#jim jimenez imagine

[sunnibits]

okay wait wait wait hold the fuck up. I may very well be reading into this too much but like. this picture is from the very end of ep8 right,, ARE THEY FUCKING WEARING IZZY’S GLOVE?????? or at least mimicking it???? um????

[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.'

[anerstellae]

[kilucore]

hello ofmd enjoyers please consider this:

with them:

[serious-goose]

Olu has ye olde pirate Crocs so I think Jim should get pirate Heelys. They'd be truly unstoppable.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

it's honestly hilarious to write OFMD and Doctor Who fanfic back-to-back because of the difference in writing violence. In OFMD, the MO is literally "if it's not a member of the main cast, stab away" while in Doctor Who one of the character arcs literally leads to the Doctor not killing the person who has killed millions of people because pacifism/allowing his companions to make choices/etc.

Comedic excessive violence v. pacifist weapon-hating main character fight!

[beepbeepdespair]

random but uh. i need to take jim and izzy to a halestorm concert and watch them scream their little hearts out i dont care about historical anachronisms this is IMPORTANT

[oldtvandcomics]

I love this old fancy fotoframe look.

They have my whole heart actually.

[knifecrocs]

imagine trusting someone so much that you ask them to be your literal voice bc you’re in disguise and can’t talk. And eventually you fall in love with them and give up your revenge mission because they’ve shown you that you’re allowed to pursue your own happiness, and your happiness is being with them. But then you’re torn apart and now the writers just kind of want everyone to forget that all happened. That’s what happened to Jim Jimenez

[bowieandqueen11]

Take Us Back / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: ahh hope i didn’t miss the izzy request deadline!! honestly just a really fluffy one about what the reader and izzy might do on a day off on land would be super cute , could be either established relationship or the confessions could ensue during! whatever you think would work best, love ur writing sm 💘

Ahh I love this idea so much!! You know me I always love a good love confession. although this one is a little more subtle than I meant it to be!! Thank you so much :) Although this managed to turn more into hurt/comfort, so sorry about that!!

I'm sorry if this sucks ass, writer's block has been kicking my ass and I'm trying to write through it!

Warning: mentions of blood, mentions of child abuse, some strong language!

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

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Izzy Hands had been seven years old the last time he had sat in the foot of a river's mouth.

Life had felt different then: harsher, colder. Even the sunlight had felt a pale wanton impression of the basking heat the crew lay under now, leaving nothing but pocked scars across his soul and a rigid fear woven through his lancinating ribcage.

But that day- god, that day. It had been one of the rare instances that his mother had been lucid, if not tolerant of the mere sight of him. She had just received news from his brother, informing her that he'd finally managed to wrangle his way into one of the crews dotted around the local docks. He still remembered pattering into their cramped kitchen that morning: remembered crawling into her lap, afraid that the shock slumping her usually sapless face as she leant her elbow wearily on the tablecloth was due to his tardiness, not registering in his tired state the opened letter his mother was clutching in her left hand. He had shut his eyes, expecting the usual sting of reproach to come burning across his backside, but instead he was met with shallow laughter and the feel of his mother's frigid hands wrapping around his spine.

She had carried him the whole way down to the bay, had spent the whole rest of that strange, surreal morning in a trancelike contentment. Instead of going to their usual morning prayers, his mother had taken his hands and had danced with him: her feet splashing across the slivering waves as they bit and hissed and fell in aglow bubbles around her feet. Instead of being sent down to the docks to haggle for some small scrap of leftover meat for him to come back and boil for their dinner, his mother had cupped his cheeks as if, for one glorious, unprecedented moment in his life, the hopeful smile timidly warming his cheeks was the most important thing in the world.

The thing Izzy remembers most, though, was the magical way his mother had sung. How the sound made his knees grow weak, tears collecting in the crinkles of his eyes as she sang a strange song about finding beauty in the mundane: of rosiness the shade of his cheeks, of the end of grief, of embracing the beautiful imperfection of our mistakes.

He was almost inclined to believe her. But even at that age, he knew reality was far crueller than her. Because even though she was still humming into the shallow depths, she had refused to even once meet his desperate eyes.

He knew the song wasn't for him. He knew, as he glanced down at the lonesome creek that he suddenly realised was bitingly cold against his waggling toes, that his life was resigned to one of subordination. How she had walked him into the water until their ankles were coated in a fine line of salt, clutching his hand to her heart as the invocation began to wear off. That this grandness, this gloriousness, was to be found inside the soul of others. As his mother began to lug at him again, drawing him further and further into the benighted depths he suddenly didn't want to wade into: was suddenly afraid to approach, he finally understood the truth of his life.

He knew he was just there as collateral to her joy. And as he began to cry out in fear, feeling that all too familiar burn against the ruddiness of his cheek, he realized that hope was created to dwell within other people.

'See child, I told you. Change comes with the tide. Fortune comes to those of us who are deserving of it', she took a deep breath and darted her eyes down to him in antipathy, before digging her spindly fingers into his wrist until they drew blood. She didn't even blink as she used her free hand to pull the letter out of her pocket, kissing its inked lines and clutching the crumpled parchment to her chest. The dying light of the day seemed only to coat her in cerement as she sobbed silently, Izzy too afraid to move in case the sallow light entombed him as well.

