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pengychan · 5 months

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[Our Flag Means Death] Winning Hands

Title: Winning Hands Summary: Celebrations for Calypso's birthday continue as Izzy is passed around during a poker game. ["Looks like you had a bit of an all deck on hands kind of situation here."] Characters: Izzy Hands, Crew of the Revenge Rating: Explicit. I mean it's a gangbang of course it is.

A/N: Look, it's porn. Not a lot more to say. Also I have absolutely no idea how poker works. But since the crew is playing a game that had yet to be invented they probably don't either.

***

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Izzy turns out to be very, very tight at the first fuck.

Not that he was unwilling, oh no. He was very willing. Vocally, too, because they asked several times to make absolutely sure he wanted this. Maybe one time too many, since he got frustrated enough to mutter they could all fuck off if fucking him seemed like such a chore they’d make up one excuse after the other.

They were not making excuses, Lucius - who had never taken back the offer to sketch him - had reassured him. But the thing was that Izzy hadn’t just kind of stepped out of his comfort zone that night: he’d launched himself like a cannonball several miles out of it, with the make-up and the singing and whatnot.

And the last thing any of them wanted was for him to wake up the next morning and regret any part of it.

Izzy had actually scoffed at the notion, arms crossed. “Surely, you can’t be all that disappointing,” he’d muttered, and that had been it. The crew had looked at each other - well, a good chunk of the crew: Ed and Stede were likely in the process of going at it like rabbits in the cabin, while Olu, Archie and Jim had retired below deck to do the same - and in the end, it had gone ahead.

It being a rather entertaining poker game no one is really focusing on, because focusing on the cards happens to be hard as all hell with Izzy coming undone over each of their laps, all of his clothes folded in a neat pile on the chair his wooden leg is leaning against. There was a moment’s hesitation before taking it off, but it had to go to get the trousers off and well, no need to put it back on once he’s naked.

He doesn’t need to walk right now, anyway, not with plenty of cocks to sit on.

It’s Fang to go first, and if the practiced ease of his gestures as he gets him ready is anything to go by, it’s not his first round with Izzy. Though it’s very doubtful that, in any of those prior encounters, he allowed himself to murmur against the nape of Izzy’s neck how pretty he is, how lovely, how well he takes all of him as he sinks down, down on his lap with a hiss and a shaky exhale of breath.

The praise gets noises out of Izzy, broken up enough one could think he’s in pain if the look on his face - the way he’s biting his lower lip, leaning back against Fang’s shoulder, chest shuddering in a harsh gasp - didn’t make clear that’s not the case.

“You good, Iz?” Fang is asking, stroking up his stomach and across a chest that Lucius honestly thinks should have never been hidden by clothes because what the hell. Had he known that was what hid beneath the leather, he’d have torn it off Izzy with his teeth a long time ago.

“Yes-- fuck-- yes.”

“Good. Let’s get you nice and open, slowly now…”

He does take it slow, steady, hips rising and falling gently as he plays the first hand, one arm wrapped around Izzy’s waist, keeping him flush against him. Izzy tries to tilt his hips, to clench, anything to make him go faster, but all it takes is some murmured praise - so good, oh you’re doing such a good job, you feel so warm - for the whine of protest to turn into a groan, face flushing red beneath the make-up.

“You’re going to sweat all my hard work away, sweetheart,” Wee John says, in his Calypso voice, just before he drops a card that pretty much relinquishes that first hand to Frenchie.

(Later, they will find out that Wee John had victory within his grasp then, and chose not to take it because he wanted to wait for Izzy to be more open before he had a go; having seen his dick, Lucius will have to admit it was good thinking.)

Unaware of having been handed victory by the sea goddess herself, Frenchie grins. “My hand, my turn. You anywhere near close, Fang?”

A throaty chuckle. “Yeah, close enough,” he pants, and kisses the back of Izzy’s shoulder. “You all right for me to go a bit harder?”

“I’ve been-- fucking telling you--”

“Be nice, Izzy. Say please.”

“Fuck off,” Izzy groans, and it turns into a whine of frustration when Fang stills, balls deep in him but entirely unmoving. He tries to fuck himself onto his cock anyway, but both of Fang’s arms are around him, holding him down, and he cannot move. A shudder, and he drops his head with a near sob.

“Please,” he rasps.

Fang is kind enough not to make him ask twice, and suddenly he’s fucking up into him, a steady rhythm that makes Izzy almost cry out with relief, holding onto Fang’s arms to keep himself steady. It is short-lived, however: Fang wasn’t kidding when he said he was close. The rhythm of his thrusts falters and then he groans against Izzy’s temple, holding him tight, coming deep inside and holding still a few moments.

“Ah-- yeah, that was good, you feel good…” He strokes down Izzy’s heaving chest, down his trembling stomach, but stops short of touching the hard, leaking cock. He chuckles at his needy moan, and the shuddering twitch of his hips.

“I’m sure Frenchie will take care of that,” he says, and pulls Izzy off his cock to pass him over to Wee John, who - pretty effortlessly - passes him on to Frenchie while Pete deals the cards for the second hand.

Frenchie is not as large as Fang, and settling on his lap doesn’t spread Izzy’s thighs quite as wide, but he seems to enjoy his dick well enough if the moan that leaves him is anything to go by. Frenchie picks up his cards, resting his chin on top of Izzy’s shoulder.

“You smell nice,” he says lightly, and takes a moment to play his turn before he turns his head to press a kiss against the side of Izzy’s neck, over the swallow tattoo. "Perfume?"

“The best I had,” Wee John grins, dropping a card.

“Nice.” Frenchie smiles, and tilts his hips. He doesn’t thrust upward, not once: he’s as far in as he can be anyway. He only leans against the backrest and tilts his hips in slow, circular motions that tear a groan out of Izzy. He's gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turn white. “I like how you smell without it too, you know,” he mutters against the nape of Izzy’s neck. “The leather and sea salt.”

“S-shut the fuck up and--” Izzy starts, but trails off with a groan when Frenchie’s hips still.

“Why don’t you sing a little more?” he asks, his grin widening as Izzy cranes his neck to give him a flustered glare. “Let us hear you sing again, and I’ll get moving.” A hand trails down his stomach, almost to his cock, then stills. “I promise."

“Oh! In French, do the French one,” Roach intervenes, putting some chips down, and Pete nods pretty enthusiastically.

“Yes, I liked that! Never heard French before.”

Lucius frowns. “I called you mon chéri just about a million times, babe,” he points out, gaining himself a stunned look from Pete.

“That was French??”

While Lucius is caught in the conundrum - tell him he’s an idiot, kiss him on the mouth, both in the order? - Izzy is taking in a shaky breath, too desperate for release to even bother with defiance.

“Q--quand il me prend dans ses bras-- Qu'il me parle t-tout bas-- Je vois la vie en rose--”

It’s a valiant attempt, to be fair, and even now his singing voice is unfairly gorgeous in Lucius’ opinion. But Izzy is obviously too out of it, and too out of breath, to carry the notes; he pants between verses, and each ends with a painful, whiny sort of noise deep in his throat. It’s delicious in a way, and someone pettier than Frenchie might keep it going a bit longer.

Luckily for Izzy, Frenchie opts to put him out of his misery after playing another couple of turns. He leans back on his chair, grabs Izzy’s thighs to keep him steady, and starts tilting his hips again. “Like this?” he asks, all sweetness and light, nosing the side of his neck.

The noise that gets out of Izzy is a moan, a sigh, and a scoff all wrapped into one.

“Yes-- wasn’t-- fucking hard was it,” he groans, committed to being a dick even while in the process of grinding down on someone’s rather more literal dick.

“Nah, it wasn’t hard. This is, though,” Frenchie grins, and grabs Izzy’s cock without warning. He shudders and comes undone before he can even manage to bite back his cry, throwing back his head to look at the sky, mouth agape and skin flushed. Frenchie doesn’t last much longer either, not with him clenching and shuddering around him. A couple more thrusts and he comes as well with a groan against the back of Izzy’s shoulder.

“Ah-- well.” A chuckle, that of someone coming down a high and not quite believing what just happened. “That was good.”

Izzy mumbles something that no one quite catches, swaying a little as if utterly boneless. Frenchie lets him rest against his chest, and wipes his hand against Izzy’s stomach before taking a look at the cards. He makes a face. “I fold,” he mutters, still out of breath. He’s barely caught it when Roach looks up and grins.

“I call, bitches,” he says, not even trying to hide his eagerness as his hands go to undo his belt. “Hand him over,” he says, and pauses when Fang clears his throat. “Ah, right, unless he wants a break. I can wait if he wants a break.”

Another scoff, and Izzy’s head lolls to the side. His carefully coiffed hair has come undone, sweat making it stick to his forehead. “I don’t need a fucking break,” he mumbles, and Roach is grinning again.

“That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear.”

It’s a bit ridiculous, really, how much taller than Izzy Roach is. Once he’s seated on his cock - not one Lucius would personally attempt to take without careful preparation, but Izzy is more than well prepared even for Wee John’s frankly concerning endowment at this point - Roach can very easily lean his chin over Izzy’s head, keeping him flush against his chest with one arm and holding the cards with the other hand.

Izzy definitely does need to be held up, because he’s still reeling from the earlier orgasm and his muscles must feel like cooked asparagus now. He barely holds back a whine in the back of his throat when Roach’s hips jerk upwards, bouncing him on his lap. There is no way in hell Izzy can come again right after an orgasm, but his eyes slip shut and he gets lost into it, lips parted, hands grasping Roach’s arm at an especially forceful thrust that makes him gasp. Roach blinks.

“Shit, sorry - want me to slow down?”

“Don’t you-- fucking dare,” Izzy pants, and the concerned look fades into that grin again.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Roach says, but he doesn’t get started right away. He puts down a few chips before he pours some more rum in a glass. “A drink?”

“... Yeah.”

He holds the glass up, and Izzy empties it in a couple of gulps. Roach raises both eyebrows, impressed, and puts the glass down before he rests his chin on top of Izzy’s head again. “So. Harder than before?”

“If you’re not a fucking coward.”

“Oooh, is that a challenge? I can go hard, ya know.”

“Well, I can take harder.”

“... You two done with the foreplay?” Frenchie calls out, and there’s a collective chuckle around the table; even Izzy’s lips curl. The lipstick is still holding on somehow, and Lucius - who’s playing his best hand yet - keeps thinking that he’ll smudge it off the second he gets a chance.

Roach wastes no more time to show he’s definitely done with foreplay. He thrusts hard and fast, almost curled around Izzy’s smaller frame, and soon enough they have to pause the game because he’s got both arms around him, keeping him still while he fucks the soul out of him. Out of everyone so far, he gets the most noises out of Izzy, loud and unabashed even though his spent cock stays limp. Somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, even Ned Low can probably hear this music.

There is a groan, a violent jerk, and Roach is done, too. He lets out a small whooping sound before he leans his arms against the table, Izzy’s head still tucked under his chin. “Shit, that was good. You feel real good,” he slurs a bit, and Izzy mumbles something no one but Roach can hear. It makes him chuckle before he lifts his head, and clears his throat.

“Sorry, guys. So, whose turn is it again?”

Lucius smiles. “Oh, it’s mine,” he says, and drops his cards. “I call,” he says, and it’s Pete’s turn to make a whooping sound.

“Great job, babe!”

“Thanks, love,” Lucius kisses his cheek before he turns again. Izzy is looking back at him, still on Roach’s lap, breathing harshly. Their gazes meet, and Lucius’ smile widens.

“Been a proper little seductress, have we?” he says. He doesn’t really expect Izzy to remember, but he clearly does, because his lips curl in a sneer. Well, a weak attempt at one. Lucius really hopes he can get his facial muscles back in working order real fast, because he plans to make him use that mouth extensively right about now.

“Been waiting for this, haven’t you, Twatty?”

“Oh, you can say that again.” Lucius pushes the chair back from the table, undoing his trousers and jerking his chin towards the floor.

"Twatty."

"Not that , the other thing you-- ugh." He makes a face, the commanding tone he was trying to convey sort of ruined. "Get over here," is all he mutters in the end.

