Stede / Interactions. - Tumblr Posts

🪐 — edward teach​ ;

@musecraft​  (   as stede   )  says:  you can come back. I’ll bring you back. we’re in this together.

edward doesn't relent his grip on the hilt of his dagger,   still stained red with stede's blood.  for a moment,  just a tiny one,  his stomach lurches at the sight of stede looking so pale,  pain swallowed by a stupidly determined look in his eyes,  but he is quick to catch himself before he can make the mistake of being vulnerable in front of stede bonnet again.  look where that got him last time:  left alone on a dock,  waiting and waiting until the situation had become painfully clear.  stede wasn't coming,  wasn't going anywhere with him,  and edward had been a fool to believe someone could truly want him,  man and monster both.  and yet,  now that they are sequestered inside bonnet's old chambers,  the smell of blood still thick in the air,  edward doesn't do anything he thought he might have enjoyed doing to him  —  he doesn't wrap his hands around his throat,  doesn't aim the gun at his head,  doesn't twist a blade inside his heart until he cries so much his throat goes numb.  i wanted to hurt you but the victory is that i could not stomach it. 

❛  don't breathe another word.  ❜   voice low,  seething,  carved out of a jaw set too tight,  all of it a bit incongruous with how he has placed himself away from the bed,  however.  the table to his back,  as if stede is dangerous,  like a lighthouse.  if stede so much as touches him,  edward is afraid he would splinter open,  a ship wrecked on the rocks.   ❛  i want you out of my sight come morning.  ❜   but that's a lie,  isn't it?  because there's a part of him that wants to plead stede to stay and never leave again.  in another life,  he buries his face against his chest until the pain washes away.  in another life,  he welcomes him back with a kiss instead of a knife.  

           IN SPITE OF THE COLD KISS OF STEEL  at his throat, stede cannot pull his eyes away from his beloved. his hands raised at his shoulders with palms outward in surrender, in repentance, in regret, his gaze watery as he looks over the other’s form. admittedly, edward looks a bit of a mess, his hair tangled, dark eyes aflame with rage  &  thickly rimmed in black paint. but it doesn’t matter, not really  — it’s just good to see him again. even at the point of a blade. a trickle of blood slips down his neck, staining his silk collar with a vivid crimson splotch. but it’s a small cut,  &  far less than he deserves; stede should have known he wouldn’t be allowed to simply waltz back aboard the revenge  &  return to ed’s side as though nothing had happened. as though he hadn’t abandoned him.

                                                                                  but he’d come back — didn’t that count for anything ?  the look in ed’s eyes said no; the damage had already been done. he’d come too late,  &  stayed away too long.

                   still, stede knew he had to try. there had been precious few things in his life that he had ever been willing to fight for ( never much had the stomach for fighting ) but edward was not something he was prepared to give up so easily. he had rowed miles to get to him, &  would not be turned away without even a discussion. yes he had come late, but he was here now.  &  he gives a smile laced with sorrow, his hand reaching slowly outward in defiance of the blade. he doesn’t think that it will dig in. but if he’s wrong, if edward wanted to kill him, then stede would resign himself to death. at least it would be done by edward’s own hand.

                                                    ❝ come morning, ❞  stede repeats the words slowly, his voice gentle. his fingers finally make contact — not with edward’s hand where it is curled around the hilt of his knife, but against the flat side of the blade itself. their fingertips are close enough to touch, mere inches apart, but they don’t. stede doesn’t let them, ever cautious as he pushes the blade away from his skin, a hopeful spark alight in his eye.  ❝ does that mean you’ll permit me to stay with you tonight, ed ? ❞

🪐 — lucius spriggs​ ;

@musecraft​  (   as stede   )  says:  there’s more, there’s something you’re not telling me, I deserve to know.

❛  okay,  fine.  he was  —  um.  ❜   grimacing,  lucius turns briefly around.  as if blackbeard himself could appear behind him..  and what?  toss him overboard again?  that's ridiculous.  so of course stede wants to know more besides the obvious blackbeard's gone off the rails bit,  he is too clever not to read it off lucius guarded expression and well,  he could also tell with the state he had found his crew in,  obviously.  lucius finally heaves a sigh,  gathering air that doesn't make him feel like he is nearly enough ready to deal with this whole situation  —  he might be fantastic at break-ups,  guys,  but this is something else and it's stressing him out  (   and pete,  and everyone else   ).   ❛  he was crying,  captain.  and wearing your,  uhh.  robe?  the red one?  i think he was really having a hard time.  but he wasn't,  well  —  acting like an evil lunatic yet.  please tell me you can fix this.  ❜

            ❝ HE — ED WAS REALLY CRYING ?  OVER ME ? ❞  the image of the last time he’d seen edward in tears comes to stede’s mind unbidden. he’d been in the bathtub, only a few weeks ago though it felt an entire lifetime apart. he had needed absolution then. but this time it’s stede that needs to be forgiven. at the idea of edward clad all in soft red velvet, a picture of beauty even in his sorrow, stede feels his heart lurch painfully in his chest. &  the horrible truth was that the damage to edward wasn’t even all that weighed on his conscience. he had hurt so many with his cowardice  — his loyal crew punished on his account. lucius himself had been tossed to the sea to drown, only saved by sheer dumb luck. stede rests a sympathetic hand on the boy’s shoulder, inclining his head closer. ❝ i’m trying lucius, ❞ he breathes, his voice low, half worried that edward ( or worse, izzy ) might be lurking around the corner, listening.  ❝ he hasn’t run me through or tossed me overboard yet, after all — i think that’s a rather good sign. ❞

