#and how they’ve been ignoring ofmd entirely

[ourflagmeansgayrights]

yes i’m tired and angry at hbo max for not even bothering to give us scraps and yes i’m miserable and jaded about rainbow capitalism but also if we DO actually get a trailer tomorrow the extreme dopamine hit and the flood of endorphins that i’ll get from seeing new footage of edward teach will probably temporarily override any trace of bitterness about being continually done dirty by corporations for like, at least an entire week

[persephones-poet-blog]

OFMD Season Timeline

(Obvi season 2 spoilers)

TL; DR: there’s like a month in between episode 5 and 6.

This ended up being a little longer than I planned but there’s pics you can stare at longingly, so that helps, right?

I’ve seen a lot of people assuming that each episode of the show is like the next day and so Stede and Ed having sex would have happened like a day after they agreed to go slow.

But I think it had to have been at least a a couple of weeks and here’s why:

Remember how Ed had to wear the bag (and collar) of shame until people felt comfortable around him?

In episode 6 Ed is back in his regular clothes and everyone seems much more comfortable around him. When Jim and Frenchie approach him and Stede about the party, they even greet them as “captains” (plural), which I sincerely doubt they would have done if they still hated him.

Additionally when Ed and Stede walk into the party, everyone greets them both with drinks and happiness. The animosity, jumpiness, and fear seem to have been resolved or put aside.

This wouldn’t have happened in a short period after everything the crew went through. I know Olu, Jim and Archie were more chill about his return later in episode 5, but it wasn’t the friendliness and camaraderie we see here.

I take episode 6 to have happened at least 1-2 weeks, if not longer after 5. Personally I don’t think I’d get over someone trying to kill me that quickly, but hey, I’m not a pirate.

Additionally, let’s talk about our favorite unicorn for a second:

This is Izzy’s scar in episodes 5 and then 7 (taking place the day after 6)

Waaaaaaay too healed for just a day or even 2. I’ve had numerous surgeries. My scars from surgery 3 weeks ago haven’t even shown that level of improvement. I get Unicorns are magical, but he isn’t Buttons.

Additionally, the way Izzy is so relaxed around Ed… no way has it only been a day. He just got his leg amputated, what like a week before 5? He shouldn’t even be walking on his unicorn leg at that point (but we will ignore that because he and the leg are beautiful). The scene with Izzy and Ed is calm and bitchy in the way you are with siblings and old friends when you get over a small fight. I feel like it might take a little longer to forgive or even be in the presence of the person who tortured you and your crew and took your leg (among other things).

He also tells Stede that he sees how good he and Ed are for each other. That it took a long time to realize it but he does. When did he realize this? In the middle of a storm they thought would kill them? While he was passed out during an amputation? During his bender in episode 4?

That’s all me projecting, I know. Let’s be honest that’s what meta posts like these are a lot of the time (but god I love them).

The only episodes that seem to be exactly a day apart are 3, 4, and 5. And obviously 6 and 7.

So TL; DR: there’s like a month in between episode 5 and 6.

Any additional timeline things you have for season 1 or 2 are great!

Edit: someone pointed out Pete and Lucius’ 24 hour sex spree after getting engaged and this shoots my theory, but maybe they’ve done multiple sprees?

Idk the relationships between all of them are so much more comfortable now and too quickly if it really has been only a day. It kind of feels like we’re missing an episode in between 5 & 6 that would have transitioned everything more smoothly. I still blame this entirely on HBO cutting 2 episodes and not on the writers who were trying to work with what they had.

[gonzo-rella]

Talk It Through As A Crew (pt. 2) | Izzy Hands (ft. The (Reunited) Crew Of The Revenge)

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

PART 1, PART 2

Requested by: Anon

I love your work!! If you still want ofmd requests… maybe a part two to “talk it through as a crew” where everyone gets back together and everything’s settled except for Izzy. Then reader confronts Izzy? They yell at him for abandoning them and maybe even throw a punch.

But Izzy doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t yell or try to stop them. Just takes it. That pulls reader out of their anger and they’re more concerned. They reach out to him, telling him they forgive him, and that’s when he does something.

He’s furious with himself for what happened and wants the reader to be mad at him, maybe if they took it out on him, he’d feel better.

Reader comforts him?

Just angst with a happy ending, please.

Relationship(s): Izzy Hands x gn!reader (romantic), Oluwande Boodhari, Lucius Spriggs and Stede Bonnet x gn!reader (platonic)

Summary: Somehow, everything is relatively back to normal. Well, everything except things between you and Izzy. Concerned that you’re bottling things up, Stede, self-appointed relationship therapist, suggests that you talk things through with Izzy, who (surprisingly) doesn’t protest.

