#izzy on the other hand. i like to think this is something of a ritual that they have | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alexanderlightweight · 11 months

Note

I'll confess, I did read your previous prompt but it had slipped my mind and I was not thinking of it specifically when I wrote mine. I just really like hair lore and long hair and fancy hairdos and can never get enough fics with those. So if you want to extend the previous verse or if you've got a slightly different idea and want to write that instead, I will be entirely happy either way Thanks for picking mine! I'm all excited now ~~ \(^o^)/ ~~

haha you're good. i just was trying to figure out if it was a continuation or not but here we go! new hair lore from a different verse lol

i hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

“And what will you need for this ritual?” Alec asks, barely looking up from where he’s bent over a screen. Because if he sees Fray with braids other than training ones, he’s going to throw something — probably her — and he wants to finish this conversation.

There is silence and Alec looks up, frown on his face because he isn’t sure why they’re stalling or why they have yet to introduce whoever they’ve brought with them.

“This is, uh Alec this is Magnus Bane.” Fray says and Alec’s eye twitches, ready to rip out the braids currently in her hair and the small little demon bone charm in it.

“Yes, I know the High Warlock of Brooklyn.” Alec allows, nodding casually to Magnus who is watching him with far more interest than he did when Alec was seven and trying to stalk him out of the Institute. It’s been years since he’s last seen him and Magnus is only more handsome, more beautiful and Alec reminds himself that business has to come before pleasure.

“It’s a sacrifice.” Magnus allows, “nephilim hair is steeped in their grace and the price to pay for nephilim memories must of course, come from a nephilim.”

“Alright.” Alec says and when Jace gives him a surprised but pleased look he adds, “Fray, you’ll supply as much as needed. If there is more needed, you can request volunteers though no one is obligated to help you.”

“Alec—”

“Surely you weren’t expecting me to volunteer?” Alec asks casually as he stares Jace down. “If you and Izzy and interested in volunteering then of course I’ll allow it. If mother asks, I’ll make sure she understands it was a sacrifice for a…” his bottom lip curs into a sneer despite himself, “comrade of yours.”

Magnus Bane is staring at him curiously, eyes incredibly intent and Alec is trying so hard not to let it affect him, even when it makes him want to stand straighter and turn, to show off the charms on his braid.

“Seriously? It’s just hair! These are my memories.” Fray tries to explain and Alec sighs, because his hair is more important to him than a stranger’s memories and he turns to Magnus.

“What are the specifics?”

“I’m not actually sure—” Magnus tells him and he seems completely at ease with the admittance. “Jocelyn Fairchild didn’t care about how they were protected, only that the memories would be nearly impossible to get.”

“My mother—”

“Shut up.” Alec says at the same time Magnus snaps his fingers and Clary goes surprisingly silent and then her face twists in outrage. Alec snorts and ignores her, giving Jace a look that just dares him to interfere.

“A price will need to be paid to summon the demon, let alone find out what the cost will be.”

Alec sighs and looks at Clary with a frown and draws a small, ritual knife from his sleeve. “Take off until just above the charm, that should be enough to figure out what the actual price is.” He holds it out, handle first to Clary and she crosses her arms and snorts.

“You cut your hair!” Clary spits out, the spell finally gone, “you’re the leader, aren’t you! So cut your own damn hair, Alec.” She tosses her red tangle of braids, “you’re a guy. You don’t even need long hair.”

Alec blinks and then he moves. Clary is on the ground a moment later and he pins her there with his foot on her shoulder blades, one hand in the garish mess of braids.

“Do you want your memories back?” He asks calmly and Jace and Izzy are still, their faces pale from the moment Clary demanded he cut his hair. The moment Clary garbles out a yes, Alec ignores anything else she adds and he cuts.

There is a tiny chime, like a gong being shattered and Clary shudders as what little has grown of her angelic power is sheared away. This is meant to be a sacrifice; it always is when a shadowhunter cuts their hair and Alec feels no sympathy. The tiny demon bone charms disintegrates and he scoffs as he tosses the bundle to Magnus.

“The charm broke, it didn’t consider any of her demon kills to be valid.” Alec says mockingly, because Jace and Izzy insisted that Clary counted as bloodied even though Alec was sure it didn’t. The charm dissolving without the connection to Clary’s core makes it clear that she’s not as strong or as capable as they keep pretending.

Clary sobs on the ground, looking up at him in horror and Alec shrugs.

He’s given Clary Fray every opportunity to learn and ask questions.

“You don’t get to pick and choose what parts of our culture you like.” Alec tells her and Magnus hums in agreement as he steps up close and the look, he’s given Alec is so hard to turn away from, but he does. “You want to be a part of our world, then you pay the prices like everyone else and you don’t get to ask others to sacrifice parts of themselves for your own vendetta.”

“Get her to the infirmary.” He tells Jace, “she’ll be fine in twenty minutes with a little adrenaline. Tell them to give her one of the weaker IV cocktails for nephilim children, she won’t be able to handle the amount an actual shadowhunter can handle.” He turns to Magnus then and swallows, “would you like to discuss the array and look over the wards in the rooms we have in our ritual rooms?”

“That would be perfect, thank you Alexander.” Magnus murmurs and he steps up next to Alec and smiles, something daring in his gaze. “Lead the way?”

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #shadowhunters #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters au

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faejilly · 11 months

Note

Shadowhunters prompt! Where the A/B/O thing means Magnus’s attempts to get Alec’s attention are really out there. Alec is charmed but baffled

so uh. I wasn't quite sure where to go with that, because Magnus & Alec's ability to try and communicate at dramatic cross-purposes is Very Them™️, but I usually think the a/b/o thing would make it easier what with pheromones and more defined gender/courting rituals? But then again it's not like Nephilim would have any idea how anyone else does things, and Magnus would be rather paranoid about crossing any lines?

Yeah. That totally works. Even if I failed to explain any of that IN THE FIC, hopefully baffled Alec is still entertaining? LMK if you want more, there's a whole lot more explanation in my head so I'm sure I can come up with something. 😅😅😅

That was Magnus.

In the Institute.

In a suit with a vest but no shirt and those boots and his hair, and Alec suddenly realized he was still standing with his arm raised from opening a door even though the door had shut behind him.

He was alone with Magnus in the Institute foyer and he was gorgeous and he smelled perfect, as warm and comforting as the incense that burned in the chapel without any of the cold tang of adamas-laced stone beneath it that always made Alec's spine straighten and nose wrinkle because that smell meant work.

Alec finally remembered to let his hands drop to his sides, and then realized Magnus had said something, and he was almost smiling and he was...

Holding out a bouquet of flowers?

Alec blinked.

"What."

He didn't manage to make it sound like a question, and he almost winced as Magnus' expression tightened, and he leaned back and he was further away and the flowers were gone, and Alec almost whimpered in disappointment.

"My apologies, of course."

And then somehow Magnus was bowing and he was even further away with a flourish of his hands and a twirl of his coat and the click of his boot-heels on the stone floor and Alec tried to reach out a hand because he still couldn't figure out what Magnus had said, he'd been too distracted by how pretty he was and how nice the flowers were but then he was alone by himself in the Institute with his hand hanging in front of him.

Again.

What.

Why.

Alec sighed, and stared up at the ceiling, as if that would give him the answer, would explain how his why are you giving me flowers when we haven't even rescheduled our date yet and I haven't gotten you anything? somehow come out as why would you think I'd like flowers despite the fact that Alec adored flowers and would love to tell Magnus that.

If he could just remember how to talk when Magnus showed up?

He'd managed to say yes when Magnus asked him out for drinks!

Only then he'd had to chase Clary and apparently Magnus thought that meant something other than literally having to chase Clary because she didn't have the sense God gave sheep.

Izzy or Jace were going to manufacture a disaster and call Magnus to clean it up just to find out what was going on between them, and Alec hated to think how much of a catastrophe they'd manage on purpose, considering the chaos they pulled off all the time mostly by accident.

He hated even more that he was half-tempted to create a disaster himself so Magnus would stop thinking he'd done something wrong and disappearing to regroup before Alec's brain could reboot after seeing him.

How the fuck was one person that attractive, it should be impossible.

Maybe he could write a letter and throw it at Magnus the next time he showed up?

He heard the door he'd come through open, and the stutter of boots as someone had to shift to avoid him where he was still standing by himself right in front of the door.

Alec sighed again. "Yes, Yoshino?"

"I was uh." Yoshino somehow still looked perfectly composed and reasonably elegant in her leathers even as she shrugged and side-stepped to get around him. "Just going out for coffee. Want anything?"

Alec shook his head. "No, thank you."

"You... all right sir?"

Alec lifted his brows at her.

"You've got that smoky cedar smell thing going on, and that usually means you're about to do something on purpose that terrifies the trainees more than their own reckless stupidity, and I just want to know if I should get some extra bold beans to stash in the kitchen for the rest of us so we can keep up."

Alec snorted and shook his head again. "I promise not to scare the trainees."

Yoshino's nose wrinkled as she stared at him. "Two bags then, got it."

He blinked, and she turned and left, and he allowed himself a grin as the door swung closed behind her. That was probably a good idea, actually. He could use the kick to help him figure out a new approach.

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fuckyeahisawthat · 2 years

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Having watched the “stab me” scene in great detail for a fic...you can see exactly how it would play as erotic in a different genre microclimate. You have our good old action standby, sparring as flirting/foreplay/unresolved sexual tension. You have that big moment of buildup. And once the actual uhh penetration happens, they are standing super close together--Ed has his hand on Stede’s shoulder and Stede has his non-stabbing arm around Ed’s waist/ribs for most of the scene, and as soon as he pulls the sword all the way out he grabs either Ed’s arm or his torso to steady him. (It’s very out of focus in the background of Izzy’s shot but you can kind of see what’s happening thanks to Stede’s white shirt.)

You can imagine exactly how this scene would play if it was in a different genre, or if it involved different people--if, say, it was Jack or Izzy instead of Stede. And while it’s definitely being played for comedy (they are really going to town on those moans; I wanna know how many takes were ruined because one of them cracked up) I think the main reason it doesn’t particularly read as sexually/romantically charged is that Stede is too worried the whole time about hurting Ed to think about anything else.

Aside from the fact that I think Ed definitely sees this as a flirtation and I don’t think it ever occurs to Stede to think of it that way...violence-as-intimacy has never been how they relate to each other. It’s not really a language Stede speaks. It’s something from Ed’s world, and we see both the gleefully nihilistic frat boy version of it with Jack and the unbearably repressed, fucked-up-substitute-for-tenderness version of it with Izzy. But in Stede’s Muppet universe genre bubble, intimacy is just...intimacy. And it’s not just Ed and Stede--we see it between Lucius and Pete, Oluwande and Jim, and in platonic interactions like Lucius comforting both Stede and Ed after their breakup. There aren’t any Intricate Rituals because they don’t need them.

And what I love love love is that intimacy-as-intimacy is how Ed chooses to relate to Stede from the beginning. He’s sitting at Stede’s bedside playing out every hurt/comfort fic trope before they’ve even had a proper conversation! And we see that he’s perfectly capable of speaking that language and in fact very good at it when he has the option to be.

I think it makes sense that the stab-me scene happens in the context of Ed teaching Stede about the rules of his world--this particular flavor of intimacy is part of that. But we don’t really see him try to initiate this kind of violence-as-intimacy with Stede again. Because ultimately, they don’t need it.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ed teach #violence #these thoughts coming soon to a fic near you

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zacharybosch · 6 months

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Willing and Able

Stede goes very still for a moment, his next breath a touch heavier than the one before. “Captain’s orders?” he asks, taking a tiny step forward, back into Ed’s space.

