#& stede has /just/ got him to stop trying to eat his face | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fluffyllamas-23 · 8 months

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Okay so nobody asked for this, and I promise I am working on the prompts in my inbox. But I just finished season 1 of OFMD again and now I’m mad at Stede for doing what he did. So here’s an AU where they’re actually happy lmao. Ed owns a restaurant and Stede owns a bookshop.

Stede ducks into one of the restaurants on his way from his bookshop to the parking garage. He closes his umbrella and stomps on the mat in front of the door to dry off his shoes. It’s been pouring for the better part of last night and all this morning, and although he’s only been walking for a couple of minutes, he’s wet and cold and in the mood to warm up.

He was planning on just getting in his car and going home, but it had smelled so good when he walked past.

Blackbeard’s Bar & Grill. He’d been meaning to try it out, but since it’s a fairly new restaurant, he hadn’t had the chance yet.

Until now, at least.

It’s an unassuming restaurant from the outside - some seating, a chalkboard listing the specials for the week, and a few plants adorning the front. When he steps inside, though, he immediately feels comforted, and he’s not sure exactly how or why. It feels like the perfect place to bring a book and curl up in one of the big chairs by the fireplace.

He feels like he’s home.

Despite how chill the ambiance is inside, it’s bustling with activity. There are people at nearly every table, and the bar is full. As he glances around the room, trying to find a waitress or someone who can seat him.

As he looks around the room, his eyes fall on what must be the most beautiful human being he’s ever seen in his life. The man is behind the bar, chatting with a customer. His face is bright and vibrant, and he throws his head back as he laughs at whatever the customer said to him. His long, gray hair is pulled back into a low bun with a few tendrils out, framing his (beautiful, beautiful) face.

Stede’s got butterflies in his stomach that increases tenfold as the man looks at him and they lock eyes.

He says something to the customer, never taking his eyes off of Stede, and then he’s walking over to him.

Stede’s eyes widen as he approaches him.

“Hi, there,” the man says softly, flashing him a charming grin. “I’m Ed. Welcome to my bar. Can I seat you?”

“H-hi,” Stede says, clearing his throat. He bites his lip to try and keep from smiling like an idiot. His eyes drop to the ground as maintaining eye contact suddenly makes him way more nervous than it ever has before.

Ed leads him to a table in the corner, apologizing that it’s the only table he has available, but offers a booth if Stede doesn’t mind waiting. Stede declines the offer - he’s starving and all he wants to do is sit down and eat whatever it is that smells so good.

He ends up staying all night, past closing. He and Ed have fallen deep into conversation, and soon, the night turns into the early hours of the morning. It’s hands down the best night Stede has had in the longest time.

Ed feels the same, really.

Stede makes Blackbeard’s Bar & Grill a regular stop after he leaves work for the day, and Ed learns to look forward to 5pm every day.

They talk every time he comes in - sometimes Ed is so busy that he only has time for a brief conversation, other times (which, let’s be real, is most of the time), he sits with Stede and they talk for hours.

Perks of being the owner.

They talk about everything. They talk about how Stede was married once, years ago, but things ended because neither of them were in love, and Stede realized he was gay. They talk about how Ed hasn’t had a real relationship…ever. He’s had a lot of one night stands, but no real, solid partnership, and all he wants is to have a significant other that he can come home to at night. Someone to love who loves him. They talk about their friends, their hobbies, their hopes and dreams and what they want out of life. Before they know it, they’re alternating who’s place they sleep at each night and spending most weekends together.

The relationship just feels so easy and so right. It’s like they’re both the missing puzzle piece the other didn’t realize their lives were missing.

They just…fit.

“Oh, Ed!” Stede chirps out, pushing the front door open with his foot as he balances the drink carrier in one hand, and bags food in the other.

He and Ed had decided to take the day off and spend it together. They’ve been dating for eight months at this point, and they like to do this once or twice every couple of months. They like to just be able to focus on each other and nothing else.

Stede suggested they do that today when he noticed just how tired and rundown Ed has seemed lately. He figures Ed could probably use a day off to recharge and reset.

Ed was still asleep when Stede had woken up, and he figured he’d run out to their favorite breakfast place to pick up something to surprise Ed with.

“Stede?” A hoarse, sleepy voice calls from the bedroom. “That you?”

Stede winces. Ed sounds like he just woke up, and he’s kicking himself for not coming in quieter.

He sets everything down on the table. “Sorry! Were you asleep? Thought when you texted me earlier you were up for the day.”

Ed doesn’t respond immediately, but from the other room, Stede hears shuffling, and then coughing. Stede grimaces. So that’s why he’s seemed so rundown lately. He’d been getting sick.

“Fuck,” Ed croaks, rubbing his chest. He trudges out of the bedroom, “I think I must have dozed off after I texted you. Sorry”

“That’s okay,” Stede frowns. “Ed…are you okay? You don’t sound great.”

“Think I'm sick,” Ed croaks, scowling as he rubs at his nose. “Pain in the fuckin’ ass.”

“Sit down,” Stede instructs, gesturing to the couch. “What do you need, sweetheart? Have you had any medicine?”

Ed shakes his head, dropping down onto the couch, “not yet…been hoping I could will it away by the time you got back.”

He looks so put out and offended that he hadn’t been able to accomplish that, and Stede does his best not to laugh at the situation.

Stede’s lips quirk, “how’s that working for you?”

Ed shrugs, slumping back into the cushions while Stede rifles through the medicine cabinet. “Not great. I think it’s a lost cause.”

“I think it is too, darling. Here,” Stede says, handing him a glass of water and two pills. “These should help.”

Ed’s quiet for a few moments, and then, in a small voice, “sorry I’m ruining our day off.”

“Ed, look at me,” Stede frowns, crouching down in front of him, cupping his cheek. “What are you talking about? You’re not ruining anything. I’m just sorry you’re sick.”

Ed averts his gaze, “it’s probably not a big deal. I just need a nap.”

“Okay,” Stede nods. He tucks a lock of Ed’s hair behind his ear and kisses his forehead, lips lingering a second longer than normal to try and feel for a fever. He doesn’t feel warm, and Stede is hoping it stays that way. “Let’s start with a nap, then. Want to go back to the bedroom? I’ll be right there.”

By the time Stede makes his way into the bedroom, Ed is all settled in bed, half asleep. When Stede walks in, he gives him a sleepy grin.

“Thought you’d never come.”

Stede climbs into bed next to him, smiling softly as Ed immediately curls up against him. He rests his head on Stede’s chest, draping an arm across his middle. Stede strokes Ed’s hair. “And miss an opportunity to snuggle with my best guy? Never.”

Ed wakes with a start, chest heaving as he glances around the room wildly. He can’t remember what he was dreaming about, but he knows that whatever it was, was enough to send him into a panic. He needs to calm down, because all it’s making him do is cough, and cough, and cough.

Stede is right there, shushing him and petting his hair until he’s finally calmed down enough to take stock of how he’s feeling.

He feels like ass, for lack of a better word.

His head is throbbing, pulsating in his eyes and forehead. He can feel the congestion shifting in his head, and he turns away from Stede to muffle a harsh double into the blankets. He sniffles a few times, which triggers another rough coughing fit. He grimaces - his throat feels raw, like he’s been screaming for hours.

“Bless you,” Stede winces, rubbing his back. “I was going to ask how you’re feeling, but I think I have my answer.”

Ed groans, burying his face in Stede’s chest. “I hate this.”

His voice is nearly gone, and talking hurts.

He coughs a few more times, eyelids drooping as a shiver runs down his spine. He can’t remember the last time he was sick, and he had forgotten just how awful it is.

On the bright side, now he’s with Stede and he finally doesn’t have to deal with any of this by himself.

Stede smooths Ed’s hair back, “how’s tea sound, hmm?”

“Fucking amazing,” Ed croaks, looking up at Stede.

“I want to find the thermometer, too,” he says, pressing a hand to Ed’s forehead. “You’re burning up. Let me up. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Ed forces himself up and off of Stede, a feat in and of itself. His muscles ache and protest every movement he makes, and all he wants is for whatever the hell he caught to fuck right off to where it came from.

He flops backwards into the pillows, his lungs feel like they’re rubbing together with each cough, and they feel like they’re threatening to eject themselves from his chest.

All he feels up to is lying here while Stede takes care of everything, and normally that would make him feel guilty, but you know what?

After all of the years he’s spent on his own, having to take care of himself and after all the years he hasn’t had anyone to lean on, he really loves being able to just lay there and not do anything.

And he loves Stede.

#OFMD #edward teach #stede bonnet #sickfic #fever #coughing #congestion

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zacharybosch · 10 months

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Tell Me if You Feel It

Through the fire, Stede’s eyes and the pearly snaps of his neat shirt glint in the flickering light. “Something about me, like what?”

Fresh, is the word that immediately springs to mind, along with soft and bouncy and unspoiled, and Ed doesn’t say any of them. “Just something. Not a bad thing. Nice to have someone I can show the ropes to.”

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hello and welcome to my ed/stede brokeback mountain AU! E-rated, 7k one-shot, nobody dies but it is bittersweet ❤

title is from Supermoon by case/lang/veirs, please also check out my spotify playlist for some additional sad cowboy vibes

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read Tell Me if You Feel It below or on ao3!

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The great flock of sheep rolls across the high pasture like clouds on a stormy afternoon. It’s a cooler summer than most he’s had in his so-far short life, colder still up here on the face of the mountain, and Ed tucks his jacket a little tighter about his body. He twists his mouth to curtail his smile as he watches Stede, this shiny well turned-out boy, trotting circles around the herd and standing in the saddle to show off and wave his pretty little hat, high peals of laughter carrying away on the wind. Ed’s not been up here since the start of the season, his role as camp tender requiring him to stay further down the mountain, but the sheep needed fresh grazing and moving a flock this size takes more than one man. Nice to have some company for the day besides, and Stede seems happy enough to have him there.

Ed chews on the cheroot sticking out of his mouth. He won’t light it yet; only got a few left and the man from the ranch isn’t due to meet them with supplies for a couple more days, but he savours the taste, bitter tobacco and something leathery and old. His horse, a sweet-tempered mare with a ruddy chestnut coat, whickers softly and shifts her hooves against the earth. Impatient to be off, tired of the saddle and the man on her back, but Ed rubs a soothing hand on her neck and she’ll stop and wait for as long as she’s told.

Stede comes trotting over, pink cheeks puffing out beneath the wide brim of his hat, and his own piebald mare flicks her eyes at Ed. “Beans for supper?” he asks, even though he doesn’t have to, since they’ve been up here a month now and consistently eat through the good stuff days before the next scheduled supply run.

Ed plucks the cheroot from between his lips and tucks it behind his ear. “Beans for supper,” he agrees, then clicks his tongue and presses in with his legs and points his horse on the trail back to camp, knowing Stede will follow behind.

At camp, Stede brushes down the horses while Ed gets the fire going. Some of the firewood’s a little damp and Ed mutters idle curses as he tries to encourage the struggling flame, but soon enough it starts to catch and he slowly adds logs until it’s burning strong and bright.

The beans aren’t so bad. They cook them in the cans and eat from them too, spoons clacking against the cheap metal, no point dirtying pots and bowls for this. Stede always looks thoughtful when he eats, and Ed supposes it’s because this is all a novel experience for him; it’s clear Stede comes from money, with his jeans still dark and stiff at the seams, boots that have only just now started to crease after a month of wear, gold and teal stitching bright on the shaft. Begs the question why Stede is even here, what a well-heeled boy like him could possibly be looking for up in the wild mountains.

They’ve talked some in the month they’ve been up here, although not much and never for long. Practical concerns mostly, what the weather’s doing and which horse has a stone in its shoe and how soon should they move the sheep on to the next pasture, never going too personal save for one time Ed caught sight of a coyote prowling the camp, big son of a bitch that had already taken several of their lambs, grabbed his .30-30 Winchester and got it clean between the eyes first try, and Stede whooped and hollered and breathlessly asked where he learned to shoot like that. Only one other time he’s taken a shot that clean and Stede wouldn’t like it if he knew about it, so he just shrugged the question away and kept his talk superficial, tended the camp and minded his business while Stede rode in and out each morning and evening.

Stede’s not the kind of company Ed would normally choose to keep; always difficult to know where you are with white boys, not to mention rich ones, even if they smile and shake your hand with a litany of pleasantries, and it’s oftentimes too much work to stay on their good side with no reward to show for it so Ed just doesn’t bother. But it’s been lonely up here too, and the solitude can eat a man up from the inside out if he’s not careful about it. Ed needs company more than he cares to admit, and over the metal scrape of spoons in cans and the jumping crackle of the fire, he starts to think maybe that need could be met.

He kicks the conversation off with the blandest thing he can say, safe and cautious and still more personal than anything he’s allowed in the past month. “Did this last summer, the herding. Thinking I might go for next year too, if they’ll have me back again.”

Stede immediately perks up, sitting to get a better look at Ed across the fire, pushing his hat back with an excited, thoughtless gesture. “An old hand then, are you? It’s my first time here.”

