#OMFD Drabble

[lookinglass-fic]

Stede has always dreamed of a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. So Ed builds him a custom bookshelf from scratch. He could just buy one, or at least hire someone to install it; they certainly have the money for it.

Still, Ed measures the average heights of Stede's books, painstakingly cuts and assembles the wood, sands and paints the whole thing, mounting it carefully to the wall.

He lets Stede put all of his books in their proper shelves, knowing this will be part of the fun for him. He sits back and watches as Stede mumbles to himself, tiny snippets of an internal monologue he probably doesn't even realize he's voicing. No, this is more romance than not, and, there, now the Discworld series is all together.

Ed loves watching him like this, intently focused and lost in a world that's all Stede.

When he's done and the last book is in its place, Stede stands back with Ed to admire their handiwork. "It's beautiful," Stede says.

"I made it for you," Ed says.

But what he means is, "I love you."

[sherlockig]

I have been reading Don Quijote with my students and I cant help but see the connections between pilot Stede and Don Quijote.

Stede has read a lot of adventure novels. He plays pirate with his kids and shows a great deal of imagination. He wants to be a pirate so he gets out and becomes one. He wants to raid big ships so he raids that little fishingboat. The problem is that there is no Sancho Panza, the closes thing Stede has in the pilot is Lucius and he is not always a good voice of reason. And then Stede meet Edward - who is also kind of a Don Quijote character. He has just been around for longer and are more experienced but still very much a dreamer and idealist.

A lot of their problems would have been solved if there were a Panzas around. And no Izzy Hands is not that, not at all. They are on a a whole ship filled with Don Quijotes and there is trouble when the windmills turn out to actually be giants. 

[our-flag-means-drama]

The Wanting: A Blackbonnet drabble

He is an agent of death and destruction, not made for fine things and softness. Knowing that has never stopped the wanting. So he pillages and plunders—if he can’t have it, no one can. Then he meets Stede Bonnet, the Gentleman Pirate, who has it all. Suddenly he can have it, too. Can be Ed again after years of Blackbeard. It’s good, so good. But his mother was right, he isn’t that kind of person; never will be. Left alone, Blackbeard goes back to the life he knows: death and destruction. But the wanting remains, never to be satisfied.

[trixree]

Touching prompts with Blackbonnet and #3 please? 🙏❤️

Touching prompts #3: hiding face in neck

"Oh, darling," Stede says with aching tenderness. The tone of his voice is enough all on its own to make Ed's knees weak, to make the cold lump of anxious tension in his chest crack down the middle.

He blows out a shuddering breath and shakes his head jerkily once: no. If Ed opens his stupid traitorous mouth even for a second, all that will come out of him is a pathetic whine. But Stede - stupid, maddening, stubborn Stede - just strides forward and places a warm and gentle hand on his bare shoulder. The simple contact shudders through him. The cracks reach outwards with jagged arms, little breaks spreading across the surface of a frozen lake, ready to drown and freeze all those that might traverse it.

"Love, why didn't you say something? Bit of a not-good day?" Stede soothes.

A noise that approximates a laugh shivers out of his chest. Say something. Funny. What would Ed say? How could one say, I'm more mad than sane these days and I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you - hurt everyone - with what's inside of me. I'm not a good man and it hurts.

He must make a face. Stede tuts and gentles, "C'mere, c'mere. That's a dear."

Ed follows where Stede leads - will always follow where Stede leads, helpless to do anything else - and where Stede leads him is to the sweet-smelling softness of the skin between his neck and shoulder. "There we go," he murmurs, guiding Ed to tuck his face into that small, special place.

Embarassingly, his breath catches. He breathes in Stede in a stuttering gasp - Stede, just Stede, because Ed lacks the words to describe the luxurious scent of him in any other way - and his eyes begin to burn.

"Let it out, darling. I've got you."

They stay there until the sun disappears below the water.

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

Just gonna hop onto the previous anons question about tropes, (excuse the ramble) but I couldn’t help but agree with your take on the yandere trope!!

No hate to anyone, but I just wish there were more yandere fics out there where the mc wasn’t at risk of losing a limb!! Like, make them sick and twisted. Make the yandere commit utter atrocities for their darling, but make them in the name of love, as obsessive and twisted as theirs is. If I don’t leave the fic questioning my sense of morality, I don’t want it, lol. I just can’t see a yandere who would kill someone for looking at the mc wrong; feel alright with causing lasting damage to their so! It’s why I like Lovesick so much, definitely some hiccups on the boys' parts, and I’ve never felt so genuinely split between wanting the boys back or the mc leaving!! (Absolutely love it!!)

Anyways, I was really curious about how you feel about angst? Do you prefer fics to remain within a certain word limit? I’ve had some people say they won’t touch fics that are just too long, so I was really curious on your take with that!

