Starfrckled - Tumblr Posts

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH.

head snaps up as breath hitches in his throat,   painfully catching on its way up.  edward feels like he has been run through,  sword lodging somewhere near his heart,  but not quite there,  because he doesn’t deserve the mercy of a swift death,  of course he doesn’t.  it’s the words,  more than the feather light touch  —  so impossibly gentle  —  that makes him recoil,  flinch away like stede is made of fire.  he doesn’t get far,  of course,  there is a table at his back,  one of the few things he hasn’t thrown away in his haste to get rid of him entirely  (   he clearly failed.  stede is still everywhere in the room,  even empty as it is   ).  so he stays there,  wide eyed and sight horrendously blurry,  stede’s face coming in and out of focus.   i love you,  ed.  it echoes like a gunshot in his mind,  again and again.  hearing it for the first time should have been sweet,  like sugar in his tea and fancy marmalade on his tongue.  but there are far too many tears for it to be so,  and edward’s hands are bloody  —  both metaphorically and not.  it shouldn’t make him want to scream,  but it does.  hand reaches out,  blindly grasping at the front of stede’s shirt.  he is bleeding on it,  red on white glaringly obvious even in the dim light.  edward can’t find it in himself to care.

❛  no.  no  —  you can’t mean that.  ❜   it’s weak,  and it’s tired,  voice still wrecked from crying.  and edward wants to tell him to touch him,  to hold him in his arms before he breaks.  he can’t find the words for it,  all that comes out of his lips in a choked off noise,  halfway between a sob and stede’s name.  so his grip on the fabric tightens,  but instead of shoving stede away he pulls him closer.  his head drops against his shoulder,  then,  and it’s not quite an embrace,  but it’s the closest they’ve been since that day on the beach.  despite himself,  edward breathes him in,  tries to commit the scent to memory although he doesn’t really need to.   ❛  i waited.  sat there the whole night.  ❜   and then he waited some more,  back on the ship,  anchor still dropped down until it would have been suicide to just keep standing there so close to english soil.  there would have been no act of grace to call upon,  then,  only execution.   ❛  but y'didn’t come.  ❜

     SOMETHING SNAPS BETWEEN THEM  when he speaks those holy words aloud, edward jolting out of his reach with an expression of shock across his face that even the streaked war paint cannot cover.  &  stede thinks he might choke on his regret that this is how he is saying it for the first time. ( in another life, stede whispers it against ed’s lips, their fingers entwined as moonlight casts them both in a silver glow. )  but then a hand grasps his shirt, dark blood soaking into the cotton on contact,  &  drags him forward. &  stede half expects the glint of another knife to tuck itself beneath his jaw. but it doesn’t come. instead, edward seems to be collapsing in on himself, his forehead dropping to land on stede’s shoulder.  &  he cannot stop his arms from reaching for him for even a single moment longer, one looping around edward’s waist  &  the other curling around his shoulders. if nothing else, at least stede got to hold him in his arms, at least once.                                                  &  when he thinks of edward sitting alone on that dock, waiting for him until daybreak, stede can no longer hold back his own tears. no matter how hard he presses his eyelids together, the saltwater still overflows in rivulets.  ❝ i know. i know.  &  i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, edward. ❞  his voice is broken  &  garbled, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. though stede doesn’t know the words to explain it, edward deserves to know. he has to try. so he works to untangle his tongue, to remember what had happened that night. ❝ it was chauncey, he. he woke me up, he had a gun. he said  —  he said  — ❞  his voice quivers at the memory,  &  stede’s hand curls into edward’s leather jacket, clinging to him as though he is a rock in a storm. ❝ he said that i ruined everything  —  that i had ruined you. ❞  the infamous blackbeard, history’s most fearsome pirate, turned lackey to the crown.  ❝ i thought he was going to kill me. but then he tripped  &  the gun went off  & — ❞ he breaks off again, his memories going fuzzy around that point. the next thing he remembered was opening the front door to his estate, leaving a trail of bloodied frootprints across the foyer. ❝ &  i was afraid. i was a coward. so i ran. i ran away. ❞ his hand finally unclenches from edward’s jacket, trembling as it strokes gently over his hair.  ❝ but i shouldn’t have. i know that now. i should have come to you. i never should have left you there alone. ❞

🪐 — NEIL JOSTEN.

@musecraft​  (   as tommy   )  says:  you look awful.

neil doesn’t need to look in any mirror to know that for a fact.   most of his scars might be easy to hide away under clothing,  but there is no mistaking the ones on his face a —  the pale lines left by the tip of a blade and a second degree burn scar on his cheekbone a little too obvious not to notice.  neil stifles the flare of anger rising in his chest,  but the look he settles tommy’s way is icy cold as he finishes strapping on his gear for practice.  they are the only ones still lingering in the locker room,  and that’s probably for the best.  tommy wasn’t there last spring,  doesn’t know the horrors neil and his foxes went through,  wasn’t there when they played against the ravens and won championships.  so yes,  neil is willing to give him time to adjust,  willing to wait and see if this turns into a problem or not,  before he does something about it.  as vice captain,  he is not going to use andrew’s vicious brand of assessing potential threats,  so he will have to think of something else.  if they get there.   ❛  and yet,  you’re the one staring.  stop worrying about my face and start worrying about scoring on andrew.  ❜   neil almost feels a twinge of sympathy at that,  knowing from experience how incredibly hard it is to steal points from the pint sized goalkeeper guarding their goal. 

         HE DOESN’T MEAN ANYTHING BY IT  —  it’s just that tommy’s never really been good at controlling his mouth. it’s not intentional, but stuff just kinda tends to come out out. it’s rare that he thinks about it before he talks.  &  it’s just that he’d never really noticed the scars on neil’s face before, but catching a glimpse up close as they get changed into their practice clothes side by side, they’d been hard to miss. still, the harsh glare he gets thrown his way from neil is even more obvious; he’d definitely hit a nerve.  &  honestly, that wasn’t the intention. on his old exy team, they’d all cracked jokes at each other’s expense all the time. it was all in good fun; part of how they’d bonded. but this felt like tommy had touched on something that wasn’t a laughing matter. ❝ damn, dude, alright. sorry. ❞  his eyes drop to the floor, hands busying themselves with his laces. he’s not looking for a fight  —  not with the vice-captain, for sure. tommy wanted to fit in here. to feel like he was really part of this team.  &  he surely wouldn’t do that if he kept on pissing people off. so it’s probably best to just shut up, keep his head down for awhile, just focus on scoring like neil said.  but he’s no good at control,  &  the question falls right out of his mouth before he can even consider stopping it. ❝ so, how’d that happen, anyway ? ❞

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH​.

mind usually full of warring thoughts quieted,   edward is nothing but pliant under stede’s touch.  stede is all around him  —  his chest pressed to his back,  his voice so close to his ear it brings a shiver running all along his spine.  edward shifts,  angling his body and turning his head so he can press his face against stede’s neck.  and god,  he has never felt safer than he does right now,  with arms holding him close and reassuring words making it through the fog in his mind.  it’s a little overwhelming,  but not in a way that makes him want to move away from where he is.  still,  his eyes sting with the sudden press of tears and a soft sniffle gives him away. 

❛  i’m alright,  love.  ❜   he is quick to soothe any worry that might rise,  gently pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.   ❛  you’re just so damn good to me,  is all.  ❜   it’s going to take a while before it stops startling him,  this tenderness stede wraps around him like a safety net,  but they have all the time in the world to unravel decades of awful convictions.  one day at a time,  step by step. 

       NEITHER OF THEM ARE YET USED TO THIS,  the stolen scraps of affection they had been able to scrounge from the world before paling in comparison to what blooms between them now.  &  stede had read countless romances in his life, plays  &  sonnets  &  epic tales of heroes  &  fair maidens  &  love that conquered all. but none of the stories had prepared him for what it would feel like when he found it for himself  —  as if before meeting edward he had been caught in some lifeless dream state  &  only now been cast into the light.                                                  he lets edward maneuver into a more comfortable position, lets his face turn to bury itself in the arch of his throat. concern does come for a moment when stede hears the soft signs of weeping, but the words that follow reassure him that there is nothing wrong. ❝ oh my sweet, you deserve to be touched gently, with kindness. you deserve to be treated with love. ❞  the words come softly, his arms curling tighter still as he speaks.  ❝ i am only grateful that i should be the lucky man who gets to do so. ❞  his head drops a few degrees, stede mirroring the small kiss ed had left against his throat with an identical one pressed to his forehead. ❝ it is a great privilege to love you, edward. ❞

🪐 — LUCIUS SPRIGGS​.

@musecraft  (   as izzy  ) sent ' closer ' to:  pin lucius against a wall and glance down at his lips.

his back hits the wall with a heavy thudd,   much too loud in the silence of the cabin.  and this time lucius doesn't push his lips into a grin,  he is unable to muster up even a crumb of wit as two hands keep him against the surface at his back.  this time lucius only swallows,  feeling his heartbeat pound mercilessly into his ears and throat.  he honest to god believes this is where his luck runs out,  this is where past week's threats become reality  —  the boy opens his mouth,  desperately trying to inhale enough air to at the very least plead for his life.  anything, he'd do anything.  he would scrub the deck,  go on his knees,  do whatever izzy tells him to,  so long as—  clarity comes back to him slowly,  nerves still wrecked,  but there is no knife drawn and izzy doesn't even look particularly angry ( which means: no more than usual ).  he is looking down,  actually,  right at his lips again.  lucius dares to breathe a little easier. 

