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aqueeracademic · 8 months

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wish that you were here

I’ve tried to leave it all behind me, but I woke up and there they were beside me. And I don’t believe it, but I guess it’s true: some feelings, they can travel, too. There it is again, sitting on my chest, makes it hard to catch my breath. I scramble for the light to change.

Ed remembers waking up in the middle of the night and rolling over just to come face to face with those godforsaken cake toppers. Sometimes, he would reach out to them, push them closer together or grab one and throw it across the cabin. Ed remembers thinking that if he sailed far enough, fast enough, he would eventually outrun it. The weight in his chest that had been resting there like an Incubus ever since the day he sat on that dock. But the sensation seemed to follow him as the seagulls did. He remembers gasping for air until he was forced out of bed by his own bile.

You’re always on my mind.

Stede remembers everything. He remembers the tickle of Ed’s hair on his arm. He remembers the sensation of Ed’s hand on his face, the sound of Ed’s voice and the slight lilt in it when he would get frustrated. Stede dreams of these things relentlessly.

You’re always on my mind.

Ed remembers pushing Lucius overboard. He dreams about his father. He remembers wishing he had the strength to put Izzy in the ground but forgoing it because it almost felt better to watch him suffer. Ed remembers wishing that making one man he loved hurt would fill the place in him that made him want the other one to hurt, too. It didn’t.

I never minded being on my own. Then something broke in me, and I wanted to go home to be where you are. But even closer to you, you seem so very far. And now I’m reaching out with every note I sing, and I hope it gets to you on some Pacific wind; wraps itself around you, and whispers in your ear, tells you that I miss you and I wish that you were here.

Stede remembers the days back home, with Mary and the children. He remembers wandering around empty halls, walking empty streets, and not really caring that there was no one around. Even if there were, would they be able to make him feel the way Ed did? He doubted it. And then he realized, of course, that he loved Ed, and you know this story. But did you know that Stede paddled in that rowboat for what felt like forever, only for Ed to keep getting farther away? Did you know that, like a mermaid or a siren, he sent his song across the sea? That he shoved his ardor into glass bottles and littered the ocean with them, hoping they would eventually reside in the hands of the other? I miss you, they read. I need you here.

And if I stay, I don’t know. There’ll be so much that I’ll have to let go. You’re disappearing all the time. But I still see you in the light; for you, the shadows fight. And it’s beautiful but there’s that tug inside, I must stop time traveling. You’re always on my mind.

Ed remembers that, after flicking the cake topper overboard, he felt his lungs swell as if it was a voodoo doll and he was drowning, too. He remembers wandering around the ship in the dead of night, causing the deck boards to creak over a quivering crew as he wandered to the edge and stared over into the black water, thinking, but never acting. Sometimes, in the corner of his eye, when the light was right and his hair was in his face, he thought that Stede might have been standing right beside him. He never was. It was the third trip to the edge that forced the man’s name out of his vernacular. This is who I am, he thought. I can never be anything else.

You’re always on my mind. You’re always on my mind.

Stede played host at Spanish Jackie’s for some time. Everytime he turned around at the sound of the door, his heart leapt into his throat as he thought… maybe. Maybe it would be Ed walking in. It never was. He saw him everywhere, though. His name, the fake one, often left the lips of people on the street. His face was plastered on every wall. Stede took it as a sign that he was close, that he would triumph and find Ed. Not Blackbeard. Ed.

Ed remembers realizing that shooting Izzy was the final breach of his humanity. Izzy, who stood by him no matter what, who loved him even if neither of them spoke of it. And then Izzy did speak of it, and that was the breaking point. To love and to be loved is to be abandoned. That was the threat Izzy was making. And he wasn’t ready to be alone, no matter how much he swore that being alone was safety and sanctuary. It took only a day for the crew to kill him. Longer than he thought it would. And thank God they did. Lord knows Edward didn’t have the balls to do it himself. And in that final breath, before the cannonball came down, he whispered the name of the man he had forsaken and laughed. He wondered if Stede could hear him.

