#i haven’t written in SO long i apologize if this is garbage

[plutopitou]

◇ Haven’t I given enough?

keigo takami | hawks x female reader

genre: nsfw smut, angst

Keigo struggles to find a way to cope from being forced to be a trained soldier by the hero commission. Luckily you have a few screws lose and are more than willing to be that beacon of hope, no matter the cost. | 18+ MDNI

word count: 4.3k

warnings: he's mean (◞‸◟) but hot to me, toxic relationship,? VERY rough sex, smut, dub/con, keigo has issues- so does reader and they are obsessed with eachother -oop degradation (not for the lighthearted), dumbification, overstim

this is my first post on here and i haven't written in a long time so bare with me :) i think it came out nice tho <3

Keigo has always had the commission on his back. Being raised inside of a facility that is cut throat and grabs you by the hair and force feeds you, not because they have to- but because they can. To express their own dominance like a cat baring their claws or a bird flexing their wings to show off how big they are. Poor little Keigo didn’t have a choice in the matter either, being so young he already knew if you disobey authority you have your work cut out for you.

He was always a people pleaser from day one. Daily motivation sourcing from the look of admiration by the adults, impressed by his quirk and drive for success. But the look was not admiration, but instead it was insulting. They never seemed to be pleased by his hard work and it pricked Keigo in his head constantly.

“You’re not working hard enough,” and “you can do better” they said.

Day after day his big doe eyes became heavier and heavier until they were keen enough to cut. There wasn’t a way to say “no” that didn’t end up in some type of penalty, ultimately equating the word “no” as something negative and taking a life as something positive, because who was there to tell him what was going on was bad and not right?

A baby bird only eats whatever its mother feeds them, whether thats food or garbage.

After Keigo’s first kill as a pre-teen, he hunched over and threw up at the mental anguish of being groomed to be a killing machine. It was one person after the other being a perfect sacrifice to perfect his skill, not at will but from demand. Keigo began to revel in the superiority of finally having the upper hand against someone, finally feeling powerful and knowing his own skill set by developing his quirk to be the best in the game.

Overtime he liked seeing the redness of blood camouflage with the tips of his red feathers and the string of apologies flowing from someone’s mouth, begging to spare their life. He got off on the picture of him standing big and tall on top of their weakened body.

But it was only fulfilling in the beginning.

He has bright vermilion wings with sharp eyes to match and it was not something you could easily look away from. It is a type of stare he developed over time that was molded to make you crack under pressure and confess anything. A type of stare that is enough to make you cry and plead a sorry even if you didn’t know what you were sorry for. A look that is masked underneath his laid back exterior he shows to the public.

There is a reason why he’s number two.

To the public it’s just Hawks, the number two hero, a man that helps elderly women cross the street and gladly holds onto your groceries with one of his delicate but strong feathers so you don’t feel inconvenienced. So you can experience a better day. He will gladly take a couple scratches and lose a couple quills for humanity so they can go home to their family and enjoy their night. But whispers travel and the villains know exactly what he is that he conceals, which makes his patrols smooth sailing. He is type of person the worst people warn to never cross paths with.

He is the glorified punching bag of society that is painted in expensive jewelry with a special title made just for him: a Hero.

But who gets to make the number two hero’s day better?

It’s not the little kids sprinting to him, looking up from his knees with bright eyes begging for an autograph. It was him pinching your nose, feeling your body trying to gasp for air while he rapidly fucks your throat, taking it all for himself.

It was never the men and women with tears in their eyes giving their thanks for saving their life. It was always the tears springing from the swift slap to your face trying to squeeze out one more apology from your stupid mouth for not listening to him.

And it is definitely not the plentiful of stupid fucking awards given to him at hero galas by the committee he is forced to accept to keep his image pure. Because is there anything actually fully pure about hero work?

Keigo felt himself slowly starting to lose his stability in the center of chaos. The feeling of murder is so short lived- he needed more than that. He didn’t like how long he had to wait until the commission had him go on another undercover expedition. That was always the rule by them: he can never kill unless authorized.

Society already has their special person to tear down and build back up as they pleased, who was going to be Keigo’s?

You, of course.

You were so willing to give up everything you had ever owned, have and thought of for the slight chance of his attention. Such a little stalker for Keigo, trying to figure out his patrol schedule just so you can see him work with a charming smile on his face. Reading fanfiction about him on websites dedicated to his heroics, touching yourself at night thinking about his sweet whispers telling you how beautiful and good you are for him.

You just knew he was such a kind and humble man in person like he executed himself on TV. You had seen over the years of heroes’ facade falling down, exposing themselves for being the corrupt and selfish person everyone had hoped they weren’t. But no, not Keigo, being the number two hero and being so young yet not much older than you, you saw him from a different light.

That is why when you willingly let yourself fall backwards down a 20 story building, you did not do it out of fear and intention of taking your own life. You did it out of joy and the safety of knowing he would be right there to catch you- because he is a hero.

For the seconds it lasted, it felt nice to flow through the sky and feel weightless. As the gravity of the earth clutches onto your body and forcefully pulls you down to your demise, it somehow did it softer than cutting a knife through butter. You let go of the breath you had been holding when you are swept up mid-air into a pair of strong arms grasping your body into his warmth. He smelled like fresh air and linen with a puff of mint coming from his lips. You peel open your eyes to see him in his glory, doing what he does best- saving people. The sun setting right behind him giving his body a glow of authority like a god. Your god.

Hawks gets you back to the ground and helps you stand still with a small comforting smile. “Take this as a sign, sweetness. Go home.” He says like its another day and pats your hair in place before turning ready to take his leave. His touch leaving a tingle from your head down to your back, you wished to have his hands on you forever.

“Wait!” You yell for him. Pulling out the letter you had handwritten for him days earlier, a confession letter. You shyly run up to hand it to him and take in his look of confusion before pushes up his visor and reads the front, ‘To Hawks ♡’.

Inside the letter was years worth of admiration and pent up love you have for what other people consider a stranger. But Hawks was no stranger to you. It only took a couple days to plan your meeting with him because you had full confidence he will be there when you fell, as it was meant to be. It was a love letter confessing you will leave everything behind for him, no matter what it took you wanted to be there to catch him if he fell too, even if you didn’t think you had the strength to keep him up. You would do anything he asked without question because he’s such a great person and deserves it the most.

‘I will lie for you, die for you, and kill for you, even if you don’t love me back. A hero needs a hero, too.’

Keigo thought it was almost too perfect.

His first thought, “this has to be some type of trick?” maybe the commission trying some sort of test on him as an evaluation? But when he looks into your dazed eyes, he knew. They were practically swirling with a heart in the middle. He thought there was no way someone has a screw loose enough to launch themselves to death in the smallest chance in being caught to give a little letter to their rescuer with a smile.

He has seen crazies before, not to this extent but close. Being in the work force for years now, his fanbase has exponentially grown as he climbed up the rankings. His female fanbase having the most growth, it was never surprising to come back to his agency with his interns bringing in a couple large boxes a week worth of love letters filled with undergarments, perfume, gifts or even money. Keigo of course has had his fair share of women in the past, none ever lasting as long because they couldn’t handle what he had to give. And what he had to give left these women bruised, crying and begging for more even if they didn’t have any more space left to take.

Your eyes, no matter the shape, still hold a roundness of naivety and innocence. A type of innocence that is special, one you dont see in a lot of people. But you have that factor. You have it all, and he wanted to be the one to take it away and give it back, force it to you.

Keigo almost wanted to laugh right in your face.

You watch as he pulls his visor back down with a small side grin, his shiny leather gloves putting the letter in his jacket pocket to keep it safe. “I’ll see you, alright, Birdy?” Pushing his wild, blonde hair back, Hawks gives you one last glance with golden eyes before taking off, the flap from his big wings pushing your hair back, leaving you alone as the sun finally sets.

.

.

.

But how could you have ever known?

Hawks didnt waste any time finding you again and getting ready to break you in. He loves the idea of it; a cute girl like you, so needy and desperate for him to go as far as jump off a building in the risk of him catching you. Because to you he was the perfect man on paper, on TV, and in person. You read everything there was to know about him online, you read every article, watched every single interview from the beginning to present of his career, there weren’t any warning signs that would have prepared you for who he was.

You wondered if his smile while being a hero was fake, if it was practiced beforehand to make sure there weren’t any marks for people to suspect. Since you’ve known him, the only time you’ve seen him smile with authenticity is when he’s crouched over your completely fucked out body, you still lowly whining how you can take more when you can’t even lift a finger.

How could a hero ever begin to act like this?

“You couldn’t have known” he murmurs against the back of your ear. His cruel and sadistic nature was intense, his words were pitched at you so fast, you couldn’t fully comprehend what he was saying.

Not through how much you couldn’t breathe with him fucking your throat with his index and pointer finger. His favorite part of your body was your throat, anatomically it’s the most vulnerable but so soft to the touch, so easy to control your life source and take it away if he wanted to.

Keigo knew what you were the moment you locked eyes with him and gave him that silly little envelope with confidence.

Naive.

A pretty, stupid little fan that didn’t know any better, a girl who trusted strangers and was so willing to throw away her life away for a man before it even started. The first time he fucked you he felt himself getting hard just beginning to think of all the things he can do to you, looking at you like you were a new play set and didn’t know where to start first.

“Aw, look at you.. my precious baby can’t breathe?” he coos, “Yeah you can, c’mon try harder..” Keigo fucks your throat with more swiftly, his fingers squelching from the pile up of saliva in your mouth. You’re desperately pawing onto his forearm trying to stabilize yourself against his front. The feeling of butterflies in your stomach is overwhelming and every push into your mouth you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. You felt so small against him, so vulnerable, thrashing your hips against his cock trying to get away from the faint massage against your bladder and pussy from his other hand, trying to push you over the edge.

Keigo loves you like this, he loves being the one to restrict you. He knows exactly how you like it, he knows you like to pretend you don’t, feigning innocence like you always do when in reality you’re just a little bitch desperately trying to get more and more from him like every body else.

You begin to choke on his fingers, gagging as they dig themselves in your throat trying to fuck with you, and you can hear Keigo’s smug attitude, “Yeah, that’s fuckin’ right..” he groans out.

He finally pulls his fingers out your throat when he thinks you’re about to throw up and you hunch over gasping for any air you can catch, coughing with spittle dripping down your chin. Keigo holds you by your mid section keeping you close and pulling your head back to his chest. You want to act out, you want to fight back and hit him, slap him in any way you can because you love the fight, you live for riling him up until he finally snaps and yells at you, insulting your morality and fucking you in the process.

You can’t get any words out, your mind feels like a foggy and cloudy afternoon, still trying to catch your breath and Keigo playfully taps your cheek with his hand still covered in your own spit. “On your back.”

However you want to stay and prolong this moment as much as you can. Your body already feels weak like jelly and you want it to feel weaker. You barely have the strength to turn around and sit face to face with him, completely disobeying his words.

“Kei.. I want to stay up here.” You sigh into his collarbone, wrapping your arms around his sides, teasingly grinding your pussy onto this bare cock. You just wanted to stay by him, so close to his handsome face so you can kiss him- feeling his light stubble graze your cheek whenever you wanted. But he knows that glint in your eye. You look up to see that gaze. That special one perfected to make you crack under pressure and profusely apologize. It was enough to make your stomach tie knots.

Since Keigo was a little boy, he suffered with imposter syndrome and never felt a sense of fulfillment or accomplishment until he took a look at everyone else and saw how much better he was.

How he was only 18 at the time he started his career and a person that was a hero for decades could never compare to his mental resilience and physical expertise. He always felt inferior until it dolled on him that Japanese society was counting on him to feel safe. Keigo wanted to take back his sense of inferiority he developed as a kid and inflict it back wherever he could. Fortunately, there just so happened to be a pretty girl who was oh, so willing to let him.

No, she didn’t understand everything he had to go through to get where he was now, she would never get it. She doesn’t have to kill people to survive, she doesn’t have to live with the knowledge that millions of people count on her to live a normal life so they stripped her of her own.

She can live her life making mistakes without care, but if Keigo ever did, it’s blood on his hands. He is blamed for it all. She won’t ever have to deal with that.

But at least he can make her feel it.

“You wanna fuck with me, huh?”

You see his jaw tick in anger and his closed grin does nothing to cover it up but make it worse. He snaps.

You can almost feel his anger wash over you and it feeds you the energy you need to take what he’s gonna give you whether you like it or not, and you always like it. You pull back to try and console him. “Kei..”

Keigo quickly grips your jaw with force, smile gone and pulls you close. “This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” He shakes you. “Huh? You like this shit don’t you?” He locks eyes with you searching for an answer, mocking how pathetic you look. “Hmm? Does it make you feel good, baby? Letting me manhandle you, knowing I’m gonna use your body however I want to?” You puff out a little whine in response to his accusation.

He quickly lets go and pushes your head back onto the bed, forcibly turning your body around. Pulling on the roots of your hair he pulls you up holding onto the softness of your neck after pressing a soft kiss to your head. “Remember this, birdy, this is for me. This is all so I feel good..” he pants against your neck teasing your folds feeing your legs twitch at every graze of his fingers. “Such a pathetic little bitch letting me treat you like this, throwing away your life for me just to get fucked like you don’t matter..”

That is what you did, isn’t it? You always had a choice after you stupidly jumped off a 20 story building. He showed you exactly who he was and still, you ended up at his mercy, crying for more of his callous treatment because you can’t get enough.

You sniffle and whine at the intense pleasure caused by his rudeness. You pant as his calloused fingers ravage their way down to your opening, your pussy anticipating Keigo just fully shoving it inside you. “Kei.. I’m sorry. Please, please, make me feel good. I’ll be good I swe-“

He swiftly swats the side of your face, breath hitching at the surprise, your cheek tingling from the sensation leaving you lovingly lightheaded. You shut up and take whatever he has to give you with nothing less a smile on your face. You wish he’d just shove his cock anywhere he pleases just so he can forgive you, just so you can hear that sweet rumble of praise from how good you are for him. Because Keigo’s approval of you is just as good as his degradation, both are enough to make you cry out of joy.

More tears follow the last, not because it hurt but the desperation for any part of him to be inside of you kills you inside, you’d die for it, and he knows that.

He stiffles a cruel laugh. “Aw, you cryin’? Don’t start crying now, you’ll turn me on too much..” After so much anguish he pushes his fingers inside of you, mercilessly going in and out, not giving you time to prepare. You yelp and cry inadvertently trying to crawl away from how overstimulating it feels, yet you just fall chest down ass up onto the plush bed, holding onto his freehand by your head like a clutch.

The only sound in the room coming from your drooling pussy squelching over and over, each jab drenching and pulling his fingers inside even more. Keigo curses at how warm you are, he can feel it. He knows exactly how your masochistic body likes to operate. Purposely taunting and arousing him until he’s forced to jackrabbit the fuck out your pussy until you pass out and still continue- fucking your passed out body till he sees creamy white spill out, moaning while forcing every drop of cum he has left right in your pretty womb with a nice low groan of pleasure. You both know you don’t have to say it to want it.

The feeling is so intense you’re just a babbling mess- no pure or smart thoughts, just mumbling out of pleasure to mumble. Your eyes are limp and dazed looking at the dimmed sky from the window, gripping onto Keigo’s wrist next to your head as if the bed will swallow you whole if you let go. You sense that potent feeling of an orgasm about to let loose, your babbles become load moans. The sound of your sloppiness getting louder with your voice. Keigo grazes his sight down your sheen body and curses as he finally pulls his hand out your sloppy pussy, leaving strings of your arousal. He can feel how agonizingly hard his cock is just from touching you, tip leaking white and ready to give to his sweet, bumbling girl.

He drips down spit to your pussy for good measure and looks back at your head to see you giving him the most loving look he’s ever seen in his life.

Keigo would never admit it, but it’s the first time he’s ever received and reciprocated such an intimate gaze. He puffs a nice low groan, looking down biting his lip as he finally pushes himself into your warmth, watching you slowly swallow him with white all the way up to the base of his big cock.

“That’s right sweet girl, I know you want it, I know your whore pussy wants it so bad- let me give it to you..” he leans down and grips your neck with a threatening squeeze, “This is all you’re good for,” he lowly hums, hissing as he gives another rigorous thrust. “You don’t wanna let me go n’ I won’t give us up, birdy, as long as you cum for me, alright? Let me use you- take care of you..” The feeling was almost too much for Keigo, he had never imagined someone that was good enough for him, that there was someone that could be a pillar in his completely fucked and screwed up life others curated for him.

After every thrust your pussy leaves a white ring and squelches as an invite to shove himself right back in even harder than the last, to make your response louder than the before.

Inbetween the moment you still find the energy to confess your love to him but can barely get halfway before he quickly covers your mouth and gives his last powerful thrusts into you. Huffing and groaning not being able to hold back how good you feel while you fuck him back in desperation like he knew you would, like you always do.

Practically drooling with whimpering sobs and tears behind his strong calloused hand, at last your selfish pussy grasps onto his cock as you orgasm feeling liquid slosh everywhere, your yelp into Keigo’s hand not able to contain yourself. Your hips desperately trying to get away as Keigo continues to fuck your overstimmed pussy in an effort to breed you like you deserve- moaning at you completely drenching yourself with him.

He feels himself coming to an end, holding back his hiccuped gasps- using his free hand to hold and massage your pelvis directly to his. “Oh fuck, baby, that’s right- take it, take it..” he gives you everything he has in exchange for all of you- cumming with a choked grunt in your neck, filling you with his seed like he promised he would, not letting a single drop escape.

Your whole body feels tingly with the last sprinkle of dopamine in your body, shuddering as you both collapse.

It didn’t take rocket science for you to know there was just something deeply unhinged about Keigo, as he’d probably say the same about you. You can tell intimacy was something very new to his life as he tried to shut you up before you can finish your sentence. However, you didn’t really mind much.

Keigo being your first in everything, you swore to yourself and him in that letter you will hold him up even if you didn’t think you had the strength to. You want to know more about his uprising, the stories he doesn’t tell in “exclusive” interviews- you are much more than a stupid fan and did not care if he thought of you as naive.

A slight wind chill comes through the crack in the window cooling off both your bodies. Keigo grips your jaw with need, pulling your head back to share his first kiss together filled with passion and little butterflies all over your body that leaves you wanting more. He lifts up an arm and gently pets back your hair and rubbing your head in the process letting you rest right next to him.

Even with how callous Keigo can get to leave you completely speechless and subdue you, you will take every slap, kiss, and word because the sick part of you wants it more than air itself. As for Keigo, he needed to find something he can tear and build back up, having no way to cope with the consistent pressure of the world and wanting a way out for a moment.

He loves to tear you down, but wants to keep you extra close and pay attention to every detail as he builds you back up,

to make you just as perfect as you were before.

Oh my gosh that’s it! My first story in over two years since my senior writing class haha. I hope you all enjoyed, feel free to let me know your thoughts or writing critiques- i always want to get better.

Please reblog and like, thank you ʕ⁎̯͡⁎ʔ༄

[sutekh94]

As if by magic...

A thousand long-dormant Tumblr pages suddenly rose from the ground like zombies hungering for birds’ flesh. They all marched together, loosely as they were, until they reached the town square. Their shrieks of starvation, too loud to ignore, commanded all who stood before. They could not die, yet it seemed from their cries as if they were about to.  But the people observing these pages knew they were coming and knew their hunger was extreme. Thus, they prepared accordingly.  Massive garbage bin bags filled with scraps of paper - art, that day’s random musings, advertisements even - arced erratically through the air towards these pages. Upon noticing these bags soaring towards them, the pages’ shrieks became more excited. Twisted, grisly smiles erupted on their ragged faces as the first bag landed. It took only a second for the pages to notice that each bag had something unique written on them, names. Specifically, each bag had the name of a certain page’s owner written on them. One page recognized the name written on the first bag that landed and rushed toward it like a sprinter. Furiously opening it, it saw dozens of pieces of paper, each containing depictions of what could only be described as artwork of humanized plants. The page didn’t care about that fact. It put the art back in the bag, picked the bag up, and started walking away with the same smile throughout.

It became absurdly clear that the bags did not contain just art, random writings, and other scraps that could be interpreted as meaningless. They contained love. Attention. Apologies. Perhaps even long-lost promises, finally fulfilled. After many, many years of starvation, these pages were simply happy to be buzzing with activity once more.

-----------------------

Uhhhh... That’s a heck of a way for me to say that I’m back on Tumblr after years of telling myself I’d return, lol. Twitter’s circling the drain in case you haven’t heard, so I might as well do as much as I can to be more active here.

[beesc0ut]

Math Homework

Darth Vader stood across from his son at the durasteel dining table of their adjoining rooms, his patience wearing dangerously thin. Though, of course, not because of Luke himself.

“This is not how I was instructed,” Vader growled. His education had, admittedly, been rather limited, but he had always been good at math; it came with the territory of being an exceptional mechanic. Unfortunately, Luke’s own instructors seemed to be… less informed.

“That doesn’t mean it’s wrong,” Luke mumbled. “They just changed it, I guess.”

“Why?”

Luke groaned. “I don’t know! But I have to show my work, or I won’t get any credit!”

Vader could feel the irritation wavering from his son. He paused for a moment before summoning Luke’s disorganized stack of papers and pens in front of him. One way or another, they were going to work through this.

“Dad, give it back!”

Vader tuned him out. He focused, instead, on the paper before him, and his son’s surprisingly neat handwriting. The equation was relatively simple, and very similar to the previous two they’d gone through. Silently, he began working through the calculations on his own, much to his son’s dismay.

Only a few moments passed before he was scribbling down the solution step-by-step in his own, rather messy, handwriting. “There. That is the correct way to do it,” he announced, rather pleased with himself. It had been many years since he’d needed to teach another being something mathematical, though, usually, his subjects had been unintelligent adults who wandered into Watto’s shop and severely underestimated the young boy fixing a pit droid. How many times had he explained to an overconfident smuggler that their hyperdrive was not, in fact malfunctioning, but rather they had made a mistake in calculating their hyperspace jump?

Now, however, his student was someone far more precious, not to mention completely tolerable. Were Luke not so stressed, he would actually be enjoying this lesson.

Vader looked up to pass the papers back to his son to find the boy crying. Immediately, Vader’s instincts went into overdrive. Had he done something wrong? Was Luke hurt? Reaching out, he gently prodded his son’s mental shields, which let up reluctantly.

Stress, sadness, fear.

He sighed to himself. Clearly, he’d put too much pressure on his son. The boy was not Anakin Skywalker when it came to math, though he certainly surpassed him in many other fields.

Luke refused to meet his gaze, sniffling silently and stuffing his hands in his lap.

“Luke, I… did not intend to upset you. I… apologize,” Vader stuttered. He’d never been any good at apologizing.

“It’s fine, dad… it’s not you. I just…” he tapered off.

“What is it, little one?”

Luke sighed in exasperation. “Nothing. It’s stupid, just forget it,” he said, reaching for the papers. Vader quickly pulled them away, out of his reach. “Tell me,” he said, speaking as gently as the vocoder would allow.

“Promise you won’t freak out?”

No. “Yes.”

“It’s just frustrating that I don’t get it like you. You’re so smart, you can do this in your head, and I can’t even do it on paper!”

Vader froze. That was what he was upset about?

How to explain to him how far he’d passed Anakin already. How much better he was now than Anakin had ever been. How impossible it was that he felt inferior because of a silly math problem.

How much he wanted to deal, personally, with the boy’s teacher for taking part in making him feel this way.

“See? It’s stupid…”

Luke’s worrying shook him back to the present. “It is not stupid, Luke. Though I do not understand how you would come to such a conclusion, I understand your frustration.”

And he did, to a point. Though, as a boy, he often exceeded expectations, some Masters on the Council held him to a higher degree than they did his peers. He did not understand it at the time, and it infuriated him to no end.

In the past. Unimportant. He pushed it away for his son’s sake.

“You are worth far more than you give yourself credit for,” he stated simply. “Nothing you do will ever make me think less of you, do you understand?”

Luke nodded and smiled at him lightly. “Thank you, dad.”

Satisfied, Vader walked over to show his son how to do the math properly. And if his teacher took issue with it, she would have a Sith Lord to deal with first and foremost.

[lemony-snickers]

Y/N watching 365 days or 50 shades of grey you pick with Kakashi, and see how it goes from there ; ) (fem reader plz) (NSFW)

hey there anon.  i owe you two apologies.  first, because this request came in july of last year.  second, because i actually do not like either of these movies a;dslfjasd;lfs (or at least, i don’t like the 50 shades book and have never watched the adaptation).  as such, this probably isn’t at all what you were looking for (in fact, i know it isn’t because there is no nsfw included).  so, perhaps, in that regard at least, it’s a good thing i ended up taking so long to write it because you probably won’t ever see it.  if you do, tho, i hope you know i didn’t intend to fail you it just sort of... happened.

Title:  Netflix & Chilly Summary:  Kakashi invites you over for a movie night, but it doesn’t quite go as he planned. Word Count:  950 Warnings:  no pronouns used, but written with fem!reader in mind as requested, failed attempts at humor, beleaguered kakashi, kakashi has bad taste in movies, swearing, some suggestive content .

Kakashi settled back against the cushions of the couch, one arm draped lazily around your shoulders. The characters on screen stared at one another intently, the feeling in the room electrifying as they undressed. Kakashi had been sure to keep the lighting in his apartment dim, a few candles providing ample illumination as you watched the television.

He scooted subtly closer, thigh pressed firmly against yours as Christian began binding Anastasia’s wrists together.  This was his chance; the moment he’d been waiting for.  This scene was the best in the whole movie—not to mention the sexiest, in Kakashi’s very nearly expert opinion.

He knew this would be the perfect opportunity to turn your cozy date night into something a little more exciting.

Eyes still trained on the screen, he began leaning closer as Anastasia was blindfolded.  He wanted to time this just right, so his teeth would scrape over your jaw at the same moment Christian first put the ice cube to Anastasia’s skin and she gasped.

Luckily, Kakashi’s timing was off by about a half-second because as soon as Christian began dragging the cube down his lover’s body, you snorted.  “What a fucking load of garbage.”

Kakashi pulled back and failed to keep the incredulity out of his expression when he turned to look at you.

“Excuse me?”

You smirked.  “You really think this is hot?” you gestured toward the television, “I mean, they’re spending more time showing us the ice cube than anything even remotely resembling good sex.”

Kakashi leaned away from you, removing his arm from your shoulders.  “You haven’t liked… any of it?”

Your face morphed into a mixture of amusement and concern.  “Are you kidding me?  This movie is terrible, I though that’s why you wanted to watch it.”

Even the sound of Christian firmly slapping Anastasia’s ass could not dispel Kakashi’s disappointment or draw his attention back to the movie.  You did, however, return your gaze to the screen, only to roll your eyes.

“Let me guess, she’s gonna cum in like thirteen seconds and consider him a god because he fucked her a little roughly from behind.”

Kakashi’s heart sank into his stomach as he settled back in place, arms folded over his chest instead of wrapped around you.

Maybe this wasn’t going to go as smoothly as he’d hoped.

By the time the movie finished—with no shortage of vibrant and derisive commentary from you—you were nearly in a fit of tears, you were laughing so hard at the film’s absurdity.

Kakashi wondered how many times you were going to pulverize one of his favorite flicks before you finally took mercy and put him out of protracted misery.

“Well,” he said, “some of us like that movie.”

He knew he was being petulant, but he couldn’t help it!  He’d invited you over tonight hoping to get you turned on, not so he could listen to you try out your own private stand-up comedy routine.  Kakashi liked you; he thought you were smart and funny and attractive, it’s why he’d asked you out in the first place.

Okay, so maybe the whole wanna watch a movie hadn’t been the most original concept on the planet, but he figured it would make his intentions pretty clear, especially when he put on the first movie (which, yes, he’d also hoped would be the last).  If you’d turned him down, he wouldn’t have cared, but to shred a passionate masterpiece in the process?

He didn’t even want to cuddle with you anymore.  He felt violated by your derision for his preferred genre of entertainment and shuddered to think what you might say if you ever watched 365 Days with him or got ahold of his smutty romance novel collection.  The chilly reception you were likely to give Icha Icha Paradise was enough for Kakashi to feel like Christian Grey was dragging an ice cube over his own abdomen.

You tried to pull him out of his sour thoughts by bumping your shoulder against his.  But when he turned to look at you, you were wearing the same smug grin you’d used to tease him about how awful the relationship was in the movie—“the worst depiction of a Dom/sub dynamic I’ve ever seen!”—so instead of making things better, it only served to deepen his pout.

The man was heartbroken! What did you expect?

“Come on, Kakashi, don’t sulk,” you teased.  But he would not be deterred.  He had plans! He thought he was being so clever inviting you over to watch a sexy movie!  He thought you’d be squirming on the couch, ready to rip his clothes off and have your way with him by the end of the second act!

Kakashi’s petulant thoughts stopped the moment your knees suddenly caged his thighs and you cupped his face in your hands.  The infuriatingly teasing smirk on your face was still there, but apparently, he didn’t mind it as much when you were straddling him.

“You know, if you wanted to fuck, you could’ve just asked,” you said, and Kakashi felt his cheeks heat under your intense scrutiny.  “No need for theatrics,” you promised, biting your lip to try and temper your growing smile, “Or awful movies.”

He squirmed beneath you, muttering an excuse and cursing the way his body responded when you ground your hips down.

You just giggled at his discomfort, leaning forward to put your mouth next to his ear, your hot breath fanning over it as you whispered, “If you want to see what good sex looks like, I’d be happy to show you.”

Kakashi groaned, utterly at your mercy.  Perhaps his plan hadn’t been a total failure after all.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖈𝖊 I || professor!helmut zemo x reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 : history is so much more interesting when he’s teaching it.  you’d better be careful before the two of you end up with a history of your own.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 : 6k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : smut (incl. semi-public sex in an office and oral f receiving), significant age gap (reader is 20, zemo is 39; it isn’t actually mentioned though but it comes up in the next part), the slightest bit of angst?, nearly pwp at this point lol

                                    You wouldn’t know it by the way you were enraptured with his lecture, but you weren’t even a history major.  

Quite far from it, really, well outside of the college of liberal arts, and yet here you were in the front row, watching him gesture over a large map of Western Europe while he explained the sociocultural impacts of the Treaty of Versailles.

It was probably pretty obvious why you took such interest in all this, though.  After all, you were the only one who dressed as well as he did, your blazers and skirts and loafers standing out amongst a sea of hoodies and sweats and flip-flops; and, you were the only one who paid close attention and yet never seemed to be taking any notes…

Why would you, after all?  Looking away to write in your notebook would mean missing out on all the fun, and unfortunately you had found that when you copied down the words he spoke, his accent was not retained in writing.

Some kid in the back of the class had asked about his accent the first day; you thought it was kind of a rude question, if you were being honest, but he didn’t seem to mind too much (if perhaps a bit surprised that anyone cared).  He explained he was from a small country called Sokovia, but that his accent was a bit unique since he spoke Russian, German, Spanish, and Italian as well.

Because of course he did.  Like he was specifically designed to target all your weaknesses.

“Well, I could talk about that for the rest of the evening but I’ll spare you all and let you out a bit early today, how does that sound?” Professor Zemo offered.  The other students weakly cheered, a few claps here and there as you heard binders shutting and backpacks being zipped, but you were disappointed.  You didn’t want to go back to your dorm, all you were going to do there was think about him anyways.

Damn, I’ve really got it bad, you thought to yourself, shaking your head as you stood up and gathering your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder.  You glanced up at the podium where another student was chatting with Professor Zemo, and either he said something really funny or she was trying way too hard to flirt with him.  You rolled your eyes, irritated by the display and yet envious of her audacity to just go up there and talk to him.  Imagine having a crush and actually being able to look them in the eye and hold a conversation; you could barely do that with people you didn’t happen to find attractive.

Just as you were about to make it out the door, you heard your name and spun around.  You were shocked to realize it was the Professor trying to get your attention.  If only you’d thought to pretend you hadn’t heard him.

“Could I speak with you for a moment?” he requested, motioning you over with two curled fingers.  With a swallow and a nod, you stepped out of the flow of students exiting into the hallway and approached the desk at the front of the room.

“What is it?” you asked.

“I just wanted to discuss your most recent paper, if you have some time,” he explained, and your heart sunk.  Of course it was garbage, you’d written the whole thing last minute during a near-all-nighter.  “I still have the copy you turned in here in my bag.”

“Right, of course— sure,” you nodded.  By now the classroom was empty spare for the two of you, your words echoing slightly; presumably that was intentional, since these places were built for acoustics, but it made you worry you’d have to hear whatever criticism he had for you multiple times.

He pulled out the slightly-wrinkled paper and took his glasses off of his vest to wear (fuck, did he have to wear the glasses, just to personally attack you?) as he glanced over the top page before folding it over the staple.

“This essay,” he continued, “it’s—”

Ridiculous.  Idiotic.  A blight on humanity and a waste of printer ink.

“Fascinating,” he finished, surprising you.  “After I read it, I searched your student profile on my office computer—”

You gulped, trying not to take that as a compliment.

“I’m looking at your information and I’m seeing you aren’t even a history major— is this a mistake, when it says your major is computer science?”

“No, that’s my major,” you nodded.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he decided, “because you have some really interesting ideas in here, clearly you must have studied history before.”

“I mean, not really,” you shrugged.  “I didn’t even care that much about history until, you know, you...r class,” you finished quickly, realizing it sounded too odd otherwise.

And that smile, the way he looked down at the floor suddenly, was he blushing?  “Thank you.  I’m always… glad to inspire.”

If only you knew everything you’d inspired in me, Professor.

“If you didn’t care about history, what would motivate you to register for an honors history seminar?” he asked suddenly.  

“Well…” you trailed off, reaching up to scratch the back of your neck as you dodged his gaze.

“It couldn’t possibly be because I’m teaching it,” he realized.

“I came to your talk last year, the one you did about the Sokovian civil war,” you finally admitted, letting out a lungful of air as you said it and looking up at him sheepishly.

“Ah,” he nodded, “yes, that might make a bit more sense.  But we still haven’t found the real reason, have we?”  His eyebrow raised slightly and you felt like he was toying with you— but you liked it, the shiver that ran up your spine made that obvious.  “Because the question remains of what would possess a computer science student to take time out of her busy schedule on a Friday night— if I recall the night correctly— to listen to some stuffy visiting scholar talk about a bloody war in a country she may not have even heard of before.”

“My friend brought me,” you defended.

“Under what guise?” he pressed.

“She… may have mentioned something about… a cute professor with a sexy accent…” you stammered, cringing slightly as you spared a glance back up at him.  He was staring back at you with the most bewildering expression.  His eyes said ‘you thought I was cute?’, and yet his smile said ‘I knew it.’

“You must’ve been horribly disappointed when I took the stage,” he finally replied, voice a bit lower, softer, not echoing around the room anymore.  

“Not at all,” you returned, almost below your breath now, and suddenly you became very aware that you were standing too close to him, but you couldn’t move away, you couldn’t even look away anymore.  “I’m here, aren’t I?  Taking your class?”

“And you make it nearly impossible to focus, did you know that?  I swear your eyes never leave me, I can feel them on me.  It’s quite unfair, because I can’t stare back at you no matter how much I want to.”

Just as you looked down at his lips and back up to his eyes, which seemed to be following a similar pattern on your own face, just when you thought this might be it and you were about to do something you really shouldn’t (but really wanted to), you heard the door open behind you and you spun around so fast you nearly hurt your neck.

“Oh,” the man in the doorway mumbled, apparently surprised to see you enough to nearly drop the papers tucked under his arm.  “I’m teaching the next class in here— Honors History of Islam?”

“Professor Waters, yes, my apologies,” Zemo nodded, “we were just… our discussion ran a bit long, we’ll get out of your way.”

You and Zemo awkwardly gathered your things and made a dash for the door as the older professor took his place at the podium.  Once the two of you were out in the hall, you let out a sigh and gave each other a glance, like you were each waiting for the other to either acknowledge or ignore what had just (almost) happened.

“I have my next class across campus in a half hour,” he remembered suddenly, lifting his arm and pulling back the brown sleeve of his coat to look at his watch.  

“Right, you should… get to that,” you nodded.

“Walk with me?” he proposed, and you hoped your smile wasn’t as beaming as it felt.  

“I’d love to.”

So maybe you ended up skipping your evening class to sit in the back of his History of England course.  And, perhaps, he ended that one early, too, this time to buy you coffee at the student center; and your discussion ended up going on so long that the coffee shop closed and you had to go to his office to finish the conversation.

But, in a certain sense, it could be argued that you never really got a chance to finish that conversation after all… because a few moments after he shut the door to his office, you, for lack of a better term, jumped his bones.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips as you pulled him closer by his jacket, “we can’t do this.”

You nodded, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck.  “Mhm, yeah, you’re right,” you agreed breathlessly.

His hands took their place at your waist as you both stepped back, the back of your legs bumping into his desk which you jumped up slightly to sit on.

“I mean, we really can’t do this,” he continued, kissing your neck instead now while your legs wrapped around his hips, your skirt riding up slightly, your fingers fumbling with the buttons on his collar.  “I want to, overwhelmingly so, but we can’t.”

“I know,” you sighed; your head fell back when his teeth grazed over your pulse, and his hand was right there to catch it and hold it up, gripping the back of your neck.

“This absolutely cannot happen,” he groaned when your legs pulled him closer, something hard and hot pressing up against your thigh through his trousers and you were really hoping it wasn’t just his cell phone.

Then he rocked his hips, just barely, and you felt the outline of the ridge of his head and it was definitely not his phone unless he had the most suggestively-shaped phone case of all time.  You gasped and grabbed his face to kiss him again, shamelessly desperate now, weaving your fingers into the hair just above the back of his neck.

By now you had managed to get a few of his buttons open so when you slid your fingers down from time to time, they ran over his chest and the patch of dark blonde hair there.  Funny enough, you couldn’t remember having any strong opinions on chest hair before this afternoon, but now you felt your walls fluttering around nothing.  

He helped you shed your blazer just before tossing his own coat aside, never breaking the kiss, holding your face gently while he pushed you down to lay on his desk— he reached behind you to clear a few stray papers out of the way first.  

Your back hit the glossy wood and his weight pinned you down, rough hands sliding up your legs and under your skirt as you tried to push your hips up for more friction where you needed him most.

He pushed your hips back down, not too roughly but definitely enough to get your attention, before sliding his hands up your skirt again where he toyed with the hem of your panties.

You wanted to say something, more specifically you wanted to beg him to touch you, but you had this fear that if you spoke now it would all become real and he would stop because, as he had so poignantly noted, this can’t happen.  And both of you knew that… so maybe it would be easier to let it happen if neither of you really acknowledged it.

Luckily, he didn’t tease you too long, reaching under the fabric and swiping the rough pads of his fingers over your slickened folds.  You choked on your gasp, accidentally digging your nails into his shoulders when he drew delicate circles around your clit.  All at once, he suddenly pushed those fingers right inside you and your back arched; you needed so much more than just his fingers but the way they twisted and curled against your walls was nearly perfect as well.  

They didn’t stay long, quickly pulling back as you watched him quickly open his trousers just before you felt the head of him pushing up to your entrance.

His eyes met yours, dark with need, yet somehow clearly asking you for permission, making sure this was what you wanted: and fuck, you wanted it more than anything.  The moment that you nodded, he began to push forward— slow and deliberate, but unyielding.  

Perhaps as a perfect healthy college student in a male-dominated major, you had no real excuse for it to have been so long since you’d had sex.  As you liked to put it: dating as a woman in computer science means the odds are good but the goods are odd.  Truth be told, you weren’t sure at this point if having had sex any time in the past year would’ve prepared you for him anyway.  It felt like he was forging a new path inside you— certainly a wider one than anyone else ever had since he was so thick.  

With his hips fully seated against yours, the tip of his cock just reached the end of you, just barely brushed over those sensitive spots you didn’t even know you had before.

It stung a bit to be filled this thoroughly, so it was no wonder you were biting down on your lip hard enough to bruise it, your fingers clutching at his shirt tightly.

“Am I hurting you?” he whispered, finally breaking the silence, voice strained like he was struggling just as much as you were (though in an entirely different way).

“A little,” you admitted.  “Please don’t stop.”

He groaned a few curses as he started to move back, and forth, and so slow you could hardly stand it.  

“Fuck,” you breathed, “oh my god, harder, please…”

A little smile crossed his face, a sharp exhale almost like a laugh, and it made your cheeks burn even hotter than they already were.  But, he obeyed, regardless, more aggressive in his movements yet not any faster as he held your hips to keep you from sliding across the desk’s glossy wood surface.

Your moans were starting to echo around the office’s beige walls at this point, and he snarled as he bit down on your neck.  “You need to stay quiet,” he hissed in your ear.  “Can you do that for me?  Can you stay quiet even when I’m making you feel so good?”

“I-I’m trying,” you whimpered, “your cock is… so deep…”

“Oh, I know,” he cooed, voice heavy with faux pity, “poor thing, you can’t take it?”

“No!” you yelped.  “I can take it!  Please, please don’t stop.”

“I won’t have to if you stay quiet, darling, we can’t have somebody hearing you now can we?” he chuckled, licking and sucking at your pulse point as your eyes rolled back in your head.  “We can’t have somebody hearing you cry for me, and coming in here, and seeing you laying on my desk getting fucked by your professor, right?”

What the hell was wrong with you that that idea actually turned you on?  Why did it actually make you want to moan louder until everyone could hear you?

And when his cock speared right against that spongy spot inside you, you did exactly that and he had to suddenly clamp his hand down over your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled, “you’re going to get us both in trouble.”

Your attempts at apologies were totally incomprehensible with his hand over your mouth, not that they were likely to have made much sense either way.

Blinking your eyes shut, your legs began to quiver slightly as he rutted into you, your toes curling inside your loafers.  You felt so full you could hardly stand it, stretched so wide that you were forced to feel every detail of his cock as it filled you.  Already your walls were bearing down on him; you couldn’t help it, it was like your body was just his instrument now and instinct had taken control of your movements.  

His accent was definitely stronger now as he whispered in your ear, praising you gruffly.  You knew from the beginning that you loved high marks and encouragement from your teachers, but this… this was different, and you hadn't known how much it would affect you.

"Good girl," he breathed, "you're taking me so well, draga, you feel so perfect around me."

You whined from behind his hand and he chuckled at your obvious neediness.

"You like making me feel good, darling?" he presumed, his smile pressing against your neck between nipping kisses to your pulse point.  "You like knowing that I can barely take this tight cunt gripping me so well, that I'm already addicted to your precious body and want to fill it with my seed?"

With your eyes rolling back in your head you nodded feverishly, heavy in your state of total delirium as he pumped his cock deep into you over and over.

You reached up to try to pull his hand away from your mouth, and he met your gaze with fire in his eyes.

“If I take my hand away, will you be good?” he challenged, and you nodded feverishly.  He was a bit hesitant but slowly moved his hand down, and though you did have to keep biting your lip, you managed to restrain yourself.

Every drag of the ridge of his head inside you was somehow more intense than the last, somehow hitting right at your spot and it was like each rough thrust knocked his name out of your mind and onto your lips until you were chanting it like a prayer, or a plea.

And each time you said it, he fucked you harder, snarling and whispering your name back to you a few times, in between little praises; "Beautiful," he mumbled, "such a sweet little girl… such a perfect cunt."

“I— fuck, I’m gonna—” you stammered your warning.  

“Will you come for me?” he finished for you, and you nodded quickly.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you hissed.

It was obvious just by the build-up that you were going to come hard, pleasure tightening in your core until you were sure that it would spill over but it just kept going, making you wonder if it would ever reach the breaking point.

And oh boy did it, it slammed into you in fact, and your legs quivered as you struggled for air.  He growled in your ear, fucking you harder through it all, stroking every place that had only become even more sensitive.  The moment you could form words again, you were wasting the ability on a string of swears and promises you couldn’t keep.

“Yours, fuck, it’s yours,” you sobbed.  He chuckled a little, pulling back to examine your face which must have given away how fucked-out and cockdrunk you were already.

“Say it again,” he demanded darkly, holding you tighter, fucking you a bit more deliberately though not any less aggressively.

“Yours,” you gasped, cut off by a rough and dominating kiss.  Your moans were lost to his tongue but he didn’t need them to know you were coming, the way your body gripped him tighter than ever was sign enough.

“So good,” he whispered against your lips, “you’re doing so good for me…”

His words washed over your skin and soothed you like a salve, bringing some relief from the overwhelming feelings his body was assaulting yours with.

All things considered, he was still moving rather slowly, each of his thrusts measured and patient, and never really changing speed even as you were coming around him.  Weak little cries fell from your throat each time his hips met yours and the tip of his cock kissed the deepest parts of you.

Your body went limp in his arms and you hadn't noticed before how good it felt for him to hold you, for his strong hands to support you like it was nothing.  His thumb gently stroked your back through your shirt and you mewled weakly into his shoulder.

"So good, draga, so fucking good," he mumbled, holding you closer.

"Please… faster," you whimpered, "I want you to come."

"Is that what you want?" he taunted, ignoring the way you nodded immediately.  "You want to make me come, darling?"

"Yes, please, want it so much," you gasped.

He finally sped up, though it was still nothing like the lightning-speed jackhammering you were used to from guys your age: it was better, certainly, especially when he lifted your leg onto his shoulder and pushed so deep you saw stars.

The second one seemed to hit you all at once, almost out of nowhere, and you heard yourself mumble, “Professor, I’m coming.”  It sounded a bit pitiful, the way you said it, but he apparently didn’t mind as you felt him nod encouragingly in the crook of your neck.

You felt totally drained by now, exhausted even though all you’d been doing was lying there and taking it, but you knew he wasn’t done with you yet.  But, if the way his thrusts were becoming more desperate and erratic were anything to go by, he might be done with you soon.

"I'm going to come inside you," he groaned against your ear.  You were, like, 99.9% sure that if you told him not to, he would pull out, but the way that he phrased it, like a demand, like you didn't have a choice and he would do it either way… it had an effect on you, one he noticed when your channel tightened around him instantly.  "Oh, you like that idea, hm?  You want to be full of my come?  Your sweet little cunt is already trying to milk every drop from me."

"Yes," you breathed, "fuck, I want your come in me, please!"

He sped up quite a bit then, each slam of his hips into yours making you choke on a whine, your arms weakly clinging onto him for dear life.

You could feel his cock swelling, flexing, pushing your body to its limits as he moaned lowly through his teeth, streams of come making you feel warm and full.

He didn't stop until every drop was in you, thrusting in time with each pump of his release until he slowed to a stop.

Strands of hair fell into his face as he hung his head, panting hard and fast.  You melted back onto the desk, realizing this might be the first time in a solid half hour your back wasn’t arched.

It was a bit of a struggle to keep your eyes open against the heavy fog of afterglow that filled your mind; you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so… satiated.  As a college student, you were always thinking about the next assignment, mentally re-evaluating your calendar, or preparing for something— and usually all on less than six hours of sleep.

But now your mind was as close to a blank slate as it had been in at least a decade.  Even though you probably should’ve been, you weren’t even thinking about the potential consequences of this, the implications, the risks.  No, you were just staring up at him, thinking about kissing him again.

He would have to lean down for that, though; there was no way you were going to sit up now.

You hadn't even noticed that you had closed your eyes, almost falling asleep right there on his desk, until you felt his hand cradle your face softly, a calloused thumb rubbing over your cheek.

In unison, the both of you sighed deeply.

As much as it felt like a real effort, you blinked open your eyes and looked up at him, watching him comb his fingers through his hair.  It only messed up the style even further yet he looked better than ever.

He slowly moved his hips back, leaving you annoyingly empty, and readjusted himself until he almost looked put together again… but his collar was still uneven and his lips still looked bitten and there was still that precious pinkish hue on his cheeks.  If anyone else saw him in this state, they’d either know what happened between you two or think he’d just run across campus or something.

If anyone else saw him in this state, you’d be a little jealous, to be totally honest.

You got back to work trying to right your appearance as well, though you knew the best you could hope for was only mildly presentable; he looked at you like you’d never looked better, though.

“Well, this was fun,” you chuckled breathlessly, “but it’s getting pretty late and I have an eight a.m. tomorrow…”

“Yeah, so do I,” he nodded, glancing away.  

You picked up your bag from where you’d dropped it by the door, lifting the strap over your shoulder and starting to turn to leave.

"I… I should walk you back to your dorm," he announced, making you smile.

"That's sweet, but save your chivalry.  I can take care of myself just fine."

"But—"

"I think it's safer if we're not seen together walking together by my dorm," you interjected, "especially when I'm walking a little funny…"

"I hope I didn't hurt you," he winced sympathetically.

"No, trust me, that was… exactly what I needed," you breathed.  He smiled a little, looking down at the floor.

