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izzy-b-hands · 2 years ago

Text

Gold

a follow up to Anise

TW for some NSFW moments towards the end!

---

"Please don't encourage him," Roach sighs. "There's doing the exercises I gave him, and then there's-"

Izzy nearly vaults off his crutches, barely caught by Ed, still examining the array of biscuits even as he snags his first mate.

"Okay, back to a chair," Roach tuts and strides over to help Izzy to the small plush armchair he'd stolen and insisted be brought into the galley. "Though you're getting better on those."

Izzy nods, but there's sweat on his brow. Recovering from a broken leg seems simple, but one as bad as this takes a lot out of a person.

He's dropped weight from it, even though Roach does his damnedest to make sure Izzy has sweets and other high calorie things to nibble.

He's worried. Not about the leg alone, though he has his concerns there of course. But about Izzy overall.

"Hm," Ed nods. "Ought to give him a sword too and see how he does. I know he could do it."

"What?" Roach scoffs. "Sword fight on crutches?"

"Meant it more as a joke, mate," Ed replies. "But if he wants to-"

Roach shoves the plate of biscuits into Ed's hands. "Get out of my galley."

"What?"

"Do a taste test with the crew and these," Roach commands. "If you all like them I'll make more."

Ed gives him the biggest doe eyes, with the expertise for them that only Ed has. "I like them."

Roach shakes his head and grins. "Fine. One secret batch for you. But! You have to share with Stede."

"If I must," Ed giggles as he traipses out to the deck.

"You almost got yourself in trouble there," Izzy chuckles. "And all over me."

"There's something else I'd love to get to all over you," Roach teases as he makes his way back to Izzy. "But you're not well enough for that yet."

Izzy sighs and flops back into the chair. "Any ETA on when that will be?"

"You're getting there," Roach replies gently. "Be patient."

Izzy nods, then his eyes light up. "Here, I meant to give this to you ages ago. Keep fucking forgetting with this leg nonsense."

He pulls a tiny golden earring from the pocket of his leather shorts, and gestures for Roach to take it.

It falls into Roach's palm, and he examines it carefully.

A teeny tiny golden roach.

"You found this on that fucking ship," Roach smiles. "Didn't you?"

Izzy blushes. "Maybe wasn't for Ed. The thing I was looting."

Roach pauses. The wheels turn.

"You fell into the fucking floor for me?"

Izzy laughs hard. "No! I didn't...How the fuck was I supposed to know the floor would give way?"

Roach slips his old golden hoop out for the roach. "You couldn't have, but seriously... this is what was in that room? Because you had said you saw something for E-"

"I...panicked," Izzy admits. "So I said what I knew you wouldn't question, till I found the courage to give you that."

"You're sweet," Roach leans down to kiss his forehead. "But not sweet enough, because I haven't seen you touch anything for lunch, not even these biscuits!"

"I'm not very-"

"Your body is busy healing, which means other reminders fall by the wayside," Roach interrupts, bringing over a crate to prop up Izzy's bad leg. "Give me a moment, I have something else I was thinking for dinner that you can try."

The recipe is one he made from a jumble of others he already knows. It's a simple dish, but that's the beauty of it. Easy to make, eat, with ingredients that even the Bonnet children will like if they visit again.

He brings over a wooden tray with it and a handful of biscuits as well. "Go on."

Izzy leans back and tucks in, one of the best sights Roach sees each day. He may have to prompt it more than he wants, but eventually he thinks Izzy might simply get used to eating actual meals and resting.

"This is," Izzy swallows. "What is this?"

"Just dough with meat and cheese in it," Roach chuckles. "Spiced appropriately, of course. Not too much, so I don't kill off yourself and Stede with it."

Admittedly, it does look really good. Golden flaky pastry that had taken him ages to get right, with warm meat and melted cheese flowing out from it once cut.

"Have you eaten?" Izzy asks.

"Why?"

"You're salivating staring at this," Izzy says. "Go get yourself something; I'm alright."

"Maybe I was salivating over you," Roach says. "What about that?"

Izzy blushes. "You said I wasn't recovered enough for that yet, but my god if I was-"

Roach leans down to kiss him, the taste of good food and coffee on his lips.

"We'll get you there," Roach says. "I promise."

"Do you also promise to eat something before you make more of this?" Izzy asks softly.

"Because it's you who asked, yes, I will," Roach replies. "I only made enough for us anyway for now, in case it was an utter failure."

