#this is my first time pls be gentle :']

[winchifrost]

Nyaa bitches~ time to make my debut on Tumblr.

I have already looked through the YTTD tag and gawked at fanart. I have a feeling this is gonna be a good time >:3 c

[midnightmah07]

That one moment from book 4... Planning on digitalizing this

[actuallyitsstar]

our past is a foreign country, our neighborhoods have changed. i was the fool who got l u c k y. you were the fool who flew s t r a i g h t. (insp).

[annyeoz]

A lil comic for @fox-quills of her fic Mobius,, part 2 in progress...

*EDIT: part 2 is posted.

(heads up warning,, this fic is explicit)

[astarionbraiinrot]

One for the Road

Having acquired himself a brood of many daughters, and with enough years passed since the last was born that he's certain they're done having any more, Astarion is content to be a very happy certified Girl Dad™ to his flock of lovely little feral princesses. Which he's over the moon about, because honestly, what would he even do with a boy? No, he’s quite satisfied with the pack of little gremlins he has, thanks very much, all braids and pink ribbons and lace trim, and he’s not interested in adding to it. He and Tav are living their best No More Babies life. They're consistently sleeping through the night without interruption, they can have a glass (or four) of wine whenever they want, and he can’t remember the last time he’s had to wipe an ass that wasn’t his own. No, their house is FULL and they are DONE. No new Ancunins, shop's closed.

She’s bright red herself, wailing with all the power her little lungs can muster. He still can’t see much of her from where he sits, not with Tav sagged back against him, finally able to rest. The Midwife says something he doesn’t catch as she gently wipes the babe off. He’s too busy whispering to Tav about how well she did to pay much attention to anything else right at this moment, but Tav isn’t, and she starts to giggle, quietly, just this side of audible. Odd, he thinks, but adrenaline’s a hell of a drug, so he doesn’t think about it too hard. His towel-wrapped (and still a little fluid-covered) daughter is gently placed on Tav’s chest as the Midwife busies herself with cutting the umbilical cord and delivering the afterbirth. The baby calms a bit as Tav gently coos to her and strokes her back, her cries tapering off into soft whimpers.

So of course, barely three days after finally clearing out and donating all of their various and sundry baby stuff, Tav informs him that there's going to be a last-minute addition to the family, very soon (school had just started back again, and the girls had spent the entire summer banding together to hide increasingly-inappropriate new "pets" in their rooms no matter how many times they got caught, so he supposes Tav can be forgiven for having mistaken the symptoms of yet another impending-dhampir as typical parenting exhaustion. He certainly had). It's the middle of the night when she tells him, and he spends at least an hour pacing the floor of their bedroom and summoning every scrap of memory from his law school days to argue that she must be mistaken, because their eldest just started COLLEGE and their youngest is TEN and they've already given away the crib and you can't have a baby if you don't have a crib because where would it even sleep? So obviously they can't be having another baby. Checkmate. He rests his case, Your Honor.

When his arguments to the contrary do not, in fact, render the impending child any less impending, and he’s had another hour to stomp around the backyard lecturing himself (quietly, so as not to wake the girls or the neighbors) that this is what happens when you drink two bottles of wine and an entire cow and can’t keep your stupid hands to yourself and convince Tav to throw caution to the wind because “it’ll be fine just this once, what’s the worst that could happen,” you idiot, he comes around to the idea. Because, sure, maybe they're starting all over with the diapers and the teething and the sleepless nights, but their other children are old enough to mostly mind themselves now, and the youngest had started asking for a baby sister as soon as she was old enough to figure out that her parents were where siblings came from.

Plus, if he's honest with himself, he may have - just a very teeny tiny bit - missed the feeling of holding a tiny infant curled up on his chest, burying his nose into their fluffy newborn hair to inhale the scent of their little scalp, listening to those soft snuffly noises they make as they fall asleep, his finger held in a ridiculously tiny hand only just barely big enough to wrap around it. Not enough to have another one on purpose, obviously, but if she's coming along anyway, then he supposes he might as well enjoy it all the same.

So he starts the same preparations for her that he did with all her sisters, sewing tiny frilly things as Tav knits yet another blanket and they bounce potential names off each other. Of course it's a girl, he says, when questioned on his name suggestions. With how many children they already have, there would have been a boy by now if there was going to be one. He scoffs each time Tav jokes over the next few tendays that this one feels different, and they could have a little combo-breaker on the horizon. No, not possible, he assures her, with an unearned confidence that he nonetheless felt was quite deserved. Their Standard Operation Protocol is that, once a baby is on the way, a little girl is born soon after. No deviations, and no reason to expect any now after all this time. Repeated experiments have produced the same result every time. They'll have another member for their infamous flock of Ancunin Daughters before the month is out.

When Tav tells him one evening just before their soon-to-be-second-youngest's bedtime that the little one's announced her debut via a puddle on the kitchen floor, there is no panic, no rush, no mad dash to ready everything. They've been through this far too many times for that. He takes a moment to be grateful that at least this one had waited until the sun was down to kick things off. Most of her sisters had not been nearly so courteous, choosing instead to have their first act be one of defiance against their poor stressed out father by beginning their journey into life in the middle of the day.

