Archive of Our Own ^beta

*** 

When Stede was a boy, he ran away. 

It was the middle of a winter’s night, right at the start of spring. He had spent hours in his window staring up to the blackened night, following a detailed star chart in the book he had snuck into his room. Growing up in a house by the sea, Stede had always been able to look at the vast expanse of the night sky uninterrupted. 

It was both a blessing and a curse. 

To see so many stars at once was to bear witness to the yearly phenomenon that marked the end of winter— the star-fall. Each year, the stars above would swell with such uncanny, colorful brightness, filling the black canvas of night with gleaming sparkles of all sorts of vivid hues. 

The stars would swirl and expand, and their light would paint the sky with celestial watercolors. Stede spent endless hours staring and staring at the shifting, enchanting lights, memorized and enthralled with the beauty of it all.  

And then, one by one, they would fall. 

The first few star-falls he could remember, Stede simply watched. As a child of curiosity, he devoted much time to watching and documenting the night in a surplus of notes, sprawling the entire experience in a journal he hides beneath a floorboard. 

A star swells, it gets bright enough to cast color over the sea, and then it fades and falls, Stede would write. On the descent, most stars will break apart. Sometimes it’s two pieces, sometimes it’s more, but each piece seems to travel the sky. They’re aiming. Falling with a purpose.  

When Stede got a bit older and a bit sneakier, he was able to swipe a few books on the phenomenon from the library (with full intent on returning them, of course!). His parents strictly forbade his research or otherwise obsession with the star-fall, so Stede was forced to keep it hidden. 

But through those books, he learned what the pieces meant. Soulmates. A single star would be the catalyst that brings two or more souls together, bound cosmically to one another. Some treated it as a grand romance, some a promise of companionship, but there were some that believed… 

Poppycock. A fool's errand. Absolute waste of time. His father grumbled at the dinner table in the tone of disdain that he seemed to reserve for Stede alone. No more interesting than rain or snow. Soulmates are not real.   

Stede, enough. It’s not the fairytale you think it is. His mother warned, but what did she know? What did either of them? They never received a star, so what could they say on the matter? 

Stede nodded along, knowing it was easier to remain quiet than refute their claims. He regrets asking them anything at all, and before excusing himself from the table, he assured them both that he had no real interest in it. He retired to his room early, pretended to be asleep, and cracked open his books in candlelight, eager to feed himself any and all details. With some proper literature, Stede discovered that his observations were right— the stars fall with purpose. The piece shifts its pathway in the sky to seek out a lucky soul, fill them with light, and then brand them with a mark meant to herald that person to its match. 

The books all referred to it as such, but branding always felt like such a harsh word to Stede, even as a boy. In every account, each book and history he poured over, Stede only ever found the branding to be described as warm and welcome and monumental in a person’s life. It was the moment a star fell from the sky and chose that person— or persons— to be emblazoned with a symbol of their destiny. A clear and undeniable denotation that the stars were saying: you, we see you, and we choose you.  

Stede wanted to be chosen. 

He wanted to be wanted, so badly it ached. Every star-fall, he sat barriered behind his window and watched with endless yearning at each falling star shooting across the sky, wishing one could be his. But he was trapped behind these gilded walls, confined by his parents’ philosophy that those stars, they were meaningless. 

They’re wrong. And Stede wanted to prove it.  

So he ran away. 

In the dead of night, before the clock struck midnight and the phenomenon began, Stede hurriedly packed a small satchel of his books and his journal, shimmied out the same window he spent years caged behind, scaled the side of the house and felt amazing doing it. 

He skipped through the yard and the gardens with a giddy smile stuck on his face, heart racing as he excitedly made his way to the beach beyond the woods. 

He was going to prove to his father these stars meant something fantastical. He was going to demonstrate that the brands and soulmates were real. 

Because he was going to catch one. 

Once the first of the lights began, Stede plopped himself in the sands and got to writing. He documented everything: from the thrumming of his excited heart, to each new color that lit up the night above. Resplendent shades of greens and blues and pinks seemed to be prominent this year, and Stede was so busy scribbling away that he almost missed the first fall. 

An emerald-green fell and split into threes, Stede wrote, eyes flicking up often to watch its descent. Each sailed over the horizon. None landed here, yet.  

Each star that falls gives Stede a jolt of hope and anticipation, patiently waiting for one to come close enough to call his own. He spends less time writing and more time watching, trying to urge one near through sheer will alone. 

And then one falls, right overhead. 

It’s bright and blush-pink, splitting in twain with gentle sparks like a little firework. It seems to plummet right over his head, so much that Stede has to crane his neck to watch it properly.  

This is it! He huffs with quickened breath, It’s—!  

It’s shifting.  

The two pieces move apart, one flying far behind the tree line, and the other off towards the bay. The harbor isn’t far from here, and Stede scarcely thinks before he's racing to get his feet beneath him and follow its lambent trail. 

Barefoot and scraping his soft feet, Stede runs down cobbled roads and keeps his eyes glued to that skyward path of peony light. He races down darkened alleys, hops a fence or two, and eventually he reaches the marina. 

Someone is sitting on the deck of a small boat, leaned back in a chair and watching the colors illuminate the night. They rock languidly, otherwise unaware that the pink star-piece is barreling straight for them. 

Stede keeps a distance and pants for breath, wistfully staring as he watches that star— what he thought would be his— collide into the stranger. 

In a strange mixture of lament and fascination, Stede finally witnesses for himself what happens when a soul is found. He observes in wonder and scholarly delight as the light sinks into the stranger and blazes bright, ultimately dimming and localizing in narrow rays on their ankle. The light etches the distinguishable lines of a brand, marking the stranger with the image of a cloud.  

And they’re shocked, jaw slack as they prop up their leg and watch the light dance and curve into the puffy shape of a cloud. Then they’re smiling, laughing quietly and returning their gaze to the sky above, looking happy and grateful. 

And for one of the first times in his young life, Stede is envious. 

He carefully steps backwards, slowly returning the way he came, trying not to be so disappointed. That star just wasn’t meant for him, it seems. 

