EDWARD TEACH For Izzy !

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH  for  izzy !

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

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

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

🪐 — 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.

🪐 — 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. ❞

🪐 — BONNIBEL BUBBLEGUM​   for  marceline !

 ❝ ────── just one more ingredient and the fast-acting crimsonification agent will be complete! ❞    she announces to no one particular, even as marceline drifts under the candy-striped archway, quiet yes but not unnoticed. she studies the curious and bubbling liquid as she awaits the vampire to waft closer. patiently, she hums, allowing eyes to squint as she feels the frigid breeze of marceline’s shoulder approach, always the curious one watching from the safety bubblegum’s shoulder.   ❝ just one…more ────── ❞ she strains to remain collected, to no give away her following intention as an arm sneaks behind her hovering guest and plucks a thick raven strand right from it’s root. quickly, bonnibel tosses the strand into thick fluid, watching as it transforms to a swirling sworm of grey and dust to a glistening silver, and finally a vivid red  ― ❝ perfect! and just in time too! ❞

       HUNGER WAS INTIMATELY FAMILIAR to marceline. it had dogged her heels ever since she was a child in a city torn apart by the mushroom wars, scrounging for a dented can or an unlucky squirrel for her every meal. but after being bitten by the vampire king, hunger had felt different, like it had grown fangs.  &  it wasn’t dinged up cans of soup that she craved. red red red was her need now.  &  if she didn’t get it, the consequences were fast  &  severe. if her control frayed too thin, her features would contort into those of the nightosphere, batlike  &  demonic.  &  she would lose herself to it, do anything for it.                                                                                              but bonnibel would never let it get that far.  she was far smarter than marceline,  &  she always had an answer for everything. of course, the vampire queen could always pull some of the beautiful magenta flush from her candy-pink face in an emergency  &  leave them both paler for it, but still alive.  ❝ don’t exaggerate, we still have a few hours at least before i went after all your cherry-flavored citizens. ❞ she drifted a few inches off the ground, her eyes wide  &  black as a void as they observed the swirling cauldron that had swallowed up her strand of hair. ❝ so uh, should i just drink that, or are you gonna use it to turn something else red for me ? ❞  she knows from experience that with bonnibel, one should never assume anything was simple.

Margaret Atwood, ‘Corpse song’