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turkishdelightshaveviolentends · 2 years

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The Eddissy (side Stoncy, side Robin/Vicky) Middle Ages AU nobody asked for.

King Jason of the House Carverstone, has everything a man could wish for. Everything, except a queen. At least, just for a few fortnights. Princess Christiana is of age and they've known eachother for a long time. She is sweet, soft and the perfect embodiment of a future queen. It truly makes sense. In no time, she will be his to marry and in such union both of their kingdoms will join in a powerful alliance. However, during his journey to her family's kingdom, rumours of black magic and devil worshippers begin to arise. And King Jason, dreadfully worried for the safety of his domains, puts his bet on the royal jester, a strange behaving freak that seems to have the princess hypnotized. Because why would the king's betrothed smile as brilliant and honey-eyed at a low-commoner like him, if not by the poisonous effects of witchcraft.

Edward (or Eddie, as his uncle Wayne the blacksmith calls him) has not always been the royal jester of the House Cunningham. When he was but a child, he jumped between singing and playing his music on the streets of the kingdom for a few metal pieces and helping his uncle at the forge. Yet, when his uncle Wayne had fallen sick and couldn't work as before, he dashed at the opportunity of becoming the previous jester's apprentice and earning enough money to maintain them both, providing shelter and a hot meal for the man that had rescued him from orphanhood and starvation. Wayne had been there for him when he was a dirty little brat on the verge of losing his hand, and now it was his turn to take care of him. The downside of it all, sadly, is that Eddie's guts twist everytime he has to see the rich, warm cloths the monarchs wrap themselves with, while the rascals he likes to call his little sheeps, his ducklings, shiver come winter and feel the need to become squires or go to war so as to afford an ounce of bread. It is not easy, but laughing and joking at the expense of royalty on their stuffed faces and getting paid for it, sure makes it bearable. That, and the laughter and starry-eyes of a certain princess, who seems to be less sad whenever he cartwheels around the halls or sings songs of adventures and love or calls her Chrissy, like her nursemaid used to do. In fact, Edward doesn't remember much about his time in the streets or his first years of childhood, but he does remember the tender-faced princess and her smile so big it lighted up the whole town, crouching in front of him without minding her dress getting dirty, saying she had loved his song and gifting him a kiss on the cheek and a book with flowers pressed inside, stating it was her favourite. He could have selled the book, the careful illustrations of it would have payed for safety by far. He should have. But if Wayne has ever seen him taking it out from under his pillow and staring at it every night under the moonlight, he has kept his silence. Sometimes when he looked at the trees inked in gold in the yellowy pages of the book, he wondered if behind those careful, controlled movements and scared, faraway gazes Princess Christiana sported now that she was older, still beated the heart of the tender, daring girl that had approached him on the streets enjoying the soil and rain in her shoes. Or if his treasured memories were nothing but hallucinations of hunger. Nonetheless, when he finds her one day, very early in the morning, disguised as a maid and humming as she threads a flower crown, feet splashing in the river, Eddie begins to think that maybe, that rosy-cheeked, daring girl had not been a fidget of his imagination. She had just been crushed under the weight of responsability, perfection and prospects of marriage.

Princess Christiana of the House Cunningham is kind, soft-spoken and good-natured. Princess Christiana wakes up every morning with the sun, before her maids come to help her wash and dress and picks flowers for them from the garden next to her window. She speaks everyday to everyone in the castle to thank them for their hard work and for taking care of her and her parents. She has read practically every book in the library that the master scrivener has let her to. She hums songs her nursemaid sang to her under her breath when she is tired or distracted, sometimes she doesn't even realize she does that. She embroiders butterflies and birds on pieces of cloth and gives them to the children of the kitchen maids. She prefers to be called Chrissy and likes the smell of the woods after a storm. She loves pupppet shows and likes to sit with the children on the floor of the square to see them. But Princess Christiana is to be married and so Princess Christiana needs to grow up. Queens do not bite their nails nor read fairytales hidden behind bookshelves at night, because those stories only fill their heads with nonsense and foolery. Queens only talk to the service when it's strictly necessary for their duties and let the gardening to those who have been born to get dirty, never to give them handmade gifts. Queens listen to the advice of their parents and ride their horse only on the designated path and never too far into the woods. Queens eat as little as possible in front of their king, never finish a meal, because in moderation and temperance lays true elegance. And above all, a future queen should have never approached a singing boy on the street, no matter how close in age they were, how warm his voice was or kind his eyes. Future queens love their king. (And she does because she must, but her affections towards the monarch of Carverstone have always been more of the friend nature and she has forgotten whatever infatuation she had with him when they were younger)

Future queens don't snort. Not in front of King Jason, chastisises her mother, he who has always been kind to her and favoured their friendship and has chosen her as his bride above all the other beautiful, perfect ladies he could have had. She was just lucky, and the safety of the kingdom and each of their subjects falls on her shoulders and lays in her hands, so she needs to be Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

Henceforth, Princess Christiana tries not to tremble when they pull on the belt of her dress too tight to accentuate her hips, and under the vigilant eyes of her parents, rejects the grape and lamb pie the kitchen maid has cooked for her since she knows it's the princess' favourite. Princess Christiana stops talking to Maxinne, the rugged ginger girl that delivers the laundry and is always eager to talk about the music on the streets, even if the kid used to roll her eyes a lot and pretended she didn't care. Princess Christiana smiles a lot, but doesn't show her teeth anymore, eyes always vitreous and quiet.

