unhand me or bleed.

You are allowed and encouraged to come interact!

You don't have to ask to send me things! We don't have to be mutuals either! If you want to send a starter, tag me in something, message me, just do it! I love new partners and new stuff! I love new stuff from old partners too! Come interact with me I'm not scary I promise ;-;

I also write Ed at @beastpyrate and Izzy at @isrighthand as well as Mary, Alma & Louis on my sideblog at @bonnts !!

𝐈𝐒𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐋 sent:

the receiver has recently been kidnapped and held captive by enemies of the sender. the sender, having spent every minute since the abduction searching for them, reunites with the receiver after defeating the bad guys.

He hadn't expected to be kidnapped, really, though in hindsight that may have been an oversight. 

He is, after all, despite his best efforts, a bit of a weak point compared to Edward and Izzy. He's usually clever enough to talk his way out of trouble or at least to miraculously land on his feet somehow, but when someone puts a bag over your head and promptly knocks you out there isn't really much time to talk. Luckily for him, he seems to be a hostage, meaning they don't want him dead. From what he's gathered, he's being offered to the highest bidder - either Edward or one of many navies which have a bounty out for his head. 

That's the intention anyway. Stede knows better.

His inability to behave has left him a little worse for wear - bruised, cut, blood and dirt dried on his face, though not irreparably damaged. They've kept him alive, but only just, offering him moldy bread which at first he'd turned his nose up at, which is now looking like a fair enough offer, piss instead of water which remains disgusting. There is something personal to this - they'd spoken Israel's name with venom in their tone, not that he would ever tell Israel that himself. Knowing Israel, the guilt would never leave. 

 The day comes when Stede begins to wonder if they are coming at all, though he tries stubbornly not to think of it. It's just - he's never really been wanted. Is he worth the effort? The potential damage? If someone were hurt trying to retrieve him - if Edward or Izzy - well, he would never forgive himself.

So though he isn't irreparably damaged in mind or body, he's still feeling pretty shitty when he hears a crash from a ways off. Stede jumps with a little cry of surprise, then quickly gets to his feet, glancing at the guard they have stationed at his cell. 

" Sit the fuck down, "   The man growls at him, but Stede just grins, perhaps a little bit more unhinged than intended with how exhausted he is.

" Speak of the devil, "   Stede says in a voice which makes him sound sort of out of his mind, and for a moment, there is just a little fear in his eyes - and Stede adores it, actually, is more than happy that one of his captors is experiencing regret in this moment.

And then his brains get blown out of his skull by a bullet. Stede blinks, and intelligently says -   " Oh. "

The guard slumps to the ground and Stede groans as he uses the bars of the cell to heft himself up, his head swimming. His tongue is dry in his mouth, his throat filled with sand it seems, and his body isn't liking the standing bit, his heart thudding in his ears, but he holds on tightly, clutching the bars until his knuckled are white because he knows -

" Israel. "

It's a breath of a word and his vision swims - there's two Izzy's, which is a fantasy not to be had right at this moment, so he tries to blink and clear his vision. He thrusts himself forward and manages to stumble to the front bars of the cell, pressing himself the metal just so he can be closer. One of his hands reaches out. He wants to touch, he needs to touch. All of a sudden, he feels sort of insane, tears gathering in his eyes.

" I missed you, "   Stede chokes out, which is much too far for whatever they are - Stede loves Izzy, he knows, but they've never admitted it aloud, he can barely get Izzy to hold his hand yet. But he can't help it, just like he can't help the single tear that drifts down his cheek - a precious waste of what little water is left in his system. Stede sucks in a breath to try and get a hold of himself. He is capable and he has to pull himself together. They still have to get out of here.   " Where's Edward? The crew? "

It was much easier to hate Bonnet than to  love him.  (No, he hasn’t spoken those words out loud. Fuck no. It’s embarrassing enough to… to feel.)

Izzy’s not built for gentle. Hell, he’s not built for even amiable. He’s built for anger and violence. Tried to communicate as much to Stede, yet here they are. Whatever they are. Together. Little shit has a way of wrapping people around his little finger. (Or, perhaps simply a way into people’s hearts.)

He’s tried fighting it, he has. If he’s not built to love, he doesn’t feel like he’s built to be loved, either. It gets more terrifying the more time goes by, because it cannot… simply, it cannot last, how could it? Bonnet is  ⸺  not as soft as he looks, no, but… surely someone like him won’t tolerate someone like Izzy for long? And what of it? Doesn’t matter. Why should Izzy fear losing Stede, why should his heart race in pathetic fear as he stares at their hands, close but not quite touching, feeling the proximity? Why should it make his chest burst if Stede chose to walk away, now? Stupid…

Threatened by the idea of Stede walking away (why would he want to stay out here, stewing in Izzy’s silence?), Izzy makes a choppy move to grab for his hand, managing to soften it before skin touches skin. Heart races faster. He’s not built for gentle…

Stede’s ridiculously smooth hand is such a contrast to his own, roughened by the elements and wear. It’s not a gentleman’s hand, anymore, perhaps, not so soft in comparison to someone who doesn’t call the sea his home. But compared to Izzy’s…

