#frenchie ofmd imagine

[bowieandqueen11]

Dating Frenchie Would Include...

Request: Hi, May I please request some headcanons of what dating Frenchie (Our Flag Means Death) would include, please? Thank you so much!! 🖤

Of course my darling, here you go!!

Warning: a little strong language! Also I wrote this at 3 a.m. so it may be unintelligible 🏳️‍🌈

(I do not own OFMD or any of its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @crucifiix.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Lmao love a bit of fanfiction about Frenchie big fan

You are 100% the only other crew member, or the only other anybody in fact, that Frenchie allows into his room. Far too many times have you been caught sitting side saddled over Frenchie’s lap by Wee John Feeney, stroking the bottom of his beard and giggling as the two of you bump foreheads and continue talking shit about the newly crowned ‘Dizzy Izzy’ (during a rough patch in the storm that had raged earlier that night, he had accidentally tumbled after a large pitch into Lucius’ lap, and by golly was he not letting anyone forget about it.) Wee John just sighs, walking straight back out and letting the door slam shut; the last thing you can hear as you try to stifle your laugh against the side of Frenchie’s neck is him calling you ‘the weirdest eejits’ he’s ever met. Neither of you are really paying attention though: your lips managed to accidentally rub against the tip of Frenchie’s collar bone, one of his more ticklish points, and the man was too busy apologising and trying to give you a hand up after accidentally flinging you to the floor.

After a lot of coaxing, a lot of fake pouting, and a lot of pecking forehead kisses to try and convince him round to the idea, he does eventually get used to the idea of you sleeping over as well! I feel like Frenchie is definitely a ‘leg over you like a mossy log that’s been stuck in a marshy bog for hundreds of years and hasn’t moved an inch in that entire time’ kind of sleeper. Like, the man is so tall that on your single shared bed you’re lying properly on it as the bottom layer, and then Frenchie is playing a game of Tetris with his limbs over you during the night. Usually it ends up with his head dipped down and tucked up all neat and cosy against the side of your cheek, his snores resonating loudly enough through the walls of the ship that they could have invented the foghorn right there and then, and his left leg splayed completely over your midriff.

If you get too uncomfortable and give him a shove he will eventually roll over and curl up like an armadillo so you can spoon him though. That is, if one of you hasn’t managed to shove the other out of the bed first - it’s a common occurrence for Wee John to wake Frenchie up from where he’s half lying under the bed, but even though he’s got aching shoulders from spending half the night rolling about the wood he’s still all smiles and doe eyes at you when he sees you’re awake too. Like a Jack in the box, he pops up over the side of the bed with a smile bright enough to make even the crystal dawn of the sea pale by comparison, and presses a kiss against the tip of your nose before skipping off. He’s so sweet your honour I actually cannot with this man.

Sometimes he likes to talk before the two of you fall asleep. Before he’s splayed out like a starfish, the two of you lie in the cot side by side and just fiddle with each other’s fingers on the pillow. Noses close enough to rub against each other if you dared to move a hare and legs pulled up in a half-sit so they can rest familiarly against each other, Frenchie relishes and relaxes in the knowledge that there’s someone on this ship that will know his story. That there’s someone left in the world that’s even willing to hear it, to care about him, and not just what he can do for them. There’s a poignant wistfulness to the air, to his words, so much so that from time to time he can’t even meet your eye. He still always flashes you that shy, optimistic smile from time to time, but you can see the past in the wrinkles of his face every time he uncomfortably starts to recoil when you press your palm to his cheek.

Not going to lie, he may not be a visual artist to rival the mastery of Lucius, but you can bet your sandy ass that Frenchie has pinned up the walls some doodles he’s drawn of you in his spare time, with parchment that he tore out and ‘borrowed’ from Stede’s diary. When Stede collected the crew on the deck a few days later and had a ‘team meeting’ about why stealing was wrong, Frenchie gave a very convincing shrug and ‘it wasn’t me’ frown when Stede asked who had taken the paper. I mean, he was always bound to find out, and when he did stumble into Frenchie and Wee John’s room the next afternoon to borrow his lute (he was planning to write a song for Blackbeard to convince him he was more of a catch than Calico Jack don’t even ask), he only smiled fondly and shut the door when he spotted what his diary had been used for. (And secretly hoped that Ed wouldn’t find his own doodles of him in said diary lmao.)