It has been many seasons since her maids had listened to their princess Chrissy sing with the morning light or seen her scrunch up her nose with laughter. Many seasons watching her undereyes a bit lilac with night terrors or cleaning her vomit and sweat. So when the princess decides to disguise herself and scurry to the woods at dawn for a moment of silence, they say nothing. When after many sunrises and secret excursions to the forest, she comes back one day humming an old song that Eddie, the blacksmith's nephew, used to sing when he did street shows, they say nothing. And when suddenly Eddie seems to go lengths out of his duties as the new royal jester just to make her laugh, they say nothing. Because Wayne's boy is a nice boy, as strange and lunatic as he may behave sometimes, and behind that unruly mane of black curls, scandalous jokes about demons and mocking grins, there is a tender-hearted boy that is just as scared and in need to be seen as their Chrissy is. They say nothing and pray twice each night. One time for the rumours of a devil sorcerer terrorizing a faraway Kingdom to be false and their families to be safe. Another time to thank the Lord. Because Princess Christiana still has night terrors, she still holds her breath to appear more gracious in front of her mother, but with each passing day she behaves more like her old, mirthful self again, and goes back to talking to Maxinne and the other maid's children when she sees them.

However, when Eddie blushes and hides his smile, all shy-looking, behind his hair the moment she waves at him. When the princess snorts, very unlady-like, because of the antics of Eddie the Jester and smiles like the sun at him in the middle of a royal ball, instead of at her future husband. When Eddie comes back many nights kiss-bruised or Chrissy caresses her own smiling lips or her neck lost in who knows what memories, both looking as lovestruck. When the Princess starts visiting the boy's uncle every week to check on his sickness and wearing a ring the red colour of the Jester's clothes...Oh, how they wished they had said something sooner. Because the awaited marriage to King Jason is approaching, and the monarch, on his last visit, seems to have picked up on Eddie's not so subtle winks and the princess' giggles and infatuated gazes.

When King Jason declares he is staying until the wedding takes place, to later travel back to his kingdom with Christiana as soon as they exchange their vows, the maids start praying a third time each night. Because that cannot end merrily for neither their princess nor the jester boy.

Also, other details I have thought for this Middle Ages AU that now lives rent free in my head and my heart:

Nancy, Mike and their little sister are the children of a noble feudal lord and his wife, they know Princess Christiana from the balls they have had to attend with their parents.

Joyce is a shoemaker, her husband was a drunkard and ended up dissapearing with the little money the family had. So she had to take care of the bussiness so her two sons wouldn't starve. She ended up getting married again to Hopper, the sheriff of the town and they are very happy. Jonathan is an artist and makes the sculptures of royal families and nobles (therefore, he knows Nancy, Chrissy, Steve, etc). Will is a painter's apprentice and works with his brother Jonathan and so on. Eliana Jane (or El, as she likes to be called) is actually Hopper's nephew, but her mother died by the same sickness Hopper's first wife and daughter did, so he takes El in and loves her as his own daughter. El helps Joyce at the shoemaker bussiness. Joyce and Hopper absolutely adore Jonathan, Will and El the same and they are their children all the same, no matter who were their biological parents.

Murray used to be a Barrister (representative of people in court) but became a crazy theoretical man that everyone believed had gone crazy cause he started screaming of a round earth and who ends up being unlikely friends with Hopper and Joyce cause Hopper keeps detaining him for public scandal or whatever so much they reach familiarity. I dont know. Murray can be whatever you want, tbh.

Steve is a knight, and Robin is his squire. Robin is a girl but disguises herself as a boy to be a squire. Steve knows. They are still the fantastic dynamic duo we know and love and defend eachother with teeth and nails and love eachother to pieces like the brother or sister they never had and would totally die for eachother and yet annoy the shit out of eachother. Steve play-fights with the kingdom kids everytime he comes back and tells them stories about his and Robin's journeys and organizes sword-fighting activities with the children and teens of the kingdom (with wooden swords or sticks, he is not crazy). He complains a lot at all the parents suddenly assuming their kids will be entertained when he is around but he loves all the rascals, as insane as they drive him. And as much as Robin likes being a girl, sometimes she thinks that if she pretends to be a boy in the outside world, maybe she will be able to marry Vicky, the armorer's daughter she likes so much. Steve has asked for Nancy's hand and at some point they will marry. But both Nancy and Steve seem to be infatuated by Jonathan the sculptor, and he with them. (Yes, people this is also a stoncy cause they were my first ship on the show and i want the ot3 and them to be Poly-happy together)

Dustin is the son of the castle's kitchen first maid and a farmer (or some kind of butcher?). That is why he runs around the castle all he wants and knows both Chrissy and Eddie. In fact his mom knows Wayne the blacksmith so Dustin practically grew under Eddie's protection.

