Thread by @theatheatheado

pt. 2 of steddyhands angst! if you spot typos no you don’t. sorry it’s so short, but i’m still not sure if i wanna continue it, so i’m waiting to see what you guys think!

#ofmd #SteddyHands

https://twitter.com/theatheatheado/status/1616662150914904064

Izzy limps his way back to his cabin, shoulders slumped and face drawn. On any ordinary day, he would be more careful. Watching his back and showing no weakness. But the day weighs on him like a hundred tonnes, and he can’t be bothered to care if he gets stabbed in the back.

His trek back to his bunk is plagued by melancholy thoughts and regrets. He should have done better. He should have worked harder, stayed quiet, and waited for his captains to deem him worthy of a salary.

The way he had gone about things was just plain presumptuous. He had insulted his captains. It’s been a long time since he has felt just this ashamed.

He pushes open the door to his room with his shoulder, nudging his way in and stopping just inside the threshold. Izzy’s thankful none of the crew was around to watch his walk of shame. He knew his face was betraying his emotions. He breathes for a moment.

The room is nearly empty, has been for as long has he’s lived in it. While the crew decorates their walls with keepsakes and trinkets, fills chests and boxes with clothes and fabrics, he has never allowed himself the luxury.

The bed has one moth-eaten blanket and a flattened pillow. He had thought about asking Stede for a new blanket, but after the reprimand he had received earlier, he wouldn’t dare ask for anything for a long while.

He pushes the creaking wooden door shut, not bothering to latch it. Edward had broken the lock months ago when he was in a darker place. Izzy truly didn’t blame him. If he wants easy access to his first mate, his captain should have it.

The man shuffles to the bed, sitting down on the edge and focusing his eyes on the bare wall in front of him. He feels cold. A sigh escapes him, but he holds in any tears that threaten to build up behind his eyes.

Ed and Stede were disappointed in him. After weeks of work and sweat and blood, weeks of exhaustion and desperate attempts at perfection, Izzy had fallen short.

He lets himself fall back onto the thin mattress. As his head hits a lump of fabric, he reminds himself to make his bed before Ed or Stede see the disarray.

The weary man then wonders where he got the notion that his captains would deign to come see him.

A stray tear trails down his face, and a leather-clad hand comes up to roughly wipe it away. He didn’t deserve to cry. He had brought this upon himself.

He doesn’t bother taking his boots off as he lays back in bed. Exhaustion was dragging him down into sleep, and he felt less exposed with his leathers on.

Curled up like that, he feels his face twitch with the effort not to cry. He wants to sleep. He wants to do better tomorrow, work harder. He can cry when he truly deserves to, not when there is still so much to be done.

And yet, the tears keep coming. And his cabin is cold, and he wishes he had a warmer blanket. For the first time in years, Izzy allows himself to weep.

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