#and then Frenchi gives Izzy a back massage

[fortheizzyhandsenjoyers]

Ouizzy Drabble Hours

Izzy craves this. Needs it, even.

Edward has been off lately, more so than usual. He's left Izzy shouldering more and more responsibility. Instead of leading his men, Edward has taken to shutting himself up in his quarters where opium now hangs thick in the air. Edward burns the candles low, so they flicker dim, cast shadows on the walls. The orange glow makes Edward's eyes look sunken, the black irises glint and glimmer but stay empty somehow. It's eerie.

Izzy deflects every question, crushes any worry before it can fester, redirects the crew's attention away from the Captain however he can. Even if that includes making port. The men are all excited to return to the Republic of Pirates. Except Ivan and Fang who Izzy has assigned the duty of restocking. They're a reliable sort, as best as Izzy can hope for, anyway. And Izzy is not doing it this time. Instead, Izzy has plans.

Because Izzy has gone far, far too long without this, allowing a tension to build, to coil tight in his chest. He needs release.

Izzy steps into the brothel with intent, on a mission to find exactly what he's looking for.

The Madame approaches him, grinning, "Well, you look a man who knows what he wants. Tell me, which of my lovely ladies has caught your eye?"

Izzy's gaze stops on a man. He's tall, dark-skinned, playing an instrument at the end of the bar.

"Him," Izzy tells her.

The Madame glances back at the man and her face twists up in a frown.

"I'll pay double," Izzy tells her, "Triple, even, if you keep it quiet."

She blinks at him in surprise, then smiles. And Izzy knows he's won.

"Aye, that can be arranged," she gestures to the stairs, "Let me show you to a room and your…suitor will be in to join you shortly."

Izzy simply nods before following the woman deeper into the brothel.

Frenchie doesn't do this. Right, okay, he works at a brothel. But not at the brothel. He just plays music, to set the mood, and sometimes serves drinks. He's not, you know, a brothel employee. So when the Madame approaches him, Frenchie is shocked by what she says.

"Got you a client, lad," she tells him.

"What?" Frenchie blinks at her, "Like a private show or something?"

She sighs, "Not quite."

See, Frenchie needs money. Told her that, too, when she hired him. He needs to get out of the Republic of Pirates. Only thing stopping him is the fare.

"Man said he'd pay triple," she tells Frenchie, "Half is yours if you do as you're told and stay discreet." 

Frenchie's not naive, knows exactly what she's offering. His stomach flips. 

It's not that he has anything against that kind of thing. All his friends are whores! Just. You know. It's different, innit? Working alongside whores does not a whore make. Doesn't make much money, either.

"He's upstairs waiting," the Madame pats Frenchie's arm, "The room at the end of the hall, love."

She doesn't wait to hear Frenchie's answer. They both know what it's going to be. Frenchie used to think that freedom would come with choice, opportunity, the whole world at his fingertips. Such a stupid little thing he was, back then.

Frenchie tucks his lute behind the bar, sneaks a shot of rum, and heads upstairs.

[johannestevans]

Repentance & Forgiveness

Our Flag Means Death. Rated E, Frenchie/Izzy Hands, WIP, 76k+.

Held hostage by Blackbeard on the Queen Anne, Frenchie can't sleep.

Desperate to just get whatever he can away from crew of the Queen Anne's Revenge, he knocks on Izzy's door and invites himself in.

Slowly unfolding relationship between Frenchie and Izzy Hands, as well as an exploration of their relationships with Edward Teach and the rest of their crews, delving for Frenchie into what it means to really experience one's feelings, to get into touch with and truly grapple with the depths of one's worst experiences; and for Izzy and Ed, into what it means to transgress, to repent, and ultimately to be forgiven.

---

“Why do you ask so many fucking questions?” asks Izzy softly as he sinks further down on the bed, and Frenchie stays close, puts his cheek against Izzy’s chest instead of against his side, feels the warm, fat swell of his pecs, a more comfortable pillow than lower down.

