Archive of Our Own

He and Stede emerge on deck, clapping the performances of the crew. It wasn’t by any means on his level of Fuckery but he had to admit that it was better that he initially thought it was going to be.

Especially since Lucius had ended up cutting of his own fucking finger, high on fever and adrenaline.

And of course how it had managed to render the great Dread Pyrate Blackbeard, scourge of the seven seas hiding away in a bathtub.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Stede had said, helping Ed out.

“I’ll kill you if you do.”

“I thought we agreed that plan was off?” was the reply and Ed couldn’t help but scoff and smile like an idiot at the quickness of that response, which caused Stede to return it, his eyes crinkling as he did so, a small noise escaping his mouth.

When was the last time he had been this casually interacted with?

No worry of threats seemed to hide behind Stede’s eyes, of being stabbed or maimed or drowned, and it felt foreign and strange to Ed.

In a good way, of course.

It was real. Genuine.

 Everyone else saw him as Blackbeard, the myth, he almost forgot he was Edward Teach, the man. Not even Calico Jack had called him Ed, even when they were fucking for God’s sake. He and Jack had been close and all he had ever called him was Blackie, so what the fuck did it mean if Stede was calling him Ed?

Did it even mean anything?

“You work for Blackbeard?” Stede had asked and he never really considered that Ed and Blackbeard could be two separate people before then. In a way, he wasn’t lying when he said he did work for Blackbeard. Blackbeard couldn’t exist without Ed, it was Ed who built up the reputation of the dread pirate, Ed who had mutilated and maimed and killed in his name – that last one by proxy, of course.

“I thought Blackbeard didn’t feel fear?” Black Pete asks, face conveying confusion.

He doesn’t, Ed thinks, I do.

But he can’t say that.

He feels Stede’s hand briefly on his shoulder blade. The touch barely lasts a few seconds but in those moments in lasts Ed knows what Stede is trying to convey.

“I didn’t—” he starts, “until today.” That earns him a few good woah’s and gentle laughter. “And you—” he points to The Swede, “—beautiful voice.”

The Swede’s eyes go to the deck, a smile on his face and a light blush on his cheeks. “Ah, come on. Don’t tease me.”

“Ah! He’s not teasing,” Stede says, “You sounded like an angel! Well done.”

Ed doesn’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling. It’s in his voice which doesn’t even feel possible but he doesn’t know any other way to explain it. But that’s him, isn’t it? Stede fuckin’ Bonnet, the Gentleman Pyrate, who keeps finding a way to surprise Ed just when he thinks he’s seen it all.

When they went on the boat for the hoity-toity party, Ed had been excited to get a taste of what he had so long been denied. And then it went so horribly wrong and he remembers how his heart stuttered and how his bones ached and he wanted to make it stop- just stop and before he knew it he was saying, no one laughs at me, as he loaded his gun through tear-filled eyes, and then Stede had told him to stand down.

And he felt like a child again, being scorned by his mother, no one said that shit to fuckin’ Blackbeard. Had Stede been anyone else he would’ve told them to fuck off, probably pushed him overboard before returning to the party to open fire.

“These are my people,” Stede said, voice calm and face sure, “I’ll deal with it.”

And he decided to succumb, to let Stede do whatever he was going to as he sat near the edge of the ship, with Frenchie awkwardly trying to comfort him.

Then there had been a scream and Ed had shot up so fast, insults strewn about the ship and then he had entered the carnage of the upper crust fighting like the pirates and sailors Ed had seen when he was younger – and at the centre of it?

Stede fuckin’ Bonnet who was smiling like a mad man and Ed felt his heart do some sort of flutter in his chest which was new to say the least.

You wear fine things well, he had said illuminated by the full light of the moon. His blonde curls almost looked like a halo and Ed took a determined step forward being lifting up his arm— before deciding against it.

And that was that.

Or so he thought anyway. It’s the way Stede is, he thinks, how he’s so genuine its almost naivety. But Stede is by no means stupid, he’s clearly brilliant in a lot of ways – some ways even Ed isn’t – the way he seems to be able to pick colours for one, tones and shades have never been Edward’s thing but Stede makes it sound all so intricate and strange and wonderful and it felt like it was new world.

Ed felt… safe around Stede. No need for any barriers or pretence. No worry about being killed while he slept or waking up in an English jail cell.

Because that wasn’t Stede.

