#i don't think ed throwing away his leathers like that was a good thing

[starrywangxian]

ed, my beautiful babygirl with many disorders, throwing away your leathers (and maybe the cannon ball that was used to kill you) was not the slay move you think it was. you were panicking and being whim-prone. take yor own advice!! take things slow!! dramatically ditiching the pirate life the second you find fishing cool and fun is still moving too fast !!!

if i was better with my words, i'd probably link the end of s2 e3 to this because i think ed throwing the leathers into the water was a nudge to this!!

[carolmunson]

too cool to admit it (sadist!eddie x f!masochist!reader)

you and eddie go to a party, you're having a little too much fun and his ego gets bruised.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, d/s established relaitonship, choking, slapping, degradation, pretty extreme name calling (whore, bitch, slut, pig, etc), dubcon choking (purposefully doing something in a dangerous way), jealous!eddie, mean!eddie, mentions of drugs and alcohol, pretty much an intense scene overall, rough p in v sex, use of restraints. references to dom drop and sub drop. there is aftercare in the form of discussion on why things like this can't happen and how to prevent them. December 1991 - Hawkins.

Ed wasn't having a good night to start, fiddling with his hair in the mirror.

"I looks nice pulled back," you encourage, while he holds it behind him in a low bun, "Get to see your face more."

"It's just so frizzy today," he huffs, "I hate the first wash night. It looks like shit."

"It doesn't look like shit, Ed," you meet him at the mirror, looking at him in it. You pull a full tendrils out toward his face, smoothing out his bangs with your hands, "There we go."

"It's better," he shrugs.

"I think you look very handsome," you smile up at him. His eyes flit down at you and he turns away to hide his boyish smile.

"You have to say that," he murmurs under a blush.

"I don't have to say that," you say, turning to face the real him, "I mean it, though. You look handsome."

"Thank you," he says, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in an hour while he got ready, "You look really pretty."

"I know," you agree, turning back to the mirror to smooth out your dress. He clears his throat from behind you, you can't help but smirk.

"Forgetting something?" he asks. Ed's voice dips to something menacing and your heart dances in your chest.

"Thank you, sir," you chirp.

"That's much better," he praises, stepping behind you to move your hair to lay down your back, "Such a pretty girl."

"You ready to go?" he asks, walking back to the bed to grab his jacket and yours. You nod, hurrying to throw your coat on and slide your little crossbody over yourself. Eddie chuckles to himself while you scurry around, sometimes you were so sweet that it made him sick.

Steve's was already booming by the time you got there. Throngs of people moving through the first floor, hanging outside by the pool despite the cold weather. Ed held you close to him while he pushed you both through to the kitchen, the scent of tobacco and laundry soap heavy on his clothes. It made you swoon for him, your dirty clean boy.

"Here," he said while cracking a beer for you off of his belt, "For the lady."

"Thank you," you smile, he blushes again. Sometimes he was so easy to fluster. You were sure that it was one of those nights where if you winked at him he'd have to leave the room. As domineering as he could be, he really had his days where he couldn't help but trip over himself when he looked at you. Suddenly a school boy with a crush who liked him back, staring at each other across the monkey bars.

The familiar sandalwood musk of Steve Harrington wafted between you. The picture of your blushing boyfriend obscured by a tight navy blue sweater and a rippling back.

"Hey, man," you hear. Eddie's leather arm and ringed hand clapping against his back in front of you, "Sorry to get here so late."

"Hey, pretty," Steve greeted, turning around and pulling you into a hug. He pressed a gentle peck to your cheek, Listerine breath lingering.

"You not drinking tonight?" Ed asked, opening a beer for himself. Steve lets go of his hold, leaning against the kitchen table between the two of you.

"No, not tonight," he said shaking his head, "Might have to drive some people home so I don't wanna put anyone in a bad position."

"Where's your girl?" Ed looked around, eyes scanning for Steve's flavor of the month Elaine.

"She's a little tied up in the bedroom right now," Steve said with a shrug and a sly smirk, "I'm sure she'll be down later."

"Let me know if you two need anything," he offered, walking towards the living room, "Rob and Nance are around here somewhere!"

The party was a blur, rock music and top 40 blasting through the speakers. Everyone around passing blunts, joints, and beers to each other. God forbid anyone had the flu, now you're all going to get it. Eddie was still nursing his first beer of the night, sipping slowly while holding you on his lap on the couch. The both of you intently watching a game of poker unfold in front of you.

"You guys want a shot? Me and Nance are gonna go take shots," Robin asked, walking by the two of you. Eddie shook his head no and you hesitated at first before getting up off his lap.

"Sure, fuck it," you shrugged.

"Don't overdo it, okay?" Ed asked gently, patting the back of your thigh while you walked around him to get to the kitchen. You remember the last time you took shots at a party, taking more and more since they weren't hitting you. Until they hit you all at once. You had a 24 hour hang over after that night.

"I'll be fine, honey," you smiled and shot him a wink, "Thank you, though." He ran a hand over his face to massage out his toothy smile at your attention, hell would freeze over if anyone percieved him as boyish.

The shots fell into you like water, just two, but they had you feeling nice. Not drunk, just nice. Nice enough to let your hands linger on new friends a little too long. Nice enough to catch eyes with someone from across the room and smile. Nice enough to hop into a game of Truth or Dare even though you were all long out of high school. This is something Ed didn't like when you just hung out with the girls. They encouraged this kind of behavior -- hyping you up and passing you drinks or joints so you could all have a good time and unwind. You hadn't checked in with him since you went into the kitchen for a drink. You might as well have forgotten he was there. It wouldn't be the first time.

