#i stumbled home in one of the worst pains/nausea ive had in years | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carpsurprise · 3 years ago

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sorry for my absence but... i bring pirate!sam.... this is also posted on ao3, if you’d rather read there..... but yes this is gender neutral “farmer”.. not beta read bc ive been losing sleep over this... under a read more because it’s long as hell. and thank you to the discord for fueling me many late nights to write this!!

the teasing nature of the ocean, and those in tune with it:

word count: 7.8k

summary: after wishing to become one with the sea for as long as the mind had allowed it, the newest shipmate had taken longer than usual to become accustomed to the physical ailments of being at sea, soon learning that their mental state would become the worst affected. the only pirate that had given them any mind was sam, an immature yet charming pirate in the higher ranks. his closeness to them unfolds as his attempt for some type of distraction from his own loss of self at sea.

warnings: allusions to s//cide, drowning, and not beta read.

PART I, INTRODUCTION

It was only supposed to take a couple days to stop their seasickness, hearing from the few ship mates they had encountered in their bedridden, infant days onboard that the body would become acclimated in no time. Never underestimate the human body’s quickness to adapt! the captain cried out soon after allowing them their rest time before their expected labor. This was an amazing opportunity no one could pass up, no one like the newest recruit, who had dreamed of days at sea since childhood, and longed for the nights of open starscape and the wail of the wind at full speed.

Yet, even with this wonderful expectation, they lay bedridden in their hammock, deep below the wooden deck that creaked with each step. The ship would groan with each bob in the water, the sounds of horrible screeches that came from deep within the ship furthered their nausea. Even if they had a few moments of solace between sick spells, anything would be better than the quiet squeals of the wood beneath the water. Despite that notion, that repeated itself in their mind, the back of their head had allowed no movement. Their head would turn to vomit every so often, scrambling out of their bunk and to the wood pail beneath them. The only company to be had before nightfall was a woman with strange, blue hair, decorated with gold jewelry and piercings—and a bird that sat on her shoulder, he seemed to have an injured wing, but in their sickness it was hard to tell— who would bring a wet cloth to dab on their head every so often.

In their loneliness their acceptance aboard rang through their head alongside their migraine. Excited jitters fizzled through their body as jolts of pain replaced them, making it known to the newest mariner: the sea was not one to mess with. Yet, even in sickness, this was the opportunity they had dreamed of. Perfect scenarios replaced thoughts of pain, the wondrous look of joy wrinkling the captain’s face as he had met his newest recruit etching itself deep into their mind.

“Welcome aboard!” He grinned, shaking their hand with a firm grip. The stumbled, losing their footing with the slight movement of the ship and the strength of his hands, the sheer roughness against their palm scratching at the skin. “Gonna need to toughen up if you want to make it out here at sea!”

With a nervous laugh, they responded with his honorific, keeping their eyes off of the few gold teeth that lined his mouth. The crew had already begun their preparations to set sail. Shipmates ran to their posts as maps made their way to the captain’s quarters to begin navigation. Snapping themselves out of their dreamlike trance, they ran to their assigned post, readying for departure before their sickness had hit.

Hit, it had. The joly of the ships movement had thrown them off their feet, the nausea of first-day-anxieties and the never ending cycle of waves flooded from their stomach up straight to the back of their head. The sea had claimed another victim within an instant, but showed its mercy for the first and last time to them. They had finally regained consciousness where they lie now, eyes trained on the flimsy roped hammock above them, a leg draped over the side as they clutched their stomach between gasps. After one last sleep, they decided they would start their duties on the ship. No matter the cost of their health, their goal of becoming one with the sea would be achieved.

A full night of rocking, being woken every so often by the shipmates’ chatter in the dead of night, and the lingering pit in their stomach had made the attempt at rest useless. But, by sheer willpower, they had managed their feet to land securely on the floor by dawn. Their grip on their hammock lingered for a moment, bracing themselves for sickness. At long last, their connection to the physical land would be forgotten for a life at sea, with its eternity of waves and comforting wind.

PART II, THE TEASING NATURE OF THE OCEAN, AND THOSE IN TUNE WITH IT:

Finally able to enjoy the asylum of the sea, the comforting kiss of its mist and the heat of the sun’s rays, they had finally made their way out onto the boat, far from the confinement of the ship. After three sickening days aboard, they could finally muster to keep their head up. Throwing themselves against the rails of the ship carefully, they gazed over the side of the ship with a frown. Their reflection was not there, not like in a river or lake. A puff of air had escaped them, uselessly searching for any ounce of their own face. Chatter had ensued behind them, pulling them from their questioning looks to a faceless being and back to the people of the ship.

They were docked at some seaside town, mates running on and off the ramp of the ship as the town’s commotion sparked up. A few pirates they had recognized, some that stayed in their rest quarters, others that had walked past their bunk in frenzied states. Almost no one had introduced themselves, a kind face far in between indifferent ones. It wasn’t too big of a matter to them, just a bit odd from their days on the coast back home. But, this wouldn’t break them, or their pursuit of one's truest connection to the sea. Walking with haste to the side of the ship, they braced themselves against the wood rails, carefully tipping themselves to see the movement of water the best they could. It had seemed so inviting; the playful lap of water seeming almost childish in a strange way, beckoning them forward to indulge in its coolness.

The talking behind them had taken them out of their thoughts, passers by noting that there were only ten minutes more until departure. Their heart beat with nervous excitement, feeling that if everything in their life were to fall into place, now would be it. Helping with mundane tasks around the ship, traveling far across the horizon, and exploration of new lands untouched by others for decades sounded like heaven, the crash of waves against the ship and harbor echoing as a sort of applause for their accomplishment. It should have been the perfect sign that the wind was picking up, and that they were due to set sail.