"I don't think you know how to fail in the galley," Izzy says, before returning to the pasty on his plate.

Roach shakes his head as he goes to plate up for himself. "You say that, but there have been... questionable foods, in the past."

"Oh?"

"My first stew I forgot to add the meat until I already had it off the heat," Roach giggles. "I was so worried about the vegetables being cut just so and looking nice-"

"In a stew?"

Roach tosses a biscuit at him in playful protest. "Like Mr. Perfectionist there wouldn't have done something similar."

"Oh I have," Izzy says as he snatches the biscuit out of the air. "Ed has stories of our first months together. We knew how to cook, but cooking well was still beyond us at that point."

Roach brings over a tray of his own, ready to sit beside Izzy on the floor.

Only for Izzy to fuss to try and get the crate out from under his leg for him to sit on.

"Stop that," Roach scolds gently. "Your leg needs something to elevate it. I'm fine."

Izzy considers it, then nods with a wordless grumble.

"I won't break," Roach continues as he digs in. "Unlike you."

Izzy breaks into laughter, shaking the tray on his lap.

Roach grins and eats and relaxes for the first time that day. He'll be sad when Izzy is able to be back in his own room, if he's honest with himself. Not something he ever thought he'd say, but...

"If you're done," Izzy says as Roach takes their empty trays and sets them back on the counter. "I have something I should have done earlier."

"Really," Roach giggles. "What?"

"Come here."

"Why?"

"I want to show you that I am slowly getting better."

Roach strides over and stands by the chair. "Okay, now what?"

Izzy gently grasps his waist, and waits for a nod before pulling him into his lap.

Roach drops his head onto Izzy's shoulder and resists the urge to grind against him. It doesn't help that he's dreamed about this the last few weeks, sleeping in the galley on another cot beside Izzy's.

"I'm doing a bit better, yeah?"

Roach nods into Izzy's shoulder. "Yes...this is good progress."

"Is that your professional opinion?"

Roach sits up and gently grinds down, and was Izzy half hard this entire time and he didn't notice?

He needs to pay more attention.

He kisses Izzy hard, relishing the way Izzy's hands grip his hips tighter, how his hips move to meet him, and-

"Ah," Ed coughs. "I. The crew... biscuits are good."

He awkwardly walks in, sets the plate on the counter, then walks back out with a tiny wave, and a thumbs up to Izzy.

They last for a second as the door closes before bursting into laughter.

"I should have let you lock that," Izzy says. "Sorry."

"Don't you dare be sorry," Roach smiles and climbs off of him carefully, despite wanting nothing more than to stay put. "Maybe I can come back to sit here while I prep for dinner? I might need a few breaks to get through it."

Izzy takes his hand, and presses a kiss to the back of it. "I'm not going anywhere. Literally, but also I want to be here."

Roach laughs and tries to will some blood back to the appropriate head for cooking, even though that chaste kiss makes him want to lock the door and treat Izzy like he's fully recovered.

"Good," he says instead. "Maybe tonight I could check on that part of your recovery."

Izzy nods. "I think that would be best. Make sure everything still works properly."

Roach felt 'everything' through the barely there shorts Izzy wears and the thin linen of his own trousers. He's certain from that alone it's in good working order.

But he's excited to make sure, just in case.

#text post #rizzy #ofmd fic #kinda short for the fic tag but that's where i put Anise so for sake of organization that's where im putting it lol

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twostarry · 11 months ago

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The Prince and the Rock Star - Rated E

“Maybe you should sleep,” Stede whispered to himself. He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt a bit constricted. “You’re seeing things.” The last three words felt strange. The pitch of his voice was deeper and warmer, far less nasal than it should have been. Stede stared at his arms as rivulets of ink trickled down and formed into tattooed images on his arms. Strange pulling sensations tugged at his body, like a dozen tiny hands were pulling backward on his shirt. He tilted his head back and when he leaned forward, long strands of silver and gray flopped into view. Every muscle in his body tensed at once, then surged as bulk deposited itself differently, transforming solid but soft into long and lean. *** Ed is a rock star. Stede is a socialite with a career in the recording industry. One night, a mysterious stranger, sensing the envy between them, offers a solution. The two trade lives willingly. Being in each others' skin unearths deep attraction they'd been denying. The Prince and the Pauper, but make it a smutty gay bodyswap.

Chapter 1

The grass is always greener, so the old saying goes. No matter how many stories get told about that statement's truth, some still covet what others have.