"She takes two shots of tequila and suddenly everyone is her fucking boyfriend," Eddie huffed against the wall, "I hate when she does this."

"Munson she's just havin' a little fun," Steve rubbed his shoulder, "Don't let it ruin your night. You know she's your girl at the end of the day."

"If she's my girl why is she making eyes at some 'peaked in highschool' scum bag she's never met before," Ed asks, gesturing over to you in the dark, "She's fucking embarrassing me." "Don't be like that," Steve warned, "You're angry. You're seein' what you wanna see, dude. She's just, I dunno, being friendly."

"I'm about to take her home," he said, puffing his chest, "I'm not doing this shit tonight."

"Ed," Steve started, coming around to stand in front of him, "You gotta relax."

"Just -- look at her!" Ed muttered angrily.

It wasn't a pretty picture. Your soft giggle when you said 'Truth,' because you would never say 'Dare,' with your boyfriend around. 'Do you have any hidden talents?' You do, you've perfected the cheek kiss. Eddie swallows hard when you say it because he knows what you mean. The way your breath will ghost over his jaw, the tip of your nose barely brushing against his skin while you trail up to his cheek. You've perfected the art of anticipation. The way your lower lip skates a little on the plane under his cheek bone before you press both of them, warm and plush, against his skin. The kiss lingers long after your lips leave the skin. The first time you did it to him you barely knew each other and he knew he had to take you home. If the way you kissed someone on the cheek was a preview for anything else you could do, he knew he was in for a good night.

"Can we get a demonstration?" the guy asks, his buddies chuckling and jeering with him. You blush while you consider it.

"Oh, yeah, that's a little more than friendly," Steve says. Eddie momentarily sees red, moving Steve out of the way while he steps out of the dark and through the group of people in the living room.

"Baby, let's go," Eddie says while you're learned forward on your hands toward the other boy.

"C'mon dude, don't be a drag," he says.

"I'll drag you down the fuckin' street from the fender of my van, asshole," Eddie bites. You wince, that was his angry voice. Measured and low.

"Let's go," he says to you again, jingling his keys in his pocket.

A collection of 'Oooooh!'s floated from the crowd while you got up to get your coat and purse with Eddie. Like you jut got called into the principal's office. His hand met the small of your back while he guided you to the door, helping you put your coat on before bringing you outside to the van.

"You okay, honey?" you ask, shutting the door while you sat on the worn in passengers seat.

"M'fine, just wanna go home and play," he says without looking at you, "You wanna play?"

"Y-yeah," you reply, a little confused but the warmth between your legs at his slightly angry demeanor wiped that confusion away.

He's not chatty on the ride home, letting you ramble about any gossip you found out from the group there. Gossip about people you don't know, that he doesn't know, that he doesn't care about. You tell him about a few of the guys and their cars. Where they went to college. His grip on the wheel tightens. Maybe you like college guys. Maybe you'd prefer to be with someone who went to college. Who has a better job than at the auto-shop. Someone who wears a suit to work and doesn't come home covered in grease.

Maybe if his hair looked better tonight you wouldn't have felt like flirting with other guys.

When you pull in, infront of the trailer he takes his pack of Camels out to light one, "Go inside and put your leather cuffs and straps on. I'll come meet you when I'm ready."

"Oh," you say, shoulders deflating. He always helped put your harness on when that's how he wanted to play. Making a big, slow, sensual show of adjusting the buckles around your waist, thighs, wrists, and ankles. Making sure the clips on the cuffs were all in working order so he could mold your body to the exact position he wanted it in.

"My collar, too?" you ask, "Do you want me to wait for you?"

"Don't put it on," he says while letting the smoke out of his mouth, clouding the van, "You didn't earn it."

Your lip wobbles but before you can protest he speaks.

"Don't make me wait," he warns. His voice drops into that low and dark register that makes your pulse jump. Eager to please, you run into the trailer, dropping your coat and bag on the kitchen table before hurrying to the bedroom to get ready for him.

You don't wait too long. Eddie barrels through the door and gives you a rough kiss, clipping your wrists to the loop on your waist behind you. He barely gives you a moment to steady yourself before he shoves you onto your knees.

"Open," he says without emotion, working on his trousers fast -- wallet chain tinkling as he does. You part your lips and look up at him, heart racing at the loss of playfulness in his tone. Even at his meanest, there was a glint of Eddie still in his eyes -- a proof that he was still there with you.

"Fucking wider," he hisses. His hand claps so hard against your face that your ears start to ring. It felt more like a punch than a slap, using the heel of his hand to pummel against your cheek. Metallic warmth started to trickle into your mouth while the sting of the hit bloomed on your skin.

"What fuckin' good is that? Wider," he says, his hands gripping your hair at the scalp. Your lower lip wobbles before you part your lips again, stretching your jaw open to accomodate him. The broken skin on the inside of your cheek stretches with you.

"You want me to do it again?" he asks gruffly, raising his free hand while shaking your head at the scalp with the other.

You shake your hand no against his restraint, tears starting to pour out of you, your chest shuddering.

"Aw, c'mon. Aren't you my little pain slut? Don't you like it, baby?" he asks with faux concern.

"Please not again," you cry. His cock strained harder in his boxer briefs at your tears, letting go of your scalp to unleash it from it's fabric prison.

"Take it," he glowered, "All the way. Or I'm gonna make you wish you never fuckin' met me."

"Yes s-sir," you sniffle. You'd been throat trained enough to be able to snake him in to the base without gagging, but he wasn't letting you take him in at your own pace.

"All. The fucking. Way," he growled, shoving himself roughly into your wet mouth the moment his pulsing head met your tongue. You sputtered over him, spit pooling in your mouth and gushing over him, sliding down the side of your chin.