🪐 — test muse starter for  @trickstercaptain​​ 

         THE PORTSIDE TAVERN IS CROWDED with ruffians  &  rabble rousers of all stripes, each more fearsome to behold than the last. stede stands out in a place like this, his stark-pressed lace cravat nearly glowing white against the backdrop of salt-sprayed wool, cracked leather,  &  threadbare cotton. perhaps he should not be drawing quite so much attention to himself; many an eye follows him as he pushes his way through the tightly packed men,  &  even more heads turn to cast glares upon him when he accidentally elbows someone’s tankard of ale. even then, he barely manages an apology, his attention entirely fixated on the lone figure seated at a table in the corner. of course, he can’t be certain this stranger is the man from all the tales he’s heard, but he certainly looked the part.  &  as he draws near stede becomes all the more certain. finally, he reaches the edge of the table, only slightly ruffled from the ordeal of making it through the crowd. ❝ hello there good sir, i’m terribly sorry to interrupt you, ❞ he says one hand absently smoothing his silken jacket as pale eyes peer curiously at the other man. ❝ but you wouldn’t happen to be  jack sparrow,  would you ? ❞

🪐 — edward teach​ ;

stede’s fingers move ever so slowly,   like he is confronting a wild animal ready to pounce on him  (   he kind of is,  in a way   ).  but it’s the way he calls him ed that gets through to him,  in the end,  seeping rage out of him in big greedy gulps.  he lets it happen,  too tired to hold on to the anger and violence that kept him standing  —  barely  —  during all these weeks.  he lowers the blade without much of a fight,  then takes a ragged breath for what seems to him the first time in forever when it clutters to the wooden floor in a heavy thud.  because he was never going to do it,  was he?  he couldn’t push it any deeper than that.  and he already knew that from the start,  which is why they are away from prying eyes,  from voices demanding stede bonnet’s ultimate demise.  well,  only one really.  but izzy isn’t here to witness this pathetic failure,  and that’s all to the better.  edward is pretty sure he wouldn’t even bother with challenging stede to a duel,  this time.

he doesn’t want to deal with this right now.  all that’s left of the fire burning in his stomach earlier has dimmed to dying embers,  and without that he just feels drained,  chilled to the bone and more alone than ever.  shoulders finally sag and he bends his head,  as much to drag his gaze away from stede’s almost mournful expression as to attempt to hide the tears welling up in his own eyes.  tangled strands of hair fall forward, obscuring his view,  partially hiding stede from sight.  oh,  he knows he’s still there,  stubborn to the core,  just can’t see what he is doing very well anymore. 

❛  isn’t this your chance to make me pay for what i did to your crew?  it’s what you’re here for,  isn’t it?  ❜   it’s the only thing that makes any sense to edward,  the only way his mind can fill in the blanks and name a reason for stede coming back here.  he has tasted violence all his life,  it’s his own fault if he had thought he could have something kinder,  for once.  he should’ve known better.

     THE BLADE LOWERS A DEGREE AT A TIME, stede’s breath held close in his throat. he can see it when the fight goes out of edward, his head falling forward as the knife hits the floor. his face is hidden behind long unkempt hair, but the shift in tone of his voice is unmistakable. gone is its sharp edge — now there is a note of sorrow to his voice that stede has never heard before.  &  that worries him, his brow furrowing at edward’s words. oh how he yearns to reach out  &  touch him, to wrap him in a warm embrace  &  hold him close as the apologies he knows are owed flow from his lips. the distance between them is painful, an unpleasant prickling at stede’s skin. it is torment to be so close  &  not close that final gap, takes all his strength not to step closer or reach out.                             but he hasn’t been forgiven yet. he hasn’t earned the right to touch edward again.  &  stede won’t push himself where he isn’t wanted any longer. if edward can’t forgive him — then stede will not force him to endure his presence beyond tonight, even though it would break his heart to leave his side now he’d finally made his way back.

                                                                                   ❝ to the crew ? ❞  the words are said with confusion, his sad smile disappearing as he recalls finding them on that tiny spit of land, scorched  &  dehydrated  &  nearly mad from the exposure. but he couldn’t truly blame edward for that; he had been their captain, after all,  &  it had been his fear  &  failure alone that had put them there on that deserted rock. stede is the only one that requires absolution. ❝ oh, ed, no, ❞ he says, his voice choked with regret.  ❝ no, of course not. that’s not — that was my fault, not yours. it’s all my fault. ❞  tears begin to well in his eyes,  &  stede drops his gaze to the floor, shaking his head back  &  forth a few times to try to keep his composure.  ❝ i came back because . . .  because . . . ❞  &  then he has to force himself to look up at edward again, tears or not.  ❝ because i never should have left you there alone in the first place. &  i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, edward. ❞ 

🪐 — edward teach​ ;

he waits for hatred or disgust to crawl into stede’s words.   waits and waits for it to hit him straight to the chest,  like a fatal wound delivered with inescapable good aim.  it’s no less than what he deserves.  but nothing of it comes, not in the slightest  —  the only thing he hears is wretched sadness.  and regret,  too.  so much of it edward nearly chokes,  chest tightening painfully at each intake of breath.  he can’t breathe right,  like something is pulling him underwater and he can never gulp down enough air before he goes down again.  right hand curls,  desperate to hold onto something,  anything,  and it doesn’t stop when it only finds the flesh of his palm,  it doesn’t stop when skin tears and he starts to bleed  (   better his blood than the sight of stede’s own   ).  it grounds him,  at least a little.  not nearly enough.  what he needs is what he can never have:  stede.  stede touching him,  his arms keeping him afloat like he did in his dreams. 

❛  i killed the writer boy.  toss’d him overboard.  ❜   and that can’t possibly be stede’s fault now,  can it?  no,  that is on his hands alone.    ❛  so why shouldn’t you—  what else can you be here for?  ❜   now that anger doesn’t fuel him anymore his voice sounds weak,  on the verge of breaking.  he is so tired of pretending to be dealing with this any better than he is.  it doesn’t take long now  —  a sob wrenches itself free from his throat,  and it’s like a dam finally bursting open.  edward doesn’t have the strength to hold back tears any longer,  so he lets them fall down his cheeks in messy rivulets,  streaked with black,  his head still hung low. 

