EDWARD TEACH.

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH​.

the huff of breath he lets out is rough and unsteady.   it was meant to be a laugh,  but it got swallowed somewhere down the road,  replaced by a wave of relief so strong edward fears he might be sick from it,  nausea rolling in the pit of his stomach like it’s trying to tear it to shreds.  his own injuries never leave him so stretched thin,  he never lets himself wonder what could happen if his so called luck runs out,  but in the past few minutes his thoughts have been drowned by an endless stream of what ifs.  one more gut wrenching than the last,  of course.  but he is not allowed to spiral further,  thankfully,  anchored to the present as he is by that hand wrapped around his arm  —  yes,  he’s alright.  they both are.  edward holds on that certainty,  closing his eyes for a second or two.  when he tries again his breath comes out much less tortured and if he drops his head to rest it against the other man’s forehead..  well,  it’s been one hell of a day,  alright?  he lets go of him soon enough,  though,  mind finally brought back to the matter at hand:  a bleeding wound and a first aid kit that hasn’t been opened yet. 

❛  you’re not going to die on my account,  you hear me?  won’t let you.  i’ll piss you off back to life or somethin’.  ❜   he goes through the motions in silence,  then.  the steps familiar as well as the sight and smell of blood.  there’s no salvaging the already half perished couch,  but at least the wound is now clean and tightly wrapped up in gauze and bandages,  so edward rises to his feet only to drop on the couch next to izzy,  on his good side.  he winces a bit,  his shoulder dimly protesting against the rough movement,  but that’s not what makes heat creep into his voice.   ❛  where’s jack?  he was supposed to be here.  ❜   a thought,  lightning quick,  lances through his brain and he slants a furrowed glance izzy’s way.   ❛  d'you think he could’ve had something to do with this?  he’s been so fucking grouchy lately.  ❜   and as much as a part of him wants to say nahh,  because they’re friends,  part of him knows exactly why he has never been stupid enough to fully trust jack.  not like he trusts izzy.  not by a long shot. 

        A MERE MOMENT IN HEAVEN will always be worth every long day that izzy spends clawing through hell to get there.  &  as edward touches his forehead to his own, eyes pressed together as his breath steadies, izzy goes lightheaded at his sudden proximity to the divine. where before, everything had been sharp  &  clear  &  crystalline, now his vision goes fuzzy at the edges, his own breath coming in deep desperate gasps. the injury at his arm is entirely forgotten, all the pain overtaken by the heat that ripples out from every tiny point of contact where his skin touches edward’s. izzy can feel his breath on his face, &  his eyes are blown wide as his gaze traces the shape of his lips.  &  then it’s over, far too soon. his breath stutters unevenly when edward pulls away to tend his open wound. ❝ oh shut up, i’m not going to fuckin’ die, ❞ he attempts to cover his unsteadiness with a scoff, though he winces when the gauze tightens over the open wound. yet the pain clears his head, pulls the world back into focus despite edward’s fingers pressing the bandage down until it sticks.                                                 &  then everything is normal again, just as it was before. his arm still hurts, but it’s an absent ache. the kind he can easily ignore. edward sprawls down on the stained couch beside him.  &  at his words, izzy thinks for the first time not about the knife but about who had been wielding it  —  &  who had sent them. clearly, izzy had not been their intended target. the thought makes his eyes tighten at the corners, his gaze sweeping the small room to be certain that they’re alone, that no further threats linger waiting in the shadows to take edward by surprise. ❝ i don’t know, ❞  he admits, calling to mind the face of the man who had lunged at him. it wasn’t familiar,  &  izzy had no way of knowing if he was somehow significant, or just some hired knife off the street. ❝ i don’t think he would do that  — not to you, at least. ❞  how anyone could betray a man like edward was entirely beyond izzy’s reasoning, but clearly someone had it in their mind to harm him. ❝ but you know him better than i do. ❞ frankly, the reasoning wasn’t all that important; if someone wanted to get to edward, they would have to get through izzy, first. ❝ you think we should pay him a visit ? go ask him about it in person ? ❞ 

🪐 — 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. ❞

🪐 —  @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. ❞

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH​  for  izzy !

