#hush frenchy

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

RoTE posting again, but man. MAN.

Very little has hit me quite as hard as the chapter of Fitz's first person narration ending with, "Chade's boy wept."

#hush frenchy #rote #realm of the elderlings #rote spoilers #kind of

[reki-of-the-valley]

....... I miss francophone Langa

#fuck ive gotten emotional attached to my sleep paralysis demon #aka Frenchie Langa #shit #hush lils

[my-thyla-my-captain]

interesting that the exact wording edward uses to fang is "i took a man's leg" instead of saying "i took izzy's leg". the fact that izzy is still making excuses and lies to absolve edward of guilt, to everyone and namely to himself -- his fault, leg dangling in the water where a shark could reach. the fact that izzy wasn't present for edward's banishment from the ship and his walk of shame. the fact that it's confirmed that it was izzy who had edward's body kept on the ship, even as he was presumed dying or dead. the fact that he doesn't say anything when edward is brought back to the ship during his reconciliation speech and it's jim again that stands up for izzy even when Stede is trying to hush them ("murdered? shot?" specifically, but also "tortured? anxious? on edge?" -- i think back to what izzy had said just before his leg gave out ('maybe next time he'll think twice about not doing his fucking job' ) and the fact that this still continues to be a constant thing to thread back to haunt him, about edward's threat to be rid of him if he doesn't do his duty).

"he's definitely more disturbed than the rest of us" lucius says. jim said "murdered" in regards to what edward made them feel -- you know for a fact that edward didn't tell the crew izzy "killed" himself and with izzy's propensity of taking the blows to shield edward of guilt, you know he hasn't admitted it to anyone either. they would have used suicidal, otherwise. no one thinks to thread things together because of course blackbeard mid-kraken would kill izzy. no one but stede and izzy knows he always outsources the job. no one thinks to ask how he survived a supposedly point blank shot.

the fact that they've deliberately not had any direct interactions thus far in episodes 4-5. particularly five, edward admitting he doesn't apologize, the fact he's trying to make amends with lucius and fang, the fact that edward admits to not knowing how to reconcile. of course to the goth crew, archie is very 'this is how a pirate's life is supposed to go', frenchie is a shivering dog, and jim is a steel wall, and fang feels even given the attempted murder. the fact that when asked, they all say they're surprised they got what they had from him ("the bar is on the floor")

izzy deflects. ("are you happy with this?" "with what, pirating?")

something, something

#ofmd #ofmd spoilers #ofmd s2 #our flag means death #Ofmd meta #Our flag means death spoilers #izzy hands #con oneill #stede bonnet #edward teach #edizzy #blackhands #gentlebeard

[starlitangels]

Thanksgiving with the Greers

I hereby dedicate this fic to @frenchiefitzhere and her versions of Marie and Colm and their relationship because I like Frenchie's version better than canon. This takes place years ago, btw 2.0k words

Also. I frickin' started writing this like back in spring or summer. Idk what was up with my brain that it took me until last Saturday to actually finish it

—

Asher jolted as his phone started ringing. He scooped it up.

Incoming Call… Little Man Syndrome™

“Hey Milo,” Asher greeted, holding the phone up to his ear. “What’s up?”

“What’re ya doin’ for dinner tonight?” Milo asked.

“Leftover pizza and wings. Why?”

Over the connection, a long string of expletives met Asher’s ears. But not from Milo.

“Ma—Ma—don’t blow your top just yet,” Milo said placatingly, voice distant from the mic. Before getting closer. “Ash. You realize what today is right?”

“Uh… Thursday?”

“Which Thursday?” Milo prompted.

“Well, hell, Greer. I don’t know.”

He heard the impact of Milo smacking himself in the forehead. “Oh for the love of—” Milo was cut off by Marie swearing again. “Ma! I got this!”

“You’d better 'got this' young man or Asher is never gonna hear the end of it from me!” Marie snapped.

“Ash,” Milo said, level but clearly irritated. “Today is Thanksgiving.”

“Ohhh! Is that why David invited me to go to his dad’s house with him for dinner?”

“Presumably. Why didn’t you go?”

“I don’t know I just thought it was Thursday!”

“Only you could be so time-blind to forget a holiday like this,” Milo muttered. “Look—”

“Asher Reed Talbot, you get your ass to this house in one hour, ya hear?” Marie interrupted.

Milo sighed. “Ma, I was gonna do it the polite way. Like a gentleman. Like you taught me.”

Marie’s voice softened immediately. “I know, baby,” she said. Asher heard her kiss Milo’s hair. “But sometimes a boy needs a mother to kick him in the pants in the right direction.”

Milo chuckled. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “Anyway, Ash. I’d ask if you’d care to join us for Thanksgiving dinner but I think that ship has sailed.”

Asher laughed. “I think you’re right. I’ll be over in an hour,” he said. “What’s the dress code?”

“I don’t care if you show up in your underwear so long as you’re here,” Marie said, still sharp with exasperation. “No son of mine—of my friends’—is eatin’ leftover pizza and wings alone on Thanksgivin’ if I have anything to say about it!”

“And clearly you do,” Colm’s quieter voice added even more distant from Milo’s phone.

“Hush, you,” Marie said, a smile in her voice. “One hour, Asher!”

“Yes ma’am!” Asher agreed. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“Just yourself,” Colm supplied.

“Okay. Will do.”

“Bye,” Milo said.

“See ya soon.” He hung up and put the pizza box back in the fridge. Setting his phone down on the counter in the apartment, he rushed to his room.

Thanksgiving dinner had always been a business casual dinner at his house. Probably because Madelyn and her mate flew home for it every other year and his parents wanted to make an event of it. This was the first Thanksgiving they weren’t going to be home for, traveling somewhere in… Korea or somewhere.

And knowing Marie…

“Khakis and a polo should be fine,” Asher decided.

—

“HA!” Milo barked the second Asher slipped through the front door—not bothering to knock. The Shaw and Greer houses were second homes to him. He never knocked if the door was unlocked. Which it usually was. “Someone’s overdressed!”

Asher turned to see Milo in jeans and a T-shirt with a cartoon turkey on it.

Marie thwacked Milo upside the head gently with the back of the mixing spoon in her hand. “Well how ‘boutchu go dress to match him, huh?”

Milo rubbed the back of his head. “Wait—you serious?”

Marie fixed him with a look only a mother could give. “Very,” she said.

Milo sighed. “Fine. I will.” He cast a sidelong glance at Ash. “And I’ll look even better’n you in it.”

Asher snorted. “You can try.”

Milo stomped toward the hallway, flipping the bird over his shoulder.

“Milo Anthony Greer!” Marie warned.

Milo’s hand dropped immediately. “Sorry, Ma!” He scampered off for his room.

Asher sheepishly approached Marie. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I know you said an hour and it’s been an hour and fifteen—”

“And I knew you’d be late which is why I said an hour when dinner was an hour and a half away from bein’ finished.”

Asher chuckled. “Do you know everything?”

Marie smiled and cupped Asher’s cheek in one hand—the one not holding the mixing spoon. “Just my boys,” she said with a wink. “Now get those rolls in the oven for me then get the hell out of my kitchen.”

“Yes ma’am.” Asher ducked around her to assist immediately, knowing better than to hesitate.

Colm was in the living room. A replay of the big parade in New York was going on the TV, but Colm wasn’t watching it. He was reading from a sheaf of papers on the coffee table.

Asher cleared his throat. “Look, uh, Marie,” he started quietly, heat burning at his neck and ears. “I just. I wanted to thank you. For thinking of me tonight. And for… y’know. Inviting me.” He closed the oven door and took the mitt off. But didn’t straighten to his full height. His shoulders were slouched forward and his eyes were cast down to the hardwood floor.

Marie gave him a warm smile. “Asher,” she said fondly. “You are always welcome here, you got that? Now, I don’t care if it’s Thanksgiving or a random Monday in the middle of May. You are family. And there will always be a place for you at our table.”

