#fun fact: snake brains glow under black light.

[omg-snakes]

Worm baby I love how calm and sweet you are but I'm not loving seeing all of your organs and blood vessels through your translucent skin. Please grow big and strong!

...and opaque.

[agoodomenssideblogiguess]

I keep seeing posts about how snakes have bad vision and Crowley probably can't see the stars and that made me so sad. So instead of answering emails at work this morning, I looked up videos about snakes to figure out how they see stuff and I learned so much and the implications of these facts are ABSOLUTELY DELIGHTFUL:

(I'm putting it all under the cut because the post got long lol)

1. Snakes with vertical slits in their eyes are nocturnal.

2. Research suggests that snakes have the necessary receptors in their eyes to see mostly blues and greens (and any colors that are made up of those two) in the daytime and monochromatic (gray-scale essentially) in the night time. For reference, human color receptors in the daytime are red, green, and blue. For night it's monochromatic as well.

3. Some snakes have 'heat pits' along their pretty (pretty is subjective not a fact sorry) mouths that help them sense infrared light. The visual and infrared cues are overlaid in the optic parts of the brain. (Truly this is the coolest thing I've learned about snakes and I highly recommend reading the Wikipedia page about it, it is SO COOL). The heat pits work in such a way that if they don't cool down the receptors back to a 'thermal neutral' state (usually by providing extra oxygen to them) the snake will see afterimages even if whatever was giving off the infrared is removed.

4. Snakes smell with their tongues by picking up odor particles and then putting their tongue into little holes along the roof of their mouth where they have this thing called the "Jacobson's organ" that has receptors that can register the smells. To give you a sense of how sophisticated this sense of smell is, apparently snakes can tell which eggs have developing embryos in them in order to avoid them because it's easier to eat undeveloped eggs. (ISNT THAT INCREDIBLE?!?!)

IMPLICATIONS OF THESE FACTS:

1. Crowley can see at night because he's got them nocturnal snake eyes.

2. Crowley PROBABLY THOUGHT HIS HAIR TURNED BLACK WHEN HE FELL AND HE SAW HIS WINGS SORTA MATCHED. And unless someone has told him his hair is still red MAYBE HE STILL DOESNT KNOW

3. (Part 1) Nothing pisses me off more than that they didn't give Crowley's snake design heat pits along the lips because that would be so freaking cool to see in fanart of Crowley in like 'true form' or whatever cuz it would make him seem more "otherworldly" or "monstrous" but whatever. I'll forgive the designers because the heat pits he does have imply that he's a pit viper and also they're not visible on his human form (unless they're inside his nostrils?). Which means they're probably covered and don't cool back to 'thermal-neutral' properly so Crowley probably sees after images all the goddamn time (I'm gonna fucking write the saddest angstiest post season 2 fanfic for good omens called Afterimage BASED ON THIS FACT ALONE).

3. (part 2) because of how the regular vision and infrared vision are overlaid, anything that's warm/hot in temperature, like let's say an angel, probably looks like it's glowing. HELLO FANFIC AUTHORS WHERE ARE YOU?!? BLUSHING/FLUSHED AZIRAPHALE GLOWS BRIGHTER THAN NORMAL TO CROWLEY HELLO?!?!

4. When Aziraphale and Crowley kiss with tongue IF we give Crowley a Jacobson's organ, he would be OVERWHELMED WITH AZIRAPHALE. Imagine in every regular human sense, plus snake senses all of it is jUST AZIRAPHALE. Holy CRAP GUYS PLEASE (also like monsterfuckers/true form enthusiasts, the Jacobson's organ is just another fun snake feature you can include for funsies in your fanworks).

[bump1nthen1ght]

At the End of the Day

Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader/Non-Binary Tentacle Monster (It/It’s pronouns used)

Genre: Fluff, First Times, Comfort

Warnings: Explicit Content up ahead (18+ only!), Tentacles, Slight mention of Aphrodisiacs

Word Count: 2904 Words

Summary: After an exhausting day at work, you find some unexpected comfort from under your bed

Request :Omg I love your Forest Fun fic💕 Could I req a NSFW with a tentacle monster, monster under your bed? I was thinking of a lonely reader, meeting their under the bed mate one night where they were hang their hand off the bed, hoping for a monster to hold it and love them, AND IT DOES! Tysm I love your writing!!!

You officially concluded it was a bad day when you collapsed on your bed at 12 AM, too tired to sleep and too dehydrated to cry your feelings out.

You had been on your feet for nine hours, been screamed at for three, and had barely had time to heat up a cup of ramen noodles before almost passing out from exhaustion. Not even the comfort of a screen could help, having forgotten to record the newest episode of your favorite show and having left your phone charger at home all day.

All in all, you 're having a bad time.

You sluggishly pull up your blankets, only in your underwear because putting on pajamas was too much work, and are left to look at your ceiling.

The bed is cold, not yet warmed by your body heat, and the sheets feel a little itchy. You groan, wondering if one thing, one thing, could go right today.

It’d be nice if you had someone to cuddle. Maybe a pillow would suffice, but it’s the thought of someone’s soft touch, playing with your hair, the sound of their heartbeat against your ear. Someone to massage out the stress from your back and shoulders, and remind you that everything would be alright; Whispering promises of a better tomorrow.

But that doesn’t just happen overnight.

You throw your hands over your face, groaning into your palms as you beg your mind to just let you sleep. Dragging your fingers down your cheeks, you let out a pitiful whine before you flip over to your stomach and try to find comfort that way.

You stuff your face into your pillow, one hand dangling off the side of your bed, fingers just barely brushing the carpet. You trace patterns into the fabric, wondering how nice it would feel to be wrapped in something that warm and cozy. Something big enough to envelope you whole, pinning you to the bed. Something with nice warm hands to fill yours, that will pet the back of knuckles and kiss them goodnight. Something that would travel up your wrist, hot and sensual, leaving a trail of warm ooze that-

Wait.

What the fuck.

Your hand jerks upwards, the liquid now running down your forearm glistening. You pull your face out your pillow and throw yourself to the other side of the bed, eyes racing back and forth across your room.

It’s the same as before, only moon light shining through your window and the low hum of your fan accompanying it. You take another look at your hand, streaks of slime dribbling down the sides. It’s warm, the consistency of aloe vera, and sort of smells like...vanilla?

With your heart pounding, you slowly inch over to the side of your bed, not daring to look too far over, too afraid of what you might see.

You fly backwards when the tip of something black and shiny comes up and over your sheets, tentatively tapping the side. It looks like it’s feeling around for something.

Was it looking for you?

You freeze as the tentacle reaches farther and farther up the sheets, thrashing around as you avoid it’s touch, until another one joins it in the search. You don’t move an inch, fearing any shifting of the blankets would alert the creature to your presence.

The tentacles reach about half-way across the bed, almost brushing against your toes, when they freeze. You hold a breath and watch them slowly slink back underneath, wondering if now is the time to lose your shit.

A pair of eyes-wait, no, two pairs of eyes peer up from the side, glowing yellow in the dark. Their pupils expand as they take in the darkness, darting around until they see you, curled up against the corner of your headboard.

There’s a soft churring noise, like the startup of a vacuum or the sound of birds singing. A tiny tentacle comes up, sheepishly tapping the sheets as the creature stares at you.

“....Alright?” It murmurs. It’s voice is scratchy, like it’s trying to make sounds it never has before.

“What?” Your mouth, barely making a whisper. The tentacle points to your hand, still covered in ooze.

“Smelled...sad.” The creature sniffs, slightly raising it’s head so you can see the bottom half of its face. It resembled that of a human, but the mouth extended all the way back to it’s jaw, hinged like a snake. You can see several rows of sharp teeth and the purplish tongue that comes out and wets it’s...lips? “Thought….I could help.” The tentacle draws a circle into your bed covers, the creature's eyes darting away as it’s skin flushes an even darker black; Indigos and deep violets highlight the contours of it’s face. “Don’t like it...when you are sad….”

You think you’ve lost your chance to have a breakdown, your mind already switching to numb out the wave of realizations you are going through right now. All you can focus on are the bashful look on the creature's face, the way it’s tentacles nervously tuts back and forth, and how warm your hand felt in its embrace. How nice it felt.

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You mutter, finally able to make proper words. “I appreciate it.” You unconsciously rub your thumb over the palm of your slick hand, noting how hot it still is, how it relaxes your muzzles like a warm bath.

The creature just nods, resting it’s chin on the bed.

“Feeling...better?”

You shrug. “Uh...a little bit. A good hand-hold is always nice.”

At that, the creature perks up, and you can see some more tentacles come up the bedside. They beckon you to come closer, massaging the mattress and somehow leaving no trails of their slime. The creature swallows, rubbing the back of its neck.

“...Could make you feel….really good….If you...want.”

Your eyebrow quirks, the cogs of your brain working extra slow tonight. But the way the creature flushes, the way it’s tentacles writhe so sensually, you soon start to get the picture.

A logical person might have said no. Might’ve screamed, thrown on the light, and barricaded their bedroom. Probably called the authorities, or animal control.  

But isn’t this what you’d been asking for? And they were sweet enough to pick you up when you were down. Even asked for your permission afterwards, and made a conscious effort to not make a total mess of your bed.

Maybe it’ was the nine hours of pure hell, maybe it’s the fact it’s the most physical contact you’ve had in months, but there’s a part of you that really wants to say yes.

And it’s probably the sleep deprivation that makes you actually do it.

“Yeah. I-I think I would like that.” You slowly unfurl yourself, the creature's face lighting up as you slowly crawl over to it. It’s tentacles thrash around unabashedly, some too eager to even wait for you to get closer, tickling the tops of your knees and nipping at your fingers. You giggle as one finds a ticklish spot. “What’s your name?” You whisper, falling into the soft touches of it’s tentacles as you get closer and closer to the creature’s face. It’s still flushed purple, it’s eyes racing over your body.

“Ghitir.” It croaks, taking a deep breath as your oversized night shirt slips down your shoulder, exposing your skin to it’s greedy eyes. It’s flattering, how much it wants you.

You pull down your collar even more, letting it fall past your collarbone and show just a peak of your chest. A tentacle has begun crawling up your leg, the thick ooze leaving a warm trail along the outside of your thigh, and you gently grab it. Ghitir shudders as you stroke your thumb over the tentacle, feeling the way it’s muscles push against your palm.

It’s hot breath brushes across your face as you look into its four eyes, not realizing how close you had gotten to it. Your eyes fall it’s mouth, where it’s long tongue darts out for a second.

“My name’s _____.” You punctuate the sentence with a kiss, one which Ghitir reciprocated hungrily. It’s tongue along your lips before darting into your mouth, your hands running up the back of its neck as you sink deeper into the feeling.

The tentacles have grown bolder, several now pushing past the bottoms of your pajama shorts and others going under your shirt. One slides up the center of your chest, it’s tip barely touching your nipples as the others run along your pelvis. You can feel slime drip down your behind as several caress your ass, pulling the fabric of your shorts higher and higher as they squeeze. The liquid has gotten even hotter, making your skin buzz and tingle.

All the sensations come together in a perfect tidal wave, so much so that even the rubbing of your pajamas against your crotch has you keeling into Ghitir, thrusting your hips against your mattress. Ghitir churrs, pulling it’s tongue out of your mouth to lather your jaw and neck in kisses. There’s a slight sting as you feel claws dig into your lower back, your hazy eyes glancing downwards to see Ghitir’s four, vaguely humanoid-arms, push you closer to it’s body. It pants and yanks on the shirt fabric, urging you to take it off. You do so in one quick motion, but before you let Ghitir lunge for another kiss, you yank it’s shoulders upwards and onto your bed, revealing all of its body to you.

It’s torso and arms connect to a mass of rolling tentacles, big and small, all of which latch onto you as you fall back onto the bed. Some squirm under your waistband, pushing your shorts and underwear past your crotch and down to your thighs. You shimmy your legs and kick them off your ankles, a shiver running down your spine as cold muscle presses up against your sex. Ghitir leans down into the crook of your neck, exhaling hot breath as it’s cold skin presses into your chest. Your nipples pebble and you run your hands down it’s back, nails digging into it’s clenched muscles.

Ghitir’s tentacles rub your crotch, undulating while one slinks down to your entrance. Beads of liquid smear off of it and into your skin, it’s tip just ghosting over your hole. The knot in your stomach burns hotter, your crotch thrusting upwards, trying to catch that fleeting sensation. But Ghitir is focused on covering your neck and shoulders in sloppy kisses. Sweat drops down your neck and it licks up toward your jaw, shuddering a groan from the taste.

Your head is hazy and your eyes have a hard time focusing, but you're able to feel your way to a tentacle, grabbing it by the thickest part and rubbing your thumb up it’s side. Ghitir lurches forward, it’s tongue lolling out with a shaky squeal. The tentacle teasing your entrance seizes, pressing up against the sensitive skin but not quite pushing through. You move your hand farther up the tentacle, squeezing intermittently before you reach the tip. You brush the pad of your index finger over it and a drop of slime drips down your wrist. One pair of Ghitir’s hands has moved down to your hips, it’s claws slightly pinching your skin as you press your finger down on it’s tip. It bites back a groan, rolling it’s lower half into the bed when you lick a stripe up the tentacle. It’s slime isn’t salty like human sweat, but sweet, almost like nectar.

You press your abdomen upwards, pressing kisses against the tentacle, your other hand grabbing another and half-hazardly jerking it up and down. Drool is dripping down Ghitir’s face, it’s eye’s locked onto you. You wink, erotically sticking your tongue out as you lick up, and up, and up, until just the tip rests on your bottom lip. With a tentative lick, you open your mouth wide and suck down the tentacle like a lollipop.

Ghitir’s forehead falls against yours. It’s tentacles convulse as you suck in your cheeks and move your head up and down, the tentacle in your mouth slowly stirring to action. It massages your tongue, shyly moving further and further into your mouth. Drool and Ghitir’s slime drips down your jaw as you let it slacken, the tentacle quickly hitting the back of your throat. The tip presses against your gag reflex, pulling back quickly once it hears you choke. But you give Ghitir a thumbs up, keeping a tight suction around the tentacle as it gently begins to face fuck you.

