Ethan Serving Regal Vampire Realness (again)

Ethan serving regal Vampire realness (again)

THE ADDAMS FAMILY (1964 - 1966)      — 1.9 · New Neighbors Meet the Addams Family

🪐 — edward teach​ ;

@musecraft​  (   as izzy   )  says:  at some point, you’ll have to convince yourself that you’re above right and wrong. morality doesn’t apply to you.

there is still some poor fucker's blood smudged about his jaw and part of his neck.   he lowers the rag all the same,  knuckles going white as he stifles the urge to throw it in the other's face.  the fight goes out of him quick,  however,  when he recalls the earlier raid.  edward hadn't even seen izzy coming,  he had just appeared at his side,  plunging his blade in the man's neck,  cutting through muscle and bone with no hesitation  —  edward had hesitated,  instead,  not dealing the finishing blow and the next thing he knew there was a gun raised towards his stomach,  too close to avoid,  too close to do anything but stare,  a little wide eyed,  grin wiped from his mouth.  fucking stupid,  you're going to get yourself killed.  turns out izzy was right,  after all. 

i stumbled,  caught me by surprise is all.  the lie would roll easily off his tongue,  but izzy would know better,  wouldn't he?  besides,  it really wouldn't do to lie to his face when he had just saved his life.   ❛  's not morality,  mate.  i'm not sorry he's fucking dead or anythin'.  i just—  don't think i can do it.  ❜  there is no horror or judgment when he looks up from where he is perched on the wooden stairs leading to the main deck.  see,  his morality is quite fucked,  no need to worry there.   ❛  that was some cool shit,  izzy.  ❜

     HESITATION WAS ENOUGH TO GET YOU KILLED, at least on the seas, where life was cheap. if it had been anyone else, izzy probably wouldn’t have bothered intervening. there wasn’t much point in saving a life that had been all but thrown away with such a careless mistake. but edward wasn’t just anyone  —  &  when izzy had said he would watch his back, he’d meant it.  &  he could kill without blinking if it was a question of some other fucker or himself  ( or a question of them or his captain ), but what he couldn’t do was understand  why edward   wouldn’t   couldn’t do it, even for himself.                                                                                 &  yet izzy softens the moment that edward’s dark eyes come to rest on him. his captain’s warm gaze  &  complimentary tone pour over him  &  through him, heat pooling in his gut  &  a flush creeping up beneath his collar.  &  in spite of himself, izzy feels his rigid spine loosen, stiff hands unclench, &  his tense jaw even relaxes into a small, teasing smile.  ❝ yeah, well. i suppose you should just count your lucky fucking stars that i was there to watch out for you, ❞  he murmurs, eyes falling as he meticulously drags an oiled rag over his blade, the blood slowly being wiped away.  ❝ &  we’ll tell the boys it was you who did it, anyway. ❞  izzy hadn’t done it for the glory, after all; he didn’t want the adoration or fear of the crew. all he really needed was those dark eyes on him,  &  maybe an affirming word or two from his captain’s lips. for that alone, he would gladly kill. he looks back up at edward’s face then, sheathing his newly cleaned sword  &  letting it fall to his side as he pulls his spine back into a straight line. his hands are folded neatly behind his back lest they reach for the other man without permission.  ❝ is there anything else i can do to be of service to you tonight, captain ? ❞

🪐 — lucius spriggs​ ;

the thing is,   izzy is not as scary as he thinks he is.  sure,  lucius wouldn’t want to be at the receiving end of his sword because that would end up horrendously bad for him,  but this?  oh,  he knows he has the higher ground in this.  so the boy shrugs off the trademark abrasive tone coming from the other man,  even avoids spitting back a caustic no shit and sits down on a little stool he has found nearby.  because this isn’t like last time, right?  this isn’t a fight.  not that lucius has any idea what this even is.  a truce,  maybe? possibly.   

