flexing his spine and reaching the floor, he had to kneel. He reached for the scattered flimsies. Fingertips failed to grasp the sheets, sending them fleeing in small armadas over the polished floor. He growled in frustration, abandoned his task and stood, drawing a curious look from Sicarius. ‘I have the manual dexterity of a Legio Cybernetica battle automaton!’ Guilliman said. ‘Created by the Lord of All Mankind, master of the greatest armies in the Imperium, and I cannot pick up a plastek flimsy.’ He glared at the offending articles. ‘My greatest enemy.’ There was a thoughtful quiet. ‘You are joking, my lord?’ said Sicarius. Guilliman looked at Sicarius. He had to turn all the way around to do so. The pauldrons, ornamental wings and large halo mounted on his back made it impossible for him to see over his shoulder. At least he had stopped knocking into things. There was that. ‘By the Throne, why am I expected to be serious at all times? Yes, Captain Sicarius, I am making light of my predicament. During the worst of the Great Crusade, I was known to make the occasional jest. Even after Terra fell. I did not spend my entire previous life writing deep thoughts into little notebooks, but sometimes dared to enjoy myself. I suppose that was not recorded in the hagiographies.’ ‘Humour is not something you are renowned for, my lord.’ ‘My time in this new age has revealed that to me amply.’

I have way too many random book moments stuck in my head. And not enough space for actual useful information.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 26 - Harry

@wolfstarmicrofic September 26, word count 524

Previous part First Wolfstar part

Two days, they waited. They wanted Voldemort mad. They wanted him not thinking clearly. It probably wouldn’t work, but it was all they had.

They apparated to the edge of the old forest behind Fenrir’s camp in a big open field in the late afternoon and got to work. 

A few hours later, James led Peter to the grassy area. 

“Call him,” He told Peter. The cowering man raised his right hand, with James still holding on tightly, and pressed his wand to the dark mark. 

They waited with bated breath until an almighty crack rang out, and Voldemort appeared alone in the centre of the field. 

“Ah, so you figured out Wormtail’s little secret?” He said once he’d surveyed the area. His high, raspy voice was somehow easily heard, though he spoke quietly. 

It was almost dark now, the light barely illuminating the gathered group. Sirius, Remus and James stood shoulder to shoulder with Peter at their feet. “Lord Black and his little lackeys. You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble killing Fenrir, you know. My death eaters have had to pick up the slack. They would like very much to have the opportunity to share their grievances with you,” Voldemort moved his mouth in that odd way that meant he was trying to smile. Sirius rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, I’m sure they would,” Sirius barked out a laugh.  Voldemort narrowed his red eyes at them. 

“It’s such a shame that your traitorous brother couldn’t be here to watch you die, but he got in my way and, unfortunately… Well, you can guess,” Voldemort cackled. Sirius folded his arms and crooked a brow.

“Oh really?” He said, standing aside and revealing Regulus behind him. 

“Hello, Tom,” Regulus smirked. “Say your goodbyes as you won’t be leaving here tonight. 

“YOU!!!!” Voldemort hissed furiously, spit flying from his lipless mouth. He then spun on the spot. Sirius had to hold back his laughter at the ridiculous pirouette. 

While Voldemort had been waffling on, Regulus had cast an antiappartiion charm over the entire area. Voldemort straightened up and raised his wand, preparing to duel. Sirius cracked his neck; it was nearly time. “Do you truly believe the three of you could possibly be a match for the great Lord Voldemort?! You would need an army to even make a dent,” He scoffed. Sirius and Remus dropped to the ground.

“Well, it’s a good job I brought one then,” Regulus taunted as James grabbed his hand and Peters. Regulus dug in his pocket and pulled out the muggle ID that the camper had dropped, Harry Felds apparently, and held it tightly. In the blink of an eye, they were gone. Remus had turned it into a Portkey, transporting them safely back to their camp. 

Voldemort turned to the remaining wizards only to find them replaced with their enormous wolves, the moonlight reflecting in their eyes. 

“ATTACK!!!” Sirius shouted down the link to every single member of the pack, hidden just inside the tree line. The concealment spells fell, and twenty werewolves, including Sirius and Remus, charged towards Voldemort. The so-called Dark Lord didn’t stand a chance.

Next part

[monsoon-of-art]

Yay little mer snippet! Just a little thing as a break from Donut Hole. Probably won't post on ao3 (Edit I did lol)

Lost and Found

They didn’t see the storm coming.

Both clans knew the skies and the weather almost as much as they knew their watery home. They should've seen this storm coming days in advance.

But they didn't.

All they could do was hunker down in their settlements and pray to Almighty Sinnoh that their loved ones out at sea would return home safe.

Even deep inside their iceberg, Irida wanted nothing more than to curl up inside her den, like she did when she was a pup and a bad storm would roll over.

But as leader, she wanted to make sure her clan was safe first.

Thank Sinnoh, most of them were doing what she wanted to do; tucked away safe inside the many ice caves and dens they had made, little ones hiding under blankets and their relatives.

Lady Sneasler and Lord Ursaluna had plopped themselves down in the medical den with Calaba. Lord Kleavor and Avalugg would be safe under the waves, and Lord Arcanine…

Well, he didn't have to suffer this storm. It was a relief, in a strange, painful way.

Lady Sneasler yawned as Irida entered, without a care in the world. Lord Ursaluna barely even acknowledged her presence.

“Did everyone return to the settlement?” Irida asked.

Calaba let out a quiet, but still irritated, huff. “Palina has yet to return. Gaeric went out to retrieve her just as the storm hit.”

Of course. Since the passing of Lord Arcanine, Palina had been grieving away from others. She wanted solitude, as dangerous as that was, and Irida could respect it on some level.

But not in this weather.

And Irida truly respected Gaeric as her mentor and practically her brother, but he still struggled with empathy at the best of times.

“Right. Right. I'll go after them.” Irida decided, rubbing her cheeks and smoothing her whiskers, trying to not stress too much.

