1 - 20 of 127 Works in Fics that made me call Stede-PS
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There had been an accident.
Ed and Stede were painting the bedroom again, this time Stede was sure the color they chose was the right one, the one that would tie it all together for sure. And Ed had been good-naturedly ribbing him, as they did, about maybe the lavender being too bright. They had been laughing and Ed had had a point to make, a point he of course had to make by gesturing emphatically with his brush, the brush he had recently dipped in the bucket. And, of course, paint flew everywhere.
“Oh, shit,” Ed had said absently, trying to assess the immediate damage to the floor and their furniture. “Sorry, love, this is a bit of a mess, hope you like some lavender on the bed, oops.” And he laughed, back still turned to Stede. This kind of thing tended to happen when they renovated together, really.
And he didn't notice. He didn't notice that paint had splattered all over Stede's face and shirt. Until he turned and Stede was just standing there covered, not saying anything.
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A tiny little accident and the release of some big emotions. Such is life.
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A few weeks after a Stede has a major operation, snow hits Seattle.
A snowball fight with Alma and Louis ensues.
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1718. Stede Bonnet dies.
All Ed wants is to follow.
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There’s a rough blow to his jaw and pain explodes through it as Stede feels a couple more teeth rattle loose. He spits them out, each a white pearl nestled in globs of thick, red blood, and his head is yanked up by his hair. Strands fall like dandelion fluff around his face, and Stede grits his teeth, as much as he can manage, against the sting.
He knows what they’re asking; what they want. They want what hundreds of other people want.
What Stede had wanted, had altered his entire fucking life for -
“Where the fuck is Blackbeard?”
~'*'~
Stede gets captured under the assumption that he knows where Blackbeard is. He doesn't.
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- Part 6 of we can be anything (stizzy week 2024)
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Ed is an engineer aboard the Revenge, an interplanetary research vessel on a multi-year mission to study Jupiter's moon Europa. An accident requires that Ed awaken from cryostasis over six months early, and finds his only companion to be Stede, the ship's onboard AI. They develop an unconventional friendship, but is it possible to have more?
This is classic mutual pining with a sci-fi twist, inspired by all of my favorite stories about the nature of personhood.
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“You–” Ed was struggling to parse what Stede was saying. “You’re playing your version of this song for me, right now? Like, in real time?”“Yes, Edward, that’s correct,” said Stede softly.
Ed’s brain momentarily seized up. He supposed it made sense that Stede was capable of learning a set of rules to do something like arrange and play a piece of music. There was something unnerving about this song, though. It felt, well–it felt organic . Reactive. Almost collaborative in a way. Ed was lost in the push and pull of it, until the last notes softly petered out.
“So, what did you think?” asked Stede. It sounded nervous again. Why the hell would someone program an anxiety response into a bot?
Series
- Part 1 of Starry Eyes and Counting Down to Zero
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”I'd ask if you're alright, but I just found you crying by yourself in the middle of the night, so I think that question answers itself.“
”Very much not okay, I'd say.“ He dabs under his eyes, getting any last tears from his face. ”But most things are temporary, aren’t they? That's what I'm trying to believe.“
Or while on a train that's taking him away from his family and to the other side of the country, Stede meets a kind stranger in the middle of the night.
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the weight of the world (ain't so bad) by ShowMeAHero for GapsBetweenStories
Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)
17 Dec 2023
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“Almost everything we have has gone bad.”
‘Ah,’ Ed thinks, and out loud, says, “Has it?”
“Yes,” Stede informs him. “I was thinking about it at work and I realized I hadn’t checked any of these dates in forever, Ed. You could’ve gotten sick— either one of us could’ve gotten very sick, I should be doing a better job. This is— This is inexcusable.”
“It’s not that bad,” Ed tries to assure him.
“Not that bad?” Stede echoes, whirling with a dry box of uncooked macaroni in his hand. “What if you had eaten something that had spoiled? Or Alma, or Louis? What if you got sick? You could’ve easily—”
“But we didn’t,” Ed stops him.
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“I just— You don’t need to know all of that. It’s— It’s nothing th—”
“It’s part of you,” Ed says, framed by the bright sky above. It’s so warm, all this light; Stede tries to focus, to ground himself in it, attempting to release the dark forest in his memory. “It’s not nothing.”
