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wickedscribbles · 3 months

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Take the Edge Off, Chapter Two

Pairing: Izzy Hands x Stede Bonnet x Edward "Blackbeard" Teach aka Steddyhands Stede and Ed are cis men and use he/him pronouns; Izzy is transmasc and uses he/him pronouns

Rating: Explicit (eventually)

Tags: references to past trauma/torture, sexual tension

Word Count: 1,860

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

There aren't a lot of intact chairs left in the Captain's quarters. Not after Izzy had ravaged them all, trying to make something for himself to stand on. In fact, there's only one standing chair left, and its legs are battered with knife marks.

That doesn't take away from the fact that its seat is upholstered in beautiful green velvet, something that Izzy had often paused to run his hand over to ground himself in the darkest of moments alone with Blackbeard. Almost like moss, the velvet is whisper soft beneath his fingertips.

Stede gestures to it, moving briskly aside to offer the seat to Izzy.

"Please," he says, when Izzy hesitates. "I insist."

He notices that the chair is placed toward the center of the captain's quarters, falling half in and half out of a sunbeam. Someone had definitely put it there like that on purpose. A chill of suspicion runs down Izzy's spine, though he's grown to trust them both; why bring him down here, for whatever it is they want?

Against his will, Izzy's memory goes back to days so black they pulse with ink against the edges of his brain. Dull, throbbing agony waking him in the night. His mouth being forced open. And –

"Iz?" A voice prods again.

Blinking back to himself, Izzy stands straighter, annoyed that he'd drifted in the first place.

Perhaps sensing his uneasiness – or perhaps just from knowing him too well, for too long – Edward holds up his hands in a gesture of peace with an easy smirk.

"Hey, easy. We're not gonna kill ya."

"Ed."

"Fuck, right, sorry."

Looking stricken, Ed ducks his head in an awkward sort of move, his eyes darting past Izzy's own. All Izzy can bring himself to feel is annoyed; because of course the man wouldn't have the sense to tread carefully around the subject.

For fuck's sake, he thinks, limping to the center of the room where they want him.

Luckily, the chair still holds his weight despite the scars on its legs, and Izzy sinks into it, hoping they don't notice how relieved he is to finally be off his feet. Foot.

Stede is pleased, at the very least, and pleasing the man is pure sunlight.

He drifts to the messy table shoved to the corner of the room, the one covered with maps and scrolls and empty teacups. Izzy himself is always in here trying to tidy it, trying to make some sort of sense of the careful chaos, but lately he's decided there isn't much point. Between the two of them – Ed leaving things where they lie, and Stede having a system of organization that only makes sense to the man himself – Izzy's met his match.

"Here we are," Stede says after a moment, uncovering a bottle from underneath a plate of orange rinds. "Slippery little thing."

Sure.

Somewhere between amused and bored, Izzy watches as he fools with the stopper. The feeling quickly morphs to dread – somewhere around when Stede tries to open the damn thing with his teeth – as Izzy realizes that the bottle isn't some fancy liquor from a private store meant to take the edge off of a particularly grating pain.

Because Ed's on his feet trying to take the bottle from Stede, to help him open it, and Izzy's picking up some context clues.

"Just give it here, Stede, you don't want it spilling all over the place –"

"No, no, I've got it –"

"You said it's slippery as hell, and I actually know how to open a bottle, if you'd let me –"

"There!" Stede proclaims.

The stopper pops loose with a satisfying sound, dolloping only a small amount of oil into his open palm. Stede looks far too proud of himself, despite all the struggle, and Ed exchanges a frustrated look with Izzy over his curly head. Izzy, lukewarm as he may feel about Edward at the moment, returns it. Some things never change – like Bonnet being a fucking menace.

He clears his throat, feeling as if his face is burning though neither man has moved any closer.

"So, ah, when you said you wanted to help with my leg," he begins. "What – exactly –?"

A pause.

"Well, it's oil."