Warnings: Intense (one-sided) arguing (like my parents pre-divorce), description of an injury (and the worsening of said injury). (Let me know if I need to add any)

Word count: 3.1k

(A/N: To quote my post-season 1 finale Blackbonnet x reader one-shot, this fic reaches ‘‘somehow, Palpatine returned’ levels of me not explaining how on Earth we got here’. I took some creative liberties with this request, though it’s quite faithful to the request, I’d say. That previous statement isn’t to say I don’t ever take creative liberties with requests. Creative Liberties is my middle name- my full legal name is Soph Creative Liberties Writesfanfic. Also, Lucius is alive (as he should be). Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this!)

“Doesn’t look broken.” Roach shrugged, holding your wrist as he examined your hand.

“Fucking feels it.” you hissed out through gritted teeth.

“I doubt it’s broken. Maybe a bit fucked up, but not broken.” Olu (the one who had escorted you to the galley) tried. He patted you on the shoulder. His noticeable veneer of calmness wasn’t lost on you; you could tell how concerned he actually was. “No offence, but punching really isn’t your strong suit.”

You probably would have laughed if you weren’t in total agony.

“I’ll just clean your hand, bandage it up- should be fine.” Roach said nonchalantly. “If you need to punch something, you should probably use the other hand. For a while, at least.”

“Or, maybe hold off on the punching entirely.” Olu quickly suggested.

“If they’ve gotta punch, they’ve gotta punch, man.”

With that, Roach went to gather the supplies he needed, leaving you and Oluwande by yourselves. 

He cleared his throat.

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m pretty good, considering I just punched the rock-solid bloody mast.”

“I meant… well, you obviously didn’t just deck it for no reason, did you?��� He looked at you with worry in his eyes. “Did anything bring it on?”

“I made eye contact with him for too long.” you admitted. “I don’t think I’ve got any tears left in me. So, I didn’t know what else to do to get out the… rage and other feelings.”

“Alright.” Olu nodded.

He paused and glanced between your hand and your pained face.

“I get why you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder for all this time- I really do. I’m actually surprised you haven’t, like, hit him or yelled at him or anything yet. Well, aside from when you kicked him in the shin when we first got back.” Olu stated. “But, I don’t think avoiding him and ignoring him’s doing you any good.”

He used his head to gesture to your hand, thus punctuating his point. You bit your lip.

“I think you should speak to him.”

You clenched your jaw.

“He doesn’t give a shit about what I have to say.” you muttered. “I think he made that perfectly clear when he marooned me.

“And besides,” you went on. “He already apologised to us. What else can I expect him to do? Get on his knees and beg for forgiveness?”

The thought of Izzy grovelling at your feet was more disconcerting than cathartic considering his usual demeanour, though you couldn’t say you entirely disapproved of the idea. Still, you couldn’t really expect it; he would barely (and begrudgingly) do it for Ed, but not you. It’s not like he deserted Ed on an island, after all…

“Exactly.” Olu answered. “That’s why you need to do something.”

Blinking away your tears, you shook your head. Finally, you glanced up at Olu.

“I'll just… not punch anything again.” you said weakly. Your gaze fell back down to your hand. “I’ll get over it.”

━━━━━━━━━

While Roach scrubbed at the blood on your hand, Lucius stepped cautiously into the kitchen.

“Just to warn you, Captain Bonnet wants you when you’re done with this.” 

He approached you and cringed upon seeing your hand.

“Oh, that’s not good.” he commented.

“Thanks for the observation, Dr Spriggs.” you retorted dryly. “Remind me to seek your expert medical opinion the next time I get injured.”

You knitted your brows when you noticed him anxiously wringing his hands. That paired with the lack of a biting response and a glare alerted you to the fact that something was amiss. Perhaps he didn’t have the heart to fight back (which was so unlike him, you thought). You suspected it had something to do with his announcement.

“What is it?” you practically whined.

He swallowed his saliva.

“Um,” he faltered. He scratched his face. “It’s just… I really don’t think you’re going to like what the Captain has planned.”

“I rarely do.”

“I mean it.” Lucius insisted.

The grave look in his eyes near enough sent a chill down your spine.

“Lucius…” Oluwande said suspiciously.

“I can’t say what it is.” Lucius stated adamantly. “Y/N won’t come, otherwise.”

“I could just not go anyway.”

“Everyone else is going to be there!”

You looked at him incredulously. Immediately, he realised that he had fucked up. In any other situation, you supposed the fear of missing out would have compelled you to attend. That said, you had to wonder what in the world possessed him to think that that would be a selling point given the circumstances.

