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bowieandqueen11 · 1 year

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Love For You / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: I just found your ao3 account a few days ago and your writing style is excellent! Legitimately some of the most visual and evocative writing I've seen on that website, and I've been devouring your izzy hands fics since I caught up on season two! Can I request another izzy x reader post-amputation and just the reader caring for him while he's pining hard? Maybe the reader has some medical experience so they've been able to help him a little better than the rest of the crew, making sure he's taking time to heal in a difficult moment (physically as well as emotionally, god knows he needs that.) Letting him know he's loved and him realizing he hasn't...heard someone say that to him or treat him this gently in a long time

Thank you so much that's so kind of you to say, it's so lovely people finding me from AO3!! Honestly one of the best feelings, and goodness knows Izzy needs this :)

Okay so I haven't been able to watch the new season so all my knowledge is coming from Tumblr gifs and posts, so I really hope this isn't too ooc my lovely!! Anyway let's get this man some comfort!

I spent all day writing this, so all comments are much appreciated! Thank you! :)

Warning: mentions of blood/injury, mentions of physical abuse, mention of smoking, kissing and some strong language!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Something monstrous seemed to be creeping up the shuddering walls.

No, it wasn't the stifling silence that had seemed to envelop those of Blackbeard's crew still left, hiding their heads between their legs and closing their eyes as they felt the quicksand drain out through the fingers. Nor was it the creaking organ snore of Wee John thrumming up the timber; the rest of your usually upbeat crew grew despondent as they wracked their brains together and came up with a way to save you all from imminent demise, having flopped onto their sides and fallen into fitful sleeps just before sunset. Sadly it wasn't even the feel of Lucius' finger stroking yours through the cold grates of your jail, his smile lost and forlorn as he thumped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes as well, feeling even more entrapped in himself than you did.

It was, in fact, the hard glare Izzy Hands was shooting into the side of your face. He hadn't spoken a word since Stede had left, choosing instead to let out the odd sniffle from his corner bucket and busy himself by watching you like a man possessed: like something wild, something smothering itself in the shadows to stop its howling heart from devouring the light around itself. From tearing his dagger out of his scabbard and devouring his heart himself with clawed hooks. He looked ghastly, and he looked gargantuan as the life seemed to convulse within him, leeching out and darting its tongue around the creaking wood until it filled up the room and began to fill your heart up with a hope you thought had been lost weeks ago.

He looked beautiful and proud and defeated and assured in spite of it all, and you were finally beginning to understand why Zheng Yi Sao had locked him away in this cage.

And in a way, it terrified you that this cataclysmic, lucent shadow was creeping its merry way straight for you.

The tenebrosity was quickly broken by Izzy's shining eyes gliding across the bridge of your nose to land instead on your top lip. He wasn't entirely sure why exactly he was feeling so timid. It wasn't as if Frenchie was still awake, as he was too busy hugging his free arm around the remaining muscle of Izzy's thigh and burying his head into the muscle with a soft murmur of contentment. Yet the idea of being caught leering at you like a dopey boy was enough to make him judder with embarrassment, and enough to send Frenchie's head keeling sideways so his lips were rammed up against his trousers.

Thankfully, it was exactly Frenchie's floppy head that gave away the fact that he was fast asleep, and allowed you to steal Izzy away for yourself. With a gentle lift, you were quick to replace your friend's cheek with your own hand, giving the side of Izzy's thigh a reassuring squeeze.

'You look like you're bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders', you sighed as you took in Izzy's harrowing form. It wasn't his paleness that worried you, or the redness that cracked and splintered around his irises. It was the way he was watching you, eyes trained steadily on your face for the last hour and a half, as if he were doing his best to memorise everything he could before he ran out of time. As if he would never have the chance to look at you again.

The edges of his lips curled up, and he thumped his head back against the wall. 'Me? I'm feeling fucking fantastic. Never been better. Why do you ask?'

'Well', you began as softly as you could, straining to reach the vials in your hip knapsack to retrieve some salve for the scarring that had begun to pucker around his skin. 'We are about to be executed. I guess I just wanted you to know this is a safe space to let it all out before we are. A confessional of sorts, if a little makeshift.'

He wet his bottom lip as his eyes darted down to you, confused.

You pointedly looked him in the eyes, before unscrewing the vial and dipping your pointer finger in. Making sure he didn't seem too uncomfortable, you leant forwards as innocuously as you could, trying not to startle him anymore than he already had been. With a swipe, you began to rub the herb mixture around the sore looking welts left around his cut leg, making a point to run your fingertips soothingly over the goose-bumps that began to rise at the feel of you against him.

'I wanted you to know- to know that you're always safe around your crew.' You did your best not to let your voice tremble, no matter how much your throat tried to choke you. You turned your head back down to his leg, trying to hide the fact that your mouth was crumpling in on itself.

He winced as your hand brushed against a tender point, and you ran the back of your knuckles over his skin in apology. He felt like he was burning alive: a fire blazing so furiously in the pit of his stomach he was sure it was gushing out, swinging around the room and warning everyone of his impending falter as he fell upon the crags of your fingers below. He had no idea how, in all the seas, you couldn't possibly see how ecstatically devastated he was to be sitting here with you.

He didn't mind dying. He wasn't scared of it. As long as you were there to enhalo his misty light in the end. As long as you were there to love him until his last breath. As long as, no matter what form he took, you were still enclosed around his heart.

'Who says I have anything to confess?', he glanced at you with heavy eyelashes, eyes bleary but sharp as he started straight into your soul. I don't have to confess it, he thought, it's so fucking painfully obvious.

How could he confess something so inexplicable? Something that wrapped around all of his bones, that wormed its way into parts of himself he thought long numb: long lost. How could someone ever articulate the feeling of life itself? It was insurmountable, far too transcendent, too impetuous for mortals to to unsnarl into words.

'Oh Izzy', you said, mouth falling into a frown at the way his hips reflexively bucked up at the feel of a new cream being slathered around his leg to try and numb the pain. He moaned, trying to mask the sound by clenching his fist into his mouth and biting desperately into his knuckles. One more touch, and he was about to fall apart. 'Your eyes are drowning in so many regrets I can barely see the stars in them anymore.'

He huffed out a laugh, looking at you with incredulous, wild eyes. He willed his hand to stop shaking as he let it rest, still clenched, by his quivering chin. 'Not in my eyes. You never could. That's not possible. Not me.'

'I could.' You were quick to reply. 'I always could. You're our guiding light, Israel Hands.'

Oh boy, if he wasn't devastated before he sure was now. His face fell immediately, and for a moment you felt your heart ache with a sore regret at the silvery tears that began to cloud in the crinkles of his eyes. But then he does something that surprised even you.