The ship jolted against the waves, the wind whipping their hair from them and tearing at the skin. Without the painful headache pooling at the back of their skull, the ride of the waves would have made them feel nearly weightless. Their legs shook from the motion, a familiar feeling of unease settling in their stomach. Sea air had always calmed them as a kid, but the sudden jolts of the boat left a sharp pain of unease within them.

“Gotta get your sea legs sometime, dear!”

The teasing remark had come from above, unfamiliar kind eyes paired with a teasing smile from inside the crow’s nest. He grabbed at the rope blowing by the nest, sliding down and switching hands every so often in a futile attempt to avoid discomfort. The ship’s shaking hadn’t stopped, yet he had no issue. His feet planted firmly on the wood deck. His confidence radiated off of him, well accompanied by his bright smile.

Their legs had still felt as if they were going to give out, whether it be from the choppy movement or the bold quirk of his eyebrow. He had a confident air to him, mindless flipping a gold coin off of his thumb every couple seconds. “So you’re the newcomer the captain allowed onto the ship, huh? Guess I won’t say anything, if he thinks it’s the right thing to do.”

With little clue what the man had meant, and wanting to avoid any conflict with a man that had a sword tucked to his side, they had decided to ignore his last comment. Despite his words, his tone was happy and unbothered, while his expression was distant, but content. The commotion to their side had signaled that the anchors had been raised, and that they were due to set sail soon. He returned his attention to the newest shipmate in front of him, asking their name with visible interest.

Humming, he flipped his coin once more before putting it back into a bag tied to his belt. “Sam,” he introduced, “your fellow shipmate— one of the higher ranking ones, mind you.” He bowed with his words, clearly proud of his title. He readjusted the chains across his chest, flipping them inside and out before pulling his hand away. “Y’know I used to be just a cabin boy when I was younger, but my past captain told me I deserved better.”

“Oh,” they responded, “interested in becoming a captain of your own ship?”

“Not in a million years! He has no fun! He’s one of the better captains I’ve been with, but even then, I’d never do something so serious. I don’t want the fun sucked out of me. It’s so easy to lose every bit of yourself out here.”

“It couldn’t be that bad.”

He laughed, “Ya haven’t spent more than fifteen minutes on the main deck, dear, just wait it out. I hope you don’t end up like the others, it’d be a shame.”

For the second time in their short interaction, the newcomer was at a loss for words at his cryptic nature. At the sound of a battle cry-like sound, Sam had turned himself around, pulling on the ropes of the mast to raise the ship’s flag high atop the mast. Soon enough, their departure had started, signaling the truest start of their adventure. Talk had ensued behind them, catching the tail end of a conversation about the next two weeks at sea. Perhaps, with good luck, their sea legs would come with the waves and the moon’s cycle.

Mumbling to themselves, they returned to their post, eager to rid themselves of their headache. Their sea legs would come with time, they had hoped, but thinking that the best plan of action was to fulfill their duties, they had involved themselves in the art of a pirate’s life the best they could. A week of smooth sailing had passed, their body sore from its arduous work on deck. A few shipmates had become at the very least, acquaintances. Not many had opened up or given the newest addition the time of day— all but one pirate, who had seemed almost too elated by their presence.

There was a slight pressure at the top of their head, before the unwelcoming feeling of rope had begun against the body. The frayed cord had permeated through their clothes, sticking into the skin like thorns. Their head turned quickly, a muffled giggle giving away the culprit almost immediately. Sam stood, his knees bent and hands still gripping the edges of the fishnet, with a devilish grin decorating his face. Between the diamond shaped holes of the net, despite their vision somewhat covered, his rosy cheeks were still evident even from their distance.

His playful look persisted as he dropped the net dramatically, hopping down from his placement on the ship’s wooden cargo boxes. “Whoops, sorry, darling! Must’ve mistaken you for a mermaid. Thought I finally got my hands on one.”

With an exasperated huff, they grabbed the edge of the fishing net, pulling it back over their head and throwing it to their side. “Don’t you have anything else to do?”

Sam positioned himself near the stacks of cargo boxes, resting his chin lazily on his hand as he looked in all directions. The newest pirate mirrored his actions, met with nothing but blue, cloudless skies and a color matching ocean. With no land in sight, their eyes returned to Sam’s— interested and ready to respond, as always.

“Not really,” he replied slowly, looking around once again in an almost mocking manner. “Not much to do at sea, you should know that by now! I know it’s only been a little bit, but come on.”

After his reply, the ship shook, jolting itself after a clunking sound of metal echoed over the ocean. They had been thrown off their own footing once more, eliciting a loud laugh from Sam. His gaze was steady on the unsteady frame of his newest crewmate, still lazily perched against one of the many looted crates. He twirled his finger along the lining of metals up his ear, playing with the hanging chains as he allowed them to regain their composure before speaking again.

He nodded to them, then motioned lazily up to the open sky. “Just wait ‘til we hit a storm, darling. If you can’t stand on your own two feet now, just wait ‘til then,” he laughed, keeping an amused smirk stretched across his face. With a roll of their eyes they walked away, retreating back to the lower decks of the ship in pursuit of their blue-haired friend, and their friendly, injured parrot that gossiped with them.

PART III, THE STORM THAT FOLLOWED AFTER LANDING ON THE BEACH:

A quick side mission was at hand, a small island abandoned by its inhabitants and rumored to have treasure had made an attractive stop. The ship had anchored far from shore, splitting the ship’s crew into designated teams to make a quick, but successful mission before returning to sea for weeks. The captain had assigned them the simple task to forage for anything edible, afraid of running too low on rations in their extended time. They saluted him, thanking him for the opportunity before heading off.

The trip to the island had been painful, the soreness of their arms from days of pulling and heavy lifting had led the rowing to be searing up their biceps. In little time they had hit sandbars, jolting with the bottom of the dinghy as it collided with sporadic mounds of shells and sand. The leader of this mission, a young woman with purple hair tied up with a bow, cried out from their collisions, commanding that it was time to bring the boat up by hand. Readying themselves, the group tightened their belts and prepared to jump overboard.

