#izzyeffinhands

Young Stede Bonnet was fearful. His father that particular night, was being intentionally cruel. Calling him names he didn't understand, and all because he was more interested in picking flowers than rough housing and getting dirty.

Five years old and the poor lad had run off into the night, cold and hungry as dinner had been denied. He was confused and crying, arms wrapped around himself as he wandered in a daze. At least until he heard his father call out for him angrily. It was then he stopped dead in his tracks, looking around until that familiar dark figure appeared. The moonlight contorted his father's face and made him all the more scary, little Stede screaming and turning to run away from his monster of a father.

The smile immediately faded from Edward's lips. Izzy didn't even need to say anything -- even if he did. It was that bright toothy smile that had immediately taken away Edward's own.

Edward's expression fell flat as Izzy spoke, brows dropping low over his dark eyes. He pressed his lips ever so slightly inward, keeping himself from outright scowling.

|| @izzyeffinhands ||

The Mountain by Three Days Grace || X || Is this life that I've been livin' All that's meant for me?

ᒥ☠ᒧ—        Edward sits at his desk, smoking his pipe relentlessly while staring at the window of his cabin. Another raid, time to plan the next, rinse, and repeat. He doesn't even need to leave his cabin much these days, the flag itself did all the scaring he used to revel in. No fun, no games to be had, it was all the same boring thing over and over again. His shoulders tense hearing the door open, not because he was startled, but because he knew who was the only one ballsy enough to enter.

"Izzy," His tone is dry, bored, and deprived of any liveliness or excitement. His head lulls to the side, he glances over his shoulder towards the other man. "What's up?" Edward was a smart man, he could probably take a guess. More planning, surely.

Blackbeard, the most fearsome pyrate in the Caribbean, looked absolutely listless. There were no fun, cutesy smoke rings as he blows out smoke from his mouth even. He just sits there, staring with a blank and bored expression.

 ❝No, Izzy... ❞ Ed shook his head and he was about to place his hand on the other's shoulder, but he thought better of it.  ❝I don't... ❞ He had thought about what to say to Izzy, how to apologize to him from the moment he found himself at the gravy basket. And God he had so so many things to say sorry for. So many things he had done to the other man that could not be forgiven. But he still had to try. Especially with how Izzy was talking to him now.

Izzy has started working in the captain's cabin - in Stede's cabin - quite regularly. Stede adores it. He can simply look to the left, and there's Izzy, sitting at his desk, doing paperwork, looking at maps and such. Something about sharing the space so easily feels wonderfully intimate and domestic.

Izzy is at the desk again when the captain sneaks up behind him, wrapping his arms about his waist and tucking his chin on Izzy's shoulder.

" And what are we working on, Mr. Hands? " Stede nuzzles Izzy's throat affectionately, pressing his body up close to his lover's he just wants to be close. He presses a kiss high on Izzy's throat, atop his swallow tattoo that peeks out from his frustratingly high collar. Really, how is Stede supposed to get anything done with this nonsense?

Hands slide up Izzy's chest and make their way to the first mate's tiw, tugging it carefully loose. A single button is undone, and the irritating collar tugged gently out of the way so Stede can properly mouth at Izzy's throat, lavishing the first mate with exactly as much attention as he deserves.

He's in the middle of giving Izzy head when he says it. The words slam into his chest, go straight to his cock; they make him fucking choke even though his lips are sliding up when he hears them.

"Excuse me?" Maybe pulling off's the wrong way to express how much it's turned him on, but his head's swimming and he can't breathe. Good girl. It's still pinging between his ears. Ed needs a second, which he uses to meet Izzy's eyes with his own darkened by lust. Good girl. He really likes that. His hand keeps up the work his mouth had just been tending to, determined to keep Izzy engaged in the moment while he tries to get it together.

"Call me that again," and then Ed's going back down, taking Izzy to the back of his throat.

The bottle was pulled from Anne's loose grip and she frowned, turning her head to follow the bottle but making no move to intercept it. Asshole. Her frown was broken by an errant snort at the thought, an insult meant but not wholeheartedly, and any thought of pouting or badgering to get it back was blown away on that snort. Never sober. That's a funny one, though, and belatedly makes Anne snort anew, seizing up in a surprise laughing fit at it. She was hardly known to touch the shite, snottily deemed a teetotaler behind her back--not that she minded. Better a fighting Irish than a drunk one: dulled wits make for dead pirates.

Alas, boredom and unprocessed trauma, a driving need to be at work and a lack of anything the fuck else to bother working at, a touch of petty pride and a drinking contest to be won combined had resulted in her drinking well past what she ought.

Good thing it was Hands that found her after. She didn't fancy dealing with an actual dumbarse with her inhibitions blown and her hot temper made more dangerous by the liquor in her system. She leaned against him, a little dizzy but happy to be so, almost smiling (if such a thing could be said of Anne).

"I--. I'm only not sober now 'cause I'm feckin bored. Should'a seen me arter the first shot: Fang said my eye twitched an' that was that until three shots later." She couldn't help but feel chuffed with herself, managing to drink someone under the table on her first go. With dead winds and fuck all nearby, it was a lucky thing Anne had been provoked into drinking instead of fighting. Be a real shame to go down a crewman this far from shore.