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tongue-like-a-razor · 1 year

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There Are Consequences

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x F!Reader

Summary: While hiding your relationship is an essential requirement of maintaining it, Maverick struggles to hide his feelings when another man becomes involved.

CW: age gap, student/instructor dynamic, swearing, and where would we be without the angst, people??

WC: 3000+

This is Part 3 in the There Are Rules universe.

You’re packing up when Maverick calls your name from the front of the room. You look up at him warily as the officers around you start rising from their seats.

Maverick clears his throat, his eyes locked on yours and, even as the rest of the room is bustling after a long day of flying and debriefs, you’re suddenly completely still. Everything always slows down when his gaze settles on you.

“Can you hang back a minute?” he asks.

You nod, sliding out of your seat. You head to the front against the flow of traffic while Maverick walks around his desk to meet you. He stands a good five feet away, riffling through some papers in his hand, until the last of the officers leaves the room.

Maverick glances up at you once everyone else has gone, gingerly setting the stack of papers down on his desk. “Lieutenant,” he says quietly. “That was some flying today.”

You blink at him, a small smile spreading on your face. Surely, he didn’t call you up here to talk about aviation.

Maverick watches you levelly, not a hint of humor in his face. “You broke the hard deck.”

“For a second,” you say, rolling your eyes. “To avoid a collision –”

“Breaking the hard deck is a collision with the ground,” Maverick interjects.

You sigh. “You would’ve done the same.”

Maverick shakes his head. “You can’t keep using that excuse.”

You stare at him moodily. “You’re not denying it.”

Maverick furrows his eyebrows. “We train like we fight, Lieutenant. So that we can fight like we train. You keep breaking the hard deck during exercise, you’ll end up crashing during combat.”

You seethe under the guise of a polite nod. “Yes, sir,” you reply.

Maverick narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the side as though he isn’t convinced that you’re done arguing. “I don’t care if you’ve got bogeys on your tail chasing into the cliffside – you might as well have gone straight through the rock.”

You glare at him, holding back every single retort that threatens to escape your tightly sealed lips. “Yes, sir,” you manage to utter, gritting your teeth the moment the words leave your mouth.

Maverick watches you patiently, waiting for you to dispute his logic. When you don’t, he takes a step forward. “Lieutenant,” he says calmly, his eyes sweeping over your face.

“Captain,” you reply.

He moves just a touch closer, letting his fingers skim the back of your hand. “I need you to be more careful,” he says in a near-whisper.

His proximity dizzies you until you can hardly decipher his words. “Mm-hm,” you respond vaguely.

His thumb draws a couple of circles into your palm, but he never quite takes your hand. “You’re dismissed, Lieutenant,” he says in a low voice.

You close your eyes, letting out a wavering sigh when his breath warms the apple of your cheek. “Aye aye, sir,” you say quietly.

Maverick releases a partially stifled groan, pressing his head against yours for a moment before he steps away. “That shouldn’t turn me on,” he says, backing away further as he holds his arm out, pointing at you.

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?” you ask, a little bewildered because you’re still stranded in a moment that’s already passed.

“You calling me that,” he says, shutting his eyes and shaking his head as though he’s attempting to clear it of your sorcery.

“Sir?” you ask.

He laughs tensely. “Stop.”

You press your lips together to keep from smiling. “Captain?” you say innocently, exploiting his weakness now that you’ve caught on. You take a step forward.

He sighs, bringing a hand to his face. “This is bad,” he warns as you approach, although there’s an amused grin on his face.

You bite your lip, smirking. “Do you like it when I’m bad, Captain?”

Maverick’s mouth drops open for a second as he watches you in awe. “Lieutenant,” he says hoarsely, placing his hands on your arms before you can come any closer. “If you’re trying to test my self-restraint, you’re winning.”

“Am I?” you ask softly, trying to push yourself against his hold.

Maverick moves his head to one side, setting his jaw as though he’s bracing himself for a difficult task. “I’m begging you,” he whispers, turning back to look at you as his breathing becomes more pronounced. “Don’t come any closer.”

“You started it,” you say.

He nods. “I won’t make that mistake again,” he says, finally letting go of you and shaking out his hands wearily. “We can’t do this here. If anybody finds out –”

“I know, I know,” you say. “There will be consequences.

…

Later that evening, you meet your squadron at the Hard Deck. You nod at Maverick and Cyclone, who are seated at the bar, but walk past them to join your friends. You spend the night going over the day’s hops with Phoenix, kicking Rooster’s ass at pool, and exchanging furtive glances with your instructor who has yet to run out of creative reasons to look over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of your group near the back of the bar.

It has been two weeks since the locker room fiasco but, in all this time, you and Maverick have barely had a moment alone. Between the grueling training and keeping up appearances, there has hardly been time for romance, so when you see Maverick getting out of his seat and pulling his leather jacket over the fitted, white t-shirt he’s wearing, you can’t help the disappointment you feel.