         IT’S THE MENTION OF LUCIUS that makes stede feel suddenly ill, his stomach rolling unpleasantly like a ship in a storm. the scribe hadn’t been left on that god-forsaken spit of sand with the rest of the crew, but nor had jim or frenchie,  &  yet only the later two had been waiting safely aboard the revenge upon his return.  & stede flinches at the thought that the boy had died all thanks to him,  all because he hadn’t been there to keep him safe. the regret overwhelms him for a moment, makes him nauseous. perhaps lucius’s ghost would appear to haunt him now, waterlogged  &  deathly pale with seaweed in his hair. but the broken sob that escapes from ed’s lips returns stede’s attentions to the present — he will have to assuage his guilt about the boy later, somehow.                                                                      edward’s face is downturned, its expression hidden by his long loose hair. but the flickering candlelight glistens against wet tear-lines that track through the black paint ringing his eyes  &  trail down his cheeks.  &  stede can’t stop himself any longer, the instinct to comfort his beloved when he is in pain far stronger than the need for self-preservation. he takes half a step closer, a hand gradually extending until his fingertips make contact with edward’s leather-clad shoulder.  ❝ oh, ed. i do wish you hadn’t done that — after all, it was me you should’ve been angry with, not him. ❞ when he doesn’t instantly lose his hand for its impudence, stede allows it to slide slowly up the shoulder. it moves only a meager degree at a time until the fingertips catch on ed’s long hair, gently brushing a few fallen strands back so that he can see more of his face. it is contorted in pain, streaked with tears  &  black paint, but he’s still beautiful. ❝ but that’s not why i . . .  i came back for you. because — ❞  his voice is breathy  &  breaking as he chokes back the heavy lump in his throat, still fighting to keep his own tears from falling.  ❝ because i love you, ed. ❞

🪐 — edward teach​ ;

@musecraft  (   as stede  ) sent #81 to:  help edward style his hair.

his hair smell nice,   still a bit wet and cascading down his back with nothing to hold them up.  he closes his eyes,  every drop of tension to his muscles drained by the warm and nicely scented water of the bath stede had drawn for him.  he can't see stede,  sitting behind him on the bed as he is,  but he can feel his fingers carding through his hair,  thumbs pressing on his scalp in that way of his that makes edward melt under his beautiful,  clever hands.  fingers touch his neck and he doesn’t even stir,  let alone flinch away as he normally would.  no,  he leans back into it,  with a soft,  almost keening sound escaping his lips. 

❛  stede.  'm going to fall asleep right here and now if you keep this up.  ❜   tone heavy and slow,  a pleasant drowsiness already making its way through it.  and well,  with his awful track record when it comes to sleeping more than a few hours each night?  it wouldn't be such a bad idea to just drop his head on stede's shoulder and let sleep take him under.  edward thinks he could do that,  all wrapped up in lavender scent and stede's red robe.  the offer to help braid his hair or something forgotten in a corner of his mind. 

        HE’S MEANT TO BE BRAIDING IT,  but stede’s gotten distracted. edward’s hair is long  &  thick  &  gorgeous,  a dark waterfall shot through with elegant streaks of silver that covers his shoulders like a curtain.  &  after being soaked  &  scrubbed in the bath, it flows through his fingers as smooth as silk. but what’s even more beautiful still is the gentle way that edward seems to chase his touch, leaning into his hands at every opportunity.  &  the delightful responsiveness is only enhanced by the quiet pleased little noises that rise in his throat. stede finds himself chasing those sounds, carefully massaging his scalp. nails softly scratch over the skin, committing to memory the places that elicit a sigh or a shiver. never has he felt so at ease in the presence of another; for the first time in his life, he feels like he might be exactly where he belongs.                                                                     &  he gives a soft hum of affirmation when edward speaks, his fingers never stilling in their loving ministrations as they rub soft concentric circles just above his temple.  ❝ sleep then, ❞ he murmurs, lowering his head so that he can whisper in his beloved’s ear. one hand finally untangles itself from the long damp hair then, looping gently around edward’s waist to pull at him until his back presses flush against stede’s chest. then he leans back himself until his shoulders meet the edge of his bunk, half lying down now with edward still safely wrapped up in his arms  &  one of his softest dressing gowns. ❝ rest now, my darling. i’ll still be right here when you wake. ❞ his lips brush edward’s ear when he speaks, leaving the ghost of a kiss against the side of his face.

🪐 — jack sparrow ;

      Jack didn’t spend this much time in taverns across both civilised and non-civilised ports alike not to know when there was some sort of disturbance in the usual behaviour of the crowd, and certainly with every brief glance upwards from the logbook on his table, the source of whatever ruckus this was yet appeared to be getting ever closer to his table. He didn’t notice the cause at first, not until one quick survey of the room drew his eye to a sudden flash of white — and even then he was content to dismiss whatever he’d seen as a trick of the light. It was unfortunate, then, that the next time he glanced up that so-called trick of the light had become a fully fledged, peculiarly dressed human-looking man, scrambling through the throng of patrons towards his table with a look of what could only be described as astonishment, as if he had suddenly become the most interesting person in the room. Jack could concede that in this moment right here, he was not. “ I… would happen to be, yes. ” Mouth open, Jack blinked a few times, before dragging his gaze slowly across the bloke’s entire visage, just to be sure. Nothing changed. He was still standing there. Dressed in that. “ But… I do not recall accruing any significant tailoring debts and, even if I did, those debts are, ” he made a show of poking his thumb through a hole in his shirt sleeve, “ not mine. ”