He bundles the girls off to the neighbors' house for the night, leaving them with a quick kiss on the head each and a promise that he'll send a Message as soon as their new sister has arrived, before making his way to fetch the Midwife. He vaguely wonders if she's even necessary, considering they have enough offspring that he's got the whole process all but memorized and is fairly certain he and Tav could deliver the child themselves at this point (and had done, once. Baby number five had been VERY eager to make her way into the world, with such a swift entry that she'd nearly been born on the living room floor. He'd had no time to even grab a towel and was forced to catch her with his bare hands. She'd ruined his shirt, and the rug, and nearly scared the unlife out of him on top of it. He'd been very calm throughout the entire event, though, a paragon of unflappable stability, patiently waiting until the babe was born, cleaned, and moved upstairs to the bedroom where she snuggled peacefully in her sleeping mother's arms, before politely stepping out the bedroom door and proceeding to have the quietest panic of his entire existence).

When he arrives back home with the Midwife, he doesn’t bother to direct her to the bedroom. She knows where it is, this isn’t her first rodeo with an Ancunin birth either. Water is boiled, clean towels are at hand, their nice bedding has been replaced with plain serviceable sheets, a layer of newspaper underneath to protect the mattress, a tiny outfit and knitted blanket sit ready nearby. Check, check, check. He completes each step with pure muscle memory and no prompting, all routine, everything exactly as expected.

The next nine hours are spent keeping Tav as comfortable as possible. Rubbing her back, walking circles around the house, stopping at each contraction to gently sway and do the breathing exercises that they'd learned so long ago the first time they did this. Normally, she'd catch what sleep she could in between contractions in these early stages, but this one is determined to allow her mother no rest. He really hopes that's not an indication of what the little one’s sleep schedule will look like once she's here.

They near the end of this whole ordeal with the first light of morning. He's sat behind Tav, holding her up, as she grits her teeth through near back-to-back contractions and shakes with the effort of bringing this last child into the world. She's exhausted, grumpily hissing between pushes that of course his child would be fucking nocturnal and think the asscrack of dawn was a splendid time to be born. He considers reminding her that most of their children had been born during the day, so he really didn’t think the timing of this one could be blamed on him, but any response he might have had is cut off with the next push, when he feels his knuckle bones grind together as she once again resumes her efforts to reduce them to powder. It's probably for the best that he keep that comment to himself right now, anyway, he thinks.

One more big push to get the head out. It's barely visible from his position, head leaning over Tav's shoulder, but he can see that she definitely has the same full head of hair all her sisters did, and maybe his hair color as well, though it's hard to really tell through the blood and fluids plastering it all to her scalp. Could be red for all he knows. He mutters something about not being able to see her hair through the blood, and Tav gives him a sly sideways glance and starts to crack a joke, something about him not having eaten since yesterday, he thinks, before she’s interrupted by a loud, pained, groan and the need to push again.

A few more hard, steady pushes, guided by the Midwife, for the shoulders this time. This is always the hardest part, he remembers, the final hurdle. He whispers gentle encouragement into Tav's ear as, timed with her pushes, the Midwife carefully guides first one shoulder, then the other, out into the world. Poor Tav is bright red from the exertion, covered in sweat and panting. He places a cool hand on her forehead and she leans into his palm as, with a scream and one last push, the babe is finally brought into the world.

Oh.

Able to get a closer look at her now, he can see this one bears more than just a passing resemblance to her father. Frankly, she looks exactly like him, albeit smaller, wrinklier, and with fewer teeth (for now). Pale, even for a newborn, with tiny, finely-pointed ears, and a head of unruly white curls. When she finally opens her eyes, leveling her parents with an annoyed glare that could have come right off his own face (or so he’s been told), he sees his own gaze reflected back at him in pale green, the color they’d learned with the birth of their second daughter that his eyes used to be. He feels a little bad, honestly. Tav did all the hard work, and yet here their daughter is, their last baby, him in miniature. Not bad enough to keep him from preening a bit when he mentions how beautiful she is, though.

Tav is still giggling. Quietly, but noticeably louder now than before his comment.

He raises an eyebrow at her and asks just what is so funny, and her giggling increases to laughter.

You, she says, in between fits of giggles. She asks if he had been paying attention to anything the Midwife had said, and the confused look on his face only serves to make her laugh harder. He waits while she tries to contain herself, releasing a very put upon sigh when, a few minutes later, she’s still laughing at whatever this joke at his expense is.

Finally, she takes a deep breath, holding in her laughter, eyes still sparkling with mirth, and slowly unwraps their daughter. He is, once again, confused, and the baby’s none too happy either, starting to fuss with the sudden loss of warmth. Before he can say anything, Tav shifts and places the now bared and still slightly-slimy infant in his arms, advising him to get acquainted with their newest little one. He wrinkles his nose at the goo rubbing off onto his sleeves, some sarcastic remark ready on his tongue, reaching out with one hand to take the towel from Tav as he looks down to begin settling his daughter, and-

Well.