You down your martini moodily and rise slowly, leaning on the table.

“You doing okay?” Phoenix asks.

You nod, feeling the significant weight of your head as you perform said action. The third martini must have been a double. Still, you straighten your back and release the edge of the table. “Never better,” you respond, taking care not to lose your balance as you spin on the spot. You let out a sigh upon seeing Maverick’s back as he nears the door and start unhurriedly for the bar.

But before you reach it, a man in service khakis steps into your path. Not only is he wearing an exuberant grin, he’s also still sporting his aviators despite the late hour and lack of sunlight indoors. “Hey there, gorgeous,” he says in a jubilant voice.

Cyclone looks up from where he’s seated at the bar and raises his eyebrows in your direction before pointedly turning away. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that Maverick has come to a halt near the exit.

“What’s your poison?” the man asks, putting a hand on your arm and gesturing to the bar.

You watch him quietly for a moment, trying to decide whether you’re devious enough to take advantage of the situation. After all, the moment the man lays his hand on you, Maverick turns to watch you from where he still stands by the door, and you can’t say that the pissed off expression he’s wearing isn’t wildly attractive. But, ultimately, you look up at the man who’s now putting his arm around your shoulder, and say “I’m good, thanks,” and slip out from under his embrace.

“Come on,” the man insists, taking a hold of your wrist as you start to walk away. “One drink, sweetheart.”

In your periphery, you see Maverick start to make his way back toward the bar. “No, thank you,” you reiterate, pulling your hand out of his grasp.

But when you turn away, the man steps into your path. “Don’t be like that, sweetheart,” he says, putting his hands on your waist.

Before you can respond, you hear Maverick’s voice, much closer than you would expect him to be. “I believe the lady said no.”

You glance over to see the threatening look on his face despite the composure in his voice.

“Hey gramps, how ’bout you take a hike?” The man chuckles.

You notice Cyclone turning back to face the three of you, his eyebrows hovering even higher than the last time you saw them. He meets your gaze with a cringe just as Maverick narrows his eyes. “Step away,” he says in a low voice. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

The man leers at Maverick. “Or what?” he asks, tugging you forward.

It takes but a moment for Maverick to wedge himself between the two of you and grab the man by the collar of his uniform, nearly lifting him off the ground. “I suggest you get out of here right the fuck now,” Maverick growls, displacing the man several feet. He drives his back into the bar before finally letting go of his shirt.

“Woah! Woah!” the man yells, clearly not prepared to take a beating for what he thought might be a decent hookup. He holds his hands up, cowering. “I’m leaving, pop.”

Maverick glares at the man as he stalks off in a hurry. You glance nervously between Maverick’s curled up fists and the relaxed set of Cyclone’s shoulders. He’s watching Maverick in amusement. “Well, that was entertaining,” he comments while Maverick continues to seethe.

You wince as Maverick’s jaw hardens in response, not entirely optimistic that Cyclone won’t end up in his path of destruction. You bite your lip as Maverick finally releases a controlled breath and looks in your direction. His eyes sweep fleetingly over your face, although he holds your gaze for a deliberate moment before turning to Cyclone. “I can’t stand that kind of arrogance,” Maverick mutters, reaching for a bar stool next to his superior.

Cyclone smirks at him pointedly. “That’s ironic.”

Maverick gives Cyclone a flat look but doesn’t respond.

Cyclone takes advantage of the break in conversation to glance in your direction. “You alright, Lieutenant?”

You gravitate warily toward the bar. “I could use a drink,” you respond honestly.

Cyclone calls over the bartender while Maverick looks over his shoulder to steal a glance in your direction. He’s wearing an unreadable expression and this about doubles your level of anxiety. Cyclone distributes six shots of Tequila between the three of you and, lifting his shot glass, says, “I thought you were leaving, Maverick.”

Maverick eyes Cyclone impassively. “Is that your toast, sir?” he asks.

Cyclone chuckles. “Why not?” Then he downs his shot.

You follow suit, squeezing your eyes shut as the bitterness of the liquor settles in your mouth. You let out a quick breath before sticking a wedge of lime between your teeth and cringing as you bite down. When you notice both Cyclone and Maverick watching you in amusement, you give them a forced smile. “Oh my god,” you mutter around the lime wedge still in your mouth. “So good.”

The men laugh and you take a breath of relief, feeling the tension dissipate. Maverick raises his second shot glass and, while Cyclone reaches over the bar for the saltshaker, winks at you with a discreet smile. This tiny gesture is enough to send a ripple of electricity through your body.

Cyclone lands back on his barstool with a loud sigh and offers Maverick the salt. Maverick holds up a hand to indicate that he isn’t interested so Cyclone just shrugs and starts sprinkling his hand.