"I can see it's oil," Izzy grits out.

Now it's Stede's turn to go pink. Half the words that emerge from his mouth next can't be anything close to English; all Izzy catches is assumptions and we would never amongst his spluttering.

He finally manages to return to something resembling coherency, gripping the oil a little tighter than necessary as if it's his only lifeline.

"We only wanted to give you something to help with the pain, not – not accost you, Israel."

Stede ends the sentence with a huff, though his complexion is still far rosier than normal.

"'Course not," Izzy answers, ignoring how the utterance of his full name from Stede's mouth makes his stomach flutter. "Sure, I – thanks."

Izzy makes to heave himself up from the chair, an act made more difficult with the major shift in his balance. Ed's hand appears on his shoulder, gentle yet firm, keeping him in place. He blinks up to see his former captain looking down at him, silver hair falling in curtains where it isn't tied into a bun.

That familiar half-grin shouldn't go straight to Izzy's core. But fuck if it doesn't.

"Wouldn't be much of an apology if we didn't help put it on, would it?"

His fingers are still on Izzy's shoulder, but now they're not applying pressure at all. Instead they're soft, barely there, raising goosebumps under his leathers that only Izzy knows arise.

Those fingers have traced countless patterns on his skin before. Knowing him like Ed knew himself, maybe better. And God help him, he's weak for the touch every time.

"Suppose not," Izzy breathes in answer, hating how vulnerable he sounds. Blushing as he watches himself extend his bad leg out, an invitation.

Stede and Ed waste no time, though the former blinks a little in surprise, as if he didn't quite expect this to really happen. Stede kneels to the floor in front of Izzy, still holding the bottle, and it's close enough for Izzy to see the streaks of oil slathered up and down its side. Coating the dark glass in a barely visible sheen.

Soft hands go to the buckles of his prosthetic. There are no words exchanged as Ed takes the bottle from Stede so that he can use both hands to loosen the leather straps, though Izzy seems the latter man give a look of gratitude. His heart aches somewhere deep in his chest. A pang of leftover jealousy, perhaps.

There's no time to dwell on it. Stede has the straps loosened, and it's a bizarre feeling as the heavy wooden leg comes loose from hands other than Izzy's own, a weight he has no control over. Stede steadies it quickly, bracing it with both palms and lowering it to the floor. Next comes the soft material wrapped around the end of Izzy's thigh, a rush of air to his suddenly bare skin, and he's exposed for both of them to see.

It's still not a pretty sight. The skin there is blotched and misshapen, crossed over with scar tissue and a web of veins. A stormy, dark red in some places and paler in others, it's painful to the touch, keeping him awake at night if he doesn't take a nip of the good rum stored away in the belly of the ship. Just something to keep the pain from gnawing at him until he can't even think.

“Ah,” says Stede, and looks almost instantly as if he regrets it.

Izzy flexes the toes on his other foot through his thick black boot, stretching the stump towards Stede's outstretched fingers.

“Yeah, not exactly pretty, is it?”

“I've seen uglier,” Ed comments, stooping down to trail fingers over the marred skin. His brown eyes are like smoke on Izzy's own, threatening to catch fire any second. God.

Izzy doesn't let himself shiver at the touch, but he's certain both of them see the goosebumps pop up. Ed leaves the lightest trail of oil from where the bottle had been leaking, and it shines on Izzy’s thigh.

The air is thicker now. All of them seem to realize it, though none say a word to speak it into existence. The proximity does things, on a ship. Izzy can practically taste his heartbeat.

Don't be a fucking idiot.

Stede's hands return to Izzy's skin, warm and hesitant.

“Well,” he begins again, trying for his usual cheerful tone and not quite managing. “I'll get started then, if you don't mind rolling this up –?”

Knowing what he means, Izzy shifts in his chair to roll up what's left of the left leg of his leathers, revealing more of his skin. He's so, so aware of Ed moving soundlessly to stand, just to his right, crossing his arms to watch every move as if it were something that needed to be studied with dire urgency.

