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seakicker · 2 years

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hello i have returned w priest childe food

as ofc the reader is a naive nun, they had no idea what to do with this growing situation between their legs. in fact, reader believes that this was some sort of force was trying to tempt them away from their duties. considering how well they trust childe as he was the one who took them in, they go to him for help. little would they know, reader would end up bent over the podium, taking his massive cock over and over and over again while reciting a prayer of salvation that he deemed necessary for this ritual

yes yes yes, this indeed... it's easy to feed you lies when it comes to sex and intimacy when he's starting with a total blank slate. he doesn't have to go through the process of reversing or overriding what you already know when you don't know anything... he very well could convince you that children are made when two people who love each other hold hands lmfao

cw: afab + gn reader, reader is a nun and childe is the head priest. religious themes/talk, emotional manipulation, reader is Desperate for approval, dubious consent (reader consents but because of the idea of "i need to do this" rather than active sexual desire), abuse of power/authority, no foreplay/childe pushes into you when you're kinda dry

also crossposted to ao3 if you prefer to read content there.

It is not within a nun’s line of duty to indulge.

Your tiny little monastery bedroom is noticeably devoid of any furniture or decorations beyond your bed, desk, dresser, and bedside book compiling all of the church’s values and teachings in their service to the Tsaritsa. You get by with only what you must; you don’t waste your money on frivolous, unnecessary items to enhance your appearance or show off any sort of social standing. You sustain yourself with simple, basic foods like potato soup and bread; any food item more fanciful would be better either gifted to the homeless or to the Tsaritsa Herself as an offering.

If you have the money to throw at purchases of expensive clothing, fine dining, or fancy interior decorations, then you have the money to donate to the church or otherwise put to better use than downright wasting it on yourself.

Just as it is not their duty to indulge in the more tangible pleasures of mankind, a nun needn’t concern themselves with relationships outside of that of the one between them and the Tsaritsa. Needless to say, romantic and sexual relationships are explicitly forbidden— such depraved encounters only serve as distractions from your one true duty: your service to the Tsaritsa.

Save for the Archon Herself, no figure has been more vital to the development and enhancement of your faith in the Tsaritsa and Her kindness, loyalty to the Greater Cathedral of Snezhnaya as a gesture of gratitude for all the kindness it has blessed you with, and insistence on always being the best representation of Her you can be than the monastery’s head priest Tartaglia.

It’s hard to remember anything of note from your life prior to joining the Church— Tartaglia took you in about two years ago out of the goodness of his own heart as a member of the clergy; he mentioned that he is but a vessel for the Tsaritsa’s divine kindness and that it is his duty as a direct representative of her to pay that kindness forward. Turning his back on a destitute, helpless being, someone created in the Tsaritsa’s own image at that— you’re just as much a creation of Her as he is—like yourself at the time would have gone against everything the Church stands for.

A whispered promise to deliver you from the vices and horrors of man and into the warm, loving embrace of the Tsaritsa was all it took for you to accept Tartaglia’s invitation to the Church. You would have accepted any offer of food and shelter at that time— whether or not it was simply luck or divine fate that it was Tartaglia who found you, cold and ill and alone, is beyond your comprehension. As far as you’re concerned, it’s both— who alive could show you more kindness than Tartaglia has throughout the past two years?

In addition to his otherworldly kindness, Tartaglia has shown you no shortage of patience since he took you in and insisted to personally teach you in the gospel of the Tsaritsa and personally train you in all the duties of a good, faithful nun. His affectionate nickname of “little lamb” has stuck with you ever since he first called you a lost one: a wayward, helpless, lost little lamb in dire need of the Tsaritsa’s— and his— guiding hand. He dressed you in the warm, soft dress and robes customary of all nuns, a massive upgrade from the tattered, worn clothes he found you in. When he had asked you if they fit your body comfortably, you didn’t tell him that they felt a little tight around your bust or your hips— beggars can’t be choosers, and all of his teachings of gratitude and thankfulness would go to waste were you to have the audacity to complain about a brand-new, clean, fresh outfit, wouldn’t they? Who on Tsaritsa’s green planet would even dream of complaining about anything when they previously had nothing?

You know better. Even if you didn’t know better before, you certainly do now— Tartaglia’s gentle guidance has taught you at least that much.

“Little lamb,” Tartaglia calls, resting a hand over yours as you go to flip a page in the Scripture book you’re holding. A chronicle of the Tsaritsa’s historical feats and accomplishments in addition to her dream for all of Snezhnaya, rather all of Teyvat, serves as the basis for the Church’s teachings, and Tartaglia personally ensures that you don’t fall behind on your readings by meeting with you every Monday evening. The desolate silence of the Cathedral after hours serves as the location for these studies— it allows you to immerse yourself in the grandiosity and significance of the Cathedral while you read.

He clears his throat and repeats himself. “Little lamb, stay focused.”

You smile sheepishly like a child caught sneaking a treat. “I’m sorry,” you offer, glancing over at Tartaglia’s gloved hand resting on your bare one.

He hums. “Something on your mind?”

Ah. He’s always been able to see right through you— whereas someone else may have just concluded that you were growing bored of reading after having done so for three hours straight, Tartaglia deduces that your mind is elsewhere. He deduces not that you’re bored of the Tsartisa’s divine accomplishments because you’re a good, dutiful, dignified nun who would never, ever tire of hearing of Her feats. He can confidently assert that you’re everything a nun representing the Tsaritsa should be because he personally taught you everything you know.

Your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. Allowing your mind to wander when you should be focusing on Her teachings is mortifying enough, but being caught daydreaming by Tartaglia is leagues more humiliating. “It’s nothing, I promise. Surely nothing more deserving of my attention than our studies.”

Tartaglia hums again as if he’s in thought then moves to close your book, resting his hand on the front cover. “Well, if it’s important enough to distract you from our readings, then it has to be worth hearing out, right?”

You didn’t think of it that way. Finally forcing yourself to make eye contact with him, you take a deep breath to steady yourself and begin speaking. “It’s embarrassing, really,” you force a shaky laugh in an attempt to lighten the mood… or maybe it’s to distract you from the fact that the useless, wasteful wandering of your mind just caused Tartaglia to end your lessons early.

“It’s just that I…” Your voice grows quieter and quieter the more you attempt to speak.

Tartaglia leans in closer, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You can say it, little lamb.”

“It’s humiliating, truly,” you finally continue. “But recently I… I’ve been having thoughts in need of purging, sir. M-More frequently than usual— they’ve only grown in frequency and intensity since our last cleansing.”

Thoughts in need of purging or, in other words, sexual thoughts that you’ve been taught to never, ever indulge because nuns do not indulge in lust. At first, the thoughts were infrequent enough to the point where you could effortlessly ignore them— even just the slightest distraction buried these thoughts completely. You could opt to sweep the Cathedral or tidy up your quarters and the thoughts would be gone just like that.

The timeline gets fuzzier the more you attempt to recall it, but you guess that those thoughts first appeared about three months or so following when Tartaglia first took you in. You didn’t actually confess them until about six months into your mentorship under him, and he was quick to offer you a method to truly purge— not just suppress— your mind and heart of these lustful thoughts.

However, those thoughts have yet to be truly purged. You must be broken— the thoughts have only increased exponentially following each and every cleansing session; whenever you and Tartaglia finish, your thoughts only grow more intense than before and you find yourself caught between the shame of confessing your moral degradation and the guilt of living silently with your thoughts. The idea of confessing that despite all Tartaglia’s patience and kindness with you and the cleansing rituals, your thoughts have only grown lewder and darker and nastier… how would that make you look? How could you ever look him in the eye and tell him that you fear you’re getting worse despite all his attempts to help you get better?

Despite your internal conflict, you always, always confessed— you’ve probably had about seven of your private cleansing sessions with Tartaglia now. He taught you to never keep sins a secret, whether you actually acted on them or not.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment— the minute of silence feels like thirty years and you begin to brace yourself for the firm scolding you deserve rather than the warm understanding he continues to undeservingly spoil you with. You wouldn’t be upset if he were to reprimand you or punish you for your incessant sinning— it’s what you deserve more than you deserve even an ounce of his kindness.

That scolding never comes, however, and once those metaphorical thirty years have passed, he clears his throat, removes his hand from yours, and leans back in his seat. “I understand, little lamb. I’m glad you’re being honest about it.”

“Hey, look at me,” he coaxes. You didn’t even really notice that your gaze fell down to your lap rather than looking up at him until this request; surely it would have been more polite and sincere of you to look him in the eye while confessing the depths of your sins.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp, hesitantly (and finally) looking him in the eye per his request. “I’m so sorry, sir. You’ve been doing so much to help me curb these thoughts and they still… I still…”

He shushes you with a soft shh, taking your hand in his once more and smoothing his thumb over the back of your hand. “Sweetheart, it’s my job to help you and guide you. You know that. If I were the type to give up on you for failing once or twice or even a hundred times, what kind of mentor would I be? Little lamb, our cleansing sessions are important to me because I can see that you’re improving.”

His kindness knows no bounds. Whereas he could have chosen to curse you or damn you for your incessant lustful thoughts, he instead expressed patience and understanding.

Because Tartaglia is a kind, patient, and understanding man.

“I guess that means another session is in order, huh, little lamb?” Tartaglia prompts you, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “We’ll continue our readings tomorrow once you’re… less distracted.”

You laugh hesitantly, having been reminded of the utter humiliation of interrupting your weekly readings before you finished them by being too busy having lustful thoughts instead. You slowly rise to your feet and make your way over to the center podium where Tartaglia conducts all of his sermons— your cleansing rituals always take place right here because it’s, in his words, the holiest place in the entire monastery.

You’re mortified. Humiliated. Here you are, a stupid wench of a nun who can’t seem to learn how to properly behave despite all of Tartaglia’s attempts at helping you. How long will you continue to test his patience, reverse his efforts, and take advantage of his kindness? When will you ever, ever learn?

The sound of Tartaglia’s chair sliding against the cool marble floor alerts you that he’s ready to begin as well. He makes his way over to you and stands just behind you, a strong hand settling reassuringly on your hip through the thin cotton of your floor-length standard dress.

He chuckles in a manner you’ve never heard from him before. There’s an unsettling sort of darkness in the way he laughs, his right hand gripping your hip and the left seizing hold of your chin to turn your head slightly towards him. Were you in the position to even dream of questioning him, you would probably find yourself unnerved by the sound— but you are in no position to doubt the man who’s shown you nothing but kindness since the day he met you. When you’re a lowly, sinful, wasteful little nun, you don’t have the right to doubt a man leagues more powerful, wiser, and well-versed in the Tsaritsa’s teachings than you are.

These are not the depraved cackles of a man outside of the Church’s influence staking claim on a pliant, unwitting toy. Tartaglia would never steer you wrong, he would never do anything outside of your best interests as an aspiring member of the Church, he would never hurt you.

Because Tartaglia is a kind, patient, and understanding man.

He caresses your chin and hums a hymn you recognize from his sermons. “I must admit,” he whispers, gazing at you with an expression you couldn’t begin to decipher— it’s some mix of rueful bitterness, anticipation, and sadism. “I’ve been guiding you for two years now, and to see progress this slow… it does make me wonder if you’ll ever learn,” Tartaglia breathes against your lips, grinning salaciously in a way wholly unbefitting of a priest. “It’d be wrong of me to deem one of the Tsaritsa’s subjects a lost cause, but…”

Chuckling again, he releases your chin from his grip and traces a thumb up the swell of your cheek. Is he checking for tears? “But you?” He finally continues. “I’m starting to wonder if you’re even able to be redeemed. If it’s gotten to the point where you can’t even focus on your usual readings… maybe you’re just not cut out for this sort of thing, huh?”

Practically immediately following the last syllable that leaves Tartaglia’s mouth, a pained gasp escapes you and your eyes go wide with a sort of frantic horror. “No! Please, no, I’ll do— I’ll do anything!” Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you beg him, plead him, implore him to help you— you really, truly would do anything to remain in the Tsaritsa’s— no, in his— good graces.

He says nothing when you drop to your knees before him in a desperate display of submission, clumsily knocking one of your feet against the base of the podium. A tear falls from your eye and you don’t stop your body from throwing itself at his feet, clinging to the sweeping skirts of his robes like a lifeline. “Please, sir,” you wail pathetically, sobbing and sobbing and sobbing as if your filthy, self-victimizing tears will wash away the grime of your sins.

While not undeserved even in the slightest nor totally unexpected, his sudden cruelty has you feeling more terrified than anything you’ve ever experienced in your life. Has he finally run out of patience? Has the dutiful, kind, intelligent Tartaglia who took you in when you didn’t have even a single mora to your name grown fed up with your stagnating progress? Have you gone backwards despite all the sessions you’ve gone through with him? Is he beginning to view his decision to take you in as a mistake? Is he going to brand your salvation a fruitless endeavor, forsake you, and throw you back out onto the streets of which he first plucked you from?

No. You won’t let that happen. He’s given you so much and you won’t let all of his time and efforts go to waste— you will improve. You will not simply indulge in his kindness while keeping it from changing your heart; you will take his teachings and allow yourself to be born anew as the spitting image of a follow of the Tsartisa.

