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The night Alma sprinted into the living room of Mary and Doug’s house, squealing nonsensically about newly added Boston tour dates for a band called “Queen Anne’s Revenge”, Stede couldn’t help but thank the universe for its divine timing.
As the world’s self-proclaimed worst gift giver, and with Alma’s 16th birthday just around the corner, he’d been stressing for weeks trying to find something to make up for the past 15 years worth of disappointing birthday gifts. He’d come over to Mary’s that night to brainstorm ideas over dinner and a bottle of Cabernet, but so far nothing they’d thought of had been enough to truly take the cake in Stede’s mind. The giant plush horse he’d gotten her the previous year due to its beautifully stitched, kind looking eyes, had only been met with the briefest look of clear disappointment, and Stede’s heart had been cleaved in two watching Alma try to morph her expression into a beaming smile in an attempt to spare his feelings.
To be fair, Mary had tried to talk him into getting, well– pretty much anything else at the time, but Stede had been so in love with Arthur and convinced that Alma would as well, he’d completely forgotten her squishmallow phase had ended over four years ago.
Like he said– world’s worst gift giver.
Stede had been determined ever since to make sure this year’s gift blew every one before it out of the water, and he’d pounced on buying the concert tickets nearly the second she’d finished regaling them with the details.
In hindsight, it probably would have been best if he’d waited until after the three glasses of Cabernet in his system had cleared before he’d made the purchase, but Stede had been far too excited picturing Alma telling everyone what a cool, “in the know” dad she had to think much of it. Otherwise, had he asked a few questions before buying four bloody VIP tickets, he would’ve known that Mary, Doug and Louis would all be out of town that weekend for a gallery opening and an eagle scout’s camping trip, respectively, and thus that would make him the only responsible adult left to chaperone.
So that’s how Stede found himself in his current predicament– laying in bed and nursing a particularly nasty hangover, while trying in vain to begin the process of mentally preparing himself for his first ever live rock concert, for a band he’d never even heard of, with what would likely be three overly enthusiastic teens in tow.
God, he was never drinking again.
Feeling his stomach turn in response to the creeping anxiety clawing within, he forced himself to focus instead on the way Alma’s arms had wrapped tight around him when he’d shown her the receipt, whispering this is the best birthday gift ever in his ear before she’d pressed a kiss to his cheek, and the negative thoughts seemed to trickle from his mind. Who was the world’s worst gift giver again?
Certainly not Stede Bonnet.
Two Weeks Later…
“Dad, come on already or we’re going to be late!” Alma yelled out from the open passenger window of the minivan, her voice dripping with exasperation. “They have trained medics at the concert for a reason, you know, you do not need to go back in for the first aid kit!”
“Yes, I’m sure they do, darling, but one can never be too careful!” Stede cried out as he hurried to unlock the front door for the third time, swinging it wide and bolting for the kitchen counter to grab the neatly folded stack of papers still sitting where he’d left him the night before. He’d been too afraid for his life to admit he’d nearly left the concert tickets behind by mistake, so a phony first aid kit retrieval had seemed his best option.
Jamming the papers into his teal fanny pack and making his way out the door, he proceeded to make a show of throwing his hands up in the air in mock surrender, as if he’d made the great sacrifice of leaving the kit behind for Alma’s sake. He jogged down the driveway to the car and settled into his seat, tossing his fanny pack on the floor beside Alma's purse before buckling himself in and clapping his hands together in excitement.
“Right then, are we all set, crew? Everyone have everything they need from inside?”
“Yup!” Alma’s best friends, Lily and Finn, chirped in unison from the back, both clearly unbothered and simply happy to be there.
Stede would never admit it, of course, but he was beyond grateful Alma had chosen to give the extra two tickets to them out of everyone she knew. They were Stede’s favorites of her friends, and he’d hosted them for enough sleepovers and weekend beach trips that the familiarity was a comfort for such a new experience. Lily and Alma had met during freshman year swim tryouts just 2 years prior, both of them strong but inexperienced competitive swimmers at the time, who had immediately bonded over their love of skim boarding and ocean animals. They’d exchanged information at the end of the day, and from then on they’d been attached at the hip.
Finn, on the other hand, had been Alma’s best friend since they were only 10 years old. Alma had come across them sitting alone during lunch on the first day of middle school, and feeling something in her gut telling her they were in desperate need of a friend, she’d plopped right down beside them and promptly introduced herself. Finn hadn’t engaged much at first, too shy at the time to say anything beyond their name, but the moment Alma had complimented their shark themed lunchbox and pink painted nails, they’d lit up like a firefly and a beautiful friendship was born. The rest, as they say, was history.