That explains why Tav was laughing at him, at least.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks that he probably should have caught that a lot sooner. It’s almost embarrassing really, considering his various skillsets, he’s usually pretty good at noticing little details. He doesn’t really have the brainpower to ponder that too long though, because the rest of his mind is still trying to reconcile this shift in information.

The best he’s able to come up with is dazedly asking Tav how that had happened, which just induces her into another fit of tired giggles as she presses a gentle kiss to his lips, and another to the top of their son’s fuzzy head.

He smiles and thinks that the girls will be delighted at this change of protocol.

[lilacjunimo]

saw someone on twitter imply that one king of queens promo photo would be tech and phee and so now we have this

[flowersbane]

[snowangeldotmp3]

i know that you would want it, if i could sink my teeth into you

(for ronancetober day 5: blood. a vampire nancy au!)

Nancy closes in on Robin, the space between nearly a breath apart. Robin can see the gleam of her tiny fangs. “Do I make you nervous, Robin?” Robin, against her will, nods shakily. Nancy smiles wider, pointed teeth on full display. She places a finger just above Robin’s heart, tracing lazy shapes into her skin. “Your heart’s beating really loud,” she says, voice low. “Are you scared of me, Robin?” Robin shivers, goosebumps rippling from Nancy’s touch. Some part of Robin knows she’s being played. Literally. Like a rabbit cornered by a wolf. Nancy’s playing with her food. Robin should be scared. (She isn’t.)

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Hello lovely ☺️ how scandelous would it be to ask for perhaps a sneak peak of the next chapter?

👉👈 perhaps a lil snippet? A crumb? 🥹🥺🫣🙌

*clutches pearls* oh my…oh dear…i’ve never been asked this before 😳 this is a first for me.

am i allowed to do this?? why does it feel illegal lmao 🫨

i mean you did ask very nicely & i am dying to show the next chapter to yall & i am indeed a strong independent woman who can do whatever the hell she wants so…here you go?? i guess??

disclaimer: it took me a very hot minute to decide which part to do & i haven’t edited / beta read anything yet so it might change a bit once i post the full chapter…also hopefully this scene makes some kind of sense to you out of context. double also this will be the ONLY part i share bc i don’t wanna spoil the whole thing 😤 but i hope you like 🤭🩵

—————————————

“So…” Spider-Man said, voice low but playful. “Come here often, hot stuff?”

Despite his best efforts, Johnny busted into a laugh, shaking his head from side to side. “Shut up, you loser,” he giggled.

“Wait, wait, I can do better than that. Somebody call the fire department, ‘cuz this guy is smokin’.”

“Is this you attempting to flirt with me? Corny pickup lines and cheesy one-liners? You really think that’s the key to my refined and sophisticated heart?”

“Well? Is it working?” Spidey asked in whisper, the words curling upwards just like the goofy smile Johnny knew he had on behind his mask. The Human Torch rolled his eyes.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbled fondly. The two of them kept their faces and bodies angled forward as they spoke, daring not to show any physical displays of affection with so many eyes on them.

“Pretty lousy atmosphere for a first date, if you ask me,” Spidey continued, quiet and coltish. “Some orchids or candles would’ve been nice.”

“You want to count this as our first date?” Johnny whispered back. “I was planning to take you somewhere with much better ambiance and way fewer older sisters around. Maybe rent a gondola and a string quartet or something. But if you’d like, we can always save that for date number two.”

Spider-Man shrugged. “Either way. Your idea does sound a lot more romantic than the humiliation ritual we’re about to be subjected to...”

Johnny ventured a look at the rows of heroes sitting in the arena’s viewing room and grimaced. “Especially with my teammates watching,” he said gravely. His gaze swiveled to his feet, and he swallowed. “I am so not good at this ‘keeping secrets’ thing, Webs. I really like you, and am obviously terrible at hiding it.” His hands knotted into fists at his sides. “So if you’re set on keeping this thing on the down low, we’ve really gotta sell the whole ‘platonic super bros’ shtick. We can’t do anything that even suggests that we like each other like that. Not with them watching us like fish in a bowl.”

Spidey faced him then, head drooping a bit. “I’m sorry I’m making you lie to your teammates,” he murmured. “I know firsthand how complicated it can get.”

“It’s all right. I lie to them about all kinds of stuff all the time.” Johnny smiled apologetically. “I just wish I was better at it.”

Spider-Man scratched the back of his neck. “Lucky for us, we’ll probably be too busy getting blasted by drones or pummeled by robotic thugs to do anything remotely romantic-y looking while we’re in here.”

