patronsaintofdelusion

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 5: Heads Or Tails, Fairy Tales In My Mind]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, RIP Jace.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Are We The Waiting” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“I know he has a scalpel in his bag,” Baela says, meaning Aemond. You are sitting with her on the front steps of a two-story house—1970s construction, split foyer, pale blue siding and rust-red bricks—on Trux Street in Plymouth, Ohio. This town was named for the place where the pilgrims stepped off the Mayflower over four hundred years ago, pioneers who crossed through the doorway of an unfathomably changing world to die of disease, cold, accidents, starvation, violence. You wonder if you are so unlike them. “He’s assisted with c-sections before, if it comes to that. And he has needles and surgical thread. But he doesn’t have any way to anesthetize me.”

Luke and Rhaena are on the roof of the silver Chrysler Pacifica parked at the end of the driveway and surveilling the road. Everyone else is inside tearing the house apart as they try to find the keys. You don’t know what to say to Baela. There is no way to console her except by lying, and she’s too smart for that. “How far along are you?”

“I don’t even know.” She laughs like she’s on the verge of losing her mind. You don’t blame her. “The doctors calculate it based on the date of your last period, but mine was all over the place. I had tried a few different birth control pills and had all these side effects, weird spotting and cramping, no sex drive, feeling depressed, so I just figured I’d go all natural for six months and give my body a chance to reset. And we all know how that turned out.” She skims her palms over the globe of her belly, hidden beneath the flowing periwinkle cotton of a maternity dress she found at the Walmart back in Shenandoah. “I’m officially due in four weeks.”

“But it could happen at any time.”

Baela nods miserably. “My mum had me and Rhaena the…you know…the natural way, and it was smooth sailing. But she needed an emergency c-section with my little brother. What happens if that’s how it goes for me? Do you ever think about all the ways people can die now? It’s not just the zombies. I could get murdered, or fall and crack my skull open, or get a cut that turns septic, or rupture my appendix, or get frostbite or heatstroke, or get bitten by a snake. It never ends. We’ll be balancing on the knife’s edge for the rest of our lives.”

You wish you were better with words; you wish you were someone who spoke effortlessly like Rio or Aegon. You reply with the only thing you can think of. “Humans have survived for hundreds of thousands of years, and for the vast majority of that time with no modern medicine. It was dangerous, and it was painful. But there have always been people who made it. We wouldn’t exist otherwise.”

Remarkably, this seems to help. “I know Aemond will do everything he can for me,” Baela says, more steadily now. “He’s always been the most dependable one. So serious, so protective. Daeron was visiting us in Boston when everything shut down, and Aemond wouldn’t let the kid out of his sight for weeks…then Aemond almost died when he lost his eye and Daeron proved he could take care of himself with his compound bow.” Baela unwraps a Twizzler and takes a bite out of it, gazing vacantly at the sky, calm and overcast now that the storm has passed, breezy, mid-80s. She doesn’t even like them, but she’s been eating through a pack of Twizzlers Luke had been carrying in his backpack for Jace, slow mindless chewing like a cow’s. “Aemond feels responsible for you now. And that’s difficult when there’s so little control he actually has over what ends up happening.”

“Baela…I’m so sorry about Jace.”

“Drowning isn’t so bad, I guess. I hope he drowned. I hope he was dead before he washed ashore and they ate him.” Baela turns to you, eyes glazed. “Do you think we should have shot him before we left the river? To make sure he didn’t die in pain? You could have done it if you wanted to. Your aim is good enough.”

“No,” you say, horrified but trying to soften it. “I think that would have been…immoral.”

“I don’t even have a picture of Jace to show the baby, everything was online or on my phone, and now that’s all…gone. Just gone. Like he never even existed. How am I going to explain to my child what Boston was, or law school, or aerospace engineering, or grocery stores or shopping malls or Instagram, or anything else about our lives before this whole fucking disaster? All they’ll ever know is running from monsters, scrounging for shelter and supplies from the ruins of civilization.”

“The world is going to come back, Baela. Maybe not for five or ten years, and maybe looking a lot different than it did before, but humanity will recover. The Black Death wasn’t the end, and neither were the World Wars or the Mongol invasions or the colonization of the Americas, or famines or floods or volcanic eruptions. The zombies won’t end us either.”

“Do you really believe that?”

I want to. “Yeah, I do. We just have to hold on until the tide turns. We can’t give up.”

“In that case, I’ll try not to go completely insane in the immediate future. Thank God Rhaena and Luke are still here. Do you have any siblings?”

You smile vaguely. “Four.”

“Wow,” Baela says. “Do you know where they are now?”

There is an interruption before you have to decide how to answer: a roaring high above in the sky, a remote mechanical growling. You and Baela both look up to see a jet zooming by, just below the steel grey cloud cover and leaving a trail of condensation behind it like a comet’s tail of eons-old cosmic dust. From where he is perched atop the Pacifica, Luke is pointing at the jet to show Rhaena. Aemond, Rio, Aegon, and Daeron come rocketing out of the house to find the source of the noise. After a moment, Helaena moseys onto the front porch as well, tucking flashlights and napkins into her burlap messenger bag. Meanwhile, Aegon is filling his pockets with packs of Marlboro Golds and orange prescription bottles labelled Percocet.

“Is that an airplane?!” Aegon gasps. “People are flying again?! Oh, we are back, baby! We are so back! I’m catching the next flight to SFO, peace out bitches, no more Oregon Trail for me!”

“It’s a jet,” Aemond says flatly. “Not a passenger carrier. Probably military.”

“Doesn’t look like one of ours.” Rio turns to you for confirmation.

“No, I don’t recognize it.”

“Then who the fuck is up there?” Aegon says. “Canada? The U.K.?”

Rio sighs, ruffling Aegon’s already quite disheveled blonde hair. “Who knows, Honey Bun. Maybe it’s China or Russia swinging by to drop nukes on any survivors.”

“Fortunately, nobody’s going to waste a nuclear bomb on freaking Plymouth, Ohio,” Baela says, watching the jet vanish into the west, the droning of its engines replaced by the breeze through the sugar maples and sycamores, the screeching of cicadas and chirps of robins. “No luck finding the keys?”

Aemond frowns as he shakes his head, tapping his chin anxiously. He knows she can’t walk much farther.

“How do none of us know how to hotwire a car?” Aegon demands, exasperated.

Rio replies cheerfully: “Well, Chips and I have been diligently serving this glorious nation since we were eighteen years old, and you’re all clueless rich kids. So…I think that just about sums it up.”

“I need more arrows,” Daeron says, clutching his compound bow. All the ones he had are now speared through zombies along the river where Jace died. When you snuck away from the farm at dawn, Luke used his binoculars to check the shores; they were still swamped with zombies, even more than the night before. They are pack animals; alone, they are aimless and easily confounded, their memories calamitously short. As part of a group—if they were crows they’d be a murder, if they were camels they’d be a caravan—zombies attract and guide each other, moving symbiotically like planets and moons locked in orbit.

“I think you’re going to have to start making them the old fashioned way, kid,” Rio tells Daeron, accompanied by a rough pat of encouragement on the back.

“What, like with sticks?!”

“Yeah. Use a knife to carve one end to make it pointy and you’re good to go.”

“Love it. Very pioneer.” Aegon holds up a Sony Walkman, pink and covered with Disney stickers, Ava spelled out across the top in glittering rhinestones. “At least I found this. Helaena, do we have any more AA batteries?” She fishes around in her bag and hands him a pair.

Baela gapes at him, but she’s smiling. It’s horrible, it’s absurd, it’s something you can’t help but find a macabre humor in. “Aegon, you cannot use that poor eaten kid’s CD player. You know it’s haunted.”

Aegon sings like a jingle from a commercial: “Little Ava died, RIP. Now I get to listen to my CDs.”

“Oh, that is so fucked up!” Rio cackles.

You say, grinning: “Aegon, I’m really going to miss you when we’re all in heaven at the bowling alley made of clouds and you’re downstairs in the fiery version of the afterlife.”

“Don’t feel bad for me, Chipmunk. You’re the one who’s going to die without ever having an orgasm.”

“You don’t need a man for that, Aegon,” Baela says.

“You definitely don’t,” you agree. Aemond glances over at you, intrigued. You stare dauntlessly back. What? You said you weren’t interested. The corners of his lips curl up in a reticent smile; he looks down to try to hide it. He’s touching his chin again. His cheeks flush pink as his mind wanders.

Rio chuckles. “Oh yeah, I remember your little experimenting phase. Lots of trips to the Spencer’s in the Tysons Corner mall when we were stationed at Anacostia.”

You raise your eyebrows, though you’re not annoyed. “I thought you were never going to tell anybody about that.”

“It’s the end of the world, baby. No time to be shy.” Then Rio asks Aemond: “Since we’re here and it’s quiet, you want to go ahead and check every house that has a car with the fuel cap still closed? There are some minivans and SUVs down at the other end of the street. Even a few gallons of gas will take us farther than days on foot.”

Aegon adds, checking his map: “A half tank would get us all the way to Decatur, Indiana.”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Aemond says. He offers Baela a hand and helps lift her to her feet. “You guys go ahead, I’ll meet you down at the driveway with the black…what is that, a Honda Odyssey? You know the one, the van in front of the yellow house. Don’t go inside until I get there.”

“Yup!” Aegon agrees as he speeds off, racing Daeron to the house. Rio—not one for sprinting—jogs after them with his Remington in hand, ready to bash rotting skulls in at a moment’s notice. Baela toddles down to the Pacifica to tell Luke and Rhaena the plan, her periwinkle dress billowing in the wind; then they climb down to walk with her. Helaena floats across the sidewalk like a ghost, pausing to pick buttercups that grow up between the cracks in the cement.

Aemond has been waiting until the two of you are alone. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.” A few houses down, a female zombie—early-twenties, white bikini top, red Ohio State shorts—staggers across the yard and in her attempt to snag Aegon falls and impales herself on the white picket fence. She is suspended there, clawing and yowling, her blackening intestines and dark clotted blood staining the wood. Aegon takes his time getting into a stance and swings his golf club like he’s at a driving range. He hits her dead-on, caves the front of her face in, takes a few more shots just to be sure.

“I get what’s in Oregon for Rio,” Aemond says. “Sophie, the baby, his parents. But why are you going there?”

“Rio’s my best friend. He might be my only friend who’s still alive. And when we left Saratoga Springs, he made me promise that I wouldn’t let him die alone. So before anything else, I have to make sure he gets to Odessa and finds his family. And then I can figure out what’s next for me. But if it really is safe there, I don’t see why I’d leave. I’ve never wanted to be on my own. Maybe I can end up having a family in Oregon too.”

Aemond rests his elbows on the porch railing. He’s teasing you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I’m still alive.”

You tease him back. He deserves it. “I’m not sure about you and me.”

“I’d like for us to be friends.”

“Would you?”

“Resoundingly.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a try.”

He considers you. “You know, Kentucky might have been a good place for you to hide out. And it would be a lot closer than Oregon.”

You stand up, throwing on your backpack full of bullets for your Beretta M9s, beef jerky and peanut butter crackers and granola bars, lip balm, bottles of water, Kleenex tissues, Juicy Fruit, miscellaneous treasures from the road, practically worthless trinkets made so impossibly valuable. “We’re done here, right?”

Aemond is disappointed, though not with you. He has committed an error he cannot understand. “Yeah, we’re done.” He walks with you to the yellow house, your sneakers pounding in tandem on the sidewalk, squirrels and rabbits darting through the overgrown lawns, eastern tiger swallowtails swooping between blossoms.

Aegon says when you and Aemond arrive in the driveway, nodding to the once-attractive blonde zombie pawing and licking at the glass of the living room window: “Who wants to take care of Ryan Seacrest?”

“Got it,” Rio replies immediately. He kicks down the front door, macerates the zombie’s skull with the butt of his Remington, then sweeps through the kitchen and dining room searching for any other monsters in need of hasty euthanasia. He doesn’t find any. He drags the corpse outside to lessen the stench of decomposition and opens all the downstairs windows.

“Commence Operation Find The Minivan Keys,” Aegon says as he rummages through drawers and cabinets. Helaena joins him, seeking so delicately she is almost soundless, her large blue eyes flicking from place to place. Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron stay outside to keep watch. Baela collapses into a recliner in one corner of the living room and is dozing within seconds.

“I’ll clear the upstairs,” Aemond volunteers, then asks you: “Watch my blind side?”