              THE GLEE STEDE FEELS  when his suspicions of the man’s identity are confirmed spreads across his face with no attempt made to stifle it. he breaks into a grin, his hands even clapping once together in delight. it wasn’t every day that one got to meet a pirate of such legend, after all  —  &  entirely by chance no less !  truly, this was his lucky day. but the next words confuse him, stede’s brow furrowing in bewilderment.  ❝ tailoring debts ? ❞  he repeats, eyeing the tatty edges of jack’s sleeves. even so, it takes him another moment to understand. but when he does, stede releases a chuckle, his hands smoothing the lapels of his elegant brocade overcoat.  ❝ oh no, my good captain. i’m no tailor — though i shall happily take your guess as a compliment. ❞  &  though jack didn’t seem to have any malice in his tone  — more abject astonishment  —  stede is still reminded once again that he stands out among these kinds of men. but he refuses to allow the thought to take hold of him, drawing himself up until his spine is straight  &  his jaw is set before he speaks again. ❝ i’m actually a pirate very much like yourself  — though i haven’t yet got half as many adventures under my belt as you do. ❞ his smile comes more gradually than before,  &  the lace trim of his sleeve flutters as he places his hand on the back of the chair opposite of jack’s seat in a clear request. to seat himself at a table without permission would be horribly impolite,  &  stede was still a gentleman, in spite of everything. ❝ in fact, i had wondered if you might be willing to recount some of your most daring tales for me ?  i should very much like to hear about your travels from a primary source, as it were. ❞ a moment’s pause, stede patient as he waits to see if jack will acquiesce to his presence. ❝  &  i’ll gladly see to it that you don’t go thirsty while you’re speaking, of course. ❞

🪐 — lucius spriggs ​;

grimace deepens,   nose scrunching up with it when stede proceeds to be awfully optimistic about the whole thing.  as if blackbeard hasn’t become a walking time bomb,  as if the fact that he hasn’t thrown stede overboard or stabbed him yet is to be praised.   ❛  oh,  that’s so nice of him,  isn’t it?  ❜   he can’t really help the bite of vitriol seeping into his words.  it’s just there,  making his fingers tighten around the pen he is not really writing anything with and his eyes harden as he recalls being left to drown by the very same man he had tried to help. not something he is going to forget ( or forgive ) anytime soon.

❛  yeah,  sorry.  not really blackbeard’s greatest fan right now.  all i’m saying is that whatever the fuck happened on that ship can’t be all on you.  it was bad and maybe a little pathetic,  yes,  but not that bad.  not i’m going to murder people bad.  ❜   lucius swallows around a much too dry throat,  trying to clear it a little and loose the heat to his tone at least a bit.  for stede’s sake,  certainly not for that madman.   ❛  just.  be careful?  ❜

       HE CANNOT BLAME LUCIUS  for his bitterness;  certainly it must have been a horrifying experience to have been thrown overboard  &  nearly drowned.  &  a sharp pang of regret hits him, slicing through his gut as deftly as any blade. he was the boy’s captain,  &  therefore his protection was stede’s responsibility. he had abandoned his crew as much as edward on the beach that night,  &  so held himself alone at fault for what had been done to lucius  &  the rest of the men. it was a mercy that they had all survived the ordeal  — that he might yet have a chance to fix his mess  —  &  stede didn’t intend to squander it.

                                                           ❝ i know, ❞  he says gently, his hand never falling from its resting place on lucius’ shoulder.  ❝ &  you’re kind to say so, but the fact is that this is my mess.  &  i’m sorry for what happened to you, lucius  —  you should never have been put in danger by it. i am your captain,  &  i didn’t protect you. there can be no greater breach of trust between us than that. ❞  &  stede’s lips curl into a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, their watery blue gaze going steely at the edges as he looks away from lucius  &  out toward the sea. ❝ i don’t expect for you to forgive him  —  or me, for that matter.  but i can promise you that i won’t repeat the same mistakes. i won’t let you or anyone else get hurt because of me again  —  i swear it. ❞

🪐 — plotted starter  for  @izzyhnds​

      THE REVENGE  SEEMED LIKE A DIFFERENT VESSEL  without edward aboard. stede had fought so hard to return to his ship, expecting to find him there waiting. but instead there had only been a disgruntled izzy hands  &  a sharp sword at his throat. it had been the crew that had saved him this time, demanding a vote for the captaincy. edward’s orders had dictated that izzy be left in charge, but edward hadn’t been seen in weeks.  &  with stede returned, the crew had made their preference clear.                                                                    &  so stede was captain again. but without edward there with him, it was a hollow victory.  &  his sense of unease only grew sharper when izzy stalked away after the vote, visibly fuming. stede didn’t fancy having to worry about a blade at his back every time he turned around,  &  if izzy was going to be part of the crew  — at least while they searched for edward  —  then they would have to talk it through sooner or later.                                     still, talking to izzy hands was a less than appetizing thought. he still hadn’t forgotten the man’s sword plunging into his gut, or the way he had tried to convince edward this was really for the best while the british soldiers loaded their rifles. but edward had asked him to stay with the revenge  &  look after her while he was away doing whatever it was he had to do alone, so clearly he still trusted izzy. certainly he would have his reasons.  &  while stede could not say that the feeling was mutual, he also knew that he was the last person who could judge another for betraying edward’s trust.                 so he made his way down from the deck after the other man, finding his way to the small forgotten space that izzy had taken as his sleeping quarters aboard the ship. ❝ first mate hands ? ❞  he calls, rapping on the door with his knuckles. but stede does not wait for permission before swinging the door open  —  he is the captain,  &  he does not need permission to enter any space aboard his own ship. but the sight awaiting him when he swings the door opens is a surprise: izzy is packing his belongings into a rucksack, as if preparing to vacate his space. ❝ what exactly is it that you think you doing ? ❞  stede asks, standing bodily in the door so that izzy cannot easily slip past him  &  flee.

🪐 — ELIS HOWELL​.

For the record, Elis had not started this argument. Tensions between an Englishman and a Welshman were not unheard of but the latter honestly was just trying to enjoy his damn drink and self pity in peace thank you. The man was seated on a stool at the bar while the sounds of the pub around him began to blur a bit into one. He was trying to ignore the man he’d accidentally pissed off. He was drunk, words came easily, not the words the other wanted to hear. His ignoring only stoked the flames. A warning of watch yourself sounded from behind his shoulder from a man dressed far too nicely for this place. Elis was dressed finer as well but his clothes had began to appear a bit tattered in some areas. 