“Ah, you do know how to swim, right?” Sam teased, shooting a boyish grin their way.

“Of course I know how to swim!” They cried back, jumping off the dinghy and into the water. The group had trudged through the knee deep water, cringing at the cold water filling their boots and wetting their clothes. Sam had laughed, pulling the boat up to the sand with him and a few fellow pirates, running up to meet the new pirate once they had secured it to the shore.

“You’d be surprised,” he added, moving his head to look down at their face. They shook their head in response, focused on the group of trees and brush settled on the island. The rest of the group had dispersed along the beach with maps in hand, talking amongst themselves before splitting up. It had gone unspoken that Sam had ended up paired with them, slightly irritating, but nothing the newest recruit couldn’t handle.

His smirk had made one of their eyes twitch, the cocky look in his eye making them bite back an annoyed sigh as he unsheathed his sword. He slashed away at the brush with a few grunts, standing back to admire his skill. His shipmate rolled their eyes at his proud smile, his demeanor annoying, but still upsettingly charming. The rest of the crew had branched off to find the rumored island treasure, while they were stuck foraging for anything edible. Their next stop, some foreign land across the Gem Sea, could take weeks or months, leaving the captain desperate to stock up.

Sam opened his mouth yet again, the newest pirate immediately tuning him out to focus their eyes on the ground. Few sights of berries, herbs, and dandelions covered in rough patches. Just as they had raised their head to tell their partner they gasped, craning their neck to follow Sam’s lithe body. He had, miraculously, climbed himself up a tree in no time and with little sound, already pawing at the hanging fruits. His reckless nature, the instability of his legs wrapped around the trunk and his shifting imbalance as he reached for fruits made them cry out in fear.

He looked down at them, calm as can be before shooting them a teasing wink. “Can’t be that worried about me, can you, dear?”

“Well,” they stuttered, eyes still glued to the shakiness of the tree from his weight. “It’d be a shame if you splattered on the ground.”

Shaking his head, he shimmied himself up further, the top of the trunk beginning to bend with his weight as he tossed down a few fruits to his partner. “Nah, I’m not afraid of this. There’s solid ground to land on, what more could ya ask for?”

They scrunched their eyebrows, looking up to him as if there were a more obvious choice. “Water?” They questioned, watching him shake his head once again with both hands grasped onto the rough bark of the tree.

Plucking the fruit from the top of the tree, Sam turned himself back down to throw it at his partner, watching them struggle to keep all of them in their hands. “No, no, no! I’d rather break my back than lose everything. There’s one thing I am afraid of, and it’s the ocean.”

“That makes no sense, Sam—” They interrupted themself, watching as he stood to full attention the best he could, his eyes obviously caught on something from his tree top view. Fearing it was another group of pirates, a dangerous animal, or anything else that could prove almost immediate death, they gripped the fruits closer to the chest, already repositioning them in preparation to flee. They couldn’t hear the stumped hum from Sam’s lips over the sound of the rustling leaves, but watched as he flawlessly dismounted from the tree tops with a grunt, his head still turned west.

Motioning them to follow behind him, Sam led the way deeper into the jungle, slashing away with his sword to clear the way for himself and his partner. He was mumbling on his way, a concentrated decoration of face covering his usual boyish and playful expressions. Without further words, the newcomer followed Sam’s trail, trusting his judgement and following at his heels. He did a wonderful job of clearing their walkway, looking back every few moments to make sure there were no branches in his partner’s face and warning of any roots or dips in the ground. In only a couple minutes the two had reached a clearing of sand, an odd formation of rocks and foreign symbols slashed into the surrounding trees.

“Holy shit!” He cried, dropping his sword and dropping to his knees around the clearing, immediately digging through the sand. “There has to be something in here.”

“But,” the newest pirate interjected, still messily holding their foraged goods in their arms, “the map said it would be on the east side of the island.” Carefully shifting their fruit, they pulled their compass out of their pocket just far enough to see the point of the arrow. “We’re in the west.”

He shrugged, an excited look overcoming his face. “Maps aren’t always right! We would’ve never found this if I wasn’t up in the trees, the rest of the party is still south!” He sounded giddy, but the newest issue of lugging around a treasure chest, just the two of them, and also carrying their forages at the same time gave a slight pang of aggravation to the newest pirate. Sam had instructed them to put the fruit down and help him, causing them to groan and drop to his opposite. They had dug with him, using their weapons in between bruising their hands.

He sighed as they dug. “Man, wish there was a way to tell the rest of the group the treasure’s here so we could get some help.”

“I can go run back and try to find them if you’d like,” they offered, already feeling their hands sore.

“Hell no! You’re gonna get lost, and I’m not leavin’ ya here either. Something’s gonna come and hurt ya, I gotta be here to protect ya.” He struggled out, focusing all of his strength onto the hands full of sand and dirt he pulled from the earth. They groaned inwardly, silently continuing at half his force, but still doing a demanding worth otherwise. There was little indication that much time had passed, the sun still stood high above them and shone with unbearable heat, adding the stickiness of humidity to the ocean breeze.

After a couple feet of sand thrown to the sides of the jungle, daylight had finally shone a glimmer of gold lining, attached to some wood corners submerged beneath the earth. Both had cried out in happiness, knowing that their efforts had not been for naught, and giving new drive to dig out the buried treasure. Once it had been taken out of the dirt, after extraneous work and gasps for strangled air, they both stood in the hole, suspending their bodies against the edge of the sand for support. They turned to each other, proud smiles upon their faces before Sam turned and broke the lock of the chest.

