#muse: frenchie

[vocesincaput]

@pyratezlife continued from [x]

Frenchie had been inconsolable at Izzy's side, trying anything he could to talk to the man he loved. Trying to will him to stay awake and with him. That he needed him. When the first mate had closed his eyes, hand falling from his cheek, Frenchie had cried out and buried his face against Izzy's chest. Sobbing uncontrollably.

He didn't know whether it was seconds, minutes or more before he was being pulled back and away from Izzy and he tried desperately to cling on to him. But Auntie forced her way through as several of the others wrapped their arms around Frenchie. Comforting and holding him back as Auntie pulled something out of a pouch and worked on Izzy's wound.

Everything that had happened next had been a blur to Frenchie. He knew people spoke to him, could hear their voices in the distance but nothing reached his ears. He felt numb all over. Nothing was right. Nothing could be, not with Izzy like this. not when he could still lose him.

Izzy had been moved into the Captains quarters and onto Stede (and Ed's) bunk, both men insisting that he had the best place possible to hopefully recover. No one had even tried to get Frenchie to leave him.

The sofa had been pulled to the bedside for Frenchie to use and the bard had taken Izzy's hand in his and refusing to let go.

When Izzy awoke, Frenchie was practically wrapped around his arm with his head on his shoulder. Having cried himself to sleep.

The moment the hoarse voice spoke, Frenchie opened his eyes. Blinking and rubbing away dried tears from tearstained cheeks as he raised his head. The moment he saw Izzy's eyes, he practically jumped off of the sofa and to his feet. Hovering over him. Breath caught within his lungs and heart stilled in anticipation and hope.

"Iz.....?"

[nordarknessdimsthesky]

the amount of sheer GENDER stored in these images should frankly be ILLEGAL

[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

[indestructiblelittlefuckers]

@vocesofmd 's Frenchie decided to kiss Izzy, based on this here.

Past hour or so had been a blur. Ed wanted to raid a ship merely hours after the last one. The crew wouldn't make it, they were all exhausted, it made sense that they protested. He could have pushed more, he could have told them that they have no option. They were right, but Ed wouldn't see it that way. He was about to go to his cabin to tell him that he forgot to give the order and now they missed their chance, but Ed came out on his own. The next thing Izzy knew was being in his room, pressing a cold cloth at the side of his head.

❝You can't be here.❞ Izzy murmured when Frenchie sat next to him, when he helped him to hold that cloth in place. He could have pushed him away. He should have. But he didn't want to stay alone. He couldn't be alone with his thoughts. The young man somehow, surprisingly always provided him some sort of comfort and fuck Izzy needed it at the moment. ❝You can't...❞ he whispered, but he didn't move away when the other man leaned in. He even found himself kissing him back. No, he couldn't be doing this. Izzy pulled away, and shook his head. Did he pity him? Did the crew either pity him, thinking he is completely incompetent or did they hate him? ❝Why are you here?❞

[elyrianinspo]

//I couldn’t stop thinking about this

[redchikittymeow]

sometime Frenchie off ball comments have me like what did you say? he was talking about his dad and the hello kitty blanket and what he did with it

[arkytiored]

like this for a small starter from FRENCHIE

[cicatrise]

@backonmybullshit91​​ sent: ‘You had me worried for a moment there.’ (Let’s try John for this one cause dragon. XD) ► from this meme.

“Spare me the niceties, warlock,” Ryu says, huffing as he leans on his cane and sweat drips down his cheek. “I’m sure you only helped me for a favour.”

John Constantine’s a common name these days among magic folk, after all. Even if Ryu isn’t nearly as powerful as he used to be.

He has to admit, though, he’s grateful for Constantine’s appearance. In his state, what had once been easy work of closing unstable magic rifts has turned nearly unbearable. Mankind doesn’t love him nearly enough for him to have enough power to close it without dying, and much as the next fall of rain would revive him, Ryu doesn’t care much for wasting time as a corpse.

“...but I do owe you.” He licks his lips, then turns his head to face him. “Unfortunate for us both.

“You were a good assist.”