“Yeah,” Ed breathes, and he backs against the desk as Stede takes another step, plants his hands on the wood and slides his hips up and back to sit. He lets his legs fall open, and the bell jangles, loud in the quiet cabin.

------

hello everyone i am very pleased to report that i am also sexualising ed's cat bell AND his burlap onesie.

E-rated, 3.3k words, lots of jingly janglies. please enjoy.

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🔔read Willing and Able below or on AO3!🔔

It’s become a little ritual, each night. When the rest of the crew have started turning in for bed or settling down for the night watch, Ed and Stede will separately find their ways onto the main deck. They take their time about it, slow and meandering, Ed’s bell tinkling softly with the sway of his body and the rock of the boat. They meet between the cannons at the starboard railing, what Ed has come to think of as their spot, and Stede smiles and asks how Ed’s day was, and Ed tells him something mundane and silly.

And then they kiss.

Sometimes that’s all it is, a kiss and a soft moment and then the short walk to separate beds in their shared cabin. Other times, they kiss, and then talk, and then kiss again, and then talk again. It’s become a running joke to try and work in some variation of ‘You wear fine things well’, what started out as the most devastatingly romantic thing Ed had ever heard worn smooth at the edges, shaped into something small and comfortable and familiar that they can throw easily back and forth between them.

Tonight, post-kiss in the silver moonglow, cool breeze tugging at his flyaway hairs, Ed pins Stede with his soft gaze and lets his head fall to one side. The sound of his bell keeps time with the lapping of the waves, and Stede reaches out a hand and rests it at Ed’s collarbone, jostles the bell with a finger, says, “You wear… chime things well.” When Ed doesn’t respond, Stede carries on. “You know, like the chime of a bell—”

“Mmm. Not your best work, mate,” Ed murmurs, and places his hand over Stede’s, “but I’ll take it.”

Stede laughs sheepishly, twines his fingers into Ed’s, and tugs him away from the rail. Just this tonight, then. Slow, like Ed asked. Slow, like Stede promised.

Back in the cabin, Stede wanders over to the shelves to pick a new book for bedtime reading, and Ed starts tidying a few papers strewn over the desk. Another ritual, organically grown and never discussed. It’s nautical maps on the desk tonight, dozens of them; Stede must be working on his course-plotting again.

“Been busy today, hm?” Ed asks idly, shuffling the maps together and putting the sextant and compasses back into their cases. He knows this is something in particular that Stede has found it difficult to get his head around, and doesn’t want to ask too much in case the day’s exercises didn’t go well. Something about knowing when to let things lie, when previously he might have forced the point.

“Beating my head against a wall,” Stede sighs. He comes over to the desk, leans into Ed’s body and rests his head against his shoulder. These casually intimate touches are still so thrilling, and Ed’s skin ripples with it. “It’s just not clicking. Izzy does it so easily. I don’t know why I can’t.”

Ed rubs his cheek against the top of Stede’s head. The bell tinkles softly against his throat. “You’ll get it eventually, Captain.”

“Struggling a bit with that too, to be honest. I still don’t feel much like a captain.” He leans away with a little sigh, putting a few inches of space between their bodies, and Ed turns to face him. Stede’s gaze is soft, and it catches on the dip at the base of Ed’s throat. “You know you don’t have to wear that in here, not with me.”

“I…” Ed begins, and then falters. He knows he’s been leaving the bell on even when he’s alone with Stede, but hasn’t really thought about why. When he considers it now, he realises that what had started as an annoyance—perhaps even a humiliation—too tight around his neck and discordant in his ears, has morphed into something else without him even noticing. The braided cord has loosened and softened with wear, and its slight weight is reassuring. The chime of the bell has become his own personal music box, a sweet little birdsong out on the open ocean. “I dunno, I kinda like it. It’s nice.”

“I just don’t want you to think that I don’t trust you.”

“I’ll take it off if you want me to. Captain’s orders, and all.”

Stede goes very still for a moment, his next breath a touch heavier than the one before. “Captain’s orders?” he asks, taking a tiny step forward, back into Ed’s space.

Stede very carefully places his hands on the desk, either side of Ed’s, and leans in. “I’m your captain,” he says, voice low.

“And I’m a…” Ed’s words trail off as he looks at Stede’s mouth, feels the warm puff of his breath ghosting over his skin. “A useful member of your crew.” He flicks his eyes back up, catches Stede’s gaze, holds it. “Ready, willing, and able.”

There have been moments, over the past two or so weeks since their first kiss, where things have started to get a little heated. A kiss that lingers, a touch with an idea behind it, building warmth and a frisson of excitement; felt and enjoyed and then carefully pulled back in the interest of being slow.

Stede kisses Ed, and it is not like those moments.

It’s all the built-up potential of what those moments could’ve turned into. Ed immediately pushes into it, opens his mouth and presses in with his tongue and meets Stede there, also hot and open and waiting for him. Ed whines in the back of his throat and paws at Stede’s chest, digging his fingers into the muscle. Stede tugs at the sackcloth at Ed’s waist, looking for the gap that would normally be there with a shirt and trousers, and makes a frustrated noise when he doesn’t find it.

“It’s all in one,” Ed says, breathless from their kissing, “like a dress with legs. Only one way in or out, gotta get naked every time I wanna take a fuckin’ piss—”

Ed’s letting his mouth run away on him again, and he’s been trying to be more thoughtful about needlessly filling silence, but right now it doesn’t fucking matter because Stede puts his hands to the neck of the offending garment and tears it straight down the middle with a grunt that makes Ed’s toes curl, baring Ed down to his navel and a little beyond. The cloth flops open on one side, ragged edge tickling over Ed’s nipple as it falls from his shoulder. Up until this point, the sackcloth onesie was the most sexless garment Ed had ever worn—comfortable, certainly, once the cloth had softened with wear, but also the absolute molecular opposite of a sexy outfit—but with one freakishly strong tear, Stede had catapulted the onesie right to the top of Ed’s list of Fuck Me Clothes.

Chest heaving, staring at Stede with wide eyes and open mouth and a cock that is fucking aching, Ed says, “There’s a fastening on the back.”

Stede drags his fingertips over Ed’s collarbone, catching the bell as he goes, and then pushes the other side of the onesie off his other shoulder. It pools on the desk in undulating folds around Ed’s wrists and hips, shifting against his skin like restless ocean waves. It’s nothing approaching a restraint, but the suggestion of it is there, and Ed shivers at the thought. He pointedly doesn’t remove his hands from the sleeves as Stede presses in for another deep kiss.

“I wanted to open it this way,” Stede says. “Captain’s prerogative.”

“Wee John won’t like that you ripped it.” God, why the fuck is Ed still talking? “Took him ages to make that.”

“He can make you another one.”

“What if he won’t?”

“He will if I tell him to,” Stede says, so brazenly sure in his belief that he can simply make a demand and people will scramble to act and right, yeah, that’s why Ed carried on talking. Still struggling with that, as fucking if. Captain Stede is something else entirely.

Ed shifts a little, spreads his legs wider, wiggles his shoulders and hips and sets the bell ringing again, the sound sweet in his ears as it heralds what comes next. Stede is looking at him, at the expanse of his bare chest and the scattering of body hair and the place where it all disappears. The sackcloth is teasing with its loose folds, brushing and tickling over his skin, barely covering the crease where his thighs meet his body. He’s not wearing anything underneath, never has done.

“Kiss me again,” Ed says, barely getting the words out before Stede is there, hot mouth and soft lips and the wet slide as their tongues meet and taste. Stede cups the back of Ed’s head, fingers threaded in the silver spill of his hair, and angles him to take the kiss deeper.

It’s like being fucked, Ed thinks, the way Stede is kissing him right now. Hungry, desperate for it, like being fucked by a captain who’s been chasing a prize for months on end and had all but given up hope of ever claiming it.

Ed rolls his body against Stede’s touch, pushes his chest up to brush Stede’s, hooks his ankles round the backs of Stede’s calves and reels him in. Jingling constantly from his panting breaths, Ed had called it a cat collar when he’d first been told to wear the bell, but maybe kitten would have been a more accurate term, because the noise that Ed makes from the back of his throat when Stede slides a hot, shaky hand up his thigh is tiny, vulnerable, new.

“Is this too fast?” Stede asks, out of breath, squeezing.

“Not fast enough, sailor.”

“Sailor? That’s Captain, to you.”

“Fuuucking hell,” Ed groans, arms all but giving out beneath him until he’s lying back on his elbows. “Captain. Captain.”

Stede runs his hands firmly up Ed’s thighs to his torso, dragging the cloth under his palms and making it pull taut against Ed’s body, at the bulge of his cock hard against his stomach. When Stede’s hands skim the naked curve of Ed’s waist, they each let out a matching strangled moan.

“It’s been,” Stede begins, and then swallows audibly, “hell. Waiting for this.”

“Only been a couple weeks. Not even that,” Ed whispers raggedly, even though he knows what Stede really means.

“It’s been my entire life, Ed.” He leans in for another kiss, slow and searching, the fire of moments ago briefly tempered to a smouldering coal. “And a couple of weeks.”

Stede presses his palm against Ed’s chest, and the bell jangles loudly when his back hits the desk. He brings his legs up to hook around Stede’s waist, loose sackcloth slipping against the sensitive skin on the inside of his knees, and it’s chased by Stede’s hand, sliding beneath the fabric and smoothing its way up to the join of his hip. Stede rubs his thumb over the jut of bone, squeezes into soft give of flesh next to it.

And they kiss.

Ed finally pulls his hands from the sleeves of his ruined onesie, and wraps his arms around Stede’s neck. He is so fucking ready for things to go fast now, but he still wants to linger in this moment, to etch into his memory the feeling of being pressed into a desk and thoroughly, deliciously, assertively kissed by the man he loves. Stede’s weight is grounding, the arch of his body protective and possessive. Ed wants it, and he has it, and he can keep it.

It’s eventually too much to simply stay as they are, kissing and grinding until they’re both half mad from it. Ed can feel Stede’s erection pressing against him, hard and hot beneath the linen of his new sailor trousers, trapped and straining, begging for release.

Ed breaks their kiss, presses his lips up against Stede’s ear, and with his voice husky from moaning says, “Fuck me, Stede. Captain. Stede. Fuck me.”

Stede shudders against him. “Yes, yes, Ed, I’m going to—I want to—” He tears himself away before he finishes his sentence, casting about the cabin wildly for some oil while he yanks his shirt over his head and drops it in a careless heap on the floor.

He’s back with Ed in moments, glass vial of oil clattering to the desk as he puts his hands to Ed’s hips and then looks at him, waiting. When Ed doesn’t move, Stede raises an eyebrow, hums thoughtfully for a moment, and then hooks a finger into the bell collar and gives it an insistent tug towards him.

Ed can’t tell if it’s the bell ringing or his ears. Probably both. He follows the pull of Stede’s finger and the cradle of the collar at his nape, drawing him up to sit. He slides off the edge of the desk to stand, and Stede’s hand at his hips is the only thing keeping the torn cloth from falling to the floor. None of it was tight to begin with, but the release is palpable as Stede slowly lets go of the cloth and Ed’s collar, takes hold of his hands, and brings them to the fastening of his own trousers.

The sackcloth hits the floorboards with a soft thump, and goosebumps ripple over Ed’s skin in a delicious shiver. He fumbles with Stede’s laces, tugs hard to get the knot undone, and doesn’t miss Stede’s soft whimper when he finally parts the fabric and grazes his fingers gently over the leaking, velvety head of Stede’s cock.