You glance at Maverick just as his eyes linger on yours once again and the desire to touch him becomes disastrously overwhelming. You feel your heart begin to race when you recognize the longing on his face before he squares his jaw and looks into his shot glass. He brings it to his lips, but Cyclone stops him with an outraged “Maverick!” He looks at Cyclone in surprise while the latter shakes his head in disapproval. “It’s your turn to give a toast.”

Maverick lets out a weak chuckle, reverting his gaze to the liquid in his glass. “To the mission, of course,” he says. He takes his shot quickly and then looks at you with a mild squint, as though he’s studying your reaction.

“Of course,” Cyclone agrees and, as he tips his shot glass back, you feel the back of Maverick’s hand brush lightly against your knee.

That’s when the troupe of enthusiastic aviators arrives at the bar. “Excuse the interruption,” Hangman says. “But this looks like a party I want to crash.”

Maverick raises his eyebrows at him. “Typically, I advise my pilots against crashing,” he says.

You chuckle, rolling your eyes at Maverick’s joke while the rest of your squadron gathers around.

Maverick rises, allowing the newcomers access to the counter, and gives you a subtle wink as he moves through the swam of aviators. “See you kids tomorrow,” he says with a smirk.

“Captain!” you exclaim, leaping from your seat and squeezing through the bodies crowding the counter.

Maverick glances back at you warily. “Lieutenant?”

You hesitate for a moment, wondering how appropriate your ensuing request might sound. “Mind giving me a ride back to base?”

Maverick blinks at you mutely before his eyes briefly slide over to Cyclone and then back to you again. “Sure,” he says pleasantly.

You give him a tight smile before turning to bid your friends a good night. Cyclone gives you a quick nod and returns his attention to the beer someone’s just handed him. Apprehensively, you make your way toward Maverick, who’s about halfway to the door. Maverick turns on his heel as soon as you reach him and marches briskly toward the exit. “Keep up, Lieutenant,” he mutters under his breath as you pick up your pace.

“Are you mad?” you ask quietly as he holds the door open for you.

Maverick meets your gaze. “No,” he says with a shift of the jaw as he fights to keep a straight face. “Impatient.”

You raise your eyebrows, stepping over the threshold with a small laugh. Maverick walks out after you and gestures to the parking lot at the side of the building.

Once the two of you are past the large windows of the establishment, you feel Maverick’s fingers weave through your own. The afternoon sun has sunk below the horizon and the long shadows of palm trees start to melt into the soft darkness of dusk. It's thanks to this cover of nightfall that Maverick pulls you aside behind the Hard Deck and, after a quick glance over his shoulder, finally looks you in the eye. “Good evening, Lieutenant,” he says and, even in your pocket of darkness, hidden between the spotlights of two unsuspecting streetlamps, you see the twitch of his lips as his mouth curls upward.

You smile back at him. “Good evening, Captain,” you respond, not meaning to sound quite as sweet as you do, only you’re so enamored by his eyes, it’s damn near impossible to keep from melting.

Maverick brings your hand up and presses it to his mouth, closing his eyes as he lets out a breath. He shakes his head, meeting your gaze with a more serious expression. “Sorry I intervened,” he says.

You blink at him in surprise. “I’m not,” you respond. “I mean, I know you know I can handle myself.”

Maverick chuckles. “I assure you, I don’t doubt your competence.”

You lower your gaze to watch his hand tighten around yours. “It was nice, having you stand up for me.”

Maverick reaches up with his other hand to lift your chin. “I almost decked him.”

You laugh. “I noticed.”

“I think I reacted before I realized that I probably shouldn’t have.”

“Hmm.” You pause, searching his face. “I know the feeling,” you say finally, perhaps a tad sarcastically.

He watches you quietly for a moment, knowing exactly what you’re getting at. “Your barrel roll,” he concedes.

“I was inverted before I even realized it.”

Maverick nods. “You’ve got great instincts.”

You gaze at him thoughtfully. “My point is, I don’t think I would have done the same maneuver at a lower altitude. Another reflex would have kicked in.”

“Look, I’m not going to stand here and deny that you’re a talented pilot. But I’m also not going to commend you for a reckless stunt that put your life in jeopardy and nearly caused your pursuing aircraft to lose control,” Maverick states firmly.

You pout your lips teasingly. “Not even a little?”

Maverick grins reluctantly. He brings his head down to rest over yours. He’s silent for a moment, breathing calmly, in unison with you. “That was some flying today, Lieutenant,” he mutters finally, echoing his morning lecture in an infinitely more agreeable tone. Affectionate. Proud. “Couldn’t have done it better myself,” he half-whispers. His hand moves to cradle your cheek while he places a tender, burning kiss on the corner of your mouth. Your lips part as you let a soft, whimpering sigh escape in the midst of your mounting desire. His lips linger longingly on your cheek before he shifts his weight to move closer and kiss you again. He’s not even kissing your mouth and the passion of the moment is already driving you wild.