Asher blinked away a sudden salty sting in his eyes. “Thanks Marie,” he said, trying to swallow the thickness of his voice from the emotion in his chest. “I appreciate that.”

Marie turned back to the gravy she’d been making. From scratch. Of course. Marie Greer would never dream of any other kind of gravy disgracing her kitchen. “I’m happy for your parents. Gettin’ the chance to travel like they always talked and dreamed about. And I respect their decision to do it while they’re still young enough to withstand how exhaustin’ it is.” Her mouth narrowed into a frown. “But that doesn’t mean I approve of all-a it.” Her warm grey eyes—the same as Milo’s—flicked over to him. “They didn’t need t’ leave you here alone.”

Asher shrugged. "They thought I was old enough to live without them."

"Livin' without your parents doesn't mean ya don't still need their influence or advice." Her voice had gone hard with disapproval.

"Hey, that's what I have you for!" Asher joked brightly.

Marie leveled a Look™ at him. "You're damn right," she said seriously.

Colm covered a scoff by clearing his throat in the other room. Marie turned her Look™ briefly toward her mate before going back to her gravy.

Asher slunk carefully out of the kitchen, managing to only knock a mixing spoon onto the ground—that he quickly put back—and not mess up anything else.

Milo was stalking back into the living room, sour look on his face, having changed into a polo shirt and khakis himself.

It was, of course, Asher's job in life to give Milo a hard time. They were brothers in all but blood. But Asher admitted—silently, to himself, never out loud—that Milo definitely pulled off a polo and khakis better than he did. Milo was one of those lucky suckers who looked good in everything. Asher was tall and leanly muscled, but being tall sometimes made things look too short on him.

Milo didn't have that problem.

"Hey. Hey Milo," Asher started.

"What?" Milo retorted.

"You've got somethin' on your face."

Milo raised a single, sarcastic eyebrow. Waiting.

"Yeah. Y'know, I think it's called sour grapes."

"Oh you—" Milo moved as though to take a swing at Asher. Who ducked with a laugh and dodged out of the way.

—

Marie looked through the archway between the living room and the kitchen, watching her boys goof off and chase each other around like they had since they were little. She smiled to herself as she took the gravy off the heat and turned off the stove. A quick check through the oven window revealed the rolls were coming along.

As they kept baking, she started moving everything she'd made from the cookware she'd finished them in, to a pretty crystal serving dish. Then took them, two at a time, to the dining room table.

The clearing of a throat announced that Colm had gotten up from looking at his case files to help her. She smiled at him. He kissed the side of her head and took the two dishes from her hands, letting her grab two more.

After taking the two dishes, Colm set the table. After letting his mate choose the most festive tablecloth.

She got the rolls out of the oven right as the timer went off and quickly got them out of the pan and into a little basket with a white cloth lining it.

"A'right boys!" Marie announced, whipping her apron off after wiping her hands on it one last time. "Wash your hands and sit your asses down at the table."

Milo and Asher both froze from where Milo had managed to yank Asher down to his eye level and get him in a headlock. Marie met both of their eyes in turn, a stern look on her face. Milo cleared his throat and let go of Asher's neck. Both of them straightened their shirts and bustled—still poking and prodding at one another—into the kitchen to wash their hands. "Yes, Ma," Milo said automatically.

They knew better than to protest.

Marie and Colm sat on one side of the table. The boys sat on the other.

Milo leaned over to Asher. "We do the stuff we're thankful for before we eat," he whispered. Asher nodded.

"I'll start," Colm said. "I'm grateful, this year, for patience. The patience that my family has shown me." He reached under the table and gave Marie's leg a squeeze. She did her best not to react as his hand slipped a little higher up her leg before sliding off back to Colm's side.

She cleared her throat. "I'm grateful for my family," she said. "I'm grateful for a mate who loves me and works hard for us. I'm grateful for a pack that welcomed us as family all those years ago and never once acted otherwise. I'm grateful for an amazing, strong, brave son who has every right to be as confident as he is. And I'm grateful for all his friends who have become his family. Because they're my family. And I'm grateful that Ash could join us tonight, so he could be with family on Thanksgivin'."

She pretended not to notice Asher wiping a tear off on his sleeve.

"A'ight. My turn," Milo said. "Welp. This year... I guess I'm grateful for... everythin' I've been able to do. I learned a lot of lessons this year, and all-a 'em were important and valuable." He turned to Asher.

Who cleared his throat. "I, uh... I'm grateful for a lot of stuff. I'm really grateful for the pack that I got to be raised in. I'm grateful that David somehow has the patience to be my roommate. I'm grateful that I haven't burnt the apartment building down yet. And... I'm grateful for the Greer family. For being willing to accept me into your home on a holiday that's stressful enough as it is. Whether I wanted to come over or not." He smiled around a chuckle. "Thank you, for always making me feel welcome and at home." He swallowed. "Now can we please eat? I'm hungry!"

Colm and Milo both started laughing along with Asher. Marie just met his eyes with a loving look on her face. Sure, Ash was Frank and his mate's kid. But Ash was Marie's kid too. He certainly was now that the Talbots were traveling, but she'd loved him like a son since he and Milo had been close friends.

He gave her a grateful smile. She returned it.

"Go ahead an' dish up before it gets cold, boys," she said.

"Thank you," Milo said, reaching for the mashed potatoes.

—

General Shaw Pack and Characters Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose @pinksparkl @darlin-collins @icedunderwaterroom

#redacted asmr #fic #Redacted Asher #Redacted Milo #Redacted Marie #Redacted Colm #Redacted Audio #Starlit Fic

[deaf-solitude]

can i request platonic frenchie&reader where they run scams or heists together? reader can be g/n!

(A/N: Of course! :D So sorry for the delay, I’ve been dealing with a lot these past months and trying to get out of writer's block. I may have gotten… a little off topic and carried away but I meannnn… I had a vision and I ran with it. I hope it didn't come off as romantic due to some dance scenes. Hope you enjoy! <3 (also season 2 RAHHHHHH!!! I’m staying up to date with the episodes as soon as they come out, so feel free to submit requests for season 2 stuff as well!) also this starts in third person, but is written in 2nd person afterwards!)

Pairing: Platonic Frenchie x Gender Neutral! Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: None (aside from rich people ugh). Very fluffy :]

Summary: You and Frenchie snuck into a fancy party to rob some rich people, as one does. The night was going so very smoothly, and you both racked up quite the haul for the night. A bit of trouble arose as you were trying to leave, but there's nothing you can't... dance your way out of?

“Hey, get back here!” A voice shouted from somewhere in the crowded ballroom, but it was only met with giggles and hushed exclamations as two figures rushed away from the fancy Englishman. A few other posh citizens were shoved to the side as they ran, causing them to let out offended gasps and surprised shouts, but that didn’t deter the pair from making their getaway.

“Go, go, go!” One of the two encouraged, pushing the man in front of them around a corner to get away from any pursuers they may have picked up. The two yelped as they turned the corner, coming face to face with a taller, burlier man. He… did not look pleased. The thief behind their male counterpart suddenly launched forward, grabbing his hand and dragging him down another hallway. He stumbled slightly from the abrupt movement, but quickly regained his footing and kept pace with them.

They could hear the larger man giving chase behind them, spurring them to run faster. Through many narrow hallways and past many closed doors (which they didn’t dare test to see if any of them were locked or not), the two finally saw a break as they turned a corner: an ajar door. They charged through the doorway and nearly crashed into the wall opposing it, but scrambled to quietly shut the door behind them anyway. The space was small, almost too small for the both of them, and they were forced to painfully squish together.

They covered each other’s mouths with their hands as they heard the hurried footsteps of their pursuer, lying in wait as they approached and then passed their hiding place. They could hear each other's racing heartbeats in their ears from the close proximity, waiting at least a minute more before even considering moving. Slowly, they exchanged wide-eyed glances before breaking down into quiet laughter.