He hadn't allowed himself to feel the sunlight since. Instead, he shrouded himself in Stygian shadows, stifling himself under their abhorrence: he had tried to cage his heart to keep it safe. Little did he know, that instead he had created a shroud, and left the shredded remains of what was left to shrivel in the darkness.

You. You! You, god, oh you. Coming swanning into his life with the rest of Stede Bonnet's infuriating little toy miniatures, cresting with graceful consideration along the sinews he had long locked away, with a determinant hankering for his heart. Every look his way just to try and catch his wandering eye: every shit-faced smile in defiance of his crude orders and the callous bite of his words was exhuming an anguishing pain within his chest.

Which is why he found you so fucking obnoxious. Insubordinate. Just as obdurate as him. You seemed to make it your life's mission to get the tomb holding him captive to crack open.

And by god, if it wasn't about to.

He was almost embarrassed by how quickly he had agreed to join you on the shore during the crew's solitary day off that month: his head had nodded as if a screw had come loose in his neck, and although he had to punch Lucius in the stomach for guffawing at how absurd he looked from where he was pretending to mop by Stede's cabin doors, it was worth it to be able to spend some blessed time alone with you.

Which is how he found himself perched on the shallow end of a crag: the sand sifting off his boots and the midday sun burning a white-hot hole into the top of his head that even the nearby leaves of the shimmering banana tree couldn't defend him from. He kicks lazily at the water, scaring away a few darting fish as you finally give up your wrestling match with Jim and come to sit criss-crossed next to the rather forlorn looking man. He does his best to raise his frown once he feels your fingers poke at his stiff shoulder, but even you're able to see the way the smile barely makes it past the top of his stubble, let alone his crestfallen eyes.

'So...', you start with a twist of your lips, an idea suddenly popping into your head as you catch sight of a few lengths of haggard bark popping out of the mud. 'You ever fish when you were younger?' You pull some of the twine out of your makeshift rope belt, looping a knot around the cleanest ends and handing one of the makeshift poles to the first mate.

'Fish? Did I ever... fish?', Izzy asks incredulously, tilting his head at you as if in disbelief. He had fished before: in fact, he was actually rather good at it. When his mother's health began to fail and the poor relief filtering into their household in drips and drabs began to be unable to keep dire poverty from banging at their door, Izzy had taken to smuggling onto the back of boats and fishing out of barrels to get food.

'No. No', he lies. 'I'm not a fucking fisherman, I'm a fucking pirate-'. He didn't know why the memory was making him so irritated. Maybe it wasn't the recollection at all, he thought in a stricken horror, but the way you turned your full attention to him. That- that swinging gaze, that coy smile lifting your cheeks as you try your best to read every microcosm that flashes across his panicking face. That- that kindness in the furrow of your eyebrows, that forbearance as you gently took his shaking first and unfurled it, placing the fishing rod in his palm.

Your fingertips tenderly swirl against the seamed linen of his wrist before you let go. Izzy blinks unsurely, something akin to trepidation making his breath choke in his nostrils, making them flare uneasily.

'I know you're going to be a natural', is all you whisper, sensing his alarm and placing the man's hand back onto his knee with great care. With a final nod, you turn your head back to the sea line.

Fuck. Fuck. How could you read him so easily? How could he, a man so ruthless in his faux arrogance, be laid so bare before you, when he had spent so many years devotedly poisoning that part of himself? He was about to fucking burst, and if you even fucking dared to place your warm fingers against his bare skin him one more time, he was going to draw his scabbard loose and lacerate his billowing heart himself.

The feel of you sitting next to him, holding your own fishing pole between relaxed fingers was almost enough to make the sound of Frenchie hollering in the distance bearable: the man trying to do half-crab like 'somersaults' across the sand. Izzy sighs, pretending the screaming cackle of Roach as he chased the Swede with one of his juggling pins was just the faraway caw of some mythical seabird. Even though the sound of your cheerful hums were sending spears of a long buried fear deep into his stomach, he was content to let the memories of his mother wash over him, to be instead overlapped with his rapt ruminations of you.

'Am I... am I doing this alright?', he asks, daring to break the silence, although his hoarse voice barely seems to penetrate the gleaming air at all. Thankfully, you have your ears finely tuned to hear both his scolding remarks and tender confessions, and so your reply is both astute and quickly timed as you whip your head to take an enthusiastic look at his pole.

You dart a finger out before he even has time to prepare for your approach, drawing his thumb further up the stick. 'That's it... that's it! See, I knew you'd be a natural at this!' It takes all of Izzy's self-control not to whip out his wrist, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to instead try and alleviate the way his cells seemed to catch alight every time your skin brushed against his.

'Although', you start, poking your pointer finger against your chin and looking at him in contemplation. 'Your angle is a little wrong. Do you know how to fix it?', you ask, not wanting to offend him and have him scuttling off like a snow crab when you had put so much effort into getting him to trust in your company.