Oooh, can you imagine how lovely it would be to stumble through Stede’s secret tunnel and to go sit out by unicorn figurehead with Frenchie?? Just the two of you, feet swinging together through the planks, the swirling pockets of silver dancing over the warm tides and the comforting buzz of Frenchie’s voice as he sings for you. With your head resting on his shoulder, you’re too busy falling into a blissful oblivion to even notice that Frenchie’s stopped picking at the strings of his lute, and has instead set it down at his side. He’s found that a much better use of his time would be staring at you, so obviously, so fondly, so sweetly: as if dewdrops hung from his lips, ready for the northern dawn that only your splendour could bring.

Getting to tie that cute little cravat around his neck before the five of you jump ship to go to that fancy dinner party. Every time you try to loop the end of it back through he chases your fingers (to try and kiss them or bite them, you’re not entirely sure), but it does make the two of you burst out into another fit of giggles.

Although he has quite a sweet disposition, Frenchie is 100% ready to throw hands for you. The whole time he’s trying to crank up Oluwande’s ‘pyramid scheme’, he has one eye on the valuables being handed over and one trained solely on you. If any of the esteemed and highly respectable guests become a little too eager, coltish, agitated, Frenchie is straight on it. Before you can even knock their wig off, he’s grabbed your wrist and pulled you either behind his back or dragged you out to the hull with the sternest expression you’ve ever seen on his face. Either way, he’ll always put himself in the firing line of harm’s way first, if it means protecting you.

The two of you spend about 70% of your time singing together on deck. Frenchie’s jamming along with his lute, and you’re animatedly singing and dancing around him, often roping in Lucius to come do full body jigs or a ridiculing minuet Frenchie’s intensifying sea shanties. Since the three of you were supposed to be finishing Izzy’s order to mop the deck, he’s sitting cross legged on the helm behind your spinning bodies, with enough steam coming out of his crimson ears to drown the sky in thunderclouds.

During crew meetings he’ll just straight up wander in late and just... come up behind you and plop his chin down on top of your head. He won’t listen to a word of what’s going on either: too busy chatting with you, or with Jim, or fiddling with the rings on your fingers, or just trying to figure out if the stain on the ceiling looks more like an orange or a fish. To be honest he didn’t even realise it was a meeting until Stede asked him if he was paying attention - he just saw you and immediately came to seek out your heat (and also your hugs).

His love language is doing and making things with his hands, so instead of doing actual work to help out on the Revenge, he tries to craft for you. He sits by the mast, cross legged, and with his tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth in the uttermost form of concentration. He’s trying to remember how his ma taught him to thread a needle, so desperate to fix up your shirt properly after Spanish Jackie nearly tore the sleeve to shreds during your first meeting at the Republic of Pirates. Of course, you’ll eventually have to free him from where he’s managed to sew his shirt to his jacket (very well, might I add). He smiles all the while, leaning down to gently kiss your knuckles every time they bump up high enough with a new thread of the string to be within his reaching distance.

He likes to steal Wee John’s old hammock - he’s a big fan of having snuggled up naps on deck while Ed and Stede have stopped off at some new island and are busy off smooching on their foliage walks. 

Or, he likes to venture out sometimes too and see someplace new with the love of his life! Usually it’s just some slightly different variation of a beach, but this just allows him ample opportunity to perform his favourite activity: scooping up wet sand and hurling at you in a mock sand-ball fight. The two of you fly across the streaking honey-gold boughs of the winding branches of the strip, Frenchie rolling his trousers up and finally catching up to you between the torn crags and cliff edges. He jumps, flying full sail through the air until he’s knocked both of you to the ground. He tries to be all romantic and pretend he hasn’t just knocked the ever loving wind out of you. He leans over you, crawling his knees up between your thighs and slowly dipping down to kiss you, before getting bashed up the face by a huge tide and falling ass over teakettle backwards in sweet revenge lmao.