Izzy says nothing else, thankfully. He gets off Roach’s lap on his own, like he has something to prove, but his legs… well, leg, is shaky and he almost falls despite leaning on the chair. Several hands reach out to steady him, though, and help him to Lucius’ side of the table. Pete is the last one to reach for Izzy’s arm, and helps him kneel in front of Lucius’ chair.

“You good?” Pete asks, and Izzy nods. It makes him chuckle. “Course you are. Lucky you,” he adds with a look at Lucius’ dick, a longing note in his voice like they didn’t spend a great part of the past twenty-four hours celebrating their engagement with some mind blowing sex.

Izzy doesn’t answer, but he does lick his lips and looks up. Their gaze meet and Lucius reaches down, grabs his hair, and jerks his head back. He has a split second to worry that he might have just gone a step too far, but Izzy moans and he breathes out in relief. Okay, yeah, he’s really into this kind of thing. Of course he is. Good.

“That's all you got, Twatty?” Izzy rasps, and oh God he’s a little too into it. He reaches up with the gloved hand - why is the glove the only thing he’s still wearing now? - and grabs the unbuckled belt hanging from Lucius' trousers. “I'm sure you can do better.”

Ah.

Lucius opens his mouth, closes it, then sets his jaw and pulls the belt off entirely. Izzy tilts back his head, and… and…

Later, he'll think it felt like a dream. It really does: his hands seem to move of their own accord as he puts the belt around Izzy's neck and buckles it up, tight but not so much he cannot breathe. He's still holding the other end, like… well. Like a leash.

“Well, shit,” he hears Roach mutter. “I should have thought of that.”

Lucius, who’d have never thought of that on his own, swallows and gives the belt a tentative tug. It barely makes Izzy’s head jerk, and he looks back up. “Like you mean it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Lucius replies, more than a little defensive because oh God, he is growing harder just holding the leash-- the belt-- and because he knows he has it in him to hurt. It never happens with Pete, he could never, but it's rising its head now and it's both terrifying and arousing as all hell.

And something must show, because Izzy’s lips twitch a moment before he replies, very quietly. “I know,” he says, and there’s an odd reassurance to those words, that he knows what he can do and he’s not flinching back. Lucius breathes out, nods, and tugs the belt again, just a little harder.

It gets Izzy to finally lower his head and oh Jesus Christ he’s good at this. He didn’t even bother licking the shaft or sucking the tip or anything a fucking normal human being usually does first: he just goes all in and deep throats him like he’s been deep throating him since the day he first set foot on the Revenge.

“What the fuck,” Lucius blurts and oh, he can feel Izzy smile around him, the bastard. This time, tugging the belt to hold him down on his cock comes easier. He gets a noise out of Izzy, but he doesn’t try to pull back. Lucius swallows, and plays his turn before he relents and lets the belt slacken, so that Izzy can pull back. He does, grasping for breath, and oh yes, this is exactly how Lucius wanted to smudge that lipstick. Izzy looks up at him briefly, face flushed beneath the hopelessly ruined make-up. He licks his lips, and leans forward again to take him back in his mouth.

It’s good, one of the best he’s ever had - the strokes of the tongue, the way he hollows his cheeks, how easily he can take all of him. It would drive Lucius half mad, if not for the fact he’s using up all his willpower to focus on the game, too. He got his first win, now he needs two more… because whoever gets to three wins first gets to fuck Izzy on the table, and he really wants it to be him.

Because of reasons.

And well, he’s not into ladies, but Lady Luck is on his side right now and he has no complaints about that. The hand is good, he plays well, and the pleasure building up in his groin is the cherry on top. And then he’s got it, victory in his grasp.

“I call,” Lucius gasps, and lets go of the belt to grasp Izzy’s hair, pulling him down on his cock as he arches his hips and yes, God, this is perfect. He comes with a groan and Izzy doesn’t so much try to pull back, he takes him and takes it and when Lucius’ hand slips from his hair to rest on the back of his neck, he keeps sucking him through it, to the last shudder, to the last drop.

Lucius lets out a small, shaky laugh, leaning back. “Well, no way I can have another go right now,” he mutters, and turns to Pete. “Want to do it, babe?” he offers. Pete is as terrible at poker as he’s great in bed, and despite all his enthusiasm for the game, Lucius has yet to see him win a single hand. It seems only fair, giving him a chance.

“Thanks, love.” Pete grins, and looks down at Izzy. “... I mean, unless you want a break. Or more of Lucius. I’d want more of Lucius if I were you, so you know, if you don’t want me to take his turn I understa--”

“Shut your fucking mouth and help me up. Your boyfriend’s dick is limp as his wrist, anyway.”

“Fiancé,” Lucius corrects him.

“Ah, right. Congratulations,” Izzy mutters, and Pete does help him up and onto his lap, but this time he’s not facing the table. He lets Izzy lean his chin over his shoulder and looks over at the others. “Uh, who’s got the…?”

The bottle of oil Roach fetched from the kitchen is slid across the table. Pete fumbles a little with his belt, then oils his hand before pulling out his dick and pressing it flush against Izzy’s, tight into the grip of his hand. It makes Izzy groan through clenched teeth, eyes half-lidded and gaze fixed on the ocean, hands gripping the back of the chair.

“You good? Get moving if you’re-- whoa! Yeah, you’re good,” Pete gives startled, breathless laugh when Izzy does get moving, thrusting into his fist with small, desperate jerks of his hips. Then Pete tightens his grip, or at least Lucius guesses as much, because it’s kind of his signature move and Izzy gives a whine in the back of his throat.

He’s still moving though, and Pete doesn’t have to really move himself. He only sits back, holding both dicks in the oiled hand. His other hand goes to rest on Izzy’s side, the one without the leg, because of course balance is a little fucked when you’re straddling someone and missing most of one leg.

“You guys mind if I sit this one out? Got my hands full,” he mutters. Lucius sort of expects someone to pipe in with a dumb joke like pointing out that he sure has his hands full of Hands, and he also expects that someone to be Frenchie. But he doesn’t say anything, and when Lucius looks up he seems… concerned. He’s sitting right across the table from him and Pete, staring at Izzy’s back like he’s seeing something for the first time and that something is not a particularly nice sight.

… Actually, now that he pays attention, Wee John and Roach are looking too; busy as he is shuffling the cards, Fang is the only one who’s not staring. But staring at what, exactly? Lucius leans a little forward, pretending to reach for the bottle, and turns to take a quick look at Izzy’s back.

And there they are - scars, a lot of them, old and crisscrossing his entire back. They would be hard to spot in dim light, or with Izzy’s back against the chest of whoever was fucking him at the moment, but right now the oil lamp in the middle of the table is shining its full light on his back and they’re perfectly visible.

So are the muscles on his back as he keeps moving without even realizing he’s being stared at, really, but they’re not enough to distract Lucius from the scars. He is no expert by any stretch of the imagination, but flogging scars are not difficult to figure out. Someone did a number on his back, at least once. Blackbeard, maybe? No, that… really is not his style, even at his worst. Maybe another captain he’d sailed under, or…

“... Guys?” Pete is calling out, as unaware as Izzy is. “I said, you all right if I-- oh, that was good-- sit this one out?”

Frenchie clears his throat. “Oh, yeah. No problem. Fang, you dealing or not?” he says, and that is that. The game resumes and it goes pretty shit for Lucius because to be honest, he can’t properly focus after seeing that.

Well, Pete and Izzy groaning right next to his left ear is not helping matters a lot, either. It doesn’t last too long: he hears the small, gasping noise Pete usually makes when he comes, and Izzy stills, panting. Moments later, Wee John puts down his cards.

“I call, mortals,” he declares in his best Calypso voice, and Lucius could swear he heard Izzy chuckle.

He calls and he wins, sure enough. It takes him a few moments to get ready - no trousers to unlace, he’s got to hike up the dress - and he spares a few moments to oil himself, even if Izzy has got to be as slick and open as he’s ever gonna get. Then he pushes the chair back some, leans against the backrest, and gestures for Pete to pass Izzy over. He lifts him over his lap almost ridiculously easily, back against his chest, but doesn’t put him down right away. The first thing he does is get the belt off his neck, letting it fall on the floor.

“Are you ready, mortal?”

Izzy groans, skin glossy with sweat and actually half-hard again. “Yes, yes, get on with-- what the fuck,” he gasps, suddenly, eyes widening and jaw going slack. “Where were you-- keeping-- that ?”

“A goddess can keep secrets,” Wee John replies with a grin, but keeps lowering Izzy very, very slowly. There are more noises, a startled moan, but none of it is pained and soon enough he’s settled on Wee John’s lap. And, by the time he does, he’s fully hard again.

All right, Lucius thinks, now he’s spread as open as he’s ever gonna get.

“What the fuck,” Izzy repeats, breathless, and Frenchie raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t say that of mine, mate.”

“Or mine,” Roach comments.

“Now we’re going to feel bad about our sizes,” Frenchie adds.

“I think you’re pretty big yourselves,” Fang says, thoughtful as always. Frenchie pats his shoulder.

“Thanks, mate.”

“Yeah, nice to see someone can pay a guy a compliment here.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Izzy snorts, and he seems about to add something, but Wee John’s hands are on his shoulders and he’s pushing him forward. He blinks. “What…?”

“Hush. Lean on the table.”

A shaky exhale of breath and he does, leaning his elbows on the table. Wee John doesn’t move, but oils his hands before he moves them down his back then up again, fingers tracing some of the scars. He says nothing, but he doesn’t have to. Another breath, and Izzy tenses up. He turns his head, scowling at the mast like he can see something there that they can’t.

“... It was a long time ago. I fucking hope you’re not expecting me to start crying on your lap over it and tell you a sob story, because I sure as fu--” Izzy’s words fade into a groan when Wee John’s hands squeeze around his shoulders, thumbs digging into the muscles of his upper back. A hiss of discomfort follows, but Izzy doesn’t flinch away or tell him to stop, so he doesn’t.

“You’re awfully tense, dear,” he comments, running a thumb down the back of Izzy’s neck and then all the way down his spine to his lower back. It makes him arch a little with another groan - hard to tell if said groan is over the dick shifting in him or the touch on his back - and Wee John’s hands go back up to rub his shoulders. “Been a while since someone treated you to something nice, hasn't it?”

Fang lifts his glass, a little sheepish. “I tried once. Broke one of his ribs, though, and he told me he’d cut my fingers off if I tried again. But I’m sure he was just saying that. Right, Izzy?”

The only response he gets is a weak and somewhat nasal groan, because Izzy is apparently in the process of turning into putty against the table while Wee John, still balls deep in him, proceeds to work through knots in muscles he probably didn’t even know he even had. So Lucius replies in his stead.

“I’m sure you did your best,” he says, dealing the cards. “You playing this hand with us, Goddess?”

“Quite busy at the moment,” the goddess in question replies. “Do go ahead without me, mortals.”

They do, and this time it’s a long one, because no one seems to quite manage to win out. They’re still playing when Wee John ends the massage, places a kiss between Izzy’s shoulder blades, and grips his hips to move him over his lap.

That sure turns the groans of relief into full-on moaning, even while Izzy remains limp against the table. He’s nearly sobbing by the time Wee John stills and finishes with a quiet grunt, then runs his hands over Izzy’s shuddering back again before pulling him up, slipping out of him.

“There. It’s all right,” he murmurs over Izzy’s soft whimper, just as Fang puts down his cards, calls, and claims victory.

That also means getting to claim Izzy again, but he’s clearly not ready to get it up again. He still pulls Izzy on his lap, flushed and sweaty and barely coherent, and strokes him into another shuddering orgasm while playing his next hand.

“You good, Iz?” he asks, getting a weak nod and a mumble as a reply.

“Stop fucking asking, can’t you tell…” he slurs, but there is no bite to his words. His eyes slip shut and he just leans against Fang, still catching his breath, limp as though boneless. When Roach wins his second hand, then Frenchie does, they do the same thing - hold him against them, idly grinding against his thighs at most, to let him take a much needed break.