“And Lucius!” he begins, “Quite the feat, even though it was his hand—” It’s a stupid pun but he can’t help the smile that comes to his lips, “Where is he?”

“Shhh,” Fang says, his arm rubbing the scribe, who’s got a blanket over him, “He’s asleep!”

“Stede Bonnet—”

Fuck, Ed thinks.

“Draw your weapon.”

“No, Izzy. We’re not doing this.”

And he expects Izzy to listen to him. 

He didn't expect—

“No, you’re not doing this. So I must.”

“Stede—” Izzy began, “—fucking Bonnet—” his words ooze and bleed with disgust and hatred from every pore, “I fucking challenge you to a fucking duel.”

And he knows it’s a trap, challenging a captain in front of his crew is the undeniable way to get someone to accept it's so painfully obvious, a captain who refused would lose the respect of his crew, and Ed is grateful that Stede isn’t like other pirates there’s no way he would fall for—

“Well, I accept your challenge.”

Motherfucking shit.

Ed doesn’t remember the last time he felt this nervous, acutely aware of his hands doing nothing – should they be doing something? - the groans from the crew confirm what he already knows, that Stede is completely screwed. Because Izzy has been handling a blade for as long as he can remember, Ed’s pretty sure Izzy learned sword fighting before he learned to talk.

He can barely hear the conversation between the two men, Izzy won’t let Stede live after this. It’s to the death because of course it is, Izzy wants the satisfaction of killing Stede himself and Ed feels regret that maybe he should’ve killed the man.

Not out of malice or trickery or any of that shit, but had he done the deed it would’ve been as quick and as painless as he could’ve managed. Stede wouldn’t have to suffer.

He should’ve saved him from this – if Ed knows Izzy he knows Stede’s death won’t be quick.

“Careful, Stede, he does know his shit.”

“So do I,” is the response, “You’ve taught me well.”

“Not that well,” he says with a grimace, because he can’t give Stede all the training he needs in just a few sessions. The thing about sword fighting is that it’s not just about defending and attacking, you need to be in the right headspace for it. You need to be prepared for the knowledge that if you fuck up you could die and Ed hasn’t had a chance to teach Stede that.

He won’t get that chance now.

The blades clash and Ed doesn’t know what to do. He can’t step in and stop it – Izzy would try to kill Stede with even greater resolve, bitching about how he was right about Stede being his pet, about how he’s a shadow of his former self, and he knows the crew would see it as an insult to their captain.

I should have listened to Izzy.

Had Edward killed him, he would’ve made it quick, comforting him as his life fled his eyes. 

“Come on!” he hears, “Give a man a warning!"

“That was your warning.”

He hears the cheers of the crew as they encourage him, and Ed is trying to remain hopeful but he knows how this will go.

Ed has been the cause of death, of people being buried, whether their graves were the ocean being eaten by fish or the ground didn’t matter. But of all that death he’s never had to bury a friend before.

He supposes there was a first time for everything.

He sees Stede goes down on the deck, Izzy’s sword at him and it’s relatively quick but the pirate captain makes a remark and then there’s something in Izzy’s face (gunpowder?) and he thinks Stede might actually have a chance, because Izzy is underestimating him and he could use it to his advantage and he cant help the stir of hope in himself but its shattered when Stede doesn’t run Izzy through.

“No! Stab him!” Oluwande shouts and Ed knows that Stede won’t.

The next events are a blur, they happen and end and the next scene begins and some of it doesn’t even register in Ed’s brain but one moment he’s thinking Stede might have a chance of defeating Izzy and then his swords on the deck, and he’s up against the mast.

“Alright…” Stede breathes, “Lets call it a draw.”

He’s got a sword pointed at him and he’s still making stupid remarks like that which make Ed feel guilt, it takes a certain type to make jokes like that when they’re facing their death and Ed doesn’t want to just stand by—he doesn’t want to know what it’s like to bury a friend.

He looks away.

Coward, Blackbeard sneers.

And Ed can’t argue, if he was even half the man Stede was he would watch, no matter how painful it was for him, so that he might have a comforting face in his last moments. But Stede is good and Ed isn’t. He’s bad, he’s ruthless. He’s had to be to survive and thrive. He could never be part of Stede’s world, of refined poetry and summer linens. He’s violent and loud and so, so selfish and he takes and takes and when you think you have nothing but your life left he takes that too because who the fuck is going to stop him and mess with fuckin’ Blackbeard—

—squelch!—

The undeniable sound of metal penetrating flesh is almost obscene in its entirety. He hears the intake of breath as the blade sinks deeper, deeper. Hears the crew gasp in horror at the scene before them.