The way he opened his legs up was almost miniscule: too small for anyone who didn't know this man's quirks and intricacies and giveaways to notice, but a well aimed shot that sent a rush of heat prickling up your cheeks. Before he changed his mind and retreated into himself again, you were quick to scoot your backside over and come to rest far too intimately between the tightening leather of his inner thighs.

'You can't be surprised that we care about you', he started after a moment of comfortable silence, leaning the side of your head to rest gingerly on his intact leg. 'That the whole crew has always cared about you. Look, someone even got you a mop-', you gestured to his side, trying to make him laugh before the sun rises, and thankfully you succeeded.

He shook his head out as if trying to refocus himself as his chuckle died out in his chest. He didn't want to laugh right now. He wanted to focus on the weight on his leg: on the feel of your nose brushing on the length of seam running up to his groin. He blinked back heavy tears that spread along his lashes, sniffling coarsely. He probably should laugh, he thought. He should be fucking howling, spitting, going rabid at the irony that the one thing he had been yearning his whole life was lying right there on his lap, and he only had a few hours left in his pathetic life to savour it.

'How are you doing, by the way? Seriously', you jolt your head up to watch him quizzically. He did his best not to meet your eye, choosing instead to stare at the black grains above Jim's slumped head. 'After, you know, everything that happened with Ed-'

'You don't need to worry about me', he sniffed, but his hand twitched as he lifted it up to rest on his thigh, just above the top of your head. 'It's my job to worry about all of you. Not the other way round.'

'When are you going to get it through your thick skull that we want to worry about you. This isn't some kind of weird mandate or self-preservation tactic on our part Izzy. You may be a fucking idiot, but you're our fucking idiot. Let us take care of you too, like you've been looking out for us.'

He squeezed his eyes shut, his head beginning to shake furiously enough to send his stray silver locks clambering over his eyes. He was glad for their cover, so he wouldn't have to see the way you had lurched forward: the way you were pleading with him with your eyes, as you rose onto your knees and pressed your hands firmly around his waist, just where the joint of his legs met the soft squish of his tummy.

'Don't you shake your head at me. We all know you've been trying to direct Blackbeard's anger your way. We do!' You cocked your head, trying to follow his face as he squirmed in your grasp. Losing your patience, you gripped his jaw with your thumb and pointer finger, directing Izzy's widening eyes back your way. 'We do, Izzy. We know what you've been doing for us. What you've been sacrificing. And I'm sorry - I'm sorry that none of this is fair. I'm sorry that any of this happened at all.'

One. Two. You tapped your finger a third time, your fingernail swirling over the fine nuances of the holster running over his sawed leg.

It had always been your little secret: a shared confidence, between you and Izzy. One tap. Two. Three on each other's arms after battles, three taps there on your shoulder before you went down to your bunk, three fleeting touches burning at the back of his spine to let him know that you were alright: to let him know that he was alright.

You only stopped when you heard a brisk inhale: a sharp whistle that broke through your indulgent repose and made Roach roll over. Thankfully, a moment later, the cook's arm was splayed out across the floor again, and his leg kicked out backwards with a swift jolt up poor Button's behind. Izzy, though. Izzy, despite the surprising tenderness of the moment, was almost smouldering. The muscle by the side of his femur began to writhe underneath just the point of your fingertip, the feeling of just your warmth making him feel too feeble. Too needy to even control the rest of his body; he desperately tried to reach out a hand to shove your shoulder back and push you away, but his mind was too busy swimming with the concentration of trying to remember how to inhale.

The sharp breaths he dragged in painfully were starting to worry you, as were the wracks of his spine as he seemed to writhe backwards and forwards, back arching off the wall before collapsing back down on itself painfully again.

He felt your hand clench around his back, guiding him to sit still again. You were close, far too close - your noses almost touching, as you took a risk and used your free hand to slowly.... god, so fucking slowly he felt like he was going to split in half. He looked like a wounded animal: something terrified of being hurt as his eyes stayed trained on your approaching fingers, face wary until your fingertips touched his hair and tucked it behind his ear.

And then he felt that warmth. That warmth against the shell of his ear. He bit down hard enough on his lip to draw blood, and for once, he was glad for the taste. It was comforting. Familiar. Deserved. He wasn't one for the fucking heartache of tenderness. And god, how his heart ached.

'Come on,' you nestled yourself between his legs again and perched your elbow up on his left leg. 'People must have cared about you before. Might as well get it all out in the open. Be honest with each other now.'

He paused, before the stubbornness wormed its way in again. 'No, they haven't-'

'Well, what about your parents? Your parents must have been kind. Besides, the crew obviously cares about you. I obviously care about you. Stop being so pig-headed.''

He startled you with a laugh: he seemed to choke on it, his teeth baring as he barked it out, yet he still couldn't seem to look at you quite yet. That's alright. You had an eternity left in these few hours.

Kindness?

He couldn't remember a time before joining Stede's crew that he had ever felt such a thing, let alone let it fester in the crevices of his ribcage until he felt the dreaded thing was going to claw its way out. Perhaps, if he let himself fester in the silence for a moment, an image of his mother would squirm its way out of his long repressed memories. Clawing and scratching and digging her pointed nails to dig her way out. No, his mother had never offered him a jot of comfort. She could stay buried in that coffin he had stuffed her down into, instead of rotting inside of him. He had enough barnacles to scrape off his body as it was.

It wasn't as if he had any surprisingly sweet memories of his life before. His mother had never been one for grace: her words always bit at his brain like a frenzied tempest, his actions never good enough. Once, when he was six years old, he had tottered up before the sun rose and followed his older brother down to the docks, trying to please his mother. Even so young, he had spent most of his years yearning to be seen as anything but the 'nuisance' or 'pest' his mother used to spit at his feet, and yearned to return with a line full of fish to please her. To help her with the chores that she always yammered his father had left her to rot with. Had left him. That he rotted away her youth. When he came slinking into the doorway, a nervous smile twitching at his ruddy cheeks, his mother had taken one look at the muddy, damp fringes of his trousers and had slapped him clean across the face for his troubles.

Another part of him remembered her warmth. The same that radiated off your palm as you spread your fingers across his knee; the way she would sometimes scutter into his bed at night, and he could smell the harsh sting of alcohol on her breath as she curled up and hugged him close against her chest. Of the way she would sometimes let him sit on her knee once the three of them had returned home after service, and she would brush back his growing hair and he would curl himself up to chase the stray ray of sunlight that glowed against her neck.

It had left him a Gordian mess of a man. Simultaneously spending his life seeking any kind of validation, any kind of affection, while his stubborn self-preservation did its best to push everyone away.And yet here you came, watching him with those sweet, sad eyes. Swinging the sword to undo him.

'I don't remember much about them', he replied curtly, but not unkindly. 'My father left us when I was young. I was... mainly left to my own devices.'

