Kang Sae-beyok;

🪐 — kang sae-beyok ;

fingers close around the offered glass,   gesture more automatic than genuine.  she fights off the urge to wrinkle her nose as she scent of alcohol brushes against her nostrils,  but makes herself take a small sip anyway.  she might get away with tuning out half of katiana’s words  —  especially when they involve dinners with wealthy sons and such  —  but she doubts the girl is entirely stupid and sae-byeok needs to be careful.   

❛  no,  thanks.  ❜   she declines the invite,  clipping the vowels as she heard people around her do so many times already,  then finally settling down on a nearby armchair lest someone mistakes her for a waitress,  standing there with her spine straight and a blank expression to booth.  sae-byeok relaxes her stance as much as she can,  elbows on the armrests and champagne glass on the table,  while her gaze slips towards the little box of macarons  —  pastries she has never tasted from a country she has never been to.  and a bite of curiosity has the better of her,  sudden and striking,  guilt following fast on its heels. she shouldn’t want more than she has, and yet.   ❛  what do they taste like?  ❜

       IT’S ALMOST A DISAPPOINTMENT  when she says no. without a friend  — if sae-byeok could be considered such  —  there to talk to, katiana would probably end up actually having to listen to the investment banker for most of the night.  &  people who worked in finance certainly had a flash factor that she enjoyed  ( nice cars, fancy restaurants, the best champagne )  they were honestly pretty boring when it came right down to it. but she shrugs, it off, popping another perfect macaroon into her mouth.                                     but then sae-byeok asks an entirely unbelievable question,  &  katiana almost chokes on the pastry she’s still chewing. ❝ you mean you’ve never tried them ? ❞  a hand flies up to cover her full mouth, the shame of bad manners so deeply ingrained that it comes as instinct,  &  she forces herself to chew  &  swallow before she speaks again.  ❝ well here !  you have to have one !  ❞  katiana leans forward in her seat, the half-empty box extended out in one hand toward sae-byeok in offering.  &  she shakes the box a bit for emphasis, clearly refusing to take no for an answer.  ❝ come on, i insist. i definitely don’t need the whole box to myself. there’s plenty  —  &  they’re so good, like little sweet little sugar puffs !  you’ll love them. ❞

🪐 — lucius spriggs​ ;

lucius notices two things.   first,  this is the most he has ever heard izzy speak,  to him or otherwise.  second,  the man hasn’t yelled nastily at him yet  —  but he probably shouldn’t count on his luck to last him too much there.  and well,  for his part lucius rolls his eyes only once,  because he was expecting something along these lines and it’s nothing new to him at all.  there’s plenty of men like izzy out there,  locked in a cage of their own making,  furious at those who are outside of it.  it’s maddening,  honestly.  he doesn’t understand why anyone would want to live like that. 

❛  god,  no wonder you are so—  ❜   lucius would say miserable,  but it turns out he still has some self preservation left.   ❛  angry all the time.  ❜   he lets it out in a breathy little whisper,  pulling at the sleeves of his shirt a bit.  this is the point where he should get up and make himself scarce before izzy comes back to his senses and threatens to make him work or else,  but he has one more thing to say and he is not going to leave here before he does so.  self preservation be damned. ❛  whoever convinced you of that is a real dick.  ❜  

            HE REGRETS HIS HONESTY ALMOST INSTANTLY,  the sensation of vulnerability as uncomfortable as it is unfamiliar. the fear response hits him hard, heartbeat racing as he braces himself for laughter, taunts, sharp barbed quips that catch on his skin. he’s expecting for the weak spot to be exploited the moment it’s revealed,  &  his gloved hand nearly goes to the hilt of his sword out of instinct. but instead of judgement, there is something almost akin to understanding in lucius’s tone, though it’s well cloaked beneath exasperation. &  izzy thinks that will be the end of it, prepares to walk away  &  pretend the conversation had never happened.                                                      but the boy’s next words catch him by surprise, leaving izzy breathless. his eyes go wide as he turns them back on lucius, searching his face for any sign that this is some meanspirited joke. but he finds none there. the scribe is looking him with something almost akin to sorrow on his face. but no, it’s worse than that: pity.  &  he folds in on himself all at once, his high cheekbones flushed with embarrassment. ❝ you just don’t understand, ❞ izzy insists, shaking his head  &  looking away. how could he explain that it hadn’t been just one person that had convinced him of the reality of his lot in life, but rather the world at large, that it had been beaten into him with repeated lessons, each more harsh than the last ?  he would never find the words, no matter how long he searched. so he swallows the pieces, lets them slice through him on their way down his throat, hoping they won’t come up again.  ❝ get back to fuckin’ work, spriggs. ❞