Palina and Gaeric were very, very good swimmers. She was positively certain she'd find them just outside the iceberg.

“Please be safe.” Calaba said as Lady Irida left.

Dipping into the frigid waters (for some, not that Irida was complaining), Irida was immediately hit with the turbulent, stormy sea.

With smaller storms, it was easy to hide under the waves. But with large storms like this? The currents would be thrown off kilter, the sediment on the sea floor would be dragged up, it was difficult for even the strongest of swimmers to keep their head on straight.

But Irida pressed on, weaving through the ice floats the best she could. Even through the dark waters she could see the flashes of lightning, hear the boom of thunder. 

This couldn't be a natural storm. This had to be from Almighty Sinnoh themself. Perhaps something had angered them. It was bound to be the false worship of the Diamond Clan.

(Little did she know, Lord Adaman was having the exact same thought.)

Just at the edge of the icy waters, where the glaciers were nothing more than floating bits of snow on the surface of the water, she found them.

“There you two are! This storm is too bad to be out!” Irida said as she rushed forward to greet them, unable to stop the worried tone in her voice.

“Blame her.” Replied Gaeric in a low rumble, narrowing his eyes at Palina.

“Oh? Oh? Blame me? Blame me for making sure Lord Arcanine’s only son and heir is safe in this storm? Yes! Yes, let's blame me!”

Irida loved these two like family. Siblings. Close as could be.

She would also love it if they could stop bickering for just one night.

“You two can fight about this later, inside the settlement.” she said, swimming behind to try and urge them forward. Irida had her fill of stormy weather for one night, thank you.

The three of them had barely started their trek home, when Palina spotted something lying at the bottom of the ocean. Thank Sinnoh that the waters were relatively shallow here, otherwise she never would've spotted it.

It was…a black and white….lump. 

“Wait…What…is that?” Palina asked quietly, finding herself slowly drifting down to investigate.

Gaeric turned, sounding confused. “What? No, we should go back. This storm is dangerous.”

As Irida began following her down, he grumbled under his breath, but reluctantly began to follow as well.

The three approached the mysterious object on the sea floor, and they all quickly realized that the black and white lump was big. Very big. 

“What…is it?” Asked Irida, glancing at Gaeric for guidance.

But he slowly shook his head. “I'm not…sure. Don't get too close. We don't know if this is a threat-”

His eyes narrowed as they approached, and for a brief moment, terror flashed across his face. Grabbing the two girls, he pulled them down to a rocky outcove to hide. “Orca, that is an Orca, stay down-” he hissed.

Palina did not do that, immediately slipping away to peek over the rocks. “Really? Just laying on the ground like that? That doesn’t seem very…Orca-Like.”

“You have the self preservation of a sea cucumber.” he growled. “I’ve seen Orcas, you haven’t. Get back down here!”

She crept a bit closer, sticking close to the rocks in case she needed to duck back down. “No…the shape is wrong. And I can see…fabric?”

Irida now poked her head above the rocks, much to Gaeric’s dismay. “...I think she’s right. I’m going in closer.”

“You two are going to die, and at your funeral I will tell everyone how stupid you were.”

Palina and Irida inched closer and closer, still remaining cautious as they approached. More details came into focus. There was a torso, head, arms, hands-

It was a merman, wearing strange striped garments, curled up and completely unconscious. The only signs of life came from the subtle twitch of his fingers.

“It’s not an Orca!” Palina said over her shoulder, “I-I think it's a merman? With Orca colors?”

That finally got Gaeric to take a look, swiftly coming over to join them, brows furrowed in thought. “I…don’t recognize him. He’s not one of us.”

“He’s not part of the Diamond Clan, either. He doesn’t have their colors or insignia…” added Irida with a frown. “Would he have come from a migratory pod?”

Gaeric shook his head. “There’s been no reports of pods like that. We haven’t had traveling pods of Orcas like him in years.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “...he could be an exile.”

The very word caused Irida to recoil and Palina to wince.

Exile was the worst punishment possible. Practically a death sentence, forcing a mer from their group to live on their own, to grow sick and weak and mad from the isolation. It was worse than a death sentence, only for the most heinous of crimes. Neither of the three there had ever seen it before, from their clan nor from the Diamond clan. A punishment spoken only in terrified whispers.

Palina shook her head. “No, no. You can’t just assume the worst like that. M-Maybe the storm swept him away from his pod? Maybe he got lost?”

She turned to Irida directly. “We can’t just leave him here. He’ll drown. He’ll die. I can’t handle another death on my conscious like this.”

“Irida, I have to object.” counted Gaeric, leaning over to try and block Irida’s view of Palina. “I cannot allow you to bring this stranger to our settlement. He could be a threat! He could be a murderer. What if he tries to eat the pups-”

“Gaeric!” Palina shouted, tugging on his hair and earning a pained yelp.”Stop assuming he’s an exile!”

“I didn’t say he was! But if he’s been alone for Sinnoh knows how long? Merfolk go crazy when they’re alone!”

Irida hummed in thought, glancing between the two and the unconscious merman.

Palina was right, if they didn’t do anything, the merman would die. He’d drown, and in a matter of time the crabs and eels would descend upon the corpse until there was nothing left.

Gaeric was right, they didn’t know this merman, they didn’t know how dangerous he was. This merman was big, too, much bigger than anyone at the settlement, he could overpower them if he wanted. He could be a danger.

The merman shifted slightly, and began making a low, rumbling croon. His face, even while unconscious, looked pained. 

He was calling for someone. Something. Anything.

And as the three waited with hesitation, nothing came.

“We’re taking him back.” Irida said with an air of finality. “Gaeric, help us carry him.”

“What?! I’m opposed to this! I’m the one who said we shouldn’t take him in, and you want me to carry him?! He’s probably heavy!”

“Oh, what?” Palina said, smug from having won, “Those muscles you’re so proud of are just for show, huh?”