Two of those people are Edward Teach and Stede Bonnet, friends who envied things about each other.

Stede Bonnet, the titular prince, is not a literal one in the sense that he’s royalty. But he comes from old money. Although he was a concert promoter, his family owns the company, along with a record label and a dozen radio stations. He didn’t have to fight for his job. He just had to ask for it.

In contrast, Edward Teach has been working since he was 14. That was when he released his first single, a pop song that sent him around malls signing albums and earned him the cover of Tiger Beat magazine six times before he was twenty. He successfully took back his career in his thirties, and after that point, his life was one success after another. His home recording studio is lined with gold records and Grammys. His concerts regularly sold out, sometimes within hours. But Edward was trapped by his image, of a bad boy who churns out radio and family-friendly hits - edge with a pop hook.

Stede envied Ed’s self-made success. As a young man, he dreamed of the stage, but that was one ambition where his family wouldn’t support him. He got into the music industry instead and spent decades helping others realize their dreams. Except for among the jetsetting elite, Stede was anonymous. His rise-by-nepotism meant he had very little respect within the industry, even though he promoted blockbuster concerts and helped a half dozen young artists find their feet in an industry that wanted to eat them alive.

The two men met many years before when Ed’s career was on a downward spiral after he shed his teeny-bopper image but before he’d reinvented himself. Stede helped him through that transition, and the two formed a tight friendship based on mutual respect.

It might have been more if Stede hadn’t been married and Ed hadn’t been entangled in various…situationships. Plus, Ed’s touring and recording schedule meant they only saw each other in person once every couple of months.

On one of those meetings, the two got drunk in a small, semi-private underground club frequented by industry types called Revenge. They got to talking about what they envied about each others’ lives.

And someone overheard.

Someone with a way for them to see for themselves whether the grass was indeed greener in the fields of the other man’s life.

Whether it was booze, the intense envy they felt for one another, or the secure knowledge that what they were being offered couldn’t possibly be real, Ed and Stede agreed to the purchase of a pair of lamps. Not genie lamps, but bedside ones, small, nondescript and decorative, of the style and kind that wouldn’t look out of place anywhere.

The stranger, whose appearance Ed and Stede would come to disagree on, told them to go to sleep with the light on beside their bed. In doing so, they’d get a chance to cross the proverbial fence and inhabit each others’ lives.

“Did…did we just get swindled?” asked Stede as he paid their tab and realized he’d given the stranger every bit of cash on him.

“Probably,” said Ed as he shrugged on his leather jacket. “Almost definitely. But at least we’ll have a good story to tell.”

As it turned out, Ed’s words were more prophecy than he could have ever imagined.

The two men bid each other farewell with joking comments about whether to actually use the lamps or not. They lingered close and stared at each other in the way people were otherwise entangled really shouldn’t be. But then they went their separate ways - Stede back to his life of anonymity and comfort, and Ed to his life of fame and accolades, each musing over the what-if of the lamps.

The possibility of their odd trinkets drove both men to plug in the lamps by their bedside once they were home.

Stede managed to plug his in without issue, as his downtown pied-a-terre away from his wife and kids was stylish, uncluttered and immaculately kept.

Ed, on the other hand, had to shove over guitar cases and piles of clothes, and drunkenly dig behind a rat’s nest of cables to find a place to plug his in.

When plugged in, the small, modern-looking bedside lamps took on a decidedly more ethereal quality. The black shades lit up with previously invisible patterns that looked like glyphs of some kind. The light itself was neither yellow nor white, but brilliant gold in a way that didn’t quite seem possible. Being in its light was oddly soothing and relaxing.

Ed found himself lying prone on his bed with heavy lids and loose muscles. He fell asleep quickly and deeply.

Stede on the other hand, felt almost as anxious as he was curious. He fought against the fatigue the lamp’s golden glow cast on him. He propped himself upright and stared at the patterns.

As a consequence, Stede was awake to see the lamp shift and the patterns change - the strange curvy glyphs twisting like they were coming into alignment. The character of his room began to shift as well, as brightly-painted walls shifted to darker colours, and piles of clothes, dishes, and instruments phased in and out of existence.

“Maybe you should sleep,” Stede whispered to himself. He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt a bit constricted. “You’re seeing things.”

