So, I used to be an artist. Photographer/sculptor/writer/musician/observer. Not sure what has happened since college. There is this huge disconnect with everything now. I can’t anymore. But I miss the act of creation. The feeling of the process. Maybe if I just go through the motions, I can. This will document my progress.
Where time and outward form would show it dead. (Sonnet 108)
Stede lets the words hang in the air for a moment before he marks the page of the chapbook he just read from and puts it on the windowsill above their bed. He brushes a hand through Edward’s hair and smiles down at him. Edward presses his cheek into Stede’s thigh, his eyes still closed from concentrating on the words his beloved just read to him.
“How did you like it, dear?” Stede asks. He always does. And without fail, it makes a swarm of bees fly through Edward’s head and then down to his stomach. He knows Stede would never judge him for anything he said, no matter how silly, but as much as Edward enjoys watching his partner stumble over the most basic piratey things, he hates it when his own shortcomings become visible. The brief insight into aristocracy had been enough to illustrate what different worlds he and Stede had grown up and lived in for most of their lives.
Edward loves Stede’s innocence with which he sees the world, even after the rough grounding reality tries to inflict on him, again and again. Seeing Stede smile at a butterfly or a stupid poem is the most beautiful thing on earth, and Edward hopes Stede will never change regarding this.
But there’s also fear. Fear that, one day, Stede might get fed up with him and leave for good. Not to return to a family long gone, but to a life fitting his standards, to people who are like him. There must be more. People he wouldn’t have to read to for them to get a grasp on poetry, who wouldn’t embarrass him at the dinner table or by using words that don’t beseem a nobleman and his escorts.
“Are you alright, darling?” Stede asks above him, and Edward pries his eyes open. He hums quietly and pulls on his beard as if it would regrow faster from it. “Did you enjoy the poem? It’s by Shakespeare.”
Edward huffs a laugh. “Should that name ring a bell?” he murmurs. It likely should when Stede speaks it with such adoration lacing his voice.
Stede blinks down at him, then shakes his head. “Nah. He just wrote a few sonnets and plays.” Edward can see in the twitching corners of Stede’s eyes that he’s lying.
“You must be fucking bored with me,” Edward says without really meaning to. He can feel Stede tense underneath him, and he sighs, embarrassment rising from his stomach to his tightening chest.
“I could never be bored around you. You’re a legend and the holder of my heart, Edward Teach. Your wit didn’t need books to grow. That doesn’t make it any less exciting to have a first-row seat to you demonstrating how smart you are.”
Edward scoffs. “I’m sure you have better things to do than read that stuff to me, just because I can’t.”
Stede lets out a long-suffering sigh. Edward loves his antics, the drama that surrounds his beloved like a natural fragrance.
“I enjoy doing this. I could never share my love for poetry with Mary. She loved art, but I was too stupid to cherish the part she wanted to share with me. I ignored her for hours, my nose stuck between pages. I’m glad I can share this with you. Unless you are bored.”
Edward’s lips curl into a smile. His eyes glitter with joy when they meet Stede’s.
“No. Never. I love the sound of your voice. And the crew is right—you’re the best at doing voices.” Edward’s face grows sombre. Stede’s morphs into a frown in return. Edward brushes his thumb over the crease between Stede’s eyebrows. “I just wonder what you see in me,” he says under his breath.
Stede’s face falls, his eyes growing sad.
“Oh, my love,” he sighs and runs his hand through Edward’s hair. “This,” he says, gesturing over Edward’s body. “And this.” He taps the shirt over Edward’s heart. “And this,” he ends, brushing his fingers over his beloved’s temple. “You are so much more than I ever expected. The books painted such an enticing picture of you, I thought. But meeting you, everything is so much more vibrant, and colourful, and exciting.”
Edward smiles at that. “I haven’t been the real Blackbeard for a very long time.”
“And I, for my part, am glad about it. I’m sure you wouldn’t have sat next to my bed, overlooking my recovery, if you had been fully him.”
Edward hums in agreement.
“Still, don’t you want someone who could read to you?” he mutters. He doesn’t even know why he’s asking that. A futile attempt at making Stede see his errors in judgement? He knows he can’t get rid of the man. He’s like a leech, just of the good kind. Not that he wanted to lose him, ever. Stede is the first person who ever saw him. He saw him and wanted him. Edward still hasn’t gotten used to that fact. But Stede doesn’t tire of showing him, every single day.
“Oh, it would be lovely, I suppose. I could teach you to read if you wanted to.”
