IZZY HANDS.

🪐 — 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.​

🪐 — ELIS HOWELL   for  stede !

If his hands shook at all it was more due to feeling amped up a bit from the previous encounter than the drink. Unfortunately his hands shook when he didn’t drink these days. Which was why he had removed himself from his work. A surgeon whose hands shook because his body was craving a drink was no use to anyone and that was even if he could stop the daily drinking to start with. 

Still. He could help this stranger who he’d gotten punched for nothing. He had similar deeply ingrained etiquette as well. 

“And I insist you allow me to render you aid, sir,” the Welshman urged with a pointed expression, hands moving to hover near the man, worried he might fall over. “Please. I’m a doctor,” Elis added. One of the other regulars seated at the bar loudly huffed and rolled his eyes at that. The innkeeper shot him a stern look and pushed a clean rag across the bar top. Elis took it and offered it to Stede. 

“Here. Your nose is bleeding. Pinch at it with your fingers against the septum wall — that’s the cartilage between your nose. And don’t lean your head back, you don’t want to flowing backwards. It doesn’t actually appear broken so you lucked out. But come to my room. I can patch up the side of your forehead. Head wounds bleed a lot but I promise you’ll make it,” he added dryly, trying to make a bit of a joke as he held out his hand to gesture towards the door to the hallway of rooms, one arm near Stede in case he got a little dizzy.

      HE DOESN’T WANT TO MAKE A FUSS,  especially over an injury that wasn’t truly all that grievous, in spite of the blood that’s seeped into his previously flawless starched lace collar.  oh it hurts, to be certain,  &  stede knows well that he has a rather low tolerance for pain.  but he will be fine, just so long as he has something solid to hold onto until his feet grow steady again.  &  he is grateful for the bar, leaning against it to steady himself, expecting to be left alone to nurse his wounds.                                        yet the man who had started it all hovers stubbornly nearby, his hands raised as if to catch stede if he falls.  it seemed a strange kindness for someone he didn’t even know, though his profession may have had something to do with his desire to help.  ❝ a doctor, you say ? ❞  he asks, inquisitive brow raising as he looks the other man over.  to stede’s eyes, he looked  —  &  smelled  —  like little more than any other drunk in the tavern that night.  ❝ i imagine it’s quite rare to find your kind  in a place like this. ❞  but he speaks with confidence as he relays his orders, a clean cloth pressed firmly into stede’s hand.                   &  although he is a pirate now,  &  a captain to boot, not required to take any man’s orders in a free port such as this, there is something in the doctor’s tone that makes him acquiesce, pressing the rag as he’s been instructed against his nose  &  pinching.  but that only makes the pain sharper,  &  stede winces, keeping his grip light.  he can only hope he is applying enough pressure to stem the bloodflow. he hesitates at the idea of going elsewhere with a strange man he scarcely knows, but for as lightheaded as he is feeling, he is also grateful for the chance some care to his wounds, minor as they may seem. ❝ well, if you’re sure it’s really necessary, doctor. ❞  stede’s voice is distorted slightly by the cloth pressed against his nose, his tone gone nasal  &  muffled as he pulls himself away from the bar to follow the stranger’s gesture, only swaying slightly on his feet.  ❝ i’m stede, by the way. ❞

1.01 | 1.10

🪐 — 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.

send me  ‘ hc ‘  + a word and i’ll write a headcanon about it regarding my character.