ELIS HOWELL For Stede !

🪐 — ELIS HOWELL   for  stede !

If his hands shook at all it was more due to feeling amped up a bit from the previous encounter than the drink. Unfortunately his hands shook when he didn’t drink these days. Which was why he had removed himself from his work. A surgeon whose hands shook because his body was craving a drink was no use to anyone and that was even if he could stop the daily drinking to start with. 

Still. He could help this stranger who he’d gotten punched for nothing. He had similar deeply ingrained etiquette as well. 

“And I insist you allow me to render you aid, sir,” the Welshman urged with a pointed expression, hands moving to hover near the man, worried he might fall over. “Please. I’m a doctor,” Elis added. One of the other regulars seated at the bar loudly huffed and rolled his eyes at that. The innkeeper shot him a stern look and pushed a clean rag across the bar top. Elis took it and offered it to Stede. 

“Here. Your nose is bleeding. Pinch at it with your fingers against the septum wall — that’s the cartilage between your nose. And don’t lean your head back, you don’t want to flowing backwards. It doesn’t actually appear broken so you lucked out. But come to my room. I can patch up the side of your forehead. Head wounds bleed a lot but I promise you’ll make it,” he added dryly, trying to make a bit of a joke as he held out his hand to gesture towards the door to the hallway of rooms, one arm near Stede in case he got a little dizzy.

      HE DOESN’T WANT TO MAKE A FUSS,  especially over an injury that wasn’t truly all that grievous, in spite of the blood that’s seeped into his previously flawless starched lace collar.  oh it hurts, to be certain,  &  stede knows well that he has a rather low tolerance for pain.  but he will be fine, just so long as he has something solid to hold onto until his feet grow steady again.  &  he is grateful for the bar, leaning against it to steady himself, expecting to be left alone to nurse his wounds.                                        yet the man who had started it all hovers stubbornly nearby, his hands raised as if to catch stede if he falls.  it seemed a strange kindness for someone he didn’t even know, though his profession may have had something to do with his desire to help.  ❝ a doctor, you say ? ❞  he asks, inquisitive brow raising as he looks the other man over.  to stede’s eyes, he looked  —  &  smelled  —  like little more than any other drunk in the tavern that night.  ❝ i imagine it’s quite rare to find your kind  in a place like this. ❞  but he speaks with confidence as he relays his orders, a clean cloth pressed firmly into stede’s hand.                   &  although he is a pirate now,  &  a captain to boot, not required to take any man’s orders in a free port such as this, there is something in the doctor’s tone that makes him acquiesce, pressing the rag as he’s been instructed against his nose  &  pinching.  but that only makes the pain sharper,  &  stede winces, keeping his grip light.  he can only hope he is applying enough pressure to stem the bloodflow. he hesitates at the idea of going elsewhere with a strange man he scarcely knows, but for as lightheaded as he is feeling, he is also grateful for the chance some care to his wounds, minor as they may seem. ❝ well, if you’re sure it’s really necessary, doctor. ❞  stede’s voice is distorted slightly by the cloth pressed against his nose, his tone gone nasal  &  muffled as he pulls himself away from the bar to follow the stranger’s gesture, only swaying slightly on his feet.  ❝ i’m stede, by the way. ❞

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH.

@musecraft  (   as stede  ) sent ' training ' to:  pin edward against the wall during a sparring match.

❛  ow.  ❜   a startled breath is wrenched out of him,  followed suit by a laugh.  stede has him pinned against the mast,  a victorious grin spreading all over his face and edward feels lucid thought slip away from him.  he thinks he wouldn't mind losing to him like this,  little does it matter that he could easily swap their positions,  especially since stede has lowered his sword to press an arm against his chest.  truth is:  he got distracted,  lost the pace of their sparring lesson when moonlight caught stede's hair and shoulders just right,  allowing stede to disarm him.  not that edward is complaining,  far from it.  it's only a few seconds later that he looses his last shreds of sanity  —  with stede's lips brushing against his ear and a question voiced low.  do you yield?  now edward is truly and utterly fucked.   ❛  yeah,  you menace.  what you're going to do now that you have me at your mercy?  ❜  lips twitch in amusement, but his eyes are keen and dark, pupils blown wide.

           A TASTE OF VICTORY proves sweet,  &  stede finds that once he gets the flavor of it on his tongue, he only wants more. nevermind that it’s very likely that edward let him win  —  he revels in his position all the same. an arm presses across the other man’s broad chest to keep him pressed bodily to the mast, the grin that splits his face is bright  &  a little wild.  &  it curls impossibly wider still when edward gives in to him. stede’s pulse races as he pulls his face back just enough to catch edward’s gaze, the moon  &  stars overhead reflected in the depth of his wide dark eyes.  ❝ i'm afraid i’ll have to have your life, now. ❞  but his sword defies his words, dropping lower still as stede finds himself distracted, caught up in the gentle way that ed is gazing at him.  &  an unfamiliar sensation sets over him, heart fluttering madly in his chest  &  a strange warmth rising in his cheeks in spite of the chill ocean breeze. ❝ scoundrels spare no one, i once heard. once they’ve taken hold of you, they aren’t likely to let you go. ❞

🪐 — EDWARD TEACH  for  izzy !

izzy is at his side not a moment too late,   just before his knees buckle under the strain of keeping him upright.  i’ve got you.  edward believes him on instinct,  knowing his first mate would never let him fall,  however smaller his frame might appear.  they have sparred too many times for edward not to know how deceptively strong those arms are.  there’s a joke at the tip of his tongue,  a silly one about being in good hands  —  good hands,  izzy.  got it?  —  but his brain is still woozy and the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a sigh when he is finally seated.  eyes slip closed as his breathing slowly evens out and the sharp pain coursing through his knee becomes a throbbing ache that doesn’t really go away. 

