We Used To Live Next To A School And When Recess Happened (we Both Worked From Home) We Would Just Nod

We used to live next to a school and when recess happened (we both worked from home) we would just nod sagely at each other and say "ah yes, it's the time of child murder".

And then we literally moved because a nearby motorcycle dealership took customers on test drives through the neighborhood starting at 9am on weekends.

I would like to add:

🚗 being stuck in traffic 🚗

Why would I need plagiarism software to brainstorm ideas if I already have:

💻Daydreaming during work💻

💤Insomnia💤

✨The Shower✨

AND

Info-dumpling my poor mom like

Jesus Christ what a ride

It is a little known fact that angels cannot step foot in hell.

Note: this does not mean that angels *don’t* enter the burning depths, only that they cannot touch the floor. You see, the fires that rage below are not regular fire. They do not consume fuel and oxygen and spit out heat. Instead, they chew on reality and drink down order, and the flames that lick up at you are made of chaos-filled void.

This is antithetical to the very substance of angels. If it touches them, at *best* the angels will be spat out as they are forcibly reminded that *they don’t go here*.

At medium, they will be unmade.

At worst, they will be *changed*.

You might think they could avoid this by simply flying through the pit, right? Oh, would that it were so simple. Remember the flames that burn up reality? Hell is an alchemical reaction of exploding space and logic and time and souls. You try flying through a place that is not a place, where up and down can hardly agree on which is which for more than an instant.

But there is a way around this. It was originally discovered by the guardian angel Cambiel. You see, under Cambiel’s protection was a woman named Ruth. Ruth was a shining light who Cambiel cared for greatly.

Ruth, in turn, had a woman she cared for very much. And, sadly, a demon had stolen Ruth’s love away from her.

“Do not follow her,” warned Cambiel, “for if you follow your heart through the gates of perdition, I cannot go with you.”

“Sorry, babe,” replied Ruth, “but I am *very* gay and *very* romantic and that has made me reckless.”

And Cambiel nodded sadly, for all of this was true and good.

But as Ruth walked the lonely, tortured path into the underworld, an idea occurred to Cambiel.

Sure, they couldn’t walk or fly into hell, but maybe they could *ride* there.

Now, a fully grown horse could not hope to navigate the depths beneath the world, for their sense of self-preservation was too strong. An adult horse would flee from the screams of imploding souls and the winding geometry of impossibly winding roads.

But a young horse? With a child’s innocence, with bright young eyes, who had not yet been tricked into believing in its mortality?

That was a mount that could bear an angel (who was, after all, light enough to dance on the head of a pin) into the fearful caverns of the beyond. Honestly, the little horse seemed weirdly enthused about the whole thing. 

And so did Cambiel guide a pair of reckless and romantic (and useless) lesbians out of hell.

When the pair thanked the angel, all they said was this:

“Don’t thank me, thank the little horse. It turns out … foals rush in where angels fear to tread.”

Update: WELP. IT HAPPENED.

Apparently I'm writing a multi-chapter fanfic of characters from a novel that hasn't been published yet to work through That Trans Shit idk

---

[Set in the universe of Community Witch - my queer polyamorous romance novel that I'm currently working on getting published.] Dee jumped as Corey dropped onto the couch beside them, having been too lost in thought to register that he had returned from his errand.

"So," he said ominously.

Dee looked at the sketchbook in their lap and winced at the blank page staring up at them. "Yes?"

Their partner patiently took the sketchbook and set it on the coffee table, forcing Dee to look up at him. "You're doing that thing again," he admonished gently. "Where you have a crisis and refuse to talk to anyone about it."

"I don't... I mean. It's not--"

Corey gave them a Look. "You do," he said irritably, tapping his chest in an oblique reminder of their magical bond. "And even just getting the edges of whatever it is you're worrying about is enough to give me a headache. So stop shutting me out and just... talk to me?"

Dee's resistance crumbled at the softness in his infuriatingly beautiful brown eyes. "Is Yulia...?"

"She'll be working outside for a while, but we could go upstairs if you like."

Dee nodded jerkily, the thought of being interrupted by the old woman who had essentially adopted them both still somehow completely overwhelming.

Corey's lips twitched into a smile as he abruptly slung them over his shoulder, lifting them effortlessly to carry them toward the stairs. Dee laughed despite themself and didn't bother to pretend, as they usually did, that they didn't enjoy it.

Once upstairs, he tossed them onto the bed before kicking the door behind him. However, when Dee stretched provocatively and batted their eyes flirtatiously, he just settled onto the bed next to them with a look that said he wasn't going to fall for their stalling tactics this time.

There was a long, horrible silence.

"This is the part where you say things," Corey finally prompted.

- - -

Dee felt as if they'd been pounded flat and hung out to dry by the time they were done crying. Once they'd cleaned themself up, they lay listlessly in Corey's arms, too physically miserable to really feel any of their emotions.

"So. Wanting to do more transition," Corey prompted. "What does that mean?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Dee confessed. "I know that I want a dick, but I don't want surgery. Eighty percent satisfaction rate isn't high enough. And. I think I want top surgery. But I'm not sure." They paused to take a deep shuddering breath. "I'm not sure I want to give up what it feels like when you. Um. Touch them."

Corey made the thoughtful noise that Dee had long since learned to interpret as his "processing" sound. When he finally spoke, his tone was cautious. "You might not need surgery. I could... if you wanted, that is. Look into using magic?"

Dee blinked. "I thought you didn't--"

"I don't." He grimaced. "I mean, witchcraft doesn't work for that kind of thing. But I know some very highly placed fae who, as you may remember, owe me some pretty fucking big favors."

Dee couldn't help but goggle at him. "And you'd be willing to use them... for me?"

"I want you to be happy," Corey repeated earnestly. "Just." He smiled and brushed a stray hair away from their eye. "We're talking about fae, so the devil is very much in the details here. You'd need to take time to decide what you do and don't want."

Dee nodded. "I will. And." They picked anxiously at his shirt. "You'll still want to have sex with me? If that's what I want?"

"No surgery means no nerve damage, which means playing with your nipples will still be just as fun. Not to mention..." Corey smiled wolfishly. "Getting to figure out what makes you come all over again sounds pretty hot."

Dee laughed tremulously as the tight knot of anxiety inside them finally began to loosen. "I should have known you'd get hot and bothered about getting to do more research."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Corey shot back, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "There are so many questions that need answering. How will you feel about handjobs? Blowjobs? Do you still want me to fuck you, or would you rather fuck me?"

Dee's mouth went dry as they were hit with a sudden mental image of Corey moaning in pleasure as their cock slid into him - something they hadn't even known they wanted until he said it.

"See?" he said smugly, pulling them down into a long slow kiss. "Research is great."

tfw you're still working on a second draft of a novel and you have the almost undeniable urge to write fanfic of your own novel because you've got Some Trans Shit To Work Through

My cat insists on "helping me" edit

Me: I changed my mind. I'm not making Agamemnon my middle name.

Me: I'm going with Archaeopteryx instead

My husband: (puts his face in his hands)

My husband: (picks up his phone and sends the following)