You can’t help but smile; it is a generous invitation. It is an honor. You shadow him up the staircase of olive green carpet, through the hallway, into each of the three bedrooms and one full bath. When you are certain it is safe—exploring the back of every closet, under every bed—you and Aemond begin searching for weapons and car keys. The main bedroom is like a forest: blankets pattered with trees and deer, wood furniture, paintings of the Battle of the Wilderness during the Civil War. You investigate every drawer of the nightstand and dresser, then go to leave.

“Wait.” Aemond peeks out into the hallway to make sure no one else is around, then closes the bedroom door. Your eyes track him quizzically, shy skittish optimism, your head tilted, your fingers finding the dresser behind you, cool rust-hued oak, a color like dried blood. You slip off your backpack. Then Aemond comes to you like a returning comet—once in a lifetime, once in an eon—and holds your face in his hands as he kisses you, soft, careful, unhurried, then turning famished, sweltering incurable hunger. You lift yourself up onto the dresser; your thighs have parted, and Aemond is between them, still fully clothed and leaving yours in place too, so innocent, so spotless, and yet in your mind you are imagining what it would feel like to lie beneath him as he opens and fills you, to be so irredeemably close to another person, to watch and listen as he teaches you what to do.

Right here? Right now?

It suddenly strikes you as too soon; you want this but you aren’t ready. Your heart races, you can’t catch your breath. “I am obligated to make you aware that according to your own calculations, I am likely dangerously fertile at the moment.”

Aemond grins as he bites playfully at your lower lip. “Relax. We’re not rounding all the bases this time.”

His voice evaporates your panic, lulls your rushing blood. Your muscles turn to seamless rippling water. Your bones crave the weight of his. “Yeah, totally, good, that’s good. Just making sure.”

“I want to touch you. Can I touch you?”

In reply, you unbutton your denim shorts and pull down the zipper, slowly, very slowly, your gaze linked with his like torn flesh stitched together. He’s close enough to kiss you again, but he doesn’t; he takes your chin gently and turns your face to the side, admiring the curve of your jaw. Then his lips are on your throat and his right hand is skimming down the front of your shirt, over your belly, under your shorts. You gasp—the foreignness of another’s hand here, the disorienting vulnerability—and Aemond stops.

“No, I’m okay,” you assure him, smiling. You kiss him deeply, your fingertips tracing his scar, the work of his careful, gifted hands. Aemond does not flinch away. He presses his face into your palm, offering himself fully, taking shelter in you. And everything other than him—this house, this world, this age, this westward journey, this apocalypse—goes quiet, quiet, quiet, like when you are shooting, like when you are hammering nails under the sun. Aemond makes everything horrifying disappear. It is the greatest sort of magic you can imagine.

“So,” he says. “What did you buy at Spencer’s?”

“Green Day t-shirts.”

“Sure.”

“And some, uh, battery-powered companionship.”

“Hm.” Aemond’s fingers are moving against you; it is increasingly difficult to respond to his questions. “Internal or external? Or both?”

“Oh, definitely…um…I stayed on the outside, mostly. I tried…oh wow, okay…inside a few times, but I didn’t get much out of it. It was mostly just uncomfortable.”

“No problem. We’ll work up to that.”

“Will we?” You hope you don’t sound too desperate. The warm coiling pleasure is swelling, strengthening, begging to be released, loosed like an arrow or fired like a bullet. Aemond’s fingers slip through your wetness, circling and pressing down harder, insistently, masterfully. It feels different than using toys: it is more gradual, less sharp, helplessly overpowering.

“That’s my plan. If you’ll allow it.”

You exhale a threadbare ghost of a whimper against his throat and then reach for his shorts, fumbling blindly for the button and zipper.

“No, don’t do anything,” Aemond murmurs, soft and pleading, almost like a prayer. “Let me take care of you. Please let me feel like I’m doing something right.”

“You’re doing a lot right at the moment.” You’re close now, your breaths quick and panting. You throw your arms around the back of Aemond’s neck and fold into him, feeling the thudding pulse of his carotid artery beneath your fingertips, the softness of his lips and unscarred cheek as he nuzzles the side of your face. It’s so quiet, but there’s no need to fill the silence, no words, no uneasiness. You’ve always wondered what you would have to do to please a man, what premeditated motions and praises you would offer him, niceties, perhaps even lies. But this is effortless. The shimmering golden glow like sunlight is here, and he is the one drawing it out of you, water from a well, blood from a tapped vein. The only sound you make is a shuddering inhale, but Aemond knows immediately. He closes his eyes, relieved, proud, beaming, resting his forehead against yours.

He asks: “Can I try…?”

“Yes, do it, please, I want you to.”

Aemond’s hand shifts between your thighs, moves lower, and there is a sudden jolt of pain like a pinch, like a bite. You wince before you can think to disguise it. Immediately, Aemond retreats, kissing your lips and your cheeks. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You were incredible.”

You reach for his shorts again and unbutton them. “Show me what to do.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

He takes a shaky breath, drags his tongue over the fingers he touched you with, moans so quietly you can barely hear him. He frees himself from his clothes: long and thick, harder than you believed flesh could be. Aemond grasps your hand and places it, demonstrates how to move and how much pressure to apply. Then his own hands drop to grip the edge of the dresser as you stroke him. You nip at his throat, his jaw, the shell of his ear; you coax euphoric sighs from him, feel a high in your bloodstream like something illicit and lethal.

“I’ll be honest,” you say. “I have no idea how that’s ever going to fit inside me.”

Aemond chuckles, distracted. “Women stretch, just like men do. It might take time, but it will happen. And I’ll make sure it’s as good as it can be.”

“I want it to be you, Aemond,” you whisper, and you can feel him throbbing in your hand. “You and no one else. Teach me how to do everything.” Make the world go away.

He gasps as he finishes, a thunderous trembling all over, a gush of white heat that flows over your hand. Curious, you lift it to your mouth. “Don’t—!”

But he’s too late; you lick him from your palm and then recoil at the taste, pungent, bitter, salty.

Aemond laughs hysterically, kissing your mouth and then your forehead. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“I hope I taste better than that.”

“You definitely do.”

You peer up at him, dazed, dreamy. “I really like you, Aemond.”

“You can’t fall in love with me.” It is a taunt; it is a warning.

“If I do, I won’t let you know,” you promise. “You’re on first watch tonight, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll stay up too.”

“Rio already volunteered to do it.”

“Really, I don’t mind.”

“No,” Aemond purrs, brushing your hair back from your face, marveling at you. “I can’t have you sleep deprived. You’re our best shot.”

“I can handle it.”

“You want to be honest with each other, you want to communicate? I like knowing you’re rested. I like knowing you’re safe.”

The door flies open with a bang; Aegon stands in the threshold. “We’ve got three-quarters of a tank of gas!” he announces ecstatically, jangling car keys in the air. Then he registers what he’s looking at. “Come outside when you’re done fucking.” Aegon slams the door shut; you hear his Sperry Bahama sneakers drumming on the staircase.

“I guess we should go,” you say reluctantly, untangling yourself from Aemond and sliding down from the dresser.

“Wait.” He gets a water bottle out of your backpack, soaks a handful of Kleenex tissues, and gives them to you to clean yourself off. When you’re done, he wipes himself down too. “Make sure you always take a piss after any…activities. We don’t have antibiotics if you get a kidney infection.”

“I know, doctor. I’ve read Reddit threads.”

“Not a doctor. Just a lowly intern.”

“You seem like an anatomy expert to me,” you say, then head downstairs.

The black Honda Odyssey is idling as the last of the supplies are loaded, the windows down, Baela adjusting the driver’s seat so she can accommodate her belly. Everyone piles inside and she steers the minivan out of the driveway and onto Trux Street. Aegon pops one of his mixtapes into the CD player. The song that pipes through the speakers is Prayer In C:

“Yeah, you never said a word

You didn’t send me no letter

Don’t think I could forgive you…”

“So,” Baela says casually, grinning at you in the rearview mirror. “How was the sex?”

“Stop,” Aemond begs, his face going red, smiling involuntarily.

You say placidly: “I appreciate your interest, but that’s not what we were doing.”

Rio turns to Aegon. “Do you know what sex looks like or not, dumbass?”

“They were doing something, okay! Those were not virginal activities!”

“See, our world is slowly dying

I’m not wasting no more time

Don’t think I could believe you…”

You rest your head on Aemond’s shoulder and watch the abandoned houses pass by in a blur.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Odyssey arrives in Decatur, Indiana just a few hours before sunset, gas to spare and plenty of time to find a safe place to spend the night. You break into a house on the outskirts of the west side of the city: a rancher with a screened-in porch, beach décor, bowls of seashells on tables and spray-painted aluminum dolphins on the wall. Baela plummets into sleep immediately, sharing the largest bed with Rhaena and Luke. Helaena writes in her spider notebook for a while before curling up on the living room couch, Daeron sprawled on the floor beside her with a couch cushion for a pillow. Aegon is in what was once a child’s bedroom; you have the bedroom of a teenage girl, perhaps spirited away to friends or relatives in some other part of the country, perhaps dead, perhaps lurching around out in the night somewhere, mad and murderous. Everything is purple, the walls, the blankets, the stuffed animals that form a mountain on the other half of the bed.

You are exhausted, but you can’t sleep. Your thoughts won’t stop racing, stop craving. Aemond and Rio are in rocking chairs out on the porch, keeping watch and working their way through the case of Sunny D they found in the kitchen pantry. You go out to join them, then stop at the screen door that separates the linoleum-floored dining room from the porch. They are discussing you. You sit, legs crossed, listening in the dim silvery light, stars and moon and nothing else.

Aemond is saying: “She doesn’t talk much about where she came from.”

Rio chuckles, a low baritone rumble. “She doesn’t talk much in general. But yeah, don’t expect any juicy revelations. That’s not how she does things.”

“Do you know what her life was like before?”

“I know some of it. I don’t know a lot.” Rio pauses; you can envision him shrugging and running his fingers through his dark curly hair, weighing what you would be okay with him sharing. “I know that when I met her, her mother was calling all the time telling her to send money home. And she’d do it, because she felt like she didn’t have a choice. Then she never had cash for drinks or anything, I was always paying her way, and one day I was finally like ‘Chips, how much do you actually have in your account right now?’ because I figured she must be down real low. Jesus Christ, I couldn’t believe it when she showed me the balance, she had like three bucks left until her next paycheck, and of course then her mother would be calling again. She sent tens of thousands of dollars home that disappeared, poof, gone, without a trace.”

Aemond sounds stunned. “What did they spend it on?”

“Who the fuck knows with those people. Lottery tickets and cigs, probably. Trips to Virginia Beach. Benny Hinn Bibles. And when she tried to hit the brakes, her mother and siblings got nasty, calling constantly and telling her how awful she was and that they were going to starve. I convinced her to stop picking up the phone, but it took forever. I think she knew by then she was going to have to cut them off if she didn’t want to end up back there, but she needed somebody to give her permission. That was my job. As far as I know, she hasn’t spoken to anyone from home in years. Hell, Sophie was her AOP.”

“AOP…?”

“Oh, sorry, Arrears of Pay. It’s the person you designate to get all your benefits if you die in the service. I guess she figured that if our base got bombed or our plane went down or something, at least it would end up with my family.”

Aemond is quiet, thirty seconds, a minute, maybe two. “Obviously my circumstances were a lot different. But I understand having to choose between other people’s expectations and yourself.”

“Why are you asking me all this?”

Another pause; silent thoughts under glimmering stars and the shrieks of short-lived summer cicadas. “She takes me out of this world for a while. She makes the guilt and the fear go quiet. I want to know everything about her.”

When Rio speaks, he is gentle, compassionate. “The hard truth is, the details aren’t my business. They aren’t yours either. When people enlist, they’re starting over. It’s a Get Out Of Jail Free card. It gets them away from home, but it also gets them away from whoever they were before.”

“She said something like that once. Back at Fort Indiantown Gap.”

“It’s a polite way of telling you to shut up.” You know from his voice that Rio is smiling. “If she wants to forget her old life, you have to let her. If you care about her, you’ll want her to be able to move on.”

“I care.”

“She likes you,” Rio says. “But you could still fuck it up. She’s good at finding reasons not to trust people.”

“It’s a bad way to live.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know. I’m the same way.”

There is quiet now, only the sounds of Sunny D being slurped and cicadas screaming through the darkness. You have intruded enough. You stand and walk back down the hallway, then remember something Aegon said outside a Burger King in Pennsylvania. You go to his bedroom, illuminated by a flashlight pointed towards the ceiling, casting long deformed shadows.