Lucas and Erica are the children of the watchman of the principal kingdom's town and his wife, another maid from the castle (maybe?). Whatever so they are friends with Dustin, Will and El, and have grown close to Eddie, too. I dont know how all of them are gonna know Mike but you can work it in your heads. Maybe through Will because he has painted with his master/teacher a portrait for Mike's family and Jonathan has done some sculptures and paintings as well?

Maxinne is the daughter of the Weaver/clothes' maker? She delivers clothes or aprons or whatever to the maids of the castle, or maybe her mother's dresses desings are very beautiful and sometimes they ask for her work and so Max delivers the clothes? Maybe her is a seamstress and that is why she goes around the castle and gets to talk to Princess Christiana while still becoming friends with Dustin, Eddie, El, Will, Lucas and Erica? Or even knowing Nancy and Mike because of the clothes delivery?

Of course, Lucas is totally besotted with Maxinne.

Maxinne had a stepbrother, Billiam, who died in battle for King Jason before they moved to the Cunningham's kingdom (can they even do that?) and she still has nightmares about it. He was not a very nice stepbrother to her but still. Nightmares about a dieing brother never help.

And I think that is all. It started as a fun time making photosets while waiting for a doctor's appointment and now I have been consumed by this Eddissy Middle Ages AU with side Stoncy ot3 and side Robin/Vicky. Half of it doesn't even make sense but oh well. I might draw some doddles about this AU. But I'm not making any promises cause sometimes procrastination gets the best and worst of me.

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yepinabashi · 2 years

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- I saw the movie The King last night and remembered that Brandon Routh had a similar style in the Legends of Tomorrow, so I did this😝

- FOR THE DAUPHIN！！！

#brandon routh #robert pattinson #superbat #superbattinson #middle ages au

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blanca815 · 1 month

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CHAT LOOK LOOK IT'S HER💥💥

#pomni #middle ages au #middle Ages pomni #tadc

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deadsetobsessions · 2 months

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Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.4

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3][Pt.5][Pt.6][Pt.7]

Danny was sitting in the back, his backpack obnoxiously taking up the seat next to him, when the door to the lecture hall creaked open near silently.

“What are you in here for?” Danny asked the guy who crept into class. He sympathetically took his backpack off the Seat of Shame and allowed the guy to sit down. Funnily enough, they had the same hair and eye color.

“Gen Ed. Undecided. You?” The guy grunted quietly back.

“Environmental studies. I’m Danny.”

“Tim.”

With the implicit understanding of two people in a required class they could not give less than two fucks about, Tim and Danny tuned back into the lecture. When the class was assigned group work, Danny looked over to see Tim softly snoring, head slammed down on the table.

“Tim. Wake up, dude.” Danny poked his shoulder.

“Huh? Class over?”

“Nah, we got group work. Discussion board.”

“Oh shit, thanks for waking me up. Wanna team up?”

Danny shrugged. “Sure. We should aim to post it in the middle so the professor doesn’t read our answers to the class.”

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea. Any idea what we’re talking about?”

“Kind of?”

“Good enough for me.”

——

Tim Drake kept seeing Danny Fenton around on campus.

“Danny! Dude, what are you doing?”

Danny turned, gloved hands full of crumpled trash. “Picking up after the student population, apparently.”

“Didn’t think environmental studies was that serious.”

“Global warming is very serious, you jerk,” Danny smirked at him, crossing the grass to put the trash into the trash can. “Reduce, reuse, oil shouldn’t be spilled in water and all that.”

“Basic stuff,” Tim grinned. Nice, he basically had a friend past Bernard now!

They were friends, right?

“And yet humanity fails to comprehend it. Incredible. Incredibly stupid that is.”

“They get it. Major corporations just don’t care.”

Danny sighed. “True that. You on your way to your next class?” He took off his biodegradable gloves off (nitrile and nylon, baby!) and chucked them into the trash.

“I’ve got free time, actually. Prof cancelled for his daughter’s surgery.”

“Oh, shit, that’s rough! You wanna go downtown and join the strike?”

“A strike? What for?” Even as he asked, Tim hiked his bag higher onto his shoulder, ready to go. They fell into step as the two left campus.

“Apparently, Quillan Pharma was doing some shady shit at their manufacturing plants. I think it’s like killing kids, and pouring toxins into the ground.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. Oh! Poison Ivy’s gonna be there!”

Tim blinked. He casted a sideways look at Danny. Sure he’s been here long enough to know… but it couldn’t hurt to check. “You know she’s an eco-terrorist, right?”

“Okay, but like… people suck sometimes. And all she’s asking for is like don’t kill the planet. And she doesn’t do that whole mind control thing too much anymore! The Sirens are so cool. Plus, one of my best friends at home might actually kill me if I don’t try to get her autograph. Poison Ivy is like, Sam’s personal hero.”