At his peripheral, Elis could see the first man stumbling and readying to hit him. He sighed and shifted his beer just in time so he could flatten his chest to the bartop as the fist came flying for his face. The fancy man who had told him to watch himself, unfortunately, maybe needed to be told the same. The fist struck Stede in the jaw and sent man down to the ground and into one of the empty stools. 

Shit. 

It was at this moment, Elis stood up, letting his height give the drunk brawler a pause. It was usually something like this. The doctor wasn’t one for fighting but it was wiser to not let someone know that. Forget the fact he’d not thrown a punch since he was a boy, it had never been proper of him to do so. He’d never really had to. People tended to assume he could. Some saw him for what he was. Another rich boy whose life was fucked over by cruel chance. The inkeeper/bartender knew him as such and shot a look of warning at him. 

“Elisedd. — You out,” he added to the other man who had started it, pointing to the door. “Now before things get messy.” All eyes were on the pair and the blond man on the ground holding at the side of his forehead where some skin had split from hitting the stool and was bleeding. Elis didn’t say another word, continuing to let whispers and assumptions be made but he was holding his breath and didn’t let it out until the drunk had waved him off and stumbled outside the bar. 

“Sorry Martin,” Elis apologized quietly with a small smile. 

“One of these days they’re going to actually hit you.”

Elis shrugged at the barkeep, he probably deserved it, before turning to lower down and help pull Stede to his feet. 

“Easy – easy now. Let me take a look,” said Elis, his accent was almost musical even with his words slowed a bit by beer. His hands brushed away Stede’s hair and fingers and his eyes narrowed. He let go, stumbling a bit. “I should – you should probably sit down,” he adjusted himself, hand gripping at the bar top for some balance. Yeah, Stede was the one who needed to sit. 

Martin cleared his throat. “Elis. You can take him to your room, if you’d like?” Code for. Get this blood out of my bar.​

          HE HADN’T EVEN BEEN INVOLVED  in this particular scuffle, but that didn’t seem to be enough to protect stede from it. the punch wasn’t meant for him, but it found him all the same.  &  it was enough to send him clattering to the floor, his drink becoming a dark red stain across the front of his handsome silk vest. but the ruined outfit was the least of his worries  — the punch seemed to have bent his nose to one side,  &  before he struck the ground, his head cracked sharply against one of the stools, sending white stars spiraling behind his eyes.                                                                          his head spins a little as they slowly fade  &  the tavern comes back into focus, stede gripping the nearest stool to haul himself into to a sitting position. the place where his head had struck the leg ached  &  he lifted a hand to it. pain lanced through him at the point of contact,  &  stede flinched. his fingertips came away from his face wet  &  red,  &  a droplet of blood tracked down his jaw.  &  then his head started spinning again,  &  his clean hand must grasp at the stool to keep him at least halfway upright.                                          when his vision steadies again, the man who he had tried to warn of the danger was standing in front of him, his hand extended to pull stede shakily to his feet. but the other man  —  the one whose knuckles he’d been on the receiving end of  —  appears to have gone, at least. the fight was over, with stede himself being the only unfortunate casualty. just his luck; he often found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.                   ❝ thank you, ❞  he says upon finding his feet again, the deeply ingrained etiquette always the first thing that returns to mind. but then there are hands against his face brushing his bloodied hair back to get a better look at the wound, scarcely more steady than his own. ❝ oh, no, but i’m quite alright. i insist, that’s not necessary. ❞ although he is still a bit dizzy, slightly disoriented, stede doesn’t want to be a bother to anyone. though he does allow himself to slump back against the bar a bit, grateful for something solid to lean up against.  ❝ just give a moment to catch my breath  &  i’ll be right as rain. ❞

🪐 — 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. ❞

🪐 — IZZY HANDS​.

This was almost worse than the fucking MUTINY. Deep down, Izzy knew he should be thankful that hadn’t happened again and he hadn’t been roped up to another anchor. He was still pretty sore about that. He supposed even gone, Edward’s rule still reigned. Especially with the beast that had awoken in him. He thought he’d been getting somewhere with these people. Sure things weren’t fun but fun didn’t keep you alive and that was Izzy’s FIRST priority. Why these idiots couldn’t see that, he’d never know. 

It became quite clear how the crew felt about him and about Stede’s returned. It felt like a fucking knife to the heart. Maybe not the heart but somewhere in the chest region. It fucking sucked. He’d lasted longer as a captain this time but the moment that Stede Bonnet stepped back aboard the Revenge, things had folded quickly.

Well fuck this. Fuck the crew. And FUCK STEDE FUCKING BONNET. He was done. Out. Izzy felt himself starting to spiral a bit. It took half of his might to not challenge Stede to another duel. He knew it would not do any good. It wouldn’t earn him the respect of this crew. It wouldn’t make him worthy of taking over for Blackbeard despite the man putting his faith in him again. It wouldn’t do JACK SHIT.

First mate Hands. Like it was already over and done with. Izzy heard Stede through the door and grit his teeth. He took a slow breath, trying to appear less worked up over this than he was as he shoved another article of his into his sack. Anything left over of his things Ed could have, if they didn’t get thrown away first by the time the man came back. IF he came back. 

“Preparing for a picnic – what the bloody fuck does it look like I’m doing? I’m LEAVING. The crew has made it abundantly clear – and – and,” he stammered and gestured with his hand wildly, trying to find the words as he took a few steps to recollect his cane from where it leaned against his bed. 

“Blackbeard gave me one job and I can’t even fucking do that right it seems. Stay on the ship. Look after the crew. Well they were looked after and yet STILL want their pansy ass – lily-livered, precious Stede Bonnet,” he ended with a huff before throwing his sack on his back and making his way towards the doorway only to find Bonnet blocking his path. 