We all need something watching over us.

Stede remembers waking up in the middle of the night, on the floor in Spanish Jackie’s in tears, just for there to be someone there, rubbing his back, only half awake. He remembers thinking often about Lucius, smiling when remembering the support he provided. Stede thought of Ed, who he swore was looking for him, too. Imagine his surprise when he realized that Ed was no longer among the living.

Be it the falcons, the clouds or the cross.

Ed remembers the Gravy Basket. He wasn’t sure how long that lifetime was, and it wasn’t clear to him for several weeks after leaving. It could have been years for all he knew. It wasn’t. And thank God it wasn’t. He felt his hand close around something. Maybe it was the rope at his waist.

And then the sea swept in and left us all speechless.

Stede remembers being fairly certain he had never begged before in his life. Not seriously, anyway. Not in any way that implied complete hopelessness; the tragedy of Achilles and Patroclus, God and the angel Lucifer, Romeo and Juliet. But he begged over Ed’s body. He pleaded with every divine entity he could come up with in his mind, with the water on the floor, with Ed’s hands, his chest, his face. His feet were soaked through, his cheeks ached with the pain of sorrow. His heart pounded so hard he was sure it would stop. He wouldn’t have been saddened if it did.

Speechless.

Ed remembers the mermaid. He remembers the old tales of the sirens that he never believed, the ones claiming that a siren’s song could get you to jump into the freezing sea without a second thought and swim until you found it. Ed remembers the mermaid that had Stede’s face. The mermaid that he reached for, that he tried to press his lips against. He had wrestled with the rope until it came undone and vanished into the darkness of the water, and yet his hand still felt clasped around something familiar.

I never minded being on my own. Then something broke in me, and I wanted to go home to be where you are.

Stede remembers what it felt like to see Ed’s fingers move, what it felt like to take hold of him once more and swear to Heaven above and Hell below that he would never, ever let go. When Stede was a child, he enjoyed his solitude; the fear of abuse and shame was always just a footbridge across from friendship. But Stede was not a child anymore, and he never wanted to feel that ache of aloneness ever again. Stede remembers that Ed woke him the day they met with a hand on his. And now, with his hand upon Ed’s, he waits for him to come back to him. To be with him. To wake and allow him to come home.

But even closer to you, you seem so very far.

Ed remembers that when his eyes fluttered open, the first thing he realized was that his hand was gripping Stede’s. He hadn’t even realized he was reaching for him until he already had hold of him.

And now I’m reaching out with every note I sing, and I hope it gets to you on some Pacific wind; wraps itself around you, and whispers in your ear, tells you that I miss you and I wish that you were here.

Stede remembers seeing Ed’s eyes as they opened. He also remembers the pain in his face as Ed sat up too quickly, slamming the hard bone of his skull into Stede’s cheekbone. Stede, of course, knew the second Ed woke up he was going to lose him all over again. The crew had killed him once, and they would do it again. He didn’t know if it was more painful to lose the man to death or to lose him and know he was out there somewhere, waiting for him. Stede remembers deciding that Ed had to go, before even deciding to ask the crew what they wanted.

Wish that you were here.

Ed remembers realizing that the Stede cradling his face in pain was no longer a mermaid. Just a man. The man who he held to blame for every second of his life leading to that exact moment. He didn’t know if it was fair. He had blamed his father, his captain, Izzy… and now Stede. Ed remembers the pain in his body, the bruises he could feel creeping up and down his skin, the black residue of the cannonball imprinted in his flesh somewhere he could not see. Ed focused his eyes on Stede, and his first, and only, order of business was a newfound determination to get away from him. To leave the ship and, if he was lucky, never lay eyes upon him again. The sensation in his chest, the Incubus, was still there, which meant only one thing to him: he was right. This pain was not the result of love. This pain was who he was.

Wish that you were here.