“Please forgive me,” you wail weakly, throat already feeling hoarse. With your mind gone and your desperation controlling your body’s autopilot feature, you bury your face in the fabric of his robe and continue to cry and cry and cry.

Unbeknownst to you, Tartaglia smiles.

“I forgive you,” he notes simply. “But you’re not trying to earn my forgiveness, are you? You’ll need to work for Her forgiveness if you’d like to really show me what a sweet, dutiful nun you can be.

I forgive you, he said. You suck in a shaky breath and do your best to quiet your body-wracking sobs into tiny, pitiful hiccups and coughs instead. Tartaglia looks down at you with all the empathy of a stranger passing a wounded animal on the street and you buckle against him, your arms wrapping around his legs.

“Let’s not waste any more time, alright?” Tartaglia says with a grin, prompting you to bashfully apologize again and clumsily rise to your feet. He doesn’t need to ask you to bend yourself over the podium because you know the process plenty well by now— the cleansing ritual involves partaking in behavior nuns are typically required to swear off, so if that fact alone doesn’t inform you of the desperation of the whole situation, nothing will. If Tartaglia deems it fit to break your vow of celibacy— and you would never even dream of questioning the logic behind this— in order to purge you of your sins, then you’ll accept no matter what.

He hums in approval at your obedience. You catch on quickly… it’s a shame that you don’t truly internalize his teachings and learn quickly.

“It’s okay, little lamb,” he reassures you, gently clutching your dress and lifting the fabric slowly until he’s exposed your ass to the cool Cathedral air. “You’ll do well tonight— just as you always do, right?”

You will. You’ll do so well tonight. You’ll behave and perform better than you ever have because you need to— it’s one thing to mess up your first time and a whole different thing to mess up your eighth time. You won’t let Tartaglia’s guidance go to waste, you won’t allow yourself to go to waste so long as he sees potential in you, and you won’t give up as long as Tartaglia continues to view you worthy of molding, changing, and shaping into the ideal nun.

It’ll be okay.

Slowly working your white panties down your thighs, Tartaglia gently parts your legs wider by knocking his foot against your ankles, all but kicking you open to give him some room to work with. You don’t feel as wet this time as you have in past sessions… does that mean your body’s ridding itself of all your sin and lust? He taught you that wetness is a sign of your body’s cravings, and if you’re no longer growing wet… that’s a good thing, right? The thought alone fills you with hope that you are not, in fact, a lost cause.

The initial push of Tartaglia’s cock into your entrance hurts. You don’t deduce that it’s because you’re not all that wet this time— no, you decide that it’s because your sins are finally leaving your body and because nothing worth having ever comes easily. The pain is a sign that the ritual’s working as far as you’re concerned… and you breathe a shaky sigh of relief amidst your whimpers of pain as he continues to push inch after inch of himself into you.

“Thank you,” you wheeze as your body attempts to relax around him. “Thank you for taking pity on me and… guiding me.” Just as you bent over his podium without being asked, you clasp your hands together in prayer before Tartaglia can ask you to— if you want to show him how obedient and receptive to his teachings you can be, it’s now or never.

It hurts, but you don’t complain. Why would you ever complain when he’s trying to help you? Why would you complain when this is surely your body’s way of notifying you that your sins are leaving it?

“There you go,” Tartaglia grunts, cursing under his breath because you’re so fucking tight— he’ll have to remind himself that you’re not really one he can skip foreplay with, especially not when you’re this much of a wreck. “I knew you could do it, little lamb. I’ve always believed in you, you know. I’ve always thought that you’re special.”

You barely have the mental capacity or rationality to compare these praises to his prior comments about you potentially being a lost cause.

Your body adapts quickly enough— the stress of the somewhat dry entrance causes your body to quickly overcompensate, producing enough juices as possible in a limited timeframe in order to allow Tartaglia a relatively comfortable slide in and out of your pussy. He figures that nerves are to blame (or thank, in his case?) for your sudden insane tightness, your pussy squeezing up so tight he can barely manage to pull out. Oh sweet Tsaritsa, he thinks with a sleazy grin. This sort of nun is the best there is.

“Your prayers, little lamb,” Tartaglia reminds you, grinning when you gasp out another apology for being so pitifully forgetful. It’s a prayer he himself wrote just for this occasion; just for you— that should prove the depths of his love and concern for you enough, right?

Nodding your head in understanding, you bow your head down to hang between your arms. “My Royal Highness, the divine Tsaritsa,” you begin quietly, crying out for Tartaglia when he blesses you with a thrust so deep you feel it all the way in your belly. “I plead for Your forgiveness. Forgive my transgressions and pardon my sins. Though I—”

A moan of Tartaglia’s name falls from your lips and cuts your prayer short. Your priest seizes hold of your hips and all but jackhammers into you from behind, slaps resounding throughout the empty Cathedral as you pitifully attempt to complete your prayer amidst the sinful, sinful pleasure Tartaglia’s drowning you in.

“Though I,” you repeat yourself, starting the sentence from the top. “Though I may be imperfect, and though I may act in ways unbefitting of a pupil of Yours, I beg for Your forgiveness.”

Another hard thrust has you faltering, and you fight off your instinct to unclasp your hands from their prayer position and grab at the podium for stability. Tartaglia’s hands grip your hips harder and harder to the point where you swear you can feel his fingernails through the fabric of his gloves.

“I vow to always act in a way befitting of Your image.” You squeeze your hands together so hard they begin to shake, your breath coming to you only in staccato gasps and strained whimpers. “Amen.”

As you finish your prayer, Tartaglia hums in approval from behind you and rubs his hand over your ass in a soothing gesture. “There you go,” he praises. “You did such a wonderful job. I told you that you grow better and better the more sessions we have… perhaps we should make these part of our weekly routine rather than sticking to a case-by-case basis, hm?”

Whatever it takes to reach salvation and prove yourself to him. He’s such a busy, busy man and him taking time out of his schedule to read Scripture with you is already more than you deserve, and here he is, offering to cleanse you of your sins weekly and keep you at your absolute purest.

Would it be sacrilegious to claim that Tartaglia’s kindness surpasses that of even the Tsaritsa Herself?

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sillypiratelife · 5 months

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You need to read the live action, the manga and the anime as different canons. It's healthier to the fandom's brains AND it's also better for analyzing properly what is going on.

One Piece is the type of story that relies heavily on the medium it is presented on. Hm actually, let me correct myself: One Piece is the type of story that celebrates and understands and was born to be told in that specific medium. The form and the content don't exist as separate entities, but are rather intertwined to elevate the narrative. That the characters are soooo cartoonish is not a mere style choice— it holds meaning, it complements what the author is trying to transmit.

One of the first things that I learned in college while studying storytelling was that there's a max point for tension in any story. There's a top to how tense you can keep the audience. If you reach that point, you won't be able to intensify the emotions; that's it, you need to introduce a breather or you'd end up with a stagnant narrative.

In manga/comics and cartoons/anime it's easier to walk that line. The power to make some silly joke or have the characters acting stupid is in the hands of the mangaka. I bet any manga reader or anime watcher can think of a moment in their fav series when the characters were in the middle of a seriously important moment, just to be involved in something ridiculous that breaks the tension.

It's fantastic. Mangas and animes love to make fun of their mediums, introducing satire to allow the audience some laughs. It's not until later when the reader/watcher sits and realizes how fucked up the whole situation was. A delayed punch to the gut, something to keep the mind working and thinking of their series until they wait for the next chapter/episode.

How to make the audience feel the impact of a character? Well, you can allow the audience to empathize with the character by explaining their reasons or backstories, you can show the world through their eyes. You can also show them all goofy and happy, so when the hammer strikes the readers/watchers will be nostalgic for the good times, mourning the fact they will not get more of that and becoming nostalgic. There are so many ways to keep a character haunting a story...

Oda is aware of all the manga medium can and cannot do. For people like him, the limitations are actually just more tools to play with. If you want to double check what I'm saying, go reread the panels where Luffy awakened Gear 5. Only manga could offer what went down in those panels; when the very nature of Luffy's powers are revealed to the audience and the characters, the manga gets self-aware and voices it out: "hey, this is the type of thing that only happens in comics, right?"

The anime allows a different range of tropes and shapes the story, correctly translating it. It's true that the best translations mind the public and the medium, adapting the jokes and references. It's also true that every translation is a little betrayal to the original, a unique creation in its own right. A good example of that is the way that the fillers shape the perspective of the watchers when it comes to the characters' dynamics. If the anime has a filler arc where the fight, a new tension will be present in the next manga canon arc. If the anime shows a filler where characters are close friends, it's gonna be weird when they start acting all distance back at the manga canon events. Not all fillers are meant to be considered part of the main storyline, of course. You have OVAs and you have movies and fillers and all types of media that are considered separated.

On the other hand, you have the visual changes: imagine that the anime changes the angle of a scene where two characters used to stand close and put more distance between them. What the manga could mean as a subtle implication that those characters cared about each other could turn into cold tolerance of the other's presence. Even the best of animes have those changes!!!!

In One Piece's case, turning the story into a live action series must change almost everything. It'd be impossible to maintain the cartoonist aspects of the story (unless they decided to go full Looney Tunes in that movie with Brendan Fraser lol). The choice was the following: we can try to keep the original elements even when they translate poorly to the new medium so we can please the original fans that are used to the story —OR we can try to translate the essence of the story and change all that needs to be changed, so that we keep the storyline and storytelling coherent and cohesive, at the cost of creating something not necessarily alien, but still new.

Violence in OPLA is way more serious.

You know how in the manga/anime characters would get fatally wounded and come back like it was just a minor injury? Or how they'd heal with no major medical intervention? That's a liberty of the medium. Your brain doesn't process the same way when you see a drawing wounded and when you see a real life person wounded. In OPLA, the suspension of disbelief is harder to achieve. Even and because the story was already introducing Luffy's powers and other fantastic elements, they needed to be careful to not overdo it. One option was to make people actually die— to know that in the live action not everything is so silly? It raises the stakes. OPLA discards some elements that are natural of a manga and in consequence, the story turns out to be darker. You have no fillers or little stripes of silly drawings or author comments or openings and endings. You'll have to do with what you do have and tell a story worthy of being told in that new medium.

That's a good translation right there, made by someone who understands that you cannot copy and paste things recklessly. That's the formula that made so many live actions fail, in fact.

You'll see many fans complaining because they don't understand any of what I just explained. For them it's easier to justify their opinions by saying that "they did this bad and that's why I don't like it" than admit that "they did this correctly but it's not my thing anyway".

One big example? Fanservice cannot be carried out from manga/anime to a live action. It's not the same to exaggerate the proportions of a body in a drawing (we can discuss the morals of this later) than ask of it from a human person. It's not the same to use some sexual traits in fiction as a way to appeal to the audience than to carry out those implications to a live action (again, I'm not saying it's good or bad because that's a discussion for another time).

Actors are humans. They will never have the same characteristics as an animation or a drawing, no matter how advanced technology is. The sooner you understand that, the sooner you appreciate art for what it is in its medium.

So really, what's the healthiest option? It'd be to approach each version as exactly that, a version of the story. As foreign as it can sound to some fandoms, the audience doesn't have to justify their opinions on something. Opinions are not professional reviews or art analysis. You can be as subjective as you want! To perceive each version as its own little world is easier: you can say "I like this better" without invalidating the opinion of anyone else. There's also the fun in exploring the different implications (they look like friends in this version but like lovers in this other) and playing with the divergences. Fans do that all the time in their art (literature, visual art, music, etc)

You can also analyze different versions of what is going on and contrast them. Do the differences change the form and content of the story or just one of those things? How does this new element change the dynamic between these characters? Are the characters written well but get thrown into a new setting? Is the setting the same but the characters feels more like ocs than the characters from the original story?

Knowing how much One Piece values symbolism, it'd be interesting to see how they could translate the constant influx of symbols in the manga or in the anime to the live action. The live action might show just the most important parts, cutting all the rest for lack of both space, time and budget. What does the author consider to be vital to the story and what can be cut down?

To have three parallel Luffy's in different stages of the story is fascinating to me, more so than the idea of trying to mix three formats that won't even match, mind you.