… That, or they’re all aiming to win three rounds and are trying to save their energy to fuck him on the table as the winner gets to do. If that’s what they’re hoping for, Lucius thinks, though luck. Frenchie comes dangerously close to a third win, but close is not enough and finally Lucius gets to look up and smile.

“I call.”

The cards go down and well, it’s over and he’s won.

“Whoo! Amazing, babe!”

“Thank you, love.”

“Aw, I almost had it,” Frenchie mutters, and runs a hand through Izzy’s hair. “You still awake, Izzy?”

A grumble. “Don’t tell me Twatty won.”

“Afraid so. Hey, were you hoping for someone else?”

“Hoping for me, obviously,” Roach says with a grin.

“Bet he wanted more of Wee John.”

“It’s still Calypso to you, mortal.”

“Oh, apologies.”

There is some laughter, and the cards and chips are pushed aside on the table to make room for Izzy. He’s hoisted on it, back against the wooden boards, and looks up at Lucius with half-lidded eyes. His hair is disheveled, the make-up pretty much gone, and it really is one hell of a look on him. He’s soft, having come for the second time in the evening only a short time ago, but Lucius is very much hard again.

Still, as he unlaces his trousers, he meets Izzy’s gaze. “Okay, look. Real talk, if you don’t want--”

“Shut up and show me what you’ve got, Twatty.”

It’s a little annoying, really, what those words do to him when it’s Izzy specifically to utter them. Lucius is on him without thinking, kissing him hard, grasping Izzy’s wrists and pinning them above his head. It gets a noise against his mouth, a startled moan, and oh yes, now we’re talking. What little resistance he put up in his surprise gives way fast and he parts his lips, letting him in.

And with all the action he’s had tonight, it’s no surprise that his mouth is not the only part of him that lets Lucius in easily. He pushes in and Izzy lets out a low whine again his mouth; he feels his wrists tense and his hands clench on nothing, but he makes no effort to break free. A couple of thrusts and Lucius pulls back from his mouth, keeping his hands pinned, just so he can look down at him.

Israel Fucking Hands - ‘First Mate Hands, or God as far as you're concerned’ - is panting, eyes half-lidded and lips parted, trembling in dazed pleasure, a sweaty and raw little thing beneath him and around him. He cannot possibly get it up now, he cannot possibly come again, but it's still desperate for this.

To be honest, Lucius thinks, this is a kind of God he would have no trouble getting on his knees for. He breathes out, running a hand down Izzy’s heaving chest. “Want me to move?” he asks.

A groan, and Izzy’s only leg wraps around his waist. “No, I want you to stand there and look pretty,” he snaps. Lucius grins, leaning closer, still keeping his wrists pinned.

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Just fucking move .”

“And how do we ask that?”

“Fuck off . ”

“Try again,” he mutters, giving the smallest tilt of his hips. It gets a whine out of Izzy, and it builds to a near sob when Lucius gives one hard thrust before stilling again.

“Fuck me,” he gasps out. It’s better, much better, but…

“Close, but not quite.”

“I’m not-- going to beg, Twatty.”

Lucius leans in closer, voice just a whisper. “I don’t want you to beg,” he tells him. Actually he very much would like to hear him beg, but he’ll keep it for next time. “But that’s not how you should be calling me.”

A slow, teasing roll of his hips. Izzy whimpers, throwing back his head, and Lucius’ mouth latches on his throat, aching to give him at least a mark to remind him of this. He’s also aching to move, because this bastard is slick and hot around him, but he makes an effort to keep still. He hears Izzy draw in a shaky breath, feels the heartbeat, feels him swallow.

“How?” he rasps. Lucius smiles against his skin.

“You think you’re cute?” he murmurs. “Remember, Iggy ?”

A pause, then another intake of breath, a shaky exhale. Lucius pulls back just enough to see his face, to see that now he does remember. He’s hesitating, lips parted, eyes wide. Lucius says nothing: just burrows his face where Izzy’s shoulder meets his neck. He bites, hard enough to get a startled moan out of him, and tilts his hips at the same time.

“Oh--” a whimper, a shudder, and he turns to press his face against Lucius’ hair. His voice is barely a whisper, for no one’s ears but Lucius’. “Please, daddy.”

Oh, yes.

With a low growl, Lucius pulls his face away, adjusts his grip on Izzy’s wrists and finally allows himself to fuck him properly, hard and fast, making the heavy table slide a few inches across the floorboards with a scraping noise that barely covers Izzy’s moans. Soon enough his arms are tired and he lets go of Izzy’s wrists, lets himself lay over him, chest to chest, and oh he’s close, all too soon, heat building up in his groin and his steady rhythm starting to break.

“Holy shit,” he groans, hips stuttering. There are arms around him, Izzy’s nails digging into his back, pressing him closer, holding on tight.

“Daddy,” he groans against his ear and oh, damn him, that undoes Lucius so quickly it’s not even funny. He comes with a shuddering gasp, pressing deep inside, going limp on Izzy like all his bones have turned to jelly and honestly, it feels like they have.

Holy. Shit.

For what feels like a very long time but are probably just a few minutes he remains still, head pleasantly empty, ears full of nothing but his and Izzy’s thumping heartbeats. Until, suddenly, he hears a sniffle.

What the...?

Lucius pulls back, still panting, alarm cutting through the afterglow. Izzy’s face is wet, tears leaving tracks in what's left of the make-up, and it hits him like a punch.

“Wait, no-- shit-- did I go too far? Was it the bite? Did it hurt?” he blurts, only for Izzy to shake his head, blinking away tears, gaze still fixed on the sky.

“It's fine, right?” Fang is speaking up, and turns Izzy's face towards him so gently. "They're the good kind of tears, yes? You good, Iz?"

A sniffle, and he nods, making no move to get off the table. "Yeah," he rasps. "I'm good."

Oh, thank fuck. With a long sigh of relief, Lucius finds his feet again and tucks himself back in his trousers. Only then does he realize that the others seem to have been at work on filling the bathtub with water now that the alcohol has all been guzzled down, and that Pete is coming back on deck with towels and a bar of the captain’s very expensive soap.

"We went to get some towels and stuff while you were busy, babe," he says. “Hope you didn’t mind me not watching.”

“I got soup,” Roach adds, holding up a steaming bowl. “Left some for the captain, though. Passed by his cabin on the way and I’m pretty sure he’s busy, might need a pick me up later. You heard that?” he asks, turning to Frenchie, who’s carrying an armful of blankets and pillows. He shrugs.

“Sure did. Ed must have put the bell back on, ‘cause I heard it going like mad.”

The mental image makes Lucius chuckle, and that feels good, after so much time unable to feel anything but anger at the thought of anything concerning Ed.

Not moving on is worse, Izzy said, and maybe he was on to something.

Lucius grabs a bottle, takes a long swig, and watches on as Fang and Wee John get Izzy in the tub, giving him a good wash with the pricey soap. Izzy seems half asleep already, barely moving while they scrub and rinse every inch of him and then towel him dry. By the time they lift him out of the tub Frenchie is ready with the blanket; he’s wrapping it around Izzy just as a familiar voice rings out somewhere on Lucius’ right.

“Hey, guys. Looks like you had a bit of an all deck on hands kind of situation here. Could have called us up to help,” Archie says, taking the bottle from Lucius’ hand and giving it a swig. He hears Jim half-groan and half-chuckle, while Olu rather awkwardly rubs the back of his neck.

Lucius laughs. “I think you had plenty of action on your own below deck,” he mutters, and none of them tries to deny it, even if Olu is suddenly very interested in the few clouds around the moon. “Uh, the captain…?”

“Don’t think he’ll come out for a while. Heard the bell going like crazy,” Jim says, taking the bottle from Archie and taking a swig themself. They look on while Fang sits on the ground with Izzy leaning against his side. “... He’s all right, yeah?”

“Better than all right, I’d say,” Lucius shrugs. “Just, you know… we tired him out.”

“I see.”

“Want us to call you next time?” he asks, and Jim makes a face.

“Eh, I’ll pass,” they mutter, taking another swig before passing the bottle to Olu. “But if you’re having a sleepover on deck, we’re all for it.”

It definitely does look like they’re having a sleepover, with the blankets and pillows on the deck and several of the crew already leaning down. Fang is helping Izzy drink from the bowl of soup before he lets him lean down too, right in the middle of the pile, and puts another blanket on him for good measure. By the looks of it, Izzy is half asleep before his head touches the pillow.

“... Yeah, looks like the sleepover is on.”

He sidles up to Pete, and there are a few grumbles while pillows and blankets are snatched back and forth, but soon enough they’re all settled. Lucius yawns and turns a moment to take a look at Izzy, already asleep, nestled between Fang and Frenchie. He looks peaceful, forehead smooth. Lucius may have scored a few points, but it’s pretty clear who the real winner of the game really was, and he finds he doesn’t mind.

He doesn’t mind at all.

#our flag means death #ofmd #izzy hands #lucius spriggs #frenchie ofmd #fang ofmd #black pete #roach ofmd #wee john ofmd #izzy hands/lucius spriggs #izzy hands/frenchie #izzy hands/fang #izzy hands/roach #izzy hands/wee john #izzy hands/black pete

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quinloki · 5 months

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Alright I’m about to be Really Mean - but justifiably really mean, so we all understand.

I don’t like being mean, but I am angry.

I have anonymous-ized this ask, and I’m giving the person a chance to save face, but you’re gonna learn a lesson from this, I hope.

Okay, here goes:

If this is how you handle being blocked on a platform I’d block you too. I’m very close to doing so, to be clear, because this is not a good way to react. It smacks heavily of being in Bad Faith, and if you meant otherwise then please learn from this and improve going forward.

People have the right to block who they want, when they want, as they want. It *can* really suck.

It can, sometimes, be being done for toxic reasons.

But it doesn’t matter.

Coming to me - completely unrelated to said person and situation, and looking for sympathy is not healthy. Not in this manner. A DM would’ve been a little better, and my response would have been kinder.

But this style of communication - while it can be responded to privately - is generally not private.

You are - intentionally or otherwise - using me to complain about someone who blocked you. You included their screen name when it was completely unnecessary. Functionally and emotionally.

If all you wanted was a sympathetic ear, then you would not have done that. If you did so truly unintentionally, then, again, I hope this helps you improve in the future.

If you had sent this without including the other person’s internet handle then I would’ve responded that while being blocked sucks, it doesn’t necessarily mean you did anything wrong at all. Sometimes I block people because their style of communication is too much for me and I can’t take it.

We all have that right.

But I’m active with a decent chunk of interactive followers, and I cannot shake the feeling that you were hoping someone would read this ask and trot off to go bug that other user. I’m trying to wrack my brain to see if I’ve mentioned that I’m nearing a follower count milestone, and I think I have, and that just irritates me more.

I disdain that kind of behavior.

As evidence, it has made me angry.

… I hope that I have managed to be clear and helpful about why this was poor form, and if not you may want to consult a closer friend than I, because it is best that you give me a few days.

#quin answers #etiquette #being upset is understandable #but this kind of reaction is not good #there are better ways to soothe a bruised ego #lessons learned #my responding to this at all is because I remember being young and ignorant too #and I would rather assume ignorance than malice

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grimmmviewing · 1 month

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S1E12: “Last Grimm Standing”—C (Watched 3/11/24)

“Okay. Anything else?”

“Uh, no, just you.”

“Do you want me with green beans or asparagus?”

This episode begins strong, with a flurry of activity in the cold open—first, a posse on horseback which initially made me anticipate some flashback action, but then an old man and his wife are killed at their very modern house by a Wesen, who is himself being hunted by the posse. The concept of a Grimm fight club is pretty interesting, but it just didn’t quite work for me in the end.

In all honesty, I was hoping for human culprits rather than the lion men I got. I ultimately liked how they were costumed and styled to given off leonine vibes even in human form, but I thought it would have been more interesting to get some humans aware of and exploitative toward their Wesen neighbors— Some old bigotry to go with the old-school weapons and ritualistic fighting. The way the combatants are essentially, literally de-human-ized to make them fight, including feeding them the remains of killed fighters, feels like the sort of behavior that would fit with a prejudiced human antagonist, someone who only saw Wesen as beasts and wanted to force them to conform to that image. But I’m backseat writing here!