He should’ve stopped this, he should’ve intervened the moment Izzy spoke up. Not a pathetic ‘no’ and that’s it, job done, he should’ve strode across the deck and forced Izzy to his knees for even daring to question him. His grip on the rope tightens and he forcefully closes his eyes.

He should’ve fucking listened to Izzy.

“Did I do it right?” a voice asks, broken and unsure and that simple question hurts in a way that Ed hasn’t felt in a way since he was young, guilt clawing at his heart and stomach because even dying Stede asks for him and he can’t even summon up the gall to look at him.

Look at him! Something akin to shame shouts, He’s your friend and you won’t even comfort him as he dies? You’re fucking pathetic, Edward!

So he starts to turn. Slowly, as if taking his time prolonging it will somehow make Stede live longer and even if he did it would be in pain, only—

“He missed… all the important bits…” Stede gasps and that grabs Ed’s attention and he looks and Stede has been stabbed on his left just like he had taught him and they aren’t on the deck surrounded by crew, Stede and Ed have their swords out and they’re laughing as Ed shows him how to hold his sword and tells him how the environment can be used to his advantage, the stupid remarks Stede makes which Ed tells him will get him killed quicker, it’s easy banter between the two of them, fun Ed hasn’t had in a while and all he can do is stare mouth wide.

Izzy’s is pulling on his sword, desperate to pull it out of Stede’s flesh, frustrated groans exit his mouth.

“This mast—” Stede speaks. He fuckin’ speaks like he doesn’t have a sword inside of him, like its any other Tuesday night for him and this is a regular occurrence, “—is made from the finest cherry wood in Brazil—” the way he says its makes it sounds like he planned for Izzy to stab him against the mast, which means that he actually planned to get stabbed, he knew he couldn’t win against Izzy solely with his sword fighting skills so he used the environment to his advantage — like Ed had taught him to, “—it’s… rather strong actually!”

And Ed wants to punch someone or to have someone to punch him because there’s no way this is real. This has to be some sort of dream, right? With one of those hiding meanings behind it because there’s no other explanation for any of this shit.

“Shut up!” Izzy practically hisses, pulling on the handle. “Don’t you ever shut up? You rancid—”

—the handle breaks—

“—rat!”

He’s moved Ed realises, he’s moved from starboard closer to the mast, closer to Stede and all he can do is stare.

There’s a laugh and then, “Well, Mr Hands, reckon he’s rendered your sword inoperable, by duelling tradition that means—”

“Stede wins!” Frenchie shouts, “In your face, Jizzy!”

His first mate, looks at him defeated and all he can do it do an awkward shrug. He may be Izzy’s captain but this isn’t his ship.

And just like that it’s over, Izzy is gone, talking about how Edward will rue it long and hard and blah blah blah. And yeah, don’t get Ed wrong, he’s sad to see Izzy go but he should’ve fucking listened.

“We could’ve talked this out,” Ed had said and he knows that before he met Stede he never would’ve said anything close to that. Blackbeard didn’t talk things out, he ordered and took what he wanted and if anyone had an issue with it they paid the price.

Pulling the sword out of Stede is nasty business and Ed and Roach are able to get him patched up, before taking him back to his bed where he promptly passes out.

Which is how they are here now. It feels oddly nostalgic, Stede injured in his bed with Ed watching over him.

Only now he’s far more worried. He decides that watching Stede sleep like a creep won’t help anyone. He decides he may as well be the de facto captain until he gets better – also because he isn’t entirely sure who Stede’s first mate is, he wants to say Lucius but that doesn’t work, more of a cabin boy. He thinks maybe Buttons?

It’s not like he can ask Stede until he regains consciousness. He tells the crew to keep him informed rations, sightings, medical supplies – he tells Buttons to set a course for the nearest port – he doesn’t exactly doubt Roach’s medical skills but he wouldn’t be remiss against getting some more supplies or a second opinion. He’s not taking his chances, not when it comes to Stede.

He asks Ivan, Jim and Fang to rotate shifts on watching Stede, with Ivan taking the first shift.

He tells the rest of the crew that when they arrive in port its not to dick around or to get drunk and draw unnecessary attention, it’s a supply run. They get what they need and then fuck off up north before anyone even recognises them.