Love your work and take care!~ <33

Ramble away my lovely you’ve articulated yourself so well! I completely agree, and I have read some messed up yandere fics and novels (haunting Adeline anyone?) but some I’ve read I just completely switch off especially if I can’t feel the yandere’s “love” for the character, if it’s just pure possession or obsession with no softness I’m like no 😵‍💫 I cannot I’m sorry

And OMFD I need to catch up with lovesick, I was completely hooked and then I didn’t touch tumblr for ages and now there are so many chapters to binge but no time to binge them 😭 I’ve got a week off coming up soon I might just do it then but I’ve also started the ACOTAR series and I’m hooked with that too

@angelicyoongie is one of my favourite writers on this site, the way Maggy writes is just 👌🏽👌🏽👌🏽 the woman is younger than me but she’s my role model for sure

I can read more than one thing at a time though I’m currently reading 3 books at the same time (and making no progress 🤦🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️)

I have a love hate relationship with angst, I love it as a writer and admire other writers who do it well, it kills me as a reader because it just hurts like hell 😭 if it’s ripped my heart out then it’s an A class fic

And to be honest I don’t mind word limits I think it depends what you want to read, sometimes you just want a drabble but sometimes you want a full on novella where you can get deep into the feeling. I think the longest oneshot fic I’ve read on tumblr was 40k words and I loved it. Chapters long fics are even better there’s more to digest, it’s hard to find a fic your craving sometimes so always good to have lots of words of it

[candied-cae]

To Ask a Sea Storm's Advice

Chapter 1/1 - - - Read it on AO3

Word Count : 1,907

Summary : Though Ed might act as the Kraken now that Stede's left him, when he is alone at night he is always Edward Teach. Open, vulnerable, and bare, just a boy in his heart, broken and scared. Most nights consist of quiet cries to love and loss, but on the stormy ones, Ed finds himself calling to the lightning and thunder to answer the question he can't let go of. 

"He loves me? He loves me not?"

More OMFD Fics

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Ed has picked up a new habit.

It's not something he's ever done before, not something he's sure anyone has ever done before... but it just sort of happened one night.

It was maybe, what, four weeks since he'd cleared the Revenge of most of her old crew? All that was left of Stede's wasted potential were Jim and, for now, Frenchie. Though, he wasn't sure how long he'd allow his stay now that his sewing job was finished. The Kraken can't excuse a mouth to feed without a purpose.

That's how it always was these days. The Kraken this. The Kraken that. The Kraken. The Kraken. The Kraken.

He was tired of thinking about the Kraken and what sort of performance it would demand. Every day he woke up full of dread about who he would have to hurt or what he would have to break to protect himself. Part of the Kraken was because "if Stede didn't love him, then no one ever would, so what's the point of feeling anything but rage?" But the other part of it was simple survival.

Izzy told him, in no complex terms, that if he kept playing at being Ed, he would kill him. And maybe if someone had made him that offer three months ago, he would've taken them up on it. But after the happiness he felt, for the first time in so long, maybe he wanted to live again. Just in case that sort of feeling could come back. The broken organ in his chest told him such an idea was stupid to entertain, but somewhere in the back of his mind held on to it all the same.

Couldn't seem to let it go.

Instead, he was waiting. Waiting for a clue. Waiting for some sort of sign that he had reason to hold on. For something to tell him, it's not foolish to still believe in love.

Or maybe he was just too weak now to face death smiling. Who can really be sure anymore?

Though, all of that is beside the point. The point is that time had passed, and things had changed. And while he could never confide it in anyone, at night he often found himself in the captain's quarters cornered by the ghost of Stede Bonnet. He had nearly all his things removed, but there were scars of his memory covering every inch. And when the sun had set, and he was alone, when he should've been asleep, he would become so aware that he was surrounded in darkness and silence where he once enjoyed so much light and sound. In that emptiness, his mind would pick at the scabs of his wounds. He would mull them over, over and over again.

But on this night, it wasn't just dark, and it wasn't just silent. It was storming. It was a rough one, but not the worst he'd seen in all his years. So, he knew it wasn't any sort of shock or panic from the weather that caused it... but as he was on the bed, sat up and leaned against the wall, all limp in his bones as he let his head lazily gaze out the window... he started following every lightning strike with his eyes.

Each flash was a moment of light in the dark, each boom was a moment of sound in the silence. It almost felt like how Stede's room should be: full, bright, and loud. It broke through the usual pain that nighttime brought. And as he traced the lines of electricity across the clouded sky with his eyes, he counted. He started counting them like they were tallies to total up. Like their measure would mean something.

One... Two... Three...