He growled at her, a rumble low in his throat, but agreed. “Fine. Let’s carry this stranger back home.”

[gaymurdersalad]

[ Hello everypony! Don’t mind the ritual robes. Dress for the job you want, ya know? And all I want to do is serve our lord and savior Godred!

I thought as a fun little thing to do in between sacrifices, I would give out some headcanons— well. These are my guys, are they headcanons? Not really. Uhm, facts, I guess— on how they do their holidays! Take ‘em or leave em, you’ll soon find I love rambling about the guys. You might regret this.

———

Peter and Caroline used to do the whole Catholicism thing, so they definitely did celebrate a good Christmas! However after the whole “disappearing for several years and coming back with a phone for a head” thing that Peter did, all faith in God was lost, but they still like to give eachother presents. The star on top of the tree is a grim reminder of a lordless plane. Except for the almighty Godred, mind you!

Steven sits alone in his restaurant with vague feelings of something or other. The establishment doesn’t even close— because why would it, it’s a Fazbender’s— so he has plenty of time to sit in an empty restaurant and think about nothing. Peter has invited him to Christmas but quoteth Steven, “That sounds great and all, but I’ve actually got my own plans.” Of which are trying to remember what the fuck a “Christmas” is and why it has any value to people other than market value. If it piques your interest at all, him and his boyfriend semi-celebrated but not really, as Steven was raised Christian {LONG since abandoned} and his boyfriend was Muslim. That’s all gone now, though, unbeknownst to the phone-man in question.

Dee spends time with the souls in the Flipside. She enjoys it very much, despite the grimness of it all. Even though she would much rather being alive and spending time with her family, she knows she has responsibilities.

Henry works. On stuff. He’s just sitting in his office right now, I could totally waltz in there and sacrifice him to Godred. Just pick that bastard up and get goin’. Oh, he’d be kicking and screaming, but he’s a midget with small hands and can’t do nothin’ against an ethereal phone creature with a complete and utter devotion to almighty Godred... Maybe after this.

Oscar doesn’t celebrate Christmas, and actually hates it. Finds every bit of Christmas decor annoying to his astigmatism and just grating anyways. Oh, fucking shit, the jingle bells never stop. Everything is annoying. He cannot enter his beloved coffee shop— Fazbucks; it’s like Starbucks but they don’t donate to stupid bullshit! The CEOs just spend the money on bribing health inspectors throughout Fazbender chains! What? No, no, they still pay their workers in faztokens— without being utterly assaulted by MIRIAH. Even if Christmas wasn’t annoying, he wouldn’t celebrate it anyways, because he’s Jewish. So is his family! Where the hell is his family? Where does— Where the hell does Oscar live, does he have a house? I- I’m realizing I didn’t get to know him that much, I think he just… Showed up here. You- Uhh, you get the point.

Dave has a ritual and has been performing this ritual for three years straight. First, he wakes up in the dumpster of the week, gets dressed, and climbs out of that disgusting sucker. Normal morning routine ensues, Y’know, he takes a couple random pills for the hangover and pops a thing of LSD if he’s feelin’ chipper, shaves with a switchblade he usually finds in the Fazbender Ballpits, and sets out onto the world. Since it is a special day— not in accordance to any religion, but to his own fucked up morals and values— he breaks into a liquor store and takes what he pleases! All assortments of liquors and cigarettes, and he stuffs them all into a duffel he usually manages to scavenge for beforehand. Once he’s a proper Santa Claus with a bag of stolen substances slung over his shoulder, he jacks a piece of shit car— he figures he’s doin’ them a favor, ‘cause who would want to own this shit box anyway?— and drives 90 to the Old Sport residence. Once he arrives, parking his car in the yard and fucking up the grass with those giant fucking tire tracks, Jesus Christ, Sportsy’s gonna have to fix that, he stomps up to the door with the duffel and knocks fifteen times with the palm of his giant fucking hand. If Sportsy don’t answer, more knocking ensues, probably followed by several obscenities and slurs. Eventually, Old Sport opens the door, and before the stout fucker can beat him with the baseball bat he stole from a bar in Las Vegas, Dave slips in and throws the bag down on the floor. Sportsy, after experiencing this for the past couple years, holds his head in his hands and groans. Loudly. Dave wraps Old Sport in this big hug, pickin’ him up off the ground all while Sportsy frowns in discontent. They spend the rest of the evening sitting on the couch boozing and watching shitty Christmas specials, and Dave crashes on Sportsy’s couch at 8 PM.

Until the arrival of Dave, Jack sits in bed. Don’t even bother to put on makeup. In the back of his head he kind of knows that the wretched purple beast will show up at his house, but he maintains a little hope that he won’t. He always does. He supposes it’s nice to have a day where Dave isn’t spending a day with him solely to recruit him into the whole kid-killing business again, but… Man, when the liquor hits, he realizes just how sad it is that his only consistent friend is a child murderer. Fuck. Once Dave crashes, Jack is usually stuck underneath him as some sort of pillow, and at this point, he’s so burnt out and sad and happy and bitter that he just lays there. Watching those shitty Christmas movies. He’s going to wake up with the worst headache tomorrow.

Legacy does not do anything special and David stopped trying to a while ago. Business carries on as usual. Maybe David would like to go out and do something or have Legacy sit still for one measly second so he could give him some kind of gift, but knowing the Orange Bastard, he’d likely reject it or throw it out. Maybe spending time with Legacy is a gift in of itself, David thinks, incorrectly.

———

Was that everyone? There are so many of the guys! Good lord, half of them are maniacs too. I couldn’t be prouder!

Well, I’ve got some sacrificin’ to do! Goodbye! Remember: Godred Loves You! ]

~ Mod Chribs

[merrily-radiant]

Hi, I write fanfic now

I have many ideas for a lot of fandoms that I want to explore! For now, these are what I managed to put out there.