Adaptationally, “Last Grimm Standing” also doesn’t feel that ambitious, at least as far as I can tell. One subversion is how the lions are not themselves combatants here. Another could be how Monroe pulls the equivalent of a thorn from the hand of the top fighter (who is some sort of reptile), but then pulling the thorn doesn’t do the expected thing of softening the other Wesen’s regard for Monroe when they’re pitted against one another. It’s cool to see Nick fight physically in this one, sans gun, but it’s all pretty straightforward.

The most evocative, upsetting, and, also, interesting thing in the episode is probably the image of a bunch of white men on horseback lassoing and dragging a Black man. Of course, these are all technically Wesen in this universe, but the uncomfortable historical echoes here, along with the contrast of modern and not, obviously feels resonant. This is just another one of those things the show feels not at all equipped to do much with…

In terms of charming bits and goofs that could be considered charming, we’ve got the name “Leo Taymor” for the head Lowen, which I did not catch until quite late in the episode (and groaned when I figured it out). Nick also points out the appropriateness of “Leo” (to Leo himself) just in case anyone in the audience missed out. I found myself wondering if the lowlifes who presumably attend and bet on the fights actually understand Latin, though, or if Leo is just as good as speaking gibberish at them when he announces and commences these bouts. Whatever “wrath” Renard brings down on him in the end sounds an awful lot like a comedy badger, from Ernest Goes to Camp, maybe.

Maybe part of the “problem” is that “Last Grimm Standing” ultimately feels like an episode on its way somewhere else. The plot of the week does take up a sizeable chunk, but the way that the episode spotlights Renard in his own parallel story involving the fights (that he’s apparently kind of in charge of them) is obviously texture and characterization leading somewhere else. This is where we start to run up against my lack of knowledge outside this first season, but the Latin, the John Wickian secret honorable society stuff, Leo referring to Renard as “highness” and “royalty”—The antiquated vibe is a unifying element of the episode (Monroe emphasizes the historical value of the stuff in Aunt Marie’s trailer as well), but it’s also gesturing toward the larger plot, at least what I remember of it.

This is also the vibe with the ending: Renard gets his revenge on Leo for crossing him, leaving the audience with a lot of questions about his whole deal, while Nick is on his way home very late on his anniversary with Juliette, having missed dinner and left her in the dumps. This too is a gesture toward larger/longer plot threads, further putting emphasis on stories to come rather than this one. And that’s fine! I just wish I had felt a little better served by the story of the week to balance things out.

#nbc grimm #i swear Nick says “Dimitri SANTOS” rather than “Skontos” at one point #tv series #review #rewatch

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irkendogma · 2 months

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@quimser i actually was gonna just keep all their stuff in one longass google doc, but an iz oc server i joined specified toyhouse or artfight links for people's character references and with net zero skill or experience in visual art i kind of had my decision made for me. admittedly freak has always been more of a "fuckoff chunks of text"-centric oc to me than a visual art one like a good 95% of what they have going on is lore or snippets of random fic (though every single piece of Freak Fanart i've received has resulted in near-unprecedented levels of neuron activation on my part so i am not at all complaining)

#tallest freak #i don't know shit about the site admittedly i made that account specifically for the freak landing pad and haven't touched it since

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transchaoswizard · 2 years

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Miraculous ladybug is such a fantastic train wreck of a show because it manages to be both interesting, good, and infuriatingly bad all at the same time and it's really hard to articulate why. Especially with more plot happening in the later seasons it's interesting to see how it maintains an active audience both in the better and worst parts of the show. Which is funny because they're usually the same parts

Ok for example. Sentibubbler is one of my favorite episodes because it actually engages in an interesting scenario; Hawk Moth has finally managed to find someone who might lead him to Ladybug, so Rena Rouge has to really use her powers in creative ways just to throw him off her trail. It's a actually creative setup compared to the usual Monster of the week format. But while I liked it, the setup, payoffs and consequences feel jarring and sour the whole setup.

Alya just became the Permanent Holder of the Fox Miraculous an episode. And Ladybug is doubting that choice, rightly so I'd say, because Hawk Moth almost immediately realizes that she has a closer relationship with LB because he was spying on known previous holders. She knew this because she caught the spying sentimonsters in the same episode she let Alya keep the fox. She goes to voice her fear and is told she's overreacting by just about everybody in the know despite having experienced tangible evidence that there is a danger(chat blanc), immediately shown to be right and shadow moth is targeting Alya, and then apologizes afterwards for being afraid of something that just happened. And her fear is more than sensible and is shown to be right, because Alya breaks the rules and shares her own identity to Nino. So Marinette is shown to basically be entirely right in her fears, told she is bad for being afraid, and is given the blame when it all comes crashing down. When Rena is rediscover because Nino reveals he knows she's active (in front of Hawk Moth again btw) LB takes the fox back again, which is both entirely justified and arguably the wrong decision because once it happens LB immediately gets all the kwami's stolen.

And to make things seem weirder, Hawk Moth was only spying on Alya because he learned her identity as a temp holder from Miracle Queen and was spying on known holders and watching how LB gets to them. Miracle Queen only became an Akuma because she was angry that ther rules meant that with her secret exposed, she couldn't be a superhero anymore. (Same with Kagami. She's explicitly told that because she outed her Identity, she can't be a super again) So why does Alya not have to follow those rules because their identities got exposed? In the same vein it's not okay for LB and CN to know each other's identities, but it's ok for Alya and Nino to know each other as temp holders(Chat blanc shows an actual effect of sharing identities, but not why the rules apply so selectively).

This show both creates some impressive ideas and seems to never respect them. Honestly it feels like this show operates entirely on dream logic where things just happen as the writers need to, logic be damned, which leads to a bunch of inspirational ideas that conflict constantly. Which is why I think so many people both like the show, engage with the show, make theories, get angry with the show, and then make fix-it fics and Au's that often are better than canon*. I think this is why this show is so popular; it's less of a good show and more like a pintrest board of someone's ideas, designs and inspirations. Most of it clashes but a lot of the base chunks have some really good foundations.

*not me though. I exclusively started watching the show because Hawk Moth acting like a dark and serious person, saying the word "Evil-ize" in a serious voice, and then summon the dumbest villain you've ever seen is so irrationally funny to me. This is a comedy with a fandom attached and both are doing two separate things

#miraculous ladybug #ml salt #ml love #I don't know man #it's fascinating #like a train wreck that has been happening for like an hour straight #you're both horrified and impressed that a disaster is able to keep going for so long #also why doesn't Alya do a Kuro Neko and just pretend to be a different person?#wouldn't that make sense instead of the weird way she was used in Strike Back?#also apart from causing Chat Noir angst over feeling neglected did she actually help as Rena Furitive?#again I'm both loving the cool setup and plot hooks and infuriated by how they seem to be lazy and abandon them halfway through #I'm still going to watch this though

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justsomeoneunordinary · 1 month

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Hello, i hope this isn't too forward or annoying, but speaking of queerplatonic tobiizu i remember you talked about a queerplatonic tobiizu fic some time ago. Can I ask if you still plan to write it?

Not too forward at all! I feel extremely flattered that you still remember me talking about that fic, considering that was sometime in June/July! ♥️

I would definitely like to finish the fic, but what happened is what happens to lots of my WIPs: I forgor what the fuck I wanted to write. Sometimes, I have an idea that plays so vividly in my head like a film, and because it’s so much, because I have the conversations and all the happenings of a story already perfectly played out in my mind, it’s pretty much impossible to write it all down in one go. And if too much time passes before I get to write everything at least sloppily down, then I will inevitably start forgetting details until I forget whole chunks of the plot.

This time around, I at least left myself some keywords to help me remember, and they mostly do! I still know what I wanted to write for the most part even after all these months, but there’s still details missing, and that’s wholly a me-problem. I hate that when I finally finish the fic, it won’t be exactly as I had it originally in mind, that it will inevitably be different. The readers won’t even know which parts are exactly as I had envisioned them in the beginning and which aren’t, but I will know and that’s enough to drive me up a wall and not want to continue writing it…

Also, there’s one part where I don’t know how to solve the issue of Tobirama not wanting to talk to Izuna anymore (if you remember—in this fic, Tobirama falls in love with Izuna but Izuna is aro and therefore doesn’t love Tobirama back romantically, and it begins rather on a sad note in which Tobirama avoids Izuna because he believes that’s what he needs, and the fic progresses into them finding out how to still continue their friendship and eventually live together, while they love each other in entirely different ways). I remember Izuna having a conversation with Tobirama to convince him to be friends again, but I can’t for the life of me remember what he could’ve said, and it’s maddening that my brain won’t provide me with the answer I literally already had…

Anyway, yes, I do very much plan to finish that fic, I just need to get over the issues! Hopefully sometime this year :)

Here, have a sneak peek from the beginning where things are bad, because I am mean (and also because the beginning part is fully written out whereas the latter part where things get better is still under construction so I can’t really share that):

Tobirama was avoiding him. Scorching hot fury brought the blood in his veins to a boiling point and overshadowed the disappointment and confusion he felt upon the realization. Everyone hurried away from him as he stomped over to the Hokage Tower, murderous glare in his eyes, and slamming open Tobirama’s office door without any care. Tobirama didn’t even have the gall to look up. “Not now, Izuna,” he only said and continued writing, his brows furrowed in concentration. “Yes, now,” Izuna growled. “You’re avoiding me, Tobirama.” He didn’t state it as a question; it wasn’t one. It wasn’t an assumption either. It was fact. He’d just been too busy to notice it before, but there was no doubt about it now. “Of course, I am,” Tobirama answered simply, still not looking up from his notes, his calm a stark contrast to Izuna’s anger and the chakra he was leaking to the point of choking. It took Izuna’s breath in a flash. For a hot second, stabbing pain of sheer hurt overwhelmed him, before anger took over the wheel once again, and it cost all of Izuna’s self-restraint not to set the table in front of him on fire. “What. The. Fuck.” “If you only came here to state the obvious, please leave. I have work to do.” Tobirama might as well had punched him in the guts. Izuna’s vision went red, if from anger or hurt, Izuna couldn’t tell, and Izuna had to swallow past the lump in his throat multiple times before asking, “Is that how you treat a friend?” And here he had thought Tobirama would tell him in the face if he had a problem instead of cowering like a coward. That finally brought Tobirama to a halt. He set his brush down with composed calm, and slowly, almost carefully, did he lift his head, finally looking Izuna straight in the eye. What Izuna saw there wasn’t what he had expected. To anyone else, Tobirama would’ve looked relaxed, but Izuna knew him well enough now to read the signs. The locked jaw spoke of carefully hidden anger, but the milky look in his usually steel-hard eyes told him a story of hurt. Izuna didn’t understand what right Tobirama had to be hurt when he was the one who just stomped on their friendship as if it meant nothing. “Izuna,” and his voice was so careful not to waver, Izuna could tell by the miniscule wobble of his underlip, “you showed me precisely where we stand. I need some space now. And time.” Izuna’s first instinctive reaction was to quip and tell him that Tobirama had already made time and space bend to his will, his second thought was ‘what’.

