#on more serious note:

[hasello]

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH LOOK AT MINI RISE!LEO (aka Blue) HE'S ADORABLE I COULD DIE!!!!!!!!!!!

Eeeeeeeeeeehhhh!!!!!

prepare for double trouble, except it’s just one toddler who’s a little bit too street-smart for his own good

[moreaujeans]

the foxhole court sure was. i need fourteen more right now

you saying this and also rating it two stars is so so real

[mythtakens]

“these characters should be mentally healthy before they get together 😌” ummm no I actually think we should smash their mental illnesses together like clumps of play-doh and see what colors it makes

[yunevan-n]

I would flee the country if I saw Jimmy looking at me like that

[alicentflorent]

I admire Ella Purnell’s commitment to taking time out of her busy schedule to make her regular guest appearances as a mean lesbian ghost on yellowjackets

[numbuh424]

light wears this at the task force hq everyday (they still don't believe he's kira)

based on this shirt which I can't stop thinking about and want really badly

[that-tall-queer-bassist]

hey, just as a btw, a fic or a series not uploading for a year doesn't mean its abandoned.

Sometimes the authors have shit going on, other wips, or! it just needs to sit and marinate for a bit. Collecting all the flavor and details it wouldn't have otherwise.

it's okay for updates to take a while.

And if you're impatient? Why not leave a nice comment telling us (the author(s)) what you love about the fic or series? say that you love it, and are "waiting eagerly for the next chapter" and/or that you "would love to see x or y happen because it would mean-"

This could be a new fandom vibe because of all the "i have to drop this while people are still interested" energy, but its not universal, and i don't believe its good for the fandom ecosystem.

Have patience, and have compassion. Remember that authors are human and these fics? (or comics, animatics, whatever) This is our art. We care about it just as much, if not more than you.

[ghostboyravenight]

“Phil doesn’t love Dan as much as Dan loves him” um fucking excuse you, Phil Lester has not been there for 15 years encouraging every aspect of Dan’s journey and recovery by patiently allowing Dan the space to grow as a person for you to say that Phil Lester does not love Dan. He may be more subtle, but I see it in the ways that he refuses to allow Dan to be humble about any of his achievements, the way he makes sure everyone knows when Dan has done anything worth acknowledging, the way he makes sure Dan is comfortable in any of the decisions they make, the way he waited until Dan was ready to come out first, the way he eased him back into the gaming channel on Dan’s terms, the way he never allows Dan to talk negatively about himself without putting a positive spin on it because he’s spent 15 years supporting Dan through his depression, like you literally cannot look at all of this and think that Phil isn’t as utterly devoted to Dan Howell as Dan is to him. I know we just see the flirty comments and the heart eyes, but you also need to look at the actual foundation of their relationship, and how it only works because they’re both equally as invested in each other.

Also Phil literally having a meltdown, turning bright red and falling to the ground when Sister Daniel arrived in the baking video was pretty fucking telling to me.

[vileidol]

Bdubs: sleeping, clock powers

Etho: “did that make you jump?”

Grian: watcher lore, person who knew all the powers

Martyn: listener lore & always listening in

Jimmy: normally no longer seen by this point in the series

Tango: flee with extra flee, decked out deepfrost citadel

Scar: wanted punching since the start, everything’s a rollercoaster & awful innuendo

BigB: Creaking

Gem: astrology? aware of traps and hard to kill

Impulse: cyberpunk teleportation? playing multiple sides?

Lizzie: ldSHADOWlady

Ren: ultimate theatre kid

Scott: sacrificial lamb? sneaky & always listening in

Joel: parkour!

Cleo: ZOMBIEcleo

Pearl: luna moth & fly me to the moon

some theories courtesy of @dredgesnails

[erufin-art]

Like I said in one of my previous posts i think abt this scene far too much. Wanted to interpret it outside of just the sprites

I especially wanted to point out Godpoke's part in it, because sure, Capo was the one who went too far, but they/you were the one to deliver the message to Razzma and she even kinda calls them/you out on it. Also from a standpoint of Godpoke as a character it could be a learning moment for them, the first time they accidentally genuiely hurt someone via their use of Megapon. Could make them think twice next time and such.

Also I'm still surprised at how Capo yelled this line out almost right away, no hesitation. I wonder how aware he was of this being self projection at that time. Shit's fucked up.

[chattematsu]

[4.0 archon quest spoilers]

[mega-banette]

anyway i think the funniest way to hc teru as trans is to have him not know that there are trans people other than him. he woke up one day when he was 11 and was like oh of course i can be a boy i am the main character and most special person and then he just attacked anyone who said he couldn’t with his psychic powers.

[lakesidepurple]

if you think bakugo is the possessive/jealous one between bakudeku are we even consuming the same piece of media. firstly deku is SHOWN to be weirdly possessive over bakugou for honestly no canonical reason. secondly he spent like 12 years with no friends at all and having to watch bakugou be friends with other people. if that doesn't make him possessive idk what will

[baileyondemand]

I see so many Locked Tomb posts about people saying they just realized Jod was lying in this or that scene, and this is where I realized that I interact with these books fundamentally differently from the rest of y’all. The moment I found out Jod set G1deon on Harrow everything he had ever and would ever say was considered null and void. To me he is a pathological liar and nothing he says is ever to be trusted. I’m obsessed with him.