❛  um.  so  —  i'm not quite sure what's happening right now?  ❜   his voice is a bit shaky,  but he steadies it as best he can,  pushing some edge into it.  it's not too hard,  with the building knot of tension coiling around his chest.   ❛  you're the most confusing person i've ever met,  you know that?  you tell me to stay the fuck away from you  —  which i did  —  but then you come here and you do that thing again.  you look like  —  you look like you'd want to.  you can,  by the way.  if that's what's happening in that infuriating head of yours.  ❜   or you can tell me to fuck off like usual.

         HIS SKIN FEELS A SIZE TOO SMALL,  itchy  &  constricting painfully around him. it’s an unpleasant sensation that izzy has been steeling himself to for years,  &  one that he can usually all but ignore. but ever since the last time lucius had spoken to him  — offered to kiss him like it was nothing  —  it’s as if it’s become a little tighter every day, until he can barely breathe.  &  pete had only made it worse, his insistence that his boyfriend had meant it kindly as much a surprise to izzy as lucius’ genuine hurt had been. it’s all been swirling in his head for days,  guilt  &  shame, izzy at war with himself.  &  now it’s become a raging storm. so  he just snaps  when he happens to run into lucius alone belowdeck, slamming his back against the wall before he can stop himself, his composure frayed down to nothing.                                                              &  yet,  the rage that he feels all disappears when he presses closer to lucius, replaced by something far warmer. his eyes fall to linger on the taller man’s lips, considering for a mad moment what they might feel like against his own. izzy’s gaze is still there when they begin moving,  &  it’s so unfair how this all seems to be so easy to lucius; how he can touch other men without shame, how the words fall from his lips one after the other with ease while izzy can’t even manage to choke out a single one.  ❝ just shut up, don’t you ever shut up, ❞   izzy manages. but his voice is softer than usual, strangely devoid of anger in spite of the harshness of his words. his hands fist tighter in lucius’s lapels, but this time he’s pulling the other man closer rather than shoving him away, letting himself step in until there’s barely an inch between them.  you look like you want to  lucius says  —  &  izzy does. he wants this. the longing for it is nearly choking him.  &  with lucius telling him that he can actually have it, izzy’s control finally snaps.                with eyes pressed closed so tight that creases spread out from their edges, izzy leans up onto his toes. his hands never loosen their grip, keeping lucius held fast in place. some part of him thinks wildly that this is all a joke, no matter what pete might have said, &  the other man will pull away laughing at the last second. but he doesn’t. instead, lucius lets izzy press his lips roughly against his mouth, the kiss tentative yet desperate,  &  izzy feels his heart blaze to life, searing hot in his chest as his pulse races away.

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH.

@musecraft  (   as stede  ) sent ' training ' to:  pin edward against the wall during a sparring match.

❛  ow.  ❜   a startled breath is wrenched out of him,  followed suit by a laugh.  stede has him pinned against the mast,  a victorious grin spreading all over his face and edward feels lucid thought slip away from him.  he thinks he wouldn't mind losing to him like this,  little does it matter that he could easily swap their positions,  especially since stede has lowered his sword to press an arm against his chest.  truth is:  he got distracted,  lost the pace of their sparring lesson when moonlight caught stede's hair and shoulders just right,  allowing stede to disarm him.  not that edward is complaining,  far from it.  it's only a few seconds later that he looses his last shreds of sanity  —  with stede's lips brushing against his ear and a question voiced low.  do you yield?  now edward is truly and utterly fucked.   ❛  yeah,  you menace.  what you're going to do now that you have me at your mercy?  ❜  lips twitch in amusement, but his eyes are keen and dark, pupils blown wide.

           A TASTE OF VICTORY proves sweet,  &  stede finds that once he gets the flavor of it on his tongue, he only wants more. nevermind that it’s very likely that edward let him win  —  he revels in his position all the same. an arm presses across the other man’s broad chest to keep him pressed bodily to the mast, the grin that splits his face is bright  &  a little wild.  &  it curls impossibly wider still when edward gives in to him. stede’s pulse races as he pulls his face back just enough to catch edward’s gaze, the moon  &  stars overhead reflected in the depth of his wide dark eyes.  ❝ i'm afraid i’ll have to have your life, now. ❞  but his sword defies his words, dropping lower still as stede finds himself distracted, caught up in the gentle way that ed is gazing at him.  &  an unfamiliar sensation sets over him, heart fluttering madly in his chest  &  a strange warmth rising in his cheeks in spite of the chill ocean breeze. ❝ scoundrels spare no one, i once heard. once they’ve taken hold of you, they aren’t likely to let you go. ❞

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH​.

the huff of breath he lets out is rough and unsteady.   it was meant to be a laugh,  but it got swallowed somewhere down the road,  replaced by a wave of relief so strong edward fears he might be sick from it,  nausea rolling in the pit of his stomach like it’s trying to tear it to shreds.  his own injuries never leave him so stretched thin,  he never lets himself wonder what could happen if his so called luck runs out,  but in the past few minutes his thoughts have been drowned by an endless stream of what ifs.  one more gut wrenching than the last,  of course.  but he is not allowed to spiral further,  thankfully,  anchored to the present as he is by that hand wrapped around his arm  —  yes,  he’s alright.  they both are.  edward holds on that certainty,  closing his eyes for a second or two.  when he tries again his breath comes out much less tortured and if he drops his head to rest it against the other man’s forehead..  well,  it’s been one hell of a day,  alright?  he lets go of him soon enough,  though,  mind finally brought back to the matter at hand:  a bleeding wound and a first aid kit that hasn’t been opened yet. 

❛  you’re not going to die on my account,  you hear me?  won’t let you.  i’ll piss you off back to life or somethin’.  ❜   he goes through the motions in silence,  then.  the steps familiar as well as the sight and smell of blood.  there’s no salvaging the already half perished couch,  but at least the wound is now clean and tightly wrapped up in gauze and bandages,  so edward rises to his feet only to drop on the couch next to izzy,  on his good side.  he winces a bit,  his shoulder dimly protesting against the rough movement,  but that’s not what makes heat creep into his voice.   ❛  where’s jack?  he was supposed to be here.  ❜   a thought,  lightning quick,  lances through his brain and he slants a furrowed glance izzy’s way.   ❛  d'you think he could’ve had something to do with this?  he’s been so fucking grouchy lately.  ❜   and as much as a part of him wants to say nahh,  because they’re friends,  part of him knows exactly why he has never been stupid enough to fully trust jack.  not like he trusts izzy.  not by a long shot. 

        A MERE MOMENT IN HEAVEN will always be worth every long day that izzy spends clawing through hell to get there.  &  as edward touches his forehead to his own, eyes pressed together as his breath steadies, izzy goes lightheaded at his sudden proximity to the divine. where before, everything had been sharp  &  clear  &  crystalline, now his vision goes fuzzy at the edges, his own breath coming in deep desperate gasps. the injury at his arm is entirely forgotten, all the pain overtaken by the heat that ripples out from every tiny point of contact where his skin touches edward’s. izzy can feel his breath on his face, &  his eyes are blown wide as his gaze traces the shape of his lips.  &  then it’s over, far too soon. his breath stutters unevenly when edward pulls away to tend his open wound. ❝ oh shut up, i’m not going to fuckin’ die, ❞ he attempts to cover his unsteadiness with a scoff, though he winces when the gauze tightens over the open wound. yet the pain clears his head, pulls the world back into focus despite edward’s fingers pressing the bandage down until it sticks.                                                 &  then everything is normal again, just as it was before. his arm still hurts, but it’s an absent ache. the kind he can easily ignore. edward sprawls down on the stained couch beside him.  &  at his words, izzy thinks for the first time not about the knife but about who had been wielding it  —  &  who had sent them. clearly, izzy had not been their intended target. the thought makes his eyes tighten at the corners, his gaze sweeping the small room to be certain that they’re alone, that no further threats linger waiting in the shadows to take edward by surprise. ❝ i don’t know, ❞  he admits, calling to mind the face of the man who had lunged at him. it wasn’t familiar,  &  izzy had no way of knowing if he was somehow significant, or just some hired knife off the street. ❝ i don’t think he would do that  — not to you, at least. ❞  how anyone could betray a man like edward was entirely beyond izzy’s reasoning, but clearly someone had it in their mind to harm him. ❝ but you know him better than i do. ❞ frankly, the reasoning wasn’t all that important; if someone wanted to get to edward, they would have to get through izzy, first. ❝ you think we should pay him a visit ? go ask him about it in person ? ❞ 

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH​  for  izzy !