Aegon is lying on his back with his head hanging upside down over the side of the bed—dinosaur blankets, bright red and blue pillows—puffing on a cigarette and listening to his new CD player, previously Ava’s, with both earbuds in. Then he spots you. Still upside down, Aegon hits the pause button on his CD player and says: “Hey, Microchip.”

“What did you mean about people pretending to love you?”

He smirks, shrugs, takes a lazy drag off his Marlboro Gold. “Every friend I’ve ever had has used me for money, mansions, yachts. Every girl I’ve ever fucked has wanted something in return. Mother prefers Daeron, Grandfather prefers Helaena, Criston prefers Aemond, and Father prefers his real estate empire and his model ships. Can you imagine loving a miniature replica of the Titanic more than your own children?”

“No,” you say, honestly and with heavy, gore-red pity. “You shouldn’t have to go back to people who make you feel that way. I wouldn’t.”

Aegon takes another drag as he watches you. “Aemond mentioned you’re from Kentucky.”

“I am.”

“But you won’t be returning.”

“No.”

Aegon nods, like you’ve answered an important question. “Aemond talks about you a lot. It’s cute. It doesn’t make me sick like when he was with Alys. Playing her games, breaking himself in half to follow her rules.”

You peer down at your fingernails, short and functional and unglamorous. You don’t want to hear about the older woman who was his lover, his obsession, his cure, his venom. She was poisonous to him, surely, and yet she was experienced where you are uninitiated and unversed, she had a PhD to compare with your high school diploma. Surely in those seven years he shared moments with her that were divine. Surely even a curse is woven from magic.

“Anyway.” Aegon rolls over, props himself up on his elbows, and extinguishes his cigarette in an empty plastic Sunny D bottle. “I have no particular affinity for my old life or the beach house in California, but that’s where Aemond is going. And I have to be where he is. I have to make sure he’s alright, you know?”

Yes, you do know; that’s how you feel about Rio. “What’s it like? That house up on a cliff all by itself?”

Aegon grins, like he’s caught you in a mouthwateringly compromising position. “Why? You thinking about visiting someday?”

“Just wondering.”

He squirms over to one side of the bed to make room for you, popping in an earbud. “Come listen with me.”

“What is it?”

“Just come over here!”

You cross the room and kick off your sneakers, climb onto the bed, lie down and take the other earbud that Aegon offers you. What you hear when you listen is Don McLean’s American Pie. “Oh, this is ancient.”

“It’s a classic. I wish I’d gotten to live through the 70s.”

“We’ll reinvent them when the world starts up again. Disco and lava lamps and shag carpets. We’ll shoot heroin and listen to vinyl records. Jimmy Carter can be president if he’s still alive.”

Aegon snickers, and then he sings along, hushed but surprisingly melodic, solemn, tender. He’s looking at you expectantly, eyebrows raised, nodding, beckoning for you to join him. You adamantly refuse. You don’t sing in front of anybody, not even Rio.

“I met a girl who sang the blues

And I asked her for some happy news

But she just smiled and turned away

I went down to the sacred store

Where I’d heard the music years before

But the man there said the music wouldn’t play…”

Aegon shoves your shoulder. “I could be dead tomorrow. Don’t ignore me.”

Self-consciously, but smiling a little bit, you begin to sing with him, so softly you can barely hear yourself. Aegon is beaming, small even white teeth beneath sparkling eyes, a murky cool blue like storm clouds, like the ocean, waves lapping at the shores of Diego Garcia, the Gulf of Tadjoura off the east coast of Djibouti, Corpus Christi Bay, places you once never knew existed.

“And in the streets, the children screamed

The lovers cried and the poets dreamed

But not a word was spoken

The church bells all were broken

And the three men I admire most

The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost

They caught the last train for the coast

The day the music died.”

[werecreature-addicted]

catgirls are always cute pink smoll™️ ect ect.. but like im sooo tired of it tbh

give me butch catgirls, give me fat catgirls, give me buff catgirls PLEEAAAAAAASE

i desperately need more diversity in cat girls its insane

- 🫀 anon

enough about cat GIRLS i need some cat WOMEN. old grey cat girls who are scruffy and kind of look dead when they sit still for too long but are still very sweet.

Cat girls who are fat and kick you out of your own bed so they can lay in the center in a sunbeam, and I mean as they deserve. you can go make breakfast they are busy in this sunshine.

Cat girl who is one of those wild cats that look like kittens. she looks small and cute and she has killed 4 people and injured 16 others. she does not want to hang out with you. she hates you.

Cat girl snow leopard with a six-pack and biceps the size of your thigh. no reason she has to be a snow leopard that's just my favorite big cat.

Cat girl who is butch???? butch cat girl, where is she I need her? she has a mouse toy key chain on her carabiner.

Cat girl who is tall and fat and lets other cat girls sleep on her tummy and kneed her big tits.

Cat girl who is actually a raccoon or skunk girl and everyone mistakes her for a cat but she. is. not.

[blacklegsanjiii]

I wanna see Mihawk with a fem golden!Sanji. I don't think much would change over all but I feel like Mihawk being a girldad would be hilarious. Because she's nine and looks like she's six and she's been through hell and back and she's scared of men and boys. Mihawk doesn't interact with girls or women all that much so Zeff shoving them together would be hilarious and heart warming I think. Mihawk would be The GirlDad™️ and not even know it. This is so long. I'm so sorry(not).

Like Mihawk who wraps and braids and cords his swords looking at his daughters hair and taking the time to help care for it and make it look nice because she hasn't had somebody do that for her in years. She lends an ear to his stories and music and she doesn't comment for a while, a long while but when she does start adding her opinions in a soft voice he does smile a bit.

They probably dance a lot, like Mihawk would have taught golden!Sanji anyway, but with his daughter he probably teaches her more of the pairs dances she might have to do during Baratie parties or something. But she's small, like half his size when she starts learning so he's holding her and dancing around the room and she's laughing and Mihawk is smiling. During one such Baratie party Zeff managed to get a photo of this and it's framed in Mihawk's office. The one Sanji has framed in her room is of her passed out on Mihawk's chest in her chef coat and pants and him passed out with an arm over Sanji and the other over his eyes. Five people in the world have seen these photos and no one else believes they exist.

Sanji knows a lot about sex, no one who works at sea - no matter how old, unfortunately - can't not know. Mihawk tries to make the conversations not awkward but like he's Mihawk and Sanji is Sanji so at first they're probably awkward and very factual until Sanji's older and living Baratie and asking her dad some bizarre questions about sex, like what certain acts are or something. Like technical terms and when he's asking her why she's asking she mentions how Zeff and the cooks killed a man or something for propositioning her or something and Mihawk is like 'Ah, yes. I did leave you in good hands for work training, but nothing else.' and then explains whatever she's asking and they'll dive into the nuances of certain acts or the mechanics.

And when Zoro and Perona are on Kuraigana, Mihawk is looking at them and is like 'okay, well, my daughter's not here and neither of you will fit in her clothes' and they're both shocked he has a kid as he digs in old chests and finds clothes for them. Perona isn't in Sanji's old room but they are allowed to look through the room and see if there's anything they'd like to borrow. Zoro probably finds a very old copy of Noland the Liar and tells Mihawk and Perona going there and how the cook was scared of all the bugs. Mihawk is neutral until Zoro opens up the page and sees Sanji's name and Zoro laughs and says there's two people named three in the world and Perona has keyed into something but she's not sure what as Mihawk is like 'just one, to my knowledge, my daughter is the cook of your crew.' and Zoro pales immediately.

One time they're all in Mihawk's office as he goes over paperwork and Perona asks why there's a blonde braid on his desk next to a photo of him and a kid. Zoro comes to look and says they both remind him of Sanji and Mihawk is like 'did you both already forget who my daughter is?' as pinches the bridge of his nose. Mihawk explains the braid is from when Sanji moved to Baratie full time and left home. She has one of Yoru's old cords and her own photo from a Baratie party. Also no one will believe them that this photo exists. Nor is anyone going to believe them about Mihawk having a daughter. He sits back and watches in amusement as realization takes both of them and that outside of the geezer and Sanji, no one will believe Zoro and no one in Perona's life will believe her.

When the Strawhats are reunited Zoro corners Sanji and demands to see the photo of her and her dad and Sanji is making fun of him for losing his eye on Kuraigana as she shows him the photo and the cord. I also feel like it becomes common knowledge on the ship because someone(Usopp and Luffy) found the photo and brandished it to the crew and Robin is cooing at baby Sanji with Nami and Zoro is talking about the photo Mihawk has on his desk. Everyone is staring at the cook in awe and she points out none of them asked.

Every time they get an ally and Luffy is introducing his crew and gets to Sanji she thumps him on the head and is like 'you can't keep telling people who my dad is! You're going to get us killed!' and no one fucking believes it until they pass the photo on the way into the galley. And (for the Lawsan agenda) everyone always makes a comment about how darling they look but Law asks how Mihawk even acquired her and Sanji mentions he saved her and the geezer and took her with. Geezer said he needed someone to make the man soft so the blonde girl would do. Law is like 'oh this is me and Cora just flipped' and then he starts falling for the cook. Because she is good at making people soft, she gives him a place away from Luffy and the others, has coffee ready at all times of the day, and is insanely good at bickering with multiple people as well as intelligent conversations. When they start dating, post WCI and during Wano, Sanji brings up meeting her dad eventually and Law points out he's met the man. Sanji says knowing the man as a warlord and as her boyfriend are different and will garner different reactions which makes Law blanch and Jinbei and Marco fucking lose it at them.

When Law does meet the man as Sanji's boyfriend? It's happenstance, Mihawk is sailing by and figured he'd check on Zoro(and Sanji) and Sanji has a few drinks in her(courtesy of Ikkaku) and is on Law's lap when he rolls up he hears the crews talking and Zoro and Luffy welcome him aboard since this isn't pirate business, just a man checking on his kids and Luffy announces to everyone that 'Sanjis dad is here!' and Law and Sanji are staring at the swordsman who is staring back as Shachi and Penguin are losing it and Law shambles him and his girlfriend away out of not panic but a definite fear for his safety.

Sanji is of course telling him he's dumb and just made it so much worse for them because her dad is a master of observation haki. He will find them. Law groans buries his face in her neck because they're a few drinks deep and were not planning on introductions yet, but they have to be made. Also they shambled to Law's room on the Tang so they have to make their way from the Tang to the Sunny. Mihawk is talking with Zoro and nods at them as they go back and Zoro asks Law if Mihawk scared him that much and Sanji says to be nice but Mihawk does agree he's a rather frightful person to have as your partner's parent. Sanji frowns at him and Mihawk raised a brow at her and then she very unceremoniously drags her dad to the galley and he lets her. He just goes which might be the more concerning part because even Zoro is surprised the man lets her pull him around.

They return with wine and glasses to join the party and Law can tell his girlfriend is blushing from whatever they were talking about in the galley as she stands beside him and Mihawk next to her and they open the wine as Mihawk looks to Law.

"I don't necessarily do 'shovel talks' if that's what you're concerned about." Mihawk says smoothly.

"Right." Law nods. "Knowing you're her father is enough, I assume?"

"Well, Zeff and the cooks from Baratie maimed or killed those who were...uncouth. I have no doubt my daughter would kick your ass if you needed it. I assume I would only be called if something dire were to happen." Mihawk answers as he sips his wine. "I didn't kill Roronoa to defend my daughter's honor because she can do that herself."

"Yeah, sure." Zoro hummed in his drink. Sanji handed her glass to Law as Mihawk looked amused and then shocked at Sanji's legs catching on fire as she rushed the green haired man.

"She can skywalk too." Law says as he watches the fight start. "When I saved Zoro-ya after Kaido punched him I shambled us down and she happened to catch both of us. One on each shoulder and still managed to not lose speed."

"Yes, well, being a chef does require a decent amount of upper body strength already, cooking for this crew even more so." Mihawk acknowledges. "Though her hair not being braided is new." He tacks on tilting his head as the wings fight.

"She hasn't the entire time we have been dating." Law says in a questioning tone. Mihawk hums as they watch the cook fight the swordsman, Luffy is laughing and reminding Law he can't take Sanji with him which makes Law flush and yell at him which makes Mihawk chuckle into his wine as the fight concludes. Sanji goes back over and Mihawk hands her his glass and just starts braiding her hair because 'what the fuck have you been doing to your hair?' 'Nothing! Look at my crew! It wouldn't last a day!' 'So pin it.' and everyone is watching him make quick work of her hair and then takes his wine back. The father daughter duo definitely threaten to call Zeff on each other. Mihawk is surprisingly relaxed during the party, even when his daughter leaves with her boyfriend to sleep,

The next morning he's helping Sanji cook in the galley of the Thousand Sunny and Law is the first to come in, despite his hangover, and does say his cooks are providing breakfast to his crew and Sanji nods and gives him coffee. As the crew filters in for breakfast Nami asks Mihawk about braiding and how quick he did it. Mihawk answers he's been cording sword hilts for most of his life and wrapping with multiple cords is just braiding and applying it to his daughter's hair was not so different and offers a demonstration. Which Nami agrees to eagerly and Robin smiles and says that would be a good idea. Mihawk tells Law he is participating, no arguments.