Tim snickered. “Yeah, okay. Mind if one of my friends join? His name’s Bernard.”

“The more the merrier,” Danny nodded. “Ooo! Hot chocolate. Want some?”

Danny bought three drinks as Tim trailed behind, texting Bernard.

“He said yes.”

“Cool! We should meet up somewhere before the drinks get cold.”

Well, Danny got the autograph. Tim got a new friend, and Bernard got a drink from his crush.

——

“Oh, you’re the glowing dude that Batman always talks about!”

Danny blinked, eyes scanning the wing-like cape and the yellow emblem on the hero’s suit. Danny was indeed glowing, stars and nebulas freckling across neon green skin, and glowing hair the color of a white dwarf star, tinged with the blue from his ice core.

“I… have absolutely no idea who you are,” Danny lied, like a liar. He’s found a surprising niche of entertainment in messing with the local vigilantes and he’ll be damned if he missed this opportunity.

He heard a snicker from the comm lines as Red Robin visibly brushes it off.

“I’m Red Robin. Why are you picking up trash?”

“Picking up after you humans, apparently.”

The both of them blink, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu. A moment of awkward silence passed before they both shook it off.

“Are you here to help? No offense, but the track record for you people is terrible.” Danny strode over and grabbed a bag. He opened it, and shook it at Red Robin’s face. “See? Batarangs, these odd bird looking ones, the R’s. Seriously, pick up after yourselves!”

“Oh, woah, can we have these back?”

Danny yanked the bag back before Red Robin could get close. “Pay me. These were incredibly tedious to pick up. Especially the batarangs. I mean, I even found a whole bunch of old rusted ones in the middle of the bay. What did you do, dump an entire bag in there from the air?”

Red Robin sighed and took out a wad of cash, with tracking fluid all over it. Danny grimaced, smelling the odd scent on the money. “That’s not real cash. It smells off. Are you trying to give me counterfeits because you’re broke?”

Red Robin gaped, oddly offended. “No! They’re real!”

“Doesn’t smell like it. It’s stinkier than the trash. Go get the one with the money, the litterer. Tell him I’ll be back the next full moon. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” Danny grumbled, disappearing on the spot to watch Red Robin flounder with the stack of cash and the piles of dead bodies on the shore.

“What the fuck even is my life these days?” Red Robin wondered out loud, stuffing the cash back into his pocket. He looked over the plastic wrapped bodies and slumped, sighing.

Oddly enough, Danny felt a sense of sympathy. Well, he’s not getting paid for sympathy. He’s not getting paid at all tonight, actually. Danny flew off, plunging once more into the depths of the significantly cleaner waters, and used his ice to scoop out oil stains.

Danny glanced around and sighed. He had a lot of work to do.

——

“So you’re saying he’s like a werewolf mermaid fae child immortal god thing, right?”

Bruce grunted.

“B, what the hell are you smoking these days? You know drugs are bad, right? Do we need Superman to give you that PSA?” Jason snickered.

Tim, massaging his arms from having to haul an ungodly amount of dead bodies, grunted. He’s so similar to Bruce that it gave the people currently in the cave hives.

“He said full moon. I don’t think we can track him with regular stuff. The bugs kept shorting out.”

“Oh boy,” Dick sighed. “Don’t fall off the spiral cliff, Tim. You’ve got midterms to think about so no stalking the guy.”

“Yet,” Tim shot back, changing out of his suit.

Bruce grunted, setting aside a huge stack of cash.

#let Tim Drake go to college you cowards #he got his GED in this one boys #let Tim fucking age #danny phantom #batman #tim drake #dc x dp #dcxdp #dpxdc #danny the tired college student #bamf danny phantom #siren au???#sea cryptic Danny #bro I had war flashbacks to discussion board group work #terrible why do I do this to myself #the batarangs in the middle of the bay was from when Bruce tried to kill the joker and himself #Danny: people just can’t clean up after themselves these days #sea cryptic! danny au

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tealgoat · 3 months

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Odile looping aus my beloved

#SHE LITERALLY SAYS SHE WANTED TO ASK TO KEEP TRAVELING #AND COULDN'T WORK UP THE NERVE #aughh I'm sick i love her #lil lonely middle aged woman #my art #in stars and time #isat #in stars and time fanart #isat odile #isat fanart #isat spoilers #in stars and time spoilers #odile loops au #odile timeloop au #in tales of time au #in tales of time

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horologiiiumart · 7 months

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weretoon dump…2 !

