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Israel Hands had never given much thought to his death; now, amongst the smashing and screaming and general havoc, he knew exactly how he was going to die. He was going to bash his head into the mast until his skull splintered and his brains splattered across the deck.

His life was arduous already. His captain was enamored with a pony of a man who found silk invigorating and somehow thought he had balls monumental enough to take on the great Sea herself. Bonnet’s crew was quite literally the saddest sight Izzy had ever seen and if Lucius was going to slap his arse in passing one more time, he’d gut the little ponce and wear his intestines as a necktie.

Life had been hell aboard the Revenge ; he wouldn’t deny that, but at this moment? Izzy did not have a word to describe the last few hours. 

They’d docked at the Republic of Pirates for their regular restock and leisurely stroll (because apparently pirates needed leisure now) and all was well enough. Although, he wasn’t too sure that the ship's first mate mounting his fangs and stalking a stray cat with a downright wolfish gait qualified as “well”. Lucius and Pete hung off each other like two dogs in heat and Jim was eyeing a rather beautiful knife while Oluwande looked at them as if he’d sell everything and the shirt on his back to get them their every desire. Who knows where the rest had fucked off to. 

With a huff, Izzy slammed himself against the sturdiest wall he could find and sulked. Yes, he sulked, and he was man enough to admit it. What the fuck were they doing in this godawful place? It hadn’t held any real providence since his hair was still ebony, and even then, the Republic was on its way out. The best things you could get here were a good lay and some cheap ale that would make you completely forget the former ever happened. But he wasn’t looking to get pissed or buggered.

He was looking at Edward. Edward "Blackbeard" Teach, the man you never met twice.The man he would gladly sacrifice every limb on his body to please. The man who had ribbons threaded through his braided hair and was currently letting one Stede Bonnet take a rosey sponge to his cheeks—

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Oh, Izzy!” Edward beamed, ridiculous violet ribbons in his short beard bouncing, “It’s called rouge! These fancy blokes put it on their cheeks, makes ‘em look like a fuckin’ peach. It’s brilliant—“

“Ed, stay still, or I’ll jam your eye out!”

“Oh, that’d be a damn shame, wouldn’t want that.”

“No, we wouldn’t. Don’t really know if an eye patch is your style.”

“Fuck off, I’d look damn good in an eye patch. I could be called One-Eye. The dread One-Eye.”

“Alright, One-Eye, guess we’d better lose the eye and test your little theory,” Bonnet immediately went right back in with his sponge, Edward smacking away at his hands as he half heartedly attempted to gouge the man’s eyes out. 

“Un-fucking-believable.”

“What’s that, Iz?” A year ago, Edward’s voice would have thundered like the clang of armor before battle, sharp as the blade on his hip. But now, Edward was just curious. Hopelessly, stupidly curious. Stede had ruined the man and one of these days he was going to kill him without even meaning to in that classic Bonnet way of his.

“Nothing, Boss. I’ll go check on the rest of this useless lot.”

The two continued their bickering but Izzy couldn’t give two shits, walking away before they started talking about their feelings or, God help him, rutting like rabbits. Izzy would not be privy to that again.

By the time he had turned a corner, he was already beaten over the head by wailing screams and the most chaos he'd seen since the English’s raid. The Swede was screaming so gratingly he may never sing again, running and flailing like more of an idiot than he already was. Lucius and Pete were in a corner trying to eat each other’s faces off, two grinds away from giving the entire square more than they paid for. Frenchie and Wee John were scrambling for some sort of weapon, knocking over stands and wares aplenty, though Jim seemed to have already beaten them to it, pinning some poor arsehole to the nearest wall with their blade to his throat. Oluwande was trying to soothe them to no avail, meanwhile Buttons either put his fangs back in for the occasion or never took them out in the first place, looking even more ravenous than he had with the cat. Izzy had to clear his throat not to start cackling because it was so perfectly typical. So perfectly them.

“What the hell?!” Stede squealed behind Izzy, at the same time Ed chuckled out “Wha-a-at the fuck?”

A flash of obnoxious gold whirred by as Stede stomped toward his crew, “Jim—“

Jim nearly growled, snapping their head towards Bonnet, “Captain.”

“Mind telling me why you’re threatening this kind man’s life?”

They snarled at the word ‘kind’ and Stede took a step backward. They softened a bit, saying, “Pendejo overcharged. Frenchie stepped in and nearly lost his fucking hand.” Jim turned back to the man against the wall whose smile was wider than ever. “Now, he loses his.”

“Hey, now, hey! No one’s losing a hand. Easy Jim—“

“I don’t know, mate,” Edward chimed in, arms crossed in amusement, “I’d let ‘em handle it.”

“Ay, cap’n,” Buttons piped up from behind Izzy and where in God’s name did he come from?! “I reckon Jim take both hands. This man’s a powerful warlock, if I e’er seen one.”

“A warlock? Like magic?” The first mate nodded solemnly and Stede giggled, “You’re joking... Oh, he’s not joking.”

“Yeah, no, straight magic. Buttons doesn’t joke about this witchy stuff,” Lucius agreed, straightening his clothes but doing nothing to calm the absolute brambles of his hair. 

Izzy looked about and could not believe his eyes. The Swede looked pale, huddled beneath a table while Frenchie muttered something about cats and familiars. Even Oluwande backed away from his paramour a bit. This whole lot was buying it. He desperately turned to his captain whose lips pouted in contemplation and, Jesus Christ, his whole life was as much a joke as this godforsaken crew. The only person with any sense was Jim who was so caught up in wanting to chop off this man’s extremities they likely hadn’t heard the word ‘witch’ in the first place. Izzy wouldn’t stop them, but he wouldn’t lounge about listening to this bullshit, either.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! He’s not a warlock, he’s a sad screw who smells like piss, selling that same piss in a jar!”

“Careful, Mr. Hands. Witch folk are nae known to forgive easy.”

“Go back to your fopping birds, you lunatic!” Without a thought he pounced, pounding the ground towards this madman like he was possessed. He may as well have been, the way Jim dropped their knife to their waist and stepped back, leaving the poor man to the wrath of Izzy Hands. In one deft swoop, his sword was to his throat and his breath creeping across his cheek. “You’re going to give that pathetic sack of meat with hair over there his due, you’re going to give him whatever the fuck he wanted from your little cart or I swear to God, I’ll cut you tits to arse like a fucking fish.”

This close, the man didn’t actually smell like piss. He actually smelled like cinnamon and apples. And grass. It had to be the most bizarre and off putting combination of relatively pleasant scents he had ever experienced, and he had half a mind to drop his sword and run to the Revenge with his tail between his legs— which was ridiculous, because he was Blackbeard’s goddamn first mate, and he had seen sardines scarier than him. The man smiled a creaking grin, and his teeth were a glistening white that Israel hadn’t seen on pearls, let alone in a human mouth. His eyes glimmered like he was the belle of the ball, anything but afraid of the man towering over him by at least four inches.

“Alright.”

Izzy was almost impressed, eyes widening for a moment. With a final growl, he took a lithe step back, sword edge never leaving the man’s throat, “Get on with it, then.”

And he did. The man went to his table, gathered a few jars, wrapped them and handed them to a rather tentative Frenchie.

“Good. Now, make yourself scarce. And if this crew says you even blinked at them funny, I’ll make good on it, yeah?”

“Of course, Israel. I look forward to it.”

Oh, this cocky motherfucker wanted to die!

Before Izzy actually did carry through on his promises, a familiar hand came to his shoulder and quelled the stirring storm inside him. “C’mon, Iz. We got what we came for.”

