#demon azris

[iftheshoef1tz]

what hath night to do with sleep

Summary: In 1968, Eris Vanserra is leading a double life. In West Berlin, he is a promising new doctor who frequents queer clubs, fucking his way through his friend circle. In his parents’ village, though, he walks the thin line between success and failure under his father’s brutal repression. Eventually, he realizes there can be no way forward unless he takes matters into his own hands.

He summons a demon.

(Title from Paradise Lost by John Milton.)

Rating: E

Pairings: Azriel/Eris, Eris/Nesta, Eris/Nesta/Cassian (and others but these are the main ones lmao)

Notes: I am so excited to start publishing this bad boy. It was supposed to be finished for Monstertober, but…well, it grew legs, as all my fics seem to. Special thanks to @poisonivy206 and @yanny-77 for their excellent beta skills, and most of all, special thanks to @queercontrarian , without whom this fic would be 69% less German. The cover art is by the apple of my eye, @krem-does-stuff

Please heed the warnings and the dead dove tag, as this fic is chock full of possible triggers. I will put warnings at the beginning of each chapter, too, but…you know, this fic is about killing Nazis. However, there will be no onscreen violence against Jewish people. For chapter 1, there are no warnings.

chapter one

The first vivid memory he has of his father is wreathed in flame. Beron’s face, hollowed by war and nearly obscured by plumes of billowing, acrid smoke, peers down into the heart of the bonfire.

He looks sick, Eris thinks. His small hand is nearly crushed in Beron’s bigger one, but he knows better than to pull away.

“People like us,” Beron begins, his voice grey and smoky too, “we have to hide who we are. What we’ve been.”

The flames are licking at the pile of fabric in front of them; their vicious fingers claw into the growing night.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Happy Birthday @iftheshoef1tz!!💛

I hope you have an absolutely amazing day. I didn't have time to write a full fic, so I decided to gift you this little moodboard for your amazing story, that I will start reading this weekend!

Sending you lots of love and hugs!!

[areyoudreaminof]

Awake, Arise, or Be Forever Fall'n: A Demon Azris Playlist

Have you all read @iftheshoef1tz Azris fic what hath night to do with sleep??? Set in Berlin in 1968? I love it so much, I made it a playlist.

I researched popular music in Berlin at the time, which was mostly lots of jazz, and I decided to add some psychedelic rock that was gaining traction. Enjoy, and please go read the fic!

[iftheshoef1tz]

Coda, part one

Note: This is for @azrisweek 2024, day 5: slice of life. it is an epilogue to the epilogue, if you will, of another, much longer work i just finished, what hath night to do with sleep. you don’t have to read that to read this, but…it would certainly explain things! no warnings, though there are mild spoilers. Thanks to @yanny-77 for beta reading this with such a quick turnaround.

From the air, the world is small. Manageable. Roads become long, twisting black ribbons; the trees and their sighing leaves turn into an unending green sea. The earth and all her problems – all her insistence on dust to dust, ash to ash – is far out of reach.

Azriel banks, and a strong gust tosses him sideways.

It’s far too late in the winter to be flying this high. He had learned the hard way during that first confusing winter that to fly in August is to be threatened with sudden and unexpected grounding when the pampero winds race over the mountains.

Six months have passed since they returned home from Germany. When he closes his eyes, he can see the slight, pale thing that is Nesta Archeron, glowing contentedly in his home on Irkalla.

It doesn’t soothe the ache that had chased him up here.

Humanity is still a tangled, nearly unfathomable thing to him. He’s far more used to Rolvaath’s lolling, sardonic tongue than to the lines around a human’s eyes when they smile. He will never be able to read emotions on these strange faces, with their body language that conceals more often than it reveals.

Except Eris.

The tilt of his head, the sweep of his hands, the heft and speed of his breathing – Azriel has spent the past four decades learning what they all mean. His effort makes Eris look at him like he’s some strange, wondrous thing, something worthy of the youthful skin and laughing eyes while everyone around him dims and dies.

Sometimes, Azriel can see that other Eris, the one he would have been had he never summoned a demon. It follows after him like a shadow, just slightly out of sync. He has neatly trimmed fingernails and pure white hair. There is a wicked light to his eyes despite a slight stoop.

Beneath Azriel, the earth grows large again, all her misery and tenderness opening their arms to him as he circles down through the air.