Making himself refocus on the task at hand, Stede made sure to punch the music hall address into his GPS before they got on the road as a precaution. He’d been living in Boston for nearly 12 years now, and while he knew the general area around the venue decently well, god knows he’d somehow find a way to get lost and make them late for the concert due to his directionally challenged nature. He adjusted his rearview mirror and turned the key in the ignition, watching the moment all the children’s eyes lit up at the sound of the engine roaring to life.
“I cannot believe we’re actually about to see Queen Anne’s Revenge!” Finn squealed, wiggling happily in their seat. “I seriously can’t thank you enough for letting us come with Alma, Mr. B, this is genuinely a dream come true.”
“Yeah, same here, Mr. Bonnet! I literally thought I was gonna have a heart attack when Alma asked if we wanted the extra tickets.”
“Oh, think nothing of it.” Stede smiled at them from over his shoulder as he backed out of the driveway. “I’m just glad Alma has some friends along who actually know who we’re seeing— and besides, it’s not every day your only daughter turns sixteen!”
Alma let out a performative groan of annoyance that Stede might have believed was real, if it weren’t for the obviously pleased expression she was fighting tooth and nail to suppress. She quickly grabbed his hand to give it a squeeze of affection before pulling away just as fast, too afraid to let her friends witness a tender moment unfolding so out in the open, and Stede paid it no mind in an attempt to spare her– he let his beaming smile speak for itself instead.
With a 25 minute drive ahead of them until they reached the MGM Music Hall, the kids began to talk excitedly amongst themselves about which songs they hoped to hear in between bouts of band gossip, and Stede let the easy chatter fade into the background as he tried his best to focus on the GPS.
Between work, Alma’s swim practices and Louis’s little league games, Stede hadn’t had much time to look into Queen Anne’s Revenge, if he were honest. Alma had played a few songs in the car over the past two weeks to help familiarize him with their sound, and while they weren't the hardcore metal band he’d been anticipating from their name alone, their style was still moderately heavy rock and roll. Stede wasn’t against the genre, to be clear, having loved every song he’d heard so far for their classic rock meets grunge vibe, but he couldn’t help but feel wholly unprepared for the live experience. The most volatile show he’d seen in comparison had been a Madonna concert he’d gone to with Mary to celebrate their divorce, and while he’d wanted nothing more than to vogue the night away, even that show had proven too much for Stede to handle. Despite his outwardly overconfident and extroverted nature, he'd never fared well in large crowds, and the sensory overload of sweaty strangers constantly bumping against his skin for hours on top of the lack of personal space had proven a recipe for disaster. His hope was that the VIP section of the music hall would be situated in such a way that he might avoid these things, but he’d opted for the VIP floor seats instead of the upper level booths so they could be closer to the stage– only the best for his daughter on her (almost) special day, god help him.
With Stede finding the drive simply fueling his anxiety instead of distracting him from it, he tuned back into the children’s conversation at the mention of Jim Jimenez, a name he vaguely recognized from Alma’s repeated attempts to help him learn more about the band’s members. He might as well take advantage of a last minute refresher beforehand while he still had time.
“Remind me who Jim is again?” Stede asked, glancing in Alma’s direction. “Is that the bassist or the pianist?”
“No, that’s the drummer. They’re the non-binary member I was telling you about who uses they/them pronouns, remember? They’re the one who owns their own small recording studio to help lesser known trans and non-binary artists! Fang is the pianist.” She clarified patiently, as if she hadn’t already gone over this information with him not 24 hours ago. “And he’s the one who has the four golden retrievers and two pitbulls that he takes everywhere with him.”
“Right, right, the avid dog lover, I remember now… I suppose that’s a pretty good way to remember his name then, no?” Stede leaned towards Alma, wiggling his brows. “Fang sure loves his fangs, am I right, kids?”
“Ugh, Dad, c’mon.” Alma pinched the bridge of her nose in embarrassment, turning the slightest shade of pink as Lily and Finn cackled behind her. “You promised no puns or dad jokes today!”
“Yes, darling, but I’m having such a… ruff time remembering their names that I can’t seem to help myself– I swear I’m not doing this on pawpose.”
“HA, good one, Mr. B–”
“CLASSIC–”
“Guys, don’t encourage him!” Alma spun around to glare at her friends before giving Stede the same menacing expression, the look thankfully lacking any real malice.
“Anyways, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted– Jim is the drummer, Fang is the pianist, and then the singer and bassist’s name is Frenchie–”
“-and Frenchie is the one who has the ongoing beef with house cats.” Finn cut in casually, as if the statement wasn’t objectively bizarre out of context. “He’s been known to go on a cat tirade or two during their shows. God, I hope he goes on one tonight…”
“Cat tirade? Is that a band term, or?”