He looked up at his captain, and did not gasp in the slightest at the tender look with which he was met. A smile was tucked underneath the beginning of a thick, albeit far more gray beard blooming back across his chin, and his smile lines were deep crevices in the ocean of his tan skin. That little crease between his brows that he got when faced with a particularly perilous scheme peeked out at the world in that moment, almost in concern. Or care. He’d never seen Edward look at him so fondly.

Disgusting.

With little flourish, he turned on his heel and headed toward port. “Roach, Ivan, and Fang will be waiting.” 

The crew gathered as would a pack of wolves after a skirmish and followed Izzy from a distance. Over his shoulder he heard Wee John whisper, “Did anyone even tell him his name?”

“That was a good thing you pulled back there.”

Izzy turned around from where he leaned over the ship’s edge to find Edward, in that idiotic pink dressing gown and about nothing else but his undergarments.

“No, it wasn’t. I hate the Republic. The sooner that was over, the sooner we got back to the ship,” he grumbled.

Edward smiled wider than Izzy would’ve liked, coming to lean next to Izzy against the taffrail. “You hate this ship.” 

“I actually quite like the ship. She’s a beauty, if a little impractical. It’s the people I could do without.”

“Right. Course. Then again, you didn’t have to get Frenchie his goods. But what do I know, I’m only the world’s greatest pirate.”

That got a laugh out of Izzy. If he was honest, he didn’t know why he did it. Jim had more than plenty of room to handle the situation themself, and if worse came to worst, Blackbeard himself was about two yards away. It was all just so fucking infuriating, the chittering and chattering and magic and familiars . God, he needed to get out of this place.

“I’ll let you get back to planning our demise, then.”

“You’ll be the lucky one: I’ll let you jump overboard,” Izzy cracked mildly. He couldn’t remember the last time he made a joke, but the chuckle that bellowed in Edward’s chest made it all the more bittersweet.

“Thanks, mate. G’night.” And he turned and left, disappearing into the captains’ quarters. Disappeared to spend a night in bed with Stede Bonnet. 

“Goodnight, Edward.”

No one was ever awake before Izzy on this ship, except for Buttons— whom he was convinced hadn’t slept a day in his life. Even the Sun rarely greeted him good morning before he could greet her. So he wasn’t surprised when he reached the deck to find it empty. It was a relief: he didn’t have to step over imbeciles just to watch the sunrise on the forward.

With the mug he’d swiped from the galley in hand, he did just that, unimpeded. The Sun had barely peeked above the horizon, and she really was beautiful. Israel had never had much of an appreciation for aesthetics, but seeing sights like this reminded him why he fell in love with life at sea in the first place.

Alone with his thoughts and with some semblance of peace, he slowly realized that Buttons didn’t seem to be above deck anywhere, which was odd, but not unheard of. The strange man never could be entirely predictable and occasionally spent his time down below with the non-humans. 

Fuck , now he was learning this lot’s interests and hobbies. Curse Edward and his affection for that godawful man. 

He wasn’t Blackbeard anymore. Blackbeard had left without a trace, practically never existed. He’d come to terms with it after a while. No matter how hard he had connived and schemed and downright gaslit, his Boss would never come back, nor would the only man who’d ever given half a damn about him. The man he’d learned the ropes of this exhausting lifestyle with in their youth. Instead, he was left with Ed. Bonnet’s plaything. Something that amused him to no end and preened like a fucking cat, doing anything for a scritch behind the ear. And Ed did love a good scritch behind the ear.

But the real troubling bit was why in God’s name Izzy was still aboard this vessel of torture. Everyday was another pitiful excuse for piracy. Piracy his arse, this was more akin to a bloody puppet show.

“There you are!” Ed’s voice rang, and this time Izzy didn’t even bother turning around. The Sun was well above the shore by now and he’d already spoiled his morning with his own thoughts; he was spiteful enough to take it out on the man. “Stede’s waking the crew up for breakfast, sent me to fetch you.”

Izzy chortled, “‘Course he did.”

He heard gentle steps approach and his captain hummed beside him, “Dunno what that means, but whatever. Christ, this is a big ship, y’ever notice how big this ship is?”

“The Queen Anne was twice this size, Boss. I’ve no idea what makes you think this rowboat is anything to bat an eye at.”

“Alright, big guy, not all of us can be giant spawn like you. Really, man, what is Roach feeding you?”

“Same slop as always.”

Ed grumbled at the comment but before he could vocalize any objection, a hideous shriek Izzy would know anywhere sounded, and his bad morning somehow managed to get even worse.

“What the fuck,” he scoffed.

Edward called Bonnet’s name, sounding almost frightened, and Izzy had to look the man in the eyes, because, really?

Finally turning from the view, he didn’t even catch a glimpse of his captain, who had literally been right next to him a moment ago. “What the fuck?”

“What’s wrong, mate?” he heard Ed’s voice from behind him as a gentle hand lay itself against his mid-back, and that was not the hand of Edward Teach. Izzy’s head whipped back and something between a shriek and a gagging noise escaped him. “What the FUCK?!” He shuffled for his weapon, aiming it in the direction of the little fabric goblin before him.

“What the fuck?!” it cried, little limp arms rising to the level of its disproportionate head. It was the spitting image of his captain save for a few minor discrepancies: height and proportions and the fact that its skin entirely consisted of some sort of scratchy-looking material. It had his same trimmed beard, long silver hair, same deep brown eyes, his tan skin was on point, even his tattoos were in the exact same spot as usual, the eagle on his bare chest—could he call it a chest?— and serpent looping his figure. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

“Izzy, mate, we really gotta work on this communication thing,” it shook its head, lowering its arms and looking rather exhausted for— for a puppet . Oh, Izzy was going to spew.

He sheathed his sword, making a beeline for the main deck, leaving this textile imposter to see what the Devil Stede was on about and—

Oh, God. No fucking way. 

Little fabric iterations of every crewmate aboard the Revenge were scattered about the deck, going about their business as if nothing was amiss, the only member absent being the owner of that teeth-grinding squeal that had led Izzy to whatever felt-infested nightmare he’d walked into in the first place. 

He was fuming, wondering where that ponce had gotten himself to, when he felt a gentle pat on his rump that shouldn’t have made him jump the way he did. 

“Well, look who’s been eating his porridge.”

He turned sharply to find a miniature version of the bane of his existence, standing three feet high with a rumpled smirk on his—its— face, framed by comically pronounced mutton chops and topped with a tiny plaid scarf around its nonexistent throat.

“Oh, calm down, it’s at eye level, I couldn’t not,” Lucius laughed at the scathing scowl across Izzy’s goatee. “What are you looking for, Big Boy?”

“What the fuck are you idiots up to?” Izzy said, trying his very hardest not to sate his curiosity and find out whether puppet Spriggs would burst into feathers if thrown against a wall.

“We’re doing our chores. That’s your second favorite word, isn’t it?” That smirk deepened.

“I mean, smartass, why do I feel like I just chucked five doubloons out to sea for the worst goddamned marionette show money can buy?”

“None of us actually appear to have strings, though, so it’s not really a marionette show—“ Before he finished that thought, Izzy had his dagger out and popped the seam of his shirt cuff as if he couldn’t give a damn that it was probably his only shirt on board. If Lucius still had an Adam’s apple in his little fabric prison of a body, it was bobbing.

“I don’t know,” Lucius choked out hurriedly, “I woke up like this and if I’m honest, I don’t think anyone else has even noticed. Roach nearly cut his hand off in the galley making breakfast and I didn’t see him flinch. No blood either. I don’t even know if we can eat breakfast anymore.”

“And where’s Bonnet?”

“In his chamber. He came out, saw every one, screamed bloody murder and went flailing back in.”

Of course he did, the coward. Izzy stepped forward, placing one foot agonizingly after the other, backing Lucius against a wall and dropping to a crouch to look him in his lifeless, beady eyes.