[themistymountainscold]

frenchie causally leaning against izzy’s thigh is doing things to me

[inosukearchives]

can we talk about the way Frenchie is resting on Izzy please

[laceratedlamiaceae]

Pitching an episode called Fuck, Marry, Kill that's just 3 montages of Izzy fucking random guys, Lucius and Pete preparing for their wedding, and Ed and Stede trying to kill each other spliced together

[myckicade]

Frenchie doesn’t mean to return to the Inn exhausted and battle-hardened and caked in dried blood. It shouldn’t take the last of his strength to rap his knuckles against the fresh coat of paint on the front door, wet from the sideways-falling sheets of rain that just won’t stop. It shouldn’t be all he can do to keep himself standing while he waits for Stede. For Ed. For some-fucking-one to open the door. It shouldn’t, but it does. 

Fuck it. He shouldn’t have had to go back to slitting throats and spilling guts, either, but. Vengeance will do that to you. Love will do that to you. 

There’s some banging about inside. Some shouting to follow. Frenchie would rub his eyes, but he’s not terribly keen to get someone else’s blood in them. He’d had enough of that before he’d taken his new place aboard the Revenge. When... 

FUCK. 

Fighting to toss the thought aside, Frenchie knocks again. Louder. Harder. Why isn’t someone coming to the fucking door, already? He’s going to drop where he stands, so help him, and his two ex-Captains can clean up whatever remains in the light of day. Once the buzzards, or the gulls, or whatever the fuck wild beasts live out this way have had the chance to pick him clean. They can bury his bones – or whatever’s left – next to... 

Jesus Christ. When did it become so hard to even think the man’s name? Saying it, nah, the word hasn’t left his mouth in months. Hearing it from the tongues of others? Still a hard pass. He’s managed to find himself anywhere others weren’t talking about the man, and quickly. But his thoughts. His own inner sanctum of peace and love has taken someone he still holds so dear, and shoved him into the deepest, darkest corner of The Box. He'd rather poke holes in one of his enemies and find them leaking delicious buttercream frosting than to ever look in that corner again. 

And why? 

Well. Frenchie isn’t stupid enough to think his reasons any more noble than the basic truth. It’s a blame game, and he's losing to himself. If he’d been closer. If he’d stayed next to him like he’d always intended. Maybe he could have saved him. Maybe he would have survived. 

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

“Open the fuck up!” he shouts, the words swallowed by a roll of thunder. 

He doesn’t want to think about this. He’s going to go inside and drink himself to death. He’d going to pay for a room until he starves to death, or his body gives out from exhaustion, or he drowns in bad rum. He doesn’t care. He just wants to do it, but first, somebody has to- 

“Open the fucking door, guys!” 

He hasn't cried. Not once has he shed a tear. He’s been waiting. Waiting for the right time. Waiting until he could afford to split at the seams and fall well and truly apart. The crew needed him, and they needed him to keep it together. They needed him to support them and see them all out in one piece. 

They needed Frenchie to be him. 

But he wasn’t. He wasn’t and he isn’t and he’s tired of pretending. He’s tired of pretending that the one thing, the one and true good thing that he managed to find in the darkest days of his life was gone. Just fucking ripped out of existence. They’d had so little time. So much had been left unsaid. Maybe he’d take a bottle down the lawn tomorrow and say a few of them. Say all of them. It would be a fitting place to go. 

If he doesn’t, y’know, turn back and drown himself in the damned rain first. 

Frenchie raises his fist to knock again, to pound at the wood, willing to throw his shoulder against the hinges if it will help. From inside, a loud bang catches his attention, this time accompanied by a soft thumping sound. More shouting. Closer this time, familiar in a way that tickles his memory in all the wrong places. He’s playing tricks on himself. Maybe, Death is nearer than he thinks. 

If only he was so lucky. 

The latches are being worked on the other side of the door. Too slow, but it's progress. Lightning strikes as the door eases open, surely distorting Frenchie’s worldview because, no. A trick of the light. He blinks and has another look. The eyes staring back at him are beautiful and wide, surprised, but relieved. The lips move over a silvering beard, jaw working until the man before him finally clears his throat. He shifts on the crutch beneath his arm, and Frenchie’s ears are filled with a precious, rasping voice. 

“Took you long enough.” 

