#genderfluid but in the way sand is a fluid

[e-wwis]

genderfluid but not in a "is it a girl day or boy day today" way but in a "my soul has lived here for too long. the doorframes are chipped and the walls are sun-faded; the wood rots and the nails rust. this house was once home but today it is no longer. will I ever be back? maybe one day. but come tomorrow this place is dead to me." on a random wednesday and then chopping all my hair off way

[cuubism]

Morphology | Dreamling | 4.6k words | Explicit | AO3

eldritch Dream, genderfluidity of a kind, lots of smut, nonhuman organs, angst, body dysphoria, undefined body forms and transformation, brief eldritch panic attack, they/them pronouns for Dream

Dream is not meant to stay in one form. But they must, for that is the form that Hob knows. That Hob loves. Or so they think.

this is based on @gabessquishytum and their anon's post located here, about Dream believing Hob won't want him in all his nonhuman shapes, only to discover Hob is very much a monsterfucker... and also loves him very much. I was going to append it to the post but then it got kind of very long. Hope you don't mind me playing around!

---

It was not for dreams to be only one thing.

In the Dreaming, they morphed and shifted, merging from one form to another. Smoke to wind to water, lava to sparks back to stone. In the minds of dreamers they took every unconceivable form, a thousand impossibilities as various as the limbs of Destiny’s forking tree. They were all of unreality. All that could not be, all that was hoped for, fleeting, forgotten, or held, for a time.

In the Waking, it was different. Dreams Dream bent and condensed into a singular form. They he knew well enough from his dreamers that while fluid changeability may be accepted in the illogical narratives of dreams, it was not so in the Waking. To interact with humans, he must appear as one, with the limited mutability that allowed.

Which was not to say that Dream disliked his Waking form. He chose what was pleasing to him. But sometimes it felt… stifling, for one used to being as expansive as the clouds.

Particularly after his imprisonment. Kept like an insect pinned to a board. Immovable. When he was meant to move. When he was Morpheus. Shaper of Forms.

Dream put that away from him.

Hob liked this form of his. Dream had come to understand the way Hob looked on him, and he liked that Hob wanted this form. But. He was not meant to stay in this form. Not always. It was. Chafing. It was. Hurting.

No matter. He could stay in this form that Hob wanted, because more than wanting to break from this skin Dream wanted Hob’s love. And his desire. He wanted to keep Hob’s gentle, heated touch.

This form of lean muscle and sharp bone. This solid body that had endured Roderick Burgess’s prison but also received Hob’s love… he could keep it. Yes. He could. He could.

~~~

I am wind that wishes to storm. Cloud that edges on rain. I am caterpillar’s dream of flight, I am words of disbelieving, I am the hopeful light of new stars, I am— I am water’s dance with the shore, and the sun’s kiss of the moon, and— and— no—

“Yo. Roiling mass of terror that I’m pretty sure is the boss. You good?”

Dream opened their eyes. They did not have eyes, but no matter. Dreams were often about seeing. Matthew was standing on the sand before them, head cocked.

“You alright?” he repeated. “I couldn’t tell if the shrieking was a bad thing or just like. One of your things.”

“One of my things,” Dream repeated.

“Can never know,” said Matthew. He hopped onto an arm that Dream’s form generated just for him to stand on.

“I was not,” said Dream, “shrieking.”

“You were definitely shrieking,” said Matthew. “It sounded like a laundry machine dying.”

Dream grumbled in offense.

Matthew nudged his head against one of Dream’s hands. “Do you… wanna talk about it?”

Dream considered. “Do you often ponder your own physical form, Matthew?”

“Well, since I became a bird,” said Matthew. “Kinda weird. It’s cool, though. Who doesn’t dream of flying, amirite?” He flapped his wings in demonstration, lifting off Dream’s arm, then settling down again.

“And when you were human?” Dream asked.

“Every human thinks about their body, dude.”

“Did you desire to change it?” Dream pressed.

“You mean like a weight loss program?” said Matthew. “Those never work.”

“No,” said Dream. Their form morphed around them, here legs, there tail, wings, teeth. They could not make it settle, not on a human shape or on anything else. They felt— agitated. They should return to their usual human form. Should. “That is not what I meant.”

“Ohhhhhh,” said Matthew, and smacked his face with his wing in realization. “It’s this whole deal. Well, you could change it if you want? I mean. You’re doing it.”

“I did not mean to,” said Dream, their form still writhing around them, never landing on any one shape. “I—” they were meant to go see Hob. They had been cloaked properly in their usual shape. And. Something had snapped.

They remembered, now, falling to their knees on the sand, the careful construct of their human self, a body once worn easily as one of many, shattering into a million shards.

They should. Change. They should change back. They wished to see Hob, and Hob, for all his adaptability, was only human, he would not be able to tolerate this, this thing that could not even give itself a face, or decide what it was, this thing that found physical stasis anathema after so long pressed in glass. Hob cared for the being that he knew. Not this one that, Dream thought, sometimes did not even know itself.

“Whatever you’re doing, I think you should probably stop,” Matthew warned.

“You dare to question me?” Dream bit. He was condensing back down under his human mask, he could do it, he could. He had loved this form once. Could again. As one of many.

Matthew nipped at his hand with his beak. And it was only this that made Dream realize he was clawing at his face so hard he was bleeding starlight.

Solidity spiraled away from Dream again, and they let out a hard breath. It was useless. Whatever meager control they had maintained since their escape was slipping from them. It was pointless to pretend otherwise any longer. Or to pretend that they could truly offer Hob the form he was accustomed to.

“Matthew,” Dream said, and Matthew hopped to attention. “I have some business I must attend to. Please leave me now.”

“Are you sure—?”

Dream waved a hand and sent him back to the palace.

If it was impossible for them to consistently return to their prior state, then at least they should be done with it now. Show Hob what he was truly dealing with. That Dream was not what he thought. Or wanted. Then, at least, they would spare themselves any greater heartbreak.

Wrapping the barest trappings of their usual form around them like an ill-fitting coat, Dream stepped into the Waking.

~~~

Dream emerged directly onto Hob’s bed as a formless shadow. It felt good, to be formless. Normally, they did like to take a form, but to choose recently had been taxing.

Hob was awake and reading. Dream had been meant to come for dinner, and was late. When Dream appeared in a sudden fall of darkness, Hob shrieked and flung his book at them on instinct. It simply passed through Dream with no effect.

“Dream?” said Hob, gasping, the spike in his adrenaline clear. “Is that you, love? Somehow? Or am I about to get eaten?”

Those do not preclude each other, Dream said. Though as they were still a shadow, their voice was more a low rumbling vibration than a true voice.

“Not sure how I understood that,” said Hob. He tilted his head, trying to make out features in the darkness but not, Dream thought, managing it. “Always kind of knew you were more than you seemed,” he added. “Didn’t quite picture this, though.”

It is but one form I am capable of holding, Dream said. Strictly speaking, it was not quite a form at all. As they said it, they shifted, unconsciously, until they were the beam of lamplight caressing Hob’s face—Hob’s hand chased them across his own cheek—and then the lulling hum of traffic, comforting night sounds. Hob kept reaching for them, not quite knowing where he was reaching. And Dream slipped into his daydreams, his vision for what Dream’s many forms might be.