Not quite knowing what he intends before feeling himself doing it, Izzy lifts Stede’s hand to press a kiss  ⸺  his beard must be making it so rough, tender and terrified as he feels  ⸺  to his palm. He… he does want to show affection. Does want the… the fucking softness, even if he doesn’t know how to do any of it. He knows how to fuck and be fucked. Doesn’t know how to… but he’s doing it, isn’t he? This, their hands, Stede’s other one now on his cheek, the starlit sky, his fuckin’ heartbeat… & then Stede’s hand stedies to cup his face, and Izzy, unknowingly, has the look of a wide-eyed prey facing its predator before he instinctively shuts his eyes as Stede leans in to kiss his temple.

He makes a half-suppressed noise of desperation somewhere deep inside his throat.

❝ You’re dying to wax some poetic, ❞    he mutters, in a half-assed attempt at saying something vaguely mean, leaning onto the snark like a crutch, making zero attempts at stepping away from Stede.    ❝ Impressive, how long you’ve managed to shut up, really… ❞

" I was enjoying the silence, actually, "   Stede muses, resting his forehead against Izzy's freshly-kissed temple for the briefest moment. The disagreement is an offer in and of itself. If Izzy wants to fight a little, sure, he'll play along. He knows it's what makes Israel comfortable, and he's willing to meet him in the middle. One small sacrifice for another.

It's easier than he thinks it probably should be, loving Izzy Hands. It was a sudden swoop and an unfamiliar feeling at first, the sensation of being suddenly pulled in the wrong direction, of the floor falling out from under him. Yet the moment he made sense of it was the moment he embraced the freefall, and it's been so easy ever since. Love is easy, even it it isn't yet time to admit aloud that it is love.

" It's a nice night. "    The weather is clear, winds are steady, and Israel has seen fit to offer him a small gift  —  a little token of affection that he's going to cherish for far too long. Stede examines Israel thoughtfully.

For all of his rough exterior, Israel Hands can be soft, but that is not all that Stede loves him for. He has rough hands and a sharp a wit as his sword. He has a dedication and loyalty that surpasses anyone he has ever met before.  He is strong & resilient. He is handsome. Stede could go on.

( Maybe he is dying to wax poetic. )

𝐈𝐒𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐋 sent:

[ PALM ]: taking the receiver’s hand, the sender brings it to their mouth, and places a tender kiss against the receiver’s palm. 

He has long since learned that there is more to Izzy Hands than what is on the surface, but that doesn't mean he isn't continually surprised - and flustered, even - by the little gestures that he doesn't expect.

Stede had spotted the first mate all on his own at the bow of the ship, the night sky twinkling with stars that seemed brighter under the shadow of the new moon. After a gentle test of whether or not his company was wanted or appreciated, he had joined his - his partner? His Izzy? - not wanting him to be alone.

Their hands had been close on the taffrail, and Stede had been debating gently taking Izzy's hand in his own. But Hands beats him to it.

Stede's chest flutters and his heart beats loudly even at that simple touch. Israel's hands are calloused, heavily-worn, but delicate in some way. Graceful. His touch is that strangely familiar mix of gentle and rough, like he wants to be soft but can't be, or maybe the other way around.

And then Israel lifts his hand and presses a kiss to his palm and Stede's eyes might as well have stars in them. He looks bright and in love, and so, so, happy.

He has learned that Israel is not a man for words, so he doesn't open his mouth, worried that whatever might spill out of it would offend him, likely, somehow break the intimacy of this little moment. Instead, Stede runs the tip of his fingers over Izzy's cheek, very gently, very slowly, until he is cupping the first mate's face in his palm.

Stede leans in and presses a kiss to his temple and doesn't say a word.

Holy fuck. It’s a damn good thing Stede is supporting him, cause otherwise Ed would swoon right to the fucking floor. Ed opens his mouth to say something, but all he manages to produce at first is a rather taken giggle. Fuck it, whatever, he’s not even embarrassed by it.

“Oh, Stede, you’re so big and strong,” the way he curls a strand of his own hair around his finger and flutters his lashes at Stede is involuntary and therefore completely sincere. Ed can feel himself blushing.

He’d been sailing at half-mast when Stede had started kissing his throat, but this little maneuver has him rock hard now. He wants to touch himself but Ed reaches for Stede instead, passing his hand affectionately over his hair, gaze lingering on his mouth.

“Fuck yeah, this is great, baby. Take whatever you want,” he meets Stede’s eyes, feels his heart catch in his chest, and smiles at him; beaming. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

@gentlepyrate​

Ed's giggle is echoed by a happy little chuckle from Stede. He's just so damn happy around Edward, no matter what. He nuzzles Ed's thigh a little with a smile on his face and a light blush to match Edward's.

" I may have gotten a little stronger since I started working with the crew. "   Though he hadn't been as weak as he appeared when he came out to sea - tossing children around during playtime and the occasional pet project to stave off boredom will do that to you. Not to mention the unending tree-climbing and running away he'd done all throughout his teen years.