"What's all this gaggin' for, huh? I know you can suck it better than that," he taunts, gripping your hair again. He's unrelenting in his thrusts into your mouth and you desperately try to accomdate his movements. There's no way you can service him the way you normally do with his hand keeping your head in place.

"C'mon whore," he glares down at you, "Show me what a slutty fuckin' bitch you are. Hope I didn't fuckin' take you home for nothing."

Sweat starts to trickle down your back while he hits your uvula and you swallow whatever bile you might've had coming up before it can reach the tip of his dick. The lewd, wet smacks of his cock assaulting your mouth fill his room -- riccocheting off the walls and back to you, reminding you of your place. You knees start to burn against the scratchy carpet.

Eddie looks down at you, black tears streaking your face -- how he always like you best, crying on your knees. Desperate for a smile or an encouraging word that you wouldn't get tonight. Lipstick, spit, and strands of blood staining his cock as he rocked into your mouth.

He leans forward to rest one hand on the wall behind you to steady himself. The other holding you hard in place so he can fuck your mouth with vigor. You can help but start gagging at each thrust, but the contraction of your throat feels so good for him. The sound of you crying and the clinks of your restraints while you try to stop him make his cock twitch.

Your mouth closes slightly as you try to remove yourself from his grasp and his pleasure soon drops to rage. His hand comes off the wall to meet the other in your hair and he leans your head back hard. Your scalp screams with pain, your eyebrows raising with the pull.

"Use that mouth the way I taught you, before I fuckin' piss in it. You understand me?" he asks. A fresh peal of cries pours out of you and you force yourself to nod, but the action isn't enough.

"I said: do you understand me?" he asks again, more incredulous. His open palm cracks against your face again, just as hard as the first one.

"I understand, sir," you whisper, your eyes casting down at your knees, afraid to provoke him further.

"No, no, I don't think you do," he smiles, but it's angry, "I don't think you understand."

He lifts you up to standing by your hair. You whine while he pulls you to the full length mirror on his closet door.

"You'd like it if I pissed in your mouth, wouldn't you?" he asked.

"Yes, master," you agreed in the mirror, face contorting with tears as you say it. Your brain is so foggy you're not even sure what you're agreeing to.

"You dirty fucking pig," he scoffed, "You'd be lucky if I even bothered to piss on a worthless bitch like you."

He makes you watch while he adjusts your restraints, unclipping your arms from your back to the loop at the center of your waist. He rips off the dainty necklace you'd put on earlier that day and tosses it to the floor. You swallowed hard.

"You see that E on your chest?" he asked, pulling you by the leather strap around you waist to the bed. He means the tiny scar of an 'E' that he carved just under your collarbone. Something dangerous you had both agreed to.

"Yes, sir," you respond between hiccups of tears.

"You know what it means?" he grunts while he tosses you onto your back on the mattress, clipping your ankles to the backs your thighs to keep you spread open for him.

"C'mon angel, you know what it means?" he urges. He just wants to hear you say it while he mounts you.

"It um --" you start, whimpering while he climbs between your legs. He closes his hand around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks painfully. His wolfish smile was making you nervous, "Means you own me."

"Means I own you, that's right," he repeats, nodding while he says it so that you nod too. He pushes into you without warning and you hiss at the intrusion. You're used to some kind of warm up, even some spit would've helped. It's not that you weren't wet, but not as wet as you should be to take his whole length and girth in one go.

"Ow..." you whine softly, a new wave of fear washes over you.

"Don't make me get that gag, you dumb cunt," he bites down at you. You shudder at the word, he doesn't use it often, “Just want you to lay there and be my fucktoy. It’s all you’re fucking good for, anyway.”

"Sorry, sir," you whimper. He starts with slow and steady thrusts, getting you to accomodate to him -- but it's almost soulless. He's looking at your chest, on the soft lightened fleshy E that had scared there. The bounce of your tits.

As his speed picks up, his gaze meets yours.

"You belong to me, right?" he asks. He looks dead behind the eyes -- you nod 'yes' anyway.

"Say it, tell me," he coerces, hands finding your waist while his pace quickens -- you start fluttering around him, elliciting a low grumbling groan from his mouth.

“I b-belong to you,” you reply, your head reeling at the sight of him over you. His eyes as wild as his hair while his thrusts become hard and punishing. Slow to pull all the way out and rough when he comes all the way in, hitting your cervix uncomfortably. You cry out involuntarily at the force.

“You’re so pathetic,” he tells you through gritted teeth, “You cry like this when other guys fuck you?”

You’re confused at the question, you aren’t fucking other guys. You’ve been in a relationship for a couple years now.

“Wh-what?” you ask, your voice sounding less lilted, less hazy.

“You giving them those little sad eyes when they’re too rough with you?” the devilish smile on his face when he asks, coupled with his darkened eyes sends a chill through your chest.

“N-no, I’m not —“ you sputter when his hand collides with your face again with a stinging smack, “Ow, ow, no, I’m not fucking other g-guys. Wh-what’re you t-talking about?”

“It’s just me fuckin’ you stupid then, huh?” he’s telling you, you realize. Not asking. Eddie leans forward, pressing his body flush against you while his forehead finds home in the crook of your neck. Grunting into the mattress while feels you get slicker between your legs, “Not that I gotta try very hard. You’re so easy. You’d spread those legs for anyone, wouldn’t you? Should start pimping you out when I sell. You easy bitch.”

“You saw how quick you got on those knees for me,” he teases, “Probably be worth what? A buck? Buck fifty? Can't be too high with how used up and worn out you look."

You swallow — his words are starting to hurt differently. No longer running straight to your core, but to your chest. You try to shake it off and not take it personally, but the way he’s looking at you feels new. Your barely want to meet his face.