'I- I don't know', he lies, already moving his torso so you would have easier access to wrap yourself around his tensing shoulder blades send ripples spreading across the back of his vest.

'Here-', you reach an arm out, palm spreading against the rigid meat of his lower back as you turn the man to face you more directly. He jolts, and for a second you're worried that you've accidentally brushed against an old injury, but then the man unconsciously mewls, his thighs bucking forward against the sand grains.

'Like this', he asks breathlessly, knowing damn well that his posture was absolutely perfect.

'Like that', you reply with a smile as sweet and meek as the champagne bubbles lapping hungrily at his feet. It was almost enough to blow away the cankered cobwebs encasing his heart: almost enough to flood the chambers of his heart with a child-like resurrection, if he only wasn't stubborn enough to keep the latches of his heart's coffin lid closed.

'I'll tell you something, you're far better company than Ed', you say to alleviate the tension, feeling sorry at the way the man seems to be cursing himself with thick, inaudible swears. You let your fingers dart across the last few vertebrae's of his spine, enjoying the way his whole body seems to convulse like an electrified eel once you let go. 'The last time I tried to teach him to fish, I swear I was two seconds away from kicking him overboard. That man genuinely does not know how to stay quiet for two seconds.'

He grabs onto your wrist, so desperate to retain every ounce of your attention. So desperate to feel you set him aflame, without the embarrassment of having to ask. For the first time that day, he stares deeply into your eyes, his thick eyelashes flickering back and forth as if searching for something.

'You don't have to tell me. I very unhappily managed to overhear him talking to himself this morning about all the ways Captain had used his fingers last night-'

You clasp your hands to your ears, a high pitched giggle pealing out of the back of your throat. 'Oh god, please! Just stop! Whatever the hell our dads do, I don't want to know!'

God, you were bewitching.

'What about your father', you ask suddenly, raising a curious eyebrow at the man. 'I know that you, Israel Hands, must have had a phenomenal upbringing to turn out the way you did.'

'I can't fucking tell if you're being sarcastic or not', he replies curtly, but the edges of his lips are curling up despite of himself.

'Come on', you prod at his side with the jut of your fishing pole. 'I have to be completely honest, I've been dying to know your story ever since you got on the revenge. Until today, Mr. 'I'm god as far as you're concerned', you've been a bit of an enigma to me.'

He looks at you sharply, his lips lingering upwards and making the warm glow that followed through into his eyes paint him as an angel against the goldenrod hues of the sun’s rising throne. 

'Until today?'

You can't help but match his bashful smile.

'Something tells me you've fished before', you reply smartly, nodding your head down to his tugging line.

It seemed to come to him then, that hope he had long forgotten: reverberating through his already troubled mind like a deafening echo, screaming and writhing and cacophonous as it pierced every fragment of his brain it could, begging him to remember the days when love had been true. Pleading with him to allow veracity to forburn the self-inflicted death he had allowed to coat his now pounding heart.

His mouth twists, unsure as where to start. It had been so long... so long since he had been truthful with anyone, let alone with himself. He swallows thickly, eyes roaming over the scuffs of his boot that are sliding further and further into the chilled depths of the shallow water, before he curls his fingers into a fist and goads himself into being compliant.

'I used to... I mean, I used to go down to the river with my mother, when she could be bothered. Which wasn't very often.'

He prays that you won't notice the faraway look in his eyes. How they begin to cloud over with unshed tears for a life he should have known. Should have had. For innocence robbed, and exasperation capitulated into its place. How his hands were now beginning to jolt so harshly, he nearly sent his fishing role flying into the ocean with one particularly intense heave.

'My mother always used to tell me, that you could begin your life again if you could pinpoint the exact spot where the rivers began to merge with the sea', he seethes out through gritted teeth, a low whistle sliding over his tongue as you reach your hand out and offer him the only form of solace you can think to give. 'She used to say that this is the spot where Calypso fell after Odysseus left her. That if you sing to her, her face will appear within the waves and grant you immortality.'

'Did you believe her?'

'I didn't before.'

'Hmm, what made you change your mind?' You entangle your fingers messily with his gloved hand, allowing both your poles to clamber noisily into the rugged pit chipped out by the toes of your feet. You knew if you broke the spell, interrupted this moment, it might never come again for him.

‘It was you, for fuck's sake!’, he wanted to shout. It was the truest thing he had ever known, plain and so soul crushingly simple.

Instead he flops his head back, and looks dead-set into the blinding light of the sun. 'I heard you singing. Heard you with Frenchie earlier, when you were singing shanties on the deck. My mother also used to sing to me', he warbles, voice hoarse.

The swallow tattoo scored onto his neck seems to thrum to life with each pulse of his juddering arteries.

'Ah-', you frown, 'I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up all these... memories for you. That's why you've been brooding so much today.'

His head darts to the side to scrutinize you, but when you mumble another sweet apology he finally stops scowling. If you hadn't been so lovestruck yourself, you might have found the courage to tear your head away from the horizon in that moment to meet the look of gut-wrenching devotion that brightened the man's widening eyes, a vestige kind of hope widening the gloam of his pupils.