Dungeon Meshi

Late Night Conversation

[one-shot] [6,285 words] [Laios/Kabru] [POV Kabru] [post-canon] [part 1 of series]

Summary: Three months after the ending, Kabru starts having nightmares again.

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A King and his Subject

[3/3] [6,602 words] [Laios/Kabru] [POV Laios] [post-canon] [part 2 of series]

Summary: Four months into being king, Laios starts worrying for his friend.

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Good Wine, Good Food, Good Company

[one-shot] [6,466 words] [Laios/Kabru] [POV Kabru] [post-canon] [part 3 of series]

Summary: Unable to fall asleep, Kabru takes an impulsive action in the middle of the night.

-

-

Scum Villain

Oh, Almighty System! It's Post-Canon Already, Won't You Please Give Me a Break?!

[one-shot] [1,781 words] [MBJ/SQH] [POV Shang Qinghua] [post-canon]

Summary: Shang Qinghua needs some time off, to relax a little, you know? Some weed would certainly help him with that. Alas, cannabis doesn't exist on this world... It also doesn't help that Mobei-jun likes to torture him.

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Entangled Affairs

[3/4] [5,821 words] [LQG/SJ] [Alternating POV] [disciple days]

Summary: Some time after the disaster that was The Well Mission(TM), Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge are forced by their Peak Lords to go on another mission together on the premisse that they need to learn how to work together despite their hatred for each other. Of course, the only way for them to truly talk things out is by getting stuck in a cheap Airplane Shooting Toward the Sky's plot device.

[wrappedinamysteryy]

HIGHLY REWARDING GOOD DEEDS ✨

1️⃣ Would You Like To Be Close To Allah?

The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said:

"The closest that a person is to his Lord is when he is prostrating, so say a great deal of supplication (in this state)."

📚: Sahih Muslim 482 (1083)

2️⃣ Would You Like The Reward of Hajj?

The Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) said:

"Perform Umrah in the month of Ramadan as it is equivalent to Hajj or Hajj with me (in reward)."

📚: Sahih Bukhari 1863

3️⃣ Would You Like A Home In Paradise?

The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said:

"Whoever builds a mosque in which the Name of Allah is mentioned, Allah will build a house for him in Paradise."

📚: Sunan Ibn Majah 735 | Sahih

4️⃣ Would You Like To Achieve The Pleasure of Allah (سبحانه و تعالى)?

The Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) said:

"Allah is pleased with His servant who eats some food and then praises Him for it (says Alhamdulillah - Praise be to Allah) or who drinks some drink and then praises Him for it (says Alhamdulillah)."

📚: Sahih Muslim 2734 (6932)

5️⃣ Would You Like Your Duaa To Be Answered?

The Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) said:

"The supplication made between the adhan and the iqamah is not rejected."

📚: Sunan Abi Dawud 521 | Sahih

6️⃣ Would You Like The Reward For Fasting A Complete Month Written For You?

The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said:

"Fasting for three days during the month is like fasting, the whole of the month."

📚: Sahih Muslim 1159 (2736)

7️⃣ Would You Like To Have Good Deeds The Size of Mountains?

Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) said:

"(A believer) who accompanies the funeral procession of a Muslim out of sincere faith and hoping to attain Allah's reward and remains with it till the funeral prayer is offered and the burial ceremonies are over, he will return with a reward of two Qirats. Each Qirat is like the size of the (Mount) Uhud. He who offers the funeral prayer only and returns before the burial will return with the reward of one Qirat only."

📚: Sahih Bukhari 47

8️⃣ Would You Like To Accompany The Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) In Paradise?

Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) said:

"I and the one who looks after an orphan will be like this in Paradise." showing his middle and index fingers and separating them.

📚: Sahih Bukhari 5304

9️⃣ Would You Like That Your Actions Continue After Your Death?

The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said:

"When a person dies, his deeds are cut off except for three: Continuing charity, knowledge that others benefited from, and a righteous son (child) who supplicates for him."

📚: Jami at-Tirmidhi 1376 | Sahih

1️⃣0️⃣ Would You Like A Gem From The Gems of Paradise?

The Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) said:

"Shall I not tell you of a treasure which is one of the treasures of Paradise?"

He (ﷺ) said: "La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah (There is no power and no strength except with Allah)."

📚: Sunan Ibn Majah 3825 | Sahih

1️⃣1️⃣ Would You Like The Reward of Praying The Whole Night?

The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said:

"Whoever prays Isha in congregation, it is as if he spent half the night in prayer, and whoever prays Subh (Fajr) in congregation, it is as if he spent the whole night in prayer."

📚: Sahih Muslim 656 (1491)

1️⃣2️⃣ Would You Like The Reward of Reciting One-Third of The Qur’an?

The Prophet (ﷺ) said to his companions: "Is it difficult for any of you to recite one-third of the Qur'an in one night?"

This suggestion was difficult for them so they said: "Who among us has the power to do so, O Allah's Messenger (ﷺ)?"

Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) replied: "Allah (the) One, the Self-Sufficient Master, Whom all creatures need.' (Surat Al-Ikhlas 112:1-4) is equal to one-third of the Qur'an."

📚: Sahih Bukhari 5015

1️⃣3️⃣ Would You Like That Your Scale Is Very Heavy With Reward?

The Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) said:

"(The following are) two words (sentences or utterances) that are very easy for the tongue to say, and very heavy in the balance (of reward), and most beloved to the Gracious Almighty (Allah):

« سُبْحَانَ اللَّهِ وَبِحَمْدِهِ، سُبْحَانَ اللَّهِ الْعَظِيمِ »

(Glory and praise is to Allah, Glory is to Allah The Most Great)."

📚: Sahih Bukhari 6682

1️⃣4️⃣ Would You Like That Allah Increases Your Provisions?

The Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) said:

"Whoever would like his rizq (provision) to be increased and his life to be extended, should uphold the ties of kinship."

📚: Sahih Bukhari 5986

1️⃣5️⃣ Would You Like To Have A House In Paradise?

Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) said:

"Whoever is regular with twelve Rak'ah of Sunnah (prayer), Allah will build a house for him in Paradise.

Four Rak'ah before Zuhr (and) two Rak'ah after it, two Rak'ah after Maghrib, two Rak'ah after Isha and two Rak'ah before Fajr."

📚: Jami at-Tirmidhi 414 | Hasan

1️⃣6️⃣ Would You Like That Allah Protects You?

The Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) said:

"Whoever prays the Fajr prayer then he is under the protection of Allah.."

📚: Sahih Muslim 657 (1494)

1️⃣7️⃣ Would You Like Allah To Send Salat (Blessings) Upon You?

The Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) said:

"Whoever sends Salah (Graces, Honours, Blessings and Mercy, etc.) upon me once, Allah will send Salah upon him tenfold, and will erase ten sins from him, and will raise him ten degrees in status."

📚: Sunan an-Nasa'i 1298 | Sahih

1️⃣8️⃣ Would You Like Allah To Increase Your Honor And Raise Your Status?

The Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) said:

"Charity does not decrease wealth, no one forgives another except that Allah increases his honour, and no one humbles himself for the sake of Allah except that Allah raises his status."

📚: Sahih Muslim 2588 (6592)

1️⃣9️⃣ Would You Like To Be Distant From The HellFire By Seventy Years?

The Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) said:

"Whosoever observes fast for one day in Allah's Cause (to seek His good pleasure), Allah will keep his face away from the (Hell) Fire (a distance covered by a journey of) seventy years."

📚: Sahih Bukhari 2840

2️⃣0️⃣ Would You Like To Enter Paradise?

Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) said:

"Whoever offers the two cool prayers ('Asr and Fajr) will enter Paradise."

📚: Sahih Bukhari 574

[penmanshipeb]

"If you can't beat them, join them."

In Numbers 22, Balak, the king of Moab, saw the Children of Israel and was afraid of them, so he sent to fetch Balaam to curse them. Balaam said he would check with the LORD first. The LORD told him No, don't go with them. This happened more, because king Balak was serious and the prophet desired the king's pay for doing this deed, and so, the LORD said if you go with them, only say what I give you to say. He went the following morning. The ass he rode spared his life and God gave the ass the ability to open his mouth and say words to him, yet the prophet made his way to Balak. He ended blessing the children of Israel three times instead of cursing them because that was all the LORD spoke through him . . . Balak was mad and upset. He was upset with Balaam the prophet. So, Balaam, in his greed, counseled the king of Moab towards his goal of dismantling the threat of the children of Israel. He advised that he should cause self-sabotage through causing the children of Israel to worship their gods and such. This would make the LORD's anger kindle against them to destroy them (Numbers 22-25). Balaam got his prize.

This very same act occured in the Church during the time of the Roman Empire under the emperor Constantine's reign, and is yet ongoing, occurring today. It takes a sense of history to know and follow God's word and promises adequately. The messages to the Churches in Revelation address this history, because it is for "He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches."

During the time of emperor Constantine, there was a union of church and state. There became an infiltration of the world into the Church. Paganism became transformed into "Christian" customs and traditions. Satan said since killing them in the Coliseum wasn't getting it, let me change strategy. A feast/festival for a day called Saturnalia or Yule to some in paganism became recognized and celebrated as the birth and celebration of the Christian deity instead. Its customs became adopted into the Christian faith. No big deal to man but to God, spiritually, it is. Christ speaks about this worldly conquest of the Church saying this:

[13] “I know your works, and where you dwell, where Satan’s throne is. And you hold fast to My name, and did not deny My faith even in the days in which Antipas was My faithful martyr, who was killed among you, where Satan dwells. [14] But I have a few things against you, because you have there those who hold the doctrine of Balaam, who taught Balak to put a stumbling block before the children of Israel, to eat things sacrificed to idols, and to commit sexual immorality. - Revelation 2:13-14

False teachers will teach that this observation is just a part of one's conviction . . . Meaning, it is your prerogative to do as you will here . . . All is pleasing to God. Don't allow these false preachers and teachers as Balaam, who have the word of God or the calling of God on their lives to preach the Word, to steer you to being rejected by God . . . God finishes to this people, saying, "REPENT, or else I will come to you quickly and will fight against them with the sword of My mouth. [17] “He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches" (Revelation 2:16-17). Many pastors, bishops walk in blindness, no different than the world. "IF THE BLIND LEAD THE BLIND BOTH SHALL FALL IN THE DITCH." Many pastors, elders, teachers, prophets, evangelists, or people of God in general are covetous just as Balaam, unwilling to shine light on Truth or be for Truth.

📜 Therefore “Come out from among them And be separate, says the Lord. Do not touch what is unclean, And I will receive you.” [18] “I will be a Father to you, And you shall be My sons and daughters, Says the Lord Almighty.” - II Corinthians 6:17-18

[landwriter]

Heya, I love your writing and taste in things.

I’ve finished (and loved) everything you’ve posted <3

Are there any sandman fics that have tickled your fancy lately?

Thank you so much!!! I sadly do not have time to read near as much Sandman fic as I'd like, but I have scoured both my memory and my bookmarks on AO3 (all twelve of them) and dug up some absolutely wonderful stories - hope at least one or two of these is new to you?!

I am probably a bit weird in this, but I don't bookmark fics I love (which is really nearly all I've read) insamuch as fics that have done something in particular that I think is so well-executed or clever or inspiring that I want to be able to study it like a creature in its own right. Usually these are stories that have the traits I admire most in fiction: economy of language, being very fucking funny, making me viscerally uncomfortable, or outright haunting me.

I loved reading all of them but your mileage may vary! Caveat lector like more than half of these are smut and/or violent so please check the tags against your own preferences. Several long-winded recs with excerpts and explanations under the cut:

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The Birthday of the Beast | @slythernim | Dream/Hob | T | 3.3K

Father Almighty, though I have long not been your servant, I remain your unmanageable son. Here on Earth, closer to Hell than to Heaven, as I celebrate perhaps the least holy of holy days, I must imagine myself like unto Lucifer more than as Michael, that he and I might together make of the darkness a place for humanity to grow. He blows out the candles. 