🪐 — edward teach​ ;

@musecraft  (   as izzy  ) sent #52 to:  take a knife meant for edward.

under the spike of adrenaline still running through his veins there's something worse to be found.   it sets his heart racing,  a wild pulse beating in his ears  —  dread.  white hot,  stomach twisting and coiled tight around his chest in a grip that doesn't seem to be fading anytime soon.  he tastes blood in his mouth and his right shoulder hurts where it hit against a table earlier,  but edward minds nothing of it,  too busy wrenching the bathroom cabinet open to reach for the first aid kit.  the wound is not deep,  he tells himself again and again,  but his thoughts keep spilling all over,  warring with the memory of a knife suddenly glinting towards him and coming away wet with blood. not his own. there seemed to be so much of it to him, dripping on the floor between them (   some people bring knives to a fist fight indeed,  figures   ). 

the sole of his boot against broken glass makes an awful crunching sound,  but edward leaves the messed up pub behind him without a second thought to spare for it,  headed for the smaller private room in the back.  and to be completely fair,  izzy is alright.  sure,  there's a wound on his arm that hasn't quite stopped bleeding yet,  but he is awake and alive.  his mind just hasn't fully come to terms with it yet.   ❛  didn't have to do that,  y'know.  would've been fine.  knife wasn't even that big anyway—  ❜   he is talking too much,  too fast.  edward breathes in,  out,  and looks up from where he has knelt in front of him by the couch.  the same one he had told him not to move from a few minutes prior. it's honestly stupid how it makes him feel all giddy and warm, as if edward doesn't already know that izzy is good at doing what he tells him.   ❛  let me wrap that up,  yeah?  ❜   softer,  but also steadier,  that awful knot of fear easing away with every breath.  aid kit momentarily abandoned on the floor next to his feet,  edward wraps a hand around the back of izzy's neck,  needing to feel him solid and warm under his fingertips.

      THERE’S AN INEXPLICABLE SENSE OF CLARITY  that settles over izzy as soon as the threat is neutralized,  the pain of an open wound snapping the world into focus around him. the dingy bar seems to almost glitter at the edges of his vision, crystalline shards of broken glass scattered over the floor, the entire world gone sharp  &  shiny. his breath comes quick  &  shallow, pulse racing in his ears as the adrenaline takes over his nervous system. he can feel the blood running down his arm, hot  &  wet as it leaks from the gash the fucker’s blade had opened up on his muscle, but it doesn’t seem important. better him than edward. he knew that ed was safe,  &  that was all that mattered. he’d even helped get izzy to the small private room in the back after the fight was over  &  told him stay here. so there he sat, perfectly still as blood drips onto the already grimy sofa.                                                                        edward’s not gone long though, returning only a mere moment later with a little plastic box in hand, a red cross emblazoned on the front. he’s jittery, anxious, a stark contract to izzy’s own sense of lucid calm. it’s like edward is actually worried about him,  &  the thought brings a fiercely hot glow to rise in his chest. ❝ ‘course i did; that’s my job, ❞ he responds, a breathy laugh punctuating his words. izzy knows he’ll be fine regardless, but the idea of edward tenderly wrapping his wound makes his stomach flip. so he nods in agreement, but before the strong hands he loves so dearly move to tend the fresh gash on his arm, one instead curls around the back of his neck, holding him by the nape with a firm but gentle grip.  &  izzy gasps aloud at the touch, his lips falling open  &  eyes blown wide. edward is so close that he can count his every eyelash, can feel the heat that exudes from his skin.  &  something else cuts clean through the pain  —  something that izzy is far less familiar with  —  something that leaves his skin buzzing all over  &  his heart stuttering from its breakneck pace. ❝ edward, ❞ he murmurs, voice barely more than a breath as his uninjured arm reaches up, a hand coming to curl gently around the other man’s forearm.  ❝ it’s ok. i’m alright. ❞