Then, just as you’re about to insist on a proper French kiss, a booming voice impedes your plans. “Maverick!”

Maverick leaps away from you like he’s been stung, as though this action might negate what Cyclone has undoubtedly already witnessed. “Sir,” he starts, his tone confident despite the alarm on his face. “Let me explain” –

Cyclone silences him by holding up a hand. He glances mutely between you and Maverick. “I don’t have to tell you what kind of position this puts me in, Captain.”

“I understand that, sir,” Maverick responds with a stiff nod.

Cyclone stands quietly for what seems like a full minute before speaking again. “This ends now,” Cyclone declares levelly, the hushed quality of his voice adding a threatening tone to the statement.

“There’s nothing to end,” Maverick assures him. “This was an error in judgement, and it will not happen again.”

Cyclone juts out his chin in a grimace and shoots a stern glance in your direction. “This ends now,” he repeats, ensuring to enunciate every syllable to emphasize his point.

You don’t say anything, but Cyclone doesn’t wait for you to respond. He heads out into the parking lot, leaving the two of you behind.

Maverick drags a hand over his face. “Of all the fucking people” –

But you don’t let him finish. “Nothing to end?” you say hurtfully. He looks up at you wearily. “An error in judgement?”

Maverick watches you resignedly. “What would you call it?”

The despair on his face frightens you; makes you consider the possibility that his response to Cyclone might have been more deliberate than simply a spontaneous evasive maneuver.

Maverick sighs. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. You meet his gaze; his eyes brim with tears but his jaw is set. “I take full responsibility.”

As if you want an apology. As if you need to place blame. You take a step toward him, but he retreats.

He lets out a labored breath and blinks back a flood of tears. Then, he says in a strained whisper, “This ends now.”

You might’ve accidentally broken the hard deck but, just like that, Maverick intentionally breaks your heart.

Read Part 4

Tag List:

Not sure when Mav's tag list got so long! As always, let me know if you no longer wish to be tagged in my works <3 The rest of the list is in the comments.

@wandering-wah

@callsign-sunshine

@ghost-heart34

@birdy-bat-writes

@matya4

@wkndwlff

@nyx2021

@bellamy1998

@oliviah-25

@alexxavicry

@army24--7

@thefandomimagines

@dracosluvbot

@smit41

@scenesofobx

@Criminalmindsandmarvel

@lunamoonbby

@malums-trash-can

@malindacath

@karleetakeenan

@callsign-echo

@toothemoonanddback

@broketraveler87

@atarmychick007

@shanimallina87

@creativitybeware

@xoxabs88xox

@Yoyop7

@hallecarey1

@nik2blog

@rrocky0ah

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lilianashomaresparza

@latetedslesetoiles

@Elenavampire21

@starberryhorse

@ginger-gabsq

@sarcastic-sourwolf

@risingtripletaurus

@callsignmaverick5

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@hermaeusmorax

@littlebadariell

@simp-for-fictional-people

@ollyoxenfrees

@iamabeautifulperson18

@living-in-my-imagination88

@wintercap89

@mavrellover91

@gingerbreadandpaper

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crazychanuwu77 · 8 months

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It’s cool being the only HR fan, alive. 😎👍🏻

Reference picture:

#did the cat theory thing #only i used a moai #fanart #human resources netflix #human resources #netflix #pete the logic rock #pete doheny #moai #crazychanuwu art

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slashaer · 1 month

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like this for a starter from one of my d.imension 20 muses. specify muse (s) from under the cut, there's a little blurb about each to help:

ayda augefort. half phoenix in her 3rd incarnation. autistic. logical / analytical. owns a library of spells on a pirate island. daughter to the dean of a magical high school.

lady amangeaux. once queen of vegetania, her title was stripped from her once her husband, the king, died. caring, compassionate, and willing to fight for what's right. thoughtful and empathetic, she's trying not to become bitter with the war. has telepathy and can communicate nonverbally.

king amethar. rightful king of candia. man made of rock candy. nearly assassinated. not very good at being king, but he's learning alongside his wife and daughters. good in battle.

prince andhera. prince of air and darkness. awkward, hot, and muscular. done trying to make his mother proud - he's going to make himself and his friends proud, instead.

barry syx. number six of the nine barry clones. lost all of his brother clones to barry nine, who killed everyone but syx. big himbo, but happy to be here. good with guns. cyborg.

cody 'night angel' walsh. works at hot topic. into black clothes, satan, and kickass rock music. has a good heart beneath all the spikes and dark colors.

colin provolone. born of the dairy isles. daddy issues. a very loyal himbo who tries to do what's right. did not want to be a part of a war, but destiny had other plans.