"Then I'll see you in class," he nodded, watching you closely as you stepped back and picked up your bag, starting to leave his office with one last small wave goodbye.  “Wait, wait!” he whispered harshly just before you could let go of his door, and you giggled as he leaned out into the hall and glanced around to make sure no one was nearby.  

When he confirmed the coast was clear, he smiled and grabbed your face with one hand, pulling you into a sudden kiss.  And you smiled too— you couldn’t help it— as you kissed him back, almost ready for him to drag you back into that office and start this all over again.  He did let you go, though, with one more whispered ‘goodnight’ and a look that made your heart do little somersaults.

As you finally did make your way back to your dorm, you tried to figure out if that was a goodbye kiss or a ‘see you soon’ kiss.  Or maybe a ‘thanks for the one-time office quickie’ kiss?  But you didn’t know enough about this sort of thing to know if that was even an option.

All you did know was that you really hoped it wasn’t the last kiss you’d have with him.

Can I speak to you in my office today after class?  Thank you.

-Z

You may ask yourself: can one simple email, in only thirteen words, strike fear into the hearts of those who read it?  And the answer is yes, assuming that email is from Professor Helmut Zemo and read by the lovestruck student who slept with him two days ago and hasn't stopped thinking about it since.

Only one of a few things could happen in his office after class, and there was a massive gap between the best and worst case scenarios.  You dressed for the best but prepared yourself psychologically for the worst.

You caught him staring as you walked past the teaching podium to your seat in the front; you just hoped nobody else caught him.  And if you'd thought paying attention in class was tough before, boy oh boy was it a challenge now.  The nerves of what he wanted to discuss with you were bad enough alone, but that combined with memories from two days earlier randomly assaulting your psyche was just overwhelming.

When he pointed at the map with two fingers, you could remember exactly how those fingers had felt inside you, twisting and curling and getting you ready for his cock.

When he spoke, you could hear the difference in his voice compared to how he groaned out his praises while he was fucking you within a damn inch of your life.

And every once in a while, when he couldn’t help but glance at you for a moment, his gaze burned right through you; you were helpless to those brown eyes, completely paralyzed by them, and it must’ve been hours of that before class finally ended.

For the first time, you were the first person out the door when he released the class.  As much as it was going to be a little bit weird to beat him to his office, it was certainly better than any of your other options.  There was a chair in the hall beside the door, and you took a seat and pretended to read a book just to look busy (there was no way you could actually turn symbols on a page into readable language right now, not when you knew he’d be here any minute to talk about… something).

Your peripheral caught him coming down the hall, but you pretended to be deeply immersed in your book until he was right beside you, unlocking his door and opening it for you and himself.  Tucking your book away and following him inside, you found him already staring at you, expression completely unreadable.  Your gut sank in anticipation of whatever conversation this was going to become, and a moment passed in heavy silence.

"Hi," you greeted plainly, letting out a quick breath.

"Hi," he returned.  "Close the door behind you."

You nodded and did as you were told, quietly pushing the wood back until the door latched before approaching where he had come to stand beside his desk.  Though you didn't originally intend to, you found yourself standing a bit too close.

"I'm not quite sure where to start," he admitted, chuckling breathlessly as he reached up to rub the back of his neck.  He looked cute flustered, which was a shame because his tone seemed to imply you needed to not be thinking about how cute he was.  “Listen, you should know that what happened before… it was a mistake,” he sighed.  “It can’t happen again.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked point-blank.

“It can’t happen again,” he repeated in lieu of a real answer, and you looked closely at his face; you didn’t find as much confidence there as you were looking for, it wasn’t the face of a man who knew he was making the right choice.  You certainly didn’t think he was making the right choice.

“Why did you want to have this conversation alone in your office, then?” you challenged.

He cleared his throat slightly.  “So no one would hear us.”

“Hear us talk?” you pressed.  “Is that all?”

“That’s… definitely the plan,” he nodded, swallowing dryly.  "Like I said, it was a mistake— my fault, not yours.  And I just hope we can put it behind us respectfully."

“All the best mistakes are made at least twice,” you whispered, reaching up to trail your finger down his lapel.  “Don’t you think?”

“Don’t do that,” he requested tensely.

"Do what?"

"That," he hissed.  "Stop being… irresistible," he clarified, eyes darting from your lips to your finger to your eyes and back again.  "A man can only take so much.  I'm trying to do right by you."

"You already did when you fucked me that good," you smirked.  "Nothing else could be as right as that."

Your fingers were just barely brushing over his belt when he grabbed you by the wrist.  Jaw tight and eyes solemn, he shook his head.

You wrenched out of his grasp with a nod.  It was worth a shot, but you didn't want to be that person who couldn't take no for an answer— so, you gave him a little smile and readjusted the strap of your bag.  “Well, if it was just the once, then you should know that I’m still glad it happened.  Even if it shouldn’t have.”

He nodded, strategically not speaking— but you knew he would agree, if he could.

“And if it’s any consolation to you now, you were the best I ever had.”

You reached for the doorknob, just starting to turn it and open your way out when he suddenly slammed it shut with a hand right above your head, making you gasp and spin around to look up at his dark gaze.

“Professor…” you whispered.

“The best you ever had?” he repeated, grinning proudly when you nodded.  “Oh, sweetheart, I wasn’t even trying.”  He leaned down to brush his lips against your ear as he whispered to you: “You don’t even know yet how good I can make you feel.”

A shiver ran up your spine; your tongue darted out to lick your lips.  “Are you going to get on with it and show me?”

He didn’t even let you step away from the door, dropping to his knees right there and pushing up your skirt to kiss and bite your thighs.  “Only if you ask very nicely,” he taunted with a brow raised in challenge.

“Please,” you breathed, “fuck, please, want you to taste me.”

His hands slid up your legs, grabbing the hem of your panties before sliding back down.

It wasn’t like you’d never been eaten out before, but this still felt like a first considering your skirt was pushed up to your waist, your panties were pulled down to your ankles, and even just one slow lick over your folds made it obvious he knew exactly what he was doing.

“F-fuck,” you choked, reaching down to weave your fingers into his hair.  He grinned against your skin and kept going, exploring you carefully before finally sucking on your swollen clit.  Your knees threatened to buckle, your head fell back against the door so hard it almost hurt, but all you could really feel was his mouth on you, moving like he knew your body better than you did.

So it was no wonder, then, that you already began to spiral towards your release, legs shaking around his head as he devoured you mercilessly.

"Oh my god, I—" you tried to warn him, but he already knew, and he pulled back to wipe his mouth with his sleeve and stand up.  He grabbed your jaw and kissed you roughly, stopping to whisper to you so close that his lips brushed against yours.

"I'm sorry, draga, but you've spoiled me… now that I've felt you come around my cock, I can't imagine making you come any other way.  I need to feel your cunt grip me so fucking tight… it's all I've been thinking about since I last saw you," he admitted.

"I thought about it, too," you sighed.  "I was up all night trying to make myself come as good as you did but I couldn't… your come was still leaking out of me."

He growled and leaned in to nip at your ear.  "Oh, poor thing… I can imagine it so easily, you laying in your bed with your legs spread, fingers getting exhausted from playing with your little pussy too much, these perfect lips whining for me because you need me to take care of you."

"H-Helmut, please," you whimpered.  

"Yeah, something like that," he smirked.

"I can't wait any more, just fuck me.  Need you inside me," you breathed.

"Then bend over my desk."

{part 2}

[itsclydebitches]

Our Flag Means Death: A Deep Dive

The Obligatory Introduction

Hello, Our Flag Means Death fandom! I am so excited to finally post this. I have a couple of things I'd like to say before anyone reads further though. Let's make a fun Q&A out of it: 

How long is this meta?

Too damn long. It’s nearly 35,000 words, so... yeah.  It’s the longest single meta I've ever written! (Is that an accomplishment, or...?) Seriously though, do not click “Read More.” Stick this in a separate tab. If anyone actually has an interest in working through this monstrosity, I can only recommend that you approach it in chunks. Take breaks. Drink some water.

Are there sections?

Yep! Eight of them after this intro. They're all fairly self-contained, so feel free to pop around. Also, I hate coming up with titles so I just threw out whatever meme-based stupidity popped into my head. You have my apologies:

Beep Beep, Bitch, Everyone's Gay Queer

"We're Dead! We're Dead! We've Survived but We're Dead!"

The Feminine Urge to Reject Toxic Masculinity

BlackBonnet and Balancing Identities

Stede Is a Lighthouse (Duh)

Izzy Hands (Affectionate and Derogatory)

The Garbage Heap of Miscellaneous Thoughts

Conclusion (AKA When I Finally Rest)

Okay, I read some of this and I super disagree with your takes.

Awesome! Seriously, one of the things I love most about OFMD (and its fandom) is the wealth of interpretations we've got going on, some of which contradict and yet manage to exist simultaneously in the category of Things I Believe In because that’s fiction for you. It's rad. The only thing I ask is if you want to respond to this post, please do so respectfully, both to me and to others. The community has been wonderfully chill thus far and I'd love to keep it that way. Basically, to quote Lucius, "Don't be a dick."

Why do your pictures look so weird?

Because HBO Max won't let me take screenshots, so I had to settle for lackluster phone pics. Sorry 😬

Why in the world have you done this?

Boredom? A love of writing? The desperate need to purge myself of this show before it consumes me whole? Idk take your pick.

I'm not gonna lie, this meta is something I’m feeling pretty iffy about. Partly because I could only stand to work on it for so long, despite all the ways it could still be improved. Partly because there are some aspects of the show I haven't properly worked through yet, let alone figured out how to discuss. Partly just because it is, frankly, scary to throw out this many opinions into a new and still developing fandom. I’ve written a lot in a short period of time and I'm not sure yet if the result is a disaster or not… but for what it's worth, I love this community and I hope at least a few of you get something worthwhile out of this <3

Okay, let’s go!

━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━

Beep Beep, Bitch, Everyone's Gay Queer

Let's begin this massive undertaking with one of my favorite things about OFMD: the queer rep. Specifically, the ways in which Lucius functions as a reflection of Stede — elder gay helping out the baby gay — and preps the audience for our primary Ed/Stede romance. Though the Pilot episode clearly establishes Stede as the other among a group of (supposedly) bloodthirsty pirates, Lucius is largely his equal in that regard. It's easy to miss given that, again, the focus is on how Stede fails to fit in, but nearly everything that separates him from the crew is something that Lucius embodies as well. Stede is the educated aristocrat who brings an entire library to sea? Lucius is the only other one onboard who can read and write (at least, he thinks as much without knowing Jim's secret) and he’s learned beautiful calligraphy to boot. Also, like Stede, it's implied that he enjoys literature for its own sake, given that he's apparently taken him up on his offer to borrow books. Though OFMD does a lot to undermine the idea of "real" intelligence (primarily by balancing Stede and Ed's knowledge of their prospective worlds, positioning both educations as beneficial and capable of solving their problems,) Lucius nevertheless demonstrates the kind of "correct," aristocratic intelligence that Stede hails from. He's a reader, a writer, a thinker, and — like Olu and Jim — someone capable of planning ahead and considering the bigger picture. Olu is the one who points out that Stede is providing them with everything they need to survive so they might as well take advantage of that while they can, while Lucius is the one who looks back at Frenchie sticking his tongue out at the hostages and quickly agrees that yes, the kind of stupidity their captain represents is quite preferable to the other kinds of stupidity pervading the ship.

Stede is emasculated through his disgust of gore and an unwillingness to solve his problems with violence? Lucius likewise displays an unwillingness to get down and dirty, so to speak. Unlike the rest of the crew who revel in the violence that breaks out over dinner with the British— Black Pete has had his gun cocked this whole time, Wee John barges in with an intent to set things ablaze, Jim starts it all off by skewering the racist soldier's hand, etc. — Lucius gives a kind of half-faint when the fighting starts and slinks down in his chair. Later, when we cut back after Stede accidentally kills Badminton, Lucius appears to be hiding under the table rather than joining the brawl. He also hides behind the accordion player when the fight breaks out at Spanish Jackie's. Perhaps most tellingly, he can't engage with Badminton's body any more than Stede can. While Olu tells a panicking Stede that yes, this is happening, Lucius is staring off into the distance, looking like he's just as much in denial about this turn of events as his captain is.

Lucius is a man who, when defending himself from Jim wielding both a knife and murderous intent, still screams "I'm sorry!" after smacking them with a stick. Though we don't know his backstory yet, there might be something to the fact that Lucius looks downright murderous when Badminton forces Stede to recount his bullying — that is, something more than Lucius' general regard for Stede; a slowly developing friendship. That could be the look of someone who understands this kind of bullying all too well because as a gay, educated, effeminate man, Lucius may have suffered similarly.

Other connections surface as the season continues. For example, Stede's expensive, vibrantly colored wardrobe initially sets him apart from everyone else, Lucius included, but it's only Lucius who's dressed up in "A Damned Man" to match Stede when they attempt to sell their hostage off. In the Pilot the crew separate the two, this time with Stede coming out more positively because he's able to do the "wooden boy voice" in their bedtime story. Though Lucius might lack Stede's storytelling skills, he comes to represent Pinocchio (a bit) by becoming part wood thanks to Black Pete's whittled finger and he’s constantly referred to as "the boy" throughout the show. (Also, you know, something something the theme of the whole crew becoming the real people they want to be + Ed in particular becoming a "real boy" rather than simply the persona of Blackbeard, the equivalent of a puppet for all it emotionally fulfills him without "Ed,” "Edward," and the other facets of his identity to add depth). Even tiny details like Stede struggling with the ladder and Lucius freaking out while being lowered to clean the ship — "This is far too fast, this is far too fast, this is far too fast" — help draw them together, especially when we consider that as a duo they may well parallel Izzy and Ed, each right-hand man mimicking their captain in temperament. In short, Lucius mirrors Stede in many ways which allows the show to more easily bridge the gap between the toxic masculinity pirate code that everyone is initially working from — kill people, loot things, die early, bottle it up, you’re definitely straight — and the Gentleman Pirate code that Stede would like to implement — spare people, give back as much as you take, live a long and fulfilled life, "talk it through as a crew,” everyone is queer. Though Stede asserts (and is correct) that everyone on his ship has the capacity to unlearn this cycle, Lucius is the bridge between the two worlds, acting as evidence that they're not nearly as far apart as they may initially seem. Stede wants to be a Gentleman Pirate? Lucius is already a slightly less exaggerated version of that.

Similarly, Lucius is a kind of bridge between two types of television for the viewer, acting as a reassurance before we get into the meat of the story. To better explain what I mean by that, you have to understand that I'm old enough to have lived through the Golden Age of Queerbaiting. Now, when I use the term "queerbaiting" I'm referring both to shows suffering under the literal definition — a marketing scheme wherein people associated with the product (actors, producers, writers) knowingly stoke the idea of a queer relationship without having any intention of making it canonical. These implied promises exist only to draw in a hopeful audience and inevitably leave queer viewers with a sense of betrayal when all is said and done — as well as the more ambiguous definition that's cropped up over the years: a show with very heavy subtext (queercoding), to the point where it feels like the relationship is being teased in an underhanded way, even though that feeling never leaves the confines of the story itself, rendering it technically non-queerbaiting. To be clear, queercoding is not inherently bad, far from it, but the line between an artistic implication and what feels like queerbaiting’s less malicious cousin has become blurred over the years. This is the realm of, "Who are you to say what the writers should have done?" and "Idk, seemed pretty platonic to me. Plenty of BFFs star longingly into each other's eyes!" If you've been in one of the latter fandoms, you know how difficult it can be to explain the difference between mere subjective interpretation and a surety that feels like a knife-twist when it's never acknowledged, if only because you’ve been denied that acknowledgement so many times before. Toss in some more specific categories like, "The authors did everything they could to secure a queer relationship, but the higher ups still mostly killed it and that sucks" (Korra) or "Turns out it wasn't technically queerbaiting, but we spent fifteen years thinking it was and the tradeoff was a Bury Your Gays, so... yay?" (Supernatural) and you start to get an idea of why queer fans might be a little suspicious of what winds up on screen.

(However, and this is a note that is very near and dear to my heart, Good Omens does NOT fall under any definition of queerbaiting. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.)

So, simply put I've come to organize everything I watch into three, broad categories.

Shows That Are Not Queer (And That's Usually Fine)

Shows That Are Queercoded (Let's See How It Pans Out)

Shows That Are 100% Unambiguously Queer (!!!!)

Needless to say, I don't encounter shows in the third category very often. OFMD is one of the rare exceptions that’s so far into Category #3, so fast, that it’s not even a debate. But more than simply giving us queer characters and queer story-lines, OFMD understands how many viewers, like myself, are approaching media with — not to be too dramatic about it — our hearts in our hands. We’ve been burned by queerbaiting for so long that we’re uneasy about it, to say the least.

Okay, great. What does all this have to do with Lucius?

Well, as said, Lucius (along with a few other characters and significant details) is a bridge between Category #2 and #3. The kiss between Stede and Ed doesn't come about until "Act of Grace" and honestly? I wouldn't expect it to. I wouldn’t want it to. Not if we're considering what the story needs, rather than what the audience may want in terms of reassurance. We have to introduce these characters, let them meet, take them on the journey of realizing their feelings for one another and then craft the perfect moment to act on them... if anything, I would have liked a little more buildup to the kiss, more filler episodes to play with their dynamic, more pining, more hesitation before the extreme of running away to China together sounds like the best option. The desire to have queerness acknowledged quickly and overtly is entirely a product of a queerphobic media history; everyone recognizes that a good story needs time and space to develop a relationship, as well as the ability to embrace subtlety. Which is precisely why "They just look like friends to me" and "You're too impatient. It’s only been five years!" are easy shields for others to hide behind). If you want time to develop your queer protagonists, but you know your audience will likely read any "Will they, won't they?" storytelling as potentially cruel teasing, what are you to do? What's the middle ground here?

More queer characters.

Though by the end of the first season OFMD has at least seven confirmed queer characters according to my count (+Izzy heavily implied and Spanish Jackie included too, depending on how you read twenty husbands), at the start Lucius is set to carry that weight, to the point where you might even wonder, very early on, if he's the show's token gay. First though, we start with the suggestive jokes. The Swede sits rubbing his balls in the ball room. Stede comments that everyone wants a piece of the Gentleman Pirate. Lucius is described as being "young and succulent" which, outside of the cannibal context, sounds pretty lewd. Basically, there's no shortage of innuendos throughout and many other shows could have, would have, just left it at that. Even the reveal in episode two, "A Damned Man," that Lucius is gay isn't particularly revolutionary in 2022. As said, he may well just be the token queer whose sexuality is thrown into a single scene to waylay any criticism; the breadcrumbs that many fans will still celebrate because hey, it's better than nothing.

However, by episode three Lucius has gone back on the declaration he made in episode two. He swore to Jim that he's great at keeping secrets. "My mum thought I liked girls for years!" He follows this up with “I understand what it’s like to live in disguise. Let’s just say, not all beards are actual beards, if you catch my drift.” Though it's fantastic to confirm Lucius as gay this early on, this speech also prompts the audience to expect a certain type of story moving forward. Lucius is living in a world where homophobia exists, just like ours, hence keeping his preferences secret from his mom. He only comes out to Jim under duress, specifically as a way to save his own skin. The way that he tries to reassure Jim is by drawing attention to the fact that they both hide: Jim wears a literal beard to hide their identity and Lucius has presumably taken metaphorical beards (fake girlfriends) in the past to pass as straight. The implications of this speech are pretty clear: that queerness is not accepted, it's hidden, only admitted to under extreme circumstances, and a panicked coming out is probably the most the audience should expect. Maybe Lucius will kiss someone in another season or two, if we’re lucky.

Except then OFMD doesn't do that! At all! "A Gentleman Pirate" airs and Jim has their beard removed, prompting Lucius to exclaim in relief because he's "so bad at keeping secrets." He lied. That first scene lied. Not when it comes to Lucius' preferences, but rather in regards to this idea that the world — this show — revolves around hiding, deceit, and subtly; queerness as a rare occurrence and something to be vaguely ashamed of. That reading lasted barely an episode. In removing Jim's disguise, the show simultaneously removes the barrier between my Category #2 and #3. OFMD goes from another dime a dozen show with comedic innuendos, a queercoded lead, and one (1) canonically queer character to, well, what we have now. The representation builds and it builds fast.

As we leave the world of mere innuendo, Stede gets mistaken for a prostitute and instead of being disgusted by the attention of another man, he's merely disappointed that he's yet to sell his captive. That’s not the kind of “booty” he was hawking. Meanwhile, the man in question says that "We could have made magic," framing their potential union as thoroughly positive and something everyone (him, Stede, the audience) is missing out on. Then we watch Spanish Jackie coming onto a woman, thinking she's a man, except later it's revealed that Jackie knew Jim was a woman all along, until later still it's revealed that Jim isn't actually a woman at all! So congrats on the presumed het, presumed lesbian, ultimately queer near-makeout session.

Thing is though, all of this is still fairly surface level stuff. Don't get me wrong, it's way more than what most other shows will do, but it's still fleeting, or used for comedy, or, in the case of Jim, requires that the viewer get through several more episodes before they understand precisely how this might function as representation. The point is that between this sprinkling of queerness that the audience may not be sure what to make of yet, and the overwhelmingly canonical romance of our two leads, Lucius is there to fill the gap. "The Best Revenge is Dressing Well" slams in hard with what is now one of my favorite scenes in television history. I am, of course, referring to the moment when Izzy finds Lucius and Pete post-coitus. I mean seriously, this scene gives us so much in such a short period of time. Reasserting that Lucius is gay (AKA not leaving that as a one-time admission for representation clout). Confirmation that Black Pete is also queer. Revealing that they've started a supremely cute relationship. Wee John taking a nap two feet away, annoyed only that they're disturbing his rest. And, of course there's, ah...

Look, I'm trying to approach this meta with a modicum of respectability. I’m trying to write clearly, provide evidence wherever I can, all that jazz. But here I must take a break from the professional veneer and scream that IZZY LIMP-WRISTS HIS WAY INTO REVEALING HE HAS A FUCKING DADDY KINK AND I'M STILL NOT OVER IT, HOLY SHIT.

This show is A Lot.

I'll get into our queerphobic gay later, but for now the fact that OFMD did all of the above plus blessing us with the most intense second-hand embarrassment I've experienced in years demonstrates just how fast the show moves from Category #2 to #3 — and Lucius, the one who is most like Stede, is at the center of it all. In the same episode he gets out of the work Izzy has assigned by seducing Fang and I oh so love that this come-on is not presented as predatory, or even a lie. It would have been so easy to have Lucius wield his queerness as a weapon and then immediately ditch Fang once he'd gotten what he wanted, sending the message (however unintentional, given the rest of the show) that such interactions are inherently duplicitous. But instead, Lucius likes Fang. Sure, his "stunning cheekbones" comment is initially a means of distracting Fang from his duty, but when it works Lucius is all for following through on that compliment. His praise while sketching Fang is genuine and it likewise draws attention to OFMD's support of not just queer relationships, but the variety of queer bodies.

Fang: "I've never met anyone whose taken an interest in my form before."

Lucius: "You've never met anyone worth a damn then."

That's a wonderful line on its own, but it means so much more when delivered to a black, fat character. Just like it would have been easy to make Lucius the seductress who wields his charm solely as a means of achieving other ends — the only time it's actually used as such is against Izzy who tries to undermine the open, diverse environment the crew has built — it likewise would have been easy to give Lucius a cute twink to sleep with, someone considered palatable to look at on screen (note my disdain for the term). Someone the audience can find attractive too, if you’ve got a very narrow definition of “attractive,” that is. Hell, our entire cast might have been made up of Very Handsome Men (+ Jim) with makeup and costuming departments working hard to emphasize their Hollywood acceptable features. Think chiseled abs, waxed chests, dehydrated bodies, perfectly styled hair, etc. We’ve seen it before.

The above may make it sound like I don't think the cast is handsome. The cast is fucking hot, but it's important to note that it's an explicitly anti-Hollywood, queer kind of hotness: boundary pushing, outside of the established norm, rife with all too human blemishes that make us go, “Hell yeah that’s a real person, not a photoshopped Ken doll.” With the exception of dressing Ed all in leather as a heavy-handed, satire-esque nod towards traditional masculinity (though it's a look that nevertheless has its own detailing: the slight pudge of his stomach, a purple undershirt, to say nothing of the general association of leather with the pride community) the cast is refreshingly honest in regards to their looks. The crew has bellies, muscles, long hair, shaved heads, body hair, tattoos, torn shirts (not artfully), bare feet, sweaty faces, grimy hands, crooked teeth, accents galore, and they come in a variety of ages. They feel like people, not actors dolled up to look society-approved #hot regardless of whether that makes sense for the story (for example, final girls must make running for their lives look oh so sexy, right?) and I often find myself admiring that as I watch. For me, this is a crucial part of Lucius' story intertwining with Ed and Stede's. The kind of writing that allows an openly gay man to lovingly sketch the cock of a fat black man of yet undetermined sexuality is the exact kind of writing that takes the question of, "What if a closeted, middle-aged, former aristocrat and a queer, silk-loving, also middle-aged pirate fell in love?" seriously too.

So, we move through the innuendos, the one-line reveal of a queer character, before finally exploding with representation before our main couple has even passed out of the buddy-duo stage. I think that's why Stede and Ed are able to have their symbolism laden relationship without the audience becoming frustrated with that approach. Yes, a large part of it is also how quickly OFMD arrives at the kiss — ten episodes can't compare to, say, Supernatural's fifteen seasons, or RWBY's eight Volumes, or any of the other shows that have taken literal years to reach some kind of queer confirmation. OFMD got there in twenty-one days — but even if they'd allowed Ed and Stede to slow burn for years, or never made them canonical at all, the queercoding of that hits different when we've got Lucius in a loving relationship with Pete, Fang blushing as he poses naked, Oluwande getting it on with a non-binary Jim. There’s an inherent understanding — though it’s still technically non-canonical —to the guys almost-kissing under the moonlight, or co-captaining together, or touching hands in a sickbed, or going through the beats of a breakup before they're confirmed to be together, etc. We’re shown all these ways in which queerness is traditionally woven into television, but that’s a lot more enjoyable to watch not just when you know the kiss is coming, but when you already have a wealth of queer rep regardless of what happens between Stede and Ed.

Of course, we do get that confirmed love story between them. That's what's amazing about OFMD: it not only gives us the rep so many of us (still) crave, but is knowledgeable enough about queer media history to realize how the initial queercoding might look — even how our tragic season finale might look — and went, "We're going to make sure you understand, without a shadow of a doubt, that we love these queer characters and are going to treat them well." As an added bonus to all this, I'm personally able to enjoy Ed and Stede's friendship a whole lot more when I'm not reading it through a potentially queerbaited lens. "Dammit, Jack, he's my friend!" Ed cries and instead of worrying about the possibility that the show is going to try and pass this off as an eternal no homo, I'm instead cheering because yes, of course you're friends! You should be friends with the person you're dating!

Alongside simply having compassionately written rep, it's also worth acknowledging that the representation has diversity—we're given options!—and I'm not simply talking about the number of queer characters, their differing sexualities, genders, or the three+ couples they make up. I've seen a few fans comment about how happy they are that OFMD doesn't have any coming out stories, though I have to disagree with that claim. OFMD has two coming out stories, it's just that they're treated as such a natural part of the story-world that there's not an obnoxious amount of focus on the event like you might get in another tale (and that you might therefore want to avoid). Not everyone wants to read another story of the closeted individual, the terror of coming out, the big production it's turned into, the fallout with friends and family, etc. That is indeed one very important kind of queer story, but it's far from the only one and in recent years I've seen a distinct uptick in various communities going, "Can't we have more stories where we're just... there? An established part of the world already? Sometimes I want fiction to grapple with lived experiences and sometimes I just want some damn escapism. Watching another high schooler—when I'm an adult—panicking that their family will disown them for who they kiss doesn't feel very escapist." So OFMD gives us that sense of significance by alluding to a queerphobic world (Lucius' line) and writing a queerphobic character (Izzy), but the show also gives us two coming out moments that, while undoubtedly important for these characters, don't consume the show as a whole.

The first—not chronologically, just in terms of impact—is Stede himself. "Wherever You Go, There You Are" confirms what's implied throughout the rest of the season: that Stede hasn’t yet come to terms with his own sexuality. Which makes complete sense, when you think about it. He's an aristocrat forced into an unhappy marriage with a woman by his father. Stede continually frames his more stereotypically queer characteristics—a love of fine clothes, a compassionate disposition, a connection to nature, etc.—as weaknesses, demonstrating a certain amount of learned, internalized homophobia. Not to the extent of Izzy who lashes out at others and, as of yet, never reaches the same self-reflection as Stede, but enough to feel as if he's a failure for not fitting in, unable to live up to society's expectations. Stede spent years pretending to be straight the same way he spent the Pilot pretending to be eager for a violent, bloody raid. Stede also has a literal, secret closet on his ship that he reveals only to Ed, the man he loves! In retrospect, it's obvious that he hadn't come to terms with his sexuality yet. Yet when he does, it's an easy admission that's immediately embraced by Mary. Though I only had a split second to think about it as the scene aired, a part of me expected Stede to keep his love for Ed a secret, deliberately hide it away this time and agonize over how to tell people, because aren't those the stories we've grown used to? Ones where being queer is treated as something inherently dangerous, something that might lose you everyone you love? And it can be, of course it can. As said, we do need those kinds of stories... but personally, hearing

Mary: "Who is she?"

Stede: "Ed. His name is Ed"

and having Mary accept that instantly, moving in to hug Stede, was like a breath of fresh air. I love this moment, folks.

The second character to come out is Jim. Initially their story is presented as a woman hiding out as a man and indeed, the way others refer to Jim early on confirms this reading. Olu arguably knows them the best, but refers to them as a "waitress" when discussing their past. In the same conversation, Spanish Jackie calls Jim a "bitch" and both continue to use she/her pronouns: "But you do know where she is though, right?" So, we've got both a friend and an enemy acting fairly confident in Jim's gender, yet when the disguise comes off and they're asked if they've really been a woman this whole time, the answer is,

Jim: "Yeah. I guess. I don't know."

Well, that's an unexpected response. Rather than confirming that yeah, sure, they were just a woman dressed as a man, the act of questioning their gender forces Jim to reconsider it (as well as, we assume, the act of pretending to be a man for a time). Seem ridiculous? Well, it happened in real life.

Now, with the disclaimer that I wasn't able to back-track the source (due entirely to my iffy knowledge of other social media sites, I'm sure) here we have a member of the OFMD crew going through, in essence, precisely what Jim did.  The simple act of Vico asking for their pronouns led to a moment of self-reflection and, according to this comment, coming out as non-binary. Similarly, the crew asking Jim if they've been a woman this whole time does the same sort of work. They move from surety (“Yeah.”), to vague agreement (“I guess.”), to outright doubt (“I don’t know.”), all in the span of just a few words. This questioning doesn't occur as a dramatic, angsty subplot, but simply a line of dialogue embedded in an otherwise full scene. We haven't deviated from the show's tone or primary couple, but that's not to say that this line isn't a game-changer for Jim's development. Further questions reinforce this line of thinking—are you still Jim then? (Roach), surely a lady can't be named Jim, right? (Wee John)—and by the time we reach the "Are you a mermaid?" conversation, Jim has hit on a simple solution. They're still Jim. That's it. That's all you need to know. I believe that "This is Happening" is the first time that another character uses they/them pronouns for Jim—Olu saying, “I think Jim should do it, seeing as they’re from here”—and just to be sure the audience didn’t miss it, we get a couple other conversations referencing Jim this episode, such as Frenchie and the others admitting that they'd love to be stabbed by them. Clearly, Jim has come out to the crew and either by process of elimination, or in an off-screen request, they've rejected "he" and "she" for "they." We get this same, easy acceptance from Jim's nana. "I go by Jim now," they say and it's like cool, awesome, come in for some cake. Notably, their nana continues to call Jim Bonifacia—something they seem fine with—while also using they/them pronouns, demonstrating a complex relationship with gender that I personally loved to see. Sometimes coming out is a weirder conversation than explicitly saying, "I'm non-binary." Sometimes changing pronouns happens on the fly, hardly worth a mention. Sometimes you change your name, but people in your past still know you as something else, and provided you're comfortable with that then sure, do that. Jim has a coming out story—a rather complex one, I'd argue—but it feels like any other subplot because OFMD treats it as such. Jim changing parts of their identity isn't some shocking revelation that halts the story in its tracks, it's just a thing that everyone instantly accommodates.

And isn't that what we want? A world where not only do queer people abound, but you can go, "I'm Jim" and everyone around you responds with, "Sure. Always liked Jim :)"

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“We’re Dead! We’re Dead! We’ve Survived but We’re Dead!”

At the very start of the series OFMD introduces the thesis that pirates, simply put, are destined to die. Before we even see any of the characters, we’re shown text that moves sharply from optimism to, well… not. It’s 1717, the Golden Age of Piracy, and “Wealthy landowner Stede Bonnet [has] set out to find adventure and renown on the high seas.” That sounds pretty good! The golden age, wealth, land ownership, adventure, and renown are all positives, setting up the expectation that things have gone well and will continue to go well for Stede Bonnet. However, this start is immediately undermined with the follow-up, “Things did not go as planned…” with the letters fading from white to blood red, just to make it that much more ominous.

In case anyone misses that implication, Frenchie opens the story proper with a much more overt acknowledgement of death. He sings a song—and then another later in the episode—about how “a pirate’s life, [it’s] short but nice,” “we won’t live long,” and just to hammer things home, “to death we go, a certain death we go.” Everyone on this ship not only expects to die, but to die soon. Frenchie sings his songs (and note that this is the only acceptable way for pirates to express themselves before Stede steps in and orders other options as captain: Lucius should sketch their adventures for prosperity, everyone should make a flag for the ship, the Swede is coaxed into singing, etc.) while everyone else takes a less chipper approach to their supposedly inevitable demise. Olu talks about how dangerous a life this is and is sure that Stede will be dead soon, so best to enjoy his captaining while they can. Ed equates good pirating with survival, claiming that Stede must be great because “Most of the pirates I know? They’re dead, so you’re doing a hell of a lot better than them.” Black Pete grumbles about how he should have killed at least twenty people by now, which is another way of saying that they might be a part of another pirate’s twenty. Hell, it’s in the name of the show. Our flag means death! At least it’s supposed to. Real pirates don’t fly buttons, or cats, or even mere cannibalism, they’re a sign of your impending demise. In short, death is a staple of the career. It’s a given.

Olu: “Looks like we’re gonna live after all.”

Jim: “For a little while longer at least.”

But what happens if you don’t die?

That’s the question Ed is facing. Everyone else is working under the assumption that their days are finite and, by and large, that assumption is proven true, simply due to how much death otherwise infuses the show. Jim’s father is killed and they find one of the men responsible already decaying in Spanish Jackie’s back room. This is after Jim killed one of Jackie’s husbands. Jackie then finishes Geraldo off. Geraldo turns the whole crew over to the Spanish where Stede is stabbed and nearly hanged. They ended up there because of a hostage they took while killing a bunch of British officers. The act of tricking said officers by dressing in fine clothes starts Pete on a journey that leads to his relationship with Lucius and the line, “Death, I’m used to death, but not, you know, your death…" and so on and so forth. Ed stands apart as a pirate who has beaten the odds, so talented and successful that he’s managed to survive in a world that’s un-survivable for very long. The result is a boredom so intense—and yes, for the purposes of this section I am simplifying a deep depression into "boredom”—that he’ll do anything to alleviate it, even consider forcibly bringing about a pirate’s natural end that he’s somehow dodged up until now.

Izzy: Well, as bored as you might be if you don’t make a decision soon we’re gonna fucking die.

Blackbeard: Ohh, now there’s an idea. I haven’t done that yet. I haven’t died yet, have I? Maybe we should try that.

Izzy is left wrong-footed and more than a little confused, stuttering out “D-do what?” and following it up with a sarcastic, “Yeah, ‘cause that makes sense.” He doesn’t understand why Ed is bored, perhaps because he has Blackbeard just like Ed will soon have Stede. Regardless, Ed’s boredom is eating at him, whether Izzy understands that or not, and it’s directly paralleled to Stede’s “monotony” in the previous scene:

Mary: “Why on Earth would we [go to sea]?”

Stede: “I don’t know. Break the monotony? … I just think, why waste our time here, day after day, doing the same old thing when we could be doing this!”

The theme crops up again in episode five when they visit the party and despite having everything that someone would presumably want—wealth, connections, the social freedom to do as they please (such as marrying a sibling)—the rich assholes are just as bored as Ed and Stede were. They immediately lose interest in Stede despite the fame he’s adopted. Ed’s ignorance of their social norms provides a brief distraction before mocking him becomes the latest entertainment instead (they’re “fickle”) and he too is reduced to a monotony: “How will you [kill us], Jeff the accountant, by boring us to death?” When Stede suggests a party game, something that’s the norm for such gatherings, the response is an immediate, "I’m already so bored I could die.” This is what boredom leads to: death, either metaphorical in the sense of Stede burying his personality and interests in his marriage to Mary, or literal in terms of the aristocrats throwing themselves to the sea when their ship is set ablaze.

For Ed and Stede, both of them are disenchanted with the life they’ve been given and desire what the other has, making them a perfect couple when paired up, capable of providing new opportunities for one another. When together, Stede can dress Ed up in fine clothes to set a ship on fire; Ed can teach him fuckery to be implemented like a fancy play—intertwining aspects of both their lives to create something original. They balance one another, but it’s important to remember that in this journey to dodge boredom and ultimately death, Stede is still the one with all the privilege, even though it might feel like Ed has more power. After all, he doesn’t have a father insisting upon an arranged marriage, or anyone of greater social status calling the shots. Basically, who would fuck with Blackbeard? If he wants to loot others’ fine silks and start his own library, who the hell is going to stop him? It seems simple on the surface, but the reality is in Ed’s flashback. It’s short, but we see a rather crucial conversation between him and his mother about how people like them simply don’t get nice things. “We’re just not those kinds of people. We never will be.” It’s that "never will be” that he’s internalized. It doesn’t matter how much he learns from Stede because, as the insulting captive says, “a rich donkey is still a donkey.” It doesn’t matter if Ed dresses in fine clothes, he still can’t hold the attention of the aristocracy when his table manners are less than perfect. It doesn’t matter if Ed manages to learn those rules down the line, people like that captive will always view him as lesser due to the circumstances of his birth: “My kind? What’s that supposed to mean?” Class distinguishes them in a way that cannot easily be overcome through tutelage and Ed knows that. Notably, for a man who is haunted by killing his father and has fostered off all the other murders on his crew (kinda), this is the moment when we see Ed at his most cruel. No, he doesn’t kill the captive himself, but he still gives the detailed, horrific order to skin him with a fork, then toss him overboard. As he admits to Stede later on, that comment cut deep.

That’s how the (very flawed, very awful) world works. Stede, meanwhile, is still a member of the aristocracy whether he’s at sea or not. He might not get a say in who he marries, but the privilege of being a white, wealthy, able-bodied, literate, high society man who was born into that role and intrinsically maintains those characteristics regardless of his current profession has taught him that anything he really wants is within his reach. That’s how his world works. Ultimately, it’s a whole lot easier for Stede to build a ship and become a pirate (even a bad one) to dodge his metaphorical death than it is for Ed to enjoy a fine fabric; the feelings of being trapped in his own social circle, and the monotony of the part he plays there, pushes him closer to a literal death: “Maybe we should try that.” Stede is able to go after his dreams all on his own as a means of shaking up his life and the status quo. Ed, however, needs someone else—Stede—to offer him the opportunity and he needs help to sustain it. They might be co-captains, equal in their respect for one another, but that’s not the same thing as either of their societies seeing them as equals, or the both of them needing the same sort of support.

Stede lasted weeks of being a pirate captain despite everyone on board telling him he wasn’t suited for it. It’s only when things have really fallen apart—when the British have wormed their way onto his vessel, when he’s just starting to believe Olu’s advice to give the pirate life up, when he’s accidentally killed Badminton—that Stede displays some of the same worrying thoughts as Ed.

Olu: “Do you want to live?”

Stede: “That’s a tough question… I think so. Probably.”

Later, we move from a purely comedic admission to a far more honest one:

Ed: “You ever feel trapped? Like you’re just treading water, waiting to drown?”

Stede: “Yes. I very much have felt that way.”

Stede is forced into a kind of emotional death when he weds. Mary is too. ("You know you’re killing her, right?”) The story is adamant in arguing that they’ve both been hurt by this match, they both have had a hand in its downfall—“We just can’t seem to stop hurting each other, can we?”—and they both deserve to find happiness, and I absolutely love OFMD for that. It’s a bit on-the-nose to cut from the (un)happy couple straight to a pair of headstones. What’s a bit more subtle though is when the camera pans down from their graves to their dining table sometime in the future. Meaning, their married life is, from a cinematography perspective, six feet under. By living together they’re already beneath those headstones, in every way that truly matters, up until Stede makes the radical choice to try being a pirate. Now, faced with the typical violence of his chosen profession, Stede questions continuing on when it appears that much of what he tried to leave behind has followed him onto his ship: an inability to handle the blood and gore that characterize “real” men. But beyond that comedic admission to Olu, and a moment with Ed in which Stede uses the past tense (“I very much have felt that way”), he displays a remarkable perseverance, likely because—despite other, obvious hardships—Stede did grow up with a certain amount of self-worth, simply by virtue of being the cream of the crop. He’s an aristocrat, indefinitely. Wealthy and titled and innately lucky in so many respects. He’s “fortunate.” All the bullying and insults from others didn’t teach him to hide his preferences, merely move them to a new community where they’re given another chance to flourish. Being a “lily-livered rich boy” might be a negative trait from the perspective of a father who values a very narrow set of characteristics, but ultimately, it’s that “rich” description that allows Stede to chase what he wants and leave his metaphorical death behind. Money allows him to build a ship, pay a crew enough to keep them around (even though they all agree he’s a terrible captain), and even leave his family well off to try and assuage his guilt. Hell, it’s his education—the ability to read—that helps stall the mutiny because will they really kill Captain before learning the end of Pinocchio? However, scarred by his father’s words, Stede does a lot throughout the season to distance himself from his wealth so that he might be more than just the pathetic rich boy. We start the season with Stede dumping two baskets of fine fabrics for the crew to turn into pirate flags—ripping and tearing the material, turning it into (supposedly) scary imagery, a symbol of his class literally being repurposed—and we end it with Stede giving up his fortune in full, setting out to sea with nothing but a dinghy and the clothes on his back.

His father said that only peasants married for love? Alright then, guess he needs to make himself a peasant in order to love Ed. Yet despite all this, despite Stede choosing love over those social privileges, we cannot deny that it was this wealth and an aristocratic upbringing that allowed Stede to make an attempt at the pirate life in the first place. Even now that he’s left it behind, Stede maintains an education and bearing that inevitably sets him apart. Stede might not have the money to buy a melon spoon anymore, but he’ll always be able to recognize one on the table.

In contrast, all Ed’s power and resources stem from the persona of Blackbeard, so if it’s that very persona he wants to change… the ability to do so is lost because that power is lost. It’s a circle. Ed has no wealth to purchase his fine fabrics as Stede had to purchase his ship and the ability to loot those fabrics depends on remaining the man who wouldn’t want those fabrics in the first place. Ed lasts just a few days in his gown and painted nails before he reverts to the life he believes he’s supposed to live—the one designated by his birth—despite the fact that Izzy is the only one pressuring him to reclaim it and everyone else on board is supportive of his new self-expression. Yet without Stede’s support, being Blackbeard becomes a necessity once more (as well as, of course, a reaction to Stede’s abandonment) because they live in a world where it’s a whole lot easier for an aristocrat to make the insane choice of becoming a pirate than it is a pirate to make the insane choice of becoming a gentleman. You can move down the ladder as much as you please, but not up; Stede can return home to a group of gentlemen eager for his stories, but Ed can’t keep his spot at the aristocrat’s table for longer than a single course. Ultimately, OFMD is as much about class as it is toxic masculinity. Or rather, the two themes go hand-in-hand, with much of Ed’s toxic characteristics resurfacing because that’s how you survive without a rich man to pay your wages. It’s no coincidence that the characters’ wardrobes and overall appearance—one of the most overt indicators of wealth (or lack thereof)— are equalized when the narrative likewise wants them to be on equal footing with one another. Stede and Ed have their almost-kiss after the party, but that’s no good. Not just because they have a lot to work through still, but because they’ve just come from a place where Ed has been forcibly reminded of the difference in their stations and he’s still dressed in an outfit that, ultimately, isn’t him. “You wear fine things well,” Stede says and it’s true, but notably Ed never puts the swatch of silk back on display. It’s not something he’s comfortable with after a lifetime of hearing that it’s not for people like him and though I hope the story continues to nurture his love of fine things, he’s not quite at that place yet. So instead, we get an adorably awkward kiss when they’re both prisoners. More specifically, when both have given themselves up for the other, with both in the same scratchy clothes, both momentarily stripped of their individual power (wealth, Ed’s beard) with nothing to show one another but exactly what they currently are: two middle-aged men who haven’t figured it all out yet, but they know that the other makes them happy. Isn’t that enough?

(Not to distract from the Blackbonnet content, but the same sort of equalizing also occurs between Stede and Mary. Rather than their conversation taking place during a moment when Mary is reminded that she’s legally beholden to Stede under God, or when Stede is reminded of her hatred and infidelity, they come to an understanding while they’re just two people in their nightgowns—nothing more, nothing less.)

So, is just being a middle-aged person who makes the other happy enough? Well, yes… but Ed and Stede aren’t quite going about it in the right way yet. As I’ll discuss more in the Blackbonnet section, Ed in particular struggles with accepting all aspects of himself, instead choosing one facet for a time—usually to make someone else happy— before inevitably crumbling into the next when he can’t be that limited person anymore. He can’t be fearsome Blackbeard all the time, or poetry-loving Edward all the time, or a guy who only wants to fold things all the time, etc. To summarize, Ed is continually running away from parts of himself and each time this manifests as a kind of death. At the start of the season, he wants to kill off Blackbeard entirely, becoming Stede Bonnet instead. By the end, he’s still trying to murder key parts of his identity by changing everything: his name, his backstory, his crew, where he lives—“Our old lives would be gone, dead, never were.” And I’m like Ed, honey, it doesn’t work that way. Sure, Stede “died,” but significantly that first death was a bust that resulted in going back to his family because the past has to be dealt with.

The second death via cheetah-carriage-piano murder (what a fuckery!) works because everyone that matters knows that Stede Bonnet is still alive and, more importantly, after doing that emotional work he’s finally free. He’s accepted both parts of himself: the part that’s a pirate and the part that’s an aristocrat who abandoned his family; no more “My family is here now. At sea” avoidance. Pretending those parts of yourself don’t exist, never existed, is just letting them fester until they eventually come back to haunt you. You know, like a Badminton.

Lucius tries to teach Ed this in the blanket fort, encouraging him to face his feelings and asking, “What if it’s not a death? What if life just begins again?” Yet when Ed emerges, he’s still singing “Life’s a hard, sad death and then you’re dead,” omitting the death as a new beginning part. (Mary gets it though: “We’re alive, they’re dead. This is your time, Ellen. Because if not now, when?”) Sure, Ed’s enjoying himself with the crew and cleaning up his space a bit (progress!) but he’s still entranced by this belief that he can just sever the parts of himself he doesn’t want to deal with right now, going so far as to demand, “Why are we even being pirates?” when Buttons reveals his, uh…. talent of making tonal noises. It’s cute from the perspective of him encouraging the rest of the crew to express themselves (I wish we could have gotten that talent show), but Ed is playing the avoidance game like nobody’s business. He knows he’s not going to give up the pirate life completely, to instead dress in a silk robe all day and perform for others. That’s only a small part of who he is. Izzy says that becoming Edward is a "fate worse than death” and technically he’s kind of right… just for the totally wrong reasons. There’s nothing shameful in Ed sharing his poetry, or dressing in nice clothes, or changing his name, etc. but it’s unhealthy to deny all the other parts of himself, as Ed is attempting to do here. Izzy might tell Edward to “watch his fucking step,” but that’s not what seems to turn him into the Kraken. We don’t end that scene on Izzy’s threat, or the picture from Stede’s book. Rather, we end on the crew above deck, calling for another song and chanting the name “Edward” over and over and over again.