Izzy looked more confused than angry for a moment and he tapped the top of his cane against Stede’s chest. “Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing. Out of my fucking way.”

        HIS FIRST THOUGHT upon hearing the explanation is that izzy has finally snapped  —  that he has officially been pushed too far. without blackbeard here to fall back upon  &  stede returned to the captaincy, his actions could no longer be predicted. izzy was a loose end.  &  though they’d made no secret of their dislike of one another, it was the duty of a captain to clean up his own messes. stede could admit that he had been a rather poor captain; but he didn’t intend to repeat the same mistakes as before.                                              yet the words izzy says surprise him  — not the content necessarily, but the quantity. he isn’t usually so verbose; not with stede, anyway. but then, he has never seen izzy quite this frayed. even on the night they had dueled, he had seemed in control of himself, all of his moves so well thought out they may as well have been planned. but this feels like something different, unchecked, his hands gesturing wildly as he speaks. the insults he levels are sharp, but not unfamiliar. lily-livered little rich boy.  &  stede frowns deeply, a crease appearing between his brows as he draws his shoulders back  &  raises his chin up high.                  the rapping of the cane above his heart leaves stede scoffing, knocking it away from himself with one hand. ❝ no, i’m afraid not, mr. hands. ❞ stede tries to insert some tone of authority into his voice, but it sounds more like disappointment than anything else. he will have to practice sounding more commanding; as a captain should.  ❝ your captain gave you your orders :  you were told to stay on the ship  &  look after the crew, yes ? ❞                                                                                &  for as much as stede could scarcely stand to be in izzy’s presence  —  &  perhaps it would be easier if he were to simply stand aside  &  allow him to leave  —  he can also see now that they are both bound by the same ties. it seemed that neither he nor izzy could stand to deny edward anything.  &  if he were to return to the revenge, stede could just bet that they would both wish to be waiting for him. ❝ to leave before he returns  &  dismisses you from your post would be to defy a direct command from your captain. so, is that what you intend to do ? ❞                                            arms cross over his chest, stede still stubbornly in the very center of the doorway to prevent izzy from slipping past him.  &  while he wouldn’t put it past the smaller man to force his way through if he was angry enough, at knifepoint if necessary, stede bizarrely finds himself rather firm in his stance, the fear present but vague  &  secondary. yet still his pale blue eyes continue to flicker downward, just to be sure that izzy hasn’t reached for his blade yet. ❝ i should hope not. because i could use a man with your unique perspective to advise me on our next venture. ❞

🪐 — 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. ❞

🪐 — IZZY HANDS​.

It was true that Izzy would not walk away from Blackbeard mid-conversation. Nor most other captains he’d worked under. Yet he did not view Stede fucking Bonnet on even the remotely same pedestal. Though this act just might give him a few points.

Stede had very politely, yet sternly had been trying to explain to Izzy that some of the crew seemed to respond better when being given positive encouragement and things to improve on. Bonnet had even offered to have Lucius make him grading cards he could feel out. If Izzy could read that is, he’d had to ask. Nevermind that the majority of the crew could not. 

Izzy had not even humored him with a response to that question.

“That has to be one of the stupidest ideas from a supposed captain that I’ve heard in my entire focking career,” Hands spat before simply starting to walk away without another word. Maybe he’d finally struck a nerve because before he knew it, Bonnet’s hands had grabbed him. With a fluid spinning motion, Israel found himself pushed up against the wall and pinned. 

“–Jesus” It wasn’t particularly rough or painful but it was enough to get a slightly wide eyed response from the cantankerous first mate. Pupils even darkened some. Fuck. He’d not expected Bonnet to have that in him. 

The man’s gaze furrowed in annoyance while simultaneously dropping briefly to the other man’s lips unconsciously. It was hard not to at that proximity. Right? He looked back up slowly with a slow tug of his lips. “Well, well, well. Look who decided to act like a real captain for once. 

           HE HADN’T MEANT TO LOSE HIS TEMPER  with izzy,  &  he certainly hadn’t meant to grab ahold of the man’s lapels as he had tried to move past stede, forcing his back against the wooden wall with a low thud. at least, he didn’t think he’d meant to  —  &  yet, he couldn’t well have done it on accident. so he must have meant it. it was just that izzy had been  all but impossible to handle  ever since they had agreed to make the best of their less than idyllic situation  &  sail together until edward returned.                                                            &  stede has been trying really hard as of late  —  with the entire crew, but especially where izzy is concerned  —  &  to have it returned with such utter disregard was nothing less than infuriating. so when izzy had gone to brush him aside in the middle of what he’d been saying, well . . .   he supposed he’d just snapped.          ❝ hold your tongue now. ❞  he commands, his voice harsh. he was still no blackbeard, but stede was trying at least;  &  he didn’t think that it was too much to ask for izzy to put forth the slightest modicum of effort in return ?  blackbeard wouldn’t request to be respected  —  he would require it.                                            ❝ listen well now, mr. hands, because i will not be repeating myself to you. ❞  &  stede leans his weight into izzy’s shoulders, keeping him pressed flat against the wall with his arms at his side, no hope to reach for his sword.  ❝ i know well that i’m not the captain that you chose to follow, but i’m the captain that you’ve got  —  at least until we either find him, or he returns on his own. ❞                                his gaze softens slightly then as he thinks of edward,  &  stede finds himself looking at izzy closer than he has before, noticing how the tattoo just beneath his eye a perfect mirror to the mark that had signed their  act of grace. they both of them are bound to this ship together by the same rope, whatever their personal differences might be.  &  stede snaps his gaze away from the mark back to izzy’s eyes. ❝ i know also that you don’t like me  —  &  to be frank, i don’t much care for you either  —  but for the interim while i am acting in your command, i will have your respect, or i will order the men to throw you overboard. ❞                                                  &  then stede sets his jaw firmly into place, straightening his spine to its full height without stepping backward. his hands release from their grip, jeweled fingers retreating to lace together in front of his abdomen as they had been before the altercation. as though nothing had happened.  &  yet beneath his hands, beneath the fine light silk of his shirt, fresh scars are hardening. ❝ do i make myself quite clear ? ❞

🪐 — 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. ❞

🪐 — IZZY HANDS.

