#fem!stede bonnet

[liltaireissocute]

our flag means... love?

[duckngk]

fem!blackbonnet redraw

i cried over this show last night cus i remembered it exists. i also realized last night that i have a whole season two to redraw scenes from

[bloomeng]

stede is spreading her dress up agenda

[letsdeerintheheadlightsuniverse]

<<Previous Chapter <<

**Masterlist**

>>Next Chapter>>

Pairing: Izzy Hands x gn!reader

Synopsis: Your screams of pain sound all too familiar to the First Mate.

A/N: This chapter is short and sweet but I think it nicely moves yours and Izzy's dynamic in a new direction.

Content Warning: mentions of injuries, trauma, blood, self-harm and angst. I think that's everything. This series is 18+, so minors dni. Go away (politely).

DISCLAIMER: PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, REPUBLISH, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT PERMISSION. I DO NOT OWN OFMD OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

=============================

"Are you okay now, Izzy?"

Gods, what a question to be asking him, the First Mate thought bitterly, as he failed to meet you concerned gaze, all the while sitting stoically in a chair beside your bed. You had dared reach for his hand only moments prior, but that had merely resulted in the silver-haired pirate flinching away from your touch.

It hurt to see him so closed off and unreachable, as he paid mind to whatever unpleasant thoughts were undoubtedly running through his head. A never-ending torment that sneered venomous poision and jeered at how he had once again letting you down.

He was a fucking coward, the First Mate concluded, as his attention trailed from the sight of his bitten down nails, towards the vivid world beyond the window. Despite the butter yellow warmth, Izzy felt chilled to the bone. The cold reminiscent of his time in the row boat, when he had searched for the overboard body of Pete, below the tumultuous, midnight blue waves.

A shiver ran through him, shaking up his already fragile insides. Gods, his constitution felt gossamer thin. The unshakeable Israel Hands, reduced to a snivelling, faint-hearted...twat, all because he could not steel his nerve long enough to be unaffected by your screams. Oh, how you had begged him to stop the doctor. The heartbreaking deals you had been willing to make in those tortuous moments. The deals with the devil, you had bargained in return for your freedom from the pain you had endured- all equally distressing for the poor pirate. The sight of blood and a limb at risk had been too much for Izzy to handle. Too similar to his own fate upon the Revenge, all those many moons ago.

His name had fallen so saccharine sweet and full of longing from your chapped lips, while a contrasting frown marred your enviable features, as the First Mate had abruptly fled from the room but even your desperate calls for his return were admittedly, not enough to drown out the ghosts of long before. The smell of rotting flesh, of gunshots wounds and putrid blood, had haunted him all down the hallway, as he put as much distance between himself and you.

Despite his wanting to be by your side, the overwhelming recollection of his own suffering had become too much for the First Mate to handle alone. Surprisingly, he had found solace from those he often held in contempt. The crew of the Revenge had welcomed him with open arms and even softer reassurances. He hated it. Loathing their pitiful gazes and attempts to console his traumatised mind.

It had to be some kind of sick joke. You were the one who needed comfort. Needed soothing words to inspire strength. He wondered, in his shameful absence, who had taken his place to hold you hand. Both Captains had be present to witness his act of cowardice but they were too busy holding your writhing body in place. Come to mention it, he had no laid eyes upon Buttons, when the rest of the crew had come to his aid. Had the mystic been by your side?

"Izzy, please speak to me." you implored, anticipating your request to be met with further silence, but the pirate surprised you this time.

"I didn't mean to leave you again. Gods, I'm..." he could not even finish his apology. The words felt so hollow, so insincere in the wake of his cowardice. How many more times was he to utter 'I'm sorry' to you? How many more times would you forgive him until you reached your limit and showed him the door? Or perhaps you would always accept his regretful acknowledgement, and he would abuse such a kindness time and time again, like the detestable creature he was. Never knowing when to stop and only ever pushing at everyone's boundaries until they snapped and showed him no mercy. What would such a punishment look like at your hand, the pirate wondered.