You nod slowly, letting his words thinking in. Letting the misery drenching every seething heave of his tongue wash over your head. 'Well', you began to rub your thumb in circles against his trousers, 'at least you have us here now. One good thing to add to the pile.'

There we go. The knot's slowly being undone.

You tried to smile, but the intensity of his gaze falling on you again unsettled you.

'You're right.' His voice was far too earnest for his own good. 'I have had one good thing in my life. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.'

You nearly jolted when you felt his hand smack down on top of yours. He had closed his eyes to try and hide himself from his discomfort, but his gloved fingers still slid between yours and squeezed despite himself. Once he was assured they were firmly intertwined: his own grasping tight enough to bust the leather at the stitching, he dared himself to finish his train of thought before he lost his nerve.

'I do... I do care about the crew. None of this was their fault, and they shouldn't have been fucking blamed for it. But I- I, I care about someone else far more than all of this twatty lot put together.'

It's a whisper into the darkness. A despairing yell of defiance against the solitude. A smothered light, long lingering and far longer forgotten. A spark of hope against the threat of ruination. It was a silver tear, glinting like starlight against his iris and falling with a content plop onto the back of your hand.

'I-I-', he stuttered out, clenching his teeth as he wills himself not to cry. 'I-'

The words refused to unlatch from his throat. Luckily, you were adept enough to notice the longing that drew a sad ache across his face.

'Izzy, I-'

'Let me finish', he stumbled out, his whole face now contorting as he struggled with the weight of it all. His bottom lip began to wobble against his will, face falling in on itself.

'I have-I have... love. For you. 'What I'm trying to say is'-, he shakes his head, chiding himself.

'Izzy, I know, it's alright. I know. I understand.' You grabbed tighter onto the back of your hand, enveloping it with your free one until his stopped shaking, begging him to realise you could see him.

'No-. No. If I don't say it now, I'm worried I never will.'

'Take your time, take your time. We have all the time in the world'. A sob finally gasped out from Izzy, chest heaving as he felt you draw his hands up towards your mouth. Still safe. Still warm. Still firmly cupped between your own, but the feel of your lips brushing against his knuckles was enough to send him reeling. The gentle peck that followed, though, was enough to finally let him break free.

A tentative finger reached out, checking for any signs of repulsion before landing awkwardly to point into the blade of your shoulder. He seemed to freeze: immobile marble frozen in fear as he seemed unaware as to what to next. After a few wary blinks, he clumsily spent a few seconds trying to manoeuvre the rest of his arm to cross across your back, before tugging your torso to lean closer towards him.

For a moment, it finally seems as if the world has skittered upright on his axis again. It felt normal. It felt right, feeling him grow comfortable with affection again as he melted, for the second time that week, into your hug. For his sake, as he burrowed his head into the pulse point of your neck until his stubble began to tickle your collar bone, you pretended not to hear the maimed whimpers that struggled past his closed lips.

The only time he moved was to raise his head up towards your nose, bumping it playfully against the tip of your own. Then another graze. A rub, and then another one, his eyes the whole time languidly drawn down to stare at your cupid's bow, until he slowly brought himself down to breathe unsteadily against your mouth. After a final moment of contemplation, he blinked placidly before closing his eyes and tilting his head to close the miniscule distance between the two of you.

His jaw was tense as you ran your finger down it, so busy trying to commit to his memory the pressure of your lips against his bottom one that he was forgetting to breath. But he didn't pull away. In fact, his hand clamped around your neck, digging almost painfully into your back as he stumblingly latched onto you, forcing himself further against your opening mouth. His hand found solace by cupping the back of your skull, chest squeezed against your breasts as he opened his lips and almost devoured you whole.

A loud 'awww!' erupted from your side, making the two of you jolt apart. The only problem was, Izzy's bottom lip had been rather firmly attached to yours. This meant that as you drew back, Izzy, in his stubborn unwillingness to let you go, let his bottom lip drag down along your inner mouth until a line of saliva connected your bottom lips, which only made the person the other side of the brig giggle even louder.

'You guys are cute', Black Pete yawned with a wakening stretch.

'Yes!', Roach chimed in as he teddy bear rolled his lanky legs round in front of him. 'I swear!', he continues, ostentatiously wiping his finger underneath his eye, 'I must be crying! I'm two seconds away from going up there and commencing our escape myself.'

With a tilt of your head that hit Izzy's chin, you looked at the cook incredulously. Izzy only gazed down at you past the crook of his nose, wonderstruck as the he let the words wash over his head.

'You. You really think you can take on all those very competent pirates up there.'

'Of course!'

'You cried for twenty minutes earlier about soup!'

Roach waved his hand unconvincingly in front of his face. 'Broth, it was broth! But I'm great with knives, remember! I have one hidden in my underwear right now!'

'Why... why is it in your underwear?', Oluwande piped in as he rested his head on the side of a barrel.

'Yeah, you weren't captured', Archie added, shuffling her own head off Jim's shoulder to look out past the bars. 'Why isn't it, I don't know, in your pocket or something.'

Even though Roach has opened his mouth to answer, his train of thought is broken by the tired grumble of another one of your friends. 'I hate to admit it, but that was actually very sweet', Lucius chimed in, twisting his lips into a shit-eating grin as he eyed the both of you up, another cigarette now firmly tucked in and freshly lit between his fingers as he took a drag.

'Is everyone on this fucking boat awake?!', Izzy cried, wrapping a hand protectively around your shoulder joint.

You snorted, burying your head protectively against the soft skin of his bellybutton. The sound of the crew beginning to argue with an increasingly impatient Izzy was like music to your ears; the monster was beginning to retreat.

No longer did it hang and shake and pierce the walls with its talons until it bled umbras. It retreated: chased away by the comely love of your crew. Of your family. Of the man who held you protectively against him, blinding you with his tender love.