Ed looks down at his can and smiles as he scoops up the dregs of food. “I can tell,” he says, and maybe it’s the wrong thing to say, because that’s just the kind of inoffensive and gentle poking that gets boys like Stede so wound up, so he qualifies it with, “Not that I mean anything by that. Just something about you.”

Through the fire, Stede’s eyes and the pearly snaps of his neat shirt glint in the flickering light. “Something about me, like what?”

“You are good with the sheep. They’ll be pleased when it’s your turn up the mountain, I think.”

“I spent my whole damn life sleeping with sheep, been nice to get away from them for a while to be honest,” which isn’t all that honest, because Ed finds a good deal of comfort in the dumb beasts with their serene yellow eyes and distant, soft bleating. Growing up on a lonely, windswept ranch, earth blown flat in every direction as far as the eye could see, no children about and no safe place to be other than wandering with the sheep, far from the house and the darkness that lived inside.

“My daddy owns ranches, but we never lived on one,” Stede says, as though plucking Ed’s memory from his head and placing his own alongside it. “A whole lot of them, all across the state. He worked hard to make a good life for our family and now he hates me for enjoying that life, hates me for not working hard like he did. Thought he might like it if I put some work in here, lighten up his dim view of me.”

“Is that so,” Ed says, face neutral and heart beating at Stede’s honest, ready admission.

“I hope I’m doing a good job.”

If a man can hate his own son for the simple fact of his existence, then there’s no job in the world that can be done good enough to gain his favour back. Stede is still trying to shut that barn door, but Ed knows the horse has already bolted. “You are.”

Stede smiles at him across the fire, a forlorn thing that doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s kind of you to say, Ed. I know I could do better.” Quiet settles between them for a minute, just the crackle of the wood and the rush of sparks as the pile of logs collapses in on itself a little more. “To tell you the truth, Ed, I’m dreading going back home at the end of the summer. I don’t think he’s waiting for my return. Pleased to be rid of me, most likely.”

Nothing Ed can say to that, nothing real that will make a lick of difference. What platitudes can he give when his own father hated him just as much? “Do just fine on your own, I reckon. A man’s gotta leave home some time, anyway. Better to do it now, strike out when you’re young.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“In a way. Choice was made for me, really.” Normally Ed wouldn’t go into it, or he’d spin some fanciful yarn about seeking his fortune, answering the call of the big wide world. But Stede told him something true, and Ed wants to give a truth back. “My folks aren’t around. Old man kicked it some years ago. Mama went last year, bank tried to take the ranch to pay off all the debts we got left with, stress of trying to fight it sent her to the grave earlier than she should’ve gone and then the bank just took the ranch anyway. I put some work in at a few places since then and they’ve usually been willing enough to give me a space to lay my head at night.” Ed pushes the long tail of his braided hair away over his shoulder, taps his spoon against the side of his empty can, anything to do that isn’t looking at Stede’s open, interested face. “Do just fine on my own.”

“It’s lonely, I suppose.”

“Yeah. Can be.”

Ed isn’t quite twenty; Stede only just. Little more than boys really, too young still to be carrying this kind of weight with no idea yet how to ease their burdens, but it’s good to have a friend where they hadn’t thought to find one.

Spoons rinsed in the stream, blue shadows stretching long over the packed earth of their camp, Stede wheels his horse about in the muted dusk light and canters off up the trail to spend the night with the sheep. A week or so more and they’ll switch, and Ed will be the one to sleep up on that lonely mountain slope, while Stede stays and tends the hearth with a tent big enough for two. He wonders if Stede will ever glance up to watch Ed riding about on the slopes, a little dark spot in the steep meadows, the same way Ed has been watching Stede.

He sits up a while and smokes his cheroot in the gathering gloom. It eats through the stock of firewood, and he’ll have to spend most of tomorrow replenishing it, but he keeps the campfire going until long after night has fallen, a pinprick beacon for Stede to look down at and know someone is waiting for his return.

Stede comes in to camp mid-morning, just as the chill starts to yield to the heat of the day. Ed is down in the stream at the camp’s edge, freezing naked in the shallows as he crouches to wash his only shirt and the rest of his body, and he hears the sound of hooves but doesn’t look up at it. Stede will grab some food and refill his canteen, take a few minutes to go into the tent under the pretence of putting on a clean shirt but Ed knows it’s so Stede can fix his hair with a fresh helping of pomade, and then he’ll head back on up the trail to spend another day with the sheep.

But this time Stede lingers, comes out of the tent with his new shirt and neat hair and circles ponderously round the campsite. He glances repeatedly at Ed, fusses with his gloves and the horse’s bridle, and then decides he needs to freshen up at the stream as well and Ed wonders, dangerously, why.

Ed scrubs the hard bar of soap under his arms, splashes at them with the icy mountain water, then pulls his hair from its tight braid and wraps the red cord tie around his wrist for safekeeping. The color is vivid against his skin as he combs wet fingers through his hair, shaking out the grit and dust of the trails. Upstream, gaze drawn by the bright slash of color or maybe something else altogether, Stede watches, and turns away when he’s caught.

“See if I can’t shoot us a couple of cottontails, have us a nice supper tonight,” Stede says, as he pats water from his face with the sleeve of his jacket and goes to haul himself back up into the saddle. “Maybe the good whiskey, too. Still a few drops left.”

They won’t be eating rabbit tonight, Ed knows for a certainty. Stede can hit a big slow target and not much more than that, but there’s no good reason to snuff out his optimism and besides, the whiskey is good. “I’ll skin ‘em,” Ed says, as Stede’s already cantering away, and only when the sound of hoofbeats has melted into the forest does he rise from the stream and lay his wet shirt out on the banks to dry.

He spends the day replenishing the stock of firewood, shivering at first with no shirt to wear and then sweating as the sun beats hot on his back and the exertion of the axe takes its toll. He chops, and thinks about the little travel case filled with Stede’s shirts and stowed in the corner of the big tent, how he could just go in there and take one and wear it. He chops, and wonders what Stede was thinking when he packed it, if he could’ve known how anyone else out here with him besides Ed would’ve sneered and judged him for it. He chops, and thinks about fine blue cotton, white piping, pearly snap buttons.

Early evening, with the sky just beginning to drain pale and his own threadbare check shirt dry and back on his shoulders, Ed is half-heartedly wondering if it isn’t too late to ride down to the river to try and catch a fish or two when Stede comes trotting into camp with a brace of rabbits hanging from his saddle. He holds them aloft triumphantly, grinning at Ed, and Ed laughs, short and loud and full of delight. “You got ‘em!” he says, and slaps Stede’s thigh because that’s what’s in reach.

“I got them,” Stede replies, pride in his voice, and his leg is solid, flexing briefly under Ed’s touch before the mare walks on towards the hitching post.

The campfire catches easily and builds to a strong blaze in no time at all. Ed skins and dresses the rabbits with the quick, thoughtless efficiency of muscle memory, and soon enough they’re enjoying the richest meal they’ve had all month, washed down with the whiskey passing liberally back and forth. Stede pulls out a harmonica, this ridiculous and luridly-painted thing that Ed had inwardly rolled his eyes at first time he saw it, but Stede’s good humour for it is infectious and Ed husks out a few bars of some silly country song, voice stumbling a little over the words and inventing those he can’t remember.

Night rolls in without them even noticing, too caught up in the simple pleasure of good food, good whiskey, and a good companion to share it with. Stede is sparking like a fire and wobbly on his feet, and insists for at least a minute that he’ll still go and ride up to the sheep, but then he looks at the dark line of trees and the charcoal shadow of the mountain against the sky and decides a blanket down here by the fire will do him just fine.

“I’ll just curl up here by the fire, grab a little shut-eye and be right as rain before you know it. I’ll go up to the sheep at first light.”

“You’ll freeze your fuckin’ balls off out here,” Ed says, head buzzing and handing over a blanket anyway. “Just come sleep in the tent.”

“No, it’s your tent, Ed, I couldn’t impose. Besides, nothing like forty winks under the stars. Invigorating!”

Ed sighs, drops a couple more logs onto the campfire, and bids Stede goodnight. A brief hour or two later, awoken by the wild yipping howl of a coyote and then kept awake by the incessant chattering of Stede’s teeth, Ed sticks his head out of the tent flap and demands Stede quit his shivering and get inside. The campfire’s burnt down to softly glowing embers, and Stede rises quickly, as though already poised and ready and simply waiting for the invitation. He stumbles towards Ed through the messy remains of their supper, and once inside he sighs relief into the blankets. Ed shifts to make a little more room, and they both settle back into sleep.

The stars wheel across the sky, chased by a moon that’s one day from full. The horses, pleased to be spending the night together, nuzzle and lean into each other at the hitching post. Partially-burnt logs crumble and sink a little deeper into the ashy remains of the campfire, as the last of the embers slowly dim and wink out of existence.

Unthinking in the dark of the tent, blurry with sleep and moving on instinct, Ed reaches behind himself to find Stede’s arm and curl it around his torso. It’s good for a few moments, nestling back as he’s pulled closer, warm and comfortable with Stede’s breath puffing softly against the nape of his neck, and then it’s not; Stede stiffens and bolts upright, panicked. Ed, quick to wake and reckless, sits up and reaches for him, and reaches again when Stede reflexively pushes his hand away.

They hang for a moment perfectly still, eyes locked across a short distance that stretches for miles. Then Ed pulls hard at the sheepskin jacket he’s been sleeping in, yanks it off his shoulders and he thinks Stede gets it now, can see understanding in the shadow of his eyes as Stede grabs and holds him tight at arm’s length, taught on a string ready to snap. Moving carefully, like he does with skittish horses and barking dogs, Ed wraps his fingers around Stede’s wrist and drags his thumb over the thin skin, pressing into his hammering pulse.

It’s all Stede needs. He pulls Ed towards him, and breathing hard in each other’s space, they fall quick into the steps of a dance that Ed knows well and Stede is learning as he goes. Ed’s already unbuckling and unbuttoning, jeans loose and open as he gets to his hands and knees. Stede fights with his own belt, lets the hiss of his zip fly say the words that his mouth can’t form yet, but he’s moving no less fast or urgent, pulling at clothing to clear the way, and then he’s right there pressing hot and hard against Ed’s body.

It’s rough, easing the way on nothing but spit and a prayer, but Ed can take it, he’s done it before. Likes it like this sometimes, feeling it the day after and knowing it happened. Stede’s breath is on his neck again, short and sharp and hot like the hand that yanked his jeans down to his thigh.

This is the only way it could’ve happened. Maybe they’ll do it again and take their time to roll in the blankets all soft and sweet, but it had to start with this; rough handling in the dark, driving forwards eyes shut, taking the most direct route to the other side where possibility lay waiting for them.

Ed’s never come so quick or untouched before, the immediacy of the encounter overloading his brain and sending him straight there when he barely has his wits about him. Above, pressed tight along his back, Stede grabs Ed’s waist to steady himself as his own hips grind and stutter and still.

For a few breaths neither of them move, and then Ed’s shaky arms give out beneath him and he sinks to the blanket. Stede says nothing as he slips abruptly from Ed’s body, but he lays down too and curls in towards Ed with a careful few inches between them. The tent is hot from their exertion and Ed can feel every single part of his body fevered and glowing and alive, but he doesn’t move, just keeps his eyes shut and breathes in and out, deep and slow. In the humid air, beneath the weathered canvas and above the musty blankets, Stede smells like horse, dry grass, and the good whiskey.

Rain came and went at some point in the night, and Stede rides out early the next morning with hardly a word, disappearing into the dripping trees. Ed takes his chestnut mare and two of the pack mules down to the road at the river crossing, picking their way carefully down the mountainside over the steaming, fecund earth, meets the man from the ranch and loads up their supplies for the next week. Ed wonders if the man can tell, if he can look at Ed and see the mark of Stede’s hands on his hips, the scalding red burn of his breath on the back of his neck, sore to the touch and wanting it.

The man from the ranch sniffs as he reads over Ed’s request list for the next delivery, mutters just like he always does that he’ll have a hard time getting it, but he’ll be back next week with most everything they’re asking for. He sniffs again, nods to himself, dismissing Ed with no parting look or word and gets in his dusty pick-up to drive off. Ed climbs back into his saddle and begins the long trek back to camp, the river rushing loud in his ears.

Back at camp, Ed busies himself stowing the provisions and brushing down his horse and the braying mules, and more times than he cares to admit looking up the mountain to catch a glimpse of Stede, a tiny speck in the great swathes of green and white and grey.

The golden hour before sunset is just beginning to spread its burnished light across the clearing and Stede still hasn’t arrived back to camp yet, but Ed knows he’ll come and knows why he’s leaving it late. He gets the fire going, puts yesterday’s rabbit bones in a pot with water from the stream, peels and slices a few potatoes with his sharp little knife, opens one can each of some over-processed, under-colored meat and vegetables. It all goes into the pot, perched precariously on the grill stand above the fire. There was a block of lard and some flour with the new supplies, coarse stuff that the ranch owner’s wife likely didn’t want, and Ed thinks he can probably cobble together a fair enough dough for biscuits to cook on the hot stones at his feet. He doesn’t know exactly what it is that he’s preparing for supper, but he’s thinking harder about it than he’s probably thought about anything in his life and he wants Stede to like it.