All at once, the world spins and comes crashing to a halt. The force is so great, it jolts the lid from The Box. What spills out... He’s energized. He’s alight. He’s clean and innocent and vulnerable and still so damned wounded, but. But. There it is. It’s in every thought. It is a joy to hear. It feels so good to come gasping from somewhere in the depths of his heartbroken soul. 

“Izzy!” 

[dervampireprince]

ASMR | Our Flag Means Death - Izzy Hands x Listener SFW Getting Together With Izzy Hands

[M4A] [Spoilers for S2 E1-3] [Discussion of trauma] [Kissing] [Romantic]

[Set after episode 3 and before episode 4, you were one of Stede's crew members that Blackbeard kept. You and Izzy have feelings for each other but he had to push you away so Blackbeard wouldn't hurt you. Now Blackbeard's gone.]

I thought I'd never voice Izzy again because his voice is hard it do and I'm not confident about it but lots of Patrons have been requesting for him to come back and the other night I watched the 3 episodes of season 2 that are out and... Oh how the tables have turned. I've always loved Izzy, I loved him in season 1, and to see so many season 1 Izzy haters now liking him too makes me really happy. I just want to give Izzy a big hug and hold his hand.

.

Custom audio commissions are open! Full public spicy audios on sound gasm (link in pinned post). 2 Exclusive spicy audios on Patreon every month. I also stream on Twitch every week @ dervampireprince . [minors + ageless blogs dni. this blog is for 18+ only.] [do not repost/reupload/edit any of my content]

[bisexualmultifandommess]

Okay what I really need next season is for someone to give Stede a hug that’s all I want! Let this man have a moment to breathe and get comforted by someone.

[the-widow-olivia]

Does anyone else think the Kraken era would have gone completely differently if Ed could have just listened to some Chappell Roan?

[loadingbraincells]

the one (read: main) thing I’m pissed abt s2 of ofmd is that roach and Frenchie don’t get any time screen time together :(

they seem like they’d get alnog

[wolpertingerprompts]

OFMD Ed/Stede Modern!au prompt:

Despite being a bit hesitant since such things aren’t usually his scene, Stede goes to a dance battle. Maybe Lucius drags him, or someone he knows is going to be competing and he agrees to come support them.

The first few contenders are certainly very impressive, but not all that noteworthy. Then Edward Teach walks out.

Stede has never seen this man before, but his eyes are absolutely glued to him even before he starts his routine.

Most of the people here to dance are much younger, probably in their 20s-30s, but Ed is clearly Stede’s age. Surely he won’t be able to move quite the same as these young kids?

Wrong. Ed absolutely destroys the competition and Stede has never seen anything hotter in his life. He’s pretty sure his eyes never leave Ed’s body for a single milisecond until after his routine is done.

-

What happens next? Maybe Ed notices Stede watching him while he’s dancing and he makes eye contact and winks at him, then he comes and finds Stede after he’s done.

Maybe Stede asks whoever he came with/was originally there to support who Ed is, and they’re like “Oh yeah, that’s Edward Teach. He’s super talented and famous in these circles. He mainly competes in local competitions mind you, but he’s had some videos go viral online. If you go this route, then maybe Stede goes home and proceeds to watch every single one of Ed’s videos that he can find online. (Maybe he did one of the videos for a charity event or just a themed competition and he’s dressed up in full canon Black Beard regalia and Stede loses his mind a little bit).

Regardless of the exact route you take, the main take aways are: Ed is a hella good at dancing, Stede is absolutely blown away by how attracted he is to Ed, and of course Ed is super into him too.

-

This video was the primary inspiration behind this idea. I imagine everyone having their own different routine rather than each doing the same choreography, but that’s totally up to you:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QjV-tNRZfeQ

If you go the route where someone Stede knows is competing, than or some reason I could totally see Frenchie dancing with a routine a bit more like the interpretive dancing in this video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFUyeYrCcN0

[bowieandqueen11]

Fickle Bird / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: Would you be willing to do another spicy Izzy hands x reader ? Loved your previous stories!!

