Edward Teach ;

🪐 — edward teach​ ;

@musecraft  (   as izzy  ) sent #52 to:  take a knife meant for edward.

under the spike of adrenaline still running through his veins there's something worse to be found.   it sets his heart racing,  a wild pulse beating in his ears  —  dread.  white hot,  stomach twisting and coiled tight around his chest in a grip that doesn't seem to be fading anytime soon.  he tastes blood in his mouth and his right shoulder hurts where it hit against a table earlier,  but edward minds nothing of it,  too busy wrenching the bathroom cabinet open to reach for the first aid kit.  the wound is not deep,  he tells himself again and again,  but his thoughts keep spilling all over,  warring with the memory of a knife suddenly glinting towards him and coming away wet with blood. not his own. there seemed to be so much of it to him, dripping on the floor between them (   some people bring knives to a fist fight indeed,  figures   ). 

the sole of his boot against broken glass makes an awful crunching sound,  but edward leaves the messed up pub behind him without a second thought to spare for it,  headed for the smaller private room in the back.  and to be completely fair,  izzy is alright.  sure,  there's a wound on his arm that hasn't quite stopped bleeding yet,  but he is awake and alive.  his mind just hasn't fully come to terms with it yet.   ❛  didn't have to do that,  y'know.  would've been fine.  knife wasn't even that big anyway—  ❜   he is talking too much,  too fast.  edward breathes in,  out,  and looks up from where he has knelt in front of him by the couch.  the same one he had told him not to move from a few minutes prior. it's honestly stupid how it makes him feel all giddy and warm, as if edward doesn't already know that izzy is good at doing what he tells him.   ❛  let me wrap that up,  yeah?  ❜   softer,  but also steadier,  that awful knot of fear easing away with every breath.  aid kit momentarily abandoned on the floor next to his feet,  edward wraps a hand around the back of izzy's neck,  needing to feel him solid and warm under his fingertips.

      THERE’S AN INEXPLICABLE SENSE OF CLARITY  that settles over izzy as soon as the threat is neutralized,  the pain of an open wound snapping the world into focus around him. the dingy bar seems to almost glitter at the edges of his vision, crystalline shards of broken glass scattered over the floor, the entire world gone sharp  &  shiny. his breath comes quick  &  shallow, pulse racing in his ears as the adrenaline takes over his nervous system. he can feel the blood running down his arm, hot  &  wet as it leaks from the gash the fucker’s blade had opened up on his muscle, but it doesn’t seem important. better him than edward. he knew that ed was safe,  &  that was all that mattered. he’d even helped get izzy to the small private room in the back after the fight was over  &  told him stay here. so there he sat, perfectly still as blood drips onto the already grimy sofa.                                                                        edward’s not gone long though, returning only a mere moment later with a little plastic box in hand, a red cross emblazoned on the front. he’s jittery, anxious, a stark contract to izzy’s own sense of lucid calm. it’s like edward is actually worried about him,  &  the thought brings a fiercely hot glow to rise in his chest. ❝ ‘course i did; that’s my job, ❞ he responds, a breathy laugh punctuating his words. izzy knows he’ll be fine regardless, but the idea of edward tenderly wrapping his wound makes his stomach flip. so he nods in agreement, but before the strong hands he loves so dearly move to tend the fresh gash on his arm, one instead curls around the back of his neck, holding him by the nape with a firm but gentle grip.  &  izzy gasps aloud at the touch, his lips falling open  &  eyes blown wide. edward is so close that he can count his every eyelash, can feel the heat that exudes from his skin.  &  something else cuts clean through the pain  —  something that izzy is far less familiar with  —  something that leaves his skin buzzing all over  &  his heart stuttering from its breakneck pace. ❝ edward, ❞ he murmurs, voice barely more than a breath as his uninjured arm reaches up, a hand coming to curl gently around the other man’s forearm.  ❝ it’s ok. i’m alright. ❞

🪐 — 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.

“I love you despite you, despite myself, despite the entire world, despite God, despite the Devil, who also has a hand in this. I love you, I love you, I love you. Whether I’m happy or unhappy, gay or sad, I love you. I love you, do with me what you will.”

— Juliette Drouet, from a letter to Victor Hugo written c. February 1833

🪐 — 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. ❞

🪐 — izzy / headcanon ;

izzy’s right glove that he never removes is covering up a large ugly brand on the back of his hand that labels him as a naval deserter. the tool that was used to make it would look something like this but with a large D beside the crown design in the center. he keeps it covered because he doesn’t want anyone — fellow pirates or otherwise — to know of his past in the military.

Anya Taylor-Joy » Saturday Night Live 46x20