anirondack
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“Show me where you would have died for me,” he whispers in your ear, and you have never needed to see to obey that particular order. Your body is nothing much, littered with scars and hair, soft parts and hard, bruises that never seem to heal and skin the sun never touches. On your own, you don’t care much for it, but the scars you remember, the ones that matter. The ones you accepted and made part of you because the other option was unthinkable, the ones where you opened your skin and your veins so that he wouldn’t have to. The ones he always asks to see, because they belong to him and have since you earned them in his name.
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give me your leather, take from me my lace by anirondack for anneiled
Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)
13 Sep 2022
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“You’re getting dirt on me,” Stede says weakly.
“It was already on you.”
“Well…” Izzy raises an eyebrow and Stede withers a little. “You’re right, that’s true.”
Izzy picks up the brush again and pointedly sweeps another little puff of dust onto Stede’s lap.
“Yes, alright. Go on.”
“Aren’t you going to thank him for pointing that out, mate?” Ed calls from across the room. “You’d keep walking around with a dirty belt elsewise.”
“I–” Stede looks over at Ed, then back down. “I should, yes. Thank you, Izzy.”
“Good,” Izzy says, halfway to a purr, and something about it makes Stede’s back straighten a little more, makes his fingertips press into the arms of the chair.Izzy blacks Stede's boots. Stede learns a thing or two.
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One afternoon at port, on a slightly beat-up ship christened the Royal James, tucked away in Chatham Bay at the end of winter, Stede Bonnet gets a letter.
Izzy swallows his pride and asks for help. Stede finds his way back to the Revenge. Ed finally gets to let go.
Updates Saturdays. (on hiatus)
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speak my language and touch my limbs by anirondack for mossydreamz
Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)
31 Jul 2022
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Izzy rolls his eyes. “You have to learn to strap the brace up on your own.”
Ed tilts his head. Izzy’s not wrong, he should be able to do it himself, and he can, if pressed. The leathersmith had shown him how to secure it properly and it’s not much different than his old brace, just a little more secure, a little more time-intensive, the joints a little more well oiled. But he just pulls it on, straps in, and leaves, and deals with the consequences later. Izzy takes his time checking each connection point, and it always feels more stable and secure when he does it. Izzy keeps the brace in working order so that it doesn't take fifteen minutes of wrestling to get it on. Izzy knows just how to tighten up the buckles so they're snug but not painful, just where to position the straps so they're not digging into any pressure points.
Ed says, “Why would I do that? That’s what I have you for.”
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“Come here,” Stede orders, so Ed tucks his face into the crook of Stede’s neck, pressed between his jaw and his arm. He breathes again, a warm rush against Stede’s throat, ruffling at the collar of his shirt. “Are you well?”
“Yeah,” Ed murmurs. The hands on Stede’s hips smooth around to the small of his back and Ed squeezes gently. “Doin’ good.”
“Good. You’re doing very well, Ed.” Ed hums against the thin skin of Stede’s throat, then presses a kiss to it. “Remember that you can stop me if you need to.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Good man. Bite me.”