#also sorry for the rather late reply!#may answers #anon #may writes #-ish #tobiizu

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linterteatime · 2 years

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So! i feel like I need to talk about a little something relating to invader zim that has been EATING my brains for some time, but mostly these couple of months, so if you follow me and don't care about iz then feel free to skip this, also it's hard for me to write things (in general) so I will try to keep it as short as I can and as understandable as I can:

the invader zim fandom (maybe more specifically the zadr part of it idk) in a way, stresses me out, or maybe it causes me anxiety perhaps, dunno, there is certain things that make me very uncomfy, and of course I know these things happen in other fandom's too yes I'm not stupid, but it truly feels like...it's more glossed over here? maybe normalized in a way, not by everyone of course but it does feel like a big chunk of people does so or perhaps I see things in a bad light too much, who knows, the thing is, I'm not very comfy and that's important to me

and of course it's not new, it just came to my attention recently because I err, wasn't checking iz fandom stuff that much some months ago, for the same reason actually, it fried my brain haha

this has happened to me before in other fandoms, yes, but iz is definitely the bigger one to fry my brain the worst as of now

what's important is, will I still make iz fanart? yes, I shouldn't let things like these stop me from liking something nor stop me from making content for it, I love the characters and it could be very sad for me to leave them for something as silly as this

in the end, I just go to fandom stuff in the hopes to find neat stuff and not...err, not so neat stuff, maybe that's just me, maybe I'm just another annoying baby who knows, but I should prioritize my sanity over some silly alien show

the lesson? you go in the invader zim fandom, you leave needing therapy and perhaps a new pair of eyes because they got stolen in the line

(also! don't try to err, argue with me about this, nor talk to me personally about this, I don't like talking. maybe leave a little comment if you really really need to,I will see it)

#personal #rant perhaps #i don't think this is vent #but idk #on happier news #h0llow kn1ght fandom #here i come #also delt4rune too #im sorry for being a silly big baby clown stupid monkey with a hat and a sad sad face #but it's who i am #i may seem like a silly clown but in reality #im just a undert4le fan

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mandiemon3 · 2 months

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The Best Revenge is Living Well- Chapter 27

“Can you fucking believe that? He didn’t even say he was sorry, he just hopped around it like we were too stupid to notice!”

Mo paced back and forth across the deck, gesturing wildly in their anger. Izzy sat on the railing of the main deck, his bad leg propped up as he methodically carved a small piece of wood.

Izzy nodded, not looking up from his work. “’Course I believe it,” he said levelly. “What were you expecting, love? A tearful apology?” He glanced up at his partner when they huffed, only growing angrier by the second. “I don’t know,” they admitted, scowling as they threw their hands in the air. “Don’t know if I expected anything, but I guess I assumed the words ‘I’m sorry’ would be in there somewhere because Stede said he wanted us to gather to hear Edward’s apology.” They scoffed. “Pretty sure I’m not the asshole in this situation.”

Izzy sighed wearily, stilling his hands as he watched them pace, their agitation not easing.

“You’re not the fuckin’ asshole,” he said, sounding exhausted. “Now would you stop pacing? You’re just going to wear yourself out. You’ll need new boots by the time we dock at the rate you’re going.”

Mo frowned, their gaze fixed down at the deck as they shook their head. “Sorry, Iz. Can’t stop. Got too many thoughts right now. If I stop, I’ll need to do something else, and this is the least destructive thing I can think of at the moment.” They turned, their brow furrowing as they regarded their partner.

“How in the hell are you taking this so well?” they asked suspiciously. They slowed their pacing, moving closer to him and watching as he calmly sliced slivers off the chunk of wood he held.

Izzy shrugged. “You get used to it after a while,” he said levelly. “You know how many people have apologized to me since I’ve been at sea?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Not many, my love. Mostly you, actually.” A small smile pulled at his lips as he glanced at his partner.

Mo frowned, their arms crossing over their chest as they came to a stop, leaning against the railing next to him, unable to stop their foot from tapping rapidly against the deck. “Well, that doesn’t mean it’s right,” they said stubbornly. “He should still be held accountable for his actions. Fucking everyone should. There’s no growth without repercussions.”

Izzy gave no sign that he heard them, other than a quiet hum.

“Seriously,” they asked, placing their hand on his thigh, running their thumb over his knee, “aren’t you upset at him? He fucking shot you, Iz, you deserve to be angry at him.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter as much to me anymore,” he admitted gruffly. He looked up as Mo gave him a confused look, finally setting aside his whittling. “I’m mad he shot me,” he said wearily, holding their gaze levelly. “Mad I lost my fuckin’ leg because of him and his stupid suicide mission. But I don’t need to focus on him anymore.” He corners of his lips upturned. “I have a new focus now. Besides,” he said, returning to his work, “shouldn’t let grief or anger get in the way of living.”

Mo nodded reluctantly. “Guess you have a point there,” they admitted quietly. They squeezed his thigh. “When’d you get so fucking wise, Israel? Did that happen when I was away?”

Izzy huffed a small laugh. “Always been wise, darling.” He smirked, his gaze fixed down as he whittled. “You know, you’re not as different as you’d think. You and Edward,” he said casually, glancing up from his work to gauge his partner’s reaction. His smirk grew as he watched them flounder for words, their shock momentarily derailing their anger.

“Wha-what the fuck does that mean?” they demanded, gently nudging him as they pushed off the railing, once again unable to resist their urge to pace. They desperately needed to burn through some energy, to do something to calm down. “I am nothing like that prick. I would never do the kind of shit he did here, even if the unspeakable happened.” They glared at Izzy, daring him to contradict them.

“Never said you would,” he said levelly, sheathing his knife before carefully standing up. He laced his fingers together loosely, letting his arms hang in front of him as he leaned against the railing. “You’re better than him,” he promised, watching them intently. “Don’t mean to imply otherwise. Just noticed a few common traits. Don’t think either of you realize how similar you really are.”

Mo scowled, crossing their arms over their chest, finally coming to a stop in front of him. “And what would those be?” they asked roughly. “Our common traits?”

Izzy grinned. “Well, you’re both defensive, for one.” He chuckled when they scoffed. “Both have a flair for the dramatic,” he continued, “and both of you are guarded about your past.”

Mo snorted. “Like you’re not,” they muttered under their breath, their foot tapping rapidly against the deck.

“You’re both short tempered,” he said, looking at them pointedly. “Both need to move when you’re agitated. And when you’re caught off guard or overwhelmed, you both want to fight through your problems.”

They frowned. “Yeah, but I’d never do this,” this insisted, kicking their boot idly. “I’ll fight a bloke, sure, but I usually ask first, not just grab whoever’s nearest and start torturing. And I’d never cause lasting damage, even if I was upset. I’d never cut off extremities or-”

“You’d never shoot someone,” Izzy interrupted, a calming smile on his face. “Mo, I know. You’re not him. You work on your issues for one,” he said with a breathy laugh, “and you have limits. Edward lost most of his a while ago. Don’t know if he has any left, other than not to hurt Bonnet.” A smile flickered across Izzy’s face. “You have some of his good qualities too,” he continued, his tone gentler.

Mo twisted on their feet, turning from side to side and using the repetitive motion to soothe their irritation. They felt like they’d been hit in the chest, all the wind knocked out of them as they listened to the ways they reminded their lover of Blackbeard.

“Yeah?” they said weakly, tearing their gaze off the deck to glance at him.

Izzy shifted, pushing himself off the railing as he walked towards them. He gently held onto their arms, his head lowered as he tried to catch their eye. “Yeah, love,” he said humorously, smiling softly. “You’re smart, and quick on your feet. Funny too, when you’re not being an ass.” Mo laughed weakly, finally looking up at their grinning partner. He moved a hand up their arm, coming to rest on their shoulder as his thumb brushed against their neck. They couldn’t help but let their muscles relax under his touch.

“You know people, how to talk to them. Could befriend a fuckin’ squid if you had enough time.” They smirked at his teasing tone, resting their hands on his hips. “You’ve got that…whimsy that everyone on this ship does. You can find the joy in anything, some way to have fun.” Izzy smiled softly. “Always envied that in Ed,” he admitted, his thumb running over their jaw absentmindedly. “Never really knew how to find good in things. Not until you, anyway.” He sighed quietly, a content sound as he looked at them, his dark eyes soft. “You make it easier.”

Mo couldn’t help but smile softly. “Glad to be of help,” they said quietly, wishing they could freeze this moment. What they would give to stay like this forever, to live a life of these moments with Izzy.

They grinned slowly, unable to stop the small chuckle that escaped them as their head leaned forward, their forehead resting against his chest.

“What?” he asked, already laughing as he ran his hand up their back.

Mo laughed, unable to raise their head to look up at him. “I guess I just always saw myself more like Stede,” they admitted quietly, grinning even as Izzy groaned dramatically.

“Oh, fuck off with that,” he said, no real venom behind it. “I would not fall in love with a Stede Bonnet.”

They grinned, pulling back enough to look at him. “Guess that makes you Stede then,” they said carefully. Izzy rolled his eyes, cupping their cheek as he pressed his forehead to theirs.

“Neither of us are that flouncy twat,” he said firmly. A small smile flickered across his lips, his gaze softening as he watched them, still laughing to themselves. “You’re lucky I love you,” he continued, his voice lilted humorously. “If anyone else had the gall to call me Stede fuckin’ Bonnet, they’d be in the ocean by now.”

Mo giggled, lacing their arms behind his head, resting their hands on the back of his neck. “I know,” they said cheekily. “And I am very grateful for your infinite patience for me.” They grinned as Izzy leaned forward, their hands coming up to gently hold his head as he kissed them. When they parted, they couldn’t help but giggle again.

“Guess no one else would get a kiss for calling you Stede either,” they said quietly. They laughed as Izzy grumbled, dropping his head to rest on their shoulder with an exasperated sigh. They ran their fingers through his hair, holding the first mate close. “I am lucky,” they said, still chuckling as they pressed a kiss to his temple. “And not just because you put up with my jokes.”

Mo was able to avoid Edward for most of the day, leaving a room when he’d enter or glaring at him when he looked at them too long, looking like he was considering approaching them. Only Lucius seemed to share their concerns, holding a grudge against their former co-captain for his near death experience and everything that followed it. The two were relieved to have someone else aboard who took issue with Edward, especially after his lackluster apology attempt in which he took no responsibility for his actions or the harm he had caused. The rest of the crew seemed to accept his presence fairly easily, even those he had kept almost as hostages for those horrible weeks of separation. Archie, Jim, and Oluwande were able to goof off together as they swabbed the deck, and Frenchie was finding joy in stitching together a new flag for the ship, one of his own design. When Mo asked him his thoughts on Edward staying, he shrugged.

“It is what it is, babe,” he said, not taking his eyes off his project, the large bit of fabric laid across a table in the galley. “Just glad to have Ed back.”

Mo frowned, tousling his hair and pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Agree to disagree,” they said. “I’ll be right back, love. I want to show you something.” They returned a few minutes later, holding a stack of papers.

“What’s that?” Frenchie asked, holding his needle between his lips as he looked over at them.

Mo sank into a seat at the table next to him, placing the papers on the table and sliding it towards him with a smile.

“It’s letters,” they said simply, watching with a grin as he set aside his work, giving them a questioning look as he picked up a piece of paper.

Frenchie grinned, looking at them in amazement. “For me?” He laughed when they nodded, flicking through the pages with glee.

“You left me notes,” Mo explained with a grin. “Figured I could return the favor and give these to you when I found you. Mine aren’t as good as yours, but I tried, and I figured you’d still like them, even if they do look like they were drawn by a monkey.”

Frenchie chuckled. “Yeah, well you were right,” he said, still not looking up as he shuffled through the papers. “About me liking them, I mean, not them looking like they were drawn by a monkey.” He frowned slightly, lifting his head as he thought. “Maybe a cursed monkey, but not a regular one.” He shook his head, thumbing through the pages again as he grinned to himself.

“No one’s ever given me letters before,” he said quietly. “Figures, since I can’t read. But look!” He held up a paper, showing them a crude drawing they had done of the two of them, standing on the Revenge with goofy smiles drawn on their faces. “I get this!” he proudly proclaimed, grinning ear to ear. “I know what you meant, clear as day, and it’s not just ‘cause we have the same brain!”

Mo laughed, relieved that he could tell what they were going for. They would never expect him to be mean about a gift, but it was comforting nonetheless to see him react with such genuine joy.

“I’m glad you like them,” they said honestly, leaning against his shoulder. “I wasn’t sure my point would come across with a lot of them, but I wanted to try.” They sighed. “Wanted to be able to bring you back a souvenir of some kind,” they said quietly, watching his nimble fingers shuffle through the drawings, “but I couldn’t find anything worth stealing that I could carry. Matt didn’t have anything worthwhile on him, just a few coins he probably stole from someone, but I had to use those to pay for food to get back to the Republic.” Mo propped their chin on his shoulder. “Next time we dock though, you can bet your ass you’re getting a present,” they declared with a grin.