When he returns to check on Stede it’s dark. Ivan and Fang had their watches awhile ago, Jim gives him a look.

“How is he?” Ed asks, trying to hide his worry.

“He’s taking this one far better than the first,” Jim says, “Whatever you’re teaching him, he’s improving, as a captain and a pirate.”

And Ed is glad and he sighs.

“Listen, hombrecito,” fuck this can’t be good, “I don’t know what’s going on between you two and I don’t really care. But—” Jim holds up their knife, and fucking points it Ed, “—If you hurt him, it won’t matter who you are. He’s a good man.”

“I’m not gonna hurt him.”

“But you did plan to.”

“Plans change. People change,” Ed says and it sounds pathetic, like an excuse but Jim seems to accept it. They withdraw their knife, but they don’t sheath it.

They nod, “I’ll leave you to it then.”

And just like that they leave, leaving Ed alone with an unconscious and injured Stede.

Ed doesn’t know what to do. It’s not like this is much he can do. He approaches carefully, like Stede is gonna wake up at any moment and be horrified at just who the crew has entrusted to watch over him.

“Idiot.” He says when he’s certain Jim has left and because this may as well be free therapy. “What in god’s name were you fuckin’ thinking?”

He knows though. He hates that he understands more than anything, maybe ignorance really is bliss as his mum used to say. He pulls up the same chair from when they first met, Stede’s breathing is deep and even which is good. It’s a small comfort, knowing that Stede will be okay despite the gnawing doubt of something going wrong. He’s been run through the same way far too many times, it works being stabbed on the left hence why he taught Stede, but he’s still scared.

Maybe because with Stede… he doesn’t have to hide. Ed could be himself – all of himself. He could like the refined style of the upper crust, use the passive aggressiveness as something for him rather than against. He could like the adrenaline that came from being a pirate, the swashbuckling, the more wild aspects of it.

He didn’t have to be Ed or Blackbeard either. Ed feels like with Stede he could just be – like Stede would accept whoever he was and that’s freeing and terrifying all the same.

You wear fine things well.

And Stede had said that so casually, as if it were holy. As if it was a common fact that Ed had the right fine fabrics and summer linens and not just the right  to wear them, but to wear them and do it well. Remembers how Stede’s hands had treated the old fabric, as if it were special – the most precious thing he had ever seen, remembers how those same hands had brushed against his chest as if he was precious.

He remembers how he felt his heart pound harder in his chest, how the blood had rushed to his cheeks and stomach and he wanted in those moments. He wanted to kiss Stede and tell that if he wore fine things well, how would Stede look wrapped around him?

But he couldn’t.

Stede didn’t know what he was doing to him – his easy going smile and sincerity told him as much, he is an intelligent man, sure, but being intelligent doesn’t mean you can’t be naïve. So its not like Stede would’ve known how exactly that would’ve effected Ed, how, if Stede were anyone else, that would have been such a clear indication of interest.

Stede didn’t know. His life and Ed’s were very different, Stede’s life had been dictated for him before he was even born and Ed was thrown into the chaos and told to survive. Stede had been betrothed before he even knew what love was – he knew what courting was, Ed knew that, he saw the books on his shelves, but courting and arranged marriages were a far cry from flirting and romance and love.

His eyes widen at that. Do I love him?

His chest feels heavy but it’s not a painful experience. It’s rather… nice, he swallows as if the action could push his heart down further.

“Wh-?” is the noise he hears and it pulls Ed out of his trance. He puts his hand on Stede’s chest, pushing him back as he tries to get up.

His bare chest, which is speckled with dirty blonde chest hair and dusted pink and Jesus Christ almighty Edward, not now—

“It’s okay.” Ed says, “Izzy’s gone. We pulled that sword out of you.”

Stede groans and he lets Ed’s hand guide him, push him back. It shouldn’t cause Ed’s heart to speed up, it shouldn’t cause Ed to realise just how much Stede trusts him.

“We should probably stop meeting like this,” Stede says with a sheepish smile.

Ed laughs at that, “How about I get stabbed next? Mix it up a little bit.”

“Oh please no, I am perfectly okay with being the stab-ee as it were,” Stede smiles, “Out of the two of us anyway.”

“So, what you’re saying is…” Ed starts, “is that you like to be on the receiving end?”

“I suppose so, if it were just us, but with other individuals’ I would rather be the stabber than the—" and then Stede notices the stupid smile on Ed’s face and seems positively mortified, “Edward!”

