#trails in Big Sur

[wanderguidehub]

Big Sur Hiking Guide: Discover California's Most Popular Trails

Welcome to the Big Sur hiking guide, your gateway to exploring some of the most stunning trails California has to offer. Big Sur, with its dramatic coastline, rugged mountain trails, and mesmerizing vistas, is often deemed a hiker’s paradise. Whether you’re an experienced hiker looking for an adrenaline-fueled adventure or a beginner seeking leisurely strolls amidst nature, Big Sur has something…

[cpahlow]

[lappophotography]

The best places to visit in Big Sur California

[jewlz-n-gemz77]

Roots

[volumes-and-vines]

Soberanes Canyon Trail near Caramel-by-the-Sea, Big Sur. 💚

[desertmarauder]

Pine Ridge Trail near Big Sur, California | 5/16/2023

[theadventuresofmanders]

Flying out to California this weekend and camping in Big Sur, the excitement is very real. 🌲⛺️✈️

[best-views]

Pine Ridge Trail in Big Sur, California

[agustdiv1ne]

☾.⋆*･.10:21 p.m. (m) — choi soobin

genre: nsfw so mdni, nerdy boyfriend!soobin, unprotected sex, car sex <3

wc: 1.7k

you find your boyfriend to be absolutely adorable.

despite his physically imposing aura (thanks to his tall stature), he is most definitely the biggest, softest nerd that you have ever encountered. he can get so shy, hiding his face behind his hands once things grow hot and heavy, his face flushing whenever you place a hand a little too high on his thigh. his chunky glasses and soft, oversized hoodies only serve to make him look even cuter. you find it endearing, how easily flustered he becomes, even after four months together.

it's not like he's a virgin, anyway. he's told you he has had a couple partners before you, and you've had sex with each other a few times thus far, but the freshness of your relationship makes him a little nervous to try new things. it's a little difficult for him to open up about sexual topics, he said, and you respect his wishes of easing into the things that he is unfamiliar with.

so when you find yourself in the back of soobin's car in the middle of an dark, desolate parking lot, straddling his lap with his tongue exploring your mouth — something you haven't tried with him yet — you wait for him to give you the green light. you can feel his cock growing harder underneath you, yet you refuse to give in to the urge to grind down against him. the last thing you want to do is push him too far, but it's hard. it's so fucking hard not to give into your own desires, to keep a clear head when you're so easily intoxicated by his presence.

and so you pull away, fingers trailing down to toy with the button on his jeans, and ask: “do you wanna go further?”

“i’ve, uh,” he breathes, eyes all wide and lips slick with spit. “i’ve never-”

“you’ve never had sex in a car?” you finish for him. soobin nods, and, despite the dim light, you are still able to make out the pretty scarlet blush spreading across his cheeks, eyes squeezing shut behind his chunky glasses for a moment while his takes a deep, shuddering breath. you smile, soft and serene, hoping that it will help calm him down.

“do you want to?” you question quietly as you cup his face in your hands. “we can sto—”

“‘course i do,” he immediately responds, interrupting you, his voice low and slightly husky. he sends you a reassuring smile and squeezes your waist. “only ‘cause it’s you.”

your heart flips in your chest at his admission. trust. he trusts you — you feel it in the way he looks up at you, overflowing with fondness, how he silently encourages your hands to slip under his shirt to slide across the smooth planes of his stomach. the pent up adoration in your heart causes you to surge forward to kiss him again, gathering the hands that respectfully rest on your waist in your own and guiding them down to your hips. he takes the hint and helps you grind down on him. the friction causes delighted sighs to fall from your and soobin's lips.

as he ducks his head to mouth at your neck, you push your hands back up his shirt, slipping the article of clothing up with them.

“want this off,” you exhale. “please.”

he moves back to slip it off completely before he's tugging at your own shirt, a silent plea for you to take yours off, too. you concede, and his hands find your covered breasts right away, squeezing before he slips his hands around your back to attempt to release the clasp — a failed endeavor.

“shit,” he mutters, and you allow a tiny laugh at his furrowed brows. you reach behind you to help him, the clasp coming undone easily, and he groans as the fabric finally comes off. big hands cup them as his lips latch onto one of your hardened nipples, the other one being stimulated by his thumb.

“so good, fuck,” you cry out when he bites down a little. your hips move faster against him, growing more desperate as he continues his ministrations. you feel as if you’re going to burst as soon as he shoves your shorts aside to brush against your folds, a surprised moan tearing from your throat when his slick-coated fingers start to rub quick circles against your clit. “soobin!”

he moans at the sound of his name, unrelenting as he continues to mouth at your tit, the vibrations sending you into a frenzy. you're grinding against his hand in desperation, arching your back to further push your chest against his face, doing anything in your power to chase the delicious orgasm building in your stomach.

“gonna cum, baby. please don’t stop,” you airily whimper, and this seems to spur him on further. his fingers seem to circle faster against your weeping bud, his lips sucking and nipping at your breast until you’re quaking above him, the cord inside you snapping. you squeal and slump into him, high pitched moans pouring from your lips as he helps you ride out your high.

the pleasure slowly subsides, and you remove your face from his neck as your hands moves down to squeeze his cock through his jeans. he whines at the sensation.

“can i ride you?” you ask, still panting from your first orgasm. he bites his lip at your question.

“fuck, yeah,” he says. “want you so bad.”

“want you too, ‘bin.” you shift off of him for a moment to take your shorts off, growing a little shy as he watches you shed your panties as well. in the meantime, he has slipped his pants halfway down his thighs and taken his cock out of his boxers. it stands tall against his stomach, unbelievably hard and big and veiny, with a slight upward curve that you love.

you straddle him once more, grinding your bare pussy against him until he's begging for you to put it in. you pump him a few times as your thumb rubs against his tip to spread his precum around the mushroomed head.

“please, god, fuck,” he hisses as you continue to tease him. “please put it in, can’t take it.”

“so polite,” you giggle before you’re lining him up and slowly sinking down with a drawn-out moan. the stretch nearly makes you drool. he’s immediately whimpering, sighing loudly when he finally bottoms out inside of you.

“so f-fuckin’ tight and warm,” he whines as you fully sit on him, taking your time to adjust to his size. 

“only for you,” you mewl, and then you’re moving, rolling your hips and keening at the fullness. soobin’s hands find purchase on your hips once more, guiding your movements in such a way that the head of his cock directly presses against the spot inside you that causes your legs to shake. the heady air inside the car makes it difficult to breathe. a bead of sweat slides between the valley of your breasts.

“right there?” he asks, and you can tell that he’s searching for praise. his glasses have grown as foggy as the car’s windows, and so you hum in confirmation as you slip them off and set them on the seat next to you. your hands slip under his jaw and avert his attention from your chest to your eyes. the blush that once covered his cheeks has now spread down his neck and up to the tips of his ears. his pretty, plump lips are parted, allowing pants and sighs and whimpers to escape. you’re nearly beaming at the sounds, remembering how shy he used to be about making them — you are truly ecstatic to see how much he’s opened up. 