The last three words felt strange. The pitch of his voice was deeper and warmer, far less nasal than it should have been. Stede stared at his arms as rivulets of ink trickled down and formed into tattooed images on his arms. Strange pulling sensations tugged at his body, like a dozen tiny hands were pulling backward on his shirt. He tilted his head back and when he leaned forward, long strands of silver and gray flopped into view. Every muscle in his body tensed at once, then surged as bulk deposited itself differently, transforming solid but soft into long and lean.

Stede felt a sharp pinch in his tongue and he exhaled a note of surprise. He shifted his tongue in his mouth and felt something rattle against his teeth. When he stuck his fingers in to explore the odd sensation, he discovered the metal bar of a tongue piercing.

Just when panic and realization of what was happening set in, Stede lost the battle to the lamp’s sedative effects. He fell backward and what felt like through the mattress, before finally drifting down into deep sleep.

As he slept, Stede had the strangest dreams where his body kept shifting and changing, undulating between his own and someone else’s. He felt the hot lights of the stage and the roar of the crowd, the ache of fingers raw from weeks of intense guitar playing, the dull ring of tinnitus and a raw, satisfying feeling in his chest and throat.

He felt the yielding warmth of another man inside him as he rocked and felt waves of foreign pleasure trickle up from between his thighs. A bearded face slid his tongue along his neck, then kissed him hot on the mouth. For the first time in his life (though he’d dreamed of it) he knew what it was like to be desired and taken by another man.

Stede could have lived in those dreams, those echoes of another life for hours more. But the shrill electronic pulse shoved him steadily out of the dream world. He woke in a daze, face down on gray sheets in a nearly pitch-black room. His mouth felt dry and foul, and his head pulsed.

You’re hung over, you idiot. You and Ed drank too much.

The shrill noise pulsed again, digging a dagger into his aching head.

“Aw, fuck!” said Stede, in a voice that was decidedly not his own. The hand to his head confirmed it. Instead of a short mass of thick blond hair, he felt a tangled mess of slightly coarse, very long gray and black.

The rest of the room slowly came into focus. He was in a penthouse suite, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the early morning sun spilling out across the skyscrapers. The tinting in the windows adjusted according to the amount of light, which meant it was still rather dark in the room.

Stede knew, logically, what had happened, but he couldn’t quite process and put it all together. It was all too bizarre, too unbelievable. The night before was fuzzy and indistinct, and his dreams…

…his dreams had been so vivid and real. He could almost taste them. And the longer he was awake, the more he craved them.

The shrill noise, which had stopped for a time, started up again. Stede fumbled around until he found the source. Ed’s phone was still in the pocket of his leather jacket, which he’d dumped unceremoniously on the floor.

Before Stede could worry about the phone’s passcode, the front-facing camera unlocked as soon as it saw his face, bringing him to a cluttered mess of icons on top of a stylized skull wallpaper. The notifications were full, but the bar across the top was the most urgent, and the most strange.

STEDE BONNET - CALLING

Stede hit the button to receive the call.

“Oh thank fuck. I was about to have a heart attack,” came Stede’s voice, but not out of Stede’s mouth. The camera whipped around, only showing glimpses of the caller. “Stay where you are. I’m on the way over.”

“The way over?”

“To your place. Mine. Whatever. Where you are.”

The camera stabilized and Stede found himself staring at his own grinning, excited, slightly disheveled face.

“Isn’t this fucking brilliant? It actually worked!”

***

Ed felt incredible. Well, no, actually, he felt hung over and stiff and he was pretty sure he was getting a caffeine headache. But other than that, he felt better than he’d had in years.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t fought the lamp’s sedative effect, but he’d had a far gentler morning than Stede. He woke up feeling well-rested in a bed that felt like a marshmallow, in clean-smelling Egyptian cotton in an immaculately decorated townhouse.

He’d had dreams as well. Ed had never been interested in women, but nothing about the memories of having sex with them repulsed him. There were other images though - less vivid, but still present that he sorted out were fantasies of being with men coupled with intense masturbation. He’d always suspected Stede was bi, and something told him those dreams were confirming it.

Ed had seen a lot of strange things in his life - things he couldn’t explain, things that felt just out of view. Some part of him knew the stranger who sold them the lamps hadn’t been lying, so that part of him immediately believed it when he saw Stede Bonnet’s shocked face staring back at him from the floor-length mirror in a generously appointed walk-in closet.

He’d fantasized about this exact thing, when he was tired of the crowds and his agent and all the weight of expectations. Ed had imagined himself in Stede’s life, with money enough to never work a day in his life, yet without the baggage of fame. Once, Stede had left a change of clothes at Ed’s place after a weekend conference. In a moment of weakness, Ed put on the slim-fit trousers and colourful button-up, still smelling of expensive and understated cologne and imagined seeing Stede in the mirror instead of himself.