[crystallized-cheese]

Would you, by any chance, like to, would want to, draw other aus in your, super cool, craft au... Like, a character, from a certain TS!US game...? :D

(don't have to ofc!! Your au is awesome!!! Love it!!)

Sorry, no can do, all I got is this.

[gotta-spew-words-somewhere]

Countdown: 9

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Azriel is a simp in denial

TW’s: None, minor suggestiveness, I guess not really having any plot yet could count??

A/N: omg I really didn’t expect this silly story to get nearly as many notes you’re all angels and I’d kill and die for you all!!!!

Also- I promise plot is coming (and the end of this is weird but I didn’t wanna write out like 4 hours of back and forth lol)

~~~

Reader POV

The little friend you’ve made dances between your fingers, tickling the skin with not-quite kisses that make you snort as you stir a spoonful of cumin into your tea.

Heartburn has bothered you from bed, but not from sleep- it doesn’t come as easy as it once did, not since the rumblings of war on the horizon have reached you.

But the little shadow now twisting through your hair helps you focus, helps you forget. At this point, you’re almost sure it knows what a simple relief the company can be in the small hours, the way it dances and plays when your heart feels most heavy.

And, for the second time in as many weeks, burning. Very odd.

You take a deep drink from your cup, savouring the earthy flavour and willing away the discomfort that pulls at your ribs.

The gift from the Illyrian, however, seems far less interested in quiet contemplation than you, changing course and whipping across your counters and walls in a frenzy. The fine hairs at the back of your neck rise to attention, and without thought, you follow the flittering wisp into your shop front, and then to the door.

“What is it? What are you trying to show me?” You’re probably crazy, talking to a shadow, and yet its movements grow more urgent— circling your ankles and then back to the door. It could seep through the cracks— you know this, you’ve seen it in action— but doesn’t. It wants you to open it.

But, you don’t get chance. It swings open itself despite definitely being locked, the little bell eery in the dark. Blinking at the man once again stood uncertainly in your home after hours, you offer a raised eyebrow and a nerve-settling sigh.

“Have you come to pick up your friend?”

——————————

Azriel POV

In the two weeks since he last saw you, Azriel has had little peace. By their own accord (and eventually against explicit instruction), the shadows he usually relies on for state secrets and cautious murmurs have become quite the problem.

Little gossips, he’d called them— rushing to his ear with updates of where you’ve been and how you are. Whether you’ve slept or whether you’ve padded downstairs to drink tea amongst the rubies and diamonds.

It’s odd, but not unheard of. Azriel’s companions had developed this habit before; sneaking away in the dead of night to trail in Mor’s footsteps like lovesick little puppies, updating him of her every move. What makes this so different, so unnerving is the speed in which they chose you— he’s been in your presence for what, 15 minutes total? And yet they’ve abandoned centuries of unrequited affection in favour of your tea and snark in a heartbeat.

Tonight had been more of the same— awake, awake. Sad. Awake. And it was absolutely none of his business, as he’d told them, but the whispers had grown urgent, and he could no longer tell if they were speaking of you or himself.

And so, with no small amount of denial, he’d decided to simply wander by. Another beautiful, sleepless night in the city he loves- why shouldn’t he pass through the cobbled street where your shop windows glimmer in the starlight? What harm could it do?

Then he’d heard your voice- quiet and concerned and muffled by stone and glass, and he hadn’t fought the urging of his shadows to just. Pop in. Check that everything is okay.

But just like the first night, it seems like you’re expecting him.

“Have you come to pick up your friend?”

Azriel’s own hands wave to awaken the fae-lights, and his eyes settle on you with light confusion. You’re in your sleep clothes- a large shirt this time, although your hair seems tamed and your stance a little less steady.

No sleep at all, tonight then.

“My friend?” His voice comes out rough from lack of use, a line forming on his brow. His only friends are asleep in the house of wind, as far as he knows, but he’s discovered Cassian snoring I n enough unlikely places to not completely write it off.

Instead of answering, you raise your hand, and he catches the tail of a flicker of dusk racing to hide from his sight on your palm.

“Go on— go to your, uh, Dad?” Your voice takes the tone of a mother soothing a small child, and he realises with a jolt that you’re speaking to one of his shadows like that, smiling softly at the darkness that sends most running.

He hopes you can’t hear how fast his heart beats.

“Are you their Dad? Or is it more of a pet-owner type of situation?” You turn your wrist, trying and failing to encourage the little traitor that still hides from its masters sight, before offering him a crooked smile. “I think this one likes me.”

“You’d be correct. I’ve never seen one do that before.” He side-steps the question- more because he’s not too sure himself, before outstretching his own palm and silently willing the little shadow to return home. It does, but your eyes follow the movement to his hand and the sort of shame he hasn’t felt in decades fucking burns through his veins.