He was entitled to your wrath and yet, why the fuck were you being so nice to him? Talking calmly and handing him a cloth to wipe his tears. Wait, when had he started crying? Salt water tracked down the weary man's face, as you pressed a torn piece of rag into his hand, urging him to wipe away the evidence of sorrow. "I know." you said with such simplicity and ease, conveying all your understanding and acceptance so concisely in two singular words. Your tone completely devoid of any judgement or resentment.

The look of innocent consolation sent an involuntary flare of anger through the silver-haired pirate, igniting his quick fire rage in an instant. "Don't fucking agree with me." his hissed, eyes ablaze with disgust. Not for you. No, the abhorrance was not really directed towards you. Izzy was digusted with his own actions but old habits died hard. Lashing out at the nearest person, whether by tongue or by sword, was second nature to him. "Don't...don't be so fucking nice all the time. Just for once, would you shout at me? Push me away. Be selfish, be-be angry! Scream at me. Fucks sake, hurt me even. Treat me how I fucking deserve to be treated!" he implored you, breathless at his own admission. Chest rising and falling in rapid succession.

He craved the pain. The familiar sting of a slap or a bite- whichever you were willing to provide. It was a language he spoke well. Violence spoke all of the words he coukd not voice. A punch, a kick, a hand around his throat. Izzy knew what they represented, he understood their deeper meaning. You and that Stede fucking Bonnet, with all your 'talking it through as a crew' bullshit. That was the true enigma for the First Mate. Emotions were battled channelled through actions, rather than whatever drivel the Gentleman Pirate could ever babble on about.

Except, there was no retaliation on your part. No breaking him into submission. Just a watery gaze and a trembling lips at his confession. Dual hearts broke in succession.

You anguish derived from the pirate's self-hatred. Did he truly believe he was only worthy of such brutality? You detested those who had come before you, cursing every reprobate whom had dared enforce the darkness, that stoked Izzy's requirement for punishment. To add insult to injury, he longed for such cruelty to be delivered by your own hands. As if you could ever dare lay a finger upon his persons, that was anything other than a gentle caress or a squeeze of a hand. You may have been a pirate but never would anyone envisage such savagery from you. Your stomach turned at the mere thought of harming your beloved. "But you told me off for giving you a hug."

The sight of you so sad, made the ache in Izzy's chest double to the point of agony. Surely sorrow of such a magnitude would break through his ribcage and spill onto his obsidian black shirt? Whatever darkness had dwelled within him dissipated like mist upon the rolling ocean. Shoulders slumped forwards, as the First Mate reached forward, using the cloth you had handed him to wipe your own face. He could have wept when you leaned into his touch. Even after begging you to treat him like the dog he was, you still responded with a level of compassion, that completely flummoxed the pirate. "Why're you so bloody kind?" he whispered, truly wanting you to answer him.

Then, in that same sweet voice, you responded with a heartfelt truth. Five mere words that Izzy wished to have tattooed upon his body, across his heart. "You inspire it in me."

And with that, the First Mate vacated his chair and gathered you in his arms, mindful of your injured arm. Cradling you to his chest, he kept you close, savouring your warmth and softness- such a contrast to him own gruff and jaded exterior. "You stupid, wonderful, infuriating..." the sweet nothings continued, as he pressed a rough, chaste kiss to your forehead. The first of many, you hoped.

=============================

A/N: I hope you liked this chapter. Genuine curiosity, what would you like to happen next?

[steven-cartoons]

one thing I feel like some of y'all tend to forget is that effeminate behavior =/= feminine presentation

a character may have effeminate mannerisms and personality traits while still being masculine in their clothing and overall appearance

....

...aka....stede is the butch and ed is the femme !!

[death--stranded]

stede and izzy are going to be mean gay besties ......I feel it in me bones

[frooogscream]

When ever I talk about DJenkins please imagine me saying his name in the “Fairy OddParents”- Dinkleberg voice

[thateclecticbitch]

Stede and Ed are literally both fem in their own ways yall just need to stop using queer men's self-expression as a justification for why they have to imitate heterosexual bedroom dynamics in your fanfiction.