#shan blogs about one piece!#one piece anime #one piece live action #one piece manga

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meowzilla93 · 2 months

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this is a rant, vent, jumble of words im feeling and need to get it out of my system because im a little done

please scroll along if you dont wanna read, or dont, i dont control you

it never ceases to amaze me just how cruel people in fandoms can be. cruel, mean, hyprocritical, straight up dumb.

dont get me wrong, these people are a minority. i have found myself amongst the best sort of people in fandoms i am a part of and couldnt be happier for the friendships i have made from them.

but this incredibly loud minority piss me off to no end. i stay away from any sort of discourse, silently watching from the background and watch thing blow up over trivial matters, and then learn who to avoid in those circles and move on with my life

but when i see, what i consider to be blatant bullying, to someone i hold dear, i dont want to be quiet anymore. im not a loud figure, im a tiny blog that loves to simp over 2d characters, a tiny stream channel that i interact with like minded people. and i mean i am TINY, im barely a blip on this wide web. so anything i say, it doesnt go anywhere, so still, i stay silent until i cant anymore.

so lets get to the crux of the matter.

if you dont like a character, you dont get to make others feel bad about liking them. i dont care if you think they are problematic, if you dont like their story, their look, or simply the fact that they exist

you dont get to make someone feel bad for finding a connection with them and loving them

you dont get to attack them about liking the character, passively or aggressively, you dont get to make fun of them and any of the work they do around them. you have no right to take it upon yourself and make someone feel like they dont belong just because they like a character that you dont

if you dont like the character, dont fucking interact, its that bloody simple. scroll away. mute the tag, mute the channel, whatever. just walk away

interacting with someones content for the pure purpose to make fun of it is cruel. you are making it public that you want to demean the person for what they enjoy. and the worst thing is, if you catch the attention of the younger audience, they learn that they get to act that way, and this kind of online activity only gets worse

it already has gotten worse. man, im a millenial and i thought keyboard warriors when i was in highschool and older where bad. these days the younger generation feel justified to think that they can say whatever they want and suffer no consequences of those actions. i see it in so many fandom discourses. its horrible

but they learn from the worst of us on the internet. the more they see the cruel interactions, the more they think its okay to act that way. and without a doubt, fandoms will end up being incredibly toxic environments that people wont feel comfortable to exist in anymore.

every fandom has a toxic space, its unfortunate but it is true. i wish it wasnt

and the smaller the fandom, the louder this toxic group is

it just fucking sucks. and watching people i care about be treated so badly hurts because all i can do is be their support. an ear, a shoulder, just someone they can vent to. but it doesnt stop the fact that they got hurt and i cant do anything about it

god i dont even know what this even turned into. im tired, im upset, im just so frustrated.

why cant people just be nice?

if you managed to read all the way down here, man i applaud you. that was a great mess of thoughts, i still have many more but at this point i feel like i would be repeating myself

please, just. be kind guys. its not that hard, i swear it

to all my moots, honestly, i love you guys. seeing all your work and love you put into your creations gives me life and brightens my day. dont ever stop loving your craft and your fav characters just because someone decided to be a prick.

#meow rants!#honestly if you read this you are a champion lol #do good #be nice #this really is just a jumble of thoughts i needed to get out and what better place than a tiny blog #i wish i could do more but alas this is all im good for #to all my moots i love you all

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darklydeliciousdesires · 11 months

Text

Lost & Found - A Guero (Mayans MC)/OC Story.

Okay, okay! I cave to the demand and the excitement I have warmly received from you all. Here you go, darlings. First chapter is here. I can’t promise I will be posting the second next week just in case I want to do ANOTHER deep dive into the editing, but since I am just over halfway through writing it now, I thought I would at least post the first.

Story is somewhat canon, with a few changes here and there to suit my artistic vision... i.e. I kicked canon in the ass and told her to go home, hahaha! Oh, I also gave Guero a surname, too! I tried to keep him as true to who we see on screen, but obviously since we didn’t get him for long, some of his characterisations are of my creation. Don’t like it? Don’t read. Simple as that.

Nervously and excitedly awaiting your feedback, eeek! :)

Words - 3,834

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse in the coming chapters.

Unknown numbers. Ezekiel Reyes often received more than he wished to endure upon the burner phone he used for club business. Regularly they were legitimate, but occasionally telemarketers, such annoyances he simply hung up on instantly. While walking from his trailer to the clubhouse, he expected the call coming in to be that of nuisance, 11am seemingly the call centre worker bee’s peak time to bother him about his long-distance courier needs, or savings on his energy bills.

It was no telemarketer, but he almost disconnected the call all the same in sheer disbelief.

“Ezekiel Reyes?”

“Who wants to know?” His journey across the yard was undisturbed, watching as Bottles and Nestor took in an alcohol delivery, a nearby Guero and Downer giving them the usual offering of shit talk.

“Rocco Lombardi.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. The Rocco Lombardi was reaching out to him? Nah.

“This your idea of a joke?”

He heard a deep chuckle filter down the line. “I’m more of a knock knock, who’s there kinda fella.” Remaining paused, he thought whoever it was had at least nailed the thick, New Jersey accent. He had to give them props for that, he guessed. “Listen, you got FaceTime, I take it?”

“I do, but...” The line cut dead. Five seconds later and sure enough, a FaceTime call came in. EZ nearly fell over when there on the screen, appeared the face of the big boss, the notorious and famed king of the mafia. There he was; the head of the biggest, most powerful crime family on earth. Rocco Lombardi.

“That better?”

He raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Yeah, the confirmation is appreciated.”

“Good. Now not for nothin’, but I can’t fuckin’ stand video calls, encrypted or not. I’ll call you back.” Once again, the call disconnected, the cell ringing after a few moments. All the while EZ could feel his ego swelling, realising truly how far he’d come in his leadership that he was being sought out by someone of such standing within the criminal underworld. He was nothing short of surprised when he eventually found out why, though.

He’d always believed that the code of La Cosa Nostra forbade their operations to extend into the realms of drug trafficking. To be specific, he’d assumed it stemmed from reasons of mortality, perhaps a skewed sense of Catholic guilt, when in fact, the commoner explanation was far simpler.

The prospect of a lengthier prison sentence, of course, increased the propensity of their members turning upon the organisation, becoming government informants in order to secure a more lenient custodial term. When the federal carrot is dangled before a desperate man, one looking at forty years when his assistance could mean all he ends up serving is ten to fifteen, tongues tend to be loosened.

Rats out themselves, major players are taken off the streets and ultimately, the government wins. It would be very reasonable to assume that the code is in place for this very reason, to prevent such catastrophic damage within their organisation and family infrastructure. The risk is not worth the payout. Or rather, it is bendable to the point of unrecognition when those doing said bending can earn a substantial profit.

Enter Rocco Lombardi and his proposition.

“I think we could mutually benefit from the blending of your organisation with mine, Mr Reyes.” Lombardi was intelligent enough to be concise, even when speaking upon the relative safety of a burner phone. He hadn’t gotten to the top because he was sloppy. Lombardi had sat at the very head of the hierarchy for years, after all. He was hailed as the boss of all bosses for a reason.

They’d once given John Gotti the monicker of Teflon Don, because nothing ever stuck to him in the way of evidence to bring about charges. That was until his own underboss has turned on him, the evidence given at trial by Salvatore “Sammy the Bull” Gravano leading to his incarceration. Truly, if there was one overlord within the organised crime world who lacked cohesion, it was the man who ruled the Romano crime family with an iron fist.

EZ Reyes had launched into thoroughly researching Lombardi after his reaching out to him, learning the ins and out of his character, how much of a slippery customer he was, how – and it went without saying – he would use people as pawns to further his own reach and agenda. It went without saying because it was the way of his own world, too. Within his MC, he went about the very same, albeit on a much smaller scale.

Rocco Lombardi’s reach was, to put it simply, enormous. EZ and his VP would be lying if they’d have claimed that bearing such in mind, it hadn’t piqued their curiosity over what on earth he could want with a Californian based MC. For all intents and purposes, the man had his operations not merely sewn up tightly, but steel reinforced.

“All I know is we gotta play it carefully, mano,” Bishop had sagely advised prior to their leaving Santo Padre to for a face to face with the mafioso legend, Rocco insisting that a larger MC presence not assemble in the interests of it remaining nothing short of clandestine. “Our worlds might be similar, but the mafia play by an entirely different set of rules. I ain’t saying you’re not smart enough to outsmart the guy, but he’s the kind who will have thought three moves ahead before we’ve even stepped foot into that hotel suite.”

EZ had sipped his beer, narrowed eyes unmoving as he’d absorbed the words of the former president with all the credence they deserved. Bishop had, after all, been approached by the mafia before. His reasons for turning down an offer from a different crime family had been solid in their validity, and EZ knew he would be a fool to let this warning go unheeded. Especially since the club were on their knees where their drug trade was concerned. He also knew that somehow, Rocco likely knew this, too.

The mafia tended to have ears in the very last places one might expect them to extend. He also knew that they preferred to keep their operations within the Italian American brotherhood if they could at all help it, so the need for an alliance was somewhat even in its beneficial mutuality.

“I guess we just have to wait and see what this sit down entails.” Truly, it was all they could do.

The time passed quickly between then and the two of them riding through the strip, both separately feeling the mist of apprehension gather, until they were parking up at the hotel and casino they were scheduled to meet Lombardi at, their demeanours switching to cool composure before they’d even entered the building.

The two men dressed in denim, flannel and leather looked out of place as they strode across the foyer of the MGM Grand, the buzz and tacky decadence of Las Vegas swirling all around them. Gamblers bet it all, slot machines flashed in frenzy while spitting out endless streams of coins, and alcohol flowed without restriction, certainly enough to keep it so the house always won.

Would it be their own win he was sealing, EZ thought while waiting for the elevator, or was this the biggest and most uncertain gamble the club were about to make to date? He guessed the next few hours would tell, whether or not he was about to be presented with a winning hand.

The ding of the elevator roused him, both stepping inside, Bishop pressing the button for the tenth floor. EZ stared straight ahead at his reflection in the shiny metal of the elevator doors, noting the haunted veil that hung over his features. Shadowy eyes and skin bearing many more lines than a man in his mid-thirties should do were now his staple in appearance, a few further flecks of grey in his hair also.

Ezekiel Reyes was a man barely holding it together, but his demeanour did not give away the tumult that gnawed at his guts and yanked at his nerves, even if it had seemed to age him five years in just over seven months. His control was as unquestionable as it was unshakable, even in the dark times his club was currently under the duress of. He would never, ever let the toll it was taking upon him show.

He was in Vegas, after all. Home of the poker face.

The man at his side, though? He saw through the veil. He knew. In the interests of helping him glue back together the smashed fragments of the MC, he chose to keep his observances to himself. When he’d reigned supreme, if someone had pointed out his weak points, he would have shown no magnanimity in return. He knew better than to antagonise. Bishop Losa was nothing if not tactile these days, with how much delicacy teetered upon a knife’s edge, how much was at stake.

The elevator shunted to a stop, the doors gliding open, the men exchanging a look and a nod before they exited, walking in step down the long hallway. Coming to a stop in front of room eight one five, EZ reached to knock, his arm suddenly grasped, preventing the rap of knuckles upon the sleek, white enamel.

“Whatever goes down in there, I got you.” Bishop’s words were delivered with a solemn nod, EZ returning it before knocking the door. They stood tall as they waited, unflinching, rock-like in their demeanour, the door opening to reveal a slight yet menacing looking man in an expensive suit. He eyed up the two men standing before him, his lips pursing slightly as he stood back to allow their entrance.

“Guns on the table.”

EZ’s brow knitted. “The fuck?”

“You heard me, stronzo. Guns. On. The. Table.”

Neither man took well to his condescending delivery, both irked at the display of what they considered to be one hell of a chip upon his shoulder. EZ was just about to offer his retort when a voice came from further within the suite.

“Stop playing rottweiler and let my guests in, Mario. If we’re armed, so can they be, too.” Immediately, he stood aside at the instruction of his boss, a large, dark-haired man rising from his seat at the dining table, two armed men stationed in opposing corners of the suite. “My apologies. This one here, he can be a hot head, y’know?”

Although seemingly personable right off the bat, there was an aura surrounding Rocco Lombardi that virtually crackled with menace. His ‘thou shalt not fuck with me’ demeanour was beyond palpable. “Take a seat, fellas. Can I offer either of youse a drink?”

EZ’s eyes flitted around the room, taking in every detail. He stored it all on the internal hard drive that was his brain, his guard up as naturally it should have been. “No, thank you.”

Rocco took the rebuff in his stride, gesturing to the chairs opposite as he sat again. “A man who likes to get straight down to business. I can appreciate that.” Down to business was exactly how it went, no pleasantries, no idle chatter. Rocco cut right to the chase.

“My proposition is simple, Ezekiel. My current methods in transportation of product are, shall we say, attracting more attention than myself and my associates are comfortable with, y’know? I need to implement a one stop solution. I also need a far more financially viable method of my product crossing the border from Mexico than I’m currently paying through the fucking nose for.”

Bribes. Of course, Lombardi meant bribing the border control, an exercise EZ knew likely cost fortunes, cutting into a profit margin the mafia were probably tired of having bites taken out of. “This is where the MC comes in, youse and your tunnel.” EZ’s eyebrow twitched, just a fraction, Rocco smirking at the tell.

“Yeah, I know all about it. Ain’t many places my ears don’t have reach. I want that tunnel as a new channel to move my product across the border, which then will be transferred to the Port of San Diego, to a designated shipping container the day it ports. You unload into the container, minus your personal cut that will ensure you keep the monopoly on supply within the Californian correctional facilities, and you also get a nice little monetary injection for you and your boys on a monthly basis. How’s that sound?”

EZ took a moment to ponder, his fingers knitting before him on the table, arm muscles flexing as he shared a sideways glance with Bishop. “Sounds like there’s a catch.”

Rocco smirked, taking a long puff on his cigar, his eyes twinkling through the thick plumes of smoke as he leaned back in his chair. “You move two tons at a time. That is non-negotiable.”