🪐 — edward teach​ ;

were it anyone else standing there,   edward would have brushed aches and discomfort aside.  even more likely still,  he would have turned it into anger,  shouting away at anyone foolish enough to get near him like this.  but izzy has seen him in much more pain that this  —  has seem him nearly delirious with it,  needing to be held down while the crew’s doctor set his knee back into place the best he could,  which was somehow almost worse than getting it smashed into pieces.   ❛  dunno.  maybe.  ❜   he glances down at his leg,  knowing he hasn’t been exceptionally mindful of it lately,  but it’s when he takes another step forward to test the waters that he knows not accepting help is not an option.  the next stab of pain is worse than before,  it empties his brain of anything else and forces him to breathe through clenched teeth.

he counts to five,  then ten,  but it doesn’t lessen,  pain a steady beat that kicks his heart into a furious race and clouds his eyesight.   ❛  izzy—  ❜   fuck,  it hurts.  edward doesn’t think he will be able to take another step on his own without falling down in a miserable heap.   ❛  i can't—  need to lay this down.  ❜   laughter gone, this is as close to pleading for help as he has ever come,  words barely making sense and  breath knocked out of his lungs.  he can’t remember the last time it was this bad.

          HIS CAPTAIN CALLS HIS NAME  &  relief floods him, his captain’s orders finally aligning with his instincts.  &  izzy is there in a flash, his shoulder tucked beneath the taller man’s on the weak side, arm arm bracing him around the waist so that he doesn’t have to put any weight on his bad knee. ❝ here, i’ve got you, come  &  sit, ❞  he mumbles, carefully shuffling the two of them backward to the captain’s chair.  ❝ slowly, slowly now. ❞  &  izzy crouches, his bare hand guiding the braced knee so that it can extend without bending, offering his support until edward is seated. once he is, izzy reaches for a nearby stool  &  drags it into place, guiding the heel of his leather boot onto it, strangely gentle where his captain is concerned.                                     but his hands have no talent for healing,  &  he laments that he doesn’t really know what to do to help edward. still izzy stays where he is, crouched before his chair as he examines the straps of his brace.  ❝ it looks plenty tight already, boss, ❞  he says, glancing up at his captain’s face.  ❝ but i can try to re-brace it, if you think it would help. ❞  a murky memory of his mother, humming as she rubbed some kind of soothing ointment on his legs when he was suffering through growing pains, drifts up from some recess of his memory,  &  izzy wishes suddenly that he could remember what it was that she had used all those years ago. ❝ at least let me pack your pipe for you.  &  i’ll check personally to see if there’s any kind of medicine or something on the next ship we raid. ❞  doctors were few  &  far between while at sea, but many naval warships had a modestly stocked infirmary. izzy made a mental note to bear that in mind when choosing their next target.

🪐 — edward teach​ ;

@musecraft  (   as stede  ) sent #81 to:  help edward style his hair.

his hair smell nice,   still a bit wet and cascading down his back with nothing to hold them up.  he closes his eyes,  every drop of tension to his muscles drained by the warm and nicely scented water of the bath stede had drawn for him.  he can't see stede,  sitting behind him on the bed as he is,  but he can feel his fingers carding through his hair,  thumbs pressing on his scalp in that way of his that makes edward melt under his beautiful,  clever hands.  fingers touch his neck and he doesn’t even stir,  let alone flinch away as he normally would.  no,  he leans back into it,  with a soft,  almost keening sound escaping his lips. 

❛  stede.  'm going to fall asleep right here and now if you keep this up.  ❜   tone heavy and slow,  a pleasant drowsiness already making its way through it.  and well,  with his awful track record when it comes to sleeping more than a few hours each night?  it wouldn't be such a bad idea to just drop his head on stede's shoulder and let sleep take him under.  edward thinks he could do that,  all wrapped up in lavender scent and stede's red robe.  the offer to help braid his hair or something forgotten in a corner of his mind. 