Hob turns 666. Extremely fun fic by Nym that features incredible characterization within a very short space, Catholicism, Lucifer, and of course, gets a very special birthday gift. But you shall have to read the fic to see what it is. Read everything of Nym's, actually.

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New Mistakes | Anonymous | Dream/Corinthian | M | 3.2K

Dream slid his thumb into the Corinthian’s mouth, the one he shared with most, the one with which he commonly spoke. “Well?” he asked. “Are you fed?” The voice that came from his left-eye mouth buzzed like locusts. My lord, we are. The voice that came from his right-eye mouth dripped like honey. My lord, we can always be fed more. Dream pulled back, looking at the Corinthian expectantly. The Corinthian swallowed, running his tongue along his teeth. There was a faint blush on his cheeks, and Dream was unaccountably flattered. “My lord,” he said. “I wish to be good.”

Have read almost no Corintheus but this fic hits on so much that I find distantly intriguing about the pairing. Perfect dialogue, gorgeous rhythm. Wonderfully visceral. Absolutely bonkers nuts for repetition in threes, as I'm sure you know, and I love how it was used here.

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Lucy Locket | Anonymous | Dream/Hob and Dream/Hob/Corinthian | E | 17K

Five chapters (now with a new threesome added in late April, much to my delighted surprise!) of just fantastic roleplay smut that in-between all the sex is by turns incredibly funny and tender. Alternating Dream and Hob POV. As somebody for whom sexual roleplay has been my literal bread and butter on a professional basis, it shouldn't be surprising I am so fond of this fic - but it catches me out every time! Like a blow from behind, and I am winded. It is ridiculously hot and distressingly perfect all-through, and I would absolutely marry the author about it (sorry author if you're reading this). No excerpt because I cannot choose and will simply suggest that if you're up for kink that you go read it all at once.

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Public | @softest-punk | Dream/Hob | E | 1.1K

"Oh, darling," Hob murmurs, fingering the edge of Dream's delicate lace knickers. Dream feels his smirk against his jaw, bites his lip at the brush of a kiss under his ear. "You forget how old I am. I learned to fuck with an audience."

Every day I get closer and closer to needing to write Dream and/or Hob with vulvas; this may have been the fic that sealed the deal for me, I think. Ridiculously hot, and enshrined in my head forever for the line above. I learned to fuck with an audience. God! How good. A masterclass in the slutty drabble that nevertheless retains peak Dream/Hob characterization (I would argue that sex is in fact one of the best narrative vehicles for characterization and exploration of interpersonal dynamics...this bias is probably why nearly all these recs are so horny.) One day I will learn how to write proper smut in media res like this and not preface it with gratuitous plot.

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worship like a dog | @thewalrus-said | Dream/Hob | E | 2.5K

“Is it so inconceivable that I might love you?” Dream murmured, running his manicured nail down Hob’s cheek. Hob tried to speak, swallowed, and tried again. “No one ever has before,” he said. “No one but God.”

Hob is a priest. Dream is a demon, except he's not. Dizzyingly hot for so many reasons, with a delightful canon dialogue echo. And again, must stress this: Hob is a priest. Hob is a priest. Hob is a priest, go read it.

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Safehouse | Anonymous | Hob/Corinthian | E | 5K

“I need a room. One without a door.”

The best execution of the sex pollen trope I've ever seen, with the worst men. Very, very good fic with a brilliant premise and unerring execution. World-building is done in such brief but vivid strokes - it feels like a 50K fic whenever I remember it, and I'm always surprised how short it actually is. Haunts me in the best of ways.

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As well - these fics are well-known and well-loved - but some stories that are utterly wonderful and contain lines that haunt me weeks, sometimes months later - stories that rearranged my soul, lurched me closer towards writing for Sandman, and warrant mention even though I am SURE you have read them, include:

@moorishflower's iconic and beautiful Odyssey fic, maybe sprout wings was the first fic I commented on with my AO3 account, and among the best fics I've ever read in any fandom; slightly deeper cuts from Heather's oeuvre (if, for some reason you are not reading everything already) that I am obsessed with and have reread multiple times: vowel shift, most vain devices, an act of faith. Genius stuff and unbelievably gorgeous language. Just go read it all, honestly

@softest-punk's Shelter is one of the first Sandman fics I ever read, and is beyond lovely; if you have not read their entire deep and profoundly lovely back catalogue, I recommend Catching Up (quintessential Cecil deep tissue emotional massage), Delayed (or: my favourite kink and favourite Endless); Ferrous (vampires! bad men! ahh! ooh!); and I would of course be remiss and ungrateful to not mention self-abandon, and the confounding effects thereof, a 10K fic that perfectly answered my general question of how the three lads would actually get together once the Corinthian and Hob had started fucking (as narrative foils that deserve such treats)

@xx-vergil-xx's Hounds is an ongoing epic that has singlehandedly caused me more emotions than humanity has language for; it is ambitious in scope and sticks every landing. The world is alive and lovingly-detailed. The language is a poem. It is so smart, so beautiful, and so well-researched and built. It is a TEMPLE unto itself, and appropriately worthy of worship

I will also suggest you read absolutely everything by @that-banhus because she literally cannot miss and writes the loveliest, cleverest worlds. All of it.