The spirals of his brain twist and turned, stomach churning from the mixed anxiety and anger he was feeling. The former was more prevalent internally despite anger being what usually shown in his actions, like he was wearing a mask. The problem with Stede fucking Bonnet was while he WAS an idiot he was not stupid. The distinction was important. Especially in this line of work. Well, Izzy was still likely to call him stupid at times but the man was not unintelligent by any means. Naive about how the real world worked? Sure. 

The words that fell from Bonnet’s lips were expertly spun from Izzy’s own comments and the logic Stede knew the man would follow along with. 

‘your captain gave you your orders :  you were told to stay on the ship  &  look after the crew, yes’

Hands stared up into the man’s eyes sharply at those words. The gears in his head turning as he tried to find fault in Bonnet’s logic but it only grew worse as the man continued.

‘to leave before he returns  &  dismisses you from your post would be to defy a direct command from your captain. so, is that what you intend to do ?’

Bonnet had him.

For as much as Izzy’s brain screamed at him to say ‘fuck off. I don’t fucking care’ he could not do it. He could not argue with the captain’s logic for at the end of the day loyalty to my captain was carved into his very soul. Even more so after he’d betrayed Ed. He could not do so again. He’d sooner let Blackbeard run him through, straight through the heart, than do that again. The missing toe on his left foot was a reminder of that. The scabbed over wound ached at the thought of it, or perhaps he’d leaned too much pressure on that side. 

Threaten me again and I’ll feed you the rest. 

Izzy’s eyes mirrored Stede’s own fear for a moment. Threatening couldn’t be worse than betrayal, than disobeying Blackbeard’s orders. No. Stede was right. He couldn’t abandon his post. The idea of disappointing his captain struck deeper than his fear of loss of life and limb however. Fucked up little man was he.

“Fuck me,” Hands muttered softly, much of the fire fading in his eyes as he looked down. “Fine,” he added quietly and turned to walk back to his bed, limping slightly as he utilized his cane until he could sit down on the bed and drop his sack and cane near his feet. Hands came up to the sides of his face, fingers steeping into his hair as he looked down at the ground. His right knee was bouncing anxiously. Failure. You fucking FUCKER. 

Deep breaths. Easier said than done, he was focusing too much on keeping a level expression around Bonnet. “And what, pray tell, is our next ‘venture’?”

     HE CAN SEE THE FURY  as it rages in izzy’s eyes, a storm just scarcely held back by the cover of darkened clouds. nevertheless, his words find their mark,  &  izzy’s hand  does not reach for his sword in spite of how part of him seems to want to. his assessment hadn’t been wrong then, it seemed. for what other motivation aside from love for edward could izzy have for obeying stede now ?  he did not delude himself  —  his technical victory in their duel had not been due to any actual skill on his part, but rather sheer dumb luck. should the two face off again, izzy would likely not leave him alive a second time.                          but stede has always been better with words than blades,  &  this altercation is not one that can be won with force, but rather requires carefully applied pressure in just the right places. this is a duel he can win. so he waits, for izzy to either make the next parry, or for him to yield to stede’s argument. &  if his guess is correct, then izzy will be trapped by the weight of his loyalty to his captain, bound just as fast stede had been to the mast with his blade.                                                    his patience is rewarded with victory when izzy curses, voice harsh  &  angry as ever, but more steady than before.  ❝ there’s a good man, ❞  he says, approval in his tone at the acquiescence. yet as the other man steps back to seat himself on his sleeping cot, stede notices the uneven gait with which he walks.  &  as he considers it, he realizes that he doesn’t recall izzy having that particular injury before now. it seems new, the way he maneuvers with it unpracticed. but stede also knows better than to ask about what appears to still be a sore topic, their ceasfire held only tenuously.                 ❝ we’ll be going after him. ❞  stede speaks with determination in his voice, his spine so straight it’s gone rigid.  ❝ i know that he told you that he wanted to be alone right now, but i doubt very much that he accounted my return into the equation. ❞  &  stede could not sit idle  &  do nothing while edward was out there somewhere, thinking that he’d abandoned him, likely being reckless with his life because he thought no one would care if he lost it. well stede cared.  &  the fact that izzy remained behind was proof enough that he was not the only one.  ❝ &  loathe as i am to admit it, you know him far better than i. you were at his side for years, were you not ?  so you know all his moods, you know all his tendencies. ❞                                                                                a pause is given,  &  stede softens his tone, hoping that he hasn’t miscalculated. perhaps izzy would rather run him through than help him get back to edward. but he’s come too far to turn back now. ❝ if i’m to find him, i’ll need your help to do it. ❞ 

🪐 — IZZY HANDS​   for  stede !

The comment surprises Israel to say the least. Part of him wanted to tell Bonnet to fuck off back to his fancy quarters and read a book or knit or something. The other part knew that he’d feel a lot more comfortable if this man could defend himself and better yet, fight like a proper pirate. He knew that Ed had started to train him a bit but the captain was taking a bit of a break for some reason it seemed. Being stabbed would do that. It seemed that Bonnet wanted to keep his training up. 

Who knew, maybe Izzy could make it an ‘accident’ that Stede got run through during training? No. No. Edward had said no to killing him but the thought still crossed his mind. Strengthen one of the captains and the entire crew would be stronger. That was the logic he was going to follow here.

“Fine – take that ridiculous coat off unless you want it sliced up, Bonnet,” Hands said, fluidly shifting his weight to change directions on the deck. He went and collected up two dueling blades. He knew he’d have to take it easier here but part of him wanted to just go hard out, really put the fear of god into the man. That’s how he had learned after all. 