There’s nobody else here. Everyone else has given them space, a bubble to exist in together up on deck while Stede comes back to himself, and he’s grateful for it. He’s even more grateful that he doesn’t have an audience when he asks Ed, knowing he’ll tell him anything he asks for, “What do you want to know?”
And Ed, of course, answers, “Everything.”
for ofmd fluffvember, day twenty: comfort/reassurance.
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Stede is exactly where he left him, right in the middle of the room, frozen by the crackling fire.
After a moment of studying him, Ed says, “Stede,” softly, and closes the door, and Stede jumps. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s alright,” Stede replies. His eyes flicker over the place Ned had fallen, then lift to Ed when he turns. Landing on the first aid kit, he asks, “Should I— Would you like me to do your chest first?”
“Your throat’s still bleeding,” Ed tells him, and doesn’t add, ‘And your chest is still smoldering, and your face is still cut open, and I can still taste your burnt flesh in the back of my throat, and I can still see his lips on yours, and if I can’t put you back together with my own hands, I think I might just fall apart, too.’
He doesn’t add it, but he doesn’t need to. Stede hears the words even when left unspoken.
for ofmd fluffvember, day twelve: pets and "let's just stay here."
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The person who did this to Stede is standing in Izzy’s eyeline, and the anger that takes hold of him is beyond anything he’s felt in recent memory, catapulting immediately into a passionate fury that seizes him in a hot blaze.
There’s no frenzy to it; everything seems to make sense inside the anger. Decisions are simple, easy.
Izzy separates from his kiss with Stede, pressing their foreheads together for a long moment. When Stede takes a shuddering breath, Izzy kisses him again, then tells him, “I’m going to kill him.”
“What?” Stede asks on an exhale, soft. When he actually processes what he’s said, he insists, “Izzy, you— You can’t do th—”
“Tell me not to and I won’t,” Izzy says, and Stede— his Stede, his wild Stede, insane and passionate and crazy and fierce and feral and fucking perfect in his madness— hesitates.
for ofmd fluffvember, day ten: "you would do that for me?"
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“I haven’t worked on my shit.”
“You’ve been surviving your shit. That’s the first step to working on it. Really.”
“…Ed, I don’t want to survive anymore.”
“I know—”
“I want to live.”
“…”
“I’m—”
“Don’t— Don’t be sorry. It’s just— Fuck. I’m really glad to hear you say that.”
“I don’t want to die. Not— I mean. There’s a part of me that thinks it’s the responsible thing to do. But I don’t… want it. All the way. If that makes sense. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, Stede. That makes sense.”
“…I’m not going to do anything.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. I’ll… I’m okay, really. I’m just— I’m having a moment of weakness. I guess.”
“It’s okay.”
“Ed, it hurts.”
“I know it hurts. I’m gonna help you, okay? And it’s gonna be alright.”
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In the rain, Stede doesn’t even notice, at first, when lights sweep over him. He doesn’t notice, either, when a car stops next to him; he only notices when he hears the slam of a car door, followed by, “Fucking shit, there you are, Stede— Stede! Stop walking, stop—”
Stede, frowning, obeys the voice, stops, turns, finds Ed in his rain gear with his hood up, striding through the mist and storm to Stede.
“What?” Stede asks, bewildered. He’d almost think he were hallucinating if Ed didn’t take him by the shoulders a beat later, throwing a rain jacket over his head, hauling him bodily towards the car.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Ed demands.
for ofmd kinktober, day thirty: "come for me."
also for ofmd whumptober, day thirty: borrowed clothing, bridal carry, "not much longer..."
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i love everything (don't it make you feel sad?) by ShowMeAHero
Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)
27 Oct 2023
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Stede’s littered in marks. The slight textures that Ed has felt while they’ve fucked are clarifying themselves in front of him, in the forms of whip scars, healing burns, knife wounds, raised patches and the occasional stitches and an assortment of discolorations and marks and blemishes. When Ed turns him, a slight rotation, he sees his back lashed in stripes; there aren’t many, but the ones he has are thin and raised, whip-thin white scars in obvious flay-strikes across the sunbathed skin.