Stede cups Ed’s jaw in both his hands, kisses him slick and slow as he presses him back against the edge of the desk. Ed is about to shimmy back onto the desktop himself, but then Stede hands are back at his hips, sliding round to squeeze firmly at his arse, and Ed gasps and then fucking squeals in delight as Stede picks him up and deposits him on the desk.

“Promise me I’ve got more manhandling in my future,” Ed says breathlessly, pulling Stede with him by the neck as he lays back against the desk.

Stede already has the vial of oil in his hand, cork stopper wedged between his teeth. He pulls it out, spits the cork away, and says, “I promise. Now lie back and spread your legs, darling.”

For a self-confessed novice whose experience is entirely theoretical rather than practical, Stede fingers Ed like he’s been doing it for years. He’s overly generous with the oil, making Ed wet and slippery and hot all over, kissing and nibbling at the tender flesh around his entrance while he works his fingers inside. He drags his tongue over Ed’s balls and up to kiss the base of his cock, his mouth shiny and slick. He glances up, catches Ed’s eye, and smiles before wrapping his lips around the head of Ed’s cock and sucking, wet and soft. It feels so fucking good, the plush slide of Stede’s mouth against his over-hot skin, the way he moans when he tastes Ed leaking salty on his tongue.

“Fuck, fuck, Stede, you’re gonna make me fucking cum if you keep doing that,” Ed moans, muscles of his stomach flexing tight with every wet, sucking kiss Stede places against his cock, bell jangling dissonantly as he jolts with pleasure. “I’m serious, you’re too fucking hot, come up here.”

Stede pulls away from between Ed’s legs, stands and braces a hand by Ed’s head to lean over him again. “Okay, I’m here,” he smiles, pressing in for a teasing kiss, and Ed can taste himself in Stede’s mouth, oil and precum, skin and sweat. Stede nuzzles into his neck, places hot little kisses behind Ed’s ear and along his jaw. “Want my fingers back?”

“Yes, fuck, please.”

“Wish I could’ve done this properly,” Stede murmurs against the delicate skin of Ed’s neck, fingers slick and pushing three knuckles deep. “Make a whole day of it, take you to bed.”

“We can still do that. Wine me, dine me, sweep me off my feet. Mmf, fuck, we can do it every day.”

“Crew might get a bit miffed.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

Stede bites gently at Ed’s collarbone. “I’d rather fuck you.”

“Oh fuck, Stede, please, I’m ready for it, I’ve been ready this whole time—”

“I know, I know, so have I—” Stede grabs the oil and pours the remainder of it on his cock, hanging heavy between his legs and so far neglected. Ed’s too far gone to do anything about it now, but next time, next time he will. There’s going to be a next time.

Stede holds himself at the entrance to Ed’s body, pauses before pushing in. “I’m—before I—”

“Yeah?” Ed asks, up on one elbow, hand halfway to outstretched.

“I just want you to know. I—would’ve waited longer. If you wanted me to. I would’ve waited as long as you wanted.”

Ed softens, all the tight-coiled anticipation melting from his muscles. He runs his palm over Stede’s arm, over the freckles and the newly-formed sailor’s tan. “I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Stede smiles, soft and happy, and Ed knows that Stede trusts the reasons why he’s not saying it back yet. He sinks into Ed’s arms as he pushes inside his body, and Ed has been ready for this the whole fucking time, he’s just not been sure he wanted to act on it until now. He needed time to settle, space to unpick himself, quiet to sit in. He’s been given all of that.

Stede fucks him slow and sweet, grinding into him at an aching pace, the bell tinkling softly between them as he threads his fingers into Ed’s hair and kisses him like he’s licking honey from a jar. Ed melts against the desk, the polished wood warm against his back, toes curling and flexing with every long, luxuriant drag of Stede’s cock inside him.

It builds, the same unhurried pace that they’ve been taking with each other these past two weeks, heat simmering low in his belly and languidly unfurling into the rest of his body. It builds, Stede’s hand firm and slick around Ed’s cock and Ed feels himself begin to coil up tight, clench harder around the thick, hot shape of Stede’s cock. It builds, and he whines against Stede’s open mouth, and Stede responds with a choked-off, “I’m going to make you cum, darling, tell me how you want it.”

So Ed tells him, and Stede fucks him hard, leg thrown over his shoulder, skin slippery and sweat-hot, driving him relentlessly towards his finish line as the bell jangles wildly at his neck and the desk begins to creak.

Ed clings to Stede’s shoulders when he cums, his ragged, breathless moan swallowed by Stede’s lips, every single fucking drop wrung out of him as Stede fucks him and strokes him until he’s twitching from the overstimulation. Stede pulls out, pants into Ed’s mouth, gives his own leaking cock a few quick, sharp tugs and spills hot over Ed’s stomach, his hard cock grinding slick against Ed’s wet, softening one.

Stede collapses against Ed’s torso, laughs softly into his neck. Ed rubs his cheek against the top of Stede’s head, and he laughs too, a gentle peal like the ringing of his bell.

Afterwards, they wash up.

Stede takes Ed’s hand, which was perfect the first time and is still perfect now, and leads him to the bathroom. It’s too late and too much hassle to heat water and fill the bath, so they stand by the little basin with a pitcher and washcloths. The water is room-temperature, soft on his skin as Stede wipes him down, movements utilitarian and gentle.

“I like this,” Ed says simply, because he does, and because sometimes it’s okay to fill the silence.

“So do I,” Stede smiles.

And they kiss.

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd fanfic #edward teach #stede bonnet #my fic

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blackhannetandco · 2 years

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Ok so this post was getting super long but I still have things to say thanks to @calicojackofficial's tags on it so here is part 2 of steddy hands oblivious seduction circle.

Here are the tags, which reference Izzy giving Stede a glove the way we are assuming Ed gave Izzy The Ring and Stede gave Ed The Cravat:

Ok first of all love that pretty much everyone knows what it means that Stede insists on wearing the glove except for Izzy. Like even Stede realizes, and Stede has never met a non-fear emotion he couldn't pack away and ignore. What's extra funny is that somehow I think if The Token was something more subtle, like the ring or the cravat, Izzy might sort of catch on? Because that's what he's used to, he comes from the world of subtext so he's more adept at reading homoerotic tones than he is at reading full on gay vibes, at least when they're directed at him. Stede wearing the glove is so in your face that he automatically dismisses it/underestimates the meaning. He honestly kind of assumes Stede is trying to make it part of his Gentleman Pirate Aesthetic, and as someone who commits to his own Aesthetic pretty damn hard, he can respect that, even if he does think it's stupid af that Stede refuses to commit enough to stop complaining lol.

Second of all, YES especially Ed. Ed, who knows what the cravat means to him. Ed, who didn't know the ring's significance for like two decades but has finally caught on because he now has his own token that he acknowledges he cherishes with his life. (I am always going feral over Ed realizing Izzy loves him and that he loves Izzy directly because he fell in love with Stede and in the process learned how to be vulnerable with himself.) So Ed Knows and like, he thinks Stede might know? Stede can be incredibly oblivious so he's not sure but then he catches Stede just like, absent-mindedly rubbing his leather clad palm with his thumb, smiling to himself and staring off into the distance (because we must always have a Moment where Stede looks like a Romantic Hero). And Ed is like, "Oh yeah he knows," but figures maybe he should let Stede come to him about it. Two days later he's climbing the walls with impatience and basically ambushes Stede with a feelings talk. Stede is both a little scared and very proud (and yes, horny but that's a given).

It still takes forever for them to approach Izzy because both of them used all their emotional intelligence to talk with each other and forgot that Izzy is also dense as hell. Possibly denser, who knows.

Third and last of all. I am. Enamored with the final scene presented in these tags. Ed pulls off his cravat and lays it out, completely spread on the desk or whatever. Izzy doesn't think twice about taking off his own cravat, but he ties it up with his ring again after it's off and lays the little bundle on top of Ed's cravat. And then Stede comes up beside him and pulls off his glove finger by finger (accidental sensual slut Bonnet strikes again) and puts it on top of Izzy's bundle and Boom. Izzy suddenly gets it. This is like. Serious. This is not just the three of them liking each other enough to have some fun times. This has Emotion written all over it, which Izzy is actually allergic to. But he very manfully does not run away because that would just invite Questions and Talking. Stede and Ed once again overestimate Izzy's ability to handle feelings so they think he's as on board the relationship train as they are, and that he has been since they approached him. Izzy meanwhile is going through such a huge crisis it feels like 5 different crises.

Anyway even through all this they still manage to start a little bedtime ritual where the giver of a Token takes it off the recipient for them. So Stede takes off Ed's cravat, Ed takes off Izzy's cravat+ring, and Izzy takes off Stede's glove. I cannot stress enough that they still have not fully had the "What are we" talk yet, nor have they properly discussed their Feelings. They just simply cannot help but to be domestic.

#sigh.#one day i will learn to be concise. today is not that day.#blackhannet #steddy hands #my posts #also im still dying over 'oh are you a leftie' 'no :)' FHHJGH like its just so funny. stede is eccentric tho so ppl give him a pass

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caineyouseeme · 10 months

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SteddyHands AU: Stede is EdIzzy’s new neighbor.

**This was originally a twitter fic of mine. I added in several comments, editing for flow. Thank you to everyone who has participated so far**

#NSFW

Ed and Izzy are going at it like they’re in heat one night and Izzy is NOT quiet. Ed is pinching Izzy’s already tender nipples while he fucks three fingers into Izzy’s soaked and gaping cunt. Izzy comes with a shout and as they both collapse, there comes a TAP TAP on the window

It’s a few days later when it happens again. Ed knows he should be ashamed, should feel guilty for being a disruptive neighbor, but he doesn’t. Instead, he fucks Izzy harder the next night, making him come over and over until they’re both hoarse.

Izzy sees the game they’re playing and revels in the way Ed claims him night after night. If Izzy doesn’t moan Ed’s name with his pussy full then Ed will flip him over and spank it out of him. The broken “I’m sorry Edward. I’m—m sorry daddy,” escaping him every time.

Stede comes the hardest on those nights. He didn’t know why, didn’t want to know why, but the sound of Izzy begging, calling Edward daddy, sounding so needy sent him over the edge.

Ed memorizes Stede’s work schedule quickly. He waits until he hears water running through their shared wall, ensuring Stede is stepping out of the shower, water dripping off his half hard cock, by the time Izzy’s unmistakable voice is screaming Ed’s name.

Stede’s spunk splatters across the bathroom floor like it does almost every night. He rested his head against the wall, breathing hard as he imagined the beautiful men next door enfolded in each other’s embrace.

He knocked against their shared wall twice. Every day he completed this ritual and every day his heart raced as he listened to the silence. His relief at the responding knock took the breath out of his lungs.

There comes a knock at Stede’s bathroom door. So much for relief. “Yes Mary?”

“Dinner.”

He sighed. “Yes, Mary.”

Stede lay awake that night thinking about them, about how much they seemed to enjoy eachother… he’d never felt that way with Mary. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Why does he keep thinking about them? Thinking about the way Izzy's eyes crinkled when he smiled, about the time Ed had reached for his mail and exposed a sliver of tanned and scarred stomach. He knew they were dangerous thoughts, but he can't stop.

He imagines Izzy’s blissful expression, his fingers pulling on Ed’s immaculate curls as he comes. Stede notices how, when Mary is curled on her side, facing away, he can almost pretend it’s Ed beside him. He fucks her for the first time in months, unable to meet her eyes.

He comes a bit too quickly when he thinks about Izzy’s arms and E’s hair and the way they always seem to be touching each other in their small, mindless ways. He holds Mary afterwards, guilt a physical thing in his chest.

