IZZY HANDS For Stede !

🪐 — IZZY HANDS  for  stede​  !

There was too much going through his mind right now. Stede was making too much sense and be fucking hated that. Fucking hated that Stede Fucking Bonnet was right. Hell truly had frozen over hadn’t it? The mutual desire to get Edward back was a problem all in itself. Of course Izzy wanted to find his friend. Of course he wanted him back on ship and to make sure he was alright. Yet Blackbeard had made it very clear to Izzy that he was not to come look for him. Would this flagrant disobedience be met with understanding if Stede was there or would the man make good on his threat? Would he disobey his current captain by not helping Stede? Was there any solution to this where he wasn’t disobeying someone?

Izzy felt stressed and anxious about this whole thing. He was, at a core, a follower and someone who needed to do a good job. Someone who needed to feel needed. There was no neat fix to this situation was there? What he did know is it was worth whatever consequence might befall on him if it meant Edward was found and was okay. And Bonnet was right. Izzy did know Edward more than anyone else. At least he did. The Kraken was — something else. The combined legend they’d created together over the years come to life in all its ferocity.

“You really fucked with his head, you know?” Izzy returned coolly, tugging at his shirt sleeve to pull it down more, cover himself up like he was wearing armor. “He was — he changed after you left. He got — he got low. He wouldn’t leave his room and when he did he was weirdly — he was in denial. Fuck if I know. You broke his fucking heart,” he snapped before swallowing and looking down guiltily. The first mate’s voice got a little quieter.

“But — I — I think I did too…” he admitted for the first time aloud. As much as he thought he wanted Blackbeard back, Izzy had come to understand he had been wrong. Ed had given him exactly what he thought he wanted but it wasn’t the man he’d grown to care for. He was scary. Not in a good way. “I — I told him..” Izzy looked up at Stede across the room, wondering if the man would change his mind. Banish him from the ship. Yell at him. Yeah. That might actually be comforting. He deserved it. “I told him that I should have let the English kill him — that the person he’d become — the depressed cheery sap trying to pretend everything was fine was a fate worse than death. He — He — I fucked up. He’s not either of the Edward’s we know now…” Izzy had dropped his head into his hands in frustration with himself, fingers curling tightly into gray hair. “I really hurt him — and I regret every word I said. You have to believe me, Bonnet. I was wrong. About so much. About you. — I’m scared to see him again. If I go against him like this — I don’t think I’ll make it out it this time,” he admitted nervously.

       THERE IS AN EDGE TO IZZY’S WORDS,  an honestly that cuts every but as sharp as his sword had.  you really fucked with his head. you broke his fucking heart.  &  stede had known as much  — on some level, he had known.  but it’s still painful to hear it spoken so plainly.  &  perhaps once he would recoil from the venom in his words, but stede forces himself to stand tall, unflinching, as a captain should.  &  then izzy’s voice changes as his head falls, tone drops until it is soft  &  uncertain  &  entirely different than it had been only a moment before.                                    &  stede cannot keep the surprise from his face at the first mate actually admitting he had been wrong, his brows flying upward toward his golden hairline in shock.  izzy didn’t seem the type who would be eager to face his own mistakes, but stede realizes as he looks at the man that he barely knows him, in truth.  so perhaps he was wrong about izzy, too.  &  he frowns then, pondering over izzy’s words, his gaze dropping to the man’s mangled foot clad in bandages.           there is a long moment of silence as stede considers the other man with a curious gaze, but when he speaks again his voice is just as steady as it had been before.  ❝ we will both have plenty to apologize for once we find him.  he is owed that much.  from both of us. ❞  something that mary had said to stede echoed in his head suddenly, the image of her with a skewer hovering just above his temple seared into his memory.  we just can’t seem to stop hurting each other,  she had said.  for them, separation had been the only way to stop the pain.  they had both wanted different things.  but the crucial difference between the two relationships was that izzy still wanted his captain, still sought to follow his orders.  that much was achingly obvious  —  his mere continued presence aboard the ship was proof enough of it.  &  stede knew what he wanted now, too, late though his realization might have been.  the only question was whether edward still wanted either of them back.  but they would not know that until they found him.  ❝ whether he chooses to accept or not  —  yours or mine  —  is his decision alone, no matter who he may be.  it’s a risk that i am prepared to take.  if you are not, then you’re free to depart. ❞                                  &  yet, izzy’s final warning does stick, sends a tremor of fear up stede’s spine.  it was true that edward had left the majority of his crew on that tiny spit of land to die.  they only been rescued by sheer chance when he had happened upon them in his stolen rowboat.  &  while jim had been aboard the revenge when they returned, there was still a noticeable absence aboard the ship that stede had been too frightened to ask about until now.  though it occurred to him suddenly that if anyone would know what had happened to the young scribe, it would likely be izzy.  ❝ but if that is what you should decide, there is one more thing i must ask of you before you go :  where is lucius ? ❞