“So, there’s going to be an audience for this thing?”

“Well, Captain Bonnet told them to go away, but everyone wants to watch. There wasn’t much he could do.”

Picking up on your decreasing desire to leave the galley, Lucius folded his arms and sighed.

“He really wants you to go.”

You took in a deep breath and closed your eyes. 

Stede was the one who rescued you from the island. Without him, you’d more than likely be dead, so, ever since he saved you, you felt indebted to him. The least you could do to repay him was this one thing, even if you were going into it knowing that you were in for a miserable ride, right? From the way Lucius was talking about whatever this was, you guessed you’d probably come out of it wishing Stede just left you to die.

“Tell him we’ll be up in a minute,” you caved in. “But, I can’t promise I won’t throw myself overboard.”

━━━━━━━━━

When you, Roach and Olu arrived on the main deck, most of your crewmates were leaning against the railing in a faux-nonchalant manner. It seemed as though they’d been told to pretend that they weren’t anticipating your arrival with bated breath. Your cheeks burned beneath all of their stares. Oluwande patted you on the back and retreated to Jim’s side, while Roach joined Frenchie and Wee John.

Your throat felt tight when your eyes landed on the only two who weren't situated on the sidelines: Stede and… Izzy. The latter of the pair stood there with folded arms. You were surprised they didn’t have to tie him up. 

You looked to Stede expectantly, awaiting an explanation you were sure you could figure out for yourself.

“You need to sort things out with Izzy.”

Izzy shrugged him off when Stede clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I decked the mast, alright?” you blurted. “But, there’s nothing to sort out. He left, like, half of us for dead on an island, and it was a beyond shitty thing to do. That’s it.”

“We all… know, Y/N,” Stede admitted. “And it’s okay! I promise. This is a safe space.”

You froze. You were well aware that the other six who had been marooned with you knew about your feelings, but everyone else? You glanced around. Everyone awkwardly averted their gaze.

“Y/N?” Stede asked. He approached you, brows furrowed in concern, and rested a hand on your shoulder.

“That confession was supposed to die with me on that island he left us on.”

Stede gently seized your forearm and dragged you closer to Izzy, who was watching you with an unreadable expression; you stared back at him with wide, uncertain eyes. You swallowed your saliva and shook your head. Stede held you in place so that you were only a couple of feet away from the man you least wanted to see.

“Stede, I’m not- this is mortifying!”

“Come on, Y/N.” Stede insisted. He backed away. “Say what you need to say.”

“I don’t need to say anything.”

“You punched the mast because you looked at him, mate!” Olu argued. “You said yourself that you’re full of rage and… other feelings- now’s your chance to let it out without fucking up another part of your body.”

“You could punch him with the hand that isn’t broken.” Jim suggested.

Olu sighed and sent them a disapproving look.

You inadvertently mirrored Izzy’s stance by folding your arms, then looked down at your feet as you shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m not punching him.”

“Can I punch him?” Black Pete requested hopefully.

Not bothering to dignify his plea with a response, you rolled your eyes and looked at Stede.

“Don’t you think this is a bit pointless?” you asked. “It was a complete dick move for him to leave us on the sodding island, but it’s not his problem that…”

“Go on.” Stede prompted.

“That my… feelings were hurt.” you reluctantly admitted through gritted teeth.

“Alright- we’re getting somewhere!” Stede rejoiced, clasping his hands.

You finally looked at Izzy again.

“This’d be a really good time for you to insult this whole exercise and storm off.” you commented bitterly.

It was the first time you’d spoken to him in the three weeks you’d been back.

He just stared blankly at you, a stoic expression settled on his face. You glared at him.

“Nothing? Really? You’re going to go with ‘nothing’? Fucking typical!” you fumed. “You-you abandoned me in the middle of the fucking ocean and all I got was one lousy apology three weeks ago and jackshit else!”

When he displayed no visible reaction, you chewed your tongue irritably. An exhale escaped your nostrils.

“We’ve known each other for years, and this is still all I get?” you ranted, your voice cracking slightly. “I thought, after all this time, I’d be worth at least something to you, but I’m not even worth not being left for dead, and I’m barely worth a fucking explanation!”

Nothing. Again. Though you bit your lip, you were unable to contain another trembling huff. Tears built in your eyes, but you were too emotional to be embarrassed. Not only that but you guessed most, if not all, of the spectators were on your side (and desperate for you to tear into Izzy).

“I don’t know if I’m more of an idiot for feeling anything for you in the first place or not being able to fucking stop.”

The tears began to spill, prompting you to avert your gaze. You absently massaged your injured knuckles. 