They let out a small gasp at his action, leading him to turn back and give them a lopsided grin. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he huffed, “throw the lock back in this hole, the captain won’t know it was ever locked.” Their chest still rose and fell in time with his, panting from the heat and physical work as he cracked open the chest. Both of their eyes widened at the assortments of beautiful jewels and gold coins, jewelry and rolled papers all assorted messily with traces of sand caked on them. One piece had got their eye, unknowingly bringing their shaking hand up to it before holding it between their fingers.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” they whispered in awe. Sam poked his head closer to them, eyeing up the pendant with them with a grin. The amulet held some weight to it, its bold cerulean color would knowingly attract attention from anyone who would find themselves near it. The turret shell was attached to a thin, gold chain, hanging at the bottom at gravity’s mercy. It was an odd pendant, but the beautiful blue of the shell mirrored that of the ocean in sunlight. Sam looked at the newcomer, without them knowing, grinning at their awed expression. “It’s so special,” they commented, “I mean, look at the rest of this jewelry, clearly belonging to royals or aristocrats… and it all looks the same. This is so different from the rest, looks like it came from the ocean itself.”

The wonderful aquamarine coloring mirrored the water of the island’s shore, just before hitting deep water. They had snapped themselves out of their fantasy, setting it back into the chest and closing it. “Let’s get this back to the group,” they said, placing their hands flat on their thighs before standing up. Sam followed, already beginning to drag the chest towards the direction they came. Turning their back from Sam for just a moment, they wrapped their foraged fruits and berries in a fishing net, turning back around to see Sam with a suspiciously innocent smile.

Deciding not to comment on what was likely another childish jest, they set the bag atop the chest and heaved the chest back to the beach. The treetops challenged their eyesight of the sky, but the island’s shift from bright to a darkening gray had given them all the information they needed. Sam walked backwards, as he said a gentleman like himself should, crying out in glee once they had finally hit where their dinghy was anchored, the group already together upon their arrival. They had interrupted their cries of lament while waiting for the two with an impending storm, but quickly shut themselves up to run over upon seeing the chest lugged between the two.

Upon seeing the open sky, and the choppy waters that they would soon be met with, the newest pirate’s stomach dropped. Within no time that fear was pushed over by others, too infatuated with the treasure they had nearly left. It was wildly easier to lug the chest with four others helping. They couldn’t keep their eyes off of the far, black skies and the ocean’s matching color, the white of breaking waves proving as the only contrast that could be possible.

The sands of time were nearing their end to return to the ship, the waves becoming rough with wind against the dinghy. It was already at the ocean’s mercy, moving with the waves as spouts of water overflowed onto the boat. Each member of the captain’s crew assigned to this mission struggled past the crash of waves to the boat, slinking in legs heavy with the weight of water. The current dragged at their clothes as if it had claws of its own, begging for company beneath the heaving waves. Their experience dealing with the ocean in their life had only proved to help little, feeling their feet yanked by watery hands as they toppled over into the boat.

Even though they had clambered onto the boat in time, their heartbeat had still rung in the center of their head. Sam had noticed, along with the rest of the crew. A friendly smile crossed his face as he rubbed their back, reassuring them that the ocean’s storms will bring calmness to both the mind and body. They scrunched their nose at his words in disgust. How each storm would become a test of survival was sickening, thinking that the inhumanness of its strength would only prove it’s danger to its inhabitants. Each war waged against would be futile. Yet, it had spared them once again.

The crew began rowing back, the newcomer pulling their own weight through the incessant bullets of pain down their arm, and the soreness of the back of their knees. They had felt a hole in their chest from their anxieties, working nearly the strength of two in desperation to return to the ship. Land was no longer an option, and they knew that all but one pirate would have no issue with abandoning them on the island. It was their hope, more than a fact, but the resolution had saddened them nonetheless. Though they had worked together in the moment, approaching the side of the ship to board once again, there was no true personable connection on the ship. The only connections the pirates had was between them and the sea, with little room for others in between.

Dark clouds dissipated into the air within hours, teasing the ship with danger before laughing in its face with smooth seas. The soft splashes of water against the hull of the ship sounded like gentle coos, as the wind blew giggles by their ears as it took the hair from their faces. The captain had stayed on high alert still, expressing his distrust of the sea with a firm click of his jaw. His rosy cheeks stayed the same, despite the hard expression of his furrowed brow in his standoff with the sea. He hobbled back to his quarters, cabin boys disappearing below deck as the captain’s crew followed his heels. Few had been left in the open air, cleaning or reorganizing looted crates from seaside towns.

“Oh, darling!” A voice had sung out, tapping the newest recruit on the shoulder before appearing on the opposite side of them. Sam had stepped in front of them, his back to the ship and his companion trapped just before the bowsprit’s beginning. They couldn’t dissect his expression, some odd combination of the slyness of a fox with the curiosity of a cat. “Or should I call you treasure?”

They rolled their eyes at his newest pet name, still asking him to call them by their given name with an exacerbated sigh. He mirrored the action of their eyes, joking about their mission removed from others and the time they spent foraging before coming across the wanted treasure chest. He had stepped closer to them, leading them to take a step back, their foot slipping off the edge of the bowsprit in anxious nature. Why Sam had cornered them to near death was beyond them, but no fellow pirate seemed to mind any bit of this unnerving interaction.

He cracked a smirk. “Got you this.”

They reached out their hand to his, letting him open and release the small item into their open palm. The small weight of a seashell had little pressure to their palm, but had their head raised with a questioning look in no time. His interested expression stayed, almost as if he were playing a joke. After asking why, he shrugged and mumbled, clearly amused by their confusion and, in turn, their own lack of amusement. Their expression had stayed, only faltering when Sam had turned himself around at the beckoning of another mate, where they quickly, but safely, shoved the seashell deep into their pocket to ensure it stayed. He turned back around with a distant smile. He brought his face close to the mariner’s, heat erupting over their cheeks and nose at his quick action.