“Up top!” You exclaimed through laboured breaths, struggling to free your arm before holding one of your hands up toward Frenchie. He grinned and enthusiastically gave you a high five, doing a little fist pump right after. You giggled quietly at his action, covering your mouth with your hand. 

“You got the goods?” Frenchie questioned eagerly, to which you procured a decent sized pouch from behind your back, its contents jingling around as it moved. 

“I sure do,” you responded with a mischievous grin, shaking the pouch slightly before tucking it back behind your back, straightening up a bit–or, as much as you could in the small space. “Now let’s get the fuck outta here, yeah?” You proposed, gesturing the best you could to the small closet the two of you were still standing in.

Frenchie nodded, “right, right.” He leaned forwards to slowly open the closet door, carefully peeking his head out to scan the hallway. Empty. He withdrew his head and gave you a thumbs up, indicating the coast was clear, before shoving his hands in the small, intricate satchel tied around his waist, trying to look for something. He fished out two masquerade-esque masks with a flourish a few moments later, the masks similar to the ones some of the other guests were wearing, but a little more crude due to the materials Frenchie had on hand when making them. “Our disguises,” he announced, handing the one over to you that matched your outfit’s theme and colours.

“Oooo, very nice,” you complimented, taking the mask offered to you gently. It covered a little more of your face than a normal mask would, and yours had some beautiful feathers fanning out from one side, no doubt stolen from that rich man’s ship that Blackbeard’s crew had raided earlier. “You sure these masks will be enough to stop people from recognizing us? Or rather, the blokes that were chasing us earlier?” You questioned as you fastened the mask to your face, adjusting the string holding it in place so it wouldn’t slip.

“Oh yeah, a hundred percent. We’ll be out of here in no time.” Frenchie reassured, waving a dismissing hand at you as he fumbled to put his own mask on. You nodded at Frenchie’s words, choosing to believe him rather than fret over the fact that the masks would definitely not conceal your identities well enough, but you supposed you would cross that bridge when you got to it.

Within a few more moments, you were both ready to go, checking that the hallway was clear once more before exiting the cramped closet. You made quick work of navigating the halls the two of you had just been running down, making your way back to the main area. There was only one problem that stood between you and your escape: you had to make your way back through the crowded ballroom, where you had both stolen several valuables from several different people. You found yourself standing in front of that very room before long, pausing in one of the extravagant arches that led into it. It was still as packed as ever, and the band set up in the corner of the room were still playing their baroque music.

“Ugh, this is going to be terrible,” Frenchie groaned, already shivering in discomfort from the thought of having to get through this room in a non suspicious manner, which most likely called for some interaction with these upper class snobs. You also found yourself shuffling your feet anxiously, your mind already jumping to find other solutions. 

“Uh, maybe there’s a way around…?” You had begun to move away from the busy room when suddenly you were taken by the arm and pulled in another direction. Your head snapped to the side to see a posh Englishwoman had hooked her arm with yours, a tight smile on her face. “Oh, darling, I love the embroidery on your outfit! Wherever did you get it?” She gawked, eyeing you –an unsuspected thief– up and down.

You were quick to put up a bashful facade, giving the woman a coy smile in return, but you couldn’t shake the nervous twinge in your body language. “Ah, this old thing?” You waved a hand at her, straightening up a bit, “I’m afraid it’s handmade by a friend of mine, a gift to me. They don’t take clients, unfortunately.” Of course, you were lying through your teeth: this ‘friend’ of yours was actually that wealthy man that had been robbed earlier that day, who had an odd amount of fancy outfits aboard his ship. He was dead now, courtesy of Izzy. You supposed the outfit counted as a gift, along with the feathers adorning your mask.

“Oh, please, you must put in a good word for me! Their work is simply exquisite!” The woman pleaded, holding both of your arms now. You chuckled nervously, trying to wrench yourself from the woman’s uncomfortably tight hold.

“Of course, of course! I’ll be, uh, sure to do that!” You responded hastily, your gaze flicking to the side to meet Frenchie’s, but instead found that he was missing from where you were just standing next to him. Your eyes widened in panic, beginning to search the rest of the room for your companion. Luckily, it didn’t take long for you to catch a glimpse of him again, the poor man also being dragged away and crowded around by some posh couple. 

Shit, you cursed inwardly, excusing yourself from the Englishwoman as you began to make your way over to Frenchie again. You nearly groaned as yet another person intercepted your path, talking your ear off about some party gossip you couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to at the moment, only responding in hums and nods as you kept your eye on Frenchie. Eventually, he turned and met your gaze with a distraught expression, a frown tugging at his lips.

At that moment, a new song started up, and all of the partygoers suddenly perked up and started to cheer, seemingly getting into… pairs? Oh. OH. Your heart dropped into your stomach, realizing that people were starting to dance. Unfortunately for you, it seemed as though the crowd was pulling in any dance partner they could find, which included onlookers. You looked back to Frenchie with a panicked look–you were never confident in your ability to dance. He gave you an empathetic look, shrugging before being pulled away by a tipsy woman who was far too giggly for his liking.

“Out of all the fucking times,” You grumbled to yourself, your fists clenching at your sides in annoyance and slight nervousness. A tap on your shoulder had you whirling around, your posture stiff as you stared at the masked woman who had wanted your attention.

“Oh hun, you seem awfully lonely. It’d be a shame if you missed out on all the fun,” she purred, holding out a hand. You hesitated, trying to ease the tension in your voice and body by clearing your throat as you scratched the back of your neck.

“Oh, I don’t know… I’m not the best dancer,” you explained, but your hand was grabbed by the woman anyway. You were startled at first, every muscle in your body screaming to pull away from the unfamiliar woman, but fuck it, causing a scene was the last thing you needed right now.

“That’s quite alright, just follow my lead,” the woman responded quietly, unnaturally kind for someone of her stature. You nodded without a word, letting the woman take the lead in a more relaxed step pattern. It was easier to get into the flow than you thought, and after a bit of stumbling, you were following the woman’s movements effortlessly. She smiled up at you, pulling you a bit closer. “See? You’re a natural.”

You barked a laugh and dare you say, although the woman’s proximity was a bit worrisome, you found yourself having a bit of fun. You couldn’t remember the last time you actually enjoyed dancing without making yourself look like a fool. “I wouldn’t say a natural,” you responded casually, your gaze wandering to inspect the rest of the ballroom, looking for a way out despite the fun of it. That’s when you spotted your counterpart a few feet away, trying his damndest to keep up with an overly eager damsel. You suppressed a laugh, lest you make your own dance partner suspicious, and took the lead to slowly make your way over to him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” You smirked as you passed Frenchie on the dance floor, bumping your hip into his as you spun your dance partner away from yourself for a moment. Frenchie, taken off guard for a second, chuckled at the action and was grinning at your unusual confidence, but was pulled away by his own dance partner before he could get a word in. The interaction left a giddy smile on your face, even as your dance partner came spinning back into your arms.

After another minute or so, the song picked up the pace and suddenly everyone was switching dance partners. Despite her friendly attitude, you still couldn’t help slipping off the gold rings around the woman’s fingers as the two of you parted, discreetly pocketing them with a smug smile. You half-bowed to her as you scurried off, hoping she wouldn’t notice the small accessories missing anytime soon.

You tried picking out Frenchie in the crowd as everyone mingled again, but were unable to before a man approached you with unmistakable, arrogant confidence. “Why, hello there,” he greeted, his voice nasally and annoying as he grabbed your arm and pulled you much too close to him, “may I have this dance with you?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, trying your best to keep your smile from slipping as you eyed the exit, still having half the room to traverse. You turn your attention back to the man in front of you, eying him up and down with a feigned look of coyness. “I suppose,” you trailed off, fighting hard to bite back any snarky remarks or pointed looks. As he took your hand and started to lead you in dance, however, you couldn’t stop yourself from stepping on his shiny shoes a few times… accidentally, of course.