Waiting until Stede had done as he asked, Izzy then walked closer to toss the sword to the deck in front of the man. “We start now.” 

The first mate waited until the man had bent down to retrieve the blade before he took a smooth step forward and swiped downwards with his own sword. It came incredibly close to the other man’s neck, even slicing off the tip of his shirt collar a bit.

“Lesson number one. Don’t take your fucking eyes off your enemy,” he explained calmly, looking down at the captain.

       IT WAS WISE FOR A CAPTAIN  to learn from the best, was it not ?  &  ed had told him that it was izzy that had been his sparring partner for years, long before the two had come to the revenge.  &  so with edward taking a temporary break from their lessons for his health, it seemed a wise decision for stede to continue on his own with the first mate as a stand-in.  &  it would be nice to see the look on ed’s face if he surprised him with some new moves when he was back in fighting order. if, of course, steve could get through an encounter with izzy hands without being run through himself. in spite of his most recent lesson with edward  — the one that had left ed out of commission for a few days in the first place — stede didn’t think he was really prepared to experience that again firsthand.                                                                     though izzy’s tone leaves something to be desired when addressing a captain, stede removes his silk coat at the other man’s order  &  laid with delicate care over the railing,  &  he bends to retrieve the weapon from the deck. but no sooner do his fingers brush the handle than the other man has stepped forward  &  dropped his sword, the blade pulling up only a hair’s breadth away from his throat.                izzy had been edward’s partner in swordplay as in all else,  &  so stede expected him to fight similarly to edward. but he could see now that was a foolish assumption. izzy was nothing like the other captain, his form perfect  &  his movements tightly controlled in a way that ed’s seldom were. this will not be the practices laden with laughter  &  banter under the moonlight that he has come to enjoy  —  no, sparring with izzy was certain to be something entirely different.                                              ❝ well, it’s not very good manners of you not to let me at least take up my blade first, ❞​ stede complains, standing straight once again as he settles the sword in his grip.  &  though he’s beginning to feel as though he’s out of his depth with this match, he takes the advice to heart, his eyes remaining locked on izzy’s as he straightens. &  he doesn’t hesitate, raising his own sword — he hopes without warning — to parry the other’s away from his neck before striking out in the general direction of izzy’s shoulder.​

🪐 — JACK SPARROW​  for  stede !

      “ Oh. ” It came out as a genuine exclamation of surprise; that this other man was a fellow pirate hadn’t even been a thought to cross his mind. He isn’t a pirate. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps new to life on the account, or just some mild-mannered fop who’d taken to the seas with fantastical, romantic notions of what such a lifestyle would consist of whose illusion hadn’t yet been burst, there was no way that this bloke had been at this sort of life for long. Not dressed like that, and most certainly not with courteous manners like those. Still, it took gall — if the stupid kind — to walk into a room of hardened cutthroats with an ensemble as loud and audacious as that, and Jack could concede that this fellow pirate had already won some fragile respect as a result. He watched the man move to gesture at the chair, asking for permission to sit, and cut a glance across the room. Predictably, every single eye in the tavern was on them. Some less friendly than others. And some, unnervingly perhaps, appeared to be waiting on his response to this entire spectacle. Jack knew full well that his name didn’t carry any clout in a place like this, but for that reason he also knew the dangers of a baying mob when he saw one. 

       Something peculiar rose in him — something that felt like but could certainly not be misconstrued as protective, not over a perfect stranger — and he finally turned back to his companion. With a sweeping gesture at the table, Jack offered an easy smile. “ I would be thrilled to correct the record, mate. ” He waved over a nearby barmaid, and made a point of closing the HMS Interceptor’s logbook on his table. Around him, the familiar low din of voices and cups and plates returned to the tavern. To afford tailoring like that, funds must not be an issue. Looks like i’m first up to exploit the gullible fool. “ But only if you first afford me an introduction. That, ” Jack made a gesture at the man’s spotless white brocade, “ is quite the look for a port as squalid as Tortuga. ”

      AT HIS GESTURE OF WELCOME,  stede feels a fragile bubble of tension burst. he almost hadn’t noticed its presence before, the silence that had fallen over the room. his own excitement over meeting a real pirate legend like jack sparrow had been the only thing on his mind as he pushed his way through the tavern. but now that he sweeps into the seat in a flutter of lace, careful as always not to snag the fabric on any splinter in the edge of the rough-hewn wooden bar table, he notices as the conversations slowly begin to pick back up.  &  he finds himself suddenly glad to no longer have every eye on the room on him. the attentions of a crowd can be a gift, but it could also be a weapon — this he knows from experience.  &  stede would far rather speak to this particular man one-on-one.                                                                ❝ you’re too kind. ❞  jack’s smile is earnestly returned on stede’s face, the trill of excitement that moves through him at the prospect of a conversation with jack sparrow hard to ignore. the recounting of some of the more mythical legends he has heard from someone who was actually present for them  —  at the center of them  —  was almost as exciting as he imagined having a real adventure of his own would be. but before he can introduce himself properly, a hurried barmaid makes her way to their table. stede asks for red wine for himself, before allowing his new companion to make his own request. it’s only after she moves away to fetch their drinks that he extends a hand from his spotless white lace  &  reaches across the table to offer of a handshake.  ❝ the name’s stede bonnet; captain of the revenge. it’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance. ❞ perhaps one day he might even be able to say that he  &  jack sparrow had been  friends,  &  wouldn’t that be something ! 

🪐 — 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.

🪐 —  @izzyhnds  sent  to stede :

“ I’m no cactus expert but I know a prick when I see one. ”

            IF IZZY WANTS HIM PRICKLY,  he certainly succeeds. it seems that edward’s firat made always knows exactly what to say to make stede bristle.  &  he glares at the other man, pulling himself to his full height in an effort to appear more intimidating. ❝ a shame you don’t know more about botany then. if you did, you might know better than to poke fun at something so sharp. ❞