[corelle-vairel]

Fem! Stede and Ed !

[sandinthepipes]

In the moonlight kiss scene ed was trying his best to be baby girl and you can't convince me otherwise

[b4g3lbit3s]

fem stede would have big tiddies you cant change my mind

[bloomeng]

lesbian s1 stede for the soul (i miss stede’s ridiculously fancy outfits 😔)

close-ups 🙈🙈🙈

[stedefxckingbonnet]

headcanons!!

by the way, everyone, i'll also write headcanons! just wanted to put that out there :) please keep the requests coming! i truly enjoy getting to write your ideas! i hope you all enjoy part two of 'eternity' ♡

[quarterblindsocialworker]

#ofmd#ofmd fanart#ofmd s2#renew as a crew#stede bonnet#edward teach#blackbonnet#gentlebeard#user: a-curious-squirrel

If we got married, would that be cool?

[letsdeerintheheadlightsuniverse]

<<Previous<<

**Masterlist**

>>Next Chapter>>

Pairing: Izzy Hands x gn!reader

Synopsis: Izzy contemplates the future and whether or not you have a place within his.

A/N: You didn't think I was going to make you wait until the voting was over for more content, did you?!

Content Warning: Alcohol abuse, mention of injuries, trauma, mentions of drowning, death and blood. I think that's everything. This series is 18+, so minors dni. Go away (politely).

DISCLAIMER: PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, REPUBLISH, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT PERMISSION. I DO NOT OWN OFMD OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. NOR DO I CLAIM THE PROPERTY OF TAYLOR SWIFT'S MUSIC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

=============================

'I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser.'

The silence was worse than the screams, he concluded, as he stared with troubled eyes at the still full rum bottle. His usual go-to method was drinking his problems away, and yet, this time, he could not even bring himself to bring the bottle to his lips. He knew the taste well. Knew the satisfying burn it would bring, as it slipped down his throat. Hurtful enough to numb to myriad of emotion that swelled and sloshed within him. Still, not a drop entered his bloodstream. Aside from the one glass he had shared with Edward, Izzy Hands was completely sober. Gods, it was tortuous.

'Midnights become my afternoons.'

Just a small sip. It did not even have to be the full bottle! Despite every fibre of his being screaming at him to partake in a drink, something deep within Izzy's consciousness willed him to remain alert. For once, it was not for the sake of the crew that he remained vigilant, as he so often did on moonlit nights upon the ocean waves, when he should have been fast asleep in his cabin. What could he say? He did not explicitly trust Stede fucking Bonnet's merry band of twats. On more than one occasion, he had discovered the nightwatch snoozing, instead of scanning the horizon. They had improved as a crew, no doubt about it but they still lacked the discipline of their more professional counterparts.

'When my depression works the graveyard shift.'

No, no, Izzy did not allow himself to succumb to his usual whim of finding solace in the amber liquid. He wanted his senses to stay sharp, not hazy with a rum-induced stupor. There was no horizon to watch, no threat of the British, no fairies- gods, the crew were obsessed with fucking fairies- to check for under Frenchie's bed each night. No, what Izzy was bracing himself for, was the eventual knock at his door.

'All of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room.'

Who would they send? Maybe Edward? Surely, not Bonnet. No, he would have his hands full consoling the rest of the crew. He could almost hear the sounds now, the wailing. The tears. The general cacophony of desperation. It would undoubtedly haunt him until the end of his days. On the quietest of nights,  when the crashing of waves were not loud enough to drown his demons, Izzy was sure the echo of grief would reverberate through his mind, forcing him to relive the moment his life came crashing down around him.

'I should not be left to my own devices.'

The silver-haired pirate had not been present when the crew had found you in the hold. It had only been after saving Pete from a the fearsome waves of Poseiden's wrath, that Izzy had stumbled below deck- water-logged and desperate to see you again. That was when he had heard the commotion and followed the sound of Bonnet's surprisingly commanding voice.