He tilts his head to the side: towards you, eyes dipping down to almost imperceptibly gaze over your pursed lips.

'Don't be sorry'. His bottom lip trembles as he heaves a breath and squeezes your hand tight against his own. He felt like he was falling onto the cusp of something dangerous, but he refuses to allow his obduracy to suffocate the words.

'You sounded...', he grits his teeth, trying to bury his words by seething them into his skin instead. You watch him shove his chin into the side of his shoulder with humoured curiosity, giving him the time, the space, the security to finish his thought. He buries his eyes into the water, watching the rippling reflection of his face wallow into the shoreline. 'You sounded beautiful. It was nice to hear music again. I haven't in so long.'

'Well, Israel Hands', he trembles at the feel of your warm breath brushing against the tip of his ear. 'Good thing I'm immortal now.'

He smiles at that.

'Looks like I have all the time in the world to sing for you, if you'd like.'

For the first time since he was seven years old, Izzy Hands felt like he was allowed to live again.

'I'd- I'd like that very much.'

[coralines-cousin-draws]

as someone who also started watching ofmd super late and loves jim, this piece is great and im so glad im not alone lol

I’m so late to this but i started watching ofmd and jim has stolen my whole heart 🍊

(no reposts; reblogs appreciated)

[s-che]

who holds the mask? designing the Disguise

For the record, all of the playbooks in Beneath Pirate Flags are trans. Gay ass trans ass pirates. I mean, they don’t have to be — the magic of character creation means that you could make anyone, even (!!) a cis person, if your imagination can handle that. But they’re all more or less about being trans, or about types of trans people I know, anyway. Maybe none of them is as trans as the Disguise, though.

I don’t mean that, of course. The Disguise isn’t “more trans” than any of the others in any way that matters. What I mean is that the Disguise is maybe the most “obviously” trans, the most “typically” trans. The Disguise deals with a narrative that people see and go oh, oh, I know this—that one’s about being trans.

The Disguise is a pirate “on the run from at least two things,” inspired by tales of putting on a (you guessed it) disguise and escaping to adventure. There’s a lot of Jim from Our Flag Means Death in there, of course, as well as a good amount of Eowyn and not a small percentage of Alanna of Trebond. The Disguise is playing in a lot of tropes that make people conscious of the play of genders—which, for complicated reasons, reads as “more” trans than, say, The Hunk, The Dandy, or The Legend (even though all three of those are, to me, far more fundamentally drawn from my own trans experience).

One of the big things I wanted to do with the Disguise though, was offer more nuanced understanding of the work masks and disguises can do than we usually get in these types of stories. In the most traditional—the most recognizable—version of this narrative the Disguise is a cis woman who, frustrated not so much with her gender as with institutional sexism, takes on a mask in order to “play” as a man and trespass in the wider world (the historical erasure of transmasculine people into the cis feminist figure of “the woman in pants” looms large here). In this narrative, there comes a point where—as in Mulan, Eowyn, Alanna—she is unmasked but accepted as, to borrow a term from Tamora Pierce  “a woman who rides.” 

Here’s the thing: That’s a valid arrangement of what’s in the Disguise. There’s no reason the Disguise couldn’t be used to tell this kind of story—but I think there’s a more interesting version of this character out there, probably most clearly expressed (in popular media, anyway) by Jim Jimenez in Our Flag Means Death who, critically, does not return to their assigned gender after removing the “mask.” After all, there’s no reason to think that the mask must be something taken on (as opposed to, say, assigned). Rather, I like to think about the Disguise as playing across a border—dealing in multiple frames and knowledges, and trying to make space for themself between them. One day—if all goes well—they won't need the mask anymore. The playbook could equally viably tell the story of:

A cis woman under patriarchy, “playing a man” so she can run away and be a sailor (like Eowyn does).

A trans person, “playing” their assigned gender as they work to find out who they are really (like... most if not all trans people do, at one point or another).

A trans person, “playing” their true gender (or at least a new gender) as they build a new understanding of themself in a new context (this is the reading I think is closest to what happens with Jim, fwiw).

A person whose disguise has nothing to do with their gender at all—maybe they’re a prince in hiding, or they're pretending to be a prince in hiding, or there's something else.

There’s also no reason that the playbook couldn’t combine these stories—or even reach for new ones that haven’t occurred to me. The possibilities are endless. The core of the Disguise is not about secrets and falsehoods (although secrets and falsehoods certainly play their part), but rather performance and autonomy over your own presentation. The mask is a tool to control that presentation.

This brings us to the saddest part of the playbook—the ending.

Every playbook in Beneath Pirate Flags has three prewritten endings (although you’re naturally welcome to come up with your own). Each set of three has two happy endings and one sad one— sometimes bittersweet, sometimes tragic, and sometimes just bad. For the Disguise, that sorrow is all about the loss of control. The worst thing that could possibly happen—the most upsetting ending, which I want players to be aware of even if they aren’t interested in it—is not just the removal of the mask, but the removal of the mask without the Disguise’s permission or control. The world longs to control our presentations and, by doing so, control our lives. There is magic in a mask, and in the autonomy it provides—but there are people who want to rip both of those away. They want to hurt you, to control you, and to make you hurt yourself. That’s what we’re fighting against. Anyway, there you have it. Go hug a trans person—and check out Beneath Pirate Flags.