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punkascas · 8 months

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okay, so i don't want to, like, Start Something or whatever so we're doing a barely-tagged, separate post. i also realise this is mostly pointless because others have already said what i'm going to say, and did it better, with far more grace, and sound less like an asshole than i do.

but jesus louise helen christ, the weird fucked up ideas people have around abuse and personal responsibility and the effect of trauma. like as an abuse and csa survivor, it genuinely alarms me to read posts that use arguments i remember my dad making. like, i'm assuming most of this rhetoric comes from gen z — maybe that's inaccurate; maybe that's unfair. but right now i'm very much Having A Moment Here that the kids aren't alright.

no 22-year-old should be repeating the same awful, manipulative, logically and morally bankrupt justifications for violence and torture my dad says. like literally what's in the first two episodes of ofmd s2 is torture.

i love ed; he's an amazing character. taika is hella wowza top marks acting him. but like.

like.

torture, my dude. physical and psychological. trauma. harassment. that we see the lasting effects of through s2.

just. i. what??

so here we go, okay. have too many, zealously highlighted screenshots so i can dig into details.

cut to save your dashes. content warning for discussions of abuse and trauma (if that wasn't obvious), as well as spoilers for ofmd s2.

re: ed knew what he was doing was wrong and felt guilty about it at the time:

we have no on-screen, textual examples of this. not in the dialogue; not in the acting; not in the blocking; not in the cinematography or music. nothing.

knowing the crew are overworked and kind of traumatised by all the violence, ed bribes them with cake. because, as we know, cake like tea fixes everything. only ed wasn't even with them to share in the eating of the cake. he made izzy responsible for that. he doesn't give the crew a break; he doesn't choose less ethically-fraught prizes to hunt. there is not one scene of ed talking directly to the crew — until he points a gun at each of them.

we see ed crying (and drinking, and rhino horn-ing [way to help further extinction, man]) but it's always paired with shots or flashbacks that reference stede. ed is still all up in his feelings about stede, and ed confirms this when he tells frenchie the myth about albatrosses never needing to return to land. ed cannot go back, does not want to go back, because he was rejected. (like, stede is literally landed gentry, come on!) all he wants to do instead is stay at sea committing to this unhinged version of unstable, sadistic piracy.

but okay, okay. say we ignore all of that. let's say ed does feel sorry and guilty and ashamed of his actions. he knows what he's doing is wrong and unfair and cruel. that it's harming others. that it's particularly harming the dude that ed has, for better or worse, basically spent his life with (izzy; i mean izzy). ed… still continues to do the things! how far off are we at this point from the definition of malicious? you know action x hurts person b and then you do it anyway. is that honestly a better, happier, more ethically defensible reading of the character?

re: the crew didn't mutiny because they love ed despite his violent, sadistic actions.

mutinies were a thing, yes. but both historically and in the world rules established by the show, mutiny is disincentivised through threats, distraction via extra work, and corporeal punishment. we see both ed and izzy use all three of these to try to prevent the crew from disobeying orders. they didn't wait until the storm and izzy shooting ed to mutiny because they understood or sympathised with ed; they took the chance to kill him then because that was the first real opportunity they'd had. the reward finally out-weighed the risk given that ed was going to kill them all that night anyway.

again, we have no scenes, no dialogue, no visual or audio cues to tell us that the crew understands or loves ed — excluding izzy, obviously. fang could also be on that list, if you take into account his personality and his behaviour both in s1 and later in s2 in the fishing boat scene. but in the first two episodes, we only see the crew show trauma responses around ed. they talk about him but almost never to him. and when they do have a direct conversation with ed, it is either confrontation or head down, submissive, "of course, blackbeard; anything you say" placating. i'm so baffled where the show points to any sign of love from the crew towards ed before his "death".

re: ed can't be held responsible because he was suicidal.

uhm. no. hard no. a harder no than stede's brazilian cherry wood mast. fucked up people do fucked up things but part of being an adult is owning your fucked-upped-ness and not fucking up others while you work on unfucking yourself. children, children are not fully responsible for the impact of their actions on others when they're deep in their feelings, especially if they're feeling their feelings as a trauma response. this is because literally their brain cannot do that kind of control. it doesn't have that software pack installed yet. ed does have all the adult updates installed, even if he isn't running them at that moment. he has no right to take out his feelings on other people: to maim them, to psychologically torture them, to abuse them, to work them to exhaustion. to kill them. he does not get a free pass to do suicide by abused employees. (like suicide by cop but more indirect and passive and harmful.) talk about passive aggressive.

secondly, ed is not just passively suicidal and happy to find new risks that might end his life. he is very purposefully taking izzy with him (see: literally removing the bits of izzy that would help let him walk away from ed; the fact that ed becomes actively suicidal only once he thinks izzy is dead; the whole keeping izzy's corpse in front of his and stede's beach shack i mean inn — the codependence, she runs deep). ed is also putting the crew through the same risks, the same isolation, the same danger. both stede and izzy agreed that ed had gone full scorched earth policy. you don't get forgiven for the murder part of a murder-suicide pact just because of the suicide part. not to mention that no one (once again, you could potentially argue izzy as an exception) was good on a murder-suicide pact with blackbeard.

and then to say the crew felt guilty? i assume i'm misreading that. the crew. felt guilty. for ed's actions. that is, if not victim blaming and if not darvo, a very close inbred cousin of them. like hapsburg jaw inbred close.

re: ed healing and his view of himself as a monster.

to heal means, in part, to accept responsibility for the harm you've caused, whether it was intentional or not. it means making amends. it means building or rebuilding relationships where possible. it means putting the other person or persons' feelings and boundaries and need for safety above your desire for absolution or forgiveness. it means working through your own guilt and shame and anger (or whatever drove you to act the way you did) in a separate space, not with the people you hurt, but someone who can be a step removed, more impersonal and objective to help you reflect and face hard truths as needed. i say this as both someone involved in activism and community reparations and as an abuse survivor who has done nearly 30 years of therapy learning this in order to not hurt people. it's not ed's fault he's fucked up just like it isn't my fault i am. but it is on me, like it is on anyone, to make sure i limited as much as possible the harm i can cause to others because i learned some awful but very effective tricks at a young age to survive.

ed does not really do any of the above. he doesn't say "sorry". he speaks in generalised language. he complains about the cat bell (which he seems to wear only for one day, given the implied timeline with lucius and pete's engagement). i have a model ship on a stand that says "this is a safe space ship" as a joke because i work for the government and have written press releases that sound just like ed's "apology". where you take no responsibility and encourage "the culture" to move on.

so, really, my question becomes: ed sees himself as a monster. in s1, we had enough balance between ed's current actions and his referenced past actions to see this belief as likely untrue. in s2 though — i mean, is it? is that an unfair or inaccurate belief? i can understand how carrying that belief can get in the way of ed's growth and eventual healing but like. from an outside perspective of ed-the-fictional-character. he's not a "good" person. he's capable of and has done and continued to do horrible, cruel things. ethically, can you argue with that statement about him?

re: ed trying to destroy relationships because of his self-worth issues and instead the consequences of his actions proving that he's loved.

this is the point that made me go: right, no, i need to respond. i need to say my piece about this. izzy and the crew suffering ed's violent tyranny and then sticking around on the revenge anyway afterwards is not a sign of love. it is not showing love to bear pain for someone. it not showing love to let someone mistreat you, threaten you, hurt you, maim you. their actions are selfish and done to give them feelings of power and control over you. lying back and thinking of england to get through it is not love. it is absolutely a survival technique. but it is not love when you do it at the expense of yourself or others.