You found yourself smiling, not because of the dancing, but from the pure enjoyment of toying with the man in front of you as he tried to remain polite, despite his lips twitching in annoyance. Another step on his foot nearly had him pushing you away from him, and you tried hard not to laugh. It came out as a stifled inhale, easily mistaken for a gasp. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight,” you pouted up at the man, rolling your head to the side to rest it on your shoulder.

The man sighed heavily, but still managed to give you a strained smile as he pulled you close again. “Ah, it seems dancing just isn’t your forte,” he rudely commented, his hand trailing up to your face and towards your mask, “maybe we should just cut to the chase, hm? See that pretty face of yours?” 

Your facade broke instantly, reflexes almost lightning-quick as you seized the man’s wrist in your hand, your breathing suddenly uneven with anger and surprise. You glared up at him as your lip pulled back into a scowl, but before you had the chance to spit any insults at him, everyone was changing partners again.

You swiped the jeweled bangle from his wrist in all the commotion before eagerly shoving the man away, who stumbled from the force. He was taken aback to see you flipping him off as you backed away from him, giving him a disgusted look. He didn’t have any time to take action against your sudden impertinence as another woman swooped in and begged for him to dance with her, but you still refused to turn your back on him as you continued walking backwards.

That is, until you inevitably backed into someone. 

You whipped around, agitated and ready to snap at whoever had gotten in your way, but your expression and posture immediately softened when you saw who it was. “Hey! Thought I lost you for good for a second there!” Frenchie exclaimed, smiling brightly at you. It was contagious, really, and you found yourself smiling along with him.

“Yeah, it’s easy to get caught up with the crowd in here,” you chuckled, tension leaving your body with every second spent being in Frenchie’s presence. You don’t know what you would’ve done if you had to spend one more second mingling with these upper class gits.

“Tell me about it! I never knew these snobs could be so energetic,” he admitted with a sigh, and now you could see the exhaustion that had begun to slow his movements down. You hummed in response, your eyes flicking to the side as you caught an Englishwoman approaching the two of you in your peripheral vision. You were quick to grab Frenchie’s hands in response, pulling him in the opposite direction and easily transitioning into a slower dance in order to prevent the two of you from getting dragged apart again. He let out a small yelp of surprise from the action, but didn’t pull away or protest as you guided him away from any prying hands. 

You were both silent for a moment while you focused on getting into the rhythm, but before long, you had looked up and made eye contact with him, causing the two of you to burst out into stifled laughter; laughter from the absolute insanity of your situation. “You’re not a bad dancer, if I do say so myself,” Frenchie grinned, promptly stepping on your foot and immediately gasping out an apology as he did. You winced a bit, but laughed it off when you caught sight of his guilty expression, his lip pouted as it usually was.

“Thank you! It doesn’t seem you’ve gotten the hang of it though, eh?” You joked, continuing to lead him in the half-ballroom style the majority of the partygoers had adopted. It was so easy with Frenchie, despite his slightly messy footwork: easier than it had been with the first woman you danced with.

“Oh, fuck off, will you?” Frenchie retorted, smacking your arm lightly. A warm laugh bubbled up from your chest again, and you were unable to fight the bright smile that stretched across your face. You debated spinning Frenchie away from you for his little comment, but when you went to see if there was room behind him for the maneuver, you paused very suddenly and caused Frenchie to stumble.

“Wh-? What’d you do that for?” He whined, following your gaze as he looked over his shoulder. You were both suddenly frozen in place, realizing you had made it to the other side of the room with your antics. The two of you stared in disbelief for a moment, trying to figure out how you had even ended up here–if you even wanted to leave–before a loud shout resounded behind you: “There they are! Get them!” 

Dread filled both of you, slowly turning around to see the two men that were chasing you earlier, and then slowly turning to look at each other. The moment you made eye contact, you bolted forwards and out of the ballroom with the two men in tow again.

Through the marbled front foyer and out the grand double doors, you two left the beach-side building sprinting, laughing and shouting as the men tried to give chase behind you. You both stumbled onto the beach, Frenchie momentarily losing his footing in the soft sand before you pulled him back up to his feet and continued running. The cool ocean breeze was like heaven on your skin, cooling you down from the stuffy interior of that stupid ballroom.

When you reached the rocky shoreline, Frenchie almost leapt into the rowboat hidden behind a larger formation of rocks, despite the men having stopped chasing as you ran onto the beach. You were both still giggling at the whole interaction, not even noticing that the bottom of your outfit was getting wet as you clumsily pushed the rowboat out and hopped in yourself.

You both lay in the small dinghy for a moment, exhausted but entertained, as you attempted to catch your breath. “Fuckin’ mental,” you mumbled, leaning your head back and over the side of the rowboat. Frenchie hummed quietly in response, and when you sat up to look at him, he looked like he was on the verge of passing out; his eyes were firmly shut and his limbs splayed out across some of the benches, but his lips were still slanted upwards in a small, soft smile.

You shook your head with a light chuckle, taking off your mask and fully sitting up, adjusting your position so you could start paddling back to the Revenge, which was anchored a little ways off the coast. It was late now: the sun had begun to dip below the horizon line and painted everything in a brilliant orange light. Backdropped against the fading sun, the Revenge looked even more magnificent than usual.

Frenchie called your name quietly, and your eyes moved back to him to see that he had straightened up a bit and his mask had been removed as well. “Pass the bag here, yeah?” He mumbled, his movements sluggish as he extended a hand out with a grabbing motion. You snickered and stopped rowing for a moment, reaching your hand behind your back to untie the bag from your belt. In a few moments, the small bag was in Frenchie’s hands, and he was eagerly digging through it like a kid on Christmas.

He went through the pouch of assorted jewelry, pulling out a few different accessories to examine before dumping them back in. There was a surplus of pearl necklaces, of which he promptly ignored. Finally, he caught a glimpse of a bejeweled necklace and pulled it from the bag, studying it carefully in his hands. The gems that adorned the necklace were bright and beautifully cut, reflecting the orange light of the sunset in every which way.

It wasn’t long before he lifted the necklace up to his neck and made some smug expression, turning his nose up in an exaggerated manner. “Why, I can’t believe you’d disrespect me so!” Frenchie croaked, his voice a bit hoarse as he strained to talk in an octave above his usual tone. “Do you not know who I am? I am Zippery Von Sweets the sixth! I-”

You had already been fighting laughter for the entirety of his impression, but as soon as he had uttered that ridiculous name, you cut the rest of his impression off and started cackling. Watching you doubling over, Frenchie joined in soon thereafter and threw his head back as you both laughed, the action rocking the boat slightly.

To say tonight was a success would be an understatement.

End. <3

#ofmd x reader #frenchie ofmd #frenchie #frenchie x reader #frenchie ofmd x reader #ofmd #our flag means death #fanfic #x reader #request #platontic #platonic x reader #pirates #fluffy

[frenchiefitzhere]

I will give you a million Frenchie dollars (even for a doodle version) for a drawing of this dinner party:

Me serving a killer braciole over a Norman Rockwell table spread to all my boyfriends:

Astarion

President Moore

Hush

Crowley

Porter Solaire

David Shaw is not there yet. He shows up for dessert though. Death by Chocolate cake. And I think maybe Karlach is there too.

#redacted simping #good omens simping #baldur's gate simping #equal opportunity crossover simping

[ladyluscinia]

Organizing my thoughts on OFMD 2x01 - 2x03

Strong start to a season. I really enjoy the black comedy aspect of the show, and the "all these people are kinda terrible" aspect, so win for me! The opening scene gave me a lot of thoughts. Actually, lots of stuff gave me thoughts that I'm gonna dump here (as I rewatch the episodes since I spent the first go around whooping and cheering more than paying attention to details lol) so I can start picking through them more coherently.