But Stede has his full attention too. He's torn between them, squirming a little in his mind. Because now Stede is upturning the bottle into his palm, and the thing gives an almost comical glug, spitting oil for the man to shine upon his newly calloused skin. He warms the oil with his breath before bringing his palm to Izzy's stump of a leg, so gently that Izzy hardly feels it at all.

“That alright?”

Izzy realizes he's holding his breath.

“Yes,” he says in answer, almost a sigh.

The oil tingles a little as it touches his skin, something cool about it as Stede massages it in with the lightest of touches. It's…nice.

From the moment he'd sat in this chair, Izzy had been coiled tight, tense and unsure of what to expect, why he'd been brought here. His mind running wild with things he wanted but would never say aloud or let himself ask for. But this? This is good.

Stede's eyes stay focused on the task, and Izzy feels brave enough to look, really look at him. He looks relaxed and open, just as Izzy himself is starting to feel, and when he dares a glance over at Ed, there's a rare soft smile on his face.

Izzy lets his eyes slip closed. The sensation of Stede's thumbs carefully kneading at his skin as the oil works its way in, the comfortable silence between them, it all feels too good to be real. He can't remember the last time he felt this relaxed. His breath evens out as the minutes pass, and the sound of Ed's boots stepping closer to him on the floorboards barely registers.

What he does register is the lightest touch of familiar hands on his shoulders, the barest brush. Izzy lets his eyes flutter open, but he doesn't startle at the sensation. Because here, too, there are little circles being etched into his skin, near his collarbones – a sensitive place that has him flushed and tingling in a very different way than the oil does.

And he wants it.

#wickedscribbles #take the edge off ao3 #ofmd fanfiction #ofmd fanfic #steddyhands #stizzy #gentlehands #edizzy #our flag means death #nsfw #minors dni

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wickedscribbles · 4 months

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I think we all need a bit of weepy edizzy lovemaking as a treat given the circumstances. comm for Magziraphale on twt based on their Kinktober '23 fic

+ extra moist detail

#OH MAMA #ofmd fanart #our flag means death #blackbeard #edward teach #ofmd #izzy hands #ofmd izzy #edizzy #blackhands

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wickedscribbles · 4 months

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prompts that has me lying on a highway:

(feel free to use <3 10, 15, 20 are my favs omds. yall tag me when u writeeee I'd love to read :))

"I'm glad you were strong, love."

"i notice the little efforts you make for me.. and i just want you to know i appreciate it." whos cutting onions

SMILING during a kissss >>>>>

the gaze that softens as soon as it lands on you.

hand holding, twirling in their arms, slow dancing > <

telling a joke just to see them laugh

"love.. isn't a word enough to express what i feel for you."

"you were my bestfriend, before you were anything else, love." <333

hugging. especially if they're not much of a hugger, but they keep hugging you because you feel down. (this is my bestfriend aaah ilovehersm :( )

"tell me what you want, baby." in the deepest, nearly inaudible murmur AAAAH

when they always feed you their last bite

"give me a hug."

"i can't even act mad at you, love."

flirty BANTERS!!!!

"I'll come over there and make you shut up then." "you can try."

"i love you." "say it again."

caressing one's cheek (the one in the face.)

running into each other's arms after barely surviving

enemies but one is admitting, confessing and crying to the another after almost losing them!!!!!

collecting your injured lover,

^ "don't you dare die on me, [full fckn name]." "i won't, my love, i want to live for you... with you. for a long time." they strain but their smile after makes you cry.

"this is so wrong," "if so, then stop me, love," "you tempt me, [name]-" cue a KISSSSS "-and you drive me insane."

being curled up together on the bed, their face buried in your chest.

"i like how you did ____ today/that day."

forehead kisses. cheek kisses, knuckle kisses.