They want Edward, Izzy wants Blackbeard, and Ed is left trying to kill one and then the other, swinging wildly between two extremes. The Kraken won’t be able to sustain itself because Ed isn’t truly that cruel on a day-to-day basis, but neither can Edward sustain himself because Ed also isn’t a #softboy who just wants to sing on a day-to-day basis either. Ed’s attempts to become someone like Stede—dressing in his robe, lying in his room, having a heart-to-heart with his scribe, even lighting dangerous fires on the ship like a maniac—were always doomed to fail. Not because Ed isn’t allowed the nice things that a wealthy man like Stede represents, but because a lifetime of being Blackbeard—being poor, being a pirate, being bloodthirsty—can’t simply be waved away at will. Ed needs to face those parts of himself, incorporating them into the whole of who he is, like Stede faced his family and has now returned to sea as someone who is not ignoring his aristocratic upbringing, but rather choosing to prioritize other things like love over it instead.

Class, then, is something the characters can’t escape. Even the absence of Stede’s wealth and title will be something for season two to grapple with. As Olu reminds Stede, they don’t act with violence because they want to, but because they have to. What will the crew do now that Stede’s wealth can no longer support their wages, circling right back around to, “If you don’t steal, you don’t eat”? How will Ed nurture the softer parts of himself now that all symbols of wealth have been tossed overboard and Stede has nothing else to offer? The presentation of masculinity displayed by Izzy and Blackbeard is, in many respects, a direct result of not being born a Stede Bonnet. If you’re not born fortunate, you toughen up to the point where you can forcibly take whatever you need.

Or you die.

What other option is there? Well, the whole story is an answer to that question, starting with how Stede approaches the concept of piracy as a whole and, eventually, what he and Ed are able to offer one another, beyond the trappings of wealth, or the knowledge imparted by a fearsome legend.

Stede: “Ed?”

Ed: “Better alive than dead!”

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The Feminine Urge to Reject Toxic Masculinity

Early in the Pilot, Stede describes pirating as a “cycle of abuse” to Lucius. Or, to put that another way, the wealthy aristocrat who went to sea a few weeks ago describes piracy to the actual pirate. It’s easy to read this as simply a joke in-and-of itself, especially when OFMD makes similar jokes elsewhere. Stede describing piracy to a pirate may generate a “Uh huh, sure” reaction similar to him explaining what “tapas” means to Geraldo (“Yeah, I know about tapas”). As mentioned above, Olu even points out how cavalier he’s taking this, “Me and Jim, we don’t do this because we like it, we do it because we have no other choice.” The implication is that anyone who did have another choice, like a wealthy landowner, would never stick around. Therefore, it’s inevitable that if Stede doesn’t die, he’ll eventually grow bored of the presumed game he’s playing and leave this difficult life behind. It’s a sentiment that’s echoed at the very end of the season when Ed sails away from the rest of the crew on the island saying, “Farewell, Bonnet’s playthings.” (Note that this is the only time when Ed calls Stede “Bonnet.” He’s trying to create distance between them, a far cry from initially introducing himself with the personal, intimate “Ed.”) Basically, all Ed knows is that Stede stood him up on that dock. He doesn’t know about Badminton’s threat, his death, or even Stede’s horrible guilt over leaving his family. I believe he only mentions them once to Ed in passing, right before they both hit on the lighthouse scheme. So, which seems more likely? That Stede underwent a traumatic experience during the few hours Ed was gone and finally tried to make amends for a mistake Ed isn’t privy to, succumbing to the pressure of performing masculinity “correctly” by returning to be a husband and a father, all of it influenced by the fact that he hasn’t fully realized he’s in love with a man yet … or that Stede simply decided he’s done playing pirate? Ed’s heartfelt plea to run away to China put a bit of a damper on his fun, so playtime is over. It’s back to his fine things and his finer company. Goodbye, toys that Stede Bonnet played with. You and I were both fooled.

So, there’s this pervasive question of why Stede is here. Is it simply due to a naive, child-like desire for adventure, or does he legitimately want to be a pirate, despite how absurd that seems to those who can’t escape the life? Well, it’s both. Stede isn’t so altruistic (or even wise) to have approached this endeavor purely to help a bunch of pirate strangers, but nor is he so callous and fickle that he’d build a ship and leave his family without intending to make something of that decision. Stede does desperately want to be a pirate, but what that really translates into is him wanting to be himself, with piracy as a concept representing freedom (“He’s free,” Mary says, as Stede is shown walking back into the sea). For all his fun pretending to be Blackbeard for a day, at no point does Stede change himself beyond his wardrobe because he’s never liked the blood and violence and intimidation that being Blackbeard would require (and, of course, Ed has conflicted feelings about it too). He wants Stede Bonnet—flower picking, cashmere-loving, marmalade hoarding middle-aged man—to be able to be a pirate, which requires changing the profession, rather than changing to fit the profession instead. Of course, it takes Stede a couple of episodes to come to terms with that, given that he initially tries to play the part of a violence-loving, “I [killed him]. On purpose” fighter but, obviously, fails rather spectacularly at it. We might examine the potential metaphor of Stede trying to push his ship back into the water through pure stubbornness alone. It’s not gonna move, Stede. You’re not suddenly going to become a traditional badass just because you’re putting effort behind it (though I maintain that Stede is a badass in numerous other ways). At some point you’ve got to step back, stop trying to move the immovable object, and start talking your identity through with the imagined ghost instead.

So, once he overcomes the initial shock of having (accidentally) killed a man and had a quick therapy session with the village elder, Stede begins to approach his new life with the intent to make the world accept him for the pirate he wants to be. He will be a Gentleman Pirate, killing only with kindness, daring to want parts of both worlds: “I may be landed gentry, but I’m thrilled to be granted entry!”

Because Stede is right. Despite being the outsider here, Stede recognizes the same problems that plague his own aristocratic society, namely the idea that “real men” are defined largely by their capacity for violence (be it of the literal physical variety—his father—or through passive aggression—the party goers). By the end of those first couple weeks, he’s likewise realized that much of that violence, and the ensuing ways in which it’s upheld as a romanticized act worth emulating, come about simply because no one has said, “Hey, you don’t have to do that.” Stede becomes that person. “If I can help this crew grow as people,” he says, “then I will have succeeded in being a pirate captain.” That’s the world Stede wants to live in. Despite being enamored with traditional piracy, that interest seems to stem primarily from what he’s been taught he should like, not what he actually craves, with the added acknowledgment that a life of danger and adventure is simply exciting. Basically, a part of Stede only wants to be Blackbeard because he’s spent 40-odd years having toxic masculinity beat into his head, but when given the space—literally via his own ship—to ask himself, “What kind of pirate do I want to be?” his answer is a very firm “One who helps his crew” not “One who terrorizes people, loots vessels of valuables that would be missed, etc.” Stede says explicitly that for him, success in pirate captaining equals helping his crew to grow and then he sets out to make that a reality. As captain, Stede is in a position of authority over the others—even if it’s a very tenuous authority that nearly leads to mutiny—so when he says, “This is okay” the crew is inclined to listen, even as they’re simultaneously upholding those performative criticisms of him among themselves, because it wouldn’t do to become too accepting of these changes too fast.

There is a range though. Some of the crew waver back and forth a bit (Wee John). Some already have other, complicated presentations on their mind (Jim). Contrasting Lucius’ support that grows over several episodes, I think it speaks volumes that Buttons is the most deferential to Stede at the very start, the closest thing we see to a First Mate on board. “On your feet for your captain!” he screams while the others plan mutiny and, of course, he’s the one to tell Stede about the mutiny itself. He is, basically, the weirdest person on board. Among a group already made up of outsiders, Buttons is arguably the one on the outsider’s outskirts. Frenchie might believe that cats are demons and Roach is a little too into torture, but those exaggerations of classic pirate characteristics (superstition, violence) can’t hold a candle to speaking seagull, moon bathing, and having a “fight or bite” response. Buttons is odd… and so is Stede. Like recognizes like. The conversation between them regarding the mutiny strikes me more as Buttons speaking what he thinks is an inevitable truth, rather than encouraging Stede to permanently change. Basically, he suggests that Stede use an “iron fist” because that’s what everyone else does—and thus far Stede’s efforts aren’t producing the best results—not because that’s something either of them actually want. Buttons is fully on board with a new kind of pirate captain because he’s already a different kind of pirate. Meanwhile, others in the group—those we might think of as more “normal”—need to warm up to the kind of diversity that Stede represents.

Black Pete is the most obvious example of this. He starts the series being quite vocal about what is and is not appropriate for a pirate. Or, to put that more generally, what’s appropriate for a man, given that this is the gender makeup of the crew prior to Jim coming out. They should be killing people, not playing cards! Only sissies get paid wages! Sewing is women’s work! All of this is not pirating. You know who’s a real pirate, a real man? Blackbeard, not this guy in fancy clothes trying to get us to talk about our feelings. Though it’s not taken as far and nor does it last as long, early Pete is basically a version of Izzy, acting as the Traditionally Masculine Voice who sneers at the others who enjoy listening to bedtime stories, or designing pretty flags. We even get a direct parallel between Pete complaining about having to make use of Stede’s wardrobe to trick Badminton’s crew— “making us dress up like a bunch of fancy boys”—and Izzy trying to demean Ed for wearing Stede’s robe: “Not some namby-pamby in a silk gown pining for his boyfriend.” Both consider fine clothes to be emasculating and equate the wearing of them with homosexuality. However, the difference is that by episode five Pete has very much come around to the Bonnet way of thinking, enjoying Lucius’ company in the pantry and encouraging his (gay) artistic pursuits. Pete demonstrates his growth even as Izzy digs in his heels, trying to use Lucius’ sexual freedom as a form of blackmail. By the end of the season, Pete is eagerly awaiting the talent show in full makeup and costume while Izzy rows back to The Revenge, having successfully ignited a trauma response in Ed that has him sinking deeper into toxic masculinity than ever before. As our antagonist, Izzy is the exception, with the rest of the crew’s growth shown not only in how they support Stede before the British, but in who they choose as captain when planning their second mutiny. At the beginning of the show Pete announces that he’s the obvious choice because he’s Blackbeard’s tough, former sailor, a symbol of masculinity. Duh. If it can’t be Pete than it has to be Jim, the even tougher pirate with the menacing presence and knife skills. Yet after everything between then and the finale, the crew announces that Olu is the only possible choice. Intelligent, caring Olu who’s had the crew’s back this whole time.

Then his first act is to try and throw Izzy overboard, but that’s neither here nor there lol.

Stede is, quite obviously, someone who abhors violence. His flashback isn’t exactly subtle about it, showing him turning away when a bird is beheaded, the blood splattering across his face and neck. This is a “man’s work,” bloody and deadly, so if Stede can’t stomach it then, by the logic of society, he must not be a real man. It’s a conclusion that’s repeated by those who are able to meet society’s expectations, such as when Badminton’s sailor announces that there’s a “heavy-set woman in a silk dressing gown” on Stede’s ship, right before we get a phallic insinuation as Badminton rejects the tiny spyglass as well as the slightly bigger spyglass, before finally pulling out his stupidly massive spyglass to see Stede for himself. He’s the big dick to Stede’s supposed woman, with femininity presented as the clear lesser whenever the story is filtered through the eyes of those who represent the status quo.

However, it’s not simply that Stede looks nauseous at the sight of blood, or likes to pick flowers, or any of the other, more obvious ways in which he challenges traditional masculinity. A theme that resonated strongly with me is the connection among queerness, leisure, and a presumed lack of functionality. Basically, much of Stede’s outsider status is conveyed through his love of fine things purely because fine things exist, not because they’re achieving something practical. Izzy considers the library a "perverse misuse of space” (and ain’t “perverse” a loaded term coming out of his mouth…). Badminton thinks it’s “ridiculous.” The two characters who do the most to uphold traditional masculinity without questioning it—as Ed does: “Incredible”—believe that having a collection of books you love at sea purely because you love them is inherently absurd. Stede’s not even getting any new knowledge out of them because he’s read them all! The space should be used for something practical, obviously.

Beyond the books, Stede’s cabin is a direct challenge to the masculine standard, with that contrast made all the more evident when we see Ed’s space on the Queen Anne’s Revenge. A lot of the difference comes down to lighting. Ed’s room is all shadows with the exception of a single light-beam that illuminates him, whereas Stede’s cabin is lit so that every detail is on display in all its wealthy, foppish glory. The lighting coincides with assumed temperaments too— Ed at this point is still Blackbeard, the ruthless killer; Stede is the affable Golden Retriever looking to “kill with kindness”—as well as emotional stability—Ed is in a deep depression that has pushed him to chase anything remotely interesting; Stede, while struggling to be a “real” pirate, is nevertheless still achieving his life-long dream—but beyond all that, Ed’s space is far more practical than Stede’s. It’s smaller, for one, and the furniture is built for functionality, not leisure. There are two chairs, but both are placed behind Ed’s desk, ensuring that anyone who enters the room is separated from him. The design requires that those like Izzy stand to deliver their reports because they’re here in a professional capacity, not for a personal visit. Compare that to Stede’s dual facing couches surrounded by the library, an addition that encourages others to take their time, hang out for a bit, and bond with him over (he hopes) a shared interest.

Ed does have a number of knickknacks he’s collected over the years—and we can compare that to the spartan room that the Kraken works from at the end of the season; a version of Ed that denies himself even the simplest joys—but they’re all objects that reflect how fearsome Blackbeard supposedly is: a skull, a skin, a pufferfish with its spikes extended. The rest of it is indeed practical for a pirate (rolled up maps, a dagger), or simply isn’t taken care of. There are no fine, gauzy curtains here. Ed has a painting, but it’s propped on the floor instead of hanging on a wall. Like Stede, he has a chandelier, but it’s on his desk rather than hanging from the ceiling. Everything is placed slightly crooked, or misused, appears dirty, damaged, forgotten, there are cobwebs in the corner and dust hanging in the air. The mise en scène tells us that proper pirates equate functionality with discomfort. It’s not just that Stede has a library, or fancy fainting couches. By equating his captaincy with a clean, luxurious room built more for comfort than intimidation, Stede allows his personality to extend past the point of his own person. Stede doesn’t merely say, “I’m a pirate who likes wearing pretty robes and keeping his nails clean,” he physically changes the world around him to reflect his self-expression, challenging those masculine norms in the process. A pirate’s inner sanctum can be beautiful. A pirate’s crew can express themselves through music and crafts. A pirate’s itinerary can include dressing up to go to fancy parties. This concept of leisure—doing things simply because they bring you joy; obtaining objects simply because they’re beautiful and displaying them as such—is something that Ed very much craves, a contrast to the masculine productivity of, “And then what? Then we fսcking execute the plan, then we get another plan, then what do we do?  We execute that, and so on, and so on, and again, and again, and again, and again. It’s all so fսcking boring!”

Alongside the beauty of physical objects, we also have a strong connection between this newfound community—the emotional intimacy that men are usually denied—and one of the most beloved forms of luxury: excess food. I love that the scurvy crisis comes about specifically because Stede had Roach make them a cake requiring forty oranges. It’s about the decadence and, in turn, the joy of sharing that with others. The fandom has already latched onto the imagery of the orange as a form of nourishment, specifically in regards to Jim and Olu’s relationship, but that extends outwards to Ed and Stede as well. Jim’s home, a space saturated with love, but filtered through the intensity of revenge, is the only place in St Augustine that has escaped the blight, resulting in sacks worth of ripe, beautiful oranges. Yet Jim leads Olu to a dead tree and it’s only when Stede starts digging, spurred on by his desire to have a fun outing with Ed, that he discovers one orange left. Sure, it’s petrified, but as Jim says, the “old tree still had some fruit to give after all.” Stede offers them the orange and the humor of him not really wanting to give it up aside, Jim doesn’t need it. They have their nana and Olu right there, to say nothing of how the oranges are connected to the trauma of Jim losing the rest of their family. Jim’s memory of the event begins with the gang leader biting viciously and messily into an orange, right before killing their father. With an image like that, it’s no wonder that they might prefer to build different memories with Olu, rather than continuing on with oranges. Their tree having one left for a friend is enough.

So instead, it’s Stede who needs to take the orange home where it’s split in half by Alma, one portion going to his family while the other travels with him to find Ed again. It’s an act that means all the more after her shout of, "I don’t want your old food!” at the breakfast table. Upon reflection she does. Not because a petrified orange is actually a cool treasure (though I admit the geo-like inside looked nice) but because, however silly, this will be a tether to her father after he’s left again. It’s also a tether between Stede and Ed. “How was your day, Edward?” Stede asks the orange, giving it a toast when the rest of the family is absent from dinner, uninterested in spending time with him.

Stede needn’t be a traditional father at home with the kids, he can be his own brand of father traveling the seas with his crew. Stede needn’t be a traditional husband at home with a wife, he can be his own brand of husband to another man. Food bridges the gap, challenges the norm, and there’s simply something wonderful in taking the formerly decadent fruit and turning it into a petrified “rock”—the decadent aristocrat likewise turning into a pirate with just the clothes on his back. Both versions, however, offer something to others, be it delicious food, a paperweight, a cure for scurvy, a symbol of the past, hope for the future, a reminder of your father, or your love.

The next episode it’s over lunch that we all realize “this is happening,” Ed and Stede grilling up a surprisingly good snake while chatting about the Bar & Grill they’d attend together. They nourish their relationship as they nourish their bodies, once again combining their unique skill-sets. Ed is good at flinging a snake off him and viciously stabbing it to death? Stede is good at turning that into a tasty meal, complete with banana leaf plates and a tender moment where he picks a bit out of Ed’s beard. And though they’re small, the season has numerous other references to food that reflect the cast’s growing acceptance of diverse identities. Black Pete moves from sarcastically asking whether they should bake their captives a pie to becoming the most eager to lead this orange expedition. Stede and Pete’s internalized racism is shown through assuming that the tribe members are cooking those captives, but no, it’s just a tasty looking pig (or whatever that was). Stede offers a delicious breakfast to both Ed and Calico Jack when he’s determined that the three of them get along— Doug does the same for Mary after his talk with Stede—yet when Jack’s cruelty is revealed, when he insists upon the classic, masculine performance of violence and drink, he and Ed are reduced to whipping for fish in the water, then having more rum, despite how it’s just too early for that. “Well, well, well, look who’s eating seaweed,” Stede says, laughing at their plight.

It’s when Stede is missing from the aristocrats’ table that everything starts falling apart for Ed. It’s when most of the crew is having lunch together that Jim gets to come out as, well, Jim. As expected, it’s Izzy who stands in contrast to this norm. He’s the one who demands that everyone get back to work because real pirates don’t eat unless he says so (compare that to Stede waking Ed up for marmalade) and when Izzy is freely offered food it, uh… doesn’t go well. Of course that sandwich bounces off his head when Roach throws it to him. Izzy hasn’t accepted the community aspect that would allow him to catch it, as per the rules of this new genre he lives in. He’s still viewing everything from the perspective of the gritty action-drama where food is scarce, withheld, or unappetizing, and the only way to handle a guy like Izzy who’s offered good food anyway is to make him the butt of the joke. OFMD has this strong connection between food and family, but that reads differently when we consider that the backdrop of pirate society, where Izzy and Blackbeard hail from, is still largely governed by the “if you don’t steal, you don’t eat” rule. Basic needs like finding nourishment are tied up in that toxic cycle of abuse—the reason why so many good people like Olu inevitably succumb to it—so by offering his crew food, Stede offers them other life options as well. More than that, the excess he offers is a reassurance. The forty-orange cake says, “You’re safe here. You have a family to take care of you. You don’t need to fight and kill and struggle anymore, working so hard to uphold the masculine ideal—not unless you want to. Feel free to take up some craft projects instead.” OFMD is about love, family, community, the ties that bind. Whether that’s expressed through food or something else, the story makes it clear that isolation, another symbol of toxic masculinity, is never something these characters benefit from. Whether it’s Stede appearing quite small on his ship the first time he leaves.

(Which contrasts with the closeup we get in the finale, followed by Stede finding his crew before the credits roll.)

Ed waiting alone on the dock.

Izzy rowing away from The Revenge.

Ed, no longer vibing with Calico Jack, doing the same.

Or Jim standing in their field.

The medium to long shots, combined with wide shots, make them all appear vulnerable, too small to handle the world on their own. It’s no surprise then that Stede immediately finds himself a crew, Ed rows back to The Revenge, Izzy heads to Spanish Jackie’s for new allies, Ed dives in the water to return to Stede, and Olu is already right behind Jim, having tracked them down despite his tendency to get lost. Off the top of my head, the one time such a shot conveys contentment is Mary waking up alone in bed, months after Stede has left.

(Compared, of course, to this:)

But as we quickly see, she’s not isolated. She’s playing with her kids, dating Doug, and hosting a widows’ support meeting. Mary is more embedded in the community than she ever was while married to Stede, regardless of whether anyone is currently sharing her bed. I don’t even need to theorize that because she says it explicitly: “the most unexpected gift has been community.” Here, the leisure of stretching alone in bed is aligned with the unconventional—but very happy— family of a widow, secret boyfriend, somewhat murderous BFFs, and two kids with a pirate father somewhere out at sea. When Mary and Stede have reconciled, we’re shown both him and Doug at her bedside, this dynamic no more conventional than what Mary had before. Embracing what they want as opposed to what is expected of them as per the gendered rules of society has led to stronger ties and, as a result, far more happiness than they ever had while playing the part of appropriately masculine husband and faithful wife.

Of course, the ultimate example of leisure as a means of challenging social norms is Stede teaching Ed about the concept of retirement: giving up work entirely for a life of kicking back. Or, more accurately, giving up required work for a life where you pick and choose what and how much you’d like to do each day. Basically, what they had going on The Revenge before Izzy threw a wrench in those plans. The show makes it very clear that this ignorance is a result of pirate culture as a whole (the cycle of abuse); it’s not specific to Ed alone. He doesn’t know about retirement, but Izzy thinks the only retirement available to them is death and everyone else doesn’t even know what a vacation is. They equate downtime with torture and blowing things up, worrying that there’s a way to do vacation wrong. What will the punishment be? Stede starts out small by introducing the concept of solving problems without violence (what if you shared that fabric instead of throwing a punch over it?) and, as those ideas take root, he expands them outward to encompass more and more of their lives. What if our entire motto was “Talk it through, as a crew”? What if my brand was built on kindness? What if we really did retire and damn everyone who says a pirate can’t? Much of what OFMD is built on stems from a quick, almost throw-away conversation between Ivan and Fang:

Fang: “I hate it when he does that [Izzy pulling his beard]. It really hurts.”

Ivan: “Why don’t you say something about it?”

Fang: “What’s the point?”

If even Blackbeard’s crew, the toughest of the tough (the ones with the most power in their society, but it’s a power based on meeting masculine expectations), thinks that challenging these norms is a useless endeavor, what does that say about everyone else? Stede has entered a world that wants the kind of kindness he’s offering; the characters verbally, explicitly express that they want to exit the cycle of abuse, but they don’t think it’s possible. Stede’s willingness to simply be himself, from libraries on vessels, to forty-orange cakes, tells everyone else that yes, this is possible. Here’s living, breathing proof, with the “living” part being particularly important. Remember, Olu and Lucius were originally convinced that sure, Captain is great, but he won’t last. There’s no way he could in this business. Stede’s continued survival represents that change in genre; a move from the gritty action show where you have to continue the cycle in order to survive, to the rom-com where sure, there’s danger, but you can also stab as a form of flirting, or take a header against the ship’s side and it’s fine. The combination of Stede being himself, surviving this long, and rewarding others for their own, small displays of kindness—“You’re a good man, Ed”—is what allows other characters to follow in his footsteps, to the point where they can suddenly imagine a life of leisure free from both toxic masculinity and the abusive cycle it’s bound up in—this “retirement.” Stede is badass because he sets the example for a better future. He’s “original.”

However, it’s important to point out that Stede is a white man enacting these changes among a diverse cast and we should all absolutely be interrogating the intersection of gender presentation with race. I’m only going to touch on this briefly because I myself am white and know just enough about the conversation to try and strike a balance between speaking up without speaking over. There are others in the fandom who have done, and will no doubt continue to do, that work instead. Suffice to say, OFMD puts many people of color at the forefront of the narrative—in terms of development and romantic relationships—while also taking a less than subtle stance against racism. There’s no “[gasp!] How could you think that?” reaction like there is to Black Pete describing sewing as “women’s work,” but it’s not like OFMD let’s bigotry slide. Whether it’s Jim stabbing a man for screaming at the “savages” serving lunch—“Enough interruptions, slave!”— or the subplot of Olu and Frenchie helping the servants to escape with all the aristocrats’ investments, displays of masculine bonds are intimately tied up in how the non-white characters are perceived by the rest of the world.

Actually, to throw out just one moment I enjoyed, let’s talk real quick about the entirety of the party’s destruction coming about thanks to Frenchie, Olu, and the other servants’ knowledge. Stede might be the white man whose skin color and bearing allows him to trick the nobles into his game, but it’s entirely the others’ information that does the actual work. In the end, even the secrets gathered from the servants (a child out of wedlock, debt, married siblings) aren’t enough to bring the aristocrats to their knees. That honor goes to Olu and Frenchie whose “pyramid scheme” (lol) results in everyone attacking one another, which in turn leads to the ship going up in flames. Though the story doesn’t draw a direct connection between the two scenes, I personally read this as an important moment for Stede post-the meal with Badminton. It didn’t escape my notice that during Badminton’s visit he put Frenchie and Olu in the position of servants. Sure, it makes sense based on Badminton and his crew’s expectations, but when has Stede ever bowed to those? He’s a foppish aristocrat turned pirate with a library on board! Yet still Stede bows to those conventions—those with the darkest skin must play the role of the servant—only to later learn precisely how powerful that role actually is, using it to undermine and reject the very society he tried to emulate four episodes before.

Okay, this time I’m done 👍‍

To summarize, if you’d like a visual representation of all this growth, consider the humble plant:

Stede steals the foliage while attempting to function as a traditional pirate—a “real man”—would, by boarding and looting a vessel under threat of violence. It doesn’t matter that the vessel is a rickety fishing boat, that the boarding went horribly, that Stede’s violence is nearly nonexistent, or even that he considers the plant to be loot at all. The point isn’t how well Stede executes these expectations, only that he’s trying to uphold them. So, he gets a nearly dead plant for his trouble but then, under the care and support of his crew throughout the season, it blossoms! He is the plant. The plant is the crew. People (and foliage) can only thrive in the kind of environment that exists near the end of the season, not where we started out. The fact that the plant reappears, looking quite healthy, when the crew is insisting that Stede is indeed a real pirate to the British is certainly no coincidence. The toxic masculinity of Stede’s original pirating attempts can’t help anything grow. The Gentleman Pirate though? He helps things flourish and that is as much real piracy, a better piracy, than any of them have seen before.

As a final note for this section, something I’m hoping for in season two—or later, depending on the story’s pacing and how many seasons we can expect total—is for Stede to change the name of his ship. After all, The Revenge is a little too fitting, in that it embodies the exact sort of harmful behavior that everyone is working to leave behind. Lots of characters seek revenge in OFMD, but none of them come out the better for it. Jim is forced into the life and it’s a miracle they came out as “well adjusted” as they did. They make it clear that they never truly wanted to go after those men, they want to stay on the ship with Olu, and it’s a credit to both their character and the themes of OFMD that they’ve already returned. Jackie seeks revenge on Jim for the death of her husband, but when push comes to shove, they’d rather take the guy out of the picture and help one another instead. Badminton is after revenge for his brother— an example that shows how easily revenge can become twisted. After all, he doesn’t know or even care that it was mostly an accident—and in the end he takes things too far, to the point where his own men turn on him because no, killing Stede is not the right action, not when he’s asked for grace. We even get an episode titled “The Best Revenge is Dressing Well” in which Ed attempts to achieve a kind of social revenge against the captive who insulted him, as well as the community he represents. Ed succeeds in a way, the party ruined and the ship on fire, but that’s only through the assistance of Stede, a man who was always a part of those circles, wielding a weapon— passive aggression—that is uniquely suited to these people. Ed comes out of the encounter feeling vindicated, but still shamed. Most notably though, Izzy seeks revenge on Stede for acting as the catalyst that changes his captain, but what does that get him? The crew’s dismissal, exile from the ship, a plot that results in Ed punching him, nearly thrown overboard… Sure, you could technically argue that he wins in the end by reverting Ed back to Blackbeard, but the audience is well aware that this so-called victory isn’t healthy for either of them and, under the rules of the rom-com, it’s inevitably temporary. It’s only a success in Izzy’s warped, short-term perspective and, as I’ll argue later, I’m not at all convinced he truly wants this.

Revenge is a part of the cycle of abuse. It results in kids like Jim losing their childhood and people like Izzy losing everything due to an obsession with hanging onto the past. The Revenge is an excellent ship name for a wannabe pirate who’s still just a little too naive about what the life is actually like, or for a crew that’s still immersed in the consequences of revenge, both their own and others’. But now, most of the crew is breaking away from that, OFMD has shown in a mere ten episodes how damaging revenge really is, how irrevocably tied up in toxic masculinity, and Stede, as their captain, has been one of the biggest proponents of forgiveness. He immediately sets Ed’s attempted murder aside in the name of their friendship. He does the same for Mary, forgiving her for the skewer, the infidelity, and in turn being forgiven for abandoning the family and refusing to meet her halfway. I hope that when Ed eventually forgives Stede too that the ship— their ship now, as true co-captains—will change to reflect what they’ve come to value in both themselves and one another.

Cheesy and stupid as it sounds (fitting for the show, perhaps?) I’m kind of rooting for The Unicorn. Even if her maidenhead was blown up by the British :(

Really, I loved The Revenge’s maidenhead the moment I saw it, not just for how fitting it is in regards to Stede’s sexuality (he’s not going to put a woman on the bow of the ship), or his personality (he loves all things beautiful and rare), but also because of what it represents in terms of his own existence and, eventually, that of his crew. Stede, simply put, shouldn’t exist. A Gentleman Pirate? A soft, kind, forgiving man surviving on the high seas? It’s an oxymoron that shouldn’t be possible—the exact kind of absurd originality that drew Ed to him in the first place—and yet, here Stede stands. He’s a unicorn, an impossibility that, if it were to exist, everyone would flock to and instinctively love.

More importantly though, this crew deserves to have a ridiculous and totally lame ship name. The Revenge, though important for season one, just isn’t their brand anymore.

━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━

BlackBonnet and Balancing Identities

As discussed above, OFMD approaches the dismantling of toxic masculinity with a great deal of nuance. Specifically, it doesn’t say that masculinity itself is inherently bad (it’s not, that’s why we apply the “toxic” label), nor that every way of performing it is automatically a problem within the bounds of that cycle of abuse, nor even that one type of self-expression is ultimately better than another. Rather, the way to approach your identity—both in the show and in real life—is not to swap out one binary presentation for another—the “bad” thing for the “good”—but to be open to any and all aspects that resonate with you. What this results in is a cast who doesn’t just go “Oh, we’re allowed to like traditionally feminine things? Great! Let’s do that instead” but rather integrates such options into the personalities they’ve already built, to a greater or lesser degree depending on the character.

There’s no better example of this then, of course, Ed himself. I’ve seen a couple of takes the past few weeks that reduce Izzy and Calico Jack’s presence in his life to purely negative influences. They force him to adopt a persona he hates; one he’d give up in a heartbeat if it were socially acceptable—something he can presumably do with Stede instead. However, I’d argue that the Blackbeard persona isn’t really a persona at all, but rather just one part of Ed’s complex identity. The problem doesn’t lie in him being Blackbeard, but rather the pressure to only be Blackbeard, 24/7. As he implies when Stede first wakes up from his stab wound, it often feels like he’s working for the Blackbeard reputation, rather than that being an aspect of his identity that he’s proud to introduce himself as. Stede and Ed’s initial introduction of

Stede: “You’ve heard of me?”

Ed: “Oh, I’ve heard all about you.”

is built entirely on both their reputations, with the Blackbeard brand of screaming, smoke, and blood literally surrounding him at that moment. It’s a sharp contrast to their second meeting when Stede wakes up and sees “Ed” tending his bedside, backdropped by art and luxury. Ed has been on Blackbeard’s crew for a long time… arguably too long, with no one allowing him a reprieve to serve any other part of himself. Add onto this the problem of the rest of the world conflating Blackbeard with an exaggerated legend and you begin to understand why he feels the need to cut that part of himself out completely, never-mind the fact that he can’t.

Ed has to contend not only with those who expect him to act as a bloodthirsty pirate at all times— performing traditional masculinity through violence, leadership, repressing emotions, etc.—but also those who have built Blackbeard up in their minds to be far more than he actually is. Where are your nine guns? Where are your red eyes and smoking head? If you once skinned this guy for talking back, why aren’t you doing that to everyone who so much as looks at you funny? That’s an exhausting way to live.

So, we see Ed’s desire for a more balanced identity early on, notably in one of the first scenes where he is not hidden by shadows, or looming dramatically over a semi-conscious Stede. Izzy finds him observing the clouds and wants him to “focus” because seriously, now is not the time to be finding pretty pictures in the sky, not when the Spanish are bearing down on us. What this moment comes down to is miscommunication (with a healthy dose of Ed being a dramatic ass who likes revealing his plans at the last moment). Izzy doesn’t understand how observing the clouds might be useful for their survival and Ed doesn’t understand why it’s so hard for him to chill for a second, regardless of whether their cloud gazing has a practical application or not: “If you just put some fucking imagination into it… it’s like pulling teeth with you sometimes, man.” Izzy continues to be a roadblock to the complexities of Ed’s identity even when they do something as simple as greet the crew. Unlike Izzy who suggests “the usual” of making them repair the ship and then executing them, or Fang who hits Black Pete pretty much on instinct, this time Ed doesn’t want to start a relationship with violence and fear. He discourages Fang from hurting them further—"No need to brutalize our guests,” with “guests” undermining Izzy’s perspective of them as “captives”—he shakes hands with everyone he comes across, tries to keep Roach from addressing him as Sir, and even, in his own pirate-y way, compliments the crew by teasingly drawing attention to their unwashed bodies, the rope many of them wear, and Wee John’s size. Ed is thriving here, essentially code-switching between a group like the Spanish who expect the fearsome Blackbeard, and the crew of the fascinating Stede Bonnet who deserve the far more amenable Ed. Frankly, everything is going great until Izzy interrupts Frenchie’s question with a shout for everyone to get back to work because Blackbeard is busy. He doesn’t have time for chatting. He wouldn’t want that, surely, and Izzy’s cry causes Fang to hit Pete again, hissing afterwards. As his First Mate, others take their cue from Izzy about how to act around their captain. Obviously, he’d want to keep things as they’ve always been… right?

Yet Ed’s expression says it all.

What Ed is looking for is someone who will allow him to be all aspects of himself, simultaneously, the scarily brilliant Blackbeard who divines the skies to avoid his enemies and the imaginatively inclined Ed who sees not just sausages, but specifically frankfurters on the horizon; the fearsome Blackbeard who takes out a Spanish vessel with blood and screams, and the charming Ed who bonds with the captives he rescued. Unlike with Izzy, this balance is something Stede actively encourages. This is not the story of a rugged, unsophisticated pirate getting a My Fair Lady treatment, it’s the story of that alongside the “lady” learning how to toughen up and engage in adventure. The pact Stede and Ed make to teach one another their respective skills allows Ed to explore the cashmere-loving side of himself without giving up the aspects of Blackbeard that he still enjoys. It strikes me that Ed is at his most traditionally feminine only when he’s grieving the loss of Stede—otherwise just leaning towards a pirate who likes fancy teacups and bedtime stories—with these scenes deliberately mirroring a girl’s classic breakup routine of lounging around, eating their feelings away, writing bad poetry, getting support from the BFF, and finding solace among a larger group. Basically, it’s a time when the character is going through an extreme, not a reflection of their preferred, ideal state. Though Ed lost the symbol of his masculinity an episode earlier, his beard, I wouldn’t have been shocked at the loss of his hair too: that iconic moment when the dumped party takes scissors to their hair, crying in front of the bathroom mirror as they give themselves a new do to represent their new life.

Of course, Ed still gets a makeover. Given the attention paid to costuming in OFMD, I think it’s worth acknowledging that, stylistically, it’s only in Stede’s company on The Revenge that Blackbeard and Ed co-exist, so to speak. We already know that being Blackbeard 24/7 isn’t working for him. Then, Ed may be supremely eager to attend the party in episode five, but the act of dressing him as an aristocrat backfires: he realizes that he can’t sustain—and ultimately doesn’t really want—the acceptance of such callous, fickle people. “High society in all its grotesque glory,” Stede says and it is quite grotesque. Even before we get to the disastrous dinner, or see how men of color are treated by the aristocracy, the imagery builds a sense of discomfort with the badly applied makeup (note that Stede forgoes powdering his face, making him appear much more approachable) and the harsh, Dutch angles the party goers are introduced with. This isn’t a space of sophistication, more like a deranged funhouse where the clowns attack with words. Ed is ultimately not comfortable in Jeff’s purple outfit because, like being Blackbeard all the time, it requires him to play a specific part indefinitely, one he’s unable to sustain even if he wanted to. 

So, Jeff the accountant decked out in bows isn’t a persona Ed can maintain for long. Then in episode ten, Edward appears to be doing alright under the crew’s care, dressed in Stede’s floral robe, his beard gone, at his most traditionally feminine as he sings some of his poetry, but I think the ease with which Izzy and the insistent call of “Edward!” was able to push him into becoming the Kraken, visually Edward’s opposite

speaks to how completely burying that side of himself won’t work either. We literally see that on screen: Ed lasts a few days before he skews hard in the opposite direction, throwing Lucius overboard and forcing Izzy to eat his own toe. The man dressed in that robe is one consumed by grief, not revealing their “real” inner self. Even if Ed hadn’t become the Kraken, I can’t imagine him giving up on pirating entirely. Captaining, raiding, threatening people, setting up death battles between crabs and turtles… Ed likes all of that. “But… this is who I am. This is me.” This line is delivered to Stede as he challenges who Ed is in Jack’s presence and though Ed is wrong that violence is all he’s good for, that lifestyle is a part of him—one that Stede very much wants to be a part of. This is a man who, even in the comfort of Stede’s ship and dressed in Stede’s clothes, is getting a kick out of supposedly life-or-death situations. You’d better decide what we’re doing next, “Blackbeard,” because Lucius is counting down and the Spanish are nearly upon us. You’d better run me through with your sword because otherwise I’m going to shoot you, look, the pistol is cocked, I’m counting down again, do it, do it, do it! Ed thrives on adventure and at least a bit of manufactured danger. He’d never be content settling for poetry and musical numbers alone. As he admits to Stede when he thinks he should leave The Revenge soon, he’s really not made for sitting idle. Idleness (luxury and rest) are important parts of life that he’s learning to embrace, but like anyone else Ed can’t do that 24/7, especially not after a lifetime of living as the most adventurous of pirates. It’s the same problem pervading the version of Ed dressed in prisoner’s clothes, insisting that folding things is fine. Great, even. Funny though that he doesn’t look too pleased about it once Stede is gone.

This is something we’ve seen from Ed before: putting on an emotional show to reassure someone else. The last time it was Izzy, gleeful that Ed “still got it” and yeah, Ed looks just as pleased by that pronouncement until he turns around and the smile drops.

What Ed actually says he wants on the beach is to be able to be “Edward” for a while, someone not required to act in all the ways expected of Blackbeard.

“It’s kinda nice just to take a load off. Just to be… Edward. I don’t know if I want to go back to the old days, just drinking all day and biting the heads off turtles and making some poor bloke eat his own toe as a laugh.”

Here, Ed frames being Blackbeard as non-stop violence and drink, an “all day” affair, rather than something that can influence parts of his life and not others. What Ed wants is that variety. What he intends to do though is to ditch Blackbeard entirely… which is why he eventually comes roaring back, forcing the next poor bloke (Izzy) to again eat his own toe. Yeah, we should totally ditch everyone else to go to China. New names, new ship, new backstories, and we’ll run as far as possible and pretend that half our lives simply never happened. That’ll work! /s Obviously, it didn’t. I don’t think it would have even if Stede had shown up at the dock. His own desire to face his past, his family, is evidence of that. Running isn’t going to help Ed, if only because the adoption of these new personalities that try to ignore Blackbeard’s existence inevitably fail. Jeff hears one bit of passive aggression and he’s threatening to kill everyone at the table; Edward has one moment of doubt and wakes up with plans to maroon most of the crew. Ed has, is seems, spent years pretending that The Kraken killed his father, separating that being from himself through language like “the creature” and even “I tried to warn him.” Inevitably though, The Kraken resurfaces at the end of the season because The Kraken is a part of Ed that cannot be ignored, lest it overwhelm him.

Just as Stede attempts to change the pirate profession rather than denying his true self, Ed needs to accept that he’s Blackbeard—always will be—and rather than ignoring that part of himself, change who others think Blackbeard is (he can lead raids and hold tea parties!). As discussed above, he gets the closest to achieving that balance with Stede on the ship and Ed’s costuming reflects that. Outside of his play dress-up, Ed never gives his leather up completely. Rather, he supplements his base personality (Blackbeard’s leather) with all the things he previously thought were unavailable to him. A bright purple shirt while going off treasure hunting, something Blackbeard has never previously done? That’s a bit of Jeff the accountant and Ed, Stede’s almost-boyfriend. Losing his gloves as the season goes on? That’s a bit of Edward, showing his emotional side as he displays touch as a love language. Ed allows himself to partake in fine things while with Stede, drinking from fancy teacups, or cuddling under Stede’s dressing gown, or having his swatch of silk turned into a pocket square. “This is the most open and available I’ve ever seen him” Fang comments as Ed lounges on the deck, telling the story of how he murdered his father, but twisting it into a type of fairy tale. Ed can’t just shuck off Blackbeard like an ill-fitting coat and come up with something entirely new. As the finale showed, that way lies disaster.

In thinking about how Stede allows Ed to embrace all aspects of his identity, it’s important to note that Ed does the same for Stede. It’s not simply that Ed has gone, “Yeah sure, I’ll teach you how to be a proper pirate if you teach me how to be a gentleman,” but that the writing itself goes out of its way to draw attention to unexpected similarities between them, continually emphasizing that both have sides to themselves that they can’t ignore. Ed appears quite uncomfortable when Calico Jack brings up the ship he burned down—with the crew inside—over breakfast with Stede because Stede is a gentleman, someone who Ed fears will be repulsed by his murderous actions. And yes, to an extent he is, with Stede growing frustrated with how Ed acts around Calico Jack, emphasizing that violent nature above everything else… yet just three episodes prior, Stede was also part of a ship burning down, the crew still inside. Sound familiar? No, he didn’t deliberately set the blaze as Ed presumably did, but neither of them did anything to help the nobles either, too busy having their almost-kiss back on The Revenge. “The Best Revenge is Dressing Well” is essentially the Gentleman Pirate’s version of Blackbeard’s cruelty, giving us just one example of how Stede can be as monstrous as Ed can.

Not that OFMD leaves it at just one example, of course. Everyone realizes that Stede is absolutely deranged, right? I mean yes, I enjoy writing Soft Boy Stede as much as the next fic author (or at least I would if I ever finished this project…) but canonically the man is half insane. You know, just like how Izzy describes Blackbeard. They’re not even sporting that big a difference in the type of insanity, if we consider that both have a “I technically never murdered anyone if anything other than my own hands is the cause of death :)” policy going on. (A policy that, hilariously, Mary and her friend don’t have time for. They’ll just justify things after the fact: “Murder is a natural cause!”) Stede might dislike violence as a general policy, but he’s ultimately fine with it happening provided it’s a) justified according to his own morals and b) he doesn’t personally have to get his hands dirty. Ed’s men are tearing into another ship? Note the gusto, Lucius! These men are now very, very dead? Sure, Ivan, help yourself to their teeth. My wife was ready to stab a kebob skewer into my brain? Yeah, fair enough, sometimes you’ve just got to murder a bitch. This man is feral in ways that go far beyond the foolishness of building a fireplace into his ship. Stede’s desire to be a “real” pirate pushes him to chase after the likes of Izzy Hands, or tell an unknown captain to go suck eggs in hell, or agree to inevitably deadly duels, or try to fire on three naval war vessels. Ed is the voice of reason there who tells him to raise a white flag! This man built a ship in secret and left in the dead of night to become an outlaw. Then, somehow, he accumulated a crew that includes:

A cannibal that speaks seagull

God’s most perfect little assassin

Said assassin’s BFF/boyfriend

Blackbeard’s self-professed right-hand man (Stede     believes it)

The cook who’s just a little too into dismemberment

A sweetie built like a fucking tank

Whatever the fuck The Swede’s got going on

A guy who thinks the world is full of soul-stealing     cats and demons, but who’s happily singing songs about it anyway

And Lucius (who deals psychological damage)

How was anyone surprised when Stede managed to fall for—and woo—the most dangerous pirate to ever sail the seven seas? These two were made for each other.

Plus, even among the comedy, Stede has moments when he’s legitimately, classically badass. He tells Calico Jack to get off his ship, now, and no one is questioning his orders then. (Note that Ed stands back, allowing Stede to steer the conversation.) After a season of looking like a buffoon in fights, Stede slams Doug down on the table and manages a highly convincing, “Unhand me or bleed.” When Stede leaves for the second time he’s in a sensible shirt and pants, his hair more slicked back than curled, and if we didn’t already know what kind of show this was, Stede would come across as a very different protagonist in that moment. He has layers (thanks, Shrek) which include the ability to be just as badass as his pirate boyfriend. Not, like, Stede is a muppet who managed to outwit Izzy via genre-bending shenanigans badass, but proper badass too.

Not all of the similarities between them are quite so, uh… murderous though. “This is Happening”—along with being the first queer confirmation fans were looking for, important enough to become the very title of the episode— is a thirty-minute exploration of Ed and Stede trying to give the other what he needs without realizing that they each already had it. The conflict of the episode begins when Ed thinks he needs to leave The Revenge soon (thinking Stede wants him to leave) and Stede, in turn, thinking he has to manufacture a daring adventure in order to hold Ed’s interest (he doesn’t). Miscommunication at its finest! In fact, Stede is so focused on keeping Ed entertained that he ignores the legitimate crisis of scurvy and, for the first time, really throws his wealth around in an attempt to solve the problem by buying a treasure map, spending “like, more money than I’ve ever seen in my life.” Even the costume design gets in on the action. Stede is usually the most vibrantly dressed out of the whole crew, a contrast to Ed’s all black ensemble. But here, in the episode where Stede makes Ed his sole focus, he’s the one who stands out in a bright purple shirt, flanked by two beige outfits:

Don’t even get me started on how that purple—not exactly a common color in these parts—is also the protective slip for Stede’s shovel, the tool he’s desperate to use to impress Ed. “Uh, well, we didn’t come all this way not to dig something up.”

The joke at the end of the episode is that “treasure is the real treasure”

but beyond the day spent together, or even the orange as a unifying, familial force across generations, the real-real treasure is the development of Ed and Stede’s relationship. (As well as Lucius getting the hot pirate gossip of the decade lol.) Seriously though, sure, the pan down to the map on the ground is meant to eventually show us that it’s caught on fire, but for the first few seconds of the shot the viewer is left to visually connect “This is happening” to the map in general; a guide towards some yet unnamed treasure. They’re the treasure. They might be screwing a lot of it up right now, but amidst a hatred of nature and a fear that no one is interesting enough for Blackbeard, they’ve found this moment of tenderness over a grilled snake, imagining different lives for themselves as a restaurant owner and customer. Set all the elaborate plans aside, just let them sit together, and Stede and Ed are a whole lot more alike than either has yet to realize.

Furthering that point, I particularly like how Lucius has bookended conversations about their personalities. “Is he always this high-strung?” Ed asks him while Stede is hurrying them off to start their treasure hunting adventure. Yeah, he is. Yet later it’s Stede who accuses Ed of being unable to relax, with Lucius backing that up with, “You are kind of intense, like, all the time.” Both Ed and Stede think the other is so different from them because they’ve each spent their lives embodying just one identity—the aristocrat and the bloodthirsty pirate—as well as internalizing the idea that they’re somehow lesser than this counterpart—Ed isn’t sophisticated enough for a gentleman, Stede isn’t cool enough for a real pirate—yet once you get an outside perspective like Lucius’ the reaction is oh… they’re actually really similar. Not just in terms of Ed enjoying fancy parties and Stede enjoying setting assholes ablaze, but in their core personalities as high-strung individuals desperate to impress the other. Ed despises wandering through nature, but puts up with it because Stede wants to look for treasure, but Stede only wants to look for treasure because he thinks he needs an adventure to impress Ed with, but the adventure Ed was already happy with was what we saw at the start of the episode: planning a raid while drinking tea with “a dollop of milk and seven sugars”—the fearsome pirate and lover of fine things existing in tandem. They’re going in circles. If Stede had simply said, “Hey, can I come on the raid?” or if Ed had gone, “Hey, want to raid with me?” then none of this would have happened. But right now, neither is confident enough in the other liking them to offer themselves as they are; to realize that they’re more alike than they are different.