[ayashitetsuko]

In their Noe Valley residence, Jim and Izzy kept a photo of one of their hikes. It was easier than all the hikes they had been on, but that one was special.

The hike started out as per normal. The couple talked about trivial things, saying hello to every stranger they met. They were resting and enjoying their snack when Izzy began to get serious. "Birdie, love."

"Hm?"

"I'd like to ask you something. But you don’t have to answer now."

“So, why ask?"

"It might help us with some planning."

"OK. Shoot away.”

"Do we have a future?"

Jim was stunned.

"Right, that sounds a bit harsh. I meant to say, how do you imagine our future?" Izzy spoke softly. "Are we good just the way we are today? Or is there something you wish to do differently?"

Now that was something Jim could not answer instantly. They took another bite of their meal; Izzy reminded them to think it through.

Once they were done, Jim promised they would. Izzy pinched Jim's cheek and gave them a kiss. The couple went back to talking about that slasher gore movie they wish to see next weekend.

-

The next days were back to normal for Jim. They returned to the fast-paced kitchen of the fine-dining restaurant they led. Jim thought nothing of their conversation until they sped down the street of San Francisco on their motorbike and thought of things.

With their past girlfriends, when it comes to the future, marriage was something that they would jump into right away, no questions asked. But there were certain fears about being with a man who was almost old enough to be their father.

There were times Jim would walk in public with Izzy and feared what people had in their minds.

But fuck what others thought. What did Jim honestly feel about their relationship?

Many words were forming in their mind, but the one that stuck was relief.

Izzy took care of Jim. He arranged plans for the two of them; he listened to Jim's ideas and made them happen. He spoiled them with kisses and gifts. He did not make Jim feel ashamed for asking for help.

With him, Jim did not have to be strong all the time---that was a relief.

As the traffic lights turned green, Jim decided that this feeling was important to them.

-

“How do you feel?”

Jim sat at the dining table; they no longer have cramps, but they still carried the hot water bottle around. Izzy was busy preparing dinner, but Jim got the impression that he was available to talk. “I have been thinking.”

“That’s not my question, but sure.”

"I want us to be married."

Izzy stopped. He put down the plates and lifted his head; eyes fully on his lover.

"Yeah, I …” Jim moved their hands around. “I love what we have so far. And I think we need to build on that. We can start by being married."

Izzy said nothing. He continued on gazing at Jim. He considered the glints in their eyes, the way they fidgeted with the water bottle. "I agree."

"You do?"

"Yes. It's what I want. I want that for us.”

“I … wow, that’s … that’s great.” Jim smiled awkwardly. How does one react to such happy news? But luckily, as always, Izzy had the answer—Papi always had the answer.

He reached out to kiss Jim on the forehead, before sitting down next to them, grabbing their hand. "Yes. Let’s work towards that." He kissed Jim’s ring finger and pulled them into his embrace.

A year later, Jim received an antique ring with green gemstone as a birthday present. Izzy went on his knees in front of Nana and the Jimenez.

[lorelodge]

MUSE LIST

---

PIRATES

Frenchie

Synopsis: Born as a bastard son to an aristocrat & his servant, Frenchie has spent much of his life neither being seen nor heard. He grew up in the servants quarter with his mum and spent much of his free time singing to flowers of the manors gardens. Determined to see the world, he would eventually leave home scraping and scamming to get by. However, his prospects have much improved since then. Having learned to sail while serving on the Queen Anne's Revenge, Frenchie has gone from musician to captain in a very short period of time. Was there a possible mistake when counting the votes? Perhaps. But a captain he is. May God have mercy on his ill-equipped ass.

Orientation: homosexual & demiromantic.

Shipping: Izzy Hands (main); selectively open.

Occupation: musician; sailor.

Verses: Our Flag Means Death (canon), Gen. Modern, Modern: Musician, Stranger Things, Apocalypse, Western, Supernatural; Medieval Fantasy.

Roach

Synopsis: Nicknamed after one of the few creatures who could survive nuclear war, Roach is as wily and hardcore as his namesake. After being driven out of his hometown, Roach bounced from ship to ship serving as cook, surgeon, and occasional interrogator. The Queen Anne's Revenge is the one ship he's felt settled on. He considers the crew family & will do whatever he can to keep their bellies full of good food.

Orientation: pansexual & bordering aromantic.

Shipping: Wee John (main); open & poly.

Occupation: cook; impromptu surgeon.

Verses: Our Flag Means Death (canon), Gen. Modern, Apocalypse, Western, Supernatural.

Edward Teach

Synopsis: Edward Teach, born on a beach. At least, that's how the saying goes. The truth is much less mystical. He was born in Bristol to a family so poor they barely owned the shirts off their backs; Ed has been breathing salt since he was born, and tying rope for near as long. Between his sailing prodigy & the common sense of his first mate, Izzy Hands, Ed has created an ageless pirating legacy. However, in recent years he has grown bored of the constant violence and has chosen to retire with his boyfriend, Stede Bonnet. They now run Jim's Inn where everyone is welcome. Unless your a dick about forks. You can fuck off if you're a dick about forks.