Hob’s daydreams were a comfortable place to land. Warm. Welcoming. And when Dream emerged, they were a thing of Hob’s imagining, something dark and shadowed and multi-faceted but ultimately. Touchable.

That was what Hob desired of them?

“Okay,” said Hob, “what actually is going on here? Are you okay?”

Dream did not reply, stuck on Hob’s daydreams. He did not wish for Dream to force themselves back into their usual form. He merely molded what Dream brought him into a form that was comprehensible to him.

Relief crashed over Dream, magnitudes greater than the dread they had refused to acknowledge. They knew, now, that they had truly expected this to be the end. To scare Hob off. But Hob did not seem to be scared.

“Dream?” Hob reached a careful hand toward them. He pet down Dream’s flank. Fur that was soft because he was touching it. He huffed an incredulous laugh. “Wow. It really is… you.”

“In some fashion,” said Dream.

“In some fashion,” Hob repeated. “In what fashion, exactly?”

Instead of answering, Dream butted their head into Hob’s shoulder. Following the relief of his touch, so much softer and more detailed, now that they did not have the barrier of a stifling form in the way.

“Darling,” Hob said, petting Dream’s hair, “need words.”

“No,” Dream mumbled petulantly. And Hob allowed them their petulance. Dream let out a long breath. It blew warm over Hob’s throat, and Dream felt him shiver. They trailed fingertips up Hob’s ribcage, along bare skin, feeling the stacked solidity of his bones. Hob shivered again.

“It’s like that, is it?” he said.

Dream shifted closer, half slither, half crawl, until their form, incomprehensible even to themselves, was draped over Hob’s lap. Bliss, there, the warmth of him. “You are not repelled?”

“By the ten arms? I think I can cope.” He pressed his lips in close to Dream’s ear. “In fact. I had a dream about this the other night. Well.” He laughed. “I guess I’m having a Dream about it now, eh?”

“Did you?” said Dream, ears pricking up. Had their… moods slipped into Hob’s dreams?

“Can’t remember the details,” Hob said. “But I remember how it felt.” He trailed fingertips up the bony knobs of Dream’s spine. Unlike Dream at the moment, Hob only had two arms, but Dream felt every press of his fingers acutely.

“How did it feel?” they whispered.

“Like,” Hob murmured, lips to Dream’s jaw now, “you were everywhere. Like I got into your body and made love to you from the inside out.”

The thought made all of the strange and varied nerves of Dream’s shifting body stand on end. They wrapped legs around Hob’s waist, arms around his shoulders. Scraped sharp teeth over his pulse. “Really?”

Hob laughed. “Interested now, are you?”

“Yes,” Dream rumbled, their form flickering in excitement, to shadow then a falling rainbow of light, to a mass of vines that wound all around Hob’s body, and then into roots, as if they could grow into Hob, then branching veins pulsing and racing with Hob’s heartbeat, then back to a morass of half-body, half-shadow, because yes, they wanted to be held by Hob, they must remember that.

Hob was still for several moments, then laughed incredulously. “Okay. You’re so cool. I don’t know what to do with any of that, so I’m going to have to wing it.”

He traced a hand along the soft feathers of a wing that had grown with his words. Dream shuddered. A sensitive part of the body, indeed.

“You’re gorgeous,” Hob murmured. “My strange creature.”

Dream purred in pleasure, wrapping their wings around Hob’s back, mouth catching on the edge of his jaw, and, incredibly, felt Hob growing hard under them, as he would if Dream lounged in his lap and mouthed at his jaw as a human.

“You like this,” Dream said, unable to keep the surprise from their voice.

Hob chuckled. “Didn’t you know I fell for you the second I saw the spark of the otherworldly in your eyes? Just didn’t know the whole of what I was looking at. Not then.”

The spark of the otherworldly. “You are in love with dreams.”

“Figured it out by now, yeah.”

“You are. In love. With this,” Dream said, voice echoing from more than one throat, choked up.

“With this? You mean with you?”

“I do not know quite what I am, now,” Dream admitted.

“Well,” said Hob, slipping a hand between them. Dream gasped in pleasure, wings fluttering involuntarily. “You want to find out?”

Squirming against his hand, Dream said, “Do you even know what it is you are touching?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Hob said cheerfully. “Made you go all shivery, though.”

It had. It was. Dream writhed in his lap as Hob experimented, moaned in startled pleasure, toes curling. Body shifting to hurtle towards that arousal. Hob startled as his hand was suddenly enveloped in heat, something he could press into, and Dream whined, so full all at once with no prelude, body twisting out of control without their explicit direction. But it was good.

Hob gripped them by one wing—these had stayed even as Dream’s form continued to spin—and Dream quivered as Hob pulled them closer, pressing his hand deeper into slick heat. He was grinning against Dream’s throat, scraped light teeth over his pulse, sucked a bruise there. Dream’s form rode the wave of his daydreams, provided a wet mouth for him to bite and kiss as soon as he thought of it. Dream tangled long fingers in his hair, claws digging in.

“Can I fuck you like this?” Hob breathed against his lips.

“If you can cope with me changing on you,” Dream said. “I am not. Entirely in control. At the moment.”

A shameful admission, but Hob groaned as if it was the hottest thing he could think of. “I get to have you multiple ways at once? Oh, how will I manage?”

Dream laughed. It may have been a bit teary. Their many hearts were racing, lungs stuttering for air. Wings shivered, feathers fluttering. A long, furred tail wound its way up Hob’s back to wrap lightly around his throat, possessive. Dream would not let this man go now. Could not.

“Budge up, let’s see what we’re dealing with,” Hob said, probing deeper under Dream’s form with his hand, the other still firm on Dream’s wing, which he seemed to have understood was very sensitive, and intended to press that advantage as much as he could.

The touch of Hob’s hand, in Dream, on them, around them, was bliss. Dream wished to be full of him again. To, as Hob had dreamt, be made love to from the inside out.

Riding that hope, their body shaped another hole for his questing fingers. Hob obligingly pressed his fingers in, but said, “Regrettably, darling, I’ve only got one cock, and I had other plans for my hands.”

“Regrettable, indeed,” said Dream, and Hob laughed. Then, “Plans?”

“Oh, yes. I expect some other interesting things may crop up, eh? Need hands free.” He leaned in close to Dream’s ear, which flicked toward him to listen. “I’m going to find every erogenous zone on this body and make it scream.”

Goosebumps broke out all over Dream’s body. They clung to Hob with every limb they could find. Hob grinned wickedly at this reaction. It was a look Dream knew well, one that always boded very well for them indeed.

Hob worked Dream open on two fingers—though he need not, Dream was already wet and gaping for him—then maneuvered his sleep shorts off, took his cock in hand and stroked it twice, hand slick with Dream’s fluids. Then he lifted Dream bodily and sank them back down on his cock.

Dream whined, careening up several registers, as they were filled so suddenly, as they took Hob to the base. Hob groaned at the feeling of their body. Dream tried to adjust to him but couldn’t, Hob’s cock pressed on sensitive spots deep within them, and any time they thought they’d gotten used to the feeling their body produced a new place to torment.

They clawed at Hob’s back, leaving red lines with sharp fingers. Hob gave an experimental thrust, shifting Dream in his lap, and Dream bit down on a scream as their body lit up, chasing the feeling, loving it, magnitudes more affected than in their usual, limited form.

“Wow,” Hob said, fond laughter in his voice, and heat too, as Dream panted wetly in his ear, “this is going to be fun. Have you been all worked up, my darling? Just needed someone to give you what you really need?”