---

Ok, first. OHMYGOD EDWARD AND IZZ- *I am yanked off the stage* Ahem. BlackHands thoughts will go into a different post, so as not to overwhelm the many other things going on worth discussing. (Link to post)

So. Real first point:

Kraken Era

Big thing I was absolutely wrong about was how dark Edward's Kraken arc would go. I was counting on a very handwavy resolution that would still let him do some fucked up shit, but I expected it to be mostly externally directed violence that toed up to a potential line but didn't quite cross it. Reminiscent of Flint's vengeance rampage after Miranda is killed. Self-destructive harm but only tangential harm of others in your social sphere.

That is... we did not get that. But what we did get I am very here for.

I'll be honest - I wasn't sure they were bold enough in a romcom to blast right over the line into horrifying and then be so audacious it looped back to funny, but they did. And I think the tone is working for them so far. Big saving grace is they went way further with Edward's cruelty but they counterbalanced it by going way further with the suicidal themes, which made the whole situation more extreme and sympathetic. He should still probably apologize tho.

The Breakup Boat

Frenchie my beloved! Also Fang & Jim & Archie & Izzy! Literally the breakup boat is a resounding success all around and I adore every second of their fucked up trauma bonding. Win after win after win.

Frenchie is repression king and it's hilarious. I love how he gets named first mate for presumably being the only one who sounds plausibly honest when getting interrogated, tries to turn the job down, and then doesn't follow a single order while vibing. Also the bonding with Izzy?!? He's steps in during the intervention. He hides him after Edward shoots him, and then later he's checking in on him and leaning against his leg in the cell. Please Frenchie get all up in that Edward and Izzy mess!

And I'm trying not to turn this into a breakup boat recap but also Fang sobbing through basically every scene. The wooden boy story. Jim's terrible voices. Izzy hiding in the walls. "He's our dick" to "He was your friend" holy fuckkkkkk. And the whole mutiny scene was amazing. Jim saying fuck this toxic bullshit and Izzy saving them all!!! (Sidenote: love how all the nameless extras got washed overboard in the storm. More bodycount!)

The tearing into a seagull like zombies scene - perfect. Archie recognizing Stede (did they tell her about Stede in hushed whispers or was it literally just Izzy's singular statement?). All backing each other up on the "retirement" story. Izzy taking the blame to motivate Stede in trying to defend the crew again.

Trauma bonding WIN!

Also sympathetic Izzy has been real forever despite misreads of S1 and the mistaken predictions they spawned, but once again... Izzy!!!

BlackBonnet "On A Break"

They are idealizing each other so fucking hard. Also Stede what on earth are you talking about in the first episode??? "He's just blowing off some steam." "I'm afraid that your life is better without me?" MY GUY are you reading that list of what Edward has been up to??? Denial so strong.

So we have Stede still full of self-loathing and simultaneously convinced Ed couldn't want him but also avoiding the realization that he hurt him really bad because Ed wanted him. And we have Edward actively suicidal over feeling unlovable and determined to murder-suicide his situationship and the kids, except he can't kill himself so he's trying to make everyone else do it.

(And, you know, Edward is very pointedly refusing to see how the people around him would care for and support him if he would let them - even when they straight up offer it to his face - because he is more concerned with the misery of his own twisted narrative about being fundamentally unlovable than whether or not that is a true statement. Stede doesn't want him and everyone else is just a prop for his depression's final act. Very "I don't have any friends" of him - shoutout to that flashback in his purgatory sequence too.)

Edward's self-loathing throwing him into the water, but Edward starting to save himself well before merman!Stede shows up. Because he does, deep down, want to live with or without Stede. Very strong. Like that. Also the idealization on Edward's end of envisioning Stede as a legit magical being of golden scales??? Fuck, you two need to get some perspective.

Stede's Crew

Trauma Lucius I was not counting on, but Lucius going from BlackBonnet supporter to FUCK YOU STEDE was fun. Also Stede offering to be supportive and then immediately trying to nope right out.

Sea Witch Buttons!!!!!! We're going to get naked Buttons charging into a scene screaming about how he's a seagull or something, aren't we?

Confirmation that Oluwande can't read in the funniest way. Well I guess on reflection the scrolls are probably in Chinese so reading wouldn't help, so maybe this point is null.

I did like the note of Stede knowing "The Soul Reaper's" real name. Piracy hyperfixation bonus.

JimOlu vs JimArchie... If we get another poly ship then I'm calling SteddyHands real. I'm just saying.

Oluwande taking initiative to step up and flex his boytoy powers to advocate diplomatically for the crew - very Captain material of him. Also conveniently doubled as a distraction so he was essential to the plan. Go Olu!

Antagonists New and Old!

Spanish Jackie was a treat. I enjoy that she still hates Stede. The Swede literally became a new man by marrying her. AND WE SAW THE HUSBANDS!

Prince Ricky is so far just kind of a shady classist scumbag - presumably that's going somewhere.

Zheng Yi Sao on the other hand... interested what's happening with this whole armada plan she's apparently enacting. The whole Olu boytoy arc was fun. I'm not as into the whole "girlboss" approach to every single female character in this show so far, so, uh, concerned about that. Hoping for more exploration of how she's doing Stede's version of piracy but what exactly is off about it? Because so far there's no real reason to resist her, other than maybe the whole "I didn't conquer China by listening to pirates ramble about their feelings" bit.

Hornigold. Yeah, I know he was a subconscious manifestation of Edward's self-loathing but I still have hope. "Last time I saw you, you said you were gonna flay my skin and feed it back to me." Does that not sound like a great foreshadowing for S3???

#our flag means death #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd s2 #breakup boat #frenchie ofmd #zheng yi sao ofmd #ofmd 2x01 #ofmd 2x02 #ofmd 2x03 #ladyluscinia

[dranna]

A Surprisingly Beautiful Voice

AO3 / Commissions / Links /

Contents: fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, overwhelmed Izzy, spoilers for ofmd s2e6

Summary: How is Izzy coping with emotions when he gets that beautiful look and sings at the end of the episode?

a/n: I watched this episode a few days ago, and I couldn’t get Izzy’s mesmerising voice out of my head .. or maybe that whole scene ok

I’ll do an illustration of him in his beautiful look at all costs, when I have the time.

Hope you enjoy it! &lt;3

tags my beloveds: @giosnape (let me know if you would like to be tagged:) )

Izzy was stumping on the ship, Limping towards the exit, When he saw Wee John, Putting something onto this face. Dum dum dum, The unicorn’s wooden leg sang, As he shuffled towards him and asked,

“What’s that?”

“Oh, I’m doing my makeup for Calypso's birthday.”

Izzy didn’t reply, only gazed, At their reflections in the mirror ahead, He couldn’t help but stare, Leaning closer and think, If he does it, Would it be.. too much for me to do the same? Could possibly Blackbeards’ first mate, Dream to try something out like this? It looks so ..beautiful, So much colour and nice shapes, Just to imagine it on my face! Would I look comical ? Would the others mock and Ed laugh, Would—

“Can you do this for me too?”

Words ran through his lips, With the force of west winds, Before he could stop, That longing feeling in his chest, That yearns for acceptance. Wee John stopped his moves for a sec, Looking at the other man, He was so surprised, Didn’t know at first what to reply. Izzy felt shame climbing up his face, Waiting for the ridiculed rejection, He waited for what felt like hours, For inevitable in his opinion, But it didn’t came, Only friendly silence remained. He dared to steal a glance at the tall man, He didn’t see contempt nor jeering, Only a welcoming smile, That made him feel recognised.

“Yeah, sure I can!”

The two of them spent at least half an hour, Deciding the colours for Izzy’s look, And as John did the face, Izzy started to feel more and more pretty. He watched as he transformed, Under the careful work of that Crew, Eyes fixated on his own face, He couldn’t help but gape, At his own reflection in the frame, He remembered when he first saw a worm, Changing into the most beautiful being, A butterfly, An otherworldly soul, Floating in beauty, Charming the dark sea, Light as a feather, And free—

“Aaand it’s done!”

— The voice of Wee John pulled him back, To the desk he was sitting at, He looked again, And was breathless, Could it be really me, Who looks that magnificent?