❛  of course i don’t.  and listen, that’s between the two of you.  but,  do you really think glaring from afar is going to do you any favours?  how’s that going for you so far?  ❜   he follows his gaze to where stede and blackbeard are busy looking at each other,  oblivious to the world around them  (   lucius thinks it’s cute,  though he wisely keeps it to himself   ),  and well.  his tone softens a bit when he looks back at izzy.   ❛  what are you afraid of?  ❜   he wonders if this is pushing it too far,  if he hasn’t just crossed some precarious boundary with voicing that question out loud,  but he does nothing to take it back. 

       HE KNOWS HE’S LOST IT ALL when lucius sits down beside him, as casual as anything. like he’s about to give izzy a heart-to-heart — like they’re sodding friends or something. whatever sense of authority he’d had  ( or hoped to have )  over the crew, it was clear that it was all well  &  gone now.  &  izzy curses under his breath, his gloved hand clenching in anger. he almost wants to reach for his sword to shut the boy up, but his captains would likely reprimand him grievously for such an outburst. he’s trapped, nowhere to run, nothing he can do except listen.                                                                                         &  though it infuriates him to admit it, lucius has a point. his sulking is unlikely to lend any change to the situation, &  izzy isn’t sure how much longer he can take an existence of slinking about the ship trying to avoid too close contact with the golden glow that seems to surround ed  &  stede whenever they are together. he glares at lucius, his teeth grinding, bristling again at the gentler tone he takes. perhaps izzy couldn’t be feared any longer, but he still refused to allow himself to be pitied. ❝ i’m not afraid, ❞ he growls, seething, tearing his eyes away from his captains with some effort. ❝ i’m just... i’m not like that twat bonnet — &  i’m not like you. i can’t — it’s not — ❞ words fail him, as they so often do,  &  izzy curses himself again for his weakness, for his shame, for his inability to throw either lucius or himself over the railing  &  be done with this ridiculous conversation once  &  for all. ❝ that, whatever it is that they have — ❞  he says, gesturing vaguely astern. but his eyes remain fixed out on the sea, unable to look at edward or lucius as he speaks. ❝ — it isn’t meant for the likes of me. ❞

🪐 — edward teach​ ;

he waits for hatred or disgust to crawl into stede’s words.   waits and waits for it to hit him straight to the chest,  like a fatal wound delivered with inescapable good aim.  it’s no less than what he deserves.  but nothing of it comes, not in the slightest  —  the only thing he hears is wretched sadness.  and regret,  too.  so much of it edward nearly chokes,  chest tightening painfully at each intake of breath.  he can’t breathe right,  like something is pulling him underwater and he can never gulp down enough air before he goes down again.  right hand curls,  desperate to hold onto something,  anything,  and it doesn’t stop when it only finds the flesh of his palm,  it doesn’t stop when skin tears and he starts to bleed  (   better his blood than the sight of stede’s own   ).  it grounds him,  at least a little.  not nearly enough.  what he needs is what he can never have:  stede.  stede touching him,  his arms keeping him afloat like he did in his dreams. 

❛  i killed the writer boy.  toss’d him overboard.  ❜   and that can’t possibly be stede’s fault now,  can it?  no,  that is on his hands alone.    ❛  so why shouldn’t you—  what else can you be here for?  ❜   now that anger doesn’t fuel him anymore his voice sounds weak,  on the verge of breaking.  he is so tired of pretending to be dealing with this any better than he is.  it doesn’t take long now  —  a sob wrenches itself free from his throat,  and it’s like a dam finally bursting open.  edward doesn’t have the strength to hold back tears any longer,  so he lets them fall down his cheeks in messy rivulets,  streaked with black,  his head still hung low. 

