It's everything he ever wanted. Reminder of a place where he has a place. Made a place, more like, came in as himself and carved a space against all odds that the people around him kept. Someone who's seen him and knows him and can still say they want him, like wanting him is easy, and him fitting is easy. No hoops to jump through, no magic switch to flip that he was born missing, no amount of himself that he's supposed to somehow choke back.
Like Ed couldn't do or be or choose anything else in the world that would be a hundred times better in a heartbeat. Smart and funny and brave and creative and-- and respected. Knows how to put on the right face with people and have it work.
Good. Better than he thinks he is when the layers get peeled back, no matter what's under those layers. ]
I can fold socks. [ There are important tenets of anchoring a person more properly down to Earth than in the mental spiral they were very carefully cultivating. Time. Distance. A little touch. In some special cases, their own vague confusion.
He can just about latch onto socks as an entry point. A foothold in the rest, which is big and terrifying in the least terrifying way that a thing can still be terrifying. It's like Ed threw him a brain lifeline. Can he fold them? He must do. Can't be hard. He doesn't have socks right now so he can't prove it, but he's pretty sure he could.
That's probably not a grand place to stop after I had fucking nothing, before you and you're what I want. ]
Do you ever... do you ever feel like you pulled a fuckery on someone, only you can't figure out how you did it?
[ He's never tricked anyone into liking him in his life, let alone anyone half as clever as Edward, and yet?? ]
[It'd be enough to make him laugh, normally, that that is of course what Stede responds to first, before anything else, that teasing him worked; but Ed's just so tired, and all he can manage is a fond little grin.
A grin that dips into something sadder and confusingly fonder all at once, when Stede asks him a question. Sadder, because Ed wonders how long he's felt like this on his own. Like Ed wasn't obsessed with every word he spoke and choice he made, like it was all going to crumble when Ed, what- saw who he really was? As if he hasn't already. And that's why he can't help but keep smiling, shaking his head. Because there was no fuckery in the way Stede comforted him at his worst, or immediately saw more in him than most people bothered to, or, or, or.]
You'd have to be an award winning actor, mate. Real globe trotting cut-above-the-rest phenomenon. And frankly, no offence, you're not garbage, but you're not that good.
[Cautious and then firm, he grips Stede's hand.]
You can't figure it out, because there's nothing to figure out. It's just this. [He squeezes their hands together, insistent.] Yeah? Soon as I met you. You trying to tell me you pulled off a fuckery on Blackbeard, strangled half to death? Limping around everywhere? Nah. Not a chance. Give it up.
[ Maybe one of the nicest things about this dinghy is that Stede can't feasibly imagine Chauncey fitting in here with them. Or it's that Ed is just very good at warding off ghosts. Because he feels like he might have a whole new fake Badminton to cope with otherwise.
He might still. He's not sure. Floating in the water, maybe. Swimming up behind them. All gory, all creepy. Sweaty-handed and flailing.
He doesn't think Ed would let go of him, if he got pulled on by something that isn't real and pitched overboard. He thinks Ed would probably hold onto him even if they both drowned, and it's a lot more terrifying to picture than anything from the past few hours. ]
Yeah. [ Stede stares down at their hands in a very cool pensive way. Not in the way of someone with the emotional processing power of oatmeal. ] You're making it hard to argue with you. Which I'd normally think is rude.
[ Where's the fine tonal line between sounding mildly insulted, but also like all of that is the sort of stuff he used to hope he'd hear from someone and then quietly made himself smother out the hoping and then circled back around to secretly hoping to hear it at some point anyway?
It's just-- it's just he can't have it both ways. Logistically. So it actually is hard to argue with.
Is he so whatever it is that he is that he can't stop it and can't hide it and can't fix it? In which case Ed definitely already knew what he was looking at when he kissed him. Or has he pulled off a magical feat of corruption and theatre and trickery with such finesse that Ed can't even conceive of it as a trick? Even though if he had that kind of talent, he would've had an easier time overall for basically his whole life and wouldn't have half the problems he has.