i also disagree that ed was trying to push people away or break his relationships with others. we know from s1 that ed is fairly blasé about whether crew members die. again, we don't see any friendly or intimate exchanges between ed and any of the crew to imply any kind of relationship there beyond "tools who accomplish ed's goals". the one exception, as always, is izzy. and as previously stated, ed seems bound and determined, in a very conscious way, to bring izzy into death with him. ed does everything in his power to make izzy want to kill ed, or at least agree that it's best if ed dies, and to want to kill himself so ed doesn't have to die alone. that isn't ed breaking that relationship; it's making it permanent in a really fucked up shakespearian way. the only relationship we see ed waffle between wanting to keep and wanting to push away is stede. after his corporate "apology" and the fishing trip with fang, all of ed's dialogue is with stede and a little bit with zheng until izzy's death scene. the crew loving ed just isn't a thing, at least not one we're shown. not from either side. ed's relationships are with stede and kind of, sort of with izzy (because he does manage to, if not fully break, do some major damage to that).

love did not save ed. ed wanting to live, because stede came back, because he didn't want to jump off hornigold's cliff in the first place, saved ed. izzy saved everyone else.

so yeah: that's it; that's the post. the rhetoric that abuse is love or that abuse can be "cured" with love or that trauma isn't lasting and serious and has impacts on people's daily lives is just. wild. wild.

and terrifying.

my dad was born in the 40s. why is anyone born in the 80s or later still defending this mindset? it honestly, truly freaks me out.

guess it's good i have a fucking therapy appointment on monday.

#ofmd critical #ptsd problems

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izzyspussy · 4 months

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The Burden Easy: Crew & Izzy + Omegaverse (5/15)

Summary:

Bitching is one of the worst things a person can do to a fellow human being, tantamount to rape even if they don't force a mating bond while they're at it. The transition is painful, the dominance of the act humiliating, but beyond that an alpha who is forced to become an omega will almost always succumb to dysphoria and despair and, unless prevented, will take their own life.

But Izzy's always been a fucking contrarian. He's gonna be just fine.

CONTENT WARNINGS TYPICAL TO THE GENRE APPLY

Excerpt:

The Captain of the Revenge is a specter, a poltergeist, the leftover impression of the monster he still professes himself to be and to have always been. Most of the time the only evidence of his presence on board is the fear of the men thick in the air as they wait for him to make his next physical appearance. There's no guarantee he will or won't show himself, except for the daily raid. Izzy himself grudgingly obeys Frenchie's order to hang back until his transition finishes and he can stand for more than twenty minutes without bursting into tears or vomiting over the rail. As such, he's cursed to watch Edward stand completely still in the middle of every battle, weapons down at his sides if not completely holstered, finishing off any man who falls already defeated into his range with dull, dead-eyed indifference. Porcelain and pearls crunch under Izzy's weight as he finds the best of the vantage points he can still reach, gun out, hoping the way his hands shake now won't have him shoot through the wrong skull if someone goes for Ed like it almost seems he wants them to. When Edward haunts the deck off-raid, Izzy is a ghost to him too. A shadow. A dead thing lingering, invisible, desperate, and pathetic, past the ending of its life. Izzy continues to live and change, whether Edward deigns to see him or not. His own altered scent frequently chokes him - a strange lightened up and sweetened doppelganger of his old scent with hints of the same twisted mirror of Ed's, the alpha who injected part of his body into Izzy's to change it on his fucking whim. Who made Izzy his bitch and then didn't even claim him even though Izzy immediately went into fucking heat for him. Now Izzy stinks of that, will be identifiable forever by how Edward doesn't respect him and doesn't want him either.

Read on AO3 ->

@saphoblin @bazjack @izzyspinkytoe @thorasreblogpile @izzyhandsdefender

@someoneiwasnt @thecryofthegulls @orangesandunicorns @astralwashboard @thewhovianspirit

@kookykey @sky-fire-forever @usedtobeaduchess @ndanddnd

#jack facts #ofmd #blackhands #izzy hands #ed teach #omegaverse #my fic #tbe

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letsdeerintheheadlightsuniverse · 6 months

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<<Previous Chapter <<

**Masterlist**

>>Next Chapter>>

Pairing: Izzy Hands x gn!reader

Synopsis: With the storm well under way, Izzy resigns himself to a tumultuous night of self-loathing. Little does he know that something- or someone- will interrupt his not-so-peaceful evening...

A/N: Ooooooooh, boy! Hello, all! Did you miss me? This chapter. Wahoo! This chapter took a hot minute to write. Fun fact, it has the largest word count to date within this series. Isn't that crazy? Anyhoo, enjoy and I'll see you in chapter 4!

Content Warning: Angst, ANGST, aaaaaaaaangst! Self-deprecating feelings and blood. This series is 18+, so minors dni. Go away (politely).

=================================

His world was violently swaying or more precisely, the Revenge was being pushed this way and that by the violent waves of the expected storm. But the weather beyond the porthole did not concern the silver-haired pirate. He had lived his life on the seven seas long enough to know when he was in a life or death situation and what lay beyond the glass, was not even worth his concern.

No, no, the only tempest that plagued the great Israel Hands, was the tempest that brewed within his mind. His earlier interaction with you played on repeat, tormenting and mocking him for how incredibly unforgiving he had acted towards you. The only crime you had commited had been caring about his wellbeing and being the bastard he was, Izzy had reacted poorly. Surely making you regret even acknowledging his feelings or perhaps ever acknowledging him. The words, 'I'm sorry' would definitely not suffice in repairing the damage between you he had caused.

In some ways, he wished that Edward had underestimated the severity of the storm. If the Revenge sunk, the First Mate would never have to face the consequences of his actions come daybreak.

A sudden loud clattering sound, followed by a string of muffled curses peeked the pirate's attention. At such an hour, he had assumed everyone, bar those on watch- had retired for the night, planning to try and sleep through the worst of the sea's displeasure. So, who the fuck exactly was roaming the halls?

On unsteady feet- well, foot- it took a major effort on Izzy's part, to make it to the door in one piece. Every extreme rocking of the cabin threatened to trip him up and the last thing he needed was to inelegantly become acquainted with the floor.

Upon opening the door, the sight before his every eyes was one that he did not wholly unwelcome but met with a certain degree of reluctance. He could never be disappointed to see you splendid self. However, after his antics in the morning, Izzy did wish he was not the one to discover your angered self.

Noticing something moge in your periphery, you quickly turned to face whoever had stumbled across your moment of distress but when you took in the unusually dishevelled and sleep deprived appeance of your First Mate, you could not resist the annoyance that bubbled up within your chest. "Oh, good. It's you."

Yeah, he deserved that kind of reaction and more, Izzy mused. "Nice to see you too, (y/n)." but then, as was custom with him, th silver-haired pirate frowned, confused as to why you were not tucked up in bed. "What the fuck are you doing still up? I thought you were playing roomies with your friends?"