Frenchie laughed, wrapping an arm around their shoulders. “Ahh, you know you don’t have to get me anything,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Being your mate is enough.”

“Best mate,” Mo corrected.

He nodded. “My mistake. Bestest mate in the world,” he said, nodding towards them.

Mo shrugged, giving him a sympathetic look. “You’re still getting a gift. Not as a form of payment or anything like that,” they added, “just because you’re my best friend and I love you.” They laughed, shaking their head as they thought. “Oh boy, if I was rich, you and Izzy would be so spoiled,” they said. “Maybe even more than me.”

Frenchie laughed. “Yeah, imagine that,” he said. “Kept man Izzy Hands. A proper housewife, that bloke.”

Mo grinned at the thought. “Don’t think that’ll ever happen, even if we robbed the King and Queen themselves,” they said, chuckling. “I love that man, but my gods is he stubborn. Not to mention that it’s almost impossible to get him to just sit still, even for ten fucking minutes. Take away his work and he’d go insane.”

“Yeah, but he’d do it for you.” Frenchie said, smirking playfully as he nudged them. “You know he would.”

They smiled, dropping their head bashfully. “Yeah,” they said quietly, giving a reluctant nod. “He probably would.” They looked up, still unable to meet their friend’s eye as he grinned. “I’d still never ask him to be a ‘kept man’,” they continued insistently, “let alone a housewife. Having him as my husband will be more than enough.”

Frenchie’s eyes widened, one hand darting up to cover his mouth as the other gripped their shoulder tightly. They stiffened at his grip, turning to face his with a confused expression.

“Mo Berch,” he said quietly, almost conspiratorially even as a grin spread across his face, “are you…are you planning to propose to him?”

Mo blushed, their face burning as they turned red. “I didn’t mean now,” they protested, their voice hushed. “I mean, Izzy wouldn’t be ready, and we’re still adjusting to being back together. We need to finish fixing up the ship and figure out what’s going on with Edward before even thinking about anything else.”

Frenchie nudged them, grinning widely. “Answer the question,” he urged, his eyes wide.

They sighed wearily, unable to fight off their own grin even as they rolled their eyes. “Fine,” they said lowly, as if admitting a great secret, trailing their fingers over their friend's neat stitching. “Yes, I’m going to marry that man. Someday,” they added with a pointed look. “But please don’t say anything to anyone. Roach is already joking about it, and I don’t want Izzy to have any pressure from the crew, one way or the other.” They frowned, finally meeting their friend’s gaze. “You know he gets weird when other people expect something from him. I really don’t want this to be something he gets weird about.”

Frenchie nodded solemnly, crossing his heart quickly, his eyes shining brightly. “Don't know what you're worried about though. Everyone already knows,” he said, frowning lightly. He laughed when they frowned, clearly taken aback. “You two aren’t subtle,” he pointed out teasingly, bumping his shoulder against theirs. “Always together, always smilin' when you’re near each other. Not to mention how casual he is with you. He’s usually tighter than a clam, but he practically melts when you’re around.” He snorted. “I’d feel bad for him if you didn’t propose. Poor bloke is clearly hopelessly in love with you.”

Mo smiled, blushing again as they looked down at their hands. “I take it that means he has your blessing then?" They asked, glancing up at him hopefully. "You wouldn’t mind having him as basically a brother-in-law?”

He beamed, taking their hand in his own and giving it a firm squeeze. “I’d love to have him in the family,” he assured them. “Didn’t go through all that effort hidin’ him away because I didn’t like him. And he makes you happy,” he said, nudging them gently. “That’s the most important thing. If he’s good enough for you, he’s good enough for me.”

Mo smiled, leaning against their tall friend again. “That’s good,” they said. “Because I don’t think there’s a force in the world strong enough to keep me from marrying him.”

When Mo returned to the main deck, they found Izzy teaching Stede in the ways of pirating. They couldn’t help but grin, barely hiding their laugh behind their hand as he smacked their captain’s ass, sending his across the deck hanging on a rope, squealing as his hands were burned by the rough material. Izzy shook his head, clearly torn between being exasperated and amused at the sight as Stede whimpered, laying on the deck hopelessly. Their partner noticed them watching, giving them a brief wink and a small smile before chastising Stede’s choice of gloves.

Mo grinned to themselves as they crossed the deck, searching for Wee John. Now that everyone was safely reunited, they wanted to take him up on his offer of knitting them a blanket. Hopefully he wouldn’t mind their request for him to make it big enough for two. Not finding their friend on deck, they ducked down into the ship again, giving Izzy a wave and a warm smile as they crossed the ship, silently wishing him luck on his next task of teaching Stede how to shoot a gun. Gods knew he needed it.

Mo was helping Fang haul treasure into a storage room when Izzy found them, ducking through the open doorway, resting his arm against it as he watched the two pile up everything he and the crew had worked so hard to steal during their time under Blackbeard’s captaincy.

“What are you doing?” he asked, frowning as he watched his partner stack another chest of coins on top of a crate.

Mo turned to face him, wiping at their brow with the back of their arm. “Captain asked us,” they explained breathlessly, gesturing to the growing hoard around them. “Wanted it all condensed. Out of the way.” They tipped their head to the side, their hands resting on their hips as they studied him. “What’s up? You need something?”

Izzy seemed to rouse himself, standing up fully as he remembered his purpose for entering the room. “Just wanted to let you know that we’re going on a raid,” he said levelly, as if telling them he was making a stop to pick up eggs from the market. “Trying to teach Bonnet a thing or two, before he gets us all killed.”

Fang looked at him anxiously, a small frown on his face. “How’s he doing?” As fond as they all were of Stede, no one was disillusioned about his skills as a pirate.

Izzy huffed a sigh, shaking his head as he crossed his arms over his chest. “’Bout as expected. He has...” he trailed off, scowling as he thought of an apt description, “considerable room for improvement,” he settled on, rather generously. Mo ducked their head to hide their small smile. A few months ago, he would be hissing and screaming over having to teach Stede anything. Now, he was making efforts not to insult the captain, even when asked his thoughts directly.

“We’ll find something Bonnet is good at,” Izzy continued. “Might take us a fuckin’ month at this rate, but we’ll find it.” He turned towards Mo, pointing a finger at them. “I want you to stay out of harm’s way,” he ordered. “We’ll have enough trouble keeping Bonnet safe, I don’t want to have to worry about you too.”

Mo opened their mouth to protest, unable to stop the indignant sound that came from their throat. To their surprise, Fang beat them to the punch, seeming just as offended as they felt.

“Hang on, Izzy,” the soft-spoken man said, his brow furrowed as he frowned. “They’re one of our best fighters. You can’t just put them on the sidelines.”

Izzy’s eyebrows set in a hard line, clearly not expecting any pushback from Fang of all people.

“He’s right, love,” Mo said carefully, not wanting to risk pushing back against his authority too much. “I can handle my own in a fight, and it’d be stupid to make me sit this one out.”

Izzy leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed as he looked at them levelly, examining them closely. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to think I can get you to stay out of a fight?” He watched them intently, clearly expecting an answer.

Mo shuffled, suddenly feeling awkward under Izzy’s gaze. They were uncomfortably aware of the apprehensive look Fang gave them, looking down at the floor as their throat ran dry.

“Well…um…I, uh, I don’t know how to respond to that,” they admitted uncertainly.

Izzy gave them a lopsided grin, huffing a small laugh. “Mo, if I asked you not to fight, you’d still fight,” he said calmly, his voice surprisingly warm. “Everyone on this bloody ship knows it, me included. Then we would fight, and you know I’m not keen on that. What I was asking,” he said pointedly, “wasn’t for you to stay out of the fight entirely. Just don’t do something stupid, love. I don’t want you causing trouble, doing anything risky.”

Mo frowned, kicking their boot aimlessly. “I don’t do stupid things,” they said stubbornly, their voice quiet. “At least not during fights. Out of fights…maybe, on occasion.” Izzy chuckled.

They looked up at their partner, frowning even as they saw the affectionate way he looked at them. “Why didn’t you tell Fang to stay out of trouble?” they demanded, laughing despite themselves. “I mean, no offense, Fang,” they added, turning towards their large friend with an apologetic look.

Fang shook his head, holding up his hands. “None taken,” he promised. “I’ve made mistakes. I’m human too.”

“Fang doesn’t run into danger the way you do, love,” Izzy explained. “He has decades of experience. Never had a serious injury.” Fang frowned. “Had that stab in my leg that one time,” he said, rubbing his thigh absentmindedly.

Izzy nodded reluctantly, rolling his eyes. “That wasn’t pretty,” he conceded. “But your life was never in danger. But you,” he said, pointing at his partner, “you’re still getting your footing. Shouldn’t be taking any chances.”

Mo grinned, crossing their arms over their chest. “You want to talk about getting your footing?” they asked in amusement. “Iz, you have a wooden leg. I’m not the one you need to worry about. In fact, I should be the one telling you to stay safe.” Izzy rolled his eyes again, the small upturn of his lips betraying his faux exasperation, even as he sighed heavily. Mo grinned. “Yep, I’ve made up my mind,” they declared. “I’m sticking with you, Iz. In battle as much as out of it.”

Fang giggled. He shrugged when Izzy shot him a perturbed look, not shirking away from his gaze the way he used to. “Sorry, boss,” he said, not seeming remotely sorry, still grinning like a school child.

Izzy sighed heavily, looking wearily back at his partner. “Suppose I can’t stop you if you want to fight near me,” he said reluctantly, his voice low. “But under no circumstances do you put yourself in danger,” he continued firmly, giving them a stern look. “That’s an order from your first mate.”

Mo smiled, shrugging noncommittally.

Izzy frowned. “You need to agree,” he said lowly, raising an eyebrow at them.

They shrugged again, walking across the small room to meet him, doing their best to ignore the burning of Fang’s gaze on their back.

“Stay out of danger, and you’ve got yourself a deal,” they said quietly, grinning up at Izzy, their hands resting on his hips.

He blushed at the proximity, his eyes lowered to their shoulder as he tried to think of a response. “I-I have a job to do,” he stammered out, unable to meet their adoring gaze. “Can’t promise anything, you know that.”

Mo smiled softly. “And I can’t promise that I won’t intervene if I think you’re in danger.” They grinned. “Pretty sure you already knew that though. Everyone else sure does. Right Fang?” They turned, laughing at the way the older pirate startled, as if he was caught spying on them.

“Oh, um, yeah,” he said haltingly, adjusting his stance nervously as he nodded. “We all know.”

Mo chuckled, turning back to their partner with a sweet smile. “You stay safe, and I will too,” they promised. “Now, is that all you needed, First Mate Hands?”

Izzy nodded hesitantly, still having a hard time meeting their gaze. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, clearing his throat. “That was it.”

They nodded, smiling softly. After all this time, he was still so easy to fluster. “Okay,” they said. “Then I’ll see you later, my love. I’m going to go get some more treasure. It was an order from a superior, after all.” They chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping back, leaving the room to grab their next trunk of plundered gold and jewels.

Izzy cleared his throat again as they left, ignoring the blush he knew was staining his cheeks. He glanced at Fang, who was still awkwardly staring at him, seemingly in shock from seeing such a display of affection from the first mate. “What are you looking at?” he asked, sounding remarkably casual for a man with a face dusted with pink. He straightened his vest, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles. “You heard them. Back to work, Fang,” he ordered, nodding towards the door.

Fang stumbled as he walked across the room, muttering an “Aye, aye,” on his way out, unable to hide his small smile.

Mo was expecting yelling, clanking, and gunshots as they boarded the ship Stede had selected as their target. The deafening silence they were greeted with was much more chilling, not helped by the dead bodies sprawled about, or the strange symbols written in blood across the deck.

“Congrats, Bonnet,” Izzy said dryly beside them, resting his hand on Olu’s shoulder as he shifted. “You picked the only ship where everyone’s dead.”

Jim muttered something under their breath, quickly crossing their chest, whispering urgently in Spanish.

“What’s this all about then?” Frenchie asked nervously, stepping closer to Mo as Izzy walked off with Stede to investigate.

