#firstmategod

Stede was right - he really wasn’t fine at all. He wasn’t sure if he was actually, genuinely sick, or if the sea was just particularly choppy that morning, but he felt worse than he had in a long time. So far, he’d been able to steady himself by clinging to the ship’s rail and squeezing his eyes closed and taking deep breaths, but he was very quickly becoming aware that that wasn’t going to last much longer. 

 In the back of his mind, it vaguely occurred to him that, in this position, Stede could have very easily pushed him overboard; and, in all honestly, he might have welcomed it. It was humiliating, being seen like this - shaking, and pale, and clammy, and nauseous, desperately clinging to the ship’s railing to stop the world from spinning so quickly. 

 He tried for a snappish “fuck off,” but a wave of nausea hit him halfway though, and what came out instead was a pathetic, weak “fuck me.”

a cruel man could very well take advantage of izzy hands' current weakened state, but a cruel man stede bonnet is not. so instead of making fun, or pushing him off the boat (which he could do), he simply rolls his eyes a little bit and calls out -

" oluwande! take mister hands' station, will you? he's needed in the captain's cabin. "

stede is more than aware that hands will likely resist this order, so he turns back to him rather promptly.

( @firstmategod​ wrote:  [ KNEE ]: sender gently rests a hand on the receiver’s knee to stop them from shaking it. (from crozier to irving) )

In the beginning, listening to the Captain’s stories had been entertaining. Inspiring even. but as days had turned into weeks and then months they had sort of lost their touch. At least with him, even though he liked the newly turned Captain. He had started to notice though, how details changed and sometimes he wondered if the stories were just made up so he could brag about something he actually hadn’t done, or just play it off much greater than it had been, or maybe Captain Fitzjames just didn’t remember well anymore. Either way, it was a good attempt at keeping people entertained but they were all balancing on the edge, trying nmot to fall one way or the other, trying to keep up appearances while everything, inevitably, was going to shit.

The cold, the crowded space, the losses and the rationed food had men losing their temper quicker, they were all tired, cold and wet most of the time with little left to do other than keep to a routine. At least that kept them all from going insane, even with his now minor privileges as a lieutenant.

@firstmategod​ : 

“How about you fuck off?“ 

 His already-raspy voice was breathy and pained; being sick was a terrible experience every time it happened, and, unfortunately for Izzy, it wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence. The seas had been particularly stormy lately, and he’d been trying his hardest to power through, but  - WELL. A nickname like his didn’t exactly come from nothing. He gripped the ship’s rail and ran a gloved hand through his hair. Maybe tying it back wasn’t such a bad idea. 

 “Don’t you have something better to do than watch me get sick?“

Storms were her specialty, so she was used to the seas being rough. And it always amused her when others would get sick. Izzy was a special case too, since he got so angry about it. It made her want to push his buttons even further. 

send in 📜 and I’ll use this incorrect quotes generator using your muse and my muse. // @firstmategod for izzy and stede

Now that she’s so far from home, Ariel felt a freedom like never before felt before as she leaned against the ship’s railing. Salty wind blew through her hair, twirling red ringlets this way and that as the sun first peeked it’s sleepy head up in the far distance.

The mermaid knew her presence made some of those on board a touch nervous, though she couldn’t blame them. She’s a mermaid --- and more than that, she’s the youngest daughter of the sea king. Despite those glances from some of the crew the previous night, the young mermaid doesn’t allow it to bother her. This was her first real day as a human woman.

        SHE SMILES FONDLY UP AT PIERRE, fiddling a little with the box containing the reading light in question. she’s lived in this city for nearly a decade, but the strand never ceases to call her name—especially when she has the opportunity to bring a friend to explore its stacks. on her other side, laura is cranking a miniscule music box in her tiny hands; it plinks out an off-tempo la vie en rose, over and over.    ‘ did you want one ? ’  percy asks, holding it up to punctuate her question.   ‘ i’ve made it sort of a tradition to get my friends a gift when i bring them here. ’  la vie en rose plays again, painfully slowly. she glances down at her daughter, who is poking out her tongue in concentration as she apparently tries to take the longest possible time between notes.

                 ⚓︎ ❝ you’ll be even worse off if you don’t let me bandage this. ❞ ;; @firstmategod​

        ❝ god, you’re dramatic sometimes. ❞ it’s said with an eyeroll, a hand pressed to the fairly cut left by a narrowly escaped gunshot. and, maybe he wasn’t being dramatic. because he was one side step away from literally dying and they both knew that. but he hadn’t. 

       he hadn’t died yet. 

      but izzy is still fighting with him, trying to clean out the cut with ed squirming with a bit too much adrenaline to really stay still. he’d almost died, after all. god, he really had. shit. fuck. shit -- 

    maybe the fear behind izzy’s anger was warranted, then. after all, what would one of them really do without the other. izzy would be captain, just like he’d always wanted, right? he wouldn’t be too bad off. but that wasn’t where he needed to go. he’d lived. that was a good thing. shit. fuck. it hurt.