When the hoofbeats come the sky is pink and orange, grey-lavender clouds gilded copper at the edges. Normally one for a perky little trot or canter, Stede enters camp at a slow walk, reins in one hand and something small and curious bundled in the other. He slides from the saddle, ties his horse to the hitching post and pats her briefly on the neck, leaning in when she presses against him.

At the fire, Stede looks at the two logs that serve as their benches, and sits on the one where Ed isn’t. It’s not a statement, just nerves, and Ed looks at what Stede’s got in his hand: a few scrubby little wildflowers, small bursts of petals in yellow, purple, white.

“From up on the mountain,” Stede says, even though there’s nowhere else he’s been today. He reels off their names and starts to go into the Latin too, then seems to think better of it and says instead, “Not much to look at but they smell sweet as anything.”

Ed puffs on his cheroot, flips his lighter end over end between thumb and fingers while he considers the stew bubbling over the fire, then takes the can that held the processed vegetables and holds it out silently to Stede. The flowers go into the can, Ed stands the can on the log bench, and he can see Stede’s smile from the corner of his eye.

They talk little while they eat around the fire, mopping up stew with Ed’s middling attempt at stone biscuits, sharing a can of peaches in syrup for dessert with no small amount of skittering glances and almost-touches, not drinking the whiskey despite having a new bottle and waiting patiently for it to be too dark for Stede to ride out to the sheep. Speech comes in stops and starts, shying at intimacies, until Stede says, “I have a gal back home. You know.”

“Yeah,” Ed says, knowing the script, “so do I,” even though he doesn’t have a gal and doesn’t want a gal, but knows that he should and knows that one day he’ll have to.

“We’re just— passing the time.”

“Yeah,” Ed says again. “Scratching an itch.” But if Stede gets the itch the way Ed does then it takes a damn lot of scratching and ends up worse than when you started. All you wanna do is scratch and can’t think of nothing else.

They don’t discuss it any further than that, and why would they, what need is there? They both know what they’re doing and no-one else is up here to demand an explanation of them. It’s nobody’s business but theirs.

Night is fully upon them, the sky deep and black and fathomless with no trace of the lingering sun; just the blazing spray of stars and the huge, glowing moon, bathing everything silver and blue. It’s their permission to look at each other, look away, look again and hold it this time. Ed goes first, takes the little kerosene lamp and lays himself down in the golden tent with his bare back on the scratchy wool blanket, and knows Stede will follow.

When Stede comes he pauses at the tent flap, hat in his hands, shy as a gentleman asking a sweetheart if he may have this dance. Ed sits up and reaches for him like he did last night, but this time Stede doesn’t push away, just lets Ed guide him in, touch his cheek and bump their noses together, rasping stubble as their mouths move haltingly in something that wants to be a kiss but isn’t quite there yet. Stede clings to Ed like he can’t stand the fact that eventually he’ll have to let go, and Ed whispers “it’s alright, it’s alright,” just a breath in the still air around them, no louder than the campfire that crackles beyond the tent.

They ease down to the blanket, propped on their elbows, face to face and a scant inch between their bodies, legs tentatively brushing and beginning to entwine. Ed rests his palm softly against Stede’s chest, circles a finger around the pearly snaps on his shirt, and pops them one by one at Stede’s slow nod. Stede still has his boots on; Ed’s toes curl and stretch in his bunched woollen socks.

The tail of Ed’s braid hangs over his shoulder and trails against his chest, endlessly pushed aside during the day but somehow always finding its way back, and when Stede puts his fingers to it Ed thinks he’ll just push it aside again; but instead Stede takes one end of the red tie cord between his fingertips, and pulls slowly, gently, until it slips from Ed’s hair. Ed holds so still, a faintly disbelieving puff of breath escaping his lips as Stede puts the cord aside and strokes tentative fingers through the already unravelling braid.

“Look at that,” Stede murmurs, the fluffy wave of Ed’s hair now completely loose and tumbling over his bare shoulder, the scent of woodsmoke mingled in the strands. “Lovely.”

“Don’t need to charm me,” Ed says shakily, wanting all of Stede’s charm and more besides.

“I know,” Stede says, soft and a little bashful, like he hopes Ed will allow him the indulgence anyway. “Have you done this before?”

There’s already a tacit agreement between them that this summer up here on the mountain exists outside of time and the real world, different rules and different lives and a different way to think of things. But asking about real life is dangerous, and even knowing this the desire to answer still claws raggedly in Ed’s throat, desperate to be given voice. Instead, he kisses Stede properly, hard and insistent. He’ll figure it out in his own time, whether the realization comes tomorrow morning or ten years down the road, Stede will think back on this and he’ll know that Ed has done it before.

Ed slips a hand beneath the fabric of Stede’s shirt and peels him out of it, his warm fingertips chasing away the last of the nighttime chill that still lingers on Stede’s skin. They lie down and pull their bodies flush and begin to move on instinct, thighs slotted together, a slow exploratory grind of hands and hips while they kiss and kiss and kiss. Stede makes noises, tiny breathless things, and he does what they both did the night before and wordlessly pulls open the button of his waistband, sends the zip fly hissing down.

Another breath, another moment of stillness to stop and look at each other; Ed drags his eyes from Stede’s face to his open jeans and back again, and Stede blinks and licks his lips and nods.

Ed curls his hand inside the denim, sliding over the soft, furry skin of Stede’s backside, and he squeezes and Stede cries out and then they kiss, again, wet and hungry. Ed grabs and pulls and Stede goes where Ed hauls him, sliding a leg up and over to straddle Ed’s hips. He’s sweet and excited about it, nervous beyond hope but so eager to learn what Ed has to teach.

Hardly any instruction manual required for what they’re doing. The body knows even if the mind is unsure, and they press together in a slow grind. Ed pulls his own jeans open, heavy buttons of his fly popping one by one and they’re maddeningly close, just a flap of fabric to fold this way instead of that and then they’d be touching, really touching, but neither of them makes the move. It’s a barrier they didn’t have to think about the night before, when everything was dark and happened so quickly and they touched themselves but hardly each other. Here now, the kerosene lamp bathes them in a light they can’t hide from, throws warm shadows between them at the final frontier. For a while they just stay as they are, teetering in the moment, not pushing forward nor pulling back. But soon enough practicality forces them over that line they were both too wary to be the first one to cross; Ed’s button fly is little worry, but Stede’s zip has sharp little teeth and with the insistent force of their grinding hips, it’s an accident begging to happen.

“We’re taking these off,” Ed says into the press of Stede’s mouth, tugging at one waistband and then the other, and this way they’re crossing the line together, no-one to go first and risk the other not following. It’s a tangle of hands and legs and Ed has a couple inches in height over Stede, but Stede is still long and wiry in that way young men often are, like they’ve been stretched too much one way and not the other. Slim legs, Ed notes, pale against his own, less hair.

Stede’s dick, pink and full mast, is heavy alongside Ed’s, nestled and warm. Ed puts a careful hand at the back of Stede’s knee, slides it up his thigh and digs a thumb into his hip, then across the hard plane of his stomach and down. Like their first meeting outside the dingy trailer that served as the ranch office, firm handshake in the hot afternoon sun while dust from the road whipped about their feet, Ed takes Stede in hand and holds him tight.

“That’s—” Stede tries, but the rest of the sentence isn’t forthcoming. Bracketed above Ed haunch and elbow, his back ripples as he finds the rhythm of Ed’s touch and pushes into it. Between the slide of their lips Stede admits, “Never kissed anyone like this before.”

Truth be told Ed hasn’t either, not really. Kissing is for romance, and romance is in short supply at the places he’s been. “Feels good?”

“Feels good,” slips sweetly from Stede’s mouth, as they rock and rub and moan together. “I, can we—”

“Yeah?” Can’t even let Stede get all his words out, feels like it doesn’t even matter what he might be asking for because the fact he’s asking is more than enough and Ed will say yes to any and all of it.

“Like last night, I want it.”

“Yeah, yes, I can take it again—”

“No, I want it,” and Stede presses himself harder into Ed’s hips.

“Oh shit, fuck, okay, have you—” can’t ask, shouldn’t ask, of course he hasn’t. “There’s things we should do. We need to prep.”

“It didn’t seem so difficult last night,” Stede says with this coy little smile, and Ed could ride a thousand good-tempered horses across a thousand summer mountain ranges with bluebirds singing and whiskey flowing from the springs, and none of it would make him feel like this.

“Think about— how it is with a woman. They have their own way of keeping things moving easy down there. We gotta improvise.”

At Stede’s uncomprehending look, Ed twists his torso to reach Stede’s travel case and the little grooming kit that he knows is stashed inside. Stede doesn’t get off of him or rise up even one inch to allow space to move, and Ed likes being pinned under him like this, likes Stede heavy and solid in his lap.

“This’ll help,” Ed says pointedly, prying the lid off of Stede’s tin of hair pomade and swiping a finger through the slippery oil.

“Oh,” Stede breathes, a little worried crease fluttering between his eyebrows. “Last night, I only—”

“Don’t worry about it,” and he can’t say ‘I’m used to it’ and definitely not ‘I like it like that’, but he can say again, “This will help you.”

“Oh,” Stede repeats, and Ed can see his brain ticking over as he figures out the answer to ‘Have you done this before?’ “Okay. Alright.”

They sink into another kiss, Ed trailing slick fingers down Stede’s flank and around to stroke against the tight furl of his entrance. Ed shakes as he goes, possessing all of the experience and so all of the fear too; fear that this is the point where it will end, that Stede will come to his senses, pull back, accuse Ed of seduction, perversion and worse. But Stede simply melts against him, takes Ed inside his body like he’s spent the last month waiting for it, and Ed shakes a little less and moves a little more.

It’s Stede who eventually reaches between them, when they’re overly hot and slick with sweat and about ready to shoot off like summer fireworks, pulls his palm up and down Ed’s cock a few indulgent times and then pushes it behind him and up where he wants it.

Like a lock and key they fit together, shaped for each other and sliding easily into position, but it’s a moment more before they try to move in this new configuration. Just looking and breathing, a sweaty palm to a hot cheek, a barely-there whisper of, “You’re here, this is happening, I’ve got you.”

Stilted at first but gaining confidence, Stede begins to move above Ed, following his body’s instinct up and down, back and forth, still trying to kiss even as their mouths bump and jolt and miss their mark. He sits up in Ed’s lap, chasing a better angle, brow furrowed above closed eyes and open mouth, and Ed thinks he’s never seen something so beautiful. Pink skin in the warm lamp glow, coppery curls tangled and bouncing, strain in his thighs as he tries to build momentum and can’t quite manage it.

“Come on, cowboy,” Ed says, with that wild runaway mouth of his. “I’ve been watching you ride this past month, I know your seat’s better than that.” But Stede’s uncoordinated in his movements, doubting the way his body goes, and Ed gets it, he does; it’s hard to be up there in the driver’s seat, being looked at like this with nowhere to hide. So Ed pushes up on one hand, presses his forehead to Stede’s and holds his hip to guide the lift and roll. “That’s it,” he breathes, words soft in the space between their lips. “Ride a horse, you can ride me.”

“Nothing like this,” Stede sighs into Ed’s mouth, cradling his head, hair spilling over his fingers. “There’s nothing like this.”

“Not a damn thing in the world that feels like this,” Ed agrees, kiss to shuddering kiss.

Stede is an accomplished horse rider; he has a straight back and fluid hips and long, strong legs, and he uses them well. He meets Ed push for push, grind for aching grind, peppering kisses over his jaw and down his neck, but he still can’t quite keep the pace they need to get where they want to go. Rough hand splayed against Stede’s sweaty back, Ed begins to tip and roll and Stede clings to him as they go.

Landing with a small puff of breath and a sweet little laugh, Stede is relaxed and easy on his back, pulling Ed against him, taking him back inside his body with nothing shy or hesitant about it. Ed grins against his mouth, kisses him hard and picks up the pace full-throttle, pulling Stede’s leg up to curl around his waist and driving into him, the jut of his hip bones against the creamy, freckled skin of Stede’s inner thighs.

Beneath him Stede moans, a sheen of sweat on his chest, hands gripping hard at Ed’s shoulders, his neck, whatever he can reach. Their kisses are barely kisses, just hot, gasping slides of lips and tongues.

Ed’s body is lit up, fire-bright and coiled tight, brain and mouth not working in sync as he babbles, “I’ve never— It’s never felt like— God, Stede, do you—” and then white-hot, breaking through, his orgasm comes crashing in like a summer storm, deep and thundering, rolling through his body, and he holds himself tight against Stede as he pulses inside, filling and marking him.

His head is thick, fizzing with electricity, only Stede’s wrecked voice cutting through, “Ed, Ed, please—”

He murmurs into the crook of Stede’s neck, “Hold on, I’ll get you there,” holding himself up on shakily-planted elbows, still pressed in heavily between Stede’s thighs. Ed grips Stede’s cock, slippery between his fingers, and strokes him firm and quick.