“feels so, o-oh— so good, baby,” you coo between moans. suddenly, a thumb finds your swollen clit, and you squeal as your walls clench around him. he knows how to make you weak for him, especially after he realized just how sensitive you get after your first high; your boyfriend has started to use it to his advantage.

“just got so much tighter, fuck. fuck, gonna cum soon, love. are you, ngh, you close?”

you nod rapidly in response, capturing his lips again. you swallow each others moans as both of your chase your highs. “please make me cum, ‘bin. please,  p-please.”

his thumb moves even faster, his free hand tweaking one of your nipples and then your thrown overboard, another high hitting you like frigid water. your entire body shivers in pleasure as he continues to thrust into you.

soobin cries out as your walls pulse around him, and suddenly he pulls out, jerking himself off until he releases onto your stomach with the prettiest whine that you've ever heard. you're both panting, staring at each other in disbelief.

“holy fuck,” he finally whispers after a few moments of silence. “that was so good.”

“yeah,” and that’s really all that comes to mind. your mind is a little hazy after two intense orgasms, and he can tell, hands rubbing up and down your sides until that slight fog clears up.

you grin, tired yet deeply affectionate. “you’re amazing.”

his face grows a little warmer at the praise, and he responds with a shy, lethargic chuckle. “no, you.”

“no, you.”

“no, y—”

you press your lips against his again to shut him up. grabbing his glasses, you slip them back on before your fingers move up to press down the cowlick that always seems to pop up during your sexual endeavors.

“‘m all sticky,” you pout. much to your surprise, he gathers his release on his fingers.

“wanna taste?” he asks, and though you’re not sure where this sudden boldness bloomed from, you nod. he feeds you his cum until no more is left on your tummy, and then he pulls you in to hold you against him.

“we need to take a shower,” he notes after a brief moment, and you deliver a light pinch his arm. “hey!”

“just hold me for a bit,” you murmur. his arms wrap around you a little tighter. “then we can go to my place.”

masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[eros-kisser]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ₊ ⊹ 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.

pantalone x sub!mreader. nsfw. dubcon(?), drugging

“Enter.” A rich voice, one that had been expecting your arrival. When you gently opened and closed the door shut behind you, you felt dark eyes gaze at your exposed body, your open skin visible through the clothing you wore. The clothing he requested you to wear. “You’re late.” His words were cold, but his tone wasn’t, and was instead one of much amusement.

“I-I’m sorry Sir-“

“Pantalone.” He strided, standing up from his desk, which sat at the wall of his expansive room. It was darkly lit, and with only a few vague shapes to go off by, you could assume this was his quarters. A shiver ran through your body. “Why so nervous? I told you I’d please you tonight, did I not? All you have to do,” he reached where you stood now, and cupped your chin in his palm. “Is relax.”

And then he began his craft. A play for his eyes. “Strip.” There was a hint of a cruel smile in his voice, but he had hid it well. You eyes shook as you flinched at his order, shrinking. "Are you deaf? That was a command, and I expect you to follow through. Though..." He closed his eyes in a smile, hiding his dark gaze. "If you aren't able to, I'll do it for you."

You shuddered, opening your mouth to speak, but the man had already determined your answer. He forcibly grabbed your arms and threw you onto the bed, where you landed with a soft thump. The area where he had gripped your wrists stung, something that was sure to bruise. "S-Sir, I-!"

"You talk too much." Something entered your mouth abruptly, his fingers, covered in the fabric of his gloves. "Suck on it."

He didn't give you much of a choice. He forced his digits into your mouth, and you weakly swirled your tongue around them. His other hand roamed your defenseless body, tearing away at your clothes and disposing off them. When he finally took his fingers out of your mouth, a string of saliva trailing from your lips, you glanced down at saw how exposed you were, fully naked with nothing to hide in front of Pantalone's sharp gaze. Suddenly finding it rather hard to breathe. Pantalone seemed to notice this, and a knowing smile graced his lips. "Ah, has the drug finally kicked in? About time. While this isn't exactly my preference, it's better than watching you flail about as you desperately try to take me. Don't worry, it's not all that potent. You should still be able to feel everything."

Take... what? Your mind had grown hazy, and you could barely register Pantalone taking his gloves off, revealing his slender, pale hands, and spreading your legs apart. Your stomach felt funny... how strange... and your body was burning.

"It's... hot..." You whined, unknowingly bucking your hips against Pantalone's fingers, which were busy pumping in and out of you, coated in your slick and spreading your hole.

"Is it?" With a smirk and a quick glance at your member, he slowed his fingers, earning a huffy moan from you. "Come now, let's not be too impatient. After all, I can't have you cum when I haven't even put it in yet, can I?"

"Ah...?" Your throat felt dry, and you gripped at the sheets in a frantic attempt to sit upright. It was useless. His held onto your hips as you continued to thrash, movements gradually slowing, and kept you locked in place as his free hand undid first his coat, which he threw off the bed in a careless fashion, and then his pants, which he unzipped, revealing how hard he had already gotten. He was big, and you struggled against his grasp once more at the sight. Tears filled your vision as lined himself up to your hole, breath shallow. "N-No, it's too- It won't- Ah-!"

Your complaints were cut short as he entered you all at once, giving you no time to adjust as he thrust into you relentlessly from behind, blurring the line between pain and pleasure, and you desperately clawed at the mattress, gasps quickly turning to pants. It hurt, he was going to rip you apart, you were almost sure of that - yet soon, your pained noises turned into moans, and the dick that was sliding in and out of you filled a once empty you full.

A hand snaked up your body and toyed with your nipples, flicking and teasing them, only eliciting another shameful sound from your mouth, and you trembled under his touch. It was too much, he was only going faster now as he reached his high, your chest was sensitive and the wet sounds of his body slamming into yours resounded across the walls, yet the fear that someone would hear you had already faded under the insurmountable pleasure that coursed through your body. Your own dick stood upright, leaking cum from your previous... how many... orgasms...? There had been too many to count, each time you climaxed, sparks flying in your vision.

Pantalone's face was flushed the slightest, his brows furrowed, but he didn't even seem exhausted, how was that possible? You were shaking, light-headed, and could barely move your hands to grab at his wrists in a futile effort to whine at him to stop. As good as it felt, the pleasure hurt with how sensitive you had grown orgasm after orgasm... or was that just a lie that you were telling yourself to remain sane? This couldn't have been normal had it? Sir Pantalone, as you called him, was just your superior in your field of work... despite that, he had been the one to reach out to you first, offering you a position under him, instead of where you had been working under general forces previous. A big promotion, sure, and now you cursed yourself for it, tears slipping past your eyes and staining the bed sheets as you mouth remained ajar, sounds of your shame being jerked out of you. You bit your tongue in an attempt to silence yourself, but instead felt stinging. Pantalone was staring down at you in earnest glare, his hand flush where he had slapped you across your chest.

"Don't be quiet. It's better if you're loud, darling."

Darling?