#reblogging because this is the soft shit i live for

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wickedscribbles · 4 months

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this is my new favorite genre of images

here’s more, you gremlins.

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wickedscribbles · 4 months

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#boob time

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wickedscribbles · 4 months

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Hunger Pangs

Summary: I'm just venting.

Rating: Mature

WC: 586

It happens like gravity.

I used to be brave enough to crawl on top of you, to steal the kisses from your mouth, to draw the want out of you. To take it when it was clear you were willing to give. Now I am smaller, more insecure, and it's something that I only seek in the calm quiet of our bed. Only when the lamp clicks off and your arms come around me do I let myself lean into you. It's a relief to feel you touch me first. You told me that the touching could be too much sometimes, so I try not to be the one to initiate.

But when that line is crossed I feel like I never want to stop. We don't even have to be intimate, I just want to melt into you, where everything feels right. Your legs tangled in mine and my face buried in your chest. Your heartbeat. The way you smell. My fingers in your curls. The only time I ever really feel calm.

Then you slide your hips deeper into mine, your breath trembling, and I know what you're asking for. I answer in kind, pulling us closer, and the friction is relief I don't have words for. Dopamine I can't get anywhere else. I could die happy when your mouth finally touches mine, and anything that comes after is just something I'm not sure I deserve. Because I always want far more, long after we're done, I'm fucking greedy for it, grabbing handfuls like I'm starving.

I wish I knew how to be more aloof. How to want it less, like you do. But I don't. I can't.

You kiss me and I can't remember taking a single breath from the time we start to the time it's over. There's only this and the thrill of your body, everywhere, your hands and where they're sliding to touch me. The sounds I'm making without realizing.

Why are you so fucking needy?

I'll ask myself later, the next night, when you turn away from me in bed. But for now I'm an animal. These days I'll let your hand slide to my crotch, right away, not giving a damn about anticipation.

The thing about gravity is that we're meant to keep our feet on the ground. It's there to keep us in line. I'm not used to falling. It scares the shit out of me. Because what the fuck would come from us just floating around in free space? Disappearing entirely?

With you I'm untethered, thoughtless, only able to focus on the way your palm rises to touch beneath my underwear. I offer myself to you, pleading to be desired. I am soft there, and already whimpering, hoping to please you just by being pleased.

It feels good. I perform for you. If I'm lucky, you'll tell me how hot I look like this.

Sometimes I give you yours, and sometimes you don't want it. On the nights where you do, I work and work and work to make sure you have what you need, I would burn for you, muscles screaming until you've reached your peak.

As soon as it happens, it's over, and I'm left needing again. Like my body is trying to eat itself. And the sentiment I've repeated to myself for a lifetime dances in my head, but here it seems to hurt worst of all, orbiting like a planet.

No one will ever want you as much as you want them.

#wickedscribbles #nonfiction #ignore this if you want i'm fucking depressed lmao

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wickedscribbles · 4 months

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Me: It is Perfectly Normal to struggle while doing visual tasks in the dark, and fumbling while plugging in my phone is a neutral act. It has been over a decade, can you please just-

The Thing Inside My Brain:

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wickedscribbles · 4 months

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I don't know why it takes being incredibly lonely and afraid for me to start writing again but I worked on three different WIPs yesterday and I'm still going today. I don't know if you can expect to see anything posted (work is slow, but should pick up soon, so this little period of grace may not last), but I'll at least try to get that OFMD chapter I have ready to go out this weekend.

I feel like shit but at least I can write 🎉🥲

#wickedscribbles #writing update

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wickedscribbles · 4 months

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Ed has to hug something while he sleeps, izzy can only rest if he’s curled up on himself, and stede sleeps like a Victorian child on their deathbed

#i support this headcanon #izzy hands #ofmd #stizzy #blackbeard #ofmd s2 #our flag means death #steddyhands

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wickedscribbles · 4 months

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Hi yeah my life is a tornado rn so here's a snippet from Take the Edge Off while I continue writing.