And by the time he made his way back to the house, he noticed his blanket-rope was gone and his window was locked shut. He had no choice but to enter through the front door, to which his father was already waiting for him. 

Give me that nonsense. The hell were you thinking? To your room, now.   

Stede was trapped, again. His books, his journal— they were all taken. He spent weeks grounded in that room, full of emotion he wasn’t allowed to show or share. 

He would sit in his window nook with schoolwork in his lap and doodles of stars in the margins, hardly paying attention to a word on the page. He would stare to the sky during the day and think of that stranger’s cloud, or he would stare at the night’s stars and think of what he missed out on. 

Too much time was spent thinking. Eventually, Stede came to terms with something: he wasn’t jealous of that stranger. He was jealous of the star itself.  

Fallen stars are the lucky ones. It got to free itself from some cage beyond the skies, cut loose from a tether so it could fly boundless. It was allowed to shine in its true color, sail the world proudly wearing it, and unite those for whom it was destined.  

It had purpose. It was free. And when it left the sky, it was guaranteed a home in the heart of another. 

Stede would do anything to have that. 

***

For as lonely as childhood was, growing into an adult wasn’t much better. Year after year passed by with unsuccessful star-falls and creative excuses, but Stede couldn’t delay his parents’ insistence any longer.  

He had to get married. 

Mary was a lovely woman. Witty and creative and full of life, but she wasn’t thrilled to be forced into a marriage, just the same as Stede. They grinned and bore each other, got through a few years and two children together, but then— 

Mary caught a star-fragment. 

She didn’t even mean to. She wasn’t even watching. Stede had told her to run along to bed, he wouldn’t be joining tonight because he elected to camp out on the roof and watch the yearly event, his favorite time of year. 

When a bright crimson star started falling right over his head, Stede's heart skipped about a dozen beats. He watched it split into two and hurdle right towards the house, such shock and delight written on his face, thinking it’s mine, but then it just… passed through him.  

Stede hated the deja vu.  

And when he went inside to investigate, he bit back bitter envy when he stumbled into their bedroom and saw Mary’s body was alight with scarlet, only for it to fade and etch an abstract mark upon her bicep. 

Really, it was another blessing and a curse.  

It meant they had a good enough reason to finally deny their marriage, which both parties were relieved for. But Stede couldn't help himself— for a moment in time, he thought that star was meant for him. He thought he was being chosen. 

Should’ve known. Nobody ever chose Stede Bonnet. 

So his dreams remained as such. He fantasized of a night when he’d be given a mark, imagining what it would mean to be gifted a sense of purpose. He hoped it would be fulfilling. That by receiving a brand, it would mean he was patient, he endured, and he would be rewarded. A celestial, permanent reminder from an otherworldly source that said you, Stede, are worthy and you’re not alone.  

But beyond his fantasy, the reality is cold. The fact is, he is alone. So by that logic, he’s probably not worthy either. Maybe he’s just not one of those kinds of people.  

Maybe he’s not one of the lucky ones. 

***

When Stede cut his losses and finally accepted it would never happen for him, it finally happened. 

He had lived year after year without a mark, watching as others found theirs. The marks reunited the star-fragments, and in such, united the hearts they lived in. Mary found her other piece in a man named Doug, someone she hired as a painting instructor and delightfully discovered the matching mark on his bicep. 

But really, they didn’t need their brand to tell them they were matched.  

I just felt… unreal. Like everything fell away and all that was left was him. Mary, now ex-wife and dear friend, explained over breakfast the next day, I just knew. It all made sense. Instantly, I knew it was him.  

And with the passing of the next season, Stede was thoroughly dejected by all his time spent watching on the sidelines and idly yearning. Mary knew as much, so she took him by the hand the morning of winter’s last day, warm and kind, telling him softly, even if it’s not tonight, your day will come.  

And he didn’t believe her. Until that very night, he did. 

It was colder that year. Stede convinced himself not to turn in early, knowing he’d regret it in the morning if he didn’t at least enjoy the colors and lights. He resigned himself to watching alone on the hill overlooking the beach, a blanket hugged over his shoulders and the water gently lapping down the way. 

Midnight struck and the colors began. White stars slowly faded into hues of lavender, cerulean, and magenta, each swelling and expanding, painting the blackened night in gentle waves of color. 

At least it was extra beautiful, this year. Stede is exhausted and crestfallen and tempted to leave, but talks himself out of it, telling himself , a little while more, just admire those colors…  

He had been feeling off all day— not necessarily bad or uncomfortable, just… odd. Like there was sunlight in his chest. Like his body somehow felt lighter; warmer, but not sickly so. He assumed he must have caught something, and whatever this was, it was a harbinger of being sick. 

But he was wrong. He didn’t catch anything, yet. 

He had been watching a blue star split into a rare four fragments, a little fascinated and very distracted by it. He didn’t realize when a lavender star started to fall, too, like a celestial string was cut to release it, until— 

Until he realized he could feel it. 

His chest seemed to pull, as if some profoundly long string now bound him to the star at the other end and was shrinking, guiding it near. It was a physical response, something warm and real and Stede— 

Stede panicked. 

He shot up from his grassy knoll and abandoned his blanket, sprinting down the hill. He needed to follow the magnetization, to allow the pull to guide him ever closer to the very thing that was racing the skies to meet him. 

Something about it was right— something about it called to him, like some gentle twinkling of bells deep in the recesses of his mind. He felt it deep within, this warm pulling, like the stardust that made his body was calling out to the skies, telling whatever celestial deciders that controlled the fates : Here I am, find me, it’s time.  

Stede barreled gracelessly down the hill, stumbling and nearly falling, but maintaining his footing enough to keep going. He flung off each of his slippers and kicked up sand when he hit beach, eyes glued to the rainbow-sparkling sky, following the fall of that coveted purple star while he splashed into the water. He waded out far enough to be submerged up to his knees, the unseasonably warm waves seeping into his bones.  

Fascinating. Stede never tried swimming in the winter, but why would he? He never read that star-fall made the waters warm, but it must, by the same magic that makes his whole body warm. He laughs in delight of this newly obtained information; no matter how much research he’s done, he still got to learn something new about it all. 