Orientation: homosexual & homoromantic.

Shipping: Stede Bonnet (main) & Izzy Hands; closed.

Occupation: captain (canon).

Verses: Our Flag Means Death (canon), Gen. Modern, Modern: Musician, Western, Hunger Games, Supernatural.

Jim Jimenez

Synopsis: Jim was born to kill, at least, that's what they were taught to believe. They were adopted by nuns after witnessing the murders of their entire family. The church was like no other & the nuns there raised Jim to be an assassin. There life became one focused on revenge. It wasn't until they met Oluwande that light crept back into their life. With Olu's help they have exchanged solitude for a family aboard the Queen Anne's Revenge. They currently serve as the Revenge's master-at-arms.

Orientation: pansexual & panromantic.

Shipping: Oluwande Bloodhari (main); open & poly.

Occupation: sailor: master of arms (canon); muscle gun for hire (modern)

Verses: Our Flag Means Death (canon), Gen. Modern, Supernatural, Western.

William Turner Sr

Synopsis: The third in a long line of carpenters named William, he most often goes by Bill or Billy. Although he started off as an honest sailor, Bill's life would change upon meeting Jack. A life of freedom served him far better than he could have imagined. He became intoxicated by the freedom he was provided. Still a mild tempered and affable man, Bill's desire to roam the seas forever was a selfish one, and often caused him to leave his son for months at a time.

Orientation: bisexual & biromantic.

Shipping: Jack Sparrow (shhhh); open.

Occupation: sailor (canon); carpenter (modern)

Verses: Pirates of the Caribbean (canon), Gen. Modern, Supernatural.

SPOOPY

Laszlo Cravensworth

Synopsis: Laszlo Cravensworth was born in 1685 to a wealthy but emotionally distant aristocratic British family. Despite his privileged upbringing he was a rather miserable sod until he met his (eventual) wife, Nadja. The night they met she killed and turned him into a vampire. Laszlo's death proved to a chance at a new beginning and for the past three centuries he has gone through life doing what makes him happy (sucking and fucking, mostly).Throughout his immortal life he has been a cult member of Baron Afanas', a pirate, an inspiration for Freud, and Jack the Ripper.Often accused of being lazy, Laszlo is a man with many passing fixations. He has a love for the arts, especially music, and prefers to pursue hedonistic pleasures than power or acclaim.

Orientation: pansexual & demiromantic.

Shipping: Nadja of Antipaxos (main); selectively open & poly

Occupation: lawyer (former); vampire

Verses: What We Do In The Shadows (canon), Gen. Modern (mortal), Apocalypse, Hunger Games.

Baron Afanas

Synopsis: Baron Afanas was born in Kievan Rus' in 1010 a.d. He was stolen from his family at a very young age and sold into slavery. To increase his value he was made an eunuch before reaching puberty. His later disgust for humans stems largely from his trauma as a human man. Furthermore, his sire is the grand sire whom he traveled with for several centuries.

• Baron has served as a member of the vampiric council. • He traveled with a coven of vampire supremacists for a good portion of his life. • The majority of those vampires were eventually killed by Van Helsing. • He began his own cult/coven in the 1400's starting with Nadja. Everyone in this coven was sired by Baron (sans Laszlo). • He used to have considerable more reach and power but by the 1800's his views were considered laughably fringe.

Orientation: pansexual & demisexual

Shipping: Carlisle Cullen (main); selectively open.

Occupation: cult leader (canon); priest (modern)

Verses: What We Do in the Shadows (main), gen. Modern.

Lestat de Lioncourt

Synopsis: As brave as he was beautiful, Lestat was destined to turn heads & woo hearts no matter where he went. It was near inevitable that an old country vampire such as Magnus would feel compelled to abduct & turn him. Made the heir of a fortune moments before his sire set himself ablaze, Lestat has spent much of his vampire life battling against crippling loneliness. He is known to turn others on a whim in order to fend of his own demons.

Orientation: bisexual & homoromantic.

Shipping: Louis Pointe du Lac (main); selectively open.

Occupation: actor (canon); Rockstar (modern).

Verses: Interview With the Vampire (canon), Modern: Musician (mortal).

Dean Winchester

Synopsis: Born in Lawrence, Kansas as the son of a former (Mary) and future (John) hunters, Dean's occupation was set in stone before he took his first breath. The death of his mother marked the end of Dean's childhood. Since then it's been a series of motels and long days on the road. Dean has been to heaven, hell, and purgatory. He has lived the lives of a monster and hunter. These experiences have left their mark but have never destroyed his desire to protect those he loves and put good out into the world.

Orientation: bisexual & undetermined

Shipping: open.

Occupation: monster hunter (canon); firefighter (alt. Modern)

Verses: Supernatural, alt modern.