❛  nah,  leave it.  it just decided to be a bitch today  —  pipe sounds real good,  though.  ❜   no,  of course opium doesn’t fix the problem,  but hell if it doesn’t sweeten the bite,  making his head light and his limbs heavy.   it’s exactly what he needs. ❛ remember that day,  izzy?  not that one.  ❜   he’s pretty sure there is no need to summon the awful sound of heavy wood and metal against bone.  the bastards laughing as he screamed.  oh,  he got lost there for a second,  thoughts gone exactly where he didn’t want them to.   ❛  the—   y'know,  when you got me back here and the doc said it would’ve been easier to just cut from knee down.  tell you what, i still don’t regret telling him to fuck off.  ❜

              WHATEVER HE NEEDS;  it is not a pledge that izzy takes lightly.  so while he himself holds no affinity for mind-altering substances, preferring to stay sharp at all times, never would he deign to tell edward not to indulge himself, especially if it soothed his pains.  it is not his place to question the captain.  so he hurries to collect his pipe from the place it had fallen on the table the night before  &  knock the ash out before refilling it with sticky sweet-smelling leaf from the jar that was almost always kept somewhere nearby.                                                                                     izzy is pushing down on the bowl with his thumb to ensure it’s packed tightly enough to smoke evenly when edward bids him remember.  &  of course he does  —  he will never forget.  they had been so young then, but izzy had already been willing to desert for edward, to die for edward.  from the moment he’d first seen the other man, beaten bloody  &  in chains but still snarling  &  seething  &  so beautiful it had hurt his eyes, izzy belonged to him completely.  it seemed a lifetime ago.  they had both been different men then.  but he still remembered with sharp clarity how calmly the order to  break his spirit  had come,  &  how edward had screamed when his knee had been crushed.  but he also remembered how it had felt when edward had asked izzy to come with him  —  the two of them alone in a rowboat stealing away into the inky darkness was the closest thing to freedom he’d ever had.                 but  not that one  edward had said.  &  izzy is pulled directly into another memory by his next words.  a smile comes to his lips at it, painful as it had been.  he can almost see edward snarling at the doctor holding the bone saw, a feral kind of ferocity in his eyes.  he had been beautiful, then, too.  ❝ ‘course i remember.  you also told him exactly where he could put his knives, if i recall correctly.  ❞   &  the way his captain is talking now, like he would do it all again in spite of the pain, izzy knows the man he had followed into the darkness that night is still alive somewhere inside of him.  ❝ you’re braver than most  —  more than half the men up there would’ve let him just take the leg. ❞   satisfied with his work, izzy crosses the room to hand his filled pipe to him, gloved fingers brushing against edward’s as he passes it over.  &  he kneels, pretending to examine the brace again, while truly letting his eyes list up to linger over his captain’s face.  the thick beard that covers the planes of his jaw is going silver,  &  a pattern of creases is beginning to fan out from the edges of his eyes.  &  he’s beautiful, still.  neither aches nor age could ever change that.  ❝ that’s why you’re our captain. ❞

Our Flag Means Death - 1.01 Pilot  

🪐 — BONNIBEL BUBBLEGUM​   for  marceline !

 ❝ ────── just one more ingredient and the fast-acting crimsonification agent will be complete! ❞    she announces to no one particular, even as marceline drifts under the candy-striped archway, quiet yes but not unnoticed. she studies the curious and bubbling liquid as she awaits the vampire to waft closer. patiently, she hums, allowing eyes to squint as she feels the frigid breeze of marceline’s shoulder approach, always the curious one watching from the safety bubblegum’s shoulder.   ❝ just one…more ────── ❞ she strains to remain collected, to no give away her following intention as an arm sneaks behind her hovering guest and plucks a thick raven strand right from it’s root. quickly, bonnibel tosses the strand into thick fluid, watching as it transforms to a swirling sworm of grey and dust to a glistening silver, and finally a vivid red  ― ❝ perfect! and just in time too! ❞

       HUNGER WAS INTIMATELY FAMILIAR to marceline. it had dogged her heels ever since she was a child in a city torn apart by the mushroom wars, scrounging for a dented can or an unlucky squirrel for her every meal. but after being bitten by the vampire king, hunger had felt different, like it had grown fangs.  &  it wasn’t dinged up cans of soup that she craved. red red red was her need now.  &  if she didn’t get it, the consequences were fast  &  severe. if her control frayed too thin, her features would contort into those of the nightosphere, batlike  &  demonic.  &  she would lose herself to it, do anything for it.                                                                                              but bonnibel would never let it get that far.  she was far smarter than marceline,  &  she always had an answer for everything. of course, the vampire queen could always pull some of the beautiful magenta flush from her candy-pink face in an emergency  &  leave them both paler for it, but still alive.  ❝ don’t exaggerate, we still have a few hours at least before i went after all your cherry-flavored citizens. ❞ she drifted a few inches off the ground, her eyes wide  &  black as a void as they observed the swirling cauldron that had swallowed up her strand of hair. ❝ so uh, should i just drink that, or are you gonna use it to turn something else red for me ? ❞  she knows from experience that with bonnibel, one should never assume anything was simple.

Katherine Arden, The Bear and the Nightingale