It’s stupid, teenaged humour but Ed barks out a laugh at Stede’s response.

“Why I— we— You of all people know that is, most decidedly, not what I meant!” Stede is blushing furiously, and Ed has to stop his gaze from seeing just how far down his body it goes.

“Oh, come on!” Ed retorts, laughing still. “It was right there!”

“You are a complete child,” he says, but he’s smiling and gently laughing along with him.

“Hard not to be when you make it so easy.”

Stede swallows then. “Actually um— while on the subject of stabbing, I was wondering if— you would— if you would be willing to, of course, that is! I would never presume that—”

“Stede,” he interrupts, “Just ask me mate, I’m not going to think less of you for it.”

“Ah, well then,” Stede, ever the gentleman, takes a moment to compose himself, “I was wondering… if perhaps you would be willing to um, teach me? About buggery?”

If Ed was drinking he is positive he would spit it out or choke on it. But he’s not so all he can really do is stare as he lets hid mind run the words of teaching Stede about buggery on repeat and his mind does not disappoint. Ed bending him the desk having him hard and fast after a raid, on his knees for Stede as he sucks him off, imagines Stede between his legs as he begs for more! Fuck, Stede please more! and he shifts in his chair as he realises he hasn’t fucking blinked in a moment or two.

“You want me…” he begins, “to teach you how to fuck a man?”

“I— uh, well I understand that sometimes it occurs,” Stede lets out an uneasy laugh, “Goodness knows how many times I’ve heard Black Pete and Lucius. But I was rather hoping to understand the mechanics of it? Should the occasion ever arise for me to want to—”

“Fuck someone.”

“I would have phrased it a little more elegantly, but yes.”

“And do you?” He looks at Stede as he says this. “Want to fuck someone?”

Stede shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. “Not a member of my crew or yours, of course—”

Ed desperately wants to ask, and what about me? but he bites his tongue instead and the moment passes.

“—Hierarchies and I would never want them to think they had no choice in the matter. But more, should it ever arise. Better to know and not need it than need it and not know, if that makes any sense?”

“Yeah, yeah, no I get you, mate.” He does not.

“So, you’ll—ah—teach me?”

Fucking hell, why can’t Stede just be a regular bloke? This would be such a clear indication that they wanted to be fucked. Hell, maybe Stede is indicating that and Ed’s just too wound up to notice, or maybe he’s not and Ed’s just hopeful.

That being said, isn’t the entire reason Ed took an interest in Stede because of how different he was? Fuck, he didn’t think that this would be part of it.

“Yeah.” Ed says before he can really think about it. “Just not right now.” He says gesturing to the wound. “I doubt you’ll be able to fuck and have a good time with that.”

“Oh! Of course,” the aristocrat responds, placing more pressure on his wound. “Thank you, Ed! Truly!”

“’S no problem, mate.”

“Maybe not but regardless, I wanted to ask Lucius but I fear it may have made him uncomfortable or given him the wrong impression.”

In an effort to change the topic, Ed asks a simple question. “Hungry?”

“Oh!” Stede says, “famished!”

“Right, stay here, I’ll get you some grub, ‘kay?” He gets up, hearing Stede say thank you under his breath and makes it to the door when—

“Ed?”

He stops dead in his tracks, one hand on the door frame, the other on the handle. “Yeah, mate?”

“I meant what I said when we first met,” and Ed can’t really think, his brain trying to conjure everything that was said between them that day.

“You’re a good man.”

And Ed feels breathless, like he’s flying and free.

“Yeah, you are too,” and he shuts the door.

He returns a short time later with some food, in which he offers to Stede and takes it like a man starved, inviting Edward to join him and he can’t really find it in himself to say no so he stays and they eat and talk at the table.

“Are you sure I should stay here?”

“No point, mate,” Ed responds, “It’s the dead of night. You may as well get some rest until morning then you can move about all you want. ‘Sides don’t want to risk the wound opening again, do we?”

“Well, no, I suppose you’re right, but I was rather hoping to do something. I’ve been rather restless.”

Ed can’t blame him for that. It sucks being sick and injured, especially being unable to do fuck all, adding insult to injury.

“How about this?” Ed starts, “You tell me what you wanna do, and I say if it’s a bad idea or not.”

Stede contemplates this for a moment before, “That’s fair I think. I don’t want to do anything extravagant exactly, like go to the Crow’s Nest, I just— well, wanted to read a book.”