“Think you'd be worth anything if I didn't own you? Gonna show you how much you need me,” he snarls in your ear. Eddie pushes back up over you, adjusting your legs to spread wider before bringing one hand down onto your throat. You’re not a stranger to this, feeling the pressure of him blocking your blood flow while your tongue peak outs of your mouth. Eddie admires the bloom of heat rising in your face to match the handprints he already left there. His pretty, desperate, marked up doll.

His brows knit together and he can’t supress a pornographic moan at the sight of you under him. Your face painted in tear streaks and fear, lipstick smudged, your restraints digging into your skin. His moan fades into a laugh that goes right to your bones, breath hitching a bit while he adjusts himself to lean a little farther over you.

His other hand comes forward and without warning, clamps over your mouth and nose. Your eyes widen with fear when he looks down at you with determination. You start to panic, your chest heaving nothing, bile rising in your throat. Your hands go to reach up to pull at his wrist but you're still clipped to your waist. You pull at the restraints desperately, tears spilling down to your hair line. You can feel him still thrusting into you while you start thrashing beneath him to get him to stop.

Black fuzz starts to spot over your vision, hazing him in a natural vignette. Your thrashing starts to slow, but you still pull at your binds. Your vision darkens a little more.

He lets go.

Like technicolor, the room rushes back to you, the lightness of his skin, his hair with a halo of light around it. You cough and sputter while taking two full big breaths, the breaths turned to choke sobs — you want to tell him he’s scaring you. You want to tell him to stop, to not do that again. That’s not how you’ve practiced it before. But all you can do is suck in air while he continues fucking into you.

“See, look at that. Can't breathe if I don't let you,” he hisses down at you. You barely have a moment to register what he says before his hands find you again. His ringed fingers back to pressing on your neck, side of his hand pressing slightly on your larynx — maybe he’s just a little hazy from the party, he’d never just not do something correctly. Especially not play that had consequences.

He readjusts and you almost feel safe again until the pressure is more intense. He makes eye contact with you as he does it. You pull desperately at your restraints again when his other hand comes back up to block your nose and mouth.

Your lungs scream again, your heart beat booms in your ears. You swallow instinctively to open your airways but it just makes you gag into yourself from the pressure of his hand. It doesn’t take nearly as long for your vision to blur and darken and you want to fight him, but you barely have any fight left.

“You're fuckin' nothing without me,” he mumbles completely fucked out while you sputter beneath him. His hips stutter, “Mm - shit --yeah, fucking choke.”

“Oh fuck,” he moans, head falling forward, “Such a good pussy — jesus fuckin' -- fuck -- god.”

He lets go quicker this time and within the first breath you do all your brain has the oxygen to instruct.

“Blue,” you rasp out before taking a heaving and rattling breath, “Blue, blue.”

It doesn’t register for Eddie at first while he continues to pump into you, too preoccupied with his shattering orgasm to hear your cries.

“Blue,” you say again, desperate and pleading.

He hears it.

He stops.

“Baby?” he asks, like he’s looking for you. His hands immediately unclip yours from your waist, taking your leather cuffs off.

“Hey, you with me?” he asks, his demeanor changes on a dime — his anger dissipating, morphing into apologetic caring.

“With you,” you respond, but barely. He listens to your ragged breaths, your gags, heaves.

“Can you breathe, baby? Do you need me to call the hospital?” panic rises in his chest while he looks you over, keeping his eyes on your face while he unclips your ankles from your thighs.

“No hospital,” you respond, your breath still coming in as gasps, coughing as the air runs over your irritated throat. You swat at his hands while he works on removing the cuff on your ankle.

“Don’t,” you whimper out through wheezes, “Don’t touch me.”

“No, no,” he pleads, “Baby I’m sorry. Please let me help.” He slides off the other cuff and reaches over to undo the buckle on your waist but you push yourself away off the mattress.

“I said don’t touch me,” you hiss, standing up slowly while oxygen finally starts getting to your brain. You lean over and cough again while Eddie sits at attention on the bed, hands shaking.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, you can hear the shake in his chest, “I didn’t mean…wait, wait!”

You don’t wait, you pick your dress back up off the floor and put it on over your harness, sliding your underwear on over your bruised groin. You wince as the elastic brushes your lips but continue on into the hallway — Eddie following after, sniffling.

“Where are you going?” he asks desperately while you put your mary-janes back on, “Let me check you out, huh? I gotta make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay, Ed,” you murmur, going into the kitchen and grabbing your purse. You reach for the phone on the wall and dial feverishly. Breath still coming in staggered and shuddering.

“Hey, stop,” he says, coming over and pressing the receiver before the phone even rings back at you, “Let me take care of you. Please. This isn't how we do this, you have to talk to me.”

“Go. Away.” you glower, shoving his hand away. You dial again while he falls apart in front of you, tears welling up and spilling out of his doe eyes in streams.

“Harrington Residence,” Steve’s voice rings on the other end, the sound of the party still roaring in the background.

“Hey, can you come get me?” you ask, the grogginess from crying and choking still heavy on your voice.

“Are you okay?” he asks, you hear the sound of the party fade and a door click behind him, “Are you at Ed’s?”

“Yes, just, please come get me,” you beg. You watch as Eddie wipes his eyes while he walks into the living room sinking down on the couch, “I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

Steve doesn’t have to ask what happened because he’s sure he already knows. Maybe he should’ve intervened before you both left — told Eddie to just stay and talk to you first instead of taking you home. Maybe he could’ve mediated.

“Please don’t go,” he pleads softly from the couch, “Don’t leave me here. S’not fair.”