“Needed you,” Dream murmured. They clenched around Hob, tried to steady themselves, but it only made things worse. Everywhere deep inside them was searing flame, their skin-feathers-fur prickly with static, they feared and needed Hob’s touch in equal measure. To soothe. To set alight.

Hob slipped a hand into the other space Dream had left to tempt him, probing deep. Dream bit down on his ear, drawing spots of blood. Hob drew his hand back, met one of Dream’s many eyes. Licked Dream’s fluids from his hand.

Dream lunged forward to kiss him, whimpering into Hob’s mouth as that drove them impossibly deeper onto Hob’s cock. Hob pulled them close, kissed them hard, caught a fistful of Dream’s hair and pulled. Dream’s body decided that it liked that very much, indeed. They whined at the grip, clawing at Hob’s skin with many hands.

Hob brought them close with a firm hand, bounced Dream in his lap, moving them on and off his cock. Dream wailed, overstimulated by all the angles of his touch, torn between pulling away and diving closer as Hob swept his tongue into their mouth, over sharp teeth and soft palate.

“There’s a love,” Hob breathed. “Does that feel good, darling?”

Dream couldn’t offer a reply, and Hob didn’t wait for one. He dug his fingers into the tight feathering of Dream’s wing and tugged. Dream shrieked, wings flapping wildly, sets of them bursting along their back, more, more, less, more. Hob didn’t let up, stroking his fingers through the feathers, dragging over soft skin, sucking on Dream’s throat all the while.

Dream saw white, their body seized up, and the nebulous hole Hob was using to fuck them morphed into a mouth.

Hob yelped to suddenly feel his cock grazing over shielded teeth. Then he laughed. “Don’t you dare bite my dick off, you menace. It’s horrible to regrow it.”

Dream would have asked how he knew that, except Hob’s cock was down their throat. They choked, swallowing around him. Dream did not need to breathe, and so the pressure was exquisite. Their long tongue wrapped around Hob to the base, caressed his balls. Explored further, along his perineum, to probe at his entrance, and then press in.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck—” Hob’s voice was a strangled shout. “Dream what the actual fuck are you doing?” It didn’t sound like a complaint.

I am fucking you with my tongue, Dream said, a hum directly from their form to Hob’s.

“I can bloody well tell, Jesus Mary and—”

Dream purred and rumbled in pleasure, the satisfaction of taking and being taken at once, of being inside their beloved and having Hob inside them in turn. As Hob had dreamt.

Hob’s fingers pressed into Dream. Dream’s form gave and made places for him to press into. Hob’s fingers tickled deep within them, starlight and heat tracking their path. Dream swirled in an indefinite vortex of shape, a hundred things at once, their body prickling all over with the pleasure of Hob’s touch.

Hob twisted against them, clenching down on their tongue, shouted “Dream!” and came down Dream’s throat. Dream swallowed him down in pleasure, retracted their tongue from Hob’s body, eliciting a long moan. They let Hob pull out, and licked the final taste of Hob from their lips before letting that mouth disappear into their form, the traces of Hob consumed.

And then Hob flipped them, somehow manhandled Dream’s indefinite form down to the mattress, pressed down immovably on legs and arms and wings so that the softest parts of Dream’s body were bared to him. Dream reached for him, always they reached for him, cock hard and straining, cunt aching, the slashes of their being weeping for Hob to come inside. Always weeping. They cried out, every inch of them trembling for Hob’s touch.

“You gorgeous nightmare,” Hob said. “You brilliant daydream. Oh, my darling, I love you so much. I’d do anything for you. Anything. But mostly I want to do this.”

He pressed his mouth to where Dream’s body strained for him.

Hob had a very talented and generous mouth, which Dream had blessedly been on the receiving end of many times. This was different: Dream’s form echoed out Hob’s touch, replicated it a hundred times over so every crevice of their body could feel the flat swipe of his tongue, how he drank Dream’s fluids down, the drag of his stubble over lips and folds and the soft skin of thighs. Dream’s many limbs trembled, bent, reformed themselves in ecstasy, they dragged at Hob’s hair, pressing his face deeper so Dream could grind against him, which only made Hob grin.

Hob pressed two fingers into Dream’s mouth and Dream greedily sucked on them, grounding themselves. Taking Hob in more than one way at once… yes. That was what they wanted. They closed their many eyes and gave themselves over to sensation. Hob’s mouth and tongue, the taste of him, the weight of his body as he bent Dream on the bed, his scent, musk and the woodsmoke that seemed to cling to him all these years later—or perhaps that was only in dreams.

They were a dream of completion. They were a dream of ecstasy. Of flight. Hob’s hand tangled in their fragile feathers. Hob’s mouth and fingers inside them. Then Hob plunged three fingers hard, deep within them, as he sucked on Dream’s clit, and with a piercing noise like glass shattering Dream came.

They were. Fragments. The individual colors splayed wide by a prism. Red, yellow, blue. Hob’s fingers trailed through them, blending the colors like paint in water. For several moments Dream drifted, more thought than being. Distantly aware of Hob’s weight on them. It felt… like kindness. Then they floated back to the present, light as the first flight of unfurled moth wings.

Hob was lying on them, looking at them, head tilted. A twinkle in his eyes. He skated his hands up Dream’s sides. Flowers bloomed in the wake of his touch, their soft petals shivering with sensitivity. Hob plucked one of the flower buds and, holding Dream’s gaze, ate it. Swallowed it. Dream watched the movement of his throat.

Inside out, he thought.

“Broke you into pieces,” Hob said then, with satisfaction. “Think I might have seen God for a sec there. Can do better, though.”

“Better?” Dream echoed, voice hoarse. Their form shifted, still, but slowly, languidly. No longer restless. A dark wing draped over Hob’s back. A tail played with his hair. He didn’t seem to mind.

“There’s so much we can do with this,” he said. He gazed at Dream, fond, terribly knowing. “Only getting started, love. I love—” he kissed Dream’s belly, a light, ghosting touch, and tickled Dream’s side with his fingertips— “how sensitive you are like this.”

“I—” Dream started. Absent the writhing need, now they just felt… stripped. Vulnerable. “I expected that you would. Not. Like this. It is not. Human.”

“Neither are you,” Hob pointed out.

“I appear so,” Dream said.

Hob snorted. “No, you don’t.”

Dream stared at him, unable to decide whether or not to be offended.

“I wear the guise of a human,” they insisted, and, to prove it, morphed back into the form that Hob would know as his lover. It was an easier coat to wear, now that they knew they could take it off.

“No, keep the wings,” Hob complained. “Those are cool.”

Dream obligingly returned wings to their form.

“I appear human, to you,” they insisted again.

“Dream, I say this with all the love in my heart, which is quite a lot because I do. Love you.” He leaned on his hand, looking at Dream with sparkling eyes. “You look about as human as a kid wearing a bedsheet looks like a ghost.”

Dream stared at him, mouth agape.

“Don’t worry, it’s a gorgeous costume,” Hob said. “Love it. Really, really do. But I could always tell that wasn’t the whole truth of the matter. Especially once I got close.” With this, he winked.

“A part of me is human,” Dream said. Had Hob truly always seen through them? Paid so close attention as to perceive the translucence of the mask? “For I am the dreams of humanity.”