"I was but then everyone got seasick." your grumbled, wishing your crewmates possessed a stronger constitution. The smell of vomit was sure to haunt you throughout the entirety of the night.

"Define 'everyone'."

"Be easier to list who isn't throwing up." the fallen cup rolled and tapped against your foot, as the ship violently rocked once more, reminding you of the unattended spillage. "Fuck, there's tea everywhere."

"Careful, you'll slip." Izzy was quick to hold out a stabilising arm for you to hold onto, as you ducked to retrieve the cup. Despite your earlier annoyance, you were grateful for his presence beside you. Taking a hold of the offered arm, you managed to grab the cup before it rolled further away, though there was not much you could do about the tea.

"Thanks."

During the day, it was not often that you strayed into this area of the Revenge. Your dyties generally lay within the confines of the storage hold, kitchen or rec room, should you wander away from the deck. If younwere not sharing a cabin with your friends, nor were you attending to one of your crew mates, that could only have meant... "The rec room is in the opposite direction. Who needs tea in this part of the ship?"

It was wishful thinking on his part, to assume that you had been bringing him tea as a sort of olive branch, after his earlier outburst. Perhaps you had known how horrible he was at making amends unprompted and were taking matters into your own hands. Izzy's misplaced hopes were dashed with your response. "The Captain."

The First Mate should have known better than to be an optimist. Had life not already proven to him time and time again that this was no fairytale, that he did not get a happy ending? Upon hearing that the tea was intended for one of the ship's commander, he could not resist a sneer. "Oh, of course Stede fucking Bonnet can't keep his stomach contents down when there's a storm, that fuc-"

"The tea was for Ed." you interrupted with ease, effectively cutting Izzy's rant short. You were in no mood to listen to his tirade about The Gentleman Pirate.

You could have laughed at Izzy's horrified expression. Stede Bonnet was many things but a terrible leader? You could never share the same sentiment as the First Mate. You liked the co-captain a lot and to see Izzy failing to believe that it was his captain, that had forced you out of bed in the middle of a storm, well, you were going to have to ask Lucius to recapture the moment with charcoal and paper. "What? Edward..."

"Yeah, your beloved Blackbeard is currently vomiting his guts up." you scoffed in a similar Izzy fashion. "I'm supposed to be delivering ginger tea to anyone who's even looking remotely green, while Roach tries to not set the kitchen on fire." as if on cue, you entire world kiltered to the right, slamming you body first into the silver-haired pirate."Fuck!" you cursed loudly.

Thankfully, Izzy was not quite as uncoordinated as you. Years of life at sea had improved his balance greatly. "You're okay. You're alright." he reassured you, as he held onto you tightly, making sure to keep you upright. "I've got you. Just...hold onto me." he did not know whether to thank or curse the God's. Obviously, you were in great distress. However, he could not deny that he was thankful for the excuse to hold you close. Hell, his pining was downright pitiful. Never had he been so grateful for just the opportunity to hold someone. If you could have read his mind, no doubt you would have pushed him away in an instant. Probably called him a fee choice phrases too, as you struck his face with you palm. Now there was a mental image...

Izzy's arms were wrapped around you. Izzy's arms were wrapped around you! Thank the heavens above! You could not help but lean into his hold. If only it were under different conditions, the snide voice in your head reminded you with a cruel laugh. Still, you had to enjoy the rare moments of closeness you both shared. They were so far and few inbetween. Call you pathetic, call you deranged- no, seriously, that was what the First Mate would call you if he knew just how in love you were with him.

Another tilt of the ship sent you both tumbling into the opposite wall. This time, Izzy had you caged between his arms, carefully not to accidentally crush you with his form. In the low light, it was impossible to see the mutual blushes that burned scarlet on your faces. "How the hell am I supposed to move around the ship when it feels like we're about to capsize at any moment?" you fretted, knowing that you Captain was waiting for his tea.

"We're not gonna capsize."

"Tell that to Poseiden when he drowns us."

With an uncharacteristic laugh, Izzy was quick to settle your racing mind. "We're not going to-"

He never had a chance to finish his sentence. A crash of thunder and a particularly vicious wave, had you both on the floor in an instant. The little light that allowed you to see went out in a second, plunging the hallway into complete darkness. In the confusion of the moment, Izzy lost his grip on you.

Which way was up and which way down? He panicked, fumbling around for your form. "(Y/N)? (Y/N)!" he called out to you, listening intently for any sort of a reply over the weathering cacophony.

"Iz?" where was he? you questioned, desperate to be reunited with the First Hand. You could feel a wall behind your back, so at least you were still in the hallway and had not tumbled too far. "Iz, where are you?" you gave an involuntary jolt when you felt a hand grasp onto your shoulder. "Izzy?!"

"It's me, sorry." he apologised, as a wave of relief snuffed out his main concern. He had found you. "Anything broken?" he could feel you trembling against his hand. No doubt if the lights were working, you would look equally as terrified. His heart squeezed at the mere mental image.

"Don't think so." you were running on pure adrenaline, any aches or pains would not fully present themselves until you were out of harms way.

This was ridiculous. You were going to get injured- gravely wounded- if you were forced to continue with your task and Izzy could not stand by and let that happen. You were more important to him than most on that damn ship. No, all the seven seas. "Abandon your post, crewmate and get in the fucking cabin. Right now. Edward is just going to have to fetch his own fucking tea!" Izzy commanded, keeping you cradled against his chest, as he helped you both to stand.

"I heard that!" the echoed voice of the once feared Blackbeard reverberated above the booming thunder.

While the voice sent a shiver of worry through you, there was only one- well, two men- who did not flinch in the presence of the myth, the legend. Luckily, you were clinging to one of those very men. "Good, you selfish bastard!" Izzy called back without hesitation, before he called out once more into the obsidian black, "Roach!"

"Yeah?" the voice of the cook replied, unsure who was summoning him. "God?"

"Fucking give it up man and get back to your bunk. That's an order! Everyone else, stay where you are! Understood?"

He did wait to hear any of the replies, there was only one person on his mind now, you. "Come on, I've had enough of this."

When Izzy had previously fantasised about taking the journey from the hallway to his bed with you in tiw, it had usually been under very, very different circumstances. For starters, you were wearing too many clothes. "Have a seat." he offered before something caught his eye. Before you could question his sudden look of concern, the First Mate was already gripping your chin and tilting your face towards his. "Shit." he gasped, eyes roaming over your face.

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, as you did everything in your power to not let your eyelids flutter shut. It felt as if every fibre was screaming, kiss me kiss me kiss me. "W-What?"

"You're bleeding." he stated as a matter of fact, dropping his hand.