“You could have fucking killed me,” you hiss from the hallway, hanging up the phone, “You wanna talk about unfair.”

“Then please let me apologize,” he cries, “Let me do what I’m supposed to do.”

It hits you like a tidal wave — the drop. The tears start so quickly that your recently refilled lungs can't keep up. You're choking on your own sobs, unable to keep yourself standing. You trip into one of the metal chairs at the kitchen table, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of going to the living room to ask for his help.

He makes the decision for you, getting up from the couch and sliding into the chair next to you, hand out stretched for you to hold it.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he reassures when you just look at it instead of reaching for it. His rings glimmering in the dingy yellow light from above the stove. Rings that were just around your throat. Rings that bit into you skin.

"You did hurt me," you whimper. He peers at you, using his empty hand to tilt up your chin. Even in the low light, it was clear that irritation had started to bloom there. You'd both probably see the real damage tomorrow. He held his head in his hands, staring a hole into the linoleum of the table.

"That's not who I am," he says to himself. He'd relaxed, no longer crying -- the realization finally setting in, instead of the fear of you walking out before he can help you, "Fuck, I...I didn't meant to."

He was afraid to touch you, knowing you might flinch. Knowing you don't want him to be around. You both sat there in the kitchen in the low of the light from the stove and the side lamp of the livingroom. The buzz of the mosquito trap outside filling the silence in the trailer outside of your sniffling and shuddering breaths while you try to calm down.

Eventually, the crunch of gravel sounds outside and the shut of a car door. Three sharp knocks slam against the storm door and you both jump.

"Steve," you mumble. You go to get up but Eddie stops you, taking the few steps it takes to get to the door. It opens to Steve with his hands on his hips.

"So what happened that I needed to leave my house to come get you both together?" he says like a disappointed father.

"I fucked up," Eddie confessed.

"Well yeah, obviously," Steve's sarcastic tone isn't appreciated by Ed, but you laugh at the table where Steve is now sat.

"What happened?" he asked.

"He choked me," you rasp, pulling at a tear in the linoleum on the table.

"You like that, though," he said.

"No, he...he actually choked me," you say, looking up at him, "And he didn't check in and he didn't -- he didn't even look at me. He just used me."

"Did you not talk to her on the ride home?" Steve asked. Eddie makes a face and walks back into the kitchenette, leaning against the sink.

"I didn't know what to say," he says to his feet, "I was mad."

"Why don't you say it now," Steve suggests, "Why don't you tell her why you wanted to leave."

Eddie's jaw ticks and he frowns, "I was jealous..."

"Jealous?" you ask, turning to face him on the chair, "Over what?"

"Just," he runs a hand over his face, rubbing his eye, "Whenever you're a little tipsy you just...you flirt with everyone around you. It makes me feel like you don't want to be with me."

"Ed, of course I want to be with you," you respond, on defense, "You can't just come home and ignore all our rules cause you're mad."

"I know, I know," he nods, "I got too caught up, that's my fault. You were gonna kiss that guy and I saw...I saw red, baby, and I had to get you out of there."

"Do you think this would've happened if you had talked to her in the car on the way home?" Steve asked. Eddie shook his head no.

"Why not?" Steve presses, "Why do you think this wouldn't have happened?"

"Because I would've been able to get my feelings out before starting a scene. I'm not supposed to start a scene if I'm actually angry," he says, a frown pulling at his face.

"Did you check in with her at all?" Steve asked.

"N-no," he whispers, tears shining in his eyes, "I didn't."

"I'm sorry," he rasps out again, "I won't do it again. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'll work on it, I promise. You know I'm not like that."

"I know you're not," you agree, "That's why this was so scary. It didn't feel good."

Eddie loses it again when you say 'scary'. That he scared you. That he made you scared of him instead of being engaged with him and a part of it. Instead, he was just a big monster taking what he wanted from you. As if all the things people said about him in Hawkins was true.

"This is the first time you called Blue from him doing something intentional, right?" Steve runs his hands through his hair, "He's never done something like this before?"

"Never," you shake your head, "That's why I'm so upset."

"You gonna make a habit of this, Munson?" he warns.

"No," his hair shakes with him, "I'm never gonna do it again."

"Why don't you both go and talk about this while I wait here, and when you're done I'll take her back with me," Steve crosses his arms and leans back in the chair. A parent.

"You're gonna take her?" Ed frowned.

"Yeah," Steve nodded, "Did you forget you choked her out? She's just gonna stay at mine for the night while you both cool off."

Ed nodds with a tight smile, "I understand."

You both go to the bedroom. You hardly chat. You both just cry while he pours out apologies and holds you to his chest. Whispering reminders to each other that you're both still so in love but that you need to be better communicators sometimes. That the dynamic doesn't work if you're not honest.

He'd just talked about this with you a few weeks ago when you cold shouldered him for most of the day. If something hurts for real it means something is wrong, be it emotionally or physically.

"I love you," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek, "And I'll work on not being jealous. I know you're just having fun. Steve kept trying to tell me."

"I know you hate when I say it, but you should listen to Steve more often," you giggle weakly, "He's smart under all that hair."

Eddie scrunches his nose, "You think so? I dunno."

"You're so mean," you tease, but your shoulders fall when you say it. He notices. "Let's take a little break from the mean stuff, okay?" he asks, "Maybe we need to work on how we talk about our shit with eachother before we go back in. Does that sound good?"

"Yeah, I think that's smart," you say into his chest. "Wanna be good to you," he says, kissing the top of your head.

"You are good to me," you say, leaning your head back to look at him. "Always room for improvement," he smiles, stretching his tear stained cheeks, "That's what it used to say on all my report cards."