“And I also grabbed something else for you!” He whispered, shuffling around his pockets before digging into the small cloth bag tied to his waist. Quietly crying out once he had felt it, he pulled his hand from his pouch, still concealing his gift. Expecting another seashell, or perhaps an already fired bullet at this point, his shipmate opened their hand once more.

This weight had been more than before. The texture had also been peculiar, but the slow movement of their head had proved to be more of the mind than the body upon seeing his gift. In their hand sat the gold and aquamarine pendant from the treasure chest, it’s cone shape fitting perfectly in between the lines of their hand. A quiet gasp had escaped on instinct just before clutching it to their chest and looking around nervously.

“Sam! You can’t steal from the chests yourself! The captain gets every bit of it!”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’ve been doin’ this longer than you— and you said you liked it. Besides, I don’t think anyone noticed it but us. It won’t be an issue, just keep it hidden,” he paused, throwing a look over his shoulder before returning back and winking, “It’ll be our secret, darling.”

Releasing their death-like grip on the pendant, they pulled their hand back to hold it between them and Sam’s chests, both admiring the beautiful blue shell of the pendant and the strange glow attached to it. Sam’s hushed giggles filled their senses, mingling with the intoxicating smell of sea air. A smile had crept onto the shipmate’s face at the beautiful piece of jewelry that was now in their possession, from a pirate with a heart the size of the ocean.

PART IV, A CONVERSATION UNDER SUNSET AND WITH THE CYCLE OF WAVES:

“You never seem to be anywhere else.”

Perhaps, it wasn’t the best greeting, but it was better than nothing. They kept their head held high as they spoke to him. Sunset had arrived the same time as always, akin to the never changing scape of water. The soft lull of the ship felt like a rocking crib fit for an infant, comforting for the mind, but hell on the body. That, paired with a fair breeze, had made the journey above the lower workings of the ship more bearable.

Sam shrugged, turning his attention back to the infinity of blue beneath the ship. “Can’t keep myself away from it.” A smile, genuine and kind, crossed his face, eyes flitting back and forth between his companion and the ocean. “It’s the ancient art of knowing the ocean as if it were yourself.”

Their eyebrows furrowed in thought, bating themselves with a breath. “How do you do it?”

“Good question— wish I could answer it for ya, dear. That might be a question more fit for the captain than me.”

With no verbal response from them, Sam returned his eyes back to the ocean, traveling the horizon in search of nothing. His attention directed elsewhere had allowed them to get a good look at his face, the scar over his left eye, and the bits of salt collected at the roots of his windswept hair. He must have caught them staring, a quick flicker of his eyes met theirs before he erupted into laughter, turning himself to them with the usual hint of mischief in them. The newcomer moved their eyes from his, feigning an aloof look that failed miserably in his face.

“How did you get that scar?”

He gave a short laugh, tilting his head to nearly touch their shoulder before popping back up. “I’m not the smartest,” he shrugged, resting his cheek on his palm and craning his neck to look at his newest interest at sea. Silence had ensued, leading him to point towards a real answer, rather than his usual avoidant dance around sore subjects. “Fishhook. I was a bit too close to my father when he was fishing. He was a soldier so I didn’t see him often, but anytime he was home he’d take me and my brother to the beach and fish.”

His face lit up for a moment. He straightened his back, moving his hands up to his chest where he pulled his already loose shirt further open exposing his chest and abdomen. Finding themselves flustered, the shipmate turned their head quickly, in both an attempt to hide themselves and to give Sam an ounce of respect. His laugh rang through their ears, syncing for just a moment with their quickened heartbeat.

“You can look, you can look,” he reassured, beginning once they had turned to his bare chest and abdomen, gasping at the scar gashed across him. It was akin to someone messily attempting to gut a fish, the scar still slightly raised over the skin, giving them a good idea of how long he had been cursed with it. “Got this in a fight in a saloon in some valley! Lots of drinkers there, might've gotten a bit too childish with one of them.”

Despite the scars he had shown them, his face was still happy. He hummed to himself, clearly forcing a more pleasant conversation— or mood, for that matter— upon them. Each of his hums was melodic, a clear indication that he had some type of musical talent gifted to him. Yet, once again, his gaze had returned to the infinity on all sides of them, moving himself with the waves. They listened to him for a few more minutes. Their curiosity was gnawing at them, eating away at their skin with the gusts of wind.

“A musician as well?”

Sam laughed, lulling his head around before shrugging with a smug grin. “I would say so, but that might be up to opinion. But, of course, I love music. It’s one of the greatest gifts! The ocean makes its own music just like I do.” The pirate’s silence to his response had allowed him some thought time, mumbling an old shanty to himself in their comforting stillness. Rhythmic like the waves, Sam continued, tapping his fingers on the wooden side of the ship with his quiet song, shutting his eyes with deep breaths.

They pursed their lips in thought, turning to him in a moment of silence. “Never heard that one before. Though, I’ve only been at sea for a little bit, so maybe I’m not the one to talk about it.”

He shook his head. “Nah, ‘s alright— learned it on one of my old captain’s ships.”

They nodded, resting their heavy head into their hands, crouching to lean their elbows against the railing of the ship with a deep sigh. Sam noticed, opening one eye to peek at their hidden expression. His head cocked to the side as his hand slid down the rope. “What draws you out here? You’re too headstrong, and I’m afraid it’s going to get you killed.”

Their hand slammed against a wooden crate, garnering attention from the few pirates that lingered beside them. “I want— I want to become one with the sea. I’ve always wanted to travel, and the ocean is the best way for it. I’ve always wanted to see the stars, to be far from home, and to see new things. I want to know the ocean—”

“You don’t,” he interrupted, his expression blank. It was the closest to a serious expression they had seen out of him, but despite this obvious warning, they continued on.

They shook their head. “I do! You don’t understand, Sam. You always talk like you know everything, you’ve latched onto me to do nothing but aggravate me.”