Stede's full attention is snatched by the swelling of that lavender light high above him, the precedent of a fragmentation. With delight and a manic little laugh, Stede hears the twinkling of distant bells, sees the little firework of sparks, and watches with wonder as one whole star cracks apart into a set of smaller two. 

Hope begins to fill his heart as Stede watches those two pieces brighten the sky, the lights behind them dancing like an aurora through the night. He feels the pull of warmth flare in his chest, feels the sky calling to him, thinks this is it, and scoffs again at the dizzying, thrilling notion if it all. 

He’s finally getting his. 

Stede stands statue-still and watches reverently with a rabbiting heartrate. One piece skids off and veers over the horizon, but Stede has no faculties to pay attention to it because the other is right above him, shrinking as it falls, heading right for him.  

Without thinking, Stede raises his palms to the sky, intent on catching the trail in his bare hands. The light sparkles off his wide eyes, his mouth hung open in awe and stupefaction. The light draws nearer, falls gently, and then— 

It collides. 

Warm. It’s so warm and soothing, the light that encompasses him whole. Like a steaming bath or a soft blanket on a cool night. Stede basks in the strange, comforting, bone-deep satisfying feeling, the light seeping through his body and easily filling some empty place deep within him. 

The light flares once more, embracing him whole before it’s suddenly localizing on the back of Stede’s hand. Hypnotized and enraptured, Stede holds his hand aloft and watches the soft crackles of purple light etch his skin in artful threads, leaving bold and straight lines in its wake. And before he knows it, the luminescence softly fades. 

And left behind, there’s a mark. 

The image sunk itself into the soft skin of Stede's hand, just adjacent to the connection of his thumb. He stares as the faded lines grow bolder, until Stede is left with simply a strong black outline of a nautical star. 

It was perfect. A star, for one, which suited Stede immensely. A nautical star, which culminated the imagery of both the sea and sky. It was a symbol of the beauty Stede obsessed over. And it must mean that his soulmate has ties to the sea and sky also, to both be given this same homage. 

A mark. Stede couldn’t believe it, he stared and laughed in manic delight as the sky continued to fall around him, twinkling in colorful streaks of endless light.  

A mark! I caught a star. I… I caught a star!!  

And somewhere else in the world, Stede knows that someone else just did, too. 

⭐️🌠⭐️ 

It was a devastatingly romantic notion, to consider there’s a universe-dictated, magically binding, guarantee that there was someone out there destined to be one's match. Stede had dreamt of it his whole life, obsessed over it even more after that spring, spending each day on the sea staring down to the nautical star at the back of his hand, like one day it might point out the way to the person who mirrors it.   

Turns out, even with a star-fragment, it’s a very difficult quest to find one’s soulmate. 

Stede had searched the town and every port of the island dozens of times with no leads to be had. Eventually, he knew he was meant to leave. He had to start getting serious about his search and finally leave the confines of his hometown. 

Stede was too restless, but he waited patiently after spending an exorbitant amount of money on a ship. As soon as The Revenge was sea-worthy, he bid his family farewell and sailed off with a crew of misfits he managed to gather on short notice.  

Stede kept searching and he kept dreaming. Even before the mark, he always imagined the day he would meet his soulmate. He hoped it would be like Mary described— that it would be momentous, soft and beautiful like the stars that brought them together. He expected it to mean something. 

So when the day finally came, when Stede spied the twin symbol on the hand of another man, he didn’t expect… well, any of it, really. It was almost disappointing, how tame it all felt. 

He thought meeting his soulmate was supposed to click. He thought finally being united would bear more sparks, more world-changing yes this is right sort of feelings. 

Instead, it was just awkward and mildly uncomfortable. 

His soulmate: gruff, manly, and sporting a handlebar mustache. Stede wondered if the universe was playing some sort of cosmically cruel joke on him, but that nautical star on the back of his hand doesn’t lie. 

“So...” Stede clears his throat, tensing whenever his soulmate took liberties to wrap an arm leisurely over his shoulder. “Your name was... Jake?” 

“Jack, babe.” The still-stranger smirks with a wink, “Don’t worry. You’ll remember it.” 

“Right.” Soulmate or no, Stede shucks out from under Jack’s arm and scooches in his chair to gain some distance between them. Even if the universe destined them to be together, that doesn’t mean Stede owes him anything in the whole two minutes that they’ve known each other. “So, um. Are you available tomorrow night? Perhaps we can go for dinner. Get to know each other.”  

Honestly, Stede thought he would have dropped everything to be able to have the opportunity to dine with his soulmate. Now he’s trying to buy some time, procrastinating it. Was this right? To feel... almost nothing towards him? Stede read numerous accounts that described the first meeting as love at first sight; an all-encompassing warmth and pull to his person. 

But this... this is disappointing. Maybe he painted the whole concept in too many rose-tinted shades, always treating a mark like some grand romantic fantasy. Maybe the accounts were hyperbolic. Maybe this was just the reality of it. 

Maybe his parents were right. 

Jack shuffles a little closer again, but luckily he keeps his hands to himself this time. Stede can’t help but glance at the nautical star on the other’s hand, almost cursing it for landing on the wrong arm. 

***

The night he met Jack Rackham, Stede was already in a sour mood. 

The night prior was another star-fall. The entire crew was watching, from the ratlines to the crowsnest, or some simply nearby Stede on the deck. A set of star-fragments descended upon them, to the whoops and hollers of everyone on board. One struck Lucius, who accepted it with a swear. The other was caught by Pete, quiet and awe-struck. They received their marks, already knowing they liked each other, but now knowing they were meant for each other. 

Everyone was happy for them. Including Stede, even if it filled him with that familiar old jealousy. How lucky were they, to find each other before this night? Stede hid his envy, but he couldn’t help it when the whole ordeal dampened his fragile spirits. 

The next evening, Stede felt no better. But the crew had decided to celebrate, landing them in some portside town, to a tavern that Frenchie swears by. 