❛  good man.  it won’t take long.  ❜   his thoughts are not drifting anymore,  all his attention directed towards the man beneath him and the needle held tight between his fingers.  carefully aimed focus wipes the remnants of a silly grin from his lips  —  caused by izzy going utterly still at his command,  so pliant it had made him feel more powerful than standing on deck with eyes on a target soon to be overcome.  and it’s good that he is focused,  because he has absolutely never inked anyone other than himself before.  he should probably take this slow,  but it’s a distant though,  murky,  because he is acting on pure impulse and little else,  and izzy would hardly take kindly to behind treated with kid gloves,  anyway.  so edward leans in,  one hand next to izzy’s head for support,  only to stop again when his growing hair fall across his face.   ❛  one of these days i’m gonna cut ‘em all off.  ❜   empty threat,  they both know it.  edward likes them long,  as annoying as they are sometimes.  leather band snapped in place to keep them from falling forward again,  he can finally begin to work.

he doesn’t take it slow.  doesn’t stop,  even when he has to rework the lines to make sure the ink is well settled,  undeniable and clear for all to see.  x marks the spot.  edward might as well have written his name on izzy’s cheek.   ❛  there you are  —  my first mate.  my izzy.  ❜   he wipes the last drops of blood from his face with a clean cloth imbued with whiskey,  the gesture gentle against surely aching skin.  only then does he have mercy on the other man,  sliding off of him to sit on the bed like a normal person,  before grabbing hold of the bottle of whiskey sitting near his feet and extending it towards izzy first.  he has definitely earned it.  ❛  you alright there, mate?  ❜

     IT FUCKING HURTS,  as he knew it would. he can’t help but hiss out a gasp the first time his skin is pierced, the point perilously close to his eye. his teeth grit together after that  &  his jaw sets into a solid line. izzy wills himself not to flinch as it comes down again  &  again  &  again, no pause between marks. the sting of having his skin opened so that edward can push his mark underneath is overwhelming, drawn out far longer than getting cut in battle. it makes him want to cry  &  scream, to thrash out of his grip.  &  yet the pain is tempered dramatically by edward’s comforting weight pressing down on his hips, keeping him still, his hands unbelievably strong  &  solid as they hold his face in place. his captain sears  &  soothes all at once,  &  izzy drinks it all in indiscriminately, grateful for it all.                                                                  it’s like his entire body can feel the needle, pinpricks rippling all over his skin, almost like drowning.  &  it’s then that izzy realizes he’s forgotten to breathe back in. so he draws air slowly through his nose,  &  the stinging recedes from his lungs, the pain returning in sharp concentration to his face. the ink presses into his skin a little too deep, but izzy is thankful for it still. he would let edward mark his very bones if he asked it.  &  he is also grateful that his teeth are grit so tightly together; there’s no telling what would fall out if he unlocked his jaw now. he just tries to keep breathing, to keep still, to follow his captain’s orders,  &  take what gifts he’s given.              he can’t say how long it goes on, but all at once, the needle is taken away. but edward is still there, even closer than before, his hair pulled back so that izzy can drink in every detail of his face. he’s fucking beautiful like this, his eyes alight as he admires his work. his captain’s voice is sweeter than wine, stronger than whiskey when he calls him mine.  &  izzy can feel a single tear escape the corner of his eye when edward softly cleans his new mark with a cloth.  &  then he’s gone, pulled away to seat himself on the bed near izzy’s feet. it’s too far after being his anchor into his body for so long, the absence of him feeling like punishment. he wants more, wants him back, wants something else  — anything else. would do anything just to feel those hands on him again. but it’s over, the pain  &  pleasure both receding like the low tide.                                                                                          this time, when edward’s voice comes to him, it’s as if he’s far away, or submerged in water, his words distorted by the blood rushing in izzy’s ears.   ❝ i’m fine, ❞  he finally manages, prying his jaw open. it aches after so long clenched together. a trembling hand reaches for the offered bottle, though a drink sounds far less sweet than a taste of edward’s feral smile. still, he pulls himself upright enough to lean on an elbow  &  take a long swig, the burn in his throat far more familiar than the sting of a fresh tattoo. the pain may fade, but the ink will be there forever.  &  the thought brings a grin to his face, broad  &  a litle wild as he locks eyes lock with edwards. ❝ well then, how do i look ? ❞

Margaret Atwood, ‘Corpse song’

Our Flag Means Death - 1.01 Pilot