You can feel Ghitir’s hand’s shaking as it pounds your mouth, releasing more and more slime as it shudders inside your lips. You stop moving your head, letting Ghitir thrust into your mouth at it’s own pace, and reach forward and feel around for the tentacle pressed against your crotch. Your vision is dotted with black spots, but you eventually find the tip pressed so close to your entrance, pulling and urging it forward. Your eye’s shift toward Ghitir, it’s face locked onto the way you take it’s tentacle in your mouth. It’s tongue is hanging out of it’s mouth, cheeks nearly glowing with it’s bright blush, but it’s coherent enough to understand what you want.

The tentacle slithers out of your hand and presses against your soaked hole, dripping with it’s slime and your sweat. The tip finally pushes past your entrance and you can feel your eyes roll backwards as it stretches you open.

The tentacle is slightly smaller than the one in your mouth and although the pressure is relieving, it still leaves you wanting more. You jerk your hips forward, asking for it to punish your hole like it’s punishing your mouth. Ghitir nods, one of it’s hands stroking the side of your jaw as another tentacle slips inside of you, twisting with it’s twin and pressing against your walls. You moan once more, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. The sensations are overwhelming, deliciously overwhelming.

The tentacles inside your curl around each other, searching for that sensitive spot inside you. The tentacle in your mouth starts to thrust erratically, more and more slime coating the back of your throat as it begins to spasm. You clamp your lips around the base, coating it in your saliva as it nears it’s climax.

Your legs feel shaky and buzzed, your movements uncoordinated as you focus on breathing and chasing your own orgasm,The pair of Ghitir’s hands on your hips help your lower half hump against its tentacles. With a yelp and quick jolt of your body, Ghitir realizes it’s finally found the perfect spot, the one that has your toes curling and your eyes rolling backwards. The tentacle in your mouth slows down, edging itself on your tongue and your lips, but the tentacles down below pick up the pace. They pull out until only their intertwined tips remain, right before surging back inside you.

Your bed springs squeak as Ghitir continues to pound you into the mattress, it’s free pair of hands roaming and groping all unattended parts of your body as you throw your hips upward with every thrust. It pinches your nipples and lays wet kisses all down your collarbone, your chest coated in slime, saliva, and sweat. The tentacle continues to just rub itself all over the inside of your mouth, shaking as it teases itself nice and slow. Tears drip down your face as you feel the rubber band snapping, the fire in your belly about to combust. You moan around the tentacle, gurgling a couple of “Yes, yes, yes!”

Ghitir purrs as your body begins to seizing up, it’s claws digging into your pelvis as the tentacles pick up their speed. The tentacle in your mouth retracts, gushes saliva and slime falling out of your mouth. But Ghitir quickly replaces it with its tongue, petting the side of your face as you make out.

There, there, there, right there, right there- The moan you let out is almost a scream, punctuated by a strong “Oh fuck!” as hot streams of Ghitir’s cum flood your insides. The smaller tentacle spasms, squirting it’s juices all over your sweaty chest as Ghitir bites its lip with a groan. You can feel your body slacken, your chest heaving as you collapse into your sheets, leaving only tiny kisses against Ghitir’s lips. It follows you as your head sinks into your pillow, finally pulling away to let you catch your breath.

Ghitir rests its forehead against the center of your chest, its tentacles slowly slithering out of you, dripping slime all over your bed. Its chest is still alight with a purple blush, their body shaking from all of the exertion.

You find yourself stroking the side of their face, mind still fuzzy as you trace the contours of their cheekbones and enjoy the unusual texture of it’s skin. Ghitir’s four eyes peak open, just as delirious as you are.

“Thanks.” You suck in a deep breath, “That was...amazing.”

It smiles, nuzzling its cheek into your stomach, a small purr rumbling through you.

“No...problem..”

Ghitir’s tentacles lay sprawled out below you, lazily petting your calves and feet as Ghitir draws lazy circles into your stomach.

In no time at all, you fall asleep.

[mayhaps-a-blog]

Let’s talk about Chiss eyes!

To begin with a disclaimer, I am not a human biologist, specialist in anatomy or light physics or anything like that. My specialty is animal behavior and populations. But I can sure look up stuff!

So, let’s start with the color (glow gets its own post). Chiss eyes are red. This is notably different from human eyes, which have white sclera, colored irises, and black pupils. The iris of the human eye is colored by melanin, with different amounts creating the range of colors, and is meant to help block light from reaching the pupils, so they can dilate (open) or contract (close) to affect the amount of light reaching the eye.

This got pretty long, so I’m sticking in a Read More:

Fortunately, there are many Earth species with red eyes, such as the red-eyed vireo (bird), red-eyed tree frog (amphibian), redeye tetra (fish), common adder (snake), etc. There’re different theories on why, the main one being that red eyes reflect light waves to help the being see at night and may also enhance motion-peripheral vision. They might also be camouflage, since most mammals can’t see red, or a form of display, since most birds, reptiles, and fish can. For those that can see red, the color can act as a warning of venom or poison should the being be approached.

Red-eyed mammals are usually the result of albinism, a condition where the body produces little to no melanin. The lack of melanin makes the iris clear, so instead of appearing white the red of the blood vessels in the eye shows through. This often leads to eye issues, however, due to the iris and retina not being able to do their jobs properly, so let’s go with the above paragraph.

Basically, if we give Chiss red eyes, it may mean they were, at some point, nocturnal hunters. That’s cool!

Now, that explains the sclera and the iris, but it doesn’t explain the pupil. Pupils are black because they are basically holes for light to enter, and most of that light does not escape, so they appear dark. That’s… kind of hard to get around, biologically.

Option 1 is that the Chiss do have pupils, they’re just overshaded by the red of the eyes.

Consider, for instance, the eyes of the Satanic Leaf-tailed Gecko (hell yeah):

As you can see, in certain lightings the pupils are entirely invisible, but are definitely present. While I don’t think the Chiss would have slit pupils – that has consequences for vision and is usually seen in ambush hunters that stay close to the ground – the red of the eyes, especially with glow, may still hide the pupils under most lighting conditions.

So, the Chiss may certainly still have dark colored pupils, simply difficult to see.

Option 2 is where it gets fun! Let’s consider what it would mean if Chiss pupils ARE red: which would mean that the eye lens is reflecting red light.

Now, this would generally be… unfortunate, because it would mean that the Chiss can’t see the color red (red light would not enter their eyes). Red is kind of an important color, on Earth, being a sign of many poisonous or dangerous things. It’s also a common color in flora and fauna in Chiss space, we’re told!

That being said, as previously stated there are many mammals – in fact, most of them – that can’t see the color red either, and they do just fine! And red-green colorblind is one of the most common forms of colorblindness among humans, and that’s fine too!

So, perhaps, the Chiss are simply colorblind.

OR!

Now, human eyes, and human brains, are weird. SUPER weird! And one of the weird things they do is make up colors. For instance, magenta is a completely made-up color!

Here’s what I mean: humans have three ‘cones’ to see colors – blue, green, and red. Those are the wavelengths of light we can see. Now, when we look at something, our eyes are bombarded with light particles across many, many different wavelengths, and the brain kind of… averages them together. And makes its best guess.

So, if you see something red, the majority of the light particles are coming in on the red wavelength. If you see something green, it’s coming in on the green wavelength. But if you see something yellow… they’re coming in on BOTH wavelengths, and your brain when ‘eh, somewhere around here, whatever’.

So, what about magenta? The problem with magenta is that it’s not really on the light spectrum – that’s a line from red to purple, not a circle, so there’s not purple-red color. But, if your brain gets equal amounts of red and purple, if it averages it together it’ll get the middle of the light spectrum – green. But your brain, having a cone there, KNOWS it isn’t green, and moreover, things that are NOT GREEN could be dangerous. Magenta things are very much not green things!

So, your brain cheats! It says, ‘I know this isn’t green, but it’s coming in as green, so I’ll assign it a completely new color that doesn’t actually exist’. Everything we experience is our brain just stitching the pieces of our perception together anyway, it’s not like we’ll notice!

SO, I say, what if Chiss eyes did the SAME THING?

We know Chiss can see a little way into the infrared spectrum – which is, incidentally, next to red on the electromagnetic spectrum (of which visible light – to us – is a small piece). That suggests they have some sort of infrared sensing structure (which I’ve gone into before), combined with visual light cones.

The Chiss brain could receive some infrared wavelengths, some, I don’t know, yellow or green wavelengths, and say, ‘Sure, this is kind of red’. And if it’s good enough for them, well then.

This is fun because it means they could be seeing a completely different color. And we’d never know!

[gojos-sidepiece-69]

Tokyo Tech Training- Chapter 2

Your eyes snapped open and you met eyes with your lover from last night. Fuck. Did that actually happen? It shouldn’t have. Damn it. No, god, no. I got drunk and had an insane fever dream, that’s it. Your brain worked in overdrive trying to rationalize your decisions from last night. Intense waves of shame and guilt washed over you when you realized that you were, indeed, practically sober.

You woke up with no headache. Your hips, however, were a different story altogether. “Morning, sunshine,” your dimpled teacher said intoxicatingly. It was too early for his bullshit. “Please, Gojo. Not now. I’m going to go home and pretend this didn’t happen, okay? Great.” His grin widened as he pointed out, “Oh, so we’re on name-to-name basis now? I thought I was still your Sensei.”

You ignored him and firmly got up only to catch a glance of yourself in a full body mirror. You saw purple peeking out at you from under Gojo’s shirt. You pulled it down slightly and felt at your raw, sore love bites. “Sorry about those, I always like it a bit rough,” Gojo explained, still shamelessly man-spreading in his bed. “I could tell,” you deadpanned. You lifted up the hem of your shirt to inspect the degree of damage he had done to your hips, and it was bad. You could barely even walk straight. You were planning on a pleasant walk-of-shame home, but seeing the state of your condition, that was now out of question. As if he read your mind, he said “I’ll give you a ride back.”

You got a sneak peak into the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer’s morning routine, which included putting on his dumb blindfold and dark navy uniform. He handed you your clothes from the previous night, taking extra care to comment about how he was upset he didn’t get to see you in your “cute little lacy bra.” Everyone had left earlier that morning, knowing from previous experience not to wake Gojo in the morning. In addition, they didn’t want to take their chances while their airhead of a teacher took the steering wheel, blasting trap music way too damn early. You, however, had the treat of experiencing this first-hand. “All aboard!” He said childishly as you stepped into his black BMW. He immediately turned the volume of his music all the way up, humming to Pick it Up by Famous Dex.

You closed your eyes, and muttered a silent prayer that you wouldn’t die in a freak accident on the way home. With your luck, Gojo would crash straight through a KFC Drive-Thru and laugh about it.

You were shaken out of this scary afterthought when you realized that Gojo was driving 65 MPH in a 35 zone. “What the hell? Slow down!” You yelled, but your driver only looked at you and laughed. “You didn’t have a problem with me going fast last night.” You gritted your teeth. Of course he was going to make your drive home as sarcastic and filled with as many horrible sex jokes as possible. The worst part was that you, at the back of your mind, were fighting back a small laugh. But you weren’t about to confirm that he was funny. So you slowly exhaled through your nose, until your breath hitched at the back of your throat.

Gojo’s hand had snuck past the gear and onto your knee. Keeping his (inexplicably blindfolded) eyes on the road, it slowly snaked up to your thigh and rested there. He could feel you tense up and smiled to himself. He loved the effect that even just his hands had on women. The sensation gave you flashbacks of the night before. He touched a bruise on your inner thigh that he had licked and sucked so tenderly last night, and you shuddered. He drew small circles, but didn’t go any further.

The tires screeched to a halt right outside Tokyo Tech, and you clambered out of his car as fast as you could. You left in such a rush that you dropped your “cute, lacy bra” on the passenger-side floor. You didn’t even notice. Luckily it was Sunday, and you wouldn’t have to worry about seeing your teacher until tomorrow. “Have a great day!” He yelled after you, and you flipped him off classily without so much as a backwards glance for your superior. As soon as you got to your dorm, you dramatically collapsed onto the mattress.

You were so tired from fooling around the entire day yesterday that you slept through Sunday in its entirety. You arose early Monday morning and groaned when you remembered that it was going to be your first Field Training day. And you were absolutely correct in thinking that you were most definitely not ready.

“Each of you will be assigned a Jujutsu Sorcerer to shadow for your field practice today. Watch how they exorcise curses, take mental notes, and follow each of their directions carefully. Megumi and Nobara, you’ll be going with Nanami. Yuji and Y/n, you’re stuck with me,” Gojo said, keeping eye contact with you for an uncomfortably long amount of time. You thought to yourself, I might as well just start calling it blindfold-contact, if I can’t see his gorgeous eyes. I mean, eyes. Gojo whistled and led you and Yuji back to his black car. Yuji ran like the track-star he was, yelling “SHOTGUN!” so loudly that you didn’t care to argue.

He threw the door open and leaped into the passenger seat, while Gojo took the wheel and you occupied the backseat. Yuji took the liberty of connecting to the aux, this time blasting Tetris by Derek King. Once again, it was way too early in the morning to be listening to songs about ass. But this issue did not seem to exist for the Tokyo Tech’s favorite resident ass men, Yuji and Gojo. Or as you liked to call them, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb-ass.

Not even a comfortable minute into the drive, Yuji energetically bent over and picked up your forgotten bra. “Ooh, looks like Gojo Sensei is getting some! Who’s the unlucky girl?” Yuji joked around. “Oh, Gojo. GOJO,” the pink-haired puppy-boy fake moaned like an animal in pain while poking fun at his teacher. Your sensei, ever the enabler of horrible jokes, chuckled along. He glanced up into the rear view mirror and made eye contact with you, breaking it as soon as he swerved into the wrong lane. “At least tell me what she looked like!” Yuji practically bursted at the seams. Gojo sighed and offered a single comment to his student that was enough to temporarily stave off his curiosity and shut him up. “She had a great ass.”