“Not far to go,” Stede says, breathless, the rapid rise and fall of his chest in time with the thrust of his hips as he moves to meet the rhythm of Ed’s rapid strokes. Hands at Ed’s back, nails digging in, he drags a matching set of long welts over Ed’s shoulder blades as he comes, arching up against Ed’s chest, clenching around him with his trembling thighs. Stede holds him hard enough to bruise, and Ed wants it, and when eventually they peel apart and lie flat on their backs, side by side and panting, Stede tangles their fingers together and Ed wants that too.

The tent is hot, the air syrup-heavy against their naked skin, and before long Stede crawls on wobbly knees to the opening and ties back the flap. He sits for a moment to enjoy the cool air, framed against the triangular slice of their shadowy camp, the black trees, and the brilliant night sky, and he looks back at Ed.

They don’t need to say it; they both know that they feel it.

After the rough efficiency of their first time, after the sweetness of the second, they fall into an easy pattern, initially only inside the tent but then outside it too. Up in the high meadows above the treeline, no work down at camp that can’t wait until tomorrow, rolling in the grass in the hot afternoon sun; suppertime around the campfire, potatoes sizzling in the dented pan, a little smoke and a little whiskey and an easy, familiar slide into unhurried intimacy; in the chill dawn, pale ghost-light and mist, back up in the saddle after another night spent leaving the sheep to fend for themselves and leaning down to steal a parting kiss. A hundred domestic scenes played out in miniature, more than just a warm body to press against at night, all fueled by the knowledge that none of it will last and the foolish hope that maybe it could.

And all the while Ed can’t grab the reins on his thoughts, galloping away a mile a minute to places he absolutely should not go: what if Stede came back next summer and they got to do this again? What if he found where Stede lived, paid him a visit, and they went away for a while, just the two of them in some remote cabin, no work to be done and all the time they wanted to hunt and fish and fuck? What if they got a ranch, built up a little cow and calf operation together down in the valley, or maybe out on the plains? A herd of their own, a bed of their own, a life of their own.

It’s staggering, how much Ed wants it. No way to unthink any of the things he’s thought, not now he’s looked them in the eye and allowed them to make him ache. And that’s just the problem, isn’t it? Once you acknowledge it you really start to feel it, and then you have to deal with the fact that you’re never going to get it, and there’s no way it won’t hurt now. They’ve not been merely passing the time, they both know that. They’ve been trying to live a whole life in one short summer, taking what they can because it’s all they’re allowed to have.

It’ll end because it has to end; no two ways about it, the color and heat of summer will drain from the land as the sheep are brought down off the mountain, and life with its relentless march onwards will demand that they act in roles that allow no space for the tender thing growing between them. The day will come, soon, and it’ll hurt, and maybe it’s best to end it like they started, pushing through it rough and quick; easier to watch a bruise fade, a raw scrape heal over, skin knit back together. Because how can you know when something’s done and healed if you could never even see the mark of it to begin with, if all you had and all you’ve got is a shift beneath the skin, a terrifying feeling that something has irrevocably changed and no clue how to fix it?

The day will come. But for now there’s sheep to watch and the camp to tend, and so long as they remain on the mountain life will wait a little while for them yet.

#ofmd fanfic #edward teach #stede bonnet #ofmd #our flag means death #my fic

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ourflagmeansdeth · 8 months

Text

three steps forward, one step back

or, three times israel hands showed himself tenderness, and one time he didn't.

click here to read on ao3 (18+)

summary:

After an odd conversation with a certain member of the Revenge's crew, Israel Hands begrudgingly attempts his own unconventional sort of self-care. He proudly considers himself tightly wound, but finds himself flirting with the thought of inviting someone to pull on his loose ends (and what it means when that person is himself). His drunken imagination helps him through most of it.

read under the cut (18+)

Israel Hands is trying to be better. Not for his crew, god forbid not for Edward this time, he’s trying to be better for himself. To admit Stede’s management has him accidentally changing for the better would be giving him way too much credit; Israel instead blames a conversation he had with a certain member of the Revenge ’s crew one morning, right after everyone else had gone upstairs to complete their chores.

“What about your duties this morning, Mr. Spriggs?” Izzy asked, turning to face Lucius, still seated at the dining table.

Lucius sat poking the eggs on his plate with his fork before giving Izzy a look and changing the subject. “You know, shockingly, I think I’ve figured you out,” he began.

Izzy could expect an attitude from Lucius, but not a claim as bold as that. Maybe it was how inexplicably bored Izzy felt recently, but he felt cheeky enough to entertain Lucius’ ideas, at least for a moment. “Explain yourself, make it brief.”

He exhaled. “We all know you’ve got history with Ed, that’s old news. Or maybe you’re still holding out for him?” He paused to see Izzy’s involuntary scowl in reaction to mentioning his captain. “Sad. I’m just wondering how long you’ll let it eat you alive before you realize you could be much, much better if you rearrange your priorities a little.”

“Don’t waste my time,” Izzy scoffed. His interest in the conversation was waning by the second, and Lucius had no right to speak on his relationship with his captain. He should’ve sent Lucius to do his work. “What’s the point of this?”

A wry smile tugged at the corners of Lucius’ lips. He paused before asking, “When was the last time you brushed your hair?” He took a bite of his eggs.

“Fuck off.” Izzy stepped back as if to leave.

“I’m serious,” Lucius set his fork down on the table, the sound of it disappearing into the thick silence between them. “My hair’s short, but a good brush before bed feels almost orgasmic. I know you comb yours back, but have you ever thought about maybe enjoying it for once ? ” A beat passes before he continues. “Or like, have you… made yourself smile recently? At all?”

Izzy just stared, not seeming to find the words, not quite sure what Lucius’ point was just yet. He regretted saying anything to him in the first place.

Lucius made a frustrated noise. “Listen. I’ve been around men like you my entire life. I’m not sure if you weren’t ever told this before, or if you just do this to yourself, but you’re allowed to fucking enjoy things. You’re not going to die if you put sugar in your tea and wait for it to cool down a bit,” he huffed. “Everyone on this ship is waiting for the day you stop fucking burning your mouth over and over.”

Izzy turned and walked out of the room, the sound of his boots on the floorboards echoing against the walls.

It had been weeks since that interaction, but Izzy’s mind had drifted back to it often while he lay awake before bed, regrettably. Izzy knew what Lucius was telling him, but he refused to act on it. If he was telling the truth, his stubbornness offered more safety than any weapon he’s ever wielded. A man swayed by a subordinate’s advice was better off dead. He wouldn’t have dared let Lucius’ words affect him.

Unfortunately for Izzy, they had. After hours of attempting to fall asleep one night, Izzy reached for his bedside table and opened the singular drawer, pulling out Edward’s hairbrush. He’d snuck it into his room after the captains had gone ashore one afternoon, and now that it was finally in his hands, he hesitated to use it.

Israel brought the brush up to his head reluctantly, letting the bristles smooth over his scalp, giving himself goosebumps. It had been years since he’d used a hairbrush (not the small comb he used to slick his hair back, a real hairbrush), and Israel regretted never investing in one of his own. Each time he brushed his hair, a chill ran down his spine, and the feeling drew his mind further away from whatever was on it.

His body relaxed into his cot, setting the brush down on the table, hands running over his hair. It seemed strange to love a feeling like this, because frankly, Izzy didn’t like feeling much at all. His hair was smooth and soft passing through his fingers. Izzy looked over at the brush, little locks of Ed’s wavy hair tangled in its bristles. His expression soured. Izzy tossed it back in the drawer with a quick shove. Stupid fucking hairbrush. He’d return it in the morning.

Izzy hadn’t expected to find another moment of tenderness with himself only days later. While the captains were upstairs entertaining the crew with some nonsense on the main deck, Izzy found himself standing in Stede’s library. He’d wandered in there after hearing that everyone else was distracted (and he secretly loved to be a bit nosy). The laughter echoing down the stairs indicated that the captains’ bit was still going, and Izzy could afford a few minutes of snooping around.

Alongside his expansive collection of literature, Stede had lined some of the bookshelves with his own personal knick knacks – a brass pocket watch, a tiny bottle of expensive-looking ink, a child’s pig figurine. Next to all of these items was another bottle: an atomizer that was about halfway filled with a whiskey-colored fluid. Israel picked it up to inspect it, finding a handwritten label on the bottom. He lifted it up to his nose and gave it a whiff. Cologne. To Izzy’s surprise, he found it quite nice. It was definitely musk-based, but per Stede’s tastes, it was mixed with some kind of floral element.

Flowers were something he rarely associated with his childhood (or anything, for that matter), but for a moment, the scent reminded him of his youth. Israel started his sailing career in his teens, the majority of his life spent at sea. He’d been around flowers mainly in passing – catching a whiff of a flower stand while walking through a busy market, spotting glimpses of them while walking in the woods, plucking the petals off weeds he found as a teenager on shore leave (he loves me, he loves me not) .

He blinked, setting the bottle down to reach in his pocket for a handkerchief. He spritzed a bit of cologne on the fabric before tucking the bottle back where he’d found it. Cradling the handkerchief in his hands, Israel lifted it up to his face – to envelop himself in the scent, to breathe youth back into his lungs.

The laughter and applause upstairs was dwindling now. Israel exhaled, wiping his cheek before putting his handkerchief back in his pocket and heading back to his quarters to bury it somewhere. There were a thousand parts of Israel’s adolescence that he would get rid of in an instant, if he could. It was hard for him to realize that there were still moments he liked remembering, even if they were bittersweet.

Later in the evening, the crew settled around Stede as he told his bedtime story. Izzy stood next to Edward, both of them leaning against either side of the mast as they listened. Izzy reached up to scratch his chin and smelled the faintest bit of musk lingering on his fingertips, a delicate hint of scent that reminded him of his recent act of theft. He glanced over to Edward and caught himself almost smirking. It felt a bit fun to have a secret like this.

The crew was making a long trip back to the Republic of Pirates, and they were on day 7 at sea. Everyone was slowly losing their minds. Izzy was particularly peeved, barking orders at the crew all day, his voice sounding hoarse and tired by the time dinner rolled around. He tried not to speak while he supervised meal time, but his throat threatened to cough, and in an attempt to keep from embarrassing himself, he took a step toward the table.

“Mr. Buttons, if you could pass the water,” he all but whispered before erupting in a fit of coughing.

“Jesus, Iz,” Oluwande gave him a concerned look. “Have some tea for your throat or something, yeah?”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” Izzy rasped, tilting the pitcher to pour into a cup that was passed to him.

Izzy didn’t speak for the rest of dinner, slumping back to his quarters after everyone had cleaned up after themselves. He was exhausted. Though he knew he should be up on the main deck, he couldn’t find the will to go. He sat at the foot of his bed, staring at the floor for an undetermined amount of time before he heard motion outside. Izzy stood, took 2 paces to reach the doorway, and cracked his door open.

Lucius stood with a cup of tea and a tiny china bowl of sugar in his other hand, a smug expression on his face.

“Fuck off.” Izzy slammed the door, backing away from it. It yawned open a second later.

“I’d prefer a ‘thank you,’ or maybe a ‘Lucius, you’re the best,’ but thankfully I’m not that fond of you, either,” Lucius handed the teacup to Izzy, who eventually took it with a scoff.

“What’s all this, then?” Izzy spat, gesturing to Lucius’ tea set. He only responded with a shrug, extending his arm to offer some sugar to him.

Izzy would unpack the meaning behind this interaction later tonight, but all the man could think about was how Lucius was attempting to get some kind of rise out of him, some evidence to use against him, a reaction that would prove weakness in him. Lucius stared back at him with an unimpressed look on his face and Izzy had to keep himself from smashing it in. Instead, he brought the teacup to his lips, holding the younger man’s gaze.

The tea, still boiling hot, burned straight down to Izzy’s stomach. To Lucius’ surprise, Izzy didn’t stop drinking after he’d realized it was too hot. When Izzy was finished, the cup was shoved back into Lucius’ chest, forcing him out of the doorframe. He wiped his mouth, scowling.

“Such a shame, Izzy. You were doing so well,” Lucius chided, giving Izzy a smirk.

Izzy exhaled, trying to blink away a reaction. His throat burned as he spoke. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Lucius tsked. “I think you know. Last week, I noticed you weren’t being as much of a dick to me, and Stede told me he thought you smelled like his sex cologne a few days ago. I think maybe someone was trying to take my advice a little bit, or am I mistaken?”

Izzy’s insides crumpled in embarrassment. Stede’s fucking sex cologne? Izzy could feel his face flush red; now everything felt as if on fire.

“Don’t sweat it, sweetheart,” Lucius cooed, “I think your efforts are quite cute.” He grabbed the door handle and pulled the door shut, his footsteps fading down the hallway.

Izzy would absolutely be unpacking this later.

The Revenge reached the Republic later that evening, and everyone planned on hitting town to drink immediately; a week without land was far too long. After Izzy was sure he had finished his docking duties, he sat on the main deck, overlooking the crew beginning their venture out to the closest bar they could find. Buttons and Frenchie stayed behind to keep guard.