“I don’t even have the sense to hate you.” you continued, your voice now significantly quieter. “I thought I did. I really thought you’d managed to do it. But, when we got back to the ship I saw you and I realised... you can fuck me over, and I can hate that… but not you.”

You looked back up at him and were met with that same stony expression.

“Fucking say something, Iz!”

Nope.

“I deserve at least something.” you said, your voice a mixture feeble yet furious. “I know we weren’t exactly ‘friends’, but we were whatever the equivalent of ‘friends’ is for miserable pricks who are too embarrassed to consider people ‘friends’. I mean, that’s why I defended you whenever these guys’d get pissed off at you for being a dick.”

You paused expectantly. Unfortunately, you were (once again) disappointed. You groaned and marched towards him, closing the gap between the two of you. The crew leaned forward in anticipation, the majority of them appearing too excited about what they thought was going to happen. Without thinking, you struck Izzy’s chest with the palm of your injured hand, not bothering to meet his gaze or check for any sign of pain on his face (you guessed your efforts were in vain). You then balled up your hand into a fist and slammed it into his chest again. Part of you doubted it actually hurt him, which was why you decided to continue. You wouldn’t admit that you didn’t really want to hurt him. From the sidelines, you heard some satisfied muttering.

“Say something!” you demanded, interrupted by a series of sobs. You continued slamming your hand into his chest. Another series of sobs escaped your lips, while tears of frustration and pain leaked from your eyes. “Fucking say something! Stop giving me nothing after everything I’ve given you! Just… give me something!”

“Y/N,” Stede hesitated. When you didn’t look at him, he stepped forward. “I don’t think that’s very good for your hand-”

“Fuck my hand! What’s a bit more fucking pain?”

Without saying anything for roughly ten seconds, you hit Izzy in the chest with increased frequency and intensity (still not enough to injure him).

“Say… something…” you croaked.

Slowly but surely, everything- the slamming, the sobbing, the speaking- came to a stop.  You rested your hand on Izzy’s chest.

Finally, you dared to look up at his face. It was the same as before- hard, unbothered. However, when you locked eyes with him, you discovered something else.

“I-Iz?” 

Your voice was soft and pained, just like Izzy’s eyes.

After a moment of consideration, you cleared your throat and (without looking at Stede) declared, “I’m borrowing your cabin.”

“Oh. Alright.” Stede agreed, albeit with confusion and mild concern.

You grabbed Izzy’s wrist and began dragging him to the aforementioned location.

“Don’t fall for it, Y/N!” Lucius protested. “I’ve been given that look so many times, and not once did any of them mean it.”

“I’m not off to shag him, Lucius.” you huffed, not bothering to stop.

“Oh. Right. That’s fine then.”

When you arrived in the cabin, you let go of Izzy’s wrist. You weren’t completely sure of what you were going to say, but you knew it wasn’t a conversation that should’ve taken place in front of the whole crew (not that you had wanted their audience before).

Wordlessly, you looked up at him as you considered what you wanted to say and how you wanted to say it.

“What you did was fucked, Iz. Completely and utterly fucked.” you began, sniffling and furiously swiping at your tears. “But… I know you’re actually sorry because you let that whole thing out there happen without killing me or Stede.”

You bit your lip and, hesitantly, placed your hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not okay, but… I can forgive you for it.”

Relaxing beneath your touch, he let out a trembling sigh.

“And,” you added hastily. “I’m sorry for hitting you. It hurt me more than it hurt you, literally, but still… you don’t hit people that you… y’know.”

“You don’t leave them for dead, either.” he muttered. “Don’t apologise.”

He watched you silently, unable to tell if you’d managed to pick up on the significance of his words. 

“I don’t want you to forgive me for my sake.” Izzy insisted. “I only want you to do it for yours.”

“Trust me, Iz,” you sighed, lifting up your damaged hand. “This is for me.”

He stared at it. His breath hitched in his throat. You felt him grow tense once again.

“You shouldn’t ‘ve done that.”

“I know.” you answered lightheartedly, removing your hand from his shoulder to massage the injured one in an attempt to soothe the pain. “Fucking kills.”

“No. I meant you… should’ve just punched me instead.”

“Probably.”

Izzy went silent.

“I’m kidding, Iz.” you reassured him.

“I’m not."

“Iz…” 

You reached out to grab his arm but he recoiled.

“I don't deserve this.”

“Deserve what?”

“Things going back to how they were before.” Izzy replied. “You should still be pissed off at me, not forgiving me and apologising to me and joking around like everything’s alright.”

You sighed.

“I know everything isn’t alright. It probably won’t be completely alright for a while.” you stated. “But, I’m feeling kinda better now, after saying all of my shit- it’s like we’re a step closer to ‘alright’.”