After breakfast is cleaned up Sanji is sat on a chair on deck and Nami has brought the hair pins and hair ties out and Mihawk shows them all several different braids, ranging from simple to intricate. Law is taking many mental notes during this whole thing. When he is made to do a braid on his girlfriend under her father's watchful eye Law doesn't shake because he's a surgeon who has been in worse situations and executes it well. Mihawk departs with a clap to his shoulder and a promise the next time they'll meet to be an excellent fight. Sanji is smiling and once Mihawk is gone asks Law how it was meeting her dad. Law groans and curses her and pulls her close because her dad is terrifying and he's afraid he knotted the shit out of her hair and he will hear about it.

[schnitzelsemmerl]

(this post is best viewed in light mode!!)

My intro post!! 🌈🌈

hallihallo! :3 my name's Cher (Cherilyn if you feel silly) 🍒 or Andrey and you can call me whatever (nicknames, etc. I LOVE NICKNAMES 💗). im 🇦🇹🇧🇦 btw. and can you tell i like schnitzelsemmerl (ohne salat 🥬 ist ein schnitzelsemmerl kein gutes schnitzelsemmerl btw ‼️😒😒 /lh)

fun 🎊 fact: Cherilyn is hella 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 </3

"say "hiya", ezra lamb!" "hiya, ezra lamb"

🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬🥬

I'M ✨️⚠️A MINOR⚠️✨️ and i use any pronouns but if you call me a boy i will kiss you on the fucking mouth :3 my gender is weird but so am i

🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊

this pretty much is a blog about musicals and my interests, but i'm mostly being 🎊silly🎊 and a sigma 🤩😼 with the mutuals™️ on here for now (this post may appear organized (why am i lying it doesnt), but in reality i am a trainwreck :3 ) i'm very online, so yea. talk to me please :33

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

fandom list: musicals (hamilton, rtc, SIX THE MUSICAL MY BELOVED <33 , etc.); hetalia <3; history, especially tudor dynasty and amrev/french revolution (idk if that counts as fandom); лолофд (this is a russian minecraft my friend and online father figure @frownce showed me don't go there it's deadly); the hellaverse/HH/HB, titanic (1997)

list of silly characters i like (idea totally not stolen): peggy schuyler, misha bachinskyi, france/francis bonnefoy, hera (i know she only appears for 20 seconds in one song AJFJFJFJGJF), niffty, moxxie and millie, jane grey, boleyn, towelie (bro he's funny 😭😭), heather mcnamara, karen smith, buffy gilmore and cindy campbell, etc etc

🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈

the online family <3

my ao3!!

trust me on this and click :3 (it's ✨️fanart✨️)

Under the cut are just random things :3 🍭🍭

apparently, i am:

THE mother <3™️

George Washington Insanity™️

Peggy Schuyler's husband :3

alpha & sigma male

an honorary 'murican 🇺🇲

president (2024 - forever and ever and ever)

local schnitzelsemmerl but i am not local

Bernd das Brot (real)

Akkordeonspieler /j i don't actually play the squeeze keys 🤭‼️

mentally unstable bbg

emmy's annoying younger gen alpha brother

💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸

taken anons that are taken: 👻🏳️‍⚧️ !!

previous usernames: @iiamly0

@cher-takes-the-l

@spac3agebachelorman

@andreyyayy

so if you know any of those users but cant find the blog anymore, hihihi ! hello !!!! that's me!! hiiiii :3

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

a carrd i spent wayyyyy too much time making

🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊

have a nice day!! :D (this is a threat)

PEGGY JUMPSCARE <3

[vagabond-umlaut]

Bronzen Glaze

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader; Arranged Marriage; Childhood Friendship To Complicated Feelings™️; Fluff & Angst; Implied Smut; Canon-Compliant; Contains Manga Spoilers, Gojo is High-Key Pathetic while Reader is Low-Key Pathetic Here— Author Loves The Dynamics Between Them So Much.

Oneshot From Series: One Day, Three Autumns

"Do we love each other, Satoru?"

The question isn't meant to be melancholic, nor is it meant to be one soaked in blame— the man knows, he really, really does— yet, he can do nothing to dodge the dagger your quiet curiosity plunges into him.

Breath stuttering and fingers slipping off the zip of the jacket, Satoru steals a look of you from the mirror before. Eyes blinking slowly, from the fatigue from yesterday's mission or from today's restless evening, he's not quite sure— but he reckons with every hypnotic flutter of the eyelashes against your cheeks, with every micron your mouth curves into that maddening musing pout, with every sliver of your skin open beyond your tank top and shorts– you may easily rival those Baroque and Rococo paintings you seem to admire so much.

And give them the most crushing defeat ever, while you're at it, too.

Carefully, Satoru offers your reflection a smile. "Is this you asking me if I love you or not, sweetness? I thought you were way more direct in your attacks, weren't you?"

"That I still am, Satoru," you respond without a moment missed. Feet kicking off the covers over them and landing on the cold floor with an audible 'tap', you stretch your arms overhead then shoot an absorbed look his way. If not for the way your eyes dance over him, he deems it would've been awfully difficult to know if you were here or not– apart from your alluring presence, both to his eyes and his Six Eyes, that is.

You sigh, cocking your head to one side. "My question isn't if you love me or not nor if I love you or not— it is if the two of us love each other or not. Tell me, Satoru," you say, inching towards him with small steps until you're near enough for your warmth to radiate off and reach him, reach the numb cold splits and rifts these years have gifted him– and inquire, in that silent voice strong enough to bring him, the strongest sorcerer ever, to his knees, "do you think we lo—"

"No."

You pause.

Satoru looks away from your image. Very painfully so.

For he does love you— oh, how much he does! Perhaps far more than those old tales like to drawl on for— except, he knows this isn't love—

For love must be scented with the cinnamon perfume you gifted him on his birthday, not with the pungent odour of blood and dark curses. For love must be walking home, exhausted yet cheek by jowl, not two meagre nods and murmured greeting in the living room before giving in to the fatigue. For love must be embracing you, beneath the gentle moonlight and tender sunlight, not hovering the skin of his palm over your sleeping form, one inch too away despite there being no Infinity.

For love must be letting go of you– the only one person the sorcerer's ever loved enough to bare himself before, literally and metaphorically, not keeping you confined by the ties you've always viewed as chains– in stark contrast to him deeming them to be threads linking you both together for this lifetime and many more to come.

Grim twisted feelings stream out from the man's brain into his blood, down to his poor pathetic heart– only to all but vanish from within on the brush of something soft against the column of his neck.

Satoru peers down to find your delicate fingers skim over the purple-red mark you've left on him, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, as if you're wondering how you could have done this— Teasing comments threaten to erupt from him any time now; the sorcerer swallows them back– observing your far-too-careful touches, far-too-rigid shoulders, far-too-focused gaze— something tells Satoru, implores him even, to speak before he's too late.

Again.

Quashing his natural tendency to deflect, to escape, wearing a cloak of humor, the man clasps your wrist in his fingers and tugs you close to lift your eyes to lock with his. Then leans down towards you, every word escaping him in a flurry of fear, of love.

"No, we don't love each other— But we're together. And, in this shitty world we live in, that's enough— is it not, sweetness?"

You simply blink back. And, just when Satoru begins to wish he never opened his damned mouth in the first place, he never listened to that damned voice in the first place– he never allowed himself be damned by these feelings for you in the first place— the earth shifts on its axis before his icy-blue gaze.

You smile.

And, while it isn't as wide nor as bright as those which stretched your cheeks back when the times were much simpler; sure enough, it isn't anywhere close to the chillingly formal ones you wear too often these days— Your smile now is genuine.

Yes, the corners of your mouth tremble ever so lightly, Satoru can see that– the exact same way he sees– drinks in, basks in, revels in– your lips curving, your cheeks flushing, you growing closer to him, if not in a metaphorical sense, in the literal sense certainly. Resting a palm on his waist– so light yet heavy with undertones, the man knows you will never let see the light of the sun nor feel the caress of the breeze; you shift the other hand in his loose hold, moving to intertwine your small fingers with his– unintentionally carving yourself the deepest niche in the walls of his existence.

Not that he ever minds it, though.

Every atom inside him vibrating from the situation, from the position, from you, Satoru registers you say with that content hum of yours, he adores so much, "Give me five minutes and we can go on the mission together, 'kay? And don't worry," you add, the exact second the whole of your request clicks into place in his mind, and he moves to protest, you're way too exhausted to go on yet another mission!!— Squeezing his hip lightly, you continue, eyes growing a glint very familiar to him.

"Promise to buy me dinner from Ichiran, and I promise I'll stick to the fringes of the fight, letting you do all the dirty work— fair deal, isn't it, Satoru?"

Fair deal or not, the sorcerer finds himself nodding to your demand, smidgen too enamored with your scheming self, your gleaming self, your easily-eagerly-gladly-agreeing-you-and-he-are-together self–

He smiles. And carefully raising the silver chain from where it nestles on your skin, thumbs the band of sapphires hanging from it. A flicker of something terrifyingly similar to that fondness you showed him in your younger years, skitters across your face— Satoru honestly can't believe how he thought your curious question to be a dagger when it has led to this.

Satoru's smile widens into a grin.

"Hurry up, wifey. Nanamin said it's an emergency mission in Shibuya."

I do not own the characters used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please do not plagiarize or translate or repost this. Hope you enjoyed reading this! 😊

Please interact with This Post to be added to the series taglist! ❤️

Masterlist

[seeminglydark]

Six years ago today, I spoke to my dad for the last time. He always encouraged my dream of being a comic artist, and that pushed me to launch a little comic called Seemingly Dark exactly one year later, on June 17th.

Happy 5 year birthday to the Bleeding Hearts Club, 30k readers, 700+ pages, I’m beyond words that y’all are here. I lost someone special but gained a community of love and support, learned about myself and my own identity, and I am forever grateful to you all! Thanks for reading ❤️

Heres a little art piece revolving around the newest chapter, Secrets. We are gearing up for the climax of this story, idk how long itll be, but i hope youll enjoy the ride with me! Avery, unwitting harbinger of the apocalypse, and Rose, bratty monster child dead bent on saving her family from him, even though she can’t decide if she hates him or finds him more interesting than she lets on.

Seemingly Dark is a story about a postman Mickey Martinez who’s Just Some Guy™️, and the trials and tribulations of being haunted by his dead husband Reggie, trying to raise his teenage daughter who’s also happens to be a cryptid, and how he may have accidentally brought about the Apocalypse when he picked up that red headed hitchhiker on the outskirts of town!

A tale about finding hope, rallying with your friends, and building your own family from the people around you, Mickey is doing his best, with the help of his best friend Maddie, a cafe owner who throws herself so deeply into saving everyone else she just my lose herself in the process, barista John who just wants to get out from under the shadow of his abusive father, and the world famous Podcaster Caro, who may or may not be the key to saving the world.

Read it on Tapas and Webtoon by searching for Seemingly Dark! Thank you so much for being here! I’d love to hear how you found my story, what you like about it, or rec’s of things you’d think I like based on it in the comments and reblog tags! Also feel free to send Q’s, my box is open and I love answering things about my plots, story and characters!

[n7punk]

Okay sooo I’m fully aware the answer to this might just be ‘my brain just works that way’ lol buttt: you post as you write, but surely this must have kicked you in the arse at some point. Like have you ever written anything and then later on realised it’s put you in a sticky situation plot wise but can’t change it bc it’s already posted? Or do you like extensively plan before you start to avoid that? And do you keep notes as you write to make sure you remember key details? My brain cannot comprehend how you can write a story without knowing for sure how it’s gonna end without having the flexibility of changing a few things that happen earlier in the story lol your brain is so impressive.

Lol thank you. So the answer for this actually depends on the project. Usually I know like 3/4th of the story's overall structure and what an end goal would look like it by the time I finish the first chapter. I say the first chapter because a lot of changes or ideas can come from actually stepping into a story/world for the first time. That said, sometimes I just have a few scenes (The Scene™️s) and I fill in between them as I go. It's very common for the end to be a little hazy because I need to write the scenes that will effect it first to truly understand what it needs to be.