        HE’S MEANT TO BE BRAIDING IT,  but stede’s gotten distracted. edward’s hair is long  &  thick  &  gorgeous,  a dark waterfall shot through with elegant streaks of silver that covers his shoulders like a curtain.  &  after being soaked  &  scrubbed in the bath, it flows through his fingers as smooth as silk. but what’s even more beautiful still is the gentle way that edward seems to chase his touch, leaning into his hands at every opportunity.  &  the delightful responsiveness is only enhanced by the quiet pleased little noises that rise in his throat. stede finds himself chasing those sounds, carefully massaging his scalp. nails softly scratch over the skin, committing to memory the places that elicit a sigh or a shiver. never has he felt so at ease in the presence of another; for the first time in his life, he feels like he might be exactly where he belongs.                                                                     &  he gives a soft hum of affirmation when edward speaks, his fingers never stilling in their loving ministrations as they rub soft concentric circles just above his temple.  ❝ sleep then, ❞ he murmurs, lowering his head so that he can whisper in his beloved’s ear. one hand finally untangles itself from the long damp hair then, looping gently around edward’s waist to pull at him until his back presses flush against stede’s chest. then he leans back himself until his shoulders meet the edge of his bunk, half lying down now with edward still safely wrapped up in his arms  &  one of his softest dressing gowns. ❝ rest now, my darling. i’ll still be right here when you wake. ❞ his lips brush edward’s ear when he speaks, leaving the ghost of a kiss against the side of his face.

🪐 — captain teague ;

     It had been months since Maria’s death yet the pain of her death remained ever potent. Memories of her clung to everything, overwhelming him with a sense of longing. The rum numbed him, at least temporarily, but without fail, grief clawed back to the surface. In a moment of desperation, he had gone to Tia Dalma hoping that she may have a cure. The “tears of a goddess”, she had claimed, would be able to heal his heart. They hadn’t. 

     Now he stood in her shack ready to throw the damn vial back in her face. 

     Her explanation did nothing to pacify him. If anything he was all the more ready to demand compensation. He stared at Tia Dalma in disbelief. She was being more obfuscating than usual, much to his displeasure. “ Released? ” Teague scoffed, “ in other words, they’re useless. ” His hand curled tightly around the small vial in his pocket. The damn thing was meant to make those feelings go away, but it hadn’t. Teague still felt grief clawing at him every day. The rum numbed it, at least temporarily. But he had wanted a permanent solution. 

     He pulled the vial out of his pocket and slapped it onto the table next to them. Then, as if the mere act had served as a release Teague’s shoulder slumped. If this hadn’t worked then what would? 

     “ I want a refund. ”​

          HER FACE TWISTS IN OFFENSE  at the accusation,  &  calypso pulls herself up as tall as she can in light of her pathetically limited form. tia dalma’s arms cross stubbornly over her chest,  &  her spine goes rigid in response to his tone. captain teague might have been near infamous on the seas, but a goddess feared no mortal man,  &  he was no exception.

                             ❝ they’re not useless, you just didn’t know how to use them, ❞ she responds, forming the words slowly so that he cannot possibly misunderstand her.  ❝ when your pain becomes overwhelming, you must take the stopper out of the bottle  &  let a drop fall onto your bare hand. you will find the hurt will recede as the tide. not entirely, of course  —  there is nothing in the world that can heal a broken heart, captain  —  but enough for you to breathe again for a time. ❞                                               calypso did wish that she could do something more for him, but to be a mortal was to be defined by briefness of existence.  &  yet, to be a human was to love in spite of the certainty of death. they would never learn — they would continue loving one another regardless of how doomed it was. but that much, at least, she could understand; she had never been able to stop herself from falling in love with mortals, either. ❝ i am sorry if you believe that i misrepresented my services to you, captain,  &  i regret that you are not satisfied with the results you received. ❞  her hand curls around the neck of a nearby bottle  &  pours rum into a glass, setting it on the table before him. ❝ but the fact remains that  i accept no refunds. ❞