It’s a rough and tumble place, but the people were jovial and generous. His crew found places amongst the revelry, falling into games or dances or dinner, each with a drink in their hands.  

Stede elected to keep out of the fray, finding a quieter spot at a corner table. He told himself he wouldn’t mope, but regardless, mope he did. He had his mark for years at this point, and still nothing. All his searches are coming up blank. He’s starting to think it's more cruel to have the mark and not find the match than to never have gotten a mark at all. 

So he’s earned the right to wallow just a bit, quiet and contemplative, his crew enjoying their time around town. Lucius sat with him for a while, making poor attempts to cheer him up before he’s being beckoned away by the others to play games. Stede declines the invite, electing to nurse his pint and stew solitarily in his low mood. 

But of course, peace is not easily obtained. Some stranger keeps looming around him, taking frequent glances at Stede’s hand. He never says anything, just hovers by and stares overtly at him— his body, the mark, his body again.  It’s growing spectacularly annoying, and Stede is about to tell this stranger he’s being awfully rude, but when he turns to do so, the man is gone. 

More than a few moments and one nearly-emptied beer later, the man reappears. This stranger takes up the available seat Lucius left behind, getting comfortable as if he was welcomed there. Stede sneers; he knows this type of man just by the way he carries himself, the arrogance written all over his smug face.  

“Hey there, beautiful.” The stranger smirks, “Cool mark. I’m guessing it’s a soul-whatever, yeah?” 

Stede scoffs into his drink, taking a casual sip so he can have the strength to keep conversation without immediately getting snippy. “Something like that.” 

The stranger gives a low whistle, looking over Stede’s star. “Nice. You find the match yet?” 

Stede feels the same sunken spirits as he had all night, reminded of what he’s failed to do so far, cradling his nearly-empty tankard and murmuring. “No, not yet.” 

“Well, howdy, then.” The stranger lifts his hand, showing Stede the back and— 

And there’s no way.  

Stede drops his cup, midway through his final sip, gaping and coughing when it catches in his throat. 

The stranger laughs, “Easy, dollface, I just got ya! Don’t croak now.” He leans across the table and goes to pat Stede’s back, but Stede immediately whips up to catch the man’s hand. He brings it close and inspects his skin—and... and there’s a nautical star on the back, just below his thumb. Before Stede can get too good of a look, the stranger takes his hand back and says, “Figured I should say hi.” 

Stede stares like a fool and tries to figure out what the hell is wrong with himself. Here is his soulmate, in the flesh, finally. But… there’s no pulling, no warm fulfillment or spark he was expecting. “You... that’s from a star-fragment?” 

“Uh, yeah. Duh. Look familiar?” 

It does. It is. But it's… 

It’s disappointing. 

***

By the end of the night, Jack somehow invited himself back to The Revenge. 

Stede didn’t learn much about him in the few hours they’d been together. Jack proclaimed he was a drifter, dabbled in a few different, creative career paths (or so he called it), but he was interested in settling down and living the high-life on the seven seas. 

They indulged in a few drinks at the tavern, but when they retire to the captain’s quarters, Stede's nerves are still running high, so he offers a touch a brandy, to which Jack gleefully encouraged. 

So now they’re sat in adjacent armchairs by the fireplace, Stede rigid and skeptical, and Jack slouched with a leg slung leisurely over the armrest. He admires the slosh of brandy in his glass, humming a pleased note after each sip he takes. 

“Damn, I got lucky, huh? You got the good shit. Fancy-ass boat, fancy-ass booze. Beautiful to boot.” 

Stede swallows down another sip, lips a flat line. “Mm. Um, that’s kind of you to say. Thank you.” 

It all feels so weird. Why? Why does finally having his soulmate feel so strange? 

Well, for one: Jack keeps trying to hide his hand. Stede has yet to get a proper look at the thing, but every time he tries to spy those bold and straight lines, Jack moves it casually behind his head or ducks it into a pocket. 

After the umpteenth time of trying to glean that nautical star, Stede finally figures it out. 

It doesn’t take much. Stede gets enough subtle glances at the thing to make him uneasy about this whole ordeal. Even if he can’t get too good of a look, Stede can tell something about Jack’s star doesn’t feel right.  

Because it’s not right. It’s inverted. 

The solid parts of the nautical star are opposite of Stede's,  and with a cold rush of understanding, Stede realizes all his suspicions are confirmed: Jack’s star is wrong. The coloring is off, too, and to anyone else it wouldn’t be noticeable. But Stede has been staring at this same symbol for years, he knows Jack’s is different. And the brands are always perfect matches. 

A fake. It has to be a fake. 

He knows he should be outraged—oh, and he is— but he first sighs in overwhelming relief, thanking his lucky star that this man, this con artist, is not destined to be his. 

“Would you like another one, Jack?” Stede offers in trained kindness, stepping across the room to the cabinet of fine liquors. Jack hums an agreement, smirking and kicking his feet up on the settee. “You know me already, lover boy.”  

Stede pours the glass with a private sneer. He carefully walks it over, circles around Jack's chair, and—oh no, clumsy him—his foot “catches” on the leg of the seat and he “trips”, the brandy sloshing unceremoniously across Jack’s resting arm.  

“Ah, fuck!” Jack shouts when splashed about with cold liquid, while Stede immediately spills “apologies”:  

“Oh, so sorry! Sorry, Jack, let me—” He quickly slips a handkerchief from his pocket and scurries to wipe away the mess, “Sorry. Here— Ah-hah! I knew it!” In the flurry of movement, Stede makes sure to rub his handkerchief over Jack’s mark and, just like he thought, it smears over his hand.  

Fake. 

“Ah, fuck me.” Jack whines, taking back his hand in attempts to hide the runny ink. It was too late—Stede already figured him out. 

“What is the meaning of this??” Stede is finally furious, red-hot and indignant with disbelief. 

“Alright, alright! Maybe— I uh, didn’t get this from a star or whatever.” Jack says, as if that’s not obvious.  

“Clearly! What was the point of all this? A few free drinks??” And an enormous waste of Stede's time and emotion. He fumes, hurt and angry, watching as Jack sighs. 