It happens again, and again. They’ve never been the loudest couple, especially with a toddler down the hall, but Stede couldn’t hold back when marry tried on the new leather jacket he bought her. She giggled when he told her to keep it on.

Ed hears them through the thin walls. He hears the man grunting and the woman’s voice repeating “Stede, Stede.” Ed’s hand is on his cock before he has time to think, his forehead pressed to the wall. He mouths the name along with the woman, Stede, Stede. The man says something and there’s a moment of silence and then, “please daddy,” comes the woman's voice. Ed spills over his fingers as he hears Stede do the same.

----End Part One--

#ofmd #OFMDNSFW #SteddyHands

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msookyspooky · 1 year

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I’m struggling through writing so here’s a sneak peek of ‘a little mad sometimes’!😊 Our focus is Vince Schneider!

Sometimes, Uncle Stu would talk about all the crazy stuff he’d get up to back in high school. Apparently, throwing parties at the Macher Farmhouse was a common thing since grandma and grandpa were rarely at home when Uncle Stu was growing up. From what Vince heard, they were like something out of a 90’s movie with a bunch of teenagers getting drunk and going wild.

Vince could safely say he wasn’t much the same.

It was a Saturday night, and he was at home watching reruns of the ‘Twilight Zone’ in all its black and white color, with a sad bowl of popcorn, and a soda.

Sometimes, Vince wondered what he was doing with his life.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so lonely if Izzy was here. Usually she was, the two of them were best friends and Saturday movie nights were their weekly ritual, but the other teenager hadn’t been feeling well at all the past week, not even to Skype, and so it was just Vince and the sound of Rob Sterling’s voice on the TV.

‘There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity.’

Vince sighed as he threw another handful of popcorn into his mouth. No doubt, Sam was probably up to some sort of trouble right now that would end in another screaming match between her and Uncle Billy. Tara was probably at a friend’s house (he had gotten a text from Izzy earlier that Tara was going to a sleepover); and of course, Izzy was sick.

Maybe Uncle Stu was right that he needed more friends.

Vince hardly paid attention to the TV, as much as he loved the show and liked discussing it with Izzy, he had too many thoughts on his mind. No one at school had been too much of an asshole lately, but there were always the few who made snide comments about how his only friends were a bunch of girls.

He mentioned it to his mom, who had simply said, “Well, fuck those people. Who cares what they think.”

Vince wished he had her confidence, had her and Uncle Stu’s confidence. He tried, but he always felt like he was falling short in everything he did.

Maybe it was just some sort of ‘teenager thing’, like Izzy said. Something that they’d all grow out of as they got older. Izzy was more often than not the one of them who seemed like nothing could get to her, and seemed to drop advice that seemed obvious in hindsight. That was one of his favorite things about her, how she could read people so well and was far more observant then he was.

He’d lost the bet to her about who Janie Cross was seeing afterall. Turns out, she had pulled something similar to the triplets’ mom and was cheating on her boyfriend with another guy. Izzy had known weeks before anyone else at school did!

Vince leaned his head back against the coach cushions. God, he really was a lonely loser right now, wasn’t he?

The sound of the phone ringing nearly sent him out of his seat.

Vince grumbled, and let it ring. It was the landline, and he was still surprised they even had one, so hopefully whoever it was would just quit after a bit.

Except it kept ringing.

And ringing.

“For fuck’s sake,” Vince swore under his breath as he got up and strode to the kitchen, pulling the phone and answering the call. He idly noticed the ‘unknown’ on it but answered anyway. If answering stopped them from calling again he’d do it.

“Macher House, who is this?”

Vince tried not to make his voice sound so clipped. Mom raised him with manners afterall.

“Oh hi there! Sorry, is Leslie there?”

Vince rolled his eyes as he grabbed another soda and threw another pack of popcorn into the microwave. Good god, please tell him this isn’t his mom’s new boyfriend. He grabbed his phone and sent a quick text to Izzy.

‘Really wish you were here. I think my mom’s newest bf just called the house.’

“‘afraid not, and once again, who is this so I can take a message?” Vince leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Oh, uh, this is David. I’m just a, uh, friend of Leslie’s.”

“Uh huh, well ‘David the Friend’,” Vince spoke, “you wanna tell me how you know my mom?”

“Oh! So you’re Vincent then!”

“Yes, I am,” Vince covered the dishes in the sink with a quick dash of dish soap and covered them with water to soak. They were always a pain to clean if he didn’t do that beforehand, “so you wanna answer my question?”

“We know each other from uh, a class we both take. If you could please just tell her that David from class called-“

“Sure I will, once you tell me why you’re calling my mom,” Vince idly kept his eyes on the rapidly expanding bag of popcorn in the microwave; couldn’t these things go faster?

The man chuckled on the line, “You’re a lot like how she talks about,”

“Really now, and what does my mom say about me?” It was a boring Saturday night and Vince figured he could use some entertainment. Not even the Twilight Zone seemed to be cutting it right now.

“Well, she says she loves you very much and that she’s quite proud of you. She says you’re a huge fan of movies, especially horror movies I believe…”

There was a long pause, and for a second Vince thought they’d gotten cut off.

“Say, Vince,”