There is so much math on this table and none of it is coming out right. Fuck. ]
Do you forgive me for getting your beard executed?
[ Catch Stede in the literal next tag like "babe I think I may be mentally or emotionally compromised" but right now this is very vital to his process. ]
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no subject
It's everything he ever wanted. Reminder of a place where he has a place. Made a place, more like, came in as himself and carved a space against all odds that the people around him kept. Someone who's seen him and knows him and can still say they want him, like wanting him is easy, and him fitting is easy. No hoops to jump through, no magic switch to flip that he was born missing, no amount of himself that he's supposed to somehow choke back.
Like Ed couldn't do or be or choose anything else in the world that would be a hundred times better in a heartbeat. Smart and funny and brave and creative and-- and respected. Knows how to put on the right face with people and have it work.
Good. Better than he thinks he is when the layers get peeled back, no matter what's under those layers. ]
I can fold socks. [ There are important tenets of anchoring a person more properly down to Earth than in the mental spiral they were very carefully cultivating. Time. Distance. A little touch. In some special cases, their own vague confusion.
He can just about latch onto socks as an entry point. A foothold in the rest, which is big and terrifying in the least terrifying way that a thing can still be terrifying. It's like Ed threw him a brain lifeline. Can he fold them? He must do. Can't be hard. He doesn't have socks right now so he can't prove it, but he's pretty sure he could.
That's probably not a grand place to stop after I had fucking nothing, before you and you're what I want. ]
Do you ever... do you ever feel like you pulled a fuckery on someone, only you can't figure out how you did it?
[ He's never tricked anyone into liking him in his life, let alone anyone half as clever as Edward, and yet?? ]
no subject
A grin that dips into something sadder and confusingly fonder all at once, when Stede asks him a question. Sadder, because Ed wonders how long he's felt like this on his own. Like Ed wasn't obsessed with every word he spoke and choice he made, like it was all going to crumble when Ed, what- saw who he really was? As if he hasn't already. And that's why he can't help but keep smiling, shaking his head. Because there was no fuckery in the way Stede comforted him at his worst, or immediately saw more in him than most people bothered to, or, or, or.]
You'd have to be an award winning actor, mate. Real globe trotting cut-above-the-rest phenomenon. And frankly, no offence, you're not garbage, but you're not that good.
[Cautious and then firm, he grips Stede's hand.]
You can't figure it out, because there's nothing to figure out. It's just this. [He squeezes their hands together, insistent.] Yeah? Soon as I met you. You trying to tell me you pulled off a fuckery on Blackbeard, strangled half to death? Limping around everywhere? Nah. Not a chance. Give it up.
no subject
He might still. He's not sure. Floating in the water, maybe. Swimming up behind them. All gory, all creepy. Sweaty-handed and flailing.
He doesn't think Ed would let go of him, if he got pulled on by something that isn't real and pitched overboard. He thinks Ed would probably hold onto him even if they both drowned, and it's a lot more terrifying to picture than anything from the past few hours. ]
Yeah. [ Stede stares down at their hands in a very cool pensive way. Not in the way of someone with the emotional processing power of oatmeal. ] You're making it hard to argue with you. Which I'd normally think is rude.
[ Where's the fine tonal line between sounding mildly insulted, but also like all of that is the sort of stuff he used to hope he'd hear from someone and then quietly made himself smother out the hoping and then circled back around to secretly hoping to hear it at some point anyway?
It's just-- it's just he can't have it both ways. Logistically. So it actually is hard to argue with.
Is he so whatever it is that he is that he can't stop it and can't hide it and can't fix it? In which case Ed definitely already knew what he was looking at when he kissed him. Or has he pulled off a magical feat of corruption and theatre and trickery with such finesse that Ed can't even conceive of it as a trick? Even though if he had that kind of talent, he would've had an easier time overall for basically his whole life and wouldn't have half the problems he has.
There is so much math on this table and none of it is coming out right. Fuck. ]
Do you forgive me for getting your beard executed?
[ Catch Stede in the literal next tag like "babe I think I may be mentally or emotionally compromised" but right now this is very vital to his process. ]