delloso de la rue. mistrex of ceremonies at the bloom for over a millennia. needs everything to be perfect. has never enjoyed any of the festivities. has been hiding themself for too long - they're finally ready to show who they really are, and start living.

evan kelmp. wizard going to school for magic, and staving off the dark monsters and magic within him. orphaned, homeless, and a sad boi. bad at making friends, and has a bad temper, but a good heart.

fabian seacaster. son of a famous swashbuckler. pompous and very wealthy. acts as if he's above everyone else, because that's how he was raised. cares about his friends, even if he doesn't say it. has a talking, demonic motorcycle. loves to dance.

garthy o'brien. anasimar pirate and impresariex of the gold gardens. they trade in a lot of fine goods, especially magical items, and are known for their ability to break curses. nonbinary and badass. calm and pretty much unshakable. everyone wants to be with them. a bit of a flirt.

prince gerard. the frog prince. turned human when he married his wife, but cursed to turn back because of his cowardice. has anxiety, but learns how to fight and overcome his fears. still has his frog powers when he's a man once more.

gorgug thirstlespring. half orc. adopted, by gnome parents. emo teenager who likes music. trying to fight better. became an athlete with two of his friends. kind of sad. just wants to belong. now an artificer and builds great stuff, just like his mom and dad.

kingston brown. the man who knows everyone. protector of new york city. do no harm, but take no shit attitude. loves his parents. slow to trust, but loyal once he does. magical. vox populi.

kristen applebees. grew up in a religious home, now constantly questioning her faith and deities. recently found out she's a lesbian. laid back and chill, most of the time. philosophical in nature. smart, but a little clueless. absolutely built. worships the goddess of doubt. running for class president.

kugrash. 5 foot tall rat who travels through the subways of new york to help people struggling with homelessness. friends with santa claus. cares deeply about people and wants the world to change. has the mouth of a sailor, but means well.

pete conlan. also known as 'pete the plug' because he's a drug dealer. uses a lot of his own drugs because of a bad breakup. trans man who is estranged from his family. just learned magic and is absolutely tripping out.

pib. trickster spirit. familiar trapped in animal form due to his keeper dying. mischievous and always ready for a scheme. likes money. loyal as long as he likes you. good heart underneath it all. will change back into a human when he finds someone new to serve, or frees himself.

pinocchio. not a real boy, and never will be. warlock who gets his magic from his strings. used to lie a lot, but he's trying to be better. likes to tell jokes, but isn't the best at it. not very serious. drinks whiskey and eats bubblegum.

riz gukgak. wants to be a detective, so he's always investigating. carries a briefcase wherever he goes. acts too old for his age. drinks a lot of coffee. is always willing to take the stress off of his friends.

ruby rocks. one daughter of king amethar. twin to jet rocks. princess, but would rather perform in the circus. wants to be a part of the people and help them. has wild ambitions. practitioner of magical tricks.

sandra lynn faeth. fig's mother. has issues keeping partners. brave and willing to protect the kids at any cost. 100% mom coded, down to the mom jeans. great with a bow. has a griffon familiar.

theobald gumbar. a giant, pink gummy bear. knight of candia. loyal to the house of rocks. good in battle, not the best at casual conversation, but he's learning. will fight until the death, if needed. needs to relax a little bit.

#starter call.#specify muse.#hello one and all welcome to another episode of 'please interact with my d20 muses'#warning for long post bc i did something extra #i promise they're versatile i can take all of them out of their canons <3 #or you can add your muse into theirs!

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itsclydebitches · 2 years

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Okay, so as the canon recedes from memory and fandom jokes take hold — la de da the world turns — I’ve seen an influx of takes that have steadily moved away from “Izzy’s tragic because this whole debacle is technically his fault (going after Stede’s hostages)” and “Izzy is sympathetic in part because he’s so bad at villain-ing” straight into serious claims of, “Wow, Izzy is just totally incompetent, huh?”

No, no, no, Izzy is terrifyingly competent.

We as a fandom need to remember our meta roots; one of the very first things ever acknowledged in the community: this is a character who has suddenly been thrust into a new genre.

For me, it’s basically the storytelling version of the “Who would win, Goku or Saitama?” question. The answer has nothing to do with power, skill, or competence and everything to do with what would be funny, because Saitama exists in a universe where, unless it’s more entertaining for him to lose, he automatically wins — always, forever, it’s the default state. That doesn’t make Goku, a guy with the power of the gods in his own universe, incompetent by any stretch of the imagination. It just means he’s suddenly been hog-tied by the rules of a new reality.

Izzy is the Goku to Stede’s Saitama.

Izzy scopes out Stede’s marooned crew (because he didn’t remember to have someone steer the boat), buys the hostages he lost, and homoerotically skillfully cuts up his shirt with hard-earned sword skills. Stede wins when Pete throws a rock.