“Can you blame a guy for being lonely? Not everyone gets so lucky, doll. So I make my own luck.” 

“Do not tell me you’ve done this before.” 

“So what if I did?” Jack uses his sleeve to wipe the rest of the ink smeared over his hand, shrugging. “Shit's garbage, anyway. These things don’t mean anything more than the freckles on my ass do.” 

“Ridiculous.” Stede hisses. “And— And sinister! You trick people! You—you tried to trick me! ”  

“Hey, easy!” Jack yells when Stede’s fist clenched hard at his side, “Sorry, okay? I don’t mean anything by it, I was just looking for some fun.” 

“Fun?! You think messing with—!” 

“—I can make it up to you.” Jack cuts in with an offer, a small lilt of something suggestive in his voice. 

Stede huffs, indignant, “Honestly, if you think I care for— for whatever you’re insinuating—” 

Jack holds up a hand to cease Stede’s red-faced seething, “Woah, woah! Easy, nothin’ dirty if you don’t wanna. I just meant I have info.” 

Stede, still fuming and two seconds away from calling for his crew to throw Jack overboard, takes a single second to breathe and think rationally.  

Hear him out, something tells him. 

“Fine.” Stede crosses his arms, plopping heavily into the chair furthest from Jack. He wears an intense scowl and turns his nose, hissing, “What? What info?” 

“I know who really has that mark.” And Jack smiles when Stede’s face drops, weighed by surprise. Stede turns to him again, searching for any truth to that statement.  

As if Stede could really believe him, honestly! The man cons those with soul marks to get his rocks off; it’s barbaric and cruel, and Stede wouldn’t believe another word from him again. 

But... something’s telling him to believe it. And if Stede’s learned anything from his life, it’s that his hunches are always right.  

When Stede is quiet for too long, Jack must think he has leverage. He shuffles a little closer on the edge of his seat, leaning in to stare right at Stede’s contemplative face. “A bold star, right here. Perfectly matched to yours.” Jack points to the smeared mess on the back of his hand. “The real deal. A buddy of mine. Wanna know?” 

“You knew your friend had my same soul mark and you still tried to swindle me??” Stede huffs, suppressing the urge to chuck something hard and heavy at the man. “You realize how unbelievable that sounds, yes?” 

Jack points a finger to his own chest and crosses an ‘x’, “Cross my heart, doll. Done lyin’. Just trying to get off your ship alive.” 

Stede’s almost flattered Jack would consider him pirate enough to murder him for his deception. Stede sighs to himself, then acts like he’s weighing his options. After a few moments of silence he hums, keeping his chin held high like the noble captain he hopes he can be. “Fine. Tell me.” 

Jack sighs something like relief and leans back, making himself right at home again. “How ‘bout I show you?” 

A nervous jolt springs through Stede’s chest, rattling his raw nerves when he thinks, Now? I’m really meeting them? I can meet them?  

“...What would you have in return?” Stede asks, because knowing Jack—even for less than two hours— there must be a catch. 

“This bottle.” Jack holds the expensive brandy by the neck, “And a ride. Don’t worry—we’ll be goin’ the same direction.” 

Stede pauses, acting like he’s mulling over his options again, when in reality there’s only one choice for him. 

Trust him this once, something tells him. 

To that and Jack both, Stede tells them: “Fine.” 

***

Sailing with Jack Rackham is a miserable experience for everyone involved. The first night was the only outlier—many of the crew took to his boisterous, loud, party-man personality and ran with it, having a night of heavy drinking and rambunctious games. Stede sat out. It felt far too much like his later years in boarding school, when everyone was barely of age and decided it was time to rebel in life. There were parties and drinking then, but Stede never felt compelled to binge and make a fool of himself. 

His crew, apparently, had no qualms with being drunken fools for a night, led by Jack’s hand. Stede let them have their fun, and in the morning, he had his. 

“Morning all! Rise and shine! Day's-a wasting!” He sang out, emerging from his cabin with a healthy glow and a rested smile.  

A chorus of groans called back, his crew all nursing hangovers from various soft spots and hammocks across the deck. 

“Captain, please,” Oluwande winces, his hat pulled down over his eyes to shield from the mid-morning sun. “Whispers if you can.” 

“Oh, fine.” Stede drops his voice, only a little disappointed he couldn't tease them more. “Did everyone make it? And please, if you need to be sick, do it over the railing.” 

“We’re fine.” Lucius mutters into his pillow, sprawled unceremoniously on deck under a thin covering. He’s wedged into Pete’s side, the other man still snoring away. “Jack ran off, though.” 

“What?” Stede looks back, concern pulling his brow. They only just docked this morning, and Jack already broke his promise? Stede can’t say he’s surprised, but his spirits are sunken nonetheless. “But...” 

How the hell was he supposed to find his soulmate now? All Stede could hope for was that this port was a legitimate destination—that this town would hold real answers instead of false promises. 

Without finishing his sentence, Stede turns to rally back into his cabins. He calls to Lucius over his shoulder, “Tidy up and get ready to go into town. I need your help.”  

A dramatic, wounded groan is his only reply. 

Just for good measure, Stede adds: “That’s an order!” 

***

They search town. 

He’s endlessly diligent, checking every nook and alleyway, every tavern and inn and storefront he could find. He gets a little sidetracked at a boutique, some interesting gossamer catching his eye for too long, before he reprimands himself for losing focus. 

He and Lucius search dozens of hands throughout town, but find nothing. There are a few people with brands—a delicate daisy on a woman’s wrist, a crescent moon on the side of someone’s shaven head, and a compass rose on a hand that Stede almost mistook for a star, getting excited only to realize it’s another false lead. 

Soon enough, sunset arrives and he’s no closer to his soulmate now than he was yesterday.  

Maybe his senses are going dull. Maybe the gut-instinct he’s relied on since he was branded was growing old, faulty in what twinges of advice it secretly offered him. Maybe this town is a bust. 

Maybe Stede will never find who houses the other half of his star. 