“And a part of you isn’t,” said Hob. “For—” he mimicked the cadence of Dream’s speech, though not in a mocking way— “you are also the dreams of birds, and shadows, and stars.”

Dream nodded. “These and more.”

“Brilliant,” said Hob.

Brilliant, Dream thought.

Then Hob tilted his head, thinking back. “You expected me not to like that?”

“Recently,” said Dream slowly, “I found I could not maintain this form without pain. And so my hand was forced.” It hurt still, to think of. “I had no choice but to make my true form—or rather, my true formlessness—known to you if I wished to be here at all.”

Hob pushed himself up from where he was lying on Dream’s chest, and instead straddled his hips so he could take Dream’s face between his hands. “It hurts?” he demanded.

“At times,” said Dream. “More so. Since.” They didn’t finish the sentence.

“Why are you doing it now, then?”

“It does not hurt so much now,” Dream said. “It is simply that when I stay static, it begins to. Ache.”

“Ache,” Hob repeated, looking stricken. “Dream, if it hurts, then change back. Be a chimera or whatever the hell you were doing before.”

“That is how you interpreted it?”

“To be honest, I don’t think my brain was really interpreting it at all. You were just kind of… everything.” He stroked a fingertip along the fine bone of Dream’s wing, which was folded against their back now. “Did like the wings, though.”

“I’d noticed that.”

“Cheeky.” Hob shook himself. “Getting distracted. The point is, don’t hurt yourself. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself.” He tipped his head against Dream’s, lips to their skin. “Much rather see you how were today.”

“How?”

“Letting go. Enjoying yourself.” He smirked, Dream felt it against their temple. “Making all kind of lovely noises. Squealing. Shrieking—”

“I was not shrieking.”

“You were shrieking.”

Hob tickled his fingers through Dream’s feathers, and Dream made an embarrassing squeak. They smacked Hob in the face with that wing, and Hob burst out laughing, even though he had to pull a feather out of his teeth.

“I love you,” he said. “Don’t hurt yourself. Be... the indefinably strange creature that you are. And just trust me to keep up.”

Hob kissed them lightly on the lips. Dream leaned into him, made still for a moment by the depth of Hob’s care for them, how Hob caught all of their longing and swallowed it, kept it warm. How he loved Dream. And dreams.

Hob drew them both down to the bed, and the covers over them, and Dream let their other forms creep out, hesitant, but hungry for Hob’s affection. And a creature that was the sky’s dream of nightfall and the poetry of rain upon a still lake, that was the individual patterns of snowflakes and the sculptures built of their drifts, that was ambitious owl and frightened vole, quiet soil and its thoughtful worms, shape and narrative and human, too, of course, laid down its many heads, and curled its much-loved wings over its lover, and rested in his dreams.

[treesap-blogs]

Review for “The Brilliant Death” by A.R. Capetta! (..pretty sure their deadname’s on the front cover, pardon that.)

Hello, Tumblrians! I’m just going down the list of books I’ve read but haven’t made reviews for, now. I don’t know if it’ll be in order or not, at least there’s the “date finished” for reference!

With this book, I remember I just really wanted to find a book with a gender-fluid love interest(all I’m giving for context is that TWB sort of had me thinking), and somewhere on Instagram I saw this and flipped out. Also, of all the places that I could find this, my highschool library had it?! So that was pretty funny! I thought I’d come across, like…a hidden genderqueer gem faded into obscurity by the sands of time(and the unforgiving bookstagram algorithm) or something!

That would’ve been pretty cool if that turned out to be the case, right?

The Brilliant Death follows Teodora DiSangro, just Teo for short (I read this right after The Sunbearer Trials, you can imagine the whiplash): a mafia don’s daughter. All her life, she’s hidden the fact that she’s been able to turn her family’s enemies into decorative objects with magic, as everyone in Vinalia believes stregas only exist in fairytales. Then the Capo, the land’s new ruler, sends poisoned letters to the heads of the Five Families, leaving Teo’s father gravely ill! And when things go particularly awry, she realizes she’ll have to represent her family at this meeting in the only way she can in a sexist 19th century Italy-inspired fantasy: Not just pretend to be a boy, but become one too, with the power of her magic. Enter Cielo, a genderfluid strega who can switch sexes and shapeshift into different animals whenever, who journeys with Teo as the two begin to develop feelings for each other. And in the midst of her falling for Cielo, Teo begins realizing how much of her true nature she’s hidden. But she can’t lose sight of her original mission, and with every unveiled sinister secret about her country that’s revealed, she also realizes she’ll go to any length to protect her family.

Eufgh, I had to go back onto Goodreads to remember the summary; this book is so, so forgettable. Which is made even sadder because I was captivated by the summary, and that’s what got me to read it. I didn’t enjoy it as much as I thought it would, it felt surprisingly boring.

Firstly, THE MAGIC SYSTEM, or the lack thereof. Teo didn’t have a clear limitation to their abilities, except for they were made more volatile by the end of the book(spoiler-y events I won’t elaborate on), and at some point they’d exhaust them. There’s also no aspects of the writing that makes their transformations of their family’s enemies this horrifying or awe-inspiring thing that it should be, like it’s just poof they’re a music box or something now, and maybe it’s just my weird obsession with body horror but also. Come on. So as a result, it was kinda hard to wrap my head around and it felt a little underdeveloped.

Secondly, the handling of gender. I had mixed feelings on this? This was a different part of A.R. Capetta’s gender journey, as evidenced in the different name listed on the book’s cover, and I don’t know if that had to do with the writing of this book but it might’ve. From my point of view, as a nonbinary reader: Gender seemed to be almost intrinsically tied to sex, especially in the case of Cielo, there was more of an emphasis on that being a defining factor instead of also taking stuff like presentation into account(which made for some..uncomfortable sentences). It felt pretty gender norm-y, which I would’ve expected from the macho dudes of the novel, but not really from our genderqueer protagonist. At least by the end, there was more of a dissection/discussion of gender and I felt it improved a bit.

I was also on-the-fence about the romance, which disappointed me because that was a main factor that drew me in initially. It was very insta-lust(romantic feelings weren’t developed until much later), and as a result I felt their relationship moved too quickly until the end. Although, there were a few sweet moments. Cielo put their life on the line for Teo and I’m a sucker for those kinds of love interests. (Cielo was a pretty average “sarcastic, handsome dark-haired love interest”, though. To those who love that kind of thing, you’ll probably eat this up, but it’s not mine. To each their own.)

I also did not like the plot. It felt very typical of the YA genre, only a few months after reading it I’ve forgotten basically all of it except for that there wasn’t a single plot twist I couldn’t predict(and that the mafia aspects didn’t feel very thought-out or well-written). It was also just boring sometimes. The characters feel very flat, side and otherwise, and even the MCs fell into their own archetypes.  

I don’t think I can even give this book the grace of saying “but it’s not a bad read at least”. Giving it some thought it definitely is. I just thought some parts were fun just because I like some corny stuff, so I, fortunately, lost track of the final pages I whizzed through. But it’s definitely not the forgotten queer classic I thought it might’ve been.

Book rating: ⭐️⭐️ ¾/5 stars. Date finished: 03/30/23.

(Book content/trigger warnings: Violence, death, homophobia, sexual content, sexism.)

-Paz, signing off!

[polyamoroamer]

Evolution

I think humans have a dangerous penchant for stasis. We love ticked boxes, fulfilled checklists, neatly defined identities and places and time frames.