I actually have another chapter to post while I write this, but ahhhh 😵‍💫😵‍💫 I need to remember to actually sit down and do it and that is hard.

#wickedscribbles #writing update #snippet #ofmd fanfic #steddyhands #nsfw #izzy hands #ofmd izzy #stede bonnet #edward teach #take the edge off ao3

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wickedscribbles · 5 months

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#this is EVERYTHING #javier's fucking stance #Arthur's little hip pop #the way john looks like he's been steamrolled #red dead redemption 2

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wickedscribbles · 5 months

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you don’t like country/folk/americana? you don’t like the soulful lamenting and colorful storytelling of poor workers and immigrants of the past? banjo banjo🪕?

#i love country so much #it gets such a bad rap #and some modern country is not great and goes against what the genre has always stood for #but there are so many good artists out there if you look #shout-out to Katie pruitt #tyler childers #sturgill simpspn #i am so high right now

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wickedscribbles · 5 months

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Take the Edge Off, Chapter One

I know it's been a while! Surprise! I've been toiling away at this, and I've finally gotten impatient enough to split what I have into smaller chapters. I have one more after this to post as well 👀 Summary: Izzy gets a little comfort from the co-captains, and learns that they just might have the same secret wants that he does. Disclaimer: I am not an amputee, and do not have the life experience to know how someone who is would move and experience a lost limb. I wrote it to the best of my ability, but my sincerest apologies if anything about the portrayal is insensitive or inaccurate. Please feel free to correct me.

Pairing: Izzy Hands x Stede Bonnet x Edward "Blackbeard" Teach aka Steddyhands Stede and Ed are cis men and use he/him pronouns; Izzy is transmasc and uses he/him pronouns

Rating: Explicit (eventually)

Tags: past relationships mentioned, hints of Stizzy because I adore Stizzy

Word Count: 2k

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

Things have changed, since Izzy was a boy.

He leans against the rail of the Revenge, giving his good leg some relief, and closes his eyes as a warm breeze washes over the ship. They bob gently in the water, and he knows without consulting any map that the sailing will be easy for a few days. Years, decades out at sea gives a man a sense of intuition that way. He's had days when the sky had beamed blue down at him, just like this, but the angle of the wind in the sails implied much less calmer waters ahead. No, this is a chance to relax, if only for an hour or two.

Of course, he’s not fucking foolish enough to leave it all to fate. Izzy is the type to never truly relax, even under these…new circumstances. Living the way that he has, surviving, has been a hard lesson. Let your guard down for too long and someone's bound to take advantage.

Though it doesn't tend to feel that way anymore. Not with this crew.

Carefully, Izzy lets his fingers trail down to where his amputated leg ends. A part of him still can't believe that Bonnet's crew, the people he'd written off as useless as soon as he'd laid eyes upon them, had bothered to put together the new walking aid. How much better it fits him than the one he'd fashioned himself, half-drunk and shaking with pain, from one of Bonnet's fancy chair legs.

No one had ever done anything like this for him before. Taking time to pad the inside with soft leather. Painting the foot – well, the hoof. It tore at something deep in his chest, the first time he slipped it on and felt how well it fit. They'd fucking measured his fucking leg, what was left of it. Had to have, in the black-and-grey moments he'd slipped between sleep and consciousness, inebriated out of his mind to keep the pain at bay.

Who would ever do something like that for him? Who would ever care, in the time before?

They all chat away behind him, occupied with this and that. Jim, Archie, and Oluwande, checking the rigging and laughing amongst themselves.

Inseparable, those three, he thinks wryly. They think nobody notices that they're all slipping away to the same room at night with less than platonic intentions.

Lucius and Pete, pretending to scrub the deck when Izzy glances over his shoulder and going right back to their lighthearted talk when he turns back around.

As if I don't know the sound of a deck being swabbed.