There had been so much blood. Too much blood. Izzy had seen enough gore in his lifetime. Hell, he had had to keep his own guys from spilling out of his body on more than one occasion. Heh, he would never forget the look of fear on Edward's face, when the First Mate had almost bled out there and then on the deck of the Queen Anne's Revenge. But the incident in the storage hold was a completely different matter. It was your- well, a mixture of yours and Frenchie's- blood, that had stained the flooring of the ship. Your blood that had drenched Stede fucking Bonnet's fucking linen shirt.

'They come with prices and vices.'

Gods, just the memory of it made him want to hurl. This, this is why he usually drank. With alcohol in his system, Izzy would be able to suppress the unwanted memories, even just for a short while. But no, no! He had to keep his wits about him. He had to! If...

Fuck, please let it be an 'if' and not a 'when', he begged to every, single deity he could think of in that moment. If you succumbed to your injuries, he wanted to hear the née stone cold sober. He did not want to booze to take the edge off the inevitable heartache he would feel, knowing you had died without knowing you were loved. By the grace of Calypso, that man adored every inch of your very being. Mind, body and soul.

'I end up in crisis (tale as old as time).'

He should have been there, he cursed himself. Guilt eating him alive from the inside out. He should have been there to keep you safe. Or at least, he should have been the one to find you. To patch up your wounds, keep you conscious until they reached dry land. Oh, how he would have forgone all his usual composure. Without hesitation, you would have been bundled in his arms, anything to keep you warm enough to stave off the chill that came with blood loss. Izzy would have kept you close, as he coxed you to stay awake for him. He did not care if the crew thought him gone soft. In that moment, he would had indulged you in your every whin, if it meant you keeping your eyes open for him. Hell, he would have sung you every melody under the sun, if you so wished it.

'I wake up screaming from dreaming.'

But no, it had been Spriggs of all people, who had been the one to discover you. Gods, Izzy might have held a particular contempt for the young man but in that moment, he had been glad that the Scribe had been the one to find you. Though the First Mate would never admit it aloud, Spriggs was one of the more competent pirates aboard the Revenge, he had done well alerting those below deck of your predicament. Hell, he had made a good call fetching Bonnet, of all people. Stede fucking Bonnet.

Izzy almost felt indebted to the twat for the way he had managed to stem your wound and stopped you from bleeding out there in the hold. He had even gotten Frenchie stable enough to survive the rest of the storm. Whether the man lived or died now was purely dependant on the doctor's skillset.

It did not matter. Nome of it mattered. The past could not be changed. All Izzy had was the present and all he cared about, was if you too had a future.

'One day I'll watch as you're leaving.'

And then it came. The dreaded knock on the door. The resounding thuds turned Izzy's blood to ice. He was not ready- he would never be ready- to face whatever news awaited him beyond the thin piece of wood. The chorus of cries has not begun to fill the air yet. Perhaps he would be the first to be told. Maybe they were breaking the news to everyone individually, to allow a gradual wave of anguish to sweep through the crew, as opposed to a sudden, blunt force inducement of suffering.

'Cause you got tired of my scheming.'

Ambling over to the door, Izzy knew it was only a matter of time before the truth would out. No matter how much he tried to keep the news at bay. Oh, how the silver-haired pirate wanted to ruminate in the pre-grief a little longer. To play pretend and lie to himself some more. To convince himself that you were still alive. That your heart still beat it's steady rhythm. A song he knew so intimately. But Israel Hands was a self-described realist. He could not continue to entrench himself in fictional delusions, it was time for him to face the heartbreak dead on. To be brave one more time. He could not love you in this lifetime. However, he could treat your death with the respect it deserved.

'(For the last time)'

So, he braced himself for the teary face of his messenger. Prepared himself to hear the voice break and the words, "they're gone." Izzy said a silent goodbye to the technicolour world because without your vibrancy, it would surely fade to grey in a matter of moments. Despite all his efforts to steel himself against the worst, nothing could have prepared Izzy for what happened next.

'It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me.'

[observethewalrus]

hey so considering how much of the show is about breaking down toxic masculinity and flipping the bird at “traditional” gender roles, maybe we can stop trying to shoehorn ed and stede into strict fem and masc boxes?