We like things set in stone.

But we forget that even stone erodes; even the very rock under our feet will be scoured away by time and wind and water. Perhaps this is why we cling to definition, to hard edges and lines. Because we know that, ultimately, they are drawn on sand.

We need to make our peace with change. We need to leave room in our language and intersections for the subtle movements of time and tide, of identity. For example, I am not a writer. I write. Maybe I will stop one day (not on your life).

See that? That's an example of me not being open to change. What I really mean is I doubt it will happen. But if it does, it will be because I am happier that way, or there is something else I am doing that makes me happier.

We like to make concrete statements about fluid, intangible things. We also like to pretend permanence where there is none, lines in space that do not exist. What is a nation? Does Northern France look much different from Belgium? How old is Belgium? How old is Germany? The United States? What's the difference really between Texas and North Mexico?

Nothing. The lines were drawn, they shifted, were redrawn. Did those lines help us to create anything? Or are they merely divisive? Why bother making them in the first place?

I'm aware that this blog has changed somewhat from my original intent: to give daily snippets of polyamorous life. Now it is an infrequent, irregular hodgepodge of polyamory, politics and insurgent information. It sits somewhere between solarpunk and cottagecore, anarchy, polyamory and monogamy.

It's lost its definition. In marketing terms that would be a bad thing. But why? I value the blogs and sites that I read not so much for their cohesive 'on-brand' concepts, but more for their wide-ranging scope.

I am not an anarchist. I believe in anarchy. I am an anarchist. I was not an anarchist before. I thought I was a socialist.

See how easy it is to deprecate the identity you previously held? If I am an anarchist now, I was a socialist then. I was monogamous once, then I was polyamorous. Now I am a relationship anarchist in hope and heart and part of a polyamorous nesting couple in practice. From the outside I no doubt appear monogamous at present.

There must be room for change and growth. As far as I'm concerned, I was straight once. But now I am decidedly bisexual. I was a boy once, a trans boy. Now I am genderfluid. Does that invalidate my old identity? Not really. I just evolved.

Some of us aren't born fully formed with all knowledge of our future selves embedded in our hard coding. I'd argue none of us are.

We emerge like blocks of stone that get chipped at to reveal the statue waiting inside. But we can, unlike a statue, cement chips back on in different formations and carve ourselves into new shapes through sheer force of will and desire, or new discoveries that knock off a part wr previously considered necessary.

We can change so much in our lives, and it isn't right to force ourselves or others into shapes that we think should be permanent after we've grown out of them.

[achromatic-morality]

( river malak ) was just spotted in amsterdam. rumor has it ( they ) are a ( 423 / appears 26 ) year old ( angel of light ) who resembles ( ezra miller ). ( they ) have been said to be ( optimistic & creative ) but also quite ( willful & sarcastic ).with all the chaos surrounding the magical underworld, ( they ) have chosen to align with ( the vampires ). ( they ) are currently serving as ( a guardian angel ). hopefully the city doesn’t devour them whole.

Name: river malak Race: angel of light Alignment: vampires Role: guardian angel Age: 423 / 26 appearance Gender: gender fluid (they/them) Sexuality: pansexual polyamorous 

[History]

Grace is Just an Aspiration 

As guardian angels go River is both a bit young for being one and somewhat of a disaster at it. Never on purpose of course, they truly do care for their ward but the world was always so very distracting. And being a guardian is difficult; there are so very many that often it’s easy to get lost in the mix. And for one needlessly prideful angel that simply wasn’t the existence that held any appeal. Terrible vice, pride, but maybe it couldn’t be helped; guardians spend more time lurking around mortals than most of the angelic so bad habits are bound to be picked up, especially by the young and impressionable. 

From the moment they stepped into the mortal world for the sake of taking up their purpose the world was a wildly interesting place. Clambering along after a wayward child was hardly what River wanted to do, still a bit of one themselves really, so their charge might have had a few more bumps and bruises during childhood than needed. But when it really counted, when life was terrible, they were there, even if it was a helpless sort of there when comfort could never come from more than just the sense of a presence, a whisper that didn’t always keep the monsters at bay. 

Too many times River felt as though it wasn’t fair, the limitations to what they could do, and that sense of failure eventually led them to more and more distance as their ward grew. It was hard to keep focus, apparently they didn’t have the sort of intensely honed determination for the job other guardians did.  But they never meant for anything bad to happen. 

Your Halo Slipping Down to Choke You

When their ward truly needed them River faltered, by that point they felt as though they were only a ghost as it was, nothing of real use. Maybe they were wrong though, for all the time they spent chasing the human around, learning about their world and the wonderful things within it, maybe it did matter.  Because once they had all but disappeared and abandoned that obligation it all fell apart.  When they discovered their ward had died it was devastating enough, the failure and the sudden ache, but to find out that it wasn’t even a death of natural means? Worse still, they could no longer feel the bond between themselves and their ward, could no longer track them as one of the undead; it was shocking how much the world felt crumbled around them. For all the joy to be found in the world River suddenly only saw the mistake. 

But with Every Sin you Still Want to be Holy

After a while wallowing in that sorrow, not very befitting of an angel really, River decided to do what they weren’t really allowed to. That detail had never stopped them in the past though, so with a jolt of determination they returned to the mortal world, deciding that death was only a small detail; they had to find their ward and pick up where they had failed in the past. They are a guardian angel, after all, and they’ve felt the loss of distance between themselves and the soul they were meant to guide. It doesn’t matter if that soul happens to be in a vampire now, River has a lot of work to make up for and to make right. 

[Basic info]

River doesn’t realize just how much of their identity was helped to the surface by time spent with their ward. They would not have gained a sense of self otherwise, since many guardian angels never step beyond simply existing for their purpose. But time spent in the mortal realm taught them so much. Even their name was a gift of sorts from their ward. They were never granted one in heaven, not important enough, and it’s true that it might be an odd first name but not too surprising since their ward was a child when they picked it. 

For a long time River presented themselves as an ‘imaginary friend’ to their ward but as the child grew and moved past such things there was more distance between them out of necessity since River wasn’t allowed to contact them directly or interfere too much in the course of their life.

Genderfluidity came easy for River, it simply made more sense to them than having a specific gender the way that mortals did. In all the wide world there were so many possibilities and River has always felt that as an angel, and as themselves, they don’t fit one certain mold. Biologically male by design, they never gave much thought to it and as the world became more progressive and they finally had words to put to that feeling.

For an angel River has a lot of typically negative personality aspects, likely from spending far more time around mortals than they ever did around other angels. They’re stubborn and rather selfish at times, even a bit childish in their extremes. But they’re also very vivid and passionate, there’s too much to feel for them to tame down those wild moods.

Vices are wonderful, River is highly indulgent. Anything that makes a day, or night, bright, they’re eager to explore. Maybe along the way they forget a bit of their angelic presence and overstep a few lines, much to the irritation of other angels, but they can’t really be bothered to care because other angels are just missing out, clearly. They also run through hobbies like mad and change them all the time, always looking for something distracting. 

In spite of their unpredictable nature River is still devoted to the idea of being an angel, their faith is still strong and they still stand on the side of light for the most part. Throwing their loyalties in with the vampires has been more for the sake of trying to track down their ward but somewhere along the way they realized that even vampires, like everyone else, have their good points and their bad. 