“Go tell your harem of ragdolls to get their arses together in five minutes or I’ll personally string you all up by your toes and we can fly nine more fucking flags from the mast.”

“Yeah, mhm, sure, will do,” Arms flat against the wall, face crumpled in discomfort, Spriggs sidestepped, pattering away to the crew to convey the message.

Izzy landed his eyes on the door to Stede’s chamber and growled. He was hiding. Like he did every time his crew needed him because they had gotten themselves in some stupid predicament that somehow magically worked itself out through the power of idiocy and undeserved fortune.

He slammed the door open and his eyes narrowed in search of his prey, “BONNET!” 

A squeak echoed through the room followed by a muffled rustling of fabric. 

Izzy paced across to the bed nook, and as expected, there was a small, quivering lump beneath a ridiculous silk sheet.

“Get out.”

“No!” the lump shrieked petulantly.

“I’ve already busted the seam on my favorite shirt today, I’d hate to go busting more.” 

It wasn’t clear whether Izzy was referring to the sheet or not, but the half threat proved effective, one large eye peeking from between shining folds.

“What do you want?”

“I want to know what the fuck is happening to your crew and my captain, because last night, my boss didn’t look like he ye-e-earned to be a real boy!”

“Technically, Pinocchio was a wooden puppet,” Stede muttered dejectedly, shimmying out from his silk chrysalis wearing that auspicious golden dressing gown of his. Though it now fit him more as a blanket than anything else. “And Ed is a real boy, just kind of taking an involuntary leave if anything—“

“Bonnet,” Izzy growled out as a warning before he up and throttled the little bastard.

“Ed and I went to sleep last night, I mean, we eventually went to sleep—“

Oh, God. Someone shoot Izzy through the head, right now.

“And this morning, half dead, I sent Ed to grab you for breakfast and when I went to grab the crew we all looked like this!”

“That doesn’t answer my question… ”

“That scream you heard was completely warranted, by the way. Imagine you go to bed human and wake up with fabric skin and eyes you can touch. Really, touch them!” To prove his point, he did so. “Can’t even feel it!”

“Bonnet!”

His mouth snapped and furled shut, small hands clamped between rope-thin legs, like a pathetic cloth child who’s been scolded by mum.

“ Why? Why is this happening?” Izzy clenched the tulle of the curtain in a gloved fist, seething by now.

Stede seemed a tad more controlled; he at least wasn’t hyperventilating anymore, or whatever the equivalent was given the situation.

“I don’t know, alright? That’s what I’ve been asking myself, and now I’m asking why it’s happened to the rest of us and not you! Look at you, you’re enormous!”

He brought up a decent point. The whole crew had been affected when he had looked, but as far as Izzy could tell, he was completely normal. He touched his arm lightly to feel firm muscle; he felt his beard with his uncovered hand and it wasn’t yarn or tassels, nor was his hair. He almost ran a finger against his eye to see if it’d hurt but thought better of it. 

“Get on deck,” he huffed, halfway to the door. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this if it kills the entire ship.”

“So, we’re going to talk it through?” Bonnet smirked, the question hanging in the air expectantly.

“Fuck you. Get dressed.”

“I’m not sure my clothes fit anymore!”

Izzy slammed the door behind him. For all he cared, Bonnet could go up there arse naked as long as they figured out a way to fix this.

“Babe, I'm not going to stab you.”

“But, babe, Captain stabbed Blackbeard and look at them!”

“Yeah, look at them, two middle aged men who were too dense to realize they loved each other until after an entire year! I don’t have to stab you to prove that I love you and that’s not even why you want it, you just want to know what your guts look like as a puppet!” Lucius let it out in one long stream of words and Pete looked utterly crushed, fabric lids sliding over his glossy eyeballs in a borderline horrific display of dejection. How that worked, Izzy genuinely didn’t want to know. Lucius turned from Pete to look at Izzy and a timid-looking Bonnet who was emerging from his nest. “Well, look at that. We were here five minutes ago, where were you, Dizzy?”

“I was having to pry your so-called captain out of his silk fortress. Where is Edwa—“

Izzy couldn’t finish his sentence, a blur of pink falling from the sky and thumping onto deck before he could. When he looked down, of course there was Edward, face down and starfished on the wooden planks. Izzy chanced a glance upward to the crow’s nest from which he’d evidently jumped and then back down to his so-called captain. The little mass snapped its head up with what could only be called a manic grin, and said, “Oh, Izzy! Finally. Was wondering where you got to.”

“What are you doing, Boss?”

“Testing a little theory of ours,” he said, slowly standing and brushing himself off.

Lucius elaborated, “Since Roach couldn’t feel the knife, we wondered if we could feel pain of any kind.”

“Frenchie said we could and that Roach just can’t feel pain in general,” Oluwande pitched in.

“I’ve seen Roach cry from a splinter before, so I said we couldn’t.” said Wee John, much to Roach’s dismay.

“And! As it turns out, no: we cannot!” Ed looked utterly triumphant, hands on his hips and chin tilted upward. “Extra rations to Wee John!”

“No one’s getting extra rations, Edward. We can’t afford that and even if we could, you don’t get rewarded when your captain tries to kill himself on a whim!”

“Jesus, Izzy, lighten up. I didn’t die. That’s the point!” He turned, throwing his hands up like he’d just become King of the World with a guttural cry, “We’re invincibl-l-le!”

“Fuck yeah!” The crew erupted into cheers and screams, throwing punches in the air, Roach whacking himself in the face with a frying pan. Lucius pulled Pete into a crushing kiss, more like a smothering of each other’s faces given the lack of lips or tongues.

“Alright, guys,” Bonnet piped up, arms up in a placating gesture. “Calm down. Just because you can’t be hurt doesn’t mean this isn’t a problem. What happens when you need food?”

Thank God for Stede Bonnet. Izzy never thought he’d say that, but he meant it. The sooner these idiots were back to normal, the better.

“It’s a good question, love that,” Lucius offered, hands still fisted in Pete’s shirt.

“Who says we need to eat anymore?” Frenchie was scratching the back of his neck. “If we can’t be hurt, maybe we can’t starve.” 

“What if you have to pee?! That’s a bit awkward, don’t you think?”

Wee John shrugged, “We just don’t drink.”

“Guys! Do you really want to be puppets for the rest of your lives?!” Stede stamped his foot, aghast.

The deafening silence spoke volumes and Izzy felt his eyes in the back of his head. A couple people coughed and murmured before Edward cleared his throat, approaching his co-captain with a gentle touch to the face. “No, mate. ‘Course not.” Ed gave a scalding look to the rest of the crew, “We’re just dicking around, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.”

“Love a good dick around.”

A small smile of relief formed on Stede’s tiny face and he straightened up. “Alright then. First order of business. How’d we get to be like this?”

“I believe, Cap’n, we’ve Mr. Hands to thank.” Once again, Buttons emerged from nowhere, complete with seagull on his head, though the gull looked a great deal bigger now.

The entire deck went silent for the second time in a row as a swarm of beady eyes zeroed in on Izzy (as if they hadn’t just been swearing to the gods above that this was the best thing that had ever happened to them.)

“What d’you mean, Buttons?” Edward asked, hands never leaving Stede’s face.

“I told ye. Witch folk hold grudges like the moon holds the tide. Relentlessly.” Buttons lurked towards the only sane one on deck and Izzy backed up out of sheer discomfort. “Ye’ve made a foe of a formidable bearer of magic and now we must pay the price.”

“Please, that’s ridiculous !” Izzy spat, but he couldn’t help but swallow. There was no way that scammer from the Republic was an honest-to-God warlock. Was there?

“You were kind of a dick,” Lucius snapped, head shaking.

“Please, Jim held a knife to his throat, just the same. How do we know they’re not to blame?”

