I Like Giving Unsuspecting Characters Badass Headcanons - Tumblr Posts

A little one-shot I tried to write and probably failed. I had motivation to write this, but most of it was at like, 3-4 am? I just wanted to write Izzy getting his ass handed to him by a bard (Frenchie) with very little swordsman skills. That's a lie, I have a headcanon Frenchie is actually really good with a sword, just prefers more... manipulative tactics or close combat tools, and by extension likes to make opponents think he's a clumsy idiot who can't hold a sword. (Turns out, he can and will rip you a new one)

Same rules go for this one, btw! Critique- both good and bad- is invited and urged. I want to better my skills.

Inspiration: conversation regarding server members and how they got together ❤️ also me wanting Izzy's ass whooped (an Izzy enabler, apologist, and lover)

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Israel Hands doesn't lose duels.

That's what he had been thinking as he stepped up on deck with his rapier drawn and twirling languidly as he let the weight become an extension of him again. It was a part of him, his identity and his being- "born to wield a blade" he had been told many a time in his life.

It was how he lived as long as he did, how his captain used him. A sword, right hand man, the like. First mate. Izzy's near permanent scowl remained as he heard the shuffle of feet and a small mumbled curse as the sharp clatter of metal on wood made him turn to face his opponent- the damn bard that resided with the Revenge crew.

Izzy scoffed in appallment. He didn't know how this crew lived as long as they have. He had previously assumed the deft fingerwork this man had while playing a mandolin would extend into holding a sword, but he was proven wrong.

"Pick up your fuckin' sword."

"Right... yeah. Sorry."

Izzy's eyes follow the bard's hands as they reach for the sword, lifting it up and testing its weight in his grip before giving a couple aimless swings. Another scoff leaves Izzy, a look of disgruntled judgement on his face now. He couldn't believe he would have to duel this atrocious example of an opponent.

As they took their places, Izzy a few paces from the bard, they get into their stances. The one thing that caught Izzy off guard slightly was how firm the man's posture became, the excitement glimmering in the warm chocolate depths of his eyes. Like he was preparing for this moment. Like he was waiting forever just to have this chance.

It was the bard that moved first. Their swords meet, Izzy easily parrying then slipping aside and taking his own offense. The opponent blocked, and the clash of metal on metal sounded like angels singing in his ears.

Izzy relished the song, and lived the dance that came along. How the bard kept up was beyond Izzy, but the effort brought savage focus to his face. Well, what Izzy had thought it looked and felt. His heart raced, the singing of the metal cacophony nothing more than music as the men viciously danced around the deck.

°°°°°°°°°

Frenchie wasn't exactly sure what had let the idea of challenging Izzy to a duel into his mind.

When he had initially approached the first mate of Blackbeard, Frenchie was sure that he'd have his head bit off by the man. Based on his experiences with people like that, he couldn't let them off the hook. An odd interaction where Frenchie had gotten irritated at Izzy being a petty asshole while the bard was trying to do daily care for his mandolin had lead to an aggressive "I challenge you to a duel, you spiteful ship goblin" and a very calm and very ominous "Challenge accepted".

Now here they were, on deck and Frenchie basically fighting for his life.

He hasn't picked up a sword since some time before Stede, to which he laid down arms and settled for his original plan- playing music to keep the time. Though, this duel wasn't much different than any other song and dance, he learned quickly. Each step was specific, him returning blows almost like it was second nature. He didn't know how he had been able to fend off Izzy for so long- he was sure his demise was imminent.

Unless Izzy was going easy on him?

The look on the man's face said otherwise- he looked thoroughly pissed, but that was an constant thing and any change from it was most likely the end of the world. Frenchie's arm came up to block the overhead swing Izzy tried to land, and the taller man ducked lower and shoves Izzy back with a pretty heavy shoulder hit to the torso. The shorter man stumbled back, Frenchie following up with a slash towards Izzy's abdomen.

It was blocked easily.

Another back and forth ensues, sweat beading on Frenchie's brow as the adrenaline wore off and he began to falter. Izzy came in hot, like a blazing fire as anger fueled each movement. It honestly had Frenchie enthralled and how fluid the older man moved.

Dancing, is what the bard akinned it to. An idea sparks, and his own offense became more focused on keeping Izzy's blade with his own. Each step was like the makings of a dance when Frenchie moved, as did Izzy in kind. Swords met, feet step into another mirrored position, the noise of clashing metal like their own tune.

°°°°°°°°°°

It was glorious.

The bard has clearly impressed Izzy, and the older man could feel his lips pull into a genuinely entertained grin. That was, until Izzy let the realization that this fucking bard could've done so much more than sit and play music this entire time during raids.

Their dance was broken when Izzy attempts a punishing slash to Frenchie's abdomen as a comeback to his previous attempt towards Izzy, the bard bringing his sword up in response and pushing Izzy's blade up and over in a strained arch, then to a clattering slide across the deck. The look on the bard's face was that of surprise, yet it was returned with Izzy's own- then clearly spiteful anger.

Before it changed to... pride?

Izzy was proud of this man, even as Frenchie raised an ever-so-subtly shaking sword tip to the first mate's throat. Izzy could easily continue this fight, but something in his being tingled with anticipation, like he could get something more from this. A small smirk settled on his lips as he heard the unsure tone in Frenchie's voice.

"Do you yield?"

"I... yield."

The look on the bard's face was near priceless. It almost made Izzy bark out a laugh at how seriously shocked Frenchie was to have bested Izzy Hands.  He actually enjoyed this look on his face. While he'd usually be more than furious someone had beaten him in a single round, this was an odd exception. His eyes meet Frenchie's, and for a moment, he felt a flutter in his chest.

"Best two out of three?" Frenchie offered, breathing coming in slightly labored. His hand had steadied slightly more in the pregnant pause of the victory, a cheeky smile now gracing his face. Another flutter.

Izzy accepted as the bard lowered his sword. His gaze follow the man as he went to retrieve Izzy's rapier, handing it to him. Izzy returned the smile with one of his own- and he took note of the subtle flush of pink across Frenchie's face.

"Two out of three, then. Don't expect to have the same luck this round. I won't go easy on you now that I know your level of experience."

He raised his rapier to Frenchie's blade, the sharp shink of metal on metal signifying his further acceptance. And with that, another round began.

To say Frenchie lost would've been a lie- it had appeared to the crew Izzy was talking out of his ass when the bard won the next two duels, albeit with more difficulty each round than the last.