You heard a genuinely amazed “Wow!” from your fellow first-year as blush once again danced onto your cheeks. You broke the car’s mounting tension by piping up and asking, “So where are we actually going?” Gojo explained that their Field Practice entailed an actual mission to retrieve one of Sukuna’s fingers. What the hell? You thought to yourself. You had barely one day of instruction and you were being thrown into the deep end already? Jesus Christ. But somewhere deep inside your mind, you knew that Gojo cared for his students and would never let any of them get hurt.

Rudely interrupting your thoughts for the millionth time, Gojo interjected, “But we’re stopping by the bakery first. I need my morning fix.” Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food just as you remembered you hadn’t eaten yet today. With one shitty parallel-parking job, you had arrived right outside the Ichiban Pan bakery. The three of you filed into the bakery, the bell on the door ringing as the sweet aromas supplied you with some much-needed serotonin. You walked up to the counter, and immediately noticed how beautiful the cashier was. She had long, dark hair and a figure that anyone would drool over.

To your surprise, she said, “Gojo...back here already? I knew you hadn’t had enough of me yet,” as she eyed him lustfully. “Of course I had to come back for seconds. Your goods were just so...soft and sweet,” he smiled coyly as he leaned onto the counter and shamelessly flirted back. The woman reached over and toyed with Gojo’s blindfold as his smile grew. She said, “So, when are we going to have some more fun?” He answered, “Always so eager, huh? Don’t worry, you’ll get your turn soon.” You couldn’t tell if your face was heating up with annoyance at the thought of Gojo delaying the mission to flirt with one of his girls, or at the fact that you felt...jealous. Jealous that you weren’t the only one he had eyes for, and envious that this girl was older and maybe even more attractive than you. She made you feel plain in more ways than one, and your mind started to wander.

Did Gojo touch her like how he touched me? How many girls has he had before? How many is he with right now? Damn it. You shook off the bothersome thought. Maybe it was your innate competitiveness as a Jujutsu Sorcerer, but you knew you had to get him back. Fair and square. You told yourself it wasn’t because you wanted more from him, but it was because you wanted to make him feel jealous in the exact same way. Whatever it was, whenever the time would come, you were going to leave him frustrated.

Three delicious dangos and thirty minutes later, you found yourself at the site of the curse: a closed off mall. While you were now right outside of the car, you could feel the cursed energy radiating out from its epicenter. “There’s one unregistered first-grade curse that you need to extract Sukuna’s finger from. And I’m going to osbserve,” Gojo said while he sat on the hood of his car. “You’re going to what? I’ve barely had ANY training,” you sputtered angrily, but Yuji was already pulling your arm and dragging you towards the curse. Well, you thought to yourself. Might as well prove yourself a worthy comrade to Yuji and a promising student for...he didn’t matter right now. The two of you sprinted forward as Gojo lowered a dark veil over the area, blackening the sky.

Yuji shoved the front doors open and leapt inside, and you jumped in after him. The lights were broken and flickering, casting an eerie glow over the abandoned mall. The escalators were still running, but you could hear distant crashing sounds. “This way!” Yuji yelled, as the two of you sprinted up the escalator to the second floor. The crashing increased in volume, and it was clearly coming from a destroyed souvenir shop ahead.

You laid eyes on the grotesque curse, which resembled a deformed, melting, red plastic mannequin that was at least twice your height. Its arms immediately extended and shot out at you, but you dodged out of the way. You hadn’t learned any techniques yet, so it seemed like you and Yuji would be teaming up and harnessing your raw cursed energy to deliver blows to the mannequin. The curse opened its mouth to reveal jagged teeth that caged in one of Sukuna’s fingers. “There it is!” you shouted. But in an instant, both you and Yuji were caught off guard and knocked to your feet by the mannequin’s extended arms.

They grew spikes that jutted out and beat into your sides. You yelped and coughed in pain, starting to see blood pool out from under your uniform. You gritted your teeth and tried your best to deliver blows to sever the curse’s arms, but it was useless. Yuji, too, seemed trapped in between the sharp spikes. After ten minutes of intense stabbing pains and useless struggle against this first-grade curse, Yuji piped up. “I think I’m going to have to let Sukuna take over and destroy this curse.” Your eyes widened. You had only heard stories of the demon king, and they were all horrific. But it was between that and death, and you both made the split-second decision. “Do it,” you nodded.

You watched from your position as Yuji let Sukuna take over his body. Black tattoos etched their way across his toned body, which was exposed to you after he carelessly tore his tightening shirt off. His smile grew wide and you heard a malicious laugh. “Fool,” Sukuna said directly to the curse, before ripping its right arm off with brute force. “You think you’re any match for me?” Before its arm could regenerate, Sukuna tore off its other one and freed you before tossing you aside like a corpse while informing you that you were “in his way.” You hit your head against the front window of the store and groaned. You watched the mannequin open it’s mouth and shoot out it’s razor-sharp dagger teeth at Sukuna, but he just grabbed onto the curse’s head and tore it right off with ease.

He reached two fingers into the curse’s mouth and extracted the finger, examining it with a slight grin before swallowing it. “Feels so good,” he murmured while throwing his head back and laughing loudly. A wave of confusion washed over you. If the job was done, why hadn’t Yuji switched back yet? What was going on? You shivered and backed up slightly as Sukuna turned his head to look down at you.

“You know,” he drew out a breath as he kneeled down and picked up a scrap of cloth from Yuji’s torn shirt. “I haven’t taken over a vessel in ages. And that means I haven’t had a woman in a very,” he stepped closer to you, “Very long time.” You looked up at him from the ground, taking in his mouthwatering physique. This curse made you forget about logic for a minute and revert to primal instinct. The first thought that ran through your brain was running your tongue over his abs. However, a second later, you had an even better idea. Why not let Sukuna have his way with me? That would show Gojo. I want him to hear me moaning while he’s still sitting in his stupid BMW, blood rushing to his dick as he thinks about me getting fucked stupid by the undisputed king of curses. That thought alone was enough to push you to answer, “And what do you want me to do about that?”

“You’re going to do as I say. Let me fuck you until you can’t remember your own first name.” Your heat throbbed at that, and Sukuna wasted no time binding your hands together tightly with the scrap of cloth. This was really happening. You were about to get destroyed by the legendary Sukuna in the shattered storefront of a souvenir shop. In the dark. Without any semblance of a warning, Sukuna ripped your uniform top right off of your body, leaving behind only scraps of fabric. You shivered at the sensation of being exposed to the cold. You looked up at him wearing only your plain black bra and uniform skirt, and his eyelids lowered. “Fucking slut,” he said, as he ripped off your bra with the same fervor. He smiled hungrily as your nipples perked from the chills, and groped at your breasts with both hands.

He admired how they fit perfectly within his calloused hands, and how he could feel your heartbeat rapidly soar. With fear. Humans really are useless creatures, aren’t they? He thought before he demanded, “Open your mouth.” You complied, and he slid two long digits all the way inside. You felt one hit the back of your throat and you moaned onto his fingers as they slid back out. He rubbed his fingers back onto your breasts, coating them with the wetness of your own saliva. You moaned loudly with pleasure, positive that your pathetic Sensei could hear you from outside.

“That’s good.” Sukuna approved of your moaning. The thought of him making you arch your back, screaming and crying for him pushed him on further. His hands aggressively found your skirt, tearing it easier than paper. He looked down at your soaked panties and felt the urge to make you feel small and embarrassed. “You’ve gone and made a mess of yourself. I’ll just have to get rid of them,” you saw Sukuna’s tongue move around in his mouth as he forcefully tugged off your panties. His hunger got the best of him, and he bent down to let his tongue take one long lap along your dripping cunt. “Fuck,” he breathed as you threw your head back, hitting against the wall. “I haven’t tasted a woman in so long,” he said, before bending back down and slipping his tongue into your slit.

His strong arms kept your shaking legs pried wide open for him, sharp nails tightly gripping into your thighs, and you could only groan louder. He continued to drink at your slippery juices until you screamed and came into his mouth. He licked his lips as he pushed your thighs back together and lifted himself up. “I’m not even close to finished with you yet,” he growled, sensing you getting slightly tired.

He lifted you up and threw you onto your stomach. You propped yourself up shakily using your elbows while he pushed your head down with one of his hands. You arched your back for him, granting him an easier entrance. Kneeling behind you, he teased his dripping tip at your folds while squeezing at your ass. The buildup was almost too much for you to take, so you began to whine “Suku-,” but before you could finish, he entered you roughly. Sukuna mercilessly railed into your pussy from behind, one hand simultaneously gripping your hair and pushing your head down, while the other dug crescent-shaped nail marks into your hips.

His pace was so fast that you could only scream and curse and whine his name, but he only laughed and threw his head back. “Sl-slower,” you begged, tears spilling down your face, but Sukuna maintained his speed. Your useless request only prompted him to move his hand from your hair to your throat, gripping you tightly. “Don’t ask me that again,” he growled, still thrusting.

You could feel his thrusts become more loose and sporadic, and finally he pulled out and groaned deeply while spilling his cum all over your thighs. You panted and stood up slowly, but you held back a shocked scream. You watched in horror as Gojo Satoru stood before you, blindfolded eyes trailing over the white, creamy liquid dripping down your thighs. You instinctively covered your breasts and cunt, managing a weak, “how long were you watching?” Gojo took a step forward. “Well, I decide to assess the situation for myself when I heard you screaming for mercy, so I came in at about the time...” he mimed checking a fake watch, “a 1000-year-old curse started pounding you from behind.”

You blushed, heart racing from the exposure and accidental voyeurism. You hadn’t expected him to actually come see you for himself. However, your eyes took a quick trip to see a growing bulge in your Sensei’s pants. You smiled to yourself as you thought, mission accomplished.

🌹

[darlingpetao3]

Click, Click, Click (Oliver Queen x Reader)

Rating: T

Summary: Oliver Queen comes in for a photoshoot with Plaything, the adult entertainment magazine for which you model. Being a fan of the billionaire playboy, will you be able to compose yourself, especially when your colleague has her eye on him too?

A/N: This story features playboy Oliver from before the shipwreck. I also wrote this with no specific character in mind, but Oliver really did seem to fit this story in the end! No smut, but still Hot

Tag List: @fandomdancer @bluesclues-1234 @pinkdiamond1016​

gif source

“Oliver Queen, on set! The star of the hour is in the house, folks!”

You have no idea why the sudden surge of jitters shocks you, but it does nonetheless. You weren’t like this an hour ago, nor yesterday, or last month when it was announced Oliver Queen would be the next heartthrob to grace the pages of Plaything, the adult entertainment magazine for which you model. You model for its fashion pages, because, yes, believe it or not, fashion plays a significant part in the world of smutty magazines. Sometimes, you even get to keep the lingerie you’re photographed in if it suits your fancy. 

It’s like it wasn’t real - Oliver Queen gracing the inner folds of the magazine, the fact that he’s actually here. But now, merely hearing his name does something exhilarating to your body and your brain. This only makes you wonder how you’ll feel when you have to pose next to him in barely any clothes.

Upon hearing the call to the crew, you push everything you’re feeling down and lock it away. Professionalism is the key. There’s no way you can be fangirling around Oliver. It wouldn’t look good. For you or the company.

“So, you ready for the hunk?”

Your modelling partner in the photoshoot, Sugar, walks up beside you, very much to your dismay. Even though this magazine in particular has done its part in contributing to empowering women’s sexuality and solidarity among each other, you hate who you’ve been teamed up with for this shoot, solidarity be damned. She’s tried to undermine and embarrass you countless times before, and you’ll be damned if she succeeds in ruining this for you.

“More than you know,” you respond, including a fake smile.

“Remember,” Sugar says, touching up her lipstick, “you can’t ask out the stars.”

“Ha, that’s rich coming from you.” She’s done worse than just ‘ask out the stars.’

In your periphery, the gliding body of the one and only Oliver Queen walks by, and both your and Sugar’s heads turn to follow him. God, he is glowing in that white robe covering whatever outfit (or lack thereof) they’ve put him in. What a man…

Okay, keep cool.

It’s not like you’re going to be rubbing your hands all over his chest, feeling him up all over.

It’s also not like you’ve fantasized about this before.

Except you will, and you have.

The crew switches on the massive white lights aimed at the bedroom set -- it’s nearing showtime. You feel you should introduce yourself to Oliver, seeing as you’ve yet to meet him officially. Only in your daydreams.

“Oliver, hey,” you start, catching his attention. You offer your name. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” he says. “And it is lovely to meet you.”

BRB, swimming in the pools of those eyes…

“Excited for today?”

“Excited, yeah, definitely,” he laughs a little. “A few nerves, but good nerves.”

Your hand moves on its own to rest on his arm, an innocent gesture.

“As long as they’re good ones,” you smile sweetly. He lights up a bit at that, and there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room. But of course, Sugar has to reappear at this moment. Her arm slinks around his shoulders.

“We’re so glad you’re here with us today, Oliver,” she coos, “We’re going to have so much fun together.”

As Sugar pulls Oliver with her evil claws, the three of you move towards the photoshoot set, wherein you find a massive bed adorned with zebra-print sheets and a couple moody and provocative pieces of art on the walls.

“Alright, everyone,” calls the photographer, “time to drop the robes. Let’s make some magic!”

Sugar is the first to drop her silk covering, now fully on display for Oliver to see. The wardrobe department put her in a pure white lingerie bodysuit and matching white knee-high boots. Yes, yes, she looks fantastic, which is why you didn’t want to be paired with her for this in the first place. You had hoped maybe it could have been just a one on one with Oliver… But no. The higher-ups wanted a threesome for the fashion pages.

“It’s what the public wants,” they said. And who are you to argue with that?