Stede remembers the feeling of the couch beneath them as he was closer to Ed than he had been in a long time. Ed smelled the same, and something about that was comforting. He could have reached out, ran his fingers through Ed’s hair and made him look at him, but he didn’t. He folded his hands in his lap and waited. Stede remembers bringing Ed back to the ship and the crew descending on him, tying a collar around his neck and stripping him of his leather. Stede remembers thinking that, maybe, without the leather, Ed could be close to him again, any remnant of Blackbeard firmly forgotten.

Wish that you were here.

Ed remembers the moonlight. The wire from which a fish was hung was digging into his fingers but Stede was in front of him, flushed and glowing in the pale light, rambling about curses and priests. The ship was quiet. Ed remembers the breeze, the smell of salt on skin, the jingle of the bell around his neck. His heart was beating in his stomach as he said it. You wear fine things well. He had replayed those words in his head for weeks, in the before and after of Stede, wondering if it meant what he’d hoped it did. Ed remembers kissing him, the way he should have done the first time.

Wish that you were…

Stede remembers the moonlight. The pang of losing such a gorgeous piece of clothing still hung in his mouth, but Ed was in front of him, small and desperate in the pale light, telling him about fishing and silence. The ship was quiet. Stede remembers the rustle of the sails, the curl of the hair at Ed’s temple, the sound of the bell as he got closer. His heart pounded in his throat as he heard his own words thrown back at him, not with malice, but with care and questioning. You wear fine things well. He had chewed on those words for weeks after speaking them aloud, wondering if he had said the wrong thing, if it meant anything at all that he had gotten them out. Stede remembers the closeness of Ed as he finally pressed his lips against him. A chaste kiss that Stede refused to let go of, instead burying his hand in that hair, wrapping an arm around that waist. He had been searching for Ed for so long, he hadn’t even realized he’d caught him, but he had. Or rather, like a fish, Ed had caught him.

#is this even good writing #no one answer #i will be doing this with some #other characters #such as #izzy hands #or perhaps #ed teach #stede bonnet #blackbonnet #stede x blackbeard #ofmd #our flag means death #Spotify

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inkskinned · 1 year

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probably time for this story i guess but when i was a kid there was a summer that my brother was really into making smoothies and milkshakes. part of this was that we didn't have AC and couldn't afford to run fans all day so it was kind of important to get good at making Cool Down Concoctions.

we also had a patch of mint, and he had two impressionable little sisters who had the attitude of "fuck it, might as well."

at one point, for fun, this 16 year old boy with a dream in his eye and scientific fervor in heart just wanted to see how far one could push the idea of "vanilla mint smoothie". how much vanilla extract and how much mint can go into a blender before it truly is inedible.

the answer is 3 cups of vanilla extract, 1/2 cup milk alternative, and about 50 sprigs (not leaves, whole spring) of mint. add ice and the courage of a child. idk, it was summer and we were bored.

the word i would use to describe the feeling of drinking it would maybe be "violent" or perhaps, like. "triangular." my nose felt pristine. inhaling following the first sip was like trying to sculpt a new face. i was ensconced in a mesh of horror. it was something beyond taste. for years after, i assumed those commercials that said "this is how it feels to chew five gum" were referencing the exact experience of this singular viscous smoothie.

what's worse is that we knew our mother would hate that we wasted so much vanilla extract. so we had to make it worth it. we had to actually finish the drink. it wasn't "wasting" it if we actually drank it, right? we huddled around outside in the blistering sun, gagging and passing around a single green potion, shivering with disgust. each sip was transcendent, but in a sort of non-euclidean way. i think this is where i lost my binary gender. it eroded certain parts of me in an acidic gut ecology collapse.

here's the thing about love and trust: the next day my brother made a different shake, and i drank it without complaint. it's been like 15 years. he's now a genuinely skilled cook. sometimes one of the three of us will fuck up in the kitchen or find something horrible or make a terrible smoothie mistake and then we pass it to each other, single potion bottle, and we say try it it's delicious. it always smells disgusting. and then, cerimonious, we drink it together. because that's what family does.