If Ed thought about it for more than a few seconds, he’d realize that he’d done the thing that gay men sometimes do where he’d confused attraction for envy. He’d experienced it the other way around, but Stede was so far from his usual type that it didn’t quite register.

Ed absolutely did not have to wear a suit for this particular meeting, but the navy blue lightweight suit with red detailing and pale yellow button-up with a subtle filigree pattern was so stylish and so unlike anything he’d ever wear himself that he couldn’t help himself. He felt handsome - so handsome in fact, that he spent a little time giving himself a photoshoot. It took several photos before he’d started to find out the best angles for his new face.

In between all of that, he’d tried to get ahold of the real Stede. When he finally did answer, he was already on the way out the door.

As he zipped through the rush hour traffic behind the wheel of Stede’s bright yellow Audi convertible, Ed felt more powerful than he did even when he had an entire stadium in the palm of his hand.

As he approached his own building, Stede’s body settled around Ed like a comfortable pair of sweats after a lifetime in constricting jeans. The wind moved through his thick blond hair and he watched the world through a pair of tinted aviators.

The thought of Stede sitting in his bedroom, in his body, waiting for him to arrive made Ed shift as he was stopped at a light. He cleared his throat and mumbled to himself, “Easy, big boy.”

And Ed was currently, much to his utter delight, quite big. As himself, he was no slouch, and he thought his dick was quite attractive, actually. But the girth and length of Stede’s cock the first time he pulled down his pants had been a pleasant surprise. A moment of shame and impropriety saw him stuffing himself away moments later, but he remained very aware of the added bulk.

The perfectly tailored, quite tight trousers and the rumble of the sportscar engine beneath his seat certainly kept that particular fact top of mind.

Eventually, he made it through rush hour traffic and parked Stede’s impressive sportscar in a visitor spot. Out of habit, he tried to head straight for the elevator, but the doorman stopped him. After a quick exchange with his doppelganger, Ed was finally allowed into the elevator that took him on an express trip to the penthouse suite.

As he ascended, Ed was treated to a 360-degree mirrored view of his new body. He tucked the arm of the sunglasses in the front of his shirt, then tugged on his jacket and gave himself a once-over. The suit was designed to give him the most flattering figure possible, with a nipped-in waist and clean lines. It felt very comfortable, but a bit tight across the biceps. He’d remembered Stede mentioning he’d been working on his upper body, so new, tight muscle across his arms and shoulders was probably responsible for that.

“God, you’re fucking hot,” Ed whispered to his reflection. Stede’s nasal tone and Stede’s voice gave sound to Ed’s thoughts. As he stared at his new reflection, a thought pushed forward in his mind.

I’m fucking hot. I’m Stede.

The thought made Ed’s tight trousers just that much tighter, just as the elevator door opened. He stepped into his own penthouse, which was still mostly dark. “Hello?”

A tingle of worry started to set in. What if Stede was freaking out? What if the switch had somehow gone wrong for him?

What if…he wanted to switch back immediately?

Ed definitely didn’t want to do that. Not for a while, at least.

“Oh thank god! There you are!”

Ed had adjusted quickly to being in Stede’s body, but he wasn’t quite prepared to see someone else in his.

Stede was wrapped up in his black bathrobe. He was wet from his shower and his hair was an absolute tangled mess. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stand the smell of myself and I tried to wash my hair…your hair…this hair,” he motioned to his head. “But I have no idea how to handle long hair and I think I’ve just made it worse.”

Stede was panicking a little, but it was more about the absolute state of his hair than the situation - or at least it seemed that way to Ed. His eyes were wide and puppyish, and his cheeks were slightly flushed. The hair was a messy, tangled halo around his head and he’d only managed to comb out one small section.

He looked…absolutely adorable. Ed knew that he could use his big, dark eyes to devastating effect, but he’d never been at the receiving end of a look quite that pleading.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Ed mumbled. “I went right to the bar from a recording session yesterday and was sweating my ass off. The smell kind of creeps up on you.”

“Especially if you fall asleep in your clothes.”

“Especially if you do that,” Ed agreed.

“Can you help me?” Stede shifted closer. He was still clutching the front of the robe closed.