Lucius’ voice cut through the sound of wind rushing past Izzy’s ears. “I’ve asked Stede if I could use his tub tonight,” he started, turning to face Izzy. “But I’m off to meet Black Pete and the others, and the captains aren’t around tonight, so.”

Izzy only nodded, knowing where Lucius was going with this, albeit a bit shocked.

“It’s all yours. I’ve filled it for you, mostly. There’s a pot of water boiling in the kitchen that you’ll need to check on soon, though.”

Izzy couldn’t find the energy to protest against Lucius tonight, especially not after all that had happened today. Izzy’s throat burned, his voice hanging on just barely. A hot bath sounded too good to pass up at this point– Izzy couldn’t ignore an opportunity to have some time alone, and his voice physically couldn’t allow him to object. Lucius began his descent down to the dock, and Izzy started towards the kitchen to check on the water Lucius put on. The pot was indeed boiling, so Izzy extinguished the heat. He carried the pot to Stede’s bathroom with careful hands.

After dumping the water into the tub, Izzy looked out into the hallway, checking for movement upstairs before closing the door and carefully taking off his boots. He walked towards the tub, undressing himself slowly, feeling the heat of the water rise up to his face. Izzy realized that a folded towel and a bottle of rum lay beside it. He’d never thought to ask to use Stede’s tub before. This felt like too much of a luxury, the steam caressing his skin gently as he shed his layers.

When it came time to finally step in, the heat on Israel’s foot and ankle was a shock. He hadn’t expected the water to be this hot, despite having felt the steam fill the room while he undressed. He lifted his second foot into the tub, and slowly he lowered himself down, sighing as the hot water met his skin.

Izzy closed his eyes and breathed out as he moved lower into the water. His body felt raw and his muscles ached from work; the water felt like it could heal him, at least for a moment. It felt like heaven. He bent his legs as the rest of his body slipped underwater. He couldn’t help gasping as the water consumed him and wrapped him in warmth, his skin tingling as he met the surface again. Israel had never thought about having a favorite feeling, but he thought maybe it was this one.

Once Izzy felt warm enough, he sat up and reached over the edge of the tub to grab the bottle of rum. He pulled the cork off the bottle and took a pull, the alcohol burning down his throat and starting a fire in his belly. The rum they’d bought during their last shore leave wasn’t as good as Izzy would’ve liked, but it worked just as well. It was a miracle Lucius had found a full bottle after that many days out at sea. He sat and thought to himself as he sipped.

He didn’t care if Lucius might have been buttering him up to use the special treatment he received against him later – Izzy, unfortunately, needed this. Both Lucius and Izzy were aware of this now. If the sneaky fucker wanted an extra half-ration or perhaps a free pass if he was ever caught messing around with Black Pete on the job again, he might just be able to get away with it. He hated that he was caving into bribery, as he would normally consider that a weak look. But Izzy, much to his surprise, was finding saying “fuck it” was almost as easy as saying “fuck off.” He hated it.

Izzy had never really considered himself a fan of “me time,” never knowing quite what to do with himself when caught alone. Being a pirate hadn’t allowed him many hobbies. He had an affinity for the sound of the harpsichord when he was younger, but he never dared touch the frilly-looking instrument that gathered dust in the Revenge ’s music room. He couldn’t read, nor write; the only exposure to literature Izzy had received in the past ten years had been from Stede’s bedtime stories. The only thing he really knew he enjoyed were the moments he spent alone over the past week or so. Izzy shook his head, sinking a little further into the water. He definitely does not have the time for all this.

Izzy had stared at the other end of the tub for a couple minutes before finally moving his body, causing the water to ripple around himself. He was drunk. His mind wandered to his conversation with Lucius, before he’d offered the bath. When Lucius had told Israel that he was doing so well and how Israel needed a moment to compose himself after. How Lucius knew about his cologne thievery, and how Izzy felt embarrassed about it, but also maybe a bit horny. The rum helped him accept that truth much better than he ever would have sober.

The items in the room were only starting to shift in his vision as Izzy realized more than half of the bottle was gone. He looked down to his hands, checking that all his tattoos were there, that he hadn’t lost a finger. Israel’s body glistened as the last hour of daylight came to a close through the window, skin sparkling under the day’s final moments of sun. His eyes drifted to his legs, and then, eventually, between his legs. He was half-hard, albeit a little surprised he had gotten this excited with all his thinking about Lucius (though he’d never admit it to anyone). Izzy struggled to keep his subconscious thoughts from slipping into the forefront of his mind, failing miserably. His calloused hand ran over his abdomen, feeling the scars and puncture wounds mapped across his skin. He wished Lucius were there to kiss all of them, gently, working his way down his chest.

Thoughts like these were normally very off-limits – Izzy did not allow himself to think of his fellow crewmates as potential lovers in any capacity, and Lucius was no exception. However, given the knowledge that he was almost alone on the ship and getting more drunk by the second, it was near impossible to do anything but let himself indulge, finally.

Izzy remembered how Lucius’ voice lowered when he spoke to him earlier, how he leaned in closer into Izzy’s space, how it made it impossible to look away from him. He imagined Lucius’ voice low in his ear, the taller man’s body so close to his own. For a moment, the thought of Lucius walking in on him crossed his mind, and the hand that Izzy wasn’t currently using to gently caress his chest met the base of his shaft. He groaned a bit, deep in his throat, quiet, so no one could hear. His pointer finger and thumb squeezed around his length as the scene in his head began to play out in front of him.

The door creaked open just a crack before it yawned open completely, revealing Lucius in the doorway. He took a long look at Izzy, who lay back in the tub, naked and blushing. Despite feeling a bit vulnerable, he lay with his legs apart, hand still wrapped around himself.

“Having a good time, aren’t we?” Lucius placed a hand on the doorframe, leaning into the room.

In place of an answer, Izzy’s fingers wrapped tighter, tracing a fingertip over his nipple. His breaths were short as Lucius made his way into the room, closing the door silently behind him, holding Israel’s gaze.

“When was the last time you’ve touched yourself?” Lucius asked him, crossing his arms and settling against the wall next to the tub.

“Couple weeks,” he responded, voice rough, cock aching from that confession. “Hadn’t had any time.”

Lucius hummed. “Such a good first mate, holding off for that long,” he started, raking his gaze over Izzy’s body. “You’re long overdue. Why don’t you go ahead and get to work?”

Izzy held back a sigh, releasing his grip on himself. He reached to brush against the soft insides of his thighs, reveling in how sensitive everything felt before one of his hands wrapped fully around himself. His hand worked slowly at first, all but whimpering as the warm water lapped against his skin.

“God, you look fucking gorgeous like that,” Lucius murmured, encouraging a tiny moan out of Izzy. “Start out nice and slow, darling.”

It took every ounce of self control in Izzy not to go ahead and get himself off like he knew he could – quick and efficient, only out of necessity – but something kept his hand slow, kept him from spilling over too quickly. The water rippled around him gently, tickling the skin on his abdomen.

Izzy’s mind raced as he savored every ounce of filth that crossed it. His hand kept steady, though, managing stable breaths while he pictured himself on Lucius, Lucius on him. Izzy grew wild with the thought of Lucius being here with him. Would Lucius work with the vigor and passion that Izzy craved, or would he take his time, drawing sweet sounds out of Izzy while he teased him for hours on end? His other hand dug deeper as it idly gripped at his hip, giving his restraint away to the imaginary Lucius standing in the corner.

“Go faster, now, love,” Lucius gazed at him lazily as Izzy noticed the growing erection in Lucius’ trousers. “And use both hands.”

Izzy’s other hand wrapped around his cock the second the words spilled from Lucius’ mouth, biting back a groan. His breath shook as he exhaled, the warm water spilling around him as he stroked himself a bit faster, reaching down to caress his balls. This new pace had him trembling and biting his lip, so close to drawing blood.

As his hips began to thrust into his hands out of pure need for more, Izzy realized just how loud he wanted to be. Izzy had lived in worse situations before, where there was much less privacy – the man surely knew how to stay quiet. The hands wrapped around himself felt like velvet this time. He never thought it could ever feel this nice, in a room with a locking door and warm water that he found exceptionally soothing. As soon as it all started to feel too good, Lucius interrupted once again.

“Almost no one’s here, darling,” He cooed, slowly palming himself through the thin fabric of his trousers, “they won’t hear. Let it out for me, babe.”

“ Fuck, ” Izzy breathed, his hips bucking slightly up into his grip, restless and needy for someone who wasn’t even there. He felt himself get closer and closer, his heart racing, his eyelids fluttering in bliss. His moans echoed off the walls of the bathroom as he spilled over, his hands slowing as he yawned, sated and ready for a good night’s rest. Izzy had needed this more than he could’ve ever known, finally gaining the confidence to enjoy himself without restraint. He hated that he’d let his mind entertain the idea of Lucius more than he’d ever thought he would, but god, if it hadn't felt something like heaven.

Izzy took a few deep breaths before bracing the sides of the tub with his hands and lifting himself out, standing and reaching for the towel Lucius had provided him. Izzy suddenly felt very grateful that the captains had ordered the crew to “vacation” for the two days they planned to be ashore; he was already feeling his cheeks grow red again at the thought of seeing Lucius. The rum made a silly smile dance across his lips. Perhaps he wasn’t so good at hiding his cologne sampling, but Izzy felt like this was a secret that he’d have fun keeping.

#I FINALLY POSTED IT #about time i think #ofmd #our flag means death #izzy hands #israel hands #ofmd fic #ofmd fanfiction #ofmd fanfic #lucius spriggs #lucius knows best trope #our flag #our flag means gay #our flag means death fanfiction #ao3fic

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tasteofdeathao3 · 1 year

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Cranky toddler Iz is so real, so many times he's very close to just sitting on the floor and shouting "no no no no!!!!", maybe if he just becomes incredibly fussy and needy Ed will have to stop paying attention to his new boyfriend to look after Izzy more, very reasonable toddler thoughts

yes yes yes yes

So of course Izzy gets cranky when Ed isn't paying attention to him! He's tried everything he knows, which includes pouting and huffing and the occasional foot stomp, and Ed still hasn't noticed!

He's hungry and he doesn't want to eat on his own again, or even worse than that, have the crew try and help him. Ed's too busy with this dude that's just always around now, which means if Izzy wants something he's got to work for it.

Soon enough Roach comes around to bring him up for dinner, and it's Izzy's last straw.

So he does the one thing he knows will get 100% of Ed's attention. Has a tantrum.

He stomps his feet and kicks at the floor and yells, and when he gets tired of that he flops down and wails, "No! No, no, no, no!"

Roach doesn't stick around - it's not his job to look after Izzy, and after Stede waves him off he scurries back down to hall to avoid any more of Izzy's outburst.

Ed doesn't bother with it. He's been dealing with Izzy for a while, and has had to deal with quite a few tantrums from him.

Stede, however, couldn't bear it when his young children were upset, and he can't bear it now! He comes up and asks Izzy what's wrong, if he needs something, starts petting his hair when he's still enough to reach.

Izzy is absolutely blindsided by this - how did his plan fail so miserably? All he wanted was Ed back all to himself and now he's got the exact opposite of that! It momentarily stuns him for long enough that the grown ups assume that the worst of the tantrum is over, and so instead of the talking to or cuddle or even the time-out that would be worth it if Ed came and gave him a hug afterwards, he gets set back on his feet and lead up to dinner by the next grownup that comes down the hall.

Of course Izzy's attempts don't stop there.

He figures, somehow, that Ed will decide to stop giving all his attention to Stede and instead give Izzy all the love he deserves if he's just a bit more needy.

A couple of barely picks through dinners, crying fits, and accidents later, it finally works!

Ed carries him around for a bit after Izzy makes himself sick crying, holding Izzy up on his hip and traipsing around until Izzy's set to go down fro a nap.

He helps feed Izzy his dinner after Wee John and the Swede both burst into tears the night before (it's not his fault if he's a picky eater is it? Only he's only quite so picky when it's anyone but Ed trying to get food into him), and stays with him for a good while after everyone else has finished, scraping mush off of his face with the spoon and making silly faces so that Izzy will copy and try to keep at least some of the food in his mouth.

When Izzy has another accident Ed is there to hold him close and take him back into the privacy, changing him and helping him into the bath with a surplus of cuddles and kisses.

The only flaw in his plan - Stede has been accompanying him the whole time.

When he was sick Stede was right in front of him, mopping up the sick on his pants and shirt even as Izzy glared at him, and came along to pat his back every now and then while Ed carried him around.

When Ed was feeding him Stede was right there beside him, pointing out the different coloured foods on his plate and chatting with Ed about how yummy they looked.

When Ed was wiping him clean from his accident Stede was right there, laying beside him, wiping off his tears and cooing at him in a small sad sort of voice.

Izzy is utterly baffled.

#cranky toddler iz to gooey little toddler iz pipeline #he's got a plan for every occassion #maybe 2 work ever #mail 💌#thank you anon <3 #ofmd #izzy hands #sfw #toddler Iz

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amuseoffyre · 2 years

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I find Izzy and Blackbeard's relationship interesting because even though Izzy sees him as superior and puts him on a pedestal, I feel like he's the one with more power over the other. Idk I'd just like to know what your opinion is on that, I'm not really one for massively analysing shows

I'd disagree with this because fundamentally, Edward is the one in control. He's the one who gives Izzy his orders. He's the one who makes the decisions, as stupid or half-mad or bizarre as they may seem.