All eyes are on Sugar, which includes Oliver, and that sparks a new level of jealousy within you. Now you have to even the playing field. Luckily, wardrobe decked you out in something even better, even sexier in your opinion. You undo the belt of your own robe and let it pool to the floor, revealing your drop-dead outfit - a black teddy that frames your breasts magnificently, complete with stockings, a thigh-length garter belt and black heels.

If it weren’t for Sugar dragging Oliver closer to the bed, you think he would have stood there in place for an undetermined amount of time, unaware he was ogling you. Point to you…

Sugar helps Oliver undo his robe (as if he needed help, leave the poor guy alone), and this is when you finally get to see his outfit - just a black mesh top and black trunks, exceptionally form-fitting, and have buttons going up the front of them.

Now you’re the one that can’t look away.

The photographer directs you all to get settled on the bed, both of you girls on either side of Oliver. You think you might be the only one who sees his chest rise and fall as he takes a calming breath.

Lights, camera... action.

After the go-ahead, you lean in to touch his shoulder and nestle in around his ear. He smells amazing, first of all, and you decide to plant a kiss below his earlobe. Maybe playing with his hair would look good for a shot too. Not because your fingers have always wanted to feel what his hair is like or anything.

It’s incredibly soft, though.

“Great, ladies,” the photographer tells you and Sugar, “now both you start nibbling where you are. That alright, Oliver?”

“Yeah,” the specimen says.

This only makes you wonder where Sugar is situated, and with a glance, you see that she’s lifting Oliver’s shirt a bit and has the hem of his underwear in her teeth. Tamping down the fire, you do your own bit of teeth-work and play with his ear. Oliver’s eyes have closed now. These pics are going to be stellar.

“Let’s lift that shirt up some more, Oliver.”

With your teeth grazing your bottom lip, you do the honours and curl your fingers into his black mesh shirt and tug. A deadly smirk winds onto his lips. You half-wonder if he pulls that look out in his actual bedroom… You return his sexy smile as if you’re really sharing this playfully intimate scene. The clicks coming from the camera are nonstop, filling the room. Clickclickclick.

“Gorgeous, gorgeous. Oliver, you know what? Can you take off your top? Let’s show some more skin.”

As if he remembers there is indeed a camera and its operator present, Oliver sheds his shirt in one smooth motion over his head. He stares into your eyes, and you see a spark. Starling City’s very own playboy tosses the garment to the floor to reveal his chiselled abdominal muscles.

Good Lord.

This really will be eye-opening for the public.

“Okay, (Y/N), get in there.”

You don’t have to be told twice. First, you let your hand rest on his chest and press your body against him. His arm snakes around behind you so that his hand falls to your waist. His fingers slide against the fabric of your black skimpy lingerie, but his warm palm is gracing the bare skin at your hip. Jesus, his hands are big. The fact that his other one is touching Sugar on his other side stirs the green-eyed monster inside you.

Definitely unprofessional.

Even though you don’t want to, you catch a glimpse of what Sugar is doing to him. Gah. She’s leaving lipstick-laden kisses to his pecs. Not. Okay.

“Turn your body a little more to the camera, (Y/N),” the photographer tells you, so you comply.

But something truly miraculous happens.

Oliver moves his head a little closer to you, reaching a finger under your chin to get you to look back at him. It’s a good thing you don’t live within a cartoon because you’d be that character where their heart beats animatedly up through their chest. Your mouth opens a bit, and now he’s staring at your lips…

Sugar, on the other side of him, is doing her best to try to pull his attention back to her. She wants him to look at her the way he’s doing with you. She wants him to touch her, but it’s like she doesn’t exist to him.

“Yes, perfect!” the photographer shouts. “More of that! You know what…? Sugar, honey, can you step out for a second?”

Your eyes go wide, while his narrow at you. You’re alone. With Oliver Queen. Dead sexy Oliver Queen. All to yourself.

Dreams do come true.

That underwear he’s got on has your full attention again. Honestly, these should make for some great photos… You let your hand glide down to where his V-muscles disappear below the underwear and let it linger there a bit.

“That’s great, (Y/N). Why don’t you play with a button?” And so, you play with the first button with your thumb and forefinger. That’s as far as you planned to go.

With your fingers, that is...

You are sure to look into his eyes, he’s fully invested in this now, whether it’s now his photoshoot persona or otherwise. You want to see if he trusts you, and he gives the slightest nod.

Then it’s like something possesses you - you’re now bending down to his chest on display to tease his nipple with your tongue.

Heavens above, the noise that escapes those perfect lips. There has never been a more beautiful melody that has been heard in this world. And you did that.

The next thing you know, you’re pinned to the zebra-print sheets with Oliver over top of you. Your chest is positively heaving, but yours is not the only one.

“Amazing, you two! I think that's a wrap on Oliver Queen for Plaything! This is going to sell millions, go viral, you name it. All of it!”

It’s over, already?

Please, no, can we just keep going?

You clear your throat, and Oliver moves up off of you, helping you up in the process.

“Well, that was…” he starts.

“Wasn’t it?” you finish breathlessly. You both are now standing in this private bubble of unresolved sexual tension that you cannot act upon. Just great. I’ll never see him again. I should just be thankful this happened.

“It was wonderful to work with you, Oliver.” You stick out your hand at a last-ditch effort for professionalism here. He’s kind enough to shake it. “What do you plan on doing next?”

The corner of his lip tugs upward slightly, and then he clears his throat.

“Oh, this and that,” he replies, “but more presently, I was thinking dinner. Care to join me?”

Somehow managing not to splutter nonsensical words, you manage to say, “I would love that.”

Loophole - you didn’t ask him.

“Great. I’ll have a car pick us up.”

“If you could possibly have them-”

“Use the back entrance? Consider it done.” There’s that famously charming Oliver Queen smile… “See you soon?”

All you can do is nod. You hold your breath when Oliver leans in close and whispers in your ear, “Why don’t you leave that on under your clothes, hm?” and retreats with a wink.

Yup. This lingerie will be ruined before the night is over one way or another.

[inkribbon796]

I’ve Got a Bad Feeling About This

Summary: The Sides weren��t always a poorly held together group of personality. They were once one man, and Thomas is trying to have fun with his friends until his whole sense of self literally falls apart.

A/N: It’s the Sides origin story I’ve been wanted to write for some time. Hope you guys like it.

It was a nice calm day, close enough to the start of Spring for people to call it that, but also far enough away that Thomas wasn’t quite thinking about his birthday.

Thomas was at his house for it, him and his friends. Joan was late, but Thomas was sure that it was traffic. They were watching Rent when Joan walked in, something hidden under their coat and a huge smile on their face.

“The real party’s here!” Joan called out, kicking the door closed.

“Where have you been?” Valery called out.

“So I was helping Rico move and he’s got all this weird stuff from his batshit crazy uncle and this looks awesome. They said I could have it.”

“Please tell me it’s not a sex toy,” Thomas pleaded.

Joan’s smile got wider, “No, sides I don’t want anything used. Nah, this is cooler. I think it might actually be haunted.”

“As if,” Valerie scoffed, as she leaned over to try and look underneath Joan’s coat. “What is it?”

Joan wiped off their coat like a show host, “Voila!”

Underneath Joan’s coat looked like a super old camera, or at least a replica of an old camera. While Thomas couldn’t remember the name of it, the camera looked like an accordion in the front and had a large lens. It was black with a spattering of what would have been blood if the coloring wasn’t a neon pink. The spattering for a split second looked like a mustache, but Thomas figured he was just seeing patterns where they didn’t exist.

“Is that a camera?” Thomas asked.

“Yeah it’s old,” Talyn asked. “But so what?”

Joan smiled as they started showing the hollowed out back of it. The thing was basically a hard metal shell. “Empty right?”

Joan held up the camera and started turning the crank, starting to film the first person in view, which happened to be Thomas.“Watch this fucking shit,” Joan said, and Talyn leaned their head in to get a closer look.

Then something shot out of the empty back of it, almost like an old projector. The film was grainy and seemed to be stuttering. Which Thomas was sure that A: that wasn’t how the camera was supposed to work; and B: there was nothing inside the camera to actually make it do that.

“How’s it doing that?” Thomas walked up to see the video on the way of himself, an entire rainbow of color lighting up his face and eyes, everything else was a color of dirt brown and grey.

“Don’t know, bet we could get at least something for this shit though.” Joan smiled. “Least it looks cute.”

Thomas tried looking at the inside of it, his hands about to take it from Joan’s when the camera began to shake violently and Joan dropped it, unable to hold onto it.

Moving before he could think, Thomas instinctively lunged for it.

People often try not to dwell on it, or wonder aimlessly about the last thoughts they’d have before they died. Thomas had never really been one of those people. Trying to focus on things important to him and focus on the good that people can do.

Oh no, it’s falling! Thomas thought in surprise. It was, unfortunately, the last conscious thought that “Thomas Sanders” would ever think ever again.

Thomas grabbed it, barely able to snag it from hitting the floor and for a millisecond he felt relief. However he didn’t have the chance to process that thought or even move it from it’s position before he felt a white hot flash of pain, stronger than anything he had ever experienced. His brain didn’t even have time to register that he was in pain.

Something in Thomas shattered, as if something inhuman had taken a stick and broken a mirror, the uneven and unequal pieces blasting out from around him. Light engulfed the room and he was left with the camera in his hands and everyone staring at him in shock and concern. His eyes almost purple, he was leaning back against the stairs.

The first thing this anxious fracture did, was drop the camera and start screaming, feeling overwhelmed and terrified that there were now six other copies of himself. All of them were wearing what Thomas had been wearing seconds ago. The anxious fracture’s head was filling with static, he couldn’t think, he could barely feel.

Everyone else in the room was either one of the dazed pieces, or were one of Thomas’s stunned friends who still had no idea what was happening.

One of the other fractures picked himself up, looking over at the anxious side’s crying and sobbing form, his voice starting to go hoarse from his screaming, and walked over from the spot he’d crashed down by the T.V. A rather mischievous glint in his almost glowing green eyes.

Reaching down he began shaking the anxious side, “Stop screaming!” He screeched right back, making the anxious side start screaming even more, which made the green-eyed side shake him and screech like a banshee.

“That’s not helping,” another side with yellow eyes groaned, hitting his head lightly against the door, his skin starting to crack along the left side of his face, flaking off to reveal snake scales. “Now they’re both screaming.”

“Not ideal,” another of the sides spoke up, a dark blue eyed side, his tone was almost flat and he’d crashed pretty heavily against the table legs. Joan was closer to him and they were just staring at the version of Thomas in front of them, torn between wanting to help and not knowing what to do.

When it was obvious that he was in pain, Joan looked at Talyn, “Get the first aid kit.”

“I am not grievously injured, merely stunned,” he forced out, clearly trying to get his body to work.

“Yeah,” Joan commented, “cause that’s what fine looks like.”

The green eyed Thomas whipped his head around, his screaming and shaking stopped dead as he immediately blurted out, “Your ass is fine!”

Now that his head was turned, Joan and the others could see that the two were changing like the one by the door was. It was slow, the purple fracture was steadily gaining dark shadows under his eyes, the skin looking paler by comparison until it was slowly making the natural freckles on Thomas’s face almost invisible. The fracture with Dark green eyes was now sporting a slightly curved mustache with dark shadows growing under his eyes as well.

“Thanks, I think,” Joan said.

Joan helped up the one with dark blue eyes, he seemed to be squinting at everything, as if it was hard for him to see. He braced himself against the table. “There was a box I had moments before, where is it.”

“I had it,” one of the other fractures still lying by the T.V said, his eyes a deep red.

“Impossible,” he responded, trying to look in the direction of the voice. Joan looked over at the counter where Thomas had put his glasses. Quickly they went around the table to grab it and handed it over to this new . . . Well Joan wasn’t sure if it was a copy or what but he didn’t talk like Thomas did.

“Oh thank you,” he commented and put them on finally able to see the room. “As it was obvious that I was the one who was holding the box.”

He froze when he saw the state of the room. “Fascinating.”

The fracture by the window that had been mostly silent up til now finally sat up, feeling his face with a look of confusion. His eyes a pale, almost glowing blue. “I don’t feel good.”

“Ahh,” the version of Thomas with his glasses looked over towards the stairs. The camera had fallen away from the two sides that had been screaming at each other. “There it is.”

He walked over and carefully picked it up, inspecting the empty camera interior. “However did it work?”

“Hey!” The mustached side shot up, clearly upset. “That’s mine!”

“Hardly.”

“Listen, Specs,” the red side huffed as he stood up, his legs a bit shaky. “It’s obvious that you’re not the real one, so just drop it.”

Then he summoned a sword with a golden hilt, pointing it at “Specs” and puffing up his chest. Everyone else in the room except for the two of them, and the green side, flinched or took a reflexive step back.

Specs looked at the sword, more curious than intimidated, adjusting his glasses with almost his whole hand. “Interesting. But still, I believe that you are the one who is mistaken. Put that away before you hurt yourself or someone else.

Joan out of the corner of their eyes saw the front door open but they didn’t want to take their eyes off the guy who had summoned a sword from thin air. Talyn was still in the kitchen, so by the fact that they weren’t screaming or gasping in shock or pain, Joan assumed everything was still fine.

The two of them continued arguing, the red side summoning up a shield. Between just the tree of the them, the argument getting louder and louder, there seemed almost this undercurrent of static. No one noticed it until it was too late.

“Stop,” a whimper from the stairs went unheeded by almost everybody, the anxious side seemed to curl in on himself, the static starting to pitch up. “Please, stop.”

The arguing just kept going but slowly more and he looked around for anything he could use, but all he could see was the other side in front of him, he was just staring down at his hands as if fascinated by them moving.

The feeling of isolation dug itself even deeper. It was too much, too loud. The anxious side began to hyperventilate, covering his ears. “Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!”