“I want to know who you are,” says Frenchie. “I want to talk to you. You’re not exactly good at small talk, Izzy – when I ask questions, you answer sometimes.”

“Do you want me to ask you questions?” asks Izzy.

“Yeah,” says Frenchie, stupidly, before he can stop himself. He doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know why he says it, because it’s such a ridiculous thing to say, it’s obviously Izzy asking it rhetorically or to take the piss, he’s not actually asking, and now Frenchie’s embarrassed himself and shown himself off as, as needy, or pathetic, or something, but it’s too late now, it’s out. “I mean— that’d be nice.”

“Nice,” repeats Izzy. “You like it? Being— being fucking… asked?”

“I like it when people show an interest in me, yeah,” says Frenchie.

“Oh,” says Izzy. Frenchie takes hold of Izzy’s wrist and he pulls his hand up, pulls it up to his head, and Izzy goes, “The fuck are you doing?” and then makes a noise when Frenchie works his fingers into his hair. He’s frozen for a second, but then he moves his hand, presses right against Frenchie’s scalp and touches through his hair. “Am I hurting you?”

“How could you be hurting me? By stroking my hair, you literally think you might be hurting me?”

“I didn’t know I was stroking your hair,” murmurs Izzy, but he puts both of his hands in Frenchie���s hair now, presses his fingers in against the scalp like Frenchie had tugged him to, and Frenchie exhales at the sensation of it, Izzy’s blunt nails (he trims and cleans them as obsessively as he does everything else) scratching over the skin. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” says Frenchie, curling in closer, sliding his knee against Izzy’s leg, touching his fingers against Izzy’s other side, gripping at him. His eyes are burning again even though he won’t be able to cry, and he closes his eyes, goes limp as Izzy keeps working to massage the scalp. “You scared you’re going to pull my hair?” he asks, and Izzy’s hands freeze.

“Am I pulling your hair?” he asks.

Frenchie laughs, and his chest fucking hurts, pangs right down inside it, and he uses his grip on Izzy’s hip to pull himself up, and he puts his mouth against Izzy’s, feels the warmth of his lips.

“The fuck?” asks Izzy, but he kisses Frenchie back, slides his hands down to cup his cheeks as Frenchie half-falls between his legs, coming to straddle his thigh, his knee between Izzy’s. “That what you want? For me to pull your hair?”

“Can we just do this?”

Izzy’s hands come back up, and another works its way right against his scalp again, scratches gently at the skin, and he feels the shift of the weight of his hair, feels how fucking warm Izzy’s fingers are, why does such a cold little man give off heat like a furnace?

He strokes on the other side, pulls and tugs at the curls, and then his hand comes down a bit, his fingers playing over the back shell of Frenchie’s ear. It tickles, makes his skin tingle and feel warm, and Frenchie shivers, leaning into the pressure of Izzy’s touch.

“You should pierce this,” murmurs Izzy, squeezing the lobe between his thumb and forefinger.

“I’ll do mine if you do yours,” says Frenchie.

Izzy laughs, which Frenchie thinks is a no. “I can’t have an earring.”

“Why?”

“It’s a hazard.”

“Lots of pirates have earrings.”

“I’m not lots of pirates.”

“What, you face some kind of unique fucking danger that means you can’t wear an earring?”

Izzy doesn’t say anything.

Frenchie’s stomach does a sudden, painful wrench. “Wait,” he says, “wait, do you mean—”

“Go to sleep, Frenchie,” says Izzy.

Read on Ao3

[fandomfaeofveryfewf4cks]

Hooooooo boy. Um, I just- I just- *sighs in lost for words*

I watched the 3 episodes in season 2 a little over 24 hours ago. I'm still not ready to form words about it properly.

Obviously, Im loving it beyond my own comprehension, but still. Words are being drowned out by the frantic screaming and crying of various extreme emotions in my head.