To me, Edward doesn't want to be a captain. He likes doing the exciting and interesting parts of it but he never really liked the work of it, being in charge of people, the practicalities. He brought Izzy in to be his executive function, to shout at people and give the orders. This is especially significant when he's introduced in the show when he admits he feels "trapped, treading water, waiting to drown". He's stuck in a rut and even Izzy has noticed his "increasingly erratic moods" and called him "half-mad".

Episode 4 perfectly captures this: Izzy spends the whole time chasing after Edward trying to get him to "come up with a plan" as if Edward isn't fully aware that the Spanish are likely to come after them and as if he doesn't already have a contingency plan in place. The fact that Edward does have a plan and doesn't bother to tell him, even though it was would stop Izzy from hissing and spitting and stamping speaks measures for how frustrated Edward is with making plan after plan after plan and that's it. "Is this all there is, man?" he demands. "It's all so fucking boring!"

The places where Izzy does look like he's in charge are in episodes 6 and episodes 10.

In 6, you'll notice he doesn't bring up the issues of killing Stede himself. He makes sure that he's got back-up in the form of Ed's crew. He's making it look like it's not a personal beef with Stede (which it 100% is) but is a crew related issue. It's a reminder to Ed that he has obligations and a position to uphold and he's not someone who can just run around and have a nice time. This is their life and their business and pirate crews were democratic about leaders who weren't leading.

When Izzy challenges Stede to a duel later in the episodes, when Ed says 'we're not doing this', Izzy says 'no, you're not doing this, so I must', reminding him of that decision made with his crew and his obligation. Stede accepting the duel takes the decision out of Ed's hands as well - he can hardly tell the captain of this ship he's not allowed to duel, can he?

There's also a key factor here as well: Ed is in a very vulnerable mental state in this moment. He's just had a panic-attack about his traumatic childhood memories, where a violent figure of his past attacked the kinder gentler person. And now this is playing out again in real-time in front of him. Watch his body language throughout the duel: he retreats over to the side of the ship, clings to the rope, hides his face.

The only other time Izzy really seems to take charge is in episode 10 in the cabin, but up until that moment, grieving sad Ed is still absolutely in control. He's curled up in his blanket fort, he's eating marmalade, and Izzy is awkwardly and uncomfortably telling everyone "he's fine. he's resting everything is all right get back to work".

The change comes when Ed comes out of the cabin, soft and sad, singing and wearing nice things and announcing they're not going to be pirates anymore. This is where Izzy loses his rag, because his entire sense of self and worth is tied up in being Blackbeard's first mate. Not Ed. Not some soft and singing lad. He absolutely loses his temper with Edward, yelling at him that he's meant to be the monster that everyone is so afraid of.

But the thing is he's not in control here, not at all. What happens is that he's simply the last straw in a successive pile of equally heavy straws. Ed, who has struggled with his identity and self-worth his entire life, has been trying to piece himself back together and it was going okay.

With Lucius's help, he was almost convinced he could be enough as himself, just being Edward for a bit, and then Izzy reminds him of how Stede saw him when they first met, shoved one of those illustrations of the Devil Pyrate Blackbeard in his face, brought back all those lifelong fears and all that belief that he was never and will never be good enough. Because if he was good enough, why did Stede abandon him like he was nothing? If he was worth anything, why was he abandoned?

That's why the 'pining for your boyfriend' line is the one to get such a violent response from Ed. Izzy insulting him and wishing him dead didn't get the anger. But the reminder that he's wrapping himself in nice things left behind by the man who decided he wasn't good enough? Ed lashes out because he's hurt and sad and when Izzy says "there he is", it hammers the final nail in the coffin.

It convinces Ed that this is what he's been all the time. "This is who I am," he told Stede. "Do you see me now?" because how can he be anything else?

And as much as Izzy is the catalyst for shattering him back into Blackbeard, in reality it's nothing to do with Izzy having any control of the situation. He was just poking buttons to get a response and just happened to hit the right one for a change. It isn't about him having control. It's absolutely everything to do with Edward's own trauma, grief and shame.

#our flag means death #ofmd meta #ofmd #blackbeard #izzy hands #long post

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theclaravoyant · 7 months

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AN ~ For @fictober-event’s Fictober 2023 prompt: “Do I look like I knew that?” Set during S2, written after airing of ep.3. SPOILERS FOR EPS 1-3. A UA/insert extension of the scene where Ed confronts Frenchie. Masterpost of my Fictober OFMD fics

Fandom: Our Flag Means Death Characters/Relationships: Ed Teach/Blackbeard, Frenchie, background Ed x Stede Tags/Content Warnings: Drug Reference, Canon Typical Violence

Papers

He has Frenchie up against the ropes, trembling and struggling to keep eye contact. He can practically taste the fear and it’s horrifying and delicious, not unlike the rhino horn. It buzzes through his veins sending his eyes a bit too wide and he smiles like the predator he is. He can hear the breath whistle through Frenchie’s dry fucking liar’s throat. A not insignificant part of him wants to rip it out with his teeth.

Bottles in the basket tinkle quietly between them in the silence, and a sudden curious impulse draws his eye. He taps one of the bottles.

“What are these?”

“Uh. Papers.” His voice squeaks, but fuck is that man brave. And foolish.

“Papers?”

“Y-Yep. I was just, uh. You know, cleaning up.”

“Oh, well, maybe I can help then. I’ve got a bit of a system. What kind of papers are they, hm? Maps? Pay slips? Recipes?”

Liar.

Even Frenchie’s quick tongue is finding it difficult to work in these conditions. Ed reaches into the basket and takes one of the bottles. He uncorks it with his teeth and pries out the paper. He scans the first line of it.

Dear Ed,

His heart stops. At least it feels like it does. The manic buzzing in his brain that’s been the only thing keeping him standing for God knows how long now suddenly feels like it’s underwater. Like he’s back in the blanket fort with some distance between him and the constant, soul-sucking, flesh eating rage. There’s only one person in the world who calls him that.

Dear Ed,

I hope this letter finds you well. As well as you can be, under the circumstances. I know things are difficult right now but I can only tell you how sorry I am and I promise I can explain everything.

The crew and I have been waylaid for a while but the good news is, we have commandeered another vessel and are making good time. I am sure it won’t be long before we find each other again. Please be kind to yourself, at least try, until then.

Love, with all my heart,

Stede.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. He can’t even count the emotions that flood back in - rage and heartbreak and love and warmth and everything he had thought was long since rotted away inside him. Frenchie doesn’t dare move as he digs through the loose papers frantically, furiously.

Dear Ed, I had a dream about you last night.

Dear Ed, Apologies, but we have eaten all the oranges.

Dear Ed, How are you?

Dear Ed, Dear Ed, Dear Ed…

He clutches another message in a bottle in his hand and raises it over his shoulder. Frenchie flinches, as if he’s expecting him to smash it on the post behind him or maybe even glass him in his very too-close face. He’s not wrong to expect it. But despite the way Ed’s blood is positively fuming inside of him, he can’t do it.

He grits his teeth, and snarls his words instead.

“How many are there?”

“Uh. A little over twenty, I think,” Frenchie confesses. “Another one comes in every few days.”

“Mm-hm. And is everyone else hiding these or is it just you?”

“Uh, ev- I mean we all- We thought you knew he was writing you, I swear.”

“Do I look like I knew that?”

“N-No. Izzy said you’d ordered us to destroy them.”

“Izzy said that, did he?”

Frenchie nods.

He’s tortured the man long enough. He’s so tired. Ed finally breaks the predatory pose, letting the bottle clatter uselessly to the floor. He steps back far enough that Frenchie can get past him if he wants. He wisely takes a second to make sure he’s serious before inching his way forward, and then fleeing.

Ed turns to the door where he knows his former first mate is hiding. They have a lot more unfinished business than he’d thought.

#fictober23 #ed teach #blackbeard #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd spoilers #clara's fic tag

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omoghouls · 2 years

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thinkin bout... Stede realizing he miiiight have a teensy bit of an omo kink (actually, a HUGE omo kink) but he's still got some of those old proper ideals hammered into him and he immediately jumps to feeling gross and ashamed about it. he probably sees Ed desperate and squirmy one time and it Awakens something in him, and at first he's just thinkin "oh, Ed looks so lovely like that, I bet he'd look even nicer in soaked trousers-" before he catches himself and starts feeling bad about it, because that's not "proper" or "normal". but he also can't actually STOP thinking about it cause Ed just looked so nice and now he REALLY wants to see Ed wet himself.

he ends up telling Ed about what he's been thinking after a bit, maybe he's a lil bit drunk or maybe he's just been thinking about it so much he feels like he's gotta "own up", cause he still feels like he's doing something wrong by enjoying these thoughts. but Ed's like "if you want me to piss myself for you I'll do it. fuck, I'll do it right now" and Stede's just so shocked, cause not only is Ed not disgusted or weirded out but he's actually offering to indulge in Stede's fantasy.

Stede doesn't take his offer on him doing it right now, cause he actually admits that he's "rather interested in watching you hold until you lose control." so Ed takes that and runs with it and keeps holding throughout the night til he's squirming around next to Stede, and it's kinda driving Stede crazy in a good way, cause Ed is actually doing this for him! and Ed's really putting on a show for him, making sure to shift and squirm and cross his legs, interrupting their conversations every now and again to bemoan about how badly he needs to go, and then never making any effort to get up and do so.

Stede's still a bit too shy to really try to push things along or say anything suave to Ed, so he just watches until Ed's control starts to falter, and his eyes are all wide as Ed is clearly reaching the end of his abilities to hold it. he's holding himself with both hands and he's got his legs crossed, their conversations have stopped all together because Ed is too busy trying to hold it and Stede is too busy watching.

and then Ed finally loses it and lets everything out, and Stede just can't look away, he looks even better than he'd imagined. Ed really does look lovely in soaked trousers.

once Ed's all done he looks over to Stede, who's looking at him so wide eyed and with red cheeks, he just looks so enamored by Ed, and Ed's just like "fuck, you weren't kidding, you really liked that huh?" and Stede just nods.

and Ed admits to him that he really liked it too 💖

Y ECS YF UFCXY6TDZFGXIHVIH OMFH

Anything past handholding has been told to Stede as impure, a gentleman's thoughts should be of good intentions and pure of mind. So, when those thoughts of seeing Ed struggling to hold a very full bladder and eventually wet himself is something Stede tries SO hard to push out of his mind, make himself be ashamed of thinking of such tnings- but the more he tries to get rid of these wants, the more they play in his mind

God, Ed is so chill about it, honestly surprised by just how bad those ideas had been eating Stede up! And of course, Ed is always up to trying something at least once, especially if it will make his Stede happy♡♡

But aaaaaaAAAA holy shit, mutual kink??? Like, Ed hasn't really tried purposefully holding for fun and by god he is loving this sensation, being so outwardly holding himself and the relief that comes from wetting himself 👀👀

Stede definitely praises Ed, making sure Ed's okay and running a nice bath for Ed. All the while telling Ed how good he did and it's certainly kinda in an awkward voice from Stede as he's still red in the face and Ed genuinely thinks it's cute as all hell, seeing Stede flustered over Ed wetting himself for the gentleman pirate. And ofc Ed is lavishing in the praise he's getting ♡♡♡

#m #omorashi #omocute #fandomo #stede bonnet #edward teach

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choco-cherry-chunk · 1 year

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Continuation to the abortion plot (idk what else to call it)

After Ed and Izzy comfort Stede, they think that Stede is doing well now about that specific topic....well....Stede still has some doubts about his parenting so he gets depressed about it.

He worries so much that it's hurting the baby and himself, not sleeping because of nightmares, crying a lot and getting dehydrated to the point he actually gets a fever somehow (fuck logic lemme have fun)

Well what if Buttons was their like....doctor? Since he's the one who pointed out the pregnancy, I assume he knows well what possible sicknesses are if you get pregnant.

Ed and Izzy found out Stede got sick so they ask Buttons for help, Buttons immediately recognizes the tear stains on his face and how Stede was acting all weird because of the lack of sleep.

Buttons: Capt'n...what have you been doing inside 'dis room?

Stede (with a raspy vocie from crying): Ohh nothing but reading Buttons...

Buttons: Wassit a sad one? You have tears on ye face.

-Gentlebeard anon

Okay, this very of Steddyhands has me so supremely fucked up in the best way. I’ll tag this post and the previous one a needed AU.

Ed and Izzy feel comfortable in the knowledge that Stede won’t attempt to abort their children and even is looking forward to being a parent at this point. And Stede doesn’t explicitly not wish to be a parent, but he remains convinced that he’s going to be a source of damage to their new children.

He can’t sleep and takes to pacing the deck when he can. Or just lying awake in their bed. He feels so nauseous that he throws up most everything he tries to eat. He feels like he can never stop crying and that makes him feel even sicker. It’s all just such a mess and he doesn’t want to tell Ed or Izzy, and risk worrying them further.