"Why don't you go back out there and go with Steve, okay? I'm gonna get ready for bed," he nods, letting another kiss flutter onto your forehead. "Okay," you nod, but you don't want to go. You know you should but you don't want to. He sees your hesitance and pulls you in close to him again. "I'll see you in the morning, okay? I'll come get you. I'll take you out for breakfast," he promises, hands smoothing up and down your back.

"Okay," you cry a little. You gather some of your clothes that you keep at his place, shoving them into a spare backpack in his closet before you mosey out back to the kitchen. "Ready?" Steve asks. You nod, Ed watching from the end of the hall.

"Hey Harrington," he calls out, and Steve turns to look at him while he guides you out of the trailer.

"Your girl still tied up in your bedroom?"

"Oh FUCK, fuck me, we gotta go," his eyes blow wide while he races with you out of the trailer. Eddie chuckling to himself while he hears the squeal of Steve's BMW pull out of the park.

[sarucane]

Why did Ed think becoming a fisherman made any sense at all?

Seriously, this was always a ridiculous idea. Stede gets zero blame for laughing the first time Ed says it--it's an even crazier and more extreme whim than Ed saying "we'll go to China." And it's reasonable that it blindsides Stede for Ed to be leaving--a few hours ago Ed was making Stede breakfast in bed and taking Stede out to his favorite restaurant, and now he's leaving forever. That's a hell of a mindfuck there. So why does Ed think it makes sense to follow this whim?

Ed starts this episode by throwing away his leathers. He's trying to discard and excise the 'kraken' part of his personality, trying to consciously transform into something else (hence wearing Button's clothes).

At first, he's also trying to embrace being with Stede.

He volunteers information that shows how important Stede is to him by describing the mermaid vision. But, just like when he told Stede about how "sometimes it's nice to just be patient," Ed's not directly owning his feelings here. He's skimming right past the fact that it was he, himself, who was choosing (unconsciously, but still choosing) to die, and his bond to Stede is why he came back. In fact, the closest he comes to actually saying he felt a certain way is by admitting he panicked over the twine.

And Stede, who just feels so secure in this relationship right now, more comfortable in his skin than we've ever seen him, just does not get Ed's insecurity. He doesn't reassure Ed by saying "the breakfast is great with or without the twine" he says "it actually made it!" And when Ed tells about the vision, Stede doesn't seem to register how big a deal it was.

They're not communicating here, they're just not. They've had this very intimate experience, but there's still distance between them. The visuals reinforce this: they're at opposite ends of the bed, they don't come close to touching at any point in the scene. Ed's dressed and Stede's comfortably naked.

Ed snuck out of bed and went to throw his leathers away by himself. He doesn't tell Stede what he's done, and Stede doesn't comment on Ed walking around in Buttons' clothes. Ed's thrown away the kraken--and then he watches Stede embrace being "a sea god."

And this fear and disconnection to Stede goes right back to how Ed's been acting ever since he came back. He's not been opening up to Stede. He's not been willing to get vulnerable with Stede again; he doesn't trust himself not to wreck it and get his heart broken, and he doesn't trust Stede not to break his heart. The filmmaking choices (bless this amazing meta for explaining it all) have been signaling this ever since they found each other again: they love each other, but they're on different wavelengths.

Ed's trust in Stede is brittle, even before he gets the idea that he and Stede want different things out of life (piracy vs anything-but-piracy). So, Ed goes out and sits with himself. Then he takes Izzy's suggestion and he listens to himself, to his desire not to live a certain life anymore.

But rather than deciding to talk to Stede about this, he decides he's going to leave before the conversation even starts.

Ed gets really, really close to real communication with Stede here. He admits that he doesn't feel safe in the relationship, and that the speed and intensity that Stede has reveled in have made Ed feel less safe.

And even now, even though he lost all track of Ed for a big chunk of the day and now he's being surprised by deep withdrawal--Stede is still all in. He could have been heartbroken or angry. He could have panicked and apologized, or frozen and shut down the conversation.

Instead, Stede listens. And he tries to make good on what he told Ed: "I love everything about you."

But Ed doesn't really hear this, because he doesn't trust Stede, the connection between them, or himself. Because "Trust no one" includes not trusting oneself.

Rather than engaging with what Stede actually says, Ed starts ranting, and uses his own insecurities to push Stede away. Stede's right, it is panic.

Stede mirrors Ed's body language all through this part of the scene. He gets what's happening, understands insecurity and what it can trigger (particularly related to an insecurity of "I'm bad for you you're better off without me") deeply--which is why it's so easy for him to forgive this later.

But while Stede understands exactly what's going on now that Ed's finally talking to him directly, for Ed it's all confusing and happening much too fast. So he shuts down, lashes out, and bails out.

Figuring himself out is complicated, navigating his relationship with Stede is complicated, trust and self-realization are complicated. Fishing, on the other hand, is simple. Unlike love or psychological integration, there's no risks in fishing.

[avelera]

Moving my commentary about Stede being a natural Dom from this post so as to not bother OP!

Well... yeah, actually! I would see this as confirmation of Dom Stede, not undermining of it?

The whole point of bedroom power play is fantasy. Stede has longed for respect his whole life, arguably more than he's longed to run away to the sea. If Stede just wanted to be a pirate, he could have run off at any point to join some other person's crew. But he built his own ship and styled himself as a captain. Like in the screenshot above, he did it because he wants respect and power and admiration. He's bad at getting it because this is a comedy (and also presumably there's a character arc where he learns and grows into getting what he wants), but it's still unequivocally what he wants.