There's not much malice behind the thought, though Izzy rolls his eyes at the gentle waves before him. Ever since Lucius came back to them, a little wiser and a little more bitter than before, Izzy hadn't the heart to take the piss out of him. At least, that's what he tells himself.

From his time upon the Revenge, he can take a good guess at where everyone else is aboard the vessel right now.

Frenchie and Roach down in the kitchens, either taking stock of supplies or getting things ready for supper. Wee John mending and scrubbing away at clothes. Fang, away in the dinghy seeing what he can fish up for the day or perhaps sharpening the steel.

And then, the matter of the Captains.

Yes, there's a bit of stress for him. A hint of a gale on this otherwise mild day. Ever since Blackbeard's – Edward's – return to the ship, the subsequent apology and probation period, there's no telling where to find those two.

Usually all over one another. Pretending like they aren't. Their eyes exchanging not-subtle glances when they have to do so much as stand more than a few feet apart, saying things their mouths can't when in the presence of the crew. As if no one can hear them at night, murmuring and making all manners of noise from the Captain's quarters. Izzy's long taken to stuffing his pillow over his head, still restless until the ship goes quiet again.

The railing creaks, and Izzy realizes he's clutching it. A dull throb starts up in the stump where his leg used to be; a sign he's been standing still there for too long.

Izzy wants to let it go. He wants to let it all go, like he's trying to forget what happened with his leg, for God's sake, the darkest days on this ship, but somehow this is worse.

He and Ed are through, and that's for certain. There had been an apology, fumbled at first between them like they were strangers, Izzy's eyes glued to Ed's feet. How is he supposed to look at the man when he's wearing a suit sewn out of fucking rice sacks? A collar?

"S'okay," Izzy had managed to choke out.

Ed did that little huffy sigh, and Izzy knew that Ed knew it wasn't, not really.

"Iz, would you just –"

"Ed, it's not –"

" –Look at me?"

Never one to disobey an order, Izzy let his eyes slide up. Jesus Christ, Ed looked so fucking stupid. With the cat collar and the little bell and his big, brown eyes round and earnest. Hair wild and loose around his face. Sober. Honest. Sorry.

And Izzy felt himself melt a little. Wobble. Like he always did for Ed, every time. Even after all this.

"You look real fuckin' stupid right now," Izzy said, unable to stop himself from grinning even on the verge of tears, and the grin only widened when Ed smiled back.

"Yeah," Ed replied, scratching at the skin where the collar grasped at his throat. "Guess it's, uh, a small price to pay for bein' a total dick."

"Guess it is."

That was that. They didn't seek each other out. Didn't avoid one another. Weren't tied at the hip, like they were before. And Izzy couldn't deny that that hurt. Yes, worse than the gripping, pulsing pain where his lower leg used to be. The phantom pain of not being Blackbeard's right man, closest friend, and only confidante hurt worse.

And yet.

Yet he can't find it in him to hate Stede Bonnet like he had before.

Part of him wonders if he's just too tired, after all this. Too world weary. The man looking back at him in his little sliver of a mirror seems to get greyer every time he steals a glance. That could be part of it, but it isn't.

He doesn't hate that fancy, foppish man, doesn't even find him annoying most days anymore. Izzy's actually grown to tolerate him. They've held conversations, even agreed on things, and Izzy sees how much the crew admires him. Despite Bonnet's complete lack of skills and experience at sea and as a pirate in general, he's not – fuck. He hates to admit it, even to himself. Bonnet's not a bad man.

The qualities that had once so infuriated Izzy about Bonnet are now starting to grow on him – softness, it seems, is not always a disadvantage in this way of life. And the way Bonnet tilts his head when he's talking with someone, as if really invested in what they have to say. That's – nice. His enthusiasm for the open sea, for the plunder and adventure of what they do, had once struck Izzy as childish. Now it feels invigorating to be around.

Kind of a shame he'd tried to kill him, really, thinking back.