“I-I understand if you don’t like it, We can wash it off and—-“

“It’s so.. lovely.”

— The unicorn’s voice was so little, Not above a whisper, He tried to fight those fucking tears, That threatened to appear. He felt a gentle tap on his back, Encouraging him to go ahead.

“ I finish mine, Then we can go together, If you would like ..?”

“Thank you.”

— Izzy was too moved to behave, With his usual grumpiness and swears, He sat there and waited, For Wee John to get ready, He also couldn’t stop his eyes, To wander towards his own imagine.

He emerged after the tall man, From the murky below, Heart thundering loudly in his ear, Am I really gonna do it? Or should I? I would be the laughingstock of these twats aside. Maybe… they helped me a lot these days.. It will be okay. Face hiding nervousness, Eyes reflecting excitement, Chest burying restlessness, He went to Frenchie, And -asked- ordered him to start, A slow melody he had in mind.

A voice filled the air, That usually hushed and vexed, Could only tell swears and meanness, But now it was sweet, And flowing afresh, Make flowers blossom in chests, So melodic and pleasant, Full of charm and tenderness. The air just carried it more and more, Making it sit on moved members of the crew, However it wasn’t heavy nor loadsome, It was a blanket of warmth.

The song ended, And with that the voice, But the feeling remained, Embracing everyone on the Revenge. There was a moment of silence when, Izzy panicked again, But this feeling soon disappeared, The crew surrounded him, And praised, With little truths and gentle taps, That he couldn’t take, Without feeling red petals traveling up his face, He let them to hug and adore him, Feeling too giddy and safe, For god knows if for the first time. Candles continued to burn, In the colourful lanterns, That made, Everything seem more comfy. The Moon smiled with them too, Ordering her clouds to move.

Thank you for reading:)

#izzy's beautiful voice! #ofmd izzy #ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd spoilers #izzy hands #izzy hands fic #ofmd izzy fic #our flag means death #our flag means fanfic #our flag means love #ofmd crew #ofmd s2e6 #ao3 #writing #poem fic #poem #israel hands #izzy hands fanfiction #fluff #one shot #ofmd fanfic #ofmd fandom

[blushstories]

Hi! Are you taking requests? I’m watching The Boys for the first time and omg I love Billy so much 🥺 if you’re taking requests, I’d love one that features him being such a softie and maybe taking the reader out for a nice fancy date and buying flowers and whatnot and the boys tease him relentlessly but he could careless! I think it’d be so cute!!

hii!!! thanku for such a sweet request, I tried my best :]

When Billy tells you to join him for a drive, you try not to wonder what's blooming in his mind. He huffs at Frenchie's prolonged stare, his jaw hanging slightly open, before whisking you up the stairs.

Perhaps when he holds the car door open for you, the chivalrous manner should clue you in. But it doesn't. He slides into the driver's seat, car rocking with his momentum, and his eyes flicker to the almost-healed cut across your cheekbone.

He swallows, and the small crease between his eyebrows is filled with guilt; it spills down the sides of his nose like tears would, and with a hand on his knee, you remind him that it wasn't his fault.

"Stop thinking about it," you say, squeezing his knee. "It's in the past, hakuna matata." He huffs, "Only you would fuckin' say hakuna matata." He turns the keys and the car rumbles to life.

The south edge of the sun kisses the horizon, casting everything in a golden glow. When the car rolls to a stop outside a cafe, your heart jumps. This isn't an instant coffee and box cake cafe, but one with their own tarts and cupcakes, flashes of orange and green and pink in the decoration. Macarons and patisserie serenade you -- are you dressed for this?

Then you remember stopping in front of this very window the day before the scuffle with pro-Vought thugs.

"You remembered!" You say, beaming at him. He's leaning back into his seat, his smile fond and timid, a hope you like it.

"Get yourself anything you want," he says, stepping out of the car to open your door. Feeling shy under his gestures, you slip out and sneak a kiss onto his cheek.

True to his word, in fifteen minutes you hold a folded box containing a fruit tart, a cake in your favourite flavour, and a few other small treats that Billy also picked out.

Taking out a smaller one each, you and Billy walked the streets together, bathing in the sunset's breath. A florist catches your eye before long, with dazzling white tulips, bright red roses and humble purple pansies among the crowd that has your eyes blown wide with delight.

"Wow," you sigh, tracing over every detail of every bouquet in your mind; the notches on the petals, the gradient of colours. You're entranced, but are yanked out of your fantasy with a poke on the shoulder. Billy stands behind you with a bunch of your favourite flowers dispersed with little sprigs and other small flowers.

He presents it to you slightly unnaturally, as if it's been a while. But you graciously accept it anyway and throw your arms around his neck, mindful not to squish your box. You thank him and he kisses your jaw in return, squeezing your elbow.

Upon returning to the basement headquarters, discussions in the main area hush when you're spotted with a fancy pastry box and a bunch of flowers. You speed to your room with a bounce in your step, too distracted by where am I going to put the flowers to catch the glances shared between each person in the room in what would be graphed as some variation of cat's cradle.

Billy stares them down. Doesn't blink. Doesn't breathe. His shoulders are unmoving as he dares them to say something.

But the silence only fuels the giddy giggles, and soon Kimiko is beaming, Hughie is slap happy, sighing an "aww", MM looks on kindly with a raised eyebrow, and Frenchie smiles like an excited child, chest taken with his surprise.

"Alright, you lot, pack it in. Before she comes back." Butcher bites the inside of his cheek to prevent himself joining their celebrations.

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #the boys #the boys tv #the boys fanfiction #x reader #karl urban characters #billy butcher x you #billy butcher x y/n #william butcher #the boys x reader #billy butcher fanfiction #william butcher fanfiction #william butcher x you #butcher the boys

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

transmasc and gnc friends and fellows.... does anyone have any good recommendations for like. binders that can be frequently worn, if not for daily wear? Or a particularly good kind of sports bra? I'm starting to realize that half of my discomfort with my day to day wear is with the fact that I am constantly fighting to cover up my chest, and it's getting kind of unbearable.

#hush frenchy #i don't even need things to be Perfectly Flat #i just need less of it #and summer is coming which means i can't hide it under layers and afgjgjgjfs i will Die

[xoxoemynn]

Here’s the thing.

You could list pretty much any wish list item for S2 (Stede gets a beard! Stede remains clean shaven! Ed cries! Ed has a girls’ night with the crew and rocks space buns for an entire ep! Izzy gets a redemption arc! Izzy doesn’t get a redemption arc! Buttons gets to eat a man as a treat! Jim and Ed become besties! Frenchie takes inspiration from all the sad songs he sings to Ed and writes a top 40 smash hit! Stede finds a top hat and does a tap dance on the deck of the Revenge as a way to apologize to Ed and everyone is all “YIKES do you REALLY believe that will work?” but Ed goes HUSH LET THE GENTLEMAN DANCE and then when they’re distracted making heart eyes at each other again Roach steals the hat and decides he’s going to take up magic tricks.)

And my response is ALWAYS going to be the same:

GIVE IT TO ME.

#OFMD #Our Flag Means Death #Edward Teach #Stede Bonnet #Ed x Stede #Nathaniel Buttons #Frenchie #Roach #Izzy Hands #it doesn't matter if the wish list items are realistic or fantastical #doesn't matter if one contradicts the other #I want them ALL #emynn.op

[theknightswhosay]

Good omens x our flag means death crossover in the style of good omens

Ed cleared his throat and gestured to his guest, “I should introduce Big Crow - an old mate of mine! Just bumped into him at a bar, fancy that? Everyone, Big Crow. Big Crow, everyone.”

There was a chorus of hellos all around as Stede stepped forward to greet their guest. He found himself unsure where to look, as the man’s eyes were covered by the strange dark glasses.

“A pleasure to meet you,” said Stede, grasping the man’s hand.

“Likewise,” replied Crowley, whose handshake was incredibly firm but far, far too warm. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Why, thank you. Designed her myself.”