Anyway... here are some of the thoughts I had while watching these three episodes. Spoilers, of course.

"I wasn't expecting a beard to suit Rhys Darby quite as much as it does."

"I wasn't expecting being a merman to suit Rhys Darby quite as much as it does."

"He's dreaming. Izzy isn't dead. Not this soon. He's dreaming. Izzy isn't dead. Not this soon. He's dreaming Izzy isn-"

"Swedish massage... You made this scene both a sex joke... and a pun............ On brand."

*sobbing with Fang over Ivan's death*

"I desperately want to give Fang a hug."

"Who is this? [Archie] When can I marry her?"

"Who is this? [Susan/Zheng Yi Sao, the Pirate Queen] When can I marry her?"

"Glad to see someone appreciates Buttons' sea witch status. ... This is a new ship for me to obsess over, isn't it?"

"Soft? Yeah....that's totally what you meant. I definitely believe that.(sarcasm)"

"Shit, did they eat Ed? He's not supposed to die though, right? Where would they go from there?"

"Okay, no, they look seriously guilty. I think they ate him."

"Who the hell is the body in the basement?!"

"Do you call it a basement if it's on a ship?"

"No, that's not Ed. He can't fucking die. Not like this."

"He's fucking dead?!?!"

"Oh, good, we get to meet this Captain Douchebag who Ed has, apparently, hated because of traits he himself has taken on. Cause he needed more father figure issues."

"People are gonna ship Ed's first dad and Ed's Captain dad as a crack ship now, aren't they?....I'll figure out how I feel about that later."

"Frenchie. Honey. I love you. I fear for you. I can't wait to see you finally lose your shit. I think it will be beautiful and absolutely terrifying."

"Stede, get your fucking towels off of my queen's desk."

"Stede, affectionately, get your head out of your ass and stop denying the trauma your boyfriend has been dealing out to your crew."

"[After his talk with Lucius] Well, that's a start."

"[After he literally runs from Lucius just as he gets into the really bad shit] Get used to it shithead (affectionate), you're gonna have a lot more shit to talk about once you get back to Ed."

"Also, Lucius, baby. Holy fuck. Once your captains get their shit together, make them give you and Pete a vacation or something(one you'd actually get to enjoy this time). You really fucking need it."

"[The last scene]...Fuck, maybe there's hope after all............... The next two episodes are gonna fuck us all up so bad, aren't they?"

[karuinekom]

[2022.10.19] 19th day || Stripping + Partial nudity

Before sliding into bed, Izzy has this dragging ritual of undressing, taking his time and not bothering to rush his movements, and Frenchie has no voice in the matter and can only tie to his habits. In reality, the lad has no right to complain, considering it gives such a sense of calm and tranquillity rarely attributed to Izzy.

He’s so meticulous in everything he does that Frenchie can’t dart his eyes off his hands, skating preciously on his linen shirt as he lets each button pass through the slit of the eyelets, unties the black laces bracing his sleeves at the elbows or even sits to slip out of his leather boots, briefly massaging his achy feet after a long and tiring day of work, barely getting the time to sit down and rest. Sometimes, Izzy turns to meet Frenchie’s gaze as if he knew the other would be mesmerisingly staring, a thin smile painted on his lips, and slows his motions, a tease for the lad, who’s patient, but not this patient.

Still, Frenchie hasn’t the nerve to interrupt. He doesn't want to, prefers to taste the wait on his tongue, taste with his eyes, enraptured by his rigour while getting undressed.

Next, Izzy undoes his necktie, the silver ring secured on his writing desk, on top of a satin handkerchief, and passes to undoing his trousers. And as he’s watching him, Frenchie starts feeling his eyelids heavy, much heavier than before, one fluttering close gradually and without his notice, the other following, swallowing a big and wide yawn while covering his mouth with the heel of his hand.