“No, it’s just something Frenchie does.” Finn shrugged, their tone light. “He’ll just suddenly start talking about why he hates cats sometimes during breaks between songs until the band has to start playing over him to shut him up, it’s friggin hilarious.”
“What have cats ever done to him?”
“Well, he claims he doesn’t like them because he finds it super suspicious that they always land on their feet whenever they fall and he’s convinced that they’ve bewitched all their owners into serving them, but I’m pretty sure Blackbeard said in their Vogue interview last year that the real reason he hates them is because he got bit by a cat when he was six and just– never forgave them for it, I guess.”
“Well… I suppose that’s fair.” Stede shrugged, too focused on the mention of Blackbeard to pay Frenchie’s reasoning much mind. That name, oddly, had stayed ingrained in his thoughts since he’d first heard it fall from Alma's lips days ago. “And this other fellow you mentioned, Blackbeard– he’s the lead guitarist who started the whole band, correct?”
“Yup, and he’s crazy good.” Lily jumped in, ready to take the reins. Come to think of it, Alma had mentioned she was the self appointed Blackbeard expert of the group. “He’s actually from Aotearoa like you, Mr. B!”
“Oh, how fascinating! Alma, you never mentioned he was a kiwi!”
“Dad, you couldn't even remember Jim was the drummer and I said it six hundred times.”
“Yes, Alma, but this is different, we’re talking about a fellow kiwi here! What’s his story, then? Has he been here long?”
“He’s lived in the states for about 15 years now, I think, because I’m pretty sure he moved to Atlanta when he was only 23 or so and he’s 38 now— but honestly he looks so good for his age, I forget sometimes.” Lily snickered as she rubbed shoulders with Finn until she remembered her audience, her smile fading into a grimace. “Uh, I mean– he looks so young for his age, I forget.”
She quickly cleared her throat before bulldozing on, refusing to meet Alma and Finn’s gaze lest she give them any further encouragement to tease her beyond the knowing looks they shared.
“He started out as a solo artist at first, just doing gig shows in bars and playing on the streets in the city and what not, but then when he saw Fang, Jim and Frenchie perform at a house show in his neighborhood one night, he marched right up to them and introduced himself as their new lead guitarist, and that’s how Queen Anne’s Revenge started.”
“What, just like that?” Stede’s eyes went wide in shock, amazed by the man’s sheer gumption.
“Yup, just like that.”
“And the rest of the band was fine with it?”
“Oh, absolutely, they were all on board from the get go– I would’ve been too, if I’d just seen him play half the guitar solo from “The Chain” using his teeth.”
“No!” Stede gasped, looking back at Lily like she’d grown three heads. “His teeth?!”
“Yeah, wild, right? I’m telling you, Mr. B, the man has balls for days. He’s just an absolute legend.”
“God, how incredible.” Stede shook his head in amazement, finding each answer only brought forth more questions. “Where did the moniker come from then? I assume it’s not his real name?”
“Na, it’s just a stage name he’s had for years now– his real name is Edward Teach, but he’s made it clear he expects the fans to call him Blackbeard, which hasn’t ever been an issue. Everyone woulda called him that anyways because he’s metal as shi-, uh… just a super cool, hardcore guy with really long, pitch black hair and a thick beard, so it just makes sense.”
“Yeah, and it’s just your type, right, Lil?” Alma turned and snickered, scrunching her nose up.
“Oh my god, I said it, like, one time-”
“Five times-”
“-and you’re one to talk, seeing as you have a crush on Fang!”
“Oh please, I do not have a crush on Fang–I just wanna, like, shrink him and carry him around in my pocket sometimes, it’s completely normal!”
“How is that normal?”
“You guys are weird as hell.”
“Finn, do not make me roast you right now–”
Stede’s heart warmed as he listened to the three ease back into their near unintelligible bickering, comforted by the fact that it came from a place of love. He was grateful Alma had friends that so clearly cared for her and shared her passions, that knew when to tease and when to ease up, and a part of him couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if he’d had that in his youth– maybe life would have been different, if he’d had someone who understood.
The thought promptly left his mind once he almost missed his turn into the parking garage.
Putting the car in park and turning off the engine, the reality of where they were seemed to snap into place in his mind’s eye, and with it the anxiety that had slowly plagued him for days reached its boiling point. He heard Finn and Lily climb out of the back seat and decided to take a quick moment for himself while he could, leaning his head back against the headrest to let out a slow, deep breath, but it seemed the intrusive thoughts wouldn’t let themselves go down without a fight.
You’re a weak hearted, soft-handed, lily-livered little rich boy… and that’s all you’ll ever be, Stede Bonnet.