“Ah, shit. Well, that’s fine, obviously.”

“Wonderful!” Stede beams and it feels like the sun on a summer’s day, bright and warm. “Oh! And feel free to choose one, for your own leisure, of course!”

And that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it?

“Ah, nah, mate. I’m good.”

Best excuse as any.

“Oh, I insist! In fact I may be able to help you find one!”

“Stede, really. It’s fine.”

“A good book never hurt—”

“Just drop it, man!”

There’s silence which rings out. Ed feels the shame in his gut at having just raised his voice. He told himself he would control his temperament more, this is Stede’s ship and they do things differently than how he does. Maybe he can be calmer, not resort to violence and anger so quickly.

He supposes he was wrong. It’s in his nature.

“Edward…” Stede says, gently, like he’s afraid of breaking him. “I don’t mean to be rude but… can you read?”

He forcibly inhales as he closes his eyes. Memories of when he was young, his mother doing her best to try and get him some level of education so he may have a better shot than she ever did – “perhaps you’ll be a blacksmith!” – he had struggled so much but saw how much it meant to her. The hours he poured into it, but he remembers his struggle and frustration most of all, how he couldn’t seem to sound out the words, how often he misspelled them, how he just couldn’t seem to understand rhymes.

But most of all he remembers his father’s anger at finding out, the beating his mother and himself had gotten for it.

He opens his eyes again, the anger is still there, his fists are still clenched but it’s slowly simmering.

“Yeah, I can I just—” he breathes, through his nose, and out his mouth. “Struggle, y’know? It’s like— whenever I look at a short word it’s fine. No big deal. I can do those. But then everything else is… difficult.”

“Do you think you would be able to... to tell me what you find difficult?”

Ed sighs again, and rubs his face with his hands, “I can’t spell— I mean, I can just sometimes I get confused about which words go where and when I’m reading it’s like the letters move which is fuckin’ stupid I know but I swear they do and it’s just—” he lets out a frustrated noise.

There’s silence again and he waits for it. You’re being pathetic, boy!

The voice sounding suspiciously like his father’s.

“Ed, do you think you might be dyslexic?”

That was definitely not what he was expecting, “I might be, what now?”

“Dyslexic. It’s a kind of difference in your brain where you struggle with written information because you process it differently than the spoken word.” Stede says, “In fact, everything you’ve told me correlates to what I know about it.”

There’s a beat of silence and then—

“There’s a word for this?”

“Yes,” the other man says,. “And many others like you in fact.”

“How—?” he’s trying to process this, his mind repeating the mantra of not alone, not alone, not alone. He looks towards Stede who’s moved closer to him, “Can this… be, y’know, cured?”

“Oh, no, however fret not, my dear. There are ways to help you.”

Ed laughs slightly, “Yeah, how? They gonna have to open me up and— fuck up my brain even more?”

Stede puts his hand on his shoulder, reassuring. “Edward, it’s okay. I can promise you that the solutions are rather simple. It’s just a matter of finding out which one works best for you, it may be one or a mixture but I endeavour to help you if you’ll allow me to.”

Ed fidgets awkwardly under Stede’s gaze, thinking about this. There are other people like him— in fact this condition is so common it has a name and he’s not alone anymore. He’s not stupid— fuck you, dad – he just needed some more help.

He’s different, but he’s not bad.

“Yeah, yeah,” He nods as he speaks, looking at Stede. “What do I need to do?”

“Well, we can start off by getting you a book!” Stede smiles, “However, I’m afraid none of mine would truthfully be suitable. One of the support systems for this is to change the background of the paper, some dyslexics seem to work better with yellow paper, and of course we can split paragraphs to make it easier to process. And sometimes different fonts will help as well!”

Stede muses for a moment before, “Then again… I suppose you could have a look at what I have and if any catch your eye I would be more than happy to adjust it for you.”

“But wouldn’t that ruin the book?”

He shrugs, “I’ve read them many times, I practically have them committed to memory now. Truthfully, I could probably recite them. And if the changing of the page colour doesn’t work, I’d be more than happy to write them out for you in more paragraphs and fonts!”

“Stede, mate, that would take hours of work.”

“You’re right. On my own I may not be able to complete it— ah! I can ask Lucius for help. I’ll leave your name out of this of course! But between the two of us we should be able to speed the process along I should think!”

“You— you don’t have to do that, mate, it’s sweet but—”

“Ed,” Stede speaks, “If the roles were reversed, would you do the same for me?”

