Edward Teach ;

🪐 — edward teach​ ;

a low hum vibrates along his throat.   he doesn’t doubt his first mate’s words even for a second,  even in this state.  he trust izzy to take care of things when the weather gets a little rough and his head ducks down under,  surface barely in sight.  he trusts him to handle the crew,  and keep an eye out for trouble  —  coming from both outside and inside,  since they both know mutinies don’t just fall on your stupid head out of nowhere.  there are always signs,  people muttering about some inane thing or the other easily turns into dangerous little whispers.  edward should know.  it’s exactly how he became captain in the first place,  all those years ago  (   good riddance benjamin,  have fun in hell   ).  but it’s not that bad yet  —  izzy would tell him,  if it were.  he would put a stop to it with as much efficiency as he does anything else.  shit.  he really would,  wouldn’t he?  the absolute certainly hits him like a tidal wave,  for some reason. 

perhaps it’s just that,  or the subtle shift in tone,  which finally prompts him to move.  izzy deserves a little better than being dismissed without a glance,  after all.  so edward opens his eyes,  takes his hand away from his forehead and..  he is forgetting something,  isn’t he?  but what?  he’s not thinking very straight.  oh.  he moves up too fast and of course his stupid knee locks up,  pain shooting through it.  his legs almost buckle as he stumbles,  barely managing to grip the back of the chair in time.   ❛  oh,  fuck off.  ❜   voice strains around a half muffled groan,  still he manages to wheeze out something close to a laugh.  the first one in days.  ❛  how’s the weather?  think it might rain soon.  ❜   one thing that knee is ever good for,  at least:  it usually troubles him more when the sky is about to turn ugly and dark. 

          HE HAS TO FORCE HIMSELF not to go to his captain’s side when he stumbles, not to reach out a comforting hand. that is not how things are done. not for them. life is pain,  &  they survive only out of a refusal to show weakness in the face of it.  &  yet izzy still has to choke down the desire to do whatever he can manage to soothe not edward’s aches. his own pain is easy to weather, but to see his captain flinch  &  grimace as his old injury locks his knee is all but insufferable. ( after all, it had been his inability to stand by  &  bear witness as the english tortured edward that had caused izzy to leave his old life behind  &  follow him instead all those years ago. )  yet he still manages a gruff attempt at humor about it as he steadies himself with a firm grip on the back of his chair,  &  izzy allows himself a brief smile, pride flaring hot in his chest.                                           ❝ it might do, tomorrow, ❞ he agrees with a curt nod. in truth, blackbeard was far better at predicting the minutiae of the weather — yet another reason he was sorely missed abovedeck. but izzy knows that this particular prediction likely comes more from the stubborn enduring weakness in his knee than from atmospheric observations.  &  while he knows too well that tenderness is not permitted between men like them, he also knows that no one is watching them here.  &  perhaps it’s only an excuse for him to draw closer, but it is izzy’s job to serve his captain’s needs, after all. ❝ is your brace alright, boss ? does it need to be tightened ? ❞  he asks, his tone uncharacteristically gentle as he takes a tentative step forward. he hasn’t been called but still he comes, drawn to edward as a moth to flame, no regard for the potential to be burned. ❝ let me help you. ❞

🪐 — 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 ? ❞

🪐 — 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. ❞

🪐 — podrick payne​ ;

no other choice but this, no other path he would take even if he were given the option a thousand times before. there is almost laughter when @musecraft asks why, when her gaze lands on him as if she sees the entirety of his soul. for her, always for her.       ❛  there are things you do only for love. ❜

          SHE’D KNOWN BEFORE SHE ASKED,  but she would never tire of hearing the sweet affirmations from his lips.  &  luckily, it seemed mo matter how many times she asked, her beloved never grew cross with her for being asked to repeat himself.  ❝ well of course, i knew that much, ❞ margaery teases, her face smiling  &  her tone joyous as she clings tightly to podrick’s arm.  ❝ but what i meant was,  why me ? what have i done in this life that could possibly warrant such a fine love — from such a fine man ? ❞

Zoë Kravitz Sings Prince, Radiohead and Neil Diamond in a Game of Song Association | ELLE

She was weeping, and her tears were flame. And still she drank it in.

Melisandre of Asshai