At his screams, he finally had attention drawn to him again. At his last more desperate scream, a wave seemed to pass over the room, a choking, heavy weight. Everyone was momentarily blinded for a second and there was a dull, muted THUD of a sword and metal shield hitting the carpet.

Then, blissful silence washed over the room. The only sounds was the anxious side’s heavy breathing.

Slowly that labored breathing was joined when the light blue side jumped up, eyes wide at what seemed to an outside observer to be nothing, but his back hit the wall. He began to brush an invisible presence off his arms. “Spiders! Spiders! Get them off, get them off!”

He was shaking, starting to cry in panic. Everyone else was frozen in fear, Talyn looked horrified and Joan looked like they were rearing back to kick at whatever invisible thing was in front of them.

There was a dull laugh from the couch, an uneasy one that sent shivers down the anxious side’s spine. This side had glowing orange eyes. “That’s fucked up.”

The first one to regain his composure, was the red side. He immediately picked up his sword, glaring at the anxious side. “You fiend! Release us this instant.”

Frantic to get away from the very angry man with a very sharp sword, he tried to scurry away but his back hit the stairs. He felt trapped, there was only the stairs to go to and the anxious side knew that he couldn’t escape up there. “I didn’t— I’m not—”

The red side lifted his sword, his eyes darting to the space around him but before he could actually get anywhere near the anxious side, a hand grabbed his and threw him away.

“That’s quite enough,” the yellow eyed side interrupted, multiple arms shooting out of him, immediately grabbing onto the anxious side and there was a flurry of sound and everything went staticky before finally everything settled and he had no idea where he was, just in a protective cocoon of arms, the noise mounting and clawing at the inside of his head. He was rolled into as tight of a ball as he could.

“I didn’t mean to,” the anxious side begged. “I’m sorry.”

Something landed on top of his head, and he flinched before he realized it was a hat.

“Stay here, stay quiet,” the yellow-eyed side ordered.

The anxious side nodded.

“If you make too much noise, they will find you Anxiety,” he ordered.

“Wait, what?” The anxious side answered but his rescuer was already gone. So all he could do was wait in the blissful, pure silence of wherever the hell park he was in, and pulled the hat down to cover his face.

All too quickly the silence was broken when the yellow eyed side returned with two more people, the mustached side and the one with orange eyes.

“I was having fun,” the green side scoffed as he was pushed closer to the anxious side. The final, mostly silent one just laid down on the ground.

“Hardly, you were about to get stabbed,” the yellowed eyed side smoothly took the hat off Anxiety’s head to put on his own head. “It seems we find ourselves in a very interesting place.”

“You dragged us out to the middle of nowhere,” the orange-eyed side scoffed.

“Unless that’s what you wanted,” the mustached side smiled, leaning a bit too close to the serpentine side. “So, Scales, what now?”

“Call me Deceit,” he corrected. “No sense in all of us being called “Thomas” now is there?”

“I never liked that name in the first place,” the orange side agreed.

“I want my name to be Dukey,” the mustache side blurted out.

“Why?” Anxiety demanded, deciding he liked the name that Deceit had given him, probably a bit too much. “Why that?”

“Cause it upsets you,” the Duke smiled.

While the two of them traded barbs, Anxiety made a little easier by the fact that the Duke’s volume was lower and no one else was joining it. He even had some personal space to breath.

Deceit walked over to the orange-eyed side, “And what should we call you?”

“Pffff,” the side scoffed. “I don’t know, call me Orange until I think of something.”

“Unimaginative,” Deceit critiqued.

“I didn’t need saving you know,” Orange looked up at him. “I was fine on the couch.”

“You really think those three are going to just let you sit around?” Deceit scoffed.

“Point,” Orange shrugged. “I’m taking a nap.”

“Anxiety, Duke,” Deceit called out, both of them stopped their bickering to look at him.

“What D-man?” The Duke smiled at him.

“It is apparently clear to me that the situation in the apartment would not have occurred if Anxiety’s discontent was noted sooner,” Deceit said.

“Discontent?” Anxiety repeated. “That’s what you’re calling it.”

“We’re going to make people listen to us,” Deceit proclaimed. “One way or the other.”

“Cool story, but how are we doing that?” Anxiety asked, not sure if he wanted to run into the other three again.

“Simple, I have some ideas, but I cannot accomplish our goals without help,” Deceit smiled, looking between the two sides standing in front of him.

Back at the apartment the logical side just stared at the light blue side, clearly unsure how to help the still panicking individual. He was rocking back and forth. Talyn had covered him in a blanket and they were trying to talk him out of his panic attack, the logical side had been trying to help but it seemed like everything that should logically work was falling a bit flat for him.

Joan was watching the door, not wanting a fifth part of Thomas to run off without keeping their eyes on him. “Hey, Specs, Prince is coming back.”

“Oh great,” he spat, looking towards the door as the red side walked in with his sword.

“I couldn’t find them,” the prince grumbled. “They all disappeared on me.”

The logical side stomped over and grabbed the prince by the front of his shirt. “You cannot leave me with him again, my words do not soothe him.”

“Let go of me,” the prince pushed him off. “The lovable Roman should never have to be subject to so much mistreatment.”

The response was so unexpected that it took the logical side by surprise, “What?”

“Yeah, you can’t treat me like that,” Roman proclaimed.

“No, I’ll get back to your proclivity to run off, but a mere five minutes ago you were proclaiming yourself as Thomas along with the rest of us,” the logical side was looking him up and down.

Roman shrugged, setting his sword on the table, the logical side gave Roman a rather sharp look at the action. Then Roman looked at the side still on the ground. “He okay?”

“No,” the logical side sighed. “You left him with me.”

Roman approached calmly, and in his hands appeared a Pomeranian puppy. “Hey, you like dogs?”

The light blue side stopped, transfixed by the dog the instant it appeared.

“We cannot possibly care for a pet at this time,” the logical side huffed.

“Grow a heart Mr. Roboto,” Roman told him.

“So fluffy,” the more emotion side’s eyes were almost sparkling, the puppy excitedly licking his face. “Good puppy.”

“See, he’s calm,” Roman boasted.

“So long as he is not given a live animal every time this happens,” the logical side was looking at the sword on the table. “Is that a real sword?”

“Yeah, why?” Roman asked. “Feels real to me.”

“Fascinating,” the logical side walked over and grabbed a pen from the nearby counter to start poking it.

“Hey!” Roman barked. “Back those claws up, Nerdy Wolverine.”

“None of those things are my name,” the logical side argued.

“Well you’ve never said your name,” Roman rolled his eyes, taking his sword back.

“I had a perfectly fine name,” the logical side argued back.

“If I don’t get to be Thomas, then you don’t either,” Roman argued back.

“What about Logan?”

Both Roman and the logical side looked at the light blue empathetic side who was standing with his new puppy, the blanket loosely draped over his shoulders.

“I beg your pardon,” the logical side said, his tone a bit cold.

“You know, cause you’re so logical and smart,” he grinned.

That seemed to calm the logical side down, whether it was from the words alone or the compliment. “Well, I am intelligent. Logan it is.”

“What about you buttercup?” Roman smiled.

“Ooh, ooh,” the light blue side bounced up and down. “Patton.”

“Why’s that?” Logan asked.

“Cause I’m Patton-ly adorable,” Patton smiled.

Joan began cackling, “I see someone got Thomas’s puns.”

Logan was glaring at him before something dawned on him, “Wait, did you make my name a pun as well?”

Patton’s smile got wider.

“No, wait,” Logan began to mentally backpedal. “I rescind, I will not have my name be a joke.”

“Too late,” Roman decided. “Logan it is.”

“Names, good,” Joan interrupted. “Roman, Logan, Patton. So can one of you tell me how my friend became seven people?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Logan answered, walking back over with Joan to the camera. “But I’ll make it my new life’s mission to find out.”

“What about the others?” Patton asked.

“What about them?” Roman scoffed and summoned a sheath to put his sword in.

“Shouldn’t we go out and find them?”

“You really want to tangle with the dragon?” Roman rolled his eyes. “Next we meet it will be blade versus blade in an epic duel of the fates.”

“Hey, Romeo, don’t know if we’re talking about the same person,” Valerie chimed in, “but chuckles on the stairs wasn’t exactly fighting back.”

“He could summon illusions,” Roman dismissed, “it was obviously an act.”

Patton frowned but smiled when he looked at the puppy in his hands. “Who’s a good boy? Are you a good boy?”

“We should come up with a name to call ourselves,” Roman decided. “How about Roman and his Merry Band?”

“Absolutely not,” Logan looked up from the camera. “That discussion should be tabled until we figure out what happened and restore ourselves to our true state.”

Roman groaned but turned back to Patton and his dog, smiling at them as he walked over, the two talking with Thomas’s friends as Logan and Joan looked over the camera.

A new peace fell over the room, as the new additions to the apartment began to settle in. They would all grow into their skin, their colored eyes changing back to Thomas’s normal brown and they’ have to find new ways to distinguish themselves between each other.

Joan in particular was quickly picking up that all three of them were slowly deviating, both from how Thomas usually reacted to things and acting very distinctly from each other. But every once in a while one of them would do something that would remind Talyn or Valerie of Thomas.

It took awhile for everyone to adjust, everyone working in their own way to figure themselves out. All the while the specter of “the Dark Sides” as Roman indelicately called them looked in the back of their mind. There was no noise from the four that had left the apartment, but Logan wasn’t as foolhardy as Roman to think they were gone for good.

He would make sure they were ready when they returned, and like Patton he hoped that the reunion would be pleasant. But Logan was braced for it not to be at the same time.

[pipesflowforeverandever]

Don’t- A Gingie and Snowy Good Omens AU Fanfic

This is a commission from my dear friend and co conspirator @aceofintuition to write us a good ol’ conflict fic of our favorite boys, Gingie and Snowy, in our favorite AU, the Good Omens one. It is, of course, heavily inspired by the relationship Aziraphale and Crowley have, but I tried to do my best to give it enough of a unique spin that the Joeys can call their own. 

Thank you so much for commissioning me!!! <3

Times like these were scarce. Moments in the midst of war where the smoke cleared, the earthquakes still, and the debris fell flat. They saw it with Moses once, and it was the only thing to compare. When their eyes locked, there was nothing else that mattered, nothing left in their way. Shameshriel felt his eyes shake in their sockets, and Snowy’s throat closed up like She Herself knew the way he looked at him. Surely, the demon believed, the fact She did not was proof enough that God either knew nothing, or that She simply did not care.

After all, he cared more for the angel than She ever could. That’s why he was his.

“Don’t,” Shameshriel would whisper, a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth in these times. The angel with black wings- fallen snow turned to ash- would listen to the other the other and know what this meant. “It’s dangerous,” Snowy could almost see him mouth, “It’s not to be.”

Comprehension is separate from acceptance.

Snowy might have been born in perdition, but even he understood there wasn’t something right about an angel holding himself back. But maybe it was just Shameshriel that wasn’t right. Snowy had seen other celestials; robotic, gloaty fuckers. Not a lick of humility till they pretended they really minded the lady upstairs.

This angel was different.

“Don’t-” today’s ‘don’t’ came from coy lips under hooded eyes, “-Call me that, dear.”

All Snowy had was a snort, snake eyes locked onto golden ones for the brief second the other turned his head. The demon took it in stride whenever he could, these instances of denial. “Or what, Ginger?” he repeated the nickname with a toothy smirk as the redhead with silky, white wings trusted his feathers to be groomed by the miscreant he turned his back to. Snowy could swear that like his name, they were made of light. “What, in the devil’s name, could you possibly do to stop me?”

He wished he could say that about other things.

Unbeknownst to him, his “Ginger angel” had begun to frown in thought. Snowy was almost surprised to have won, for once, until Shameshriel muttered a reply in a voice so pleasant that there had to be a bit of a bastard in it.

“Or we won’t talk this this anymore!” It was emphasized with a flick of the wing tip Snowy had his fingers in, the angel not even glancing back at his affronted face. “No more grooming, dear, no more tea, no more-…more-…”

Snowy’s heart quietly raced. He both loved and feared when Gin couldn’t find what he had to say. It meant he was feeling something that would knock him to the floor.

“…More socializing!” he finally decided upon like the word was bitter on his tongue, both wings stretched behind his back, making the demon fall over so his rough palms caught him on the wooden floorboards. But the feathers soon relaxed with another expression Snowy couldn’t spot from there- regret- but that he could guess. So, he wiped his face with his sleeve, pushed up sunglasses, and laughed.

His mouth tasted like the dust of the angel’s attic, the scent of old books and elderly flowers that Gin insisted didn’t want to take the sunlight of the young in the downstairs windowsills.

“You’re the one that told me, darlin’, that y’ never get a friend to groom your wings up in heaven!”

“Well, I never asked you to do it either!”

Snowy was so sensitive to his angel- his every subtle shift in tone, body language, expression- the change in his voice and what it could mean. There was something to this in that…bite at the end. Another “don’t.” So his smile faded, and his arm was slowly put limp onto his lap, fingers fidgeting in the anxiety-inducing quiet.

“…It’s…a good name for ya, Gin… ‘Gin.’” The demon spoke more gently than usual- or as the angel would say, more snakelike, especially with this dare of a statement- with his eyes flickering beneath the shades indoors at the silhouette of the person ahead. He liked to think they were friends.

He liked to think they could be, despite things.

At first, Snowy believed it to just be the nature of being a thing crawled out of hell- that he could just…want to tease heavenly beings with no excuse except for the fun that came out of it. But it had been 6000 years, and it turned out there was only one annoying little creature of holy light he kept coming back to play with. Must have been a remnant of who he was before the fall…

…But it was still enough to worry there was evil in it, roots to the rest of his damned essence. That whatever could still connect him and his angel…might just be rotten to the core.

And who was he to drag him down, too?

As he was pondering these thoughts, something was said that raised his pupils and constricted them more.

“I know what it means, you know.”