Edward squirms. He had never thought about that. That was something people like him didn’t do. They didn’t eat for fun, they didn’t wear fine clothing, they didn’t learn to read. What for?
But the thought tickles him, mixed with worry. What if he’s a bad student? What if he doesn’t manage what Stede’s children did a long time ago?
“Ma-maybe,” he stutters. “If you promise not to laugh.”
Stede shuffles around until they’re lying face to face on the bed that is way too small for two grown men. They somehow still make it work.
“You make me laugh a lot, Ed,” Stede says softly. “But I could never laugh at you.”
“Because I would slit your throat,” Edward says half-seriously.
Stede snickers, not the least concerned, as usual.
“No, you wouldn’t, my love. But even if, I never would. Because there’s no shame in learning and failing, and trying, again and again, until it sticks. Didn’t you teach me that with every single weapon on this ship?”
Edward laughs out loud. “Right.” His cheeks grow hot. “I really like this Shake’s pear. I’d love to read you something from him, one day.”
Stede smiles. “I think I have the perfect book to practise in my secret stash.”
Edward gapes at him. “You have a secret stash? Of books?”
“Of course, silly. Where do you think I got this book from. You threw the others into the sea, remember?”
Edward presses his face against Stede’s neck. “Izzy misunderstood my orders. And technically, your crew threw them into the water.”
“Oh, suddenly it’s my crew now,” Stede teases. He grows serious again when Edward doesn’t take it in stride. He pulls back enough to see Edward’s face.
“Those were only books. Things can be replaced. Broken hearts are much harder to mend,” he sighs. Edward knows Stede still hasn’t forgiven himself for the pain he inflicted on him.
“I wonder if anyone found and saved them,” Stede says.
“Would make an awesome story, for sure,” Edward chuckles.
“Not as awesome as ours. Someone should write poetry about us.”
Edward scoffs. “Two old men falling in love? Who would wanna read that?”
“I,” Stede says quietly. “If I had known that love like ours existed, not only in hints and hidden messages throughout literature, but for real. If I had known that I could still fall in love despite my age. Which isn’t old by the way. Only talk for yourself,” he says, struggling against the smile tugging on his pursed lips.
“If I had heard songs about this, I wouldn’t have believed it,” Edward muses.
“Maybe not with one, but what if you’d heard hundreds. Wouldn’t you have believed deep down in your heart that it would be possible for you, too?”
Edward ponders the question for a long moment.
“Nah. Would’ve thought I didn’t deserve it.” ‘Still don’t,’ he adds in his mind.
“Oh, I shall find a poet, to tell the truth, so that others like us may hear and gather hope,” Stede says, excitement carved into every line of his face. Edward needs to kiss him, so he does. Because he can.
“Maybe I should write them,” Edward murmurs against Stede’s lips, breathless as this man always leaves him. “I wrote a song while you were gone.”
“Let me hear it!” Stede asks, beaming at him.
“Nah, it’s… sad.”
“Oh,” Stede says. “Of course. My bad. But… maybe we could write one together, each line starting with a new letter of the alphabet.”
Edward smiles shyly. “That would be great.”
Stede breathes a sigh and looks at him with those puppy eyes that make Edward always melt into a puddle of goo whenever he sees them.
“I can’t wait for it,” Stede breathes.
Edward presses his forehead against Stede’s.
“Yes,” he speaks into the barely-there space between them. “I already can read the T, you know? And I have the perfect line for it.
“What is it?” Stede asks, vibrating with excitement.
Edward smiles. “Thou are mine and I am thine.”
You can find more OFMD fanfics of mine here on ao3.
I’m so introverted and introspective that interaction with the outside world has always been tedious and terrifying. I fought to become better acclimated to societal interaction. It wasn’t easy, but I’m pretty good at it now. I have exactly as many friends as I want, and I am capable of functioning like an adult. A lot of people don’t even know that I’m an introvert, but the girl who was afraid to call to order a pizza and petrified of asking for help in the grocery store will always be inside of me somewhere. I can fool other people and even myself, but on some level, I’ll always struggle with this.
I’m wicked smart. They’ve always said that. My grades have never been stellar, but I have this ability to find the quickest, most effective path between two points and do exactly what’s necessary to take it. Really, I’m not into overachieving. Sometimes it means pushing myself, but usually it just means being deliberate in my actions. It’s weird. A lot of people perceive my actions as unstructured or random, but they really, truly are not. I meander, but I do so with purpose. I never did my homework because I realized that I didn’t need to. That I didn’t need straight As to get where I wanted to go. It just wasn’t necessary, so I didn’t strain myself. And for what it’s worth, I’ve almost always been right.
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