Thank you so much!! I'm always happy to see how much people enjoying reading for Izzy :) Assigned babygirl by the fandom and I am here for it,

Warning: This is smutty as heck, so 18+ only please!!! Sexual biting, sexual allusions and strong language!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @unwanted-animal.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Izzy Hands was becoming irritatingly querulous.

It had taken him far too many hours of laboriously hard work to finally pull you away from your crewmates. Every time you turned your head, he had been right there behind you. Doing his best to throw you sad eyes, hanging his head and ostentatiously ducking out of your line of vision as if he were plagued by tenebrous shrouds. He had tugged at your collar while Stede Bonnet's crew were idly mulling around, pretending to do their assigned chores on deck; he had done his best to subtly lead you away from Lucius, growing more and more irritated by each passing second you ignored his advances and continued your conversation.

He had wrapped his arms around your waist, jutting his chin into your shoulder as you did your best to shake him off and clear up your friend's dinner plates with Roach. Even though a sharp jab at his ribs got him to take a sheepish step back. running a glove through his hair to slick it back with an imperceptible look bored into the side of your cheek, you did your best to ignore the phantom chills of his stout fingers caressing carelessly over your stomach.

By the end of the night, he was two seconds away from hauling you over his shoulder and throwing the two of you into the ball room; as clouds steamed out of his ears, the visualisation of slamming the door shut with the heel of his boot and taking you right there and then, with stupid Lucius Spriggs being able to hear, was getting far too enticing.

Israel Hands had always been flighty. Impatient. Agitated, when it came to you. You had always known him to be: ever since your tenure on the great Captain Blackbeard's vessel almost five years ago now, Izzy had been protective over you and your relationship. Fear bore jealousy: a heart-breaking self-conscious disposition masked behind layers of seething hardness spawned only the animosity of Stede Bonnet's crew, and served to hinder his plans all the more.

As much as you did enjoy teasing the man, you knew that even he had his limit.

Which is how you found yourself nearly flown, well, more like catapulted to the other side of the beach during one of Bonnet's 'stupid fucking dilly-dallies around the poncy parts of Tangerine Cove', as your ever sweet significant other had put it. Before Buttons could even step foot on the shore: before Lucius could even settle down underneath a palm tree to sketch Black Pete, who had carefully positioned his near naked body to be splayed out against the foamy bubbles like a starfish, before Frenchie had even managed to haul the rest of Wee John's gunpowder out onto the strand, Izzy hand taken your hand tightly in his, his grip ready to pop your fingers like sea grapes.

You only laughed as the two of you ran, kicking sand across your feet as you scurried after him and towards an incredibly conspicuous, raggedy looking wall of orange lichen eaten stones placed as a make-shift border between the stretches of beach. Izzy didn't say a word. Instead he almost seemed to glide in front of you, as if beaks were pecking at his feet, threatening to perch upon a bough in his heart and thrum; he knew, if he couldn't make it behind these stones right now, his frail soul was about to snap under the weight of it all.

The intensity of his gaze as he helped you step over the ring was enough to take your breath away.

He sinks to his knees before you, wasting no time in knocking you to the scything sand; his hand splays out against your stomach and pushes you gruffly, until you've fallen onto your bottom and he has easy access to your legs. He whimpers as he hitches them up, frantically lining your ankles with wet kisses and hot, open-mouthed bruises as he wraps them around his neck. His hands are soft, so tender, yet they claw into your skin as he begins to knead the muscles of your calves. You can feel him inch closer and closer - his hands winding down your inner thighs until they're resting on your inner legs, thumbs tantalisingly close to stroking your panty line.

'Is this alright... sweetheart', he asks breathlessly, pressing his fingers down into the meat of your hips until his full weight his almost exclusively leaning against your stomach. He leans forward to nip against your mouth.

'Hmm- hmph', you jolt as you feel Izzy guide his hand further down towards your growing heat. 'Oh god yes. I swear, I was about to explode on that ship. As much as I appreciate the new company, especially with how cranky Edward has been recently, it's so hard between the two crews merging and escaping the English to find a moment alone.'