The voice had a darker tone to it now, the friendliness gone, and Vince suddenly felt cold.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

~~~

I very much took inspo from Scream 5 opening with Tara and just ran with it😂. Just wanted to share another Sneak Peek since a good chunk of the story is from Izzy’s POV, so I thought it’d be interesting to have Vince’s😊. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes 😂. Hope you enjoyed reading it! I seriously appreciate how much you and everyone contributed to the Unholy Trinity AU😊

I love it!! Ngl Vince seemed so one dimensional in Scream 5 (They all did except the Meeks twins and Wes and Tara) so I like the idea of him being a normal tee in HS and maybe something happened along the way that changed him. Maybe Uncle Stu got ahold of him being Stu and told him get a car and be an ass girls love that and oop it worked and he never went back :/ Either way, I love your writing and I find it interesting to read about minor characters like Vince and his backstory!!

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focusfixated · 8 months

Note

for the ask meme: 7! 11! 27!

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

oh god, it's just nice, innit? an absolute delight to just put words together. i don't think i'm very strong on plot or character, though i certainly try my best, but i love an image or a phrase. coming up with them really just feels like painting a picture. here's a nice stormcloud, a house at night, the mud on some boots.

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

stone cold. usually about ten percent or more of the final wordcount gets deleted.

i'm not a concise writer. my unedited writing is so florid, long paragraphs of and, and, and, and. all the shavings go into their own box as i trim back. i'm sad to see some of them go, but like the feeling of bringing bags of unworn clothes to the charity shop, it feels good too.

some of my favourite deletions:

Aziraphale enjoyed getting his hands dirty. Not in the way Gabriel might have meant it, riding the musty old coattails of utilitarian notions of the greater good, unmoved by collateral damage and its necessity for the benefit of a supposedly loftier goal. What Aziraphale truly enjoyed was a more harmless sort of mucking in with his human charges; eating their food, riding their transport (depending on who was driving), and participating in their rituals, from the quaint to the downright bizarre. - on the wings of a nightingale

“I’ll forgive you.” Richie’s chest hurt as he said it, like his ribs were pressing into something living and raw. He didn’t know how to do justice to the feelings he felt, couldn’t find the words to tell Eddie that the way he loved him was more than just butterflies and skipped heartbeats; it was something strange and slippery and massive, that pulsed and whispered, anything, anything, anything. - the other half is me

When he’d flown into Derry, Richie’s plane had sunk through turbulent clouds, ponderous with a sepia-toned still-in-Kansas unreality. He’d been sweating with fear, with apprehension, with the nauseating technicolor of memories coming up, too much, too fast. - i hope i find my home

Edward works as hard as any man on the crew, but a prideful little coil of hunger tells him this: no one else has brought back as many crates of loot as he has, rum and spices, tea and silks, gold coins and ivory-inlaid pistols. No one else captured a French vessel under unconditional surrender with only ten men at his disposal while his own captain and half the crew were in the hallucinogenic throes of terrible influenza. And no one else has borne so much of the brunt of the captain’s shifting moods, a broiling maelstrom eating away at the crumbling rocks, leaving them blasted and scarred in the currents. - we were the same

The ragged scraps of duty he’d stitched together to make this uneasy partnership with Bonnet work were now bellying angrily in the wind, frayed and full of holes. - when we fight about love

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

Maxime sits heavily on the doorstep of his empty house. The scene in front of him is squared-off, a neat midshot flanked by parallel rows of townhouses, letterboxed by the sky above and the dirt-grey asphalt below. Within it, a triangle – a three-point imaginary line traced from himself in the doorway, to Frank’s position faux-insouciant against the engine-warm car, to Matthias’ turned-in shoes on the roadside. - avoir trente ans

oh boy. that'll be izzy hands, then. izzy was one of those "of course" characters to me as the perfect vessel for writing a story about desire repressed by shame, my signature move. but while other characters that i've written and lumped with those issues previously did have their own personality nuances (aziraphale, eddie from stephen king's it), none of them had quite the villain-coding that izzy gets in our flag.

trying to write a canon-truthful version of him in when we fight about love that was sustained over a multi-chapter plot, that was also sympathetic enough to make him a readable pov character, while not being overly excusatory about the things that made him dislikeable (power-hungry, dishonest, manipulative, jealous) was the hardest fucking thing i've ever had to balance in fic writing.

the sad thing, to me, is that an inexplicable spike of discourse somehow severed the fandom into two camps of haters and enjoyers, and from that moment on there was no way of engaging with this character without seeming to make a statement for one side or the other. i wanted to engage with izzy as neutrally as possible and with as close an eye on canon as possible to create an honest character study, but it still felt like stepping on landmines in every direction.

i did it, and i was happy with it - maybe the most satisfied i've been with anything i've written - but the atmosphere surrounding it made the whole process incredibly stressful.

more writer asks!

#ask meme #writing

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cyberrat · 2 years

Text

60th Batch Of Fics: 11th Fill

Izzy/Lucius – Part 1/? – Izzy being Izzy aka in hard denial of what he wants.

---

“You know… it might just become a bit of fun if you were to stop growling for like a second and enjoy yourself, hm?”

Lucius has sidled up to Izzy while the others were busy performing the last dreams they’ve had, as to Stede’s suggestion. He knows that he’s caught him off guard by how he jerks around, upper lip already drawn back to show his teeth in a snarl.

“Don’t sneak up on me,” Izzy hisses at him, dark eyes just shy of full-on crazy. “Or you’ll regret it one o’ these days, twat.”

Lucius hums, a small grin playing over his mouth. He isn’t necessarily afraid of Izzy, mostly just annoyed these days, but in the light of day and with Captains Bonnet and Blackbeard right there, he feels comfortable to poke the sleeping bear a little more.

“Aw… you know, it starts to sound cute. Has it already become a little sweet nothing?”

Izzy looks confused for a second, then physically recoils in disgust, his face balling up into a sputtering rage as he searches for words adequate to describe his fury.

Lucius waits patiently, leaning against the side of the stairs Izzy has been perching on like a particularly ill-tempered vulture. His gaunt cheeks become flushed with color before finally spitting out: “Do not try to… to seduce me, you disgusting little- go and play with your boyfriend!”

There’s a fine spray of spittle accompanying his words. He looks like something that is under immense pressure and will soon explode. Lucius is very hellbent on being the one to do it. He lifts the captain’s journal up against his chest and cocks his head jauntily to the side.

“Oh, you could have done that better, couldn’t you? That wasn’t very mean at all. I just might think you are starting to warm up to everybody. Isn’t that some progress?”

Despite the fact that he’s not necessarily afraid of Mister Hands, Lucius does jerk back and out of reach of Izzy’s hands when he suddenly lunges at him, the smile sliding clear off his face.

Before either of them can say anything, Bonnet’s voice is floating over toward them: “Oh boy! Boy! Are you getting all of this? This is absolutely marvelous! Mister Buttons has given the most haunting performance just now. Come here – you just have to capture it!”

.oOo.

Izzy can’t sleep. His insomnia has grown tenfold since boarding this god forsaken ship. He can’t remember the last time he’s gotten a good shuteye and the more he tries to remember it, the worse his mood becomes.

He stalks the deck front to back a few times, but this… Buttons has started some kind of moon bathing ritual that not only freaks him out but also involves a lot of nakedness that he just does not want to deal with at the moment… so he does a tactical retreat below deck.

A few candles are still lit, giving off flickering, grimy light that guides him deeper into the ship’s bowels. The movement of the vessel is as comforting as it gets; he might just get a bit of sleep after all if he finds himself a bit of booze before retreating to his cabin.

He can immediately tell that he is not alone in the pantry once he steps foot inside. It actually feels more like a deja-vu than anything else as he hears the shuffling of bodies and the suppressed little giggles that disturbingly remind him of children. What was wrong with this crew?!

With his blood pressure surging up like a wave during a storm, his fingers go to the dagger he always has hidden at his person. There are no real thoughts going through his head other than him wanting to finally end this insanity. He could slit both their throats and throw them overboard and nobody would be any the wiser. He’s sure that he could buy the lunatic moon bathing on the deck off if he actually noticed him dragging the corpses up to dispose of…

Izzy carefully rounds the crates of oranges and peers around the corner to see, just as he has seen the other day, how Lucius and Black Pete are lying on the hard floor in a tight embrace.

This time, however, they have not noticed him stepping inside. Instead, they keep on going, kissing with wet little sounds that make him feel nauseous.

Yes, nauseous.

His fingers curl tighter around the hilt of his dagger. He can feel the blood rushing through his veins much like it does when they are about to fuck up an entire ship’s crew. He licks his lips, feet shuffling a little farther apart, eyes trained on Lucius and Black Pete kissing. It’s slow and disturbingly sensual looking, the small wet sounds of their lips and tongues heating his blood up even more.

It’s natural that he would start to get a chubby; he’s had them before when raiding ships, though less so in recent years with him becoming older.

Lucius pulls away and starts to slide down Black Pete’s body. Pete laughs softly, head craning to watch him move further down.

“Oh, babe… you sure ‘bout that?” he asks with a giddiness in his voice that sets Izzy’s teeth on edge. If he were to just look up instead of down he would be able to see him standing there, the tips of his boots nearly touching his hairless scalp.

“Yeah of course,” Lucius croons in that voice of his that makes Izzy frothing mad. This… this sing-song voice that always makes it sound like he’s flirting, no matter what the Hell he’s saying. “You did wash earlier, right, babe?”

He looks up, fingers curled into the waistband of Black Pete’s pants, eyes immediately sliding further up to look right at Izzy standing there, dagger in hand.

Izzy can see Lucius’ pupils constricting to pinpricks in fear… and then blowing wide, gaze briefly flicking to the glinting weapon in Izzy’s trembling fist before looking up into his face again.

Pete, none the wiser, assures him breathlessly: “Yeah! Yeah, I did!” He sounds eager as a dog; as well he might. There is something irresistible about the prospect of a blowjob that even Izzy can’t deny.

Izzy and Lucius stare at each other. He waits for the little twat to scramble upright and get out of the situation, but he should have known that he wouldn’t react that way. Instead he smiles slow and coquettish, pulling down on Pete’s pants so his cock springs out, hitting him in the chin on its way to freedom.

“Oh!” Pete calls out in surprise, then laughs again breathlessly, still staring down, not noting that Lucius isn’t looking in his face but further up. Staring at Izzy as he slowly curls his hand around the shaft and lowers his head until he can press a kiss to the crown of Black Pete’s cock.

Izzy’s throat constricts, blood rushing through his veins in a thundering roar. It would be easy to go down into a squat and pull the knife through Black Pete’s throat.

He doesn’t, though. He just is rooted to the spot, watching with his jaw trembling and a muscle twitching in his cheek as Lucius opens his mouth wider to slip his lips over the swollen glans.

Proper little seductress, indeed…

#cyberratting writes stuff #izzy/lucius #our flag means death #denial

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dollycas · 3 months

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#FlashbackFriday featuring A Twisted Skein (Seaside Knitters Society) by Sally Goldenbaum #Review / #Giveaway @KensingtonBooks @sallygoldenbaum

On Flashback Fridays I will share with you the books I was not able to review when they were first released that have been screaming at me from my To-Be-Read bookshelf. A Twisted Skein (Seaside Knitters Society) Cozy Mystery 6th in Series (with this publisher) Setting - Massachusetts Publisher ‏ : ‎ Kensington Cozies (November 28, 2023) Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 320 pages ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1496729439 ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1496729439 Kindle ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0BZB79B8B Like every coastal town, Sea Harbor needs tourists and their dollars. But there’s something special about that time of year when summer people return to their normal lives, and the wide sandy beaches welcome back locals with their dogs and strollers. And this year, even as the season cools down, Izzy Perry’s Sea Harbor Yarn Studio is heating up, thanks to an upcoming fashion benefit . . . The show will feature hand-knit garments, and enthusiastic knitters flock to the shop for supplies to create runway-worthy pieces. Yet Seaside Knitter Birdie is enjoying flocks of a different kind, thanks to a rekindled interest in birdwatching, a hobby she enjoyed with her late husband. Along with a small group of passionate birders, she often spends weekend mornings looking for warblers or keeping watch for gannets and grebes. The group members themselves are almost as fascinating as the birds. It’s a lovely, special time—until Birdie makes her way through a tangle of vines and stumbles upon a fellow birder’s body. At first, it appears to be an accidental fall, but an autopsy soon reveals that the victim died before hitting a granite boulder. When police discover a clue linking the victim to one of the Seaside Knitters, the web of suspicion grows. Before the woods are ablaze in autumn glory and the knitters have cast off the final rows on their runway projects, they’ll have to unravel secrets and ties strong enough to bind friends and neighbors together—and some that may press a killer to take another life. Dollycas's Thoughts We return to Sea Harbor when things should be calming down but Izzy has agreed to host a fashion benefit featuring hand-knit items made with yarn from her Sea Harbor Yarn Studio and she has enlisted her friends Willow, Lucky, and Rose to construct a runway for the event. Birdie is busy too. She has joined a local birdwatching group. She had enjoyed birdwatching with her late husband and wanted to take up the hobby again. She finds the eclectic group very interesting. Birdie is very excited about a birding trip to the local granite quarry but due to an earlier storm Birdie is warned to stay away from the rocks so she detours into the woods. It is there she discovers another