Eventually, with no small amount of complaining from the other man, Stede lets Lucius return to the ship. Rather than join him, Stede elects to keep going, wandering aimlessly through the bustling market square. He barely pays any attention to his surroundings, so lost in his despair that suddenly he runs flat into someone’s back. He smacks hard into their body, stumbling to an abrupt stop and nearly knocking the other man over, both fumbling with a swear and an oomph!  

“Shit—” Stede quickly stands straight, his hand flying out to catch the shorter man’s arm before he toppled. “Sorry! So sorry, I wasn’t—” 

“Watch where you’re fucking going!” The man explodes, whipping around to point a finger in Stede’s face. His anger is immediate and electric, his mouth pulled into a harsh scowl when he growls out, “Have you any idea who I am??” 

Stede takes a second to absorb his surprise at the stranger’s outburst, quickly standing straight. The arrogance he keeps finding out in the wild is astounding, and frankly, Stede is very sick of it. “I haven’t, actually. You’ll have to enlighten me, mister...?” 

The stranger rips his arm from Stede’s grasp, snarling, “Hands. Izzy Hands.” 

He says it like it’s something to be acknowledged. Like dropping his own name is something that’s supposed to make Stede realize how big and important he is. But, much to his satisfaction, it means virtually nothing to Stede. 

He maintains politeness, even if the other doesn’t deserve it. “My apologies, mister Hands. I—” 

“You continue to walk around here like an idiot and your bumbling feet will knock you into someone far less forgiving next time.” Izzy warns, already turning away. Two men that must be with him flank to his sides, smirking to themselves. Izzy shoots Stede one last look, “So watch it, fucker.” 

“Oh, it’s actually Stede Bonnet, by the way.” Stede snarks to his back, waving his hand flippantly, then pretending to wipe dust from his lapels. “Such a pleasure meeting you, Iggy.” 

Izzy turns on his heal so fast Stede would think he was caught in a gust of wind. The other's hand flashes down to a sword at his hip with intent to draw it, but suddenly, he goes still. So quickly that Stede can barely register it, Izzy’s expected outrage sinks into a stoic quiet. His words die on his tongue, shocked into silence when he catches sight of Stede’s hand.  

When he catches sight of Stede’s star. 

Stede notices it. Of course he does. He sees Izzy’s eyes land on his star, and out of habit Stede’s gaze shoots to Izzy’s hand. It’s covered in a thick leather glove, so Stede can’t tell if there’s something hidden beneath. But god, he hopes not, he can’t bear to think that this is how he meets his potential soulmate— 

“You—? Shit.” Izzy gapes, his hand falling limp on the hilt of his sword. He swallows, and then, as if nothing strange just happened, he turns back around and briskly walks off. 

Stede doesn’t need some cosmic pull to tell him he needs to follow— he just does. “Wait!” Stede rushes after the trio, “Wait— this star!” he thrusts the back of his hand in the air towards them, “You know it, don’t you?” 

“Not a word.” Izzy quietly tells the two at his sides, briskly hurrying off together. 

The other men give him concerned looks, but per orders, nobody speaks. Stede feels frantic energy seize him, knowing this is a real lead, knowing this is what his instincts were guiding him to.  

“Is it yours?” Stede asks, desperately trailing behind the group and matching their footsteps. He hopes it isn’t, he feels like it isn’t, but he says to be safe: “Because I’m sorry, if—if you’re my soulma—”  

“—Soulmates don’t exist. Made up fucking concept.” Izzy doesn’t bother turning around, but when he realizes Stede is going to follow them to the ends of the earth if he must, Izzy stops. Stede stops too, a bit winded, his heart pounding for other reasons. “I’ve never seen that star.” 

“But— You…!” Stede huffs, “You’re lying.” 

Izzy rips off his glove and shows Stede the back of his hand—bare and blank, save for a few small scars. “Drop it, Bonnet. Soulmates aren’t real.” 

Stede’s brow lowers into frustrated ire, thrusting his hand in the air again, “Then what's this, huh?? What are these marks if not fate and soul-binding? A fucking star gave this mark to me! You can’t tell me that’s not real!” 

“Boss...” the older man at Izzy’s side whispers to him, trying to be quiet but Stede can clearly hear it. “Come on, he’d want to know...” 

The other stranger agrees in a nod, “He’d be so pissed you didn’t tell him.” 

Him. Stede’s got information—the first in decades. His soulmate is a him.  

Izzy gives a glare to each of his companions, then sighs deeply. It’s the first blossom of hope Stede has felt in a long, long time, when Izzy’s second defeated sigh is followed by a hissed: Fine.  

“It’s utterly overrated. Being chosen by some star means nothing.” Izzy grumbles under his breath. “Don’t you want your freedom, Bonnet? Giving into that mark makes you one of the cursed ones.” 

It wasn’t a common ideology, but it exists: those who were never star-marked sometimes consider the marks as a curse. Devoid of free will. But following a mark was a choice— you didn’t have to obey its pull if you didn’t want to. There are a fair amount of people that do precisely that. But for Stede, receiving a star, bearing its mark, following some grand destiny meant for him— that’s all he ever wanted. 

And now he’s so close. 

“Izzy, please.” he begs, “If you know who...” he limply gestures to his own hand, “I’ve been looking for so long. I... that’s all I’ve ever wanted. Was to find them.” 

Izzy stares for a moment, impassive yet softer, then sighs deeply. He gestures towards one of his men, “Go. Tell Captain I need a fucking drink and won’t be returning tonight.” And with that, Izzy walks off by himself towards a nearby tavern.  

Stede shares a confounded look with the two other strangers, anticipation and nerves coiled tightly into one pulsing mass in his chest. The white-haired man nods and says, “Well. That’s that, huh?” 

Stede nods back, nearly tipping forward on his toes with how desperately he wants to move. The other man notices his eagerness and shares a smirk between his friend. “Alright, then. Let’s go.” 

Stede lets himself be shepherded back to the docks, practically skipping along with the joy in his singing heart. 

It was finally time. 

***

“Oh, fuck off!”   