All too soon, his peaceful moment in the sun draws to a close. Familiar footfalls sound behind him on the deck; two sets. One mismatched, just slightly – Ed and his bad knee, never subtle about thundering about the place but finally free of that fucking collar. Then Stede, more light footed, following just behind.

They're headed right for him.

Izzy swallows, suddenly feeling even hotter, and turns to face them with his hands behind his back. Standing at attention, a proper first mate.

"Captains."

Neither seems surprised that he knew they were coming. Ed smirks a bit at the title, waving it away as if it had appeared in thin air. Stede gives him a softer smile, evidence of their budding…acquaintanceship.

"Just one of those now, Iz, and it ain't me."

Izzy purses his lips.

"Fine. Captain and…Ed. Was there something you needed?"

Under their combined gaze, he feels the urge to do something with his hands, remembering the half finished mermaid he's been whittling tucked away in his satchel. Getting scales carved into her tail has proven to be an interesting challenge, but he thinks he's gotten it right this time. It'd be a bit rude to pull the whittling out right in front of them, though, so instead Izzy clasps his hands together. Waiting.

It's Stede who speaks first, but not before the pair exchange a quick glance. Always talking with their eyes. Saying things that he and Ed used to say, things words couldn't. Warning one another of danger or asking one another if something was the right call. Other, more intimate things.

Again, Izzy feels his chest crumple a little, to be on the outside. He ignores it.

"Well, we ah, thought you might use a break," Stede starts in, lacking all of his usual elegance but none of the cheer.

Izzy watches as he pushes a stray blond curl behind his ear, the thing shining in the sun like a new coin.

"A break?" Izzy repeats. "And a break from what, exactly, Bonnet?"

That's about as kindly as he's willing to phrase the question. Any one of them can see that he's not doing shit as it is. Really should be down reading the maps, double checking that they're on the right course even with this beautiful wind.

They both ignore the sarcasm.

"C'mon, mate. Leg's gotta be killing you. Right?"

Ed gives him a pointed glance, and as if reacting to the words, Izzy's leg throbs in answer.

Fuck, he isn't wrong. He needs to move, stretch it out, something. Part of him yearns for the end of the day when he can take the wooden portion off, no matter how much more comfortable it is than the first one he'd made himself. Izzy would never admit that, though. As far as anyone needs to know, he can keep standing in this spot all day.

"No," Izzy says pointedly, and Ed snorts. Stede bites his lip, looking as if he might say something, but decides to keep quiet.

"You're stubborn as fuck, you know that?"

"I most certainly do not."

Unless it's a direct order to sit down somewhere and rest, Izzy's happy right where he is, and secretly pleased to see Ed flustered with him after all the bullshit they went through when the man was losing his fucking mind. The least Izzy can do is irritate him a little.

Casually, Izzy takes a dagger from his belt and starts scraping dirt from beneath his fingernails.

"Anything else, Captain and Ed?"

At this point, Stede interjects.

"Izzy, really we just thought – well. There's something I picked up from The Red Flag that I thought might help a bit with your leg pain, and it'll only take a moment to prove the theory right or wrong. Well, it was Ed's idea really. A bit of an apology for – shooting it off?"

When Bonnet's done rambling, Izzy meets his eyes, lowering the knife back to his hip. And God help him, does Bonnet look like one of those lost pups you see wandering the docks looking for scraps. Their eyes big and begging, deep and brown and –

And Ed's right there beside him with the same exact look on his face, damn him.

"Fine," Izzy growls. He sheathes the knife with only vague annoyance. "Fuckin' – fine. But it'd better be quick. Somebody's got to keep this ship on course."

Their instant happiness as he limps after them sparks something in Izzy that he'd also never, ever admit to.

#wickedscribbles #our flag means death #izzy hands #stede bonnet #edward teach #steddyhands #steddyhands fic #ofmd fic #ofmd nsfw #ofmd fanfic #ofmd fanfiction

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