“Jim’s a puppet, too, though,” Frenchie pointed out. “You’re the only one still human, so, clearly, you’re the odd man out.”

“Why the fuck am I special?”

“I’ve been asking that for months,” Lucius mumbled to Pete.

“Hey, I can still pop your seams, Spriggs, if you’ve got more funny bits.”

“Please, the only thing you’ll be popping is a stiffy at this rate!” the puppet shouted, earning raucous laughs all around, including a couple of snorts from Edward. “Oh my God,” Lucius’ mouth was agape and his eyes somehow widened as an idea popped into his head. “I’ve just had an epiphany.” Without another word, the mutton-chopped bastard scurried off to the captains’ quarters.

“Where the fuck is he off to?” Izzy looked to Pete, who just shrugged.

“How am I supposed to know?”

“At this point, we just figured you could read each other’s minds,” Roach offered.

“God knows you’ve already invaded every other body part each of you has,” Israel growled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking abou-“

The crew lost it, a chorus of “Oh, shut up!”

“We’ve all heard you!” 

“I didn’t know men could make those noises—“

“We are adults in love! You can’t blame us for being passionate!” Pete exclaimed.

“Passionate?” Ed laughed heartily. “Sounded like you were ripping each other’s balls off and feeding ‘em to each other.” His eyebrows perked up, “You know, funny enough, it’s easier than you’d think, you just kind of slice and-“

Stede was about to grab Ed’s shoulder to cut off this colorful story before it became a rainbow under which no one wanted to bask, but a sharp bang echoed through the vast space and before they knew it, chips of wood were flying across the deck. The whole crew ducked, a rather unnecessary reaction, and Izzy ran to the railing. 

He let out an awful groan, “The fucking-“

“Spanish. Aye.” Buttons had already beaten him there and seemed to come to the same conclusion as he had. An enormous galleon with towering sails approached. “I reckon abou’ 500 men aboard. At least.”

Izzy rubbed his aching forehead with a gloved hand, “They have no sense of timing, the bastards. Christ, ready the cannons!” 

The crew scurried to positions, having been raided enough times at this point to navigate the necessary preparations. Jim, their strongest fighter, sharpened a blade, which was far too big for their tiny hands, but in no way hindered their nimble handling of it. Swede and the rest of the lot headed below deck and Izzy took his place next to Edward.

It was an odd juxtaposition to their last battle together, Izzy towering above his boss by at least two feet. Somehow, in this moment, Blackbeard still carried an air of superiority. In this small, lanky version of himself, he was just as powerful as he had been in Nassau and beyond. Basically, any time before Stede Bonnet grabbed him by the balls and made him his. He respected that about his Captain. He could fuck around and be a pansy— did so often, in fact. But no matter what midlife crisis, or actual crisis, he underwent, when the time came he was a professional and he knew his shit. 

“Buttons, man the wheel,” Blackbeard barked. “Jim, stand by. I’ll keep an eye on our visitors, meanwhile Izzy, you and Stede go supervise the men below. Make sure our ammunition is loaded and at the ready.”

“With all due respect, sir, can I please just keep an eye on the Spaniards?” If Izzy had to spend another minute with these idiots he’d run away and join the Spanish Navy.

“That’s an order, Izzy. With our crew compromised, I want my eye on this and my eye specifically. Go do your duty.” Blackbeard’s eyes held no wiggle room for argument, his brow raised and mouth creased in a firm line.

“Aye, Captain.” Izzy turned around to find a shivering Stede Bonnet, looking close to pissing himself, if it were possible. “Let’s go, Bonnet.” The half-man squeaked and Izzy stomped off before he could thrust the little fucker overboard.

Below deck was a nightmare. Puppets were scattered all over the place. The Swede was in a crouching position, hands squashed beneath a cannonball. Roach was trapped between the wall of the ship and a cannon, which, in comparison, looked the size of one of the cattle that Wee John was trying and failing to drag across the room. Oluwande and Pete were just sort of bouncing between shipwrecks, trying to resolve something and, again, failing. And where the fuck was Frenchie?

With a shout, Izzy turned back on his heel, shoving Bonnet out of the way. 

“We’re fucked,” he announced resolutely to Blackbeard, who was hanging from the mast nets with one noodly arm over his eyes. “The crew was useless before, but they are literal deck boards like this. Captain, we need to hoist the white flag, we’ve no fucking hope.”

“Izzy, tell the crew to stay below deck.”

“Well, they won’t have much problem with that — wait, I don’t follow, Captain.”

Blackbeard hopped onto deck from up high in a way that would have shattered his wounded knee were he still human and approached Izzy. “Tell. The crew. To stay. Put.”

Izzy never could predict this man, and right now was no different. His eyes widened and a shaky grin slithered onto his face. Edward always wore control well and he never hesitated to wield it against his first mate; Izzy loved it. Even now. Especially now. This was so fucked up, but Israel Hands was, admittedly, never a man with the keenest of morals.

“Yes, sir.” 

By the time he had returned above deck, the Spanish were only a couple tens of metres out and Blackbeard sat on the capstan, elbows on his knees and hand vaguely petting his yarn beard.

“Crew is awaiting orders.”

“Good,” Blackbeard stroked in contemplation, “good.”

“Sir, what is the plan?”

“It’s on its way.”

“On its — The Spanish are on their way, what do you mean ‘it’s on its way’?”

“I mean, not everything has to be cannons blazing, mate. Now, we wait.” 

And wait they did. His captain continued petting his face and Izzy stewed, mumbling about their impending doom and Hornigold never waiting to be attacked as the galleon slowly sailed their way. A dead silence settled aboard as the Spanish neared, nearly rail-to-rail with the Revenge now.

“Blackbeard—“

“Izzy…” 

A plank clattered against the taffrail, connecting the two vessels as two men in towering feathered hats and blood-red overcoats boarded across it. Behind them, what felt like the entire Spanish navy stood, itching for bloodshed. It had Izzy at sword’s point.

Preparing for battle was like playing tug of war with a frayed rope, where literal lives depend on it not snapping. Izzy, personally, would sever it in a heartbeat, if only to get the action started. He fucking hated hesitant mind games, much preferring to kill or be killed; he’d lived long enough that he knew Death would come for him soon enough, might as well be on his terms. But he knew Edward. Edward cared far too deeply for the safety of his men, now. These games were a necessity for his sound of mind. If he wasn’t doing everything in his power to maintain his crew’s well-being, he’d lock himself and Bonnet in their quarters for a week and they’d be short not one, but two captains. Blackbeard was in charge now and he loved getting his share of combat, but he’d never compromise Edward’s sanity. Izzy was still trying to understand the interpersonal relationship between the two sides of Edward Teach, and it confused the shit out of him. 

Both Spanish men looked between him and Edward incredulously. There was not much room to blame them, either.

”¿Cual de vosotros es Barbanegra?” the taller of the two asked. At least, Izzy thought it was a question. He knew exactly three phrases in Spanish: ‘no’, ‘shit’, and ‘go fuck yourself,’ and he wasn’t certain any of them were appropriate in this situation. He was leaning towards the latter two before a small figure in tan ambled between the two groups of men.

“Soy Barbanegra,” Jim answered, two daggers clutched in fabric hands and their enormous hat tipped over their eyes.

The two Spaniards looked between each other and back at Jim, eyes comically wide before bursting into hysterical laughter. Izzy had no fucking clue what Jim had said, or could have said, that was so funny. To be honest, he had just assumed they were incapable of humor. Maybe one day he’d find out what Jim’s laugh sounded like. Not ‘cause he cared. Fuck no. Curiosity and nothing more. But, the smallest of smiles appeared on their face at the two men’s cackling and he thought, just maybe, he’d find out. 

He didn’t. 