His pace grew more erratic, the bed creaking with his every brutal movement, and you swore you could see where his dick pumped in and out of you - a bulge in your stomach, and an unfamiliar emotion you couldn't describe surfaced. Either way, he had picked up his pace once more, and at some point discarded his glasses, removing any obstruction to witness his dark eyes, gleaming sinisterly. It was hot, hot, and you could feel his touch like electricity spread throughout your body... were you going to cum again? Was there anything even left to cum?

Your thoughts slipped away as his teeth found his way into your neck, pressing deep kisses and lapping at your unmarked skin, and that's all it took for you to wail, sending you right over the edge, and you felt Pantalone grow even harder in you, shoving in once, twice, before releasing his ropes of cum, painting your insides white.

Your chest heaved with every breath, vision already flickering as sound faded in your ears. "I-Is... Is it over...?"

His laugh was cold, cruel. "Oh darling, surely you didn't think we'd stop after just one round?"

©eros-kisser.

> if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging as it supports me a lot as a new blog! thank you !! still a lil inexperienced in writing smut so feedback is very appreciated :) thank you for reading!

[silentiumdelirium]

Steve is banging at the trailers door like his life is depending on it. After a few minutes a sleepy eddie opens the door, his eyes going big when he sees Steves face.

‚Whats up man you okay?‘

‚Uh yeah I just need to aks a favor‘ Steve says running a hand through his hair. Now that he‘s actually standing in front of Eddie he gets a bit nervous. He bites his lip and asks: ‚Uhm can I come in? Are you alone?‘

‚Uh yeah sure Waynes working.‘

Eddie steps aside and closes the door behind Steve who awkwardly stands in the living room like he never has been here.

Eddie looks at him chuckling. ‚Sure you okay?‘

Steve laughs to make the nerves go away, nod and shakes his hands out and after a few seconds decides to sit down.

‚Yeah sorry to just show up here but…‘

Eddie grins ‚no worries man you know you‘re always welcome. So what do you need? If its drugs I‘m sorry to disappoint but I just sold my last gram.

‚Uh no its not drugs. I wanted to ask If I can kiss you?‘

For a moment its completely silent then eddie laughs and looks at steve confused. ‚what?‘

‚yeah its well its for proofing robin something.‘

‚You got a bet going or something?‘

‚No not really more like a discussion. Like we talked about sexuality and I asked her how she knew she was gay and she said that she had a crush on a girl and also she kissed a guy and didn‘t like it and then I said well what if the guy was just a bad kisser and what if you still like guys like you like girls like how does she know she doesn‘t like both because you can do that aparently so she said she just knows but then I said kissing a guy and kissing a girl can‘t be that different like a mouth is a mouth right so I need to proof that to her.‘

Eddie looks at him for a moment completely baffeld by his rambles then stutters: ‚ By…by kissing me?‘

‚Well yeah you‘re my only male friend at the moment like besides the kids but I‘m obviously not gonna kiss a kid so yeah…‘

‚oh’

‚oh?‘

Eddie fidgets for a few seconds with his fingers then smiles shyly: ‚I just woke up I haven‘t even brushed my theeth like…‘

‚Doesn’t matter its just a kiss no big deal.‘

‚Like with tongue?‘

‚Yeah of course with tongue or else it doesnt count!‘

‚Oh okay. I… I dont know Steve…‘

Steve‘s confused for a second because he hasn‘t really seen Eddie being shy like this. Usually it‘s Eddie who‘s flirting with him or making fun of him but this seems to comptely throw him off. So Steve decided that this was probably a bad Idea and he really doesn‘t want to scare him off and lose him as a friend so he says:

‚Look if you don’t want to it’s alright of course you don’t have to…sorry that was a bad idea never mind.‘

‚No its fine Steve.‘

‚No I shouldn‘t have asked you this just because you’re my only male friend its no fair…‘

‚It’s okay Steve really it’s just…‘ Eddie laughs nervously ‚I‘ve never kissed anyone.‘

‚What?‘

‚Yeah I mean I‘ve never kissed anyone besides Chrissy in sixth grade but was just a short peck definitely without tongue so apparently it doesen’t count anyway I didn‘t really like it because you know gay and everything so yeah no I haven‘t kissed anyone since…‘

‚What?‘ Steve just looks at him completely thrown off. Eddie chuckles.

‚Why are you so surprised? I mean its not like Hawkins is crawling with gay people just available for kissing and also im like the town freak so it’s not like there’s a line of single men waiting outside to be kissed by me…‘ Eddie trails off a bit embarrased while Steve just contious to stare at him.

I’m sorry Eddie…‘ he starts saying but Eddie interrupts him. It‘s okay don’t worry it’s not like I‘m desperate or anything.‘

‚I can’t be your first kiss!‘

‚Why not?‘

‚Because it should be real and not just an experiment.‘

‚You know what why not? I mean you can probably also teach me a thing or two I mean you‘ve kissed loads and I mean I should train a little bit for that chance that a real kiss comes up right?‘

‚Right but…‘‘

‚Now c’mon Steve you have to kiss me now!‘

‚Okay are you sure Eddie?‘

‚Yeah sure let’s go!‘

Steve stands up and walks over to Eddie who has been standing at the kitchen counter the whole time and he takes his face in one hound and holds the other to the back of his head.

‚Ready?‘ Steve asks and suddenly he‘s so close that he can feel Eddie‘s breath on his skin. ‚Yeah’ Eddie whispers and gets closer both hands gripping the kitchen counter not daring to move an inch. Steve closes the gap between them and feels Eddie’s warm lips on his.

***

Part 2

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Anachronisms

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

|| Consent universe oneshot but can be read independently from the series ||

{ Fuck Yeah Holidays | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Prompts: Bridgerton (+ bonus prompt matching tattoos because these two were neck to neck for so long!) | Thanksgiving

Summary: Dieter’s plan to surprise you on the set of Bridgerton for Thanksgiving goes awry when he unwittingly gets cast opposite his ex-girlfriend for a steamy intimate scene - that you have to coordinate.

Warnings: Secret relationship, mention of hair for plot purposes, fighting, jealousy, swearing, dirty talk, spitting, titty fucking, safe unprotected sex, workplace sex. These holiday fics are for fun, so not as *rigorously edited* as my regular stories, please forgive any mistakes or plot holes!

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: Kicking off the holiday season with some Bridgerton action, which came in third place in the holiday vote! This is dedicated to the amazing @nicolethered for having supported this idea since I first mentioned it months ago. You should check out the amazing Dieter in Bridgerton costumes edits she made here. Thank you Nicole for always feeding our community with your content, you are the best ❤️ 

It’s 7:03 in the morning, and it’s bedlam.

The gravel crunches harshly under your winter boots as you march towards the makeup trailers, parked outside the magnificent historical manor house where the crew is filming on location this weekend. Hooped skirts, elaborately starched wigs, a pod of six pomeranians floofed to perfection and a peacock on a leash pass you by, but none turns your head, blinkered by only one thing on your mind.

The coffee in your gloved hand has long grown cold, the steaming cup having been a mere breath from your lips when the day’s call sheet was delivered to you. It had you spinning on your heels and storming out of the break room on the other side of the expansive, manicured grounds.