The fallen angels do make River very nervous though, they’re more inclined to mind their manners around them. But so do angels with higher ranking than themselves, which being only a guardian to a now lost ward means most are. River is the type to agree for the sake of keeping out of trouble, then sneaking off to do whatever they want rather than start a fight they probably don’t have the strength to match to win. 

Which isn’t to say they won’t open their mouth and get into trouble because of that, they don’t have as much of a filter as they should and sometimes they really do find it amusing to poke some fun at the stiffer angelic sorts. It’s all harmless fun, really.

Even if they don’t show it often River does suffer the loss of the bond they once had with their ward and hope, unrealistic or not, that perhaps that will return once they find them again. It hasn’t even occurred to them that maybe their ward might not want their train wreck of a guardian back. 

Past connections

Accidental Influence // Open // Angel or Fallen Angel

As River jolted back and forth between the mortal realm and home they picked up habits, one of which being recounting things to the other angels. This one was rather enthralled by those stories and thus a favorite of River’s to linger around, distract and otherwise keep from the job. They didn’t mean any harm by it, just a rather social creature, but maybe it led to trouble they weren’t around to be accountable for later on.

Absolute Bane // Open // Angels or Fallen Angel

The one that made River’s life practically miserable. Maybe they thought themselves more important than just a guardian angel, maybe they didn’t like how River had developed more of a sense of self than some of the angelic, or how they tested the lines too much. Or maybe they just saw them as an easy target because River was never too bold around other angels. The irritation was relentless and they were happy to put that one far behind the. Now things have changed and running back across the old enemy is very different; River doesn’t fold the way they used to. 

Partner in Crime // Open // Angel

River’s best friend from the start of things. They lost touch for too long once River began spending more and more time among humans and maybe they’re not too keen on River’s determination now to hang around vampires, they still remember the friendship that was strong between them. So does River, and they still adore their oldest friend, they’re just not great at listening to the voice of reason they once tried to ingrain in the wayward angel. 

Current Connections

Ward // Open // Vampire

The one that River failed, at one point the one they spent nearly every moment with. But somewhere along the way something happened and they lost track of them. This is very much open to ideas; said ward could be angry, could be upset, or could recall some sense of their presence. Said ward only knew River as an imaginary friend as a child and as they grew older the rules didn’t allow them to have any direct contact so they never exactly knew that River existed. Might not go over so well to know their guardian angel dropped the ball for the most part. 

Looming Hazard // Open // Fallen Angel, Vampire or Werewolf

Someone that River has hit a raw nerve with and has some real power behind them. While this enemy of sorts can be fairly malicious at times River doesn’t take it as serious as they should, putting themselves into danger without meaning to. Eventually it will all come to a breaking point though, a disaster, and the lines might end up drawn in the sand. River may not realize it at first, but they really have gotten in over their head with this one.

The Best Bad Influence // Open // Any

Basically the best friend with the added benefit of being both eager to go along with their off-skew plans but also have a few of their own. Very likely trouble and chaos, and honestly that’s the best thing about them so far as River is concerned. Not at all the one to lead them on the right path, but more often than not the more interesting path. 

Lead me Only Slightly Into Temptation // Open // Vampire or Fallen Angel

River doesn’t want to fall, especially not now that they’re determined to go back to being a guardian angel, but this one doesn’t either believe or just refuses to. After all, they think River would be well suited to being one of the fallen, it’s just a matter of finding the right angle to convince them. 

Intimate Friendships // Open // Any

River has cheated a little on some things, one of them being the whole sanctity of sex and lust being a sin. But there is a loophole really; lust in the presence of love really isn’t a sin. And River loves everyone on some level, people in general fall into that category for them so really it counts. Okay, maybe not always the purest sense of love but whatever, they skirt the lines with a lot of things; God probably isn’t thrilled with plenty of their habits. But could be friends, old flings, one time things or maybe an on and off lover, or lovers. 

Soulmate // Open // Any

Everyone probably has one, right? Even River. Though for them it’s going to be a bit more complicated. But, soulmates don’t always have to be romantic so this can even be platonic, or not. 

[Tags]

i’ll break your halo // Visual tag still just short of divine  // Musings  refracted light // Interactions

[alwaysamusedao3]

Born of Ice, Raised with Fire: Memories

Hey. Uh.

It’s been about five years since I’ve touched this series, and I’ll be honest, I don’t remember a lot of the structure I built up for it. I probably couldn’t get back into writing this series if I tried. The synopsis of Memories is here.

Regardless.

About five years ago, I did start writing the last installment. It is incomplete, and the synopsis of the rest is in another post. But, because my readers are awesome, here are chapters 1 & 2 of Part Three: Memories.

1.

In a frozen wasteland, a vertical line of light appeared in the air. Green light, to be exact. After a few moment, it extended horizontally, and became an oval instead, growing larger. A black-haired man stepped through, his foot sinking into the snow. Having not expected this, he yelped and fell forwards, hitting the ground with an “Oof!���

A woman stepped through next, and promptly yelped, falling on top of him. “Sorry, Loki! I'm sorry!” She said and scrambled off of him as he moaned, sitting up and wiping the snow off of his face, looking around.

“So,” the woman said. “Where are we?”

“Jotunheim,” Loki replied, standing up and brushing the fluffy snow off his clothes. He then helped her up and looked around, shivering.

“I thought we were going to Nidavellir,” she said, looking around as she tried to warm herself up.

“I changed my mind,” he shrugged, but he wore a wicked grin. “You were complaining of the cold too much.”

“Oh, ha ha,” she said, teeth chattering. “Is there a w-warming spell or someth-thing?”

“Wha- Oh! My apologies, Darcy,” he waved a hand at her and she sighed, warming up a bit. She tugged her hat over her ears and rearranged her scarf as Loki continued to look around. “This way, I think.,” he said, pointing.

“You think?” She said, raising an eyebrow, shouldering her backpack.

“I've only been here once before,” Loki said indignantly, beginning to trudge through the snow. Darcy followed, glad that he was in front of her.

“Shouldn't you, like, turn blue?” She asked. “They don't exactly like Asgardians, from what you've told me.”

“True,” Loki mused. “But... well...”

“Still don't like being blue?” She grinned. “Oh, c'mon, it's not bad, Smurf-face.”

“I resent that nickname,” Loki sighed and she laughed.

“Maybe you'll be less cold?” She offered. “Besides, it's a bit disrespectful.”

Loki huffed and finally shifted into his Jotnar form. “Happy?”

“Delighted,” she grinned, linking arms with him. “So where're we going?”

“The Temple,” Loki replied. “I'm not exactly sure where everything is, but it shouldn't be too hard to figure out. And Helbindi said I'd be welcome here any time, so I suppose I just have to find him.”

“Helbindi is you're brother?” Darcy asked.

“Sibling,” Loki corrected. “Or sosken.”

“Oh, right, duh,” she said. “Thanks.”

“That's okay,” Loki smiled. Darcy looked up at him.

“So do you like the whole gender-neutral stuff too?”

“What's it to you?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at her. She shrugged.

“I was just wondering, since you’re genderfluid,” she said, then yelped as she nearly tripped. Loki stopped dead.

“What?”

“Genderfluid,” Darcy repeated, also stopping. “You know, sometimes a guy, sometimes a girl, sometimes kinda meh on the whole gender thing.” She shrugged. “It's a new-ish term, but it's getting to be considered pretty normal. At least, at home. I'm not sure about on Asgard.”