I love you. Oh, it never gets too old to hear it.

" You have. Say it again. "

Stede wastes no time in leaning in to lick up the underside of Ed's cock, aiming to cut off his words before he can finish them. Stede grins, then shifts a little, moving his shoulders so he can slips his mouth around the head and bob down around Edward's length, cheeks hollowed and eyelashes fluttering closed. He opens them again just to look at Ed, something bright and adoring in his gaze, something that breaks straight through the deepness of his lust, somehow. 

“You can have me any way you’d like, baby.”

“ Oh, what a gift. "   Stede's voice is somewhat breathless, fond, undercut by the sound of laughter outside of their quarters. The crew is having a good night and they - well, Stede has every intention to make sure they have a good night, too.

The gentleman kisses Ed's throat in a serpentine curve, making his way to the hem of his collar where he slips to his knees and skips straight to the hem lower down, lips pressed against Ed's skin where it peeks out from the bottom of his cropped shirt, hands resting at his hips.

" I'll be sure to cherish it. "   And that means something unique, something to love Edward and overwhelm him with pleasure as much as he deserves -

Ah. Now there's an idea.

Stede's hands slip down to Ed's brace, beginning the process of ridding him of his clothes, so Stede can do this properly. He takes of the brace, undoes Ed's boots, slips off his trousers, and when Ed's left in nothing more than a shirt, Stede wiggles so his shoulders are under Ed's thighs and lifts, pressing Ed and his own hands up against the wall for stability with Ed's cock placed rather pointedly in front of Stede's mouth.

" And how about like this? "   Stede's gaze is curious, delighted as he looks at Ed. He presses a gentle kiss to the inside of his lover's thigh. 

" Edward. "  

It's soft, pleading. An entreaty to listen, though he of course owes Stede nothing. Less than nothing. Stede had been terribly stupid, leaving Edward, but he has an explanation, if Ed will hear it, and more importantly than that, he's willing to fix it. To make up for the mistake.

" You don't understand. I want to be that for you. I want to make you feel . . . wanted. "   Loved. Is that too much to say?

" I just . . . I've been . . . an absolute prat. I didn't know what I was doing, I - oh, it doesn't matter why, but I fear I've made the greatest mistake of my life and I - give me a chance to fix it. You - you mean - you mean the world to me, Edward. "  Oh, lord, he feels almost teary-eyed at the idea of Edward saying no. Not that he wouldn't deserve it.   " I should never have left. "

When Stede had left his aristocratic life to become a pirate, he'd somehow failed to consider the very real dangers of the sea. Or rather, he'd heard of them, but hadn't known well enough to avoid them, or perhaps even more honestly than that, he's simply too old to go about living a life he doesn't care for, and wouldn't terribly mind if it ended with a bang.

But dying in theory and very nearly dying in reality are too very different things. The gentleman is struck with fever, still recovering from the stab wound and the attempted hanging both. He stirs in and out of consciousness, speaking in his sleep, fitful with nightmares. 

 " Alma? "   It's the faintest mumble of a word - the name he's attached to the gentle touch at his forehead in his mind. But no, that doesn't make much sense. He's not sure anyone's touched him as gently as that. Maybe he's imagining things. 

 His eyelashes flutter for the barest moment, almost opening, before the gentleman falls back under, slipping back into unconsciousness.

His guilt and his worry attacks him in nightmares, fractured by the feeling of a gentle touch, a whisper of a calming voice, a breath. It might not even be there either. Mary yelling at him seems a great deal more correct.

" . . . Mary. "   Who is it by his bedside? Is there anyone there at all? (Or maybe he's dead?) 

 Stede's eyes open blearily for the first time since he was laid out in this bed. Golden, the color of honey or scotch, though there isn't a bit of sense in them. It's likely he won't remember this conversation, if he's even the slightest bit present at all. 

 " Mary, "   He repeats.   " The children - "   In his head, they are on the ship too. He's endangered them, just as he's endangered -   "  . . . My crew . . . " 

 Stede shifts in a paltry attempt to get up, and the pain in his abdomen immediately quits that idea. His gaze rolls over the ceiling, not quite able to settle anywhere - glances over to the stranger at his bedside and travels allover him, unable to place him and unsure of why he can't. 

 " Hello. "   The captain seems seconds from passing away at any moment, yet he still feels guilty for not being able to remember this person - terrible faux pax that, if it is someone he's supposed to remember.   " Wh - hm. "

True enough, and in all honesty, Stede hadn't thought too deeply about Blackbeard at all. He'd written off the captain that Izzy had mentioned in the bar in seconds, for the pure fact that Izzy was serving under him. 

 Yet, here's Edward. Astounding. 

 Stede leans up from the couch to grab the decanter, trying not to feel too flustered over the idea of Ed thinking about him at all before they'd met, let alone being pleased with what he's found. 

 " Flatterer, "   Stede accuses lightly as he refills Ed's glass.   " I was half-dead when you found me. Can't have been all that astounding. Either you had very low expectations of me or you're rather easy to impress. "