It’s just your luck that the most intense filming of the season is scheduled over the long Thanksgiving weekend. While you don’t expect the British production to take a break for the American holiday, you’d at least hoped that you could make it through with as few hitches as possible.

And you probably could’ve, if not for the fact that someone had crossed out the name of the male lead in one of the intimate scenes you’re coordinating on the call sheet.

Next to it, scrawled in a messy hand, is the name of the replacement at the eleventh hour -

D. Bravo.

Spotting the very same name on one of the makeup trailers, you stomp up the rickety stairs and proceed to unceremoniously kick down the door.

Considering the fact that the crew would’ve had to scramble for a decent trailer for the last-minute, big-name casting change, it’s a surprisingly comfortable space. The furniture is a notch up from bog-standard Ikea, including the currently occupied, expensive-looking leather chair at the brightly illuminated makeup station.

In a carefully choreographed movement, the said chair turns in a lazy swivel, creaking on its axles to reveal the man you haven’t seen for three weeks, and hadn’t expected to for another few.

His curls are airplane tousled, sunglasses slid halfway down his nose, and it’s clear from his bloodshot eyes that he just got off the plane.

‘What do you think you’re doing, Dieter Bravo?’

The corner of his mouth, which was ticking upwards into a grin seconds ago, freezes in uncertainty as he wilts under your glare. ‘Sur-prise?’ he trails off into a question.

It’s clearly not the welcome he’s expecting. When Netflix came knocking about the unexpected opportunity for a two-month contract on Bridgerton, you were on a flight to London that very same evening, with only grainy videos tiding you over the Atlantic-wide distance between you since.

‘Surprise?’ you scoff with a roll of your eyes. ‘Yes, it’s a fantastic surprise to find out that the actor I’ve been rehearsing with over the past week for the big scene today has been replaced by none other than you?’

Per usual, when he doesn’t get his way, the puppy eyes come out to play. ‘But sweetheart - it’s the only way I can be with you for Thanksgiving since you’re working the whole time!’

If you were any less overworked and sleep-deprived, you might have folded. But you’ve been scraping by with barely four hours every night since you arrived on set, and you snap. ‘Oh yeah? You were so desperate to be with me that you got yourself cast opposite your ex-girlfriend in one of the steamiest sex scenes of the season?’

His eyes bug out comically as he jumps out of his chair. ‘What?’

‘Yup,’ you grin sarcastically, throwing in a slow clap for maximum effect. ‘I guess I’ll spend the weekend watching you simulate hot sex with your ex, who will probably try every trick in the book to get you back. Happy fucking Thanksgiving!’

‘But - I’m your boyfriend,’ he points out with such maddening conviction that it would’ve been endearing under any other circumstances.

You’re this close to stamping your foot in frustration. ‘Yes, but no one else here knows that!’

‘We’ll tell her.’

You shake your head vehemently. ‘Don’t you dare. If you do, it’ll be all over the newspapers by the end of the day, and I have no time or energy to handle that right now.’

He reaches for you, and you hate that despite your anger, your first instinct is to lean into him - to have him pull you into his arms and wrap you in his cozy cardigan. You catch yourself and shrink back, leaving him grasping at air, the regretful crease on his brow deepening. ‘Sweetheart, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t know. I wasn’t thinking -’

Waving a stack of paper in his face, you cut in, ‘And you know what? Now I get to fill in this super fun, super long consent form for corporate even though you’re just in one scene I’m in charge of. To think I was getting worried that I wouldn’t have something to be thankful for this year!’

‘Baby, wait, please -’

You’re already halfway out the door, the cold winds doing little to douse your flaring temper. ‘You know what, I’m already late for my first scene. Just show up at the shoot prepared and don’t be late.’

For once, Dieter listens.

By the time you barrel into the grand library - wheezing most attractively, having sprinted full-throttle from your previous location - he’s already in full costume, nose buried in the script as a makeup artist touches him up.

And it’s not fair.

It’s not fair how good he looks in regency costume. The velvet tailcoat in midnight blue hangs from his broad shoulders, tapered at the waist, a black vest in rich brocade peeking out from underneath, unbuttoned.

It’s not fair that his thick curls and tidy moustache fit into the era seamlessly. They even let him keep his earring in - his character is a Rake with a capital R from America after all. The biggest change is his usual chunky jewellery swapped out for a gold signet ring on his pinky finger.

And if all this isn’t enough, he’s also drenched from head to toe.

It’s a shamelessly tropey scene where the Rake’s romantic interest pushes him into a fountain at the party in a fit of passion. When he emerges, soaked to the skin, cravat untied and white shirt hanging open down to his sternum, he chases her into the library and has his wicked way with her by the fireplace while the party goes on beyond the unlocked doors.

It’s not fair how he becomes the role so effortlessly, despite having just gotten off the redeye mere hours ago, no rehearsal other than a quick table read before the cameras start rolling. He’s obviously read all your notes, and he’s hitting all the cues and camera angles with almost infuriating ease.

And it’s not fair that your boyfriend’s first kiss in three weeks is with his ex.

You know it’s your fault. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that Netflix must have kept the identity of his scene partner from him when he signed on. It’s cheeky, but not nefarious - up until you submitted that consent form a couple of hours ago, they didn’t know you two were dating. As far as they were concerned, it was serendipitous timing when Dieter Bravo randomly came knocking for a bit part in the upcoming season.

As it often plays out, your temper got the better of you. Now that the day has started, you won’t be able to catch even two seconds alone with him to apologise, to tell him that you love that he came to surprise you, and that you miss him so fucking much.

Instead, you’re watching him pretending to get it on with his on-screen partner with an intensity that’s taking your breath away. Damnit, does he have to be so good at every job that he takes on? Can’t he just be mediocre, just this once?

You’re so deep inside your own head that you almost don’t hear the director yell cut. He turns to you and prompts, ‘Thoughts so far?’

You’re a professional. You’ve worked with Dieter on far more intense scenes than this. But still, the words taste so bitter on your tongue you almost choke on them.

‘Listen up, guys. The top half of the frame is looking empty, there’s not enough going on above the waist,’ you speak out clearly. ‘Dieter, put your lips on her neck. Gail, you ok for him to touch your breasts?’

She winks at you, before running a finger down the hook of Dieter’s nose. ‘You know very well that I ticked anything goes in my consent form. He can do whatever he wants with these titties.’

Dieter doesn’t even look at her, instead giving you the biggest puppy eyes, a plea in his voice as he calls your name. ‘But I don’t want anything to do with them.’

Gail grins and arches beneath him, her cleavage nearly bursting out of her corset. ‘Oh please, Dee. Don’t you remember your favourite way to eat breakfast when we were together? You used to lick the peanut butter straight off my nip-’

‘Ok then!’ you interrupt in a loud panic, wanting to plug your ears before you hear anything else you regret. ‘Positions everyone!’