Who did he think he was, showing up to a rock concert at his age? He wasn’t one of those headbanging fellows who moshed in sweaty pits of flailing limbs for fun and drank till they puked– he was a 37 year old father of two whose idea of a good time was reading Jane Austen novels by the lake and building 18th century ship models as a hobby, for god’s sake. His ideal Friday night was watching Schitt’s Creek reruns over a glass of wine and being in bed by 9 pm, not paying to flaunt his wealth in front of worldly rock stars who had shed blood, sweat and tears to get to where they were now.
The sudden, gentle touch of a warm hand lacing their fingers between his own ceased his spiraling, and he turned towards Alma to find her looking up at him with soft, emerald eyes, chock full of understanding.
“We got this, dad.” She whispered so only he could hear, giving his hand a light squeeze of encouragement. “I promise it’s gonna be great, okay? I’m really glad you’re here with me.”
Stede wanted nothing more in that moment than to tell Alma just how much her very being had been a constant balm to his soul since the day she was born, but he knew he’d never be able to get the words out even if he tried. Instead, he gave a watery smile and squeezed her hand back in return, opting for the next best thing.
“I love you, Alma Rose.”
“I love you too, Dad.” She gave his hand one last gentle squeeze before untangling their fingers, reaching down to grab her purse and passing him his fanny pack before she climbed out of the passenger seat and turned to face him.
“Ready, captain?” She raised her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for his cue. Stede threw his head back with a laugh before giving an exaggerated salute.
“Hoist away, matey.”
And out of the car he went.
***************************
The walk from the parking garage to the venue was thankfully a short one. They’d managed to move through security and finish ticket checks much faster than normal thanks to their VIP status, and with roughly 30 minutes of extra time left before the concert started, they decided to make their way to the upper floors to grab a quick bite. They scarfed down an order of hot pretzels and tater tots, taking breaks to ooh and aah at the glossy finish of the new building and the oversize records hanging from the walls in between bites, wondering aloud if the band sold any of their albums on vinyl. Stede immediately made a mental note to add a record player to Alma’s Christmas list.
Damn, he was getting good at this gift giving thing.
Once they finished the last of the pretzels, Stede gently corralled the group towards the restroom for one final stop before they went to take their seats, wanting to avoid the possibility of having to take an emergency bathroom break and leave anyone behind if at all possible. They made their way through the double doors and found their designated VIP section, and immediately Stede had to cover his ears to drown out the excited squeals from the children at its placement– their seats, as expected, were phenomenal, front and center with a clear view from every angle, and Stede was relieved to find that it had been roped off from the general audience to allow for some extra breathing room. They weren’t completely alone in the space, of course— there were enough chairs set up to fit roughly 20-25 people, but seeing as the section seemed sold out and he had yet to come into close contact with a single person besides the children, he considered it a win.
He took the 5 minutes he had left before the opener to relax, resting in his chair and snapping a quick picture of the three teens standing together side by side against the security barricade to send to Mary and Doug before the show began. Though the venue wasn’t quiet by any means, it was a smaller, more intimate space than most places he’d been at, and as the lights dimmed to signal the opening act, Stede was delighted to find he felt rejuvenated by the energy of the exhilarated crowd rather than overwhelmed by it.
He’d never heard of the opening performer before, which he’d obviously expected, but within seconds his head was bobbing along to the beat of the song. The long, blonde haired soloist went by the simple stage name of, “The Swede,” an incredibly talented dancer with a falsetto that gave even Stede the chills, but he did have to wonder who had decided to start the show off with Swedish disco pop as a precursor to Queen Anne’s Revenge more heavy alternative sound. Perhaps they had figured a bit of musical whiplash would keep the night interesting? In all honesty, he couldn’t bring himself to care if it was the reason for the radiant smile lighting every curve and corner of his daughter’s face.
The songs seemed to blend seamlessly from one into the other, and it wasn’t long until Stede was up on his feet again, clapping his hands and wolf whistling as the Swede bowed to a swarm of applause. He closed his set out with a song Stede assumed must have been his biggest hit, if Finn, Lily and Alma’s squealing reactions were any indication, and even he audibly whooped when he heard the inclusion of a sample from one of his favorite ABBA songs come in. He began belting along with the lyrics, holding back nothing for the first time in a long time as if his very life depended on it.
People everywhere
A sense of expectation hanging in the air
Giving out a spark
Across the room, your eyes are glowing in the
dark
Alma’s head whipped around when she heard him, her entire being lit up as she interlocked their fingers together and joined in singing along while spinning them in circles. Looking down at his daughter as she clasped his fingers tight, her face aglow with an easy smile, Stede thought his heart might burst out of his chest with gratitude. In that moment, he truly was the richest man in the world.