I feel like Buttons would be able to identify things not because he understands medicine, but because of his weird connection to the supernatural. Perhaps he would be brought on to help with Stede as his first mate, but I feel like maybe the likes of Roach or Wee John (if we follow my mentions in previous asks of him having knowledge of medicine through his mother) would be tasked with helping. Hell, any one of the crew members being tasked with figuring out what’s making Stede “sick” is fitting. Like Roach making foods he knows to be helpful when nauseous and thinking he’s doing his part, only for Stede to have a nightmare and vomit anyway. Or Frenchie trying to suggest that perhaps, if he’s having a girl, that’s part of why his sickness is so severe. But these attempts ultimately elongate hot messy things are getting without a proper answer.

God, I’m also imagining how this scenario might occur in previous mentions of both Stede and Izzy getting pregnant. Because you damn well Izzy would fall apart and hide it just as much.

#ofmd #steddyhands #mpreg #asks #gentlebeard anon #steddyhands depression au

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knowlesian · 2 years

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so: the closet scene! i’ve been mad at this stupid closet scene for SO LONG. i still don’t entirely know how i feel about it, to be honest. whenever i do, i find a new angle i hadn’t considered and have to think about it that way. i’ve got a couple things i’m fairly steady about and a whole heap more that sound out there even to me, because my whole brain gives up on linear thinking and goes all-in on muppet-esque leaps of logic when i try to sort out any given thought.

i need to acknowledge the visual joke here before i even deal with taking it seriously. it’s so broad it’s like... i don’t know, a visual gag version of taking a pie to the face. this takes the implied knocking boots joke by the throat and says “i can do better.” stede 10000000% literally takes ed into his secret closet of fancy gay things. this sweet, sad little man who is so metaphorically closeted at the moment he’s in fucking narnia, is taking ed into his actual factual closet to hang out. and then they stay there even longer so they can be gay together away from izzy, #1 pooper of parties.

i mean, what am i supposed to say? that’s funny. it just is, i don’t make these rules. it’s really, really fucking funny.

then it’s not, because oh wait: what leads up to this moment in the closet makes the obvious “hah hah, two gay dudes in maybe the gayest closet the good lord ever did make” joke into something a lot more textured. they’re very good at this! i have said it before, and i will say it again. i will meet these writers in the parking lot of a denny’s!!!!

stede’s never been told anything he loves is right for him. none of it matters. it’s all soft and silly and frivolous and weak. worst of it: it’s fucking girly. because of some very stupid rules a bunch of dead people made up in part to make sure the generational wealth that gave stede these nice things stayed the fuck put where it was already at, he can’t get caught enjoying them or risk being shamed for it.

there’s something really sad and complicated and fucked up about that that won’t stop eating at me. maybe it’s the way they’re digging into the complications that arise when privilege and marginalization beat in same breast, maybe it's all the juicy class stuff, maybe it’s the nodding at toxic masculinity and the way patriarchy likes to stab a knife into its own emotional guts while reaping practical/systemic benefits at once thing. (i guess if the patriarchy had emotional literacy i wouldn’t need to know the word patriarchy, because it wouldn’t be such a fucking problem! love to live in a society, i really do.) i don’t know what i think it all actually means now, but maybe someday.

what i do know is the way stede says “rather exquisite cashmere” is unfair. because that’s what it is: cashmere that is rather exquisite. he’s describing the world as he sees it, and up until now every single response he’s gotten to saying anything like that has been “fucking... christ with this one, and his gay little scarves and shit.” sometimes they phrase it more kindly, but nobody ever gets it.

so stede holds his breath there, hoping he’s not going to be mocked, but his face when it’s even better than that kills me. ed doesn’t just nod and take stede’s way of expressing himself in stride; he repeats the words back to him. he decides he likes the way they feel in his mouth, far better than izzy’s demands he stick to harsher, guttural tones.

the way this show deals with communication and words as a method of love or shelter really does kill me. the jim and olu of it all is literally always killing me softly, and this just kicks my feelings up a notch.

on this show, to love someone is to find out you had the same words in your heart all along, you were just waiting for someone to understand them. that’s pretty fuckin’ rad.

anyway, then ed rubs the rather exquisite cashmere on his fucking face and the music gets all lighthearted and “this is the scene where they start falling in love, you know this cue, let’s ROLL, we are DOING THIS.” i mean... come ON.

and stede is so HAPPY! he loves his pretty things, his soft beds and fine fabrics, and he’s never had a single person reflect that back to him. and here ed is, not just listening, but agreeing; he does fancy a fine fabric. (the fact that at this point in the narrative stede’s self-concept is still pretty tied to his material goods and here ed is like “yes. fine fabrics. i like them. and since you feel as though your personhood is coupled with these fabrics, i also like you.” is Very Nice.)

(god, i can’t wait for s2. what's the version of this scene where stede is the one validating ed’s Whole Thing going to look like, i don’t know but god i need it.)

the little gasp stede lets out after “i think i do, yeah” is... mean. it’s mean. what if i never do anything but obsess over the little details of this insanely talented cast acting their faces off? that feels like a valid choice. the way rhys does this adorable little lean and looks like a kid about to show off his ant farm to the first person alive who also finds ants as interesting as he does, equally mean.

and the purple shelving in the closet? FUCK THIS CREATIVE TEAM. JESUS. the use of purple as ed grows more comfortable just being ed is fucking next level.

honestly, i know this level of textual analysis isn’t for everybody and a lot of my dear, dear friends are largely like “that’s nice, sarah, we don’t give a single fuck about the use of purple” but when a show like this comes along, it feels like a sin not to appreciate all the hard work they put into the little stuff.

speaking of: time for izzy to rock up and take things into the fucking thematic stratosphere.

there’s something really fascinating to me about the casting on izzy, and the general choice to make our one Homophobic Gay the white guy who looks and acts most like the fulfillment of patriarchal power fantasies but is actually a sad little gremlin idiot who wants to fuck other men so bad it makes him look stupid. izzy never heard the good word about how you can be a monster and a lighthouse if you want, depending on the day, because as discussed: he’s from a canon where the dicks don’t touch.

less flippantly, there’s also a lot to be said about how his dynamic with ed is exploring some pretty intense thematic waters re: the intersection of race and sexuality, the long and so-very unavoidable history of white people divebombing in and fucking up indigenous cultures and their understanding of gender and sexuality with weird repressed jesus shit, and how izzy who is a white man even while being gay and ed who is not have wildly difference lived experiences of the same sexuality. i need to rewatch izzy and ed’s scenes with that in mind to sort out any more eloquent thoughts other than ‘oh shit, they went there?’ and ‘holy shit, they go HARD’. not mentioning it’s in the mix feels wrong, though, so i want to at least point it out as something the show is doing really, really well.

i like it even more because we’ve got stede and lucius and pete knocking around also being super gay white guys, so that marks izzy out as particularly in denial and out of step with the times.

the whole 'and now we’re not just checking out your fun little room, we are officially hiding in the closet from izzy’ kicks into high gear when you think about it that way. the obvious “yes, we see they’re hiding from the one character who doesn’t understand the show he's now on”, literally closeted metaphor works there, but it’s not a despairing or fearful scene.

just the phrase “in the closet” is something that brings up a lot of weird baggage for some of us in the soup, especially those who have Been Around A While; there’s a vague sensing of shaming to the way I’ve most often heard it used throughout my life. we tend to heap our scorn or pity and Hot Takes on the person still lingering behind the doorway, because they’re a coward. they’re not being authentic. they’re weak, and they’re not to be trusted.

(and don’t even get me started on people inside our own fucking clubhouse outing people. the fact that perez hilton is still wandering around, pretending he’s all cute and refusing to reckon with the damage he did bothers me every single fucking day.)

why we do that shit to each other sometimes is a whoooooole thesis i’m in no way qualified to write, but: we do! we tear at each other, trying to yank open the door before someone else is ready.

so here these two men are, hiding in a closet; stede already spends most of his time in here, and ed doesn’t want to deal with izzy, striding around telling him it’s time to man the fuck up and Do A Toxic Pirate Masculinity. but since izzy needs ed to be the same as him so badly he’ll die trying to make it happen if he doesn’t get some fucking therapy and stop trying to enforce his rules on other people’s lives, ed hides in stede’s gay little closet with him and they enjoy the stuff they’re not supposed to enjoy, together.

i really like that. it’s not the more-familiar “it Doesn’t Matter, we are all Just People, so you should live your life in secret, being honest is shoving it in our faces so just be quiet and let us pretend you aren’t withering away” (which is the other nasty little barb we swallow on the whole scorn for the closeted thing; we don’t blame the team who built the damn house, we blame the person trapped inside it) but instead it’s allowing that sometimes you need these softer, secret spaces where people speak your love languages on instinct and you can figure out who you are while being sheltered, not locked away.

the whole “stede’s closet is accessed by a secret passage and when you think about it, this whole dumb ship is his closet, gayass unicorn and all so maybe NONE of this is happening in a closet, it’s a liminal space instead” angle feels like i’ll die if i attempt to parse it out with that spin in mind, so i’ll just say: jesus fuck. jesus fucking fuck, with this show.

#our flag means death #ofmd spoilers #blackbonnet #UGH THE SWEET BEAUTY OF THESE TWO #it kills me every single time #love is when you ask you seeing this shit too? and somebody says YEAH. EXACTLY. i guess #at this point i legit want them to find izzy a road to muppeting #because like... if they are tearing this shit up like i think they are #if izzy sucks a dick and admits he likes it and it made him happier we... beat patriarchy?#i think that math scans #anyway the point is this is a world where even men like izzy can Get It Together #which is way wilder to me than dragons and werewolves and shit #imagine: a toxic white man being like you know what #no #i can just... not fucking do this #that has ALWAYS BEEN AN OPTION #and maybe today i will try it #truly much more fantastical than a fuckin ice zombie #my ofmd meta #the silly/genius intersectional muppet extravaganza

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chrisbitchtree · 2 years

Text

Ravish

Whoops, I'm a Blackbonnet shipper now. I blame you @lazybakerart with all the beautiful fanart and gifs you've been reblogging! I couldn't resist another I binged it all today and then I had to write something for the pair before I go and read everything you and everyone else has written so far! I'm officially obsessed and this won’t be the last you see me write of them!

***

When Stede saw Ed in the outfit he’d put together for the other man to wear to the party, he had an overwhelming and inexplicable urge to ravish him. He’d never felt that strong of a desire for anyone before, not even his wife. Try as he might to conjure these feelings for her, he’d never felt the stirring in his groin that he felt when he looked at Ed, looking to beautiful, little purple bows in his beard. He wasn't quite sure how to ravish someone properly, but he would sort it out.

They’d made their way to the party, Stede stealing glances at his date along the way. What a thrill to let himself imagine for a moment that he and Ed were really together, entering the party as lovers, not just friends. Ed looked at him, a nervous smile on his face. Stede grabbed his hand for a moment, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re going to do great, Ed. They’re going to love you.” Ed squeezed his hand in return in a silent thanks before letting it go.

They entered the party, and just as Stede had predicted, Ed charmed the hell out of the partygoers. He had them eating out of the palm of his hand, hanging on his every word as he regaled them with tall tales from a life he’d never lived. Stede beamed, pride written all over his face. Jeff the accountant was a star.

Ed started to lose confidence as they sat down for dinner. Stede could see it written all over his face. He leaned over and whispered in the other man’s ear. “You’ve got this, Jeff. They love you. Just remember what I told you. Use the forks from the outside in. If you’re not sure, squeeze my knee twice as a signal and I’ll guide you.” Ed let out a breath that he probably hadn’t even realized he’d been holding at Stede’s words of reassurance.

They made it through the rest of the party in one piece, thankfully, escaping with their crew members before they overstay their welcome and are found out. “I’m proud of you, Ed. You really put on a show back there. Great job.” Ed let out a shaky breath before replying. “Thank you, Stede. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

They made their way back onto their ship, both gravitating, through words unspoken, to Stede’s bed. They sat on it, side by side, in a comfortable silence, legs swinging. Stede could feel the heat coming off Ed. He wondered if the other man could sense his hidden desires. In case he couldn’t, Stede decided to show him. “Ed?” he practically whispered. “Yes, Stede?” replied the other man in an equally quiet voice, turning to him.

Stede took his chance, capturing Ed’s face in his hands, pressing his mouth to the other mans. It was barely a brush of lips, until it wasn’t, until it was so much more, chaste turning to heated and bold. Stede was determined to ravish this man if it was the last thing he did. He worked the buttons on Ed’s jacket and shirt, never breaking the kiss even once.

He didn’t stop until they were both completely bare, laying on the bed, Ed on top of Stede, their steely lengths pressed together. Ed brought a hand up, starting to tug at the ribbons in his beard. He broke the kiss to chuckle softly. “I feel a little silly with these in and nothing else.” Stede brought a hand up to stop him. "Oh no, please do leave those in. I quite like them.” He proceeded to ravish the other man, giving him everything he had, long into the night.