“Oi, sleepyhead,” rudely shouts Izzy, stumbling towards the bed with his shirt open, falling loosely from one shoulder, making it look even more billowing than when it’s buttoned up. Frenchie shakes his head, blinking out of that drifting phase quite dopey and smiles dreamily, just getting the tattoo under Izzy’s left eye to twitch huffily in return. Despite knowing he’s anything but truly angered, there’s something in his glare that makes him slowly swallow, another yawn fading before it's even in the back of his mouth. Hence, Izzy grabs Frenchie’s striped shirt, still gentle, and pulls him up, leaning in to make their foreheads almost touch, hazel-grey eyes fixed on his. Now Frenchie’s sure to be fully awake. “You sure you want to fall asleep like this?”

Frenchie’s mouth opens, then quickly closes as he's unsure what to tell him. “Wasn’t my plan, but you were takin’ way too long stripping. You know, it’s kinda late, Iz.”

Izzy snorts, amused, “Fine. Don’t come crying to me later, Frenchie. It won’t work.”

And as he finishes talking, his voice trails off in a soft kiss, first on his lips, second on his chest, over his shirt, and as he tantalises Frenchie with his knee, on purpose nudging between his legs before dropping by his side, tugging Frenchie closer.

[obsidiancreates]

This Was An Impulse Write And Has Nothing to Do With The Crossover RP Blog Story

"No!"

Lucius gulps, pointing a shaking hand over the rail of the ship. "Down there."

Stede leans over the railing, squinting into the water. "I don't see anythi-"

A face pops out of the water, just for a second. A blue face with bright green hair like seaweed. It stares up at Stede for a second before ducking back under the waves.

Stede screams and tumbles back, right into Ed's arms. Ed helps him back to his feet. "Fuck's wrong, man?"

"Mermaid!" Stede squeaks out, pointing overboard.

"Mermaid? Fuck, I didn't mean it when I said I thought I'd be massaged to death by one." Ed leans over to look, along with the rest of the slowly gathering crew.

"No such thing as mermaids, boss," Izzy says in barely-concealed exasperation.

The face pops out of the water again, now glaring. The Mer raises a clawed, icy-blue hand from the water, webbed fingers moving terrifyingly like a human's-

And it flips them off.

"Oh! Do you think it knows what that means?" Stede whispers, looking around at the crew with confusion and slight concern.

"Fuck you!" the Mer shouts in a surprisingly normal voice, still glaring at Izzy. "Fuck you, bitch!"

"I think it knows, Captain," Oluwande says. Stede nods.

"Fucking fight me!" The Mer dives down, and a minute or so later returns from the depths with a rusty cutlass. "I'll give you fucking tetanus!"

"What the fuck is tetanus?" Ed mumbles.

"Hello!" Stede calls out over the side of the ship. "My apologies about my crewmate there! He's a bit of a sour-sack!"

"Yeah, I can tell!"

"Have you come to curse us, or lure us to a watery grave?"

"No, I liked the unicorn on the front of your ship! I wanted to watch you guys, and now I'm fucking lost!"

"That's awful! ... Can you survive out of the water?"

Lucius splutters violently and Frenchie looks near passing out. Ed looks at Stede with wide eyes.

"Why?" The Mer clings to the side of the boat, careful not to scratch the wood with it's claws.

"Perhaps we could help you get home! Go to a landmark you recognize and drop you off!"

"Why do I need to be onboard for that?"

"So we can get to know you! I've never met a Merman before!"

"Just Mer is fine! We're sort of genderless!"

"Oh, one of our crew is like that! Jim, come say hello to your fellow genderless individual!"

Jim peers over the railing. "Hey."

"Hi! Cool to know some humans aren't idiots!"

"You must have met some before, to speak our language, yes?" Ed tries to cover Stede's mouth, but Stede bats his hand away.

"Yeah but they mostly sucked, and my other friends aren't human! They're Mer and Dwarrow and Phoenix's!"

"This is fuckin' inane," Izzy grumbles.

"You wanna get cursed, asshole?! I'm a seawitch in training motherfucker!"