***************************
With an hour break after The Swede’s set to allow the stage crew time to set up for Queen Anne’s Revenge, Stede and the kids waited for the first wave of people to leave for the bathrooms and drinks before they made their way out for bottles of water and a decent breather. The kids were positively wired and bouncing off one another by the time they got back to their section, one of them consistently in a constant state of giggles, if not all of them combined, and he took the remaining minutes left to Facetime Mary and Doug after their gallery show so they could get a good look at the music hall.
“Mary, you gotta come see how high these ceilings are. The acoustics in that room must be incredible.” Doug gushed into the microphone, his face so close to the camera that Stede could only see him from the eyes up. “Man, I am so jealous of you right now, Stede.”
“It really is pretty incredible in here, I’ll admit it. It made the opener’s falsetto sounded positively angelic earlier!”
“Yeah, The Swede’s amazing, right? Alma plays his debut album all the time on the way to school and I’ll admit I just keep it playing on the drive home. The Swedes make some damn good disco.”
Mary finally appeared from behind Doug to snatch the phone out of his hand with a frazzled expression, stray hairs flying around her head in a halo, and Stede fought tooth and nail to hide his teasing smirk.
“Stede Bonnet, say a single word about my hair right now and I swear to god, I will come to your house and replace all of your fancy hair gels with Pantene products. I know where you live, bitch.”
Stede’s eyebrows nearly flew up to his hairline as he shook with laughter, and immediately Mary gave a toothy grin despite her tired eyes.
“Having a bit of a day, are we, marigold?”
“Yeah, you could definitely say that…” She said, blowing a puff of air from between her pursed lips. “But let’s not talk about work, I wanna hear how your night’s going! How’s the show so far, is everyone having fun?”
“Surprisingly I am, and I think the kids definitely are too.” His eyes softened as he looked over his phone at Alma, too busy laughing at a slowly developing picture they’d taken on her polaroid to notice. “We raised a pretty great kid, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess she’s alright.” Mary winked, returning his gentle smile. “Where is she anyways, can I say hi real quick?”
“Oh, she’s just right here in front of me.” He flipped the camera around so she could see the teens leaning against the gate. “Alma, do you wanna come say hi to mom and Doug real quick?”
Alma passed off her camera and stepped forward immediately, grabbing the phone from his hand before babbling into the speaker.
“Mom, oh my god, this is incredible!”
“Yeah? Is it everything you hoped it would be?” He heard Mary ask, already able to picture the doting expression on her face she reserved solely for the children clear as day.
“I’m like, freaking out right now, honestly. I don’t think it’s hit yet that I’m about to see them so I’m just kinda floaty, but if you’re still up when we get home, I can call you and tell you all about it!”
“Sounds like a plan, darling. Now you go ahead and have fun with your friends, okay? I love you so much.”
“Love you too, mom!” She passed the phone back to Stede and skipped the step forward to rejoin Finn and Lily against the barrier, Stede staring fondly after her as he brought the phone up to his face.
“She looks like she’s having the time of her life right now, Stede. You knocked it out of the park with this one. She’s gonna remember this forever, you know that, right?”
“I think that makes two of us.” His mouth curved into a smile, and he blew Mary a quick kiss, feeling the shift of energy in the room as the lights flashed briefly to move into position for pre-show cues. “Alright, I’m gonna get off here because it looks like they’re about to start in a bit. I’ll make sure I text you when it’s over and when we get home!”
“Sounds good to me. Love you, Stedey, have a good rest of the show!”
“Love you too, marigold. Talk to you later.”
She blew a kiss back and the call was disconnected, near perfect timing as the lights went down and the crowd roared in anticipation. Alma turned and grabbed Stede’s hand, dragging him up from his chair to come and stand beside her, and he placed his hand on top of hers on the barrier and nudged her affectionately with his shoulder in the dark, before laying his hands back flat atop the gate.
At the first glimpse of movement onstage, Finn, Lily and Alma began screaming beside him as the shadowy figures of the band members began to grab their instruments and get into position. He heard the quiet thumping of the kick drum and the strumming of guitars, and within seconds, the room exploded in a burst of light.
Just as suddenly, Stede found he could hardly breathe.
It wasn’t the closeness of bodies or the thrumming bass of the speakers sending vibrations through his chest that left him winded, nor was he struck blind by the plethora of flashing camera lights in his periphery or the glimmer of stage lights reflecting off the metal of the microphones.
Instead, Stede Bonnet had been left completely unraveled and unmoored at the mere sight of Blackbeard in the flesh.
Nothing could have prepared him for the absolute vision that was Edward Teach; no romance novels or spoken word, nor the writings of the great poets themselves had even begun to scratch the surface of the beauty that encompassed him. He was radiant, glorious and effervescent, a burning comet crashing through Stede’s night sky and breaking through the layers of his atmosphere with ease, illuminating his world in a way he’d never known it could shine. For the first time in his life, Stede finally knew what it was to see a god among men.