❛  good man.  it won’t take long.  ❜   his thoughts are not drifting anymore,  all his attention directed towards the man beneath him and the needle held tight between his fingers.  carefully aimed focus wipes the remnants of a silly grin from his lips  —  caused by izzy going utterly still at his command,  so pliant it had made him feel more powerful than standing on deck with eyes on a target soon to be overcome.  and it’s good that he is focused,  because he has absolutely never inked anyone other than himself before.  he should probably take this slow,  but it’s a distant though,  murky,  because he is acting on pure impulse and little else,  and izzy would hardly take kindly to behind treated with kid gloves,  anyway.  so edward leans in,  one hand next to izzy’s head for support,  only to stop again when his growing hair fall across his face.   ❛  one of these days i’m gonna cut ‘em all off.  ❜   empty threat,  they both know it.  edward likes them long,  as annoying as they are sometimes.  leather band snapped in place to keep them from falling forward again,  he can finally begin to work.

he doesn’t take it slow.  doesn’t stop,  even when he has to rework the lines to make sure the ink is well settled,  undeniable and clear for all to see.  x marks the spot.  edward might as well have written his name on izzy’s cheek.   ❛  there you are  —  my first mate.  my izzy.  ❜   he wipes the last drops of blood from his face with a clean cloth imbued with whiskey,  the gesture gentle against surely aching skin.  only then does he have mercy on the other man,  sliding off of him to sit on the bed like a normal person,  before grabbing hold of the bottle of whiskey sitting near his feet and extending it towards izzy first.  he has definitely earned it.  ❛  you alright there, mate?  ❜

     IT FUCKING HURTS,  as he knew it would. he can’t help but hiss out a gasp the first time his skin is pierced, the point perilously close to his eye. his teeth grit together after that  &  his jaw sets into a solid line. izzy wills himself not to flinch as it comes down again  &  again  &  again, no pause between marks. the sting of having his skin opened so that edward can push his mark underneath is overwhelming, drawn out far longer than getting cut in battle. it makes him want to cry  &  scream, to thrash out of his grip.  &  yet the pain is tempered dramatically by edward’s comforting weight pressing down on his hips, keeping him still, his hands unbelievably strong  &  solid as they hold his face in place. his captain sears  &  soothes all at once,  &  izzy drinks it all in indiscriminately, grateful for it all.                                                                  it’s like his entire body can feel the needle, pinpricks rippling all over his skin, almost like drowning.  &  it’s then that izzy realizes he’s forgotten to breathe back in. so he draws air slowly through his nose,  &  the stinging recedes from his lungs, the pain returning in sharp concentration to his face. the ink presses into his skin a little too deep, but izzy is thankful for it still. he would let edward mark his very bones if he asked it.  &  he is also grateful that his teeth are grit so tightly together; there’s no telling what would fall out if he unlocked his jaw now. he just tries to keep breathing, to keep still, to follow his captain’s orders,  &  take what gifts he’s given.              he can’t say how long it goes on, but all at once, the needle is taken away. but edward is still there, even closer than before, his hair pulled back so that izzy can drink in every detail of his face. he’s fucking beautiful like this, his eyes alight as he admires his work. his captain’s voice is sweeter than wine, stronger than whiskey when he calls him mine.  &  izzy can feel a single tear escape the corner of his eye when edward softly cleans his new mark with a cloth.  &  then he’s gone, pulled away to seat himself on the bed near izzy’s feet. it’s too far after being his anchor into his body for so long, the absence of him feeling like punishment. he wants more, wants him back, wants something else  — anything else. would do anything just to feel those hands on him again. but it’s over, the pain  &  pleasure both receding like the low tide.                                                                                          this time, when edward’s voice comes to him, it’s as if he’s far away, or submerged in water, his words distorted by the blood rushing in izzy’s ears.   ❝ i’m fine, ❞  he finally manages, prying his jaw open. it aches after so long clenched together. a trembling hand reaches for the offered bottle, though a drink sounds far less sweet than a taste of edward’s feral smile. still, he pulls himself upright enough to lean on an elbow  &  take a long swig, the burn in his throat far more familiar than the sting of a fresh tattoo. the pain may fade, but the ink will be there forever.  &  the thought brings a grin to his face, broad  &  a litle wild as he locks eyes lock with edwards. ❝ well then, how do i look ? ❞

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH​  for  stede !

in another life,   edward laughs softly under his breath as he pulls stede in for a kiss,  then another,  and another still,  while love pours out of him with every breath.  in this life,  his legs give out at some point during stede’s account of that dreadful night.  selfishly,  he pulls the other man down with him,  stifling a hiss of pain against his shoulder when his knees hit the floor a little too hard.  he will regret it,  probably in the morning if not sooner,  but it’s a distant thought,  one he can’t bring himself to heed at the moment,  because suddenly he is frantic,  clawing at his leather jacket.  it’s stifling, too hot and heavy,  a thick layer of protection that keeps anything from getting too close to his skin, and he needs it off of him.  he needs it off of him now.  his fingers are shaking,  however,  the grip on the straps clumsy and edward nearly sobs in frustration before finally managing to throw it across the room.  breathing heavily,  he falls back against stede,  pushing him backwards until he is laying on the floor,  stede’s name rushing out of his mouth in what he is sure sounds like a delirious litany,  until finally he quiets,  head tucked under his chin,  body pressed against his.  he can feel his heartbeat,  the warmth of his skin where edward brings a hand to rest against his chest,  fingers searching for the bare skin along his collarbone,  trying to learn how to touch gently again. 

❛  just—  stay like this for a bit?  ❜   he needs to think,  and to stop crying and he can’t do either if he looks at stede,  who appears to be almost as wrecked as he is,  tears in his eyes and down his face.  something hissing viciously in his mind tells him he should get the fuck up and tell stede bonnet to never show his face again  —  it sounds suspiciously like izzy,  come to think of it.  edward ignores it.  he is treacherously close to dozing off when he disentangles himself from stede,  slipping off to curl up near his side,  close,  but with a few inches between them.  there’s a crease between his brows as he turns stede’s words over in his mind,  as he imagines him facing a gun and horrible lies while he was waiting for him,  unaware,  thoughts too prone to self deprecation to consider that something awful might have happened to stede on his way to the dock,  to him.   ❛  i thought you left because of me.  ❜   it’s not easy for him to try and put words to the storm that has been buried in his chest since stede went out of his life,  taking every bit of color with him too,  but he has to try.   ❛  because you saw me without all this.  ❜   the leather,  the legend attached to the name.  blackbeard,  scourge of the seas.   ❛  and realized it wasn’t worth it.  ❜   because isn’t that what everybody wants him to live up to? even if it’s killing him,  piece by piece,  day by day.   ❛  i should’ve come looking for you,  instead of standing there like an idiot  —  did he hurt you?  you said the gun went off.  ❜ his voice still sounds off kilter, too quiet, as if he doesn’t trust it not to break again. yet worry slips through the cracks, and it makes him want to reach for the small cut he left on stede’s throat earlier. he stays his hand, forces himself to look away and turn his gaze to the ceiling instead. eerily empty without the chandeliers, just as the rest of the room.

      AT SOME POINT they end up on the floor. at some point edward pulls away,  &  stede thinks that this will finally be it: the moment when he’s told to leave  &  not return. but instead he only tugs at his leathers, struggling for a moment before finally casting his jacket aside.  &  then edward crashes back into him like a wave, overtaking him until they are strewn on the floor. ed is murmuring, shaking, breaking apart, but at least stede has him is in his arms again.  &  he embraces him, tucking him close to his heaving chest, one hand stroking a slow rhythm back  &  forth over his back. ❝ of course, ❞  he murmurs through his shuddering breaths, letting edward lie still. &  stede eventually feels his own tears begin to slow, though he knows well that the sniffles will linger for awhile.                                                                       eventually, edward’s breathing steadies,  &  he disentangles himself from stede's arms to lie beside him instead, a few inches apart. to hear exactly what his absence on that dock that day had left his beloved to believe, stede feels his heart breaking anew, finding some fresh reserve of tears to dampen his stinging eyes once more.  &  stede when he speaks, his voice is certain, decisive. leaves no room for confusion. ❝ no. i never wanted to leave you, ed. it was always me. i just — he had me believing that i wasn’t deserving of you. that you would be better off without me. ❞  &  when edward’s wide dark eyes eyes lift to the ceiling, his war paint streaking down his face, stede wants nothing more than to reach out to him once again. but if edward wanted stede’s hands on him, he would still be in his arms.  &  he would never want force himself where he was not wanted. although he remembers a moment that now seemed like a lifetime ago, a moment where he had needed reassurance  &  ed had found a way to tell him all he felt without a single word.  &  so one of stede’s feet extends out, carefully tucking underneath edward’s leather boot with a gentle but insistent nudge. i’m here, it says. i came back, it says. i love you, it says.                ❝ no, he didn’t hurt me. he — he shot himself. on accident. &  i — i don’t know, i suppose i just . . .  ran away. but i’m fine now. ❞  a pause,  &  stede allows himself a sad smile, turning slowly to lie on his side so that he facing edward, all without ever pulling his foot away to break the tether between them. ❝ in fact, i actually feel  much better now i’m here. ❞  it may be hard to believe, sniffling as he is, his eyes red  &  watery,  a fresh trail of blood drying on his collarbone. but at least they were together again. at least he had been given the chance to tell edward the truth.