As far as writing myself into a corner goes: yeah, GUTT lol. Still don't know what to do about that one. But usually it's only in small ways. In CotC I figured out a scene that would have made the 13th fic work better, but said scene needed to be in the 11th fic and I had already posted up through the 12th, so I just had to let that better idea go. I also added the entire visit home/Winter Fest storyline to AMLAIT after I was like 3-4 chapters in (my initial plan for that fic ended up being 20% of what its total was, with a bunch of ideas coming in the middle), so I realized that hey, Catra's birthday should have been Right at the start of the fic, and then had to condense the timeline in one or two places to make it so her birthday had Just Passed, and then I edited in a single line referencing it into the beginning to make the timeline seem more cohesive to future rereads.

I honestly prefer writing this way because it makes you get more creative (and I hate redrafting lmao), but I do typically have some kind of outline (even if it's just in my head) going into the story. If you look at the fic notes for Superzero, I put the entirety of the written outline for that fic in the Original Outline section at the bottom and it... wasn't much lol.

By contrast, Roses & Thorns I outlined extensively because I was really excited about the idea and basically infodumped it all on my friend in Discord lmao. I will say, though, from the four chapters posted so far that outline included: like three sentences describing Catra's arrival, Adora hyperfocusing on her, and Catra being catty (every single scene up until the confrontation was written off-the-cuff when I sat down to do the fic). Then I had the confrontation with Catra and the discussion in the garden heavily outlined, and then... oh yeah nothing until like chapter six lmao. All that I filled in once I started working on the fic, and in fact I wrote a couple chapters and then went back and filled in scenes to give more depth to the story and world. If I had been posting from the start I would have been really screwed when it came to adding those scenes to chapter 2 (I added stuff to 2, 4, and 5 because I had just reached five when I went back), but I kind of knew I needed that extra time with it so I held off on posting.

As far as notes: also really varies! This is my notes for R&T

the main Roses & Thorns document is a copy-pasted version of the outline I wrote for my friend with a few additional notes added in where later ideas came. The Fic Notes doc contains... the fic notes I'll post later, which I write as I go (the sub-documents there are just blank stubs for fic references or extras since this is from a template), and then this fic has a "special" notes file to keep track of all the girls on the show. It's normal for a fic to have some kind of special notes file like that, like in CotC I had one comparing different endings I could do since I had a lot of ideas. For 'the long way down' I had a special note including how I had described Eternia in previous fics so it wouldn't contradict (even though it didn't matter since none of those fics were canon). Often there will also be a separate file for some kind of detailed outline in a specific scene up ahead, but in this one it's all just in the main one. And then the cut scenes document eeeeeeeevverrryyy fic ends up with. If I decide I want to rewrite a scene, I'll save the original version there so I can go back to it if I decide it's better than my rewrite - or sometimes scenes I think might be better off going completely but aren't sure go there temporarily. I always delete those stubs at the end of a fic (or during, like after I post the chapter said scene was from or am certain the new version is better).

In general, another thing that keeps me from "needing" more notes is the fact I reread a Lot. Like right now I'm working on chapter 9, and when I sit down in the morning it's not uncommon for my to skim from the chapter before, or all the way back to the first thing I haven't posted yet (in this case, chapter five). And when I do edit something to post it (say, chapter four two days ago), I usually then read/skim through what's between there and where I need to continue writing (in that case, chapter 8) before setting off again. It helps with the flow.

Now, I'm unusually ahead on this fic because I was a decent ways into it before I started posting (I took a week off), but one thing that helps with writing into a corner is that my usual rule is still to always be a chapter ahead of what I'm posting. So if I just finished drafting chapter 3, then I'm editing and posting chapter 2. This helps me make sure the flow together, and also just lets me give my writing breathing room. Instead of immediately editing and posting three, I can take a step back from it by working on chapter two instead, go draft chapter four, and then return to chapter three for editing only after that's done so I have fresh eyes on it. I don't have a beta and this is the only way I'm able to catch as many typos as I do with my dyslexia.

That was long a kinda rambly, but hopefully that answers your question! Every fic is a little different, but this is my general idea when it comes to each project.

[lovestuckyhatemarvel]

Okay so, here we are with season 4 episode 1 of Stranger Things. But before I get into the episode, I need to explain something: I’ve never actually watched this season before. I have, however, watched Steddie compilations on YouTube. Regardless, I’m labeling this as a ‘rewatch’ because it’ll keep the series consistent. And parts of it technically are a rewatch. Anyway, these are also going to be way longer than usual because a lot more is just Brand New™️ to me. Although some I haven’t seen but do know because of fanfiction.

1.) I literally can’t remember what made the Texas shooting something that would be necessary to be mentioned at the beginning when America has shootings all the time.

Edit: I have been reminded of the actual case it’s referencing. But I think Texas shooting is going to become less and less of an obvious connection as time goes on, especially for people who aren’t in America. I am in America, and there’s just…too many shootings to keep track of, tbh.

2.) I don’t know why I’m watching this recap. I literally watched season 3 last week or whatever but they really cut out the Russian interrogation/secret base locating stuff entirely from their recap.

3.) season 4 really starts out by being like, “Remember Brenner? Remember that douchebag? Well, guess what. He’s actually super boring in everyday life.”

4.) 010 come on down to get your psychic powers tested and your ability to interpret Brenner’s bad drawings tested. Oh nvm at least now they’re trying to locate people only to witness both Six and Dr. Ellis’ death.

5.) Wait why did Brenner survive this? How did Brenner survive this? Ten is dead. Also, since when does Brenner care about the kids? It’s not like he’s treated them well.

6.) El looking really crazy covered in blood and basically hyperventilating.

7.) El’s got her own room. Also, we’ve gone 185 days since season 3 and now El is painting little figures. And is giving a recap via letter. Joyce is a telemarketer, Will is gay pining, Jonathan has a broken car and is a stoner. Argyle has a pizza van and takes them to school. The bullies in school are cliches.

8.) Nancy drives Mike to school and Karen Wheeler looks great. Also they want Mike home by 9 pm because of his 6:30 flight.

9.) Suzie is editing a D- to an A for Dustin.

10.) I love this conversation about crushes between Robin and Steve. Boobies. Although I don’t like Robin’s hair as much this season.

11.) Max rides the bus and missed a Thursday meeting so needs to go after lunch.

12.) oh there’s Chrissy. And here’s the marching band with Robin playing the TRUMPET. Looks like Vickie’s a clarinet player. Jason and Lucas on the basketball team while Dustin and Mike argue about girlfriends in the crowd.

13.) I know it’s way too early since Jason hasn’t done anything yet, but I already hate him. He just has a punchable face. “Think about all these dead people DID THEY DIE FOR US TO LOSE AT BASKETBALL?” I would have keyed his car in high school. Like oh my god.

14.) Mike and Dustin are nerds and freaks and proud of it. To be fair, Lucas always has been cooler than them. But also Lucas should have gone to Eddie himself.

15.) PACKAGE. FROM. RUSSIA. Man, do not ever send anything delicate to Joyce, she fucking demolishes packages. Oh, that’s an ugly doll. I’ve read about the doll but didn’t know it was that ugly.

16.) El/Jane has to go after a blonde girl talking about Helen Keller for her presentation about Hopper? That’s rough, buddy. Angela is a bitch and I hate her Ariana Grande looking ass. Will is trying and I love that him and El are siblings but yeah, no, that presentation went badly.

17.) Max is doing her loner thing but does get to see Chrissy being upset in the hall as she heads away from the counselor.

18.) C in English and C- in Spanish. It’s not normal for Max but babe, C’s get degrees. You’ll be okay. Max’s mom is drinking, working two jobs, and stepdad is gone. Max is still my favorite even if she is a liar. Lucas’ advice about finding something she cares about is technically good but poor wording and timing. Max isn’t really open for help.

19.) Stranger Things really loves shots of people in bathrooms holding the sides of the sink. Also we get to hear Chrissy vomiting.

20.) Chrissy’s hallucinating. She has issues with her mom being awful about her weight and honestly, mood.

21.) Oh hi, Eddie. You’re a goofy guy. And now Eddie walks across the table. Also honestly, so far the bullying in Hawkins is like, minimal. All that happened in that scene is Eddie got called a freak. Dustin and Mike do try to get the game postponed. I still think Lucas should have asked. Eddie’s got to pass Mrs. O’Donnell’s class and that’s it to pass the class. Eddie really does yank both those dweebs out of their seats with barely any effort.

22.) Murray has karate from 1-3 on Fridays? Good for him. Oh and the doll from Russia has nipples. Teeny tiny nipples. And now needs to be smashed.

23.) Everyone thinks it’s weird that Nancy and Jonathan aren’t spending spring break together. I still think Nancy’s a comphet case. I love that Mike asks Nancy and Dustin asks Steve. Max is sarcastic to Dustin’s request which is very funny. Literally everyone shoots them down. Dustin comes up with an idea nad sprints off faster than I knew was possible.

24.) Oh it’s the picnic table behind the school scene. And we hear and see a clock chiming as she waits for Eddie. I’ve never actually seen the build up to the meeting with Eddie. Did not know the clock breaks and spills spiders.

25.) Eddie is tempted to leave ‘cause Chrissy is acting crazy. Eddie is very dramatic and they were in a talent show together. Eddie used to have buzzed hair and now plays at the Hideout on Tuesdays. I would have loved for Chrissy to live and for these two to be another Steve and Robin. Chrissy asks for something stronger.

26.) El failed a math test, I think? And if that’s the test she failed, it’s extra sad because that’s what she called herself good at in the opening letter. And then Angela tripped her? And her stupid friends stomp on her project. I wanna kick Angela’s ass. El forgets that she doesn’t have powers and it’s so embarrassing. El doesn’t snitch but a teacher takes Angela away anyway.

27.) Will feels so bad and is trying so hard to help.

28.) I feel like it wouldn’t require a paint can from a tree to break a porcelain doll. Oh, Murray thinks it might have an explosive. AND IT’S FILLED WITH A NOTE SAYING HOP IS ALIVE AND IT’S WRITTEN IN CUT OUT LETTERS LIKE IT’S FROM A SERIAL KILLER. WHY DID THEY DO THAT??? LMAO

29.) And now it’s the championship. I feel like fanfics stretch episode 1 into like, 3 chapters. Steve came with his date to see Lucas. And here’s Tammy Thompson. And she’s…bad. this bad performance is worth it for Steve’s sassy expressions.

30.) Oh, hey Erica Sinclair. LMAO WAIT, IS SHE WEARING AN AMERICAN FLAG? GOD, YOU DWEEB. I will say that the rest of hellfire that just kind of chortles in response to everything is so far just background noise that I do not care about. I do love that Erica is way better at insults than Eddie and he kind of adores her.

31.) I still hate Jason.

32.) Technically if we’re going with the lore of we thought Vecna was killed by Kas then technically El/Jane is this show’s Kas.

33.) Okay going back and forth is too hard when they’re going back this fast between basketball and Hellfire so I’ll just summarize at the end. Lucas going in and the gameplay mirror each other very obviously. It’s an old trope but a good one. Eddie’s unhinged.

34.) “There is no shame in running. Don’t be heroes.”

35.) Dustin misses and so does Jason. But Lucas and Erica both win. This slow mo is kind of excessive. Eddie’s fucking thrilled that Erica did a critical success. Although did they actually need a natural 20 to win? That doesn’t really make sense if the guy only has 15 HP left. Presumably they haven’t been critting to attack this fucking thing this entire session. So really it’s a matter of going above his AC. And technically you don’t need a nat 20 to do that, especially if you have enough bonuses. Although they are playing a different version of D&D than I’ve ever played so maybe I’m taking out of my ass.

36.) Aw, Max listened to the game’s result on the radio. I thought she went. Her mom is passed out on the couch. Max takes food to a dog. Eddie lives like, directly across from her. For some reason, from fanfics, I thought they were like, directly next to each other. Still, Max saw Chrissy go into his trailer.

37.) Wayne works nights. Eddie does not know where his ketamine is. Should keep track of that. That is a very cool guitar he has though. Chrissy’s hallucinations are very bad now and she’s no longer responsive. And now the lights are flickering. Vecna’s ugly as hell. There are so many spiders in this vision. Eddie really is trying to wake her up but I’m not sure how he thought I DON’T LIKE THIS, CHRISSY, WAKE UP would help.