#pizza tower #weretoon au #i was a middle aged weretoon #oh baby oh baby more weretoons!!!#tw eye contact #peppino spaghetti #gustavo pizza tower #brick pizza tower #fake peppino #mr. stick #doodles

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clownsuu · 11 months

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Question... Robbie.... In the mob au? 👀

Get girlie popped KDHDHDH

At first I really wanted to make him like- completely unnoticeable and nobody fuggin remembers him despite being a member JDHDHFHHF- but I wanted to make him interact with Dr.Stone so instead he’s a member thats just rarely seen anymore (Wally totally didn’t get rid of him cause he kept being fuggin annoyin)

kinda all brawls no brains like sally- used to chaotically collect debts peeps have with the ol mob (still does but significantly less since now he’s a fetcher for Dr Stone for more harder to get goods the mob needs. The mob technically can go without the help of Dr.Stone, however he is a middle man that knows just about everything needed for successful heists/deals with his knowledge and name alone)

also? This dude doesn’t know what a bed is he sleeps on just about anything (can sleep like a baby face first in a trash can)

#A minor character really just like Dr Stone #Grumpy old fart and (early) middle aged chaos #Welcome home #welcome home barnaby #welcome home sally #welcome home mob au #I still get asks if peeps can draw their ocs in the au #If I can throw my dum lil kids in this dawg you can too LMAOOO #Also cosplays and other things of the sort #I do not mind A N Y T H I N G as LONG as it is (other) clown compliant!!!#I don’t own the characters after all just the au idea!#barnaby b beagle #sally starlet #Welcome home oc robbie #robbie robs

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formosusiniquis · 5 months

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any cosmo girl would have known

“Oh she did it for sure.”

“Steve!”

“Ten bucks, Bobert, don't give me that look last time we agreed double or nothing.”

“No,” Nancy insists. “This isn't Murder, She Wrote or Scooby-Doo or Columbo-”

“You saw who did it in Columbo at the beginning,” Eddie reminds.

“I know it's an awful show.”

Robin and Steve remain in sync enough to each get a hand on his shoulder to keep him from getting on the coffee table to defend the only good cop show in existence.

“I'm only pointing out,” she rewinds the VHS taking it back the two or three minutes they'd talked over before stopping it completely, “that this is a movie, not a drama with a repeated format that Steve can pattern recognition into predicting.”

“You haven't seen it already, right?” Robin asks. “The one rule of Monthly Middle-Aged Movie Night is you have to pick a movie none of us have seen.”

“No, I haven't seen it already. If you'll all remember when I asked you each to go see it with me I got,” he points to each of them in turn. “‘Wouldn't you rather see Tomb Raider?’ from double VHS, prestige cinephile and ‘That's too much pink for me, baby, you know I have that intolerance, maybe Rob or Nance will go?’ from my emo-isn’t-a-phase husband. And ‘I'm a little busy with this new story, Steve,’ from Nancy, the only one of you with a real excuse.”

“Some feminist you are, Birdie.”

“I don't want to hear it from you. I watched two of the blandest men alive pursue Renee Zellweger while the screen writers tried to convince us she was homely because you ‘forgot’ you had band practice.”

“You said you liked it!”

“It grew on me, but sometimes you just want to see a woman in a tank top. And I won't be shamed by the same man who cried during Beauty and the Beast.”

“I went with my sweet baby Lucy Joan, you miserable hag,” Eddie says, “and they turned that hot werewolf into a boring looking man.”

“You weren't into that? Look at who-”

“Why am I getting made fun of? Can we finish the movie?”

“No, I'm not going to let this be another Sixth Sense situation,” Nancy says, holding the remote hostage, she knows no one will try to take it from her.

“Ugh don't even bring that up,” Eddie groans, “Dustin still mentions it in at least one letter a year.”

Nancy nods, prim and proper, “Exactly, so tell us right now why you think she did it, then we'll play it again.”

“Chutney, the daughter,” Steve corrects, “have you even been paying attention? Her hair's permed.”

“And press play,” Eddie shouts.

“No,” Robin smacks his hands as he makes his ballsy play to reach around her for the remote. “Show your work, Dingus, even I didn't follow that one.”

“I don't always like the movies everyone else picks but I at least watch them. Her hair is permed, she said she was in the shower. She would have had to have been washing her hair if she didn't hear the gunshot and she has a perm.”

“You can wash your hair with a perm,” Nancy points out.

“You would know.” Eddie snarks, fingering the ends of his own hair.

“You can't wash a fresh perm, you'll fuck up the ammonium thioglycolate. Then you're out forty bucks and you've got limp hair. She killed her dad and lied about being in the shower.”

“Press play,” Eddie decrees again, leaning in close to Steve's side to purr, “it's pretty sexy when you go all hair care detective.”

His hand starts to slip below the blanket. “This is how we ended up with Lucy in the first place,” Steve reminds him, just under the sounds of the courtroom drama picking back up. It doesn’t stop Eddie’s hand from wandering until the movie’s climax starts getting closer, and Eddie’s attention is captured just like Robin’s and Nancy’s.

“Unbelievable,” Robin says, when Elle cites the perm salt.

“Never again,” Nancy swears, when Chutney screams her confession.

“Lucy’s been asking for a brother or sister,” Eddie flirts, as Elle reveals that any good Cosmo girl could have solved it.

No more movies with mysteries or twist endings for a while, they all agree, Robin can’t afford to keep betting against Steve.