Izzy corners Stede in the duel before he’s even realized they’ve started, hits him across the face, disarms him, and skewers him to the mast by successfully stabbing him. Stede wins because the handle of Izzy’s sword broke and there’s supposedly nothing important on the left side of the body.

Izzy is a complete asshole about chores because in his ‘real world’ a lack of munitions, or barnacles on the ship’s side, leads to death. Or at least lost raids (which they also need to afford basic supplies). Stede exists in the world where you can walk off stab wounds, find an oasis of oranges at your assassin’s church, and row straight to your lost crew without a need for anything like supplies, rest, or a map.

Pre-Stede Izzy successfully intimidates Fang, gets him to obey his commands ( “Fang!” *hiss*), and Fang admits that complaining about the abuse wouldn’t do any good. Post-Stede Fang, Lucius, Pete, Wee John, etc. can’t be intimidated because they know that here, such threats are meaningless.

Izzy manages to wrangle together Calico Jack, Spanish Jackie, and the British — three very different parties with beef against each other and him — all in an effort to get Stede executed. Stede survives because Ed pulls out a trump card that we learned about [checks notes] right now.

Stede beats Izzy again and again and again because Stede is working under the rules of the Romantic Comedy. Is it funny if Stede were to win a duel through absurd means? Yes? Then that’s what happens. Would Izzy winning here interfere with the romance between Ed and Stede? Yes? Then that can’t happen. It’s as simple as that. Unless we circle away from the stages of Epiphany (Stede’s talk with Mary) and Resolution (heading back to Ed for the presumed reunion) and Izzy becomes a more serious Obstacle to their love, everything he attempts is doomed from the get-go. Even if he were to be written as a more serious threat to the romance, the comedy inevitably obliterates any real chance he’d have. Unless OFMD doesn’t just pull lightly from other genres as it has in season one, but takes a hard turn into something new... Izzy is fighting a losing battle. He’s Goku powering up to fucking super saiyan and then being understandably confused when Stede manages to trip over his own feet, starting a Loony Toon-esque domino fall that somehow ends with Izzy K.O.’ed. How did this happen? Fuck if he knows. The logic he’s worked under all his life says it’s impossible and yet... here he lies.

Honestly, I ramble because competence is SUCH an important part of Izzy’s character. Competence is what’s allowed him to survive into his 50′s (unless he’s really 16 lol), help build the Blackbeard legend, and gain the kind of respect that has the crew (initially) jumping at his command. Izzy knows that he’s competent. His entire, prickly personality is built on being competent, particularly when competence is used as a defense mechanism. (No need to grapple with feelings when he can just kill someone.) More importantly, he knows that, under ordinary circumstances, not being competent gets you killed. He’s watching Ed trade in protective leather for lace shirts, fill up on marmalade, turn sword training into a flirting session, admire model ships instead of formulating plans — all these things that should, according to the rules Izzy has spent his entire life living by, get them all killed. We know Stede wouldn’t survive a day in the world of “real” pirates, where Izzy originally hails from. Izzy knows it too. We know Stede survives anyway because this is a rom-com and he’s the lead. But Izzy doesn’t know what genre he’s in; certainly not that the genre has changed — and fuck, if the rules of the universe changed once before, who’s to say they won’t suddenly change again? What if he wakes up one day on a frilly ship, with a useless crew, a domesticated Blackbeard, and the world is a horrifying mess of cruelty and violence again? They’d be screwed. He’s running around bitching about plans, munitions, ship speed, killing pets, formal duels, and yes, avoiding “namby-pamby” soft things because dammit of course those things matter. They always have. Yes everyone needs specific duties because otherwise the ship falls apart and they all die. What do you mean the ship isn’t falling apart while everyone eats marmalade and has gay sex? That’s not possible.

Imagine you were a crazy competent member of society according to current social norms. Maybe you’re highly educated, have a six-figure job, are meeting all the expectations for a family, you’re considered conventionally attractive, you eat well, go to the gym every day, have impressive hobbies, give to charity on the regular, maintain a thriving friend group — in every way that your peers might judge your worth within this specific social circle, you are killing it. Then you wake up one random morning and, as Badminton puts it, you’ve entered Backwards Land. People suddenly laugh at your well-balanced lunch because pff, what do you mean you’re not just eating a bucket of candy like the rest of us? Certain public displays that would have been unthinkable 24 hours ago are suddenly occurring on every street corner. You walk in to a promotion meeting with a detailed report on why your work of the last 30 years is worth recognition. The new hire suggests they have a face-paint party instead of running the company and your boss is like, “Well damn if that isn’t the best suggestion anyone’s ever given me. You’re promoted!”

What?