Stede groans aloud. Entering the captain’s cabin had not been anticipated by encountering Jack “Con Artist" Rackham yet again, but there he is— sat comfortably in a ornate chair akin to a throne, feet propped on a ragged desk, lazily swigging from a brandy bottle that Stede regrettably recognizes.  

“Hey, doll! Fancy finding you here.” Jack laughs, lighting up in a mischievous grin. 

“He’s not our captain,” Fang, as he’s called, provides quietly from Stede’s side.  

“Yes, I quite figured.” Stede sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’s growing more irritable by the second. “What are you doing here, Jack?” 

“I had a promise to keep, didn’t I? See? Good ol' Jack follows through.” Jack crosses his legs and offers Stede the bottle, to which he declines. Jack clunks it down on the black-wood desk, “So? Where’s my thanks?” 

“Thanks?” Stede scoffs. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Stede takes a beat and a breath before losing his cool, concentrating instead on releasing the tension of his raised shoulders. Once he calms slightly, he asks, “What are you talking about? I’ve yet to meet them.” 

“Huh?” Jack frowns, “C'mon, I sent him right to you!” 

“What are you talking about?”   

“I...” Jack seems genuine, “You didn’t see ‘em yet?” 

“No!” Stede nearly shouts. “That’s why I came here, they told me the captain of this vessel shares my mark, Izz—” 

“Aw, fuck.” Jack interrupts with a laugh. “Looks like you guys really are star-crossed, huh?” Stede stays quiet and Jack explains, “I sent him to your ship like... hours ago. Bet he’s still there.” 

What...? So while Stede wasted away the whole day rushing about town and searching each hand of every person there within, his soulmate was sitting pretty back on his ship the entire time? 

Stede gapes and blinks, his brain trying to catch up, his heart knowing he’s so so close to finally meeting them. Him. 

“Geez. Y'even know his name, yet?” Jack grumbles, reaching out for the bottle once more. 

“No—” Stede raises a hand and rushes to say, “Don’t tell me. Please. I—” He looks out one of the large, curve-framed windows and sees a line of ships in the harbor, The Revenge just along the opposite side. “—I want him to tell me.” 

Jack slides back in the chair, humming and getting very comfortable, looking a bit more mellow. “Right. Off you go, then, doll. Tell ‘em to bring back more rum.” 

***

Stede approaches his ship cautiously, walking slowly, trying to buy just a little more time. 

He knows he should be excited. He should be hurrying. He should be thrilled and elated, finally running to the arms of the man who bore his other half. 

But he can’t stop thinking of his mother’s warning. 

It’s not the fairytale you think it is.  

What if she was right? What if Jack or Izzy were right? What if soulmates are an overrated concept? What if meeting this captain is no different than meeting Jack, that Stede would look in the eyes of the man who shares his mark and feel nothing at all? 

Standing still on the docks just beside his ship, Stede sighs. He takes in a deep, salty breath and lets it out, allowing the comforts of the sea air cast him a shred of courage. 

Ready. Stede is ready. 

No matter how this goes, Stede would finally learn what it meant to find the other fragment, to complete this journey and fulfill this adventure. He was a scholar by nature, so at the very least, he could be satisfied in learning something new. Even if this doesn’t go how he wants, it still meant something to him. 

So… he takes the plunge.  

Stede can hear laughter on deck. By the proximity of several voices, he can assume his crew must be gathered in their usual fashion when a story is to be read, only this time—Stede's not telling the story.  

Someone else is. 

Someone new. Someone with a soft baritone and a similar accent, speaking fast and excitable and buoyant, painting a vivid story with unbridled enthusiasm and flare for dramatics. Stede ascends the plank with a burning curiosity and an attraction like no other, thinking that low, husky voice sounds so much like a song. 

And there he is. A string pulls taut, trailing from his chest to that of another's, and it all clicks.  

Mary was right. Stede just knew . He saw this man, this stranger, and he knew it was him. Within the heart of that man, there was a piece of a star they shared, freely roaming the world but somehow pulled back to one another by some invisible force. Everything made sense the moment their eyes connected. 

Caught midway through a surprised laugh at something witty Oluwande said, he shines. Candid and radiant, and frankly, the most beautiful man Stede had ever laid eyes on regardless of soul-bond or what have you. 

Warm hazel. Their eyes meet for the very first time and Stede can see their color even from across the deck. Beneath it all, there’s a blip of purple light— miniscule, undetectable— but Stede knows what he saw. 

It was him. 

Stede's heart leaps on impact, breath caught on the breeze and his sea legs suddenly akin to jelly. He feels light, almost faint, giddy and overwhelmed and connected all in one. 

He finally found him. 

“Your name—” Stede stumbles, voice meek and shaky under the weight of his emotion, of this endless stretch of a single minute, this meeting so expectedly momentous yet Stede feels wholly unprepared for. He takes careful steps across the deck like he’s floating, eyes for only him. “What… what’s your name?” 

That man smiles, brighter than any light of star-fall, and Stede grows weaker in its presence, nearly crumbling. He knows, with no small amount of certainty, that he would surrender everything he has, everything he is, to see even a single one more of those smiles. 

“Fuck, it’s really you…” The most captivating voice in the world whispers low with honeyed words, that blinding grin growing wider, toothy and sincere and just as breathless. “I— my god, you’re beautiful.”  

Stede stifles a giddy laugh, feeling warm all over. His heart is fluttering hopelessly and is fit to burst, almost like the star he houses inside his chest remembered how to fly in the presence of its match, the pull between them magnetic and undeniable. “I’m Stede,” he provides, hoping it reminds the other of his question, only a few precious steps away now. 

“Stede.” Gorgeous sighs on a single breath, then puts a hand over his own heart, like he too is trying to keep it within the home of his chest. “Ed. Edward Teach.” 

Ed.  

His name was Ed. 

*** 

  💫 the next spring 💫 

“Watch your step!” Stede calls down from the rat lines, each ascent of his own a bit wobbly on the ropes.  

“You say that, but do you realize the position I’m in?” Ed smirks up at him, getting a welcome eyeful of Stede's backside. “Hardly able to watch my step.”  