The way a sea storm breaks is different. To the best of his memory of weather on the mainland, it always felt different on the water. The way you felt completely surrounded in it. It wasn't just above and around you. The way it would rock your boat, thrashing you and everything you own without care. Nothing could compare to its force.

Four... Five... Six...

And a sea storm is a powerful beast. She's killed more men than any pirate. She's killed more men than any army. She's seen everything this word has made. From the best men to the worst, the smallest pieces of driftwood to the most massive ships, sea creatures, birds, and land animals. All of it. She has seen it, and she conquers them all every single time. She'd know of love and hate and what was between it all. What of it was real. What of it was worth anything. She'd know.

Seven... Eight... Nine...

And then, before he even knew what he was thinking, he followed every strike with a thought. An estimation of the truth. Clarity for the questions he couldn't ask Stede himself. Like how children pull on flower petals to decide "she loves me, she loves me not," he used each strike to declare what had happened between them. Like whatever thought followed the last lightning strike would surely be true. Somehow, someway, this would provide the answer he needed. The sea storm and her rousing light and sound could provide council.

A small crack on the horizon. "Stede never loved me." A blinding, shaking flash just overhead. "Stede might've loved me, but I fucked it up." A strike, that seemed to surge toward him. "Stede does love me, and I'm missing something." "Stede ran away because I'm a monster." "Stede is good, and knows I am not." "Stede left me because he never wanted to go with me." "Stede was using me until he didn't need to anymore." "Stede just wanted Blackbeard, not me." "Stede tried to be with me." "Stede was running late, and I should've waited, just a bit longer." "Stede was never going to show." "Stede wants me." "Stede hates me." "Stede went back to his wife." "Stede wanted more than me." "Stede thought he was too good for me." "Stede wanted to join me on the dock." "Stede will find me." "Stede wants nothing to do with me." "Stede just wants to be friends." "Stede saw I was the Kraken and knew better." "Stede decided we couldn't forget I planned to kill him." "Stede betrayed me because he wanted me to hurt." "Stede was just confused and needed time." "Stede was disgusted by me." "Stede was scared." "Stede knew exactly what he was doing, and he didn't care." "Stede doesn't care about me" "Stede will come back for me." "Stede will explain and confess." "Stede will hold me, and it will heal everything." "Stede will never return to the sea again." "Stede doesn't need anything out here." "Stede doesn't want this life, not with me." "Stede would never want me."

He ran through these statements and every variation on them he could come up with. Over and over, he circled through his list, and every time he declared in one way or another that Stede cared, he begged the sky to cease. To pause and assure him he was loved and there was just something gone wrong that they could right. Some apology or bold gesture could be done, and then they could be together. He hoped, beyond all reason, for some random chance to tell him that he would be okay again someday.

But as his eyes grow heavy and his mind begins to fog with the tire, and the restless sky seems to settle, he no longer calls on the complex words surrounding the one answer he really needed.

A streak overhead. "Stede loves me." A flash from the far south. "Stede loves me not." A shock even further. "Stede loves me." A flicker beyond view. "Stede loves me not." A bolt just to the west. "Stede loves me." A slash so close outside his window that he almost flinched. "Stede loves me not..."

And with that line, the rumbling above stopped. The rain falling on the window slowed. His eyes kept searching the sky, but nothing. Here he was, in the dark and silence again. Alone. And he found his answer. At least the sea storm provided an answer. And maybe there should be a relief. Maybe there should've been a calming to having been given this sign to let go. And maybe if he accepted it, and maybe if he moved on... maybe it wouldn't hurt so much anymore?

Because it hurt. All the time, it hurt. It hurt so badly, and the lightning's answer didn't ease the pain. The truth sunk its claws in, deeper and deeper.

"Stede doesn't love me."

It pushed a sharp edge into his very heart. It felt like it was cleaving him in half. His eyes ran over with tears as they so often did late at night, and his eyebrows stitched together as he readied for the sob trying to rip through his chest. And just as he began to gasp in that shaky breath that always precedes his breaking... there was another blitz.

It was tiny and so far away. He might've missed it had he relinquished his eyes to sleep a second earlier. But it was there. It sparked just on the edge of the clouds as they returned to their usual pale color and the heavy gray slipped away. And in the seconds that followed, as the clap of the final strike washed over him, he spoke.

"Stede loves me."

Of course, he knew this game was silly. Childish. Foolhardy. It was devoid of any logic, reason, or sense. But it comforted him all the same. For the first time since the dock, a whisper of hope found its way into him. Maybe, there was reason to believe after all. Maybe, that confidence wasn't him holding onto a rope that would be better let go. Maybe, it wouldn't hurt him further.

So, for the first time since he shared the same boat with Stede Bonnet, when Ed closed his eyes he actually felt like he rested.