Just as the shorter one started banging on his compatriot’s back, Jim let out a guttural cry and attacked. In one swift move, they bounced off the taffrail and straddled the tall one’s hunched neck, taking one dagger and slitting his throat. With a thump, the man fell and Jim landed on their feet, little chest pumping before taking their clean dagger straight to the shorter man’s groin.

Izzy winced as the man squeaked and fell to his knees. 

“Oh! Shit, that’s gotta hurt,” Edward brought a felted fist to his mouth.

Blood smeared Jim’s coat as they cleaned their daggers. More than fifty men flooded the deck and Jim flew, hopping from man to man. Blood flew, Spaniards fell, and all Izzy could do was watch in horror and delight. 

It was over in ten minutes. Silence fell among the two ships, corpses strewn across both and Jim strutted from among them, almost as if in slow motion, face drenched in blood. It was a good look on them. Oh my god, was this what love felt like?

“So, they were the plan?” Izzy turned to his boss, whose eyes were hooded. 

He nodded his head with that low, earthy chuckle of his, “They were the plan.” 

A door slammed open behind them and Lucius stumbled out of the living quarters, Stede’s journal held aloft in his hands. “Speaking of stiffies!” The little figure’s arms dropped as he finally read the room, gore and all. A whimper echoed as one final Spaniard, holding his own entrails in hand, dragged himself across the deck. Jim quickly ended his misery with the toss of a dagger and Spriggs clutched the book to his chest, “Wh-who wants to be sketched?”

By the time the crew finished cleaning the guts and corpses off the deck, the Sun was already lingering above the mast, and the men were tired, to say the least. The ship itself had yet to be repaired, but even Jim had shed their hat and coat. Nobody was in doubt: 

“We can’t keep this up,” Lucius huffed, “It’s too hot. We’re too small. They’re too well-fed.”

Izzy scoffed, thumbs in his belt, and looked the little thing up and down, “You can fall flat on your faces from on high without a scratch and single-handedly wipe out a ship full of Spaniards but the Sun and some manual labor is too much.”

“I’m not an expert on puppet physiology, Izzy . All I know is you don’t have to worry about my seams anymore because they’re already goddamn bursting!” Spriggs was not having it, slapping a blood-soaked rag to the ground.

You had to hand it to him, he had guts— if not literally, figuratively. And he painted a vivid picture, one that Izzy didn’t really need considering the Renaissance mural of desolate puppets before him. They reeked of exhaustion and contempt. 

“Fine. In an hour, I want all of you on your feet and back to work! No exceptions!” The sheer relief that echoed among them had Izzy stomping away to the captains’ quarters. He stopped by the mast a moment. “Mr. Spriggs. Here. Now!” 

Lucius padded up the deck at his own pace. “Yeah?”

“Grab your journal. And a quill.”

His small features lit up in disgusting mirth. “Oh, Izzy,” he leaned against the sturdy cherrywood pillar, “if you wanted a sketch, all you had to do was ask. Nicely.”

This time he did it. With one gloved hand, Izzy took Lucius by the throat, which evidently did not hold the weight it once had. The bastard smiled. “Shut the fuck up. Grab your journal. You are to take notes. Nothing less, nothing more . Someone needs to record this absolute shit show,” he huffed, his breath tussling the little fabric tufts of hair on Lucius’ forehead, “and if you even look at my arse again, you get to show Pete exactly what your entrails look like.”

Lucius evidently couldn’t be bothered by the threat, “I can't get the journal from up here.” Izzy realized he’d lifted the bugger up to eye level, at which point he inelegantly dropped him. Lucius just meandered away to get the book and when he returned, they made their way to the quarters. 

Izzy hoped to God the two were decent because he had no time to delay. The ship was approaching critical condition and would only get worse the longer the crew was out of commission. With a sharp knock, Izzy just went ahead and opened the door. Much to his chagrin. He found his captain lain across the chaise, head in Stede’s lap, eyes glued somewhere down his small leather pants. Had all the clothes on this ship been turned miniature? The fuck?

“Captain—“

The little man didn’t even raise his head, just kept looking at whatever treasure lay beneath those leather britches, “Izzy, d’you think my cock still works?”

“Oh my God,” Lucius squeaked from behind.

“Like— like if I come, what happens then?” Tiny Edward’s brow furrowed and Tiny Stede just nonchalantly massaged the little crease between as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Maybe your spend would be string? Or some sort of ribbon,” Bonnet chimed.

“Wouldn’t that be something? String coming out of my dick.”

“It would make for much easier cleanup—“

“What would it even feel like? Like a snake or some shit?”

The two continued chattering away about puppet jizz and Izzy was about to vomit. “Please, kill me.”

Spriggs was losing his mind at this point, cackling almost silently. He looked two seconds away from pulling out the journal and starting his new gallery. With a fist under his chin, he finally composed himself and sighed, “I don’t think I will, though.”

Well, he was no fucking help. Izzy took a hesitant step forward and cleared his throat, “Uh, boss.”

“Yeah, Iz? Something to pitch in?”

“No– No. I was just going to say, we need a plan.”

“Sure, sure, but the important bit is — can I still feel pleasure? Can’t feel pain, but if Stede touched that sweet spot, could I still go off like a cannon?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that!” Stede lit up, ceasing his ministrations on Ed’s forehead. “We’ll have to try—“

“Oh my God! A plan! Give me a plan, or so help me God, I will shove your boy into one of the cannons and blast him out to sea again!”

“Alright!” Stede conceded, tossing a look at a shaken Lucius. He quite clearly did not want to endure that again, especially given his current state, and Bonnet seemed loath to put him through it. “A plan, my love. We need a plan.”

Ed sighed, begrudgingly getting up from his nesting spot. “What’s the status? How bad is it?”

“I told you. They may as well be fabric cannonballs for how much good they’re doing above deck. If we want to get anything done, we need them human again.” 

Edward nodded, getting into the mind of Blackbeard for a moment. Blackbeard would know what to do. At least, Izzy hoped to God he did, because he sure as fuck didn’t.

“Have Buttons divert course back to the Republic. When we make landfall we’ll find the witchy bloke that did this to us and have him undo it. I want to handle this personally, Izzy.”

“Captain, it’s my mess. I can handle it—“

“Just like you handled it so well the first time?”

“That was different; he was being antagonistic, I was caught off guard.”

His captain hummed disbelievingly, “You looked plenty on guard to me. Are you arguing with your Captain?”

Izzy shifted his weight between two feet, that iron stare of Blackbeard’s gouging into his very core. His remaining toes curled in his boots, “No, sir.”

“Didn’t think so. Well, that settles it, then. Izzy, go man the deck. Lucius, come have a seat.” Edward settled back into Stede’s personal space, where his co-captain resumed stroking, this time his short yarn beard. “You’ve notes to take.”

Spriggs did as he was told and, of course, Izzy did too, turning on his heel to exit.

“That was wonderful, my love. You were so assertive!” Stede chirped from behind and it was teeth-grinding, the utter glee he held at Edward absolutely annihilating Izzy.

“Thank you, gorgeous. All in a day’s work. Now, back to it. Lucius, what do you think would happen to my balls if…”

Fuck Izzy’s entire life.

That brought him to the main deck where, evidently, Izzy’s personal hell had manifested itself. 

Roach and the Swede both stood on opposing yards, preparing to jump. Izzy never understood the purpose of “Yardies,” nor why Edward found them so entertaining. There were plenty less drastic forms of self-mutilation in his opinion, and most of them were far more badass. But considering the fuckers couldn’t die anymore, it wasn’t exactly the stupidest thing they could be doing. Two thuds sounded behind Izzy as he made his way down the ship. 