“You’ll manage.” Stede grins, then releases a muted gasp when he catches sight of the very first star-fall of the night, “Oh, hurry! Look! It’s happening.” 

Stede shuffles into the crowsnest and offers down a hand to Ed, accepting the basket they brought along so Ed can haul himself the rest of the way. Once comfortable on a small blanket, Stede sets out a few goblets of cherry wine, pillaged from a merchant ship. He also brought up some candied fruits, rightfully purchased from a town on that same trade route. 

Mouth full of sweets, Ed suddenly hums and gestures to the night, “Oh, yellow. There it goes, shee?” 

Stede follows Ed’s finger and sees the trail of a saffron star fly out. It keeps going, never sparking and never splitting, traveling far over the horizon until it’s gone. 

“Oh, that one didn’t fragment. Fascinating.” Stede scribbles the account down hurriedly in his too-full journal, nearly running out pages. Ever since his father took the first one, Stede had been secretly filling this newer journal for decades, always keeping it a secret just out of habit. 

Eventually, he realized that Ed could be trusted with it. When they knew each other better, Stede showed it to him, and when told the history of Stede's journaling habit, Ed praised his dedication and perseverance. Stede was so relieved that the other was just as fascinated— if not more fascinated— with the stars than Stede was. Ed read through every page he wrote, reliving all the years they weren’t together, learning new things about both Stede and the sky, thanking him for sharing it. 

And now, Stede would share anything with him. After all, he’s vowed to it ceremoniously, symbolized with the twin ring each of them bears on their left hands. 

“S'fuckin' cold out here…” Ed complains, drawing a second blanket over his shoulders as Stede turns out the flame of their lantern. The higher the moon rises, the brighter it's getting above them. Gentle colors are painting the sky, swirls and trails and stripes of every color imaginable lighting up as the stars begin to swell. 

Stede settles in the crowsnest alongside Ed, back against the rail. He huddles under the blanket when Ed lifts a corner, sharing in wool and body heat. “Well, that’s what you have me for.” 

Ed smiles, casting him a twinkling side-eye and scooching in nearer. “Yeah. You’re right, of course. Always right, you.” Ed tips his head to rest a cheek on Stede’s shoulder and sighs a contented breath, drawing Stede's hand up to kiss the northward point of his nautical star. 

“Oh, hush. That’s hardly true.” 

“Aw, well, now you’re wrong! How's that possible?” Ed laughs, poking at Stede’s stomach enough to have him giggling and swatting away his hand. “What an enigma. You oughta be studied. I could write a whole journal about you, y'know.” 

“Ridiculous man. An absolute jester.” Stede admonishes with a poorly concealed grin.  

“You love it.” 

Stede snorts, heart fluttering in the usual way Ed inspires it to. “I love you. Now, here—" He takes Ed’s chin between his thumb and pointer finger, guiding his half-lidded gaze back up to the sky. “—pay attention.” 

Ed mutters back an I love you too, just making sure he knows. But he obeys, tilting his chin to the sky and capturing a scene so awe-inspiring that Ed has to remember he’s seen dozens like it.  

Funny, this year feels like the first time. 

Ed’s eyes widen in amazement when a brighter flare of cobalt blue washes over them. A few other colors follow in suit, blaring through the night and glittering off the ocean waves below. He spends a long time admiring each of the colors as they grow brighter— blues, lavenders, pinks, greens— all melding together, getting ready to fragment and fall. 

“There they go,” Ed points out as a cerulean crystal falls free from its tether to the cosmos, splitting with bell-ringing sparks and the pieces trailing across the sky. 

A rainfall of colors shift in the air as several more fall free, fragments hurdling through the atmosphere to reach those lucky enough to receive them. Stede smiles to each, knowing whoever gets them will be starting a new adventure in their life, should they so choose. 

“S'beautiful.” Ed whispers, reaching down to gather Stede's hand in his own, warm and safe and kept. “Happy little buggers, those stars.” 

“Y'think so?” Stede smiles, absent-mindedly tracing his thumb along Ed’s mark. “Yeah. I bet they're excited.” 

“Think they choose who they land on?” Ed asks thoughtfully. “Or it’s just random?” 

“Mm, I think it must be carefully considered. I can’t imagine one's perfect match would be a thing left to chance.” 

“Chance be damned, I’d still find you. Y’know, if the star didn’t bring us together.” Ed tells him, quick and easy and with all confidence. “You would be mine in any universe.” 

I choose you, Stede Bonnet.  

It goes unspoken now, but Stede has heard him say it before. When Ed got onto an achy knee and held up a carved little box, presenting him with a gorgeous golden band, he said those words. 

The words Stede wanted to hear all his life. 

He feels them now, in this moment. Stede watches the light bounce from Ed's eyes, a whole swirling galaxy of color that enraptures him entirely, draws him in, and somehow reminds Stede that this is real. Ed chose him. He chose Ed. Of course Stede gave him the yes, tearfully and followed by an embrace better described as a tackle, and they’re— 

They’re married. Ed is Stede's husband. And they couldn't be happier. 

Stede shudders with the warmth he's grown accustomed to— that flare of lavender light he houses within himself— and he thanks every star above that Ed is his. Or maybe he just needs to thank the one that they share between them, chest-to-chest, the star-fragments thrumming and content to be so near. 

“Yeah.” Stede agrees, swallowing back his swell of emotion. “I’d be yours.” 

They sit together, simply and easily, Stede’s marked hand being cradled by both of Ed's, loved and kept and chosen. 

They gaze wistfully, so fucking happily , at the cosmic expanse overhead, beyond the horizon line, everywhere. Stede feels Ed shift to hug around his waist, snuggling in closer and pressing another appreciative kiss to the underside of Stede's stubbly jaw. Stede turns for a proper kiss, just as filled with sparks and warmth as any other of their kisses have been since the day they met. 

And they've never been more at peace.  

They watch those twinkling flowers bloom in distant, dazzling colors across the garden of night, and Stede thinks to himself: Look at that. I’m one of the lucky ones.  

🌠 e n d 💫