After an uncertain pause, you timidly asked: “Could you… say something, please?”

Izzy ran his hand over his face. He knew exactly what you meant, and he was surprised that he’d managed to avoid explicitly expressing it.

“You mean the world to me.” he confessed. “I didn’t show it when I left you for dead, but that’s how I feel.”

“Why’d you do it, Iz?”

He hesitated.

“The idea of loving you still absolutely fucking terrifies me. I had a chance to push you away for good when I was gonna get rid of the rest of the crew anyway, and I took it. I know it’s a shit explanation-”

“I get it.” you interrupted. “It’s not a great reason to leave someone for dead. Of course I don’t agree with it- I get it, though.”

Izzy swallowed his saliva and observed you. He was deliberating, you guessed. That’s why you patiently awaited his next words.

“What do you want to do?”

Despite the vagueness of his question, you understood what he was asking.

“Well, I want us to sort things out.” you expressed. “I don’t know if we’d work together, but I’d like to try. That’s just what I want, though. If you don’t-”

“That’s what I want, too.” Izzy agreed weakly.

You sensed his reluctance. 

“But?” you prompted.

“I don’t understand… after what I did to you…”

“I don’t understand either.”

You absently rubbed your cheek.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you went on. “I don’t want to force you into anything you’re uncomfortable with. But, I, for one, want to give this a chance, and I want to give you a chance. I mean, there has to be some reason I fell in love with you, right?”

You offered him a faint smile. 

Tears formed in his eyes and he looked away. 

Your face fell.

Before he could register what was happening, you engulfed him in a hug. Gradually, he wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in the crook of your neck, which dampened upon contact. You stroked his hair as his body jolted with the quiet sobs that tumbled from his mouth. His hands gripped the back of your shirt. 

Seeing Izzy in this state caught you off guard as much as it caused your heart to ache. It wasn’t every day that you saw him in pain and distress, especially to this extent, hence your cluelessness of how to comfort him beyond a hug. Perhaps that’s all he needed- you wouldn’t know.

You settled on not saying anything. It was a risky move, but everything was when you had no idea what you were doing, or what exactly had brought this on. Did you say something wrong? Or, was he just overwhelmed with everything?

When he pulled away, you didn’t resist, instead loosening your grip. You reached up and dried his tears as best you could with one good hand, then absently traced his cheekbone with your thumb.

“Thank you.” he murmured.

Those two words allowed you to understand the cause of his tears. Your worries melted away.

“Aw, Iz.” you cooed. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do. You’re giving me a chance. Not every day someone does that for me.”

“So, you’re taking me up on my offer?”

You grinned, eliciting a weak smile from him.

“Of course I am.”

[knowlesian]

i was chatting about this over messages and screw it, quick informal post re: why i think izzy could potentially find a narrative path to Not Being The Worst. (in ways that aren’t weird and hilarious. those select ones can stick around.)

so: my read on ed and izzy has always been this is an emotional sticking place for the both of them at the end of the day. izzy could find another captain, ed another first mate, but they have stayed in this spiral together instead.

occam’s razor says: so whatever keeping them in this weird toxic soup, it’s not about the things they can get elsewhere. 

my take on izzy has always been that once upon a time, ed looked at him and saw a spark of something bigger and better than the sum of his parts, and that spark is what keeps izzy from being chucked over the side.

because when you break down core motivations, izzy doesn’t want ed to suffer. he wants ed to be what izzy wants him to be, and to stay in place and never attempt to be authentic or change. that makes ed suffer; it’s not the goal.

and that’s not exculpatory! saying ‘i wish i’d let you die’ is basically the meanest fucking thing a person can say to a total stranger, let alone someone they’ve spent years with, and that’s not the only thing izzy has done that lands on ‘cool motive, still fuckin’ gross’. so i am not arguing for a version of this story that ignores past harms even a little bit.

my argument is that core motive is the thread they’ve left open that could lead izzy to potential change: he tells himself he knows better than ed, and if ed listens and does what izzy wants him to ed will be better off. and though he is very condescending and wrong, he believes he’s right.

so what happens when ed is not happy and better off, and izzy is forced to look at the collected evidence that he is so wrong about human interaction, all the time forever, and that ed is worse off because of his intervention? if this is the story i hope/think it is, a story about the possibility of people to be better, at a certain point izzy will look at a man who is fucking sadder than he has ever been in a long life of building up personal case studies in being sad.

and izzy will go: shit. i... huh. fuck. you’re supposed to be happy! i’m supposed to be happy! that is not happening! for either of us!!!! actually: for anyone! everyone around me is doing what i think they should, and we are all fuckin miserable! maybe... maybe i was wrong?????? maybe... i am part of the problem??????

and then he can move from there (slowly and crankily and probably not entirely willingly, but that is so often how it goes) into trying to made amends and get his emotional ducks rowed, realize his implicit biases, etc etc etc.

like: i think we make the mistake of assuming any storyline about izzy improving as a person would need to focus on izzy, or be about insisting the internal reasons he had to be such a little shit mean we should call a mulligan on his fuckery— my take is that if izzy starts to heal it gives the people he was a dick to a chance to be validated and have the kind of catharsis that often doesn’t happen in the real world, and makes ofmd’s fictional world a little warmer and more hopeful at once.