Frenchie sat to the side near a few barrels, sewing some pattern into Wee John’s arm with black thread and Jim had Black Pete against a wall by some daggers, chucking one scarily close to his nether regions. Izzy thought he saw one sticking out of the man’s right arm, but he didn’t honestly care. Knowing that little masochist, he probably asked for it.

When he found Buttons, he was sitting on the bow with Olivia and Oluwande. All three sat in an amenable, albeit unsettling, silence, given the chaos that came before them. 

“Captain wants you at the wheel, Mr. Buttons. We’ll be returning to the Republic of Pirates to get this all sorted out.”

The Scot turned at a turtle’s speed, eyes likely the bulgiest of them all, taking up almost his entire head. “You’re no handlin’ this yourself, are ye? Not that you’re not a competent man, ye just lack the finesse it takes to deal with sorcerer–”

“Blackbeard will be handling the situation, thank you, Mr. Buttons! At the wheel. Chop chop!”

Izzy turned to return to the main deck. 

“Christ, that man’s got an eel up his arse,” Buttons guffawed and Oluwande let out a chuckle.

“Tell me about it.”

Olivia squawked in agreement as Izzy finally made his way out of earshot. The second he hit deck, a small blur of blinding light flew past him, screaming in elation. Following behind it was a mini-sized Wee John, and Izzy realized they had evidently gotten their hands on the flint stores. In the background, Swede sang a haunting, high-pitched rendition of Air de Feu. It was ear-grating; the ridiculous man had lost his gift. 

“Oi! Idiots! It’s a wooden vessel!”

The two stopped in their tracks and just sort of stared at Izzy, Frenchie still on fire. “And?”

Izzy just about flailed his arms and stomped on the ground, he was so sick of these stupid fucking puppets, “ And you goddamn lunatics are going to set the whole ship ablaze!”

Wee John looked at Frenchie and Frenchie back at Wee John, shrugging.

“Put it out! NOW!”

The two just shrugged again and resumed running, with Frenchie still on fire and Izzy could only pray to God it was to go put it out. Though he supposed burning alive wasn’t so horrible a fate, compared to this. He simply turned, and continued down the main deck.

Jim was still at it with Pete, upwards of ten knives surrounding him. Some were lodged in his body, while others just clung to the clothing covering it. Izzy approached them and held out a hand to the small, dagger-wielding beast.

For a moment Jim just squinted, confused about whether they were being scolded or not. But when Izzy kept his mouth shut, they carefully placed a dagger in his hand and stood back.

Without a second to blink, Izzy flung the blade with startling precision, right into Pete’s stomach.

“What the fuck?!” Pete screamed as if he had actually felt the knife pierce him.

“Oh, calm down. You’ve already got seven holes in you, another won’t kill you.” At this rate, Izzy wasn’t sure that a hundred would kill him.

“What happens when we turn back into people?! Are my guts magically just not going to spill everywhere?”

Izzy raised his head to the sky as Pete continued his complaining and whining. He begged his God to just end it. Smite them all right now.

“Pete!” a voice echoed about the ship and Lucius sprung forward to his lover’s side. “What the hell?”

“Oh, hey, babe! Jim was just getting in some practice! I offered to be their target.”

“Yeah, I see that, babe, but what happened to not getting stabbed up before we figure out what the fuck’s going on?”

“C á lmate, amigo. He’s fine! Look at him. Spry as ever.” Jim promptly snatched each dagger from the poor bloke’s body and he didn’t even flinch. Their point was looking pretty solid until the final blade was yanked, and then Pete inelegantly hit the floor. 

“Spry as a geriatric barnacle, more like. C’mon, love. Let’s get Roach to sew you up before you get stuffing all over the deck.” Lucius easily pulled Pete to his feet and dragged him to the mast, to wait for Roach’s next Yardy.

“Rough day?”

He looked over, and Jim was sitting against the taffrail, spinning their knife between agile fabric fingers, looking up at him with that smug look they wore so well. The fact that they were a puppet just made it ten times as effective, oddly enough.

With a sigh, he plopped down, right next to them, and pulled out his own blade, “No shit.” 

Across deck, he could see Buttons headed towards the helm, and in a few minutes, he felt the ship turn ever so gently. If they were lucky, they would make it to port by sunrise.

“Y’think we’re actually going to be normal again, soon?” 

“God, I hope so. ‘M running out of threats. They keep their puppet bullshit up, I’ll have to start picking them off, one by one.”

“Well, touch Oluwande and you die, but the rest of this bunch is fair game.”

“Duly noted,” Izzy sighed, pricking his finger with his dagger. Well, at least he could still bleed. 

“They’re fucking insane,” Jim deadpanned and Izzy was wheezing before he knew it because that was the understatement of the century. “Oluwande told me that Buttons literally took a bite out of the Swede. Put his fangs in – those still fit – and just ripped a piece off. Stuffing. Everywhere.”

“Yeah, well, at least you don’t have to hear your captain pondering the functionality of his fabric cock.”

“Yikes,” Jim flinched, “you win.”

The two laughed for a moment, honest-to-God laughed.

“How’d we end up the only sane ones here? Us, of all people.”

“The things you do for love,” the words came out slowly and each landed like blows to Izzy’s chest. The two made deafening eye contact– he wasn’t aware eye contact could deafen, but he couldn’t hear shit right now. “You know it’s true. And don’t go threatening me, old man, I’ll gut you before you can spit out the word ‘fuck’.” 

He didn’t doubt they could and he wasn’t sure exactly what they were so sure was true. But they were right. That cheeky bastard was right. “I dunno what you mean,” he shook his head in defiance and stood, offering a hand to Jim. “I’ve a bottle of rum tucked away in my quarters. Care for a glass?”

Jim laughed, standing without Izzy’s aid. “I’d care for three.”

The two headed to the galley, Jim retrieving a few mugs and Izzy fetching that bottle so they could spend the next few hours drinking and talking. And drink and talk they did. They drank and talked. And drank and talked. And drank and… where was this going?

Where was any of it going? Physically, they were headed to the Republic, but in the grander scheme of things, where the fuck were they going? They never had a destination. All they had were a taut few decent sailors. Two of which he hadn’t seen all day. Where the hell had Ivan and Fang gone? He bet they were fearsome little puppets. Maybe he ought to go look for them. 

“Well!” Izzy slammed the table in front of him a little harder than necessary and fumbled with his chair getting up. “This… has been… an experience.”

Jim looked up at him from their chair with a small smirk on their face. “Yeah, it has been. Are you– good? Do you need your cane?”

“What? No. Nooo. I’m– I’m wonderful. Perfect. Peachy. I’m just gonna go see where my useless fuckers have fucked off to. My useless fuckers, not yours.”

“Thank you. For the clarification,” Jim snickered, looking sober as the day they were born.

“How the fuck are you not pissed? You drank twice as much as I did and weigh half of what I do.”

“What can I say? I’m invincibl-l-le!” They waved their little arms in the air half-heartedly. Right. They couldn’t fucking die, of course they couldn’t get drunk. Izzy nodded, straightening his askew hair. “Good night, Izzy.”

“Night, Jim.” Izzy slurred, and just as he was about to start stumbling away, a light tapping filled the air of the galley. He turned sharply, searching for its source only to find nothing.

The tapping stopped. “What are you looking for, Diz?” 

If Izzy let out a mild squeal, he would never admit it, looking down to see Lucius and Roach at his feet. Ah. He’d been searching entirely too high up. How many glasses had he had?

“What is that incessant tapping noise?”

“Jesus, man, eat a mint,” Roach snarked, waving his hand in front of his pointy felt nose.

“Shut up. What was the noise?”

“Oh, it was just my new legs.”

Izzy looked at Spriggs, aghast. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The small man simply pulled up his pant legs to show his actual legs– which weren’t actually his actual legs, but that was neither here nor there– which were no longer fabric but wood. “Pete thought it would be hilarious if I actually was a little wooden boy and my legs were sticks.”