Their similarities, needs, and attraction are only made obvious to the audience, not them, in “This is Happening,” which means that things inevitably get worse in “We Gull Way Back.” We learn later that Calico Jack was sent to retrieve Ed before the British arrived, which means everything he does after stepping foot on The Revenge is in service of that goal. Convincing the others to head to Blind Man’s Cove is a bit of trickery that the show acknowledges, but beyond that we have to consider how Jack manages to get Ed away from the ship first. Basically, he acts like a dick and in doing so reminds Ed of his “true” self: one who is defined solely by violent past-times and self-destructive tendencies. Everything he chooses to do also does double-duty of painting Stede in an unflattering light, further convincing Ed that they’re too different to maintain this relationship (whatever it currently is). They’re having fun blowing things up, but then here comes Stede making them feel guilty about the antique that’s been in his family for generations. They’re enjoying “whipies” and then Stede Bonnet ruins the mood, grimacing at the injuries they’ve sustained. Why would you want to hang out with such a killjoy, Blackie? Things come to a head when Jack confronts Stede about his relationship with Ed, not only throwing the sexual aspect in his face—What? You’re not buggering? Well huh, I had that with him…—but also verbalizing the worry they’ve both been internalizing: “We’ve got a lot in common, me and him. In a lot of ways, we’re the same man.” AKA, you’re too different to ever have that kind of bond, so just stop trying. Notably, this manipulation doesn’t actually work on Stede. He holds his ground, saying that perhaps Ed is no longer the Blackie he knew, but the conversation still upsets him enough that he heads back to the ship. This gives Jack the perfect opportunity to play the good friend to Stede’s (supposed) tantrum about their coconut war. “C'mon, Stede!” he yells. “Don’t leave!” Jack ensures that when Ed is there, he plays the part of the insecure buddy who’s trying so hard to connect with Stede… and there Stede goes, not even giving the coconut war a chance. Of course, Ed has no idea Jack tore into Stede like that (and pissed on his boots) so Stede’s response reads like he can’t accept any of the violent, pirate-y things that Ed likes, let alone any of Ed’s old mates. It’s exactly as Jack planned. By the time he’s asking who’s going to leave with him, Ed is convinced Stede doesn’t want anything to do with that part of his identity. A part that, as established, it’s not healthy to ignore. “You were always gonna realize what I am.”  

It’s clear how Jack is working to alienate Stede from Ed, but I think it’s important to note that it doesn’t work quite as well as he might have assumed it would—and I don’t just mean during the bathroom conversation. Basically, it’s real important to Stede and Ed’s relationship that Stede is supportive of Ed’s time with Jack, even if he doesn’t really like the kind of stuff they’re doing. It’s the extreme, pirate version of going, "I can’t stand horror movies, babe, but you go enjoy that marathon. Hope there’s lots of gore!” Granted, Ed repeats twice that Jack has saved his life, perhaps implying then that he feels he owes Jack the version of Blackie he remembers (parallels to Izzy, anyone?) and in “This Is Happening” Ed grudgingly admits that the moth Stede found is actually pretty cool. So, it may well be that without Jack’s influence, or the debts in their past, Ed would be less inclined towards choosing turtle-crab death battles over every other possible activity, especially when he’s got a lover of animals as a part of the group.

Still, what Ed actually wants aside, it’s important that Stede still tries to accommodate that part of him. When Ed asks him to give Jack a chance Stede does, even though at that point he has good reason to dislike him, reasons that go beyond simply taking up Ed’s attention and bringing out a side of him that Stede is iffy about. He weathers the criticism of his crew when they tear into him for making Jack cry—“Well, it was a pretty bitchy question”—the same way that Stede weathers the aristocrats finding Ed more interesting than him: “Do you never cease with your insistent nattering? We are trying to hear Jeff!” and the rather blunt “You’re just sore that they like me more than you.” Stede is someone who’s never the center of the conversation (not until he heads home and impresses the other bored gentlemen), but he’s also someone empathetic enough not to blame others for that. He doesn’t begrudge Ed his fun, just goes off to find Olu and Frenchie (who, uh, don’t want to see him either…) and here Stede is likewise accepting of Jack and Ed’s popularity. He only snidely questions Jack because Jack insulted him first with a comment about real pirates vs. “store bought types.” Stede woke up this morning to find a stranger on his ship blowing up his antiques, someone who possesses the kind of personality that results in his third mutiny this year. Yet through all of this, Stede says twice “If he’s a friend of yours…” and implies the well-known ending, “then he’s a friend of mine.” Jack might not actually be a friend yet, but Stede is determined to change that for Ed’s benefit.

Of course, the problem lies not merely in Jack’s iffy behavior, or even his underlying motivations to get Stede killed. This friendship was doomed from the start simply because Jack is approaching the world from a perspective that Ed and Stede fundamentally don’t agree with. “What kind of pirate has a friend?” Jack screams when Ed leaves to go help Stede. "We’re all just in various stages of fucking each other over!” We learn here that Jack’s identification as "a friend” of Ed’s when he first arrives was a bit misleading, at best. Yeah, they’re buddies. They’ve saved each other’s hides. They even seem to legitimately enjoy each other’s company. But if you approach life under the belief that real friendship is impossible, then you will inevitably screw over the friends you have in an effort to protect yourself before they do the same to you—a self-fulfilling prophecy. Even Jack’s admission of a sexual relationship with Ed is described as a “dalliance,” brief, casual, unencumbered by deeper feelings. This is the worldview that governs 99% of the pirate community, producing the Jacks, Izzys, and (formerly) Blackbeards of the world. Remember, Ed needed a whole breakdown in the bathtub and Stede’s (frankly insane) nonchalance about the murder attempt to reach a place where he could believe that real friendship was even a possibility. I’m in love with the cinematography of this scene, with the mirrors splitting Ed and Stede and other shots where one or the other is partially obscured by the lights.

There’s a distance here despite the fact that Stede is kneeling directly beside Ed, at least until he manages to convince him that they are friends and yes, they can continue to be friends for as long as they like.

“Why do you all show such loyalty to this—this—this nothing?” Badminton screams when the crew is trying to stay Stede’s execution. Though it’s not outright stated, the answer is quite obviously because they love him. They’re all friends. But the world of OMFD is still in a place where you can’t just say that (unless you’re Blackbeard and you’re also in love with your friend) so instead everyone makes up palatable excuses for their newfound relationships. We’re loyal because Stede is actually a fearsome pirate—look, he stole vegetation! The same thing occurs in our Pilot when the crew agrees not to mutiny because Stede [checks notes] totally murdered that British officer. Right. Everyone’s just going to ignore the fact that they already wanted to drop the mutiny because Stede is a nice guy who reads them bedtime stories. Badminton’s accidental death is just the convenient excuse to let Stede live without losing face. Yet the circulation of those excuses must be real confusing to everyone who doesn’t immediately fall to the Stede Bonnet way of thinking. Everyone still verbally agrees that pirates will inevitably screw each other over and that you only follow those capable of the most heinous deeds… but now you don’t want to screw this guy over and you want to follow this marshmallow man? Badminton, Izzy, and Calico Jack can’t read between the lines, working from a rulebook that everyone else has chucked overboard, even though they keep insisting it’s in play.

The point of all this though is that Stede still tries. It was doomed to fail when it came to Jack, but nurturing that part of Ed—the part that thrives as Blackbeard, or at least as a semi-violent pirate who likes things other than the traditional activities of the aristocracy—is an important part of accepting him for who he is. The fact that Stede suffers Jack’s presence all the way through to pissing on his shoes is a testament both to his love for Ed and his willingness to help Ed maintain the parts of his pirate life that he still legitimately enjoys, slowly leading him towards a cohesive identity, rather than the fractured version we’ve mostly seen thus far.

━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━

Stede Is a Lighthouse (Duh) 

“Consider the humble lighthouse. An unwavering light that guides, and you shall be that for each other, for eternity.”

Stede is the lighthouse. I don’t need to tell anyone who reads OFMD meta that.

Still, let’s recap just a bit. We’re introduced to this concept during Stede and Mary’s wedding where the lighthouse is, on the surface, presented as a purely beneficial thing. It’s a humble, unwavering, guiding light that will remain with you for all eternity. Sounds pretty good! Yet even here we understand that the lighthouse is not without its problems, particularly when it’s applied to the wrong people. What good is being humble and unwavering if it keeps them silent about what they truly want? How can eternity be anything other than torture if you’re forced to spend it with someone you don’t love? Being a lighthouse, right from the start, has its pitfalls.

However, they’re pitfalls that Mary attempts to avoid, not Stede. In writing this I’ve been thinking a lot about Stede’s guilt and how it does (and does not) line up with the reality of the situation. Meaning, we can’t say that he screwed his family over in terms of practical needs because other than the “acre or two” he sold for his supplies and such, they inherited both his and Mary’s wealth. We also can’t say that he screwed them over emotionally given that they’re canonically much happier with him gone. Although, really, that’s too simple a spin on things. There is something to be said for the inherent problems in that abandonment—the generalized responsibility he has as a husband and father—to say nothing of how that might impact the kids, specifically. From a realistic perspective yeah, any father running off to chase his own dreams with only a note as a goodbye is #NotGood, regardless of the outcome, but my point is that the show does not emphasize that. Mary is thrilled to be living a widowed life with friends, a career, and Doug. The kids, though they clearly love their father (look at how much fun they have playing pirates with him) and deserve to have that closure with Stede over the petrified orange, also aren’t written as emotionally scarred by the change. The most damning responses to Stede leaving that we see come from Stede’s nightmares while recovering from his stab wound: Mary yelling about the letter and Alma leaning in to kill the “dog.” It’s absolutely more honorable, more emotionally healthy, and all around better that the family was able to amicably split this time, but the fact is that the vast majority of Stede’s guilt stems from his own assumption that he should feel very guilty indeed, not his family’s actual response. His subconscious summons up Badminton, but it’s his family that Stede is truly haunted by and it’s that choice to leave, not an accidental killing, that he needs to work through at the end of the season: “Until you resolve this guilt, you’ll continue to be haunted.” Yet when Stede does return home in an attempt to fix that perceived mistake, his guilt appears to be (mostly) misplaced. Sure, he technically did a bad thing, but if it resulted in a whole lot of good for everyone involved… does it matter?

Again, yeah. It matters in a generalized "Don’t be a dick and leave your family with no warning even if everyone ends up happier” kind of way. But given everything above—the specifics of Stede and Mary’s odd circumstances— I’d argue that Stede is feeling guilty for the wrong reason. He imagines that Mary and the children despise him for his abandonment when in fact they flourished in his absence. Hell, Louis doesn’t even remember who Stede is; he’s already acclimated to the idea that Doug is his real dad. However, what did cause Mary (and to a lesser extent the kids) great pain was Stede’s refusal to engage in the marriage for years while he was around, not his final choice to leave it. It’s Mary who takes Stede’s hand during the ceremony, signaling before they’re even married yet that she’s willing to reach out to him—literally. No, neither of them wants this, but Mary recognizes that they need to make the best of things. The problem is not so much that they’re living a loveless marriage, but that Stede isn’t willing to put forth the work to nurture love between them, even if it’s not the romantic love they’d both prefer. At the end of the season, we see that Mary and Stede actually get along swimmingly, hatching fuckeries together and happily supporting one another, both in their chosen partners (Ed, Doug) and their pursuits (piracy, painting). They might have reached that understanding much sooner if Stede hadn’t closed himself off to Mary, rejecting her every attempt to make their marriage bearable.

We see this disconnect in the gifts that they choose to give one another for their anniversary. Mary, in a rather mature move, has managed to combine her personal interest in painting with the goal of their marriage, something she expects Stede to care about because he too is an adult with equal standing in this relationship. So, she doesn’t ignore her own preferences, but rather tailors them in a way that she hopes will please them both: here’s a handmade gift that I put a lot of effort into, a way of showing you that I care. The gift is a visual representation of the metaphor I’m striving to make a reality. It’s also simply pertinent to the occasion, given that it’s our anniversary and I’ve made you something referencing our wedding. The fact that the lighthouse is literally fractured doesn’t take away from the fact that the overall image is still beautiful and something that Mary is proud to have created. They could build a better, fractured, but still beautiful marriage too. The fact that Stede isn’t just uninterested in the painting, but thinks the kids made it, certainly puts a damper on things and reinforces why Mary would eventually want to remove him from the family portrait. (One that, notably, doesn’t even look like them. It’s a lie, the portrait of a fictional family right from the start.)

Stede? Stede doesn’t put the same kind of thought and effort into his gift as Mary has. Oh, he’s certainly poured a lot of money and personal passion into the project, but that’s where the similarities end. Rather than finding a way to merge his interest in piracy with their marriage, Stede has flat out ignored everything that makes Mary, well, Mary. It sounds nice on the surface when Stede paints a picture (ha) of the family living on the sea together, but that’s before Mary cries out that she hates the sea. That’s not even something she’s admitting to now, dashing Stede’s otherwise understandable hopes. She apparently said that just last week when they were down on the beach together. Stede isn’t listening to her, he doesn’t see her, and ultimately the gift of the ship has nothing to do with her. Stede has gifted a model that only he would enjoy and has commissioned the building of the actual ship without her consent (imagine your partner secretly buying a Ferrari, but so much worse. I know it’s the 1700s and men do whatever they want in the marriage, but still). Then, when Mary pressures Stede, he lies about it, claiming the project is cancelled. Frankly, that’s a lot for any spouse to deal with. They’re both unhappy here—despite what Mary may claim in this exact moment, saying she doesn’t hate their life—they both want different things, and though it’s commendable that Stede takes the plunge to secure the life that he wants (brave too) the result has been years when he made little attempt to salvage the life he had.

Though less dramatic than the gifts, this disengagement is likewise seen right at the start of the flashbacks when the camera sinks six feet under to years after their marriage, when Mary is drinking wine at the table, trying unsuccessfully to engage Stede in conversation. He’s too busy reading—about piracy?—and doesn’t even show any interest in playing with the kids until Mary tells him not to play pirates because it gives them nightmares. But piracy is the only thing Stede is putting emotional energy towards, resulting in him ignoring Mary, his children, and disobeying a stern request that she had good reason to make. After all, right now Stede isn’t striking me as the parent who will deal with those nightmares when they surface.

This scene changes our reading of the other flashback dinner where Mary still sits at the far end of the table, both kids at her side, Stede unsuccessfully trying to offer his opinion about the farm animals. I was actually disappointed in OFMD for a hot second when I first watched this. “Ah,” I thought. “Another shrew wife, huh? Here Stede is trying to connect and Mary is rudely ignoring him, encouraging the kids to do the same. It’s particularly worrying that she’s dismissing a comment about the horse having “kind eyes.” What, can men not like sensitive animals, Mary? Oh well. It’s not like I haven’t seen this before.” “This” being shows that throw their women under the bus for the sake of the guys’ development. OFMD proved me wrong though because all our other flashbacks show Mary trying so hard to connect with Stede while Stede continually rebuffs her attempts. Which means that when they get to this point, years later, Mary is just done. It’s not that she’s inherently uncaring, or looking to oust Stede from the family, and she certainly doesn’t harbor any disdain for his traditionally feminine interests. It’s that she’s spent literal years reaching out to him and continually hitting an emotional brick wall. But then once in a blue moon he tries to get chummy over dinner? Damn, I’d be inclined to ignore him too. By the time Stede has decided to go be a pirate and then comes back to upend Mary’s life again because he “decided to un-abandon [his] family on a whim” I’m like OKAY. Mary can have a little murder attempt, as a treat. 

(As a side note, we actually have a third flashback at the dinner table where Stede is sitting right next to his family, entertaining them with a story. I’m on the fence about this one, but right now I’m leaning towards this being a fantasy as opposed to an actual flashback. Out of everything we see from his past, playing pirates with the children is the only other happy moment. Stede just doesn’t have the kind of relationship with his family that would bridge the literal space between one end of the table and the other. That’s the point. He comes out of this supposed memory while staring at the sea, commenting to himself that his family is here now, on the ship. You know, the people he’s reading fairy tales to instead of his own children, the people he has managed to connect with. I see this as Stede imagining up the home life he would have liked to have, one where he somehow made Mary happy and she made him happy too, but given that this moment never actually existed, he’s trying again on The Revenge instead. We see the same “flashback” while Stede is lying in bed at the reformed sailors camp, but it crops up when he’s theorizing that Mary might have reported him dead out of spite and it’s followed by the definitely real moment when she ignores him to ask Alma about her favorite pig. Again, seems more like a moment of brief wish fulfillment than something Stede literally lost.)

All of this is neatly summarized in their final flashback scene, the night that Stede leaves on The Revenge:

Mary: “Stede… I know you’re unhappy. I’m unhappy too.”

Stede: “I’m not unhappy.”

Mary: “No? Sometimes I think I’ve heard you crying by yourself.”

Stede: “Uh… no. That’s probably the wind you’re hearing. Or an owl, it might be an owl.”

Mary: “I know we never would have chosen each other, not in a million years, but all we have is this one life. We have to try, don’t we? Otherwise, what’s the point?

Mary being the only one to emotionally reach out? Check. Acknowledging both her and Stede’s thoughts, but having him deny the truth of it? Check. Stede’s inability to admit to a “weak” response to this unhappiness like crying at night? Check. Him lying to her and ending the conversation by pretending to be asleep? Check. Topping it all off by sneaking off to the ship, revealing to the audience that Stede never intended to meet her halfway, this entire conversation was just a bump in his plan to leave her? A million checks all on top of each other. Stede has turned “We have to try" into “I have to try.” This all might make it sound like I think Stede is The Worst Ever, but far from it. I think he’s wonderfully flawed. OFMD could have easily been the story of a repressed Ed getting coaxed into emotional fulfillment by a Stede Bonnet who already has it all worked out (or vice versa)—and that would have been great. But it’s far more compelling to me to watch two thoroughly floundering men trying to better themselves together. Stede might not be at the level of feeding someone their own toe, but he’s certainly had his fair share of failings. This initial failing of not communicating with Mary about what he wants and needs is something that Stede seems to realize on a subconscious level, even if it takes him until the end of the season to try and do something about it. “Coward,” he mutters while on his sickbed. “I was a coward.” But after they finally confront one another, with complete honesty this time, they’re brought together both emotionally and literally. The cinematography moves from the two of them divided in their own carriages, separated by a split screen, to sharing a carriage as they plan both their futures.

So Stede fails to be the husband Mary needs (he never could have been), but he likewise fails to even meet her halfway, at least at the start. However, this doesn’t mean that Stede has failed as a lighthouse. No, he certainly didn’t guide in the way the pastor assumed he would, but Stede’s selfishness nevertheless led to Mary finding her own freedom, her artistic expression, and the love of her life. If we think about how the lighthouse is an inanimate object, it doesn’t matter whether Stede intends to guide or not—he illuminates for anyone who happens to come within his orbit. Of course, this also means that people are likely to crash up on his rocks whether Stede intends that or not too. When Stede leaves Mary, he believes he’s hurt his family terribly, only to return and find that they’ve been the happiest without him. In contrast, when Stede leaves Ed, he thinks he’s doing right by him, buying fully into the cruel picture that Badminton paints of his actions:

Badminton: “Stede Bonnet is not a human. You’re a monster. A plague. You defile beautiful things: my dear brother, your own family, you even managed to bring history’s greatest pirate to ruin. And here you are, unscathed, God’s perfect little rich boy.”

Stede says he agrees with this assessment entirely (my heart) and even before this he tries to reassure Ed that he’s okay with the execution because at some point he has to “face the music for the things he’s done” and the “people he’s hurt.” This is why Stede leaves. He can’t do anything about either Badminton now, but he can try to fix things with his family and avoid ruining Ed any more than he already has. Problem is, Mary never shattered on his rocks. She guided herself in his absence and it’s Steve’s return that causes strife (until they’re able to be honest with each other, that is). In contrast, Stede has been guiding Ed this whole time—and Ed him—and it’s him leaving that causes Ed to shatter. Stede gets it backwards (love a protagonist who’s allowed to fuck up despite their best intentions) and it’s only at the very end of the season that he realizes that mistake. He needs to return to Ed, the man he can apply those vows to.

Though of course, they already gave a version of the wedding vows, albeit in a different context. Still, given the pervasiveness of the metaphor, there’s something quite romantic about them yelling in synch, “We need to be a lighthouse!” and then pulling off an awesome plan together, one that requires Ed’s daring (blowing liquor into the lamp), Stede’s finery (the reflection of the mirror), and the help of their crew (Wee John making the lighthouse warning call). They might have been creating a fictional lighthouse in that moment, but that’s no more or less real than the metaphor of the wedding vows. “We need to be a lighthouse [to each other].”

━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━

Izzy Hands (Affectionate and Derogatory)

Ah, we finally come to this gremlin of a man. Let the discourse commence!

For me, a neat summary of Izzy’s character is that he’s the living embodiment of Black Pete’s fantasy. At the start of “A Damned Man” Pete tells the crew a story that, at first glance, appears to be nonsensically over-the-top. Indeed, as the tale goes on his shipmates start rolling their eyes, disgusted by Stede’s gullibility. Glowing red eyes? Fighting off three men simultaneously? “The Dread Black Pete”? C'mon. How can you possibly believe all this? This is clearly a case of a man spinning a yarn, imagining up a power fantasy and hoping to convince us of it.

The thing is though… this fantasy is pretty realistic.

Now, obviously it’s not real real. The most absurd details of the tale are the exact kind of exaggerations that Ed is upset by. When Stede shows him an illustration of Blackbeard he’s disgusted by the fantasy elements that serve to paint him as more bloodthirsty (and traditionally masculine) than he actually is: “Fucking viking vampire clown with—look at that—one, two, nine guns all over him. Nine guns!” with the use of “him” separating Ed from the drawing. So no, there are no glowing red eyes, skull on his belt, or a head made of smoke. But the reaction these imagined Frenchmen have is exactly on the mark. During the story it might seem ridiculous for a man to throw himself overboard merely from spotting Blackbeard’s ship—it’s supposed to seem ridiculous while Pete is telling it—but we learn later that this is precisely how the pirate world reacts to Ed. The appearance of his right-hand man is enough to keep Jackie from starting a new nose jar. Merely seeing Blackbeard—in a terrified, delusional state, no less—is indeed enough to send grown Dutchmen running for their lives when all the other fuckery of that night barely moved them. There’s a truth to Pete’s story underneath all the absurd details and Izzy is living it. As Blackbeard’s First Mate, Izzy’s life is what other pirate’s fantasies are.

And I think that’s really important for understanding why he’s, you know, an absolutely deranged little man that I want to slide under a microscope and write articles on. Izzy had everything going for him—or at least, everything he thought it was possible to have—before stupid fucking Stede Bonnet showed up.

It’s nothing new in the fandom to say that Izzy is in love with Blackbeard (not necessarily Edward, or even Ed— though the possibility of that is there imo. We’ll get to that.) Nor is it revolutionary to point out that he’s the one human in a muppet cast, a man who went to bed in a gritty action-drama and woke up in a rom-com. However, it’s not just that Izzy is trying to navigate a world whose rules have suddenly and inexplicably been turned inside out—duels are now won through absurd happenstance rather than skill, romance occurs through heartfelt communication rather than violence functioning as subtext—it’s that his original world was celebrated before it was lost. As discussed above, we as the audience recognize how damaging that world can be (or at least, I hope we do), but for the first couple of episodes the entire cast emphasizes how much they love their gritty, dangerous, subtext-fueled lives. It’s in Frenchie singing about how a pirate’s life isn’t just short, but nice. How when given the option to just sit on a beach and relax for once, Wee John vocally prefers to blow things up. Roach is more than a little eager to torture their hostages. Buttons is ready and waiting to cannibalize his friends. Black Pete dreams of slaughtering men at his Captain’s behest and when they make port at a town where men are indeed dying at their feet and vomiting endless blood into buckets, they all comment about how The Republic of Pirates just isn’t what it used to be. Pirates have gone soft and, however much the crew comes to embrace softness for themselves, there is a sense of real disappointment in that loss.

Things are changing. (“Is that a gift shop?”) Stede is furthering that change and the crew is receptive to his efforts. They legitimately enjoy their craft projects and bedtime stories. Quite obviously, much of the show is about these characters unlearning toxic masculinity and figuring out how to embrace all forms of self-expression, no matter what that might look like. There’s a lot to unpack there, but the point for this section is that no one is secretly waiting to chuck aside all traditional aspects of their pirate life once someone like Stede says it’s okay. Roach likes torturing and cooking delicious tapas. Wee John likes setting things on fire and helping his mom make dresses. Ed enjoys going to fancy parties with Stede, but he also enjoys the activities he associates with Calico Jack: whipping bottles off the side of the ship, or betting on a knife-turtle-crab fight. As Geraldo lays out, having “balls” is what really matters. It’s not a matter of gender—Jackie has the biggest balls of them all—but rather how much of a badass you appear in front of others. Such personas are rejected only once they’re taken too far (as often happens with Ed), but the violent, dangerous, strength-based manner of showing off is still very ingrained in everyone’s mindset. The concept of “cool” still holds a great deal of sway and Izzy, more than anyone except Blackbeard himself, is very, very cool.

Or at least he was.

Izzy had everything going for him in this world and goddamn, I can’t help but feel bad for the guy once he loses it. He’s Blackbeard lite. Scarred. Tattooed. Dressed all in leather. In possession of a fantastic voice thanks to Con O'Neill. He has superb sword skills and the position everyone else dreams of. Izzy has it all, right down to the ability to spot the pitfalls in his original genre:

Oluwande: “This is the ghost of the forest!”

Stede: “I didn’t know this isle was haunted.”

Izzy: “It’s obviously one of your men.”

Stede: “But is it?”

Izzy: “Yes, it is.”

Stede: (whispering): “But is it?”

In another version of OFMD this would have worked. I mean, it did work, but here I’m referring to the original intention of Stede’s plan: to convince Izzy of his fanciful tale. I’m sure we can all think of a story where the protagonist successfully tricks the stupider (or simply more gullible) antagonist, even one where ghosts are involved in the lie. If the antagonist is not immediately taken in by the ruse something then inevitably turns the tide of their confidence and they run away scared. We know this scene. Izzy is supposed to stand firm at first, but then falter as Stede continues to insist that a ghost is nearby, or one of his men pipes up with a folk tale they heard and suddenly it’s well shit, if you believe it, then maybe it’s true. But of course, Izzy does none of that. He knows how his own tropes work. There’s a ghost! No there’s not. Yes, there is! Nope. It’s just your men in the woods. You can’t trick a man who knows how their story goes. If the world hadn’t tilted while Izzy wasn’t looking, he’d be so impressive here, but as it stands… Izzy doesn’t know how to navigate a rom-com, resulting in a sudden rock, a silly ambush, and oh, would you look at that. Stede wins.

The absurd position he’s suddenly been thrust into is made clear through the very first shot, in which the formerly badass pirate is framed between Stede’s legs, making for both a ridiculous and slightly suggestive image.

Izzy, like any good character plucked from a homoerotic laden, but ultimately “no homo” story, has numerous moments like this one. As in, far too many for me to list here. Some highlights though would be him getting reeeaal close to other men as a form of intimidation, tearing open Stede’s shirt as a means of scaring him, and the entire debacle that was getting Ed down from his fuckery harness (a scene I’ll come back to). The change in genre doesn’t simply result in Stede’s muppet-ness allowing him to beat Izzy in duels, obliterating his “cool” factor as a result, it also means that Izzy is suddenly faced with text where there was formerly only subtext. He was the ultimate badass not simply because he used to be able to beat the likes of Stede Bonnet with ease, but because he was formerly the Heterosexual Icon in a genre that celebrated such postering, his own queercoding existing only between the lines—and doesn’t the target audience of his original story like it that way? Yet now it’s a rom-com, a queer rom-com, and what was once considered awesome is… not. Izzy now comes across as silly in fights and downright toxic when it comes to emotional maturity. As someone who is queercoded, but ultimately antagonistic towards the rest of the (queer) cast, a man who is struggling to navigate a world that no longer worships all he represents, we come to the big question: Is Izzy Hands queerphobic?

Yes.

But it’s “Yes” with a caveat.

See, fans are correct to point out that Izzy is repeating queerphobic rhetoric regardless of the reason why (AKA, his own repressed attraction). You can’t have a character sneer at another man for wearing a silk gown and pining for his boyfriend, only to turn around and insist that there’s nothing damaging in both believing that and trying to convince Ed of that “truth.” Izzy is queerphobic in the same way a kid calling another kid “fag” as an insult is queerphobic. Yeah, maybe the kid just picked up the slur from a Youtube video and repeated it without any knowledge of the other kid’s perceived sexuality, or maybe this is a kind of defense mechanism to avoid questioning their own attraction, or maybe peer pressure of their friends nearby pushed them to say something they didn’t truly mean, or maybe this is how they connect with someone they secretly like (the pulling of pigtails), etc. Regardless of the imagined context, nothing changes the fact that the act itself, the language and an intent to hurt in at least some regard, is queerphobic. Izzy framing Ed’s grief over a lost boyfriend, as well as the various ways in which he’s no longer conforming to traditional masculinity, as bad is an act of queerphobia, regardless of whatever else Izzy has got going on.

But he does have a lot going on, which is precisely why Izzy is fascinating to me. Because despite what I’ve written above, Izzy is not queerphobic in the sense of hating queer people. Take Lucius, for example. As many others have already pointed out, their confrontation has little to do with Lucius’ sexuality and far more to do with perspectives on cheating. When Lucius refuses to do the chores Izzy assigned him Izzy attempts blackmail with, “I can spill all your beans. You’ve been a proper little seductress, haven’t you? Black Pete. Fang. Who else is there?” Or, simply put, do the work or I tell your boyfriend you’re seeing someone else on the side. Izzy doesn’t care that Lucius is having sex with men, he cares that Lucius is having sex with multiple men without the others knowing.

Now, you could argue that this is biased against polyamory folk, but I personally think it stems more from Izzy’s repressed feelings towards Ed and the single-minded devotion he’s displayed towards him, rather than any generalized belief that people can’t have multiple partners, period. Izzy only loves one person; Lucius loves many. Izzy can’t possibly tell Ed that he cares for him; Lucius is incredibly free with his affections. It’s a “Wait, you can do that?” moment that, given Izzy’s intense repression, leads to anger and confusion, rather than a joyous revelation. Another character with less shit to work through might have come out of that interaction with a new perspective (and, given Lucius’ empathy towards baby gays like Stede, he likely would have offered “You ever been sketched?” more seriously, rather than as a way to make Izzy even more uncomfortable. Lucius only gives as good as he gets: you blackmail me (polyamory) I’ll blackmail you (Izzy the Spewer) right back). In the end, Izzy is knocked off balance by Lucius announcing his sketch session to Pete—seriously, Con is fantastic in this scene, taking Izzy from steady threats to a stuttering, trembling “Fuck off”—because he cannot imagine a world where men not only love each other freely, but do so with none of the familiar, jealously-laden ownership that his own attraction is wrapped up in.

“We don’t own each other,” Lucius says. Well damn, then what does that say about Izzy’s relationship with Blackbeard? He does consider himself owned… despite the fact that he can’t really acknowledge that outside of the First Mate/Captain dynamic. The only way that Izzy can experience Blackbeard’s love is through horrific shit like eating his own toe. Hearing someone announce that sure, queer love can be kind, open, and easy is something he is not equipped to handle. Unlike Stede who rejoices in that description from Mary, Izzy flinches from it.

So, he doesn’t care that Lucius is having sex with Pete, he cares that they’re having sex rather than doing the work of “proper” men. He doesn’t care that Lucius has multiple partners, he thinks other people will care (like those from his original genre) and he can use that to control Lucius. If we put aside Izzy’s own interest in Ed for a moment—the jealousy—I don’t think he even cares that Ed fell in love with another guy, he cares that he fell in love with that guy, Stede Bonnet, the most flouncy, empathetic, un-masculine guy around. Really, Izzy doesn’t seem to have a problem with queer people at all… provided they still act in ways that he’s been taught are socially acceptable. Which yes, is still a kind of queerphobia. If I were to draw another iffy comparison, it’s like your mom supporting you and your girlfriend, but also constantly sneering at the butch look you’ve got going on because it’s not feminine enough. Someone well-versed in queer culture and history understands how denying that self-expression and imposing limiting binaries is inherently harmful—a form of queerphobia even if we’re speaking about things adjacent to the act of dating a member of the same gender. But someone without much understanding of intersectionality here (the mom) views being attracted to women and being butch as two separate things. Why can’t you just love women invisibly and ensure your sexuality never impacts other parts of your life, particularly those that are on public display? It’s fine if you’re queer! Just don’t, you know, make a thing of it.

You (hopefully) get the idea. Izzy is likewise fine with queer folk, provided each of them is embodying queerness in an acceptable, gender-conforming way. When they don’t, well, that leads to a great deal of discomfort and anger for Izzy, and that’s where wires are getting crossed in the fandom. I think a whole lot of viewers—myself included— looked at how that discomfort was acted out and went, “That doesn’t look like a straight guy uncomfortable because he hates queer people, that looks like a repressed queer uncomfortable because he doesn’t know how to work through his own feelings on masculinity or sexuality yet.” We recognize Izzy. We know him. We arguably know the Izzys of the fictional world far better than the Luciuses, the Stedes, and the Eds because though overt queer characters are still a relative novelty in visual media, we’ve spent the rest of that history watching hyper-masculine men get by on queercoding alone, learning to read their presumed wants and desires between the lines of violence, or even their insistence (one might say too insistent) that they’re totally, completely, 100% straight. Odd as it may seem given our call for queer rep, fandom has a kinship with characters like Izzy and many of us were primed from episode one to read him as closeted. He belongs to the likes of Dean Winchester, BBC John Watson, James Kirk, Derek Hale, Lex Luthor, Tony Stark, and a thousand others who are written as skirt chasing men’s men—sometimes even disdainful of anything else—yet the subtext of their writing has bred literal decades of work going, “Honey no, you’re queer.” The only difference between then and now is that Izzy exists in a narrative that might actually do something with that coding, turning the subtext into text.

Does all this make Izzy’s actions any less queerphobic? No, but it changes how a lot of people approach his character. To be blunt, it encourages a more sympathetic reading. For some, anyway. The textual reality is that we do have a character lashing out in a queerphobic manner. Understandably, a lot of fans are uncomfortable with that and others outright despise Izzy as a person, with little possibility that this will change. But for others, the coded-as-closeted individual lashing out feels like a different situation than the straight guy hurling slurs, even if the action is technically the same. For them, there’s a desire to avoid labeling Izzy as queerphobic because we want to distinguish the repressed queer man from the bigoted straight man, yet we don’t have the vocabulary to express all the complexities of that in a social media appropriate way. Basically, “homophobic gay” is a lot punchier for a tumblr post than this massive essay, so many decide to leave it at that. Meanwhile, the other half of the fandom sees queerphobia and label it like it is, regardless of the character’s specific situation. Hence, the tag gets flooded with both interpretations, posters on both sides getting frustrated by the other’s “wrong” takes, when in fact they overlap. They’re interconnected, and trying to separate Izzy’s queerness from his queerphobia would obliterate much of what makes him such a fascinating character.

Now, I’ve admittedly been insisting this whole time that Izzy is queer without doing much to back that up because, frankly, not only would that encompass the vast majority of his screen time, but it’s rather a “You know it when you see it” situation. As said, Izzy is a character built on literal decades of television and, for each of us, a lifetime of learning media literacy. There are choices here that resonate and, while perhaps not meaning much on their own, add up to a recognizable picture: his queerness is in the choice to make him so devoted to Blackbeard that it comes across as obsession, the power dynamics of a Captain and their First Mate, his tendency to get close to other men in an attempt at intimidation, his flustered responses to flirting, the autocannibalism as an act of devotion, and his choice to try and insult Lucius and Pete with an “Oh daddy” mockery when, crucially, nothing in that situation would prompt someone to single out that particular kink. Is all of that inherently queer in the real world? Of course not. Is it all connected to media history in a way many of us recognize, even if it’s only subconsciously? Yes. Queerness is in Con’s every acting choice and the costume/styling departments’ every detail (whether they intended that or not. I assume they did, but the point still stands that authorial intent is a separate beast from what’s actually put on screen). Izzy is the most buttoned-up character, hands down, with long sleeves, a closed shirt, and slicked-back hair that only comes undone when his Captain punches him in the jaw, disrupting the fantasy of saving Blackbeard and being rewarded for it. Izzy wears his leather seriously, as someone from a Black Sails-esque genre is supposed to, and he rejects even a single pop of color. You know, the vibrancy that’s connected primarily to Stede and everything he represents, including the acceptance of his sexuality. Izzy’s queerness is in the ambiguous ring he keeps tied to his cravat. It’s in his choice to wear only a single glove, one bare hand vulnerable to the world, but that’s not the one he’ll touch a fine thing with:

And, of course, Izzy is in love with Blackbeard. As a general rule I don’t put too much stock in authorial claims because, as said, simply because an author intended to accomplish something with a story doesn’t mean that’s what they actually put out into the world. However, in this case Jenkins certainly seems to know what he’s doing and if it sweetens the deal for anyone, he agreed in an interview with The Verge about, at the very least, the loving Blackbeard part:

“And then, at the same time, I think Izzy’s deeply in love with Blackbeard, and it’s a very dysfunctional kind of love, and he’s like the jilted spouse who’s losing his man to fucking Stede Bonnet, and he can’t believe this is happening” (Charles Pulliam-Moore). 

Exactly. It’s a dysfunctional love, a toxic love, but that’s precisely the point: this is the only way that Izzy currently knows how to express himself. The “and he can’t believe this is happening” resonates not only because Ed is loving Stede in all the ways Izzy has come to believe are not allowed, but because he’s also loving Stede in all the ways that are appropriate for their original, subtext infused genre. Ed doesn’t just kiss Stede on a beach as they plan a getaway together, he also engages in homoerotic, “It’s a metaphor for sex” activities with him too. Like, you know, stabbing each other with phallic swords so they can hold one another close and moan about it, and Izzy is in the background freaking the fuck out because that used to be their thing. Or at least, given that we don’t know much of their backstory yet, Izzy hoped that he’d one day have that with Ed—the highest form of intimacy that their genre allowed. Regardless, he’s still that jilted spouse. Which is precisely why we don’t simply get anger from Izzy, but disbelief and heartbreak too, all wrapped up in the repetition of “Oh my god.” Even worse than watching Ed do this with Stede is that Izzy can’t do it with him too (RIP my OT3 dreams). Stede is the replacement, not the new addition. Compare the happiness and tender intimacy (alongside comedy) of the stabbing scene to the utter disaster that is Izzy trying to unhook Ed from his fuckery harness.

That’s a (none too subtle) metaphor for sex too, except this one goes very badly: “The fuck you doing with your head between my legs??” Ed cries and Stede even makes a comment about how there’s “Trouble in paradise.” It’s fumbling, and awkward, and neither of them come out of the encounter with what they were hoping for. Ed doesn’t want that intimacy with Izzy—whether he ever did is up for debate—and Izzy leaves the disastrous attempt to (metaphorically) connect with Ed as Stede has arguably at his most vulnerable, yelling about how Ed thinks he knows “everything about everything,” before dissolving into a stammering mess. Then he literally runs away. When we see him again he’s closed off, having flanked himself with backup in the form of Ivan and Fang, finally ready to give up on the idea that Ed will willingly kill Stede for him.  

We see the same transfer of intimacy in the two duels of “The Art of Fuckery” where everything Ed teaches Stede is used against Izzy. Ed flirtatiously slaps Stede on the ass with his sword? Stede does it to Izzy while he’s briefly blinded, turning the kind, playful act into a moment of embarrassment. Ed teaches Stede his most useful skill, resulting in the closeness and moans that send Izzy into a fit? That’s the move that allows Stede to not only survive Izzy’s onslaught, but win the duel and exile him from the ship (from Ed). Stede even asks both of them if they’ll consider calling it a draw, with both saying no, though for very different reasons. Stede, quite unintentionally, turns the intimacy Ed has granted him against Izzy, rubbing salt into the proverbial wound. So, if Izzy can’t love Ed in a healthy manner (he doesn’t know how and Ed doesn’t seem interested in romantic love from him anyway) and if he can’t engage in their subtext anymore… the best Izzy can get is provoking Ed to violence. Choking him out is preferable to Ed ignoring him, particularly for someone like Izzy who seems to enjoy the pain.

(Note the lighthouse. You’re crashing up on the rocks of your guiding light, Izzy.)

Yet even as Izzy expresses his love for Ed through masochistic tendencies, there are glimmers of a healthier approach buried deep, deeeep down. I wrote another meta in which I describe Izzy as a “plan-loving, rule-following, not-actually-keen-on-stabbing-first” kinda guy. Izzy loves structure and the safety that it provides, along with the respect that should, theoretically, come as a result of being a talented and reliable pirate. Izzy spends the first season chasing not others’ fear of him—what we would expect from the supposedly ruthless First Mate of Blackbeard—but their respect. Izzy is a man who will pay for the hostages he wants, challenge a man he despises to a traditional duel, and weather a punch from his Captain without throwing one back because yeah, he deserved it. For all his insults and bluster, Izzy extends a certain amount of respect towards others, in his own weird, narrow-minded way. He seems to want to go through life with a civilized approach to their problems, but that requires others extending him at least a smidge of respect in turn. But, because Izzy is a grumpy, happiness-hating, queerphobia performing asshole—someone who doesn’t fit into the new genre and as of yet isn’t willing to bend to it—he can never quite secure the respect he craves. “Dizzy Izzy” and “Izzy the Spewer” are stories that the crew pass around to laugh at him, at least once directly to his face. Yet when Ed tells the story of how Calico Jack once “shat everywhere but in the bedpan,” that gets an inclusive kind of laughter; the crew laughs with him, not at him. We have to ask how a man goes about securing anything other than violence from a loved one when he can’t even get others to extend the most basic respect of using his name—“Jizzy Izzy.”

Izzy’s brief stint as captain is particularly fascinating. The crew says at the start of the season that they want someone who will act as a "real” pirate should—looting, raiding, killing, that sort of stuff—and then here comes Izzy, saying that working under “Captain Hands” will be “hard but fair."

Yeah, he’s still an absolute asshole about it as he sits eating his meal while the others work (chewing open-mouthed in a manner that highlights the difference in class between him and Stede, despite Izzy’s little lunch setup working to put him in the “aristocratic” position on the ship), but compared to what we’ve heard about other "real” pirates and their violent ways, “hard but fair” seems like a damn good deal to me. I mean, let’s be real for just a second: doing chores on the ship that needs to be run is kinda better than, say, the captain that throws people overboard and makes others eat their own toes. Izzy doesn’t threaten the crew with a cruel punishment (a week without rations) until after they’ve laughed at him. Even when offering what others supposedly want, a “real” pirate captain who’s more badass than Stede, but less insane than Blackbeard, no one takes Izzy seriously. The moment he says “Izzy’s Revenge” they’re all cracking up and calling it an intestinal disorder—it’s Izzy the Spewer all over again.

Still, Izzy’s tendency towards (comparatively) civilized solutions and his clear attempts to be respected by others makes me question whether he truly wants Blackbeard, or if he’s only chased the violent legend because that’s what Real Men should aspire to (and, as established, that’s all he can hope to get). After all, Blackbeard the legend is half insane, volatile, the kind of person that Izzy needs to clean up after and he should, theoretically, hate that kind of chaos—“We need a plan, Edward.” But Blackbeard’s also the epitome of masculinity and if you have to be attracted to other guys (already difficult to come to terms with) at least have the decency to be attracted to the right kind of guy. So, Izzy works hard and by the end of the season he’s managed to bring that palatable love back to the surface… maybe. As discussed in another section, I do wonder if Ed will be able to be the Kraken any longer than he managed to be the poet Edward, if his desperate crying in front of the lighthouse painting is any indication that this façade will crumble just as quickly. I also wonder if throwing Lucius overboard is a sign of a new level of cruelty he’s never reached before—the first (intended) murder since his father—or if Ed views the ocean as having killed Lucius, just like fire killed that crew trapped on the ship. However, whether the Kraken is only a flimsy act that Stede will quickly break through, or something that Ed remains for an extended period of time, necessitating that things get even worse before they get better, Izzy is poised to be disappointed with either result.

Why he’d hate Stede’s return and Ed becoming his “soft” self again is obvious. Why Izzy would hate the Kraken he’s worked so hard to create is a little trickier to explain though. Basically, Izzy talks big about wanting the captain to be himself again, but the actual “he’s himself again” line, given in response to Fang asking about his mutilated foot, feels rather forced to me. I wasn’t able to capture the moment in an image, but there’s a brief second when Izzy looks almost tearful, his smile a little too manic to be real. He looks like a guy trying very hard to convince himself that this is what he wants and outside of that brief flash, he does an admirable job. But another potential tell here is the level of anger he displays. It sounds a little ridiculous because the fandom has already made a (wonderful) joke of how angry Izzy is all the time—chihuahua man—but as mentioned above in regards to “civilized” approaches, he actually tends towards calm. Izzy doesn’t throw a fit when Stede tricks him, not even when Ed frames this as Stede beating him at swordplay. Outside of two angry slashes he also remains composed during their duel and, though we have the “pox on all of you” moment in the boat, that’s a quiet, hissed anger. Izzy keeps his cool when Ed punches him—“That’s fair.” He assigns chores when he’s fed up with Lucius. He expresses primarily shock when he walks in on Fang. Even when he’s briefly captain, Izzy speaks calmly and lets a single threat do the work for him. Here though? After the Kraken has been awakened? Izzy is screaming. He’s shouting orders left and right, potentially covering the fear Fang’s question dredged up with even more screams: “Quicker! Quicker!” It’s the most unhinged we’ve ever seen him and though yeah, we could potentially chalk that up to being in an unbelievable amount of pain, the more interesting reading is that Izzy got what he thought he wanted and… holy shit, it’s not what he wanted at all.

There’s that, and the fact that every once in a while, Izzy reveals an interest in the kind of man Ed truly is: smart and capable and kind. That’s the potential, healthier approach to love that I mentioned before, the one buried deep, deeeep down. “Said some things I regret last night,” Izzy says, after the double flip-off he shoves in Ed’s face. “I don’t think you’re a shell of a man, or a twat.”

Interestingly, this retraction is delivered while Ed is still dressed in Stede’s clothes, a visual acceptance of the “softer” man Ed would like to become. “A sentimental bastard” is what Calico Jack calls Izzy, emphasizing that no, he betrayed Stede, not Ed. Though Jack is hardly the best person to be defining healthy relationships, it nevertheless says something that he’d term the supposedly ruthless and mindlessly obsessive First Mate as “sentimental.” As I mentioned in that previous meta, Izzy is the one who’s concerned with the men they lost while attacking the Spanish and when it comes time to describe why he’s honored to serve under Blackbeard, it’s not any of the killing or looting that Izzy mentions, but his brilliance as a sailor. He values Ed’s intellect and creativity far more than his cruelty. Similarly, when discussing with Ivan and Fang the possibility that Ed isn’t going to kill Stede, Izzy reassures them that he will. He clearly has faith in his captain, but why? Because Blackbeard is ruthless? A murder machine? Disdainful of a fancy ponce like Stede? Nope.

Izzy: “The plan is very much alive. He promised me.”

He promised me. Beyond all the toxic-masculinity trappings, Izzy doesn’t want a fearsome legend, he wants a man who’s even half as loyal to him as he’s been for years. He wants Ed to keep his promise, but not because killing Stede is truly Izzy’s greatest desire. Remember he’s the one who offers exile as a punishment in the duel and then gives Stede the ultimatum “Yield or die.” He also stabs Stede in a manner that allows him to pull off one of Ed’s more well-known tricks, something Izzy had to have been aware of (and reminded of after eavesdropping on their training). If Izzy actually wanted Stede dead he would be very dead, muppet logic be damned. No, the jilted spouse reading aside, Izzy wants Ed to go through with the murder because Ed made that promise to him. Izzy’s love language is acts of service and he wants the man he loves to willingly act on his behalf, just as he would: “I’ll happily do it.”