Johnny elbowed him in the side. “Well, double lucky for us: we’ve done this exact drill in real life already, and won. I can’t imagine fake thugs or drones being any harder to beat than those insane kidnappers we fought.” Mischief tugged at the corners of his lips as he tucked his hands politely behind his back, raising his chin and tracing his gaze along the outline of Spidey’s throat. “And after we win this,” Johnny added, “I’m gonna drag you somewhere no one will bother us and spend the rest of the afternoon sucking on your neck until it’s all one big hickey. Sound good?”

A noise sputtered out of the masked hero that sounded like a cross between a cough and a squeak. Johnny clapped him triumphantly on the back as he strolled forward, whispering in his ear as he close as he dared as he passed by. “Best leave the flirting to the professionals, bug boy.”

——————————

TA-DA!! this feels so wrong but i hope it gives you a fun little taste of what’s to come heeheeHEEEE

[dandyleyen]

Dungeon Meshi - My Thoughts (Ch1-10)

Each section gets written out as I am reading. Keep in mind that I have finished episodes 1-12 of Cooking in Dungeon and that I have read chapters 27-31 (excluding 28.5)

Chapter 1.

I assume we’ll get info in this later on but I wonder why the country was sealed away in the first place.

“I bestow my entire kingdom upon the one who defeats the magician." - The King (presumably) I know that the anime does get into this a bit more as we go on and that a new king (or queen ?) would be crowned eventually but I wonder why it is that the king (if he is who he says he is) wants to allow his kingdom to be given away. Curious.

Side note, but I adore Laios talking about the dungeon ecosystem and food chain. Would love to seen an in-depth trophic web with different ecosystems of the dungeon. You could also include the factors that aren’t natural to the ecosystem, so like,,, the various races that go into the dungeon and how they effect the environment around them with adventuring and other things. I wonder if there are any concept maps made already for this type of thing. We’re seeing a basic food chain but I want it in depth !!

Laios is very cute, send tweet !

Chapter 2.

I do find it very sweet that Laios is asking Marcille if she wants anything specific to eat.

Laios is such a little weirdo. God, I love him. This was also the first occasion of me wanting to try one of the foods they made. The tart looks really good and I'm currently regretting reading this before dinner :|

Chapter 3.

I had it in my mind that chimeras were like a very specific animal combo, but hearing Laios calling the basilisk a chimera put that into perspective for me. Like,, yeah no that makes sense. Interesting.

Chapter 4.

Marcille and Falin on the front page :( Guys.

The episode for this was a rough watch for me because of how Marcille was getting treated tbh, and it's similar now while reading but I did feel more with the show. I get the concerns that the party has, because they need to hurry (mind you, Laios literally holds them up down the line with the painting stuff in the other level), but implying she is already being a bit of a burden by saying she'll be "more of a burden" if she collapses is,,,, not Chilchuck's best moment.

"Not being useful to anyone makes me feel so lonely..." - Marcille I liked her already leading up to this but this was one of this things that got me to latch onto her so quickly. I do appreciate that Chilchuck did initially go to apologize for having called her a burden, and that Laios pointed out that everyone was useful in the team but with different strengths. Them :(

Chapter 5.

Chilchuck fighting for his life and trying not to get his shit rocked by the traps going off is incredibly funny and I feel for him. My neurotic little guy,,, love him.

Laios wanting to take the bones home is incredibly endearing. Me too, buddy, me too.

Chapter 6.

Touden siblings flashback !! I care about them so much, you guys.

Laios looks so dejected about not being able to eat living armor,,, what a freak /pos. He isn't wrong though, if you can beat it you can probably also eat it.

Chapter 7.

MARCILLE WEARING THE ARMOR IN THE FRONT PAGE ??? Oh my god . Christ. Not even a warning ? God. Oh my god. I'm kicking my feet and giggling, y'all she is so,, . Christ.

Love that Laios got to discover something that likely no one else knew about just because he was soo hell-bent on eating different monsters.

Downside: I couldn't rock with the meal in this chapter. Too... mollusk-y. Mollusks freak me out.

Chapter 7.5.

Ohhh this is everything to me. Monster biology !! We get to learn more about how monsters are seen and spoken about in-universe. I adore this. I can't remember if the anime shows any of this section, but I think it's an incredibly fun part of the world-building. It makes it feel real.

Chapter 8.

This is incredibly nitpicky but it's a little annoying when people use "symbiotic relationship" to ONLY mean a beneficial relationship on both ends. Chilchuck asks if the vegetables act as parasites to the golems and Senshi says that it's the opposite and then proceeds to call it a symbiotic relationship because they help one another. He's not entirely wrong, but symbiotic relationships include parasitism ! Mutualism (the relationship between the golems and the vegetables), commensalism, parasitism, and competition are all symbiotic relationships. Again, incredibly nitpicky but this always bothers me.

"It's a crime to tamper with magical creatures without permission" - Marcille Girl,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, don't even talk about crimes rn when you know damn well what you're getting up to in your free time*

On another note, I love how we learn more about Senshi's motivations in staying down there and all he does to protect the ecosystem functions.

Chapter 9.