By contrast, Ed has all the authority. People literally throw themselves overboard in fear at the sight of him. He's the world's most fearsome and competent pirate within the conceit of the show. Yet when he raids the wedding he styles himself as the bride and Stede as the groom. I don't want to get into, y'know, regressive gender politics or anything, so let's just say what's happening on its face: Ed in his fantasies styles himself as the bride in the relationship and Stede as the groom. Your mileage may vary on what that means but in my mind we can at least safely say that Ed's fantasies do not involve himself as a pinnacle example of masculinity. I think we can deduce other things like "He wants to be wooed," but down that path lies gender politics stuff I don't necessarily want to explore in the context of an off the cuff tumblr post.

But anyway, deepest apologies for jumping on this post, I can move it to its own if you'd like, but... yeah. Yeah to my eyes, this just confirms that in the intimacy and privacy of their own bedroom, Stede wants very badly to be the hard dom, he's just not good at it. Whereas for Ed, domination and masculinity are effortless to the point of boring (and restrictive, and painful, and a host of other things that are denied to him that he wants) because he's so effortlessly good at being a hard dom leather daddy that everyone rolls over and exposes their throat to. The guy wants a pretty gentleman in velvet and lace to woo him and wed him like he's a princess. And Stede desperately, for all his incompetence, wants to be the pirate captain who is "masculine" (for some value of masculinity best explored in greater depth elsewhere) and in charge enough to give Ed the other half of those fantasies, of that I'm sure.

[wowbright]

The ofmd season 2 finale makes sense to me for Ed's character because his journey is not about transformation, and it's not about leaving behind the parts of yourself that you hate and fill you with shame and scare you. It's not about becoming morally good, or even about becoming morally better, necessarily. It's about integration--integrating the contradictory parts of ourselves into a unified whole.

We all have contradictions in ourselves, and Ed has them galore. He's soft, and he's scary. He's sensitive, and he's heartless. And traditionally he's given the shadow parts of himself the name of Blackbeard. And he's called the soft sensitive parts of himself Ed.

But the thing is, all of those things are Ed. And he has to decide what to do with them. His impulse in 2.7 is to throw away Blackbeard, to throw away his leathers, to throw away the pirating life, to throw away anything that is ugly and imperfect and scary about himself.

He loves the soft, sensitive, aware, appreciative part of himself. He wishes that was *all* he was. But in the finale, he realizes that's not working. Because he's also impatient and distractible and self-centered and used to other people doing the dirty work. Before, they did the dirty work of killing people for him. Now, they do the dirty work of fishing and hauling and cleaning and repairing nets and everything else.

If he's going to stay with the fishermen, he's going to have to do the dirty work of being a fisherman. And sure, when PopPop tells him to go find something he's good at, maybe that's derisive and mean, and maybe it sent Ed into a bit of a tailspin. A lot of people think it did.

But I don't think that's all it did. I think it got Ed thinking. He wasn't willing to do the dirty work of fishing. And he knew how to pirate, but he was ambivalent about doing the dirty work of that--had always been. Was there a way to live a life without dirty work? Because that's what he wanted.

And I like to think that somewhere on his magic rowboat ride, he realized that life *is* dirty work ("life's a dick"). Whether he's a fisherman or a pirate or something else, the job will always require dirty work. He will always have to do dirty work. What he needs to decide is how dirty, and what kind of dirty, and will it be a dirty that he's good at or bad at, that harms him or helps him, that builds community or tears it apart.

Maybe he didn't have that realization. It doesn't matter, because when he gets to the pirate island and he thinks Stede's very possibly hurt or dead, he makes the decision to do the dirty work himself, and for what purpose. And it's probably not a completely conscious decision at first, to kill those two soldiers in the boat. But it's a decision, and it's a decision that signals a change in Ed.

Because previously, when he went ballistic, he went ballistic on his crew, on the people close to him. He hurt the people close to him because that was a way to hurt himself, to remind himself that he was a bad person, to remind himself that he was dangerous to the people close to him, because he had murdered his father, and that made him a bad person, and he wanted to punish himself by constantly reopening the wound he had experienced by killing his father, even though killing his father may have been the most moral option out of the options he had for dealing with that situation. The outside world thought that he was attacking the rich, the merchants, the empire. But Ed was on a suicide mission. He was trying to get the attention of Ned so that Ned would come and kill him and possibly his entire crew, who he saw as parts of himself. (Storywise if not psychologically speaking, he forced his crew to kill people as a way of displacing his trauma onto them, and of making them deserving to die with him.)

Which is to say, previously, when he's gone ballistic, he's gone ballistic on *himself*, and any deaths and injuries and mayhem were just collateral damage in that war. But the soldiers Ed kills when he returns to the island aren't collateral damage on the war he has against himself. He's fighting against them and what they represent--a navy and an empire that has hurt (and he fears may have killed) Stede.

But what's even more important is what he's fighting *for.* Because that's a totally new thing, and fighting *for* something.

He's fighting for Stede and for himself and for the life and love he thought he didn't want when he was stuck in the Gravy Bowl.

In real life, murder and killing are horrible tragedies. In fiction, they are useful narrative devices. In OFMD, killing can be a sign of depravity, and/or it can be hilarious, and/or it can be a means of liberation. If killing can be so many things within the story, I think it can also be many different things for Ed: it doesn't always have to be Ed harming himself; it doesn't always have to be morally gray.

Ed is integrating the sunny and shadow sides of himself into a whole person working toward a united goal. He can be soft and tender and tell Stede, "I love you. I love you." He can be violent and wreak death. But he does it in service of one thing: his love for Stede, and the family he doesn't yet recognize as his own, and the life (as in the fact of living, not any particular lifestyle) he didn't think he wanted. ("Die, motherfuckers." "For love!")