As he moved in, Ed could smell his bodywash and shampoo on Stede’s still-damp skin. It smelled familiar, but something about it drawn through Stede’s nose tingled his brain in a very pleasant way. He opened his mouth a little to better bring in the scent. “Of course. Don’t worry. You’re not going to have to get a buzz cut.”

Stede exhaled a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. I em, figured out the coffeemaker. Do you want one?”

Ed crossed to the bathroom where he knew there were various hairbrushes and most importantly, a leave-in conditioner. “Fuck, yes,” he said.

When he returned with what he needed, Stede was seated at the kitchen table, his hands around a cup of coffee. There was another in a red mug sitting nearby.

Ed picked it up. His first thought was that it wasn’t the right colour. It was far too dark. But, he sipped it. The strong, barely-sweetened coffee flowed over his tongue and the pleasant bitterness filled his mouth. Muscles in his face he didn’t even realize were tense released at the first hit of caffeine. “Ahhh,” he murmured.

“Ah, so I was right,” said Stede in a chipper tone. “I tried making it that way for myself at first, but it was way too dark and bitter.” He pulled a face.

“That means you’re drinking a…single shot extra large latte with a shot of vanilla syrup?”

Stede’s eyes lit up. “No! Just a lot of sugar. I’ll try the syrup next time. For you, you’ve got a strong Americano with a tiny splash of milk and no sugar.”

Ed looked into the dark, bitter liquid and took another testing sip. It really did taste delicious. He found the thought of his usual sweet and milky coffee to be utterly distasteful - so distasteful in fact that he took several more swallows of his coffee to banish the sense memory. “Guess it makes sense. I’ve got your tongue in my mouth, after all.”

“And I’ve got yours,” said Stede as he pursed his lips and cornered a look away. “Piercing and all. I don’t know why I never noticed it before.”

Ed grinned wryly. “I had one when I was younger. A couple months back, I decided to get it again. You’re lucky it’s fully healed.”

Stede rolled his tongue around his mouth, stuck it out, and rubbed the metal stud before he let it go so he could speak. “It feels kind of nice.”

Ed was suddenly taken with the image of how the stud would feel sliding down the cock that was currently between his legs. He felt a twitch and shifted. He suddenly regretted choosing such tight pants, though the constriction itself was not altogether unpleasant.

“Let’s get your hair sorted. Here, you want to use this,” Ed showed the bottle to Stede, “...after you shower. It’ll take out the tangles and help set the curls and control the frizziness.”

“Your hair takes a whole manual as well. If you didn’t shower, you’re benefitting from yesterday’s product,” said Ed with a little grin as he wrapped both hands around the mug and sipped daintily. It was a strange thing to see himself doing as the body language was definitely not his.

“I noticed that. All I had to do was spritz it a bit and work a few of the pieces back into place. It’s so fucking thick,” Ed touched the side of his head, then spritzed the spray on the worst of the tangles and gently worked it in.

“You’ll figure it out. We can help each other,” said Stede. “I’m sure hair will be the least complicated thing we’ve got to deal with.”

Ed paused as he picked up a strand of Stede’s hair. “I thought maybe you’d want to try and switch back right away,” he said as casually as he could.

“Do you want to?” Stede asked softly.

“I mean, seems like a once-in-a-lifetime thing. And we did ask for it,” said Ed, still trying his best to feign nonchalance.

“Good!” he chirped. “I mean…” he played with a strand of his hair. “I’m…I’m you. I’m Edward fucking Teach. I’m a rock legend.”

That was the first time Stede had sounded even a little bit like the real thing. He’d even managed to add a growl to his voice. Though it quivered with nearly giddy excitement at the end.

“Once the shock wore off, I couldn’t believe it. I’m you. And…you’re me. It’s…bloody brilliant.” He smiled broadly at Ed. “I’m just sorry you’re stuck as boring old me.”

“Not so boring,” said Ed. “Your wardrobe’s fucking amazing. And you’re rich. It’ll be nice to be rich and still be able to walk down the street.”

“So…” Stede shifted around in his seat. “We’re not going to try the lamps again? At least, not right away?”

“It might only work once, then we’ve lost our chance. And that’d be a shame.”

“It would,” Stede agreed as he examined his hands and touched the side of his cheek, sliding fingers along his short beard. “You know, I’ve never managed to grow a beard. Not a proper one like yours.”

“It’s yours,” Ed found himself saying. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Stede’s ear. For a moment, he was lost in his own eyes, which were so wide and full of wonder with Stede behind them. “Your beard. Your body. Your life. At least for now.”