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH  for  izzy !

izzy is at his side not a moment too late,   just before his knees buckle under the strain of keeping him upright.  i’ve got you.  edward believes him on instinct,  knowing his first mate would never let him fall,  however smaller his frame might appear.  they have sparred too many times for edward not to know how deceptively strong those arms are.  there’s a joke at the tip of his tongue,  a silly one about being in good hands  —  good hands,  izzy.  got it?  —  but his brain is still woozy and the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a sigh when he is finally seated.  eyes slip closed as his breathing slowly evens out and the sharp pain coursing through his knee becomes a throbbing ache that doesn’t really go away. 

❛  nah,  leave it.  it just decided to be a bitch today  —  pipe sounds real good,  though.  ❜   no,  of course opium doesn’t fix the problem,  but hell if it doesn’t sweeten the bite,  making his head light and his limbs heavy.   it’s exactly what he needs. ❛ remember that day,  izzy?  not that one.  ❜   he’s pretty sure there is no need to summon the awful sound of heavy wood and metal against bone.  the bastards laughing as he screamed.  oh,  he got lost there for a second,  thoughts gone exactly where he didn’t want them to.   ❛  the—   y'know,  when you got me back here and the doc said it would’ve been easier to just cut from knee down.  tell you what, i still don’t regret telling him to fuck off.  ❜

              WHATEVER HE NEEDS;  it is not a pledge that izzy takes lightly.  so while he himself holds no affinity for mind-altering substances, preferring to stay sharp at all times, never would he deign to tell edward not to indulge himself, especially if it soothed his pains.  it is not his place to question the captain.  so he hurries to collect his pipe from the place it had fallen on the table the night before  &  knock the ash out before refilling it with sticky sweet-smelling leaf from the jar that was almost always kept somewhere nearby.                                                                                     izzy is pushing down on the bowl with his thumb to ensure it’s packed tightly enough to smoke evenly when edward bids him remember.  &  of course he does  —  he will never forget.  they had been so young then, but izzy had already been willing to desert for edward, to die for edward.  from the moment he’d first seen the other man, beaten bloody  &  in chains but still snarling  &  seething  &  so beautiful it had hurt his eyes, izzy belonged to him completely.  it seemed a lifetime ago.  they had both been different men then.  but he still remembered with sharp clarity how calmly the order to  break his spirit  had come,  &  how edward had screamed when his knee had been crushed.  but he also remembered how it had felt when edward had asked izzy to come with him  —  the two of them alone in a rowboat stealing away into the inky darkness was the closest thing to freedom he’d ever had.                 but  not that one  edward had said.  &  izzy is pulled directly into another memory by his next words.  a smile comes to his lips at it, painful as it had been.  he can almost see edward snarling at the doctor holding the bone saw, a feral kind of ferocity in his eyes.  he had been beautiful, then, too.  ❝ ‘course i remember.  you also told him exactly where he could put his knives, if i recall correctly.  ❞   &  the way his captain is talking now, like he would do it all again in spite of the pain, izzy knows the man he had followed into the darkness that night is still alive somewhere inside of him.  ❝ you’re braver than most  —  more than half the men up there would’ve let him just take the leg. ❞   satisfied with his work, izzy crosses the room to hand his filled pipe to him, gloved fingers brushing against edward’s as he passes it over.  &  he kneels, pretending to examine the brace again, while truly letting his eyes list up to linger over his captain’s face.  the thick beard that covers the planes of his jaw is going silver,  &  a pattern of creases is beginning to fan out from the edges of his eyes.  &  he’s beautiful, still.  neither aches nor age could ever change that.  ❝ that’s why you’re our captain. ❞

 EDWARD TEACH​  for  stede !

❛  yeah,  stede.  did really great without you,  just look at this fucking room.  ❜   edward snorts  (   a strained sound,  at best   ),  eyes still pointed at the ceiling,  the feeble anger he tried to summon to the surface now choking him up.  he swallows around a much too dry throat,  clumping both eyes and mouth shut as a few more tears slip out,  down his temples and into his hair,  making even more of a mess on his face.  a broken whimper utterly ruins his attempt at gathering more air into his lungs,  but before his body can be wrecked by a fresh wave of sobs,  stede reaches out.  with just his foot,  yet it’s enough to make edward tear his gaze away from the pitiful ceiling.  stede is right there next to him,  real,  absolutely beautiful even with eyes full of tears and a tired edge to him that definitely wasn’t there last time he saw him.  stede is his very own lighthouse after getting lost in a storm,  far from any sight of land.  the ship is still rocking madly beneath him,  but it’s not looking quite so bleak now  —  edward is not waiting to drown anymore,  to just sink beneath the waves and never come back for air again.  not now that stede is finally there,  in the flesh,  not just an alcohol induced fever dream.  god knows he’s had a few of those.  and well,  stede had not been so kind in all of them.  sometimes,  he had been the one at the receiving end of a blade,  the anger and disappointment on dream-stede’s face cutting just as deep.

❛  good.  that’s good.  bastard deserved it.  ❜   while that’s undoubtedly true,  he doesn’t really want to think about that badmington fellow,  doesn’t want stede to think about his stupid words anymore,  so he reaches into the empty space between them to grab for his hand.  edward doesn’t really think it through before wrapping his fingers around it,  thumb moving in a soft sweep across the skin of his knuckles.  i’m glad you’re here.  i’m sorry.  please don’t leave again.  words that feel too raw against the walls of his throat,  words he isn’t ready to speak yet.  but there is something he needs to say,  the memory of words spoken while holding a blade to the delicate arch of stede’s throat causing his grip on stede to tighten and his lips to curl into a wince.   

❛  you don’t have to  —  god,  stede i—  i don’t want you to leave.  ❜   he doesn’t know where they’re going from here,  if they will be able to recover from what they did to each other,  but this he knows:  it’s been utter misery without stede,  days bleeding onto the next one with no distinction,  nothing to ease the growing emptiness in his chest.  he had been going through the motions,  his body putting up a valiant effort to keep him alive despite the glaringly obvious lack of care edward had shown towards it.  eating sparingly and drinking far too much,  not to mention the new scars littering his body that he hadn’t really tried to avoid.

       HE HADN’T EVEN NOTICED  the emptiness of the room.  since he had entered here, his eyes had never once left edward, even when they had filled with tears.  &  only now did he force his gaze away, noticing finally how the his luxurious chambers were no longer outfitted as he had so carefully designed them.  the bookshelves are now nothing but bones, picked entirely bare.  the furniture is mostly gone as well, save for a few of the most practical pieces.  even the chandeliers had been removed from the ceiling, leaving the once familiar quarters shrouded in a strange darkness.  &  stede cannot help but flinch at little at the edge in edward’s voice when he says that chauncy deserved his death.  it had been horrible, whether deserved or not.  he doesn’t want to dwell on it for longer than he needs to.                                but when edward reaches out through the gap of space between them  &  takes stede’s hand, his attention comes right back to his beloved again.  &  the shadows that dance across ed’s face as he cries, his dark makeup smearing into contorted shapes, are remarkably similar to those that lurk in the empty corners of the room.  but edward is still there, beneath the leather  &  the ruined war paint.  &  stede is more than willing to face the shadows to find the man he loves beneath.  he interlaces their fingers slowly  &  gives edward’s hand a gentle squeeze.  honestly, he’s just grateful to be close enough to touch him again. the time they had spent apart had been a painful absence, the lack of his presence felt intensely in his every waking moment.  &  stede knows that he would do anything not to leave his side again  —  thinks he might break apart as hopelessly as a ship against the rocks if edward ordered him away now.             &  as though he’s reading his mind, edward bids him stay.  &  relieved tears fill stede’s eyes once again, a trembling smile coming to his lips.  ❝ oh, ed.  i don’t want to go either.  it was awful to be without you, really it was. ❞  &  he lifts edward’s hand to his lips then, a quartet of soft kisses pressed against the ridges of edward’s knuckles through the soft leather of his gloves.  &  as he looks up at him with watery eyes, the two of them still strewn across the floor but mercifully still alive in spite of everything, a note of fierce conviction appears in his tone. ❝ i’m sorry  —  i’m so sorry that i ran away. but i’m here now.  &  here i’ll stay, for as long as you want me to.  i’ll never leave you again, edward  —  not unless you send me away. ❞

🪐 —  KANG SAE-BYEOK​   for  katiana !

she shakes her head in answer to the question,   while glancing at the box of sweets with something close to suspicion in her eyes.  of course,  she can’t tell her that the only thing resembling sweets she remembers from her childhood is a soft piece of bread sprinkled with some sugar,  precious and rare enough that she made sure to lick her fingers clean.  so sae-byeok says nothing at all while reaching for a macharon,  round and cream colored,  hesitation and wonder whirling in her gut.  you’ll love them,  katiana promised  —  and sae-byeok hasn’t had anything for herself in so long that her fingers almost shake as they finally bring the pastry to her mouth.  