One of the first signs, to my knowledge, that the dungeon is acting strange. The red dragon itself (himself ? herself ? theirself ?) is acting a bit strangely ! We learn earlier on that red dragons aren't very mobile and the characters assume (hope, really) it would be resting after such activity, but here we learn that it's on the move and showing up closer to the orcs. The orcs have pretty much been here the longest and even they see that as odd. Makes you wonder.

The baby orc ! What a cutie. I love that the kid is the one to suggest they share the meal and that Marcille tries to smooth the situation over. I like how fuzzy the orcs are. It caught me off guard in the anime but the fur is a neat touch.

Laios not really considering the possibility of defeating the mad sorcerer and becoming king. Pretty boys are often allergic to thinking.

ALSO, Laios talking about Falin always gets to me :(

Chapter 10.

Is it even necessary to tell y'all that I immediately latched onto Kabru ? I'm transmasc, ofc I latched onto him. Same with the anime. It was funny to get invested in him only to see him and his party immediately getting their shit rocked.

We're being told again that the dungeon has been acting strangely, which is not new info to us but it does help to build a case for it. Kabru points out that he's been told about the dungeon layout changing day-by-day* and the monsters becoming more aggressive.

Ah. Marcille essentially flash-banging the group (and the bugs) is incredibly relatable. I can't do bugs. I cannot and I will not. I know the meal looks incredibly pretty, but I physically would not be able to consume it knowing that it's just,,, bugs. I don't even eat lobster and shrimp due to how bug-like they are. It's bugs !

---- *Asterisks-marked comments are marked because they are points I know that become relevant down the line because I've either seen it already or read about it already. I will wait to get there in the chronology to speak more on it, but this is my way to point out some foreshadowing that I am aware of.

[straightupsickfics]

sicktember prompt #24: "did you just sneeze?" | aziraphale/crowley | 1.1k

has aziraphale ever seen crowley sneeze before? crowley gets a cold and they bicker about it and then take a couch nap :(

this is all @softersteve 's fault <3

****

“huh’UTshh!” Crowley shivers through a sneeze, slowly blinks his eyes afterwards. He’s felt a little like he’s been moving in slow motion all morning, the effects of whatever insidious virus had taken root inside him making itself known, apparently. 

“God b— ah, that is…” Aziraphale clears his throat and shakes his head, as if to swat the sentiment away. “Was that a sneeze?” He asks instead. 

Crowley gives him a small, tired smile. “Nothing gets past you, angel, does it?” He teases. It was a sneeze of course, though hardly the first of the day, even if it’s the first he’d let escape him. His nose twitches even now with the effort, knows there’s more on the way with how he’s been nudging his nose into the sleeve of his thick, black turtleneck sweater all afternoon, trying and failing to get at the itch lodged behind his sinuses without Aziraphale noticing. 

Aziraphale just levels a look at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sneeze before, that’s all,” he says. 

“Must’ve done,” Crowley says. He drapes himself across an armchair at the back of the bookshop, where they’ve been waiting out the afternoon’s rainy weather; Aziraphale with his books and notebooks and quiet little hmms as he reads, and Crowley with the cold he’s been trying his damndest to ignore all day. 

He’s starting to think he’s failing, what with how his angel is looking at him with his big, worried eyes now, like he’s about to offer to make him a cup of tea. 

“I haven’t,” Aziraphale insists. 

“And I say you have, so, agree to disagree, wouldn’t be the first time,” Crowley huffs, shifting around in his seat. He can’t get comfortable on the chair. The back is rather hard and Aziraphale is, frankly, too far away, even though he’s being insistent despite being in the wrong. 

“Well, I think I would remember,” Aziraphale says. “That’s all.” 

Crowley tips his head back against the back of the chair and rolls his eyes upward. Even that hurts — his head and his eyes throbbing with congestion. Being susceptible to human illness just because he’s chosen to live on earth feels like an unfair exchange, really. Sure, it doesn’t happen that often, but it’s so entirely miserable when it does that Crowley has to think it was Lord Beezlbub themself that came up with the idea. 

“W-well, hh! You’re about to– to get ano-huh! Hdt’IiiSH! hu’tTSHH!” Crowley sneezes twice more, giving his head a little shake as if that would help anything at the moment. “Another chance,” he finishes with a hiss.

“God bless you,” Aziraphale says, apparently unable to help himself, then claps a hand over his mouth. 

“I’d really rather she didn’t,” Crowley drawls, sniffling against his sweater sleeve again.

“Ah, yes, so sorry about that,” Aziraphale mutters. He’s up and out of his spot at the desk now, making his way over to Crowley and leaning in, his fuss face out in full force, and Crowley isn’t sure whether he should lean into it or shift back, lest he let on how much he wants exactly this. 

“How did you manage to catch a cold, anyway?” Aziraphale asks. 

So much for ignoring it until it went away, if the angel had known the whole time. 

Crowley just shrugs. It could’ve been anyone, and while years and years ago he’d want to find the person, make them pay, give their own germs back to them, Crowley finds that he’d much rather ride out the worst of his symptoms in a more…subdued…manner these days.