Two fucking tons every month. Holy mother of god. Before they’d even entered that room, they of course knew the reach of the Romano crime family, that it was extensive. Worldwide, even. Two tons of heroin every four weeks truly hammered home just how far Lombardi’s tentacles reached within the criminal underworld. The risks associated with that were unfathomable, EZ lifting his chin, his poker face firmly set once more. “I’m gonna need to see a number, the nice little monetary injection you speak of.”

Rocco reached into the pocket of his suit, removing a pen, taking a napkin from the table before him and scribing a number upon it, sliding it across the polished wood. Upon viewing it, EZ’s well trained blank façade slid south quickly, showing it to Bishop.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

His quiet exclamation was no understatement over the amount of zero’s scrawled upon the napkin.

“I assume you know of our current difficulties with the LNG?”

The tall man nodded. “Quite a fucking pasticcio youse have gotten yourself into, eh?” His smile widened suddenly, slowly drawing his thumb and forefinger from the corners of his mouth down to the centre of his lip. “If you do the first shipment for free, I can take care of that, as well as your issues with the knuckleheaded, heavy arms wielding fuck heads you got yourselves caught up in, too.” He hissed a breath over his teeth, shaking his head. “Fentanyl, gentleman. What a risky business that is.”

What in the fuck didn’t this man know about their operations? EZ was all but surprised that Rocco wasn’t clued in on the colour of his underwear by that point, the man seemingly well informed, his intel even extending to knowing about their deal with Cole.

He rose to his feet, jerking his head towards the balcony. “If you could give myself and my VP a moment?”

Rocco made a passive motion with his hand, nodding. “Sure, take your time.”

They strode across the suite, wallet chains rattling and leather creaking the only sounds to permeate the silence of the room, EZ sliding the glass door open. The warm Vegas air hit him, his eyes narrowing as he looked out over the luminosity of the strip, thousands upon thousands of lights twinkling. They glittered a promise of wealth and prosperity hinged upon a gamble, which was exactly what Rocco Lombardi was offering up to them.

“You have to back me on this when we take it to the table. The risk is massive, and I appreciate that, but this? This is our way out of it all. Our way out and our ladder to climb back to the top.”

Bishop considered the words of his president as he pulled out his cigarettes, lighting one up. A massive risk; fuck, that was putting it lightly. It was a fool’s errand, in short, transporting such a colossal consignment of heroin. The pay off, though? If they could execute each run flawlessly, it would be beyond worth it. Santo Padre would be back on top, and the Mayans kings of California.

He wanted with everything he had to back EZ, but something persistent tugged at him deep in his guts. The old adage ‘too good to be true’ echoed through his mind. There had to be another catch. For all appearances, said catch appeared to be the two tons of narcotics, the kind of consignment that would mean the MC would never see the outside of a prison for the remainder of their lives, should they be caught moving it. However, he felt there was another shoe yet to drop from Lombardi’s perspective.

Conflict rose in him like an unpleasant tempest, knowing that they were stuck between a rock and a hard place. Take the deal and shoulder an enormous risk or walk away from it and try to seek a way out of their mess alone. Being in the pocket of the mafia was a dangerous location, he knew that; they both knew that. In this instance, no matter how much trepidation he felt, he had to concede that Lombari’s offer was very much the lesser of two evils.

Still, it didn’t prevent him voicing the concern. “I feel like there’s something extra he’s gonna have us on the hook for further down the road.” Taking a deep drag on his cigarette, he turned to his president, brows furrowed, his head shaking softly. “I wanna back you, but I don’t trust him.”

Neither did EZ, if he was honest. “We don’t need to trust him. We need to make ourselves indispensable to him. The weight of his organisation has the power to break us completely, and I’d be an idiot if I didn’t see that, Bish. We gotta remember that he’s coming to us because he needs this symbiosis too. If he had any other plan to move his product, he’d have exacted it by now. What he’s offering us in payment solidifies that. He needs to lock the MC down.”

He took a breath, his eyes once again focusing on the lights below. “And our backs are against the kind of wall we can’t break alone. Rocco Lombardi can not only break that wall, he can obliterate it completely. We can’t refuse.”

Upon their return to Santo Padre, an immediate templo was called, the proposition repeated, a vote cast. It was, just as EZ had anticipated, a unanimous yes. Hell, it wasn’t like any of the men assembled around the table hadn’t known that extreme danger was exactly what he was signing up for, and this was about a risky as it got.

Moving heroin two tons at a time for the mafia was the height of hazardous endeavours, but the payoff would elicit the kind of money and power they had been striving for. Sure, they were still ultimately under someone else’s thumb, but in the world of the MC, Santo Padre rose like the phoenix from the proverbial ashes. If they were careful and exercised caution, they would remain risen, too.

The operation was undertaken with military precision. The two tons of heroin were moved through the tunnels from one side of the border to the other, then stowed away down there for a day before the Mayans arrived, loading one ton into each van. The vehicles both then hit the road, two members within, two members upon motorcycles escorting at the front and rear, and EZ leading the way.

They drove far enough apart not to attract the attention that such a closely assembled convoy likely would, with EZ a quarter of a mile in front, so he could warn of any upcoming complications that might lead to said convoy needing to peel off the freeway. Since the run was done at 2am, the risk of such was minimised greatly, yet still they always prepared for the worst-case scenario. This is why two vans were utilized, when all it truly took was one. If one broke down, then there they were, stuck with a life sentence cargo on the side of the freeway, rather than another means to continue their journey.

Arriving at the port, EZ gave the usual nod to the guard, a guard whose pockets had been nicely lined with mafia cash, who would duly send another of his team down to the container as soon as the Mayans left, standing guard until the cargo was loaded onto a vessel bound either for New York or the far east the following morning. Yes, the tentacles of Rocco Lombardi even reached over to the Yakuza, the Japanese criminal organisation taking two tons of product off his hands on a bi-monthly basis.

The shipment they were about to offload on that particular night was heading straight back to New York, the guys all assembling, the usual banter firing back and forth.

Downer, of course, was at the epicentre of it. “Hey, I thought there was meant to be whores on the dockside? That’s a thing, ain’t it? We’ve been here four times before now and no damned pussy anywhere.”

Angel lit a cigarette, raising his eyebrows. “Man, where the fuck you get that from?”

“He’s right,” Hank chimed in, “but about a couple hundred years out of date. Hookers used to frequent the docks back in the eighteen, nineteen hundreds. Gave lots of navy men who’d been at sea for months at a time a rampant case of the syph.”

Guero couldn’t help himself. “Eighteen hundreds. Back in your youth, huh bro?” He was shot a look of pure distain from Downer, his chirp continuing. “I bet you’d like the crotch rot. You’re a sick enough individual to probably be into it.”

“It’s his kink. Itchy balls and a putrid cock, man,” Bottles interjected with, earning a snort laugh from Guero and an incredulous stare from Downer.

Aggressively delivered middle fingers were raised. “Fuck you and fuck you even fuckin’ harder!”

Bottles grinned at the rise he’d gotten. “You wish.”

“You’re getting way too smart with that fuckin’ yap of yours, prospect,” he snorted, pointing at Guero. “Been spending too much time with him and his big mouth.”

The man himself beamed, pulling his hood up. “What can I say?” He held his arms in wide expression, his smirk growing. “I’m infectious. Like your cock, just way less scabby.” He received a boot in the ass as he turned, heading straight over to the yellow container and hauling the levers to open it. What he expected to see within were the usual lines of packing cases into which they would load their cargo, with a specially marked one housing their cash.

The last thing he expected to see was the body of a dishevelled looking blonde girl with a gash upon her head, lying there out cold, and the marked case notably empty of its usual stack of bills.

“Uh, guys?” he called, appearing back around the container door as his brothers were carrying cargo across from the vans. “We got a situation in here.”

#guero mayans mc #guero mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fanfiction #guero fanfiction #guero fanfic #guero smut #guero x ofc #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc smut #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fic #ez reyes fanfiction #bishop losa fanfiction #bottles mayans mc fanfiction #downer mayans mc fanfiction #angel reyes fanfiction #hank loza fanfiction

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familyabolisher · 1 year

Note

now that it's been a fair few months since the release, how do you feel about nona the ninth as compared with the first two entries in the series?

you know what! i like it a lot, and i think a good number of the criticisms leveraged against it were unfair. certainly it’s less cohesive than gideon and harrow were – compared to its predecessors, it leaves us with a maddening number of unanswered questions that can’t be tackled through inference or else left ambiguous in ways that could be compelling (what happened in the interim between the two books? how did pyrrha come to be with camilla + palamedes, and how did harrow’s body get there? what happened to gideon’s body? what’s up with the barrage of new concepts that the book introduced and left hanging: the messenger(s), the tower, the devils, the cradle creature?), such that it felt quite a bit less tightly formed and plotted than the other two. i think gideon and harrow had a good balance of internally asked-and-answered questions and questions that were posed with intent to be answered at a later date, whereas nona was heavily skewed towards the latter such that it felt a little off-kilter. i do think some of that disorientation comes from the fact that tamsyn muir is a very precise writer; i don’t know that i’d be picking up on the comparative thinness of nona if it weren’t for how gideon and harrow were both so fluently composed in the first place. but the point is, it’s definitely there; i don’t at all think that a pared-down nona incorporated into alecto would have been ‘better’ (contrary to some people’s opinion, i don’t think any parts of nona are superfluous), but nor do i think it wholly holds up on its own.

it also has a handful of other weaknesses – i have a fairly high tolerance for tmuir’s humour, which when it lands manages to land really well but when it doesn’t it doesn’t, and i think nona often erred on the side of doesn’t, and it felt a little too heavyhanded at points; which has been a consistent problem throughout, tbf, but, idk. tmuir can be a very subtle writer when she wants to be, but, again, when she isn’t, she … isn’t. and that began to grate a little, after a while?

however, at a certain point i’m willing to throw over the instinct to be nitpicky about Form or Structure or whatever and say that the actual content of the text – the discourse it managed to develop, the direction it dragged the body of the series in, the sorts of themes and ideas it articulated – was really, really strong, such that i’ve been chewing on it for months now. i think the fact that i still think about the scene with john’s ‘creation’ of alecto almost every day is a testament to the sheer weight that got thrown behind that passage – at the end of the day, whatever structural weaknesses the book may have is secondary to the fact that it made me feel the need to go eat sandpaper. a book that makes you need to go eat sandpaper is a good book!

also, god, some of tamsyn muir’s writing! there are times when she leans into a voice that a less skilled writer would deploy to create something excessively florid and, frankly, pretentious, but she’s laid the kind of groundwork throughout where there’s substance and meaning and precision to the prose voice that makes it equal parts chilling & joyous to read. some of many passages i’ve been rotating in my mind:

“Green thing,” said the Captain. “Green-and-breathing thing, big ghost, the drinker, transformed, what will you eat now? Where will your body go? What did he do to you, to make you this way? You eat yourself. I gorge on unliving marrow.” It was true; the Captain looked as though she were withering before Nona’s eyes. She cried out in haste: “Don’t ... stop that! I can’t stop it, but you can stop it. Stop hurting her ... She doesn’t know what you’re doing.” “You cry mercy?” said the Captain. “Yes—mercy—yes,” said Nona. “I have crossed the face of the universe,” said the Captain. “I poison it to match my grief.”

“They concoct their own vengeance,” said the Captain. “Their justice is not my justice. Their water is not my water. I came to help. I am made a mockery. The danger is upon you, and you do not even know ... they are coming out of their tower, salt thing. There is a hole at the bottom of their tower. I will pull their teeth. I will make it blank for you.”

He said, From my blood and bone and vomit I conjured up a beautiful labyrinth to house you in. I was terrified you’d find some way to escape before I was done. I made you look like a Christmas-tree fairy ... I made you look like a Renaissance angel ... I made you Adam and Eve … Galatea. Barbie. Frankenstein’s monster with long yellow hair. He said, As the world went up I remade us both. I hid me in you ... I hid you in me. And when we were together ... once the shaman had claimed the sun ... I became God.

He coughed fretfully—batted another metal-fisted hand at Paul, who had instinctively surged forward—and he said, “Look at you, you cock-o’-the-walk, you filigree piglet, you scum. A whited sepulchre ... Ninth blood on your foreign sword...”