Snowy gazed ahead, the curve of pale wings lined by the yellow sunlight of the window his angel faced. His own were spread behind him, over the piles of books. Gin said they were old, but Snowy had seen him angry enough the last time he shoved them over “by accident,” and so his own speckled black feathers were cautious in their spread, not so much as disrupting a single page. Shameshriel crossed his arms and rolled his shoulders tight.

“…It’s a demon name, isn’t it?”

Snowy raised a brow. “Beg your pardon?”

“It’s the name I’d have if I was a demon…like you.”

Snowy got up to his feet, eyes wide. He wouldn’t look back- why wouldn’t he look back?-

“Gin-”

“NO!” And the angel shot up too. The demon was accustomed to things escalating quickly, but never quite this fast. It gave Snowy goosebumps that no torture could. “We can’t keep doing this, darling! We CAN’T!”

And those pearly wings were wrapped around as if to protect himself, a finger pointed in the demon’s face with a snarl on his lips.

Tears in his eyes that kept Snowy from doing the same.

“Gin…-“ Snowy tried to call for him again, the word escaping him before he could stop it.

“Don’t!” And the angel threw his palms to his sides, open and begging.

But Snowy had been begging for years.

“DON’T WHAT?!” he finally broke, but still couldn’t feel his teeth sharpen as they did when he wanted to be feared. That never worked on Gin, as much as he would pretend. No, Snowy wanted to be heard. It had been 6000 years, and for what? No. “Don’t…give you what you want?! Be there for you when you want your damn back scratched?! Make sure the delivery man doesn’t forget your paper?! Watch your flowers on vacation?! What in God’s name did GOD EVER DO FOR YOU?!”

And by the time he was finished shouting, his gasps for air still light on his tongue, he realized that once again, the devil in him wanted to speak before his brain could stop it. These were all the smallest of examples, but they conveyed their eternity; Snowy had fallen, and he never would ask Shameshriel to as well just so indulgence was a bit less guilt inducing, but he had always pined for the day Ginger would look back at him from over his shoulder and admit that maybe a world where they couldn’t be friends either did exist, or that they would make it happen even if the apocalypse would come to be. Snowy did give him a demon’s name; he had just begun to say it instead of whispering when he couldn’t hear.

The demon was letting himself fall to a place neither heaven nor hell wanted to be.

Oh no.

Oh no, no no-

Snowy put his hands out, his jaw dropped in fear, but it was already too late. With a grimace and hooded eyes, he witnessed that he had made his angel cry.

“DON’T!”

The redhead quivered inside out till it shook his voice, had his foot stomp the floor, and made his fists close so hard that the shreds of control he had left couldn’t fall. Behind his glasses, Gin’s irises were like sunshine- glittery, magical, and oh so very harsh onto Snowy’s own icy eyes.

“…Please…” his angel pleaded, the window a fiery halo, “Please don’t say you love me…” He shook his head. “You don’t understand! I can’t do it all over again…!”

His brown hands seemed to shine with his angel’s glow, golden on the knuckles as they were frozen midair, reaching and not yet touching, observant but having no idea what he could do. His hands…they felt infected.

But…his voice-

“Again?” he whispered.

-His voice spoke before he touched.

And slowly, the demon felt radiance slide slowly up and down his body, feeling as if Gin’s stare alone could reach right back and drag a fingertip over his skin. It was familiar, somehow, even though he’d never let himself be touched that way- not by an angel.

Almost like his words alone came out to Gingie, too, the ginger tilted his head as if a hand was there to caress it. Should he admit it?

He already did, in Snowy’s eyes. He had loved and lost before- no other way you could get hurt like that in your eyes. Then, that was when a hand really was there to hold him, when Snowy saw his reflection in the tears of his angel’s eyes.

“An…angel?” Snowy guessed. He couldn’t imagine Gin letting a mere human get so close. No one that hardly breathed a few decades could handle the complexity of an angel’s love.

With his pulse racing, Shamashriel nodded.

It stopped entirely when Snowy stopped frowning and began to smirk.

“It’s a good thing, then, I still don’t have a halo to lose.” Snowy blinked, patient, adoration turning his voice thick like syrup. “And I don’t plan on letting y’ lose yours when there’s no reason to.”

The redhead felt his lips part with nothing left to say.

“Not when all you’ve done is love me, too.”

There were precisely two reasons Snowy fell from heaven.

They were the same two reasons that he loved more than God.

And in a distant memory, Shameshriel could still see a blue-eyed angel holding his cheek, affectionately calling him his “Ginger angel” as the third in their romance teased from afar. She was trapped in heaven, not even able to reach as she watched him fall, and then she saw her other angel secretly tumble after.

And even if Snowy didn’t remember, Ginger could never forget.

[darkpoisonouslove]

“Your Call”

Summary: Valtor is after a powerful enchantment that will force him to face the most dangerous challenge he's ever encountered. Will that be enough to deter him from his pursuit of power or will it simply make the hunt more interesting? Siren AU. Part 1 of “Love Can Be a Trap That Sets You Free”.

In her review of my previous Valtor/Griffin fic @her-majesty-wears-jeans mentioned siren in relation to Griffin and my brain immediately jumped on the Siren AU train. So here is the Siren AU that nobody asked for but I hope you'll enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it. (Seriously, this was so much fun to write!)

Valtor assessed the entrance of the cave. It looked open and unprotected, and ready to lead him to the enchantment he was seeking. A fool would’ve run straight into it, lured in by the promise of unparalleled power. But Valtor was no fool. The mere fact that he’d gotten this far proved it. The location of the cave had been hidden behind countless riddles and obstacles that he’d smashed right through, determined to lay his hands on what could possibly be the greatest treasure of all. It would be his no matter how much patience and resources he had to exhaust.

He summoned a ball of magic and crouched, ready to dodge if necessary. He threw it at the entrance of the cave, but it was blocked and dispersed by the shimmering net of yellow that revealed itself. Pesky fairy dust. He’d be damned if he ever let that of all things stop him. Especially now that he was so close to getting the one tool that could make all his desires come true.

His own magic was useless against the barrier–as proven–since it was meant to repel all dark magic and his Dragon Fire was as black as the coals it left behind. Luckily, he’d stolen some spells for rainy days.

He used the oppositus spell he’d stolen not long ago, robbing an entire planet of its defining trait, on the barrier itself. It was neither light, nor dark magic in essence and provided him with the perfect way to override the otherwise effective defense system.

The bright yellow turned into dark purple that hurt the eyes and looked like it would jump at you and wrap around you tight enough to suffocate you. But to Valtor it was the color of victory. He threw another ball of power at it, causing it to tear and fall to the ground, dissolving into the grass. It was where useless dust belonged anyway.

Now that that was out of the way, he could take a good look at the cave. Well, actually, he couldn’t since it was engulfed in darkness that started right at the line of the entrance even though the sun was supposed to shed some light on the first few meters, at least. But where magic was involved, nature was powerless. And when he obtained the enchantment he was after, everything and everyone would be powerless against him.

He conjured a magical sphere that would follow him and float around him no matter where he went and captured a flame of his Dragon Fire inside it. Light seemed secured but when he pushed the sphere into the darkness of the cave, the flame was immediately extinguished. This was proving to be a challenge which would only make the reward sweeter.

He considered his options. Not that there were many. He couldn’t go back now. So he had to figure out a way to keep the flame intact. Separated from its source, it could be extinguished, indeed. The problem carried the solution in itself.

Valtor cut off a strand of his hair and put it in the sphere before lighting the fire in it again. It carried the essence of the Dragon Fire and would keep it burning.

And indeed, when he extended his hand forward, the sphere dispersed the darkness and allowed him to see the place of his greatest conquest yet. It was an ordinary cave with no remarkable features except for the darkness which hid its ugly plainness. He hoped the rest of his journey wouldn’t be quite so underwhelming.

He stepped inside and felt the space behind his back close in on him. When he looked back, there was nothing but darkness. Gone were the clearing in front of the entrance and the stone walls he’d just seen. He was walking in darkness, stepping on darkness, surrounded by darkness. There was nothing but darkness and him. He’d be scared if they weren’t old friends, if it weren’t flowing through his veins and allowing his lungs to take in air, to take in life.

He walked. And walked. And walked. And all he was getting to was more darkness. It was just the next obstacle on the road. It was a spell that manipulated space, making it stretch out before you until you forgot your destination because you were getting nowhere. And you couldn’t be nowhere so it brought you back at the last place you could remember before you could lose your mind. The moment his mind formed the word “nowhere”, he’d be spat back at the entrance, forced to begin the process all over again. Well, he wasn’t planning on doing that. His mind was set on his goal and his secure steps were taking him right there. His desire to claim his prize was burning in him stronger than the tiredness.

His determination never wavered, and neither did the flame in his sphere. It brought him to a small passage in the rocks. The same rocks he’d seen at the entrance. He cast a glance over his shoulder to see the sun drenched clearing just a cast behind him. He grinned at himself. That sight almost made even him feel like it’d been all for naught. And it was so much better than the derision which the miniature hole in the stone brought about. As if that could pass as a challenge.

He turned into a rabbit that was just big enough to go through and hopped through the hole, his sphere following him and revealing devastating beauty before his eyes.

The place was full of silver flowers with fine petals that reflected the soft light reaching them and created a glowing aura. It was magical in every sense of the word and carried a quiet strength that was so breathtaking, it would be a shame to step all over them.

Valtor considered passing through the field of flowers as he was – a little rabbit that was light and small enough to go between the stems without causing any damage. He was already in rabbit form anyway. It wouldn’t cost him anything.

Caught up in his thoughts, he only noticed the bugs approaching him when they attacked him. They were almost as big as him and attached themselves to his front and back. Two were enough to hold him down but they kept piling on top of him, threatening to crush him underneath their weight. He tried to shake them off since he couldn’t use his magic in that form but he couldn’t move. Their reddish brown bodies were like a rusty armor that would not allow any movements. And it looked like their carapaces were resistant to magic because he couldn’t transform back. His magic was trapped into his body which, in turn, was trapped between the bugs with no option of escape.

He summoned the sphere with the Dragon Fire to hover over the bugs and willed the fire to burn as brightly as possible. It seemed to do the trick for they got off of him and he was human again in no time, running straight into the field of deceitful beauty.

The moment he crushed the first flower, the grass seemed to come to life with its tiny sickly green tendrils reaching for anything that wasn’t fast enough to get out of their way. They swallowed up the silver stems and tore apart the delicate petals with sadistic passion. But their appetite–just like them–seemed ever growing for they grabbed for Valtor, too, wrapping around his boots in an attempt to hold him down. He used his magic to ward them off, but they kept plaguing the place, growing with every stem of silver they devoured.

In his haste to get past them, Valtor almost stepped on a snake that was lounging amidst the massacre with decided indifference. It was beyond him how he didn’t see its deep purple scales in the sea of green, but he’d missed it all the same, busy with the killer plants.

It hissed at him before diving towards him to bite him, its fangs sharp enough to go through his boots and full of magical poison.

He managed to dodge by throwing himself on the ground that was still covered with monstrous grass. It snaked around him with a clear intent to kill while the snake watched, its tongue coming out of its mouth as if it could taste his defeat and its eyes in the same sickly green as the grass that was currently putting enough pressure on him to break his bones.

For a moment it crossed his mind that the snake was controlling the grass–its manic stare would be proof enough–but he brushed the thought off. It would take a greater power than a glorified magical lizard to bring him down to his knees. Or in this case – sprawled on the ground and cornered by grass.

His blood started boiling and he allowed the pulsing energy to radiate off of him, emitting unbearable heat in the air via his magic that cooked the grass and forced the snake to retreat. He was quickly on his feet and ran after it to see it crawl into the still waters of the lake that he hadn’t noticed up until now.

No wonder, really – the waters were as black as the soil and the only thing he could see was the green glow of the snake’s eyes under the surface. Its movements indicated for a very steep slope that went down almost vertically. One step in the water and he’d be completely submerged.

That was not the best news for someone whose magic was fire-based. Even if he had the Dragon Fire. But he knew he had to dive if he wanted the enchantment. There was nowhere else for it to be hidden and the snake’s choice of a hiding place was further proof.

As he contemplated his approach, a loud flapping of wings startled him. He looked up only to lock eyes with what he would’ve mistaken for a giant hummingbird if not for the solid beak and intelligent eyes. No, what was looking back at him form a niche high up in the wall with yet another pair of glowing green eyes was a crow. A crow with purple and green glittering feathers. It was magical. Just like everything else he’d seen in the cave of wonders. Wonders that were trying to kill him.

The moment the crow extended its wings, Valtor summoned his magic, ready to defend himself. He wouldn’t be caught off guard again. And the feeling of power in his fingers reminded him just how much above these magical beasts he was.

The crow flew straight for him, dodging the magic he threw at it, and used its beak to tear a single hair from Valtor’s head before making a turn and flying back over the lake. It dropped the hair in the water and returned to its niche before Valtor could even attack it again. So much for his previous thought.

He almost missed the movement in the water while trying to stare into the crow hard enough to decipher its bizarre behavior. Two fingers showed from beneath the surface to grab the hair and disappeared again without leaving a trace in the water that was still as a rock again. They did leave his curiosity piqued, though, and his heart thumping loudly in anticipation. He would finally get to see who was the puppeteer of that beautiful, yet, hostile ecosystem.

A wave of magic swept over him and he looked at the water that was hellbent on keeping its secrets and gave nothing away. He didn’t have to wait much longer, though, for the water finally moved to make space for the creature emerging from its depths.

She had long light purple hair that fell over her breasts, protecting them from his greedy gaze, and a fish tail in a darker shade of purple, the scales looking exactly like those of the snake. He’d thought her to be a mermaid if it weren’t for her eyes. They reflected so much of the light that they were glowing and were molten gold in color – the shade of the sky during sunset. And how fitting that was since that was exactly what they were made to watch – the sunset of people’s lives.

