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​ ;

it still disorients him a little to have such an unyielding presence at his side.   someone he can trust to watch his back without fear of being thrown to the sharks for a coin or two.  there had never been someone like that in his life before,  and yet he found him while bound and bleeding on a british vessel,  headed for the gallows  —  life is funny like that sometimes,  he supposes.  edward hadn’t hesitated then,  back on his ship,  once the haze of pain released him enough to let him be conscious for more than a few minutes at a time:  izzy was to be made part of the crew from the get go,  and no one had better dare raise a single protest on the matter.  then harris died not long after that and the choice to replace his first mate had been so damn easy,  as easy as breathing.  who else other than the man who had freed him from the english and abandoned his post to follow him?  israel hands,  former british navy officer turned pirate,  now acting as his first mate.  

both the memory and izzy’s words bring a smile to his lips,  but edward is a little distracted  —  fingers tapping idly against his knee,  thoughts racing away from the recent event.   ❛  what?  uh,  yeah.  sure.  ❜   he seems to be miles away.  he agrees that they need to tell the men it had been their captain to kill the fellow,  but distantly,  like his ears are full of water.  an idea,  half formed and so sudden his head nearly spins with it:  they need something to mark their first raid together by.  and they need it now.   ❛  actually,  yes.  i need you to come with me quick.  ❜   grinning widely,  edward springs to his feet and reaches out to wrap a hand around his first mate’s wrist,  feeling half mad with anticipation as he heads towards his cabin.

( … )

❛  stay still for me,  mh?  captain’s orders.  ❜   he is holding a big needle close to his face,  after all,  grin replaced by a rather serious expression as he makes some experimental moves with his wrist,  still well above the skin.  edward straightens his back again,  balancing his weight on the mattress while his knees are positioned on either side of izzy’s hips,  effectively pinning him between himself and the bed.   ❛  this your first tattoo,  mr hands?  ❜

         I NEED YOU  edward says, grin dazzling as strong fingers curl around his wrist,  &  izzy’s world goes hazy. all doubts vanish from his mind as he follows edward into his cabin, a little flip in his stomach. there’s a chaotic energy to his captain that he only gets when his blood is up, adrenaline still buzzing through his body.  &  izzy revels in it, drinks in every moment. he always does as edward tells him without complaint or question, but at the order to get on the bed  &  lie back, his head spins. he almost passes out, but still he scrambles to comply, graceless as he stretches himself out on his back.  &  then a moment later edward is straddling his hips, tools clattering beside them,  &  izzy stops breathing.                                                                   whether he’s in heaven or hell, he can’t say. izzy has survived this long only by keeping a vice-tight control on his both body  &  his mind, but edward’s heat  &  weight pressing him flat back against the bed threatens to shatter his resolve to pieces. but he says stay still  &  izzy complies instantly, his thoughts going foggy  &  his body calming unconsciously under the commanding tone. the needle is large  &  menacing, ink welling darkly at its tip,  &  izzy can see that he means to place his mark just below his eye, just where the tears would fall if he ever were to let them.                               this will hurt, he knows,  &  the pain is a promise. to wear edward’s mark so plainly for all to see was a gift,  &  he would accept it as such. he will not flinch; he will make his captain proud.  izzy steels himself, swallowing around the thick lump in his throat. &  his hands need to take ahold of something, so they fist in the sheets below him, gripping tight enough for his knuckles to go white. ❝ yes, captain, ❞ he breathes, his voice hoarse  &  scarcely above a whisper.  ❝ my first. ❞  &  god is he grateful that edward is the first man who’s gotten beneath his skin; hopes he is the only one who ever does.  ❝ thank you. ❞

🪐 — edward teach​ ;

were it anyone else standing there,   edward would have brushed aches and discomfort aside.  even more likely still,  he would have turned it into anger,  shouting away at anyone foolish enough to get near him like this.  but izzy has seen him in much more pain that this  —  has seem him nearly delirious with it,  needing to be held down while the crew’s doctor set his knee back into place the best he could,  which was somehow almost worse than getting it smashed into pieces.   ❛  dunno.  maybe.  ❜   he glances down at his leg,  knowing he hasn’t been exceptionally mindful of it lately,  but it’s when he takes another step forward to test the waters that he knows not accepting help is not an option.  the next stab of pain is worse than before,  it empties his brain of anything else and forces him to breathe through clenched teeth.

he counts to five,  then ten,  but it doesn’t lessen,  pain a steady beat that kicks his heart into a furious race and clouds his eyesight.   ❛  izzy—  ❜   fuck,  it hurts.  edward doesn’t think he will be able to take another step on his own without falling down in a miserable heap.   ❛  i can't—  need to lay this down.  ❜   laughter gone, this is as close to pleading for help as he has ever come,  words barely making sense and  breath knocked out of his lungs.  he can’t remember the last time it was this bad.