member of the group dead. Birdie thinks the man has a terrible accident but she soon learns the victim died before his fall. The police also believe a friend of the Seaside Knitters may have had something to do with his death. It's time for the Seaside Knitters to untwist and untangle each and every clue and knit together who was really responsible for the body in the woods. Can they pull that off before all the knitters hit the runway? or will one of them be behind bars? _____ I love this series. I open the book and immediately feel like I am in the company of good friends. Birdie, Nell, Izzy, and Cass have grown so much since the first book, Death by Cashmere was released in 2008. Birdie is a wise octogenarian, Izzy is a young mom and owns the Sea Harbor Yarn Studio, Cass is co-owner of Halloran Lobster Company with a cute little baby boy, and Nell is Izzy's aunt and is retired. They have their Thursday night ritual of meeting at Izzy's shop for a night of "friend therapy". A time to toast, eat, knit, and share what's happening with them and around town. Then on Friday nights, they gather with their husbands, children, and any other friends who drop in for a great meal at Nell's that usually includes something grilled out on the deck no matter the time of year. They all are always there for each other no matter what. They also try to help anyone in need throughout the community. Kind, caring, and smart, these characters are very well-developed but continue to grow and remain fresh even after 17 books. Ms. Goldenbaum has written a very emotional story. The relationships are complex and carefully constructed. The victim's death deeply affected many people including Birdie. Two sisters are dealing with other issues including the man's death. In a mystery full of twists and turns Birdie, Nell, Cass, and Izzy try to find proof that someone they care about was not involved in the murder while trying to piece together clues to find who did it and why. They collected information from several different sources and passed it all on to the police. Soon all the clues fell into place. I did have the right person near the top of my suspect list but was surprised at the deviousness and how dreadful the person really was. I did enjoy the subplot of the fashion show. While the author's descriptions of the garments and the runway, were good, I wish the book could have contained pictures. Izzy called the runway "magnificent" and a "panoramic scene" that came to life the closer she came to it. A Twisted Skein is wonderfully written. The characters and the friendships they have built are beyond measure. The mystery is complex and skillfully plotted. Sea Harbor and its residents grab ahold of me a little more with each book in this series and each visit ends too soon. Your Escape Into A Good Book Travel Agent About Sally Goldenbaum Sally Goldenbaum is the author of over three-dozen novels, including the Queen Bees Quilt Shop Mysteries and the nationally bestselling Seaside Knitters Society Mystery Series, set in the fictional town of Sea Harbor, Massachusetts. Born in Manitowoc, Wisconsin, Sally now lives in Gloucester, Massachusetts with her husband, Don. In addition to writing mysteries, Sally has taught philosophy, Latin, and creative writing, edited bioethics, and veterinary healthcare journals, and worked in public television at WQED Pittsburgh (then home to Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood). Follow Sally Webpage Twitter Facebook Find more books by Sally Golenbaum here. I am giving away an ARC review copy! The contest is open to anyone over 18 years old with a US or Canadian mailing address. Duplicate entries will be deleted. Void where prohibited. You do not have to be a follower to enter but I hope you will find something you like here and become a follower. Followers Will Receive 2 Bonus Entries For Each Way They Follow. Plus 2 Bonus Entries For Following My Facebook Fan Page. Add this book to your WANT TO READ shelf on GoodReads for 3 Bonus Entries. Follow Kensington Books on Twitter for 2 Bonus Entries! Follow Kensington Publishing on Facebook for 2 Bonus Entries! Pin this giveaway to Pinterest for 3 Bonus Entries. If you share the giveaway on Threads, X, or Facebook or anywhere you will receive 5 Bonus Entries For Each Link. The Contest Will End June 10, 2024, at 11:59 PM CST The Winner Will Be Chosen By Random.org The Winner Will Be Notified By Email and Will Be Posted Here In The Sidebar. Click Here For Entry Form Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. Receiving a complimentary copy in no way reflected my review of this book. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.” Read the full article

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starbuck · 2 years

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It’s the Izzy Hands Death Foreshadowing Post! Woohoo!! Party time!

I’m 100% convinced that Izzy is going to die and I want to go over my reasoning with y’all, based on what we’ve seen thus far (up to ep 6).

The first thing that really tipped me off was this line from ep 4:

Never before have I felt more encouraged to shout “YOU WILL!!!!!!” at my screen.

This also specifically implies that Izzy’s death will somehow be to Ed and Stede’s benefit which is an idea that continues to feature in all of these instances.

Next, also from ep 4, we have...

Which like. Yeah, doesn’t get much more direct than that... Again we’re building on the link between Izzy’s death and Ed’s happiness since the context of this conversation is Ed’s retirement plan. I’ve seen a couple people theorize that Izzy’s corpse will ultimately be the one mistaken for Blackbeard, thus freeing Ed from his mythological responsibility, and I think that’s extremely plausible.

The last example I want to note is from ep 6...

A DEATH SHROUD!!!!!!!! IS THIS FUN OR WHAT????????? I was going nuts at the way he presses right up into it.

The blocking in this scene is also fascinating in the way Izzy and Stede trade places on either side of the curtain - perhaps further implying that Izzy is going to take Stede’s place within the Blackbeard Corpse-Switch Retirement Plan?? Adding to this implication is Izzy saying (from behind the symbolic death shroud) “My job is to make sure that Edward is content.” It’s always very Cursed when characters assign Jobs to themselves because that then becomes their Narrative Role as well. Whether Izzy likes it or not, his Job within this narrative is to make Ed happy and, as Izzy himself admits, Stede is the person who makes Ed happy, so he’s going to have to die for both of them, just as he swore he would never do.

The only question that remains then is how this will come about... The way I see it, it could go one of two ways: either 1) Izzy once again fucks himself over in desire to see Stede dead and dies as comeuppance, in a way that benefits Stede and Ed, much to (what we can imagine would be) his chagrin, or 2) Izzy ultimately has a change of heart and betrays his new allies to protect Stede and Ed, dying in the process. At this point, I much prefer the second because the first would leave him as pretty one-note and I’d like to see him choose Ed’s happiness over revenge and redeem himself in the process but !!!!! We Shall See!!

#our flag means death #ofmd #izzy hands #and yes - OBVIOUSLY It's About The Ritual Substitution #the way he would be substituting for Both Stede AND Ed.... Sexy #but yeah i honestly just want him to want Ed to be happy #because he DOES in theory but he just can't accept that he's not the one who makes him happy #which is super understandable! i mean. imagine that you've done EVERYTHING for someone for YEARS #and then suddenly some rich dumbass comes along and sweeps them off their feet and makes them happy in ways you couldn't dream of #that you didn't even know were possible #i mean obviously his trying to kill Stede against Ed's wishes was shitty but i Get It #and i think it leaves the door open for Izzy meeting up with them again... probably secretly as part of a plot to have them killed #but he sees how happy Ed is and maybe even gets to know Stede a little better and sees the value in him #and so he ultimately can't go through with it as a parallel to Ed with Stede in ep 6 #but it's already been set-up with other folks with their own motives so he can't just say 'lol never mind' like Ed did #so he has to sacrifice himself to give Ed and Stede time to escape or something #has a cool swordfight maybe idk...#i'm just writing fanfic at this point...#but it would be a narratively satisfying way for him to go out is all i'm saying #so that's my current Thought #but Izzy's dying one was or another and you can quote me on that #there's actually even more Stuff in ep 2 but i don't have time to get into it rn...#i'll reblog this later and add it probably!#ofmd spoilers #for anyone who's got it blacklisted bc they can't watch yet! :))

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icannotweave · 2 years

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god god god I'm literally in tears over this post.

izzy hands is a goddamn walking tragedy because he’s trapped in the prison of subtext!! he’s not a part of the narrative, people like him aren’t heroes, they don't get to be happy or safe or loved gently. i also thought the speech about how People Like Them don’t get retirement was very queer (”we’re not those kinds of people/we don’t get nice things”). happy endings for queers are against the rules and izzy does nothing if not play by a homophobic story’s rules.

he’s playing so so carefully by the rules of the supposed genre to survive and it’s so so sad. there really is a whole-ass theme of repeating cycles of abuse to feel safe, cycles which brutalize oneself and others (e.g. ed, the crew, etc.). where the possibility of something gentler and kinder hurts too much and therefore seems unsafe! but only cause insanity and danger are normative.

open queer love and joy and tenderness feel wrong (dangerous, unsafe, frightening) cause repression and violence are your love language (the only love language you are or will ever be allowed and no human being can survive without love, really, you have to find it where and however you can). the abuse of normative heterosexuality and masculinity have atrophied and warped him. he’s literally a victim who maintains systems which create victims, oh my god.

izzy’s coping mechanisms (survival tools) of hurting rather than helping make so much sense when you think about them even a little bit through this lens. like! yes, it’s repetition compulsion probably but also...wow...no wonder he thinks he’s saving ed by forcing him to be brutal? (its for Your Own Good).

not just cause Things Make Sense Again (cause nothing is worse to an abuse survivor than chaos and instability - and nothing warps your ability to judge bad stability from good stability like abuse) when things are finally violent and chaotic again but also!! we can be Safe again! his manic joy makes so much sense cause! we followed all The Rules! we can be safe now, you and me! (”blackbeard is himself again” fuck me I'm sobbing). The Rules said we have to be this way and now things are safe and make sense again and nothing is unusual scary and bad anymore (it’s all the scary and bad I am used to once more).

but also also...he can express and experience Love (abuse) once more now that blackbeard is back. he can have his Intricate Rituals back. he can have his nice safe little pining spot where he and blackbeard can go back to their subtext marriage and domestic bliss is reestablished. that’s why “he’s under strict orders not to mention his sexuality” wrecks me so much because!! I genuinely do hope he can also escape these abusive cycles and find queer joy and love for himself and know he’s not the narrative’s Bad Gay Man.

if this show has taught us anything, it’s that we deserve the chance to not be the monster.

(tldr: the real villain of this series is Toxic White Heterosexual Masculinity and izzy hands is its most beaten-down victim/tool.)

#had to copy my tags over into a proper post cause I am weeping.#izzy hands #ofmd #raye posts

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one-sad-human · 3 years

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•Pinky Promises• Steven Adler

Pairing: Steven Adler x Reader, Axl Rose x Sibling! Reader

Requested? Yup! By an anon

Theme: Angst(?) to fluff

Warnings: Language, sexual references but nothing explicit

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Fic 1 of 2! Hope you enjoy! Also, the makeout near the end gets sorta hot and it was pretty fun to write? Like I’m considering exploring into writing smutter pieces. I didn’t want to originally because I thought I’d cringe all the way through and hate the result but I might try it out in the near future. Nothing too crazy but it’s something for me to think about.

You step off of the large bus, your combat boots hitting the ground as you adjust the bag slung over your shoulder. It's stuffed to the brim with whatever you threw in, you're surprised the zipper did burst.

You take a deep breath of the LA air. It's hot and humid and despite the thick air pollution, you can breath easier than you did in Indiana.

You grew up in Lafayette, Indiana with your older half-brother William. You were raised in the hellish house with your shared father, which you finally managed to escape.

William left right at eighteen. He tried taking you with him, but you didn't want him to be charged with kidnapping and have the cops on his ass. Now, two years and your father's stolen wallet later, you're finally in the city of dreams.

"Will!" You yell out, spotting your redheaded other half.

"Y/N!" He mocks, catching your figure in a crushing hug. He's taller than you, so you have to stand on your tippy toes during the embrace. "Thank God you're alright."

"I'm fine, I'm happy to finally see you again," you say, a huge grin on your face. "How's the band? Everything going well?"

"Well enough," he says with a shrug, grabbing your heavy bag and slinging it around his shoulder. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the guys. You already know Izzy of course, but the rest of them."

The walk to the 'hell house' as Will had called it is filled with catching up. He made sure to keep in contact with you, but the phone calls were always short. It felt nice to have a full length conversation in person with your brother again.

"Welcome home," Will says, leading you into the house. You grimace when you catch a whiff of stale beer and weed.

"You seriously live here? This place should be condemned," you say with disgust.

"And then where would we live?" The oh-so familiar voice of Will's best friend meets your ears. You whip around and fly into his arms.

"Jeffery! I missed you so much! You really should've tried calling, you ass!" You exclaim. Izzy rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless, patting your back during the hug.

"Who's this?" Another man enters the living room— if that's what it should even be called. He's blonde, taller than you but shorter than the other two men in the room. He has kind eyes and the smile he has on his handsome face leaves you speechless.

"U-uh, hi. I'm Y/N," you say after a moment of shameless gawking. If he noticed, he doesn't mention it.

"Oh that's right! Axl talks a lot about you! I'm Steven," he says and bounds up to you, catching your hand in a shake. You don't question who the hell 'Axl' is, but you smile stupidly at him and bite your lip with a blush staining your face.

"No," Will says, glaring at the cute blonde you've taking an immediate liking to. "Absolutely not."

"William!" You squeak out, pinching his shoulder harsher. He yelps and swats your hand away. Will glares further at you as he ushers you up the creaky stairs to your room. "Nothing happened! And who the fuck is 'Axl'?"

"I saw how you were looking at him! I'm not naive, Y/N. You were giving him the 'fuck me' eyes! And me, everyone calls me Axl here." You give him a look. "Except you, of course. You can call me Will."