She was a siren whose only purpose was to lure everyone who walked into the cave to their death to protect the powerful magic hidden in her domain. A purpose rather lowly for a magnificent and powerful creature like her. Her skin had a pale green glow to it – the same glow as the eyes of the animals and the grass. They were her creations just like the flowers that were growing between the scales of her tail and were sustained by the magic of her body. One of them tore away and used its leafs to swim over to a rock where it attached itself and started developing a root system that soon covered everything it could reach. The place where the flower had been growing on her had the color of her skin but quickly turned purple and extended over the scales beneath it, turning into another one of them when it was touched by the water.

And in the skin of her abdomen, below her breasts, was embedded what could only be a key. A golden key that kept the enchantment he was looking for safe into her grasp. The irony was so sweet he could laugh. The only way to get your hands on the one magic that could make anyone do as you desire was to resist the temptation of the siren. And if you failed, you’d have to do as she desired of you for the rest of your decidedly short life.

Oh, but Valtor wanted more than just the magic. He wanted the siren. For she was made of pure magic. He could feel it radiating off of her skin. It was so powerful that it lured him in closer, right to the edge of the lake. One more step and he’d fall in her embrace. He wanted to. He wanted her. She had to be his for he wanted her more than the enchantment he’d come for.

“Welcome to my lake,” she spoke with a voice as deep as the ocean.

“That was a very warm welcome I got there,” Valtor said, unable to take his eyes off of her, afraid she might disappear back under the water that he couldn’t see through. The mere thought tasted bitter like failure.

“It wards off those who do not deserve my attention,” she explained and he ate up every single word formed by her voice. It was like music to his ears and he never wanted to listen to anything other than that magical sound. “I can grant every wish. You don’t even have to say it. Just think about it and it’s yours.”

Valtor almost didn’t think of the enchantment, his mind full of all that she was, his senses overloaded with perceiving everything that she did. He couldn’t function without her at his side anymore. He had to have her. “What’s the price?”

The corners of her mouth twitched up. “A simple kiss,” she said, causing his mind to stop working altogether. Kissing her would be like tasting magic in its purest form. No will was strong enough to resist that. Not that he wanted to.

“I believe we have a deal,” he knelt down to level himself with her. Suddenly, the steep bottom of the lake seemed like a blessing for it allowed her to come close enough to touch, close enough to kiss.

He buried his hands in her long purple hair that had been dry the moment she’d shown her head above the water and pulled her closer.

She clutched at his clothes, keeping him in place as she stole the breath out of his lungs, her soul trying to drown his. It was a common misconception that sirens didn’t have souls. But they did. They had souls like the ocean and once you got lost in their waves, you lost your soul to the siren and she could make you do her bidding. And right now her ocean was fighting to extinguish his flames.

Part of him wished to let her do it. Just lose himself into the incomprehensible waves of her power, into the ocean of magic that she was. But that way she would have him. And that was every bit as different from him having her as their core elements. So he had to resist the urge to give in and keep his fire burning.

His oxygen was running low, though, and if he didn’t pull away, he would die. But if he did pull away, he would die, too. If he broke the kiss, he’d be hers and she’d mark him with the first letter of her name–all too tempting a possibility since the power of the ocean was captured in every siren’s name and it was written in the language of the waves that no human could understand–using water to carve it into his skin like the waves carved holes into rocks. And she would only stop when the water was spilling down his throat and making his lungs burn for air that would never come.

He discarded his gloves, letting them fall into the water, and moved his hands to her neck, covering the gills located there. The feeling of her bare skin under his palms was so heady that he would never let her go. He concentrated all of his power into sucking the oxygen out of her body and into his. He felt it flowing through his blood and towards his brain, helping him stay focused. He could feel it affecting her, too, for she slowed down in her fervor and it wasn’t long before she was pulling away. And that was how the fire triumphed over the might of the ocean.

He gasped for breath, yet yearned only for her, and the only thing that calmed his frantic heart was the knowledge that she was his and he would never let her go.

He had to pull his hand away from her neck when he felt her skin burning under his fingers. There, next to the gills, appeared an elegant v burnt into her skin. Her own magic was marking her with his initial because she was his now. And he was certain he’d never seen anything more beautiful than the look on her face.

She was looking at him as if he was her everything. And he was. He meant more to her than the ocean now.

Without a word she dived into the lake to get what he’d come for. Though now he had a problem. Or at least he thought so before he saw the scales of her tail going all the way up her spine and into her hair. It was a physical expression of the ocean woven into her soul that linked her to the water. But she was faithful to him now.

She soon emerged with a shell in her hands and nothing more than a pale scar where the key had been nestled into her skin.

He pocketed his enchantment and pulled the real pearl up on the shore. He put a hand between her breasts and willed his fire to burn and force all the water out of her soul.

Her face scrunched up in pain but she held still for that was his will. Her scales started to lose color and retreat back, turning into human skin cells. Her tale separated into two legs that would allow her to walk together with him and her gills closed, leaving no sign of ever existing. The edges of the mark on her neck got distorted and made it look like an ugly wound rather than the elegant brand that it was. And her eyes lost their bright glow, turning a shade tamer as if the sun had already set on their sky. Gone was the adoring look, too.

He hoped he hadn’t overdone it. He knew he had. Or maybe that was just the price for taking away a part of her soul. He couldn’t be her ocean if she didn’t have one engraved into her being. He also might have burned away enough of the spell that made her his to give her free will. But he had the enchantment now so losing her was not a problem he had to worry about. She’d be his one way or another.

He made her a dress in the same dark purple that her tail had been and helped her up. He supported her until she got stable enough for him to let go of her and allow her to deal with the killer grass that had almost stopped him on his way to her and had grown back even though he’d destroyed it. But now that he had her, it wouldn’t be a problem. Nothing would be.

She raised her hands and the green glow of magic that came out of them made the grass retreat back into the soil, leaving the path clear for their passage.

The crow cawed inconsolably but she silenced it with a single motion of her hand. Valtor wasn’t even certain if she’d used magic. But the crow didn’t try to interfere and passively watched them go. The life of the lake was nothing without her.

She smashed to pieces the wall that had forced him to shapeshift before with the violent purple energy coming out of her hands.

“Come, Griffin,” he offered her a hand and gave her a new name. She was his now and her name had to reflect that. The griffin was a powerful and majestic animal with wings strong enough to keep up with a dragon. The perfect partner.

She took his hand and he walked out of the cave not only with his life and the enchantment, but also with a powerful partner who would follow him into the fire.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

"No Dad, you're not coming and that's final!" Hamliza with their stubborn yet wonderful kids!!

Yet again, you give me an amazing prompt! I hope you like this, its Alex and AJ being adorable.

“Just let him sleep there; its okay, Ican keep an eye on him.”

Alex had known he was going to end upregretting his words; that it was probably going to end up with these casenotes definitely not getting completed like they absolutely needed to be. But Elizahad been reading to little AJ on the sofa in his office, letting their youngestgently drift off in her arms while she cooed to him softly and played with hismop of dark hair (though he wasn’t going to be the littlest Hamilton for verylong, if Alex and Eliza’s plans worked out). And he just looked so unbearablycute, his sweet little heart shaped face relaxed for once, that when Eliza was aboutto leave to do some of her own work, Alex offered.

Which he knew he was going to end upregretting, before the words even left his mouth. Because as relaxed and calmas their little son was, he was AJ. And AJ was never asleep for long.

So Alex wasn’t terrifically surprisedwhen, without any warning, a fluffy little head suddenly appeared between hislegs, jumping up from under his desk.

“Pops!” his little four-year-old sonyelped delightedly, as usual going from flat out to wide awake in seconds.  

Alex grinned widely, “Well hello there,little man. Finished your nap, huh?”

AJ wriggled up onto his dad’s lap, “Yeah.Not sleepy. Wanna play.”

Alex sighed, kissing his youngest’s messof fluffy, jet-black hair that he could already tell was going to grow intosomething very similar to his own. In fact, there was an awful lot of himselfin little AJ, in his boundless energy and his dark eyes that always seemed tobe sparking with some kind of light, his hooked nose with a light dusting offreckles, his crooked smile. He and Eliza had chosen well in which kid had hisfather’s name.

“I can’t play right now, AJ,” Alex explained,“I’ve got work to do.”

That didn’t go down well with his fouryear old, he started to pout unhappily, “But Pops’ been working for forever. I wanna play explorers again!”

Alex’s mouth twitched up into a smile atthe memory of a few nights ago where he, Pip, Angie and AJ had built amakeshift camp in the living room and roamed the wild jungles of the apartment,fighting off giant leeches (Alex’s socks), swimming through the swamp (crawlingaround under the duvet of their bed), swinging through the vines (Alex throwingthem in the air) and eventually finding the lair of the beautiful earth goddess(Eliza, smiling bemusedly as her children piled on her, crowing in triumph). Ithad been a lot of fun.

“I know, mijo, I know. But this reallyneeds to get finished, it’s important,” Alex sighed before stiffening, quicklycorrecting himself, “Not that you aren’t important, sweetheart, I-I just…”

He huffed, frustrated, his rambling loston his little boy, who was idly fidgeting with one of the buttons on his overalls,not really listening. He kept writing, with the hand that wasn’t holding AJsafe on his knee. Maybe if he worked fast, he’d have time to play later…

“What does Pops do?” AJ asked after awhile, unable to stay quiet for very long. Just like his father.

Alex chuckled, his pencil not droppingit’s pace, “Pops is a lawyer, mijo.”

“A lawyer,” AJ repeated, swinging hischubby little legs thoughtfully, “Whassat?”

“Well, a lawyer is someone who arguesfor a living,” Alex smiled, using his wife’s playful way of describing hisprofession, “People go to court when they’ve been bad, right? And my job is toargue whether they should be punished or not. Like solving a puzzle.”

AJ considered that for a few moments,one hand snaking up to tug lightly on Alex’s long, dark hair like he alwaysdid; he was very tactile. Alex didn’t mind, it calmed his little boy down.

“You must be real smart,” he chirped.

Alex tilted his head, grinning smuglyand shrugging, glowing with his son’s praise, “Well, I know how to use my brain,buddy.”

“That’s really, really cool,” the littleboy nodded, twisting his dad’s hair in his little fingers, “I wanna be alawyer. Like my Pops.”

Alex’s heart thudded against his ribswith pride; he couldn’t do anything for a long moment except bury his face inAJ’s hair and try not to cry.

He really loved being a dad.

“Well, you’re definitely clever enough,”he chuckled, giving AJ another kiss, “I’m sure you’ll make a brilliant lawyer.”

“Pops gonna be proud of me,” the littleHamilton said brightly, sounding absolutely certain. He usually did, he had theeasy confidence of a four year old.

Alex’s bottom lip wobbled, he droppedhis pencil entirely and wrapped his arms around his youngest tightly. AJsqueaked in surprise but he returned the hug as best he could, snuggling intohis Pops eagerly.

“You already make me so proud, AJ,” Alexmurmured gently, “Every single day.”

AJ giggled happily, squirming out of hisdad’s tight embrace a little so he could breathe again. He blinked his darkbrown eyes at him hopefully.

Alex melted in seconds, “You know what?I can finish this later. Lets go set up basecamp, huh?”

AJ gasped and whooped in delight,squirming down and taking his dad’s hand, pulling him out of the office, a lotstronger than his size would suggest. Alex’s smile lit up his whole face,letting himself be tugged along, the sound of his son’s laughter meaning moreto him than anything.

He’d decided what was important.

-

“Dad you’re not coming and that’sfinal!” AJ’s voice was tired, sick of explaining this to his father for themillionth time that night.

Alex nearly dropped his fork, his jawdropping. He looked between his namesake and his wife, “Is he serious, Eliza?Did our third born just say what I thought he said?”

Eliza gave him a gentle smile, restingher chin on her hand, “Sweetheart? He’s twenty-five, he’s not thirteen. If hedoesn’t want you to go…?”

Alex gaped in horror at her, “Traitor.”He spun back around to AJ, who was starting to regret coming over to hisparents’ for dinner, even if the food was way, way better than the energy drinkand handful of skittles he usually had for dinner now he’d moved out, “It’syour first case, AJ! Of course I’m going, I want to cheer you on!”

AJ pulled a face, an exaggerated shiverrunning down his body, “For God’s sake, Pops! It’s a courthouse; it isn’t myhigh school spring musical! You don’t cheer me on!?”

Alex blinked, looking offended, “But Iwant to! I’m really proud of you! Why wouldn’t I come and support you?”

Eliza’s hand came and gently threadedher fingers through her husbands, her voice soft, “Honey?”

His eyes turned to her, confused, notunderstanding what the problem was. But Eliza raised an eyebrow, an entireconversation flickering between their eyes, years and years of being married lettingthem communicate without opening their mouths. And after a few moments Alexrelaxed and sighed, turning back to his son.

AJ stared defiantly back at him. Hereally had grown into the image of his father, though of course less gaunt,naturally happier, with a much easier smile and relaxed nature than Alex hadever had at that age. And for that, Alex was more thankful than he had wordsfor.

“AJ, listen, its okay to be nervous,” hesaid quietly, “You’ll be great, I know you will.”

His son turned defensive, blushing andducking his dark eyes, one of his usual snarky comments right there on hislips. But it never came, his skinny shoulders just relaxed, slumping in defeatinside one of the oversized cable knit sweaters he always wore.

“You don’t know that, Pops. I could fuckit up completely,” AJ grumbled under his breath.

Within a heartbeat, Eliza had theirson’s left hand in her’s; Alex had his right, their expressions of concern andlove mirroring each other exactly. Eliza didn’t ask for any money for the swearjar, not right now, over the years AJ had given more than enough.

“You’ve worked so hard, mijo,” Alex saidfirmly, “You’ve earned this.”

Eliza’s voice was warm and loving,“You’re going to do so well, Alexander. We know you will.”

AJ swallowed hard and talked quickly,deliberately not looking at either of his parents but he held their hands back,“I just…do you see why I might not want one of the top lawyers in the country,who happens to be my father, hovering while I make my very first case? Just incase I disappoint him?”