Sam stayed silent, watching the slight shake of their body and the way they consistently had to reposition their feet in tune with the rocking of the ship. Despite his happy tune, the mood had remained somber. He hadn’t spoken again, clearly understanding his mate’s feelings and having, at least, the maturity to know not to continue the conversation in teasing. It nearly drove them deeper into anger, finally realizing that Sam did, in fact, have the capacity to know the sea as one would know family they so desperately chased after. They were left miserable at sea, far from the expectations of the heavens among the waves.

PART V, THE SEA WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME:

Stuck two months at sea, the newcomer had sat out under the stars, admiring the tempting call of the murky water beneath them. What was once dreamt of had now become dread; eating away at their psyche. The ocean had never offered their reflection, only a distorted pit of nothing in return. In fact, they hadn’t seen their reflection since on land, safe in the warmth of a home and in the comfort of people. People that were smiling and warm, unlike those on the ship, who had each lost their humanity and souls to the crashing of waves and the unknown of the masses. At the very least, the rocking of the ship on safe seas had begun to lull them to sleep each night, the only action of love the ocean would give.

A friendly voice had rang out from behind them. “Mm, still not used to being at sea?”

“No,” they answered, keeping their gaze level with the horizon. Ocean wind had whipped past them, taking their hair from their face and pulling the ropes and sails of the ship with each gust.

“Just something you gotta live with,” he shrugged, walking up beside them and placing his hands along the wood railing. “It’s not too bad once ya get used to it, promise.”

His smile had tried its best to reassure, but left them with nothing but dread. Their eyes had lost the horizon, meeting just below the two, where the water met the side of the ship. The rough movement had made their stomach sink to their feet. Nothing was certain out at sea; nothing sacred, and nothing safe. Sam sighed, matching their gaze at the black water beneath them.

“You’ll get used to it,” he repeated.

They finally raised their gaze up to him. “How long have you been at sea?”

He shrugged, pushing himself from the rail and turning to rest his back against it. “Maybe four years or so? I don’t really know. There’s not much that goes on most of the time, so I’ve just sorta tuned everything out.”

“How can you possibly live like this?” Shaking their head, they returned their gaze back to the sea, and the hypnotic movement of black waves crashing against the hull of the ship. Each movement of the waves splattered against the side of the ship, dissipating and falling back into the water which it had come from. The wind whipped the waves against the side of the ship, a loud smack each time it collided unnaturally with the old wood.

The ship wasn’t natural, was the conclusion they had come to. The wood of it came from far away lands, unimaginable to them, but had not come from the sea. People weren’t supposed to be at sea. Like the trees that had been sacrificed for the ship, everything at odds with the great ocean was not meant to be there. The few times they had seen fish in the sunlight water, or a pod of dolphins that rode by their side in the morning, it had become clear: they were the only ones who belonged.

Sam had noticed their dead stare into the water, knowing what epiphany was unfolding in their psyche. With a sigh he threw his head back, looking up at the moon and surrounding stars. “Don’t think too hard about it,” he sighed again, bringing his head back down to look at their worried expression. He’d seen it with his fellow shipmates, and he had seen it in himself. “It’s going to kill you if you don’t learn to live with it.”

“I refuse. How could anyone enjoy this? We sit and look at nothing for days, weeks, on end. Then, we finally get to our destination, then we’re back on the water for another unknown amount of time?”

He nodded slowly. Before speaking, he walked over to the bottom of the mast, twirling the rope between his fingers. “This isn’t for everyone. Just hop off the ship next time we land on a beach, start a new life, do whatever.”

His words had stung them, mentally cursing themselves for thinking that he had some ounce of care for them. Perhaps it was how everyone was able to live at sea, cut all connections and ties to those that are not the ocean. How childish of them to think otherwise, and that Sam would have been any different. He could not fare against the ocean, certainly no stronger than them in a power of wits or will. They would have to stoop down to his level, full acceptance of death at any moment and that there is no true control when it comes to the great ocean.

It would only be a matter of time before they found themselves overboard, gasping for breath in their last moments once the sea decides their time abroad is over. “But there is no true safety!” They cried, turning themselves back around to see Sam’s confused expression. “Even if, even if, even if I decided to leave— which, despite your words, I don’t believe you would enjoy— I will never be safe from the sea! An earthquake that would trigger a tsunami, a hurricane, anything! I would never be able to escape it’s hauntings.”

“Of course I wouldn’t enjoy you leaving the ship. It’s sad to see anyone go,” he shrugged, clearly ignoring their last musings, “you were the only person on board that hadn’t lost their soul yet, of course it was fun to mess around with you.”

Their mouth was left open at his words and flippant attitude. “You’re speaking in the past tense,” they spoke, tone almost matching that of a warning.

He shrugged again, lulling his head from it’s transfixed gaze over the night ocean to them. “Isn’t it obvious yet?”

“I refuse,” they repeated.

Their attitude was clearly a front of denial, knowing deep down they have already become the worst of what they had once been. The ocean had thrown them to their extremes— the true mirror of the ocean’s reflection. Sam sat, hand lazily tapping a rhythm on his thigh as he watched the newcomer unfold before him, as he had watched plenty of times before. He sighed, knowing the outcome of this would be to render themself soulless, and lose the light behind their eyes, or to simply jump overboard and let the ocean have it’s way. A win-win for the sea, as Sam knew, and the newcomer had learned, the ocean never loses a game.

That’s what it is, the newcomer thought, nothing but a game of life and death for its own enjoyment. Each member of the ship, each pirate, or mariner, or fisher, that decided to take their chance from gambling their own life would inevitably find themselves face to face with nothing of themselves. With one last hit to the crate, clattering the treasures inside of it, they raised their head again and turned to Sam fervently, grasping at his arms in desperation.