the taste is sweet,  but not so much her teeth ache and she can admit that it’s good.  she wishes she could bring one to her brother.  maybe she will slip one into her pocket later.   ❛  you were right  —  they are good.  ❜   and then she lowers her voice so it stands barely above a whisper,  because apparently all it takes to lower her defences is a little kindness.   ❛  my little brother would love them.  ❜ 

       IT’S A LITTLE STRANGE  the way that sae-byeok handles the seeet treats as though they were cast from crystal.  they were good, to be sure  —  the best outside of paris, as she’d said  —  but still nothing particularly precious.  katiana had eaten almost a whole box this weekend alone.  &  if she decided she wanted more, she could have her driver sent to fetch another box to be delivered within an hour.  &  she sips from her champagne flute, wide brown eyes curiously observing the way that sae-byeok seems to savor it, taking her time to chew  &  swallow.                                                           ❝ well we can have a box to sent to him.  especially if he hasn’t tried them before either.  everyone should.  ❞  &  the heiress makes a mental note to ask for an extra batch the next time she sends someone down to the little bakery for something sweet.  ❝ &  here i didn’t even know you had a brother.  what does he do ? ❞  come to think of it, katiana suddenly realizes she also knows very little about sae-byeok herself, either.  though she wasn’t sure why she should cared.  the other girl was really nothing more than just another of the ever rotating cast of supporting characters in the heiress’s life, bought into her orbit by her father’s obscene wealth.  but there something about the way that sae-byeok held herself that seemed different from everyone else, that cast her aside from all those preening social climbers who clung to her in hopes of seizing some of her family’s  clout or power for themselves.  &  while katiana wants to brush her instinct off, there is a part of her that is just too curious to simply let her differences slide.  ❝ where did you say your family was from again ? ❞

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH   for  stede !

the sound that tears itself from his throat is halfway between a sob and a laugh,   soft and heaved out with a trembling breath.  stede speaks with such certainty,  like what he is telling him is nothing more than a well known fact:  like the sun rising in the east and the coming and going of the tide.  you deserve to be touched gently,  with kindness.  does he have the faintest idea what his words do to him?  how they reach inside him and find the part of himself he had learned to bury deep inside?  the part that longs for this,  for the kindness he has rarely been afforded in his life.  stede gives it to him so freely that edward can’t help basking in its warmth,  while being wrapped in his arms with this much care.

❛  no one has touched me like you do.  ever,  stede.  if anythin’,  i’m the lucky one here.  ❜   he raises his head from his incredibly comfortable resting place,  only so he can look into stede’s eyes.  and the fondness he can see in them is so clear that the need to be even closer to him overtakes edward with sudden and blinding force.  the movement is a bit clumsy,  but he manages to turn fully towards him,  both hands cradling his face and body pressed against his.   ❛  the luckiest man in the whole wide world.  ❜   he chases the words right to his mouth,  punctuating the last three words with a kiss after each one.

       THERE IS SORROW  in the idea that edward has never known a gentle touch before his.  but then when he thought about it, stede supposed that neither had he.  he  &  mary had gone through the motions in every possible respect of course, but they had shared no passion between them, no inherent desire to be near one another.  &  her hands on his skin had felt nothing like edward’s,                                                      the effect that the latter has on him is heady  &  overwhelming as they take his face within their grasp,  &  stede presses into the touch, leans up to chase after the kisses that edward gifts him.  this was undoubtedly unlike anything else he had ever felt before, there could be no question of that.  &  yet it was the lack of experience with it that was precisely why stede gave  &  gave his love to edward without restraint.  he had been waiting his whole life to find him,  &  now that he had, stede found he could rarely find the strength to restrain himself.  when you had waited your entire life for love, it would not do to waste a moment of it.  &  besides, in his view, the world was far too cruel to abstain from gentleness where you could get it.                     ❝ ed, my love, i could say just the same, ❞  he murmurs, a hand slipping up his back to tangle in the thick mass of dark hair at the back of his head  &  holding him close  —  though mercifully, edward doesn’t seem inclined to go far.  their legs lie tangled beneath layers of embroidered cashmere  &  crushed silk,  &  stede can feel his heart racing in his chest.  perhaps one day he will get used to this, but it seems he hasn’t yet.  ❝ i think we may just have to agree to disagree in this regard. ❞

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH  for  stede !

breath stutters on its way in,   a quiet yet audible hitch.  a sound just like the one stede compelled out of him on a moonlit night,  what feels like ages ago now  —  edward had almost kissed him that night,  eyes glued to his every movement,  everything in him pulled tight,  leaving him open and tender in a way that both terrified and thrilled him.  he feels the same pull now,  wants to taste that promise on stede’s lips and swallow the sweet bite of it until his insides are lighted up from within,  still edward keeps well enough away from his mouth,  content with just taking hold of his hand,  for now.  he is not quite ready for it,  is all,  to leave himself open like that again so soon.  this  —  their fingers interlocked,  the ghost of stede’s lips on his skin through the gloves —  is good.  is enough.  it has to be,  because edward can give nothing more,  not right now.  but the way he doesn’t pull away says what he can’t through words:  wait for me.  i’m not ready, but i will be.

bars of sunlight announcing the nearing dawn find them like this:  their hands still twined,  the floor as a makeshift bed that can’t be too kind on age weathered joints.  light begins to shine on a new day,  a new beginning and words he thought forgotten rise to memory unsolicited.  what if it’s not a death.  what if life just begins again.  and suddenly edward can’t bring himself to look at stede anymore,  a sick feeling in his chest reminding him how he hardly deserves to.  it’s with eyes cast towards the door that he next speaks,  hands retrieved against his side.   ❛  i’ll take the nest.  ❜   though with how spartan he’s left the captain’s quarters it barely feels like kindness.  edward has been sleeping up there more often than not,  anyway.  he rises to a seated position,  moving slowly through a spreading ache to his knee that he certainly doesn’t wish to alert stede to,  making no move to get up yet.  he tries to stall,  then,  attempting to fix whatever mess of tears and kohl currently adorning his face,  rubbing at the skin with next to no result.  with his attempt obviously failed,  he finally accepts defeat, lowering his voice to a near whisper.   ❛  can you uh..  get it off my face,  maybe?  ❜   he wants the war paint gone for good.  it always felt too thick on his skin anyway,  as uncomfortable as sun dried leather and edward can’t stand to bear it a moment longer.  he has withstood every bit of discomfort in these past weeks,  tight lipped,  refusing even the smallest chance of reprieve from it,  so this request is no small matter at all.  it stands as a clear sign that the ice he has ensconced himself in is slowly thawing under the sunlight. 

       HIS EYES BARELY SO MUCH AS FLUTTER CLOSED  all night.  tired though he is, stede finds it impossible to look away from edward for so much as a moment.  the wooden floor is harsh  &  unyielding, the furthest thing from a featherbed, but he cannot find it within himself to complain about a thing  —  not when edward permits their fingers to remain interlaced.  the leather between their skin a small price to pay for his mistakes. simply to be allowed to hold him this way is a mercy that stede did not know if he would be given again.  yet he does not utter a single word in protest when edward stirs  &  withdraws his hand at last.  stede knows that they cannot stay like this forever; the crew will likely all be waiting to see what state they two are in when they emerge.  &  while nothing is entirely fixed,  early morning light is slowly beginning to chase the shadows away from the corners of the room.                                           stede almost wants to argue when ed mentions leaving the room to sleep in the nest, to insist that he stay in the captain’s quarters with the proper bed.  but there’s an element of resolve in his tone that makes stede remain silent.  perhaps it would be best to let edward set the rules for now.  &  when he uses gloved hands to attempt to remove the streaks of dark makeup from his face, stede is desperate to help.  &  when the request does come after a moment, it raises a gentle smile on stede’s face.  ❝ of course.  wait here a moment, i’m just going to fetch some water. ❞  his limbs crack as he pushes himself to his feet,  but stede ignores the protests of his aging body, crossing to the washroom in all haste.  luckily, there is still freshwater in the vanity pitcher that doesn’t look as though it’s been soiled,  &  he grasps the handle in one hand  &  the small block of floral soap that sits beside it in the other, carrying both back to the main chamber.  yet as he crosses the room, a glint of silver catches his eye,  &  stede bends to pick edward’s knife up from where it had fallen to the floor,  soap  &  blade balancing precariously in his fingers.              with grip full, he kneels again before the other man.  in the growing daylight, edward looks even more exhausted, his cheeks hollow  &  streaked with tear tracks.  but he is still beautiful,  &  still himself, even now.  stede lets himself look for only a moment before his attention shifts to the task at hand.  first he draws the blade, slicing a long strip from the bottom of his shirt without a second thought.  one end of the linen is dipped into the pitcher  &  squeezed out until it is no longer dripping,  &  stede rubs a little of the soap into the damp cloth.  &  then his his eyes return on edward’s face for a moment, nothing but adoration in his gaze.  ❝ hold still now, ed, we’ll have you back in no time, ❞  he murmurs.  &  then both hands slowly rise, the one that isn’t holding the cloth brushing a lock of unkempt hair back behind edward’s ear to make room for his other.  &  with that one, stede presses the lavender scented linen gently to his cheekbone  &  slowly moves back over his skin, wiping the kohl away to reveal the man he loves is still there beneath.