We see the same desperate craving for Ed’s care—not his violence—when Izzy is leaving the ship after losing his duel. I already argued in my first meta that Izzy puts too much stock in a pirate’s honor to go back on his word, particularly when he suggested exile, and I do stand by that. However, he does say, “You’re actually allowing this?” to Ed as he’s preparing to cast off, which I read less as an attempt to weasel his way out of the agreement and more just disbelief that Ed isn’t fighting for him. Are you going to allow this, Ed? Izzy knows it’s only right and proper that he leaves, he knows Ed won’t interfere with the duel’s outcome (he didn’t even do that for Stede), but ultimately neither of those things matter. It’s not about whether Izzy actually leaves or not, it’s about seeing Ed wanting him to stay. Izzy will go on to commit the ultimate betrayal in an effort to get, as he perceives it, the real Blackbeard back because Izzy will do anything for him. Yet here Ed stands, shrugging off the fact that they’re separating for the first time in years; he may never even see Izzy again. "That’s that,” Ed says, a dismissal, a far cry from “I need you here,” given back when Izzy still believed that Ed’s promises to him meant something. And yeah, Izzy’s an absolute dick (as Roach reiterates here) but his asshole approach to the world becomes tragic when we consider that he wants something he thinks he can never have, is fighting for everything that hurts him, and at the end of the day, even if he were to change… the one person he’s managed to extend even a twisted kind of love towards is not only in love with someone else, but has, as a result of that love, lost even the most cursory interest in Izzy. It’s a fact that Izzy is all too aware of: Ed loves Stede and that relationship—that growth—has rendered a repressed First Mate completely obsolete. Out of an emotionally open cast, it’s actually Izzy who gets the closest to calling Stede and Ed’s relationship what it is. He claims that Ed has been “seduced” by Stede, he “adores” him, and he almost gets the “I love you” out when ranting to Spanish Jackie:

Izzy: “Bonnet comes along and he’s like oh, oh, Blackbeard, I really love—I love the way you dress. I love the way your hair, your beard, and all that…”

I don’t deny that Izzy has a masochistic streak a mile long. Even if we didn’t have the insane toe scene, Con’s choice to play Izzy as continually attracted to candles implies a hell of a lot. Something, something the thin line between warmth and pain.

But even taking those kink-y preferences into account, I think that in the face of Ed’s love for Stede (Izzy’s opposite) and the influence of their original genre, he’s learned that violence is the only way he can keep Ed’s attention and the tragedy is that he has convinced himself that any attention, no matter how toxic, is preferable to a "that’s that” dismissal. Violence is an especially attractive option when—like the practice bout between Stede and Ed—violence maintains its own kind of intimacy, even in a rom-com. Ed doesn’t merely cut off Izzy’s toe, he comes to Izzy in the dead of night, when he’s nearly naked (buttoned-up Izzy suddenly laid bare), vulnerable in his sleep, and forces Izzy to consume it while he watches. All of Ed’s attention is on Izzy here, the height of Izzy’s devotion is on display, and the result is that “clean yourself up” likely refers to more than just cleaning the blood off his foot and his mouth. Izzy knows how to goad Ed into slamming him up against a wall, choking him, coming to his bed for something and yeah, he’ll take the intimacy of that violence because what else is on offer? And yet, fascinatingly, he still tries to cup Ed’s cheek.

For a brief moment Izzy tries some of the tenderness that has attracted Ed to Stede (still with his non-vulnerable, gloved hand), but Ed jerks back, repulsed. The grin Izzy gives afterwards looks horribly self-satisfied. At this point in the story he already knows Ed doesn’t love him and that a tender touch from him isn’t something he’s interested in. I find the phrasing of Badminton’s announcement at the trial to be rather weighted, that Ed will be put into the care of Captain Hands, with Izzy giving his awkward little wave—

—but Ed doesn’t want to be in his care, literally or emotionally, and all the wave does is make him seethe to Stede that Izzy betrayed them. Remember, Izzy doesn’t see it that way. Based on what Calico Jack said, Izzy believes this is a betrayal of Stede and Stede alone because, despite Ed’s clear love for Stede, and our own (non-fucked up) understanding that hurting a loved one would hurt us too, Izzy cannot fathom that Ed doesn’t get that he’s acting in his best interest. Izzy has already tried to talk (his version of) sense into Ed, approaching him with more earnestness than we’ve ever seen from him before. After rocking from that punch, Izzy agrees that he deserves it, but begs Ed to understand that he did this for him. I think he only curses once in the entire speech—“twat”—and otherwise is as emotionally open as he’s capable of being. Izzy is, for him, even surprisingly kind towards Stede, trying to reassure Ed that shooting him will be quick, humane, a necessary act, but not a cruel one. Izzy wants to get through to him so badly… but then Ed rejects that devotion, the most open, earnest, non-violent devotion that Izzy can manage. His loyalty to Ed, his work bringing the British here (remember Ed’s mocking question about whether its “hard” to be Blackbeard’s First Mate?), and even the quick death of Stede Bonnet that, Izzy thinks, is the best possible outcome that Ed might take some comfort from… none of it matters. Ed taught him that the most important rule “above all else is loyalty to your Captain” and now Ed doesn’t want that. Or at least, he no longer wants the version of loyalty that the world has taught Izzy to display and that Blackbeard has stoked in him for years. Ed shouts "Act of Grace!” and Izzy whispers, “No,” more broken than anything else. He realizes he’s lost. “Fear is the most powerful emotion. Turn your enemy’s worst fear against them, you’ll own them.” Ed’s worst fear is losing Stede, so yes, he’ll let the King own him to spare his life. Izzy’s worst fear is losing Ed, so he’ll do the same, rendering "service to the Crown” to, in his mind, save him from himself. “Do you really want to lick the King’s boots?” Izzy asks in disbelief because he can’t imagine Ed doing for Stede what Izzy did for him. The difference, of course, is that Ed is working to avoid Stede’s literal death and Izzy is working to resurrect the version of Ed that might love him back, even if it’s a horrific, harmful kind of love. It’s not even what Izzy truly wants, but he’ll take it over nothing at all.

So, a final, failed attempt at tenderness with Ed is just the nail in the coffin. Izzy knows by now that Ed doesn’t want anything he’s tried to give him—not the devotion, not protection from himself, not Izzy’s horrifically warped attempts at compassion for Ed’s “pet”—so at this point he’ll simply take whatever he can get. He’s going to work hard (again) to make Ed Blackbeard because Blackbeard is at least willing to gift Izzy with violence. He’ll take the touch of a hand around his neck, or one stuffing his own toe in his mouth, over no touch at all. Now, is Izzy’s desire for Ed’s attention, no matter what form that takes, capable of withstanding whatever the Kraken might dish out in season two? That remains to be seen. It might seem like a small thing, but I’m rather intrigued by Izzy asking if he should “summon the boy [Lucius] to take notes” after Ed maims him because since when is that a part of their dynamic? Lucius taking notes is Stede’s form of captaining and at the very least, having Lucius in the room would disrupt any continued intimacy of Izzy and Ed being alone together. Yet it’s the first thing Izzy says, automatic, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s a hint as to the influence the crew of The Revenge has had on him, however small—evidence that the healthier version of Izzy isn’t completely lost, even as he deliberately stokes Blackbeard’s unique brand of “love.” Sure, sure, writing-wise it’s an easy way to have Ed tell Izzy he killed him— even to reinforce that murderous Blackbeard is really back—but I do still wonder. Personally, I’d love for things to get dark enough that even Izzy is forced to acknowledge that his twisted crush isn’t worth the consequences. Izzy will maroon all of Stede’s crew, throw out all the ship’s treasure, even suffer a small maiming… but if the Kraken is callous with Blackbeard’s crew? More importantly, if the Kraken truly threatens Izzy’s life? That might be different. Izzy has already announced that he will not die for him and given the hints that he secretly wants something softer, I can’t imagine him breaking that promise for the most violent version of Ed we’ve seen to date.

For now though, the desire to keep Ed close, in whatever capacity that might look like, has led to Izzy putting aside his rule-based approach for manipulation. Like the "Is Izzy queerphobic?” question, this is another “Yes, but it’s complicated” situation. Is Izzy, generally speaking, a manipulative person? No. 99% of the time he’s straightforward to the point of bluntness. If he wants Stede gone he’s going to challenge him to a duel. If he wants the help of former enemies he’s going to ask for it. If he wants those hostages he’s going to go buy them, etc. However, not being a manipulative person most of the time isn’t the same thing as never having manipulated at all. The two times I would point to are Izzy acting as a messenger boy between Ed and Stede at the start of the story and later when he’s trying to convince Ed to put Stede down. The latter is the most overt example imo, where Izzy deliberately lies and withholds information to try and achieve his preferred outcome. He doesn’t tell Stede that it’s Blackbeard who wants to see him, leading to the ignorant “go suck eggs in hell” comment. Then Izzy misrepresents the conversation to Ed with, “I explicitly said Blackbeard desired his company.” And this Stede Bonnet knows who Blackbeard is? "Seemed to.” The intention is to piss Ed off because from Izzy’s perspective, Blackbeard is a man who values his reputation above all else—something he has decent reason to believe, given moments like Ed freaking out because “Blackbeard doesn’t go treasure hunting!”—so surely, if this Gentleman Pirate were to have deliberately slung an insult his way, Blackbeard would be furious. Instead, the plan backfires when Ed instead finds Stede’s response to be “fascinating.” Izzy, who is not bored with the life they lead, can’t fathom that something as unexpected as an insult would be thrilling rather than rage-inducing.

Slightly less devious (but still emotionally manipulative) is Izzy trying to use Ed’s previous decisions against him. When it becomes clear that Ed won’t murder Stede—that he won’t keep his promise— Izzy gathers backup and plays the hypocrite card. You said we couldn’t have pets on the ship. You made Fang kill his beloved dog before he joined. What’s Stede Bonnet if not the human version of a pet? He’s certainly no pirate. So, what’s it going to be, Captain? Can you adhere to the same rules you’ve laid out for your crew? Well… no. We learn in this very episode that Ed holds his crew to a different standard than he does himself, if the standard in question is displays of violence. Ed admits to Stede that ever since the murder of his father he’s never outright killed anyone. Oh, he’ll maim plenty, or create situations where people die of adjacent causes, but any actual, straightforward act is outsourced to his crew; someone else can flay the man with the snail fork and throw him overboard. Ed has a “Do as I say, not as I do” approach to captaining because, as established, the expectations attached to Blackbeard’s reputation aren’t truly things that Ed wants to enforce, at least not all the time. Indeed, just two weeks into his stay on The Revenge, fourteen days in Stede’s company, and Ed appears confused when Izzy brings up the no pets policy. I did that? I made Fang kill his dog? Shit, that’s fucked up, man.

Izzy: “You said the love of a pet makes a man weak.”

Ed: “I said that?”

Frankly, I don’t think Izzy cares much about the pet policy either, or even the hypocrisy of Ed’s orders. After all, he couldn’t have failed to notice Ed’s less than murder-y intentions over the years. To his mind, a good First Mate takes care of all the things their Captain might have trouble with, including offering to kill Stede himself. Izzy’s love language is unquestionably acts of service and he’s at his most loving while standing near the railing with Ed, leaning in close, expression tragically earnest as he says, “I’ll happily end it.” And Izzy would be happy, not just because he lives to serve Ed, but because that perception of service has extended past what Ed explicitly asks for and into the realm of what Izzy thinks he needs. Or at least, what he needs to remain the kind of Captain that would keep Izzy Hands as a First Mate. Hence, manipulation. Based on how he acts, Izzy has presumably spent a lifetime being terrified of intimacy (something that, frankly, only comes about from neglect). The cycle of abuse touches all characters, not just those whose trauma has surfaced in palatable ways, so it’s no wonder that Izzy would fall in love with a reputation that both eschews those softer emotions and upholds a violent, hyper-masculine presentation, all while Ed’s softer side remains a tantalizing, just out of reach possibility. Blackbeard allows Izzy to indulge in fantasies without actually confronting his repression, or engaging in the emotional work of admitting what he might truly want (a man, a soft touch, someone to extend loyalty to him in turn, etc.) Of course Izzy would do anything he could think of to keep that “love” around, having no idea how to possibly go about achieving anything else. You certainly don’t have to feel for the guy, but after all that I personally do.

And as I scroll through the numerous Izzy posts (great job, everyone, keep it up) I’ve noticed the growing trend of reassuring our tumblr audience that yes, we do indeed know he’s a horrible person and yes, we definitely want to see him suffer! Honestly, I think 99% of that is just good fandom fun couched in tumblr’s particular brand of humor. “I want to pickle him,” “I want to watch him eat another toe in HD,” “Izzy Hands execution squad ftw,” etc. Watching the fucked up character continue to be fucked up and experience fucked up consequences for his fucked up decisions just makes for fantastic television, and celebrating his fucked-up-ness with the rest of the community is its own form of fun. I have absolutely no doubt that the vast majority of OFMD fans are chill about this— whether they legitimately dislike Izzy or not—but I’ve been in fandom spaces long enough to recognize the stirrings of moral judgement. Amidst all the playful jabbing, there’s an undercurrent of real, “You can’t actually like Izzy. You know he’s problematic, right? How dare you enjoy something that’s not 100% pure!”

I’m here to say that yeah, I actually like Izzy both because of and in spite of him being supremely fucked up.

See, I have this little thing where I dislike anyone gatekeeping growth. I absolutely love Izzy being the queerphobic gay who manipulates Ed into becoming the worst version of himself because that’s entertaining to watch in my downtime, but I would ultimately like Izzy to unlearn at least some of that toxic behavior because I’m a softie and, you know, that’s the underlying theme of the whole show. OFMD says that anyone can become a happier, healthier person provided they’re given the support to do so: Stede can apologize to Mary and leave his old life behind, Ed can (we currently assume) come back from his time as the Kraken, Pete can learn to stop touting traditional displays of masculinity, Jim can put their family’s obsession with revenge aside to instead choose love, and so on and so forth. In a show where we laugh off a wife about to skewer her husband’s brain, or the ship full of people Ed torched, why would Izzy and his actions—even when they feel quite personal—be the exception? Why would his horrific acts be the line in the sad amidst a cast who has likewise committed horrific acts? Purely because the show needs someone to act as the antagonist? Characters like Badminton and Calico Jack show that there are plenty of ways to achieve conflict, even within the realm of “Male characters representing different forms of toxic masculinity.” As a core member of the group—the found family, if you will—Izzy deserves to unlearn the lessons taught to him by the very society the show is challenging, precisely because he’s the most entrenched in it. He’s the one who needs the most help. Stede starts the show off by saying that the guys are sweethearts, actually, they’re just dealing with a fair bit of trauma. Blackbeard is introduced as someone who has torn through the pirate world, leaving fear and devastation in his wake… but treat him kindly and you’ve got another sweetheart underneath. Putting aside how I wouldn’t want Izzy to become a literal sweetheart (he’s much funnier as an asshole), do we really think he’s the only exception to the concept of self-improvement?

If this question sounds at all familiar, it’s probably because you watched The Good Place. Simply put, Izzy is Brent Norwalk.

If you’re not aware, Brent is… well, the Fucking Worst. He comes into the afterlife (where the show is set) a racist, sexist, completely narcissistic individual who, over the course of the season, appears to have no redeeming qualities whatsoever. In fact, the show goes so far as to say that he becomes worse despite the others’ best efforts to improve him… up until one, crucial moment when he begins to apologize. It’s nothing staggering. Hell, by a decent person’s standards the bar is flattened on the floor here, but it’s still an improvement. Brent doesn’t magically become a great guy—by the end of the series he’s still working on teeny, tiny, incremental change—but the fact that he changes at all is what matters. The Good Place says that anyone, absolutely anyone, can become a better person provided they’re given the support to do so. It might take them an incredibly long time to get there, their version of improvement might not meet your personal expectations, but everyone is capable of moving in the right direction. That’s Izzy. Or at least, I think it should be. Though OFMD is a good enough show that I certainly wouldn’t crucify it for going in a different direction (especially when the focus is largely on the rom-com elements between Stede and Ed), at the end of the day I think this message is important enough to apply to the tougher characters, not just those like Black Pete who throw out an iffy opinion before improving off screen. If the show says, “Men can unlearn toxic masculinity, break the cycle of abuse, and find happiness” but then follows that up with, “except for the guy who is most entrenched in those beliefs and most in need of that help” then, frankly, it feels like the message has failed.  

And yes, there are plenty of push-backs to that. I can already see the replies about how damaging Izzy’s presence is and how the others shouldn’t suffer just to try and help him; sometimes you need to put your own mental health first (true). Or that this isn’t how the world works, you can’t just hug the problems out of some people; Izzy is dangerous and no one needs to put up with that shit (also true). But my response to anything along those lines is… it’s fiction? OFMD is about love and hope and the enjoyment of tropes over realism. This is the show that has Stede impossibly find his crew on the island because it’s Emotionally Fulfilling and a Good Metaphor. We expect the red cloth to impossibly make its way back to Ed because that’s Very Romantic and Also A Good Metaphor. OFMD has nuance, but that’s not the same thing as being concerned with gritty, hard-hitting realism. Izzy should “impossibly” grow into a better person—even if he remains a bad person compared to everyone else—because that’s a satisfying arc that upholds the lesson OFMD is trying to convey, not because it’s a result we’re likely to see in real life. Yes, some characters exist purely to be antagonists and/or don’t last long enough to undergo that kind of change. Nigel Badminton is an example of such a character, someone whose purpose in the narrative is to establish the criticism Stede faces for how he presents himself and then die as a means of furthering Stede’s development. But Badminton isn’t complex in the way Izzy is, he’s the exact same person he was as a child: shooting cannonballs at Stede’s ship where he once threw rocks at his dinghy. The fact that he can’t confirm them as pirates due to a lack of a flag and has a man observing the “heavyset woman” on board “cowering” from their attack, just reinforces that this is simply a new, more powerful form of bullying. Years later and Badminton has yet to change, not in the ways that Izzy still might. Why should Izzy get that chance instead? Because he’s a main character and, frankly, because the fandom likes him. Con is great at his job and has the talent to pull such an arc off, especially with everything discussed above already in place. Yes, there’s absolutely something to be said for artistic vision—if Jenkins has a different direction he’s set on, I say go for it. I’m perfectly capable of separating my personal preferences from another great writing choice—but television is a medium that evolves from season to season, often in response to the audience’s reaction to previous material. There’s merit in observing the fandom’s interest in the character and going, “Okay, this is someone we’re not going to just toss aside with a redemptive death, or whatever.” Izzy is both popular enough and complex enough to pull off some kind of redemption (I have no desire to specify what), and if anyone is inclined to get into how real life Izzys don’t work like this, claiming that writing such an arc sets a dangerous precedent (or whatever the argument du jour is), then they’ve missed the part where this is a show about talking seagulls, knife-throwing nuns, and the Power Of Love And Self-Acceptance. OFMD has made it very clear where its priorities lie and they’re definitely not with cohesive realism or historical accuracy.

Also, let’s be real. People are like, “Oh, but if Izzy gets therapy and stops being quite so destructive then he won’t be funny anymore :(” and I’m “?????” at that take every time. Sorry, but there’s nothing funnier to me than the potential for this gremlin man to develop respect, healthy coping mechanisms, la de da, and hating every goddamn moment of it. Can you imagine an Izzy forced to come to terms with the fact that Stede is a wonderful and competent human being? That maybe he likes some of the things he originally eschewed due to internalized queerphobia? Getting a(nother) dressing down from Lucius + a “You’re gay, babe” pep talk? Even just a final season where he’s begrudgingly still on The Revenge, everyone bitching that he’s still an asshole, but dammit, he’s their asshole? I know you all can imagine it because I’ve been reading the fics and if you haven’t joined me in that, just picture Ted Lasso’s Roy Kent screaming “FUCK” every time Jamie forces him to confront his internalized biases. Izzy can become the feral cat the crew domesticates. It’ll be great.

Also, not to finish this off with a bit of semi-canonical justification because The Discourse of any fandom is terrifying (and I’m covering my bases as a result), but I was both intrigued and reassured by the interview given by Vico Ortiz to Entertainment. In it they say that they’d be “curious to explore my relationship with Izzy Hands,” at first simply because Izzy is clearly the most competent fighter on Blackbeard’s crew, Jim is the most competent on Stede’s, so it would be interesting if they could interact in that respect. However, they then go on to talk about Jim’s “daddy issues” because they lost their father early on and “So it’s like, is Izzy… Can something happen [with] Izzy? Right? The same way that Olu opened up Jim, Jim open’s up Izzy… Kind of challenge that dynamic.” It’s not a connection I’d considered before but yeah, I’d love to see that too. Or any other version of the show where someone helps Izzy begin to work through his problems rather than allowing them to continually fester. What would it look like if a character like Olu applied the same emotional work to Izzy? Or Lucius? Ed and Stede as a team? Regardless of whether anything like that happens, I’m glad the actors are thinking about such things. From Con gleefully retweeting erotic Izzy fanart (god bless that man) to the costume detailing of the ring he wears on his cravat, I’m personally thrilled to see that everyone involved is considering the complexities of Izzy’s emotional arc, rather than simply going, “He’s an abusive asshole, find someone better to stan,” as some in the fandom have done. Izzy is already a fascinating character, largely because of how fucked up he is, but I don’t think he need be limited to self-destruction alone. 

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The Garbage Heap of Miscellaneous Thoughts

This section is precisely what it says on the tin: a disorganized list of observations, theories, and funny (to me, anyway) thoughts I had while working on this project, but that didn’t otherwise fit into the meta proper. There’s no rhyme or reason to their order except for some vague alphabetizing.

Absolutely loving that when Jim goes after their revenge it’s (unintentionally) for their birth family and their found family. Yes, Geraldo is the means by which Jim hopes to find the gang members, but he’s also the one that turned them over to the Spanish… and then he’s a gang member himself! It’s a great little twist after Olu has just told Jim that he could be family too. Jim goes after the guy that hurt their birth family and their ship family simultaneously, fuck yeah.

As “High on a Rocky Ledge” plays at the end of our pilot episode, the line “How many times I’ve been up to see her, goodness knows” plays as Jim is removing their disguise. I enjoy this timing both because (at this point in the story) we believe a “her” is being revealed, and because “knows” aligns almost perfectly with Jim taking their fake nose off.

Based on Buttons’ comment at the start of the “We Gull Way Back,” I think the split between Ed and Stede takes place during a full moon (as does Karl’s death, paralleling the short-term “death” of the relationship). This show is interested enough in fairy tale/fantasy allusions that it feels like there’s something there, though I haven’t quite teased out what yet. Perhaps just the tradition of the world going a bit mad during a full moon: Ed is choosing Jack over Stede and doesn’t that just tell us there’s something very, very wrong afoot? As Buttons says, this is “the big night.”

I always go 👀👀👀 when I see a shot that implies some kind of metaphorical imprisonment. Putting Jack between the two pieces of sugarcane (bamboo? Idk plants) while Stede is framed freely during a conversation about Ed, romance, and friendship feels pretty telling.

If Izzy’s love language is acts of service, then Ed’s is physical touch (he reaches out to Stede with his foot because his hands are bound!!) Someday I hope an awesome vid-maker will cut together all the times Ed touches Stede and I humbly offer a contrast to include: the horrible way he flinches when one of the aristocrats tries to touch his beard.

I haven’t seen enough people talk yet about Roach sleeping with a bag of onions and honestly? That’s a travesty. Roach/Onions OTP.

I kinda want a fic of “The Art of Fuckery” purely from Stede’s perspective because can you imagine how confused the guy must be about Izzy at this point? Neither of them have been off to a good start—“Asshole.” “Twat.”—yet suddenly Izzy is helping Stede talk Ed into toying with the Dutch. He doesn’t know about the murder plan, so Stede is all “maybe I misjudged you.” Then Izzy continues the supposed good will by giving Stede a pep-talk in the library and sure, he calls him a little shit, but that’s just Izzy for you. Stede even repeats Izzy’s advice to “plumb the depths” for their fuckery. They’re finally getting along! (Sort of.) But THEN Izzy challenges him to a formal duel?? Stede doesn’t know wtf is going on, no more than his crew does after both their captains got drafted into the Navy, then only Ed showed back up without his beard, hid in his room for a couple days, started a talent show, before suddenly marooning half the crew, then Stede shows up again in a dinghy sporting a new look. We hit the halfway mark for the season and everyone is confused all of the time.

I’m in love with the composition of the shot when Lucius passes out. To quote tumblr (because I don’t have an education in art), "this looks like a renaissance painting.”

I want to know what happened to the nice hostage Stede was trying to sell in “A Damned Man.” He was so reassuring about Stede breaking the nose jar! He was having so much fun posing in front of the skeleton too! Here’s hoping Ed put him on the Queen Anne’s Revenge and he’ll show up again in season two.

Izzy is a pufferfish. That’s it, that’s the bullet point. He examines one in Ed’s cabin and my brain went, “Ah yes, the tiny character who blows themselves up to look bigger, surrounding themselves with deadly spikes so nothing dangerous gets too close. Noted.”

Jim had a brother :( He was presumably killed alongside their father, but given that Jim apparently blacked out for a time, I wonder if later seasons will reveal that he actually survived.

Playing Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain” over Ed’s return is absolutely inspired. “Listen to the wind blow, down comes the night / Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies / Break the silence, damn the dark, damn the light / And if you don’t love me now / You will never love me again / I can still hear you saying / You would never break the chain (Never break the chain)” mmHMM GOOD SHIT.

Red is Ed’s color. The silk swatch (obviously), the robe he wears (even though Stede is more often seen in the yellow one. Yeah, I know this is the “breakup” robe, but there’s a distinct move away from the yellow one, which Ed initially cuddles with in the bath), the library he adores is decked out in reds, it’s the color of the curtains Ed is encased with when he gives into fear and comes clean about his father’s murder… Insert established themes about blood and romance here.

Something I’d recommend for any fan is a re-watch where you focus on whatever the hell Jim is doing in the background. Vico is great. They have this little smile when their nana wonders who the hell would agree to be paid in oranges like, “Yeah, those are my idiots.” Despite being the biggest badass of Stede’s crew they freak the fuck out when Ed has his little smoke performance, pulling out a knife, but then proceeding to run around like a chicken with their head cut off. They are so into the later fuckery, absolutely living for pulling sausages out of some dummy’s body. And their expression when Stede manages to win the duel against Izzy is perfection. Seriously. I can’t recommend it enough.

Sorry, but the fandom is sleeping on Frenchie’s, “Bit of fanfiction, for Captain Bonnet… Yeah, huge fan. Can’t stop imagining him in all kinds of scenarios!”

There might be some foreshadowing/a small twist in how Lucius is constantly in danger and yet always manages to escape (mostly) unscathed… up until he supposedly dies by being thrown overboard at the very end. A dying man smears blood on the front of Lucius’ coat, marking him. Jim swears to kill him for what he’s seen. Frenchie is sure he’s been killed when Lucius is kept inside the trunk. He gets a raging infection from Buttons’ bite, but a quick chop makes it all better. And he’s the only non-Izzy character able to tell Blackbeard off without getting stabbed in the face. For the record, I don’t actually think Lucius is dead this time either (he’s hiding in the walls!), it’s just interesting that the possibility is there for a character who has otherwise made a hobby of shrugging off dangerous situations. And when he does turn up, that’ll continue the pattern.

The black cravat/scarf thing that Mary wears throughout “Wherever You Go, There You Are” seems similar to what Stede wore before Ed stole it for himself (if a tad longer). Idk, I’m just having feelings about loved ones connected through clothing, not just the obvious boyfriend angle that Stede and Ed have going on, but a more generalized connection among family—whether that connection is romantic or not.

There’s some meta-theme of storytelling here that I haven’t unpacked yet. Beyond the fact that Stede’s adventure follows the (non)-logic of a fairy tale, I’m interested in the actual act of record keeping throughout the first season. Stede wants to immortalize his time as a pirate through Lucius’ writing, but does so in an inauthentic way: tearing out the page discussing the mutiny and we have Badminton reading the complete fantasy that was his brother’s death. Stede wants history to remember only the good bits and for those good bits to be especially badass (Badminton begged for mercy! Soiled himself! I stole the sword right out of his hand!) but in the end it’s his most ridiculous “raid” of the fishing boat that saves him, establishing Stede Bonnet as a “proper” pirate in the process. Idk where I’m going with this. Something, something how do you find truth in a fictional story?

Unalphabetized final note: considering that I’ve spent over 30,000 words loving this show with my entire being, I thought I’d end things on the teeny, tinniest criticism. Which is, OFMD should trust its audience a little more. I noticed throughout the rewatch that the show utilizes flashbacks, a lot, most of which show us what Stede is currently thinking about and, more importantly, clue us in to how the present connects to the themes of the story. But like… in a super obvious way and I guarantee that most viewers get it without that level of hand-holding. To provide just one example, Badminton’s speech to Stede before he accidentally shoots himself is peppered with previously established traumas. Badminton says Stede defiled his brother? Flashback to Nigel Badminton with a sword through his face. His family? Flashback to the awkward portrait being painted. Blackbeard? An Ed with no beard. “God’s perfect little rich boy”? Flashback to flowers and blood and his father’s anger. It’s a stylistic choice and, frankly, not one I dislike for this particular scene… if the rest of the season weren’t already peppered with such moments, cropping up every time they’re even remotely relevant. I want to take Jenkins’ face gently in my hands and go, “It’s okay. Your audience is smart. I promise they know the significance of this dialogue without a roadmap to every pertinent scene. And if they don’t? The discovery of that is amazing. That’s analysis. Let your viewers make the connections for themselves… otherwise great job :)”

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Conclusion (AKA When I Finally Rest)

“Conclusion” implies that I have closing arguments to make, but I think I’ve done enough writing for a while lol. I don’t know if I’ll write more OFMD meta in the future (probably), but if I do, I’ll likely use this post as a touchstone for additional thoughts. Like the others, this will live on the “Metas” page of my blog until such a time as tumblr decides to crash for good.

Until then, if you’ve made it this far then you have my heartfelt thanks, my undying love, and my hope that you have the best possible day.

I salute you, dear reader!

[gaiuswrites]

Original Sin | Darksaber!Din

Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)

Word count: 3.4k~

Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.

Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry

Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨

Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.

It wasn’t always this way.

They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.

But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.

Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.

Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—

It’s different. It feels different. Something is...

off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.

Killing you.

There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.

Was that a shadow? No.

Is someone there? It’s just you.

There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.

Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has

changed.

The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.

You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.

When this Other became.

On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.

“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.

A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.

“No.”

Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”

“Come here, mesh’la.”

And you did. You always do.

The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.

By you, too.

Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man.

And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.

To inhabit.

The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.

For all of you.

Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.

You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.

Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.

And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.

But— you aren’t.

You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,

lower.

It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.

You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.

You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that’s glazed over your eyes.

“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."

Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.

“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.

“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”

Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.

“I’m-"

I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.

Your brow wavers. “I-"

He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.

“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.

“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”

Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.

“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.

“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.

Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.

He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.

“How much?”

For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.

“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”

Your cunt bottoms out.

He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”

Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.

“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."

Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.

You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.

“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.

“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”

Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.

He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.

You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.

Beg for more.

“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”

Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.

“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”

Fuck.

Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”

He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.

“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.

A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.

You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”

Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.

“Din-”

You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.

“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”

It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.

And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.

No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.

You want to be possessed by him.

“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”

Be good be good be good

He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.

A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.

Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”

You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.

He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.

“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”

Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.

“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.

Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.

When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.

Undetected.

It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.

Breeding there.

“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”

You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.

It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.

“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.

Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”

You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.

/

Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—

until you don’t.

Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—

A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.

No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-

You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.

Inside you.

The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.

‘Wake up, sweet girl.’

/

Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec

[screamingatanemptyroom]

One Shot Werewolf Story

So... first of all, Next part of PFTS should be coming out soon. It's going to take some work to make sure that I pull all the threads that's I've placed in all the worlds together without plot holes, so apologize for how long it's taking. Will probably finish this last world in 2-3 parts, with possibly 1 or two extra parts from Liam and the Traveler's perspective.

Now, back to the story at hand. About a week ago, I wandered into the werewolf side of Wattpad. It was very... interesting. Never written about werewolves before. Thought it might be fun to try my own using my own style. (Women who constantly think they aren't pretty or good enough for the man, men who force physical intimacy and growl "mine" aren't really going to work for me.)

Anyways, It's about a 13k oneshot. It's a bit out of my norm, so I hope you guys enjoy! (Also I would love to hear ideas on what to title this.)

Here it is:

________________________

“I can’t believe you read this garbage!” Alyssa’s coworker held up the book in her hand, staring at it with disgust. “What do you see in books like this, anyways?”

Alyssa sighed, looking up at the book in question. The cover showed a shirtless muscular man holding a busty woman while scowling at the camera, with the title written across the top in bright orange words: “The Alpha’s Timid Mate.”

“I don’t read it for fun.” She muttered, reaching up and snatching the book back. Opening the large roller suitcase behind her, she found its place among the hundreds of other werewolf books and put it away carefully.

“Then what is it?” Her coworker asked with a tone of disbelief.

“Research.”

“Really? Research? For what? When your werewolf boyfriend shows up out of nowhere? “ She let out a derisive snort. “Sure.”

“…You don’t understand.”

She doesn’t understand us. The wolf in Alyssa’s head spoke up silently.

“That’s what I said.”

Can we eat her? Her wolf seemed excited by the idea.

“No. You know we can’t. You don’t even really want to. You’re just acting out because you’re upset I won’t let you watch horror movies any more.”

I am not acting out! But since you mentioned it… bring back the horror movies!

“No.”

“What are you talking about?” Her coworker frowned; confused by the conversation she could only hear half of.

Turning to her briefly, Alyssa shrugged. “Sorry, I’m just having a small discussion. I’ll be free to talk shortly.”

“Don’t bother.” The girl walked away, whispering under her breath. “Freak.”

Should have just eaten her.

“Wolves don’t even eat people. Stop pretending.”

How do you know? Maybe WEREwolves DO eat people! You have no clue! You haven’t found a pack yet. Even though you PROMISED!

“I know, I know.” Alyssa rubbed her forehead tiredly. “It’s harder than I thought it would be.”

I’m lonely and bored! I want to go run! I want a pack!

“Anything else, Your Highness? A bone on a silver platter?”

The wolf paused at that, pouting quietly … I’m hungry. Feed us something tasty.

“That I can do. We’ll eat on our lunch break.”

Steak?

“…We’ll see.”

As her wolf silently cheered, the door to the bookstore she was tending opened. A strange smell reached her nose. Mint and pine along with another scent she couldn’t quite place.

Alyssa looked up and was startled. The man who walked in looked like he had stepped off the cover of one of her werewolf books. Muscular, handsome… his brown hair just long enough to frame his green eyes. And tall… Alyssa had always known she was short, but never felt quite so at a disadvantage height wise as she did at the man’s approach.

He looks like the lead from book #298. Her wolf suggested in an interested tone.

“I was thinking book #645, but I see your point.”

Why do you think he’s here?

“I don’t know.”

As he moved closer, his gaze meeting her own, Alyssa stepped back, the sound of her wolf’s growl filling her mind.

HE’S A WEREWOLF! … even better, he smells strong… an ALPHA? QUICK, MATE HIM!

An alpha? Crap. Alyssa had done enough research to know that was bad news. “Look here, missy, I am not assaulting some stranger just because…”

Then let’s switch over to wolf so I can do it!

“No!”

“Excuse me…” The man spoke up, his voice hesitant and trailing off.

Alyssa turned and hurried out the back. Passing through the bookshelves, she heard someone following close behind, and picked up the pace. The door squeaked loudly as she forced it open, slamming against the wall as she broke out into a run towards the back alley.

“Wait!” The man’s voice called out.

Seeing that they were now alone, she stopped in her tracks, and turned, more irritated than nervous. “What?”

“…” He seemed thrown off by her sudden change, but shook his head, studying her closely. The man seemed to recognize something, and moved quickly to stand next to her. “You’re…” His eyes widened, and he reached out to grab her. “A werewolf? My mate?!”

YES! I knew it! Her wolf’s scream of excitement echoed in her mind.

Alyssa sighed tiredly, reaching into her bag. “Well, crap.”

________________________

It had been a terrible day.

Lewis listened to his family arguing, wishing for the thousandth time that he wasn’t in charge.

“Nightfang’s pack could wipe us out!” Gary, his Beta, slammed his fist on the table, the force of it scattering plates and cups.

Lewis’s mother stood up, and despite her height only coming only to the enormous man’s chin he shrunk down in fear. “…Did you just mess up my kitchen?”

“…”

“Then you’re gonna be a good boy and clean that up right now, yes?” She raised an eyebrow. “Or you won’t have to worry about that Nightfang pack. There won’t be enough of you left for them to fight over once I’m through.”

“…I’ll clean it up right away, Ma’am.”

“That’s what I thought.” She turned to Lewis, patting his shoulder comfortingly. “What’s you plan to deal with this, dear?”

“My plan?” His voice came out slightly more stressed than he meant it to.

“Well, you’re the alpha. Your father left it to you to protect us. “

“Yes. Of course… a plan… which I definitely have.”

Gary and his mate Berta glanced at each other from the other side of the table.

“He doesn’t have a plan.”

“Did you really expect him to?”

“Hey!” At Lewis’s hurt exclamation, Gary shrugged.

“No offense, Alpha, but since your broth… since Nightfang left and took half the pack with him, things have been a little disorganized. You have to admit that’s true.”

Lewis walked over to the window of the cabin, leaning on the sill and staring up at the cloudy sky. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were supposed to help each other. Help the pack. But now it’s all just one huge mess and I’m the only one left to take care of it.

Hey, you’re not alone! His wolf’s irritated voice burst out. I’m always here. We’re stuck together for life!

I’m aware. He chuckled quietly. Glad to have you, Buddy.

So… Can we go find our mate now?

You know we can’t. There could be an attack any day now. Besides, I’ve already visited all the packs within driving distance. She’s not there.

Maybe she’s human, like our mom. We should go to town and find her.

Yeah, just go to town and pick up a mate like going to the grocery store to pick up milk. No problem with that.

She’s probably waiting for us! She’s wondering what’s taking us so long to find her. What if she thinks we can’t provide for her? Hurry, you have to find her…. Bring steak… no… four steaks… fatty ones! It will show that we can feed her… make her fat! She’ll definitely want to mate with us then!

Nothing turns women on more than shoving red meat in their face and telling them that you’ll help them gain weight.

Like you would know? Who have you dated? Regale me with tales of your vast experience.

Hey! You haven’t dated either.

I have instincts, at least.

“Lewis?” Gary’s voice broke him from his silent talk with his wolf.

He turned back “We’ll tighten up the patrol schedule.” He rubbed his forehead.

“It will mean giving up territory.”

“I’m aware.” The words came out as a growl. Territory was everything. In the old days it was a pack’s survival. The instinct to protect it at all costs remained, but Lewis had no choice. “Their safety matters more.”

The pack has to be protected first.

Agree. His wolf sounded unhappy, but stood by him, as always.

“Alright then. Continue with training, and preparing for if Nightfang brings his pack for war.” Lewis sighed. “Hopefully they’ll wait until the colder weather passes.”

Although it might be just delaying the inevitable.

“You are all dismissed.” As he stood up, however, his mother stopped him with a smile.

“Can you pick up some milk, dear? I’m out.”

“… Sure, Mom.” He held back a laugh thinking about his conversation with his wolf, knowing that no one else would get the joke. Maybe I’ll pick up my mate while I’m there.

He headed into town.

As he parked his car and walked towards the supermarket, however, his wolf suddenly started shouting in his head.

She’s here!

Lewis frowned. Who? Nightfang or one of his followers?

No, you idiot! Our mate!

Where? He skidded to a halt, staring around frantically. His heart started to race, as he prepared to meet his soulmate… the one he had been waiting for his entire life.

In the bookstore! His wolf wasn’t much better, barely able to communicate in its excitement.

He opened the door, ignoring the soft chime that sounded out to alert a new customer’s arrival. His eyes scanned the room, trying to spot… something. A familiar face, a special feeling. How do you know if someone is your mate…?

His silent voice trailed off in shock as he stared at… her.

She was beautiful.

Dark curls, the tips just barely brushing her shoulders. She was short… very short. He felt awkwardly tall, wondering if she would dislike his height. She seemed to be packing a book into a suitcase, but then turned to face him.

Her grey eyes widened at the sight of him.

Does she feel it too?

QUICK, FEED HER!

With what?!!! I don’t have any food!

Why didn’t you bring the steaks?!!! Now she’s going to think we’re weak and she’ll starve as our mate! What if she leaves us?!!

Human women don’t need steaks for courtship… watch.

Lewis cleared his throat. “Excuse me…”

She turned and rushed out of the store.

…

…

…You were saying?

…Maybe you were right about the steaks.

He followed her out to the back of the shop, cringing at the suspicious looks that the customers in the shop gave him.

I’m chasing after a girl into a back alley. I’ll be lucky if no one calls the cops.

She’s our mate! We could never hurt her!

They don’t know that. She might not even know that!

To his shock she stopped and turned around once they were out of the store. Placing her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “What?”

“…” She was even more mesmerizing up close. Lewis nervously cleared his throat, stepping closer.

Her scent filled his senses. Lilac and spring and… wolf?

She’s a werewolf! That’s awesome! Let’s shift and show her how strong our wolf form is. It’s much better looking than the human look.

“You’re…” Feeling stunned, he reached out, wanting to touch her, to hold her hand. “A werewolf? My mate?”

This is amazing! His mate, his soulmate was standing right in front of him. Would she be happy too? Was she excited to meet us?

She didn’t seem shocked. Didn’t seem happy either… or angry, or afraid. Her face just showed mild… annoyance?

Does she not feel the bond?

“Well, crap.”

As she spoke out with a matter of fact tone, Lewis’s hand neared her shoulder, only to spasm and drop as he fell to the ground shaking. His mate stood over him, staring down at him blankly, the Taser in her hand still sparking.

Well, crap. He silently echoed his mate’s words as darkness overcame him.

________________________

Alyssa sat on her favorite chair, holding her favorite mug, drinking her favorite tea, wrapped in her favorite blanket, hoping it would improve her mood.

It wasn’t working.

Mostly due to the large man on her living room floor, just now waking up from the effects of her Taser… and the large animal sedative she stuck him with after he went down. He blinked his eyes, seeming confused and disoriented.

He’s adorable. I bet his wolf is good looking! Can you ask him to shift? Her wolf hadn’t shut up since they met the other werewolf.

“Shush. He’s waking up now. It would be rude to ask him before we’ve talked. “

Spoilsport. At least show him all the hamburger meat we have frozen.

“Why would he want to see our hamburger meat?”

THAT will show him how effective we are at gathering food! We can be an asset to his pack! If he doesn’t have a pack he should follow us around, and we can fatten him up! … he’s too skinny.

“He’s not skinny… he’s very muscular.”

What if there’s not enough prey in the winter? His muscles will go away. He should have a nice little layer of fat.

“Do not fatten him up! I like him like this.”

“Excuse me?” The man on her living room floor struggled to sit up. Leaning back against her TV stand, he blinked a few more times, obviously still fighting off the tranquilizer. Looking around, he just seemed more confused. “Where am I?”

“My home.” Alyssa told him, taking another sip of her tea.

“Ah.” He paused, awkwardly shifting his weight and raising his hands which were tied together with silver chains, like his ankles. “Why am I tied up?”

“…” She stared at him silently a few moments. “You’re a werewolf.”

“…Yes. So are you?”

“You said I was your mate.”

He blushed at that, avoiding eye contact. “Sorry. I know that was awkward. I was surprised. I’ve been looking for years since I reached adulthood.”

“You’re an alpha?”

“Yes.” Straightening his spine, he forced a cocky looking grin. “A strong alpha of a great pack.”

“So now you know why you’re tied up.”

“…pardon?”

Alyssa rolled her eyes. “I’ve done enough research to know when an alpha finds his mate, it tends to get physical… and non-consensual… real quick.”

He still seemed confused. “Research?”

She set down her tea and blanket and dragged over the enormous roller suitcase. Opening it, she displayed hundreds of paperback romance books. She pulled one out, showing off the cover, which showed a half-naked muscular man holding a woman tightly as she half-heartedly pushed him away.

The bound man looked at the picture. “The Reluctant Mate of an Alpha? What is this?”

“There are 983 books on werewolves in my possession.” She pulled out her notebook, quickly flipping to the “alpha” section. “88% of them feature an alpha werewolf as the male lead… and 92% of those characters force their mate to engage in physical intimacy… mostly hugging and kissing… within the first few minutes of meeting them.”

“You… you’re getting your information from romance books?” He looked horrified. “Where’s your pack?”

“No pack. Abandoned as a baby. I grew up in the foster system.”

A low angry growl sounded from his chest. “What pack abandons a child?!”

“The kind of pack that I’m probably better off being abandoned than raised by.” She tapped the book again. “Back to the fact that I’m apparently the mate to an alpha wolf.”

“Not apparently!” He looked distressed still. “You ARE! Can’t you sense it?”

She ignored him, putting the book back carefully. “You know that alpha wolves aren’t even a natural thing… only happens with wolves in captivity. Wolves in the wild tend to form family units. “

“…But we aren’t normal wolves? We wouldn’t have the exact same pack structure.”

“Exactly. Thus I can’t use my wolf encyclopedia to gain information.” She frowned. “That would have been preferable, honestly. I don’t really like the alphas in these stories.”

If you’re not going to mate with him… can we eat him?

“Stop asking to eat people. You know the answer.”

Lewis’s eyes grew wide. “Did you say ‘eat PEOPLE?”

“Don’t worry. There’s a strict ‘no eating people’ rule. It’s just a phase she’s gone through since I let her watch 80s horror werewolf flicks. She thinks its funny, but its not. “ She threw her hands up helplessly. “This is WHY we are on a horror movie ban!”

This is unfair!

“It’s perfectly fair! Even if you ignore the moral implications, you wouldn’t even like the taste of human flesh!”

What about hot sauce? Didn’t you say hot sauce makes every thing taste better?

“Yes… hot sauce does make everything taste better.”

“Wait… are you going to EAT me?” Lewis questioned with a panicked tone, scooting backwards closer to the door.

“No. I told you, there’s a firm ‘no eating people’ rule in place. We’re done discussing that.”

“But…”

“We’re discussing whether or not hot sauce would make your flesh taste better if we ate you… hypothetically.”

“Oh.” He thought it over. “I do like hot sauce. But I don’t think wolves do.”

“No. It would give them diarrhea, probably.” Alyssa nodded. “See. Even hot sauce wouldn’t help.”

Then if we aren’t going to eat him, can we please just MATE with him?

“No eating. No mating.”

“Wait, can we not put a strict no mating rule in place just yet? At least not a permanent one?” He paused. “Also, if I promise not to engage in any alpha behaviors like you see in your ‘research’, can I please be untied?”

“…” She studied him warily. “I suppose.”

“Great!” He held out his wrists, smiling with relief as she started to untie him.

“I have plenty of tranquilizer anyways.” She muttered.

“…pardon?”

The bonds slipped free. The man rubbed his wrists, careful to not make any sudden movements. Relieved by his apparent honesty in not trying anything, Alyssa headed back to her chair and wrapped herself back in her blanket.

Grabbing her tea, she took a sip of the lukewarm liquid and smiled. “So what brought the great alpha into my place of work today? Were you looking for me?”

________________________

Lewis was unsure how to answer his mate. Panicking, he said the first thing he thought of.

“Actually I was going to go buy milk.”

She raised an eyebrow. “In the bookstore?”

“Yes! I mean, no!” He covered in his face. “I was on my way to the supermarket, when my wolf… sensed you.”

She tilted her head, seeming more interested. “Your wolf? What’s he like?”

TELL HER I AM VERY STRONG!

“Umm… he’s strong…”

TELL HER I CAN MAKE HER FAT!!

No!

How else will she know I can provide food for her and our children?!

No. I’m not saying we’ll make her fat!

ITS IMPORTANT! TELL HER HOW FAT WE CAN MAKE HER!

“Are you okay?”

“WE’LL MAKE YOU REALLY FAT!” Lewis blurted out… and then stared at the ground in embarrassed horror.

“…” There was a long silence.

“My wolf says that’s very attractive.” She shook her head. “She wants you to know that we have several pounds of hamburger in our freezer and that we are happy to contribute food to you and your family.”

She’s smart and stores plenty of meat in her freezer! Please convince her to stay as our mate!

“So would you like to come visit our pack? He asked, wincing as she pulled what appeared to be a miniature Taser out of thin air. “Just visiting! No mating!” He relaxed as she hid the Taser away again “…Where were you even keeping that?”

“Secret pocket in the sleeve…. It’s not my only one, so don’t think I’ve given you any advantage.”

Lewis tried to think of something that would appeal to her. “I know you don’t have a pack… it would be a chance to get to know others like you… “

“… I would be able to refine my research…” She muttered, staring down at her notebook. “Plus my wolf really wants to…”

SHE’S GOING TO SAY YES!

Shush!

“Sure. Why not?” She shrugged, holding out her hand. “I guess we should officially meet if we’re going back to your pack together. I’m Alyssa.”

Alyssa! Her name is pretty!

“Nice to meet you Alyssa.” Lewis smiled brightly. “I’m Lewis.” He shook her hand, trying to stay calm at the shocking feeling of touching her. It was almost painful, as if every cell in his body were screaming at him that he’s met his soulmate. Overwhelmed, confused, he glanced over at his mate, only to see her calm expression.