He said, I just wanted to be in the lab. It felt like I could sit by those two bodies, those two kids, and make time go away. I could sit next to them for six minutes, I could sit next to them for six hours. Just listening. They were my moreporks and possums. I was hearing their bodies in all that silence, all the bacteria that weren’t growing ... what wasn’t building up in the gut, what wasn’t pooling at the joints. They were my silent night. I should have been doing paperwork and closing reports, but I hadn’t opened the computer in days. I couldn’t stop thinking about their palms, their hands. I touched their hands so often. I’d touched their hands before, but not like this. Even when I wasn’t touching them I could feel their skin on my skin, that temperature that wouldn’t change. I kept thinking I was touching them when I wasn’t. M— said I should probably get tossed in a rubber room, but she wasn’t scared I was nuts. She was scared I wasn’t. He said, You know, I can’t even remember how it came together now. There was no catalyst, no revelation. I was too far gone for revelations. It was like I’d been dozy and now I was waking up. So, my two kids, the guinea pigs, they were U— and T— on their certificates, you know, their old names. I thought about using those but it didn’t seem appropriate. They weren’t around to say yes or no. I was starting to really care about that. What they would’ve thought, what they would’ve wanted. My two kids with their frozen brains and their perfect internal temperatures. There wasn’t a place on the poor bastards I hadn’t breached with a thermometer, and now I was knocking before I came into their room.

literally just the phrase ‘the shimmering white figure of the dead Kiriona Gaia’

The rock loomed so big above, so awful in the electric light. There were so many people standing above her, her body, the baby’s body. The baby with the big black eyes. The scrap of meat with the purple mouth.

John loved her. She was John’s cavalier. She loved John. For she so loved the world that she had given them John. For the world so loved John that she had been given. For John had so loved her that he had made her she. For John had loved the world.

i’m not one for close reading but there are so many lines and passages in nona that i just want to go through with a fine-tooth comb, word by word, because everything is so deliberate and so infuriatingly good, lmao. i actually struggle to care all that much about the points where tamsyn muir is bad because when she’s good she is running circles around just about anyone else in genre fiction at the minute, and frankly when you’re doing the kind of things that she’s doing i think you get to use homestuck fanfiction and 2010s internet humour as your building-blocks as often as you like.

i’ll also say that i think the john chapters are the strongest pieces of writing that taz muir has put forth in the entire series, including the whole of harrow, which is already like genuinely one of the best-written books at least in contemporary genre lit (and probably in a far wider-reaching net than that) that i’ve encountered in recent memory. john 1:20 is permanently lodged in my brain; i am never escaping john 1:20 disease. i reread it when i’m bored sometimes just to make myself insane.

anyway, i’m really looking forward to revisiting nona in the wake of alecto and treating the two as one unit, because i suspect that a lot of nona’s weaker points will disappear or else become more coherent when considered as part of that broader whole. if we remember that nona was originally act one of alecto – well, it makes total sense for there to be a lot of questions posed in act one, with the assumption that they will then be developed and answered in acts two, three, four, and five. + something like paul, who imo felt very random and unresolved, makes far more sense as a near-the-end-of-act-one incident; it’s introducing a sudden change, doing something we as audience have never seen before, and setting up the other four-fifths of the narrative to carry its implications. my point is, nona to me makes a lot more structural sense as an opening to a more expansive text; which is exactly what it is. pro-nona the ninth account, its weaknesses stem from the fact that it’s a breakaway from alecto and i’m just not pedantic enough to mind all that much about internal coherency if that coherency can then be achieved in the last book – which i suspect it can! where nona’s good, it’s really fucking good.

#ask #tlt

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ariaste · 10 months

Note

Hello Alexandra!

Been keeping up with your page since reading your meta (an impressive and engaging piece!) and I've found it interesting how you've been addressing other theories of the past.

As much as I LOVE myself some Steven Moffat slander, your dismissal of the JohnLock theory as totally unlike yours kind of struck me as odd? You go on to give a brief lesson on how to write a good theory, namely in not cherry picking.

This is genuinely confusing to me, as all of your theory is essentially cherry-picked, decontextualised facts.

Firstly, you take a bunch of evidence and remove it from the context of being a comedy. Sure, Nazi Zombies and a bullet catch seem a bit silly in that phrasing, but they're the LEAGUE OF GENTLEMEN, and Good Omens is so deeply a culmination of fantastic British comedy (this also wasn't even written by Neil).

You use Gabriel's weird behaviour as evidence of an unreliable narrative when most of it has context. You say that he never actually has anything to give Aziraphale - but he does, the fly is in the box - and he needs the memories so they don't get to erase him and demote him. You cite his ramblings about a tempest as unresolved and never mentioned again, as if there isn't a whole trial scene about Gabriel's desire to not have Armageddon pt 2 (electric boogaloo) and as if the Metatron doesn't explicitly mention the second coming.

You are very prescriptive in your stance that Maggie and Nina's relationship doesn't go anywhere - despite them being entirely responsible for Crowley actions in the final scene. They may have another purpose yet to be seen, but to say their relationship goes nowhere isn't true.

Also Crowley's actions aren't what triggers the separation at the end, that was going to happen even if he'd left straight away. If anything, what he does makes Aziraphale more hesitant to go, as he becomes quite resistant to the metatron afterwards.

You criticise the minisodes and say that the characters don't actually go back in time to look for clues. While I do understand a bit more why you would say this - the minisodes happen because they are triggered by things in the running narrative and they DO provide clues. Not all of them are regarding the Gabriel mystery as there are VERY strong clues towards Aziraphale's character development. The Job minisode especially shows Aziraphale's want to do good almost to the point of self flagellation. This is a clue about the end of the series, just not the way we thought. Also, they do provide clues for the Gabriel mystery, anyway. For example, the passage Gabriel cites that triggers the Job flashback is what God says to Job when he questions why he is being punished. This is a clue to the audience that Gabriel has been punished for questioning too, which actually IS the case.

The bit about the narrator? The plot of GO2 (unlike 1) isn't based around the idea of what 'God's plan' is, so there's no real narrative explanation for God to narrate. Also a massive joke in season 1 is that God ISNT reliable ("God doesn't play games with the fate of the universe" - "Where've you been?").

You take facts and remove them from biblical context. The former prince of heaven cast out is Lucifer, and the reference to a 'story' is because the bible exists, and works like Paradise Lost and even Good Omens itself. We have passed that story down for millennia.

The Crow Road is a great book, that yes! does feature elements of fragmented memory! So sure, sure, cherry pick and and use it for your theory - but also the catalyst of s2 is GABRIEL'S fragmented memory. It isn't a red herring to randomly reference the book.

You can continue like that for the bulk of the theory's content, as well as also question the actual foundation and what Neil actually seeks to benefit by intentionally bombing a season's writing in a situation where another season isn't promised.

There's also the fact you ignored that s2 was Gaiman's creation to set up the second novel point. If the plot of s3 is correcting false memories of s2, how could this still be true if Pratchett only had a hand in the latter?

You are free to make whatever conclusion you want and have as much fun with guessing, and you are clearly very talented in writing. But to act as if you haven’t cherry picked to suit your own agenda while criticising other works that tonally ARE similar to yours (regardless of whether you personally think Steven Moffat could pull it off like Neil, the whole 'I think this is bad writing, it must be intentional', is reminiscent of Sherlock s4) comes across as very 'holier-than-thou'. You say that you should look for evidence that disproves your theory, but it seems that at points you've genuinely just missed whole plot details.

I don't mean to say you shouldn't publish your theory, please do! Just don't act as if it isn't a culmination of subjective evidence that does already have plot explanations that you’ve then blamed on Neil.

It's also okay to not enjoy something as much as you thought you would, even if it is created by someone you admire. To paraphrase you, we are humans and we make mistakes.

I know this may come across as cruel and dismissive, but that is not my intention and I respect you. I just think you would benefit from this perspective.

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dreamhot · 2 years

Text

the end of an era !

i don't think i'm necessarily in the space to put together the most cohesive post at the moment - as everyone can attest to, there's been a lot going on, and i feel as though there's only so much one can do to process everything in such a short span of time. for the time being, i felt it necessary to say something, at least:

regardless of how things shake out, i will never regret my involvement in the community. i've met so many kind, talented, incredible people, and either individually or as a group we have accomplished some amazing things. a fractured base doesn't undo the sheer unifying power of passion and creation, and nothing can take that from us. and i stand by the causes for which i've fought, because i still believe that, at its core, this community was built on love.

that being said, of course i'm hurt. i'm disappointed. how can you not be? whether or not the full extent of the allegations are true, there's still been a breach of trust, and it's not easy to heal from that sort of thing. it's a sense of mourning, in a very real way. some may be able to walk away from this situation without much baggage, and some may carry that pain for a long time. you're valid, regardless of which outcome awaits you. please just know that you're allowed to feel what you're feeling. just because it's online, involving someone you don't actually know, it doesn't mean it can't affect your emotions.

for that reason, i support and encourage anyone who needs to take a step back - or leave entirely. you need to take care of yourself first and foremost. the emotional toll may be real, but this doesn't have to consume your life either. focus on what brings you comfort and joy. this may have been a big part of that, but there will always be other things to love, to share, to get so damn excited about you don't even know what to do with yourself. a shock like this can't take that from you. and you are not lesser for having been involved to begin with. focus on the good memories, if you need to - but don't let this make you regret anything. no cc is worth that.

in the interest of full disclosure, i've not fully decided what i'm going to do yet. owing to certain circumstances, i am choosing to wait for more information. for the time being, this blog will remain up but inactive, and while i'll reopen my inbox for the day in case anyone needs to say anything, it will be closed after the fact. mutuals are free to ask for my discord, with the understanding that i've not forsaken the content entirely as of yet. i just wanted to be honest about that much.

no matter what happens, you guys were the best of it all, and i can't thank you enough for making my time in this fandom as exhilarating as it was. i've been pushed both creatively and emotionally, and i feel as though i can still walk out the other side feeling like a better person for it. be kind to yourselves and others. sometimes that's the most important thing, yknow?

love you all <3

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vlion · 2 years

Note

Could I please request poly blackbonnet x fem reader smut?

The Kraken, The Lighthouse, and The Siren (Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet/Female Reader)

Author’s Note*: Thank you so much for your request, I hope you enjoy! I traveled and then got COVID throughout the process of writing this so I apologize for the delay. I feel like I'm incapable of writing smut without plot, so hopefully the little backstory and build-up I included is cohesive and adds to the experience. I also see and love all the requests in my inbox (requests are still closed at this time), and I will get to work on them soon. Thanks again!

*I also wanted to say that I received some...interesting comments and messages when I announced this fic. I personally view Ed and Stede as bisexual, as I identify this way, and I find it comforting to believe that two of my favorite characters may identify the same way as I. Yes, this is technically a headcannon, and I acknowledge this, but I believe the way that each character is represented in ofmd is done so in a fluid manner, allowing for open discourse and creation around the topic. I felt the need to say this to respond indirectly to the messages I received, and I wanted to let you all know that I am constantly learning and listening to what each of you have to say. I am grateful to have built my own following in a corner of the internet where we can all be open and supportive of each other. Thank you all for being here, and I look forward to writing for you more!

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40400847

Content Warnings/General Themes: ⚠ 18+ content: by reading this you affirm you are over the age of 18 years or over the age of maturity as stated in your regional or local guidelines. AFAB! Female-Identifying Reader (female pronouns/terms of endearment used), Bi! Edward Teach/Blackbeard, Bi! Stede Bonnet, making out, love confessions, mentions of eating/refusing food, oral (male/female receiving), 'Captain' kink, spit kink, dom/sub undertones, very slight hurt/comfort, threesome, p-in-v smut, lots of swearing, choking

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9,434 (oh my god)

It had all happened so fast.

You had been taken in as a stowaway aboard the Revenge by none other than the Gentleman Pirate, after he found you stranded at sea. Your previous captain and crew had nearly thrown you overboard after finding out your ‘secret identity’, muttering something about how it was bad luck to even have you on board in the first place. You felt rightfully frustrated at this policy–you had just as much right to be there as any of them, not to mention the fact that you had saved their asses countless times and sacrificed your own true identity for the sake of simply being on the ship.

Whatever, they were just sexist assholes; at least, that’s what the so-called ‘Blackbeard’ had said to you upon your arrival at your new home at sea. Both he and his ‘co-captain’–because apparently that was a thing–were quick to assure you that you were welcome on the Revenge, no matter your background. Stede had been the one to ensure that you were comfortable in your new surroundings, introducing you to the other crew and even setting aside some clothes for you to wear and letting you crash on his couch, as everything you had accumulated over the years was left behind on the other ship.

You were surprised at their kindness, as you had heard mixed rumors about each of them. Blackbeard–or Ed, as you now knew him as–certainly had a reputation that made you a bit hesitant to get close to him. The same was true for Stede as well, but for all the opposite reasons. While Ed was painted as some sort of relentless killer, Stede had been described as an amateur, who had paid his way to piracy. You now knew those things weren’t entirely true, and each of them amounted to much more than their reputations. And to be honest, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to the ways in which they prove those generalizations to be inaccurate. Seeing Blackbeard engage in crew bonding exercises, and Captain Bonnet order people around, never fails to make you smile. And turn you on. But that was a whole different story.

Recently, tensions had been high amongst the crew of the Revenge. With your previous crew still holding a grudge, as well as the English Crown constantly on all of your asses for, well, existing; nearly everyone was on edge. Even Stede, who was usually able to be a source of guidance and light during difficult situations, had confined himself to his room, trying to determine the best course of action. Seeing him like that, in such a state of panic and uncertainty, it made you want to do something–anything–to get him out of that headspace.