You don't give him another word as he leads you to your bedroom. He was the one who didn't have a roommate before, and he'd have to share with Slash now but he was determined to give you your privacy.

"This is the only room with a working lock, use it. Especially when your changing! Three horny men in a house with one you isn't a good combo." You make a face and shake your head, but you can't really tell if he's being overprotective or if his band mates really are pigs.

"Are you not including Izzy?"

"Please, he's the only smart one besides me. He knows I'll rip him a new one." You laugh and give Will another hug.

"I've really missed hanging out with you like this, and thank you for letting me stay here." He nods and rubs your back.

"No problem, we have each other's backs, always." You nod and release your bother from the hug. "One rule though: no hooking up with the guys. One time thing or not, you don't know them like I do, I won't let you get hurt. So don't even try anything with Steven!"

"Even if it's nothing sex?" Will levels you with a look that would make you sweat if you were anyone else. You sigh and roll your eyes. "Fine! I promise."

"Pinky promise?" He asks, holding out his pinky finger. You shake your head but comply anyway, hooking your pinky on his.

"Wow, bringing out the big guns, pinky promises," you tease.

"Bitch," he mumbles. You gasp sarcastically.

"Asshole!" You reply. William takes his leave with another slew of insults under his breath but none to be taken seriously and all with a smile. You shut your door after him and lay on your bed, content with how things are finally beginning to look up.

If you knew where you would be in just a few months of living with your brother and his band, you never would've agreed to the naive promise Will had forced on you. You think back to the day with a frown.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Steven asks, pecking your bare shoulder as he lays behind you on your bed. You both lay naked and damp with sweat, glowing from the moonlight streaming in the room.

"William," you say with a sigh.

"We just had sex and your thinking of your brother? Should I be worried about you?" Steven asks teasingly. You fight the smile growing on your face and lightly pinch the his arm tightly wrapped around you. He never fails to make you laugh.

"I just feel bad keeping this a secret from him." You turn around to be face to face with Steven. "It's been months of sneaking around. I'm always nervous we'll get caught together or I'll blurt it out to him."

"Then why don't we just tell him?"

"Do you want to die! Steven, honestly, do you have a death wish?"

"No, but—"

"Then we can't tell my brother we're together. He'll murder you, and then probably me one he finds out how long I've been lying to him," you say and move your head in the crook of Steven's neck.

"Then we can be together in the afterlife!" Steven folds his arms around you even tighter. "Seriously though, we can't lie to him forever. We've been together for six months already, surely he'll see how much we care about each other and not want to kill us."

"Yeah, maybe," you say halfheartedly and close your eyes, finally letting yourself fall asleep.

The next night, Guns has a gig at the Whiskey A-Go Go. The ritual goes like it has been, they play the gig, you wait for Will to get drunk, and you and Steven sneak out to the back of the club to make out and maybe get felt up a bit before returning like nothing happened.

It isn't different this time. Steven's hands leave your skin ablaze as he lets them wander down your sides and up your thighs. His lips don't leave yours, even as he squeezes your ass and you let out a moan. He grins on your mouth and presses his pelvis up to your stomach.

His mouth leaves yours to press feather light kisses to your cheek before trailing down your jaw and onto your neck, where he sucks nips at. You have to press a hand to your mouth to stay quiet.

"Don't leave marks," you remind him through batted breath.

"I won't," he reassures and silences you with a chaste kiss to your swollen lips before returning his attack on your neck.

You hear footsteps fast approaching, but as quickly as you hear them, Steven is ripped away from you. He's slammed into the brick wall next to you harshly and groans. You jump away and gasp.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" William asks, his voice lower than usual. His green eyes dark and downright scary.

"Will! Let him go, come on. Stop fucking around, you didn't have to slam him into a wall," you say, but your shaky voice falls on deaf ears as Will doesn't move. Your hands grasp at his arm and try to yank him away from Steven, but he's stronger and taller than you and doesn't budge, he just keeps his eyes focused on Steven.

"Nothing!" He squeaks out. Even in the dark, his kiss bruised lips and flushed red face is obvious.

"'Nothing?' That's why you were ten seconds away from fucking Y/N?" Will asks.

"William stop it! You're scaring me! Leave him alone!" You push him again and this time, he relents. Will paces and runs his hand through his red locks while you rush to make sure Steven is ok.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Steven mutters and presses a kiss to your brow to comfort you, sending you a smile when he pulls away. He keeps his hands on your arms and rubs circles with his thumbs.

"How long has this been going on?" Will asks, crossing his arms as he finally stops his pacing.

"Six months..." Steven says nervously. William scoffs and shakes his head. "But it isn't just fucking around! I love them, Ax. Really."

You smile bashfully, biting your lip to try and contain it. You knew you felt strongly for Steven and that he returned the feelings, but you haven't outright said you loved each other— until know of course.

Will stays silent for a few beats, staring contemplative at Steven. He finally sighs, bring a hand up to rub his temples like he has a building headache.

"Yeah? And you love him, Y/N?" He asks. You nod, reaching out to grab Steven's hand. Steven lets a grin creep on to his face. "Then I guess I can't stop you. But if you ever break their heart, I'll fucking gut you, Adler."

If Will makes Steven nervous, he doesn't show it. He gives him a salute with his puppy dog like smile before sticking out his pinky.

"I promise I'll never hurt Y/N purposely, ever." Will rolls his eyes, the irony makes him nearly groan aloud. He sucks it up anyway when he sees your hopeful expression, hooking his pinky onto Steven's.

"Don't make me regret this, Steven," Will grumbles before leaving and walking back into the crowded club. Steven lets out an exhilarated laugh and kisses you, hard.

"Told you he wouldn't kill me!" Steven exclaims, making you laugh out of surprise.

"And we don't have to sneak around anymore!" Steven kisses you again, and again and again until you're breathless.

"I'm so in love with you," he mumbles between his attack on your lips. You smile, tangling your hands in his aqua-net filled hair.

"As I am with you."

#classic rock imagine #guns n’ roses #guns n’ roses x reader #guns n’ roses imagine #80s #steven adler fluff #steven adler imagine #steven adler x reader #steven adler #axl rose x reader #axl rose imagine #axl rose fanfic #axl rose

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altairattorney · 2 years

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[OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH] Last Wish Granted

“A bath, I say!” he exclaims. “Are you deaf? I have been holed up in here too long, and I am starting to smell! What kind of man can stink like this and go about his day like nothing?”

Yes I have the gay pirate brainrot too, ofc. Wrote this beast in my sleep (no, not a joke; my brain really does that and quite often) and decided to actually write it to make my gay pirate brainrot friends happy. The rituals are intricate and everyone on that ship is gay and stupid and I love all of them. No NSFW anywhere but sexytimes are just implied; a lot of sweetness and gay happiness. [AO3 link]

Somewhere in the middle of the morning, Stede awakens from his third (fourth?) nap of the day.

It ends similarly to all the others: with the pungent smell of the rags he calls his bed, and drool over a frilly sleeve he has not been allowed to change in God knows how long. He dries his mouth against the fabric, in search of an inkling of comfort; but the scruffy ends of his beard pass right through it, only feeding his irritation further.

As usual, the sun is far too warm and gentle for his liking. Foggy eyes watch its rays touch his prison like a considerate caress. The rough edges where they tore up the walls – where a room built in his ship for his crew was disfigured into an ugly cell – seem to change shape as well, glistening bright like wooden crystals.

Much of the ship has suffered the same fate. Stede vaguely remembers finding it irritating, somewhere amidst the heartbreak and the shock of his first night aboard.

Not that it matters now, he thinks, coiling back onto himself like a defenseless animal. Thank goodness he does not remember much of that.

It was his choice – it still is. Now that his life is over, forgetfulness means survival. Since the first moment he found himself thrown on the ground of his cell, Stede has let all his hours and meals blur together into one endless state of half-consciousness, with the promise to make himself sleep as long he can throughout the walk of the celestial bodies.

If only he could also control what he dreams about.

The image is still only a glimpse, just like what he saw that day. It does not scare him nor hurt him any less. Deep within the nights on the ocean, when his sleeping throat betrays him and he whimpers despite himself, that fragment of a memory stirs and grows larger, seeping through the cracks of his mind until no space is left for anything else.

His nightmare is the face of a monster. He saw it but for a split second, and yet it comes back whole – in grotesque detail his agony reinvents each time, etching it mercilessly all over the face of his love. The ensemble is crowned by a pair of beastly eyes, inscrutable and black, open on the depths of a murderous ocean.

It scares him, that is certain. But every time, unbeknownst to him, his breath quickens and his foolish heart races. He reaches for that ghost of a man with untold hunger – fingers all over his face, still almost as soft as he remembers – he digs and scrapes with his thumbs, at the layers of black and salt and tears.

It never comes off. He can only wake up, and suffocate his crying in the same sleeve.

But not now, Stede decides. Way too much of the day is left to go through. For what it’s worth, if he has any dignity left at all, he will refrain from morning breakdowns like alcohol.

He numbs himself into half-sleep. There he plans to stay as long as he is allowed.

He is brought back by nervous footsteps.

“Well?”

Stede does not understand why Izzy Hands of all people is the one standing out of his cell, but he can guess. From what little he has grasped during his prison stay, the task falls to whoever pissed off the great Blackbeard most on any given day.

Despite what he believes, Izzy was never hard to read. But something in his demeanor – the scalding tone of his voice, the fury he conceals as bravado in his eyes – tells Stede something more is going on.

For the briefest moment, he wonders if their disagreement had anything to do with him at all. He represses a pang of terror, and swiftly suffocates the smallest spark of hope.

Even so, it isn’t like he cares. He decided long ago he would never deign Izzy with a single response, and despite it all – despite the pain – he wants everyone to know Stede Bonnet has become a man of his word. He remains silent, and absorbs every crumb of delight he can from staring at him without a moment’s rest.

Whatever his gaze is doing, it seems to be working. From his restless pacing around the corridor to the way his mustache quivers with rage, Izzy radiates distress. Stede loves every second of it.

“You think you are so smart,” the first mate comments. Even under so much pressure, his unctuous voice somehow still holds itself together. “I wonder what I could do to change your mind…”

For a moment, Stede has to blink to protect himself from the sight of his dagger. It becomes blinding in the light, and lets out a horrific cry when Izzy scratches it against the metal bars. Neither needs to speak to clarify to each other what that sound promises – it is torture, skinning, certain death singing to him.

Yet, even at the height of his discomfort, Stede cannot help but notice that nobody has ever come close to harming him. And if there is anything he knows for sure in his life, at this very moment, it is how badly Izzy wants to do just that.

Does he want to... take care of me himself? his heart wonders with a start. He and no one else?

A thrill of fear and excitement runs through his spine at the thought. As much as he repeats to himself he is no longer supposed to care, Stede must let it happen this time. If his guess is right, few facts are left on his horizon – he is as good as dead, can afford no regrets, and will see the one he loves most in the world before he passes.

It is maybe that thought to break down his fierce resistance, and melt his nerves into a swarm of giggles. His throat bubbles up with hilarity like the chatter of a spring, full of a hollow joy – the delight of a man whose fate has already been chosen, and has nothing to lose but the present moment.

He does not know how long his voice keeps flowing, nor why the sparkle of little tears keeps dropping at the corner of his eyes; but he has never enjoyed any kind of peace for long before, and an abrupt end to his reverie has to come again, inevitably.

“That’s enough!”

Stede cannot repress an unceremonious squeal when the dagger plants itself into the floor, a breath away from his toenails. He concedes that much to Izzy – the man knows how to be fearsome. But he also enjoys his rage, and isn’t that the point, now that he is as good as gone? A moment of fun?

“You don’t even know who you are laughing at,” Izzy articulates, both terrifying and pathetic in his snake-like attitude. “You are nothing. If it weren’t for… damn.”

Stede perks up at his hesitation. To Izzy, the creature in the cell may very well be a dog who was just given the promise of food, or heard his distant master’s name. Disgusting, Stede can read in his face.

“Hmm?”

He is acutely aware of how much his only utterances sounded like squeals. But he has an oath of silence to maintain, and carries on – half-scared, half-intrigued by the prospect of more information.

Izzy slipped up. They are both aware of it. The first mate, a finely trained actor by all means, is able to compose himself and put up his sturdy mask of smugness again.

“What are you staring like that for?” he asks mockingly, shaking his head like he would at a child or a beast. “Is there anything Your Majesty wants from me?”

Stede ponders his words with care. If the end is inevitable as he thinks, he might as well get all the enjoyment he can out of this. For the first time in at least weeks, he shoots a dignified glance at the lacy wrists of his shirt, and ruffles them in the tidiest manner he can.

“I would much appreciate taking a bath.”

“Excuse me?”

It takes all of Stede’s willpower not to finally laugh again, amused as he is at Izzy’s furious bewilderment. However, the act has to continue. The man is of no use to him there – the only way he can enjoy his company is by seeing him frustrated or not seeing him at all.

He unearths his aristocratic ways from the forgotten areas of his mind. He knows they offer him his best shot at sounding as indignant as he wants to.

“A bath, I say!” he exclaims. “Are you deaf? I have been holed up in here too long, and I am starting to smell! What kind of man can stink like this and go about his day like nothing?”

With Izzy still shocked into inaction, he lets his frown morph into a malicious smile.

“Oh… I see. Men like you.”

