#izhands

                        ⚓︎ the flat of his sword comes down hard against ed’s ass, a quick movement meant in jest, or perhaps with more flirtatious intent, not that izzy would admit to it. it’s just how he is with edward, just how they are. first mate might even laugh in his retreat, grinning in earnest. “ better luck next time, love. ” it comes out casually, the way one might say it had they been thinking it, like it’s been on the tip of his tongue for a long time waiting to escape, and when it does izzy swallows pushing past edward as quick as he can and going to hide in his quarters, a grumble of apology or perhaps an excuse as to why he’s leaving parts from him as he goes, far too quiet to be properly understood. he’s so fucking stupid. ;; @izhands​

         there’s something about small, stolen moments like this that make him feel at peace. something about the back and forth of blade and words that is as easy as breathing with them both that he gets a bit swept up in it. until izzy’s blade hits his ass and he’s laughing. shaking his head as he recovers. it’s funny, it really is. and seeing izzy comfortable and smiling and having fun enough to act like this is refreshing. 

        better luck next time, love. and a glimpse of a smile on his first mate’s face have ed smiling fondly back. heart fluttering in a way that felt so familiar to him now. love.

        until izzy’s leaving as quickly as the words were said and ed blinks, stupidly for a moment before jogging after him.

       ❝ iz -- come one, iz. ❞ he whispered, until he’s met with a door in his face and he sighs, knocking lightly. once, twice. maybe izzy would get annoyed enough with him that he’d actually open the door to yell at him or -- something. 

❝ right this is it everyone, look scary ! ❞

playing pirates. with a real pirate.

louis, playing the formidable role of blackbeard (a choice which had made stede laugh so much he'd had to leave the room) instantly give his best snarling growl, lifting the sword he holds as though he'll strike right now, watch it, dog -

meanwhile, alma, just sort of, makes a face of confusion.

" look scary? real pirates don't say look scary. they just are. you don't need to look scary when you have a sword. "

" shut up, alma! it's pretend, we're pretending, '   louis complains, dropping his growl as well as the raised wooden sword.

israel shifts, and stede opens his eyes to the barely there blue light of morning before sunrise, the sort of time when a sailor ought to wake. the three of them are tangled in a mess of arms and legs - this bed is too small, really - and izzy is attempting, once again, to escape for the night. this time, stede will not be having it.

by the time izzy tries to shift over him and escape his grasp, stede has grabbed him, wrapping his arms around his middle and hauling him back onto his chest, throwing a leg around his to entrap him further. to his own contentment, ed lazily throws an arm on top of izzy to assist. not very effective, but appreciated.

" teach me how to duel. "  

he's expecting resistance here, but stede figures the best way to approach mister hands is bluntly and without flattery.    

" you're clearly more skilled than i am, and a valuable asset to have on board! but i can't win every duel by taking a sword through the stomach. and you'd benefit from me being able to defend myself as captain of this vessel. "

israel hands does not go easy on stede's training, and stede does not go easy on himself. yet even with his best efforts, he's nowhere near the same level of skill as blackbeard's first mate. stede can tell when he gets frustrated, and can do nothing to fix it.

it's mostly noticeable due to the slight fury which begins to harshen israel's blows, making it harder for stede to parry, easier for him to get hurt. he's not afraid of getting hurt, per se, but it makes it somewhat difficult to learn at times -

he should be focusing, though, since those sort of blows are being directed at him now. israel is trying to teach him a specific trick that he is failing to learn properly, and hands has been more and more frustrated with each attempt.

he's proud of being able to hold his own, somewhat, and a portion of the crew is on deck watching them train. it's become less and less of a spectacle as the days go on, but still interesting enough, especially due to the captain's rising ability to defend himself. it's not enough, however, to keep him from being swiftly and abruptly disarmed and tripped, falling backwards onto his arse, though he counts himself thankful that israel didn't stab him at least. 

" ah. again? "   stede asks, before he's even stood up, because if he's one thing, it's stubborn, but when he looks up, he finds hands talking rather animatedly to none other than edward teach.

" oh, ed. hello, darling, "   stede greets, deciding to stay reclined on the deck for now, though he's not sure either of them are noticing him at the moment. hands seems to be quite frustrated with his progress. he did realize that israel would be a strict teacher, but sometimes it is somewhat difficult to keep from getting a little frustrated himself.

huffing, stede gets to his feet. he's not done trying yet.

it's a blessing that stede bonnet doesn't have any neighbors, because it's the third night in a row that stede's stupid boyfriend picked a horror movie, and it's the scariest so far, and stede has a tendency to scream louder than the girl in the movie, and at a higher pitch too.

god, he loves his boyfriend so much. his boyfriend better love him so much for dealing with this crap. jesus.

a dark room fills the screen, and when a figure starts to take shape within the shadows, the music building, stede immediately starts muttering to himself ("fuck this. no. no. no, i'm done, i'm done, tell me when it's gone -") and he'd managed to stay to his side of the couch for the last two, but this time he is truly done with this. he scrambles straight into israel's lap, half straddling him and buries his head into his chest, dragging his blanket behind him and flipping it over his head to hide himself in it. he's got israel's stomach in a vice grip, like he'll suddenly get yanked away by some kind of horror movie monster in real life and it's stede's job to keep alive.

he's always wanted to ride a motorcycle. he knows he doesn't look the type, almost always in either a vest of a suit, half of the time with his florist's apron, reading glasses tucked into the front pocket, he certainly doesn't seem like he belongs on a motorcycle.

but he thinks he does, actually. he's always belonged wherever the wind is in his hair, wherever adventure follows, wherever he can feel his heart pulsing, reminding him he's alive.

we only have this one life, mary had said, and he intends to use it well.

" you have a motorcycle, " stede breathes, reciting the model as if he knows it by heart and reaching out to touch the shiny chrome, enjoying the feel of cool metal underneath his fingertips.

despite feeling like he was born to be wild, as they say, when izzy tosses him a helmet, he cannot figure out how it works. there's a buckle and he fully does not understand where it goes, unless it's supposed to just dangle uselessly, which he is guessing is not the intended purpose.