[alldni]

ranking the ada by how good the blunt rotation is.

number one is kenji. he is a good young man and never touches it which is why he’s the best. other people get really weird when they’re sober around high people and start treating them like little kids. but kenji looks at you like this 😃 carries entire cases of water bottles to you and tells you stories about cows and gardening that would be so fucking boring sober, but are absolutely resplendent when you’re high as fuck. he can one hand carry you to bed too so you don’t have wander through The Fog to curl up in the sheets if you green out. unfortunately the one downside is that if you smoke in front of kenji kunikida puts a gun to your head

two is tanizaki. he’s just so totally chill about it. he owns a beautiful ornate bong that always has crystal clear water. you sit there and smoke and eat fritos the whole time and it’s beautiful. now unfortunately his illusion is super freaky so if he’s high and using his ability you might have a bad time. but also he could make sesame street appear before your eyes and you’d have such a beautiful time.

coming in at number three definitely atsushi. the first time he smokes he is terrified horrified crying shaking sooo nervous but the second time you can tell he did a bunch of research and suddenly he’s like super expert at it. or less that he’s expert and more that he’s so desperate to prove he’s good at it he starts taking furious bong rips so fast you think he’ll die and his ability is probably the only reason he survives. also he becomes insanely hilarious and out of pocket

fukuzawa at four. this experience would be heavenly. you’d feel like an eighty year old lounging on the front porch in the sun. you smoke from a perfectly rolled joint and listen to him share every opinion he has on everyone in the ada or whatever and then he starts showing you pictures of his cats. he has a medical marijuana card for joint pain. he tells you he loves you and starts listing all your strengths and then lovingly explaining in vivid detail how he thinks you can improve.

kunikida at five purely for humor factor i think. in high school he was a super stoner and now he has seven bongs hidden under his bed. if you somehow got him to smoke with you he would manage to, in mere hours, procure the most amazing heavenly fresh weed you’ve ever smoked. you’ve gone to the garden of eden. unfortunately (and the reason why this is number four) he gets high and starts like reading shit from his ideals notebook to you and now you know too much about his ideal woman. and the next day he refuses to look you in the eyes. BUT he would be great at taking care of others while high i think — he’s the guy making sure everyone guzzles water at the sesh

lucy at number 6 for sure. the weed she gives you is so strong so lightning mcqueen quick-hitting so pungent… it’s probably a new strain called rainbow ballzapper4000 that francis bought from an illegal dispensary in america and she’s been waiting for the perfect moment to smoke it. she would end up taking you to her stupid pocket dimension because she would think it’s really really funny but you would feel like you’re trapped in your own personal hell. a mirage of pink and candy lord almighty. and you would be rapidly weakening shriveling up dying while she only gains strength. and you would want to kiss her

naomi at 7. i would rather kill myself than think about this further

number eight definitely yosano like this would be hell. because she would be so beautiful and transcendent and funny and cool and suave while you’re absolutely fucked up with whatever bullshit hopped up illegal strain she just presented you with. and if you started greening out she’d like give you water or whatever but then she would decide the height of comedy is like describing all the ways you could suddenly die in that moment. “did you know you could get vitamin E lung poisoning from smoking carts? do your lungs feels tight right now? 😃” and it would almost seem like she hoped you say yes. however she would actually try to keep your physical well-being in mind and she would make sure you ate and drank and got to bed ok etc

nine dazai. the ninth circle of hell. i would rather smoke with like francis or something than with this guy. dazai hears “smoke sesh” and asks chuuya to procure him weed and chuuya goes to his basement where he has the saddest most shriveled up little plant and he carefully harvests some flower and carefully prepares it and carefully rolls up two joints and kisses them both (in case dazai smokes from them both) and then you smoke this sad weed that barely hits and you sit there and wait to get high and dazai doesn’t even smoke anything. and you’re like dazai what the fuck. and then dazai pulls something out of his pocket and it’s fentanyl laced shit he got from somewhere else and he starts talking about how much he hopes it’ll work. and then he stares wide eyed and pathetic faced at you and starts ranting about how much he hates chuuya. and then he hands you the fent laced weed

last ranpo. if you start greening out he just starts reading you to fucking filth and you’re mentally destroyed for a week.

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh):  Farewell Hajj and the Death of the Prophet (pbuh)

Farewell Hajj

(10th Year of the Migration, the month of Dhul-Hijjah  / AD 632, March)

It was the 10th year of the Migration, the month of Dhul-Qada.

The Messenger of God made preparations for hajj. He also ordered the Muslims in Madinah to make preparations for hajj. In addition, he sent Madinah.

Upon this news, thousands of Muslims who wanted go to hajj started to flood into Madinah. Soon, Madinah was full of the light of Islam and luminous faces. Tents were set up around Madinah.

Muslims were experiencing a unique atmosphere of a festival and the Messenger of God was praising and thanking God Almighty in the peace and happiness of seeing the magnificent result of the great cause that he conveyed to people. 

Leaving Madinah

There were five days left for the end of the month of Dhul-Qada. It was Saturday.

The Messenger of God appointed Abu Duja­na as-Saidi as his deputy in  Madinah. He had a bath in his house. He wore some nice perfume and put on new clothes. He left his house toward noon and went to the mosque. He led the noon prayer.

The Prophet set off from Madinah with more than one hundred thousand Muslims who surrounded him like luminous circles and reached Dhul-Hulayfa. He spent the night there with his great congregation. 

The next day, he performed the noon prayer and entered ihram there. Then, he headed toward Makkah with his Companions, each of whom is a star of the humanity.

The Messenger of God was on his camel, Qasva. More than one hundred thousand Companions were like planets that did not lose their orbits around the spiritual sun. They uttered talbiyah: “Labbayk! “Labbayk! Allahumma labbayk! Lab­bay­ka la sharika laka Llabbayk! Innal hamda wan’ni­ma­ta la­ka wa’l-mulka la sharika laka.” (Here I am, O God, here I am. Here I am, You have no partner, here I am. Verily all praise and blessings are Yours, and all sovereignty, You have no partner.)

It was as if the earth was like a single mouth and repeating the same “talbiyah” with hundreds of thousands of tongues. The earth and the sky were virtually sharing the joy and the excitement of the Messenger of God and his Companions. 

Arriving in Makkah

It was Monday, the fourth of the month of Dhul-Hijjah, early in the morning.