Does she not feel this? Are we just delusional?

She’s our mate! Of course she feels it!

She’s not acting like it. Maybe we’re wrong? Lewis felt a stabbing pain in his chest at the thought. She was his mate. He had waited his whole life to meet her. He belonged to her.

What if she doesn’t want us?

… His wolf didn’t have an answer to that.

Maybe she can sense our weakness… our failure.

No… we’re not weak! We’re alpha of a strong pack!

That’s fallen apart because most of them felt I wasn’t the best one for the job.

We have to be strong. We can’t fail our pack or our mate. Don’t show weakness!

I’ll try.

Lewis forced a calm smile as he looked at Alyssa. “Should we head over and meet the pack?”

“Hmm… Aren’t you forgetting something?” She angled her head, studying him.

“What?”

“Didn’t you say you were on your way to pick up milk when you met me?”

“OH SHOOT!” He jumped to his feet. “I’m glad you said something! You saved my life!”

“By remembering milk?”

“You don’t realize how horrible my death would be at my mom’s hands if I had forgotten it.”

“…” She raised an eyebrow, a slight smile at the corner of her mouth. “You’re welcome, then.”

I like her smile! Let’s help make her smile more!

Agree.

Lewis ran to pick up some milk while she packed a bag for the trip. When he returned, he was shocked by the number of suitcases she had brought with her.

“Are all these clothes?”

“Don’t be silly.” She looked at him like he was an idiot. “It’s my research.”

He was almost afraid to ask, but felt he had to. “… They’re all filled with werewolf romance books… aren’t they?

“Not just books… “ Alyssa seemed a little defensive. “There’s some weapons. And a few changes of clothes.”

“If you’re staying a few days at least, do you need to take off work?”

She shook her head. “No need.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. “

“…Okay.” He didn’t want to pry. At least not yet. Maybe one day she’ll trust us enough to tell us more.

He packed her bags into the car, glad for his superhuman strength as he lifted the suitcases filled to the brim with books. Alyssa sat in the passenger seat, clutching a notebook and a small messenger bag, which also appeared to be filled with books. As they headed outside of town, an awkward silence fell between them.

Say something witty! His wolf finally lost patience with Something that will make her think we’re smart!

Open to any suggestions, Buddy. I’m having trouble thinking straight with our mate so close, much less think of something smart to say!

Aren’t you supposed to be the more intelligent half? I’m supposed to be the stronger one.

You’re the one always saying that wolves are super intelligent creatures and I should listen to you more!

Now we’re being silent for too long! What if she thinks we’re an idiot?!

You’re not helping…

“So how do werewolves mate?” Alyssa asked calmly, the question almost causing Lewis to swerve off the road in shock.

“…”

…

“Sorry, I don’t think I heard you. Could you repeat the question?”

“How do werewolves mate?”

… I think I preferred the awkward silence.

No! This is good! She’s showing an interest in mating!

“Umm… Not differently than humans… you learned about that in health class, right?” He desperately hoped he would not have to have a “birds and bees” talk with his mate right after meeting her.

“Oh.” She sounded slightly disappointed. “So we don’t mate in wolf form?”

I’m game.

SHUT UP.

“Typically no… I mean I guess it’s possible…” He felt himself turn bright red, feeling super uncomfortable. “But usually its in human form… at least from my understanding of what mated couples say.”

“Hmm..” She seemed to be listening to something. “No, I don’t think his wolf is impotent. I think it’s a cultural thing.”

HER WOLF THINKS I’M IMPOTENT, WE’RE SHIFTING NOW!

We are currently driving down a highway! We are not shifting any time soon! Besides, what on earth do you think you’re going to do in wolf form that’s going to convince her otherwise?

I’ll show her my genitals, to reassure her.

THAT DOES NOT REASSURE WOMEN! ARE YOU TRYING TO GET US TASED?!

“So I bet that means that werewolf pregnancy follows human rules then. “ She sighed, frowning while pulling out her notebook and writing a few things down. “There was only 3% of books that presented mating and pregnancy while in wolf form, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“… I see.”

“How long does pregnancy last? 19% of the books depict a shorter pregnancy cycle, but I wasn’t sure if it was just to get the plot to move faster.”

“Normal 9 months.”

“Number of children per pregnancy?”

“One… unless you have twins.”

She groaned, leaning back in her chair. “So no advantages at all? So disappointing.”

SHE’S DISAPOINTED! TELL HER TWINS RUN IN OUR FAMILY! WE’LL GIVE HER SO MANY CHILDREN!

“Twins run in our family!” Lewis nearly shouted.

“Really?” Alyssa studied him, looking slightly interested. “Do you have a twin?”

Great. I really had to bring HIM up.

“I do… but he left the pack.”

“Does that happen often?”

“No.”

“I see…” She made a few more notes. “Obviously the villain.”

“…” I mean, she’s not wrong. “Any other questions?” Please be something easy.

“Will mating with another werewolf change my menstrual cycle?”

“…”

…

Do you know?

Nope. Nothing in the instincts about this. Do you?

Nope.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I don’t know the answer to that question. One of the pack might be able to answer it. Maybe Bridget? She seems pretty knowledgeable.”

“Bridget? Your sister?”

“No… she’s just one of the warriors in the pack..”

“Hmm…” Alyssa thought that over. “Is she pretty?”

Lewis shrugged. “Seems pretty normal.”

“Do you two get along?”

“She follows orders, so I guess?”

“I see.” He could hear her pen scratching against paper again. “The female side character who will try to chase we away, maybe? How exciting.”

“…” Lewis decided he didn’t want to ask anything about it. For the sake of his sanity if nothing else.

They spent the rest of the car ride in silence.

________________________

Alyssa felt increasingly nervous the closer they got to pack territory.

I think we’re almost there. This area smells different.

“Different how?”

It smells like our mate! I like it!

“Hmm… Do you think he pees on trees to mark his territory?”

Isn’t that normal?

“It’s normal for wolves… do you think he does it in human form too?”

“I DON’T MARK TERRITORY AS A HUMAN!” Lewis spoke out frantically. “Can you stop talking about me like I’m not here?!”

She turned to him, curious by his reaction. “Don’t you talk to your wolf?”

“All the time, but I do it SILENTLY!” He paused. “Do you not know how to?”

“Oh I know how to, I just think it’s really rude to leave her out of the general conversation. She’s here too you know.”

“That makes sense… I guess…” He sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Well, I assume you know since you were commenting on the scent markings, but yes, we’re in pack territory. “

Alyssa nodded, her heart rate increasing slightly. She didn’t like this. Going to unfamiliar places. Meeting new people. Especially people who may have a culture or rules that she didn’t understand. They might not like her.

How could they not love us? We’re a strong, beautiful female… at least when we’re in wolf form.

“Hey!”

We’ll be just fine.

“I hope so.” She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves.

A warm hand hesitantly grasped her own. She felt an electric shock traveling up her fingers from the touch, but kept her face expressionless. “Are you okay?” Lewis’s voice was quiet, a comforting sound.

I like his voice. His touch his very warm!

“If you’re worried… I know that you might not believe me, but the pack is very friendly. You’ll feel very welcome.”

“In 42% of the books the pack is welcoming to a stranger… usually because she’s the alpha’s mate. In the rest they are either wary of the unknown person, or distrustful or unfriendly. “ She thought it over. “I guess it’s not bad odds.”

The car came to a stop. Lewis squeezed her hand one last time, and then stepped out, getting her suitcases from the trunk and back seat. Alyssa stared down at her now empty hand, feeling frustrated.

I trust him.

“You trust everyone. It’s my job to keep us safe.” She got out of the car, staring around at the area. There were several nice houses, all scattered far from each other. The place was quiet, peaceful, surrounded by woods. She liked it.

He won’t hurt us. He can’t. It would be like hurting himself.

“You’d be surprised how low people can sink if they want.”

No I wouldn’t. I lived through all the same experiences with you. But wolves do better with a family. We’ll do better with a pack.

“I haven’t agreed to that yet.”

We’ll see.

Lewis carried her many bags without seeming stressed by the weight. “I’ll bring these into the main house. Do you want to come along? Or you can wait here, I can show you around.”

She glanced around at the forest around her. “I’ll wait here.”

“Ok. I’ll be right back.” He looked slightly worried about separating from her, but after a brief hesitation, he walked away.

Alyssa strolled around the clearing by the car, feeling calmer as she took in the fresh air.

I like it here. We should live here.

“We’ll see.”

Also mate Lewis before another female gets him.

“I don’t think that’s how it works. In 82% of the books, being mates meant soul mates. Only small exceptions made for if mates rejected each other and such… for the drama, I suppose. “

Don’t take chances. Even with an impotent wolf we should claim him sooner rather than later. He has fatty steaks in his house. I can smell them.

“That’s what’s important to you? And I told you, I don’t think his wolf is impotent…”

“WHO ARE YOU?” A strident voice called out.

Alyssa turned to see a beautiful young woman walking towards her with a suspicious expression. She had shorter, curly blond hair and bright green eyes, towering over her in height. Alyssa sighed slightly as she realized she would probably be the shortest werewolf here by a good amount.

We’re short but feisty! Don’t underestimate us!

“I’m Alyssa.” She waved cheerfully. “Who are you?”

“…” The young woman seemed confused. “Bridget.”

The bitch side character! Maybe she’ll shout at us to “stay away from her man!”

“You don’t know that. Maybe she’s nice. She’s pretty.”

She is pretty… but it would be more fun if she were hysterical and tried to scare us off.

“…Who are you talking to?”

“My wolf.” Alyssa grinned at her. “She’s wondering if you are going to scream at us and tell us to stay away from Lewis.”

The woman seemed stunned. “Why would I do that?”

“All the books have it.” She pulled out her notebook and spread out the books from her messenger bag. Holding up one where a woman in a ripped dress stood next to a large wolf titled “The Alpha’s Runaway Love”, she pointed to a smaller, angry looking woman in the background of the cover. “See… in 79% of these stories there’s a strong female side character who is desperately in love with the alpha despite him being mated to the main character and tries to drive her away.”

“… Are those… romance novels….?”

“But I really hope you aren’t that character type. I think you seem like an awesome older sister type.” She stepped closer, which highlighted the height difference between them. “We’ve always wanted a cool, pretty older sister like you. “

“…” Bridget seemed genuinely overwhelmed. “Umm… first of all… I don’t want to scare you away from Lewis… I grew up with the guy. He wet the bed once when I slept over when we were five… ruined my favorite princess sheets…”

Alyssa started taking notes.

“I was just curious about who you were…” She rested a hand on Alyssa’s head, almost seemingly despite herself. “Are you Lewis’ mate?”

“Yep! He found me in a bookstore.” She paused. “Do you know if mating with a werewolf changes your menstrual cycle? I asked Lewis, but he seemed like he was having a seizure and said he didn’t know.”

“…” Bridgett’s face spasmed at that, she seemed to be holding back a laugh.

“Also… I brought hamburger meat… do you want some? “

“So…” Bridget’s voice trailed off.

“So?” Alyssa tilted her head, confused.

“SO CUTE!!!” Alyssa was pulled into an enormous bear hug, squeezed almost uncomfortably tight as Bridget continued to yell. “YOU’RE ADOPTED!”

“What are you doing with my mate?” Lewis’s strained voice made Alyssa want to look over, but she was still trapped in the hug.

“She’s my little sister now, Alpha.” Bridget’s voice was calm, but stern. “If anything happens to her, I will destroy you.”

Alyssa smiled at her as the tall woman set her down. “Really?”

“Really.” Bridget grinned back. “I’ve always wanted a sister too.”

“Awesome!”

As the two girls began chatting excitedly, Lewis cleared his throat. “Guys? I hate to break up the love here, but the pack is gathering to meet Alyssa.”

He walked over towards Alyssa, stopping in his tracks as Bridget grabbed her first and tugged her in the correct direction. “Come on, let’s hurry up! I can’t wait to introduce you to them!”

“She’s MY mate! I want to introduce her!”

“Too bad, so sad, bedwetter! If you weren’t so slow maybe you could have grabbed her first.” She laughed.

“Hey, you promised never to mention that again! What if you scare my mate away?!”

“Even better, she’ll just live with me and my family.”

As they moved, Alyssa tapped her arm, leaning close. “Is this really okay?”

“Is what okay?”

“I mean… he’s your alpha… is it okay to be like this with him?”

Bridget smiled. “Don’t worry. He’s a good alpha… a strong fighter, a capable leader… but he’s very kind. He prefers his pack feel comfortable enough to joke around with him. Says if they can trust him enough to make fun of him that it means they’ll trust him enough to have the uncomfortable conversations as well.”

He’s a good leader.

“Maybe…”

Let’s mate him!

Alyssa groaned at the expected response from her wolf, shaking her head slowly.

They arrived in a clearing in the woods, where twenty or thirty people had gathered. Everyone looked very different, with skin tones, eye and hair color varying widely from person to person. People of all ages chatted excitedly, watching their approach. They did have one thing in common though:

They were all tall.

We’re… tall… too.

“We’re short.” Feeling uncomfortable, she hid behind Bridget, who growled at the crowd.

“Don’t you guys make my sister uncomfortable! Sit down, you’re scaring her.”

The crowd looked very confused at that, but sat down on the grass anyways. Besides the three of them, only one man remained standing. He was enormous, a head taller than even Lewis, who Alyssa already considered very tall. He was broad as well as tall, his muscles nearly bursting out of the flannel shirt he was wearing. His face was covered in a bushy beard, his dark hair cropped close.

Overall Alyssa thought he looked very intimidating. She watched as he approached, a hand grasping her hidden Taser in her sleeve.

“This is my Beta Gary.” Lewis’s calm voice was reassuring, but she refused to relax her vigilance as the large man bent down to look her in the eye. “Gary, this is my mate, Alyssa.”

“Hey there, Alyssa.” The hair-covered face broke into a friendly smile. “We’ve been hoping Lewis would find a nice mate for a while now. Glad you’re here. If anyone gives you trouble you let me know, I’ll knock a few heads in.”

Alyssa grinned back at him. “Nice to meet you, Gary. You’re really large.”

Ask him if we can sit on his shoulder! I want to be tall!

“It would be rude to ask to sit on his shoulder right after meeting him. We’ll ask him later.”

But…

Before her wolf could complain too much, Gary reached out and picked her up easily, placing her on one broad shoulder and steadying her with a single hand. “How’s this?”

Alyssa looked around. “This is GREAT!” She laughed.

Bow before us mortals! WE ARE TALL!

“My wolf is very happy right now. She was sad that we were so much shorter than everyone.”

HEY! You were sad too!

“Well you can ride on my shoulder anytime you want.” Gary laughed. “My mate Berta and I always wanted kids, but…” his voice trailed off slightly. “Well, anyways, feel free to come to us if you ever need help.”

“OR ME!” Bridget burst out. “I’ve already claimed her as my little sister!”

Lewis stared at the three of them, looking slightly tired. “Do I get any time with her as her mate?”

Gary and Bridget glanced at each other. “… We’ll see.”

Putting Alyssa down in front of the pack, Gary winked at her as if to reassure her before taking his place standing behind the Alpha. Lewis stepped forward, his manner becoming stronger, more confident as he addressed the crowd.

“Everyone, this is my mate Alyssa. She’s one of us, but she doesn’t have a pack. So I expect you all to make her feel safe and welcome.” He looked around, smiling as everyone nodded obediently.

“Welcome!”

“We’re glad you’re here!”

“Maybe Lewis will stop moping so much now!”

The cheerful voices of the pack made Alyssa feel calmer. She waved at them, speaking up. “Hey everyone! Like Lewis said, I’m Alyssa. I don’t know much about werewolves… I’ve only grown up around humans, but I’m excited to learn more.”

They seem nice.

Her wolf was happy about the packs’ reactions. No one seemed thrown off by her introduction. No one was glaring at her or even seeming suspicious of her.

It’s a good thing, right?

Before she could respond, Lewis spoke up, distracting her. “Let’s take you back to meet my mom.”

________________________

Lewis was relieved that the pack introduction went so well. Not that he was overly surprised; most of the more disagreeable pack members had left in the split with his brother. Who was left were either the ones too reasonable to be sucked into his rhetoric, or the very loyal ones to himself or his father.

Either way, I guess it’s a good thing.

He led his mate towards his house, breathing a small sigh of relief when Bridget and Gary didn’t insist on following. He liked them both a lot, but they could be a lot. Especially since they seemed to have instantly bonded with Alyssa.

Just admit it. We’re jealous. We want to bond with Alyssa too.

We don’t know what all she’s been through. She was abandoned by her pack as an infant. Her only knowledge of us doesn’t paint Alpha’s in a good light… or at least they don’t seem to. Lewis resolved to get his hands on some of those books and read through this. It might help us understand how she views us… and how to reassure her.

I like her. His wolf’s voice was filled with a patient care. Even if she doesn’t like us just yet, I hope she’s happy and feels safe here.

I do too. Lewis desperately wanted to reassure his mate. He could feel her anxiety through the bond. Even when she was smiling she didn’t feel safe. But he didn’t know how to help just yet.

They reached the house, and as they were about to enter, the door swung open and Lewis’s mother rushed out. Making a beeline for Alyssa, she hugged her tightly, grinning.

“I’M SO HAPPY YOU’RE HERE!”

Alyssa seemed shocked at the sudden appearance of his mother. Lewis tried to step in. “Mom, don’t scare her…”

“Finally someone normal sized!” Alyssa burst out, hugging his mother back.

“I know, right? They’re all way too tall!” Lewis’s mother stepped back, patting her head fondly. “I forgive them since they’re all such good people, but still, I’m happy to have someone I don’t have to strain my neck to look at.”

“Mom, this is Alyssa, my mate.”

“I figured as much dear. You’ve never paid so much attention and care to a single person before. “ She grabbed Alyssa’s hand. “Come in, I made food.”

Our mother understands! She’ll show our mate how much food we can provide!

Alyssa glanced at him. “My wolf wants to make sure that the hamburger meat we brought got put in the fridge.”

“I took care of it.” Lewis puffed out his chest, feeling accomplished.

His mother just shook her head. “Boys. Why don’t you take her bags up to the room next to mine while I get her something to pad her stomach?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He grabbed the suitcases full of books, weapons and clothes and rushed up the stairs. Her room was on the opposite end of the house from him, right next to his mother’s rooms.

Why is she staying so far away from us? His wolf whined in his head. What if something happens? How will we protect her?

She already doesn’t trust us. Hopefully the living arrangements will make her less nervous. If she doesn’t like it, she might go stay with Bridget instead. Do you want that?

No. Stupid Bridgett. She brought up the bedwetting incident. Our childhood shame bared in front of our mate! What if she doesn’t like us now?

We were young. I can’t imagine she would hold it against us… although yes, it is very embarrassing.

As he neared the kitchen once more, he overheard Alyssa and his mother talking. About to announce his arrival, his mouth slammed shut as he heard his mate’s question.

“So Lewis’ brother is a villain, right?”

“…” His mother sighed. “How much has he told you?”

“Just that he has a twin, and he’s not with the pack.”

“Well, I guess you haven’t known each other long… you’ll hear it anyways, might as well be from me, since he’s my son.” She sat down at the counter, rubbing her forehead tiredly.

“I had three children, actually. Twins boys and a younger girl. My husband was the Alpha of the Western pack, and although it’s not set in stone, usually one of the children of the Alpha will inherit the position.”

Lewis could hear Alyssa’s pen moving as she frantically took notes. He silently laughed, even as his chest hurt at the sound of his mother’s disappointed tone, leaning against the wall to hear how she would describe their situation.

“Now, I’m not a werewolf, you know. I’m a human who happened to be mates with a werewolf. So maybe I didn’t instill the idea of pack values as strongly as I could have.” She sighed. “Lewis seemed to get it naturally. He got hurt when he was ten… the first time he transformed, just to protect an elderly pack member who was being attacked. He’s got a large scar on his left elbow from a hunter’s arrow. Werewolves heal well… but the scars remain.”

My other son… Benjamin… he wasn’t nearly as concerned about the pack’s well being. Just obsessed with being strong. Being in charge. My daughter Emily seemed to feel very similar.”

“Seems pretty Alpha-like… at least how the books describe them.”

“But that’s the thing. Alphas SHOULD be strong. My mate was very strong, in fact. But their strength exists to protect and feed the pack. Strength and power for its own sake has no purpose… and often leads down a dangerous pack.”

“…”

“My mate died.” His mother whispered, the pain in her voice breaking Lewis’s heart. “Lung cancer. Even werewolves can die from disease. They heal… but not fast enough for more aggressive wounds or diseases. They’re not immortal.”

“I’m sorry.” Alyssa seemed genuinely concerned. “How did you survive losing your mate?”

“It helps that I’m human.” Her voice was still quiet. “The pain is still there…it’s like a piece of your soul missing. But I had family, pack … people who needed me to keep waking up each morning. And I’m glad I have.”

“So what happened next?”

“My mate’s will left the pack to Lewis.” His mother shrugged, turning back to stir the contents of a pot on the stove. “It was an obvious choice to us. He is strong, careful… puts the pack first.”

“But Benjamin didn’t agree?”

“He rebelled. Said Lewis was weak. Tried to fight him, but was pushed back by the loyal members of the pack. In the end he took almost half the pack with him to start a new one… including my daughter who also thought Lewis was too weak to lead.”

“…” Alyssa was silent. Lewis leaned against the wall, desperately trying to sense his mate’s emotions. Was she disappointed in him? Did she think he was a failure.

“He goes by Nightfang now… his group is our pack’s greatest threat.”

“…” Suddenly in the silent kitchen, Alyssa chuckled. “Seriously? Nightfang? Did he think that was a cool name?”

Lewis’s mother laughed too. “I know, right. I mean, it’s a serious situation and all, but seriously… he sounds like a villain in a Saturday morning cartoon.” She looked over, and chuckled again. “Alright, Lewis. Stop hiding around the corner and come join the conversation.”

Shamefully, Lewis ducked his head and entered the kitchen. He noticed Alyssa didn’t seem surprised by his presence.

She probably can sense when we’re nearby. It means our bond is slightly stronger!

It also means she knows we were eavesdropping like a creep!

Well we were… not like it’s much better if she doesn’t know.

“So…” He spoke up, trying to appear less awkward. “Can I help with dinner at all, Mom?”

She smiled, reaching up high to pat his head as well. “I’m pretty much done. How about after we eat you show her around the territory?”

Alyssa seemed a little more relaxed, to Lewis’s relief. “I’d like that.”

WE GET TO SPEND TIME WITH HER! THIS IS GREAT!

Play it cool! She already knows that half the pack left because we’re too weak to convince them we’re a good Alpha. If we look like an idiot too…

OH SHUT UP! His wolf snapped at it. Don’t pretend you’re not super excited. We’re the same person!

…Stupid wolf.

Silly human.

... Lewis was excited. So excited he could hardly breathe. His mate was right here, in front of him. She was smart, beautiful, friendly… at least to everyone else… more than he could have ever dared to dream of.

I just want her to like us… any ideas?

I still vote for bringing her food or showing her our genitals. .

… Never mind… I’ll think of something.

________________________

A few weeks passed.

Alyssa sat on the cool grass, watching Lewis in wolf form teaching some of the younger pack members how to fight.

“Watch out for each other.” His voice resounded her mind. “You can’t be so focused on the enemy that you lose track of what’s behind you.”

Having never spent any time prior to this visit around other werewolves, she was interested to find that although she did understand some of wolf language – a combination of scents, sounds and body language – the majority of the time werewolves simply spoke through mental communication.

Lewis batted one of the young wolves aside, snapping at another’s flank and using his weight to push a third to the ground, baring his teeth. The fallen wolf whimpered slightly, more with frustration than pain.

“Alpha, I thought we had to focus all of our attention on the attack, and not stop until the enemy was dead?” The youngest of the three, a male wolf named Teddy, finally spoke up, his tail between his legs. “How are we supposed to do that AND watch our backs?”

“Who told you that?” Lewis seemed shocked. “You are nothing without your pack! Only by working together and looking out for each other will you be at your strongest.”

“It was Uncle Ben…mmph” Teddy’s voice was muffled as the other two wolves tackled him.

“Sorry Alpha, he’s a little dumb.” Teddy’s sister Lara apologized, grinding her brother’s muzzle into the dirt with a paw. “Of course we aren’t going to follow what the traitor Nightfang taught us.”

“But LARA…”

“SHUT UP and let me get us out of this, idiot!”

Lewis stared at them for a few minutes, and then laughed silently in our heads. “It’s okay. I know he was in charge of teaching fighting for years. It’s a different strategy, but give my idea a shot before you dismiss it, okay?”

“YES ALPHA!” The three younger wolves shouted in unison.

“…” Alyssa studied Lewis with a thoughtful expression. He was kind enough to the pups, even when they challenged him and brought up his brother’s name. He didn’t lash out, just calmly guiding them forward. If she didn’t know better, she would think the mention of his brother didn’t bother him at all.

But she could feel it.

Behind his kind words, there was a deep agony. Fear, hurt, betrayal. He resented that his brother left the pack, that he split the pack with his leaving. He regretted that he had let his brother teach the pups… that he taught the pups to be killers rather than to defend and protect the pack. Feared being compared to his brother at every turn.

But mostly… he blamed himself. Hated that he wasn’t a strong enough Alpha to force the pack to stay together. He wished desperately that he could be a better leader… more like his father.

Alyssa rubbed her chest idly, feeling a pain in her heart that wasn’t physical but still wishing to ease it. She could sense his self-doubt, his feelings of helplessness, but was unsure what to do with the knowledge.

Over the last few weeks, they had spent a lot of time together. She had come to recognize that he was as kind as he first seemed, very different than what her book research had led her to expect. He was strong… she could see that in every move her made, especially in his wolf form… but he didn’t seem to place his importance on that strength.

His mother had described him well. He was strong, careful… and he put his pack first.

The closer they got, the more she learned about him, the more she could feel through their bond. His emotions, his mental state. She couldn’t hear his thoughts, not unless he was mentally communicating in wolf form. The information she was getting, however, was almost more than she could bear.

It made her terrified to guess what he could sense about her.

That’s how bonding goes. He is our soul mate. We can’t hide from him.

“…” Alyssa ignored her wolf, mad that she was telling the truth.

“Are you okay?” Alyssa looked up at Lewis’s mental question, startled to see his wolf’s face right in front of her own. “Did something upset you?”

“… What would you do if something did?”

“Help you. No matter what.” His mental voice was firm… reassuring.

“What if it was you that upset me?” Alyssa was curious how he would answer that.

“… If I did something, please let me know… I don’t want to hurt you, even by accident.” He paused. “If you don’t feel comfortable telling me… then my mom or Bridget would be happy to listen. And of course beat me up for whatever I did…”

SORRY WE UPSET YOU MATE! WOULD YOU LIKE MEAT?! Startled, Alyssa realized she could hear Lewis’s wolf directly. He sounded a lot like Lewis, but slightly more… straightforward.

TELL HIM WE LIKE MEAT! Alyssa’s wolf shouted with frustration. OR SHIFT SO I CAN TELL HIM MYSELF!

“How can I hear your wolf? I thought that could only happen after mating?”

Lewis shook his head, the motion strange appearing when performed by a wolf. “I’m not sure… I’ve never been mated before… but I think as our bond deepens we’ll hear more. I can’t hear your wolf now… if she’s speaking…”

I AM SPEAKING! TELL HIM I WANT THE STEAK HE HAS IN THE FREEZER!

“…But if you were in wolf form I might. Their control is a little stronger in that form. One day we might be able to hear each other’s wolves even when in human form.”

“…”

We like you, Mate! We think you are smart and pretty and smell nice! We spend a lot of time arguing over what would make you like us! Lewis’s wolf chimed in.

“Shush…” Lewis tried to interrupt, but the wolf kept talking.

I wanted to bring you meat and expose our genitals to reassure you of our virility, but he insisted that would make you mad.

His wolf is smart. Alyssa’s wolf approved. That would have made me happy.

“…Your wolf and my wolf are on the same page. I have no desire to see genitals, though.”

“No worries, there’s a firm ‘no flashing’ rule in place. “

Her stomach rumbled. “Wouldn’t say no to a steak though!”

Hooray! We’ll bring you the tastiest of the steaks!

See, he loves us enough to bring us the best steak! We should mate him now!

Lewis ran behind a tree and shifted, quickly changing into loose fitting shorts and t-shirt. Alyssa had learned the hard way that the pack had very little sense of modesty.

After numbing her brain to the sight of naked people who had transformed back from wolf form multiple times, she had come to somewhat accept it as normal.

She was still glad that Lewis tried to not be naked in front of her. Although she was now realizing that this might have more to do with avoiding his wolf’s desire to show off genitals then anything else.

“Let’s go.” He smiled, the expression causing her heart to skip a quick beat, and held out his hand. After a short hesitation, she took it, feeling as always the thrill that came from touching him.

They walked together in silence.

As they neared the house, Lewis spoke up. “You know everyone likes you here.”

Alyssa tensed up. “But…?”

“No buts. They just like you.” He let out a quiet sigh. “You don’t have to try this hard.”

“…”

“You look relaxed when you’re talking with the pack. You’re smiling and joking around… you’ve even got half of them addicted to those werewolf romance novels… I mean your research…” He chuckled, squeezing her hand with his own. “But I can feel it, Lyss. I can feel how stressed out you are… how hard you’re trying to make them like you.”

“I…” Alyssa started to talk but then fell silent.

I told you he knows us.

“I’m not judging.” He smiled bitterly. “I wish I had met you much earlier. I don’t know what your life has been like leading up to now. I just want you to know that people like you for the weird, lovely person you are. You can try to relax a little.”

Alyssa thought his words over. “Growing up… being liked… it was safer. Especially if you were the weird kid who had a wolf voice in her head. I learned early how to read people, and act the way they wanted. I’ve grown out of it some… it does get very tiring. But I don’t know if I could completely stop, even if I wanted to.”

“That’s okay.” He grinned. “Just know that I care about you... honestly maybe more than that, although it’s just been a few weeks. You never have to try to get on my good side.”

“I don’t think we ever tried to do that.”

We tried to scare him off. And instead he treated us better than anyone else.

He grinned. “Good. Then I guess I got to see a closer side to you than most… even if it was not meant as a compliment.”

Alyssa felt scared by this. His care. His acceptance of her. Even worse by the fact she could feel through the bond that it was completely genuine.

“Don’t let it worry you too much. Let’s just take it a day at a time for now.”

She sighed with relief at his words. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He thought it over for a moment. “Wait? What about your job at the bookstore? You’ve been here two weeks without notice? Do you still have a job?”

“You don’t need to worry about it.”

You’ll have to tell him eventually.

“If you say so.” His expression and mental state were a little sad, but she ignored it.

She would take it one step at a time, just like Lewis suggested.

________________________

Lewis was going a little crazy.

It had been a month. He spent every day at his mate’s side. Every day talking with Alyssa, laughing with her, getting to know her more and more. As they grew closer, he couldn’t help but wish for more.

They had just returned from a run through the forest in their wolf forms. He loved spending time with her wolf as well. She was much smaller than him, with silver fur and grey eyes that saw right through him. Her wolf self was much more open and playful, often pulling him to play or run through the forest. His wolf was enamored with her, yelling out offers to feed her or provide her with pups… or both. Her wolf was in hearty agreement, only to be silenced by Alyssa, who still seemed somewhat uncomfortable about the whole situation.

Lewis was happy. He hoped she would continue to stay with the pack… stay with him. He just wasn’t sure how long that would last. Fortunately she seemed completely unconcerned about how much time she took off the bookstore.

He shifted back behind a tree, changing into his clothes stuffed nearby and staring down at the ground until he heard she was done doing the same. Stepping out of his hiding spot he grinned and offered his hand.

“Should we get something to eat?”

Alyssa took his hand without hesitation. “Sure. What should we make?” Lewis felt his heartbeat speed up at her casual use of “we”.

STEAK!

STEAK PLEASE!

Their wolves chimed in, making them both shake their heads.

“How about pasta?” He asked. Feeling the wolves’ disappointment he added “We can have meat in the sauce.

YES!

Our mate is the best!

Lewis couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Her wolf likes me at least.

“ALPHA!” Gary’s panicked voice caused him to turn, seeing the large man running towards them fully naked.

Seeing Alyssa look towards the ground, Lewis couldn’t help but growl with annoyance. “Can’t you put pants on?”

“No time.” He skidded to a halt, trying to catch his breath. “It’s your brother…”

His heart stopped.

Benjamin. Nightfang. His brother. His enemy.

“What has he done?”

Gary’s face was grim. “He’s invaded. The South Segment.”

Lewis pulled off his clothes, shifting to his wolf form.

“Are there any of our pack patrolling in the area?”

“I let Teddy and Lara take that segment… it was supposed to be our safest area…” Gary rubbed his face looking horrified. “I thought it would be okay.”

“Stay here. Protect the pack. I’ll get the young wolves.”

His silent voice projected across the entire territory.

“Everyone. We are under attack. Go to your designated areas. The Nightfang pack has definitely invaded the South Segment, but it could be a distraction. DO NOT LET DOWN YOUR GUARD! Watch each others’ backs. I’m going after Teddy and Lara who were last seen in the attacked area. Listen to the Beta while I’m gone."

He hesitated mentally, continuing to run as fast as possible to the south segment, and then reached out privately to Alyssa.

“Please keep yourself safe. If you want to fight I won’t stop you, stay near Gary. If you want to stay out of the fight, go hide in the house with my mom. The pack is instructed to guard it. “

“I… “ He trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

TELL OUR MATE YOU LOVE HER!

He wanted to. He wanted to express the thoughts, the emotions that had slowly sprouted within him in the time they had spent together. To say everything he had wanted to say when he was by her side.

But he couldn’t.

We’re not strong. We can barely protect our pack. She won’t want us. She doesn’t trust us yet.

He reached out for what he hoped wouldn’t be the last time to his beloved mate.

“Stay safe.”

With that, he continued towards the south sector.

Calling out for Teddy and Lara as he neared the attacked area, Lewis wasn’t getting any answers. He tried not to think too hard about what that could mean.

They might just be unconscious… they might not be… His wolf trailed off, hesitating.

I don’t know what Ben… what Nightfang is capable of. He might kill them. But if there is a chance they are still alive… we have to try.

He slowed down, his paws silently stepping on the soft earth. He stayed on high alert, listening for any possible signs of the intruders.

Don’t let your guard down. Someone is close. His wolf could feel the intrusion on the Packs’ territory, it bothered him.

There, in the clearing! Lewis spotted two small wolf forms laying still on the ground. Praying they were just knocked out, he crouched down and inched closer.

They were breathing.

He let out a silent sigh of relief. Scouting around, there were at least two from the NightFang pack in the clearing with the pups.

Only two.

Where’s the rest of that bastard’s pack?! Where’s Ben? His wolf snarled within him.

It’s a distraction.He had known there was a possibility. But he couldn’t leave the two young wolves for dead. He couldn’t.

And Nightfang knew that.

Let’s save them quickly and head straight back. Hopefully Gary will keep things together until we return.

I miss our mate. I hope she’s okay.

… Me too.

Lewis attacked from the shadows. Normally he would owe them a noise, some sort of warning of his approach. He should give them the chance to surrender. To run away.

He didn’t warn them. They had invaded his pack’s territory. Kidnapped and attacked their young wolves. They knew the consequences.

One wolf screamed in pain and fear as his hamstring was shredded between Lewis’ teeth. He shifted in his confusion and shock, the bloody mess even worse in human form. Lewis had already turned to the next one.

He snapped at the enemy’s flank, and as the wolf dodged to avoid his teeth, used his much heavier muscle mass to push him to the ground. He grabbed his throat, resting his canines against the carotid pulse. The wolf grew still, not wanting to push him into ending his life.

“SPEAK! What is that traitor’s plan?”

The wolf whined at his mental command, but stayed silent. Lewis began closing his jaw. We don’t have time for this. The pack is in danger. Our mate is in danger.

“He’s attacking from the West!” Sensing death close by, the wolf began to mindspeak. “He wants to wipe out your pack while you’re distracted.”

Lewis opened his jaw slightly, considering his options. If I let him go he could warn the others.

Kill him.

He surrendered.

The pack must be protected.

Let me knock him out.

“Weakling.” A snarl came behind him, and he realized it was the man whose hamstring he had torn out. Swinging a metal bar at his head. At the same time, the wolf he had pinned bucked with teeth bared, trying to throw him off and attack.

Lewis dodged, clamping down his teeth as he moved, tearing the carotid and jugular with the sharp points of his teeth. He let go, tasting blood, knowing that the wolf beneath him was dead.

One left.

Before the attacker could say anything, Lewis jumped, fangs bared, and tore his throat out as well.

We did it.

He nudged Lara, the older of the two wolves, relieved when she woke up right away.

“Grab your brother and go to the main house.” His tone didn’t allow room for argument. She nodded silently, shaking awake her brother, and the two ran into the forest.

Lewis couldn’t help but chastise himself as he watched them move away. I hesitated.

You’re our kind half. I am the viciousness we hold, the killer instinct.

I’m weak.

We have to have both, or we’ll either be a tyrant killer or a ineffective Alpha. Now stop having a personal crisis and go SAVE OUR MATE.

Lewis nodded grimly, padding off into the forest towards where he could sense the pack.

It’s time to end this.

He ran into more enemy wolves as he neared the center of his territory. This time he sighed, giving up control to his wolf. His wolf seemed relieved at taking over, fighting both enemies to severe injury or death before moving forward.

Mate. He picked up the pace.

________________________

Alyssa had never been in a fight before. At least not with other wolves.

Don’t worry, I got this. Her wolf took over and leapt at the nearest attacker. Gary and Bridget were to either side of her, their much larger wolves defending her flank.

“There’s a lot of them, but I think we’ve got control.” Gary communicated calmly, his frantic attacks never slowing.

“They seem disorganized. “ Bridgett’s silent voice conveyed her disapproval. “Did they come here just to die?”

As her wolf continued to fight, leaping nimbly in between the snarling wolves, Alyssa studied her surroundings.

This is too easy. They’re injured… starving… what have they been doing in their territory?

Her wolf had no sympathy. Bad alphas make bad packs.

She looked around in the chaos. Everywhere she looked wolves were snapping at each other. Blood stained the cold ground, trampled into the dirt churning it into mud. Howls and whines of pain filled the air.

“I don’t see him.” She communicated to the other pack members.

“Who”? Gary trampled his enemy into the mud, his jaw locking on the throat of the other wolf. “Lewis?”

“No. Benjamin. I don’t sense an alpha in this group. Shouldn’t he be larger or stronger than the rest? Where is he?”

“Maybe the Southern Sector? An alpha fight?”

“No.” Alyssa’s mind was racing. “He doesn’t seem like the type to respect Lewis enough to fight him head on. 64% of the stories show the villain attempting some sort of sneak attack. The South Sector was a distraction… and so is this. They sent their weaker, injured members to fight us.”

That means….

She took off for the main house.

Alyssa! Bridgett called out. Where are you going?

To where the real fight is.

She crashed into the house, skidding to a halt at the sight of Lewis and his mother.

No… it’s not Lewis.Their faces were very similar, but everything else was wrong: his scent, his expression, his posture.

He smells dangerous… aggressive… Her wolf complained. He’s everything our mate isn’t.

I don’t like him.

Me either… he’s scary.

We should be careful.

She kept a defensive posture, her hackles raised, her teeth bared.

Benjamin looked down at her with a mocking smile. “Ah. The princess is here.”

His mother glared at him, holding a gun in her hand. To Alyssa’s shock there were already two large wolf bodies on the floor, cooling blood spilling from multiple bullet wounds. “Don’t you look at her, Ben! You came here for me.”

“It’s Nightfang now, Mother.” Ben laughed. “And you can’t tell me what to do. Not anymore. You lost that right when you betrayed me to side with my weak brother.”

Alyssa advanced closer.

“Oh don’t give her that crap, Benjamin. You might pretend to be mysterious and evil but you’re just pathetic. You aren’t Nightfang, or Eveningclaw or even Morning-freaking-wood. You are Ben. A bitter little boy who is mad at his mommy and daddy for giving the pack to your brother.” She kept her gaze on his, and his green eyes had trouble continuing to look into her own. “Never understanding why they made the choice, even though it’s obvious to anyone else.”

“Oh really?”

“I’ve only known you for a single minute and I wouldn’t trust you to be in charge of a self-cleaning litter box, much less actual people’s lives. “

“Well, well, Princess. That’s just needlessly cruel. Trying to rile me up? Distract me?” He shook his head sadly. “That only works in stories. It’s true that I’m very disappointed in my parents’ choice. They thought I was too violent to lead. That I didn’t care enough about the pack. But I did. I’m the only one who does.”

“Sure.” She circled around, spotting one of her bags close to the wall.

“Be careful, Alyssa.” Lewis’s Mom called out, still pointing her gun at her own son. “He’s dangerous.”

“You used up all your shots in the initial attack, Mom. Don’t embarrass yourself by pretending it’s still a threat.” Benjamin reached out and took the gun from her. “I forgive you for killing my men. But you should some respect when addressing her.”

“What are you…?” She looked over at Alyssa, who stayed silent.

“You didn’t tell them? ...Interesting.” He rubbed his face, a mocking grin starting to form. “Maybe you don’t even know?”

“Shut up. “ Alyssa leapt forward, reaching for his throat. Throwing himself backwards, Benjamin shifted as he moved. At the change she miscalculated, slamming into the much larger wolf, her teeth closing on only the fur around his neck.

“You want to fight? I’ll fight.” His wolf charged, snapping at her flank while she twisted desperately to avoid him. He was larger, stronger… but she was definitely more agile.

This isn’t a winning strategy. We can’t face him head on. Her wolf was directing the movements, keeping them alive from moment to moment as Benjamin pressed the attack.

I know that… Circle around towards the back of the room. I have an idea.

They growled, running in and taking a small chunk out of his foreleg before darting in the direction Alyssa had spotted earlier. Benjamin howled in pain, slamming her with his weight, throwing her smaller form enough to slam her against the wall. At the impact she shifted, turning into her more vulnerable form.

I don’t like this. We’re easier to kill this way.

“Not excited about being naked either, but it’s necessary.” She muttered, her hands working quickly.

“He should have protected you better than this.” Benjamin laughed silently in her head. “He didn’t even realize what a treasure he had.”

SLAM!

A grey form jumped through the air, landing on Benjamin and knocking him to the ground. As they straightened up Alyssa recognized her mate with a sense of terror and relief. Relief that he was here. Terror that he was now in danger.

The two alpha wolves circled each other.

“You should have just found your own territory.” Lewis silent voice was grim, full of his authority as Alpha. “Even with your treachery, I was willing to let you go.”

“That’s because you’re weak. This is MY territory. MY pack. You are the one who has to die. And as for your lovely mate who you know so little about… how about I take her too?”

He sighed at his brother’s words. “You’re forcing me to kill you.”

“Lewis, push him my way!” Alyssa called out silently through their connection.

“That’ll put you in danger!”

“Trust me!”

Lewis ducked his head, the almost submissive posture throwing his brother into confusion. As Benjamin hesitated, Lewis charged forward, aiming not for his throat or other vulnerable points, but at his feet. Throwing all his weight behind it, Lewis tripped him up, pushing him back- straight towards Alyssa.

“Here you go! Be careful!”

“Thanks!”

“You just put your mate in harm’s way! She’s defenseless!” He snarled, turning his attention to Alyssa’s vulnerable state. “Fool!”

BZZZT

His form seized for a brief moment and collapsed to the ground,

“Nope!” Alyssa grinned and held up her Taser. “He just trusts his mate!”

“…”

“…”

There was a brief stunned silence.

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” Lewis’ mother leaned against the counter, looking relieved.

“Just one more thing.” Alyssa held up a finger. Reaching down, she grabbed her overly loaded suitcase filled with her research books.

BAM! And raised it over her head, slamming it down on top of Benjamin.

“Oof.” Both Lewis and his mother winced, but made no move to stop her.

“That’s for attacking me. Not to mention what you’ve done to Lewis!” She then reached down and pulled an ampule out of one of the pockets, stabbing Benjamin in the arm with it.

“What is that?”

“Tranquilizer.” She answered, making sure the drug injected okay.

“It’s very effective.” Lewis laughed silently in their heads, and then slowly shifting back to his human form. His green eyes met her own, and neither looked away for a long a moment.

“Are you okay?”

“Are you alright?”

They asked at the same time. Alyssa smelled his blood and panicking, ran over to look at him closely. “Where are you hurt?”

She grabbed his arm, finding a small cut there, and continued to look at his limbs.

Lewis froze. “Umm… Could we do this with clothing on?”

“…” Alyssa stepped back, rubbing her forehead as she realized that they were both naked and she had been feeling him over. “…Sure.”

“…Well” Lewis’s mother broke the silence with an awkward cough. “I’m going to go see to the pack. You two… talk.” She gave them a thumbs up and slipped out.

THIS IS A PERFECT CHANCE TO DISPLAY YOUR GENITALS! WHY DID YOU RUIN IT!Lewis’ wolf spoke up, frustrated.

“That’s not even a wolf mating ritual.” Lewis hissed. “Will you leave it alone?!”

Don’t worry! Her wolf chimed in. We don’t think you’re impotent anymore!

“See…”

So we should just get straight to the mating!

AGREE!

Lewis and Alyssa sighed slightly at their wolves’ excitement, and looked down at Benjamin, still unconscious on the floor.

“What do we do to him?” She asked, feeling tired.

“Do you still have some of those chains?” Taking the object she handed to him, Lewis bound the now human form of his brother, sneaking in a single kick in the process. “We’ll send him to the Council. He’s broken every law that I know of.”

“… You know in all the stories where he’s not killed the villain escapes and causes trouble again.”

Lewis sighed at that. “I know it would be safer to kill him. But… I…” He trailed off, looking conflicted.

“It’s okay.” She patted his arm, avoiding the injury she found before. “If you were able to kill him so easily you wouldn’t be you.”

“I worry sometimes that I’m too weak to be an Alpha.”

“I know. And I’m sure there’s probably some perfect balance of strength and mercy… but you don’t have to have everything figured out right away.”

“…thanks.”

She shrugged. “Besides, isn’t your sister still out there? Maybe the council can use Benjamin to figure out where she is.”

After handing Benjamin off to Gary and Bridgett to guard (And having them both fuss over Alyssa to make sure she was okay) the two went back to their rooms to change. Alyssa stared at the wall of her temporary bedroom, feeling conflicted.

He’s our mate. He’ll understand.

“I know. And that’s what scares me.”

Finishing her brief hesitation, she walked over to Lewis’ room, knocking on the door.

“Come in.”

“We need to talk.”

________________________

Lewis was extremely nervous as he waved his mate to sit down on the bed. He took the chair on the other side of the room.

What if she doesn’t want to stay?

She’s our mate! His wolf answered his nervous thoughts. She won’t abandon us!

“I don’t know what you told him, but your wolf is right.” Alyssa spoke up. “We won’t abandon you. Not over something silly like your evil twin brother trying to invade and kill us all.”

Lewis let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “That’s a relief.” He leaned back in his chair. “So what do you want to talk to me about?”

She stared at the ground a few moments before painfully continuing. “So I told you I grew up in the foster system, right?”

“Right.”

“So the part I didn’t tell you… is that a few years back, around the time I turned 18… a weird guy came and found me.”

Lewis growled. “Did he try to hurt you?”

“No. Quite the opposite. He said he was a friend of my family. He wasn’t one of us… definitely human.” She ran her fingers through her hair, obviously unhappy. “He wouldn’t tell me who they were, or why they abandoned me. He just said they had no choice.”

“That’s crap. I don’t know their situation but their only option was to abandon a baby?” HE shook his head. “Something’s off.”

“I thought so too. I told him to get lost.” She hesitated. “And he gave me a million dollars.”

“What…?

“He said it was a small gift from my parents. I don’t know who my family is, or what they were involved in, but it’s probably big… and definitely not good.”

Lewis processed this for a few moments. “So your job at the bookstore?”

“I actually own it. But I have a manager run it. I stop by occasionally and shelve books while I look for new research.”

“So…” He grinned. “Does this mean you can stay longer and not worry about losing your job?”

“…”

“… Is that what you’re thinking about?” Alyssa demanded, her hands twisting in the fabric of her t-shirt. “You’re not worried about unknown schemes, powerful families… who knows what nonsense could happen! I swear, haven’t you ever read one of these novels?!”

Lewis picked up the book on the table nearby. “I started reading through a few at your suggestion.

“The Seductive Alpha’s bride?” She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“It’s research! I’m trying to learn how to be a better mate!”

He’s hoping to learn how to make himself more attractive! His wolf added.

We already think you’re both attractive!

Great! Let’s mate then!