His eyes swarmed over every inch of golden skin turned canvas, running along the inked lines that told a story only Blackbeard himself could translate, and Stede wanted nothing more– no, needed more than anything– to hear the tale come from the man’s lips alone. Thick, black curls touched with the occasional moonlight streak cascaded past his shoulders and down his back in waves, with the top half of his hair mostly pulled back and pinned up haphazardly in an attempt to keep it from blocking his vision. It was a wise choice, in Stede’s opinion, seeing as it would have been a sin to allow it to hide any of his face more than the few stubborn strands that fell across his forehead already did, but even they looked more like particularly placed adornments than anything, as decorative as the golden rings, necklaces and fingerless leather gloves draped along his hands and collarbone.
His gaze inadvertently moved to where Blackbeard’s fingers stroked along the strings of his instrument, and Stede’s cheeks tinged with pink watching him caress its silver frame with expertise, his hands practically making love to the guitar with every distinct strum as it sang his praise. Stede’s eyes slid hungrily down to Blackbeard’s waist seemingly with a mind of their own, honing in on the strip of bare skin exposed beneath the frayed, black cropped muscle tee he wore, and he followed the trail of dark fuzz along his navel until it disappeared beneath the leather pants hanging low on his hip. With the realization that not a single one of his thoughts were holy, he forced himself to move his focus back up the length of Blackbeard’s torso until it settled on a pair of deeply magnetic, chestnut colored eyes peering heatedly back into his own.
Fuck.
He’d been caught red-handed.
Immediately Stede tried to look away, feigning having been in the middle of a simple once over of the band as a whole in an attempt to save face, but he had no doubt Blackbeard had clocked Stede giving him a particularly intensive amount of focus before he’d managed to avert his gaze. He couldn’t even begin to guess how long he’d been staring at Blackbeard, because as far as Stede knew, 10 minutes, 30 minutes, hell, even a whole bloody hour could’ve passed since he’d first lost himself in devouring Blackbeard with his eyes, and he wouldn’t have had a clue. However long it had been, it most certainly hadn’t been enough to satisfy him. He could gauge it had been a handful of minutes, at the very least, since the band was on a different song than what they’d first started with, but Stede was determined not to spend another moment openly ogling at the man if he could help it.
He looked instead to where Jim was banging ferociously against their drum set with a pair of customized drumsticks made to look like daggers, and he did a 30 second countdown before he deemed it appropriate to move on to the next, turning his focus to Fang bopping happily along to the plucking of his piano keys despite the gritty tune they played. Counting down the next 30 seconds, he carried his gaze center stage to halfheartedly nod his head along to Frenchie’s passionate crooning, intent on maintaining his calm, cool and collect nature, but no matter how hard he fought the urge to look back at the guitarist with all his might, Stede had known it was a losing battle from the moment he’d first turned away. It was as if he were at the mercy of the man’s gravitational pull and couldn’t resist even if he wanted to; like Blackbeard was the sun and he the ever faithful moon, simply destined to orbit him in a celestial dance until the stars ceased their burning and the universe swallowed itself whole.
It was all horribly poetic and absurd of him, he was well aware, becoming so instantly smitten with someone he didn’t even know, so he decided to allow himself one last glance at the man of his dreams before he took his seat and resigned himself to scrolling through his phone for the rest of the concert as a means of distraction.
Taking a deep breath and raising his head to look back up towards the stage, Stede’s mouth promptly dropped open wide with a gasp at what he saw– Blackbeard was standing directly in front of him in the midst of a guitar solo, astonishingly radiant in all his leathered glory as his fingers danced along the strings of his instrument, and he was staring down pointedly at Stede with a positively wicked grin on his face.
Stede felt his pulse racing at the sudden, unexpected eye contact and– despite every fiber of his being screaming at him not to– he quickly turned around to make sure no one else happened to be standing nearby, terrified by the prospect that he was deluding himself into thinking he was the object of Blackbeard’s attention simply because he so desperately wanted to be.
Seeing no one around him besides the children, he sighed with relief when he turned back to find the man laughing fondly down at him without missing a single beat.
God, he was an idiot.
Stede did his best to smile up at Blackbeard as he swallowed the lump in his throat that had formed in the meantime, and he watched as Blackbeard’s gaze flickered with rapt interest to where his adam’s apple bobbed up and down before shamelessly locking eyes with Stede, knowing full well it was he that had been caught staring this time. With the mutual interest now clear as day, Stede felt struck with a rare moment of boldness. He raised an eyebrow up at him as he coyly bit at his bottom lip, as if to say, “like what you see, do you?” and he could practically hear the man’s voice in his own head responding, “I guess we’ll find out,” as he cocked his head to the side and gave him a thorough once over with a smirk.