“I-” Loki blinked. “Genderfluid?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Fluid about your gender.”

Loki frowned and continued walking. Darcy walked behind him again, deciding that trudging through snow next to him wasn't worth it, especially since Loki was already creating a clear path.

“The snow glows white on the mountain tonight, not a footprint to be seen...” Darcy sand under her breath and Loki groaned.

“Can you please stop singing that infernal song?” He asked.

“Wha-at?” She said, pretending to look offended. “It's a good song! And Idina Menzel is the best! I should totally make you listen to her as Elphaba in Wicked.”

Loki rolled his eyes and Darcy poked his shoulder. “So, are you genderfluid? 'Cuz you never answered the question.”

“It's none of your business, Darcy,” Loki said, not looking back at her.

“It's fine! Really, I don't care, I'm just curious,” Darcy huffed and said “Can you walk a little slower, please? I'm not really in shape!”

“Maybe,” Loki drawled. “If you answer a riddle.”

“Fine, fine,” Darcy grumbled.

“It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,/Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt./It lies behind stars and under hills,/And empty holes it fills./It comes out first and follows after,/Ends life, kills laughter,” Loki said menacingly. Darcy huffed out a laugh.

“It's the dark,” she replied. “It's, like, the second riddle in The Hobbit.”

“The what?” Loki looked back at her, frowning, and she sighed.

“Never mind. Now slow down!”

They continued along in silence. Well, mostly silence. Darcy was humming to herself, some tune that Loki didn't recognize, but was sure to be irritating with lyrics, so he didn't ask. Instead, he tuned her out and listened to the wind. It was almost silent around them, and the land wasn't as gray as it had been when he had first come with Thor. It seemed like so long ago, but in reality, he'd only been banished from Asgard three months ago. Since then, he'd gotten himself an apartment in New York, but still hung around Darcy and Jane's house. He hadn't seen Thor since turning his hair blue before leaving, which was on purpose.

It was nice to not have any responsibilities, Loki thought. It was also nice to have some time away from an idiot of an elder brother, and an overprotective mother. Odin was... Well, Loki had mostly made his peace with Odin.

Mostly.

He couldn't help but feel there was just a a little part of him that didn't trust Odin anymore. Just one little sliver of hurt that whispered, You betrayed me. Loki had tried to shake it off, however it kept coming back. He'd told Darcy about it one day, when he'd brought her to his apartment for tea and cookies. She had been sympathetic, and had told him it would go away with time, so Loki had mostly ignored it. After all, he wouldn't have any need to see Odin for ten years.

“Do you want a granola bar?” Darcy pulled Loki out of his sulking and he looked at her. She held one out while munching on the other.

“What is it?”

“Umm...” She looked at the wrapper. “Oats and choco-chip. It's good.”

Loki shrugged and accepted it. The texture was weird, but he could live with it. When he finished, she took the wrapper and shoved it into her backpack, taking out a water bottle instead.

“Is there another one?” Loki asked, nodding at the bottle.

“No, but you can share mine,” she said, offering it. Loki politely declined and she grinned. “What, afraid you'll catch girl cooties?”

“Catch- Sorry, what?” Loki frowned at her and she grinned.

“Oh, nothing. Flashback to elementary school here,” she said. She offered it again and said “You sure, Green eyes?”

Loki reluctantly took the water bottle, then handed it back, ignoring the smug look on her face. She put it back into her pack and shouldered it again.

After a few more minutes of waking, Loki suddenly stopped walking. Darcy walked into him and said “Hey! Loki!”

“We're being watched,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. Darcy stopped and looked around, then slung her pack off and pulled out her taser. Loki looked around and called “Who goes there?” There was silence.

Darcy suddenly let out a startled yelp as someone tanked her back. Loki whipped around, pulling out a knife, but stopped when he saw a small, pure white Jotun standing there, eyes a light violet. There was a light blue scarf wrapped around zir head, and ze pressed a knife to Darcy's throat.

“State your name and business,” the Jotun hissed. “Strangers are unwelcome here.”

Loki straightened and put his knife away, raising his hands. “I am Loki,” he said, slowly. “Formerly of Asgard. I've come to find my blood brother, Helbindi.”

“Farbauti's kin?” Ze narrowed zir eyes.

“Yes,” Loki said. Zir eyes looked over his face for a moment. Then, ze released Darcy, putting away the knife and taking a step back, bowing formally.

“My apologies, your Highness,” ze said. “I had to make sure. Who is this?” Ze looked at Darcy.

“Darcy. Lewis,” Darcy replied. “Of, uh, Midgard.”

The Jotun looked surprised. “A human?”

“My friend,” Loki said. “Who are you?”

“Of course, of course, my apologies,” the Jotun repeated, bowing again. Ze then straightened and smiled. “Zet Agnoda Svithakith, at your service.”

Agnoda. The name jiggled something in Loki's memory. He frowned and said “Thrym's child?”

Agnoda looked surprised, then smiled. “Yes, Thrym is my far.” Ze reached down and picked up the taser where Darcy had dropped it, handing it back to her. “I apologize for the fright, Zet Darcy.”

“Zet?” Darcy frowned.

“A formal term,” Loki explained. “Like, 'miss,' or 'mister.'”

“Ooh, I get it,” Darcy nodded. “Okay. I'll try not to mess up.”

Agnoda smiled at the exchange and said “The palace is not far from here. I will guide you.”

“Thank you,” Loki said, smiling. “We've been walking for some time.”

“I can imagine,” Agnoda replied, taking lead. Loki watched zir; ze had a quiver of arrows on zir back, and a bow on her shoulder, as well as several knives. Loki blinked.

“Why didn't you just shoot us?” He asked. Agnoda looked around and walked backwards.

“Because you're Jotnar,” ze replied. “And ze is not,” ze indicated Darcy.

“I'd prefer she and her pronouns, if you don't mind,” Darcy piped up.

“My apologies, ma'am,” Agnoda said, accepting it graciously. “To answer your question, I was curious. You are also ygmi, like I am, so you're bound to have magic of some sort.”

Loki nodded. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Agnoda turned and walked straight again, silent. Before long, they reached what appeared to be a fortress. Darcy gave a low, impressed whistle, and Loki couldn't help but agree; it was made of gray stone and ice, and the walls were at least as tall as the ones in Asgard, if not taller. Darcy moved a bit closer towards Loki. It was an intimidating sight.

“Halt! Who goes there?” A voice called.

“Zet Agnoda,” Agnoda called.

“And those two?” The Jotun called.

“Prin Loki Farbautikith, and Miss Darcy Lewiskith,” Agnoda called back. “Will you allow is passage into the city?”

“Depends,” the voice came back. “What's the password?”

“You're a drittsekk, Yrgol,” Agnoda replied with a smirk and Yrgol began to laugh, opening the gates.

“Better watch your language, Ag,” ze said as they walked in. Agnoda ignored zim and ze bowed at Loki as he and Darcy passed.

Loki looked around as Agnoda led them through the passage, and Loki realized just how thick the wall was. They reached the other side and Darcy stopped in her tracks, eyes wide.

“Fucking hell,” she breathed and Agnoda gave her a grin, lowering the scarf from her head. The city was huge, Jotnar rushing around through the market. But what Loki hadn't anticipated were the colors.