And ever since that night, every time they face a sea storm's rage, while the rest of the crew may be managing things on deck or trying to shut it out while they sleep, Ed stays up and plays his game. The words flow through him without a single thought. It's Edward Teach's most gently held secret. Every time the lightning and thunder roll across their patch of water he performs his habit.

The oddest thing about it, though... Despite what anyone might believe and despite the overwhelming odds that would suggest otherwise, it always seemed to assure him. Every time, without fail, the lightning ends on "Stede loves me."

Though it should mean nothing more than wild coincidence, Ed chooses to place some stake in the sea storms' advice. He chooses to hold faith that Stede will confirm its signs. He chooses hope. To believe in the man he loves returning to him.

He trusts that somehow they'll figure everything out and he'll be okay again.

When day breaks, he'll be the Kraken and do his job. He'll play the part, wear the mask. He'll be cruel and effective. He'll be everything he hates about himself to survive. Because he may be the Kraken today, but someday he might get to be Ed again. He misses Ed.

He misses being Stede's Ed more than words could say.

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My Other Works ❤

Feel free to go and leave it a kudo on ao3 too, if you want ❤

[violetevents]

you and me from the night before

pairing: stede/edward word count: 500+ a/n: i was listening to taylor swift’s new years day today and thinking about waking up with the worst hangover ever but you’re together and uuuuhhh... then i wrote this :) pure and absolute FLUFF 

When Stede wakes, it’s because there’s a piece of ribbon in his hair that’s tickling his cheek. He groans when he feels pain shoot through his head, and as he gently tries to sit up, his stomach does an uncomfortable lurch.

He decides to give up on the whole sitting upright business and looks around blearily, realizing he’s actually sprawled on the deck of The Revenge. The deck itself is strewn with ribbons and glitter, and where the fuck did they get glitter? He shifts to observe the mess better, and hears a groan from somewhere near his abdomen.

Stede looks down only to find that Ed is splayed out next to him, head resting on Stede’s stomach, seemingly knocked out. He’s breathing though, evident by the groaning noise he just made and the soft rise and fall of his chest. Stede gently nudges him.

“Five mo’ minu’s” Ed mumbles in his sleep, and curls on his side. Stede nudges him a little less gently.

“Hnngggff,” Ed says, quite eloquently, slowly blinking awake. “Why,” is all he states, and if he feels anything like the way Stede is feeling, that’s a fair assesment.

“Party last night got a bit out of hand, I reckon,” Stede’s voice sounds sleep rough and hoarse, and he tries to clear his throat. He would kill for a bottle of water right about now.

Ed snorts, “Understatement. Was fun though. Forgot how much fun we could have.” He says the last part almost wistfully, and Stede feels a small pang of guilt. It’s been over a month since they’ve reunited, and they’ve talked it through more than once at this point, but he still wishes things had gone differently.

Ed seems unbothered by this. “You make things fun,” he says, smiling dopily at Stede from his spot on Stede’s stomach.

“No, you,” Stede says, smiling dopily back at him.

Ed slowly sit up then, with a loud and almost unhuman sounding groan. “We are getting to old for this shit.”

Stede follows suit and gently sits up, ignoring the absolute banging in his brain. “Speak for yourself, old man.”

“No, you,” Ed counters, eyes sparkling with mirth, and Stede can’t do anything but lean forward and softly kiss him. Ed tastes like stale liquor and bad morning breath, and Stede never ever wants to stop kissing him.

Ed is the one who pulls away. “We should probably check on the crew,” he says.

Stede makes an unhappy noise and falls back down on the deck, pulling Ed with him. “They can wait.”

“You make some excellent points there,” Ed says, happily snuggling into Stede’s side.

The sun is slowly rising above them, and it’s throwing a beautiful soft morning glow over Ed’s features. The half updo in Ed’s hair is coming undone and sticking in every direction, his eyeliner is now somehow on his cheek, and there’s some glitter sticking to his chin. Stede has never seen a man more beautiful in his entire life.

“I love you,” he says, reaching up to gently wipe the glitter off Ed’s chin.

“I love you, too,” Ed says, smiling softly, before face planting himself in Stede’s chest. “Nap time,” he announces, and Stede can’t help but laugh.

Sometimes, Stede thinks, happiness is feeling like absolute garbage and still finding joy in the little things.

Then he promptly falls back asleep.

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

Confession at almost midnight: I am terrified to continue bleeding butterflies now we back in the present like what if the back story was the good part and now imma make it crap 👀 same with the CEO au omfd I need to get out of my own head

I feel like my writing is better when it’s feeling orientated and drabbled rather than long complicated stuff and now I’m panicking like am I making it too complicated do I just go back to cute fluff and some angst moments rather than an actual story line … someone slap me to sleep