Aziraphale’s hands are soft and warm when they come to rest on his forehead, murmuring something soft about there not being a fever, at least. “You don’t feel warm,” he confirms. “Do you feel really bad?” Crowley doesn’t have a chance to answer before Aziraphale continues. 

“You… I mean, I have a pot of tea made, if you’d like to partake…?” He trails off, gives Crowley a hopeful little look that he cannot say no to, of course, which is how he ends up with a cup full of English breakfast in the middle of the afternoon. 

It’s the perfect temperature, because of course it is, and when Crowley relocates to the plush, velvet sofa to drink it, it’s only half because he thinks Aziraphale might join him there. 

He does. 

Aziraphale settles in right beside Crowley, in fact, with his own cup of tea and a blanket he pulls out of the air to drape across Crowley’s legs. It’s light blue and soft and smells exactly like the angel, and Crowley pulls it up a little closer, its soft scent mingling with that of the tea, and the ever present scent of old books and ink, and he can’t help but close his eyes. He’s warm all over, and more comfortable than he’d managed to be all day so far, and it’s…well, nice. 

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Aziraphale says, as if reading his mind. 

Crowley opens his eyes and looks at Aziraphale beside him, lifts the blanket until it’s covering him just a bit, too, no sense in being selfish, after all. He nods. “S’nice,” he agrees. “You’ve got quite the bedside manner, angel,” he tells him, and it’s not fair, is it? How pleased Aziraphale looks to hear it. 

“You know, I’ve always thought so,” Aziraphale confides. “Though it’s not often I get to use it! Well, Maggie was crying the other day and I suppose I was able to see her through that trial, but still it’s not quite the same…” He sneaks a look at Crowley, then flushes when he finds him looking back. Crowley had long since abandoned the sunglasses, there’s no use taking them on and off to wipe his eyes and nose every few minutes. Plus, it’s just the two of them here in the shop, everyone else home in the rain. 

Crowley gives him a slow blink but doesn’t look away. 

“What?” They say at the same time. 

“Drink your tea,” Aziraphale instructs. 

“You drink your tea,” Crowley counters. Not his best work, but he’s sick, after all, and there’s really very little venom in him at the moment. He takes a small sip and looks at Aziraphale with a look that says happy now? And gets one in return that says very, thank you. 

They sit like that for the rest of the afternoon, warm tea and damp sniffles and the soft blanket from nowhere, and Crowley’s suddenly so tired he’s sure that Aziraphale wouldn’t mind, surely, if he rested his head on his angel’s shoulder. 

He tests it out, feels Aziraphale lean against him, too, just for a moment, and closes his eyes.  Very nice indeed. 

[yami0204]

Malik and his mule familiar Nafisah.

[jon-snows-man-bun]

By Turns

Chapter One

Masterlist

The closer Eris gets to his goals the harder he has to work to keep all plates spinning. Tensions simmer underneath his new alliances, pulling him into the Hewn City where the impact of Rhysand’s rule shapes the future.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x OC. Other pairings to be added.

Other featured characters: Elain Archeron, Lucien Vanserra, Azriel. Variable POV

Rating: E for Explicit. Minors DNI.

Warnings: misogyny, violence, torture and domestic abuse both on and off screen, sex, sexual violence, dubious consent, drug use, character death, no reliable narrators to be found. Further warnings to be added.

Find this fic on AO3

A/N: The first full length fic I’ve ever written, and entirely on the notes app too. I think everybody in this fandom resents the lack of detail and world-building, so let’s get to fixing it via fanfic.

Total number of chapters TBC, additional warnings will be added as they occur but please note, explicit content occurs at the outset and throughout.

About the fic… the Hewn City really gets a rotten deal in canon, don’t they? This is my attempt to sort it out. Please note that involves Rhysand being a real “ends justify the means” sort of guy, so if that clashes with your vision of him perhaps this isn’t the fic for you. Keir and Morrigan are Irish names, so I’ve run with that since the Hewn City doesn’t get much detail in the books.

My characterisation of Azriel also seems to be against type for the fandom - he tortures people explicitly in this fic, and I’ve tried to line him up more with his angry, horny, fucked up in the head attitude that I got from his POV chapter. I don’t think he’s an emo softboi, so if you only like him in that sort of characterisation, this also probably isn’t the fic for you.

Thanks for reading! This is my first fic as I said, so I’d be delighted to have a beta reader if anyone is willing.

———————

The pit monsters were active that night. They didn’t make much noise but Azriel could feel them, waiting there beneath his feet. His shadows didn’t like going in the pits but were skating over the top of the grates and twining with the bars, telling him that the creatures were alert, waiting for him, for his gifts to them.

Some males had hounds waiting at their doors for their return. He had the Hewn City beasts.

Azriel had grabbed the fae from the throne room, dragging him through shadows down and down to the lowest levels of the dungeons. The assembled courtiers and citizens had stepped back from him when Rhysand called him forward, scattering like insects under the light of the High Lord’s displeasure. Azriel hadn’t followed what the fae’s transgression was, merely centring himself for what was to come.