The Messenger of God entered Makkah from the upper part of the city called Thaniyyatu’u-Kada with more than one hundred thousand Muslims. When he saw the magnificent Kaaba, the Prophet prayed as follows: “O my Lord! Increase the magnificence, honor and grandeur of this magnificent Kaaba.

Then, the Prophet reached Baytullah. He made istilam toHajaru’l-Aswad and started to circumambulate the Kaaba from that corner. During the first three laps of the circumambulation, he took short steps and jerked his shoulders, walking fast and pompously; he walked slowly during the remaining four laps of the circumambulation.   

After completing the circumambulation by walking around the Kaaba seven times, he went to the Station of Ib­rahim. He performed a prayer of two rak’ahs there. Then, he made istilam to Hajaru’l-Aswad again. Meanwhile, he said to Hazrat Umar, “O Umar! You are strong. Do not shoulder others in order to touch Hajaru’l-Aswad. Do not disturb people especially weak ones. If there are not many people around, touch it. If it is very crowded, greet and kiss it from a distance with your hands; utter, ‘La ilaha illalah and Allahu akbar’.”

The Prophet Performs Sa’y

The Messenger of God went up to Safa Hill after that. He praised and thanked God Almighty there. Then, he came down and performed sa’y between Safa and Marwa seven times.

Going to Mina

After staying in Makkah on Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, the Messenger of God went to Mina on Thursday. He performed the noon, afternoon, evening and night prayers there in congregation. He spent the night there. On Friday, the ninth of Dhul-Hijjah, he set off from Minah after performing the morning prayer and headed toward Arafat. 

The earth and the sky were resounding with the talbiyahs uttered by the Companions.

[lauralot89]

Quincey Morris is Voting

And So Can You

Author's Note: Before the 2020 election, I wrote the Captain America voting PSA. This is its spiritual successor.

“My dear American friend Quincey Morris.” Dracula leaned in the doorway, smiling so widely that it seemed to split his face in two. “How wonderful to see you on this fine morning in this, the year of your Lord 2024.”

“It’s three in the morning.” Quincey rubbed at his eyes. “You’re lucky I didn’t open fire, the way you were leaning on the doorbell. What in the hell do you want?”

Dracula’s smile twisted into an equally exaggerated scowl. “I thought Southerners were famed for their hospitality.”

“I’m so sorry.” Jonathan could scarcely bring himself to meet Quincey’s eyes. “He demanded I drive him over at once, and when I refused, he started banging pots together.”

“Lord almighty.” Quincey did not move to let either of them in. “Are you four hundred years old or four, Fangs?”

“It has come to my attention,” said Dracula, his tone fractionally colder, “that your US of A is to have an election on the fifth of November. Is this accurate?”

Quincey turned his full attention to Jonathan in lieu of answering. “Couldn’t he have googled this?”

“He wants to make sure you’re voting.”

“What? Why?”

“My good friend Jonathan Harker has a most annoying habit of watching the news,” Dracula cut in. His eyes tracked over Quincey’s body, still filling the doorway, as if calculating some way to dart around him and into the apartment. “He says he wants to be informed of world events, as if such things matter more than enjoying my company.” Here he paused, scoffing, apparently awaiting Quincey’s commiseration. When it did not come, Dracula sighed. “As of late, these programs speak much of this election. I want that discoloured man to lose. He is far too smug.”

“Too smug?” Quincey echoed.

Dracula, it seemed, did not hear his sarcasm. “Only I am allowed to be so self-assured, as I am actually superior. As such, you must vote.”

“You know I’m from Texas, right? I reckon it ain’t turning blue anytime soon, gerrymandered as it is.”

“I have no interest in colours or salamanders. Every vote counts.” Here, Dracula slapped Jonathan’s shoulder, startling the solicitor out of his standing doze. “My friend, tell him of the requirements.”

With a sigh, Jonathan began to read from his phone. “The deadline to register to vote in Texas is October seventh. If you aren’t sure of your registration status, you can go to Vote.org to check.”

“If you are not registered,” Dracula cut in, “then your Texas has no online registration, and you have missed the deadlines in person and by mail. In that unfortunate circumstance, Jonathan will have to hack into the United States and add your registration.”

“That isn’t how anything works,” Jonathan protested.

“I will not take excuses,” Dracula said. “With the world wide web, anything is possible. Especially since I am rich. Now continue, my friend.”

Jonathan rubbed his free hand at his forehead. “Since you won’t be in the country on Election Day, you qualify for an absentee ballot. USA.gov has information about absentee ballots and how to receive them.”

“If you were in the United States but working on Election Day,” Dracula added, “USA.gov lists if early voting is an option in your state, and tells where you can go to find early voting locations in your area.”

“Fascinating.” Quincey rubbed his eyes again. “I already filled out my ballot and mailed it in. Can I go back to bed now? I have guests. If they aren’t still scared shitless from you pushing on the doorbell in the middle of the night, they’re probably drifting off and I don’t want to wake them again when I get back in the bed.”

“May we join?” Dracula asked.

“No,” Quincey said.

“Why not?”

“Because I hate you,” Quincey said. “My condolences on your life with this jackass in it, Harker.”

With that he closed the door and went back to his bed where Arthur, Lucy, and Jack waited, content in the knowledge that he’d both done his part against fascism and also annoyed a vampire. It almost made up for being rudely awakened at three in the morning.

“I dislike that man,” Dracula said, staring at the closed door. “When we speak next, I’m going to say something unpleasant about the Alamo. Texans still cry about that, don’t they?”

“I’m going home.” Jonathan turned, starting off down the apartment complex’s hallway. “And Mina and I have decided that you’re spending the rest of the week sleeping on the couch.”

“The world is so cruel,” Dracula muttered, following after him.

------------------------

Voter Identification Laws by State

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Voter Registration Deadlines

Absentee Voting and Voting by Mail

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The Poll Worker Says My Name is Not on the List of Registered Voters