38.) did not know we see Vecna in episode 1. “It’s time for your suffering to end.” Don’t be weird, dude. And now Chrissy is floating. Her death is like, both weirdly graphic and also sanitized. Like it looks cartoonish. I didn’t realize how cartoonish it looks. Bones don’t break through the skin. There’s barely any blood. Her skin moves like putty.

[hummingbird-games]

Dev Diaries

March 5th, 2024

So. We're 3 months into the new year. Huh.

Updates from me? I started a new job! I've been reading/catching up on a toooooon of manga lately (I'm also sloooooowly making my way through a nonfiction read and can't help thinking how Corey would heavily sympathize with me. Sigh.)

I also got another free month of Spotify (lol, I think I'm the only person I know who only uses the free plan because I'd rather spend that money elsewhere??) so I've been on a listening spree and flagging songs for a writing playlist I will use for the majority of the HSDJY 2 drafting process moving forward.

I still have yet to play BG3. My family gifted me the physical edition, so I've been impatiently waiting for it to ship out. It's been 84 years JFJEHFJHJF!!

Hmmm...nothing else interesting has happened to me (that I can publicly share ☠️) so on with the game development updates!!!!!

What Has Gemini Been Up To? -> TKD (again)

March 16th!!! Y'all, this is the deadline the team and I are working towards for a finished and published game 😭 unfortunately my plans for full voice work won’t be realized by then (but they will be realized. Just in a few months. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if y'all get the updated HSD 2 demo before the fully voiced TKD….)

What Has Gemini Been Up To? -> HSD:JY and Ko-fi

Ko-fi first!!

It’s only been a few months (since November??) but I’m super proud of my posting consistency! Granted, I’m a little anxious about how posts will look moving forward once I start moving major updates and general silliness to Tumblr. But. We shall cross the bridge when it appears.

March snuck up on me and I only have the free and any-paid-support ready, but the subbies are just There™��. That being said...when I'm quiet or posting non-Hummingbird content here, there's 99.9% chance I've made a free post on ko-fi.

Tumblr is looking like the other social media platforms right now with its flagrant support of AI, and it gives me a headache trying to decide how to keep everyone informed as well as share posts from my peers and new kids on the block. Anyhoo!!!

High School Daze goodies??

At the time of this post, a couple things have been happening that I haven't had the time (or the energy) to talk about. The obvious? HIGH SCHOOl DAZE: JUNIOR 2 HAS AN ITCH.IO PAGE!! I...have no idea when the full game will be out. I have an idea...but I don't want to say it and feel obligated to make that deadline just so I don't disappoint players. (I'm well aware that some people took one look at Crushed, went "Aww, that's nice, Gemini. Now where's HSD??" 🤣)

The first round of sprites have been commissioned!! If you peeped the key art (also done by my sprite artist, heehee she's lovely) you might notice some new outfits, some new hairdos. Fingers crossed I'll be able to update the page--to mirror the debut game's page--at the same time the new demo goes live (which will showcase all of or at least 75% of the common route of the full game. Stay tuned to find out if we'll focus on the friendship route or if I can defeat the Coding Monster to include all the variations for the romances too aha).

Writing wise? Five of the six total routes are outlined. (Florence's I've…barely started 🥲…this pre-production thing is kicking my ass). I’ve started drafting out the friendship route too, as seen by the random posts I’ve made about HSDJY 2. Well, a combination of friendship route + the common route with its lovely variations that aren’t a nuisance at all. Nope. *eye twitch*

I alsooooooo discovered that all the raw and edited music I created for HSD and for personal projects over the years using GarageBand were deleted. And I never backed them up. So. The tracks I made, the jingle for the splash screen, the main theme and it's 2 variations, and alllllll the little cute things I made that are as old as my own high school days are....gone.

Poof!

If I sound very calm about this, what an astute observation! But my anxiety is being used elsewhere, and I decided that I while I can't go back to the original files to tweak them, I've backed up the other files. And I don't mind starting from scratch with this.

But also y'all, please back up your shit. Please. Don't be caught slipping.

That poll I made a while back that now has results and I totally didn't forget about?? The boys won!! And I'm not surprised 🤣 I haven't decided yet if I'll do a live developer stream or a prerecorded one, but either way it'll happen closer to October, the 2nd anniversary date.

What Will Gemini be Up To?? -> Rest?!?!?

I assumed a lot of things about what would be done or not done by March, and that led me to loosely block out March as a 'rest' month. I wouldn't work on any projects, and instead would read, play console and computer games, and basically take the break I didn't take in December.

Well. The Knight Dance is still in production. And I commissioned sprites earlier than expected. And I didn't plan enough ko-fi content to be scheduled in my absence. LOL and I started a new job!? 🥹

But!!! But but but, I do need to take some type of break so I'll do my best to be scarce in this space (and lower the temptation to work because I see y'all are working LOL). Cool? Cool!

- Gemini 💛

[screamingforyears]

ALBUM_of_the_MONTH 3/23:

//

‘DARKER DAYS’ (@fleshandbonerecords) is the latest LP from @_paleshade & it finds the band maximizing their “a pretty slow, really loud shoegaze band from New Jersey” ethos across a 10-track spread that coalesces into an aesthetically efficient brand of modern AltRawk.

The Collingswood, NJ-based trio of Josh O'Hara (guitar/vox/synth/programming), Evan Lynch (bass/vox/keys) & Eric O'Neill (drums/percussion) are staking their claim in a burgeoning guitar-driven scene, one that pulls from a dedicatedly deep well of pedal_assisted ShoeGaze, properly_plussed Emo & quietly loud SoftGrunge. 

//

“Darker Days to Come” kicks things off in a mood setting way, all hushed & elongated tones that harbor an unsettling ugliness beneath the surface while “Labyrinth” bumps up the BPMs just a bit as more of that under the floorboards feeling creeps up courtesy of some blk_metal howls beside settling into an AltRawking groove of droned six-strings & locked in low-ends.

“Garden State” occupies the proper headspace across 4 ½ mins of ambiently stacked & pedal_gazed DreamPop as “Microwave” continues this fuzzily lit yet thicccly grooved vibing while “Heaven’s Feel” unleashes the slow-burningly supped-up goods across 4+ mins of ambiently droned, crunchily stacked & hazily dissonant Supergaze™️.

“Earthworm” & “The City is Empty” dips its toes in to some SlowCore waters while closer “Shiver” melds the prior 9 tracks into one all encompassing bookend & puts a proper bow on one helluva outing. 

//

‘Darker Days’ finds Pale Shade making their mark as one of the finest “guitar bands” while standing out amongst a stacked field of modern NuGazers. 

////

[weirdunclegamer]

UNCLE GAMER STUFF #31

Stuff posts were supposed to be something I did kinda regularly but I just suck so bad.

Anyway! This is my The Academic™️ deck box, co-designed by that guy whats his face from the Tolarian Community College YT channel, and developed/produced by Gamegenic, who make things, and also stuff, related mostly to card games.

Being less overtly silly, I got back into Magic the Gathering (henceforth to be shortened to Magic or MtG) in a decently big way about a year or two ago. Finally made a commander deck (and now I have six as of this post), and am more or less keeping up with the game now. Still terrible at drafting, but appreciating limited where I didn't used to. Now I had bought a couple of Gamegenic's boxes for my two most important decks, and they're really nice, but then The Prof of TCC announced this fancy fancy box, and I knew I hadta get it. Got the XL even just to be extra fancy.

It's def a nice box and feels as premium as was promised, and holds onto all my key things; two primary commander decks, two pauper decks (in the little drawers), assorted dice, and space left over for things like commanders in hard sleeves and spare regular sleeves. Also its pretty! This is the default, they did offer other colors, but I liked the default best anyway (purple and grey? half the ace flag babe-eeee).

They're apparently moving to offer actual off the shelf versions of the box, so people who missed the kickstarter are not totally out of luck. I'm mostly looking forward to those foam spacers getting their own product release too, those things are super nice.

[sugarlesswriting]

So my left hand does this thing where it constantly shakes. Sometimes it's tame while other times I can't type or even hold things. Right now it's having a Freak Out™️. Like babes I just want to write but my body is working against me.

It took me six minutes to write this post because the lefty is hitting the wrong keys 😩

[thelustybraavosimaid]

Samwell Tarly Appreciation Week 2022: Day 1: Parallels - Jon Snow

LOSING VIRGINITY WITH THE FREE FOLK

His body had played the part eagerly enough. His lips on hers, his hand sliding under her doeskin shirt to find a breast, his manhood stiffening when she rubbed her mound against it through their clothes. My vows, he'd thought, remembering the weirwood grove where he had said them, the nine great white trees in a circle, the carved red faces watching, listening. But her fingers were undoing his laces and her tongue was in his mouth and her hand slipped inside his smallclothes and brought him out, and he could not see the weirwoods anymore, only her. She bit his neck and he nuzzled hers, burying his nose in her thick red hair. Lucky, he thought, she is lucky, fire-kissed. "Isn't that good?" she whispered as she guided him inside her. She was sopping wet down there, and no maiden, that was plain, but Jon did not care. His vows, her maidenhood, none of it mattered, only the heat of her, the mouth on his, the finger that pinched at his nipple. "Isn't that sweet?" she said again. "Not so fast, oh, slow, yes, like that. There now, there now, yes, sweet, sweet. You know nothing, Jon Snow, but I can show you. Harder now. Yessss."

A part, he tried to remind himself afterward. I am playing a part. I had to do it once, to prove I'd abandoned my vows. I had to make her trust me. It need never happen again. He was still a man of the Night's Watch, and a son of Eddard Stark. He had done what needed to be done, proved what needed to be proven.

The proving had been so sweet, though, and Ygritte had gone to sleep beside him with her head against his chest, and that was sweet as well, dangerously sweet. He thought of the weirwoods again, and the words he'd said before them. It was only once, and it had to be. Even my father stumbled once, when he forgot his marriage vows and sired a bastard. Jon vowed to himself that it would be the same with him. It will never happen again. (Jon III, ASoS)

--

Sam found himself kissing her back. I said the words, he thought, but her hands were tugging at his blacks, pulling at the laces of his breeches. He broke off the kiss long enough to say, "We can't," but Gilly said, "We can," and covered his mouth with her own again. The Cinnamon Wind was spinning all around them and he could taste the rum on Gilly's tongue and the next thing her breasts were bare and he was touching them. I said the words, Sam thought again, but one of her nipples found its way between his lips. It was pink and hard and when he sucked on it her milk filled his mouth, mingling with the taste of rum, and he had never tasted anything so fine and sweet and good. If I do this I am no better than Dareon, Sam thought, but it felt too good to stop. And suddenly his cock was out, jutting upward from his breeches like a fat pink mast. It looked so silly standing there that he might have laughed, but Gilly pushed him back onto her pallet, hiked her skirts up around her thighs, and lowered herself onto him with a little whimpery sound. That was even better than her nipples. She's so wet, he thought, gasping. I never knew a woman could get so wet down there. "I am your wife now," she whispered, sliding up and down on him. And Sam groaned and thought, No, no, you can't be, I said the words, I said the words, but the only word he said was, "Yes."

Afterward she went to sleep with her arms around him and her face across his chest. Sam needed sleep as well, but he was drunk on rum and mother's milk and Gilly. He knew he ought to crawl back to his own hammock in the men's cabin, but she felt so good curled up against him that somehow he could not move. (Samwell IV, AFfC)

[lewmagoo]

lewmagoo’s masterlist

✩ series ✩

the wolf [werewolf au]

we own the sky [storm chaser au]

✩ million dollar man universe ✩

million dollar man [smut]

soul as sweet as blood red jam [smut]

✩ standalone fics ✩

tonight you belong to me [smut]

little lambs and big, bad cowboys [smut]

dona nobis pacem [angst]

the bunny and the bull rider [fluff]

the ferris wheel [angst]

try a little tenderness [smut]

diamond cowboy [smut]

trouble’s always gonna find you [smut]

✩ holiday edition ✩

silent falls the winter snow [angst, fluff]

✩ drabbles:

blue jeans [smut]

touch [smut]

✩ series ✩

before the devil comes for you (discontinued)

six summers (on hiatus)

✩ standalone fics ✩

loving him [smut]

of angels and darlings (ft. rooster) [smut]

return to me [angst]

of admirals and paperweights [smut]

someone to watch over me [angst, smut]

swathed in the purple glow [smut]

the ties that bind [smut]

to my heart, he carries the key [smut, angst]

✩ drabbles ✩

mine [smut]

close to you [smut]

✩ standalone fics ✩

naked poetry [smut]

✩ miscellaneous ✩

masterlist of lewis pullman’s filmography

the snoopy chronicles™️

moodboards

playlists

my favorite fics

up to date as of 10 • 10 • 24

[pseudonympls]

Taking Centre Stage

Rating: Explicit. 18+ only.