He was a Darkbringer. This would not be easy.

Azriel shoved him through the doorway, turning to close it behind him. When he turned back, the male calmly went to the chair in the centre of the room and looked at him with flat dark eyes, so like Keir’s, which meant they were like Mor’s, too. Azriel could hate him for that, so he did. There was a dull acceptance there, which made everything in Azriel sour, turning to stone, turning to dust. He was blonde, as well; his hair looked grey in the ugly, dank light of the cells. Everything was grey and ugly here.

Rhys dipped into his mind briefly. I want to know who he was meeting with, he instructed. Names. I’ll return to you in a few hours.

This will take longer than a few hours, Azriel sent to him. Rhys’ only answer was the silken slip of his familiar darkness as it left Azriel’s mind.

Azriel began his work.

He thought of nothing at all as Truth Teller danced, by turns fast and sprightly, others slow and aching. It was only when he had the tip of the blade lodged under the fae’s broken third rib, carefully turned to keep the bone from healing, that he began to fade from consciousness. He knew his fate was death regardless; Rhysand had no clemency for Darkbringers who whispered of discontent and mutiny. Azriel paused with his finger in the knife wound as he mulled over how best to motivate the fae for information when his life was forfeit regardless of whether or not he provided it. His blonde hair had stained with blood, dark brown and congealed.

Azriel grabbed the fae by his dislocated arm and dragged him to the grate on the floor. Beneath, the beasts twined, appetites whetted from the blood dripping to them. The fae thrashed as he was pulled, swearing and snarling, but Azriel merely slammed his face against the grate, hard enough that he knew his eye socket would be shattered. The fae fought him, flailing like a trapped animal, but Azriel merely chained him down by his neck and retreated to wait.

This was why the beasts loved him, he mused as the fae started to scream. The only living things in the Hewn City that did.

In the morning Azriel was had no new information to give to Rhys. The fae was done - Azriel had been aggressive, hoping to coax the fae to speak by making death seem sweeter, but if the Darkbringer had any secrets he was taking them to his grave.

Not that he was getting a grave. Azriel merely cut his throat and rolled the body to the waiting beasts.

He opted not to winnow from this low, dank cell, choosing instead to walk upwards and see who might be waiting, see if anyone showed unusual interest in a traitor’s fate. The watery enchanted light pulled him up, and as he stepped through the door of the dungeons he parsed through what his shadows were telling him. They moved without fear here despite the light; even with the enchantment, the Hewn City was shadowed and dim.

Three children are walking to school. A blonde female is baking a rhubarb pastry for breakfast and brewing mushroom tea. A teenager with blue eyes is arguing with her mother over porridge because she wants to attend a dance but her father said no. The fire prince is here.

Fucking Eris. Azriel followed the last one, ignoring the whispers of his shadows about the Hewn City waking up; life happened here despite it all. He had meant to take in those around the entrance to the dungeons, but all whose paths he crossed ducked their heads and turned away. The acrid tinge of fear followed him everywhere in here.

It was a short walk from the dungeons to the court rooms along one of the wider boulevards. The stone fences of some of the grander mansions hemmed him in on either side; behind them he knew the occupants often kept small reflecting pools carved into the rock, little places to sit and take tea. The wooden gates through the tall fences were carved and painted with the crests of the families within: a luminescent moth, a gold seven-pointed star, two bats of rust and grey. He didn’t bother spying on most of these families - his time and energy was limited, far better spent outside of the Court. The Hewn City hadn’t necessitated it in a long time, but perhaps, with discontented soldiers…

He shouldered his way into the room without preamble. Eris Vanserra’s hair was so red in the half-light it was nearly luminous; brilliant, flaming colour after all of the anaemic imitations of life.

“And just when I thought my reception was too welcoming. I’m pleased Rhysand has sent one of his bats to brood in the corner. Tell me, which of the bastards are you?”

Was there ever a day when Eris didn’t antagonise everyone he came across? Azriel curled his lip at him, half a snarl and half a sneer. Eris merely smirked.

“I remember now, you’re not the one who fucked Morrigan. You’re the one who wishes he did,” Eris drawled, turning back to Lord Thanatos dismissively. Azriel only realised he was clenching his fists when his shadows started writhing around him, and he worked hard to master the hot flush of anger that grabbed his lungs and squeezed whenever Mor’s name fell from Eris’ lips.

“And this meeting has been approved with your High Lord, Thanatos?” Azriel ground out. Keir’s second gazed darkly at him, quickly rearranging his face into something neutral.

“Yes, as always, this falls under Lord Eris’ permissions to enter the Hewn City,” Thanatos grumbled. “Now, unless you’d like anything else? Perhaps to execute another one of my soldiers?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Azriel warned, pinning him with a stare. Thanatos didn’t flinch, as usual - Keir was the one who oozed through life like oil, bending away from the slightest pressure but impossible to be grasped with both hands.