“Well, yeah, obviously but this is—”

“How? How is it different?”

And Ed can’t respond with an answer he doesn’t have. So he settles for a confession. “I don’t know…”

He feels a pressure on his knee, reassuring. He looks and sees that Stede has fallen to his knees in front of him, a soft expression on his face.

“Edward, reading is one of the greatest pleasures I have ever partook in, the fact you have been denied this saddens me and I would like to help you discover just how wonderful it can be.”

He covers Stede’s hand with his own. “Alright, but I don’t want to try tonight.”

“Of course. I could, read to you? If that’s okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think I might like that.”

Stede smiles once again and he stands up, patting Ed’s knee as he does so. He takes a book off the shelf and Ed can vaguely see the title though he struggles to read exactly what it says. Stede asks him if he would like to start at the beginning to which Ed declines, and asks for a summary of how far Stede is and to go from there.

“I do of course, have many other books, but Shakespeare is rather a weakness of mine. Paradise Lost by John Milton is an absolute classic! And there’s the brilliant My Rare Wit Killing Sin by Lady Anne Killigrew who is—” Stede babbles on, and Edward listens to him, not just because it would be rude not to but there’s something almost intoxicating about how passionate he is about the books. It’s rather sweet. “—and so Leontes child, Mamilius is lost because he accused his wife of infidelity, and his new born babe is secretly given away. That’s where I am currently. It’s rather thrilling!”

Ed smiles at him but he must have done it wrong because Stede is returning it, only sheepishly.

“Sorry, I—ah, didn’t mean to prattle…”

“What? No, you’re fine,” Ed assures him, “’sides it’s rather nice to see you like this. Do you know how many people use their reading as some sort of fuckin’—” he gestures his hand as if it will appear in his hand, “—I don’t know, but they act like they’re better than you because they’ve read some book by some prat and you haven’t, y’know?”

“Ah, yes, I knew far too many people like that back in Barbados.”

“See? And then there’s you! Who’s offering to read to me and you’re just so fuckin’ happy about it, and shit, the way you are makes me wanna do it so we can talk about it, man!”

“I—uh, thank you, Ed, truly.”

“No problem, mate. So, what we reading?”

“The Winter’s Tale.”

“Sounds fuckin’ epic, let’s go.”

Stede lies down on the bed, his upper body being supported upwards by his cushions, and Ed doesn’t think much about it. He sees the open space next to him and cuddles up next to him. Putting his head on Stede’s chest and looking at the book.

He feels Stede go rigid.

Then he hears him swallow.

“You okay, mate?” he asks, because fuckin’ hell they haven’t even started and he’s already done something to upset the man.

“Yes, um— quite, just— I assumed you would take the chair.”

The shame is palpable.

You pathetic moron, Ed. He shifts preparing to move, “Ah, right, sorry—”

A hand is on his shoulder, tugging at the fabric.

“Wh— no, I—” Stede takes a breath, “It… surprised me. That’s all. I quite like it, actually. Being close to you. Mary and I— we never… not that I’m saying you’re— my wife or— anything of that sort, of course! Not that I wouldn’t— we’re not— and I’m sure you have your pick of—”

“Stede.” Edward says and the other man promptly shuts up, “Try again?”

Stede sighs, his hand releasing Ed’s shoulder and going to his forehead. “I… find myself quite fond of physical intimacy.” He takes a breath.

“Mary and I were never… like that with each other, we did our duty as husband and wife and that was it. Though it wasn’t for a lack our trying on our parts— more her than mine, I must confess. I thought that maybe I just didn’t like intimacy of any sort, and then I left that life behind and the crew and everyone is so… cuddly and touchy and I didn’t know what to make of it, so when you did that it caught me by surprise. But it wasn’t a bad surprise.”

“So, how much you liked it caught you off-guard?”

“Yes,” Stede sighs, “And well… you know how I have been teaching you of upper crust etiquette?”

Edward nods.

“Well just that, this level of intimacy was never really enjoyed by myself with Mary so after our first week of marriage we decided not to partake. This—” he gestures between them, “—level of intimacy is… usually done by— um, lovers.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, so I’m very unfamiliar with it.” He confesses, “It’s viewed that way regardless of a public or private environment. I didn’t like it with Mary so I thought that maybe it just simply wasn’t for me and then—”

“You liked it with me.”