HAPPY BIRTHDAY STEDE BONNET YOU ABSOLUTE LEO ICON !  🎉🦁🏴‍☠️

black sails meme: [5/7 scenes] any man stood a chance against him is dead. if we don’t try something they ain’t expecting, then we’re all fucking dead.  if any of the men who stood a chance to beat him are dead, then what do you suggest?  “any man.”

thinking about how cute it is that we spend our free time crafting collaborative stories together with our favorite characters, sometimes related to their canon  &  sometimes entirely outside of it.  thinking about how pure it is that people all over the world sit down  &  take time out of their lives to write things  for me  &  make little stories up  with me.  thinking about how when i pick up a new muse my friends are always ready to find a way for them to interact with them, no matter who they’re writing at the time or how close their source canons might be.  thinking about how every time i get a little bubble on my activity page, it could be a friend giving me a little gift consisting of a personalized piece of their writing,  &  how they used their creative energy on the cute little made up stories we discussed together.  just thinking about how much i love my rp partners today.

🪐 — MARIANNE SHERIDAN​  for  margaery !

in art galleries in italy, two trains over from her family’s second home, she is given a chance to disappear. she imagines how she looks from outside of her body, imagines a mysterious kind of elegance that sits on her shoulders, has created every inch of her into a design of what she wants to be in their conscience. sometimes, she thinks she doesn’t exist outside of their thoughts of her, though she has cultivated a lifetime pretending otherwise. 

@musecraft​ holds herself in a way that seems natural, a way marianne pretends to emulate, but always feels too sharp, like her bones are too splintered to fit that way. she has a habit of picking out people of interest, whether for good or bad reasons, finds herself gravitating to those who might bring something to her life. MARIANNE:     it’s a bit derivative, isn’t it ?  really she just likes saying the word derivative, one she practiced in front of the mirror when she learnt it, testing it on the tongue until it fell naturally, showing that she’s as smart as she’s always known she is.  MARIANNE:     i suppose some man just decided it was good once and no body thought to correct them.

     IF ONLY SHE KNEW  how carefully practiced her own posture was, hands folded neatly on front of her marianne might not think so highly of margaery.  but part of the carefully crafted facade was that it should appear natural, rather than manufactured. it should not be clear to those who looked upon either of them that their idyllic composure was more veneer than reality.  there was nothing more damaging to the illusion of poise than the idea that it was indeed falsified.  but margaery had been perfecting the steps for years now,  &  her artful appearance was now nearly impossible to break through.  she prided herself upon it, for it protected her well.                                              &  yet with marianne, moments of the truth creep in at the edges.  they are not perfect, neither of them, no matter how hard they might pretend.  &  her opinion, harsh  &  unapologetic as it was,  brought a smile to margaery’s lips.  a real one, not one crafted to curve elegantly across her lips without wrinkling her flawless skin.  no, this one was just a touch wider on the right side, leaving creases fanning out from the edge of her eyelids.  ❝ it’s not terrible i suppose —  art is subjective  &  the use of shadow adds nice depth. ❞  but she’s only fishing for something kind to say,  &  she gives up after a moment.  the pretense really wasn’t necessary; not around marianne.  ❝ but it’s certainly not in the running for my favorite piece in the exhibition. ❞

🪐 —  plotted starter  for   ROBIN BUCKLEY  from  margaery !

      EVERYTHING FEELS SO CROWDED  in new york, the city's collection of towers often blotting out the sky itself with concrete  &  glass.  it’s far from what margaery is used to.  her own roots run through open sprawling farmland  &  lush orchards fed by a great glittering river.  the hudson was rather brown by comparison,  &  she lamented that even the park lost some of its charm the moment that her gaze lifted enough to land on the skyscrapers cluttered against the backdrop.                                                           &  yet,  she must admit that there is a certain sense of excitement to this city, too  —  there’s so much to see, after all.  though still, margaery often found herself returning to the one place in new york that feels familiar, that reminds her most of home :  just a few blocks below central park, margaery had discovered a small block of parisian shops  &  businesses,  the centerpiece of which was a small movie cinema that showed old french films in their original language.  to disappear into the dark of the theatre  &  watch some grand drama or romance unfold across the enormous screen in her mother tongue always managed to make her forget how far she truly was from everyone she loved — at least for an afternoon.          but today margaery is unlucky enough to arrive when the theatre is midway through the lunchtime show of  du côté d'orouët,  so instead she ducks into the cafe across the street to wait for the later playing.  it’s a busy saturday afternoon, the tight space crowded with little tables that are already mostly occupied.  &  margaery hurries to order herself a coffee  &  pain au chocolat  before hurrying to slip into one of the only still open seats before someone else can.  but there’s hardly enough space between the tables,  &  she accidentally jostles the person sitting at the next table in her haste to sit.  ❝ oh, pardon, ❞  she says to the person she’s disturbed :  a girl who appears close to her own age,  with short sandy hair  &  wide blue eyes, a travel guidebook for france in one hand  &  a half-eaten croissant before her on the table.  &  margaery switches smoothly to english at the sight of the travel book, a softly apologetic smile given to @scoopstrooptm as she takes the seat beside her.  ❝ sorry to bother you.  i hope it’s alright that i sit by you for awhile  —  there isn’t much room. ❞