#blackbonnet #our flag means death #ofmd #blackbonnet fic #chrisbitchtree writes #my fic

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tasteofdeathao3 · 2 years

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(idk if tumblr ate this ask or not?? pls feel free to ignore it if it makes you uncomfy!!) may I propose: izzy avoiding ed like the plague after he eventually accepts stede as a caregiver bc he doesn’t want ed to see him being vulnerable/weak until he has no other choice. misunderstandings & hurt/comfort ensues

I think Tumblr must've eaten this bc I didn't see it before! very sorry!

but yes! There's already a few regressors on board, and once Stede works out that Izzy is also one of those regressors, he's got his heart set on helping out Izzy.

It takes a while, and a lot of conversations with a very cranky Izzy, but eventually he lets Stede take care of him, learns to let his guard down around him and be vulnerable and weak - Stede tells him not to call it that, because 'feeling little doesn't mean you're weak, Israel, don't be mean to yourself'.

But Ed? He can't possibly see him like this. He can let Stede bathe him and change him and read to him and put him down for naps and swap out his knives for wax crayons and feed him weird yummy mush instead of his usual stale rations, but he just can't let Ed see him act so weak and scared, especially after years of being his ironfisted first mate.

Ed had taken care of him, years ago of course, but they'd just stopped one day and that was enough for Izzy. He's too old for this anyway, he can't be the ship's first mate while also being the captain's little nap-needing mush-eating baby boy. It's embarrassing, most of all, for someone as cool and smart and strong as Blackbeard to have to watch his own first mate play with bubbles in the bath.

Every time he slips around Stede, he's completely relaxed and happy until Ed comes in. The second his captain walks into the cabin he quickly flips his drawings over, pushes his crayons off the table, pulls himself to sit up properly instead of flopping and sliding all over the chair.

Ed, of course, notices every time.

Stede had told him when he first thought Izzy might regress, and he'd confirmed it, that they'd used to do that together all those years ago until Izzy had just stopped one day. Stede keeps him updated, because why wouldn't he tell his husband everything?

He wants to look after Izzy, desperately. Stede had described him as being so young, when he'd only felt like a little kid when he'd regressed around Ed all those years ago, told him in detail how cute he was when he was trying to speak around his knuckles in his mouth or with mashed fruit spread over his face.

But every time he goes near Izzy he just goes rigid, goes right from calm and relaxed to almost petrified, gets up and runs out of the room the second Stede doesn't have a hold on him.

It hurts. a lot.

He can't possibly understand why Izzy would avoid him, because now it's not just when he's small, but also when he's big, and now he doesn't know what he's done for his first mate and best friend to avoid him like the plague.

Stede tells him to just try and talk to him, but Izzy will do almost anything to stay several metres away from Ed at all times, it's completely pointless to even try talking to him at this point.

Ed, of course, is moping around everywhere because he thinks his best friend hates him and now he's bringing the whole ship down with his sad songs and laying face down in random places across the deck, but now Izzy is affected too, unable to regress fully because he's so afraid that Ed will pop out around the next corner and see him playing with Stede's yummy bubble bath or acting out stories with his carved wooden statues, and he just can't have that.

Eventually, after Ed refuses to corner big Izzy and just talk to him and Izzy starts crying every time the door to the cabin opens, Stede takes matters into his own hands.

He tucks Izzy up into his cot in his own room, since recently Izzy's been too on edge to sleep anywhere in the cabin - in the bunk, on the chaise, even in the auxiliary wardrobe - and sends Ed down to go have a chat with him.

He knocks on the door quietly and steps inside, closing and locking the door behind him, like Stede told him to, so that Izzy can't get up and run away again.

Izzy presses up against the wall of his cot, tugging the blankets up to his chin in an attempt to hide himself from Ed.

He sits down on the edge of the cot beside Izzy, wringing his hands, and begins reciting the speech Stede had help him practice.

'I don't understand why you're avoiding me', he says, voice cracking a bit, 'But I want- I want you to know that I'm not angry at you or ashamed or anything. I'm just feeling... sad. because I don't know why you don't want to be around me. I love you so much, Iz, I don't want you to leave me. I'm sorry for what I did, I don't want you to be scared of me. You're my best friend, I don't want to lose you.' By the end of it his eyes are wet, voice wobbly, and he's practically sobbing between words.

Izzy is watching him, both nervous because Ed's with him and he's small, but also because big strong cool Ed is sitting on his bed and his crying because he thinks Izzy doesn't like him anymore.

He reaches out to hold Ed's wrist and squeezes very tight, Ed turning to look at him with red eyes and quivering bottom lip.

'Sorry.' He whispers, his own eyes growing damp now. 'Love you too.' he chokes out, voice catching on a sob as he begins to cry in earnest.

'Oh, Iz,' Ed sighs, turning around to take Izzy up in a big hug.

Izzy eventually explains what he's been worried about, and even with his limited vocabulary, Ed manages to get an understanding of what's going on.

'I'll always love you,' he says, cuddling Izzy close to his chest. 'You'll always be my favourite person, my strong first mate and my smart talented best friend. I don't care, I don't care, I just want you to be happy, let me take care of you. Like we used to.'

Izzy nods, sniffling into Ed's collar bone.

'It'll be better now,' he says, kissing Izzy's hair, 'It'll be so good. Me and Stede both love you. We both need you, we both want to look after you,' he pulls Izzy away from his chest to look him in the eye, 'Will you let us?'

Izzy takes in a deep breath, letting Ed wipe his tears and snot away, and nods.

Stede finds them a good few hours later, unlocking the door with his stolen key and watching the pair sleep, cuddled up in Izzy's cot with Izzy pressed into Ed's chest and Ed wrapped up around him.

#sorry for the delay! not sure what happened with the ask box!#fandom agere #agere #sfw #age regression #izzy hands #ofmd #little izzy hands #ofmd regression #ofmd agere #cg blackbeard #cg stede bonnet #cg edward teach #hurt/comfort #ficlet

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tasteofdeathao3 · 1 year

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Hi friend! I hope 2023 is treating you well so far, since we’re now one month in already (aaa!) ☺️ I was wondering if you have any Baz headcanons or situations you’d like to share since we are both so fond of that skrunkly little guy

Also- I can’t help but read him as permaregressed but I’m not sure if that was the original author’s intention, what do you think?

thank you friend! i hope you're doing well as well, i can't believe we're already done with january! (and yes, baz is 100% our little skrunkly)

you'll have to forgive my formatting because I'm on mobile

• I've seen Baz sleeping both alone with Izzy in his cabin and in the captain's bed, but I'd also like to think that he has a trundle bed that he can pull out from beneath the captain's bed (sort of like a drawer bed?) where he can cuddle up close just him and bunny, but if he needs he can reach up and grab a hand to hold during the night <3

• I think food would be a challenge for him, not so much eating a healthy amount (though that probably would take some practice getting used to) but just having so many options to choose from and having so many different flavours and textures.

It can be a bit overwhelming, especially when he has to try something that looks weird or yucky or has to make the choice for himself over what he will eat, but it's good for him to practice telling other people what he wants and needs, even if it feels scary sometimes.

• I don't think Baz ever would have learned to swim. Hornigold's attack dog probably wouldn't have much purpose aside from protecting him on one ship and being carted to another to help in raids.

At some point the Revenge Stops over by a lagoon and Stede gives the crew some vacation time. Baz, of course, has never been on vacation. He's never ever had a break before the revenge, and no idea of the concept at all.

When the crew and captains find out that Baz hasn't ever swam before, they're appalled! and thus a beach day is decided, and Baz gets taught how to swim (or really, how to kick his legs and swing his arms enough to float), rotating between hanging onto Ed and Izzy's backs.

• Baz has a tattoo - only one, a spade beneath his eye that he'd begged of Izzy (credit to jaybirbbbb for that i believe) - but he's never given one. He firmly believe's that he is Izzy's, no matter how many times Izzy tries to say that they don't own each other, that Izzy is his too.

Baz doesn't like the look of the needles at all. It was fine when someone was doing it to him, but the idea of sticking someone with a needle over and over makes him a tiny bit queasy.

Instead, he and bunny draw lots and lots of little drawings and helps him find the perfect one for each willing crew mate. Soon everyone has an original tattoo from Baz and bunny.

• one day while onshore with Izzy, Baz spots a real bunny. It was bound to happen eventually, seeing as they frequent a lot of ports near farmland.

They're in the middle of a market when all of a sudden Baz spots it. A tiny white rabbit in a wide enclosed across the square.

Instantly he tugs on Izzy's sleeve, yanking so hard that the ties around his upper arm almost come undone. Izzy turns around once he's finished dealing with the store vendor, looking to Baz expectantly.

Baz is practically jumping up and down on his tippy toes, hands shaking hard enough that Izzy can barely tell what he's trying to sign. 'Bunny.' He signs, his fore and second fingers bent in half at either side of his head. 'Bunny bunny bunny bunny bunny.'

"What's wrong with Bunny?" Izzy asks, point at the little toy squashed in Baz's elbow. "Has your bunny got a tear?"

Baz shakes his head as fast as he can. "Bunny. Look. Bunny. Look. Izzy. Bunny." He points across the square with a shaking hand the very second he's finished signing.

"Yes, that's a bunny." Izzy says.

Baz holds bunny up close to Izzy's face and pints back at the little cages rabbit across the way. "Same."

Izzy nods. "Yes, they're both white."

"Family."

"I don't think they're related, lot's of rabbits look the same." Izzy says, taking Baz's hand. "We have to go, Baz, it's time for dinner."

Baz usually likes doing what Izzy tells him - it's makes him feel good, safe, because he knows he's doing the right thing - but he tugs his hand out of Izzy's grasp. "Bunny." He signs again. "Take."

"We can't take the rabbit." Izzy sighs. "Where would we keep him?"

"Boat."

"The ship isn't safe for a rabbit, he could get hurt very easily."

Baz whines. He knows he shouldn't, he knows he should be doing what Izzy says and following him back to the boat, but he needs to get that bunny. It's in a big scary cage, and it's all scared and too big for the tiny cage and it doesn't want to be there! He knows it.

"Save." He frowns at Izzy, hugging bunny tight to his chest. "Cage."

Izzy sighs. Baz knows that Izzy spent some time with his old master in this world, even if he got away he knows a bit of what it was like for Baz. Baz watched as Izzy's resolve cracks.

"Fine." He snaps, and even though Izzy snapping usually makes Baz feel so scared and worried, he can't help but smile; Izzy is going to save the bunny from it's scary little cage.

Izzy makes him hide around the corner just in case a brawl starts, but Baz sticks his and bunny's heads around the corner anyway. He wants to watch the bunny rabbit get free.

Izzy talks to the vendor, a big scary man with an ever bigger and even scarier sword in his hand, and when that doesn't go the way he wants he ends up taking matters into his own hands. (If he were alone, he would've just kicked the cage over and ran as fast as he could, hoping that the rabbit managed to wriggle out. But he knows Baz is watching him, and more importantly, watching the rabbit, so he doesn't do that.)

Baz watches as Izzy scoops up the cage with the little white rabbit inside and begins to walk off. He holds Bunny as tight to his chest as he can get him.

The man tries to stop Izzy, but he's already undone the latch on the cage and sent the bunny rabbit running off down between the tall thin buildings, and before he even knows it the man his behind Izzy with his sword raised and Izzy is cutting big red lines in the air and Baz has to squeeze his eyes shut tightly so that the sight of it doesn't take him back to somewhere he doesn't want to be.

Soon enough Izzy comes to get him, pale red streaks where he hasn't quite managed to wipe off all the blood on his face. "The rabbit is gone." He says. "It's safe now."

Baz squeals, hopping up and down. "Thank you." He signs. "Thank you. Happy."

"I'm glad." Izzy says, giving Baz one of his rare smiles. "Let's go home, okay?"

(Eventually Baz does get to meet a really bunny. that one will also be white, just like Bunny, and he will he to give him a few soft pets and introduce it to his Bunny teddy before it hops away. Stede says it probably has to go home to it's family, just like Baz will always come back to the revenge.)

• and my love to answer your question! honestly yeah, i kinda read him that way too. Age regression is a legitimate coping strategy as well as a trauma response so it's believable that he would find a lot of comfort in a more relaxed childlike state, and seeing the age that Baz would've been when he met Hornigold, he probably wouldn't have had much time as a proper grown up. I'm not entirely sure if that's what the original author intended, but I've seen a few fics here and there that sort of focus more on the childlike aspect of Baz's behaviour.

I think it would be easier for him to learn all these new things, like making choices and feeling happy and sad and getting comfort and having his needs met like that, where he has a comfort item and so much love going around.

I also think it would just be more enjoyable. There's no need for Baz to be grown up. He spent so much of his life dealing with such raw and intense treatment that would've brought more stress and anxiety than typical adulthood, I don't think he has any use for it. I think he deserves to relive whatever of his past is comforting and to receive that comfort as often as possible.

#mail 💌#thank you my love <3 #baz #izzyverse #hornigold's izzy #ofmd #ofmd agere #izzy hands #basilica hands #sfw #agere #fandom agere #age regression #ofmd regression

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