You’re currently breaking every single rule in the intimacy coordinator rulebook, but there’s nothing you can do to stem the hot rush of jealousy through your veins. Despite Dieter’s reluctance, his chemistry with Gail is unreal, drawing your traitorous eyes to the director’s monitor. The camera follows a droplet of water dripping off his soaked curls over his eyes and onto her clavicle, which he chases with his tongue. His coat and waistcoat have long been discarded, his smooth skin golden against hers in the firelight. There’s no denying that they’re a beautiful couple.

There’s also no denying that your nails are biting into the meat of your palms as you watch hands that you haven’t held in weeks skate over her bare legs, lips that you desperately miss drag down her neck, the familiar snap of his hips not between your thighs, but hers.

You’ve never had a problem with his other co-stars - but this? This is personal.

While promoting her memoir on Oprah two weeks ago, Gail declared that Dieter is the one that got away, promising salacious details of their relationship in her book, setting tabloids and social media on fire.

The silence on his end only fanned the flames. Not because he didn’t want to say anything, that wasn’t the issue - Rebecca had to lock him out of Instagram so he wouldn’t post anything rash - but his agency decided that any response would only help sell his ex’s book, and they will not play into her hand.

It doesn’t help that the two of you haven’t gone public. It’s not that you’ve been hiding, industry insiders who work with you both are in the know, but the press haven’t caught on yet. And while that has afforded the two of you privacy while you navigate the new relationship, it has turned out to be a double-edged sword.

A high-pitched, breathy wail shakes you from your thoughts as the scene reaches its literal climax, and Dieter’s movements stutter to a halt - with a groan that is a pale shadow of what he sounds like when you make him cum.

A possessive half-smile curls on your lips.

That is just for you.

It’s 8:37 in the evening, and it’s still bedlam.

But the day is over, and you’re alive. You somehow made it through four back-to-back intimate scenes, including one slippery (ha!) bathhouse orgy.

It’s Thanksgiving afternoon back at home now, and your phone is buzzing with messages. You flick through photos of pumpkin pies, turkeys in ovens, potatoes of all renditions. You just want a nice hot shower to wash the day off, order room service and spend the weekend making it up to Dieter - or the other way round - or both.

You’re this close to making it out of there, your finger hovering over Dieter’s number on your phone screen, when a breathless runner waylays you.

‘Costumes and hair. Now,’ she wheezes and herds you in the opposite direction of the exit.

Thanks to a bunch of extras who decided not to show up for the ball scene, you’re one of the many unfortunate backstage staff who are now standing in as background actors. You’ve been squeezed into an ill-fitted dress that’s held together by safety pins, the corset underneath biting into your ribs. The white gloves that are pulled up above your elbows are a cheap polyester that’s making your skin itch.

The balls of your feet ache from running around all day, and your neck is so stiff you can hardly turn your head, but you can’t help gawking at the set. The manor’s orangerie is illuminated in warm light, every inch of the pillars holding up the soaring glass ceiling dressed up in creeping vines and fresh, colourful blooms. A string quartet fills the airy space with lively dance music, and there’s a buzz in the air just from being in such a big set piece with so many moving pieces.

You begrudgingly admit that you’re not mad to be here. You’re actually quite happy to sip on your mocktail and be a fly on the wall while the cameras roll on the other side of the room.

But when has anything gone to plan today?

At least he has the decency to wait until you’ve polished off your drink. The second you set the empty glass down on a cocktail table, a warm hand closes around your wrist and you’re spun headfirst into a familiar broad chest.

You look up into big, brown eyes.

‘What are you doing?’ you blurt out in panic as Dieter spins you into the thick of the swaying crowd. ‘You’re not supposed to be dancing with me.’

He tugs you closer, close enough that your noses brush together. ‘I don’t give a fuck. I’ve wanted to get you alone all day. I’m sorry, sweetheart, I fucked up.’

You shake your head, fingers finding the nape of his neck. ‘No, I’m sorry. I overreacted.’

He smiles - you’ve missed the crinkles at the corner of his eyes when he does - and teases, ‘I should know by now that you don’t handle surprises well.’

‘Always been too much of a control freak,’ you shoot back self-deprecatingly.

‘Just the way I like it,’ he retorts, his palms warm on the small of your back.

As Dieter glides you across the dance floor, you catch Gail glaring daggers at the two of you. You admit in a small voice, ‘It was hard seeing you with her.’

He doesn’t even spare a glance the way of his ex. Reaching up to catch your chin between his thumb and index finger, he says, ‘I’m with you, sweetheart. You know that, right?’

‘I know. It’s unprofessional of me to be jealous.’

A playful growl rumbles in his chest, and you feel it when he leans into you, hot breath on the shell of your ear. ‘But I love it when you’re unprofessional, sweetheart.’

‘Dieter,’ you chide, ducking your head. ‘People are looking.’

He hums into the crook of your neck before spinning you around, back to his front. ‘Let them. My character is a rake. I’m expected to be prowling about corrupting young ladies.’

You scoff, a smile tugging at your lips. ‘I’m not that young anymore, Bravo -’

The banter comes to an abrupt halt when Dieter freezes behind you, his fingers digging into your wrists where he’s holding them. Confused, you’re about to turn around in a question when he reaches up and traces a fingertip along the sensitive skin behind your left ear, before doing the same on the other side.

Oh fuck.

You have nowhere else to look when he turns you around. ‘Sweetheart?’

You know what he’s looking at. A tiny, solid triangle tattoo behind your right ear, the outline of an identical one behind your left - carbon copies of his. You haven’t been hiding them from him per se - you just don’t wear your hair up often and the topic never came up.

Swallowing thickly, you confess, ‘When we were broken up, I went on a bit of a crazy night in Calgary with the crew. We ended up in a tattoo parlour at four in the morning, and someone dared me to get inked.’

His eyes soften. ‘And you chose to get my tattoos?’

You nod, letting the gravity of the moment linger for a second, before you joke, ‘Don’t let it get to your head, Bravo. I just really like triangles.’

He chuckles and wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Let’s get out of here. I think I need to look at your tattoos somewhere more private.’

You arch an eyebrow at him. ‘You can see them just fine here.’

Dieter smiles wolvishly. ‘Yeah, but I need to see how well you wear them when you’re naked, sweetheart.’

You know it’s petty, but you can’t help fluttering your fingers at a flabbergasted Gail as Dieter drags you across the dancefloor, his intent clear to anyone watching. He shepherds you impatiently towards the exit and into the frigid darkness.

Having caught your exchange with his ex, Dieter he tuts in mock admonishment, teeth catching the hollow of your throat as one hand drops to squeeze your ass. ‘Such unprofessional behaviour, sweetheart, marking your territory like that in front of everyone like that.’

Glancing about to make sure there are no eyes around, you shove him up against one of the supplies trailers parked outside the orangerie, cupping his half-hard erection boldly through his woollen trousers.

You grin at the way his pupils immediately blow black and wide. ‘Oh, you’ve seen nothing yet - I’m about to get a lot more unprofessional with you, Mr. Bravo.’