Mo shook their head, looking around at the carnage with wide eyes. “Dunno,” they said quietly. “Can’t be good though.”

Frenchie shifted anxiously on his feet, leaning over to whisper to his friend.

“I really don’t like this,” he said, pulling at his scarf. “Looks like witchcraft to me.”

They sighed softly, reaching out to take his hand. “Don’t worry, love. This was done by regular people.” They looked around, grimacing. “Really fucked up, unnecessarily brutal people, but people nonetheless.”

Frenchie shook his head. “You don’t know that,” he insisted lowly.

Mo looked up at him, hating seeing how nervous he looked. His brow was furrowed, and a deep frown pulled at his lips. His wide eyes never stopped sweeping across the deck, as if expecting a ghost or a cackling witch to appear out of nowhere and attack him.

“Frenchie, you know I don’t believe in witches,” they said carefully.

Their tall friend frowned, still on the look out for danger. “All the more reason to be vigilant,” he said absentmindedly, shifting closer to them. “I know to expect them, but you, you’re more vulnerable. Nonbelievers are always the first to go.”

Mo sighed heavily. They opened their mouth to speak but were cut off as Jim stormed out of a cabin.

“We need to leave,” they insisted, looking deeply troubled. “Right now.”

“Wait,” Mo called, their worry coming back to them. What if not everyone on board was dead? Izzy would be an easy target, walking around on his new prosthetic with only Stede to watch his back. “What’s wrong? Where’s Izzy?”

Jim laughed humorlessly, grabbing Archie’s arm and Oluwande’s hand, already leading them back to the ladder they had used to board. “He’s in the captain’s quarters with el idiota,” they said bitterly, giving them a wide-eyed look. “Grab him, now,” they warned.

Mo’s heart lurched. Nothing scared Jim. They sprinted across the deck to where their friend had emerged, throwing open the door and looking around wildly for their partner. To their surprise, he stood inside the cabin with Stede, looking completely relaxed, if a bit displeased by their bad raid. He turned to face them as they entered, his hand already on the handle of his sword before he recognized the sudden intruder. He relaxed immediately, but tensed again as Mo threw themselves at him, wrapping him in a tight hug. He stumbled as he caught them, quickly hugging them back with a confused look on his face.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” he asked quietly, his breath tickling their ear.

Mo laughed weakly, pulling back enough to look at him. “I, uh, I just got worried,” they said lamely, still breathing quickly. “Jim came out, was saying some ominous shit, and it freaked me out. Needed to know you were okay.”

Izzy smiled warmly down at them. Before he could respond, a voice came from behind them.

“Ah, well that’s lovely!”

Mo turned, finding Stede wearing a ludicrously extravagant red coat jacket. He watched them with a warm smile. “It’s so nice seeing you two together again,” he said sincerely.

“Oh, hey, Stede,” they greeted weakly. “Sorry, just didn’t see you there.” They chuckled weakly, still holding tightly to Izzy’s arm as they turned fully to face him. “Guess I kinda had my blinders on. Is, uh, is that jacket new?”

Stede grinned, spinning dramatically before straightening the jacket out to show them. “What do you think?” he asked, unable to hide his glee. “Can you believe it? What would a bunch of priests be doing with such a gorgeous ensemble?” He turned, facing a mirror as he posed in his new jacket.

Mo bit back a grin, their heart finally beginning to calm down from their panic. “It’s rather…dashing,” they said slowly. “Very bold, that’s for sure.”

Izzy sighed heavily. “What it is is ridiculous,” he drawled, clearly not amused. “Not to mention impractical,” he added, grimacing to himself.

“Well, I have been wanting to make bolder choices,” Stede said absentmindedly, ignoring Izzy’s comment. “Oh! This could be my new captain jacket!”

Izzy and Mo exchanged a look, having the same thought but neither knowing who should say it. Izzy nodded towards them, and Mo took a deep breath.

“Stede,” they said carefully, watching their captain revel in his newfound fashion statement, “you know that clothes don’t have a big impact on captaining ability, right?”

Stede hummed, not taking his eyes off his reflection. Izzy rolled his eyes, looking away in exasperation.

“Oi!” they called loudly, chuckling as he jolted, turning to face them finally. “Sorry, mate," they said, giving him a sympathetic smile. "Had to get your attention somehow." They took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"Look, I’ll level with you, alright?” Stede nodded, frowning suspiciously. “It’s a good jacket,” they said, “and it looks good on you.” He beamed at the praise, raising his head like a preening bird. “But,” they added, giving him a sympathetic look, “this won’t fix your captaincy worries for you. Only you can do that. Looking like a ‘real captain’”, they said using air quotes, “won’t make people see you as more of a captain. You just need to work on building up your skillset and your confidence.”

Izzy chuckled next to them. “Maybe not the confidence so much,” he said quietly.

Stede scowled, straightening his jacket with far too much zeal as he glared at the first mate. Mo gently elbowed their lover, barely able to hide their smile when he held their arm, maneuvering them to wrap his arm around their waist, resting his hand on their hip.

“Don’t listen to him,” they advised their captain. “I mean, do, but mostly just about piracy. When it comes to people skills, he’s still learning.” Izzy scoffed. “Thought you were supposed to be on my side,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with a chuckle.

Mo grinned at they turned to look up at him. “I am when it matters,” they said matter-of-factly. “Besides, it’s not something you don’t know. You’ve got a lot of talents, Iz,” they said fondly. “Your people skills just aren’t quite there yet.” He rolled his eyes, giving them a small smile.

“Anyway,” they continued, turning back to Stede. “I guess what I’m saying is, the clothes don’t make the captain. And you already have a bit of an advantage, Stede,” they added. “You already have loyal friends. You just need to work on your authority and your practical skills.” The captain nodded reluctantly, still toying with the hem of the ornate jacket’s sleeves.

Mo smiled, unable to deny their friend one bit of joy. “That being said, the jacket does suit you.” They grinned as his face lit up. “I think you should keep it, if you like it that much.” Izzy groaned next to them, and they moved closer to him, pressing against his chest and giving him a pleading look over their shoulder. He sighed softly, but stopped complaining, pressing a gentle kiss to their temple.

Stede had turned back around when they looked at him, smirking as he admired his reflection. “I think I will,” he said, striking a daring pose.

#izzy hands #ofmd #izzy hands x oc #my writing #izzy hands x reader #original character #ofmd izzy

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dmagedgoods · 1 year

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Zinnia?

It's finally time to answer the flower prompts. I combined the three I got into a small story, each with its own chapter. 🌷🌸🌺 22. zinnia - remembrance for those gone ~ Funeral Flowers – Part I (to Part II) (to Part III) “And therefore, we are not only bidding our farewell today, but we are also celebrating a life full of unequaled accomplishments, a life lived to achieve goodness and righteousness for our glorious nation.” Iomedae’s cleric fell quiet and instead, a chant swelled with heavenly force until it filled the spacious square, the pillared temple straight ahead, and the high building flanking it where they stood and followed the speech and deferential presentations. The choir’s voices were bright and jubilant despite the wistful melody and as clear as singing from the outer planes. The stony eyes of the goddess watched in silence and serenity and so did he, his expression as cold and unreadable as the face of Iomedae’s statue below the gallery of the city hall. Daeran had made true to his threat to spend the day in unbothered merriment and to only show some decency with the gowns he wore, his perfectly tailored coat with the silken shirt, straight-cut pants, and waist-long cape all black and adorned in subtle elegance. It was only now that his act crumbled, the cracks in his performance allowed a glimpse of what lay underneath: The deep pain and loss. Salvadore felt something inside of him grow even harder, even colder, like a chunk of ice filling his chest, displacing every warmth and hope. Carefully, he reached for Daeran’s hand, but he withdrew from his touch. Instead, a mocking smirk appeared on his lips, emotionless and cruel, more a grimace than a smile. “Oh please,” he snorted. “Don’t tell me you expect me to fall for this gaudy presentation because they invited a group of children with pretty voices.” He had spoken loudly enough for others at the gallery to hear. Glances were sent his way, some offended, some even genuinely hurt. Salvadore tensed. A rush of anger mixed with his fear and suffering. Before he got the chance for a sharp reply, Daeran stepped back from the balustrade. “Excuse me.” With his, he turned around and left through the arched doorway leading into the building. Salvadore didn’t even find the words to phrase a diplomatic apology to elicit leniency for the Count’s behavior from those around him. This was his fault, all of it. Every guest, every resident, every observer, they all suspected, rightfully, that he would raise a claim to the throne. But none of them was even able to imagine that the celestial Commander of the Fifth Crusade, conqueror of the worldwound, Primarch of the Wounded Lands, was the one responsible for their beloved queen’s death. No. She had picked her own fate with her decision to send him to the Abyss, to give in to her jealousy, to march to Iz during his absence, badly prepared after she had managed to destroy all his efforts of the last year within a few months’ time and eventually stand there with barely anything to use against Deskari and his hordes. He hadn’t had a choice but to save the people first, to preserve the knowledge needed for the goal they had shared. The risk she had taken, the duty to hold out, it was the price of rulership. And you hoped and even knew that she would fail and die, the malicious voice in the back of his mind replied, a throne in a destroyed land would never have been enough for you. You wanted Mendev and her death would pave the way for you. And there it is, in the palm of your hand. Salvadore straightened his posture, burying those thoughts deep within. This wasn’t the time. Now more than ever, those people needed his guidance and strength. He wouldn’t waver but stay true to the responsibility he had chosen, true to his way, like Galfrey had stayed true to hers.

#pathfinder wotr #pathfinder: wrath of the righteous #daeran #daeran arendae #galfrey #queen galfrey #knight commander salvadore #oc: salvadore #my ocs #my writing #dmagedtexts #flower prompts #funeral flowers #thank you so much for the ask!#💗#and sorry it took me so long ;;

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modern-inheritance · 3 months

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gurl where is scars-

Ay gurl whats shakin

I have been struggling to write the Scars story with Islanzadi and Arya ever since it got picked. Again, I'll remind that I have trouble writing Islanzadi in general. I think it's because she has so few lines in canon that I can't find much to bounce off her. Also these two are sooooo awkward. Arya's still mad and off screen has already told Iz that she is not ready to forgive her but is willing to try. Iz is...unsure how to take that. Part of her is angry, the main part of her desperately wants to have a relationship with her daughter and the other part is scared of what she's going to learn about Arya's time at war. So it's hard to write! Because even the characters don't know what to say. They usually make me write what they say.

I have chunks written, ones that may or may not develop further, and a few new ideas on how to start it. But otherwise it's still a WIP.

But, speaking of scars and where they are...

I have fresh new scar maps for our surviving ambush duo if anyone wants to see those in lieu of the fic for now!

#eragon #inheritance cycle #the cyclists #modern inheritance #ket's modern inheritance cycle #the world of eragon #mic asks #modern inheritance asks #mi asks #I'm workin on it!

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fastenwick · 6 months

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Wick's IZ characters meet the OCs that inspired them: Part One

D1b Membrane meets Kaster Bluewing

(@ambassador-d1b created in 2022, Kaster created in 2013

Ft mentions of @ukagaka-zim , @honeysicklesprouts , @game-slavers , and @aik-membrane)

Two characters are put in a nearly empty room. No doors, windows, or decor. Just two chairs, a table with food, and a note. The note reads "Enjoy your time together." The food products are Mac N Cheese, roasted pieces of meat with a type of savory jam dipping, gum drops, chunks of dried sugar, and coffee.

D1b blinked and looked around. He couldn't quite remember how he got here, some person put him here? But he couldn't remember their face… Oh well, Zim would come get him soon. He wasn't hurt or anything. He spots the table and reads the note to himself.

"Huh… Enjoy my time with the food? Is it poisoned?" D1b popped a gum drop into his mouth to check. Tasted fine.

Suddenly, a blue creature had joined D1b. He was a bit shorter than D1b. He wore a black vest that seemed two sizes too big for him and well worn with matching shorts. He had dark blue skin, overgrown black hair with an uneven cut, and vibrant green eyes and a cat-like slit for a pupil. Instead of five blunt toed feet, he had three sharp toes, almost like claws or talons. And he seemed to be covered with scales, and there was a scar shaped like claws down his cheek.