Well, that proverbial cold shower of a revelation was enough to cease your desirous thoughts and refocus your mind. "What, I am? Where?"

"Your lip." the First Mate admitted with a strained voice, the thought of kissing you running rampant through his mind. Why did you have to cut your lip of all things, as if you had chosen that area specifically just to torture him.

Your hand instantly rose to feel for the wound. "Oh." despite it's minimal size, your fingers drew away bloodied, as you felt a spike in pain. "Ouch!"

By pirating standards, your cut was nothing more than a scratch and yet, seeing you bleeding rattled Izzy's internal calm more than he was willing to admit. Life at sea was a dangerous one. Whether it was the elements, the blade of another's sword or even the lack of oranges- death was always nipping at your heels. The reality of your fragility was just too much for him to process at that time, Izzy needed to focus and at least prevent the cut from becoming infected. "I haven't got a med kit in here." he murmured, looking around his sparsely furnished room. It had become common place to have Roach patch up all and every injury that, Izzy had become lax with his own medical supplies. He had used the last lot of bandages to tend to his leg.

"It's fine, I'm sure it'll stop bleeding in a moment."

Thinking quickly on his foot, Izzy reached over for leather waistcoat, which he had hung up earlier on a nearby chair, before he had called it a night. Reaching inside on of the pockets, he produced a rectangular piece of brilliant white cloth. "Here, use this. It'll have to do for now."

You tried not to think about how your fingers brushed together, as you took the material from him. If only you had known that Izzy's mind was working double time, focusing on the same preoccupation. Unfolding the square, you noticed something unusual sown into one of the corners. "This is a monogrammed handkerchief." you chuckled.

His cheeks warmed to the sound. He was really in for it now, Izzy thought glumly, as he prepared himself for the onslaught of mocking that would ensue from you and undoubtedly, the crew when you eventually told them. If you told them. Had you ever divulged one of his secrets? Izzy could not recall a time you had indeed betrayed his trust. Perhaps he was overthinking things? "Congratulations, you have functioning eyes." he grumbled.

"Since when does the great Israel Hands own lacey doilies with his name on them?" your tone was interwoven with that familiar playfulness. Devoid of all and any malice. Just a sign that, for the time being, you were going to tease the ever-loving life out of the First Mate.

"Oh, fuck off. I was a gift from that twat we have to call a co-captain." it a moment of boldness, hecdared to gently nudge your side with his elbow. Not enough to jostle your too much, as you regarded the dove white fabric.

It was the finest handkerchief you had ever laid eyes upon. The thin accent of lace around the perimeter edge, screamed of intricate artistry. The fabric alone must have been worth a fair bit. Woukd probably buy a pint or five at Spanish Jackie's tavern. You were surprised that he had kept the pretty item, instead of trading it for an item he would actually prefer.

"You sure you want me to get my blood all over it?"

"I'd rather you just stop yapping and start trying to lessen the amount of blood on your face." there was no anger to be found in Izzy' words. He just wanted to see the wound temporarily treated. Thankfully, you complied with his request and soundlessly applied the handkerchief to your lip, wincing at it made contact with the inflamed area. Out of sight, out of mind, Izzy could relax somewhat and not have his gaze permanently fixated to your lips and his mind constantly begging the question, what would they feel like against his?

The quiet that ensued was comfortable, not awkward. Much like the many times you had spent the night shift together, simply stood side by side on the bow, playing witness to the inky midnight blue wonder, that was the sea and the sky. "Thanks, by the way. Not just for the handkerchief but for letting me stay in here." you eventually murmured, not wanting to disturb the quiet of the night.

"Well, it's better you're here." and he meant that wholeheartedly. Things were always better when you were around, but true to his nature, Izzy quickly added, "Can't have you knocking yourself out or some shit. I'll need every competent pirate on deck first thing in the morning. Someone's gotta make sure this boat stays afloat."

"Right, yeah. Of course." did he dare delude himself into thinking he heard a slight inflection of disappointment in your tone? After another pause, you pulled the handkerchief away to examine the amount of blood. Hell, even injured, you looked exquisite. "Do you think it'll scar?"

"No, I think your pretty little face will be just fine." he responded without thought.

As soon as that familiar grin lit up your face, Izzy knew he was in trouble. Why had he used that word to describe you. Colleagues did not call each other pretty. Well, Stede fucking Bonnet's crew did but they were hardly atypical pirates. And you knew Izzy better than most, maybe even better than Ed, you woukd know immediately it was not just a turn of a phrase. You woukd see through any facade he put up to downplay the situation. You would know his little secret and surely be disgusted by him. "You think I'm pretty?"

"I..." his cheeks and neck burned a furious beetroot red. Not like this, he cursed his careless tongue for it's betrayal. Please don't let them find out like this. "I, um..."

Little did the First Mate know that his fumbling response put a kibosh on any hope you had that the silver-haired pirate shared any of your feelings. It had been a fool's dream to believe that the great Israel Hands could ever fall for a mediocre sailor as yourself but still, you had put your faith in a hurtful delusion and you only had yourself to blame for the pain you now felt.

Immediately, Izzy noticed your face drop in disappointment. His stomach twisted and knotted itself with anxiety, as he misconstrued your crestfallen expression to be the result of embarrassment at his accidental admission of admiration of your beauty. "It's fine, Izzy. I was just teasing you. You don't actually need to answer me." you mumbled, half-heartedly trying to reassure the man that you were not dispirited by his lack of interest in you.

"No, I-" he needed to explain himself, needed to make amends but why, oh why, would his brain not engage with his mouth. He was Israel Hands, damn it! Not some bumbling fool, like that moronic so called co-captain and yet, that imbecile had managed to secure himself a somewhat steady- if not, whim-prone- relationship. Why was it so difficult for Izzy to be as equally successful in matters of the heart?!

As the seconds slipped by, he was losing you further and further into your spiral of self-doubt. "It's late. If you've got any spare bedding, I'm happy to take the floor." you conceeded, wanting the night to be over and done with now. The fortuitous opportunity to spend the night in Izzy's cabin had become your very own cursed suit. You should have just told him to 'piss off' and spent the night failing to deliver tea to your fellow crewmates but nooooooo, fate had decided that that was too kind at situation for you. Instead, you had had to play witness to revelation of Izzy's disinterest in you and now, all you wanted to do was pretend to sleep until the storm had passed and then, you would flee to a new ship and change your identity at the earliest opportunity.

"You can have the bed." he offered, knowing it was only fair to offer you tge one comfortable place to sleep, after he had made you feel so uncomfortable, that you were dismissing him completely and wanting to hurry to sleep, so you could leave immediately once the storm had settled.

"No, this is your room, that wouldn't be fair."