If Stede had had any doubt before, he was more than sure of it now: he was a fucking goner.
This couldn’t be real, this kind of stuff just didn’t happen to Stede, and he was halfway convinced he was merely stuck in the middle of the most wonderful dream until Alma placed her hand on top of his where it rested on the gate.
Once again her touch helped ground him to the here and now, and instantly he felt ashamed realizing he was publicly flirting with the lead guitarist of his daughter’s favorite band directly in front of her like a wanton hussy. He reluctantly forced himself to tear his eyes away from Blackbeard’s heated gaze to check in on her, and clearly his flirting had been far more obvious than even he realized— Alma was staring up at him with a questioning smirk of her own.
“You doing okay over here, Dad?” She yelled over the shredding of Blackbeard’s guitar before gesturing towards the bottom of his face. “I think I see a little bit of drool coming out of the corner of your mouth just there, but I could be wrong.”
“Oh, um, y-yes, darling.” He gave his brightest, most oblivious smile, but she didn’t buy it for a second. “Everything is fine over here! Just, ya know, taking it all in.”
“Mhm, right… you enjoying the view?”
“Ah, yes, well–” He chuckled nervously, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck “The lights are quite dazzling, are they not?”
Alma rolled her eyes but mercifully dropped it, turning instead to nudge Finn and Lily before nodding towards the stage and tipping her head back towards her father. He watched them both do a double take with wide eyes before they fell into a puddle of astonished giggles.
He raised his head back up to where Blackbeard stood imperceptibly waiting for him and grimaced, flicking his eyes towards the children and back again as a means to say, “I’m sorry, but I have to behave even though I think you’re dreadfully handsome,” and he was relieved when the man gave him an understanding smile in turn, the “I’ll do my best to rein it,” evident despite his clear intent to continue keeping his eyes locked on Stede as much as possible.
Oh, he was so fucked.
***************************
The rest of the concert essentially became one great, big game of chicken, with neither of them seeming to have any reason to want to lose. Stede let himself enjoy the few remaining songs of the concert without fail this time, and no more did he hold himself back from making googly eyes at the guitarist to his heart’s content, nor did he shy away when Blackbeard did so in turn. He never forgot for a moment, of course, that he was the sole adult chaperone and therefore needed to remain responsible and appropriate, but what harm was there in a few fleeting smirks and stolen glances? He knew this was only a moment of sheer, dumb luck that was swiftly coming to an end, but he tried his best to ignore it for a little while longer. For now, he only wanted to exist in this singular moment in time— a moment where he was a newly out man, flirting openly with the most exquisite person he’d ever beheld, basking in the fact that he genuinely seemed to find him attractive in turn— and for the most part he was able to focus on that until the concert dialed down to its end.
He heard Frenchie announce their last number over the microphone, and though his heart clenched knowing it was all almost over, he kept his eyes trained on Blackbeard for the entire number. He watched him strut around the stage in awe, giggling at every stolen glance he sent Stede’s way any time he could, and part of Stede couldn’t help but wonder if Blackbeard felt as suddenly devastated by the night ending as he seemed to be.
Ever the dramatic and daydreaming type, he began imagining what could have been if they’d ran into each other in another life, in another time, where they’d actually had a chance to speak to one another and get to know each other in person. He knew that to anyone else this probably looked like simple physical attraction causing a raging spike of hormones in two nearly middle aged men, and perhaps once he was free from the venue and breathing in fresh air again, he’d realize it had been just that after all– but something deep in the caverns of Stede’s heart told him there was more to it.
He could see the passion and creativity in the man with his every movement, could tell from the beaming smiles his band members gave every time he ran up to them onstage that he was someone loved and worth loving, and he’d watched in secret as he’d slipped extra bottled waters beside Frenchie and rest of the band when everyone else had been too focused on the formers cat tirade in progress to notice. He'd seen with his very own eyes the genuinely grateful shoulder pat he’d given a random venue worker after they’d run onstage to fix his earpiece mid-show, and he’d been unable to stop himself smiling like an idiot watching the quick laugh they’d shared together afterwards before the venue worker had scampered offstage with a grin.
All these moments, so small in the grand scheme, had only served to fuel his interest further, because these were the glimpses of who Blackbeard was when he thought no one was watching. It’s what made him saddest of all about the concert ending, if he were honest.
It wasn’t missing out on the chance for a night of shared passion that had his heart clenching in chest— though he would have welcomed it gladly—but instead, it was the fact that had he actually gotten the chance to know this man for who he was once the persona of Blackbeard was stripped away, he had no doubt they’d could’ve been, at the very least, very dear friends.