As Stede continued to isolate himself, you eventually shared your thoughts with Ed, and he agreed that something needed to be done. Over the course of a week or so, the two of you had gathered up supplies at various trading posts, and gained insight about a private island that had apparently been captured by a mutual friend of yours, who gladly allowed you entry–of course, after Ed had threatened the man in order to ensure that he wasn’t leading you and the rest of the crew into a trap. The man had insisted he was telling the truth and you had to believe him–especially after Ed had nearly broken the poor guy's wrist after pinning him against a wall over the course of the–very heated–conversation. It was hot as fuck.

Maybe that was why you let him kiss you the night you returned from your little escapade. Actually, it was more like an all-out makeout session, complete with lip-biting and the occasional gasp for air. You had been preparing to cook a feast that was sure to keep everyone well fed for however long you were to stay anchored at the island, and just as you left it to cook you were greeted with a hungry-looking Ed in the doorway of the galley. Of course, in the moment, you didn’t realize just what he was actually hungry for–even offering to cook him something to hold him over until dinner. The smug bastard had actually belly-laughed at that, refusing your offer but asking if he could kiss you instead, making heat flood to your cheeks.

How in the everloving fuck did you not pick up on Blackbeard trying to flirt with you? Regardless, you gave into his request, and that’s how you found yourself perched atop the counter with Ed between your legs, his hands wandering across the top half of your body as you lost yourself in his lips and soft touches.

You were pretty sure multiple crew members had walked in on the two of you, probably chatting among themselves about the scene they had–unknowingly–committed themselves to. It was quite a sight–you, the innocent stowaway, caged in by the big bad Blackbeard, his lips molding to yours while his leather-clad lower half pressed into your core.

Eventually, he was the one who broke the kiss, mumbling something about how he was needed on the upper deck, and with one final peck on the lips, he was off. You checked on the food and covered it, setting it aside for later. You took a portion of it out and tasted it, before placing a serving into a bowl just as you had done for the past couple nights.

During Stede’s ‘retreat’ of sorts, he had often neglected to eat, always offering some type of excuse or claiming that he was too busy. You were grateful, however, that Stede did eat when you brought him food. You always stayed with him when he ate, allowing him to share whatever thoughts had crossed his mind as of recently regardless of the fact that you generally saw him three times a day or more. You couldn’t help but feel protective of him, constantly checking on him and ensuring he was alright. One day in particular, when he clearly didn’t want anything to do with, well, anything, you laid with him and soothed him as best you could, holding his hand when he started overthinking and entering into a state of crisis, as well as sharing some stories from your childhood and listening to his.

Yeah, so basically, you had fallen for Stede. And now Ed, apparently, if your impromptu makeout session meant anything. Besides the reputation-based rumors you had heard upon boarding the ship, you had also heard that the two men may have been more than just friends. You observed firsthand the selfless way in which they seemed to care for each other, not to mention the lingering stares and small moments of intimacy they would share in passing. Cosmically, it all seemed right to you–like the three of you fit together. The only thing you wished was that you were included in their little…whatever they had going on. Stede and Ed were like two opposite ends of a spectrum, the Kraken and the Lighthouse, with you, the Siren, balancing them out in the middle–a perfect combination of rigidity and debonair.

It just made sense; which may have been why you shared your thoughts with Stede in the first place. You had shared a few drinks with him one night, trying to make him laugh despite all the things on his mind, and casually let it slip that you could see yourself with him and Ed. Both of you laughed off the idea, but part of you wished that he took your feelings to heart and perhaps even acted on them.

At least you had Ed–kind of; if you could count randomly making out in the kitchen as something.

You were drawn out of your thoughts as you approached the door to yours and Stede’s shared room, knocking in a pattern that Stede knew as yours.

“Come in!” You heard through the door, in Stede’s distinct inflection. You were glad to hear he still had the chipper, optimistic tone of voice you had come to love even when he was left to his own devices.

“How’s it going tonight, Captain?” You asked him, and he smiled at the term of authority-turned nickname you often used.

“Not too bad, but I certainly missed my favorite meal-delivery person–who also happens to be my roommate and personal chef!” He said, eyes warm as you approached him and handed him his dinner.

“Not to burst your bubble or anything, Stede, but today I cooked for everyone. I don’t think that makes me–”

“Yeah, I heard. Ed told me all about it.” He said, in a relatively serious and knowing tone.

Your eyes widened. Helping out on the upper deck, my ass, you thought, recalling the bullshit excuse Ed had given you earlier.

“Listen…Stede…what happened between me and Ed, it was a heat of the moment thing,” you started, carefully gauging his reaction as you went on. “I don’t even know if I have fully processed it myself, and I know I love spending time with you as well, and I heard the two of you are also kinda a thing-”

“Darling, I’m not mad. I was the one who told Ed to make a move in the first place.” He said, nonchalantly taking a bite of his meal.

Your brow furrowed as you took a moment to collect yourself. “Wait…seriously?” You cautiously sat down next to Stede as he continued to eat, who paused slightly to nod his head, confirming your suspicions.

He raised the fork he was using to eat and gestured towards you as he spoke once more. “Poor Ed couldn’t get you off his mind and came to me for advice and obviously because I have such a great track-record of relationships under my belt, I told him to do whatever felt right, which was apparently to corner you in the kitchen and make out like teenagers, if I heard him correctly?”

You snorted at the description he gave, realizing how accurate it truly was. You took a moment to lock eyes with Stede, finding comfort in the earnest and sincere look he had on his face. You reached out and placed a hand on his cheek, figuring that you should probably tell him how you felt if you already made it to–at least–second base with his other half.

“Stede, I…” You let your hand slide down to his shoulder, offering some pressure to work his tense muscles.

“Go on darling, I’m listening.” He offered, placing his dish out of the way so you could have his full attention.

“I really like you. Both of you. And, like, I think you know but also I didn’t know how this was going to work,” you said, gesturing between you, him, and an imaginary third-party. “Ed and I were planning something to cheer you up, and I think he caught on during all that and I honestly should have told you–”

Stede cut you off once again, this time with his lips on yours. Even though you had been affectionate with him before and more physically comfortable with him as you shared a room with him, you found yourself shocked at his sudden advance. You welcomed it, obviously, but you almost couldn’t believe that you were really kissing Stede.

As you deepened the kiss, you noticed his style of kissing was far more gentle and rhythmic than Ed’s more chaotic and sloppy method. Stede took the time to really feel the curve of your lips on his own, savoring the lingering taste of sugar and dough that had come as a result of you tasting the meal you had just prepared.

You moved to sit on his lap, straddling his thighs while he moved his lips to your neck and jaw. You gasped at the action, not expecting him to kiss you in those sensitive regions. You softly ran your hands along his shoulders and back, massaging and rubbing what you could reach. This was certainly a way to relieve some of his stress, that’s for sure.

Just as you started to get into a good rhythm, Stede pulled back, looking up at you with one of the most genuine smiles you had seen on him since he entered his funk.

“I would love to sit here and do this with you all night, my love, but we should rest up for tomorrow–we’ve got a big day ahead of us.”

You tilted your head to the side and furrowed your brow, curious as to what he was on about.

At your quizzical response, Stede continued. “We’re dropping anchor at the island tomorrow, remember?” You rolled your eyes at Ed’s lack of ability to keep his mouth shut. “Yeah, Ed let that slip too,” he continued, “...and…hopefully you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of suggesting that you, Ed, and I get our own private bungalow…if you catch my drift.” He said, waving his eyebrows at the last bit.

Yeah, you totally caught his drift. Now all you had to do was survive through the night and following day without going completely weak at the knees.

You awoke the next morning feeling literally better than ever. The ship was anchored at a lovely part of the island that allowed you to see white sand and clear water for miles, with a few living spaces and natural flora strewn about. Stede had woken you up with a kiss on the forehead, before letting you know he was going to scope out the island with Ed and a few others. You had taken your time in getting ready, dolling yourself up a bit to embrace the relaxing vibes.

As you made your way onto solid land–after greeting a rather cheerful Lucius and sharing a few words with Jim–you nearly tripped over your feet when your eyes locked onto the scene unfolding in front of you.

Stede and Ed were doing what you could only describe as ‘frolicking’ in the water along the beach. Your eyes immediately traveled to Ed’s bare chest, and the various tattoos that adorned his body. He hadn’t seen you yet, so luckily he couldn’t embarrass you about ogling over him just yet, but you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of him in the meantime.

That is, until Stede came into view. He emerged from the water, looking like the culmination of every fantasy you had had about the seemingly innocent man. Unlike Ed, he had chosen to leave his white undershirt on, with the top buttons undone. The way his broad chest glistened in the sunlight with droplets of water and slightest hint of sweat, as well as how the transparency of the wet shirt allowed you to see his form, had you clenching your thighs together and swallowing the saliva that had unknowingly accumulated in your mouth.

Damn, they were hot. And come to think of it–you were too. The heat index had to be skyrocketing on this particular day, and the sun reflecting off the crashing waves did little to cool you. With another swallow for good measure, you began your descent down the sloped beach, leaving your shoes in the sand as you approached the two men in the water.

“Hello darling! We were just wondering when you might turn up,” Stede said, flashing his signature smile in your direction.

“Yeah, I was starting to think you blew us off to go hang out with Jim or some shit,” Ed added.

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer to the two men. “First of all, there is other important…business…that Jim can get up to on their own other than ‘hanging out’ with me, thank you very much,” you said, gesturing at the person in question to further what you were saying. “And second,” you continued, glancing between the two men, “I wanted to see what you two were up to.”

Ed pursed his lips and let out a huff. “Hmm, that’s funny.”

“What?” You shot back.

He turned to face you. “Nothing, I’m just trying to figure out where in that little speech of yours that you were going to explain why you were drooling over us a minute ago,” Ed said, with a cocky, shit-eating grin on his face.

Your eyes widened, and if Stede hadn’t been there as well you would have seriously considered slapping the look straight off of Ed’s face. Or kissing it off. Or both.

Stede moved to stand between you and the other man. “Now, now, Ed. Stop teasing Y/N! We’re supposed to be relaxing, remember?!” You couldn’t help but realize how much Stede looked like a father scolding his rambunctious child at that moment. Sometimes you forgot the man was a father outside of his life of piracy, and to be honest, you couldn’t help but find that rather–

Ed interrupted your thoughts. “Well Y/N certainly seems to be relaxing, if you know what I mean...”

You moved past Stede so that you were face to face with Ed. “Edward Teach, you are going to fucking GET IT!” You said, highlighting your statement with an–almost comically lackluster–splash.

Ed feigned surprise, using a hand to cover his open mouth. “Yeah? Don’t start something you aren’t going to finish, sweetheart,” he said, hesitating before doing anything in response. The action itself was kind of cute, but you weren’t in the mood for cute–you were out for blood.

“You should tell yourself that,” you said with a sly smile, before lunging towards him and splashing him a few times in rapid succession, noticing the way Stede seemed to be debating between running for the hills and stepping between the two of you once more. As Stede opted for a sort-of middle ground where he almost seemed to be supervising the two of you, Ed had begun splashing you in response, effectively soaking your upper half. Of course, you had opted to wear a blouse similar to the one Stede was currently wearing (as he had loaned it to you upon arrival), so you were certain the two men in front of you were getting quite the view of your form.

You closed your eyes as Ed’s splashes became too overwhelming, and you missed the way each of the men followed the curve of your body as you raised your hands above your head in surrender and said “that’s enough!”

With one final flick of water which earned him a look of annoyance from you, Ed halted his actions.

You lowered your arms and wiped any remaining water from your face and eyes, shaking your arms and upper body to try and dry what you could. Stede approached you at this point, his hand connecting with your cheek as he angled your head up so his eyes could meet yours.

“Did he go too hard on you?” He innocently asked, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the innuendo that the statement insinuated. Stede smiled in response, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. Of course, the sweet moment was interrupted by the grey-haired pirate who you nearly forgot was standing near you.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help but feel like I’m interrupting something here…” he said, and you were reminded that you hadn’t had the chance to tell him about the moment you shared with Stede the previous night. Your fears, however, were relieved by Stede chuckling and inviting Ed to join the two of you, which led you to assume that Stede had already filled him in.

You reached out for Ed as he approached you, stroking your hand up and down his toned arm when he was within reach. “For the record, I was only staring earlier because I enjoy seeing the mighty Blackbeard frolicking on the beach in my free time.”

He laughed a genuine laugh at that. “Sure, Y/N, you keep telling yourself that. Whatever you have to do to sleep at night.”

You glanced between him and Stede before speaking again. “Right…so about sleeping…” you broached, and once you received confused looks from each of them, you continued on. “Stede told me about our…uh…sleeping arrangements tonight…”

“And, let me guess, you can’t stop thinking about what’s to come?” Stede added, as if he was reading your mind.

You nodded, suddenly feeling a little flustered at both your close proximity to the two men as well as from the effects of the warm sun on your skin. You saw Ed smirk out of the corner of your eye at your admission, and then felt him walk up behind you and wrap his arms around your middle.

“Is this okay?” He asked, moving your hair to the side to reveal your neck.

“Of course,” you responded, locking eyes with Stede as Ed started kissing your neck and jaw. As you moved your head to the side to allow him better access, you locked eyes with Stede, who had moved to be directly in front of you. “Can I touch you?” You asked him, and were immediately met with him frantically nodding.