By the time he winnowed back and reported to Rhys, he was ready to wash the Hewn City off of him. As he scrubbed the fae’s blood from his hair, he remembered how it had been matted into the blonde fae’s, how the rust brown bat on the gate he passed was the same colour. He let those thoughts flow down the drain, too.

———————

The ceiling of the Hewn City was spelled to emit light during the day and fade to blackness at night, but the light it mustered was watery and grey. It tended to give Eris a headache and was why he largely preferred to visit at night. Unfortunately, Keir and Thanatos preferred meeting at first light. Eris suspected this was to vex him.

“Tell me news of your dealings with Rhysand,” Keir said, gazing at him imperiously from across the black onyx table in the meeting chamber, not even deigning to add pleasantries. He had slunk into the chamber after Azriel had slunk out, the timing too exact to be coincidental.

Eris stuffed his hands in his pockets, affecting a casual insolence that he knew twisted screws into a certain breed of male.

Rhysand referred to this place - rather obnoxiously - as the Court of Nightmares, but he always thought of it as the Court of Masks. A web, a game of chess, a dance; the metaphors were endless, but they engaged in the same behaviour courtiers everywhere engaged in. But Eris had worn a mask all his life. It wasn’t any more frightening for him here than anywhere else, barring the monsters below the dungeons. He knew this dance well and could turn about the floor better than most.

Better than Lord Keir, certainly. His nonchalance was grating on the male, Eris could see in the twist of his mouth, and he smirked. Thanatos merely looked stone-faced and surly.

“My dalliance with Rhysand is as rewarding as ever,” Eris remarked smoothly, an utter lie. Rhysand was as withholding and miserly as ever. It also wasn’t why he was here with the lords of the City today, but he supposed when you had a boot on your neck it was all you thought about. All the same, Keir’s obsession with Rhysand grated.

The rest of the meeting continued in the same fashion. They were all too happy to further codify their alliance by allowing for the purchase of Hewn City diamonds by the Autumn Court - to be celebrated with a diplomatic dinner that evening - and Keir pushed again for access to Velaris. Eris had enquired about the executed soldier Thanatos had mentioned but they stayed mute, protesting that they had no idea he was disloyal.

Unlikely, given that you couldn’t so much as take a breath in the Hewn City without Keir’s permission and Thanatos knew the whereabouts of any Darkbringer at any given point. He set the matter aside for now, mulling it over and deciding to speak with the captains he knew at the dinner later.

———————

It was her eyes Eris noticed first.

In the reception room adjoining to the dining hall, Eris had sauntered in among the crowd. He had chosen a charcoal grey jacket for the occasion, blending himself into the Night Court fashion. The assembled courtiers were the usual blend of schemers and liars, and as he made his rounds, his eyes snagged on hers.

They were dark blue like a moonlit ocean, framed by thick lashes. Deep and fathomless and the blue of a silent midnight.

She was surrounded by the court of the Hewn City, the Darkbringer captains and low lords of shadow and ladies who wove webs of secrets and lies against each other. She wore dove grey silk overlaid with black lace, draped around her like gossamer webs, revealing skin in elegant swaths. Her skin was as pale as marble and, as fashionable here, had been dusted with something that made it look silver and luminous. Half her black hair was twisted back in a silver comb and adorned with a dove feather, while moonstones and diamonds glinted at her throat and fingers like many of the females in the Hewn City.

A daughter of Night. He met those sapphire eyes impassively, glancing over the high cheekbones, the full lips.

He knew his face was the picture of bored indifference, but his fire burned hot all the time, raging to consume, to destroy. It was constant effort to keep it tame within him, something he had refined through centuries. But as his eyes met hers his ribs ached to contain the pressure within him, his fire pressed up under his skin in a sudden rush that hit him like a blow to the chest.

Eris knew Keir was keen to curry favour and preserve the alliance - anything that might open the wards of the City and unleash him upon Prythian. If he wanted to, he could ask for the female; depending on who she was, he could go as far as asking for her to be brought to his chambers and find her waiting there in his bed for him. Females were tools here, chattel to be traded amongst the men.

He reminded himself that weapons were a type of tool, too. Instead, as he took his seat for the court dinner, he was gratified to find her diagonal to him. Was it intentional? A beautiful maiden dangled before him over a meal, to whet both his appetites? Keir sat to his right, Thanatos two down to his left. He was buffeted by the scheming males of this court, so was careful to keep his eyes from devouring her before he knew her measure. Most of the females in Night would go to his bed to pry something of value from his mouth; while females in Autumn clamoured for his attention for the social cache, here they desired his secrets to leverage over their keepers and each other. To tip his hand to anyone was to be taken advantage of - in chess, in politics, in pursuing women; this had been one of the first lessons he learned violently at Beron’s feet.

He didn’t bother speaking to her.

[forgechildofheph]

Is it possible to still like a character but dislike/feel iffy about their canon relationship/portrayal?

[sushibarton]

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Traslation of competently accomplishies: it was a mess.

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