Dieter has you pinned between two fake antique cabinets, stacked on top of a low table that you’re sitting on the edge of. His jacket and waistcoat are on the floor behind him, shirt unravelled and unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest - just the way he likes it - the billowy sleeves pushed up the crease of his elbows. His pants are halfway down his thighs, his hard cock bobbing as he kisses you desperately, greedy hands grabbing at anything he can reach.

The fact that you’ve been apart for three long weeks is slowly seeping in. ‘Touch me, Dieter, please,’ you breathe as he latches wetly onto your pulse point.

His curls fall over his eyes as he hovers above you. ‘Shit, your tits look amazing, sweetheart.’

You laugh. ‘Trust me, yours would too in this fucking corset.’

He grins, trailing wet kisses over the slopes of your breasts. ‘Can I fuck them, baby?’

Your chest constricts in desire and your lips part wantonly. ‘What?’

‘Wanna fuck your tits, sweetheart,’ he repeats, his teeth flashing white in the dim as he mouths at the skin under your chin. You shudder when he pushes his thumb into the gap of your artificially lifted cleavage. ‘Please?’

You nod, and before you know it, the front of your dress has been pulled down, the sound of fabric tearing making you gasp. ‘Dieter!’

‘Sorry,’ he murmurs in a clearly unapologetic tone as he leans down to run his tongue along the neckline of the corset you’re wearing, before yanking that down too. The fabric catching under your bust pushes everything up and Dieter moans at the sight you make. ‘Fuck, look at you, sweetheart. Look at those gorgeous tits, all for me.’

You plant your hands on the table, instinctively leaning forward, arms against your sides to press your tits together. With hooded eyes, you watch as Dieter bends over -

And dribbles spit all over your tits.

You whine at the unexpected wetness. ‘Dieter, what, oh my god -’

Your frantic cries go straight to his head, and he shoves two fingers into your mouth, drunk on lust. Grabbing the base of his hard cock with his other hand, he carefully drags the weeping head over the slippery spittle, slicking up his length, before easing himself into the channel between your tits. ‘Oh fuck. Fuck, sweetheart, squeezing me so tight -’

A moan caught in your throat, you suck hard on his fingers in your mouth as he begins to fuck your tits in earnest. ‘Missed you so much, baby. Did you miss my cock? Miss having it deep inside you?’

You gag around his fingers when he pushes them in too far down, brushing the back of your throat, but you chase after them when he tries to retreat, wanting him inside you, anywhere in you. His free hand spans the width of your breasts, pushing them together, eyes darkening at the way your soft curves give pliantly at his movements. Dieter groans at the snug fit and fucks you faster, the pink, swollen head of his cock - drooling with sticky precum - peeking out from between your cleavage between thrusts, and his breath stutters in a telltale sign.

Pulling your mouth off his digits with a wet pop, you warn, ‘We can’t make a mess, Dieter.’

‘Who says I’ll make a mess?’ he asks, almost in a challenge.

‘You always do.’

His hips slow, languidly sliding between your tits as he grins. ‘Not if you let me come inside you and you keep your legs closed like a good girl afterwards.’

Your eyes squeeze shut as you let his filthy words wash over you. ‘Dieter - yes, please -’

Impatient hands spin you around and boost you up onto the table so that you’re kneeling on the hard surface, legs folded underneath you. The satin of your dress is slippery, and he bunches it up and around your waist with a frustrated growl before pulling your soaked panties down your thighs, leaving them tangled around your knees.

Dieter kisses the side of your neck, fingers sliding gently between your thighs. ‘But are you ready for me, sweetheart? I haven’t even touched you yet.’

Reaching backwards blindly, you find his throbbing cock and line it up at your entrance. ‘It’s ok, I want to feel you stretch me open. Please, please fuck me -’

At your pleading words, Dieter drapes his broad frame over you, bracketing your smaller body with his as he presses slowly into you, weeks of pent-up frustration finding its home. He bites down where your neck meets your shoulder, listening intently as your tight folds part slickly for him. ‘Sweetheart. Missed you so fucking much. Missed this pussy, always so wet for me. Always.’

Your head spins at the way his cock fills you up from this angle - you’re so full of him, you whine, ‘Move, Dieter, I want you to fuck me hard.’

Neither of you will last - it’s been too long and you’re both too on edge. His hands are gripping the insides of your thighs tightly as he pounds into you recklessly, no rhythm to speak of. The table bangs against the metal side of the trailer, making a ruckus, but you don’t hear it over his harsh breathing in your ears and the desperate noises he’s coaxing from you.

Dieter’s pulling you back onto his cock, hitting so deep inside you that you’re blindsided by the orgasm that’s happening before your head catches on. ‘Dieter - I’m cumming, oh fuck, fuck -’

You’re still lost in your high when he twists his fingers into your hair, the sting grounding you to the moment as he pins the loose strands against the back of your head. You know that his eyes are on your tattoos - smaller, hidden from sight, but no less real - just like the ones branded into the skin on the insides of his forearms.

His hips start to falter as he tugs you against his chest, lips nipping at his markings on you. ‘You’re mine, sweetheart - you hear me?’

You whimper as he grabs your tits roughly while he hurtles head first towards his breaking point. You babble incoherently, ‘Yours, baby - come inside me, mark me with your cum -’

With a howl, Dieter breaks, and you feel him spill deep and hot inside you before his knees give out, knocking you hard into the table. You pant, watching your breath mist in the cold air as his tongue runs reverent circles over your tattoos. You look down at where his matching triangles press against your skin, his strong arms tight around your waist, his beard tickling your nape as he moves to kiss your shoulder.

Turning around, you smear a sloppy kiss against his lips, a sex-addled chuckle rippling through your sated body as you meet his lazy gaze. ‘Happy Thanksgiving, Dieter.’

‘Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart,’ he mumbles, burying his face in your neck, his heartbeat an irregular tattoo of its own against your back. ‘I hope you’ve worked up an appetite.’

You hum contently. ‘I could eat. Why?’

‘I might have ordered a turkey to be delivered to our hotel room tonight.’

You swat at him in reprimand before he grabs your hands and pins them to your sides easily. ‘A whole turkey? For the two of us? I told you, you should never be allowed to do the ordering!’

He grins, clearly happy at having gotten a rise out of you. ‘Okay, fine - they don’t actually have turkey on the room service menu. I ordered a chicken and asked them to cook it till it’s dry and tough so we can pretend it’s turkey.’

With an exasperated shake of your head, you sigh, ‘You’re such an imbecile, Dieter Bravo.’

He beams with pride. ‘Only for you, sweetheart.’

More notes: I hope you enjoyed this smutty interlude! I've always wanted to write a titty fucking scene and it has to be Dieter 🫠 Ngl, I was quite anxious going into the holiday fics, but I'm happy to report that these two still live rent-free in my head. Thank you for reading, as always, comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated!

While I'm not American, happy Thanksgiving to those who do celebrate it!

Thank you @firefly-graphics for the lovely dividers as always.

[wildemaven]

Saturdays with Javier: Honeymoon

Pairing: Javier Pena x F!Reader

WC: 1483

Warnings: T; Mentions of food and drinks; otherwise pure fluff!