You didn’t notice the scars before, he’s certain. There were no lingering glances or wrinkled noses, no prying questions. And he’s not sure why it matters- you’re some crazy fae who drinks too much tea and sleeps almost less than him—- but it doesn’t stop the itch under his skin as your eyes linger for half a beat.

But then they move up, trailing his wrist in a slow drag, finally settling on his shoulder, and just for a brief second, he swears your eyes turn sad.

You’ve been following the shadow. Watching it crawl back to him with the sluggish pace of a scolded child, and you’d looked sad as it left.

Stay. Want to stay with her. Sad. Alone. Stay Stay Stay.

He barely has a moment to process this— his shadow outright choosing another?— before you’re once again smiling and trying to usher him further inside.

“So the little thing decided to stick around all by himself?” The warmth in your voice is nearly enough to distract him from the way you’ve walked around— a careful distance from his wings— and shut the door with a gentle tinkle of a bell that wasn’t there before. “Tell him I enjoyed his stay, will you?”

And frankly, Azriel is drawing a blank between the incessant pleading at his ear and the way he has somehow, once again, ended up at the cluttered table.

“Do you want another tea? I just made a batch for heartburn but I can whip up some calming mix if you give me a few minutes?”

He ducks his head, fighting the strange and sudden urge to fuss at her—- and tell her he’s been suffering the same of late. A fresh side effect of too many thoughts and not enough rest.

“The-uh, heartburn one would be lovely, thank you.”

You offer a raised eyebrow and a nod, before again slipping out of view, night shirt swishing with the sway of your hips.

He drags his eyes away from your retreating form with purpose, swatting at the dark curl of shade by his ear that will not stop murmuring about how pretty you are.

Of course, he agrees, but the embarrassment of how something as simple as a bare shoulder effected him last time still heats his ears.

Get it together.

——————————————

Reader POV

Cauldron’s tits, he’s sexy.

You stir the steaming water into his cup slower than necessary, using this moment of separation to will your uncooperative body to relax.

Something about that unruly hair and quiet, uneven smile is enough to send you into the kind of tizzy that you’ve not experienced since adolescence. It’s bordering on pathetic, really- and yet the slight spring in your step lingers as you make your way back to him.

“There,” you mutter, pushing the cup along the well-worn wooden table surface toward him, grin splitting across your face as your little friend practically leaps from his shoulder to tangle at your fingers. “Hey, buddy.”

Azriel’s eyes are on you, you’re sure, but you focus on the shadow as you take your seat. “Am I a shadow-singer now too? Just with a really small hoard?”

The smile in his voice drags your eyes up.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Mother, he’s beautiful—- but tired again. Hazel eyes are dulled by a ring of dark, and although his expression seems content, the lingering exhaustion is so plain to see.

Your heartburn pulls, and so you take a sip of your tea.

“So it won’t whisper to me?”

He does this half-snort that you remember from last time, and you’re no longer in control of your smile. “Not unless I ask it to.”

Now, that’s intriguing. Your eyebrow raises in challenge, and you try your best to ignore the way his eyes flicker to the curve of your lips—- I must have tea leaves in my teeth— before nodding. A silent agreement, even if he offers a put-upon sigh.

A glance from the man across from you, and your little friend curls it’s way up your arm, wiggling with giddy intent. You feel it settle at your ear, the cold-kiss of its touch forcing you to fight a shiver.

Pretty.

It’s not quite a word—- not quite spoken. But somehow, you know beyond a doubt that is its tiny message, and your eyes lock with Azriel’s.

“Pretty?”

“What?” He sits straighter, brow furrowing and now glaring at the curl of dark at your shoulder.

The laugh escapes you before you have chance to reign it in— a rough bark of noise, startled by the change in his demeanour and pink tint of his ears. “Is that not what it said? I could’ve sworn—“

“It’s not what I told it to say,” and now his voice edges on a grumble, pink spreading to the apple of his cheeks, and your grin has never been wider.

“Can’t control your shadows, eh?”

“That one does seem determined to embarrass me.” He offers the offending creature— is it a creature?— a final warning look, before rolling his eyes. “It was only meant to say hello.”

“I guess my feminine wiles are enough to win over even darkness itself.” It’s meant as a joke, but the intensity in Azriel’s eyes makes your own cheeks begin to colour, and so you clear your throat and quickly switch gears. “So, why are you back again? See an emerald you couldn’t stop thinking about?”

And… he tells you. How he couldn’t sleep, and how the shadows whisper your name and now he knows why—‘little traitor’—, and you tease and try so hard to drag that little not-quite-snort out of him.

It’s good and it’s warm and it’s not quite so lonely, being awake in the dead of night when the man who controls the darkness itself can join you in the dim light of your home. Light that gets brighter and clearer long after your cups are empty and the streets start to stir; dawn is here, and you almost resent it.

“I better go.” His voice is soft with reluctance which curls warmly in your chest, and you offer him a gentle nod as he moves to the door.

“Bye, Shadowsinger.”

And your little friend pools in the dip of your collar bone, in sight but not called away, even as his master slips out into the morning rays.