As Ed reached around to untuck the shirt you were wearing to access your skin underneath, you reached your own hands up to where Stede’s shirt had opened, and ran your fingers over his bare chest. You stroked your hands up and down, then used the collar of his shirt to pull him in for a kiss.

You moved to deepen the kiss, effectively sandwiching yourself between the two men, and you could sense the raw, primal desire each of the men had for you. You could also feel it in the way Stede’s kiss was all teeth and tongue, and how Ed’s tightening pants behind you rubbed against your ass.

You pulled away from Stede but continued your actions with your hands, turning your head to be in line with Ed’s ear. “When was the last time you had a proper fuck?” You asked him, kissing his earlobe as you waited for a response.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, sweetheart?” He nearly growled, accentuating his statement by gripping your hips tightly. “Do you think about me like that? Think about us, like that? Huh?”

You opened your mouth to respond but were cut off by an obscenely loud–and incredibly inconvenient–whistle from behind you. You, Ed, and Stede were off each other in an instant, heads whipping towards the source of the sound. What you weren’t prepared for, was to see nearly the entire crew of the Revenge making their way towards you.

Stede greeted his crew with a wave, making his way towards them and beckoning you over in the process.

Yeah, this was going to be a long day.

The night had fallen, as had your heart, after the events of the day. Besides the obligatory vacation and crew festivities that kept you busy, you couldn’t help but anxiously await the anticipated events of the night.

Stede and Ed had their fun with you nearly the entire day, mostly through lingering touches and hushed conversations, doing nothing to make the time spent with the crew pass any quicker. You had eventually called it quits as the sun began to set, excusing yourself as you headed towards your rather luxurious living quarters for the night, which is where you found yourself now.

You glanced up from where you were perched on perhaps the largest bed you had ever seen. From your position, you could see the gorgeous living room that had greeted you upon arrival, as well as the kitchen and stairs to the guest room. You assumed that you would be sleeping there tonight, but upon locating the bed that nearly swallowed you whole, you figured that you and your two companions could all fit here.

A knock at the front door had you up in an instant. The knock was accompanied by an “anybody home?” that was far too chipper to be anyone other than Stede.

You opened the door once you reached it, smiling upon realizing that Ed had tagged along with Stede. “Hey boys!” You greeted, backing up to allow them inside. What you didn’t anticipate, however, was for Ed to barge in before Stede and push you up against the nearest wall, his hands finding your hips while his lips found yours. It was a filthy kiss, clearly only initiated to bring about…something more. Something that you had been thinking about for the better part of your time with the captains of the Revenge.

You pulled back–much to Ed’s dismay–and immediately cradled his face as you began to speak, hearing Stede approach you from behind, similar to the position you found yourself in just hours ago.

“So…” you droned on, angling yourself so that you could get a look at both men.

“So…” Stede replied, smirking at your sudden bashfulness.

Ed grunted and gripped your hips, drawing your attention back to him. “Do you want this sweetheart?” He asked sweetly, genuine concern in his eyes. “Want us?” He added, before leaning back to gauge your reaction.

You looked between him and Stede with a smirk, before responding. “I’ve wanted this for longer than you could ever know.”

Stede raised an eyebrow at that. “Is that right?” He asked, smoothing a hand down your side and resting it on Ed’s hand. You were starting to get used to being sandwiched between the two men, especially when you caught the tender look shared between them as you let out a sigh of contentment and nodded.

“Care to share your thoughts with the class, Y/N?” Ed teased, his grip on your hips tightening.

You bit your lip and pulled away, their hands falling away from your body. “What if I showed you, instead?” You asked, reaching a hand out for each of them to take. Stede obliged, intertwining his fingers with yours and leading you towards the bedroom, while Ed settled for a slight slap on your ass and followed closely behind.

You were quick to push Stede onto the bed, straddling him while you helped him take off his–many–layers. You heard Ed doing the same behind you, and were greeted by him in just his leather pants, and you were not modest in the way you checked him out.

He opened his mouth to speak but you were quick to stop him. “Ed, I swear if you are about to ask me if I ‘like what I see’ I will literally make you sit and watch while me and Stede-”

He cut you off with a chuckle. “Woah. I was actually going to ask if you wanted to suck my dick, but now that I know that you’re into voyeurism, I might just take you up on that offer.”

Your face dropped and you rolled your eyes, and you were about to turn your attention back to a now shirtless Stede when you felt a strong grip on your chin. Ed angled your face to turn back towards his, his eyes now hooded and dark.

“Did you just fucking roll your eyes at me?” He questioned, and you felt your heart drop at his words. You had never seen Ed in what he and Stede referred to as ‘Blackbeard Mode,’ and now that it was fully on display you couldn’t help but feel a little scared…but also incredibly turned on.

The grip on your chin loosed, only for Ed to move it to your neck. “Answer me!” Ed demanded, which nearly sent you into a panic–a sexy, heart racing type of panic.

“Yeah, I did.” You mumbled under your breath.

Ed narrowed his eyes. “What was that?” He asked.

You cleared your throat as best you could given your current position, and felt Stede’s hands slide delicately up your back to relax you. You caved at their actions, softening as you let down your guard. “I did Ed, I’m sorry...” you replied, louder than your previous statement.

Ed removed his hand from your neck, stroking it down your cheek softly. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart–I’m just fuckin’ with you. You know I like the difficult ones.” At your confused look, he nodded towards the other man before adding, “just ask Stede. That man has the mouth of a sailor…pun fully intended,” he said with a wink, nearly making you roll your eyes again and defeat the entire purpose of…whatever the hell this was.

Instead, your eyes widened slightly at the new information, before turning back to Stede. “Is it true, Stede?” You asked, still slightly taken aback that the seemingly innocent blonde was something else entirely in bed.

He responded by pulling your hips towards him, and angling you so that your core could grind against his erection, leaning in so he could speak into your ear. “I guess you’ll have to find out, darling.” He said in a voice you nearly didn’t recognize, before continuing. “Also, that’s ‘Captain’ to you, missy.”

You pulled back and shared a look with Ed to see if Stede was serious or not, and when Ed didn’t roll his eyes or make a comment, you knew you were in for an interesting night.

You rolled your hips on Stede’s hardening cock, moaning at the feeling and the way his lips parted to do the same, before responding. “Alright Captain, you gonna show me what you’re made of, or keep teasing me all night?”

At that, Ed reached around your body and began removing your clothes, probably after realizing you still had on at least two more layers than they did. Stede busied himself with attacking your neck with his lips, continuing to grind you down in his lap while Ed did the same from behind you. You could feel your panties nearly soaking through at this point, your core throbbing for more attention.

As if he could read your mind, Ed pulled you away from Stede–not without a whine from you, of course–and sat you on the bed next to the blonde. You turned to face Stede, taking in how truly gorgeous the man is, prompting you to lean forward to kiss him, immediately opening your mouth to allow your tongues to collide. It was sloppy, drool threatening to spill out of your mouth and probably his too, but it was just what you needed at the moment. Oh, and certainly the hand that was slowly snaking its way into your pants currently.

You opened your eyes to try and get a better view of how the other man was touching you, but a firm hand came up to keep you focused on your kiss. “Focus on Stede for me, sweetheart,” Ed began, “I want to taste this sweet pussy and make you feel good.” You moaned, before he continued. “Can you let me do that for you, baby?”

You nodded frantically, parting your legs for him and allowing him to remove your pants. You could feel him playing with the waistband of your panties and he sunk down between your legs. As you felt his lips on your inner thighs and clothed center, you took the opportunity to stroke Stede’s inner thigh, feeling him tense slightly then relax into your touch. Just as you had done for Ed, Stede widened his legs, allowing you access into his trousers. You pulled back from your kiss with him, bringing your forehead to his as you longed for more of the closeness you had established with him.

You moved to continue your actions, stroking your hands along Stede’s lower stomach, halting when you felt Ed pull down your panties and quickly move to connect himself with your core. His lips were on your clit, sucking and kissing the swollen bud, as his fingers came up to find your soaken hole. He slowly slid two fingers into your pussy, setting a slow but steady pace as you braced yourself on Stede’s thighs.

Ed pulled back, his fingers fully replacing his mouth as he gauged your reaction to his actions thus far. “God…you’re so fucking soaked, Y/N. Do you want to make Stede feel good while I make you cum?”

You hesitated before responding, not because you were unsure of your answer but because his fingers were hitting all the right spots at the moment. His rough hands only added to the sensation, and you felt like you had to restrain yourself from fully getting off on his hand.

Stede picked up on your inability to form a response, and gripped your hands where they were resting on his thighs. He looked at Ed and there seemed to be a mutual understanding, and then Ed’s hands were off of you, gaining your attention.

You opened your mouth to protest, but Ed was already standing in front of Stede, offering the other man his fingers that had just been inside of you.

When you say that you nearly passed out from the scene that was unfolding in front of you, you were definitely not exaggerating. Stede leaned forward, gripping Ed’s hand at the wrist and guiding his fingers into his mouth. He wrapped his lips around the digits, tongue flicking out to taste your slick, and you literally had to cross your legs to keep from orgasming on the spot. To make matters worse, Stede opened his eyes and made eye contact with first Ed then you, and let out a moan, as though he was tasting his own personal cocktail of ambrosia.

Stede released Ed’s fingers, and you felt yourself being moved by Ed so that you were kneeling perpendicular to where Stede was sitting on the edge of the bed, with your head near his lap. Ed positioned himself behind you, and you missed the way he licked his lips and leaned down as you focused on Stede’s pleasure. Gingerly, you reached for Stede’s trousers and briefs once more, pulling them down enough to free his now throbbing cock. You looked up at Stede shyly, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration as he flashed you a soft smile before he spoke. “Go ahead, darling.”

To encourage you further, Ed took this opportunity to attack your pussy with his tongue. You were super glad he decided to shave his beard only a few days ago, as the slight burn of the stubble contrasted with his wet, soft tongue felt amazing in between your legs. Before you became overwhelmed with the sensation once again, you reached forward and took Stede’s cock in your hand. It barely fit in just one of your hands, which you discovered as you started to jerk off his shaft.

“Give me your hand, darling,” Stede said, and you obliged. “Good girl,” he added once you moved to comply. You kept one hand moving on his dick while you reached out your other one, which the man took and brought to his mouth. Just as Ed started eating you out like a starved man, Stede spit into your open hand, then guided it back down to join your other hand. The action itself was filthy in nature, making you buck your hips into Ed’s mouth and increase the rate at which you jerked Stede off. He gasped at the action, and you could feel him holding his hips back to resist rutting up into your hands.

“Fuck, that feels good,” Stede said, before adding, “Is Ed going to make you cum, sweetheart?” He leaned his head back slightly to toss some of his hair out of his face, before looking down at you for a response.

“Yes, shit, gonna cum soon–” You were cut off by a slap on your ass by Ed, causing you to jolt forward and come face to face with Stede’s cock. You better positioned yourself on Stede’s thighs, leaning forward to take the tip into your mouth. You could feel that Ed added his fingers back into your pussy somewhere during this process, and the familiar heat in your core ramping up as he continued his actions.

You removed one hand from Stede’s cock as you took him deeper into your mouth, using it to massage his balls. You could feel a combination of your spit and Stede’s precum sliding down his shaft to meet your hand, earning you a moan from the man above you. Upon hearing his sighs of pleasure, you let out one of your own, making Stede buck his hips and egging Ed’s attack on your pussy on further.

“Gonna cum, Y/N? With my face buried in your pussy, and your mouth around your Captain’s cock? Let it all go baby…” Ed said, and with that, you were seeing stars. You were glad you had Stede’s dick in your mouth, as the moans that threatened to slip out as you rode your high were–mostly–stifled.

Ed continued to lick and kiss your cunt as you came down, while Stede reluctantly pulled you off his cock. When you moved to take him back into your mouth, he reached out a hand to stop you, offering a merciful smile.

“Sorry, sweetheart, you’re just a little too good at that is all,” he explained with a grin, and you felt Ed move behind you.

“I’m assuming you enjoyed that, huh, sweetheart?” Ed said, kneeling next to you and giving you a kiss on the cheek. You couldn’t resist turning your head to kiss him on the mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue.

He pulled back before you could deepen the kiss too much, looking at you with hooded eyes, similar to the way he did earlier. “God…who would’ve guessed that sweet Y/N was this filthy…” He teased, hand coming up to grip your cheeks and open your mouth. “Stick out your tongue for me, yeah?”

You did what he asked without hesitation, face still in Ed’s grasp, and he spit into your mouth. He released his grip and watched as you swallowed, using your eagerness as a sign to continue on with the events of the night.

“So…” Ed began, “Stede and I were talking…”

“And we wanted to leave it up to you before we went any further.” Stede interjected, a look of concern on his face.

You looked between them for what felt like the hundredth time this evening, and could see the love they had to share staring straight back at you. You knew, even prior to what had already occurred, that if there was anyone you wanted to do something like…whatever this was with, it would be them. Not only had they been there for you at one of your darkest times, but they had become sources of empowerment and support in the relatively short amount of time you knew them. Which is why you were confident in what you moved to say next.