"Woaaaah." D1b's jaw dropped and the gum drop fell out, forgotten.

The boy blinked and stepped backward. "Uhhhhh. Hi? Who are you?"

"What are you??" D1b rushed forward to study the newcomer.

The kid meeped quietly in surprise, tense, but not protesting as D1b poked his shoulder, touched his hair, and checked his mouth.

"You have fangs!" D1b squealed. "And so many sharp teeth… Scales and claws! Ooooh, a snake tongue!"

"Uh huh?" The kid just nodded stiffly.

D1b realized he just swarmed a stranger and scrambled back. "I am so sorry!"

"It's. Fine?"

"It's just, I've never seen anything like you before! And that's saying something, I work with aliens and have seen all kinds of crazy shit," D1b rambled.

The kid nodded, making a popping sound by pressing his lips together and separating them quickly.

"Anyway, I'm D1b Membrane." D1b held out his hand to the kid.

The kid tilted his head and looked at D1b's hand, trying to see if something was inside.

"Oh, you shake it," D1b explained.

"Shake. It?"

"Like this." D1b took the kid's hand and gently shook it.

"Huh. What for?" The kid took his hand back quickly.

"It's a human way of greeting."

"What's a human?"

"I'm a human." D1b gestured to himself. "What's your name?"

"Kaster Bluewing."

"Nice to meet you, Kaster!"

"Nice to meet you too? Where are we?"

"I have no clue." D1b looked around. "This note says to just enjoy our time tog-... Ohhhhh, someone wanted us to meet!"

"Who?"

"No clue."

"Oh. I have no clue either. Probably even less of a clue than you. Actually wait no, no clue is zero clue and I can't have less than zero clue, that doesn't make any sense. Unless you have slightly more than me? Since you were here first? I'll shut up." All the words practically fell out of Kaster's mouth a million miles an hour, with no pauses for breathing or replies. Kaster sat in the chair, looking embarrassed.

D1b blinked, trying to catch up. "Uh. I mean no? I don't. I don't know anything. What?"

"What?"The two sat in silence for a second.

Kaster sighed. "Sorry, I'm not the most… social person."

D1b chuckled. "It's okay, I'm not either."

Kaster seemed confused. "You said you work with… al-ee-ens?"

"I do, that's about all I socialize outside of my family," D1b explained, taking another gum drop and sitting down on the other chair.

"What are… aliens?"

"Oh, basically just creatures not from Earth." D1b waved his hand in dismissal.

"What's… E-urth?" Kaster asked hesitantly.

"Aaaand you're an alien. Earth is my planet," D1b said, offering Kaster a gum drop.

Kaster took it, studying it between his claws."What's your planet like?"

"Timore? Oh, not anything special. I haven't seen much of it anyway, maybe the other Shards are more special." Kaster set the gum drop down on the table and picked up one of the pieces of sugar.

"I've never heard of it," D1b mused.

Kaster shrugged.

"What do you mean Shards?" D1b took a sip of coffee.

"Oh, the planet is split into six pieces called Shards and slowly collapsing in on itself," Kaster said casually, biting into his sugar.

D1b choked on his coffee.

"You would think more people would notice that before it became a problem, but nope! Took two something thousand years, I think. We're working on it, though!" Kaster didn't even notice D1b choke.

"Elves??" D1b squealed.

"Yes?"

"What else is on your planet??"

Kaster rubbed the back of his neck, thinking very hard. "Uhhh. Imps, werewolves, sprites… griffins, uhm. Tesels of course. And those are just the nice ones I've met so far. The mean ones are gargoyles, trolls, and wraiths."

D1b sat there stunned for a moment.

"I know there are others too, my dad told me about fish people called sirens," Kaster continued. "Well they're not really fish people, they have fishy tails and then they look more like a tesel on the top. They have scales like me, though!"

"I know fish people!"

"You do??" Kaster practically bounced out of his seat.

"Yeah, one of my best friends! Sprouts is a fish person, kind of. Also they're dating a werewolf," D1b explained.

It was Kaster's turn to choke on his piece of sugar. "They're DATING?? Oh my gosh, how did you get them to get along???"

"I. Didn't? They've always been friends." D1b seemed confused.

"How?? I have issues just getting a tesel, imp, and werewolf not to kill each other, much less be friends," Kaster huffed.

D1b shrugged. "You'd have to ask them?"

"Maybe I will. If I can. Wait, they're on your planet, aren't they? I can't then, that sucks," Kaster sighed.

"Well, I could give them your contact information?" D1b offered.

Kaster blinked. "My what? Like where I live? I don't have a village."

"No, like your phone number."

Kaster just looked at D1b blankly.

"Do you not have a phone?"

"... no," Kaster admitted sheepishly.

"Do you know what a phone is?"

"Uhhhhh nooo…" Kaster rubbed the back of his neck.

D1b sighed. "Well, what does your planet use to keep in contact?"

"Uhm. Talking?"

"No no, what device?"

"None? Well, letters. I mean there's some magic spells for long distance messages, but Lurya knows more about that than me, I don't know magic." Kaster munched on a piece of the meat.

D1b blinked. He'd never run into a planet that had no tech at all. "You guys have no technology?"

"Oh no, we do. Well, the gargoyles do. But we don't know what exactly. Some sort of teleporter," Kaster explained.

D1b was silent, momentarily baffled at the idea of a planet having teleporters but not phones or something similar.

Kaster got nervous in the silence. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No?"

"Oh, good. I say the wrong thing a lot. Well not a lot a lot, but often enough to know that there is a chance I said the wrong thing. A pretty high one. Not like as high as the chance of Erxi saying the wrong thing, but higher than Baraq. Wait no, maybe we're equal? No no, I think my chance of saying the wrong thing is definitely higher than Baraq," Kaster said, once again the words tumbling out of him at high speeds.

D1b blinked and shook his head. "What?"

"Uhm. Sorry, my internal monologue wasn't internal again… That kind of happens when you're not used to anyone listening. That isn't sad, by the way!"

D1b still hadn't quite caught up with what Kaster was saying. "Huh?"

"No no, I just mean it sounds sad! But people don't ignore me, I swear! I just haven't really talked to people in. Six years? Four? Somewhere around there." Kaster continued to munch.

D1b's brain failed him for a moment while Kaster chewed. "That. Was a lot of information."

"Sorry…" Kaster sighed.

"It's alright, I ramble too sometimes. It drives Gaz crazy," D1b chuckled.

"Who's Gaz?" Kaster asked.

"My sister."

"You have a sister??" Kaster gasped.

"Yep, and a brother." D1b chuckled more.

"Hey, I have a brother too!"

"Oh yeah? What's he like?"

"Oh he's Baraq Trapsin. We're twins that got split up years ago, and we didn't know we had a sibling for a long time. He was a surprise!" Kaster grinned.

"My brother was a surprise too! I thought he was dead, my dad never told me about him. Zim helped me learn about him," D1b explained.

"Who's Zim?" Kaster asked.

"My husband. He's the best, so adorable," D1b said with a wistful sigh. "I hope he doesn't get too worried about me being here…"

Kaster tilted his head.

"Do you have anyone like that?"

"No, not really. I think Erxi has a crush on Baraq though. Closest thing I can think of," Kaster explained.

"Eh, don't rush it. You look young, you don't need to worry about it. How old are you?" D1b asked, eating another gum drop.

"Seventeen."

D1b blinked. "You look younger."

"Yeah, most dragons do, I'm told."

"Sorry, what?"

Kaster looked around, then back at D1b, confused. "Most dragons look young?"

"You're a DRAGON??" D1b gasped.

"Well, dragon slash tesel half breed, why?"

"Can you breathe fire???"

"Yes?"

D1b stammered with excitement.

Kaster got flashbacks to Baraq's reaction to meeting him. "Are you okay?"

"Yep! I'm great! Hell, you're so cool. Do you want to be friends?"

"Well, sure!" Kaster nodded.

"What else can you do? You don't look anything like how I've seen dragons depicted," D1b mused.

"Oh, you probably just saw my other form," Kaster said casually.

"Other form?"

"Yeah, I have two forms. This one, and a much larger one that looks like a giant lizard with wings. If I turn into it here, I'd squish you. And I don't want to do that, so I'll stay small," Kaster explained.

"Oh my gosh, you SHAPESHIFT TOO??"

"Uh huh!" Kaster was starting to get excited. "And I can block out magic spells with my mind! It's really cool, and I can control fire and not just breathe it!"

"That's awesome! Can you show me?" D1b asked.

Kaster thought for a moment, then took a piece of odd looking paper out of his pocket and crumpled it in his hands. He blew gently on it, and it lit up in flames in seconds.

"Woaaaah…" D1b gasped.

"Not done yet." Kaster waved his hand and the fire turned into a tiny dancer. It floated around his hand, very dainty and graceful.

D1b watched, excited and barely able to stay in his seat.

After a moment, Kaster touched the figure with a claw and the flame extinguished. He looked at D1b with a wide grin, showing off his sharp teeth.

"That was amazing!" D1b clapped.

Kaster chuckled shyly. "Thanks…"

"You're so cool, I wish I could keep in touch with you somehow…" D1b thought for a minute.

Kaster let D1b think.

"I could give you a phone?"

"Sure?" Kaster shrugged.

D1b opened a panel on his watch. "I just have to get a spare one from Gaz or Aik…"

Kaster blinked, the slits of his eyes widening like a cat entranced by a shiny object. "What's that…" He pointed at D1b's watch.

"Oh, this? This is my watch. It does lots of cool stuff. Check this out." D1b extended his lazer shield.

Kaster squealed quietly with glee. "It's so pretty!"

"And deadly too, don't touch it, it'll burn you," D1b warned.

"Okay, I won't."

"I've also got these." D1b retracted the shield to extend his PAK legs, letting them raise him into the air.

"Woah sitch, that is so cool! You're like taller now!"

D1b chuckled. "I know, right??"

"What else can you do??" Kaster stood up, bouncing up and down on his feet.

"Translate languages, create holograms, give electric shocks," D1b counted off, retracting his PAK legs to stand normally.

"I only know what the first one is, but the others sound so cool!"

A dart whizzed through the room, a note on it, and it struck the wall.

Kaster and D1b both yelped and jumped slightly. They glanced at each other in sync and then started to giggle.

They quickly both burst out laughing, their giggles infecting the other and growing stronger in seconds.

After a few moments of laughing, D1b finally sighed and checked the note. His smile dropped. "Oh no…"

"What?" Kaster asked, looking at the note.

The note read "Say your goodbyes, you'll be going home soon."

"I haven't gotten a phone for you yet…" D1b said sadly.

"It's okay, maybe we'll come back here and see each other again?" Kaster suggested.

"Maybe…" D1b sighed and set the note down. "I have so many questions for you…"

"I have questions for you too…" Kaster looked sad too. "Hey, can I give you a…" He took a moment to remember the word. "Hug?"

"Sure, why not." D1b opened his arms.

Kaster made a small happy squeal and then hugged D1b, who chuckled and hugged back.

A second passed before D1b heard a familiar rumbling coming from Kaster.

"Oh my gosh, you purr??" D1b gasped.

"Oh no, I-I-I didn't mean to…" Kaster stammered, letting go and stepping back.

"I purr too!" D1b began to purr.

Kaster gasped loudly. "You purr!"

D1b nodded. "You purr!"

"We purr??"

"We purr!!"

"This is amazing!" Kaster cheered.

D1b nodded excitedly. "It is! Oh my gosh, there's still so much we could do and it's just going to end…"

"Yeah…" Kaster looked at the ground.

D1b stepped forward to hug Kaster again. Kaster hugged back.

"Bye, new friend," Kaster said softly.

"Bye, take care. I hope your planet stays safe," D1b said.

"Me too."

And with that, they were suddenly both returned to their own worlds and lives.

#fan fiction #oc rp #iz #invader zim #ambassador d1b #ukagaka zim #honeysucklesprouts #game slavers #aik membrane

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