🪐 — LUCIUS SPRIGGS  for  izzy :

breath gets stuck in his throat halfway out,   while his brain struggles to comprehend that this is something that’s actually happening.  this meaning getting kissed by none other than izzy hands,  which effectively shuts him up for once.  even rarer,  lucius is also keeping utterly still,  not moving a single muscle of his body  —  it’s not the resisting kind of tension,  however,  it’s just the what the hell do i do kind of it.  because izzy is more complicated than most men he has ever kissed  (   he easily takes the first spot at that   ),  as hard to predict as the weather when it gets all shifty and crazy,  and lucius doesn’t know whether he should do something with his hands or not,  if it’s safe to put them anywhere at all on the other man or if he should just keep them off.  he doesn’t risk it,  in the end,  not with how izzy reacted last time he had touched him.  arms stay down his sides,  then,  as lucius allows the pirate access to his mouth. 

the kiss itself is a bit rough,  beard scraping against skin,  yet lucius doesn’t exactly mind it.  well,  it’s a step up from angry snarls and furious retreats,  at the very least, better than seeing izzy stump on what he wants before he can dare let himself have it.   ❛  okay.  wasn’t expecting that,  like at all.  but i didn’t hate it.  ❜   lips even curl up in something that’s half grimace-half smile,  faint and a bit tentative, bordering on shy. which lucius surely isn’t, especially when kissing is involved. so that means he is nervous, of course he is, he has every and one reasons to be: because lucius hasn’t forgotten the man’s scathing words,  he is in fact well aware of how quickly it all could go spectacularly wrong.  and because this might be a step forward in the general direction of progress,  sure, but it hardly could be considered a miracle.  ❛  let me guess. you’re going to tell me to get lost now? ❜ it comes out maybe a little sharper than intended, but not by much.

     HE DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS,  how it’s supposed to work.  the only man he’s ever touched, who’s ever touched him, is edward.  &  that had been so different that it scarcely feels fair to compare the two.  after all, they had not kissed, not like this.  &  lucius is stiff, but he also lets his mouth open slightly, actually lets izzy kiss him.  &  the first mate feels himself flush,  a low simmering heat moving across his skin beneath layers  &  layers of black leather.  he wears it laced to the top, not a whisper of skin exposed below his throat.  &  there is a reason for it, the barrier keeping hands away from his flesh intentionally.  izzy does not like to be touched.  less than a fortnight ago, he had threatened to remove the poor boy’s hand for the crime of laying it on him with a semblance of gentleness.  &  yet, as he kisses him, rough but hesitant, izzy finds himself wishing for gentle hands on him, for lucius to want to reach for him  &  actually be able to find his skin when he does.                                 it’s a mad desire, one that leaves his head spinning,  &  he’s almost grateful that lucius breaks away a moment later so that he can catch his breath.  izzy is left panting, eyes dark  &  wide when they flutter open  &  look up at the taller man’s face, shocked to see that he’s almost smiling.  i didn’t hate it,  lucius says,  &  izzy has to choke down a wild laugh, hoping to pass it off for something more akin to a scoff.  but then the next words have izzy flushing even redder.  shame is a familiar emotion, one that he has had seared into his skin both literally  &  figuratively.  he knows its sickening nausea, its trills of fear up his spine.  but this time it’s different, colored with a different shade of guilt.  it’s not the act of kissing lucius that he feels shame for  —  that had felt entirely good, warm in a way he had never experienced before.  what does make him lower his eyes, hands softening their grip on lucius’s shirt to lay flat against his chest instead, is how he had treated him before now.                  &  the thought makes him feel a little ill.  izzy almost steps away to flee, almost shows lucius that he’s right about him.  but he wants more than anything to prove him wrong.  ❝ no.  that’s not —  i want  — ❞   he wants lucius, wants to be greedy  &  ask for both his lips  &  his hands.  yet the words still stick in his throat.  izzy knows that he doesn’t deserve the things he really wants, not after the way he’s behaved.  but he’s had a taste,  &  now he’s greedy for more.  though he still can’t manage to look lucius in the eye while he speaks, his gaze instead glued to his fingertips where they lie resting against the other man’s chest, his voice is steady despite it’s uncharacteristically soft tone.  ❝ i want... to do that again.  i —  i liked it. ❞  &  it still feels strange to admit it aloud, but the next words fall from his lips before he can even consider stopping them.  ❝ &  i want you to put your hands on me, too, this time.  if ... if you wouldn’t mind it, that is. ❞

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH  for  izzy !

❛  thought you’d be up here.  ❜   he finds izzy in the crow’s nest,  high above deck.  edward is not as fast or graceful as he used to be  (   or young,  for that matter   ),  but he settles beside him just the same.  for a while he just breathes,  slow,  unhurried,  gaze lost to the clouds blanketing the moon from proper view,  simply enjoying the chance to be doing this.  edward feels calmer than he has in months  —  years,  if he has to be honest  —  with izzy at his side and the certainty that he is not going anywhere bestowed upon him like a blessing,  so when he turns and settles a hand just below izzy’s knee the rush of sorrow spearing through his heart is dimmer than it had been a few days ago.  

edward had come back safe and sound from his lone venture like he said he would,  and they had talked,  probably for longer than they ever had.  honesty poured out of each of them in turn,  some hard to hear,  but very much needed.  let’s stop hurting each other,  yeah?  we’ve done enough of that  and  fuck off,  izzy.  twenty years and not a word of this?  he had said that chasing away tears with a startled laugh,  a breath distance away from izzy’s mouth.  which he had kissed soundly,  moments later. 

still,  words now crawl up his throat feeling like pieces of broken glass.   ❛  does it still hurt?  ❜   guilt laden grimace casts the edges of his mouth downwards,  but it’s an important question  (   even if it’s coming in a bit late   )  and edward wants izzy to answer him truthfully.   his hand stays well enough away from his maimed foot,  though it sneaks gently down to his clothed calf,  finally coming to a stop there.

    IT’S A CHALLENGE TO GET UP HERE,  even if you’re uninjured, even if you’re young.  izzy is neither any longer.  but it’s why he knows he likely won’t be disturbed.  &  here, there’s no chance of him running into one of the ship’s many pairs of happy lovers sharing an intimate moment beneath the moonlight.                                  he’s still trying to wrap his head around everything, old dogs  &  new tricks.  edward loves stede, but he loves izzy, too.  &  they have promised each other that things can be different between them.  that they won’t hurt each other any more.  &  even lucius may say that it really is fine with black pete all that had happened between he  &  izzy  — that there was no bad blood between them all, no matter what izzy wanted moving forward.  but regardless of what anyone says, or how kind  &  welcoming they all are, it often just feels that he simply doesn’t fit down there.  no, izzy belongs up here.  sometimes, he fancies himself a black-clad crow, safe  &  solitary in its nest.        but when he feels the rope ladder shift long after bonnet’s absurd bedtime story had fallen into silence, izzy is surprised to see ed climbing toward him. he’s usually retired to the captain’s quarters with bonnet by now, but there he is, pulling himself slow but sure into the nest to sit beside his first mate.  he’s silent for a long moment, but when he speaks, edward’s hand falls onto izzy’s leg.   &  there are at least two layers of black fabric separating their skin, but still he shudders at the point of contact. has to stop himself from leaning into the touch.  &  the wings of the bird tattoo on his throat shifts when he draws a shaky breath. he’s no crow,  &  he cannot pretend to be  —  no, izzy is a swallow,  &  swallows mate for life.                       even still, he has to bite back a lie.  blackbeard would have rewarded him for shrugging it off  &  going about his work while denying the pain.  ut blackbeard is dead,  &  things are meant to be different between he  &  edward now.  &  lucius is forver making him say what he wants, tell the truth. so izzy knows by now how to swallow around the old lump of fear in his throat at  &  unlock his jaw, voice even more hoarse than usual after hours of disuse.  ❝ it hurts, ❞  he admits, tone low as he looks out over the glittering sea.   ❝ but i’ve had worse. it’s only really bad when i stand on it for too long. ❞  &  slowly izzy drags his eyes back to his captain’s face, the moonlight catching in his long hair, gleaming even brighter now than it did in his youth thanks to the streaks of silver that runs through it now.  ❝ &  you, capt  —  ed ?  your knee must be doing fine, for you to climb the ladder like that. ❞

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH  for  stede ! 

he hasn’t been avoiding stede all day,   not exactly.  not by choice,  at least.  it’s just that they haven’t managed to get a quiet moment to themselves in what feels like entirely too long,  and they’re both still trying to navigate their newfound relationship in the wake of stede’s return  —  while having to deal with the consequences of edward’s broken hearted rampage on top of that.  it has been a messy ordeal from all sides,  obviously.  it still kind of is,  because although it’s getting better the process is slow and the road not void of obstacles.

edward waits until it’s nearly sunset,  with the rest of the crew long gone to find some well earned merriment across nassau,  before securing a hold on stede’s hand and all but dragging him towards his restored quarters on the revenge.  contrary to this behavior,  however,  he halts his movements once they are inside.   ❛  hey.  ❜   back to the door,  edward slants a sheepish look stede’s way.  he is wearing his leather trousers,  but his torso is covered by one of stede’s white linen shirts  (   taken from the untouched secret wardrobe,  of course   ),  and his lips are upturned,  albeit tentatively.  as if he’s learning how to do this all over again.  how to be around stede again,  without either clawing at his clothes as if he’s afraid the man might disappear any second,  or arguing it through until he is exhausted and apologies fall from his lips like rain drops,  heavy and desperate.