Rowena MacLeod

Synopsis: Rowena has always known that she was different. She was born as nothing more than the lowly daughter of an impoverished miller; the ability to harness powerful magic ran in her bloodline. However, it would only be after a decade and a half of heartache that Rowena learned the valuable lesson of putting herself first. Her small Scottish town was unable to contain her and she happily abandoned her mortal life in hope of finding a coven of like-minded magic users. Rowena is a 300 year old, natural born witch who long ago rejected her mortal coils. Known for being selfish, petty, and vengeful. Those who encounter her often leave worse for wear.

Orientation: pansexual & panromantic

Shipping: open

Occupation: witch

Verses: Supernatural (main)

Felix Costanzo

Synopsis: In in the depths of St. Louis, New Orleans there lives a vampire known as Lestat & his rat-catcher fledgling, Felix. His human life was pleasantly average. Born and raised in New Orleans, Felix was the eldest child & only son to a single mother of four. His childhood was spent looking after a gaggle of misfits. He chose to stay behind behind after high school. Getting a job at a local guitar shop and slowly building up a loyal following as a gaming streamer. His mundane life was cut short by Lestat de Lioncourt who turned him into a vampire. Now a creature of the night he lives isolated from humans in a studio apartment, catching rats for his sire & gaming until the sun rises.

Orientation: Bisexual

Shipping: open

Occupation: twitch streamer.

Verses: Supernatural (canon), Modern: Musician, Modern: University.

NORMIES

Cyrus Monteagudo

Synopsis: Cyrus was born with a congenital amputation of his left arm. However, this condition has always been his normal. Though things my have been more difficult at times he refused to be held back. He and his step-brother made the varsity wrestling team. He graduated college as a NCAA DII wrestler before deciding to move in to the relatively new sport of professional MMA. He went on to fight in several organizations but was never able to win a title. He retired right before his 30th birthday. However, he maintained his love of sports and chose to become an occupational therapist. Many of his clients are former fighters learning to live with hip & knee replacements.

Orientation: undetermined

Shipping: open

Occupation: MMA fighter (former) & occupational therapist (current)

Verses: gen. Modern

Jeremy Russek

Synopsis: Jeremy moved to Hawkins with his family the summer before his Sophomore year of high school. He an amateur ghost hunter, cryptologist, and documentarian. After learning about the disappearances & deaths happening around Hawkins Jeremy is hot on the trail. He is a member of the student paper and photography club.

Orientation: undetermined.

Shipping: open

Occupation: cameraman & producer.

Verses: Stranger Things (canon), Supernatural, gen. Modern.

Axel Gustavson

Synopsis: Brash, loudmouthed, and full of spite. The assumption may be that Axel was raised on the streets. Truth is they were a normal, apple pie family...at least on the surface. He was a rejected Dr. Brenner subject; adopted by two researchers who took pity on him. As a teenager Axel rebelled in an effort to reclaim agency over his life. Eventually he met Kali who persuaded him to leave California for good. Axel making the second member of her gang.

Orientation: bisexual (closeted) & biromantic; selectively open.

Shipping: open (if you dare).

Occupation: scum bag.

Verses: Stranger Things (canon).

Oliver Campbell

Synopsis: Oliver was the youngest of four sons to a wealthy English-Irish family. He was a rambunctious young lad who never quite lived up to his brothers achievements. His friendship and eventual romance with Izzy Hands led them to eventually join the Navy. Note: In his canon verse he dies a few years after joining the Navy, although this can be altered for my partners.

Orientation: bisexual & biromantic

Shipping: Sloane (main) & Izzy Hands (secondary); selectively open-ish.

Occupation: being pretty. ABS - Navyman (canon); IRA member & mechanic (modern).

Verses: Pirates of the Caribbean (canon), Gen. Modern

Adam Brannigan

Synopsis: Despite being born into the infamous Teague pirate family, Adam has never wanted that sort of life. His strict moral compass and aversion to the unpredictable led to him reject the family occupation. With the help of his brothers and their contacts Adam eventually left Shipwreck. He created a new identity in London, studying law, and eventually opening his own practice.

Orientation: heterosexual & heteroromantic

Shipping: Mary Ann (wife); closed.

Occupation: lawyer

Verses: Pirates of the Caribbean (canon), Gen. Modern

[stedefxckingbonnet]

requests info/intro!

hi, everyone!

i thought i'd take a quick second to introduce myself and to also formally open up requests. i'm already working on a few things, but requests really do always help and feel free to submit them at any point--but, we'll get to all of that in a moment!

my name is lavinia, and i am a uni student studying both theatre (dramaturgy specifically) and creative writing! i love to sing, act, write (obviously haha), read (i am a huge fan of classic literature, as well as donna tartt, mona awad, sally rooney, elif bautman, and ottessa moshfegh's works), go to concerts, go to the movies, style/design clothing, paint, collect records/cds, and so much more! this barely scratches the surface really but, if any of you share these interests, always feel free to reach out!

anyhow, as i said, i will officially be opening requests, and at the moment here is the media and the characters i will write for:

Our Flag Means Death

Izzy Hands (my BELOVED)

Ed Teach

Stede Bonnet

Lucius Spriggs

Jim Jimenez

Oluwande

Mary Bonnet

(more available upon request! these were just sort of my first instincts.)