Stede stepped away and looked back at Ed who was still hovering, expression distant.

“Right, well then,” said Blackbeard, “the rest of you - no need to crowd around! Give us some space!”

And everyone did, except for Buttons, who stepped closer. All were suddenly aware that the strange feeling at the edge of their ears had not been a trick of the midday sun, but had been caused by a strange sub-frequency that Buttons had been emitting. Now, as he bared his favourite pair of teeth to the stranger, the hissing turned into a growl.

“Mr Buttons, what on Earth are you doing?” exclaimed Stede.

“OOOAAEEEEOUI FRAP maaaaalllou SIC SIC sic sic HOLOHOLOLOLOLOLOL!” Buttons jabbered at Crowley, his eyes wild with a deadly focus.

The crew stepped back further, glancing between each other, equal parts cautious, concerned, and fascinated.

Crowley's response was to raise his hands, remarking, “well, this is a new one for me, is there a problem?”

Buttons continued interchangeably to hiss and speak in tongues as he started to circle Crowley, stance low and shoulders raised like a wild cat on the hunt. A tense long few minutes of this dragged on, as even Ed and Stede withdrew, concerned and confused by the navigator’s behaviour. It was bizarre even by Buttons’ usual standards. Crowley could do nothing but stand, frozen in place and assessing the situation with confusion.

Just as Frenchie was about to start a bet about the outcome of the strange standoff, Buttons stopped and raised a gnarled finger to point at Crowley.

“AVAST YE! I SEE YOU! There be something witchy about ye…There be an aire about ye from the depths of the ever-burnin’ Hell itself!” He finally took his gaze away from Crowley and turned to the captains. “I say we have here a Foule Demon! Beware his trickery! Beware Foule Magicks!”

A dark and startled hush settled over the ship. No one seemed sure where to look or what to say. Buttons’ finger remained pointed in accusation at Crowley like a lighthouse's beam cutting through the fog.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

The demon brought his hands together slowly, cutting through the silence. As he did, a grin began to grow, wider and wider, until he was beaming so wide his smile stretched from ear to ear.

“Bravo, bravo! Alright, you got me. I am a demon, a soldier of Hell, a child of Satan, a fallen angel, an immortal celestial being, etcetera etcetera. But let me ask you all this: am I not amongst good company? Is there any among you who would claim otherwise? Last I checked, there aren’t exactly many saints amongst pirates.”

Buttons’ finger started to lower and his face became marred with confusion.

Amongst the confused murmuring that resulted, the Swede raised his hand.

“Yes, you there, blondie - what’s up?” said Crowley, as if he were a teacher taking questions at the end of a class.

“Are you planning on eating our hearts while we sleep?”

Crowley scoffed. “What, no! Who would do something like that?”

The crew breathed a sigh of relief. Frenchie’s hand shot up next. “Sorry, quick pardon - are you plannin’ on eating any other part of us while we sleep?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Look: I might be a demon, but let’s just say I’m keeping a low profile at the moment. Something like being on vacation from the whole demon gig, d’you catch my drift?”

“Vacation!” piped up Black Pete. “We know all about vacation. Captain Stede taught us about it. It’s where you focus on hobbies like torture and drinking, right?”

Stede was about to interrupt that that was not what vacation was all about when Crowley replied: “Yes! Exactly that.”

Stede decided not to say anything.

There was a collective sigh of relief and mumblings along the line of well that’s alright then and when you think about it, aren’t we all Hell-bound anyways and this guy’s clearly off his tits going around. Buttons lowered his accusatory finger but still hovered near Crowley, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

A loud squawk announced the presence of Karl. The seagull swooped in out of nowhere and Buttons immediately cheered up as the bird circled the ship, drawing the eyes of all those assembled.

“Karl! We need your help!” cried Buttons. “This demon here is a right suspicious chappie - only you can tell us if we can let him stay aboard! Tell us, Karl, can we trust this witchy creature, or is nae his true intent to bring destruction?”

Everyone held their breath, even Stede, who was just about to protest deciding things via bird when he much prefered the usual method of taking things to a vote. Ed’s hand on his arm, stopping him from interfering, did the trick. It thoroughly distracted him as he became very aware of the warmth of Ed’s touch.

In silence, the crew watched Karl circle.

Once. Twice. Three times.

And then the bird landed perfectly on Crowley’s head.

The demon paused, dead still, completely shocked by the strange avian weight balanced on his cranium. Buttons gasped in amazement and fell to his knees to bow down before the demon, much to everyone’s surprise.

With this strange display, there was no doubt about it; Karl approved of the newcomer. The crew burst into applause. Crowley grinned and pressed a hand to his heart in thanks.

Stede was the only one who remained unimpressed, still thoroughly suspicious of their new guest. The newcomer was still a stranger to them, and Captain Stede Bonnet was not one to trust the judgement of birds. He decided to keep a close eye on the suspicious, sunglass-wearing ‘demon’ for as long as he was resident on his ship.

[Full story here]

#ofmd #go #good omens #our flag means death #my fics #ineffible husbands #blackbonnet #crossover #comedy #humour #humor

[oldmanffucker]

The Crew carries out 'Motor Vehicle Sundown (Event)' by George Brecht, from Fluxus' first publication, An Anthology of Chance Operations.

(this is a description of a group performance art piece) (click Read More to see the instructions for this event that the crew is performing)

To the unsuspecting passerby, delivery driver, neighbor, patron on the block or otherwise in the area, the street might look almost like the night sky - lights winking stars and airplanes. They might jump as the quiet bustle of the city block is suddenly and sporadically lit up with the syncopated sound of car horns and car doors and car trunks and car radios sounding or slamming or blaring. They might even be struck by the fact that, if they stand there long enough at their living room window, or on the sidewalk, or sit idling in their car, or glancing out the window from their low lit dinners, that the cacophony is almost…..melodious. Sounds almost orchestrated and looks almost choreographed. They may even furrow their brow in perplexity as their eyes and ears roam over all of these to see one, two…four people standing in various empty parking spots, shouting “HEAD LIGHTS.” “FOOT-BRAKE LIGHTS ONNNNNNNNN” (one person will hold the word for three seconds, another will speak it so quickly, “footbrakelightson” that it’s over in the space of a second). Someone will knock on their head, standing there on the asphalt, next to the parking meter, breath curling thick and visible from their nose and then, a few minutes later, slap their own cheek. Someone else will mime walking to the back of an invisible car (announcing as they open the door, open the trunk, close the trunk, close the door).

All the while, some car or another continues to flash its head lights (high beam, low beam, off. One second, four seconds, five seconds, two seconds, three seconds), someone in another car can be seen grinning widely, folding down the passenger seat - first quickly, then back up, then with moderate speed, then back up, then slowly, languidly, and back up.

And then, gradually (adagio), the cars and the people inside them will quiet and still, the block growing more and more hushed as each engine cuts, each body standing in the cold quits their shouting and their miming and their clamoring and simply stands, breathes. 

It’ll be a few moments still before all the twinkling and honking and slamming ceases, and the silence will trickle into the consciousness of people participating, and they will each crane their necks and strain their ears to be sure that the symphony has ended, that every instrument has reached the double bar, every bow has stilled. 

Then when they’re sure the conductor has lowered his baton, the doors will open one last time and the expectant, pregnant pause will burst with a whoop and a cheer and a watery laugh and a giggle and a “Jesus” and a “Babe you look freezing” from all directions. 

If the unsuspecting passerby, delivery driver, neighbor, patron on the block or otherwise in the area had stayed this long, they may be inclined to clap for the performance. Or, they may simply shake their head and exhale though their nose and bury their hands deeper in their pockets and carry on toward home, wondering if any of that was really what it looked like, or if they simply got carried away in what might have always been the mundane beauty of the city streets at night. 

[Note, Frenchie proposes that those who walked, biked, carpooled, or otherwise did not operate a car to get to dinner tonight will also get the cards, and they will walk to a spot where a car would be parked and they will instead shout the instructions rather than enact them.]