❛  c'mere.  ❜   he takes him to the couch,  hand still linked with his own.   ❛  there’s some serious stuff i need to tell you.  promise you won't  —  you can’t stop me until i’m done,  alright?  ❜   he waits for confirmation,  and the next words out of his mouth come quieter,  stifled.  he’s very much trying to find a way to make stede understand what’s going on in his mind.  and trying not to hurt him in the process,  too.

❛  i need to go away for a while.  on my own.  i’m thinking about taking the queen anne and just enough men to make sure she doesn’t fall apart on me.  it’s been a while,  so i’m gonna have to check that she’s ready for open sea again,  but it’s not  —  you’ve done nothing wrong,  i need you to believe me on that.  i said you made me happy,  an’ you still do.  ❜   edward frees him of his grasp at last, only to cradle stede’s face with both hands. he does nothing but brush his thumbs across stede’s skin for a while, hoping to provide more reassurance this way, but he grows restless before long and a concerned frown makes an appearance on his forehead.   ❛  stede?  talk to me,  love.  ❜

     THE CREW GONE ASHORE  served twofold purposes : both to bring the men’s morale up with a well-deserved break,  &  to give edward  &  himself some proper time alone aboard the revenge for the first time since stede had finally caught up to him. it was still not as it had been before between them  —  &  perhaps it never would be again  —  but it was shifting into something else now, something more honest.  &  stede is eager to move past the pain, to make his amends  &  let time do its work healing the wounds they had all caused.                         there are nerves that prickle to life low in his gut when edward finds him at sunset  —  a vision to behold in both leather  &  linen  —  &  pulls him toward their quarters, the door falling decisively closed behind them. stede doesn’t know what’s coming next for them, but he trusts ed. with his life, he trusts him. but edward doesn’t lean in to kiss him, doesn’t try to touch him, aside from where their fingers are entwined.  ( he still hasn’t, not since that first night he’d been back,  &  stede honestly can’t decide if he’s grateful or disappointed for his hesitance. )  instead, edward leads him by the hand to the sofa, sits them there together  &  makes stede agree to listen to whatever it is he has to say.  serious stuff.  &  the butterflies in his stomach suddenly turn sharp, fear warning him that this is the moment ed leaves him after all. but still he nods, his eyes locked onto his beloved’s face. no matter what he has to say, stede will face it.  &  his eyes are steady, though he cannot entirely stop his hand from curling tighter around edward’s when he begins to speak.       need to go away for awhile.  taking the queen anne.  ready for open sea again.  stede hears the important parts, but some of the words in between come a bit muffled through the sudden rush of blood in his ears, his heart pounding violently in his chest. stede feels his lip quiver. he can’t keep his promise ; he can’t face this.  &  his head drops, eyes falling to hide how saltwater wells in their corners. but there are other words, too.  done nothing wrong.  made me happy.  you still do.  &  stede clings to them as debris in a storm, repeats them to himself a few times, hoping they are enough to keep himself from breaking apart.                                        he has to choke back a soft whimper when edward takes his hands away, but they return quickly to cup his face instead. his fingers are strong yet gentle, thumb tracing over his cheek. it feels nice,  &  stede lets himself lean into the touch. just in case it’s taken away, he wants to remember this feeling.  but it’s the gentle way that edward says his name, calls him love  that finally calls him back, watery eyes fluttering open.  ❝ i’m —  i’m here. still here. ❞  they both are.  &  stede forces himself to draw a slow breath, one of his hands curling around ed’s wrist to steady himself before he responds.  ❝ so. i’m afraid i still need you to help me understand, my darling.  you’re leaving.  but ...  you’ll be coming back, right ? ❞  &  there is a pause, but only a brief one, before he adds, ❝ &  — why are you going ?  did you say ? ❞

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH  for  izzy !

edward can’t stop looking at him,   at the black lines he traced with his own hands just a few moments earlier.  the urge to press his fingers to the inked spot almost overwhelms him,  entranced as he is,  mind going numb with the knowledge of how permanent this is:  izzy can never get rid of it,  can’t take it off like one would a ring or a piece of fabric.  edward will always be there,  pressed to his skin,  etched deep into it where he can’t be rooted out from,  just like that ink.  it’s enough to make his head spin,  without a single drop of alcohol having touched his lips yet.  he can’t think of anyone else who would be willing to offer themselves so readily to him,  not like izzy just has,  body still and mouth emptied of complaints,  wholly trusting of the man above him.

❛  hm,  let me see.  ❜   he pretends to be deep in thought,  catching izzy’s chin between his fingers to turn the inked side of his face towards him.  a grin of his own mounts on his lips like the swelling of a wave as it nears the shore,  the slow drag of it not making a show of his teeth just yet.   ❛  like the most fearsome pirate i’ve ever seen.  ❜   despite the grin and the laugh that soon follows it,  edward’s voice bears the earnestness of truth  —  and fondness too,  threading just beneath it.  izzy had become an unsuspecting ally in the face of the bleakest adversity first and a friend later,  and now edward can’t even imagine a time when he would turn to his right without finding izzy there,  solid and unflinching beside him. a force to be reckoned with.

❛  wanna do mine sometime?  ❜   he lays down the offer with a shrug,  like it’s not a big deal,  but there are not many people he would trust to go near him with a needle of that size,  not without second thought.  just one,  in fact.  he settles down on the floor,  in the end,  back pressed against the bed and both legs stretched out in front of him,  lest his knee gives him shit for it.  which he would probably deserve,  for discarding a perfectly reasonable surface like he just did.

      THE WAY EDWARD IS LOOKING AT HIM,  his dark eyes gleaming with pride, a smile spreading gradually across his face  —  it makes all worth it.  &  izzy knows in that moment that he would do anything to have his captain’s attention like this, would face any danger or endure any pain without a single word of complaint if edward would only be pleased with him for it.  &  with his chin held tight in those strong fingers he adores so, izzy is entirely pliant, basking in the glow of his approval, tilting his head wherever his captain wants it without even the barest degree of resistance. the pain in his cheek is gone somehow, though he’s only had a single swallow of liquor. it’s like edward himself is some kind of drug, izzy’s head going cloudy  &  his skin flushing every time he is graced with his touch.                     ❝ pretty sure that’s meant to be you, boss, ❞  he says, chuckling softly, eyes cast to the side to keep that smile in his line of sight.  &  it’s true  —  they both know it. no one fears izzy on his own, no matter how good he’d become with a blade. he needed edward, could never embody the myth they had begun to build without him. no, izzy was content to be blackbeard’s first mate, the only one who was trusted to carry out his will.  &  he would gladly soil his hands with the blood of their enemies as many times as was required if it meant that edward might stay safe, if his hands could remain clean. izzy knew where he belonged, what he had to be : blackbeard’s hands, but never his face.          he has to stifle a complaint when the hand is taken away from his face again  &  ed slides away to sit on the floor instead  —  though internally, izzy chides himself for his weakness. he should know by now that the gentleness will not stay, any moments of softness exchanged between them always fleeting  &  nestled carefully between the roughness that they were both far more used to, should not be expected to linger.  &  izzy lifts the bottle to his lips again, taking another long swallow. yet he doesn’t have much time to lament the loss, edward’s offer piquing his interest immediately.  ❝ of course i do, ❞  he says without hesitation, his head dropping back against the wall with a low thud.  &  he can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the adrenaline that’s made him brave, but he allows a leather-clad leg to fall over the edge of the bunk, his calf resting tentatively against edward’s shoulder. it’s not skin-on-skin, but it’s better than nothing, the subtle point of contact keeping him grounded.  ❝ i’ve actually got quite a steady hand, you know. bet i could make them look real nice. ❞  &  he can’t deny how the thought of edward laid out beneath him, just as he himself had been just a second ago, letting izzy press ink underneath his skin, makes his head spin, dizzy at the very idea. perhaps edward would even let him return the same mark he had just given izzy. perhaps it could be a symbol that tied them together, rather than simply marking izzy as his. but he should not let himself hope for such a thing, leaning forward to pass the now half-empty bottle back to his captain.  ❝ what would you want me to give you ? ❞ 

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH   for  stede !

❛  ’s yours.  ❜   head drops against the sturdy wood to his back as he speaks,  tongue loosened up and mind rendered to a heap of half coherent jumble.  with the whole of his attention snagged by the sight of stede’s grin growing deeper,  this is even worse than the night edward asked to run him through.  foolish thoughts and the thundering of his heart plaguing him with no mercy.  well,  only the gentleman pirate can say to have made a fool out of blackbeard himself,  doing nothing more than simply dropping into his life with his linens and lavender soup and that lovely grin of his that scrunches up his nose sometimes.   ❛  aren’t ya supposed to be a gentleman,  though?  or have i already made a scoundrel out of you,  stede bonnet?  ❜   it’s edward’s turn to flash him a grin,  a valiant attempt at appearing unbothered on his part.  or at least,  a little less like someone that desperately wants to kiss the bloke in front of him silly.  just a little would suffice,  truly.