“Shit,” Ed breathes, and Stede moves to grab the robe again, his expression tightening. With a hand on his wrist, Ed stops him. “No, I’m— I’m sorry, I just— Stede. Some— Someone hurt you, who— Who the fuck hurt you?”
It’s the most pressing thought that comes into his mind, and then it’s consuming him, all he can think about, swallowing him whole.
for ofmd whumptober, day twenty-seven: matches, scars, "let me see."
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Sweat-slick, trembling, his fingers slip on the buckle once, then twice. Panic starts to set in, and he feels trapped, silenced, diminished, confined, small, just— so, so small, and his breath is coming in great heaves through his nose and his eyes are burning with tears and he’s yanking at the straps, trying to pull the muzzle up and off over his head if it won’t unbuckle, but it just won’t budge.
“Hey, hey,” Ed says, catching his head between his hands. His own hands reach back, catching Stede’s wrists; his fingers are far steadier when he says, “I got it, let me—” and unsnaps it, finally pulling the buckle free from itself with a slither of leather, and Stede cries.
for ofmd kinktober, day twenty-five: muzzles and "say please."
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And Though I Burn, How Could I Fall? by skitterskatter
Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)
25 Oct 2023
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If I had a nickel for every time Stede has gotten stabbed and almost died, only to be saved by Ed...
i am on a lethal dose of copium
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Stede has only just closed his fingers around the hilt of Izzy’s sword when they hear the snap of the loaded gun being cocked, and he moves before Izzy does, spinning with the sword in his hand, his other palm outstretched, his arms spread, sprinting to get back in front of the bed in the exact moment the gun in the hands of the raiding pirate in the doorway goes off with an explosion of noise.
A second later, Izzy’s face is hit with a warm spray, his eyes closing automatically against the hot and sudden mist of wetness that soaks into him.
for ofmd kinktober, day twenty- three: multiple orgasms, riding, and "you feel so good."
also for ofmd whumptober, day twenty-three: shadows, stalking, and "who's there?"
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Unofficial Prompt Day 3 - "Sick/Injury"
Ed takes care of Stede while he has the flu. There you go. That's the fic.
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- Part 3 of Panda's Flufftober 2023
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Outside the car, through the smashed-in windows pressed to the ground, Ed can hear the squeal of tires and the rush of voices and, far away, the screams of sirens.
“Are you okay?” he asks Stede, trying to crane his neck enough to see where his seat belt buckle ended up, determined to release it and drop himself out of his upside-down seat. “Stede? You alright?”
Ed still doesn’t get an answer.
It only occurs to him now that Stede hasn’t said or done anything at all since Ed woke up, and he can’t see him at this angle thanks to the— fucking airbag in his face.
“Stede?” Ed asks again, and still receives nothing.
for ofmd whumptober, day twenty-two: glass shard, vehicular accident, "watch out!"
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“God, Ed,” he breathes, rough and raw. “God, I’m close— Ed, please, God—”
“I got you,” Ed promises him, pulling up just enough to grip Stede’s hips in his tight grasp again and fuck him. Each thrust drives Stede up the bed a bit, he’s so forceful, slamming into him, fucking him as hard as he can, fucking in, in, in—
—And then, suddenly, there’s a bright blast of pain through Stede’s skull, and then it’s all darkness.
for ofmd kinktober, day twenty-one: public/semi-public and "over my knee."
also for ofmd whumptober, day twenty-one: restraints and "don't move."
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Stede’s head snaps to the side, and Ed screams at them, “Don’t you fucking touch him, don’t you fucking dare,” tearing at his wrists, straining against the ropes until his skin burns, but he still can’t get out.
Tears drip down from Stede’s eyes beneath the blindfold, his chest hitching. He rolls his shoulders, tipping his head back to center, then spits out a mouthful of blood onto the packed earth ground beneath.
After a beat, he lifts his head, still blindfolded, face tipped in the direction of the man even without seeing him.
“That won’t bring Blackbeard here,” Stede tells him, chin lifted. “I can take it.”
“Hit him again,” the man says, and the woman does, her fist coming into Stede’s face with a crack. “Again. Hit him harder.”
for ofmd whumptober, day eighteen: blindfold, tortured for information, and "hit them harder."
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