There was a long moment before Alexanswered, his voice trembling gently with emotion, thinking back to when he’dbounced that little boy on his knee and felt his heart threaten to burst withpride, “AJ, you’re my son. I love you. What could you possibly do to disappointme?”

“You guys,” AJ groaned, back to his oldself, taking his hands back and crossing his long arms over his chest, “Comeon. This is why I don’t come round here anymore.”

Eliza laughed, leaning against Alex’sshoulder; “You’ve been here at least twice a week since you moved out, honey.You’re not fooling anyone.”

“Only so I don’t starve,” AJ grumbledbut there was a definite smile in his eyes.

“So…” Alex raises his eyebrowshopefully, “Can I come sit in on your session tomorrow?”

AJ wrinkled his nose and groaned indefeat, “Fine. You can come.”

Alex’s face split into a wide grin andhigh fived Eliza, ignoring how his son sank lower in his chair until he slidright onto the floor, though he reached up to take his bowl of spaghetti withhim.

“But you’re not allowed to cheer!” hewarned, his voice slightly muffled, “And no interrupting! And no crying! And nomaking a big deal of it in front of my colleges!”

Alex just rolled his eyes, pressing hislips to the top of Eliza’s head, “Yeah, yeah, yeah…as long as I get to come andsee my boy, I don’t care.”

“And you’re not allowed to make a sign!”

“Damn it…” Alex growled.

 -

AJ did well, of course he did, he wasAlexander Hamilton Jr. He did brilliantly.

Hence why the rest of the people presentin the courtroom were slightly surprised to see him, barreling through thecorridor at top speed, closely pursued by the former Treasury SecretaryAlexander Hamilton who was loudly yelling, “GET BACK HERE AND LET ME HUG YOU!”

They decided not to ask questions,however.

[eeee-lye]

Fic: No Man (n)or Woman

(Darius and Tes are trans, autistic magicians. Tes is agender, aro and ace; hir neurodiversity extends to anxiety. Darius is polyamorous, arovague and pansexual; his neurodiversity extends to partial seizures, hallucinations and severe depression. This story shows the Defiantly Platonic Adventurers they’ll become in Kit March.)

Word count: 2140 words.

Content advisory: An exorsexist prophet. Self-harm, hallucination and suicidal ideation mentions. Use of the word “madness” to describe a person with mental illnesses in a way that is ableism-coded but meant as a literal statement of fact and isn’t a negative quality of the character in question.

Summary: Darius’s history gives him the upper hand in the art of hunting eldritch creatures, but a certain prophecy might involve Tes—despite hir feelings on the matter of bladed combat.

AN: This probably isn’t going to be canon; I wrote it for fun because, as an agender writer, I had to play with the “gendered prophecy loophole” trope. If it is, it occurs somewhere in the second book when, for reasons I won’t yet disclose, Darius and Tes are on their way to seek sanctuary with Darius’s lover/partner, Aysun Kadri. I doubt this makes as much sense on its own as I wish, but I enjoyed writing it, so I’ll post it anyway.

It’s madness, ze thinks, but Darius has never pretended sanity.

“I don’t see the need.” Tes pulls at hir right sleeve as ze talks. The dank and cold passage, albeit sufficiently illuminated by the sickly pink glow from the paper rolled up in hir left hand, closes in on hir. Ze wishes for cloaks and coats and capes trimmed with rabbit fur. Ze wishes for a roaring fire and the middle of summer. Ze wishes for anywhere in the world that isn’t here, even as Tes hirself realises there’s places in the world far worse than a passageway that reeks of mould. “I’m a magician. Student magician.” Ze hesitates, unsure how Darius will regard hir taking that title to hirself, but Darius doesn’t even look at hir. “I’m a student magician. I’m learning spells. I don’t see what possible point there is in learning—learning the sword.”

It occurs to hir, a moment too late, that a man who worked as both magician and mercenary guardsman might take some offence at that. He explained that morning, at length, why magic alone isn’t like to work today. Hard to know, though, since Darius’s steady steps reveal no emotion. While his eyes leap from floor to ceiling and wall in an unrelenting stream of restlessness, that might be the wariness of a man paying attention to their surroundings.

“I won’t be any good at it.”

Darius nods and flicks his flesh hand, which Tes knows is his way of telling hir he heard, even if he doesn’t have anything to say. He tilts his head, nostrils flaring, but, even then, it takes him several moments before his lips move and he speaks in his usual soft drawl: “I can smell it.”

Tes sniffs, but ze doesn’t have his sensitivity. Wet earth, the rotting-sweet mould and a slight salt tang; nothing perceptively eldritch. Having seen how much it plagues him, ze doesn’t mind. Ze just signs instead. “Should stop—”

Darius shakes his head. “It knows. It knows. Felt our footfalls, like a snake.”

How does he know that? Ze nearly asks, save for the feeling that a man who spent however many years travelling the world might know all manner of strange things. Tes nods and walks on in quiet. Ze wanted this, ze remembers. Back at the College, when the strange and dangerous was at least somewhat mitigated by March’s watchfulness, ze wanted to see eldritch creatures and denizens of mysterious places. It shames hir to realise that’s now no longer the case. No, if given the choice, ze’ll be back in hir own bed so fast ze’ll surprise even hirself.

Ze doesn’t know what that says about hir. Ze doesn’t wish to.

The passage ahead widens. A cavern or gallery, the black walls marked by squared-off chips and cuts that speak of everything human. Water, dripping from somewhere above, collects in gouges marring the already rough-cut floor, forming shallow pools ringed by a fluffy white mould or fungus that reminds Tes of whipped cream. Great redgum beams support the roof and walls, and these seem untarnished by time, perhaps thanks to the tarred glyphs carved into the wood. Collapsing pieces of machinery and abandoned tools fared less well: support struts, cranks and the bails from broken buckets lie in rusting pieces. Did the miners deem them too worthless to be brought out? Or did they run and leave everything behind?

The air warms as they cross the gallery, the walls fading into shadow, and only then does Tes discover what Darius must have scented underneath the mould and rock: something warm and tangy, like a blend of cinnamon and allspice.

Ze drags in a breath and then another, wondering.

“Sandalwood. Sandalwood and the barest touch of cedar. Efe. Then bergamot and lemon. Aysun.” Darius’s voice barely sounds above the quiet thud of leather soles on rock. “Whatever … attractive.”

“I like eating cinnamon biscuits,” Tes says.

Darius grins back at hir, his gold teeth glinting. He slows his pace, taking short, testing steps towards the right—heading, Tes realises, for a yawning gap studded with blue phosphorescent spots at the side of the gallery.

At the very edge of hir hearing, ze can pick out a gentle, regular sighing.

Breath.

The more the paper lights in their hands illuminate the rock wall ahead, the less Tes shivers—and the more ze ponders the warmth and safety of March’s kitchen. Food, conjured by magic, since there’s no way to explain how one man managed multiple-course banquets and snacks for the entire school. March himself, content to talk even if a student came down for an apple at two in the morning. Long gone, now, and it’s only hir fault. If ze hadn’t meddled, ze wouldn’t be here, in the cold and dark of an abandoned mine—

“No.” Darius’s wood hand rests on hir shoulder. Even now, the strangeness of that touch makes Tes jerk. His thin leather gloves don’t provide the cushioning and moulding effect of flesh fingers. Ze hates that ze still reacts to it. “This … it’s you, but it isn’t ... isn’t all you.” He stops, exhales. “It’s not you, not right this minute. Don’t let it take you. Understand?”

Ze draws in a shaking breath. The bite of the cinnamon now obscures all other odours. “What…”

“You!” Darius’s full shout isn’t loud, but the gallery gives it a rattling quality, not quite an echo but unusual nonetheless. “You think, you think you can trick me with guilt and doubt? You think you can give me anything I haven’t? Haven’t already?”

It’s madness, ze thinks, but Darius has never pretended sanity.

You think you can dare me?

Ze doesn’t hear the voice. It sounds in hir skin, in hir bones, in hir brain, a jerking, shuddering vibration that makes hir feel as though consciousness is a dream or illusion. It roils through hir head and down through hir neck, and for a moment Tes isn’t sure where ze begins and ends: there’s just the voice, surging through every tiny corner of hir skull, threatening to sweep hir away with it.

“That’s it?” Darius’s hand tightens on hir shoulder. “Seven. I was seven. March’s pet sea serpent smashed me against the wall. Broke my nose, broke my skull, left me with seizures afterwards. You’re not even interesting.”

“You’re, you’re mocking the—”

Darius just pushes hir forwards.

The shrieking starts, then. This time, Tes hears with hir ears, but knowing that only makes it worse. Ma. Anise. Leslie, Teacher Mary, the students under the tree with caterpillars in their hands. Holly and Iris, March and Wings. Their high-pitched wails, pleas for rescue and safety, fill the cavern, sharp enough that Tes forgets everything and jams hir palms over hir ears. Ze never did well with noise, and this unearthly crescendo not only judders right through hir skull, it bears a world of desperation right along with it—just how ze might have screamed, that night in the tower. Ze jerks and starts forwards, even knowing that the owners of said chorus live safe on the other side of the Shearing Straits, unsure if ze means to save them or beg them to stop shrieking.

Ze just knows that ze won’t, ze can’t, bear this a moment longer—

Darius’s hands close around hir elbow, yank hir to a halt, let go. His lips shift as the chaos fades, and, trembling, ze risks lowering hir hands to hear him. “…eight months. Eight months the dead tells me to die. Be with him.” Darius laughs. It’s a bitter, hoarse sound, and Tes wonders if the shades he heard cut him deeper than he’ll admit, but it’s a laugh nonetheless. He walks forwards, pushing Tes along before him. “I can ignore this. You’ve, you’ve got nothing for me.”

The voices fade into nothingness, leaving Tes moving toward the mouth of another tunnel with ringing ears and shaking hands.

Darius reaches across his body, draws the Worldblade, lets it hang loose in his flesh hand. In the pink-tinged light, it looks even more unprepossessing than usual: a battered, nicked, curved blade too short and light to be accounted a sword for anybody but Darius. If it did Fell the tree, Tes thinks, it took almost as much damage in doing so as the tree itself, but ze can’t imagine how such a thing occurred, having seen the breadth of the stump. Magic, perhaps, save that no magician ze has ever met will waste time on making a knife capable of cutting a mammoth hardwood tree when they can work that same magic on a crosscut saw. March himself gave a thousand lectures on the importance of using the right tool for the job!

It has been prophesied. The voice booms through hir mind with a confidence that reminds Tes of Ma’s unshakeable belief in her many nonsensical rules. No man nor woman will defeat me.

Darius draws to an abrupt halt. The blue lights, fading in intensity as their own grow closer, flicker only a few yards distant. “What?”

Now the voice laughs. No man nor woman will defeat me.

Darius lifts his hand from hir shoulder, shifts his flesh hand until his fingers close lightly about the throat of the blade with the blunt edge resting against his skin, and extends the sword, pommel-first, towards Tes. “It should be ‘neither man nor woman’. ‘Nor’ is a conjunction, but it isn’t always a synonym for ‘or’. Why do those prophets specify only two genders?” He shakes his head at Tes. “Here. A possible point for learning the sword?”

Tes stares at him. He doesn’t mean that, does he? “Because it says a prophecy?”

He stands calm and relaxed, his wooden fingers twitching the bead ring pendant at his throat. “You don’t dare prophecy, Tes! Not when the loophole is this wide! You’re a magician. If you need to, burn it. Like the gnomes.”

Ze looks first at the Worldblade and then back up at Darius’s eyebrows, not caring that hir gaze is too intent for politeness. “You’re … you’re not a same man, so…”

Darius returns a stare just as punishing. “Truly, Tes?”

Ze sighs and shakes hir head. No. Claiming that Darius isn’t a man on an erroneous technicality diminishes Darius, hirself and everyone ze knew and liked at the College. Ze can’t do that any more than ze can declare hirself male or female, not when ze knows any gender is a lie.

“Take.” Darius jerks his wrist. “It’s yours, as much as it’s mine. You feel that.”

Ze does, and it terrifies hir. It’s easy to let Darius bear the wretched thing; he, at least, appears comfortable with the possession of a weapon. There’s a reason for the Worldblade to sing in his hand! He’s a construct master! There’s no reason for it to respond as it does to hir. “I’m not—I’m not meant to be here. Doing this. Any of it. I’m not.”

Neither is he, ze knows, and while this whole escapade happened because of Darius and the Greensward, it shouldn’t have involved hir. That it does is all on Tes, and ze knows that he would have found everything a great deal easier if he didn’t have to look after a student magician—a magician who has gotten him into trouble since the day they met. He offers hir no impatience, though. He never has. Ze has heard him rail and scream at March and Amelia and the belt; ze has watched him smash plates and slam doors; ze has seen him take blades to his own skin. Ze knows Darius’s mistrust of people holds edges so sharp it draws blood, but he never shows it to hir, however difficult that might be.

Ze can argue that he was never meant to walk into a colony of tick gnomes to save Tes, yet ze never heard him complain.

The only answer, then, is clear.

“I know you won’t just ... well, leave me,” Tes says, but, despite knowing it unfair to make that comment into a question, ze hears it in hir words nonetheless. He won’t stand back and let hir do this alone. Will he? Ze takes the worn leather-bound hilt, though, gritting hir teeth against the sudden rush of heat in hir fingertips and palm, and ze hopes he sees that as apology enough.

The Worldblade hums against hir skin, vibrating like a purring cat.

Darius returns his hand to hir shoulder, and that, too, is a kind answer to a question ze shouldn’t have asked. “One thing, person.”

Tes swallows. “Stab with the pointy end?”

He snorts. “No. No. If you’re stabbing ... shades, if you’re stabbing, everything has gone wrong and you should set your opponent on fire.” He shakes his head, but he smiles while he does it. “In case you need to use the sword as a sword, here’s how you hold it.”