Eris glances up from their balcony. His hair whips into his eyes, but not before Azriel sees the way they light up when Eris sees him. That older Eris stands just off-center. Azriel wishes he could kiss them both.

He unfurls from his crow form and pushes his fingers into the wind-strewn mess of Eris’s hair. That little piece of Beron glitters angrily when Eris kisses him.

“I want to leave,” Eris says against his mouth. “I want to go home.”

Azriel kisses the skin just in front of Eris’s ear. “We are home.”

“You know what I mean.”

And he does – a place with Nesta and Elisabeth, rooted in memory. “Rolvaath won’t like it.”

Eris makes a disgusted noise. “He never likes anything I do. What’s one more thing? Besides, it’s much cheaper to call international than it used to be.”

Azriel knows he should stand up for his fellow demon, but a larger part of him is…proud, that’s what a human might call it. Rolvaath had never specified that Eris and Azriel had to remain in Paraguay, after all, simply that he collect stories from all the old Nazis before their souls were out of reach.

The wind picks up even more, and rain scatters across their skin. “Alright,” Azriel says and kisses Eris once more.

[iftheshoef1tz]

what hath night to do with sleep

chapter nine

Notes: thanks to @krem-does-stuff for her FANTASTIC art bringing Azriel to life. He’s so grumpy.

Getting through the checkpoints back to West Berlin is tedious: Eris has to wait in line for nearly forty minutes before presenting his papers. But his hands don’t shake, and he emerges from the Hauptbahnhof as if he is the same man who entered it a week before.

When he reaches his flat, Frau Heller’s door opens. He pastes on a tired smile – such a hard-working young man he is! – and he says dutifully, “Happy New Year, Frau Heller. Did your son come for Christmas?”

“Yes, him and his pretty new girlfriend, the ballerina. Did you know she danced Clara two weeks ago with the Staatsballett? Mäx didn’t even know she danced before then. He’s so busy, you know, so little free time.”

“I’m sure,” Eris murmurs. Mäx is Eris’s age and tragically stupid, even for a lawyer. They met precisely once at a party, and Eris left with Mäx’s then-girlfriend. Good to hear he’s moved on.

Read on ao3.

[iftheshoef1tz]

what hath night to do with sleep

Chapter Five

Eris only manages a few hours of sleep before the day of Adler’s appointment, but he’s used to running on less, thanks to his ER rotation last term. He counts down the minutes until he can run to the cafe down the street and buy coffee on his lunch break.

He doesn’t think about the afternoon.

Instead, he takes studious notes on an older woman’s gout, on a young boy’s ingrown toenail, on a young man’s bruised ribs from a rough game of football. There is always one part of him waiting for that velvet-soft voice to curl through his mind, to remind him of what is to come.

Read more on ao3.

[iftheshoef1tz]

what hath night to do with sleep

chapter six

Thanks again to @mossytrashcan for the delicious art in this chapter!

Azriel follows him through the streets of Berlin, first in human form, then as a hound that looks astoundingly like one of the pups Eris had owned as a young teenager. He dares to reach out for Azriel’s head, his fingers ghosting along the soft fur there.

After that, Azriel trails behind him, and Eris is forced to look behind him every so often to see if he’s still following. He could take the U-Bahn and get to the bar faster, but he gets the feeling Azriel wants to tell him something.

When Eris pauses a few doors down from the bar, Azriel stops, too. The last time they had been here, Eris had been shuddering in his rain-drenched clothes, unsure and afraid.

Read more on ao3.

[iftheshoef1tz]

what hath night to do with sleep

chapter four

Note: SURPRISE! This is in honor of this fic hitting (and quickly surpassing) 666 hits. I am fraud and a hack, and when there is a gimmick to be gimmicked...i do it. please forgive me and enjoy this chapter early. art is by the wonderful @mossytrashcan! as soon as i started writing this fic, i knew i had to include some of their work because it exactly fit the vibe i wanted. as with Krem, please commission them both until they're sick of us.

It takes two weeks for Eris to calm down.

His hands shake when he lights his cigarettes. They are unsteady when he takes the temperature of a young boy he suspects has strep throat. He remembers the heat of Azriel’s mouth against his, and he pinches the boy’s cheek too tight.

He bikes home, half-expecting the thing to fly apart from subterfuge, but it remains the same. Even the squeak of the rear brakes is unchanged, shrill in the late evening air. He does not go to Grunewald; he does not look at the piece of paper with the beautiful handwriting balled up on his table.

Read more on ao3.