It was late and in all honesty, Izzy too just wanted this ordeal to meet it's end. There was only so much discouragement one man could feel before he decided enough was enough. "Just take the bed, (y/n)." he sighed wearily, hoping you would not argue further.

Oh, how wrong he was. "But your leg-"

Just as you had only hours before, you made a comment about his wellbeing and without control over his response, he was quick to snap, "-I'm still capable of lying down on the fucking floor with one leg." Izzy sneered, sick to the back teeth of people assuming that because he was one leg down, that he was now incapable of living the arduous life of a pirate. That his disability had made him soft now.

But you just had about enough of his tumultuous temper. "I know that, Izzy! Fuck, you make me feel like I can't ever say the right thing to you." you spat right back at him, arms folded crossed over your chest as you hugged yourself. You used the gesture as a a form of protection from whatever vile response he would say in rebuke to your confession. "I just don't want you to be uncomfortable., that's all. I know your leg still hurts sometimes." the final part of your defense was mumbled, as you will to fight died on arrival.

You were tired. Not just physically but mentally too. He exhausted you to no end. All you wished was to one day have a civilised conversation with this man, without fear that he would suddenly snarl at you in anger at the drop of a dime.

Despite your preparation of the onslaught of curses and vulgar language you had come to expect from talking back at the fearsome pirate, all you were met with was contemplative silence, as Izzy mulled over your words.

He had always known his short fuse would push you away one day. In fact, he was certain of it. If he were a better men, he would risk his entire savings on those odds. He would be a winning man while losing you forever. "Do you mean that?"

"What?"

Hearing you admit your frustrations, made the silver-haired pirate's heart sink into the pit of his stomach. Looking at you now, as you refused to return his gaze, made Izzy wish he could get on his knees before you and beg for forgiveness. "About me making you feel like you never say the right thing?"

"Well, yeah." you shrugged. Stede always preached that honesty was the best policy and as much as Izzy might have wanted to run thr man through with his blade, you had to admit, the co-captain made some good points. "I feel like I'm always walking on eggshells around you. One minute we'll be having a normal enough conversation and then the next, you're telling me to 'fuck off'. And I get that's just how you are and that's fine, I guess but it makes me really anxious. Like I'm just waiting to say something that'll accidentally make you angry."

You thought back to your time on deck that morning. How a perfectly fine conversation had ended with you humiliated and fighting back tears, as you had finished the dregs of your one hot tea. Knowing the crew had played witness to your talking down, had planted the seed of an unshakeable sense of shame within your very core. You had felt Lucius's eyes boring a hole into the back of your skull, as you had fled the scene. You thanked your fair weather stars that something had compelled him not to follow you. The last thing you had needed was pity. "You know what, this was a mistake. I'm sorry, forget I said anything. I'm gonna go."

You had planned in that moment to make a quick exit. Well, as quick as the violent swaying of the ship would permit you. As you stood on unsteady legs to leave, you felt something catch your wrist and prevent you from fleeing into the night.

Izzy's grip was not tight enough to hurt you. As a matter of fact, in all your time in knowing him, the word gentle was not a word you would have ever associated with the First Mate. Yet, the hand that encircled your arm was not only warm to the touch but could even be considered as tender in it's gesture. "Sit down." he softly commanded.

You hated how the tonal change made you feel weak at the knee. For goodness sake, the man did not even think you pretty! You should most definitely have not been feeling flushed at him calmly ordering you around. "I'd rather not." you said, voice strained, as you prayed he would not notice how fucking whipped you were for him.

"Just...sit down, (y/n)." he implored, regarding you with an expression that crumbled your resolve to runaway. So, instead, you sank back onto the bed, trying not to get distracted by the feeling of his hand still touching your flushed skin. The sensation threatened to send a shiver down your spine. This, this was what the man was capable of doing to you. If only he knew the power he had over you. You were melting with only a gentle hold.

He should have let go. Izzy was fully aware he was pushing his luck. Letting his fingers linger around your wrist, even though you were no longer a flight risk but he could not help himself. He was not an indulgent man. In reality, he was deprived, hollowed out and starving for all and any scraps of closeness that came his way. So, he held on...just for a moment longer. Relishing in the feeling of having you beneath his fingertips. In another life, he may have even been permitted to hold your hand. What a privilege it would be, to lace your fingers with his. Oh, how he yearned for such a simple touch. "I know that I'm a fucking nightmare to be around-"

And right on cue, you jumped to your defense. "-I didn't mean it like that!"

"Will you just shut the fuck up for a moment?" he started, quickly stopping himself once more. Was that type of talk not the exact reason he was trying to make amends? With a weary sigh, Izzy wiped a hand over his face, finally freeing your wrist. Much to your mutual disappointment. "Please?" he all but begged, causing your heart to skip a beat. "I never meant to make you feel that way. Out of all the morons on this ship, you...well, you actually make my life a little less shit. I can't promise I'll totally change but," this was a completely new side to the pirate you had hoped but could not ever confirm actually existed. "I'll try to make it feel less like eggshells around here." "That good enough for now?

After years of fighting tooth and nail for survival on ship after ship, any shred of vulnerability had been locked away, out harms away. With a heart turned to stone, harmful habits had been acquired and for a long time, that had been fine. Acceptable, even. Then Stede fucking Bonnet with his 'talk it through as a crew' had come along and turned Izzy's life of piracy upside down. Threats, fights and all sorts of vulgarity were no longer the standard upon the vessel and truth be told, Izzy was struggling with the adjustment. He knew he needed to change for the better but he had never had to motivation to do so. Not until you.

Then the silver-haired pirate waited with bated breath for your reply. Half-expecting, half-wanting you to completely reject his offer. It would be easier for him to remain set in his ways, to not put in the work. Your refusal would only fuel his terrible mood. It would be easier for Izzy to accept your hatred, than your kindness. Such tenderness woukd only ever leave him question, why? A wretched dog as he deserved only to be put down, not cared for by someone so conscientious and hard-working as yourself. You were the best of all of them.

So, when your tearful, "Thank you", left your lips, Izzy knew he was a goner. From the moment on, he would put in the work and strive to be worthy of your friendship. He had a long, arduous road ahead of him.

Maybe he could wait to start his self-improvement in the morning, he thought, as a yawn threatened yo spill from his lips. "That being said," he added, noting the way your glassy expression hardened, as you looked at him warily. "You're still taking the bed." he smirked, as unsurity morphed into incredulousness in an instant.

"Izzy!" your yell of exasperation only made his smile widen.

"That's an order, (y/n)."

Gently shoving his arm, you pouted. Glad the tense moment between you had passed. "You're not sleeping on the floor, you twat!"

Rolling his eyes but daring to lean into your side playfully, he scoffed. "Oh yeah and what's your bright idea then, that we both share the bed or something?!"

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A/N: Guess what happens in the next chapter...

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