Izzy is fascinating in part because he’s a HYPER-COMPETENT individual who took to his toxic, violent, homophobic, highly repressed society like a duck to water, only to find one day that the rules of the universe had changed (for the better) but whoops, nothing he’s good at suddenly has a foothold anymore. You’re an expert at running a ship? Ships are just a backdrop to romance and it doesn’t matter if there’s, you know, ammunition, or whatever. Supplies — like oranges — only matter if they’re forwarding relationships. You’re an expert swordsman? Yeah, good luck winning a rigged fight where literally anything goes provided it’s funny enough (and you, as a tightly-strung rule follower, are not funny). Your entire identity is built around intimidating and executing people? The queer polycule thinks your threats are hilarious and if you strand people on a desert island their lighthouse captain will just row to them in a single scene; the guy tossed overboard will just climb into the walls and sustain himself on paper or something. You’re Alice in Wonderland except you don’t remember falling down the hole. The fact that Lucius’ cut off finger is used for a moment of (wonderfully gross) humor and he’s totally fine when he wakes up, whereas Izzy’s severed toe is more straightforwardly horrific and requires a cane, just highlight that they’re living in different genres. For Lucius, a severed finger is a moment of comedy (Dutch fuckery) and romance (Pete whittling him a replacement). For Izzy, a severed toe is a moment of devotion to a toxic relationship (eating it on Blackbeard’s command) and a #SeriousInjury that he literally can’t walk off. Izzy’s got the worst of both worlds at the moment: governed by his original, gritty genre and unable to circumvent or reap the rewards of the rom-com.

Which only leaves the question of whether Izzy will remain the tragic figure — but still very humorous for the viewer — who is either killed or permanently exiled due to his inability to adapt? Or will he grudgingly (oh so grudgingly) turn himself over to this new set of rules? I’m personally hoping for the latter BUT with moments here and there where the gritty drama bleeds into the rom-com; moments where things suddenly do become legitimately perilous and Izzy’s honed skills once again become necessary for survival. Like Ed who moves from the poetry-loving Edward into the murderous Kraken, Izzy has the potential to move between and/or straddle genres in some pretty entertaining ways.

#OFMD #Our Flag Means Death #Izzy Hands

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fuck-showers-in-general · 1 year

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d. do you want to tell us about the history of panic at the disco. i feel like you want to do that.

YES I DO (small unreality cw for a few of the jokes i make in this)

so back in like 2005. this emo boy from suburban nevada named ryan ross and his childhood friend slash the only drummer he knew (spencer smith) decided to start a band together called pet salamander. they also got this other guy named brent wilson to play keyboard but brent is a bitch and they kicked him out after the first album so this is the first and last time you will hear me mention him. ryan was singing, playing guitar, and writing music, which was a lot of work for a depressed teenager in his first band ever, so they ended up trying to find someone else to either play guitar or sing, and end up putting out an ad in some newspaper or something. up turns this kid named brendon urie! he can do both. they end up just having him sing though, because ryan still wants to play guitar. it was also some time around this that they realized pet salamander was a stupid ass band name, so they changed it to panic! at the disco. and thus the most band of all time was born.

ryan, pretty much by himself, writes an album called a fever you can't sweat out, which takes heavy inspiration from chuck palahnuik (im totally spelling his name wrong but idc), moulin rouge, and ryan's own childhood living just outside las vegas. it toes the line between pop punk and cabaret goth, or more accurately pirouettes along the tightrope between them. it is a picturesque score of scandals, sins (not tragedies), classic literature, dark circus couture, and a troubled childhood. it still genuinely astounds me that this album was made by a bunch of teenagers. it is an absolute fucking masterpiece. panic! records a few demos, and then gets the bright idea that "hey, ryan's a huge fan of fall out boy, right? that pop punk band from chicago that's really popular right now? like, he's super obsessed with pete wentz's writing. and pete is really active on social media. what if we shot him a few demos?"

and what does peter lewis kingston wentz the motherfucking third, known lacker of common sense, do?

he makes an entire fucking record label just to sign panic!.

ma'am what.

pete decides to start decaydance records, a sublabel of fueled by ramen, and signs a bunch of his friends' bands, along with these random kids from nevada, because he thinks they have potential or whatever. panic! fully records afycso, and releases it on september 27th, 2005. it becomes a smash hit near immediately, and i write sins not tragedies remains to this day a staple of 2000's emo hits. and what, logically, do they do after this? well, first, they go on the nothing rhymes with circus tour, which i would have absolutely killed to get tickets to had i been, like, alive at the time. but after that they, of course, get this guy named jon walker to join the band as a bassist, take the exclamation point out of their name and retreat into the mountains to hotbox a cabin and write a classic rock album. of course. perfectly logical next move. ...look, they swore to shake it up and we swore to listen. this is on us.

some time in mid to late 2006, panic emerges from the mountains with an album called cricket and clover. after recording demos for pretty much the whole album, they realize, oh, we totally cannot release this. so they rework it into an album called pretty. odd., which is an absolute masterpiece. i don't understand why people don't like it. it's so fucking good. if pretty. odd. has 10000 fans i am one of them if pretty. odd. has 10 fans i am one of them if pretty. odd. has 1 fan it is me if pretty. odd. has no fans i am dead. i don't have as much eloquent stuff to say about p.o. as i do with afycso. i just really like it.