[smokedanced]

@mythboundmuses​ said: ❝  actually,  i think we rub off on each other quite well.  ❞ Frenchie to Izzy

a meme i failed to find    /    PROBABLY ACCEPTING ↷

Izzy just stares. He’s never felt so  resigned  in his life. It should be a good thing. Should make him... happy, would make any normal person happy, yes? That the crew of the Revenge is not plotting his murder. But he had hoped for everyone to go from open hostility to leaving him alone. Or, maybe it had been the best he could hope for. This, whatever this is, Frenchie being nice to him? No, that’s weird, he doesn’t know what to do with nice. Maybe he’s just being mocked, anyway, whatever.

And yeah, he’s fucking sewing now, apparently. Participating, instead of just barking orders. Trying to be a less of a dick. Trying to be Bonnet’s first mate as well as Edward’s.

❝ If you think I’m goin’ to start  singing,  or somethin’, you can fuck right off, ❞    he grunts.

[h-a-unted]

checking if this fixes my new tags

[vocesincaput]

OPEN STARTER: Frenchie

With everyone back together again, the crew had gotten a British Naval ship in it's sights and decided to raid it for supplies. Wanting to get back into the swing of things and gel again as a full crew.

They were surveying the deck from the Revenge, readying to board when the ships servants came on deck, making them hesitate for a moment. When one of the servants turned around, a chill ran through Frenchie and he froze on the spot.

It had been years, but... he still remembered that face. He would always remember that face.

His mother...

He felt as if every ounce of breath had left his body. His mother was right there. After all these years... she was there. Frenchie tried to will himself to say something, to tell someone who she was and that they needed to get to her. But he was so in shock that he couldn't move.

The shock turned into horror only a moment later when the Captain of the ship turned to the group of servants and even from the Revenge it could be seen how he was admonishing them. Yelling something that was lost on the wind until suddenly raised his gun and fired it at his mother. Killing her instantly.

Frenchie cried out but it was drowned out by the rest of the crew yelling and springing into action. It didn't take long before the crew of the ship were either killed or taken captive for ransom. Frenchie had gone numb whilst everything happened, barely anything registering with him. Commands not reaching his ears.

Whilst the rest of the crew were taking the captives and any supplies back over to the Revenge, Frenchie made sure that all of the servants got onto one of the small boats the Naval ship used to go to shore with enough supplies to last them and a little more. He had wrapped up his mothers body and the servants promised to make sure she would get a proper burial before he sent them on their way.

Returning to the ship, Frenchie hadn't said a word the entire time and, whilst everyone else was going over everything and celebrating, he went below deck. Face expressionless and not hearing any words that made have been said after him.

He found a quiet spot that he knew no one ever really went to and sat down upon the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest and curling his arms around them. Eyes closed tight as Frenchie tried to will what had just happened into the little box he kept within his mind for all the bad things he had seen. But no matter how hard he tried, the box just wouldn't close. Tears began to form in the corners of his eyes the harder and harder he tried to force it closed. But it was too much and he could almost see the cracks beginning to form.

Frenchie was so lost within his mind that he didn't hear someone approaching.

[nordarknessdimsthesky]

god i hope we get frenchie singing more songs on his lute in season 2 (manifesting for selfish reasons so i can learn them on the uke and sing them)

[johannestevans]

god frenchie flustered and flushed and giddy about fucking izzy's tits and izzy humiliated and squirming underneath him with how hot he finds it to be objectified like this

bonus if it's them a bit drunk at a party and so other ppl are watching. stede bonnet biting through a table leg bc he wishes he was fucking those tits himself

[awkwardcourage]

silly little tag dump pls ignore.

[elyrianinspo]

But what if I just kind of sort of roleplay here and don’t worry about icons and just had fun writing again? What if?

[frosthidden]

— open starter

open to : mutuals only, any connection verse : main, no specified point in the show's plot

she'd been doing so well, staying out of trouble, not running any jobs that could get her on anyone's radar. really, alice thought she'd practically been a saint. that was why when when she'd been grabbed, had her hands zip tied together and driven off to god knows where she had really been caught off guard. when they got to the location, she was re-zip tied with her back to a cold metal pipe. it was the waiting that was killing her, the heart racing panic of not knowing why she'd been taken. alice didn't know how long she'd been sitting there when she heard footsteps coming. she'd already tried looking for something to defend herself with or cut the ties. there was nothing. she was completely exposed. she looked towards the sound, hoping she wasn't about to be looking down the barrel of a gun.