A/N: I have missed these two so much!! Wrote this for this week's @wildemaven-prompts theme. Felt like the perfect setting for a getaway for the two of them. Like always, not beta'd so sorry for any mistakes.

Series Masterlist / Main / Honeymoon Playlist

The stretch from home to your destination was anything but quick. 

Miles. 

And miles. 

And then some. 

4 state lines. 

And hours upon hours of driving time. 

27 hours to be exact, that’s what Javier had clocked it at when planning the route west. He insisted he could make it in one shot, but you managed to convince him to stop and rest along the way. 

It was small dinky motels with creaky beds and musty bathrooms, but you found them charming in their own way— Javier wasn’t convinced by your enthusiasm for them. . 

Roadside diners, who’s specials were a hearty plate of steak, eggs and burnt black coffee, provided the perfect spot to refuel yourself until the next stop. 

Desert plains, snow capped mountains and roadways weaving across vast stretches of land. 

*

Javier had asked you not long after the wedding where you had wanted to go for a honeymoon, but you had insisted you didn’t need one, you were happy with just a simple weekend together at home. 

While cleaning up from dinner one evening, Javier had over heard you and Chucho talking about places you wanted to visit— bucket list destinations. 

You mentioned it had been a dream of yours from very young to travel up the coast of California to see the Pacific, redwoods and camp out in the mountains under the stars. 

He tucked this information away and planned for weeks to bring this dream of yours to life. 

It was presented in the form of an old worn road map wrapped in a delicate silk ribbon, sitting on your kitchen table with a fresh bouquet of your favorite flowers. 

“What’s this?” You ask Javier, who’s propped up agains the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching the confusion dance across your face. 

He shrugs as if oblivious, but you’ve known this man long enough to know he’s the worst liar. 

Untying the bow and carefully unfolding the tattered paper to unveil a map of the US. In red ink, a squiggled line drawn from Texas to California— a scribbled circle drawn around the central area of California’s coast. 

Big Sur. 

“Javi… what is this?”

Pushing off the counter he makes his way to you. His chest against your back, winding his arms around your front as he rests his chin on your shoulder. 

“I know you said you didn’t want to go anywhere.” A brief kiss placed to the crook where your shoulder meets your neck. “But I over heard you and Pop talking, you mentioned this being a place you’ve always wanted to visit. So, we’re going to pack up the car—“ Another kiss to your shoulder. “And go for a little road trip.”

You can’t help the tears that depart from your now watery eyes, gently dripping onto the faded map— the red ink now a broken line of blurry smudges. 

“Javi—“ A small sob catches in your throat. “This is too much.”

“No. Actually, it’s not enough. And it’s already planned. We leave tomorrow.” He turns you to him, brushing the tears away, his eyes pouring out love and affection into yours. “Go pack and then we’ll eat dinner.” 

The kiss tender, but evoking a feeling of warmth and security. You felt so adored by this man and loved doing life with him. 

*

The faint crinkling of a bag pulls you from the nap you hadn’t realized you needed. A yawn and brief stretch to work out the soreness that has settled within your stiff muscles, grateful tonight for a bed and cozy clothes. 

Another round of crinkling has you turning to your left, Javier knuckles deep into a half eaten bag of trail mix— sans the m&ms you’d already picked out hours ago. 

His eyes steady on the road, left hand gripping the wheel as he drives you north up Highway 1. 

A glimmer of light streaks across the dashboard, the rays from the setting Sun catching on his gold band that he wears on his ring finger. A sight that you’re not sure you’ll ever get use too, but welcome the memories it represents and look forward to the ones yet to be made. 

“How long was I out for?” Still a little groggy with sleep. 

“‘Bout 2 hours. Your neck has to be hurting the way you were all curled up.”

“Yeah. Feels a little stiff now.” You say as you rub at your neck. He reaches out to you, his thumb pressing into the tender spot working out the pain just enough to feel some relief. “Mmm, that feels nice.”

“I’ll have to give you a better one once we get settled in. Should be there shortly.”

His eyes back on the road, laser focused gaze shielded behind his amber aviators as he intertwines his fingers with yours, placing a kiss to the top of your hand. The breeze from his open window sweeps through the cab disrupting his thick locks now flowing about freely, the air is salty and crisp as it fans across your face. The pink and orange hues grab your attention, the painted sky kissing the ocean as the sun begins slowly sinking into the horizon. It’s then Javier who steals your breath as hums to the music streaming through the speakers, the slight bob of his head and tap of his fingers as the miles roll on.

*

It’s nearly dark when you’ve both settled into the “room”, which was essentially a glorified tent. Nestled off the main highway and surrounded by the tallest trees you had ever encountered. The air was wet as the coastal breeze rolled through the mountains. 

You’d made sure to pack as many layers as possible knowing the weather would be a far cry from the warm dry conditions Texas holds this time of year. 

The crackling of the smoldering fire, chirps of the singing crickets and Javier’s breathy snores against your neck are the last things you hear as you fall into a restful sleep. 

*

Morning comes sooner than anticipated, but your eagerness to explore has you feeling alive and ready for the day. 

Turning you discover Javier is no longer next to you, but the clanking outside the tent tells you he’s already moving about, likely do to his rigid morning routine of coffee and breakfast before he can properly function.

The picnic table is already brimming with a feast of breakfast foods— bacon, eggs, pancakes, sausage links and sliced bread from the little bakery you’d stopped at for lunch yesterday. Warm coffee awaited you in a mug as you began to fill your plate with the delicious food Javier had prepared. 

“What do you want to do today?” His voices slightly muffled as he wipes the crumbs from the hairs of his mustache. 

“Anything. Maybe just drive a bit and see what we find. I want to grab some pictures so we can share with Pop.”

“There was a few pull-outs along the way we can check out. See if there’s any trails to explore.”

The man sitting across from you, so relaxed and happy, is your favorite sight. As you both sit here surrounded by such a beautiful setting, the tranquil atmosphere and beauty of the scenery, you can’t help the overwhelming amount of joy you have for this life bestowed on you. 

*

The coast line is socked in with a thick layer of fog as Javier pulls the car off the road to a look out point. The crashing water below just barely visible, the sound of each wave hitting the rocks before it recedes back out, a mesmerizing sight in itself. Their misty sprays floating up and around, making you grateful for the extra warm jacket Javier packed the car. 

The ocean is the perfect backdrop for your shared lunch, sandwiches and chips were an easy option for adventuring.

The fog finally burning off midday to reveal the luminous blue water, rippling waves as far as you could see. 

*

As the day came to a closure, bodies fatigued but hearts satisfied, you find yourselves wrapped up in each other. A thick blanket and newly lit fire add to the overall mood of the night. Stars making their appearance known as you gaze up through the tree tops. 

It’s whispers of excitement for your future together and for the love you both share always, as well as with in this moment. 

It’s intimacy you experience within the confines of your tent, brought on by your adoration and commitment to each other, pleasure being pulled from the depths of your bodies with fervor over and over again with soft precision.