'Says the little tease. 'Oh Lucius, you're so funny, and I love your hair. And you're such a great drawer. You should draw me some time, and we should skip off into the sunset'-'

The back of his head is suddenly jolted up as you grasp onto the strands of hair near his crown. His mouth shudders at the feeling, opening and closing like a blubbering fish. Like a swallow caught in a trap. You graze your fingernails down to the nape of his neck apologetically, not before chiding him with a humoured 'jealousy has never suited you, Israel Hands. Now shut up and put that mouth to better use, before I go take Pete's place.'

He growls at you, baring his teeth, but you can tell by the way he gets straight to work that he takes your jesting as light-hearted. He lets the words wash over his head: right now, he was busy burying himself within you; his nose glides across the pulse point jittering through your neck, his eyes heavy and lidded as he barely breaths. Barely moves.

The little flirt. He was trying to get his own back.

He just rests there, just lets you shiver under the short pants that roll off his tongue and fan out across your collar bone, his teeth daring to dart out every so often and graze across the skin by your earlobe. His lips continue their ghostly ravishing, finally coming to a stop by cautiously hovering over your racing heartbeat.

You were getting far too impatient. The feel of your hands scrambling down to tug at his thigh holster would almost had made him laugh, if it hadn't been for the fortuitous brush of the side of your palm against his growing bulge.

But two can play at that game. You almost want to scream when he cocks his head up to throw you a shit-eating grin, before the flat part of his tongue licks out to swirl against the top of your left bosom.

'If you don't- hmph- if you don't stop, someone is going to catch u-oh-'. Your reprimands were astutely silenced by Izzy with a teasingly light stroke of his pointer and middle finger down the thin material covering your groin. He made sure to drag his thumb behind, digging in against the material a little harsher with it, until you could almost feel the rugged tip of his fingernail inside you.

'Oh, fuck off. If you're any louder, even the fucking sirens will start popping up to see what that... titillating sound is.'

If Izzy wasn't too busy running the flat edge of his tongue up the seam of your inner leg, you would have had half a mind to shove him off you right there and then.

'Stop complaining.'

He drags his thumb along his lips before popping it in his mouth, sucking at the leather. His eyes never leave yours as his teeth clench into the material, tugging it off and throwing it blindly behind his back. The feeling of the coarse pad being suddenly replaced by a warm, firm fingertip against the outside of your folds was enough to make you buck your hips up in wild euphoria.

This man. He was going to drive you absolutely mad.

'Even I didn't think you were such a squirmy little thing', he states with a calculated grin. 'Didn't take much for you to fall apart in front of me, now, did it? Never does though, to be fair.'

'Oh, you're one to talk. One more - mmph- one more sad look in my direction and I would have pinned you to the floor in front of Bonnet's crew. You're proper needy, aren't you? Couldn't- couldn't wait- couldn't stop begging-'

He was far too impertinent for your persiflage. God, how he had wanted this-how he had wanted you for far longer than his dogged soul was willing to admit. It had near driven him to that sweet, twilight chasm of madness: sent him tumbling over the edge until he was near plagued, near driven to his knees to beg for forgiveness for his loving sin at your placating shrine. He was almost about to burn with embarrassment, but Israel Hands was too far gone to care.

Instead, he swallows thickly before taking your hand, cupping it around his neck. Then he whimpers, and the two of you are really in it then.

'I would let you fucking wreck me, you know that?', he chokes out from behind gritted teeth, trying to stop the pulsating feeling aching in the pit of his stomach.

'Sweet man', you reach up to brush his cheek with your free hand, and he almost recoils at the touch. 'You're safe with me Iz. Always. You don't have to hide what you want.'

He cups his fingers over your own: he can barely stop them from contracting over your knuckles as he throws his head back to the heavens and closes his eyes in contentment. His body starts squirming then, the heat from your fingertips making every nerve ending down the back of his spine alight, and he can't help - doesn't want to stop the way he starts rocking his hips back and forth across your legs. The lust seems to be radiating off his glowing cheeks as he furrows his eyebrows in blissful agony.

He drags his free hand down your arm until he reaches the scabbard to the right of his stomach. You poke the inside of your lip with your tongue, watching the sharp edge slice across the air to be placed, with a precision only wrought with a extensive practice, to lay underneath the cold metal bravely guarding your chest. With a quick whip of his wrist, off your blouse went: the first button soared through the air without Izzy needing to even open his eyes. But as he peeked one open and saw the line of tantalising skin grow wider down your rising breast, all semblance of restrained self-mastery fled from his brain.