They were everywhere. Yellows, and reds, and greens, and purples, and every color imaginable filled his vision and Darcy took off her glasses, wiping them on her shirt before putting them back on. Agnoda smiled and said “Welcome, your Highness, to the City of Edelstenr.”

 2.

Agnoda led them through the city, Loki taking hold of Darcy's hand so she wouldn't get lost. Jotnar were dressed in robes and shawls, and most wore jewelry somewhere on them, be it rings, or bracelets, or earrings. Some, like Agnoda had done before, had wrapped scarves around their heads. Children ran about in little more than loincloths sometimes, and Darcy “oooh'd” at some jewelry.

“Jane would love to analyze that stuff,” she whispered and Loki grinned. At least it was easier to spot Agnoda here; zir albinism made zim stand out in the crowd, unlike in the snow. People stopped to say hello to zim, and ze paused here and there to say hello back, then continued to lead Loki. Loki noticed, however, that Darcy and he attracted more than a fair amount of attention.

“They must think you two odd,” Agnoda explained when Darcy asked. “Prin Loki is clearly Jotnar, so they are confused as to why ze wears Asgardian clothes. With you, well...” She smiled. “Most would mistake you for Aesir, or Vanir, if not for your... unusual style of clothing.”

Darcy frowned and pushed her glasses up her nose. “How much farther?”

“Not far now,” Agnoda said. “We're almost- Ah! Hei! Hei! Thrym-far!”

Loki looked around to see Thrym standing by a vender, purchasing something. Ze looked around at his child's calls and grinned.

“Hei, kin.” Ze finished buying and put zir wares into a cloth bag around zir wrist. Ze them walked over and spotted Loki.

“And if it isn't Prince Loki,” ze said, looking him up and down. “You look well. Who's your friend?” Ze nodded at Darcy.

“This is Miss Darcy,” Loki said. “She's of Midgard.”

“Midgard?” Thrym's eyebrows raised. “Truly?” Ze bent slightly sp as to get a better look at her. Darcy grinned and waved a little.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hallo,” Thrym said, smiling and waving. His hands were massive compared to hers, but she didn't seem daunted by this. Thrym straightened and said “Would you mind if I walked with you for a short while?”

“Not at all,” Loki said, smiling.

“Far, I can take that, if you'd like to take Prin Loki the rest of the way,” Agnoda said, pointing to the bag.

“Thank you, Agga,” Thrym replied and handed it to zir. Ze smiled and ran off.

“So, you've met my Agnoda,” Thrym said as Loki, Darcy, and ze walked off again. “How do you like zim?”

“Ze's nice,” Loki replied. “Kind. Scared us a bit outside. We were lost, and ze helped us.”

“Ah,” Thrym nodded. “I assume ze held Miss Darcy hostage until you gave zir answered?”

Loki only nodded and smiled. Thrym laughed a little. “Good ung.”

Darcy only sighed a bit. “Are you guys talking about me?”

“Yes, why?” Loki frowned at her.

“Well, I can't understand a damn think any of you are saying, except the fact that I distinctly heard 'Miss Darcy' go by.”

Loki blinked at her for a moment before realizing that he and Thrym had started speaking Jotniri, and he had slipped out of Allspeak.

“Sorry, Darcy,” Loki said, smiling. “I forgot you don't have Allspeak. We're talking about Agnoda and how she captured you.”

“Oh,” Darcy nodded. “Okay. At least I didn't lose my taser.”

“Taser?” Thrym frowned and Darcy grinned.

“Yeah! It's... hold on...” She reached into her pack and pulled out the black box. “It shoots, um, lightning at people. And shocks them. Usually knocks 'em out. Put Thor into the hospital once, but he didn't have any godly powers at the time.” Darcy looked proud of herself.

“You rendered Thor unconscious?” Thrym looked amused. “I've fought Thor before. Are you sure it was him?”

“Yup,” Darcy said, nodding as she put the black box of doom into her coat pocket. “My dad gave it to me when I turned eighteen.”

Thrym nodded, but looked amused. “You're only eighteen?”

“What?” Darcy frowned. “Humans only live for, like, a century! At most! I think the oldest woman is, like, a hundred and fifteen.”

“Really? So short?”

“Well, how long do you guys live for?” Darcy asked, crossing her arms. Thrym smiled.

“Longer than Aesir do, but not by very long. They only live to about five-thousand years, or so. Jotnar live for about six-thousand, however the eldest is reaching their eleven-thousandth in a few centuries.”

“Cool,” Darcy said, grinning. “Hey, Loki, say hi to my great-great-great-grandkids, 'kay?”

Loki snorted. “We'll see.”

Darcy stuck her tongue out at him, then paused. “But wait, if Jotnar live until they're six-thousand, then... How old are you again?”

Loki sighed. “Darcy, does it really-”

“Yes,” she said, pulling out her phone and flipping to a calculator. “You said you were about a thousand-five-hundred, right?”

“He's one-thousand-four-hundred and eighty... three?” Thrym said, then frowned. “The war ended... Yes, eighty-three.”

Darcy looked at Loki, who sighed and said “Eighty-four. I just had a name-day.”

“Wait, what?” Darcy frowned at him. “It was your birthday and you didn't tell me?”

“Oh, yes,” Thrym said, nodding.

Darcy frowned, then put the numbers into a calculator. She then shrugged. “Eh,” she said. “What do you know? It only took about four years off. You're twenty now.” She grinned. “Thor's seven years older.”

“Can we just go by Aesir terms?” Loki sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“You're younger than I am,” she pointed out, giggling.

“On the contrary, my dear; I'm more than a thousand years older,” Loki said, grinning.

“You know what I mean, doofus,” she said, playfully thwacking his shoulder. A few minutes later, they reached the gates of the palace. Thrym got them in without too much trouble, and sent a guard to go tell Helbindi that they'd arrived.

The palace seemed to be made of ice, except precious stones and metals were placed into it, and there were carvings in the walls that had been colored. Loki and Darcy hung back, and Thrym slowed down once ze realized that they wanted to look around. It wasn't long before Loki realized they were being followed. He whipped around and caught two red eyes peeking out at him from behind a tapestry. The eyes widened, and their owner ducked back. Loki blinked and frowned.

“Thrym?” He asked.

“Yes, Loki?” Thrym replied, looking back.

“Who's that behind the tapestry there?” Loki nodded his head to indicate and Thrym looked over.

“Prin Byleist,” ze said after a moment. “Ze's young, and very curious, if not shy.”

Loki looked around and saw the eyes looking again. Thrym smiled a little and murmured “Ze is probably fascinated by you and your friend.”

Darcy heard and glanced over at the Jotnar Prince, grinning. “Hi, there! I'm Darcy,” she called and Loki could have groaned for her tactlessness.

Byleist hid back behind the tapestry and Darcy sat on the floor. “Well, don't be afraid,” she said. “I'm not very threatening.”

“She's right,” Loki called. “Unless, of course, you insult her taste in music.”

“My taste in music isn't that bad!” Darcy said, and went off to go follow Thrym again. Loki soon straightened as well and followed, glancing back to see Byleist peering out again. As soon as the child realized Loki saw zim, ze raised a hand and gave a cautious wave. Loki returned the wave, and the child gave him a tentative smile before running off. Grinning to himself, Loki turned to follow the sound of Darcy’s voice and Thrym’s deep laughter.