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English
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Published:
2024-11-22
Completed:
2025-10-09
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6,744
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6/6
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hibiscus

Summary:

Five people who could have put a flower in Ed's hair, and one person who actually did.

Notes:

This fic owes its life to our dear King of BTS Samba Schutte for it is he that, in posting an unrelated BTS (see below for screencap) from Calypso's Birthday, revealed that there were shots of Ed with a hibiscus in his hair.

(See the end of the work for more notes and other works inspired by this one.)

Chapter 1: Archie

Chapter Text

It could’ve been Archie.

Ed likes Archie. Can’t remember when they picked her up or where, really, but it’s a little strange, how comforting it is to have her on the crew. She’s a wild card, rash and reckless, a bit mad, a bit brash, and that’s—well, that’s familiar.

A pirate like Archie is a known entity. Ed’s known them nearly all his life.

“Woah, now, don’t go overboard,” Ed says, catching her as she spins out from Jim and Oluwande, drunk and sweaty, nearly tipping over the rail. “All right?”

“Fuck, man,” she laughs, giddy, nearly dumping half her drink down his front as she sways. “I’m good, you good?”

There’s a not insignificant part of Ed that wishes he were on her level: a bit of drink, a bit of swagger, a bit of the leaf that’s been passed around. The night is warm and balmy, glowing under the colorful lanterns, and the party is good, really good, but he’s hot in his leathers and he wishes he could strip down, snag one of the rum-soaked plums out of the tub, create a little chaos with everyone else.

Ed doesn’t trust himself with chaos.

“Yeah, yeah, m’fine, go on, drunkie,” he says teasingly, indulgently even, but he doesn’t clap a hand on her shoulder like he might’ve done once upon a time. Across the deck, Jim’s stopped paying attention to Oluwande to watch the two of them; their eyes are wary, protective. Ed nods in their direction. “Better get Jim a refill too, they’re losing half their drink to Frenchie.”

Archie just grins, and she doesn’t hesitate to give Ed a soft shove to the arm. “And here’s you, what, still on your first? Live a little, bro.”

There’s something of Jack in her, the way she says it. Jack, but Jack early on, back before he spent so much time up to his neck in a bottle—Jack when they were still young, still naive, still daring in a way that was about survival instead of apathy. Back when things could still be good.

Before Jack had stuck his fucking arm into that blaze to pull Ed out of it. Before the mutiny. Before Ed had taken up the captain’s quarters and loaded Jack off onto Vane and the Ranger, because he owed Jack his life and that made Jack dangerous and Ed terrified and you couldn’t lose something you’d already walked away from.

Before Blackbeard.

We’re alive, bro, Jack used to say. Least we can do is fucking act like it.

Ed looks at Archie, and he can see Jack looking back, and Anne and Mary, Sam and Charlie. Cabin boys and captains. He can see the pirates they all could have been if Ed had maybe been a little less fucking afraid.

Archie looks back, brows drawing down. “Hey, you sure you’re good?”

Ed blinks, shakes back into himself. The ghosts disappear like mist in the night.

“Yeah,” he says, mustering up a smile. “I’m good, yeah. Go on, don’t miss out the party just to hang around with my old maudlin arse.”

“You could join the party.”

“I am partying, look, I have a drink and everything.”

Archie barks a laugh again. “I am looking at you, old man, you just don’t look like you even know a party’s happening.” She shakes her head, sets her mug of rum down. Pulls a knife out of her boot. She pulls at the garland of greens and flowers lining the rails, examining each bloom like Spanish Jackie examining a gold piece. “Black leather, no-nonsense hair, wearing the same pearly thing you’ve had on for weeks—who dressed you, would’ve thought Bonnet would’ve had a field day—”

“Bonnet—hey, Stede likes the hair, thanks much—”

“I don’t doubt it,” Archie agrees easily, slicing off a giant red flower. “It’s nice and suggestive, with your little flirty strand things there, but you don’t strike me as the silent type and I ain’t heard shit out of the captain’s cabin so—”

Ed splutters. “We’re taking it slow—what, the fucking silent type, the fuck does that even mean—”

“Said what I said. Turn, please,” she gestures at his hair, “so I can put this up there.”

He’s not big on people touching his hair. It’s not public fucking property. But Archie’s asking, or sort of asking, at least, and she looks nothing at all but just enough like his mum when he was little. And there’s that something familiar about her but there’s that also something Ed wishes he’d known how to hang onto, that warmth that reaches out to Jim, to Oluwande, and despite everything Ed’s done to destroy it in Archie—Fight her! To the death!—she’s still here, trusting him.

All right. All right, yeah. Ed can trust her too.

Ed turns, and just to be a shit he crouches down extravagantly so she can reach. Archie laughs again, shoves at his shoulder, berates him to hold still, please.

She’s careful as she tucks the flower into place.

Ed thinks about Jack again, about Annie and Mary, and wonders if they could have loved him right if he could’ve told them how. If they could’ve loved him if he’d have let them—if he would have let them if they’d tried.

He wonders what kind of pirates they all might have turned out to be if they’d been fearless enough for flowers.

“There,” Archie says, bringing Ed back into himself. He can feel the weight of the bloom in his hair, the sense of something flouncy at the back of his head. “Now you’re ready to party, mate.”

Gently, Ed reaches back to touch. The wide petals are soft and crinkly, unbearably delicate. “Thanks,” he manages, a little too earnestly.

Archie just grins, pats Ed’s arm one more time, and goes off to intercept Jim before they make their way over, already shouting about the next drinking game they ought to play.

Live a little.

Yeah, Ed thinks. He thinks he probably could do that, with pirates like these.

 

*

(Here's Ed with the flower.)