Stede made himself focus back on the stage for the grand finale and decided to go out with a bang, whooping and hollering beside Alma and the others as they watched Jim and Ed vamping back and forth with genuine glee, and with one final bang of the drums and a flurry of flashing lights, the venue fell into darkness and the concert was over.
A deep sigh rattled unexpectedly from within Stede’s chest, and he forced the feeling down just in time to accept Alma’s crushing hug with a surprised, pleased sound.
“How’d you like it, buttercup?” He kissed the top of her head, swaying her from side to side until she was ready to be released.
“Dad, are you kidding? I just saw my favorite band with my two best friends while friggin Blackbeard swooned over my dad onstage— I literally don’t think you could top this night if you tried.”
“Yeah, well… what can I say.” He held his hands up and popped his collar for emphasis. “Guess I was kind of in my DILF mode tonight!”
Alma flinched away from him with a look of horror.
“Oh my god, dad, do even know what that means?!”
“Dad-Is-Looking-Fine, no?” She immediately started shaking her head and Stede mirrored her horrified expression. “But— Louis said—”
“Excuse me, sir?” Stede was cut off by a timid voice from behind him, and he turned to find a 20 something year old security guard standing awkwardly behind the barrier looking back at him.
“Sorry, but, uh— the band is requesting your presence backstage, if you have the time.”
He just barely managed to hear Alma shriek beside him over the dial tone screeching in his head, so taken off guard that he struggled to produce a single sound.
“Uh, sir? Did you hear me?”
“Huh?”
“The band, sir— they want you to come backstage and meet them.”
“All of us?” Alma pushed in front of him, struggling to keep her volume at a reasonable level.
“If you’re here with him, then yes.”
“Really?” Stede blurted out.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’re absolutely certain the message was for us?”
“Uh, yes, sir, I think so. His exact words were, “Hey, mate, can you go grab the blonde dilf wearing the blue button down shirt that’s sitting front and center with the three kids and ask him if he’d come back here real quick?”
His exact words. His.
Blackbeard had sent for him. It was the only explanation.
He’d found the first security guard he could find and given him explicit directions to bring Stede backstage to him, because… because he wanted to know Stede. He wanted to know his name and who he was and what his voice sounded like, and maybe one day he’d even want to know his favorite foods and what movies made him cry and how it felt to hold him at night and wake up to him in the morning…
Alright, upon reflection that last bit had gotten a bit out of hand, but at the very least Blackbeard had felt enough of a connection with Stede that he’d needed to find him as soon as possible.
“Dad? Hello?” Alma snapped in front of his face, “Earth to father?”
“Yes! Yes, yes, I’m so sorry! I’d love that.” He saw Alma flash her eyes from beside him. “I mean, we’d love that.”
“Alright, sounds good. Just follow me down this way and I’ll let you through the barrier gate over there.”
Stede trailed behind the group in a daze, a soft smile blooming across his lips. It was strange, how he felt no fear or self doubt for once, like every atom in his body knew he was moving in the right direction towards the missing piece he’d always been searching for.
He never would be able to explain to another soul, besides Ed, just how he’d known that life was to begin again from the moment he’d walked through his dressing room door— he’d just… known. It had been easy with Ed from the very beginning, as easy as breathing, and he hadn’t been prepared for Ed’s implicit understanding of his idiosyncrasies and the way he’d love them as if they were his own. He’d taken all the parts of Stede he’d thought were broken and mended them with words of love and gentle kisses, and in turn he’d spent every day since trying to help him understand that Ed was beautiful, that Ed was wanted, that Ed would always be loved, as long as any piece of him remained on the earth. He’d left the venue that night already planning his wedding vows, and though he oftentimes cursed himself for waiting 2 whole years to make it happen, he’d read the very same ones from that night when their wedding day finally came.
Life with Ed since had been pure bliss. They’d finally settled in their beach cottage in Maine like they’d always wanted after Ed retired from the rockstar life, and Stede’s plant nursery had nearly tripled in size and variation in the last few months alone. Ed had started teaching sailing lessons to the island’s youth in between their own sailing trips, and together they’d settled into the life of domesticity they’d only dreamed of.
The only argument they ever consistently had was what it was that ultimately brought them together.
If you were to ask Stede, he’d go on a long tangent about the power of every painful moment and every beautiful one, every conscious and unconscious choice that had meticulously merged and unmerged their paths until it finally met at the perfect moment.
If you asked Ed, he’d thank a little stuffed animal with kind eyes named Arthur.
Stede didn’t care what it was, in the end, that brought him to Edward— be it the hand of fate or a silly stuffed horse, it had brought him the love of his life.