Stede bit the edge of his lip again. “I suppose it is.”

Something about that expression was incredibly attractive. Ed shifted in his too-tight trousers again. He cleared his throat. “Well, that’s settled then. First on the agenda? Haircare 101.”

Chapter 2

#fanfic #our flag means death #our flag means gay #our flag means love #gentlebeard #ofmd fanfic #bodyswap fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3feed #ao3 link #ao3 author #archive of our own #rated e #fic rec #my fics

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our-flag-means-death-ao3feed · 2 years ago

Text

A Mast to Remember

by EdsStAugustineSnake

When Ed wanders into a craft fair, he's immediately captivated by a cute blond hobbyist and his teeny-tiny model ships. Can he keep his foot out of his mouth long enough to see where this goes?

Words: 2068, Chapters: 2/2, Language: English

Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Blackbeard | Edward Teach, Stede Bonnet

Relationships: Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet

Additional Tags: Fluff and Humor, Explicit Language, Bad Puns, Double Entendre, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, ed's a ship captain anyway, Model Ships, Jaguar because it's the only car i care about, haunt attractions, Our Flag Means Death AU-pril

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/46305724

#Our flag means death #ofmd #https://archiveofourown.org/works/46305724

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con-clavi-con-jae · 8 months ago

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@teeny-tiny-revenge then you're in luck because I'm writing not one, but two modern au Blackbonnet fics where Mary is literally Stede's best friend. (I hope you don't mind me rebloging from you to promote my fics lmao)

One is called "the curse of the Bonnet dungeon". It's literally the dnd post I made a while back. In the fic, Mary is the one that originally buys Stede a collection of dnd books for his birthday.

The second one is called "Dramatic Irony", and it's about Stede being the director of a musical theater group, where he's writing a play about pirates, and Ed auditions to play Blackbeard. In it, Mary is literally his closest friend, they get together and hang out often, and they tell each other everything.

So yeah, check them out if you wanna spread the Mary and Stede besties agenda.

Can I rant about Mary and Stede for a moment? I will rant about Mary and Stede for a moment.

I fully believe they love each other. Not romantically obviously. But more like fraternally. They don't understand each other, but they respect one another, like siblings.

Once they stopped trying to be married, when they opened up to each other, Mary talking about being in love and Stede coming out to her, and then with the fuckery, that was probably the happiest they've ever been around each other.

And yes. Stede was being a dick when he came back. But before he left, he was a good man for the most part, and Mary knew that. They weren't compatible, and neither of them could give the other what they needed. But they still, for the most part, care for each other.

And besides, I think they would be besties who lovingly make fun of each other, but would throw hands if anyone else made fun of the other.

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sunnibits · 3 years ago

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lord help me I literally tried like 3 times to expand upon my thoughts as far as this vague post I made this morning and on this the third try (AS IN TRYING TO MAKE IT CONCISE) it got. so long. so uhh enjoy I guess lmao 😭

vico ortiz you’re fucking onto something!!! I don’t have Twitter but I am sending this to them via telepathic link 😤

Basically, I think the reason that Jim would actually be so perfect to get Izzy to open up is because of the fact that Jim themself isn’t at all comfortable opening up to people!

Like, I feel like there’s a really popular idea of having a character like Lucius, Stede, or the Conceptual Golden Retriever Boyfriend™️ forcing Izzy to open up and be a big softie, and while I live for that as much as the next person - trust me, I’m quite weak for a good tender Izzy fic where he undergoes involuntary therapy - I don’t think that’s actually what’s going to be the most effective approach when it comes to cracking open this stubborn oyster of a man.

As much as I love indulging in some fluffy scenarios of Izzy breaking down and sobbing about his unrequited love into Lucius’s waiting shoulder, I don’t think someone like Lucius, Stede or the Conceptual Golden Retriever Boyfriend is actually going to be able to get through to Izzy, at least not in the state he’s in now - for the sole reason that Izzy hates people like that.

If there’s anything we know about this little shit, it’s that he rejects softness! He rejects tenderness and emotion! Now does he need it and would it break him, absolutely, but he’s not ready for that yet. So instead: enter Jim. Jim, who is ‘normal secretive’ (not normal secretive), reserved, edgy, and very much closed off to most people.