Era: Eighth Grade Era AU where Bo becomes a theatre director.

CW: explicit sex. sex on a piano. fingering. unprotected sex but he pulls out. sex on a stage but the theatre is empty. theatre-director!bo. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. very-soft-dom!bo

Bo Burnham x AFAB Reader. She/her pronouns.

Word count: 5k

A/N: I procrastinated writing Love Blooms by writing this...idk what to tell you other than I clearly have A Problem™️

Thanks to @oh-bo for this find and the gorgeous edit 🥰🖤

* * *

Sighing, you walked through the wings, noting the sheer height of the ceiling, the pulleys connecting the curtains to the master carrier. You peeked around the luxurious velvet, seeing the theatre completely empty. The rumbling in your belly told you that it was time for dinner, but it was a signal you blithely ignored, opting for a slow, steady tour throughout the theatre you would be calling home for the next few months. How you thrived on being on stage; the attention; the nerves; the adrenaline. Fuel to your frankly dwindling fire, as of late.

With jobs few and far between recently, you told yourself you should be grateful to receive any kind of work at all - even if it went largely unpaid. It lined your pockets with experience and kudos from the local art critics, instead, a currency you were sorely lacking in. Now centre stage, you felt huge - massive even. On a stage with no audience, anyone could be a star. Taking a deep breath, the scale of things came back into focus, the far reaching, impossibly high circle up ahead, intricate gold and red appliqué that lined the walls, the ceiling - a throwback to the extravagance and overindulgence of the 1920’s. How the past one hundred years had weathered this building: wars had been fought, styles had slid in and out of fashion - but the appeal, the draw of decadence of years gone by still held fast, still pulled at a thread in your chest, drawing you inexplicably nearer to chaos.

Lazily walking over to the black baby grand centre left stage, your fingers grazed the propped up lid. Lifting the fallboard your fingers felt magnetised toward the keys. Your hand assumed the position, finding middle C, the piano lessons you’d had as a child flooded back to your brain. The thrumming in your head was so loud, that you didn’t hear the tentative footsteps behind you, not until the owner of them cleared their throat loudly.

Adrenaline shot up your spine as you whirled around, one of the impossibly tall, blond theatre directors was leaning against the wing - a smug smile plastered across his face. 

“I thought this place was shut for the night” he mused, not moving from his position, his prepotant stance keeping you frozen in place, too.

It was the theatre director from the audition, the one with the kind eyes. On closer inspection, he was a feast for the eyes, as well. At least six foot six, lanky but with a gentle grace about him - short but lightly ruffled blond locks, and a quarter inch of delicious stubble wrapped around his jaw. His lower half was draped in simple black jeans that he made look anything but simple. A thin, white button up shirt covered his top half, dangerously see through - and if you’d have known better, you’d have tried harder to avoid the plum shadows on his chest where his nipples lay beneath the fabric. 

“M-me too, s-sorry” you stuttered through the words “I told security that I was starting a production next week and I-um, just wanted to see the place empty, I guess” 

“That’s right, our leading lady, is that correct?” He cocked his head to the side, his disposition clear, cool and calm. Stark contrast to your jangling nerves, the way they shook and trembled every pore in your skin. 

A flicker of recognition fluttered through your chest, “Y-yeah, you-you remembered?” 

He scoffed, shaking his head lightly “how could I forget the audition with the monologue from that British show, Fleabag, wasn’t it?”  

You swallowed deeply, casting your mind back to the audition - the terribly hot, sticky afternoon spent sweating it out in your trash heap of a car, hands slick on the steering wheel - willing yourself to go into the theatre. Small steps, you had told yourself. First: unbuckle your seatbelt, then, open the car door. Before you knew it you’d be on stage, at your first audition in months, perhaps even coming up to a year now? The thought trickled like battery acid through your mind, numbing every one of your atoms into a stillness - maybe then, you’d at least stop sweating. 

You breezed through their script like a dream. You had spent the last week poring over it like it contained the cure for cancer, after all, so it wasn’t any surprise when the directors nodded slightly, and made notes on their pads of paper in front of them - the blond on the left pausing only to whisper something in the casting directors ear.

“And now it’s time to show us what you’re made of”, the art director said, gesticulating wildly with her hands “Get creative, show us why you’re right for this role, for this company, convince us that you’re the one for us. Your quirks, your personality - hell - even your flaws, we want to see them” her frigid smile inspired little confidence - her cold demeanour sent chills up your spine, and not the positive kind, but the blond to her left had kind eyes, and it was all you could do to avoid his gaze as you spiralled into your tirade.

“I want someone to tell me what to wear in the morning.” you shook your head, a slanted smile pulled at your lips, as you waited the appropriate beat for the other character's line that would never come. “No, I want someone to tell me what to wear every morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat. What to like. What to hate. What to rage about. What to listen to. What band to like. What to buy tickets for.” you shook your head with every other word, getting faster and faster as you spoke, your legs trembled on the stage, betraying your nervousness - hoping it would come off as in-character, intrinsic to her floundering. “What to joke about. What not to joke about. I want someone to tell me what to believe in. Who to vote for and who to love and how to...tell them” your bottom lip quivered - right on cue - you thought, pulling the words from the deep recesses you had hidden them, just as you had hid the blindsiding sorrow of finding your pet bunny - Forest - dead at the tender age of seven. Just as you had quashed those dreaded memories of mother calling you up in the dead of night, to tell you that grammy had passed after her long battle with cancer. The silence rang loud in your ears as you left a pause, and you didn’t dare look back at the table below the stage. “I just think I want someone to tell me how to live my life, Father, because so far, I think I’ve been getting it wrong.” you bit back tears, just enough to make it believable. “And I know that’s why people want someone like you in their lives, because you just tell them how to do it.” you curled your lip, letting some of your own iron tasting bitterness flow out, a peek of yourself shine through the lies “You just tell them what to do, and what they’ll get out of the end of it, even though I don’t believe your bullshit” you pointed your finger like a dagger toward your invisible stage partner and hissed the final few words “and I know that scientifically nothing that I do makes any difference in the end, anyway, I’m still scared. Why am I still scared?” you gave up hiding the tears now, the restraint gone, the scene almost done, you let them spill down your cheeks, almost in relief “So just, tell me what to do. Just fucking tell me what to do, Father.”

Their response hadn’t filled you with confidence, a wry smile had spread across the blond’s face, but the other two’s expressions remained stony, totally unreadable.

“Th-thats right” you blushed under his scrutiny, one-on-one seeming so much more anxiety inducing than three-on-one. He took a pause, and you couldn’t help but think that he was running your audition back through his mind - how your face had dropped as you exited the stage - how you had thought you were making an utter fool of yourself. You were more than surprised when you got the call back - astounded even, that they’d taken a punt on such a wild card.

He didn’t linger on the matter, as he folded his arms and nodded his head at the baby grand next to you “Do you play?”

Taken aback, for a moment you wondered what he meant, until reality dissolved back in around you “Piano? Oh, I used to, y-years ago, not for a long time now, though” your voice quietened as you spoke, your confidence dwindled with the volume.

“Just as well your character doesn’t play then, I suppose” he joked, a pithy attempt to lighten the air - lift the atmosphere.

“Oh, absolutely, to say that I’m rusty would be an overstatement” you threw back, and the resulting silence bit the air like the cool breeze of the air-con that filled the stage. A beat passed, and he unfolded his arms - just as you noticed how obscenely long they were, how long all of him was, he walked toward you, making light work of the several feet between you both.

“How about we do a little rehearsal, while we’re here? Hmm?” he clapped his hands together, rubbing his palms slightly.

“I…um” you paused, feeling a little surprised. You did not imagine rehearsing today, but, always eager to please, you travelled to the closet in your mind where the script for the show was kept, and agreed on it, “Y-yes sir”. 

He chuckled darkly “Please, just call me Bo,” and you hid the somersaulting of your belly, as you slid into character: the ailing belle, long suffering wife of the brute, who would come to an untimely end. “Please, you’re hurting me, your negligence hurts me, whether or not you mean it doesn’t fucking matter, I’m withering over here” you pressed your fingers into your chest for emphasis, inwardly cringing at the scene Bo had chosen - knowing how it ended.

“Doll, I’m gonna need you to shut the fuck up, I’ve had it up to here” Bo lifted a large hand to his brow “With your shit.” he followed the blocking and went to turn around, before doubling back and squaring up to you “You know, there’s only so much a man can take before-” 

“Ryan, please, we need to talk about this, talk it out, I’m sure we can make it work someho-” Bo made eye contact seconds before he interjected, preparing you. 

“Fuck no, I’ve fucking had it, shut the fuck up!” he screamed in your face “or else I’ll make you” - he startled you, his sheer size, raw energy and charisma sent warmth between your legs in a way you could have never anticipated. His blue eyes, once calm and kind - radiated a passion, a hate, so strong it elicited almost a real fear response from you. 

“Ryan, please,” you whimpered after him, crossing the breadth of the stage in your begging, and suddenly, the heat of the day crashed down on you, the lack of food in your belly made you lightheaded. It was all you could do not to collapse on stage right there and then.

Breaking character, Bo turned around, his gait returning to his soft, natural state - not the hypermasculine, defensive stance that Ryan took on. “That was great, but um, could you give me a bit more?” 

You faltered for a split second, before nodding slowly, and took a few deep breaths in order to immerse yourself in the role completely. “Ryan please, please just listen to me” you continued, trying desperately to inject more emotion into the words, into your performance.

Bo resumed Ryan’s toxic stance, and continued walking away from you, but briefly turned around as Bo whispered “More!” out of the corner of his mouth.

“We’re fucking done, do you hear me? All this bullshit” Bo paused, “You, pretending that you love me - and me, pretending that you’re all I’ll ever need, all I’ll ever want, practically forcing me into another girl’s arms. Well I’ve had enough of it, I’ve had enough of you, Jess. We’re done”

“Ryan please, I’m-” you paused, willing the tears to begin flowing, your knees dropped to the floor so hard they’d likely be bruised, but your weary mind wouldn’t allow the pain to bleed through your mind - not during the performance, “I’m pregnant”.  

“Give it some more, I know you can do it” Bo’s voice was encouraging, but there was an edge to it now, sharp as a blade.

“Ryan please!” you screamed, “I’m pregnant” you forced the tears from their hiding place, but they felt wrong, premature. A hot blush crept across your cheeks as you felt his gaze settle on your head.

“More!” Bo chanted, his voice heavy with demand.

That’s when you crumbled, “I’m sorry-I-I can’t!!” You screamed, tears now smattering your cheeks and chin with their downpour. 

“Shit, fuck, I’m so sorry” Bo saw through the madness and knelt beside you, “I should’a known better not to push you, especially during an unofficial rehearsal like this, fuck” he swore undreneath his breath again as his palms came to your shoulders.

“Are-are you okay?” he sighed, “To be honest, you’re such a good actor I can barely tell what is acting and what is real, if-if that makes you feel any better” he laughed breathily, and you finally plucked up the courage to look at him instead of the ground.

“I’m-” you breathed “I’ll be okay” you half smiled at him, letting your heartbeat return to normal, and the adrenaline to still its course in your veins.

You both stood up, knees aching from the ground, and you finally made eye contact. His blue eyes searched yours for the truth, before settling on an idea “Will ice cream make it better? Ice cream always makes things better” he sighed with a smile, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, teetering from one foot to the other. 

“Y-yeah, I guess, sorry, I don’t usually get this emotional” you stilled your palm against your roaring chest, feeling your heartbeat finally resembling a normal rhythm.

“N-no it’s good, it’s an incredibly emotional role, and that was exactly the kind of emotion I was looking for but…I feel like I’ve just fucking pulled a Stanley Kubrick on the set of The Shining…or something” he wrenched a hand out of his pocket and pressed it to his face, his expression strained with frustration.  

“N-no, Bo - I’m fine - really I am” you reached out to lower his hand from his face - and it made pinpricks of electricity erupt all over the contact points. You froze again like a deer in the headlights when you realised what you’d done. “I’m sorry” 

His own breath hitched in his throat “No, it’s okay” 

The tension had built between you both like fog on a winter morning, kept you surrounded until neither of you could see anything but one another. He eclipsed everything else, and despite being the only other person in the room, you felt like that may become a permanent feeling - even with the theatre full to the rafters. His other hand reached for yours, circling his fingers around your wrist he lowered both his and your hand down “Is this okay…” his eyes punctuated the question.