#steddie #established steddie #fruity four #my fic #steve harrington #platonic stobin #this is not a modern au these are some middle aged adults now #it is 2001 and my dudes have to carefully schedule their hangouts #anyway i think steve the hair harrington would also make the elle woods solve #theyre the same flavor of autistic if were dipping into some personal hcs but thats not important #what is important is steve has the oh he did it accidentally predicts the bad guy of every movie ever nd skill #love that for him #unimportant to the narrative but lucy is definitely the steddie bio kid this is a transmasc eddie fic secretly #so anyway enjoy this barely edited ficlet i churned out in an hour

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turrondeluxe · 1 year

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#i SWEAR i will answer the asks i got this just got into my brain and wouldnt leave lmao #yi knows your ip number #i was thinking in here they are around 3 years actually #we still got no canon knowledge on who is the eldest and who is the youngest but i headcanon it like #uno (oldest and will always let everyone know) odyn (second oldest and oldest middle child) moja (youngest middle child) yi (youngest)#yi isvery smart for her age!!!#she already reading and writing and dissing her brother look at her go!!!#im also not putting a read more on this one because the last time i did that so many people were yelling at me in the tags #to not put my stuff under read more #I LISTENED OK #HERE YOU GO #FORCES YOU TO LOOK AT MY SILLY STUFF #peepaw and babies au #tmnt #tmnt the last ronin #the last ronin lost years #tmnt uno #tmnt moja #tmnt yi #tmnt odyn #tmnt mikey #tmnt michelangelo #doodles #my art

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naskaolgia · 6 months

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Zombie Creek Ya'll

The zombie song was trending again! I had to!

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kaifarikus · 8 months

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quoththemaiden · 2 months

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@mrghostrat This is now the third time since December that I'm writing about your middle-aged men and their middle-aged-man problems (1, 2). Please come collect them, because they're causing a disturbance.

Or, if you aren't able to wrangle them, then please enjoy this scene inspired by Chapter 10 of Big Name Feelings.

For everyone who hasn't already seen the top portion of this on Discord, know that this is set sometime after the con but before the big bang.

—

"I think your hair might be getting long enough to braid now."

Crowley's eyes snapped over to him. "Braid?"

Aziraphale blinked at the sharp question. "I didn't mean anything by it." He'd still never figured out quite where Crowley's gender identity lay, or if it changed day-by-day. He suspected Crowley's public presentation of his gender was either "whatever's simplest for everyone involved" (around people he didn't know but generally liked, like at the con) or "whatever causes the most problems for everyone involved" (like with a particularly annoying security guard that had left Aziraphale remembering that being middle-aged, white, and extremely stuffy in appearance was its own form of armor). Aziraphale's own perception of Crowley's gender was just "Crowley." What Crowley felt about it was something Aziraphale had never quite managed to parse out. "You can do whatever you like—"

"Do you know how?"

"How...?"

"To braid hair." Crowley's tone was oddly urgent. "Like for your nieces or cousins or—"

"—for crafting, yes. Tassels for bookmarks and such. You want me to—" Crowley practically flinging himself down onto the sofa next to him was answer enough. "Oh."

Crowley's hair really was barely long enough to braid, Aziraphale decided as he gently freed it from its elastic band. He ran his fingers through it slowly and carefully, easing out the light tangles from a day's confinement. Crowley slumped forward in boneless contentment, and Aziraphale had to switch to prickling the top of his scalp with his fingernails to get him to sit up straight enough for Aziraphale to work.

Aziraphale determined his gameplan, then, and gently eased up a few locks of hair at the crown of Crowley's head, smoothing down the top with the flat of his palm. He started working the strands into a French braid, taking it tiny piece by tiny piece to ensure every section was balanced in size. If Crowley were doing it himself, he suspected he'd get it done in just five messy joins, but every strand he brought in gave Aziraphale another excuse to run his fingertips along Crowley's scalp and he luxuriated in each opportunity. "Has anyone ever told you your hair is unreasonably thick?" he murmured, his voice huskier with fond affection than he'd intended. Crowley spared him from a tease by being too utterly sedated to manage more than a vague hum in response. Aziraphale smiled at that and kept his progress blissfully slow and methodical until he had no choice but to tie the braid off at the nape of Crowley's neck — half a French braid, half a ponytail made bushy from having had waves worked into it. He placed a soft kiss to the back of Crowley's head, padded by the thickest part of Crowley's braid and somehow all the more intimate for it. "All done, love."

Crowley leaned back against Aziraphale's chest, tilting back his head to look up at him with eyes made impossibly soft with contentment. "I'm never putting my own hair up again. Just hope you know that."

Aziraphale chuckled softly, just as fond. "I'll manage somehow, I suppose."

—

Crowley's boneless appreciation of the hair braiding had turned into boneless napping, and while Aziraphale enjoyed having Crowley fall asleep against him at certain times of day, he had never been one for naps himself and there was a limit to how long he could stay motionless sans entertainment before even he got antsy. He eased his way out from under Crowley, grateful the other man was a heavy sleeper even during the day, and was left deciding what quiet amusement he could pursue until whenever Crowley woke up and started making noises about dinner. He could always read some fanfics, of course, but his eyes couldn't help but be drawn towards his favorite muse.