[bad wilbur soot impression] it was at this point that brendon decided to become a problem.

so ryan was struggling with a lot of mental health issues right? you would expect your bandmates, especially the one you trusted to sing the lyrics you expressed and processed a lot of those mental health issues with, to not make fun of you for that, right? you would think? brendon did not think. ever. that man has not had a thought in his life and i mean that as an insult. things get so bad eventually that panic splits in half, with ryan and jon splitting off to form a band called the young veins that released one album in 2010 and then broke up, and spencer and brendon being left with the record deal but being explicitly told by ryan to not use the name panic at the disco. which, technically, they didn't. they went back to panic! at the disco. but still. dick move, man.

panic! is still touring pretty. odd. at this point (late 2009), so they need some touring musicians, because they no longer have a bassist or a guitarist. so they hire. i believe ian crawford? but don't quote me on that. as a guitarist, and, more importantly, dallon weekes as a bassist. dallon becomes a full member of the band soon after, because they flat out don't have a bassist anymore, nor a songwriter, but dallon just so happens to have written music for a (very good) band called the brobecks since before panic! at the disco was even a twinkle in poor ryan's eye. justice for ryan ross. but dallon writes an album called vices & virtues, featuring a couple of songs (mostly bonus tracks) from our good friend pwentz, a song brendon wrote about his wife (the worst song on the album honestly), and like half a song left over that ryan wrote when he was still in panic!. which makes vices & virtues the only panic! album that has had every official panic! songwriter on it. four of them. what is wrong with this band. v&v is a fucking amazing album though. i love it so much.

after that, dallon gets to work on panic!'s fourth album, too weird to live, too rare to die!. his original draft is a fucking masterpiece, but unfortunately most of it never sees the light of day (as in, basically nothing minus all the boys, a demo of far too young to die, and the original lyrics to vegas lights) because brendon comes in and ruins the whole thing and turns it into a marketable alt pop album. as he does. justice for dallon weekes. justice for anyone who has ever interacted with brendon ever actually. twtltrtd is still an amazing album, don't get me wrong. just not as good as it would have been without brendon's meddling. i may be a little bitter.

dallon, inevitably, leaves the band, because not only has brendon been fucking up his writing, he's been harassing him, harassing his wife, and on top of it all, paying him so little he had to get a second job to support his family. spencer also leaves, for unclear reasons. so brendon's got three albums left on a record deal for a band that no longer exists. what does he decide to do? pretend the band still exists and is more than just him, of course. this band and its associates have a history of logical decision making and everything they have ever done was a good idea. of course. he releases an album called death of a bachelor in 2016, which was actually pretty good. you will come to see this is a fluke.

two years later, in 2018, brendon! at the disco releases their sixth album, pray for the wicked, which had like four good songs on it total. however, something much more important happened that year. see, something had been happening in the shadows of salt lake city. someone had been plotting. playing shows. a band that didn't exist had been popping up around, with a disturbingly long name. were they here from the past? were they, perhaps, back from the future? we'll never know. all we know is that the band consisted of dallon weekes, a man* who definitely had no connection to panic! at the disco, and ryan seaman, a man who definitely had no connection to falling in reverse. both of whom had dubious connections to the brobecks. and in 2018, they released their first single, a song called modern day cain.

THATS RIGHT THIS POST IS ABOUT I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME NOW BBY

iDKHOW ended up also releasing their first EP in 2018, called 1981 extended play. it is an absolute masterpiece. i did not care that it was 6 songs, i listened to those 6 songs on loop for months on end. they did not release a full album until 2020. so clearly those months turned into years at some point. i lost track. their first album, called RAZZMATAZZ, came out in october of 2020, after making everyone wait way too fucking long for a full album. you may recognize that album name. that is because it's my name. i am way too obsessed with this band. they haven't been around for very long, so they don't have much history for me to infodump yet, but i am very proud to say i was one of their first fans, and i'll be a fan until the day i die.

nowadays, jon's still releasing solo music (also we are tiktok mutuals), ryan is a hermit, dallon was never in panic! at the disco at all why am i mentioning him, and brendon released an album called viva las vengeance that bombed so hard he announced the formal disbandment of panic! at the disco last month. the evil is defeated. thanks for coming to the circus, everyone. you can go home now.

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