[blitzturtles]

Title: Your Light In The Windowpane Said Come On In (Ao3) Rating: Teen and Up Fandom: OFMD, Our Flag Means Death Pairing(s): Steddyhands, Stizzy Summary: For a prompt on the kink meme: Izzy is sick. Everyone assumes that he'll either attempt to power through until he keels over or that he'll hide himself away in some dark corner of the ship until it passes. Neither occurs. Instead, Izzy bundles himself up in Stede's bed, surrounded by Stede's scent, and decides to take a much-deserved nap. Stede thinks it's the cutest thing in the entire world.

Notes: Set a bit into the future wherein Steddyhands is an established throuple.

I was about halfway through writing this when I realized it had already been filled.

Title from "Victory" by Trampled By Turtles.

CW: light emetophobia.

-

Izzy hears the whispers. The crew isn’t exactly subtle about their speculations. He’s certain Lucius doesn’t actually know how to lower his voice, and the rest of them aren’t doing much better. They’ve noticed that something is off, and it’s apparently more interesting to talk about what’s wrong with Izzy than it is for any of them to do their goddamn chores.

He ignores the lot of them, choosing to focus on the task at hand. If he can just get through until lunch, then he can make himself scarce. He’s already done the most vital of the day’s tasks. The ship will survive even if the entire crew were to sit on their asses for the remainder of the day (as he strongly suspects that they will. Ed and Stede have been caught up in one another all morning long, so Izzy doubts there will be many orders given in his absence.)

The problem with focusing is, well, the focusing. His eyes tend to cross every time he looks at the knot in his hands, a consequence of both the dizziness and the bone-deep exhaustion that settled over him no more than an hour ago. The heat from the day’s sun doesn’t help. It bears down on him, making him sincerely reconsider his wardrobe for the first time in years.

His skin is sticky with sweat, and his hair is slick with it. To say he’s overheated would be an understatement, and that’s to say nothing of the rest of his symptoms, the most concerning of which is the nausea. The last thing he wants to do is run for the railing in front of the entire fucking crew. He’ll never hear the end of it, but the heat isn’t helping that either. It’s cooking him in his leathers, making his stomach churn more violently the longer the hour drags out.

By the time Roach calls for lunch, Izzy’s at his limit. He knows he could push through, if he really had to. He’s worked through worse; gunshot wounds, stabbings, storms the likes of which The Revenge has yet to see (and thank God for small favors), the sort of headaches that threaten to split his skull apart, food poisonings, regular poisonings… certain amputations. Ed had once joked that Izzy was a bit like a cockroach—damn near indestructible and always lurking.

“Thank fuck,” Izzy grumbles, more to himself than anyone else. It’s a near fatal mistake as his guts violently twist, and he almost loses the contents of his stomach (nothing more than a bit of water and a bite of hardtack) all over the deck. He clamps a hand over his mouth and twists around, away from the crew, and waits for the nausea to pass before he risks dropping his hand again. If anyone notices, they don’t say anything, but, then, they’re probably all more concerned with food than whatever Izzy is up to. He’s not yelling at them, and they’re more likely to take advantage of that than question it.

He waits a bit longer. Both so his stomach will settle further, and so that the rest of the crew files down to try to stake their claim at the front of the line. Truly, the whole bunch turns into children when it comes to food. As if the last of whatever’s in Roach’s pot isn’t better than the best Izzy ever got on The Queen Anne.

The only stragglers are the Swede and Frenchie, and Izzy only just manages to catch the words Frenchie says, “Y’know, like a cat,” and, for some godforsaken reason, the two look directly at him. The Swede nods after a moment, and they both go on their way as if the whole thing weren’t weird. Izzy shrugs. He expects more bizarre shit out of the crew at any given moment. He can’t get hung up over every little eccentricity.

His stomach rolls painfully, and he’s reminded of his plan to escape. He makes his way toward his own quarters, pauses, reroutes himself. His room is small, stuffy. The single cot inside is far from comfortable. Worse, the only clothes he has are different versions of his everyday getup, and, frankly, he wants something more than that. Something light and airy and soft against his chafed skin.