His muse who had, he recalled, tempted him into joining a rigged bang and had talked him into getting a digital tablet. Aziraphale still planned to do his official art for it traditionally, because he was sure Crowley's writing would deserve no less... and, if he was allowed to be vain in the privacy of his own mind, because he still remembered the feeling he'd had when Crowley responded to his scans with barely coherent keysmashing. He wasn't in deferential awe of Crowley anymore, although he still loved his writing just as much, but part of him still hoped that Crowley might respond with just as much enthusiasm at getting to see the finished piece in person, textured paper and unprocessed colors and all. Well, assuming he could be gutsy enough to actually give it to him in person instead of just leaving it on the drafting table for him to find, which was really the more statistically likely result. But anyway.

But anyway.

His muse was sleeping in front of him, and a stylus on an iPad would make hardly any noise at all. And if he got good enough at using it, maybe he could draw some extra digital art to celebrate the fic as well.

In any case, sketching Crowley while he slept was one of life's little joys. He didn't think Crowley knew how often he did it, and that was probably for the best. If he did it all in his notebook, it would have been too easy for Crowley to flip through and find the sketches (and removing sheets would have felt damnably like a guilty conscience). With his iPad, however, he was safe to sketch as much as he liked and there was no real way for Crowley to stumble across it. Aziraphale willfully shoved aside the thought that that didn't really sound any less guilty and started setting stylus to screen. It wasn't long until he'd settled into a comfortable rhythm, his eyes flicking back and forth between the screen and where Crowley was lying face-down on the sofa, his new braid highlighted in a beam of afternoon sunlight.

Something Aziraphale did appreciate about digital art was that white could be layered on top of other colors and be shockingly vibrant, which wasn't an effect he could get easily with his beloved watercolors. Something else watercolors didn't give him was the ability to pick out very fine details, and as his sketch started coming together, he found that was exactly what he wanted to do now. While Crowley's hair was a vibrant red in his selfies or on stage, when he'd had the opportunity to run his fingers through every strand, he'd found that Crowley's hair was showing his age just as much as his own was.

The first day Aziraphale had found a grey hair had come as a shock. He'd naively assumed that with his hair being as pale as it was, even if it started greying, he might well never know. Instead, he found that the grey hairs' texture was frustratingly different from the strands that were still blond, and until they reached a critical mass fifteen long years later, they had an unfortunate tendency to stick out unattractively if his cut was anything less than perfect. He had become quite a regular at his barber's.

With Crowley's hair being as long as it was, his grey hairs had worked smoothly into his braid. From even the small distance from couch to armchair, they melded into the red strands perfectly... but Aziraphale had just spent long minutes twining them into neat twists and didn't need to see them now to know they were there. Aziraphale zoomed in close (another marked benefit of the digital display) and set his pen to a thin, sharp line, layering sleek silver strands into the red braid he'd drawn. Following the way they weaved around each other and dipped in and out of view felt delightfully meditative.

Eventually, Crowley made a soft snuffling snort-groan as he roused from his nap, slowly turning to unbury his face from the pillows. "Wha' time'zit?" he mumbled, patting around blindly for his cellphone.

"Coming up on 5:30 now," Aziraphale replied softly, trying not to startle him into full wakefulness too quickly. He rose and fetched Crowley's phone, placing it gently into his fumbling hand. "There you go."

"Mmrrr. Don't need it now." Crowley tucked the phone under his side in what Aziraphale would have guessed would be a very uncomfortable fashion but which Crowley did without even thinking. At least it wouldn't be going anywhere from there, Aziraphale supposed. "What're you doin'?" Crowley made grabby hands at the iPad Aziraphale had brought over with him.

Aziraphale handed over the iPad without even one thought, much less a second. "Oh, I was just waiting for you to wake up, really."

"...Angel." Crowley had zoomed out on the picture (with a completely unsurprising lack of propriety) and was now staring, frozen and much more awake, at the drawing of himself. "You aren't going to post this on Tumblr, are you?"

Aziraphale laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of that, despite the ripple of shock Crowley's tense tone had caused him. "Come, now. When have I ever posted a drawing of you, my dear?"

"When have you ever made a drawing of me?" Crowley retorted. He waved vaguely at the screen, accidentally sparing Aziraphale from having to answer. "I don't mind being old, but I don't want the world knowing my boyfriend thinks I'm old." His frazzled waving turned a little more flaily.

"Crowley..." Aziraphale gently took the tablet back from him and set it down on the floor so he could take Crowley's hand in both of his. "I assure you, I'm not the kind of artist who spends my time drawing things I don't think are beautiful. And that includes every detail I put in."

Aziraphale would have hoped that was obvious, really. The strands of hair he had drawn weren't brittle grey; they were molten silver. They caught the light like a precious metal woven like a ribbon into cinnabar-red hair. Crowley could have been a queen, fallen asleep after a long day in her finery. He could have been a fae whose very essence was beauty, sleeping with no fear that it would be stolen away because it couldn't.