The rest were ripped open by a clenched glove. You were surprised none of the rest of the crew popped their heads up at the sound: the rip of cotton material being shredded straight across your jiggling bosoms, your buttons flying off like mini cannonballs being struck into the unsuspecting shifts of sand.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how your legs imperceptivity clenched together at the way he subconsciously wet his bottom lip, his nose scrunching up as he nearly snarled at the sight of the unhampered skin freed from your tight blouse.

He's voracious as he bites down like a starved stray and pierces the edge of your right breast with his front teeth. The faint sunlight blinds your eyes and makes you see pockets of stars as he begins sucking like his very soul depended on it, burying his head right in line with your sternum.

Wanting to return the favour, you let your free hands wander down. Hiking up the fringes of his shirt, you let your hands wander over the taut muscles of his abdomen, smiling to yourself as you feel goose bumps prick up to meet your cool palms. Izzy pants against your nipple, which in turn makes it harden as his hot breath breezes past. Giving you an idea, you run your hand up past the fine silver hairs of Izzy's happy trail, to experimentally roll the pad of your thumb over the man's left nipple.

What you weren't expecting, however, was for him to collapse on top of you.

The groan that muffled out past the fist he tried to shove into his mouth was inhuman. Was damn sinful. All he can do while he lets the overpowering rush of desire coarse through his veins is to quieten the sound with your awaiting lips; he's trembling against you, and so you reassure him with a languid massage of your tongue against his own. His hand tried to flail away as he finally feels you probe around his teeth, but you catch it easily, pressing it firmly against your fluttering heart. With a final tug, you finally manage to stumble your way through the loops of his trouser buttons.

His hips judder forward until he prods awkwardly against the bottom of your abdomen, leaving a slick wetness smeared against the buckle of your belt. He grimaces, a thin line of saliva glistening between you as he pulls his head back to look down at the disturbance. His nostrils flare as he buries his hands into two clefts in the rocks either side of your head, and does his best to try and control the painful contortions of his face. A low whistle still manages to catch in the back of his throat as he gazes down at the milky seepage he has left behind, running in smooth drips down your bellybutton and smearing it with each jolt of your desperate hips against his, further and further down against your hip line. The muscles in his face fall as if he were in a trance: as if he were a man possessed.

'I-I care for you. You know that.' He can barely meet your eye in fear that you'd be repulsed by the sweetness - by the fondness that has flooded through them, feeling the gilded shadows that veiled his sight begin to lift.

You reach up and let your pointer finger gingerly trace over the outline of the swallow tattoo inked into the side of his neck. 'I know. I love you too, Israel Hands.'

God, you were going to be the end of him. And if he weren't so blinded by it, he would have been more than satisfied to sink into the depths of oblivion with you seared into his irises: the last mirage, the last vision of a life he had could never have. Of a love he had not earnt.

But he was stubborn, and his talons refused to stop clinging onto hope.

It must have been quite a sight: the perched rocks quaking as something pounded sloppily against them, the cacophony of breathless, gasping whines as your clawed hand tried to reach back and hold desperately onto the sharp jags above your head.

'Should we... should we do something about that?', Roach asks, looking quizzically around at his friends and dropping the stick he had been chasing the Swede around with a moment before onto the beach.

Lucius, squints his eyes warily, and shakes his head in disgust. 'Nah. I'm leaving that one for the Captain to handle.'

'I think he's too busy getting his own, uh, stuff handled by Blackbeard', Jim pipes in, doing their best to hide their roguish smile as the sound of you screaming Izzy's name grew louder and louder, no matter how well you were trying to stifle it by shoving your mouth into his shoulder blade and biting down, and no matter how well Izzy was drowning it out with the harshness of his own grunts.

'Actually', Lucius thumps the end of his pencil against his chin and begins to grin menacingly. 'This might come in very useful. Looks like Dizzy Izzy, or should I say Izzy the Rasper won't be making poor old Lucius scrub anything else while he's on board.'