“I never thought I would lose my soul, Sam!” They cried out, finally allowing themselves to cry. His face softened, shrugging their grip off of one of his arms and pulling them close to his chest. “There’s nothing out here to look forward to,” they choked out, allowing their hands to grip at the woven fabric of his shirt. He stayed silent for a few minutes, thinking of different things to say to them; something that had never worked with the others that he held and consoled over the same thing.

He sighed again, struggling to speak. “You just have to accept it.”

They sniffed, pushing themselves from his chest to look up at him. “How are you not like this? Why is it me? I’ve dreamt of this since I’ve been able to dream, and now that I’m hearing, I’ve just become a shell of myself. How are you still alive?”

Thinking of his answer, he looked over the sea as if for any hint of what to say. No discernible answer, but he had admired how different the sea can look within a moment’s difference. “Couldn’t tell ya. I go with the flow of the water, but— as long as you stay on ship, I will always make sure you’re safe.”

The call to the bottom of the ocean was tempting. Sam’s hand had moved from their back to cup the back of their head against his chest. Even if they had decided to wait it out towards morning, Sam would always have to live in fear that at a moment’s notice, the tide would take them from the ship and pull them under in the ocean’s horrifying mixture of mercy and murder. This sort of connection was exactly what he had always spoken against, knowing that once the ocean is aware of something precious, it will be ripped from its safety and holiness. Against his better judgement, he kept them in his hold, resting his cheek against the crown of their head as he looked out over the dismal water, knowing from experience what was bound to happen to his dearest pirate.

#stardew valley #sam stardew valley #sam #pirate au #ask to tag please

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rheasunshine · 7 years ago

Text

I woke up this morning with a pulse of 125. This is an uncomfortable anomaly. This is the steroids saying “Good Morning”.

Two nights in the last week, Thommy and I have sat in bed, with the Omron 7 Series Upper Arm Blood Pressure Monitor between us, and stared at the reading – “78/45, Pulse 52” – and we played one of our favorite games: ‘911 or nah?’

We play this game often. We’re getting better all the time. About a week before I was diagnosed with POTS, I passed out in the shower. This was my first tip-off that something was probably seriously wrong. After 15 minutes of “discussion”, it was decided I would go to work anyway. (READ: After lots of exasperated threatening and ultimatums, *I* did what I always do, which is to just do what *I* want to do, because moving forward no matter what was the only way I knew to keep propelling my life forward, knowing deep down that as soon as I gave in to some of these things, I would have to give up everything.)

Then, about a week later it happened again. Ok, this time I’ll go, I said. But no 911, we can drive, ok?

But first I need to shave my legs.

I can’t imagine one person reading this, save Thommy, will understand this AT ALL. But I’ve been to the ER so many times, that I knew if they admitted me, it might be days before I could shave, and the only thing worse than those hospital gowns and socks, is feeling your own prickly, sharp legs hitting each other while you shift endlessly trying to find a comfortable position. You’re in so much pain. You are so helpless and there are times when you barely feel human; having the continually growing hair poking me reminds me, in those moments, that I am at once alive but unable to do anything with, or about, that aliveness. It’s a bizarre mile-marker, and I don’t expect anyone to understand, but unless I am bleeding out on the floor from a severed artery, Thommy knows that I’m going to ask for time to shave and then brush my teeth. If you can’t be stubborn in the face of ER visits (which have brought literally life-changing diagnoses for me, no less than 3 times) than you aren’t going to be able to handle life when you leave.

And furthermore, I knew, because us hospital-dwellers know this, that if something was wrong with my heart, there was a good possibly my body might start to swell; and if you are a patient prone to swelling, doctors check your ankles to monitor this swelling. I can withstand any number of awkward, uncomfortable, humiliating, pride-diminishing moments at the hospital – but I draw the line at having to suffer my own stubbly legs, and the unconscious and uncontrollable flinch that will occur every time a doctor, nurse, or aide (or loving husband looking to provide reassurance) tries to touch my unshaven calf. No. I’m not doing it.

It’s a secret language I’m speaking, I suppose, with no currently available interpreter. I accept that this seems preposterous and unimportant to most anyone reading.

So anyway, I shaved. And we went. And I was diagnosed with POTS. And I couldn’t stand up without blacking out. Fuck, sometimes it even happened sitting down. And so I went out on a short-term disability, which led to a long-term one, which led to a permanent one. That was the last time I would work. I haven’t worked since 2015. And I am losing my mind.

Literally. This is not just a meme. This is not temporary. This is my everyday reality.

In the past 12 months, I have endured the electrifying anxiety that comes from researching, deciding-on, starting (and then ultimately stopping) three MS medications. THREE. In one year. First, I tried a monthly infusion called Tysabri, but then quickly developed something called the John Cunningham Virus (JCV). In people with suppressed immune systems, this can (and does) lead to something called Progressive Multifocal Leukoencephalopathy, or PML. People can (and do) die from this. So MS patients receiving Tysabri are monitored every 3 months or so for their levels; it usually takes about two YEARS of monthly infusions before patients become JCV positive. I became wildly infected (like, an exaggerated titre level, laughable, almost), after only two infusions. After all the trepidation and suspension of “worst-case-scenario” imaginings, my body only lasted two months.

FUCK.

Then, despite my strong hesitation and vocalized resistance, my local MS neurologist switched me to Aubagio which is a pill you take daily. Since I don’t have a large intestine, and food, liquids and pills all fly out of me at warp-speed (you’re welcome), causing any number of malabsorption issues, I didn’t think this was a good idea. Plus it can cause nausea, headaches, cramps, diarrhea, vomiting… if those sound familiar to you it may be because you’ve heard me complain on a fairly regular basis of having all of those symptoms anyway. It also causes your hair to fall out.

But OK, at this point, I felt like the MS was winning, so I agreed to start it. I made an appointment at my salon and cut off most of my hair thinking I could game the system. There – take that vanity. Let’s do this. (I cried when I got home, and then again the next day.)