It takes Izzy several seconds, plus a few instinctive moves towards the sheath, to realize his dagger is already out of reach within the cell. As Stede wonders whether he would have been able to resist the temptation this time, his amusement turns a little more somber.

Izzy’s next words change everything.

“He will hear all about this,” he growls. “He is going to hear it right now. You are dead.”

Stede hears him walk away like a storm, his footsteps heavy and frantic. Somehow, his heartbeat manages to match them in speed. His blood pulses throughout his whole body, a rolling drum, bearer of ecstasy and ultimate pain at once.

Maybe he will see him. Maybe, just this once, he will get the one thing he wants before he can die in peace.

And if he is fast enough – faster than Izzy’s bullets, he supposes – he will reach out his hands, as if in a dream…

“Um.”

When Stede realizes what he has been fantasizing about the whole time he was alone, his embarrassment grows to be noticeable. Even so, nothing could match that on Izzy’s face. Composed and professional as he tries to be, he finds it difficult to hide that the news he is bearing are quite strange – nothing close to the immediate bloodshed he was craving, at the very least.

“The Captain says you can have your damn bath,” he spits out. “Last wish granted.”

Stede can barely hear the loud click of the lock, or notice how he struggles to stand on his legs at first. His whole body feels as if it were made of light and clouds – lifted by elation and terror in equal measure, already sailing for its final destination in the heavens.

Heaven or hell, may his love join him there one day. That is his true last wish.

Out of nowhere, he feels a heavy push towards the staircase, and the back of his shirt blocked in a steady grasp.

“Go there now, but mind you,” Izzy barks. “You will be watched.”

In spite of all his anticipation, Stede cannot move.

Nothing sounds more pleasant than going to meet his maker clean, bloodstains and wounds aside. He sees no reason to wait any longer for that morsel of relief; he deeply needs to feel his limbs enveloped in soothing water, almost like the kind ocean loved to do when he lay on its shores.

And yet, something feels wrong. A sound nails his feet to the floorboards just outside his bathroom. His ears keep catching gentle splashes coming from the other side of the door – one his trained ear can now distinguish from the rolling waves. So much quieter, and yet so much more dreadful. Someone is in there.

It may be an ambush, his heightened survival instinct yelps from within. He realizes making complete sense of his imminent demise will still take some time.

The chatter of warm bath waters continues from the inside. It is somehow too delicate, almost sweet to his ears, with all the allure and danger of a siren’s song. He decides to collect his courage and add the final attempt to a row of polite, if awkward, gentlemanly knocks.

“Is anyone in there?” he calls, tremulous. “Hello?”

No other response but the water returns to his ears. Stede braces himself. It may take a minute, or twenty, for him to find his resolve; but he knows too well what fate he is headed to. Since his path cannot be changed, he might as well enjoy the last hour of solace he will know.

For a few moments, as the door cracks open and his knuckles turn white around the handle, his apprehension leads him to focus on the hidden corners of the room. It isn’t until he is relieved, and the door cautiously shut and locked, that it crosses his mind to focus on the tub.

Hiding in plain sight, his brain struggles to formulate, before all thought crumbles to the floor and crashes in stunned silence.

Ed is in there. No, it is not one of his dreams or memories, Ed is in there. Alone and naked and staring. Silvery droplets glisten all over the strands of the beard he seems to be trying to regrow in full. The shimmer of water coats patches of his beautiful skin, content to rest a moment longer wherever a scar or a vein left a mark. He lingers against the metal like a sculpture, vibrant model to pale marble imitations, with every shape and line drawn by his body converging to the center of it all – his powerful hand, wrapped around the hilt of a knife.

By the time he can formulate a thought again, Stede realizes his concept of time is far gone. The moments refuse to pass, caught in a reverie stronger than drugs; Ed’s movements happen faster than he can realize, faster than he can order his limbs to fully defend himself. He struggles hard not to focus on the body in front of him instead. As the shine blazes towards his throat, the realization it is all over struggles to come as quickly.

He breathes in and out several times. Things are too silent, too still for what expects him. For a while, his eyes are shut, and nothing hurts nor makes sense.

Though his ears feel like they are full of cotton, Stede begins to notice the breathing he is listening to is not just his own. He feels another quiver in the air, ragged and uneven, but almost slowing down to match the rise and fall of his rib-cage. He finds it in himself to look again, to see where he ended up.

Against all he expected, his face is full of Ed.

The knife ended nowhere near the place he thought he would. He sees its silhouette somewhere near his left side, higher than his neck, farther than his cheeks. The handle is no more than a glimpse – he cannot resist half a second before turning his gaze ahead. Every nerve in his system shuts down, giving way to nothing but adrenaline and ecstasy.

He is far too vulnerable, far too open to danger, far too close to his lips and his face and the draw of his warm body. If he really is to die, Stede thinks, he cannot wait an instant longer.

He flies to meet Ed’s lips again, eager beyond words to talk to him, to make him understand, to kiss the totality of his desperation into him. He must pour so much love in such fleeting, brief time he has to live. No matter how much you hate me, his tongue would speak if such fiery embraces had words, I love you, I will love you forever, I will die at your side in any way I must.

He is far too lost to feel more than sparks all over his limbs when other hands tug at his clothes, ridding him of the heat and the dirt and the foul smell. Everywhere barriers fall, bring down defenses. His contact with soft patches of skin, avid and fervent and in so much need, slowly gives him the raw power to open his eyes wide and hold Ed’s face.

He sees fire burn in his eyes. The fire he loves. The dark pits of his pupils, now stretched out wide for him to read, are not quite as glacial as the monstrous chasms he remembers – they find their bonfire again moment by moment, melting the icebergs of his love in warm rivulets through his long-cracked black make-up.

“I-I couldn’t,” Ed finally mutters. “You- I just couldn’t”.

He lowers his head in pain with such force he breaks free of his loving grasp, turning to take a few disheartened steps away. Distracted by the chill his absence left, Stede slowly puts him into focus. He follows the wet footprints on the floor, then the geometry of his slender legs; he envelops his chest and shoulders with his gaze, to find them curved under a weight too merciless to bear. He knows what his posture means – he has seen it so many times before.

Ed stands on his own, clothed in sunlight, like a man who has lost himself completely.

With the noise of deep instinct washed out of his blood, Stede is allowed to choose with renewed clarity. He walks forward with peace, mellow and certain, to wrap his arms around Ed in the most understanding embrace he can muster.

“I know,” he murmurs against the skin of his neck. “It’s alright now. I am not going anywhere.”

The way Ed’s arm grasp his to keep him close feels like a call for help, a plea from a soul who has known nothing but loneliness. To Stede, however, he is more resplendent than the sky just outside. All of them, he thinks with contempt, were both right and wrong at once. He is the shell of a fearsome captain – yet a man reborn in love, basking in the warmth of his own beauty.

That is not what he thinks about himself. Whether his fault or not, Stede knows that has to change.

Though reluctant to move at all, he gently turns Ed around to face him, and lifts his chin with the same care he always reserved for any timid flower buds in his own vast garden – shy to bloom, yet ready in their own time.

His gaze, if wounded and afraid of further pain, is molten in the softness he knows so well. The contrast to the crude markings painted on his cheeks is stunning. In the space of a few loving glances, Stede notices the horrible story they tell; the streaks of black look painted one over the other, their edges washed away by his eyes time and time again. Who knows how long it would have taken still, he struggles to think, for that story to be given up on and end forever.

When he is able to speak again, Ed’s voice is so frail Stede thinks he may break in his arms.

“Why?”

There is nothing else. Nothing else is needed for them both to be run through by grief, in all the places that hurt most. Still, the choice Stede made is already set in stone. He is not here to revel in their pain; he is here to heal wounds, close incomplete chapters, do whatever it takes to finally open the one they always wanted to write.

“A lot went wrong,” he answers, not knowing how to sum up so much change in the few words Ed desperately needs. “There is much that I need to explain. I am so sorry.”

“Me too,” Ed sobs against his shoulder.

Stede pauses thoughtfully, putting his words together as he runs his fingers through Ed’s hair. It is filthy and tangled like it never used to be.

“I know things did not go as we planned,” he continues, doing all he can to prevent his voice from cracking. “That was not what you wanted to happen. I did not want that to happen. But in the end… above all, I had to make things right. With my family and myself first of all. And I did not come back to harm you, or to-”

His jaw clenches. The memory of that encounter still hurts as its core – the events and the insults both. Still, now that he knows the truth, he can move forward.

“I did not come to ruin you or make you any less of a person. I came back to make things right with you, too. Because…”

Ed turns his head to look at him. For a moment, a rosy tinge still falls over his cheeks. He feels the ancestral drive to conceal his emotions and run – even more so in front of his fearsome mentor, his teacher, his friend.

He brushes it off with a smile, not minding the few tears that fall from his own eyes. Neither of them are that person anymore. He is Stede and this is Ed, his lifted hand entwined in his own, expectant.

“The truth is, you are my family now. If you will want to be.”

Now, if he could, Stede would close his eyes and draw a long sigh of relief. The question he implied carries the weight of significant words, so full of care and timid visions of the future. He does not have the time to do any of that.

Ed’s kiss is fierce in the way he knows and loves – strong with the truth that lies beneath, with words he feels he cannot speak enough. He cannot help being carried away by their power, just like it happened when all he knew of him was his name. Though he accepts him fervently, his eyes remain wide open; he takes in the sensation with some shock, torn between pleasure and need for a straight answer.

“Uh… Ed?” he says in between pants, as his eyes focus to reveal a mischievous smile on his beloved’s face. “My darling, are you al-”

“Aw, fuck it.”

Stede cannot identify much of the words that come out of either their mouths after that. His memory of the moment will remain a chaotic waltz towards the tub, fragments of sentences nobody ever cared enough to finish, numerous instances of their heads banging together, sounds that were half kisses and half laughter. At the end of it all, his consciousness grows quiet: deliciously warm water, calm breathing, and the weight of a slender body resting on his own.

Ed seems inclined to do little more than stare at him, his fingers diving below the surface of the water to caress the softest parts of Stede’s belly and chest. Waving back and forth, they leave ripples like dolphins against a pleasant sunset. Electrified by every touch, his mind lets go of any logic, and elects to start pouring water on the thick black strands of hair that float all around his heart.

They resemble glossy algae in his hands, ever so gently breaking free of the dirt as the scent of lavender spreads around them in a welcoming aura. The shorter hair finds its way to frame the soft features of Ed’s face, and it is not long before Stede follows its path. From the strong jawline near his ears, his hands climb with respect, step after step, to get to the dark streaks that still plague his face.

Although something sours in Ed’s expression, he gives no sign of wanting to stop him. He closes his eyes and, Stede would love to think, he lets go.

The soapy water makes him think of waves on a shore: they wash the dirt away with them, stroke after stroke, to uncover treasures of skin and wrinkles. Those layers, Ed tells him through the way he grasps his forearm, are full of stories best torn away and forgotten. They walk back through time together, arm in arm, until his visage is a clean slate; and there, on fresh pages of supple brown skin, all their future is ready to be written.

When they open again, his eyes are glistening with the strength of the sea. The glint so familiar and beloved to Stede is the most alluring and comforting of sights, precious more than anything he could ever own.

Welcome home, it whispers to him. And he answers.

Neither of the men notices when the bath begins to cool. The sun shines highest on its throne now, rich with generous handfuls of gold to shine upon their skins. Stede watches his beloved writhe in the water, limbs and lips so busy with leaving behind trails of kisses. He spreads around his frame, all dark and silver and shine. The most handsome of sea monsters, he thinks dreamily. He pictures scales, or gills, or smooth skin growing on their necks; he imagines they will have every chance to float away together, to sink forever in their personal sea.

He lets his blonde hair and toes curl in abandon, soft against the edges of the tub. Nothing he has ever experienced even comes close to this. He has gone through the mechanics, he guesses, in a way he neither chose nor relished; but the certainty of his body is as sound as that of his mind. He circles Ed’s ear with a careful hand, and he whispers – to his voice and his limbs alone – that he is ready to learn.

“Let me show you,” Edward responds.

When the afternoon begins to decline, Stede opens his curtains to meet it on the ocean.

The gifts of its light are bountiful even as it sets, its warm tendrils beginning to turn rose. They cast a final glance, private and merry, on the last droplets that still run on their skins; they wrap around his hollow bedroom, so barren to his eyes, to make up for all that was lost, yet will never be lost again.

The curtains frame their bed like a theater stage, where the rest of their lives are beginning to be written. Many words are still owed, many broken branches to be mended; but the truth shines through from the beginning, where it was established neither would ever live without the other.

For all the way he has to go, Stede no longer understands what worry feels like. The balance of their bodies on one another is so frail, yet so much harder to let go of than anything else. He never plans on doing that again, whatever it may cost.

For the time being, he goes to rest. Clean, elated and exhausted in equal measure, he thinks with a chuckle.

Stede and Ed go sleep with the sun, and today – at long last – they are both happy and free.

#ofmd #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #omfd fanfiction #our flag means death #only this show could honestly have the power to pull me out of writer's block after 1 year and a half

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