Now here’s someone that Izzy can actually respect! Sure, Izzy’s not friends with anyone, let alone a member of Bonnet’s crew - that’s absurd! - but at the very least, with some time, I truly think that Izzy would come to respect Jim. They’re skilled, they’re more than ready to kill people, and they don’t worry about that mushy gushy feelings bullshit.

But here’s the difference between Izzy and Jim: while Izzy is pretty much completely closed off from everyone at this point, Jim isn’t anymore! They have Oluwande! They’re starting, bit by bit, to open up to this person - this one person that they love and trust, who’s been so patient with them, who has shown them that it’s safe to open up with people.

So, while Jim and Izzy have both spent a long time living by the rule of ‘trust nobody, let no one in’, Jim has already begun their exploration into the world of expressing emotions and trusting people. So!!!! Jim already kind of knows how to start! And they wouldn’t try to push Izzy immediately into any dramatic acts of trust or softness, because there’s no way he’s going to allow that right off the bat. But Jim has been where Izzy is. They know it’s scary to open up, that it’s all too easy to just keep bottling up all your sticky, messy bullshit. But they also know that it’s impossible to keep going like that forever.

Maybe, after a (mostly) friendly sword fight or two, Izzy really starts to respect Jim. And Jim, to their own surprise, kind of starts to respect Izzy too. They see a little bit of something else, deep down, and it compels them. Maybe they even see a tiny bit of themself, even if Izzy is a very different (and twisted) man. They may not trust each other, but Jim has the beginnings of an urge to start poking, and Izzy’s ready to listen. He’s not going to push them away - and Jim will make sure of that, never nudging him too hard. It’s not a fucking excavation after all, it’s not like Jim is interested in being his therapist. But maybe, maybe, they can chip a teeny little bit of his bitter, angry crust away.

Jim knows not to go too deep - they don’t even know how to do that anyways. They sure as hell aren’t interested in getting all goopy and soft. But they know what Olu taught them. They start with the little things. Little questions, little prodding. Leaving out some crumbs for Izzy to take, even if he doesn’t want to. Even if the first few times they ask about his name, or his tattoos, he doesn’t give them more than a grunt. But after a while, maybe, by the time Jim’s almost forgotten they asked, they hear a muttered, “Israel. My real name is Israel.” They take it without a word. Just a nod. They sit in a silence that is almost companionable.

Listen. Izzy cannot. handle. grand, open acts of affection. Vulnerability disgusts him, terrifies him. Even if Lucius or Stede or the Conceptual Golden Retriever Boyfriend were to offer it, Izzy is not ready. Not yet, not the Izzy we know. But!!! I think he could take little pieces, just starting small. Things that he can easily brush off, or ignore with another indifferent grunt. Like half of an apple cut by Jim’s knife, silently offered and accepted. Or a hand extended to him when he falls on his ass after being - very fairly, very skillfully - beaten in a practice duel. It surprises him, but he takes it, and lets Jim pull him up.

I think eventually, Jim could have a conversation with Izzy about opening up. Something along the lines of telling him that he doesn’t need to open up to everyone - just someone. At the very least, he needs to start by letting one person in. And it doesn’t have to be Jim - hell, lord knows they don’t have time to dig into whatever crazy shit he’s got going on under all that - but he’s got to pick someone. Because it’s worth it. Because eventually, everyone gets tired of you slamming the door on them, and they’ll stop knocking.

Of course, at some point when Jim reunites with the crew of the Revenge, everyone will get to talking again about how annoying Izzy is, and how they should just throw him overboard - for real this time. But Jim mumbles a little, “Oh, he’s not so bad when you get to know him.” Everyone looks at them like they’re crazy, but it gets in their heads, gets them thinking. If Jim can get along with Izzy, then there must be something half-decent about him, right? Right?

If you asked Izzy the same question, he might not be able to answer. But… maybe he’s ready to try and be half-decent, at least. He’ll die before admitting it. But it makes him consider. Maybe, next time someone comes knocking, he’ll let them in. Just a little.

#uhhhh hi. more izzy meta from me teehee. except this time it was completely on accident #izzy hands #jim jimenez #jim ofmd #ofmd #our flag means death #HELP the tonal change through this is so funny lmao #also. i know that Jim and Izzy are very different people and have completely different backstories (as far as we know)#and different reasons as to why they are the way they are #but I just think that Jim being the knife that can start to pry izzy open is GENIUS and just what he needs #mutual respect is the key to Izzy’s cold dead heart baby!!!!! and that’s on period!!!!#jim #<<<my tag for Jim rn lol i need to change it to their full name tho

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