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With A Little Help From Our Friends by adhduck, rowdyem
Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)
24 Dec 2025
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Summary
“All right, fine!” Stede admits, throwing up his hands in defeat. “Everything’s a mess and I think the party is ruined.”
Fang glances up, expression neutral in a way that suggests it took some effort. “The party you announced twenty minutes ago?”
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When Stede's promise of a snowstorm in the Caribbean (shockingly) falls through, he's desperate to make it up to the crew. But throwing a party with no decorations, not to mention a creeping sense that it's not really about the party at all, might be harder than controlling the weather—at least, until he gets a little help from his friends.
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Summary
After story time with the crew, the two of them walked hand in hand back to their quarters, where a click of a door and creaky floorboards filled the room while touches turned desperate as they fell into the bed nook together. Clothes discarded and bodies prepped, Stede pressed Ed face down and set a quick rhythm that Ed might consider his song of the summer.
And that’s been the timeline of events over the last half hour or so. Up until this very point.
or Ed might've maybe accidentally let something slip
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Only three knives are stuck into the big settee, but the many rips and tears in its lovely brocade indicate quite a few previous stabbings. Stede sighs again as he lifts it up from its back onto all four legs, then pulls the third knife out of the center of the cushion. He pats the spot where the stuffing bursts out from the torn upholstery.
Stede finds things torn open and damaged, and does his best to fix them up. The couch or Ed's heart? Yes.
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Summary
It’s been a few nights since they’ve both acknowledged their whim-proned tendencies and decided to set a boundary. Take things at a leisurely pace. They’ve started to fall back into a steady rhythm of sharing stories, sharing drinks, and once it’s far too late, sharing shy, heated glances before one of them cuts the tension like a knife in a wind-taut sail and suggests they hit the hay. G’night’s and nuh-night’s are exchanged. That’s that.
Except tonight was not that.
Ed is very aware that Stede talks in his sleep, but this is new. He’s heard his name on those lips a hundred times by now, but never like this. Never with breathy desperation.
But they’re taking it slow.
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Summary
Sticky.
Everything feels sticky. And damp? And the red lace of his necktie is scratchy in such a way that goes beyond irritating and starts to enter full-on maddening territory. To top it all off, Stede’s hair has become a sensory nightmare of its own, just long enough to tickle with every turn of his head. And if you could believe, not a single member of the crew would help a lad out and trim it, even when ordered. Which apparently doesn’t fall under ‘things you can order your crew to do.’ Even to this day he’s still learning something new about piracy.
or
Stede gives himself a haircut