Stede nods, letting out a gentle ‘yes’.

“It’s… frustrating. Knowing that what you like and knowing what is expected of you do not overlap but contradict each other entirely. I’m thirty-seven for goodness sake, and I still don’t know what I do and don’t like because I’ve repressed it so much.”

“Yeah,” the pirate agrees with a nod. “Know what you mean. It’s like— people want Blackbeard, y’know? They want someone who’s scary and cool and all that shit. And, yeah maybe I used to want to be that in a way, because, hey it was fun and if it meant I survived then that’s a bonus. But now? I wanna fuckin’— read poetry, have tea with seven sugars and some milk because it fuckin’ tastes good and who cares if it’s practical, and stay up in the Crow’s nest eating marmalade and all that shit. And it’s like why the fuck do so many people want this me to be like that all the time? Why the hell can’t I be both Blackbeard and Ed? Why do I have to choose?”

He feels lighter, now he’s said what he didn’t even know he had been carrying in his heart. He feels a bit free truthfully and then—

“I know what you mean.”

Ed looks up at him.

“It’s part of the reason I thought of the entire Gentleman pirate. I wanted to be a pirate yet also retain the parts of myself that I had liked. I didn’t want to choose between being a pirate and leaving my old life behind entirely so I asked myself; why can’t I be both?”

“And here we are.”

Stede smiles, genuine and true, but it’s not like he really has any other kind of smile, except maybe nervous. “And here we are.”

“You get it, man.”

“Should we—ah, resume our positions or—?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Ed raises his hands, “You said that where you’re from it only happens between married people, right?”

“Well, yes—”

Ed tsks. “I don’t know man, sounds like I’m gonna have to marry you first.”

“I—we don’t— Edward!”

Stede is so fuckin’ red it’s stupidly cute. His hands fly to his face to conceal it and Ed cackles like a mad man.

“Hey!” Ed says, placing his hands on Stede’s wrists and pulling them away from his face. “Don’t worry we’ll do it all proper-like, I’ll court you first like a gentleman!”

“Ed!”

“You are so fuckin’ easy to fluster, it’s cute!”

“I am not— cute!”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Edward! You— absolute scoundrel!”

“Never denied that,” he says and he cackles harder when Stede jokingly screams into his hands. He pulls away and they’re both laughing it hurts and Ed wishes he was drunk or something because Stede looks very fuckin’ kissable when he’s smiling and happy and if he was drunk and kissed him he would have an excuse – (sorry, mate, I’m a bit drunk— didn’t mean to) – but he’s not so he can’t which makes it harder to resist because Stede looks very kissable right about now and Ed hates how impulsive he can be sometimes.

He fights it though. The laughter dying down.

“So, Edward,” Stede begins, “Would you like to read A Winter’s Tale with me?”

“Yeah, mate,” he nods, “I would.”

Stede lies down once again, resuming the same position as before, only this time he has one hand on the book and the other is open, inviting Ed in, to be by his side.

He takes it, and sighs as he settles into a comfortable position. After a few moments he feels something against his hair and he realises it’s Stede.

“Forgive me—” he pulls away, “just… surprisingly soft. I didn’t mean to overstep—”

“You’re fine,” Ed says because he desperately wants the hand back, he felt protected, “You can keep doin’ that if you want to. Or you don’t if that’s what you want. ‘S fine, not like I care.

He cares very much.

The hand returns, soothing, carding through the strands and Ed doesn’t remember the last time someone actually played with his hair which doesn’t sound right but its now like he knows anyone who would actually do it.

There’s no one like Stede Bonnet.

“Have you ever braided your hair?”

“Think so? Maybe. Don’t think I did a very good job if I did.”

“Would you like me to braid it? I think a French braid would look rather fetching on you.”

Ed’s heart does not fuckin’ speed up, at the idea of Stede braiding his hair, thank you very much.

“Sure, another night,” Ed says, “I think I was promised a story?”

“Ah!” Stede clears his throat, “Of course.”

He smiles up at the man, even though Stede isn’t looking. It’s terrifying how much he cares for him, he’s so fuckin’ glad he called the plan off — should never have been on in the first place if he’s being honest with himself.

He lets his head fall in the crook of Stede’s throat, listening to the man’s voice, enjoying the sensation as Stede strokes his hair.

He may still be treading water, but it’s new territory. With Stede by his side, he’s scared, yeah, he’s man enough to admit that.

But he feels like he could survive if he were to drown.