“It is pretty amusing,” Roach agreed. “I did the amputation myself,” without any qualms whatsoever, he pulled out a meat cleaver that looked comically large in his hands and Izzy had to take a great step back. 

“He’s actually quite skilled. And Pete whittled the legs, I think they look rather nice!” Lucius chuckled, nudging Roach. “We should totally do the arms next.”

Roach was beaming at the suggestion and Izzy was quickly losing his patience. He turned and headed to the stairs, not bothering to grace any of it with a word. 

“Good night, Spewy!”

His middle finger raised over his shoulder and the two puppets just cackled at his misery.

When Izzy surfaced, the deck was entirely bare, the whole crew evidently having gone under for the night. He never understood the sleeping arrangements on this ship. Some nights they were above, some nights they were below, some nights he swore they were neither and he was on the ship entirely on his own. No consistency. Ridiculous.

He didn’t even know where Ivan and Fang slept, and they were supposed to be his charge. 

“IVAN!” He screamed, “FA-A-A-NG!”

A voice echoed somewhere above him, “Moon glow, Mr. Hands!”

Buttons? Shit, was it a full moon already? He turned his head up to the sky, and sure enough, there was the Moon, in her full and entire glory. He couldn’t tell if he preferred nights or mornings at sea, to be honest, but he knew that the Moon gave the Sun a run for her money on nights like these. If he got to see this every month, he’d spend the rest of his life on this ship of felt-covered cretins in a heartbeat.

Izzy just stood for a moment, staring at the stars. They twinkled and glimmered and glittered and squeaked. Squeaked?

What the hell?

That little squeak sounded again and it was definitely not coming from the stars. A giggle followed, and this time Izzy was certain it was coming from the captains’ quarters.

Now, Izzy was no idiot. He had spent half his life on ships and knew what went on among crew mates, and apparently co-captains. At this point, however, he had no more fucks to give and was just pissed enough to flounder his way through the door to the cabin. He stopped just outside of the actual door to their quarters and held his ear to it.

“Oh my God, mate, your cock’s so soft,” the voice belonged to Edward and Izzy rolled his eyes. He could feel his stomach stirring in… in something. Disgust. Resentment. Jealousy? He didn’t have the word for it and was too drunk to try hard enough to find it.

“Sorry, Darling, I really am trying.” Stede’s voice was high-pitched and hoarse and utterly infuriating. He didn’t sound like a man, he quite literally sounded like a little wooden puppet.

“No, no, no, mate. Feel it. It’s like velvet.”

Another squeak sounded and Izzy could only imagine what was happening on the other side of the door.

“Oh– God. Edward, do that again!”

“Yeah? Y’like that?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Can’t wait to get the little bugger in me. Feel your string filling me up…”

Edward continued spewing obscenities, utter filth, really. Not that Izzy could hear any of it, he was too busy bolting out onto deck, away from whatever the fuck he’d just been witness to. 

He could still hear the whining and moaning echoing loud enough for the entire ship to hear. They sounded like dying cats and Izzy was actually about to start throwing up. Out of every absurd thing he had been through the past twenty-four hours, this he could not cope with. It was one thing to hear about something, but hearing it happen – and hearing it happen so deafeningly – was something entirely other.  

Oh my God! Oh my God. Oh, GOD! Could they please shut up?!

Without so much as a growl, he went to the taffrail and threw himself overboard.

The Sun had barely broken the shoreline by the time Izzy surfaced onto the beach. The tide had been helpful, but if he was honest, he’d been kicking his way to salvation for the better part of three hours. The farther he got from that ship and the closer to the Republic of Pirates, the better. 

Navigating was no challenge whatsoever. He’d been here so many times in his career he could walk the place blindfolded. Not that he’d ever admit it with how much he audibly and abusively professed his hatred for it. But now, the Republic was his last hope. The one thing keeping him from a lifetime of ridiculous goddamn puppets.

Fucking Blackbeard and his fucking pet and their stupid fucking crew. If his boss had just kept his heart in his chest and his cock in his pants, none of this would’ve happened. Frenchie wouldn’t have met that ponce at the Republic, Jim wouldn’t have held a knife to his throat, Izzy wouldn’t have intervened, the crew wouldn’t be fucking fabric half-men. So many things never would have happened if Stede Bonnet hadn’t been around. For one, Izzy wouldn’t be sopping wet as he pounded sand towards the square with his tail between his legs, about to try and lick some witchy fucker’s boots. 

Several people gave him the side-eye, to which he simply flashed his teeth. They could look at him all they wanted; he had business to attend to and he wasn’t waiting for Blackbeard to take care of it.

The Republic’s square was an ever-revolving cycle of vendors, and no two days were exactly alike. Izzy wasn’t a hundred percent sure the man would still be here, as it was a rather busy day, and the usual bloody havoc was especially raucous. Finding this bloke was going to be an especially difficult feat, but Izzy was nothing if not a determined man. 

He spent two hours searching. Two hours scouring and threatening passersby and screaming like a banshee in public. He was actively losing his goddamn mind and he had no idea how far behind the crew of the Revenge would be. What a dick he’d look if they found him and he hadn’t even gotten ahold of the man who did this to them.

With a resigned sigh, he shuffled on to the only place to get a decent drink around here: Spanish Jackie’z. Even freshly sober, he needed to get wasted. 

As he walked through the door, the stench of blood and filth pervaded the room. The entire place was filled to the brim with drunkards and gamblers, yelling and cackling and snorting and hacking their lungs up. A couple of groups of men were actively trying to kill each other in a corner. Yep. Still a shithole. But it was currently the only shithole he was willing to endure. 

He made his way to the bar. The barkeep, a sturdy man with “SJ” branded on his cheek, looked up to see Izzy and the pitiful look on his face either meant that he was miserable or Izzy looked as much like shit as he felt.

“Just get me something that’ll fuck me up.”

The man nodded, headed to the back, and returned with a pungent-smelling mug. “Cheers,” he muttered, fleeing from Izzy faster than would have been considered polite. But Izzy was a pirate and didn’t care about politeness and manners! Christ’s sake. He took several large drinks from his mug and it tasted like acid. Perfect. That meant it would work.

“Israel Hands. Where the fuck have you been?” He knew that voice. And he hated that he did.

“Spanish Jackie. Where do you think I’ve been?” Izzy wiped the remnants of his drink from his goatee as the tall woman came up to his side at the bar.

“You’re still sailing with Blackbeard and that fancy little idiot of his?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Christ, no wonder you came knocking on my door. I knew you’d take me up on my offer, eventually.” Her wooden hand settled on his shoulder and he grimaced. There it was. This was why he hated this place. There were actually several reasons, but this was a big one.

“Jackie, you know how I feel about marriage.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know your sob story. Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she flagged over her husband behind the bar, getting herself a drink. “So, why are you here, Izzy? You hate this place.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Jackie chuckled, “Try me, kid.” Izzy grumbled, knowing for a fact he was too old to have her call him ‘kid’ but halfway through his second glass of swill he wasn’t going to say anything.

“Edward… The boys, Bonnet, his crew… All of them. They’re–” he was choking on the word. He just had to spit it out and try not to think about everything he’d gone through. He finally growled it out, “ puppets. ”

There was an odd silence and when he turned to look, he found exactly what he was expecting: Jackie looking at him like he’d grown a second head. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had. It seemed anything was possible these days. “Puppets?” She spit out the word exactly how Izzy would have two days ago.

“Puppets.”

“That’s not some pirate slang I’m not up to date with, is it?”

“No, it’s not slang. Literal puppets. They are tiny, insane, fabric pieces of shit that make me want to blow my brains out.”

“Julio! Get this man another drink,” her husband nodded, “and get me one, too. Fuck, man.”