He pushes open the door to the Captains’ quarters. It’s brighter than he expects, thanks to the light coming in through the windows. Whoever rolled out of bed last (Ed) hadn't bothered to close either set of curtains. Izzy can’t help being drawn inward. He barely remembers to kick the door shut behind him as he makes his way to the bed nook, only stopping short when he remembers the heat beneath his skin and the nausea in his belly. As tempting as it is to crawl into bed like this, he knows he’ll regret it the next time he manages to peel his eyes open. He’d be lucky if he managed to avoid sun sickness, and that would be on top of whatever he’s already dealing with.

With a heaved sigh, Izzy makes his way to Stede's wardrobe, fingers fumbling with his vest all the way. It feels like a monumental task, certainly far more difficult than it ought to be, but he’s dead tired and his bones ache, deep and constant. Without much to distract himself with, his head is going much the same way, starting at the crown of his skull and spreading outward in all directions. It’s only a matter of time before it’s all encompassing, and he would very much like to be asleep before that happens.

He sheds the rest of his clothes in a slow, clumsy process that takes entirely too long and leaves him stark naked. It’s almost instantaneous the way his skin ripples with goose flesh and chills grip him. He hadn’t expected to swing so abruptly from overheated to freezing. The cabin isn’t exactly cool by any means, yet his body protests being exposed. The sweat drying on his skin only worsens the shivering that racks his body, and the nausea crawls up his throat dangerously. Rather than acknowledge it, he focuses his attention on the wardrobe.

The robe he chooses is deceptively simple. The pattern on it is only a shade or two darker than the rest of it, making it appear solid when it, in fact, isn’t. It’s what drew his attention to it the first time he saw it, and it’s what draws him to it now.

It’s too big on him, easily swallowing his frame. It’s tailored specifically to Stede’s body, which means its shoulders are wider, and the length of it reaches well past Izzy’s knees. He pulls it tight against him, uncaring that he’s dirtying the expensive fabric. He’ll wash it later, when no one’s paying attention. For now, all he cares about is its warmth and familiarity.

What Izzy won’t readily admit to is that he sought to raid Stede’s wardrobe for more than the texture and weight of the fabrics inside. Every square centimeter of every piece of clothing smells like Stede, like lavender soap and expensive hair products and sea salt. It’s familiar, comforting. For a moment, he forgets about his nausea and the pain in his joints.

The reprieve only lasts for so long before reality slams back into him in the form of a stabbing pain just above his right eye. It feels like a pick being driven into his skull. His foot chooses that moment to make itself known, and it’s all the convincing he needs to crawl into bed and curl up lest they get much worse.

The bed is a mess, with pillows and blankets strewn about. Izzy can’t sort out which direction Ed must have been lying in, but he knows for sure that it had to be Edward. He’s the only one of the three of them that doesn’t bother making the bed upon waking up. That and Stede always closes the curtains.

Izzy crawls under the blankets and grabs for one of the pillows. He shoves his face into it, inhaling deeply and focusing on the scents that mix together. They’ve become so similar now that he can barely differentiate the two. Edward and Stede use the same shampoos, wash with the same soaps. They constantly share clothes between them (not unlike the decades long habit between Ed and Izzy.) It goes without saying that their scents are almost completely intertwined, but Izzy’s known Edward for decades, and he’s had plenty of time to grow intimately familiar with Stede’s distinct smell over the last several months.

It’s only a matter of minutes until Izzy’s eyelids grow too heavy to bother keeping them open anymore. He curls into the sheets, fingers gripping tightly. His face remains pressed into the pillow, and he puffs out a quiet sigh when his stomach finally settles and the ache in his body gives way to weightlessness.

The next time Izzy wakes, it’s to quiet whispers, one voice shushing the other, then silence. He squints against the light coming in through the windows, wishes he’d had the good since to pull the curtains. His head is pounding viciously, and the light is only making it worse. The uneasiness in his stomach is impossible to ignore with his guts roiling and his mouth watering. He has barely enough time to lean over the side of the bed.

Someone’s speaking. Whispered words of soft reassurances that mean nothing, and there’s a bucket shoved under his chin that he only notices when it’s being pulled away, replaced quickly with a cup of water.

There are also hands in his hair, brushing it back and away from his face in long, gentle strokes that are wholly unnecessary. His hair is stuck in place by drying sweat. It’s not at risk of being in the way should his stomach rebel again, but he can’t help leaning into the touch.

“Drink, Israel,” someone says in a voice that’s entirely too familiar.