The month I was on Aubagio was a nightmare hellscape. Imagine a 24 hour flu that also causes you to suffer periodic amnesia and not know what day, time or month it is. I wouldn’t leave my bed for 3-4 day stretches. If the hair had miraculously stopped growing on my legs, I don’t know that I would have showered that entire month. I have Cottenelle wet wipes, I thought. I have dry shampoo! Fuck standing, just leave me to here to waste away. Then all of a sudden, as I tried in vain to find a comfortable resting position, one leg would hit the other and I would snap back to reality, cringe at the unbearableness of my own body, and shower. Then I would, quite literally, collapse back into bed for 3-4 more days.

By the time we got to Duke and my new neurologist, about 35 days after starting Aubagio, I was ready to give up on everything and just ask for my name to be placed on some kind of Stem Cell Transplant waiting list, or start chemo, or do whatever he wanted me to do as long as it didn’t involve swallowing one more pill. When he said I could quit Aubagio, it felt like a stay of execution. I left this appointment with a “pick your poison” bouquet of stat sheets on 3 different infusions I could try. All, obviously, with very serious side effects, including Jackpot Winners like kidney failure, hepatitis, cirrhosis, thyroid disease, melanoma and breast cancer.

I choose the one more likely to cause breast cancer.

I did a detox to rid myself of the Aubagio and that was even worse than the previous month. Despite the bottom rising up to meet me, I experienced one of the rarest things I had in 2 years: a night of energy, joy and no pain. Thommy and I went to a lighthouse on Oak Island, and to Caswell Beach. It was everything:

And finally, on August 14th, we started the journey of Ocrevus and Infusion #1. We left the house at 6:30 am, and got back home around 9pm. The 100mg of IV Bendadryl, plus the allergic reaction, have made the details of the day just a sketch; another day in this nightmare that I wish I could say started in 2009 with my MS diagnosis. But really, it started when I was maybe 2 months old when I first started displaying symptoms of Hirschprung Disease. So I can safely say this is all I know and nothing I ever hoped for, obviously; it is barely something I can still imagine is happening, even as it’s happening. I don’t want it anymore. And the crazy part is – I was the lucky one that day. The hours passed by in blinks, and even though I was the one who had to get stuck 3 times as they tried to find a spot for the IV, and even though it was me pumped full of steroids and a bag with a toxic sticker on it, Thommy was the one that sat in a bullshit-excuse of a chair for that ENTIRE time. No drugs. No warm blanket. Fuck it babe, I don’t want it for your anymore either.

But more than all of that lately, I can’t stop thinking of the rapidly expanding schism between me and every person I know and love. This is obviously, obviously, not their fault nor their problem. What it is, what it’s always been, is this race that I’m running to try to keep up with LIFE (my life, their lives, our lives) while existing almost entirely in an isolated dimension of a life suspended. There is no mooring to tie myself to, nothing to define myself other than symptoms, disease management, medications, side-effects…

How do you speak that language and still talk to people. If it wasn’t something I was actively experiencing every minute, of every day, I’m sure there would be a way, because I’m constantly screaming to myself, “YOU ARE MORE THAN YOUR DISEASE(S).”

Well, I know that. Truly, I do. But that’s also kind of a lie I like to tell myself. Because at any given moment, whether I’m sitting in a cloud of confusion that makes my brain feel like it’s on fire as it tries to decipher what the person I’m talking to is saying to me, or whether I’m focusing on various focal points to keep myself oriented as I stand so that the vertigo doesn’t overcome me, or stuffing down the near-constant sensation of dry-heaving so that I don’t throw up in public, or willing myself, literally conjuring all the cells in my body to communicate with each other so that I can stand for 5 minutes while I talk to someone I’ve stumbled across in public, I am actually these diseases. It vibrates through my body like a tuning-fork and it never, ever stops. It is a body electric, and it never shuts off.

Despite what people may see when they look at me, I do not ever feel like a body of blood and muscle and bone. Nothing in me pumps, flexes or supports. I am more Jell-O than I am human (or just plain gelatin, depending on my hydration level).

And so when I talk to people, or when I try, to there is this voice somewhere inside that ricochets as I try to swat it away; it’s constantly asking “could this person you’re speaking to be you… could they live like this?” …

I try to make it stop but it’s constantly growing louder. Could this person, this physical specimen in front of me, with undoubtedly all their own problems and diseases and anxieties and sorrows and pains, could they lose their job tomorrow and turn into a human shaped heap of Jell-O and still get up everyday to a life shattered down around them? And could they pick up those pieces and build a new life? Can they even comprehend what you’re wondering? And when I get to my penultimate question, my heart skips one of its tiny, faint beats: Have they ever had to do it before???

Because in that moment, my brain and my heart, that are always asking and searching, wonder one last thing:

Can they show me how?

***

(Note: as I typed this in a haze of frustration and fear, I’ve been watching MSNBC and it’s coverage of Hurricane Harvey and the potential devastation about to befall parts Texas. I think back to Katrina and how so many people looking to escape it’s path were evacuated to Houston, which is now staring down the barrel of another gun. And I think of Yemen (if you don’t know about one of the worst humanitarian crises ever that is decimating that country, you should educate yourself and then do whatever it is you do in the face of such suffering, whether it’s monetary or verbal communication between you and your god). And I think of Heather Heyer’s family. And I know, as I’ve always known and always said, that suffering is happening on scales NONE of us reading can understand; just as I can’t understand evacuating my home under the threat of 30 inches of rain to possibly never return, or losing a child to cholera, or having a daughter killed by a Nazi. I know an untold number of us are forced at least once in our life to lose everything and build it back up anew. And again I ask, HOW? I really need to know.)

Can Anyone Hear This? I woke up this morning with a pulse of 125. This is an uncomfortable anomaly. This is the steroids saying "Good Morning".

#Aubagio #chronic illness #Duke #Infusions #life interrupted #ms #Ocrevus #strength #Tysabri #unemployment

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