Transcription in image description.

#ofmd #text post #ceramics au #fic #fluxus #george brecht #prose #this is to me fanfic but its a deep cut lmfao

[synthetlcsss]

hello my esteemed dudes! i'm dana (she/they) and i'm so excited to be here!!! my discord is dumbasshithead and plotting is one of the greatest joys in life so please hit me up for all the plots, especially if they hurt. the worse the better!!! sorry this turned out hella long so i included a tl;dr at the end lol

*     ◟    :    〔  timothée chalamet  ,      agender    +    he/him    〕      angelo ‘angel’ eisenman ,      some say you’re a  twenty-seven  lost soul among the neon lights.      known for being both resourceful  and  manipulative,  one can’t help but think of  my body is a cage by  arcade fire  when you walk by.    are you still a    replicant   /     associate  at  the    jade  tribe,     even with your reputation as the marionette?     i think we’ll be seeing more of you and people-watching for hours on end, shelves lined with potted plants, the blurry outline of a memory just out of reach although we can’t help but think of mikey waters (my own private idaho)  +  bucky barnes (mcu) + frenchie (the boys) whenever we see you down these rainy streets.

tw: gaslighting (like hardcore)

angelo remembers—

your father’s hostility, your mother’s indifference, your peers’ derision. piano lessons and little league soccer. bloody noses and harsh shoves. scraped knees and summers by the beach, blanket forts and hushed giggling. prom night and smoking under the bleachers. sleepless nights talking with your sister until dawn and sleepless nights keeping her company in hospital rooms. your sister— a beacon, your only friend. the burden of being her keeper, so small compared to the grief of losing her and the guilt of knowing you could have prevented it. the air in the house thick with unspoken accusations afterward, the pressure building and building until it finally blew up. being kicked out and left with nowhere to go, adrift in a world that never wanted you.

then, new york.

you can’t remember getting there or even making the decision to go, only the feeling that the world was so much vaster than you’d ever thought possible. as if you’d stepped into oz, life was suddenly in technicolor, realer than real and bright enough to blind.  you remember wandering and wandering and wandering. nights spent in the bed of whoever would have you, means for survival but also connection, however shallow. nimble fingers relieving tourists of their wallets, conning your way in and out of situations with equal grace. learning to make up for your skinny frame with a quick wit and loose morals. but clearest of all, you remember the aimlessness, the longing for some sign, some guidance, some purpose.

it’s painful to think about it now, but you aren’t scared of your memories. it’s what you don’t remember that terrifies you. the snippets of a life you never lived, pieces from another puzzle trying to force its way into yours— scars you don’t remember getting, phantom touches that make you shiver, the feeling that if you look down you’ll find hands bloodied to the wrist. how you can look at a room and instinctively know all its exits, all potential threats and assets. the way the jade tribe had called to you like a siren song. ‘you’re a natural,’ they tell you, and it’s true; you hone skills you’ve never learned with an ease that borders on eerie— picking locks, disabling security systems, slicing necks with the utmost precision. all of it like muscle memory. it scares you, how natural it feels; easy as breathing.

‘paranoid delusions,’ your therapist says when any of it comes up in your weekly sessions. or, ‘dissociation. episodic memory loss.’ their office used to feel safe, but now something feels off in a way you can’t articulate; something hidden in the pauses between their words, in their gaze, in the way they sometimes rush to scribble the notes you never get to read.  the strange, creeping sensation of being evaluated. not that you say anything; these thoughts are the very reason you need therapy, anyway.

there’s sanctity in the simple things: the flowers blooming in your apartment’s makeshift garden, the quiet purring of the stray cats you took in, the ebb and flow of people outside the window. these are the moments that feel yours, tiny revolts against a life you’ll never fully understand and for which you’ll do whatever needs doing— be it slipping poison into someone’s drink, something out of their home or yourself into their bed.

somewhere, in some fancy office in a high-rise, your puppet masters are watching. the ones who made you lie and fuck and steal and kill, then replaced your memories of it with someone else’s childhood, not expecting your body to remember what your mind forgot. the ones who left you in this strange city, without direction, just to see what you’d do, going over your therapy notes and analyzing your every choice. to these labcoats, you are so much more than a drifter— you’re a puzzle, a pet project, a revelation in the making. a replicant whose sole purpose is to not have one. they shift reality around you and study the way you stumble, wondering with bated breath if, or when, you will pull at the strings tying you and see them for what they truly are.

[ tl;dr: angel's a replicant being monitored by stoneage industries to see if/when he'll realize he's not actually human and how he deals with making choices for himself after previous "lives" where he was given explicit purposes and missions. his memories of this previous programming have been wiped, but he still remembers them subconsciously which was not the plan but that's too bad for stoneage ig. he's basically a jack-of-all-criminal-trades (or at least the ones that don't require muscle mass) and slowly realizing something is amiss. ]

etc

an enfj for any mbti girlies out there

literally programmed to be chill about killing and is only now beginning to truly understand that murder might be kind of fucked up actually? (baby steps though. he's still p whatever about it)

very very sneaky and light-fingered. genuinely enjoys stealing and often does it just to see if he can get away with it. will steal friends' lighters or pens or whatever else for fun, then give it back (or not) once they notice it's gone.

more to come !

wanted connections

ok so i have this idea about angel being modelled after someone's dead relative, prob someone's kid? and his first ever function was to serve as a replacement for whoever that was but for some reason that went south (maybe the person realized he didn't make up for their loss and started to resent him and see him as a reminder of what they lost? or maybe they just died and angel was left at stoneage's hands? honestly there are so many ways that could go wrong lol) and angel was repurposed. but it would be interesting to have someone who knew the person he was modelled after or have something to do with that whole mess idk

under construction !

#my dudes ive been trying to get this intro done for 2 days and the world simply. would not let me #anyway super excited pls love him <3 #lawlessintro

[meanmisscharles]

My thing is, if you're going to infantilize Ed, just do it to all of them. Put a mom on board. Be interesting about it.

"So, you're going to parley with who? Who all is going to be there? You remember what happened to the Bonnet boy..."

"Don't you feel better getting all that blood off of those nice gold teeth you got in the last raid? The fence will pay more for not having to do it..."

"Maybe if you watched that little nasty attitude when you're talking to people, you would still have ten toes."

"Ok, he told you to get rid of the dog. If he told you to jump off of the yardarm, you'd do that too?"

"I don't care what you're used to doing. You can go back to your Calico ship if you want cut up and clown all day and night."

"I know that's not what's going on in the pantry! Take that wooden finger and that boy and get out from where the food is."

"If you're not doing anything, why do I keep smelling smoke over here? Don't look at Frenchie, look at me."

"Stede, if you had your clothes laid out at night, you wouldn't be late getting to the raid, but you're co- captain, so let me hush..."

[free-boundsoul]

New Art

Gavin redraw

Hux redraw

Wolf Bois

Guy

Asher x Babe

Gavin

Lasko

Hux

Damien

Vega

Caelum

Kody

Hush

Bound Together Milo&Sweetheart

Gavin (utterly undeniably perfect)

Blake

Geordi

Milo&Sweetheart(summit)

DamiHux (someone will die of fun)

Vincent&Adam

Vincent&Lovely(summit)

Porter

Porter(corset)

Honey character sheet

Guy&Honey

Rayne(freelancer) character sheet

Porter&Alexis(Summit)

Chibi Milo

Chibi Vincent

Milo(again)

Hush(pinup?)

Chibi Hush

Gavin(spicy)

Vincent&Lovely(spicy)

Caelum(X-mas)

Lasko(long haired version)

Yandere Caller

Lovely (Character sheet)

Avior

Blake(desperate)

Drove

Vincent(Silver haired)

Blake(morning)

Darlin' character sheet

Ivan

David(kinda spicy?)

Regulus

(Human) Ruby (from Frenchie's Yandere Dragon Queen series)

William

Fooliverse! Gavin

#masterlist #please ignore Im trying to organize