[themistymountainscold]

still thinking about how frenchie nearly cried when blackbeard told him they’d sail forever

[lookinglass-fic]

Seriously please I beg of you just read the whole thing

please just read the whole thing

[laceratedlamiaceae]

It's an absolute travesty that we didn't get to see Wee John and Calico Jack blowing shit up together

[lightbluetown]

i saw some people say ed and zheng are master strategists while stede is just some guy with ridiculous luck, but i think that's unfair. sure stede's ideas are insane, but they fit the looney tunes ass universe of ofmd perfectly. they're mostly well-thought-out, well-executed and they showcase stede's strengths and growth! so allow me to talk about them:

1- ghost of the forest - 1x02

a fuckery™ before stede even knows what a fuckery™ is! this is amateurish and stupid in every way. he's not even threatening izzy with a real dagger-- that's a letter opener. does izzy actually believe that stede has a huge crew hiding behind the bushes? doubt it! but this weird little act is enough to establish stede as a (ridiculous) pirate figure to the legendary izzy hands and to accomplish his goal of taking a hostage back

2- lighthouse - 1x04

imagine coming up with the exact same idea at the exact same time as the most brilliant tactician of the seven seas! we don't know who came up with which parts of the plan (honestly it was probably mostly ed) but this is still bloody impressive

3- stark revelations - 1x05

stede's first big success! he uses his knowledge of the aristocratic world to get a shipful of rich assholes to destroy each other, but he's also showcasing what sets him apart from them: this plan only comes to fruition because stede talks to frenchie, olu and abshir as equals. as people he can learn from, as sources of inspiration

4- duel with izzy - 1x06

this one was absolutely unhinged, but its success was far from dumb luck. only stede could think of using a brazillian cherry wood mast and ed's weird stabbing lesson to win a duel, and that's what makes this plan so undeniably stede and brilliant

5- faking his death - 1x10

i love that he just had to "die" in the most dramatic way possible. a heroic fight (tiger), a realistic accident (carriage) and the most cartoony death in the book (piano)... not only is his triple-death able to convince everyone in barbados that he's dead for good, it also allows him to have closure with his family. it's filled with stede's ridiculous unique flair, but it's designed to be a fuckery™ through and through. ed would be SO proud

6- stealing jackie's indigo dye - 2x01

quick little stealth mission. did ricky manipulate stede into trying this out? sure. did ricky also ruin it? absolutely. but it was working until then! the swede isn't part of stede's crew at this point, but his respect for stede is what gets him to cooperate and risk his relationship with his beautiful wife. also, it's thanks to his love for fine things that stede immediately recognizes the value of "blue dirt"

7- prison break - 2x03

in my eyes no scene depicts stede's growth better than this one. knocking zheng's entire crew out with tea is the most stede thing out there, and this plan uses the cherry wood mast as well! this plan relies on stede's (unrealistic) tea knowledge, overly-fancy ship and ability to coordinate his crew. what makes it breathtaking is that he secretly sets this plan into motion while actively mourning the "death" of the love of his life. he's putting his life on the line to rescue ed's "killers" because he's emotionally mature enough to look at things from their perspective and forgive them

8- inciting a mutiny - 2x06

yet another brilliant plan that could only be executed by stede. this entire episode revolves around his idea of "turning poison into positivity" and here he, well, fights poison with positivity. stede captains his pirates with respect and care (best he can) which just so happens to be the opposite of ned. he exploits this and gently gets ned's crew to turn on him. he singlehandedly saves himself and his entire crew from a notorious pirate! oh he also literally invents walking the plank right after this

9- "it's only suicide if we die" - 2x08

okay, yes, this one didn't go that well (sorry iz). but it's not like ed, zheng or anyone else had any other ideas! stede's weird suicide mission, for the most part, worked. they needed to get through british soldiers to reach their ship and they did exactly that. if only they'd remembered to check if ricky had his gun... oh well, you live and you learn

sure, ed and zheng are legends and stede is a silly newbie with wild luck. but he's also quick-witted, creative, confident and brave! he's a damn good captain and he deserves to be recognized as a good strategist!

[aha-my-villainous-thoughts]

I love Frenchie so fucking much. Also, incredibly tempted to embroider that flag on my coat.

the art and the artist 🥰