Gilmore Girls

honestly, i'm pretty open to anything unless it's dean. just request and i'll see what i can do!

Gossip Girl

Blair Waldorf

Serena Van der Woodsen

Dan Humphrey

Nate Archibald

Chuck Bass (like sometimes)

Rufus Humphrey

more available upon request.

The Fosters/The Good Trouble

Callie Adams Foster

Mariana Adams Foster

Brandon Foster

Jamie Hunter

Gael Martinez

Dennis Cooper

Malika Williams

more available upon request.

Select Wes Anderson and Tim Burton characters. just ask!

Enola Holmes

Enola Holmes

Tewkesbury

Sherlock Holmes

Little Women (2019)

Jo March

Amy March

Beth March

Meg March

Laurie

Friedrich Bhaer

Star Wars

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Anakin Skywalker

Padmé Amidala

Luke Skywalker

Han Solo

Leia Organa

Kylo Ren

Finn

Poe Dameron

Ahsoka Tano

more available upon request!

Pride & Prejudice (2005)

Basically me just saying I'll write Mr. Darcy. but more characters available upon request, of course.

Community

Abed Nadir

Troy Barnes

Annie Edison

Jeff and Britta I'm a little iffy on but with the right request, maybe. don't hesitate to ask!

The OC

Seth Cohen

Ryan Atwood

Summer Roberts

Marissa Cooper

The Umbrella Academy

Klaus

Viktor

Ben

Five

Diego

Allison

Luther is like, not preferred for me but if you feel strongly about him and have a good request, i’ll consider it but don’t get your hopes up too high!

Once Upon a Time

Emma Swan

Regina Mills

Killian Jones

Neal Cassidy

August Booth

Jefferson (The Mad Hatter)

Mulan

Ruby Lucas (Red Riding Hood)

Belle French

Mary Margaret Blanchard (Snow White)

David Nolan (Prince Charming)

Peter Pan

Robin Hood

Any others, feel free to ask! I know I left Mr. Gold (Rumple) off, but that's only because it depends with each request. Also, please specify if you want it to take place in Storybrooke pre or post curse, or in The Enchanted Forest.

Merlin

Merlin

Arthur

Gwen

Morgana

Nimueh

Lancelot

any others, feel free to ask. i am just starting S2, keep that in mind.

The Holdovers

Angus Tully

Dead Poets Society

Todd Anderson

Neil Perry

Knox Overstreet

Charlie Dalton

Steven Meeks

Love Lies Bleeding

Lou Langston

Jackie Cleaver

i'll just start there for now, as honestly it's been a bit since i've written an x reader and i don't want to overwhelm myself much! but please, feel free to request at any time! I will update this frequently, as I am always either getting into new things or remembering things I already love. I am mostly dedicated to OFMD right now, but you may also leave requests for other fandoms and I will keep them on file, or who knows, perhaps even get to them sooner than you may imagine! Have a wonderful day (or night!), and don't forget to request!

yours truly,

lavinia

me filing through all of your requests (hopefully!)

[veeagainsttheday]

Tagged by @ghostalservice!

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason. <3

First fic: That Inspirational Stuff , a long Poe/Finn fic set after the Last Jedi where I tried to create the satisfying character arcs that the actual movies never would for Poe and Finn. It's funny that this is my first fic listed on Ao3 because the very first fanfic I ever wrote in my life was handwritten in a journal when I was 13, when I tried to imagine a sequel trilogy to the original SW trilogy.

Last fic: Here Comes the Bride, Ed/Stede and inspired by the S2 teaser.

Wrote once: I'm not sure how much this counts, but I wrote a Pacific Rim/OFMD crossover fic, lovers in a dangerous time, which is the only Pacific Rim fic I've ever written.

Favorite fic in biggest fandom: Not sure how to quantify biggest fandom, so I'll go with OFMD. My fav fic I've written for that is The World Beyond. I am proud of it because I wrote it as being post s1 in terms of where Ed and Stede's relationship was at while also being set in a dystopian cli-fi near future, and, now having seen the trailer and teaser, I kinda think I got the post s1 vibes right.

Fic I wish more people read: The Legend of the Gentleman and the Outlaw, by Lucius Spriggs (La Leyenda del Hidalgo y El Bandido, translated by Jim Jimenez), I just think it's neat. I tried to write it using the structure of Cloud Atlas and mostly succeeded. There's two chapters done in bird POV. And I particularly love Lucius's arc in it.

Fic I agonized over most: don't let me die with my soul in the air, my massive retelling of S1 and beyond from Ed's POV. Holee shit I agonised over this guy, especially S1E10 Ed. Rewatching his scenes in that episode was heartbreaking.

Fic that sprang fully formed: Mile High Club, I genuinely think I wrote this thing in like... two days? I had to get it out of my head via keyboard.

Fic I'm proud of: Runaway Effects, which I co-wrote with @petrichorca. It was my first ever collaboration and I think we made something really beautiful that I think about all the time.

tagging @petrichorca @elapsed-spiral @mxmollusca @emi--rose and anyone else who wants to join the fun!