Agree!

“Not yet!” Alyssa stepped in as their wolves got carried away once more. “Although she’s right… we do think you’re attractive…”

“Really?”

“But how about we go slow… like a date, first?”

“A date!” Lewis jumped up, his mind racing. “Yes! Let me grab my car…”

“We were just attacked… remember?”

He stopped at her gentle reminder. “Oh. Right. How about after we get things sorted out?”

She smiled, the expression causing his heart to race.

“I’d like that.”

They fell into a comfortable silence.

“So how accurate has your research been so far?” He asked after a while, curious.

“The books?” She thought it over. “You know, considering the Alphas and the relationships I’ve read about?” She looked him over again. “I’d say I was a little surprised.”

“In a good way?” His tone was hopeful, he couldn’t help it.

“Yes. As for the future though?” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “The majority of these stories have a happy ending. But we’ll just have to see.”

Lewis touched the spot that had been kissed, smiling. “A happy ending, huh? I’d like that.”

[lunaslovelyrambles]

It's canon that Levi is very self conscious about his handwriting since he came from Underground. BUT it's also canon that his handwriting is neat. So how about Levi writing his crush a letter but then decides not to give the letter last minute but too late! His crush saw the letter in his hand and they basically have a tug of war over the letter 💀 I hope this is okay. Thank you ❤️

of course it’s okay!! sorry for the long ass wait.. but thank you for sending this in! it’s such a cute request :)

went w a scenario bc i’m rusty with them! as always feedback + reblogs are appreciated :3

——

levi ackerman

He was screwed, wasn’t he? Yeah, he was totally, and wholeheartedly screwed. The second he felt the wavering in his heart and fluttering in his stomach he knew he was screwed.

Because Levi Ackerman - Humanity’s Strongest Soldier - has a crush.

Levi wasn’t one to focus too heavily on his emotions. Oftentimes he’d dismiss any unusual feelings without any second thought. He didn’t have time for that: any sappy, mushy feelings. He was a soldier first and foremost. That was his duty, and that was his priority above all. He should focus on the fight for humanity and that solely.

So why, why was he so hellbent on getting your attention?

Because he liked you, that’s why. But he didn’t want to admit it. He could die at any second and so could you. Like hell he’d want to form a relationship under those conditions.

Still, pushing his feelings toward you aside didn’t help in the slightest. Every day as he watched you laugh with some of the other cadets he felt his hand clench around his cup. He wanted to sit by your side, hear your beautiful laughs and be with you goddamnit.

Why was this so hard? Why was liking someone romantically so hard?

These thoughts permeated his mind as he stared at his paperwork. His pen had been sitting on the table for quite a while now as he thought, once again, about you. He had long forgotten about what he needed to get done for the night and was purely lost in his thoughts.

Should he tell you? No- what if you rejected him? He’d be crushed and not only that but things would be awkward then.. but what if you said yes? Then he could finally get this off his chest and-

He groaned heavily as he laid his head on his desk, causing some of the papers to crinkle underneath. He couldn’t stop the thoughts from growing louder and louder in his mind. They were all too loud and distracting for him to do anything.

But he couldn’t just go and confess! That wasn’t the kind of person he was! He wasn’t the type to just do something like that.. To him, it was way too embarrassing.

As he laid with his head on his desk an idea suddenly entered his mind. One that would save him some embarrassment while also conveying his feelings perfectly. Well, less embarrassing than directly confessing that is.

A letter.

He could write you a letter. The perfect way to confess his feelings. He could write exactly what he wanted and completely avoid the awkwardness of him telling you. It was only an added plus thay writing a letter was seen as sweet and romantic to most people.

Levi finally picked up his pen and started writing on a new, clean sheet of paper.

-x-

It had been several days since he initially came up with the idea to write you a letter and Levi still hadn’t written one that he liked.

Several balled up sheets of paper could be found stacked in his garbage can, and even more burned in the fireplace.

For some reason he just couldn’t get the wording right. Every time he wrote it it just didn’t seem... right. It didn’t feel good enough, it was too blunt, it was too wordy. Every draft he was just unhappy with. And he kept trying only to be continuously dissatisfied.

He sighed as he set his pen down another time. He looked at the singular sheet of paper and began to reread it.

“Dear (Y/N),

I just wanted to say that - ”

“Whatcha got there?”

Levi nearly fell out of his seat. Standing in the doorway was none other than you. And you were very curious to know what he was holding. For a split second he thought about balling it up and chucking it at you, but his body reacted quicker and shoved it into his desk drawer.

“Why didn’t you knock? Didn’t you learn any manners?” he quickly retorted, but he was still caught off guard by your entry thus causing his words to come out quicker than he would have liked.

You rose an eyebrow and walked further into the room, closing the door behind you.

“I did. Several times actually,” you responded, “What was that paper you shoved into your drawer?”

He swallowed thickly. It would be hard for him to maneuver his way out of this one.

“Why are you here? Do you have something to report?”

“...no. But you haven’t really been out of your office all day. Now answer my question.” As you spoke you inched closer to his desk before standing on the side - the one closest to the drawer with the paper in it.

He didn’t answer. Shit. You were not gonna let this go.

He half expected you to keep harassing him with questions until he either forced you out or gave in. But you chose a third option, which was one he wasn’t expecting.

Which was shoving yourself between him in the drawer, effectively blocking him as you grabbed the letter out. Luckily for him, he regained some sort of mind to fight with you for the paper as it left the drawer.

You tugged on one end and he grabbed the other, neither of you showing any sign of letting go. He really started to begin to regret training you to be so strong.

As he gave one harsh tug, and you doing the same, the letter finally ripped in half from the tension. He had the top half and you had the bottom.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you always go through other people’s stuff without permission?” he looked down at the paper and back up at you. Naturally he was angry with you for taking out the letter without asking, but when he looked up at you his anger slowly dissipated.

Your mouth was slightly parted and your cheeks were slowly heating up as you finished the letter. Your eyes then flickered from the letter up to him. You turned around the letter to face him and pointed at the words on the bottom.

“I really like you, (Y/N), and I’d love to go out with you sometime.”

“Is this... for me?” you softly asked. His mouth formed a thin line as he avoided your gaze, his cheeks now dusted with a faint pink. There was no way he could say no, it wasn’t for you, because your name was literally on the note.

He was beyond embarrassed. He was mortified. His feelings were out in the open now and there was no going back.

Just as he was about to leave the room to avoid the uncomfortable sting of rejection, he heard you giggle. The noise made him glare back at you, and it was that that made you full on laugh.

Now he really felt humiliated.

“I just can’t believe that you fought me tug of war style for this,” your laughing died down a little, “Did you convince yourself that hard that I’d reject you?”

Levi didn’t know what to think anymore.

“I mean.. kind of, yeah,” he still spoke softly, still not looking at you.

“You’d be wrong, then.”

He finally stopped looking at the floor and back at you. You were smiling at him, a big toothy smile and one that he loved seeing every day.

“I thought that letter was, like, you kicking me off your squad. So I thought ‘hey I’ll bite the bullet and take it out even if he’ll hate me for it’ or something I don’t know. I’m sorry for going through your stuff-”

Before you could finish your apology Levi had uncharacteristically pulled you into his chest. He had felt like someone crushed a building on him when you stole that letter out but now? He feels like he just got the best night sleep.

“Don’t. Don’t even worry about it. I’m.. glad you took it. It’s okay,” he smiled into your shoulder as you returned the hug.

Maybe he’ll write you letters more often.

——

masterlist || rules page

[rkived]

year 22 (m) — jjk

‘‘I knew you’d be standing in my front porch light, and I knew you’d come back to me.’‘ 

Pairing: childhoodfriend!jk x f!reader 

Genre/Tags: angst!!!, drama, a lil fluff, f2l, e2l-ish, pining, slow burn, smut

Rating: M +18

WC: 11.5k

Warnings: time jumps, underage drinking, jk being a douchebag for most of the fic, reader can’t catch a mf break, mention of character death ((no major one tho)). smut in the form of oral (f. receiving), fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex ((wrap it b4 u tap it y’all)), my being called pretty kink making a brief appearance soz

A/N: i listened to cardigan for the first time n had it on replay the whole time i wrote this so ig u should do it too ! this is my first time posting smut on here but who would i be if i didn’t throw in some good angst ? also tysm to @periminkle​ for being my unofficial beta reader n checking it up for me, she knows i’m constantly looking for her validation n i def wouldn’t post this if she didn’t love it ilu vira thx for being the best ever mwah !!! 

You’re five, cowering behind his mother’s legs, sniffing as tears stream down your face. In front of you both stands Jungkook, there’s remorse written all over his face as his mother stares him down with hands on her hips and a look that just screams that this is only the beginning of his punishment. 

‘’Apologize to Y/N right now Jungkook, or I’ll have your father have a word with you,’’ she threatens with a stern tone, making her son quickly shake his head no. ‘‘You need to learn how to share your toys.’’ 

You peek behind her lanky leg and find the slightly older kid looking at you with narrowed eyes, ‘‘I’m sorry, Y/N.’’ He apologizes with a bow, but he’s obviously displeased with the whole ordeal. 

His mother sighs and Jungkook pouts at the look on her face. She urges you to come out from your not-so-secret hiding spot and to go back to playing with him, even though you seriously doubt that will do any good to what just happened. 

Jungkook’s bedroom door is kept open as he sits back down on his city patterned carpet, you twiddle with your thumbs and stare at the Spiderman poster on his wall. There’s an awkward silence between you two until you feel a toy bump your crisscrossed legs. 

It’s the shiny red car he had refused to lend you before, provoking an argument between you two which eventually made you run out of his room in tears as you ratted him out to his mom. 

‘‘Wooow,’’ you whisper in awe, taking the car in your hands with so much care, treating it like it’s one of your newest dolls. 

Jungkook huffs, crossing his arms as he looks at you with distaste and he’s forced to settle with other boring toys as you giggle to yourself, making the car follow the carpet’s tracks. He learns then to never trust his mother again. If she ever says she’ll bring a new friend for him to play with again, he’ll refuse wholeheartedly.

He doesn’t like sharing his toys, and it’ll probably take him a long time to learn how to.

You’re nine as you hand Jungkook one of the multiple Valentine’s Day cards you carefully crafted the night before with your mother, adding all kinds of pretty stickers and shiny glitter to make each one of them unique. His is different from the rest, though. 

You added hearts to the dots in the I’s, there’s a hint of your favorite body splash enveloping the pink construction paper and it fills Jungkook’s nostrils with so much force that he feels he could gag at the smell. 

‘‘What do you think?’’ You ask the fourth-grader with a big smile on your face, cheeks tinted with a light shade of red as you see him reading the little message you wrote inside the card.

Jungkook lets out a mocking chuckle, ‘‘Are you serious? You like me?’’ He asks you, but it doesn’t look like he’s looking for answers. Your smile slowly fades away, looking at him with glossy eyes, ‘‘I don’t like you, you’re just a dumb little girl.’’ 

His card was the one you had invested the most time in and yet it only took him a second to crumple it with his hand, and another five for him to toss it into the trash can near you before he goes back to his group of friends in the school’s playground.

You learn how to hold your tears in then, thinking it’s a great accomplishment and that maybe now he’ll stop calling you a crybaby.

His friends receive him with high-fives and he smiles with gratefulness because they just saw how much of a badass he can be. Once recess is over and everyone’s going back to their classrooms, Jungkook nears the garbage bin where he had thrown the Valentine's card in, but finds it’s now dirty with yogurt someone tossed inside. 

He grimaces at the sight and sighs, there’s no way he can save it now.

You’re twelve and you’re the only girl in the treehouse who hasn’t gone through puberty yet. It wasn’t something that bothered you until just recently, when it became pretty evident why none of the boys would even give you a onceover compared to the other girls.

“I don’t know if I want to play,” you mumble after Kim Jihyo suggests playing spin the bottle. You’re the only one who opposes the idea, though you could count Jungkook in given as he just sat there without saying a word.

Park Yerim rolls her eyes, “You’re so boring, Y/N!” The comment makes the rest giggle as you pout at being the designated party pooper. 

It’s all fun and games of truth and dares to whoever the bottle lands on and you’ve been lucky enough to avoid the tip of the plastic Coca-Cola bottle to point at you, until it lands on Jungkook who has done a few funny dares so far.

“Alright, Jungkook, let’s make things even more fun!” Jihyo announces since she’s been the one who has assigned most of the embarrassing challenges and questions, “I dare you to kiss one of the girls here for ten seconds.” 

The dare makes the boys cheer with excitement and the girls gasp with anticipation, hoping one of them is the lucky chosen one. Your lips part slightly as you stare at him sitting across from you, he’s clearly not comfortable with the dare, but knowing him, he won’t express his current discomfort. 

His eyes land on you as you stare back at him with concern, hoping that he’ll speak up to avoid himself the embarrassment. Has he even kissed someone before? If this is his first kiss, you’ll witness it alongside everyone else and you can only imagine how terrifying that must be. Even though Jungkook’s always been a brave kid, you can always tell when he feels under pressure.

“Uhm, I’ll uh—“ Jungkook keeps staring at you and you feel your heart start to beat like you just ran the usual ten laps around the gym in P.E class. Are you about to have your first kiss? With him? 

You nod your head absentmindedly, a sign to let him know it’s okay for him to pick you from all the other developed girls who probably have more experience kissing than you do, but it’s okay because you’ve always been a quick learner. 

“Yeji,” Jungkook says after what feels like forever, though it’s only been a mere few seconds, “I’ll kiss Yeji.” He adds, removing his eyes from yours and settling them on the girl with the high ponytail and pink colored nails. 

You bite your bottom lip hard, breaking the dry skin as you feel yourself taste blood. It doesn’t matter because no one’s paying attention to you and instead they’re focused on Jungkook’s neverending kiss with Yeji. 

When you get home that night, you look at yourself in the mirror and frown at your lack of everything. Is this the reason as to why he hadn’t picked you? 

You’re fourteen and Kim Taehyung just sent you a message through MSN in which he confesses to have feelings for you. Your eyes widen, rereading the message several times, rubbing at your eyes just to make sure you’re seeing things correctly. 

You run off across the street to Jungkook’s house, ringing the doorbell quickly for someone to open up. You’re greeted by him looking at you with an annoyed expression, he had to pause his GTA game to come and open the door. 

“What do you want?” Jungkook asks harshly, crossing his arms as he stares into somewhere that’s not your face. He’s anxiously waiting for you to spit out whatever it is you’re there to say. 

You calm yourself down by breathing in deep and out, blowing the air right at him, “Does Taehyung like me?” You ask him, making Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise and his brows to raise. 

His reaction tells you that you might’ve just discovered a secret you weren’t supposed to and it only makes your heart beat even faster because if it’s true, then this is a pleasant surprise. Kim Taehyung is one of the hottest boys in the tenth grade and he happens to be one of Jungkook’s closest friends. You think he must know something since you see them hanging out at lunch.

“Uh—I don’t know, Y/N.” Jungkook mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck, finally looking at you and he feels a gut wrenching punch in his stomach at the sight. “Taehyung isn’t a really good guy, you shouldn’t—“ 

“What are you saying?” You interrupt him with a question, confused as to why Jungkook was painting a negative picture of his friend. “He was really sweet with what he said, he thinks my eyes are pretty when they sparkle — I didn’t even know they did that!” 

Jungkook grimaces and sighs, there’s really not much he can do here. You’ve always been so stubborn, so relentless. No matter how many times life tries to tell you something’s not meant for you, you challenge each and every one of it’s obstacles until you take what’s yours. 

“Okay, then what are you gonna do? Date him? You haven’t even had your first kiss yet.” Jungkook reminds you with a mocking tone and you furrow your brows together because, how does he know that? 

You stammer, “I-I have! I had it at camp last summer, actually!” That’s a lie, but he wasn’t there so he can’t prove the veracity of your statement. “And what do you care? So what if I want to date him?” You add with anger, not understanding why couldn’t he just support you in search of true love. 

The thought of dating Kim Taehyung had never crossed your mind, thinking he was way too out of your league for him to ever notice you. But that confession sitting in your MSN chat now served as a nice feeling of knowing you aren’t as invisible as you think you are. 

Jungkook scoffs, “Taehyung would never date you, okay? He’s older than you, he’s cool, he goes to parties and has kissed almost every girl in his grade, do you think he’d really like someone as boring as you?” He doesn’t mean to be so harsh, but you’re just so difficult and impossible to get through.

Jungkook’s used to the trembling bottom lip and the teary eyes that you give him everytime he says something that definitely strikes a nerve within you, but he’s always impressed on how you always refrain from crying in front of him. Last time you did that you were both kids and he probably took the last lollipop from your batch of collected halloween candy. 

“Screw you, Jungkook,” you say through gritted teeth, and if looks could kill, he’d be dead already. 

He looks at you quickly stomp your way back to your house, only heading back inside once you slam your front door shut. Jungkook enters his room to find two new messages in his MSN.

$$ kIm tAaEhyYyuNG $$: it worked! 

$$ kIm tAeEhyYyunGG $$: she fell for it xDxD where did u even come up with the sparkly eyes thing?? that’s gold bro rofl 

Jungkook sighs, ignoring the messages and shutting his computer down.

You’re sixteen and you’ve been invited to your first party. Granted, it was Jungkook’s, but he knew that if he didn’t ask you to come you’d probably tell on him with his mom. No matter what age he was, he’d always fear his mother’s scolding. 

“Drink this!” Park Jimin says with his beautiful smile and you’re starting to realize why they gave him that very same superlative on the school’s yearbook. You take the red solo cup without any second thought, placing the rim straight to your lips and choke once you feel the liquid burn your throat. 

“Ugh—What’s this?” You ask, cleaning the droplets of liquid around the corners of your mouth. 

He chuckles, “Fruit punch!” The liquid is indeed red like the familiar drink you’re used to, but there’s definitely something else mixed inside. “Oh, and vodka,” he adds with wiggly eyebrows as he shows off the small flask he was hiding in his sweatshirt’s front pocket.

You gasp and hand him the cup back, “No, I don’t drink alcohol, sorry.” Jimin rolls his eyes and it reminds you of the many times you’ve received this same reaction from your classmates before. Always a party pooper. He’s about to take the plastic red cup from you until you quickly drink the spiked punch in one go.

The boy howls in excitement, “Woo, go Y/N! Another one coming right up.” 

Jungkook knows he should be making sure everything’s alright downstairs. If his mother notices there’s at least one misplaced object, she’ll know right away something went down in her house while her husband and her were away for the weekend on an emergency trip to their hometown. Leaving him unsupervised only because they both believed their son was old enough to tend for himself.

But Jung Eunha had dragged him into his room with the excuse of wanting to see what it looked like, but the mini tour had turned into them kissing on his bed and Jungkook is thankful he changed his Spiderman sheets in exchange for some boring plain grey ones. Eunha smells like fresh mint and Jungkook is way into his head to focus on properly kissing her.

It’s not until his bedroom door is abruptly open, slamming against the wall that Jungkook literally jumps to his feet, making Eunha gasp as they both look at the person who has interrupted their awkward makeout session. 

“Guk-ah, what are you doin’?” You curiously wonder, a hiccup following right after which makes you giggle. Jungkook’s chest rises and falls with quickness as he notices you look different from the last time he saw you twenty minutes ago when you were talking to Jimin. “Guk-ah, were you—you kissin’ Eunha?” You ask once more after not receiving an answer to your previous question.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He asks in concern, coming closer to analyze your weird state. You stretch your arm out to avoid him from nearing you, making him falter in his place as he studies your expression. 

You hum, “Guk-ah, you busy. Sorry,” you apologize in a shy tone, ready to head back down and have more of that fruity alcohol punch you now found tasty, but you stumble and only avoid yourself from falling by holding onto Jungkook's door frame, he’s already reaching out by then. 

“Are you fucking serious, Y/N? Get out!” Eunha complains with irritation, getting up from the bed and ready to kick you out of his room, but his free arm stops her from getting near you. “Whu—?”

“Eunha, go back down. I’ll deal with her myself.” Jungkook says as calmly as he can, thinking three’s a crowd and dealing with you wasn’t an easy thing in of itself. She’s about to argue, but he interrupts her again, “Go down, now.” 

She rolls her eyes and bumps her shoulder against yours harshly once she steps out of his room, “Whatever, that kiss was shitty anyway.” 

He pretends he didn’t hear that and takes you in his arms instead, dragging you to lay on his bed as you cuddle into his favorite pillow and hug it close to your body. How much did you drink? Why did you even do it in the first place? Jungkook knows you’ve never tried alcohol before, which means he’ll be in big trouble if you show up back to your house like this. 

When you open your eyes hours later, your head hurts and it feels lightweight when you move it side to side. The room you’re in is familiar, that spiderman poster is still hung on the wall, but there are no more toys laying around the floor; they’ve probably been stored somewhere in his garage or sent off to a donation center under his mother’s demand.

The pillow that you’re hugging smells just like him and any other day you’d hold on to it tighter and inhale his scent like your life depended on it, but you abruptly sit on the bed as you’re reminded of how you got here. The action is not appreciated by your dizzy head, but you look around the room to notice how dark it is and there’s no more music playing downstairs. 

You quickly jump to the ground, only to hear a “Fuck, ouch!” from below, stepping on Jungkook’s leg unintentionally. It makes you gasp, looking down to notice the older friend laying on the cold floor, having gotten rid of that childhood carpet of his. His head’s laying on a makeshift pillow made out of a towel and he’s trying hard not to shiver. 

“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry!” You quickly apologize, stepping away from his figure as he soothes the shin of his leg you stepped on. “Jungkook, what happened?” 

He sighs, “Someone decided to drink like five cups of spiked punch knowing damn well it was their first time drinking alcohol, stepped into my room like a crazy person, and then crashed on my bed like they—What’s with the face?”

“Bathroom.”

Jungkook grimaces while he holds your hair back, you’re throwing away all the liquid you had taken with a few additional snacks you had munched on earlier, “Are you done?” He asks in a tired mumble and you shake your head no.

He feels guilty that you’re in this position. He didn’t even want to kiss Eunha, but she was one of the most popular girls in his grade and he knew that if he turned her down she would most likely put a bad word in with the rest of the girls and the guys would make fun of him for being such a wuss.

That would’ve been better, because after laying you down on his bed he had to go down and tell everyone that the party was over, putting an excuse that the neighbors had warned him and threatened to call the cops. They all cleared pretty quickly, but he knew he was going to be the butt of the jokes come Monday. He even had to call your parents to let them know you had gone home to a friend’s house for a sleepover, which he knew wasn’t totally believable, but it had somehow gotten them convinced that their daughter was alright because they trusted Jungkook to never hurt you ever. 

Once you feel like you’ve puked your stomach out, Jungkook hands you a pill accompanied with a glass of water and hands you clothes of his that might be more comfortable to sleep in. 

“Good night, Jungkook,” you whisper once you’re laying back on his bed, still hugging the pillow he preferred to sleep with. He makes a sacrifice to make it up to you. 

His back is going to hurt by the time the sun comes out in a few hours, but it’s okay if it means you’ll sleep comfortably after the events of tonight. “Good night, Y/N.” 

He’s unable to sleep, but finds entertainment in your hanging hand beside his bed. The skin on your palm looks soft and there’s this strange urge inside of him that makes him want to grab your hand in his, but he refrains. 

To calm the current chaos in his head, Jungkook finds peace in the light snores coming from his bed.

You’re just about to turn eighteen and your date to the prom is Jeong Jaehyun, who had only asked you out a day before the event because the girl he had initially wanted to take had been asked and he didn’t have a plan B. 

Jaehyun is okay, at least he managed to get you a corsage that matched the color of your dress. He even smiles in the pictures your parents take of you both as you awkwardly try to look comfortable with his arms around you even though by then you had only exchanged a few sentences. 

The prom’s theme is Summer Nights and you think it’s fitting considering this is the very last event before the graduation ceremony, meaning that you’d most likely never see most of these people ever again. You had purposely applied to a college that was outside of your hometown for that same reason. You’re ready to live the life you’ve always wanted to live, without anyone judging or knowing you. 

Your date spends most of the night talking with his group of friends as you’re left alone on your table, looking at your well manicured nails. You knew you weren’t going to get the same prom experience the high school kids on T.V enjoyed, but you at least hoped it would’ve been a little more fun than this.

A tap on your shoulder makes you turn around to see Jungkook trying to loosen the tight tie around his neck. He looks incredibly handsome and you suppose his mother helped him pick the suit out, Jungkook rarely ever wore fitted clothing, so this is one of those once in a lifetime moments..

“Hey you,” you say and he gives you half a smile, wondering why you’re sitting by yourself at an empty table when everyone else was either mingling or dancing. “Where’s your date?” You ask with curiosity, you’re surprised that Jinsoul isn’t trailing alongside him given how she had behaved for the past week ever since he asked her to come with him. 

“Retouching her face or something,” he answers casually, “what are you doing sitting here? Where’s Jaehyun?” Jungkook asks.

You shrug your shoulders, “Don’t know, probably talking with the guys of the basketball team. He’s been gone for a while.” Not like you care, anyway. If your conversation with him inside his car on the way to the venue had been any indication of what it would’ve been like for the rest of the night, you’re glad he's not here trying to make any more small talk with you.

Jungkook huffs, thinking he’ll kick his ass if he sees him. He had asked him to invite you so you wouldn’t come alone, and yet here you are, sitting all by yourself while the douchebag’s making a social life somewhere in the crowd. He calms down once he notices how unbothered you are by it, though. You’re a big girl now, you’ve been through too much to be affected by something as simple as this.

“Is there something you wan—“

“Dance!” You interrupt with excitement and Jungkook chuckles.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted something to drink, but—alright, let’s dance.” Jungkook can’t dance for shit, but you took lessons when you were younger and he can still remember how you’d always show him the routines you learned in class. He’d always boo you, but in reality you were pretty good. He wonders why you stopped, he doesn’t recall you ever telling him.

It’s just his luck that once you both step into the dancefloor, the hired DJ stops the up-tempo song playing before and switches to a much slower romantic one, “Alright everyone, I want all the couples on the dancefloor for this one.” 

You step away from him with nervousness, it’s couples only after all. But Jungkook holds onto your lower back firmly, pulling you closer into his space. Your eyebrows raise as your lips part, “Uh, s-should we, uh—?” 

“It’s just a song, Y/N. You wanted to dance, then we’ll dance.” He tells you with such confidence it makes you feel like this is totally normal and something all friends do. All the known High School couples are dancing together, heads tenderly placed over chests and chins resting lovingly above them. You wait for Jungkook to take the lead because you have no clue of what you should be doing, you might’ve taken dance lessons years ago but you’ve never slowed danced in your life. 

Jungkook places his hand on your hip, the touch makes goosebumps crawl in your arms. He pretends he doesn’t notice it as he takes your right hand in his. You stare at the way he delicately holds it like it’s his mother’s fine china. “Place your other hand on my shoulder,” he instructs and you do as asked, your palm coming to rest on the strong muscle. 

He’s only slowed danced once before at a family member’s wedding where his mother taught him how to, with her as the teacher. Back then he thought it was incredibly ridiculous, but now he’s sort of glad that happened because he’s the teacher now and you’re now looking at him with your big eyes as you sway alongside him. 

You clear your throat, “This isn’t that hard.” Jungkook nods as he stares down at you, noticing how uneasy you are given that you’re looking at everything and not entirely immersed in the moment.

“You look beautiful tonight.” He says out of nowhere, making you look at him like a deer stuck in headlights, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He had never called you that before. 

An awkward laugh escapes your lips, looking away from his intense gaze as you try not to take his words too literally, “Ha ha, that was a good one.” To you there’s no other explanation than this being one of his mean pranks on you.

But Jungkook doesn’t falter both his words and gaze, “I’m not laughing.” There’s seriousness in his voice and you have to look back at him again just to make sure he really isn’t, “You look beautiful, just take the compliment.” You nod and there’s silence between you two after that. You’re digesting the romantic lyrics that the singer is talking about and hope that the song ends soon, because you’ve never been this close to him and it’s starting to feel too crowded.

You clear your throat, “So…” 

“So…,” he repeats. 

“What are you doing for summer?” You ask him in an attempt to break the tension and wanting to take advantage of the little intimate moment since Jungkook rarely ever lets you pry into his private life. 

“I think I’ll train before heading off,” he answers. It was more than obvious he was going to earn that sports scholarship he had been aiming for, he was one of the best athletes on the school; though you considered him to be the number one between them all. “I’m kinda scared, not gonna lie.” 

You look at him with surprise, tilting your head to the side, “You’re scared?” You ask in disbelief because as long as you’ve known him, he’s never been scared of anything. This is the same kid who instilled your fear of monsters in a closet after watching Monster’s Inc. together, also the same kid who helped you get over it after he realized you had actually taken it seriously.

He chuckles lightly, “Yeah, I’m just scared about starting over.” It’s interesting how his biggest fear is the one you’re looking forward to the most, but you suppose it’s fitting for someone who has never had to worry about what people think of him. In this town, Jungkook has swam freely without any concerns. Out there, he’s just another fish in the big and scary ocean. “Aren’t you?” He questions, hoping that you’re able to relate to what he’s feeling. 

“Honestly, I—“ 

You’re interrupted by Jaehyun clearing his voice in front of you two, making you both turn your heads towards his direction. You quickly separate from Jungkook and he feels his body lose the warmness you were providing. 

“If you wanted to dance, you could’ve just asked. I’m your date after all.” He says smugly and you chuckle awkwardly, nodding because he’s right. 

Jungkook wants to punch his stupid face, how dare he interrupt you both when he had been ignoring you the whole night? Why does he suddenly want to dance with you when he’s probably still upset at him for asking Jinsoul to the prom before he could?

“Your date’s looking for you, buddy. She doesn’t look too happy.” Jaehyun adds with a smirk as he takes your hand in his and drags you away from Jungkook towards another place on the dancefloor. 

He’s left to stare at the way he holds your hand, and he only hopes he’s doing it ever so carefully. 

You’re twenty when Jungkook sees you for the first time since you both left for college two and half a years ago. He’s rendered speechless when he spots you in the crowd, there’s a manly hand around your waist as you giggle into the stranger’s mouth before placing a kiss to his lips. 

There’s only so much social media can provide him, pictures and stories aren’t enough for Jungkook to keep up with you. He thinks you’ve changed, not only appearance wise but you seem way more outgoing, carefree, and happy. Did he miss the boyfriend announcement picture? He’s sure he didn’t, he checks your profile almost every day and he’s never even seen him in any of your stories. 

A gasp escapes your lips once you spot him, completely forgetting about the possibility of bumping into him given that both your schools were playing against each other that night. You tell Namjoon you’ll be right back and he nods, going back to a conversation with the group of college friends you had made. 

You surprise him by jumping into him, arms around his shoulders as you hug him from behind. You let out a shrill of excitement and he blushes as his friends chuckle at the unexpected approach from this unfamiliar girl. 

‘‘Jungkook! You didn’t tell me you’d be here,’’ you say once he turns around to face you and he’s able to see you better upfront. You look beautiful and he thinks the Instagram pictures are not doing you enough justice. You’re glowing, and it has nothing to do with the highlighter you applied on your face and collarbone area. 

The both of you aren’t able to properly talk until you suggest moving to a different area, Jungkook apologizing to his friends as he explained he needed to catch up with an old friend. They don’t complain and instead shoot him teasing looks and small pervy comments that go by unnoticed to you. 

Jungkook listens with intent to your ramble about what you’ve been up to. From your courses, to your roommates, the parties you’ve attended, and even the fact that you handle your alcohol better now. He’s happy that you seem so too, but it irks him that you hadn’t been capable of telling him that you had a boyfriend now. Is there a reason as to why you omitted that important piece of information? 

‘‘And what about you? How’s college?’’ You ask with curiosity. 

He blinks a few times, realizing you had stopped talking about yourself and was now wondering about him instead. ‘‘It’s fine,’’ he answers with a tight lipped smile, the lack of detail compared to you was astonishing, but even though you were still hungry for more you decided not to pry any further. 

There’s fear in revealing that he’s been having a hard time catching up with the rest of his peers. College was indeed fine, but it could be better. He’s settled with the idea that this is as good at it’ll get, some things just aren’t like you expect them to be. At least you’re happy, and that fact brings him comfort. 

‘‘Was that your, uhm─boyfriend?’’ He finally asks after a while, both about to head back to your respective group of friends. 

The question takes you by surprise, looking at him with raised eyebrows and mouth agape. ‘‘Who? Namjoon?’’ He nods, though he doesn’t know anything about the guy he had first seen you with. You let out a wholehearted laugh, ‘‘Hell no, too many commitment issues with that one,’’ you answer and Jungkook’s forehead creases with confusion. 

Why were you kissing him then? 

‘‘We’re friends with benefits,’’ you inform him as if you had read his mind. ‘‘He’s a nice guy, though. Also, super smart, he’s helped me with a few of my─’’ 

‘‘You’re not a virgin anymore?’’ He abruptly asks, disbelief in his tone as he internally screams to himself for thinking out loud. Jungkook expects you to berate him about such an imprudent question, but is surprised when he sees you giggling. 

‘‘Duh, silly. I think I lost it freshman year?’’ The carelessness in your voice makes him look at you like you’ve gone crazy. Why are you so lax about this? Why are you telling him about losing your virginity without a care in the world? ‘‘Anyway, are you going to be home for the─’’

Jungkook interrupts you once again, ‘‘Was it with your boyfriend at the time?’’ He asks in genuine curiosity and you sigh, rolling your eyes slightly at him. 

‘‘No, it was some random dude at this party I went to. Could you please─’’

‘‘Y/N, are you insane? Why would you give up your virginity to some fucking stranger like it’s nothing?’’ Jungkook’s voice raises as he scolds you about being so negligent about yourself, ‘‘You can’t do shit like that!’’ He fumed, making you let out a breathless chuckle. 

‘‘Could you stop treating me like a fucking child for once in your life? I’m perfectly fine, Jungkook. I’ve been doing pretty well for myself without you here, actually. I don’t know why you think you have a say on what I do, is it the entitlement you have of me that you still carry around because we grew up together? Because if that’s it then you can drop it, I let go of my little girl who wanted a friend and was treated like pure shit in return complex a long time ago.’’ 

He knows you’re right, but he thinks he’ll always have this odd sense of protection over the five year old girl who cried to his mom about not lending her his favorite toy. He’ll always want to apologize to the eight year old girl who declared her love for him with a Valentine’s Day card while he ended up breaking her heart in exchange. He’ll always wish to look for help within the twelve year old girl who witnessed him give out his first kiss to another girl who he didn’t even like. He’ll always feel guilty towards the sixteen year old girl who had gotten tipsy on a spiked fruit punch and crashed on his bed. He’ll always hate himself for not asking the seventeen going on eighteen year old girl to prom when he knew he could’ve, but chose not to in fear of ruining your friendship. 

You only wanted someone to be there for you growing up and Jungkook had never been the brave boy you thought he was, always running from his fears in hopes he’d have a wide advantage margin from them. Yet here they are, standing right in front of him in the form of a twenty year old you, and they’re there to let him know that you’ve never needed him, yet he’s always needed you.

He can’t even apologize, he only looks at you with wide eyes as he fidgets in his place. Either you’re both too old now to understand each other or you just realized that you’ve outgrown Jungkook. 

Your mouth set in a hard line as you crossed your arms, the night’s breeze feeling colder than usual. ‘‘I miss you Jungkook, but I can’t keep playing this cat and mouse game with you any longer.’’ 

You leave him behind to go back to Namjoon’s arms, seeking refuge in his sweet embrace as you try your hardest to put on practice what you learned all those years ago when Jungkook broke your heart for the first time, you should be used to it by now.

You’re twenty-one when you’re back in your hometown to attend the funeral of the old lady down the street, the one that always scolded you and Jungkook growing up. 

You had been scared of her as a child, but always following along your friend’s footsteps when he proposed playing around her garden. It tugs at your heartstrings even if you hadn’t known the woman well. Her death was imminent seeing as she’d been ill for quite some time. 

A taller figure stands next to you as you both stand way in the back of the ceremony. He looks tired and you figure that it’s because of the fact he arrived late into the night, you heard his car’s engine from your bedroom window. Dressing in all black, you notice he bought a new suit. You’re sure that the one he wore for prom no longer fits considering he’s bigger now. 

You haven’t talked to each other since last year when you both left off on a sour note. The hurt you felt was no longer present, though. You chewed on your bottom lip as you thought of a way you could talk to him again without making things awkward, but you let out a small gasp once he placed his arm around your shoulders, giving it a small squeeze as he sighed and kept his focus on the service. 

Watching the casket be lowered into the ground felt weird. She was a human being just like you, but her existence was a reminder of your childhood. Would it be okay to say that her death meant a part of you leaving with her too? 

Once it hits you, it’s Jungkook who consoles you by hugging you tight. Your eyes are too blurry with tears for you to realize this is one of those rare moments where he’s holding you close without hesitation. He lets you ruin his tuxedo’s jacket with your mascara covered tears as he brushes your hair as a sign of comfort. 

You know things are back in order when he proposes the idea to go back to the old lady’s porch, for old times sake. ‘‘Will we ever let her rest?’’ You ask him with a small laugh as Jungkook sits on the doorsteps of the old lady’s empty home, opening the bag of candy worms he bought at the grocery store. 

He shrugs, ‘‘She loved us, always told my mom how much she missed us running around the street.’’ The revelation makes you smile, hoping it was true. He pats the empty space next to him, indicating for you to fill it up with your presence. Once you do, you feel the familiar warmth of his proximity. 

Jungkook seems different and you only hope he’s changed for the best. 

‘‘When are you going back?’’ You ask him with curiosity, hoping that he’ll be in town for a few more days so you can catch up with him on a better note this time around. 

He munches on one of the snacks, ‘‘Tomorrow morning, I have training camp and can’t miss it.’’ His answer makes you sigh with disappointment, but you nod nonetheless. ‘‘What about you?’’ He asks in return, and you inform him that you’ll stay for a few more days to spend time with your family. There’s silence after that and Jungkook can only offer you the gummy worms in the bag, you take one with a small thanks.  

‘‘College fucking sucks,’’ he says out of nowhere and it makes you look at him in bewilderement, ‘‘I hate it there, I wanna drop out so bad. But I’m a year away from graduating so it’s too late now.’’ You see his shoulders visibly relax, like a weight had been lifted off them. ‘‘Plus my mom would kill me if I do so,’’ he adds with a chuckle. 

Last time you asked everything was fine. Had things changed or had they always been this way and he was just now being honest with you?

You rest your head on his shoulder and focus all of your undivided attention on him as he keeps rambling about what his life has been ever since he left this town. He’s had bad games, bad grades, and bad girls. But he’s also had incredible games, good grades, and a couple great hookups, and yet he still feels empty, it’s not enough. 

‘‘I miss you,’’ he mumbles as he faces you, ‘‘I’m sorry for being such a shitty friend, you deserved better.’’ His apology is genuine and you can feel it in the way his voice trembles, sincerity has always scared him after all. 

Jungkook’s never known when the time is right, and he misjudges the look on your face. When he leans down to press his lips against yours, he’s blinded for a mere moment into believing that you wanted to kiss him just as much as he had been waiting. 

You abruptly separate from him with wide eyes and parted lips, ‘‘Jungkook, I’m─I’m dating Namjoon now.’’ He can physically feel his heart shatter, the revelation coming out like an old newspaper headline he should’ve read a long time ago. 

He lets out a breathless chuckle, ‘‘He got over the commitment issues?’’ The rhetorical question is bitter. 

You scoff, ‘‘And what about it? I preferred to wait than to rush into getting my heart broken.’’ Plus it’s not like you were expecting Namjoon to grow feelings for you, the whole no strings attached arrangement was named that way for a reason. 

Jungkook looks at you with narrowed eyes and he shakes his head sightly. Old habits never die down, still so stubborn and challenging as ever. 

He’s startled as you stand abruptly, fuming as you look at him, ‘‘I don’t even know why you care! Did you forget that you threw my Valentine’s Day card into the trash? Or that you kissed Yeji in front of my face? Or that you let Taehyung date me as prank between your friends? Or that you were making out with Eunha while Jimin kept giving me alcohol? Or that you asked Jaehyun to take me to the stupid prom even though I was perfectly fine going without him or anyone for that matter?’’

‘‘We were just kids!’’ Jungkook argues back at you.

‘‘It still fucking hurt,’’ you counter, ‘‘still hurts, actually. You think that by giving me a measly apology and kissing it better I’ll suddenly forget about all of it?’’ Jungkook knows it won’t ever make up for all those years, but he had at least hoped you’d be willing to give him a chance. 

He wishes he could say something else. Explain that he had just tried to protect you in his own shitty way from everyone else or himself maybe, he doesn’t know anymore. He wants to speak up again, but there’s disappointment written all over your face, you’re not angry at him...just saddened. 

‘‘Hope you have fun at your training camp.’’

Jungkook watches as you leave him sitting by himself on the old lady’s doorstep. A hand runs through his hair as he feels his eyes water, and he can almost hear a whisper in the wind that asks him why he didn’t stop you when he could’ve. 

Jungkook didn’t think that his family coming together with yours for Christmas dinner would’ve been a great idea. You’re cold to him at first and it’s fitting for the winter weather, but as always it only takes for him to sit next to you for things to warm up again. 

It’s with the excuse that you’ll run over to your house to grab a new bottle of wine from the kitchen counter that Jungkook trails behind you, both slightly tipsy on the different alcohols your families had offered each other. 

Years have passed since he last stepped foot inside your home, you used to visit him more often than he did anyway. It still smells and looks the same; the only difference is that there’s new pictures of you hung up on the walls, updated accordingly to the changes you’ve made ever since you left off for college.

You’re sporting a big smile in all of them, which in exchange makes him copy the action as well. His lack of presence in your life has done you better than compared to when he was around, and if that’s the case, then at least he did something right. 

There hasn’t been much said since the beginning of the night, just a simple hey out of courtesy. There’s so much he wants to say, but with no clue where to begin. Another apology is due, though he thinks it’s a little too late for that. He also wants to ask about what you’ve been up to since he last saw you, are you still dating the Namjoon guy you had told him about after he kissed you? If he’s still there, Jungkook rather keep quiet and not wonder out loud to you, he’s sure that it’ll hurt if it’s true. 

Growing up Jungkook always mistook your bravery with stubbornness and your courage with relentlessness. You’ve always been challenging, but only because you wanted him to do so too. It’s moments like this that prove him that you’ve always been the stronger between the two.

‘‘So, we’re just gonna pretend like nothing’s wrong between us?’’ You ask, speaking directly to him for the first time that night. It makes him look at you like a deer stuck in headlights, surprised by the sudden question and out of all the years of knowing each other, he feels small under your gaze for once. ‘‘How much time is it going to pass until you want to finally talk things like adults?’’ 

Jungkook gulps the lump in his throat, his brain quickly thinking of the right thing to say, ‘‘I just wanted to protect you from─’’

‘‘From what? From you? Everytime you’ve done that I end up getting hurt in the end. I’m left to pick the pieces up by myself,’’ you interject with anger in your voice. ‘‘It fucking pisses me off that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you kissing me, I haven’t stopped thinking about you and─’’ A sigh, you close your eyes to center yourself again as Jungkook waits for the final blow, ‘‘and you look like none of this has ever bothered you in the slightest because, you don’t really care about me do you?’’

‘‘I do care about you.’’ He’s sure about it, even though he’s been extremely bad at showing it. 

Even though your eyes are threatening to spill tears, you still muster up the last bit of what’s left of your courage to step closer to him until you’re a few inches away. ‘‘Prove it, then. Show me that you care.’’ 

His brain is sent into quick overdrive due to your close proximity. There’s a slight hesitation because he only hopes that what he’s about to do is what you’re demanding him to prove. He doesn’t care if you’re still dating the Namjoon guy because he’s settled with the idea that it’s okay if you don’t correspond, it’s not like he did the same to you when you were both younger. 

Once his lips press against yours, there’s no turning back. He’s waiting for you to push him back and let him know that your heart’s still taken, but you kiss him with such fervor that he knows in that moment that you’re right, it’s better to wait than to rush right in. 

It’s no fairytale kiss, though. There’s desperation in the way you chase his lips, as if you were to slow down he’d find a way to escape from you. You grip the cotton material of his crewneck into your small fists, holding on to the fabric like your life depended on it. The small kiss you had both shared last year was nothing compared to this, and Jungkook’s taken aback by your neediness. 

He doesn’t know how you manage to drag him to your childhood bedroom without missing a beat, only separating once you both realize you need to catch your breaths, and even then Jungkook can’t have a minute to take just happened in because your lips attach to his neck to get more of a taste. His fingers curled around your arm, sighing at the way your kisses felt like electricity on his skin. 

‘‘Y/N,’’ he calls your name out in a breathy tone, but you’re too immersed in your little bubble to even realize it. 

Jungkook groans when you bite into the skin of his neck, then blowing over the red mark as you kissed it better. It’s going to be bruise and he doesn’t like when that happens, but he’s not bothered at all if it comes from you. He forcibly grabs your chin so you can face him, looking at him with big eyes, a small pout, and with your chin messed with drool. 

It’s then that Jungkook kisses you hungrily, making you feel like you’re in a dream-like state,  though you could partially blame the Christmas eggnog for that. The way he bites at your lips and how your tongues clash together is an extreme juxtaposition as to how you could describe this moment. It’s as if you’re floating on air, clouds surrounding you in a heavenly embrace, angels singing in the background every time his hands touch, grab, hold and caress every part of your body. And yet, even with such a difference, it’s perfect because it’s Jungkook. You’ve been waiting for this too long, which is why your hands creep beneath his crewneck, touching his tonified abdomen tentatively and enjoying the way goosebumps arise on his skin at the sensation of your fingers trailing patterns wherever they caress.  

It’s only fair that he pays attention to yours as well. Jungkook’s lips trail from your mouth onto your jawline, planting wet kisses on each space until he begins sucking on the skin of your neck, making you moan in the process. He chooses then that his new favorite sound is the way you voice out the pleasure he gives you. ‘‘Hurry up,’’ you say, ridding the bottom of the crewneck higher over his stomach, making him shiver at the sudden change of temperature. 

Jungkook chuckles before completely getting rid of the material, ‘‘Calm down,’’ he sighs as he gives you a sweet smile, ‘‘You know our moms could talk forever.’’ 

You ogle his chest, admiring the way his training camps have obviously done wonders to his body. ‘‘It’s not them I’m talking about,’’ you correct him with a teasing smile that only makes his grin grow wider, chuckling at your impatience. Jungkook lets out a small gasp of surprise when your hands grasp at his shoulder blades, turning him around so you can back him until the back of his knees hit the edge of your bed. It’s funny how he lets himself be bossed around by someone who’s way smaller compared to his frame.

Jungkook finds leverage on his elbows splayed against the mattress, your knees resting on each side of his hips as you leaned into him and kissing him just as widely as you had done before. Jungkook could fill just how quick things were escalating, especially the way his crotch area was beginning to become a problem he couldn’t possibly control at the moment, not with your own being directly on top of it. In any other situation he would’ve apologized with an awkward laugh, but his breath hitches once your hips start grinding over him.  

His hands make their way on the inside of your knitted sweater, provoking goosebumps on the exposed skin. You let out a shaky laugh, halting your movements so you can quickly get rid of the fabric as Jungkook’s eyebrows lift in surprise at your haste and then at the sight of your bra covered breasts. His hands are still steadily placed on each side of your waist, only brought up because your own had redirected them over your breasts, hoping he gets the message on what you want him to do now.   

Jungkook hesitantly squeezed one of the round globes, provoking a small moan to come from out of your lips. He wishes to hold you as close as he possibly can because the idea of ever being away from you again has been his main fear as of lately. But he refrains, you look so delicate and he feels like you could easily break. He stares at your body lovingly and your cheeks heat up at the way his eyes ogle your chest like a kid in a candy story. You give his arm a light slap and he chuckles, leaning over you to place a passionate kiss on your lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he says frankly. It doesn’t help to dissipate the flush on your face, but the compliment doesn’t bother you in the slightest. Jungkook leans in to trail kisses past your collarbones and into the swell of your breasts, making you bite your lip with anticipation. He looks at you asking for permission and you nod quickly with parted lips as you start to become impatient for him to make his next move. Jungkook lowers the cups of your breasts, freeing your hardened nipples and immediately envelopes one of them with his lips. “Mph—!” A sigh escapes your lips as you try to memorize the way his tongue traces over your tit. He pays attention to your other one, fingers rolling over the bud and pinching ever so often. 

You can feel your panties damp by then, trespassing into the fabric of the black leggings you’re wearing over them. Reaching behind your back, you fumble in unclasping the hooks of the now uncomfortable bra. Jungkook’s forced to stop the undivided attention he had places on your breasts to look at you like he’s lost, why are you going so fast? 