“Ed…” You began, cupping his cheek then turning to Stede and doing the same. “Stede…” Both men leaned into your touch and listened intently. “There’s literally no one I would rather be doing this with. Both of you heard my call, took me by the hand, and led me to where I am today.” Both of their faces softened at your confession, and you placed your hands back into your lap.

Ed cleared his throat, breaking the short silence. “So, uh…we gonna fuck or not?”

You moved to straddle him, giggling at his statement. “Isn’t that literally what we were just doing?” You asked, rolling your hips over his still clothed erection.

“You haven’t even seen the slightest of what I’m capable of.” He replied, the brooding look returning to his face. This time, however, you weren’t having it, and saw through his dark façade.

“Okay, Blackbeard.” You said, rolling your eyes at his statement for added effect. He did not like that.

With a slap to your ass–and a glare from Stede–Ed repositioned you to perch atop his leg, leaning down towards your ear. “Fuck, I love it when you call me that.” You nearly rolled your eyes again–of course he did. “Now be a good girl and get off on my leg, then we can give you what you really want.”

You did what he asked, but not without adding, “what I really want? You mean your love and devotion?”

Ed snorted at that, gripping your waist tighter and grinding you harder into his lap. “I think you need something to shut you up.” He said, grunting whenever you came in contact with his dick.

You raised an eyebrow at that and shared a look with Stede, who was watching this all unfold with an eager expression. He looked gorgeous from this angle, his hair all disheveled and his body on full display.

You halted the movement of your hips, hearing Ed let out a frustrated grunt. “I want both of you, so bad…” You said, matter-of-factly.

“How do you want us?” Stede asked, his concerned nature making itself known.

You felt yourself blush at the question, again not expecting something of such a suggestive nature falling out of Stede’s lips. That being said, he literally just revealed his apparent “Captain” kink to you so maybe you were too quick to judge what Stede was or wasn’t capable of saying.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you focused on what exactly was being asked of you. You honestly wanted nothing more than for each of the men to pound you into the mattress of this probably far too nice and boutique bed of yours, but a part of you deep down really wanted Stede to be the first of the two to get to know you so intimately. After all, he had done so much to take care of you as you had done for him–it just felt right.

Once you made up your mind–after also reminding yourself that you have all night–you voiced your thoughts. “Stede, I want you…” you began, looking down at your core before flicking your eyes back to the other man. “And Ed, I–”

He caught your drift immediately and finished your statement. “You want me to fuck your mouth, is that right?”

“Fuck, yeah.” You responded, too horny to say something witty in response.

At that, Stede stood and allowed you to move up and lay with your head dangling off the bed, giving yourself a perfect view of Ed’s lower half. You reached out and gripped what you could of his waist, pulling him closer to you. You felt the bed dip as Stede hovered over you, feeling his hands go to your shirt to finally remove it.

“May I?” He asked–ever the gentleman. You nodded, and you helped him pull the article of clothing off of you. You could feel Ed shifting behind you, and if you could see him attempting to wiggle out of his tight pants you would have probably bursted out laughing. You were distracted, however, by Stede’s hesitation as his hands hovered over your bra. Your eyes met his, and you gave a slight nod, reaching for his hand with your own and guiding it to the point at which the garment was connected to your body. He tenderly removed it from you, allowing it to fall to the floor and reveal your upper half to him.

As Stede leaned down to caress your breasts, you turned your head to be greeted with Ed’s unconcealed dick. To say that he was big would be an understatement–the man was seriously packing. No wonder he walked around like he owned the place, with a dick like that–

“Open your mouth for me.” He said, drawing you out of your–borderline objectifying–thoughts. You complied, and the heavy tip of his dick was in your mouth in an instant. You could taste the small amount of precum that had collected, making your mouth water.

You moved to position yourself at a better angle, but were stopped by Ed’s firm hands near your neck. You looked up at him as well as you could with your head upside down, and the determined look on his face was enough to suggest that he wanted you to lie back and enjoy yourself while he took the reins.

You were more than happy to comply, and focused on the sensations Stede was providing while Ed ensured that you were in a comfortable position and continued to stroke the tip of his dick on your open tongue. Stede’s hands slowly moved down your chest and stroked your hips, his lips also ghosting kisses down your abdomen.

As you felt Stede’s hands approach your core, you opened your legs wider to accommodate his form between your legs and to give him better access. You felt him chuckle at your actions, his lips now dangerously close to where you wanted him most. Well, a certain part of him.

“Stede…” you whined, feeling Ed pull back slightly as you spoke. Stede looked up at you eagerly, stopping short and expecting you to continue. When you didn't, he shifted once more so he was level with your face.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Is everything alright?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, his hand stroking your cheek as you gave him a pleading look. “I want you…”

He nuzzled your nose with his own and smiled, before replying. “Then it’s me you shall have.”

You moved again to accommodate his form, feeling him situate himself between your legs. He reached down and pumped his shaft a few times, sighing as his hand came in contact with his tender skin. You relaxed and leaned your head back once again, signaling that you were ready for them.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the sensations you were experiencing, missing the glance Stede and Ed shared above you. After sharing a nod, the two men were quick to spring into action.

You felt Stede enter you first, the drag of his shaft along your walls slowly stretching your hole and hitting all the right places inside of you. You clenched around his cock once he was fully seated inside of you, moaning as his fingers ghosted over your clit. “You like that, darling?” He asked, beginning to set a slow, yet steady pace.

“Fuck yes!” You responded, smirking at him before adding “Captain.”

He grunted at that, picking up the pace and in turn, rocking the bed you were perched on. You silently prayed that all of the other crew members had settled down and weren’t looking for either of their captains, because the scene currently unfolding would probably make even the most rugged pirate say a prayer; unless their name was ‘Stede’ or ‘Ed,’ apparently.

Speaking of the devil, Ed saw your moment of quiet contemplation as an opportunity to grip your jaw, angling you once more to better suit his needs. You smiled at him before sticking out your tongue, prompting him to smirk back then lean down and spit as he had before, this time using it as added slick as he guided his cock back into your mouth.

Stede’s gentle, yet determined thrusts, and Ed’s rough and messy use of your mouth combined in a perfect tango which had you reaching your peak in seconds.

Ed could see the way your body was convulsing and twisting, clenching on Stede’s cock and drooling on his own. “You fucking like that, Y/N?” He asked, his hips working his cock against your tongue and down your throat. You moaned around his cock in response, egging him on more.

With a light slap to your cheek, he continued. “Fuck yeah you do, ohmygod–we should’ve done this so much sooner..”

Stede glanced up at that, tossing his–now disheveled–blonde locks out of his face. “I was thinking the same thing,” he said, gently, prompting Ed to lean down and meet his lips. You saw the two men deepen the kiss above you, and in that moment, everything felt so right. You finally had the two men who took you in, cared for you, and allowed you to care for them in return right where you wanted them, and you fucking loved it. Your sweet, kind Stede, who never failed to be gentle with you even when he was at his lowest, was making you feel better than you ever imagined, while your edgy, yet kind-hearted Ed allowed you to treat him how he deserved. It was everything you had been searching for–your hidden treasure, and you had been led to them as a personal treasure of their own.

Stede’s thrusts eventually became more irregular, and you could feel his cock throbbing in your core, signaling that he was close. Ed had opted to glide his shaft on top of your wet mouth and tongue, using you like his own personal toy. It was messy–filthy even, but you fucking loved it. You especially loved it when Ed used his free hand to play with one of your breasts, using some drool that had collected around your mouth as slick to play with your hard bud. Stede brought a hand up as well and did the same and you thanked every deity you could think of for allowing your paths to cross.

Shockingly, it was Ed who voiced his thoughts first. “Fuck, Stede, Y/N, I’m close.”

Stede slowed his thrusts a bit–earning a whine from you–and took a moment to catch his breath. “Fuck, me too.” He sat back on his knees, leaving just his tip inside you, and glanced down at you. “How are you doing, sweetheart? Getting close?”

You nodded, and felt the coil in your stomach threatening to snap as Stede drew the tip of his cock out and around your slick hole and clit. “Wanna c-cum, for you. Both of you.”

“I know you do darling, but I’m afraid I can’t hold out for much longer…” Stede responded, gripping the base of his shaft to try and hold off his orgasm.

“I can…” Ed cockily replied, easing his dick out of your mouth.

You sat up, noticing how suddenly empty you felt as you did, and turned to look Ed in the eyes. “And what if I don’t believe you?” You asked with wild eyes, hoping he would take the bait.

“Why don’t you lie on your stomach and find out for yourself, slut?” He gritted back, and you could’ve lost it right then and there, but your anticipation for what he proposed outweighed your need to orgasm without him inside you.

“Ed!?” Stede chirped in, likely as an attempt to come to your defense. When he saw the smirk on your face and look of desire in your eyes, however, his own eyes widened a bit, and he understood that the term hadn’t entirely pissed you off–in fact, it had had the opposite effect.

Stede huffed before allowing you to follow Ed’s orders and reposition yourself. “And I thought I was into some interesting things…”

As Ed settled behind you after your position replicated what he had asked of you, you turned your head to follow Stede as he sat at the head of the bed in front of you, giggling at his admission. “What kinds of things, Captain?” You asked, sure to use his favorite nickname.

Stede rolled his eyes and fixed his hair before smiling down at you. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You smiled, moving to respond once more, but were cut off by Ed entering you with no warning. Your soft pussy gripped him tight, wetness coating his throbbing shaft. He could feel that you were pretty well stretched from Stede, and didn’t take much time in working you up to a hard and fast rhythm that had you moaning.

Still, through the haze of horniness that had accumulated, you felt the urge to reach for the blonde-haired man in front of you, taking all of what you could of his member into your mouth. He gasped, not expecting you to do so as Ed was literally pounding you into the mattress, but welcomed it nonetheless.

Ed slapped your ass as he saw what you were doing to Stede, pinching and massaging it as he picked up his pace even more. “Look at you, Y/N, being split open by us. Fuck, you’re so good-”

“Such a good girl…” Stede continued after Ed became a moaning mess, making you clench down on Ed’s leaking cock. You took Stede’s slick cock deeper into your mouth, tears threatening to spill as you started properly sucking him off. You could taste the saltiness of his precum mixing with the saliva of your mouth, and looked up at him through your lashes as you felt one of his hands move to your throat. It was mainly to support your neck and to guide you where he needed you, but the slight pressure made your pussy throb and turned you on even more–if that’s even possible.

It turns out it was, because when Ed brought a hand down to your clit you were done for. You looked up at Stede with desperation in your eyes, and he knew immediately that you were rapidly approaching your peak.

“Shit, Ed, Y/N’s nearly there…” Stede announced, his tone suggesting that you were not alone in your predicament.

“Yeah? Gonna cum with us inside you?” Ed said, and you moaned around Stede’s cock as a response, fucking back into Ed as he hit your G-spot with every thrust. That, combined with the way he flicked at your clit and the delicious pressure of Stede’s cock on your tongue and hand on your throat finally sent you over the edge. You nearly collapsed as your orgasm rode through you, your hole gripping Ed tight and nearly all of your muscles convulsing in the process. It felt like heaven.

“Mmm, gripping me so tight…gonna cum…” Ed slurred, before gingerly pulling out and releasing on your hole and thighs.

Stede was not far behind, and you reached a hand up to stroke what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, causing him to thrust slowly as pleasure started to overcome his senses. “I’m so close, pretty girl,” he said, and you felt the bed shift behind you. You focused on licking and sucking all that you could, locking eyes with Stede as his breathing increased and cock started to leak more.

You felt his balls tighten as he continued to thrust, and just as he let go you felt a set of hands pull your hair back and stroke along your skin. You closed your eyes and swallowed all that he had to give, savoring the taste that was so distinctly Stede. You shamelessly moaned at the sensation, earning a chuckle from both men; prompting you to come back down to Earth. Stede carefully removed his spent shaft from your mouth, using a finger to wipe a bit of drool and his release from the corners of your mouth. He tucked himself back into his trousers and settled into the bed, gesturing for you to do the same. When you went to move and realized your hair was still pulled back, you turned to the side and were greeted with a grinning Ed who was now playing with your hair that was in his grip.

You cleared your throat to get his attention, but when his gaze remained on his fingers in your hair, you spoke. “You gonna play with that forever, or come cuddle?” You asked, cheekily.

He halted his action and removed his hands with a huff. “Fine…but only if I get to be the big spoon.”

You crawled into Stede’s arms speedily, positioning yourself with your back to him and arms open wide. “Well shit. Looks like that position has already been filled.”

Ed pouted, crossing his arms and taking in your inviting form, but ultimately sighing and laying in your arms. To egg him on more–something you started to enjoy more and more–you replicated his previous actions and began playing with his hair.

He turned around and narrowed his eyes before speaking. “I hate you.”

You kissed him on the temple, and raised one of Stede’s hands from around your waist to your lips and did the same. “Love you too.”

taglist: @conthesatanist

#blackbeard x reader #stede bonnet x reader #edward teach x reader #edward teach x stede bonnet #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #gentlebeard x reader #blackbonnet x reader

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