         IT’S THE MENTION OF LUCIUS that makes stede feel suddenly ill, his stomach rolling unpleasantly like a ship in a storm. the scribe hadn’t been left on that god-forsaken spit of sand with the rest of the crew, but nor had jim or frenchie,  &  yet only the later two had been waiting safely aboard the revenge upon his return.  & stede flinches at the thought that the boy had died all thanks to him,  all because he hadn’t been there to keep him safe. the regret overwhelms him for a moment, makes him nauseous. perhaps lucius’s ghost would appear to haunt him now, waterlogged  &  deathly pale with seaweed in his hair. but the broken sob that escapes from ed’s lips returns stede’s attentions to the present — he will have to assuage his guilt about the boy later, somehow.                                                                      edward’s face is downturned, its expression hidden by his long loose hair. but the flickering candlelight glistens against wet tear-lines that track through the black paint ringing his eyes  &  trail down his cheeks.  &  stede can’t stop himself any longer, the instinct to comfort his beloved when he is in pain far stronger than the need for self-preservation. he takes half a step closer, a hand gradually extending until his fingertips make contact with edward’s leather-clad shoulder.  ❝ oh, ed. i do wish you hadn’t done that — after all, it was me you should’ve been angry with, not him. ❞ when he doesn’t instantly lose his hand for its impudence, stede allows it to slide slowly up the shoulder. it moves only a meager degree at a time until the fingertips catch on ed’s long hair, gently brushing a few fallen strands back so that he can see more of his face. it is contorted in pain, streaked with tears  &  black paint, but he’s still beautiful. ❝ but that’s not why i . . .  i came back for you. because — ❞  his voice is breathy  &  breaking as he chokes back the heavy lump in his throat, still fighting to keep his own tears from falling.  ❝ because i love you, ed. ❞

🪐 — kang sae-byeok​ ;

sae-byeok doesn’t belong there.   she can feel her skin crawling with the wrongness of it all,  more and more with every minute ticking off that stupid expensive clock over her head.  she forces herself to unclench her jaw,  to stop trying to guess how much it could be worth and how much she could do with it  —  she would bring her mother here,  would save up money for her brother’s education,  to start.  but in order for her to do even a fraction of that,  she needs to pretend to be one of the young and wealthy for as long as it take for her plan to work out. 

katiana’s voice grates on her ears,  still she turns on her heel to gather both the bottle and the box of pastries,  seemingly without a word of complaint.  even if she utters a few nasty words in korean under her breath,  it’s too low for anyone to hear and besides,  no one is really paying attention to their surroundings.  a mistake,  obviously.  that is exactly what she is going to use to her advantage to lighten their purses.   ❛  that is your dinner?  ❜   she is back on the patio with brows raised,  voice a little too flat to pass for concerned.  not that she is trying.  not that she cares.  it’s only going to be a bother if the other girl ends up feeling sick.

         PERHAPS IF SHE’D BEEN PAYING ATTENTION,  katiana would have noticed the way her guest eyed the pricey decor,  or heard the irritated whispers at being asked to wait upon her.  but the heiress is in her own little world,  as usual  — one where the only thing that matters is her empty glass  —  &  sae byeok’s displeasure goes unnoticed.  ❝ don’t be silly — i’m going out to eat with some investment banker’s son later tonight, ❞  she muses when sae-byeok returns, sweets in one hand  &  champagne in the other.  &  katiana’s graceful fingertips reach out to pluck a perfect pink pastry out of the box without so much as a thank you.  ❝ i just wanted a snack now. ❞                                                   but when she takes the bottle of champagne from her, at least katiana pours two glasses,  handing one to sae-byeok  &  clinking the crystal rims together delicately before taking the first sip.  ❝ he invited me to this little greek place,  i guess it’s supposed to be good — his uncle or something owns it.  you can come, if you want.  i’m sure he could bring a friend for you to go with. ❞  she continues, swirling the champagne around in her glass as she reaches for another macaron.  ❝ ugh, these are so good, ❞  she says through her mouthful, the pastry airy  &  sweet. ❝ they’re honestly the best you can find outside of paris,  don’t you think ? ❞