It’s the thought this trip will become a keepsake of imagery that will forever be tucked away in your mind. Rolls of film once developed, will become the only tangible means to recall the road trip you fell in love with Javier all over again. 

[nonsensicalramblings79]

L'albatros and parallels in OFMD

1.4k word meta

If you haven’t read my other posts about why I’m talking about albatrosses in the first place, as well as the literary significance of referencing them, read those and come back! All of this will make the most sense if you read all of the parts I’ve written – I’ve split them up for ease of reading, because holy shit this is long.

This particular post is what I will deem as less likely to be supported by canon than the one talking about The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, but I still want to get this out because regardless of whether it’s intentional or not, L’albatros sums up a lot of what I feel Ed is thinking regarding his life and his place in the world.

For future reference, I’m writing this on 10/8/2023, so I’m only working with season 1 and the first three episodes of season 2. More than likely, extra information concerning my theories will come up when new episodes are released – I’ll see about reworking these posts then if necessary.

TWs: suicidal ideation, depression, isolation, canon-typical mental health problems

MAJOR OFMD SPOILERS THROUGH S2E03

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

Just like in my post about The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, I’ll clarify that yes, this is anachronistic – this poem wasn’t published until 1859. I also don’t care: Oluwande is wearing crocs, Stede’s “corpse” is crushed by a piano whose maker won’t exist until 1863, Blackbeard’s got his whole leather-daddy getup, Zheng Yi Sao won’t be born until 1775 – OFMD plays fast and loose with historical accuracy, and I am never going to dismiss an OFMD theory because the ~timeline~ doesn’t match up.

L'albatros is a poem written by French poet Charles Baudelaire that describes the plight of the albatross – a mighty king of the sea and sky, with massive wings that dwarf other seabirds (no, for real, these things are gargantuan – its wingspan is wider than most humans are tall) – who is well suited to its environment, but only its own environment.

The poem is originally in French, and while there is an English adaptation of it, when I quote from the poem, I’ll be drawing from the original text and translating it. I think that method best captures the original intent of the word choices.

So, the poem starts out by describing a common pastime of sailors – catching albatrosses that fly alongside their ships, bringing them down onto the deck and keeping them from flying away (how exactly they do this is not made clear in the poem). The poem describes the downed birds as pitiful, clumsy, and ashamed/shameful (French: honteux). Their great big wings trail beside them as they try to walk, dragging like oars. Here are the first 2 quatrains, if you want to try to read them or translate them.

Souvent, pour s’amuser, les hommes d’équipage

Prennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux de mer,

Qui suivent, indolent compagnons de voyage

Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers.

À peine les ont-ils déposés sur les planches,

Que ces rois de l’azure, maladroit et honteux,

Laissent piteusement leurs grandes ailes blanches

Comme des avirons traîner à côté d’eux.

The third quatrain essentially describes, from the perspective of an onlooker, how utterly stupid this bird looks. He is gauche – a word you might recognize from its English usage – which is translated as “awkward,” but I would argue that in the case of describing humans, this word also can be translated as “socially inept.” That’s important, I’ll come back to it later. The bird is veule – a word that translates directly as “weak” or “spineless.” He, who was so beautiful just a short time ago, is now comical and ugly.

Ce voyageur ailé, comme il est gauche et veule !

Lui, naguère si beau, qu’il est comique est laid !

Continuing the third stanza, the sailors poke and prod at the albatross, making fun of how he has been crippled by having landed on the deck of the ship.

L’un agace son bec avec un brûle-gueule,

L’autre mime, en boitant, l’infirme qui volait.

The fourth and final quatrain makes a link between the author of the poem and this albatross that he observed. To me, the wording here is really what drives home the connection between Ed and the poet/the albatross, so I’m going to translate each line.

               Le Poète est semblable au Prince des nuées

               The Poet is similar to/like the Prince of the Clouds

               Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l’archer

               Who haunts the tempest and laughs at the archer/bowman

               Exilé sur le sol, au milieu des huées

               Exiled on the earth/soil/ground, in the midst of jeers/booing

               Ses ailes de géants l’empêchent de marcher.

               His giant wings keep him from walking.

Quick clarification - I’ll admit that there’s a huge assumption that I’m making in that the writers of OFMD decided to reference this specific poem in this extremely tangential way, despite the albatross here representing something entirely different than its normal meaning in literature. For the sake of argument, I’m going to assume for the rest of this post that they did do that, and that this poem exists in-universe over 100 years before it was written in real life. Ok? Ok! :D

So at this point, if you’re familiar with Our Flag Means Death, you may have guessed that the connection I’ve drawn is between the narrator of this poem (the Poet) and Ed. In my mind, at some point in his life, Ed has read this poem, and he has also heard that little factoid about albatrosses spending their entire lives away from shore (and read my first post if you need clarification on that!). And over the course of his life, and especially the past several months, he’s come to associate himself with the views he’s cultivated of the albatross – never meant to leave the sea, never meant to be a part of life on shore (“polite society”), and he would look stupid and silly if he tried. This is a view he’s held since childhood – as we see with his conversation with his mother in S1E06 –

…

We’re just not those kinds of people.

…

And it’s a view that Stede had started to put a dent into during their time together. Where Ed says he’s not a good person, Stede vehemently defends his good character. Where Calico Jack says pirates don’t have friends, Stede tells him that he’s his friend. That Ed wears fine things well, that he’s quite sophisticated. All things that Ed has never allowed himself to believe could possibly be true – until he met Stede, he never even considered that he could “land” – and for a few precious weeks, Ed believes him.

And then Stede leaves. After Ed has laid himself bare, more vulnerable than he has ever let himself be in his life, after Ed has exposed who he really is – the only person who has ever wholly accepted him leaves. And Ed is left floundering, like the mighty prince of the sky trying to walk on the deck of a ship. That fourth quatrain brings a lot of scenes from the show to mind – here are some examples.

The Prince of the Clouds, who haunts the tempest.

The one who is exiled on the Earth.

In the midst of jeers. (recall the use of the word “gauche”? I believe that in this case, the “socially inept” definition applies even better than the simple translation of “awkward”)

His giant wings keep him from walking.

The way this poem describes the plight of the albatross is nigh on exactly how Ed is supposedly seeing himself post-breakup. He just was never meant to have the kind of life that he wants; he’s extremely good at one thing, and one thing only – violence. He will never have any other life.

This is why I think Ed has read this poem – because he references the albatross as a “bird that never lands,” and in the poem, this bird just so happens to also be seen as stupid, ugly, and gauche when it is put into any situation other than what it excels at. And regardless of whether this is actually intended to be a canonical reference or even if it was completely unintentional on the part of the writers, this poem holds a special place in my heart because of how well I believe it captures Ed’s emotional situation.

So, thanks for making it this far – I’d love to hear some feedback if any of you have anything to add! As always, my inbox is open, feel free to DM if you want to do any reciprocal info/opinion-dumping about the beloved Pirate Show!!

[volumes-and-vines]

One of my my favorite hikes ever

[desertmarauder]

Pine Ridge Trail near Big Sur, California | 5/16/2023