“Y-yes” your voice caught on the word, hoarse with the rising atmosphere you had cultivated between you both. His grip loosened a little on your wrist as he filled the gap between you both in one long stride. 

“Is this okay?” He sighed, and you could almost taste the sweet tang of his last coffee on his breath. Words weren’t an option, and you answered his question with your kiss. Your neck unnaturally tilted upward to meet his lumbering height, his lips responded in kind, searching, pulling and pushing, as his hands found the safety of your waist. At this proximity you could smell his scent; deep, woody and faintly floral, noticing that only this close could you breathe it in - it felt intimate, close, like he was wearing it for you and you alone. Startled by his hands, you took a step back, and he followed you gladly, step after step until you’d likely fall off the edge of the world together, and in all honesty - you wouldn’t mind.

Instead, your lower back found the baby grand, an innocent bystander to your tryst - Bo pressed you harder into the piano, and it didn’t budge, didn’t even make a sound against your bodies, quickly becoming entangled against the instrument. Bo’s hand found your hair, gripping into it harshly, before releasing you. He pulled apart from you only briefly as his eyes looked up toward the piano with devilish intent. Separating from you for a moment he made short work of the lid, lowering it quickly and quietly. He turned back to you and bruised your lips with a kiss, before his arms gripped your waist, and with a squeal, he lifted you on to the baby grand.

Childish grins spread between you both as he walked in between your legs, before a dark cloud rolled in over his features. “I-I don’t do this very often, I don’t, uhm” he bowed his head, partly in shame “I don’t have a condom” a blush stained his cheeks as his mouth tilted into a grimace. Normally, you wouldn’t be so reckless, but the thought that if you didn’t have him now - that you never would - just about consumed you entirely. 

“It’s-its okay, you can just pull out” you relented, giving into your urges, so entirely caught up in the moment - in him.

“Is it fucked up, that I wanted you to say that?” he smirked, shades of shame still colouring his expression.

“N-no” you stuttered, as he flashed a dazzling smile up to you, before his hands found new pathways to traverse beneath your waist.

You fought back a heady sigh as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your panties, “Ohshit” He breathed as his fingers parted your folds. “You’re soaked, sweetie” he marvelled - and it pained you to admit how much that little smidge of praise heated you further.

“I-I don’t do this very often, either” you admitted behind your own blush, your voice straining on the final word as Bo sank two fingers deep into you.

“Fuck, that feel good?” you quivered on his fingers - so sublimely thick and long, that your mind wandered to what else may hold such qualities.

“Mmhmm” you nodded, your eyelids threatening to shut out the scene unfolding in front of you. Bo, towering over you even with your hips propped up on the piano - his tongue pressed into his bottom lip in concentration as he finger fucked you on the baby grand. The whole theatre, spread out before you both, completely empty, not a soul to be seen, as you were spread before Bo just as eagerly, he - the only audience to your performance. 

“N-no, tell me how good it feels,” Your eyelids snapped open, to see Bo’s gaze squarely on you, an impish quality to his eyes, the mischievousness he had hidden so well - until now.  Suddenly any vocabulary fell out of your head as he increased his pace. “How about this, then?” His elbow moved back slightly as he changed angle, his wrist crooked, his fingers rocking against the tender spot inside of you, pushing a gasp from your lungs for good measure. “How’s that?” he teased. 

“I-uhhmmmn” you managed, as he slowed it down to a pace that was wholly unsatisfying, your hips straining against the pressure.

“Come on, don’t be shy, I’ve seen how you are with words, why don’t you run that pretty little mouth, huh?” he coaxed, and you turned your head to look away from him - from the entire situation, as you finally found your voice.

“God that feels so fucking good” You blurted out, any thought was knocked out of your mind as you spat out a pure description of how he was making you feel.

“Alright then” he whispered, and cruelly removed his fingers from you. You’re sure you must’ve looked comical, spread on that piano, mouth aghast with his cruel removal of his hand - it was with the last remaining tinge of shame that you didn’t chase his fingers with your lips.

“P-please” you whined, fingertips sliding on the varnished wood behind you, unsure of just how much more teasing you could take. 

He closed in on you, pulling your form against him with one hand - lifting your behind off the piano for but a moment, just long enough to relieve you of your underwear.

“Don’t worry sweetie,” He swiftly undid his jeans button, the tautness of the zipper sliding down by itself did nothing to allay your burgeoning anticipation. Your mouth hung open, and you had to suck in the small pool of saliva that collected there, before it slid down your chin. The grating sound of the zipper sliding open seemed to echo around the theatre, and it was all you could hear as your cunt clenched in anticipation of what was to come. His thumbs found the waistband and pushed gently down, exposing his light grey boxer briefs, and your eye was drawn to the dark patch that bloomed near the apex of his thighs, you felt yourself shiver from within to even look at it. 

You should have known better - the guy was over six and a half feet tall, one of his fingers equalled two of yours - it was a matter of proportion that he’d also have a freakishly large cock. The impending reveal set off a chain reaction of panic that exploded across every inch of your body. You were about to see it unclothed, and in the flesh. Once the jeans and his underwear were around his ankles, you would have done well to have extra support on that piano - because you almost fell off of it. It had been so long since you’d even had sex, nevermind with someone as well endowed as Bo - you swallowed hard, and he must’ve seen the trepidation written all over your face.

“H-hey,” his fingertips came to your chin, pulling up your gaze to his eyes. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m just-just” you glanced down to the bulk of him, standing proud in the gap between you.

“We can stop if you want to,” he breathed, and his cock gave a gentle bob - if almost in agreement. 

Suddenly, with those words on his lips, stopping was the last thing on your mind. You shook your head “no” and pulled him in for a harsh kiss, managing to whisper up against his lips “Just be gentle with me, okay?” 

With a groan, Bo whispered into your mouth “Fuck, okay” 

Your thighs hugged him close, almost through necessity as he lined himself up. You thanked god for artists’ ability to multitask as he slowly bit up your neck - nothing that a good splash of makeup couldn’t cover - plenty of it - actually, as he delivered one particularly bruising nick to the tender flesh of your throat. Teasingly, temptingly, he drew what felt like a figure eight on your throbbing pussy, grazing your clit with one swoop and dipping into your entrance with the next. His other hand found your behind and pinched it for good measure as he braced himself - and you - as he eased inside. Ever thankful for the acoustics, your helpless scream echoed around the theatre, bouncing off the seats, the concession stands and the walls, before making its way back to you - the absence of bodies in the room that would usually soak up the sound, created a gigantic echo chamber. “You sound so fucking pretty, echoing around the room like that” Bo grunted, still not even half way in “But I need you to be louder,” he breathed deep, barely moving “They can’t hear you in the back row” he muttered into your ear as his hips snapped his full length into you - your scream satisfying his request as he stretched your insides out so thoroughly, so harshly.

“That’s better” he praised, sending sharp shoots of pleasure up and down your spine. Sweat coated both of your bodies, even as the air conditioner blew fresh licks on to your exposed skin, you willed it to cool, to feel some semblance of relief. Bo’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ as he gazed down to where your bodies joined, how obscenely full you must’ve looked, stretched to the max, but he only breathed out a puff of air, seemingly in satisfaction, as he brought one hand up to push at your chest. “Lean back, sweetie, you’ll only fall down later, anyways” he smirked, and you heeded his request, letting your elbows sink further into the polished wood - the wet marks where your palms had been aiding in your descent. The new angle tested your every boundary, it felt like he was pushing your internal organs around, so stuffed full of him that with one wrong move - you’d surely burst open. “I-I know I can be a lot…for-for some people” he started, his voice more nasally now than before, more strained. “But I knew when you walked across that stage at your audition, I had a feeling you were something special” one of his hands remained on your hip, his grip not faltering as the other came up to your face. His long, pale fingers gripped your chin, “Look at me while I fuck you, sweetie” 

You did just that as his hand left your face, trailing down your body, lifting up your t-shirt just enough to graze along your nipples - and you thanked past-you for neglecting to put on a bra that morning. Heavy hands made light work, as his fingertips slipped past your belly button and down to your core. His thumb brushed up against your clit, and you tensed at the feeling, tendrils of pleasure wound through your body, emanating from that spot between you both. “P-please” you begged, your body tensed, ready for everything and anything he would give it - fully on the edge.

Starting with slow circles that practically had you bucking up against him, his hips began the dance slowly emptying you, and then - with precise control, filling you once more, his thumb exacting devastatingly precise pressure on that sweet spot. His thumb began to quicken, every pass pushing another sweet moan from your mouth, and sent it echoing around the room. His composure began to falter, the way his hair stuck to his forehead, the feathering of his jaw, all an indication of his restraint.

“P-please, Bo, I’m gonna c-” but you had spoken too late, his thrusts got shorter, more erratic and his thumb must’ve been numb from the movement but you couldn’t think about that, couldn’t think about anything as your orgasm took hold - wrapping you in its warm embrace - the pumping of blood through your ears was the only thing you could hear, the faint cries leaving your lips sounded as if they were in another room - wholly separated, and yet nearby. Your vision returned to seeing Bo panting above you, his hand resting on your pussy, thumb off the throttle for one moment - he scrunched his eyes shut as he saw you come-to, and returned to massaging your clit as he relentlessly pounded into you. “N-no Bo, I can’t-can’t do it”

“Yes you can, sweetie, come on, for me” his words were feather light, but his tone was demanding, and you struggled under the weight of him. Your body bristled with the tension of yet another peak, building rapidly - your hand came to grip Bo’s wrist, still working against you, but instead of removing his hand, you kept it there - every atom in your body was begging for it to stop, the overstimulation too much, but you had never been a quitter. This time you kept your eyes open, willed your vision to remain, to stay present so that you could look at him, feel all of him, every facet. It seemed impossible, almost painful, but he sent you over the precipice once again, and then all of a sudden you were falling, drifting through a second peak much stronger than the last. Clenching so hard on him that he released a strangled moan, and he tried his hardest to fuck you through your second orgasm, the pleasure roiling through your body like a hurricaine - and then he gave in.

Your hand acted before you even had time to realise, as you pushed the fabric of your skirt up and out the way, and he took his cue. He pumped inside you once, twice more, his hips struggled, when finally he pulled out of you - even his massive hand looked small in comparison to what he was working with, as he spilled hot ropes of come on to your stomach. You instinctively sat up, hoping to help with the effort, but he kept his eyes firmly on you, on your heaving chest, your body - spread for him on the piano, as he emptied onto your belly. His face was flushed, contorted with his pleasure, and you before him, doubly thankful for his abundance.

When the white-hot peak subsided, Bo rustled around in his jeans pocket, bunched up around his ankles “Apparently, I don’t carry condoms, but I do carry tissues?” he chuckled under his breath as he ripped one out of the packet and began cleaning you up. “Here, let me-” he scooped you up off the piano, and - more shakily than before, lowered you to the ground. He knelt down as if to retrieve something, and words were stolen from your mouth as he remained on the floor. He found your panties, discarded beneath the piano and looked up at you “One foot” he whispered, sliding the wet lace up one leg, “Other foot” he answered himself as you raised the other foot off the floor to allow him to re-dress you. Astounded by his sweetness, the generosity after the carnality, you laughed out of sheer surprise, and his expression took a downturn. “S-sorry, just thought it’d be nice to-uh-give you a hand” he rose from his knees, slowly surpassing your own height and once again, your neck began to ache from the difference.

“N-no, I wasn’t laughing at you,” you began, shifting from one foot to the next, nervously. “It was lovely, I mean-I know I said I don’t do this” you gestured wildly to yourself, to him, to the room at large  “a lot, but when I have, guys have been, uhm, less than gracious about getting the fuck outta the situation” 

The light flicked back on in Bo’s eyes again, the sweetness returned.  “Do you still wanna go for that ice cream?” he said, the pink blush finally receding from his cheeks.

“I would kill for ice cream, right now, actually” you swept your sweaty bangs from your brow, collecting yourself amidst the fervour that was the last hour - your body sweet but your mind fizzled with electricity, abuzz with possibility, with what your first rehearsal would bring. 

[thesilverlock]

HI BLUE! if you had to choose one zexal character to brawl who would it be? alternatively who would you keep in a safe bubble forever to keep from harm??

HI KEY! <3

- Listen. It’s me and Kazuma, in the parking lot, broad daylight. Six to ten feet apart cowboy style. I am texan, I am the one walking away. Adsfdghj

- I would purchase a Wubble™️ and find a way to put Mist in there. However the heck ppl refill pens with ink. Like that, I will put’im in. Hello welcome to my home, don’t mind the forbidden water-balloon in the corner.