Izzy considers telling Stede to fuck off, but he doesn’t have it in him. Instead, he does as told, taking several, large gulps of water. It’s only sheer willpower that keeps him from downing the rest of it. He knows what will inevitably happen if he does.

He moves to lie back down, grumbling all the way when calloused fingers move from his hair to his shoulders. They support his weight as he shifts, settling back into the absurdly soft mattress that’s admittedly grown on him over time.

Half a dozen questions run through his mind just as Ed takes up stroking through his hair once more. It’s enough to nearly fry whatever is left of his brain, but he has just enough wherewithal to ask, “Why?” He frowns at his own voice, at how brutalized it sounds, though he’s far more irritated by the half-formed question. It’s all he can muster up with the way his head continues to throb viciously.

“Overheard the crew, mate. Said you looked like shit,” Ed pauses, then adds, “They weren’t wrong.”

“Actually, I believe they are under the impression that you’re dying,” Stede adds before Izzy can tell Edward to go fuck himself.

“Yeah, like a cat,” Edward adds, and Izzy tries to parse that out, he really does, but he doesn’t know what to make of it. It’s the second time he’s heard those exact words, and he still doesn’t have a clue as to what the fuck they mean.

“Ah, what Ed means is that Frenchie informed us that cats often go off to die alone. Of course, he says that has something to do with their nine lives and something about transformations,” Stede’s brows draw together in obvious confusion. Good, at least Izzy isn’t alone. “But I believe the sentiment is the same.”

“‘m not dying,” Izzy says with a scowl that falls short of displaying any real ire.

“No, no, of course not. We just—” Stede flounders for the words, but Ed cuts him off.

“We wanted to check on you.” Ed shrugs in a way that’s almost dismissive. Almost. His eyes give him away, the same way they always have. He’s worried. Seeing Izzy hasn’t done much to soothe whatever anxiety he’s feeling, and it makes Izzy feel a guilty sort of uneasiness.

“‘m fine,” fucking fantastic, really. It’s not like someone’s driving a train through his skull, or his stomach isn’t attempting to turn itself inside out.

Ed snorts, “And I’m a fucking mermaid.” He pauses, “We’re just worried about you, Iz. Let us, yeah?”

Izzy waves at them weakly with his scarred hand. He can’t exactly stop them on his good days, never mind when he feels this poorly. What’s a man to do other than give up? He knows when to spare his dignity and admit defeat. Sometimes.

Stede grabs his hand gently and presses a kiss to the back of it. “Thank you, dear boy,” and Christ, if Izzy weren’t already flushed, he certainly would be now. He still doesn’t know how to handle their affection. It’s one thing seeing them with each other. Sickly sweet and obnoxious. It’s another when they turn it on him, back him into a corner that he can’t get out of, and right now he’s especially fucked.

“Whatever,” Izzy breathes out. “I’m going back to sleep, though.”

“That’s quite alright with us,” Stede says simply, and Ed echoes the sentiment.

Izzy bundles himself back into the blankets. His skin is still too cold, though he knows it’s from the fever he’s running. Logic doesn’t make him any more comfortable, but being surrounded by softness and familiar scents does.

His eyelids slide shut, and he begins to drift almost immediately.

“Rather cute, hm?” He hears Stede say just before consciousness swallows him completely. He doesn’t know what the man is on about now, but he’ll just have to ask about it later.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

One of my very favorite things about Our Flag Means Death is that Jim has an unquestionably terrifying and traumatizing background, but they’re so ANNOYED it even exists.

Because for their ENTIRE LIFE, they’ve been trained and taught to seek revenge and to murder and to be the BEST at murder. 

And the thing is, the thing that makes my own trauma fucking traumatizing is that NO ONE EVER FUCKING TALKED ABOUT IT. And if I talked about it, it was either 1) utterly ignored or 2) led to accusations that I was stealing someone else’s trauma for clout. 

It was awful. 

And so many queer stories are steeped in “What if trauma? All the trauma? All the trauma no one talked about???”

And OFMD went, “What if trauma that was CONSTANTLY talked about and CONSTANTLY mentioned and it seems like there was a cool training montage for because TRAUMA but what if ANNOYANCE BECAUSE NANA I FUCKING KNOW THIS STORY AND NO ONE ELSE NEEDS TO HEAR IT IT’S SO BORING.”

Like, to take the idea of WHAT IF ONLY TRAUMA and make if funny by having it be just ANOTHER FUCKING NANA STORY??? Fucking bless you, OFMD. Bless you for making a space to show that it’s okay to be annoyed by trauma and to be annoyed about how much people expect you to FEEL about trauma. 

And they MADE IT FUNNY.