He could have been an ordinary man, who was so deeply, truly loved that even his grey hairs seemed to shine like the soft gleam of a newly-forged star when they caught the last strong beams of afternoon sunlight shining in through the windows.

Aziraphale hoped Crowley could see it, too.

Crowley made a grumpy noise. "I still don't want it on Tumblr. — Not that I can tell you what to do with your art, but—"

Aziraphale interrupted him with a warm smile. "I don't want it on Tumblr, either. I drew this just for me."

"...really? Even though...?"

"Just for me," Aziraphale whispered in confirmation, his eyes seeking out Crowley's and saving him from having to finish that sentence. "I've only ever drawn you for me." I love you to the point of creation, his heart sang. It wasn't quite how that quote went, he knew. It was the only way it had ever gone, for him.

"Hn..." Crowley shifted to look at the iPad where it lay down on the floor. "I suppose... Well. Despite the subject matter, you drew it well, at least."

"Well, thank you for that," Aziraphale jibed back lightly, completely devoid of malice.

"Ngh, you can't blame me for feeling self-conscious about my greys when you haven't got any."

Aziraphale let out a huff of a laugh. "Oh, Crowley."

"What?" Crowley looked defensive, then abruptly switched to looking shrewd. "Wait. Do you dye them??" He leaned forward eagerly, like this was taboo knowledge.

"Oh, where was that compliment two decades ago? No, not at all. Do you know how long I spent getting over feeling self-conscious about them, and now for you to not even realize I have them?"

"No way. You've been holding out on me!" Crowley's eyes had a light in them that Aziraphale had seen sometimes — the look of someone who has been wanting something very much and thinks he's just figured out how to get it. Aziraphale drew back instinctively in trepidation. He had no idea what Crowley could possibly be wanting, though a fluttering feeling in his chest suggested that it was, in some way, him.

Ridiculous. As if they hadn't had sex already.

"I'm going to go get dinner started."

Crowley let out a whine that cut off abruptly enough that Aziraphale suspected he actually hadn't intended to make it.

Aziraphale paused. "What?"

"Ehhh... just envious, s'all."

Aziraphale took a moment to muse about whether Crowley knew the difference between "envious" and "jealous" and decided, firmly, that he had faith that he did. "Of what?" he asked with an incredulous laugh, since he still had no idea what "envious" could possibly apply to here.

"Negghhh, you've gotten to play with my hair enough to know I have greys, and I haven't gotten to touch yours once."

Aziraphale blushed darkly at that, remembering some choice occasions in which Crowley had gripped his hair tightly enough to hurt. He cleared his throat and opted not to mention them. "That feels much more like your fault than mine."

"Just... tryin'a respect your boundaries, angel."

"Why would that be a boundary?" Aziraphale asked, baffled.

"I asked for it and you haven't."

Aziraphale didn't quite remember it that way, but it was a fair enough interpretation from Crowley's point of view, he supposed. "Well, no. It sounds perfectly nice, but I'd hate to bore you with it. I know you're much more fidgety than I am."

"Not bored," Crowley insisted, his eyes urgent. "Never bored when it's you, angel. Siddown."

Aziraphale laughed breathily. "Too late. I'm already up to cook dinner."

"Angel."

"You'll just have to wait," Aziraphale teased in a singsong lilt, casting a smile back at Crowley over his shoulder.

Crowley flung himself back on the couch with an impatient whine, leaving Aziraphale feeling very smug about his attempt at whatever the romantic equivalent of foreplay was. Crowley sounded very much like he was being left with blue balls. "Bastard."

"Only as much as you deserve, my dear," Aziraphale sang back as he went into the kitchen, acutely aware of Crowley's eyes following every step.

—

It wasn't really in question, at all, that Aziraphale would end the evening snuggled on the couch with Crowley's hands in his hair. There was also no question that he'd enjoy it thoroughly, and he also knew it wasn't the kind of thing that was likely to lead to anything more. So, instead, he just relaxed into it and let his thoughts drift.

"...do you really think I'd mind if my red fox turned into a silver fox?" he mused. The thought was languid, easy, relaxed. Crowley spluttered in incoherent surprise anyway, and Aziraphale laughed softly. "Yes, I know. There's a reason I'm not the writer of the pair."

"Y'are, though. Don't think I've forgotten that you are."

Aziraphale blushed a little at that. "Oh."

Crowley's hands resumed their meditative motion through Aziraphale's hair. "But... yeah. I'd rock it, wouldn't I?"

"You would," Aziraphale murmured with a smile. "And I'm quite looking forward to seeing it someday, my dear."

#good omens #ineffable husbands #bnf au #fanfiction of fanfiction #my writing #not actually about asexuality but let's be honest that hair-petting scene was my kind of ace #apologies for any misrepresentation about watercolors #seriously bilvy come get your middle-aged men and their middle-aged-man problems out of my head #and be aware that if you leave time between posting future chapters then i might have to write more and nobody wants that

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