“Tell me about it.”

“How did that happen?”

“Some fucker out in the square. Ripped off one of my – Stede’s crew. Things got heated, I said and did some things that I regret now. Must’ve pissed him off. If I’m honest, I was warned. The first mate told me he was a ‘warlock.’ But the man’s insane, how was I supposed to know he actually had magic?”

“Warlock?” Jackie stroked her chin with one hand and pulled out a cigar with the other, “You mean Alastair?”

Izzy’s neck almost snapped as he yanked his head up from his drink and to Jackie, “Alastair?”

“Yeah, Alastair,” Jackie waved with her wooden hand towards the back of the room, where a cloaked man sat. The entire top half of his face was hidden in shadow, but visible was a pearlescent smile that he had only ever seen once in his life before. “Real name’s Albert, but that doesn’t really give the vibe he’s going for. But yep. Al’s a regular.”

Izzy was fuming by this point. “A regular pain in my arse.” Before he knew what he was doing, Izzy leaped into action. As he approached the little two-seat table, he could smell cinnamon and apples and grass. This was his man.

“Albert,” Izzy said, cleverly. He had meant to say something witty and cutting, but any smart remark quickly died in his throat as the man lifted his head and two piercing blue eyes met his gaze. Hadn’t his eyes been brown two days ago?

“It’s Alastair, actually. Hello again, Mr. Hands.”

“I don’t care what you’re called, I care that we’ve unfinished business.”

“Unfinished business? Of what nature, might I inquire?”

“Of a small, fabric nature. You’ve done somethin’ to my crew and I’ve been dealing with their antics ever since. I want it stopped.” 

Albert chuckled, “Well, if you would like it to be over, that’s really up to you, Israel.”

“What do you want?” Izzy shrugged, “You want money? Fame? A good fuck?”

“I want you to ask me.”

“I already asked–”

“Nicely.”

This little bastard thought he was cute. He was not seriously going to make Izzy do this, was he? He stared the man down and could tell that neither of them were going to budge. 

How badly did Izzy want his captain back? He had to remind himself that he hadn’t really served Blackbeard for over a year now, and Puppet Ed, while extremely hypersexual and a little less self-preserving, wasn’t much of a change from regular Ed. And Jim was actually a rather pleasant puppet to be around. The rest of the crew, however, were going to get him killed, one way or another. And above all else, Izzy valued himself. As it was, the puppets were a liability and something had to be done about that.

“Would you so kindly turn my crew back into humans?” Izzy’s teeth were gritted the entire sentence, and he was lucky he even got through it without cursing.

“You see, Mr. Hands.” Albert stood from his seat, and looked up at Izzy, almost chin-to-chin, “The problem is I don’t believe you want it.”

“Believe you me, there is nothing I desire more in this world than to see my captain walk through that door and he be taller than me, with human eyes, and a human nose, and teeth in his fucking mouth.”

“Really?” Albert smiled.  “Prove it. Get on your knees. Beg for your captain back.”

Izzy growled, threw the man against the wall, and held him there by his throat with an iron grip. The entirety of Spanish Jackie’z fell dead silent.

“It seems we’ve returned to familiar horizons, Israel.”

“I beg for no one,” he grunted it out like a man would his final breath, and the man before him chuckled madly.

“I bet you’d beg for your captain,” Albert snarked, voice hoarse and blue eyes shining.

On instinct, Izzy reached for his sword, and just as he was about to plunge it through the useless scum, said scum spoke again. “If you kill me, you’ll never get him back.”

Izzy stopped, the tip of his blade shaking against the man’s robes. He was right. He wasn’t exactly sure what he thought would happen once the man was dead. Albert hadn’t lied to him yet, and the look in those wild eyes of his made him certain he wasn’t bluffing. If Albert died, Izzy would never see Edward, the real Edward, again. No more gleaming smiles and laughs, or widened eyes in the heat of battle. No more epic adventures next to the man he’d pledged his very being to so many years ago. 

With great contempt, Izzy dropped his sword and fell to his knees. Various cheers and boos sounded behind them as recently invested spectators supposedly either won or lost their bets. Addicts, the lot of them. But Izzy had chosen his fate. 

The things you do for love.

“Please,” Izzy choked out, eyes glued to the ground, “give ‘em back. I’d give anything for them to be normal again. Just give ‘em back.”

“As you wish,” Albert snapped his fingers as if that was all it took. As if Izzy hadn’t just fought tooth and nail only to give him his dignity in its entirety. Because he had fought. Izzy had spent decades of his life fighting to become a man who didn’t kneel, who didn’t have to kneel. Only to be brought to his knees for a bunch of puppets. “You can stand, now. I’ve got what I wanted.”

And Izzy did. With his head hanging, he stood like a dog who had just had his balls snipped. He would never forgive himself, “Are you happy, now?”

“Quite. Thank you for your kind manners. I know how difficult that must have been for you.”

Izzy snapped his head up, snarling, “You really don’t.”

Wait a minute. He thought he had stood up, but Albert still towered over him. And Albert was sitting. Albert should be looking at his crotch, not the other way around. He looked down to his feet and yes, he was indeed standing.

“What the fuck?”

“Problem, Mr. Hands?” Albert crossed his legs and took a long sip from his drink. Just then, he realized the entire bar had broken into wild laughter. He turned and everyone’s attention had zeroed in on him, some pointing as well. And they were all enormous.

“What the fuck?”

Just as Izzy was about to start screaming, the door to Jackie’z slammed open and almost in slow-motion, in walked a towering, bearded man with long, graying hair in a loose bun and tattoos crawling up his muscular arms. Behind him was a man, not too much shorter than the first, with golden hair that shone in the candlelight, wearing an auspicious teal overcoat. 

“What the FUCK?!”

“Daddy’s home,” Albert laughed.

As the entire crew of the Revenge flooded Jackie’s bar, all entirely normal and as if the past two days had never even happened, Edward turned to find the source of everyone’s attention.

“Izzy! We’ve been looking for–” Edward jumped back as if Izzy had tried to bite him and looked at him with those wide eyes. “Holy shit, man! You, too?”

Izzy threw a glare Albert’s way only to find that the man was nowhere to be found, replaced by a vague cloud of smoke. 

“What the fuck?!”

“You seem smaller than we were,” Edward pouted his lips, “Hey, Stede!”

“Boss, please–”

“C’mere!”

“Edward, I am begging you–”

“Yes, my love?”

“Does Izzy seem smaller than the rest of us were?”

“Yes, he does. How odd. Well, Lucius was the smallest of us. Lucius! Come here!”

Lucius approached his boss, carrying his journal, “Yeah, Stede?”

“Lucius, would you say you were larger than Izzy is now, or smaller?”

“Oh my God. This is happening. Pete! Babe! Come on, you’ve got to see this.”

Pete’s eyes were the size of the moon when they found what everyone had been gawking at, “Holy shit.”

“That’s what I said!” Edward agreed, pointing his finger amicably at Pete.

“I have got to sketch this. The world has to see, they have to know…”

One by one, the entire crew trickled into the crowd until Izzy was surrounded by the crew he’d sacrificed so much for. Frenchie and Wee John probably laughed the hardest;  Oluwande was smiling just as wide as he had been when they were about to throw Izzy overboard; Roach and the Swede were warily circling him, Buttons less warily so; Jim, bless them, at least had the decency to pretend that they weren’t going absolutely batshit over whatever the hell this was like the rest of them. They all examined him like some specimen begging to be poked and prodded. In that moment, he knew exactly what had happened.

Just to confirm, he felt his arm with his ungloved hand. Limp. He grabbed at his chin. Yarn. And with a resounding sigh, he took his finger and poked his eye.

“Fuck you, Albert.”

FIN