          HIS CAPTAIN CALLS HIS NAME  &  relief floods him, his captain’s orders finally aligning with his instincts.  &  izzy is there in a flash, his shoulder tucked beneath the taller man’s on the weak side, arm arm bracing him around the waist so that he doesn’t have to put any weight on his bad knee. ❝ here, i’ve got you, come  &  sit, ❞  he mumbles, carefully shuffling the two of them backward to the captain’s chair.  ❝ slowly, slowly now. ❞  &  izzy crouches, his bare hand guiding the braced knee so that it can extend without bending, offering his support until edward is seated. once he is, izzy reaches for a nearby stool  &  drags it into place, guiding the heel of his leather boot onto it, strangely gentle where his captain is concerned.                                     but his hands have no talent for healing,  &  he laments that he doesn’t really know what to do to help edward. still izzy stays where he is, crouched before his chair as he examines the straps of his brace.  ❝ it looks plenty tight already, boss, ❞  he says, glancing up at his captain’s face.  ❝ but i can try to re-brace it, if you think it would help. ❞  a murky memory of his mother, humming as she rubbed some kind of soothing ointment on his legs when he was suffering through growing pains, drifts up from some recess of his memory,  &  izzy wishes suddenly that he could remember what it was that she had used all those years ago. ❝ at least let me pack your pipe for you.  &  i’ll check personally to see if there’s any kind of medicine or something on the next ship we raid. ❞  doctors were few  &  far between while at sea, but many naval warships had a modestly stocked infirmary. izzy made a mental note to bear that in mind when choosing their next target.

🪐 — jon snow​ ;

once  upon  a  time,  he  believed  fate  was  his  to  seize  and  to  steer.  just  like  daeron  the  young  dragon,  who  conquered  dorne  at  fourteen,  so  too  would  jon  conquer  his  fears  and  lead  men.  but  now,  he  starts  to  wonder  if  the  red  woman  isn’t  right.  had  it  always  been  his  fate  to  wind  up  at  the  wall,  just  as  it  had  it  been  robb’s  fate  to  die  ?  could  a  man  truly  steer  his  own  course,  or  was  he  simply  a  pawn  in  the  gods’  games  ?    he  inhales  deeply,  eyes  falling  closed.  such  questions  are  beyond  him;  despite  his  glimpse  beyond  this  world.   ❝  my  lady,    ❞    he  begins  carefully,  index  finger  tapping  on  the  wood  of  the  table.      ❝  if  .  .  .  it  was  the  will  of  your  lord  that  i  return,  surely  you  can  tell  me  what  need  he  has  of  me.    ❞    grey  eyes  bore  into  her.    from  this  distance  he  can  smell  her  heat,  as  red-hot  as  the  iron  from  mikken’s  forge.    part  of  him  suspects  that  r’hllor’s  will  shall  line  up  with  melisandre’s  in  a  .  .  .  suspiciously  convenient  way    (  as  often  kings  and  lords  and  priests  appeal  to  the  power  of  their  gods,  when  it  is,  in  fact,  their  own  own  human  power  they  wish  to  wield  ).     ❝  i  should  hope  it  involves  war,  because  i  still  mean  to  ride.  ❞

         SHE KNOWS WHAT HE WILL ASK  before he speaks, though this particular prediction required no blessed vision from the flames. they all wanted to know the path ahead. melisandre herself was no exception; it was that longing to see the way forward that kept her awake night after night staring into her hearth for a glimpse of her god’s will.                                                             but it is the determination in his voice that does surprise her, red lips curling into a smile as he speaks his intentions. it pleases her to hear. jon snow is r’hllor’s chosen; that much cannot be in question any longer.  &  her god required a warrior’s heart of his champion.

                       ❝ i cannot tell you how this will end for you. r’hllor only shows me what i need to see in order to to serve him. ❞  melisandre weighs each word cautiously, sensing he will be disappointed with her answer, yet unable to give a better one.  ❝ but please understand, his light is a gift as much as it is a duty. ❞  her body turns away from the table, eyes drawn to a torch alight on the wall. it seems to pulse under her gaze, a fourth heart alive  &  beating in perfect synchronization with the three of flesh  &  blood that were present in the room.

                                    melisandre had been so certain that the wall was the place the darkness would descend, but then, she’d been certain of stannis, too. she may not see the path, but she would never doubt her god’s will again. &  with her resolve steeled, the priestess straightens her spine  &  turns back toward jon in a graceful sweep of crimson silks. ❝ you cannot escape it, but nor will you be held prisoner by it. if it is your will to ride south, then go  —  as soon as your wounds allow  —  &  the light will follow you. ❞

🪐 — 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.

“(..) psychologists say that shame ruins your capacity for reverie by making cracks in the mind where it is dangerous for thought to wander.”

— Anne Carson, Float; “Shame stack”