Once your hands delve with the buckle of his belt, he has to hold on to your wrists with a firm grasp, ‘‘What are you doing?’’ He asks with quick breath, you blink stoically towards him. 

‘‘Uh─getting you naked?’’ You answer with a nonchalant tone, but his hands don’t let go and your demeanor changes, ‘‘D-Did you not want this?’’ Your voice turns smaller, embarrassed that maybe you had pressured him into something he didn’t want to participate in. 

Jungkook quickly shakes his head no, ‘‘No, I-I do want this! It’s just─you’re going so fast,’’ he tries to explain, ‘‘I’ve been waiting for this for too long, I don’t wanna rush.’’ Your eyes lit up at the revelation as he waits for you to answer back, only for his back to hit the comforter with a small thud, giggling at the way you urgently kiss him again, but this time with much more care. 

‘‘Why didn’t you say so before, stupid?’’ You mumble with a sheepish look, ‘‘I thought it was just going to be─nevermind, I need you right now.’’ You have to force yourself from spitting out any details that could possibly ruin the moment between you two, deciding to wait instead for any emotional confessions you want to make. 

He switches positions between the two, panting as he brings you down to the mattress and Jungkook can feel the goosebumps on your skin, whether from the coldness of the room or because of the sheer electricity of his hands caressing your body like it was molded just right for him. He dips his hand lower, cupping your clothed heat on his hand. It makes you tremble and you whine, encouraging him to keep going. 

“Baby, you’re really wet,” he comments with a teasing tone and you pout at him. His fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings and he pulls them down as he travels with them, greeted by the sight of the damp cloth of your panties. He exhales with content, caressing your thighs in an up and down motion. You twist underneath him and he has to hold your hips down to calm you down, “Patience is a virtue.” 

“I’ve been too patient, do some—Ah!” Your whining is interrupted once Jungkook moves your underwear to the side holding it with his free hand, fingers coming to trace the slick covering your pussy lips. He becomes entranced with the transparent gooey liquid, bringing them close to his face as he separates his fingers and sees a strand connecting between them. “Guk-ah, p-please…” Your needy voice brings him back to reality, delving his fingers back into your exposed heat but this time with intent. 

Jungkook’s thumb lifts the hood covering your clit, mouth coming down to give it a small tentative kiss. That action alone has you writhing above him, it makes him chuckle to himself as he dives back in. The moans you let out are loud and clear inside your bedroom, thankful that it’s only you and him inside your house. Your hand pulls at his hair, making him groan against you and the vibrations are felt throughout your body, only adding to the euphoric pleasure you already possess. His fingers trace the inside of your thighs until they reach your entrance, circling the fluttering hole which makes you pull at his hair harder and with your other you hold on to the bedsheets of the comforter tightly into your fist. 

Jungkook’s tongue is still working your engorged bud, but he focuses his eyes on you as he dips the first finger inside you. “Oh—fuck,” you let out in a breathy moan. He tries to maintain a rhythm between his two ministrations, but it’s hard when he wants to focus on all of them at once. “‘Nother, please,” you begged once he let your clit rest, quickly following your request by adding another into your warm heat. He lets out a breathless chuckle as he notices how easy it is to thrust both fingers inside of you, your whole crotch area is covered in slick and his wet chin is a dead giveaway to where he was seconds ago. 

He watches you unravel over him with such adoration, not even his wettest dreams or dirtiest fantasies could prepare him for this. Seven minutes in heaven he plans to stay in forever. “Guk-ah, I wan’ you. I-Inside, please.” You plead with teary eyes, and he slowly stops, removing his arousal covered fingers from inside you as he makes you sigh in the process. He kisses you again and again, your hazy brain is probably hallucinating all of this right now, but damn is it good. You tug at the crewneck he’s wearing, he’s too overdressed for this occasion. He tends to your demands, quickly getting rid of all the layers of clothing that stop him from being inside of you fully. 

“I don’t have a—“ 

“I’m on the pill.”

You both speak at the same time, making each other chuckle. Jungkook gulps at the idea of taking you raw as the first time together, and you salivate at his hardened length; the head already oozing precum out and you want nothing more than to wrap your lips around it and lick the tip up. You’re just about to when Jungkook quickly grabs your wrist to stop you from reaching him, you look up at him with the big sparkly eyes he has loved for too long. 

“I just—I wanna be inside you right now,” he sheepishly admits, and you smile with a nod; sharing the sentiment. You back up until your head rests on the pillows comfortably, relaxing into the mattress as you wait for Jungkook to ready himself. He places a kiss on your lips before placing a hand next to your head, using it as leverage above you. His free hand takes his cock and rubs the tip along your folds, making you squirm with anticipation. Jungkook chuckles, “Are you ready?” He asks with a sweet smile. 

“I’ve always been,” you whisper, your hand tucking a strand of his long hair behind his ear. 

A caress to his cheek as he nods, slowly pushing the head of his dick into you. You bite into your lip hard, it’s been a while since you had sex with someone and Jungkook’s size and girth was different from the rest. Your walls are tight around him and he has a tough time trying to reach the hilt with you squeezing him so hard, “Baby, relax for me.” He pleads and you nod apologetically, breathing in deep as you feel him reach parts inside of you, you didn’t know existed. Once he’s all the way in, he waits for you to give him the go ahead while he presses kisses into your heated cheek. You wrap your legs around his waist and give him a nod, letting him know he was allowed to start thrusting.

Jungkook manages to hit all the right places, keeping a steady pace as he enters and exits you each time. You’re left to moan and writhe underneath him, letting him take you as he pleases. Your kisses become messy, teeth biting into each other’s lips, teeth grazing against each other as you both tried to fight for the dominant position. It’s that heavy makeout that incites you to push at his shoulders, making him turn in his back, exiting you in the process. Jungkook pants, chest rising and falling with quickness as you straddle his lap, arms connecting behind his neck. 

“You always want to win, right?” He chuckles with half lidded eyes, enjoying the way your pussy lips grinded over his twitching length. You bat your eyelashes at him, offering him an innocent smile. The same technique that used to get you everything you wanted when you were younger. Same determination as you seek for what’s yours. He’s under you after all, still a victim to your charms.

Jungkook takes the bulbous head of his cock and teases it in your clit, if you weren’t holding on to him tight you would’ve collapsed into his chest. And by the way you moan his name out, he knows you’ll always look for him no matter the weather. “What a pretty girl,” he coos into your hair and you pinch his nipple in retaliation which only makes him groan in return. “My pretty girl.” He states before sinking himself deep into you again, sighing at the feeling of your hips circling over him. His rough hands guide them as you bounce up and down his length, moaning every time you rose and hissing when you came back down. 

He makes sure to keep this image engraved on his head forever. Your breasts bouncing over his face, your thighs working extra hard to keep up with his thrusts, and the way your sounds bounced off the walls of your bedroom. 

“You’re doing s-so good, baby.” Jungkook praises you, kneading your ass cheek. “Taking my cock s-so well,” he falls into a trance of admiring the way his length would appear and disappear inside of you, covered in a thick layer of your arousal. It makes him drill into you faster, sitting properly against the bed’s headboard as he takes your hips with force. He’s too turned on to keep treating you so delicately, and the way you moan and pant at the increase in speed only lets him know you enjoy him like this way more. “I-Is it good, baby? Am I-I fucking you well?” He asks in between rapid thrusts, your thighs had given out by then. 

You nod and a whimper escapes your lips, “Y-yes, Guk-Ah. S-so good, feels amazing.” Your praise is honest, the fucked out tone in your voice is a clear indicator of how well of a job he was doing. A minute longer and you’ll be right on cloud nine, never wanting to come back down. “Wanna cum Guk-Ah, plea—“ There’s no need for you to even finish your sentence because his thumb rubs your clit in figure eights, making you groan with the intensified feeling of his hips circling inside you deliciously. You can almost see the blinding white light ahead as Jungkook kisses you feverishly. You feel tears escape the corners of your high, the familiar feeling tickling inside you as Jungkook’s thrusts don’t let up. ‘‘Ah! Yes, yes, fuck,’’ you cry out once your orgasm hits. Jungkook holds you close to his chest, trying to soothe your shaking body with his arms. Your walls squeeze and relax continuously around him, it serves him as the impulse he needs to chase his own high. 

‘‘I love you, Jungkook,’’ you confess in between panting breaths, ‘‘so much.’’ 

His release shoots out and he groans, digging crescent moons into your hips. You hiss at the sensation, but giggle at how his eyes are screwed shut and brows still furrowed together, as if he was holding on to the last of his orgasm. In reality, Jungkook is just hoping that once he opens his eyes you’ll still be in his arms. Your fingers tilting his head to face you are very much real, he sees spots once he opens his eyes as they adjust to the room’s lighting. 

‘‘I love you too.’’ He says with a fixed gaze and you coo at how perfect this is.

You’re twenty-two when Jungkook’s finally yours.

You’re both twenty-three and it’s another weekend spent at his apartment, he’s been playing for three hours now and you’ve given up on having him pay attention to you. Deciding to switch your plan around and join him instead, if only he would let you play.

‘‘Jungkook, you said it was going to be my turn five rounds ago!’’ You complain with a pout, crossing your arms across your chest. 

His gaze is still stuck on the T.V screen, ‘‘Baby, shhh, you’re gonna make me lose.’’ He mumbles as he tries to remain concentrated on the game in hand, but he can hear your humph’s from behind him, ‘‘Patience is a─’’

‘‘Virtue, yeah, who cares.’’ You interrupt him with a roll of your eyes, familiar with the saying a little too well. ‘‘Hope you remember that for later tonight,’’ you add in a mumble, but he doesn’t hear it because of the loud sounds coming from the game on the screen. 

‘‘What did you say, babe?’’ He asks with a raised brow, hitting the buttons of the controller with expert ease. 

‘‘I’ll call your mom and tell her you don’t wanna share.’’ You joke with a threatening voice, but Jungkook knows better than to take your words so lightly. He pauses the game and turns to look at you with an are you serious? expression on his face, you giggle as you’ve finally got what you wanted. 

He apologizes by covering your face with kisses, pleading for you not to tell on him with his mom. You promise not to do so this time, knowing that the woman was probably tired of having to scold his son at his big age. 

Plus, ever since Jungkook surprised you with the almost exact replica of the Valentine’s Day card you gave him all those year back, you’ve taken advantage to tease him even more knowing he’s at your beck and call. You always remind him that he came close because the stickers he used were not like the ones you had, but he remembered to add the hearts on the I’s so that’s good enough. 

‘‘Alright you can play, but━!’’ He says after he finishes his attack of kisses, ‘‘I’ll be your guide, I can’t risk you messing my record up, no offense baby.’’ None taken as you nod excitedly, you’ll always take whatever chance he gives you. 

Jungkook’s finally learned how to share his toys after all.

[laurie-stark]

Get up and get out

Summary: Sort of part two to Unwanted. A year after fighting in Germany, y/n has to deal with the insufferable Peter Parker being around the house all the time. 

Pairings: Peter Parker x stark!reader, tony stark x daughter!reader, Natasha Romanoff x daughter!reader. 

Warnings: swearing, angst? i guess? mentions of blood. mentions of panic nightmares 

A/N: Again, I want to make it very clear so there isn’t any confusion: Y/n is Tony’s biological child, however, being raised also by Natasha, Steve and Pepper, she calls them Muma, Pops and Mom. Hopefully that makes sense LOL oh and also i’ve never written like...kiss scenes before so just go with it okay?

He was here again. Third time this week that he has come barging into my home and taken over my training center. Okay, to be fair, it was not my training center but still. Peter Parker will never stop being a pain in my ass. Ever since that stupid trip to Germany, he has been coming over and training for hours, or working with Dad. Three times just this week I’ve had to endure listening to Peter talk with his stupid little voice and walk around my house like he owns the place. Who does he think he is? And every time I have to sit through another dinner of Dad blabbing on and on about what a miraculous boy he is.

               “Really y/n, I think you two would be great friends,” I rolled my eyes as I picked at my dinner. The rest of the family ate in silence around the table. The last thing I wanted to do is spend more time with stupid Spider-boy. On the afternoons when he was here, I tried my best to stay out of his way. I would stay on my floor and he stays on his. Simple. I don’t need a new friend.

“…And he’s coming by again tomorrow, so I was thinking of showing him A.P.R.I.L. if you wanted to join us-” Dad continued.

What the hell? I thought. “No!” I snapped. “No way. A.P.R.I.L. is mine, I don’t want him messing with her.” Dad frowned at me. The rest of the table looked up in my direction. My shoulders tensed up as I faced my father. A.P.R.I.L. is my baby and I was ready to go toe to toe with him if I needed too.

“What do you mean no? I thought you’d be excited to share that with him,” he started.

“Well I’m not, so back off,” I sneered. The shift in his expression made me want to bite my own tongue. “Please.”

“I seriously do not understand what your problem is. You’ve been complaining for years how there’s only adults but the second a kid your age comes by you’re all “oooh no don’t talk to me Peter!””

I scoffed. “Sorry, I guess I just don’t want to bother you and your new best friend.”

“There it is. Why are you so jealous of him? He’s not that cool. He hasn’t made a fully functioning A.I at the age of 15. He just spits sticky stuff out of his fingers. Honestly y/n, you’re making zero sense right now.”

“Whatever, I’m over this,” I said, pushing my chair back from the table. I grabbed my untouched dinner plate and headed towards the kitchen. “I’m not hungry. And don’t show him A.P.R.I.L., I mean it!” I dumped my plate in the sink and marched right down the hall towards the elevators. My dad was right. I wasn’t making any sense. Ever since I made A.P.R.I.L I’ve used every excuse I could find to shove her down people’s throats. Anyone who would listen to me, I would tell them. Tell them all about how I programmed her to have realistic personality. How she’s running through the walls of this place, through my room, even inside the bracelet I never take off. All I knew is that I didn’t want Peter Parker anywhere near her.

I shut the door to my hard, and flopped onto my bed. A.P.R.I.L. reminded me that slamming the doors usually results in a punishment. I acknowledged her with a half-hearted grunt. I started programming A.P.R.I.L. when I was thirteen. Or rather, reprogrammed. A.P.R.I.L. was made from an older prototype version of F.R.I.D.A.Y. The base stuff was already there, I just moved some things here, recoded there until she was perfect. I don’t know why I got so defensive about Peter meeting her. Or why I had to pick another fight with my dad.

It was easier these days. To fight him, I mean. I suppose I never got over the whole “Peter is better, I choose him over you, blah, blah” thing as much as I thought I did. So, I would pick fights. Fighting over Peter was the simplest way to go, considering he was the reason I was so angry in the first place. Sometimes we would fight over him, other times we would fight over silly things. Like how I keep forgetting not to put my coffee grounds in the garbage disposal. Most of the time it was all just bickering that would blow over in thirty minutes, give or take. Sometimes it was explosive, like today.  I took in a shaky breath and sprawled out across my sheets. Sometimes this family is a fucking nightmare.

Dad didn’t come by this time. It threw me off for a second because he always comes by. Even if it’s six hours later and neither of us should be awake, he still comes by with a box of milk duds that we share in silence before one of us apologizes first. That’s how we work. When it finally sunk in that he was not planning on coming, I put A.P.R.I.L. on the job. I figured perhaps he left the compound, maybe took Mom for a nighttime stroll.

“Your father is on floor B, Miss Stark,” A.P.R.I.L. informed me.

“Jesus A.P.R.I.L., how many times have I said to cut the formalities,” I muttered.

“My apologies, y/n.”

Floor B. What the hell is he doing on floor B at…12:00 in the morning? Floor B is strictly for members of household and other Avengers. There are a billion different training rooms down there. Weight rooms, boxing, a huge pool, stuff like that. Not to taint his image, but I can safely say the last time my father willingly worked out for fun was probably before I was even born. Why was he down there? Unless…

“A.P.R.I.L. who else is on floor B right now?” I asked. “Throw it on the hologram, would you dear?

The sounds of the hologram starting filled the room. A.P.R.I.L. pulled up the security map of floor B, like I’d asked. There was my dad, floor B in the boxing room of all places. Pops and Sam looked to be going at it in another one of the combat training rooms. My confusion only rose when another nametag popped up on the screen. My brows furrowed.

Peter Parker

What was he doing here? Why was he boxing? Why was he not in his own home at midnight on a Thursday? My mind was spinning with questions. A knock at my door startled me.

“Come in…”

Natasha popped her head through the doorway. “Hey there…whatcha doing kid?”

I swiftly swiped away the hologram screen and sat up straight. “Nothing. What’s up?”

“Well, we’re getting a little worried about you,” she said. We being everyone else at the table who had to witness my brawl with Dad. She sat down beside me. “You haven’t fought back like that in a long time and I’ve noticed you’re fighting with him a lot recently. You want to tell me what that’s all about?”

I wanted too. God, I wanted too. I hadn’t told anyone what my father said to me that day after the airport, not even my mom. But it didn’t matter. I’d get over it sooner or later, so there was no point troubling anyone else with my problems…right? My eyes started to well up but I blinked away the tears. “No. Everything’s fine,” I put on a smile.

Natasha tucked me in under her arm. “Okay then. Maybe tomorrow.” That was Muma for you. She never pushed me to talk but knew I would come around at some point. In the meantime, she just held me. I cried into her embrace. She let me cry into her shoulder for a long while, until I was empty. After a time, I let go and she got up, giving me a kiss on the head before wishing me a good night.

I rubbed my hands over my face, brushing off any remaining tears. “A.P.R.I.L. bring the hologram back up please.”

“Are you sure y/n?”

…

“Yeah.”

Peter was still in the boxing room but my father was not. Upon further digging, I found the nametag reading Tony Stark on my floor. He’d gone to bed. I pondered to myself as to whether or not I should venture downstairs. What is the worst thing that could happen? Peter is secretly a Hydra spy and kills me? No, I shook my head. Don’t be ridiculous. Another minute passed and I’d made up my mind.

“A.P.R.I.L. engage “I am definitely here”,” I commanded.

“”I am definitely here” protocol engaged. Volume minimized to 5% and your tracking tag will be pinned to this room,” A.P.R.I.L. responded. “Good luck on your mission small agent.”

“Oh shut up,” I chided. I closed the door to my room as softly as I could. It was nearly one in the morning, most of the hall would be asleep. Or at least they should be. The hallway was silent, except for the soft noise of my socks padding along the floor. I cursed myself for looking so ridiculous. If anyone caught me, I could easily say that I was just getting a midnight snack. Not sneaking down to spy on Spider-bitch. Boy. Whatever. Sneaking added to the excitement.

I made it downstairs all in one piece. Steve and Sam nearly passed me in one of the halls, but I had ducked into a briefing room. I could totally be a spy. Maybe I’m a Hydra spy. I thought. And they sent me here as a baby to take down the Avengers from the inside. What was I going on about? This was why I should really be in bed, I was clearly delirious. Once again, distracting myself in my thoughts led to me getting startled. I hadn’t even realized I was outside the boxing room. I would have walked right in if not for the handy wall that I smacked into.

Peter was in the ring, practicing his punches. He’d lowered down one of the punching bags from the ceiling and it was close to ripping at the seams. He was really going ham on it. The questions piled on. So, he came over to my house at midnight to…train? Something he had all afternoon today to do? God, he was weird. I suppose I didn’t quite know what I was going to get myself into when I finally walked in to confront him.

“What are you doing?” I asked, arms folded tightly across my chest.

Peter started and looked down at me. Sweat was dripping down his face. He looked exhausted. “Training,” he said bluntly. He returned to treating the punching bag like it had run over his dog.

“At one in the morning? And after you spent like six hours today doing just that?” I was not letting him off that easy. Peter ignored me and continued punching. “Your form is shit.” I mocked.

That made him stop. “Funny coming from the girl who never leaves her room. When have you ever trained? Like ever?”

“I still beat your ass.”

“Yeah like, a year ago when I was barely an avenger.”

I rolled my eyes. “You still aren’t.”

“What do you want?” Peter spat.

I shrugged. “Dunno.” I stared him down with a smug look on my face.

“You are always such a bitch, you know that?”

I faked a pout. “Aw…bite me.”

Peter was chewing the inside of his cheek in anger. “If you’re going to stay here and pester me, you might as well get a few punches in.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Consider it a rematch.”

I studied his physique for a moment. He’d grown a lot since Germany. He’d also trained a lot since then as well. I had done little of either. I knew that entering that ring would probably end up with me losing my dignity and maybe even a tooth. But I was not going to let him stand there with his stupid, sweaty face and get away with it. This is not a good idea, I thought as I took off my socks. I moved the ropes and stepped into the ring, standing a foot in front of the boy.

“I’ll still win.”

“No powers either.”

“Deal.” Not like I’ve touched my powers since…since the incident.

Peter took his stance and I did my best to mirror him. I realized in that moment that I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t know the first thing about boxing. Or sparring. I didn’t know how to fight without my powers. Oh, sweet Jesus.

We kept our distance at first, fists up. He threw a few punches and missed. I followed in suit. I finally got the first hit, a nice throw to his chest. He took it like a champ and didn’t flinch. Or rather, I couldn’t hit for shit and it didn’t hurt. He threw a punch to my left, only to miss on purpose and punched me square across my jaw. Ow. I chuckled lowly. The taste of blood filled my mouth from the fresh cut on my lip. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. All I could see was white rage.

Forget form, forget rules, forget everything. I lunged at him with everything I had. Lunged at him for all the bullshit he had brought into my life. For all the bitter things I had to hear my father say that weren’t even Peter’s fault. He was clearly not expecting my attack because we both fell to the ground. We fought tirelessly on the mat. He was physically stronger than me, so by default he was winning. He wrestled me until I was pinned under him. One hand was pinning my hand above my head, the other arm pinning down my body. In any other circumstances I would be amused to find myself in such a scandal. I looked in his eyes briefly and I could already tell he thought that he was winning. If there’s one thing I learned from Nat, it’s to always step on their moment. I hooked my leg around his knee and used all my force to flip us over. I had him pinned down now, my hair falling around my face. We were both breathing heavily.

“Told you,” I taunted. I was mentally preparing him to punch back but he didn’t. He snapped his arms out from under me and shoved me off him, hard. I fell back against the mat. He rose to his feet, brushing his hands off on his pants. “What the hell?” I exclaimed. I jumped to my feet while his back was turned to me and gave him a taste of his own medicine. He stumbled a few steps after I pushed him. Slowly, he stretched back up to reach his full height.

“You’re right,” he turned to face me and extended a hand. “Shake on the truce?” I took his hand, accepting his surrender. Only, he was not really surrendering. The moment my hand touched his, he yanked me towards him. I tripped over my feet and fell into him. My chest crashed onto his. The world was a blur as he grabbed me with force and spun us around, so he could push me up against the ropes of the ring.

“Stop, Peter get off me you bitch!” I fought back. I flailed my whole body around, trying to break loose. One hand reached up to grab the back of my head, pulling my hair and forcing my head back. I froze. His face was dangerously close to my exposed neck. His shift let my opposite arm break free. I took a breathe and reeled it back, ready to smack him in the across the face. He caught my wrist in time without taking his eyes off mine.

He lowered his head to whisper in my ear, “I win.” His breathe trickled down my neck. He had won, but he wasn’t moving. One hand was still in my hair, the other was pinning me against the ropes. His chest breathed heavily against my own. His grip on my head loosened slightly and I was able to look him straight on. He had that same smug look pasted across his face. His eyes moved from mine, trailing down my face, my neck, my body, before they settled on my lips. I momentarily lost the ability to breathe.

He kissed me hard. I tensed up slightly before giving into him completely. It tasted like blood and sweat and I felt like I was losing my mind. He pulled me closer, if that was even possible and claimed my mouth with his until my knees gave out. A newfound wave of warm washed through me. The hand in my hair gave a slight tug and my lips parted while that same hand moved to cup my jaw. For all I knew, the entire compound was wide awake and watching but I did not care. I brought my fingers to his hair, tugging at the ends. I smiled cunningly when he groaned into my mouth. He kissed me greedily and fully. Like he hated me. And I hated him.

We broke apart, limbs numb and chests heaving. The moment had passed, and our actions sunk in. What. The. Fuck. He lifted the ropes for me, and I climbed out of the ring. My head was still spinning from that kiss and my lip stung. Consequences I suppose, for kissing someone with a busted lip. I silently pulled my socks back on and Peter handed me a towel. Neither of us said another word. I left the room and didn’t look back. I could hear him behind me, but I was in no rush to have to look him in the eye ever again. What just happened?

 I woke the next morning to A.P.R.I.L. alerting me that “Father Dearest” was outside my door. He came in and sat on the edge of the bed. We both stayed quiet for a while.

I spoke first. “Where were you last night? You didn’t come by after…” I let my words trail off.

“I was going to, I swear. But then something came up with Peter and I had to go take care of that,” Dad answered.

I frowned. “Typical. Peter over your own flesh and blood, right?”

Dad inhaled sharply like he was going to bite back, but changed his mind. “That’s not true and you know it. Peter is…he’s going through something and I knew how to help him. Not everything is about you, you narcissist,” He said, joking at the end.

I had to push down my own smile. “Yeah well where do you think I got it from?” I sat up and leaned into my father. He brushed a hand down my back. “So, what’s wrong with Peter then?”

“I really shouldn’t tell you, it’s personal.” I looked up at him with my doe eyes. He rolled his eyes and sighed, nodding a silent defeat. I felt like I was nine again and he was gossiping with me about the latest secretary. Like every fight had been forgotten in this moment. “He’s been having some nightmares ever since DC. You remember the ones we used to get after Loki?” I nodded. “Now you, you always amazed me at how you handled those. But for me and Peter, we needed a different outlet. So, I let him come over in the middle of the night. I didn’t think anyone would notice.” I hummed in response, not sure what to make of that information. I mean, I kind of felt bad for the guy. He was still a bitch, but those dreams suck. No one should have to deal with them. “He really isn’t as bad as you think, you know.”

“Yeah,” I hummed. “I think you’re right.”

tag list:

@runawayolives @ creation-magician @ eridanuswave @ markhyucksmells @ beep-beep-losersclub

[sasstrash]

Please forgive me I've been super focused on school

The Silent Queen 6; A Royal Morning

Raven woke up the same she always did - quietly. No one ever really noticed her until she was outside her room and hallway back in the castle but at school, people smiled and waved at her the second she left her dorm with Maddie. She guessed that the news of her arrival had spread and a lot of people wanted to know the daughter of the Evil Queen. Raven grimaced at the thought, she would have preferred not to be known at all. To just be a minor character in a smaller story. With a happy ending. But that wasn’t who she was, she was Raven Queen and this was her life.

Walking down the corridors to the castleteria was mostly uneventful aside from all the other students who continued looking at her and pointing things out. It was times like these that she wished she could hear. But then again she wasn’t sure how well she’d adjust to suddenly being able to hear. The castleteria itself is big and crowded with white lighting that made everything look brighter than what Raven was used to, many eyes looked over to her and Raven felt herself subconsciously tug at a lavender streak in her hair. This was going to be a long school year.

Cerise stood up and waved over at the pair of newcomers from her table where she sat with Cedar, Hunter, and a few girls who Raven vaguely remembered from yesterday who had been with that blonde- Apple, Apple White. The next Snow White, the one Raven would eventually have to poison. Raven stopped moving for a second at the thought of her destiny. Eyes wide she almost started to shake until Maddie lightly poked her shoulder, pointing to the castleteria’s food table. Raven straightened and followed her roommate and best friend to grab breakfast.

At home, she usually just walks into the kitchen. Chef made pancakes most mornings with berries from the nearby forest and honey on top. Raven always loved those pancakes, even if she had them almost every day. Raven quickly put a few slices of bacon on her plate smiling at the staff before grabbing some fruit salad and a couple of waffles and left to follow Maddie over to Cedar’s table. Most people moved out of the way to let the two girls pass through in order to get to their table. If Raven was being honest she had expected more students to run away from her when she arrived, and yet they all seemed to be completely enamoured by her. Weird. Maybe it was because she hadn’t shown up for regular school until this year, or because no one knew what she looked like (she avoided mirror phones and rarely left the castle grounds), or maybe none of them knew much about deaf people. Or maybe all three. By the time she and Maddie sat down, Raven was already exhausted, and she hadn’t even gone to class yet!!

‘Morning Rae, how was your first night at EAH?’ Cerise signed over to her childhood friend. Raven smiled at the nickname, Cerise had given it to her when they were about six, very soon afterwards Raven and Cerise began talking more over chats with their mirror phones as Cerise started elementary school while Raven began to be castleschooled. The two would work on video chats every now and again to keep sign language in Cerise’s vocabulary, (usually with a little help from Ramona too, but it’s not like they could talk about that it was a secret!) so the two stayed connected no matter where they were.

‘It’s been good Cher,’ another nickname that had come from their younger years ‘you know after the whole Headmaster situation me and Maddie set up our dorm. It was definitely different from the castle or your place’ Raven concluded before picking up her fork. She really was hungry after skipping dinner last night. As the others smiled at her she felt a warm fuzzy feeling wash over her, these were her friends, some through childhood, some through the others and they all loved her. She was loved, at least she was now but once she became, that she wouldn’t be. Her smile began to dim just a tad as she bit into her waffle. She shook it off before looking at the three girls she didn’t know the names of. ‘Oh sorry I almost forgot, I’m Raven, and you guys are?’ she asked the brunette in pink, the platinum blonde in white and the ginger with green eyes. Each one smiled at her as brightly as her friends, if not a bit brighter, they were probably princesses, Raven thought to herself before each one signed their names.

‘Briar Beauty’ The girl in all pink signed with slightly tired eyes. Raven immediately made the connection to the Sleeping Beauty Story, it took a lot for her not to frown, that was always such a sad tale, sleeping for a hundred years would mean losing the people she loved. Even still Raven could see that something else was turning in her mind, maybe she’d get to see what that was.

The ginger signed after ‘Ashlynn Ella it’s nice to meet you!’ she had the brightest smile that Raven had seen from the trio. Cinderella’s daughter her mind added in, another story with a happy ending but a tragic beginning, she couldn’t imagine losing both of her parents. Then again it was better than being imprisoned in a mirror, or being forced to dance in hot iron shoes until death, or being crushed by a boulder after falling off of a cliff. Raven’s thoughts were broken as she saw that Ashlynn was sitting very close to Hunter, who seemed to be completely focused on her, the dork had a crush, which seemed to be mutual. If Raven could speak well she would have laughed.

‘I’m Darling Charming but you can call me Darl for short’ The Platinum Blonde signed last as she gave a simple polite smile. Like the one that Raven had been taught to use for visitors and knights when she was younger. A female born Charming? She had heard of it before but it wasn’t common, most of them became small-time princesses with small kingdoms, or took over for the Charming Kingdom when the time came. It would be interesting Raven thought to see where her destiny leads her, after all, Darling definitely had the most open book story out of all of them.

‘It’s nice to meet all of you’ Raven signed before continuing ‘So.. has anyone gotten a schedule, I still haven’t’ It hadn’t been a big surprise to her though, she supposed no one had accounted for her deafness and they might have had to remake her schedule. After she mentioned it though she saw Cedar hit her head with her hand. “Ugh, I almost forgot,” she muttered to the group before pulling out a piece of paper. ‘Here Raven, I passed the headmaster and he asked me to give this to you, don’t worry he only had to reschedule two subjects!’ she finished passing the note over. Raven sent a grateful smile to her friend thank goodness for Cedar on the top of the paper a note was written with a schedule underneath. It read:

Dear Ms. Queen; first of all, I’d like to apologize for not being aware of this sooner, in the short time we’ve been given I was able to find some students to help you translate in each class. However, just in case most classes have an extra student who understands sign language. Below is your schedule, I hope you enjoy your time here at Ever After High.

Sincerely,

Headmaster Grimm

Breakfast: 6:30-8:30

Block one: Geografairy with Professor Jack B. Nimble (assisted by Cerise Hood) 8:45-9:30

Block two: Beast Training and Care with Professor Poppa Bear (assisted by Dexter Charming) 9:35-10:20

Block three: General Villainy with Professor Badwolf (assisted by Ramona Badwolf) 10:25-11:10

Block four: Math with Dr. King Charming (assisted by Ashlynn Ella) 11:15-12:00

Lunch: 12:00-12:45

Block five: History with Professor Rumpilstilskin (assisted by Madelyn Hatter) 1:00-1:45

Block six: Spellcasting and Potions with Professor Baba Yaga (assisted by Cedar Wood) 1:50-2:35

Block seven: Grimmnastics with Coach Gingerbreadman (assisted by Darling Charming) 2:40-3:25

Block eight: Art with Professor Card (assisted by Meshell Mermaid) 3:30-4:15

Dinner may be had at any time after this, as can counselling with Baba Yaga or Mother Goose. Lights out is at 10:30

Raven smiled at the schedule she only didn’t know two of the names on here. She was nervous to start her time at EAH but as long as she had good grades and a clear head she was sure she would do fine.

Notes:

I am really sorry this took so long, I kept forgetting about it because of school and COVID. btw if anyone knows how to make a master post and pin it could you please let me know? I would like to be able to do that. I also just got an AO3 account so I might post on there.

Taglist For The Silent Queen:

@virgil-is-a-cutie @justafanwarrior @bee-a-garbage-shipper @spicybelladonna @starrry-nites @tired-butterfly @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @themagicmistic @a-star-with-a-human-name @futursworld @pepelachanel @me-with-a-z-and-double-the-e @wolf-for-life

@iz-bell-saiah @thebookwormfairy @fantasiame

[nlights37]

20 Questions: Writer Edition

Many many thanks to @hot-auntie-dany and my baby @magalidragon for the tag, here we gooooo....

(All fics mentioned below can be found on my AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernLights37/works)

How many works do you have on AO3?

33 as of today

What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,003,539, not including Adrift and a few other orphaned fics I have floating around. You are welcome, whores (or, conversely, my apologies for inflicting these fics upon this fandom, over a million words of garbage, depending on your fic tastes hahaha)

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

A few over the years - none as extensively as GOT, but I wrote some back in the day for Buffy.

What are your top five fics by kudos?

Cerulean Blue

Something Stupid

Beautiful Creatures

Fixer-Upper

Beautiful Creatures: Legends (Pt. 2)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Sometimes. Sometimes I don’t. Usually it’s procrastination or I really am busy with IRL stuff. LOL Sometimes I just savor them and don’t respond to them all then I feel guilty and then I’m like ‘okay bitch you wrote the fic you don’t have to write another one in the comments just enjoy the kind words’. Other times I’m like ‘JFC asshole answer your comments’. It’s a mixed bag.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I haven’t. I just give light dustings of angst. Angst does not exist in my endings lol.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Hahahah all of them bitch all of them even when they die it’s a happy ending. That doesn’t mean the characters get some perfect ending, but it’s a happy one. I think people conflate the two sometimes, because you can absolutely have a happy ending without it being ‘perfect’.

Do you write crossovers? If yes, what’s the craziest thing you’ve written?

No - I don’t usually read them, either.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Occasionally. Fuck ‘em. I write this shit because there’s a story stuck in my head and I gotta get it out so I can read it. If someone doesn’t like it, so what? Cry out into the internet void about it, sweetie, but no one cares. Still gonna write my fics.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

The better question is can I write a fic without smut? The answer is yes but only a few. I’m here for the fucking. Like, yes, A-plot but I’m trying to see my OTP getting sweaty and talking dirty and blowing out each other’s backs, please and thank you.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No one’s ever taken one of my fics and replaced the names and shit and posted it, if that’s what you mean. This is fanfiction, we’re all stealing the original ideas and characters in the first place and toying with them. But never had a fic stolen, never stolen a fic. Not my thing.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, the lovely winterandmistletoe translated Ghost is a Good Boy to Russian a few years back, which I thought was pretty dope.

Have you ever co-written a fic?

I have - one complete and one in-progress with @magali_dragon

What’s your all time favourite ship?

I’ve had a lot over the years (aka I am old). It wasn’t called shipping way back then in the early to mid-90’s but I shipped the hell out of Clois, BatCat, Buffy/Angel, Jim/Pam, Sydney/Vaughn (Does anyone even remember Alias anymore lol), and of course Jonerys. All-time favorite is probably Clois just because, you know, haven’t had to watch big soft boi Clark kill Lois onscreen or anything, but Jonerys is still my doomed baby pairing deep down.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I honestly don’t know. I have quite a few for GOT that I’ll eventually finish but I’m kinda on a fandom break from Jonerys while I re-obsess over someone of my long-forgotten ships (namely Clois and BatCat).

What’s your writing strengths?

Banter, baby, I got jokes for days. For weeks. Months would be pushing it but I’m 40 and tired.

What’s your writing weaknesses?

Lack of planning and always underestimating the amount of free time I’ll have to work on fic. Every goddamn time.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in fic?

I think it’s great but I won’t be inflicting my three years of high school Spanish on anyone anytime soon unless you want a fic where everyone is asking about the locations of the bathroom and the market.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Buffy, a very very very long time ago.

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

Hmmmm. It’s kinda like choosing between my kids, I guess! I like them all for different reasons, but at the end of the day, it’s probably Art of Deduction (in my current mood, anyway, lol). That fic was a stray shower thought that just wouldn’t go away, and you never know if there’s really gonna be enough meat on the bone when you go to write it, but I was really happy with how it turned out.

[whothehellami5473]

They should’ve stuck with Ilya.

That’s not to say I haven’t enjoyed Brett Cullen’s present-day portrayal of him. Just saying-- If the garbage outcome we just got in 8.22 really had to be the sole alternative, I’m kinda wishing now that the answer to “Who’s impersonating Reddington” had remained Ilya Koslov. ‘Cause I liked that answer. I enjoyed our introduction to him. And while at the time we as an audience certainly still had questions as to what would compel him to step in and help the way he did (to THAT incredible extent, anyway), what led him to continue being Red after the money withdrawal, his full history with Katarina, etc., I figured at the time that such elaboration we could return to later. With the “who” figured out, we could now actually go into the “why.” To that end, the Townsend Directive could’ve still factored in. And on a side note lemme just say, personally, that Neville Townsend was one of the few reasons I kept tuning in as long as I did throughout Liz’s bullshit quest this season. As far as villains are concerned, I thought his was a fun performance to watch, and somebody I wanted to see more of (same with Matias Solomon, Berlin, and Ian Garvey-- those have been my Top 3 major Blacklist villains for some time; now Townsend’s up there with them, and I’m PISSED he’s already gone... without even a number on the blacklist itself, no less!). So whatever could have led us to him still. Maybe he and others like him being the explanation for why Ilya had to stay in the role of Reddington, in order to keep Katarina several steps ahead of it all. But the reason I bring up Townsend is to stress that so much of what ultimately played out the last two seasons could’ve still happened (preferably NOT Liz’s ridiculous “kill Red” mission, but hey, one rage-inducing story point at a time) without doubling back on the “who” so many goddamn times. Sikorsky, N-13... Hell, even Blonde Kat to some degree might’ve come into play still, if one were to insist on that. Whatever else factored into the “why,” and how it informs current relationships in the present. Brett Cullen could’ve been playing somebody from Ilya’s past-- childhood, even, from how it sounded-- who had to take up Ilya’s role in life now that he was playing Red (maybe not another extensive surgery, but simply adopting a name), which could have paved the way for discovering more about Ilya from his pre-Red days. Ivan Stepanov could very likely have still played the part he did, given his importance on Dom’s side of things. And the real Katarina could have remained hidden-- hence Townsend’s ongoing search-- until such time that she and Liz could safely reunite (I really thought that was where certain remarks at the end of episode 8.20 would lead to. But I guess not). Or perhaps for all their efforts Katarina did ultimately die in the process of all this, making for another possible reason Liz’s survival holds such importance. I know, conjecture after conjecture. None of that necessarily would’ve HAD to play out the way I described. But if now ain’t a time to imagine other paths for the show to have taken when it had the chance... Bottom line, there was really no need to prolong the “imposter identity” question for all the time that they did. We HAD an answer, dammit, and it was a pretty solid setup for more to come. In light of recent events, I maintain that that would have been a far more interesting story. Just really wish we could’ve gotten that progression rather than backtracking fifty times on it all only to arrive at an answer that blows holes in so much of what was previously portrayed, established, etc. (which I realize is its own huge-muthalovin’-can-of-worms-esque debate, but just the same) Maybe then Liz’s story wouldn’t have had to meet its god-awful end the way it did, either, for the sake of a mere last-second realization. Megan Boone could have still left the show at her leisure, absolutely. That’s her prerogative. The issue for me simply was how her character got written out, and how ridiculously little payoff there was for it. The result just wasn’t worth it, and we all know it could have been. (Lot of “could have”s in this post. I apologize)

[noyin]

She Visits Me In My Dream

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Rating: G

Pairing: Miego

Words: 393

Tags: Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mostly Fluff, Drabble

I was in the mood for some miego and I was feeling sufficiently inspired lol I haven’t written in a hot minute so I apologize if this is just hot garbage

--

It seemed like the words ‘coffee’ and ‘morning person’ always went hand in hand, but Godot was most definitely not a morning person. There was a certain coldness to the morning, Godot thought. Though sunlight settled warmly against the soft sheets, and caressed his face incessantly, nudging him to wakeness, Godot longed for the comfortable idleness of the night. Well… it was time to get going.

Godot could smell the coffee—it was like a shark sensing blood in the water. As reluctant as he was to get out of bed, he couldn’t resist the notes of cinnamon and hazelnut that manifested in his personal space. The smell alone was practically dragging him by the ankle to the kitchen.

Ah, but there was more than just coffee awaiting him. Just the thought of her was enough to motivate him out of bed and make his way downstairs. His eyes would always find her first as he strode through the kitchen doorway, his gaze drawn to her like a magnet, and his heart would do a little flutter upon seeing her. That was really the only good part about wake up early—there was always a sense of impatience when he finally gave in to sleep, because he couldn’t wait to see her.

She was standing at the stove this time, her back towards him as she cooked. Pancakes. Wafting around him was the sweet aroma of pancakes.

He approached her, though it felt like his body was suddenly made from bags of sand. But he wanted to hold her. He could already feel her soft form pressed against him, nuzzled against his chest. He loved that she smelled like honeysuckle, delicate.

He laid his hand on the small of her back and she gently pulled back, her deep chocolate eyes meeting with his. She smiled. Brighter than the sun.

“Diego,” she said.

He couldn’t help himself. He pulled her closer, his nose diving into her hair, and he placed a kiss on her forehead. For a moment, he didn’t want to move, as if she would disappear once he pulled back.

“Mia...”

Instead, she pulled away. “Hey, it’s time to wake up, sleepyhead,” she laughed, “coffee’s ready.”

“No...” he mumbled.

It was getting so bright.

“I don’t wanna wake up...”

And before his eyes, she scattered from his arms along with the sunlight.

[seijorhi]

Hinata with an s/o who treats him pretty shitty. No matter what Hinata still is really sweet to them until he just kinda snaps. He decides to act really cruel back and seeing how scared she is he realizes he really likes them like that.

Thanks for the request!!

It actually turned out pretty tame, but I hope you like it 😊

TW physical abuse, kidnapping

One More Time

God you’re so pretty, do you know that?

He tells you often enough, showers you with as much love and affection and praise as he can muster, but you never seem to listen to him. No matter how kind or sweet he is, all you ever do is turn up your nose at him and snap some biting retort or insult.

Sometimes you just flat out ignore him, and he hates that most of all. Can’t you understand that all he wants is your love? Your happiness? You’re the single most important thing in Hinata’s life - well, you and volleyball - but you always treat him like garbage! 

It’s okay, though. 

You… you just need time to adjust. He’s taken you from everything you’ve known, your friends and family, the job that demanded too much of your time, that stupid boyfriend of yours, he just needs to have a little patience. You’ll come around eventually and then everything will be perfect!

Patience has never been his strong suit, but for you he’s willing to try! No matter how many times you yell at him or say such hurtful things, he’s never anything but sweet and loving in return. It’ll be worth it when you settle down, and he can distract himself with his fantasies of how great your lives together are gonna be until then.

He loves you, he loves you so much it almost hurts, but you act like it means nothing. You scoff when he offers to let you watch your favourite movie together, sneer whenever he cuddles up around you after a long day of training and outright mock and belittle him at every opportunity you get. You don’t even appreciate the new wardrobe he’s gotten for you - it’s all sheer, lacy and soft, but you just scowl and snap at him whenever he asks for you to try it on. It’s not that it doesn’t bother him, but he remembers how you used to be, sweet and kind with the prettiest smile and laugh. This you isn’t really you, it’s just an act. 

He’d do anything for you, but you don’t seem to care about that, do you? You’re acting like an ungrateful, mean, whining little brat right now, but he loves you anyway.

Unfortunately for you, it turns out that Hinata does have his limits. 

You’ve been pouty all day, so he does the only thing he can think of to bring your pretty smile back, he brings home some of your favourite pastries from the bakery you used to love just down the road from your old place. He’s expecting your eyes to light up, for you to throw your arms around him and shower him in kisses because he remembered. He might not have a lot of experience in the love department, but he knows how to be a good boyfriend!

Except your eyes don’t light up. 

You’re sitting propped up against the headboard on his bed re-reading one of your favourite novels when he gets home, and you barely even glance up when he calls from the doorway. 

“Baaaabby,” he sings as he all but jumps onto the mattress beside you, sliding an arm around your shoulder that you promptly shrug off. “I missed you!”

Your face scrunches up as he presses a kiss against your cheek, but you don’t even look up from your book. His smile doesn't waver, but his eyes narrow just a fraction - for one shining, dark moment, he has the strong urge to rip the book right out of your hands and tear it into pieces before your eyes. He’d only brought it over because he knew how much you loved it and he wanted you to be happy and comfortable in your new home, but he’s the one you should be paying attention to right now. 

But he calms himself, tugging you closer. He’ll have all of your attention soon enough. Excitement bubbles in his stomach, he’s almost vibrating with barely suppressed glee. You’re gonna love his surprise so much! “C’mere, let me show you.” 

He effortlessly yanks the book from your hands, tossing it carelessly to the ground. Finally, you look up at him, a petulant scowl on your face, but he doesn’t let it affect him. “You were looking a little sad today, so I thought I’d get you something to cheer you up!”

Without giving you a chance to reply he shoves the box into your lap. His eyes are wide and fixed on your face, searching for the reaction he so desperately wants to see, but you’re just…

You’re just staring mutely at the box. 

You haven’t even opened it, but surely you recognise the logo emblazoned on the outside. You swallow, and Hinata swears that he sees your eyes shine with tears, but that can’t be right… you, you loved that bakery! Why would it make you sad? “Do… do you like it?” He prompts when the silence starts to get a little oppressive. 

Like a switch flipped, your face darkens and you glare at him. With your eyes locked on his, you pick up the box of cakes he’d so carefully picked out for you and throw it across the room like it’s nothing but trash. “I don’t want you or your stupid gifts, just leave me alone you creepy little shit,” you sneer.

Something inside Hinata just snaps.

It’s easy when you look at him to forget just how quick Hinata can be. One second you're sitting on the bed beside him, the next he has you face down on the mattress, gripping your arms in a painful twist behind your back.

“Why do you have to be so rude all the time?!” he hisses in your ear as you whimper and trash beneath him. “I’ve tried to be nice, I’ve tried making you happy, but you just can’t stop being a coldhearted bitch for five minutes, can you?!”

There’s an edge to his voice that makes you shiver beneath him. Maybe, just maybe, you’re finally gonna stop-

“I’ll stop being a bitch,” you growl into the pillow, bucking your hips to try and displace him, “when you’re rotting away behind bars, asshole!”

His arm moves before his brain can catch up, a loud smack echoing out into the room. Hinata’s glad that the only thing you’re wearing is one of his shirts - currently riding up at your stomach - and some sheer underwear he’d picked out for you, because it means he gets the perfect view of the bright red handprint blossoming on your ass. 

You scream, writhing beneath him so wonderfully but Hinata’s just staring at his palm. It’s just like the first time he spiked a volleyball properly, his hand is pink and tingling from the force of the hit, and there’s that familiar sting that makes him feel giddy inside. It’s like a mini victory, that rush of pure joy that floods his body, and he can’t help but grin as he exhales shakily. His eyes slowly drift from his hand to your ass before finally meeting your gaze.

Oh, you’ve always been pretty, baby, but with your eyes wide and glossy with tears, your cheeks red and the unmistakable look of fear written across your face, you might just be the prettiest thing in the whole wide world.

You’ll cry and let him cuddle up and comfort you afterwards, you’ll be sweet and loving, letting him drown you in as many kisses and soft caresses as he can while he murmurs apologies he doesn’t really mean - he’s sure of it.

He rubs the angry, raised skin gently, tenderly, hushing you when you start to sob.

But for now…

Hinata’s grin widens. “One more time.”