    IT’S SUDDENLY UNCLEAR  to him if they’re still dueling, given that edward’s not even struggling to free himself from stede’s pin.  &  his smile grows suspicious, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the unbelievably gentle look that edward graces him with. perhaps this is all a test, some kind of lesson to never let your guard down, even when you think you’ve gotten your enemy beaten.  &  he lifts his blade just a degree, anticipating some trick to come. even now, he had to believe that edward could slip out of his hold if stede drops his focus even for an instant, quick  &  graceful as he ever was. but he only smiles, still  &  relaxed, as if content to have lost.   ❝ one can be obey all the rules of good etiquette  &  still be a fearsome foeman, i should think, ❞  stede replies.  &  his arm does not budge from edward’s chest, reveling for another moment in his win. whether temporary or not, stede intended to enjoy the moment of triumph. one day, perhaps he could tell his children he had conquered the fearsome blackbeard in hand to hand combat.  ❝ &  the rules of battle dictate that to the victor go the spoils.  so it would seem to me that your life’s now mine to do with as i please. ❞

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH​   for  izzy  !

smoke fills his lungs slowly and for a little while there’s nothing but the faintly sweet taste of tobacco mixed with poppy in his mouth.   but edward knows it won’t take long,  it never does and he only has to count to sixty three times before it finally hits his brain,  sudden and sure like an anchor holding him in place.  coiled muscles relent until they go utterly slack,  pain fades to a distant afterthought and edward finally groans with relief.  for a blessed moment all he can think about is that someone ought to thank those poor fuckers in china for him.  without drugs he would have been in paralyzing pain for hours,  unable to get even a few hours of half decent sleep. a miserable ordeal, truly. he would know, having gone without plenty of times.

without cracking a single eye open,  he knows izzy is still right at his side.  he is not that far gone he can’t hear the man breathing  —  and talking  —  next to him,  but it’s more than that:  edward would recognize him by smell alone,  by that leather and salt scent and something else that’s entirely his own,  by the pattern of his feet on the wood, even.   ‘  you could kill me with that shit.  ’   rather than accusation,  his voice is tinged with the faint echo of laughter.  to edward it makes perfect sense why he would bring such a notion up,  when surely izzy is well aware of that  (   when surely he remembers how awfully sick edward had gotten on what must have been a bad batch once   ),  but he realizes with some delay that maybe a follow up would be in order.  izzy can’t read his mind,  as edward seems to forget rather often.   '  wouldn’t trust any of those other fuckers with it  —  with me like this,  y'know that.  guess that’s why you’re my first mate,  huh?  ’   edward has his eyes open now,  stare fixed on his first mate.  he feels a little fuzzy around the edges,  but no less certain,  wholly confident in what he just said.  he has always let izzy manage the doses,  trusting him to deal out the right amount,  a matter of not too much and not too little that took some trial and error,  and trusting him to not let it become too much of a habit too.  although edward trusts himself fairly enough on that front.  thing is,   he is almost completely unable to move right now and there’s no sign of reasonable panic to show for it through his brain,  something that would be unattainable with anyone other than izzy in the room.  izzy,  who chanced upon edward chained and bleeding within an each of his life on an english vessel and followed him through hell ever since.  here they both are,  both alive and getting grey in their hair.  and really,  who the hell would have thought?  —  with the shit life expectancy that comes with being a pirate and all that. 

'  ’m really glad you’re here.  ’   his voice wavers a bit as he utters this,  a rush of honesty crawling up his throat as warmth takes over his chest,  steady and familiar and having nothing to do with the drugs in his system.   '  don’t tell ya enough,  do i? ’   a frown,  izzy suddenly seeming too far away even though that’s hardly true.  it scares him for half a second,  so he reaches out with his ungloved hand until he finds the side of izzy’s neck,  warm and pulsing with life beneath his fingers.  

    HE TAKES NO JOY in seeing edward like this, does not enjoy watching him slip beneath the opium’s thick haze.  no, izzy prefers his captain when he is sharp  &  certain, when he knows who  &  what he is.  but even this addled state is far preferable to seeing him in pain.  &  it is the least izzy can do for him to stay of sound mind while his captain dabbles in the more dangerous substances, to help him moderate the addictive pull of the poppy, to oversee his dosage  &  ensure that he’s using it safely.  &  it is a privilege, to be trusted so.  in this, too, he will always act as his captain’s own right hand.                                                 still, he can’t help the low chuckle that comes from his throat at edward’s words.  you could kill me,  he says.  but the truth is that izzy couldn’t, even if he had a mind to.  such a thing was impossible to imagine; he would sooner turn his blade on himself than willingly let any harm come to his captain.  the scar tissue on the back of his right hand itches suddenly, a constant reminder of all that he was willing to endure to see edward safe.  &  he opens  &  closes his fingers in an attempt to chase the sensation away, leather creaking when his knuckles pull against the tight material of his gloves.  but when his captain’s voice turns uncharacteristically soft, bare fingertips curling around the column of his throat  —  just above his collar, skin on skin  —  izzy feels his heart leap into his throat, pulse pounding suddenly beneath edward’s palm.           &  were they anywhere else, perhaps izzy would pull away for fear of losing control of himself.  but here, in the privacy of the captain’s quarters, he allows himself to press into the touch, eyelids fluttering as he revels in the sensation of the other man’s bare hand on him.  ❝ you don’t have to. i don’t do it for thanks, boss. you know that. ❞  accolades were rare at sea  —  no one was entitled to gratitude or praise for simply doing their job.  &  it had been part of his duties as first mate to protect his captain, not to give up his location to the english even when they had threatened izzy with that horrible iron glove.  only the weakest of men needed to be coddled for doing what was expected of them,  &  izzy hands is not weak.  &  yet, he cannot stop himself from leaning a little closer still, even letting his cheek press against the outside of edward’s thigh as his stares up at him through his dark lashes, eyes tracing the handsome planes of his captain’s drug-softened face.  ❝ it’s the greatest honor of my lifetime to serve you, edward.  here, like this, for you  —  this is where i belong. ❞

🪐 — KANG SAE-BYEOK​  for  katiana !

she shows no mercy for katiana's staggering form,   jaw clenched and stare as unforgivingly cold as her hometown winter nights.  sae-byeok reasons against simply leaving the girl to fend for herself,  after witnessing another near missed collision against the pavement.  because despite her harsh demeanor and the hundreds reasons why she shouldn't care at all,  sae-byeok keeps a dangerous secret under close guard:  her heart is too big for the cruel word she has been tossed into and sometimes it still compels her to kindness,  in spite of her better judgment.    '  aish  —  i'm calling you a taxi.  don't get sick on me.  '   she hisses this through her teeth,  still no more inclined to take pity on katiana's alcohol muddled brain enough to be gentle about it.  she wounds an arm around the other girl,  however,  in case she needs to keep her upright while she guides her outside the club,  towards the street's curb.  the music being blasted through enormous speakers follows them there  (   yet another thing to endure in this mess of a night   ),  forcing sae-byeok to raise her voice significantly in order to be heard.   '  can you get yourself home?  ' 

    THE CITY LIGHTS ARE SPINNING  —  or maybe she is.  katiana can’t really tell.  sometime after the fourth double martini, she’d lost her sense of balance.  &  her shoes didn’t help, brand new patent louboutin heels spiky  &  stiff  &  sky-high.  more than once, they catch on an uneven piece of pavement  &  almost send her sprawling, long legs knocking together as she just barely stays upright, giggling the whole time.  some guy had been trying to chat her up inside, but he’d ditched her pretty quickly when she’d turned down his invitation to go back to his place, grumbling something about not getting a proper return on his investment.  as if he had any room to talk.  he’d still been wearing madc jacobs’ winter collection from three years ago, so she doubted he really had any idea what made for a good investment.                        she’s fishing around in her handbag for her cell phone, her untouched roll of cash still tucked into the inside pocket  ( girls like her don’t pay a cover charge,  &  they definitely don’t buy their own drinks ), when sae-byeok appears at her side.  &  katiana gives a drunken squeal of delight, an arm flung clumsily around the other girl’s stiff shoulders.  ❝ sae-byeok, i’m so glad you’re here !  did you see that guy who was talking to me in there ?  he was so boring, did you see ? ❞  she’s slurring, her head pounding in time with the loud music outside the club,  &  it takes sae-byeok’s words a long moment to register.  ❝ ah, a taxi, yes, exactly, that’s just what i was trying to do, but i couldn’t find my phone !  maybe i left it inside.  but it’s fine, i can just get a new one. ❞   &  then katiana breaks off into giggles again, her arm falling from the other girl’s shoulder.  ❝ um, no ?!  you can’t leave, the night’s not over yet — we still have to go back to the flat  &  have girl-talk.  that’s the best part of any night out, don’t you know ?  like you have to tell me, did you have fun ?  did you dance with anyone cute ? ❞