Ed is everything he ever has been. He hasn't changed. He's still imperfect and impulsive and, yes, violent. And yet he has changed so much. He's no longer trying to destroy himself, and he's no longer interested in inflicting violence (directly or vicariously) on others for no good reason except that he's bored and hates himself.

And when he makes a decision to open up a little inn on the edge of the island, it's sort of impulsive, but it also isn't. It's something he's played around with in his head for a long time, as we learned in the Gravy Bowl. And unlike with many of his previous impulsive acts, he's not using it to run away from himself or anyone or anything else. It's an attempt to work on his relationship with Stede, and to find out if he can stomach the daily dirty work of running an inn, and maybe even to learn how to not be a dick to his customers. (And this post is mostly about Ed but don't worry about Stede here and how he's abandoning his lifelong dream of living out on the open seas as a pirate--because was that his dream, or was it a manifestation of his deeper dream, which was to break free of the heteronormative prison he was trapped in? Well, he can do that at the inn, too.)

TL;DR For me, the narrative is cohesive. It makes sense. The story was never about how killing his father turned Ed into a monster. It was never attempting to set up the expectation that if Ed resumed killing people with his own hands, it would be an obstacle to his healing and growth. The story was about how Ed's reaction to killing his father--his interpretation of the events and how they had changed him--his belief that he was a fundamentally bad person and unworthy of love--distanced him from others and turned him into Blackbeard. And this season was about how accepting love made him able to accept that he wasn't fundamentally bad; and being fundamentally good isn't a requirement for healing or being loved.

[bbyteach]

so like, i'm not sure if i really buy the read that ed is a 'neat freak' or maybe that term just means something different to me. I feel that ed likes just loves domesticity and more grounding + more traditionally 'feminine' kind of work. and he is caught in this nexus of wanting to retire but got too good at his job a performing more traditional 'masculine' badassery. everyone talks about blackbeard doing shit like drinking the blood of his enemies (which probably many of those things are rumors) but the man is tired of doing that performance and just want to fix latches and eat good cheese. His job is doing Cool Dude Gender with no breaks no days off and he wants to be able to go home and relax. (also thinking of bp talking about sewing and it being 'women's work' in the first ep. like i imagine it's just seen as so uncool to a lot of dudes in this world to care about that shit)

not to mention how there's a trans allegory woven into his story a la Jes Tom and how much his path in life rhymes so much with stories i've heard from trans femme/gnc/enby amab folks. the overacting of masculinity and wanting to just throw it all out once you finally feel able to. him fishing out the leathers feels close to the stories i've heard from more butchy trans femmes/gnc folks (and tbh those stories I'd love to see more since there's so much rep for the hyper feminine presenting trans femme)

also like, i think the read of ed as trans masc is great too, I don't think there's One True Interpretation here, sky's the limit. for me I relate to ed's gender shit in that I always felt that I had to perform hyper femininity as a job and how exhausting it was, how I always felt like I had to run away from the truth that I simply am not a woman nor do I want the full time job of 'being a woman' in this world. but! after discovering I am nonbinary, I found I like to play with being feminine and masculine and being a weird little void if i can help it.

Just thinking about ed being seen as person who only likes 'neatness' doesn't feel like the right interpretation with him enjoying tasks like folding the laundry but also painting himself on the bride topper and stealing that pearl necklace from the bride too. I think the scenes of him cleaning up after depressive episodes are also just like... the thing people do when they're getting out of a bad one/sobering up too. just feels like there's something else more complicated there with gender shit in the mix.

[musecraft]

alright ! i've had a full 24+ hours to Process — which may have involved a bottle of prosecco ( i don't drink btw ) & going through a few waves of tears — & i'm here ready to talk about the finale. of.md spoilers below the cut, obviously !

some things i actually did like ( a short list ) :

the plot on paper. the beats of a good story were there but it was so rushed through & poorly executed that it just felt messy, unearned, slapped together.

ed thinking stede is dead & disassociating so hard he goes on a rampage & murders several of the soldiers in very sexy ways, ie: bayonet flip. also ed coming out of the ocean like aphrodite, ready to murder in his black leather. slay.

jim & archie kissing Like That before going to battle. also jim throwing knives from in the trees. very hot, powerful trans energy there, i really enjoyed it.

unfortunately everyone on the crew looked very sexy in stolen navy uniforms.

spanish "you best believe everyone in this household is poison trained" jackie.

zheng existing ( i would like to formally request a whole show about her )

stede yelling 'for love !' when attacking the british. romantic stede my beloved.

most of izzy's main dialogue — especially telling ricky that what really matters about piracy is belonging to something in a world that has told you that you are worth nothing. & yes, even most of of his conversation with ed. izzy telling him it's ok to just be ed ? killed me. & blackbeard was both of us ? don't even. i did want him to apologize to ed properly & am still glad that he did but be careful what you ask your god for am i right.

the final panning shot of the crew on the revenge. beautiful shot despite it all.

issues i had ( a longer list ) :

the editing ? why so many harsh cuts ? the way it was spliced together only contributed to the chaotic & disjointed feeling. & of course, the pacing. i think these two issues are connected & probably not the fault of the writers themselves. the show clearly really needed all 10 episodes to do what it really wanted to do, & this finale is just begging for that lost hour of screentime.

it wasn't even a good fuckery lol.

i wish lucius & pete's wedding had been... idk, just more. something more akin to calypso's birthday, a proper celebration for them. i also wish they would have given an indication they're still poly. "i now pronounce you mateys" was good tho.

ed apologizing & saying i love you & stede not doing either one in return. stede not being sappy in his irl fantasy ? impossible, im really confused by that choice.

0 resolution for stede's entire arc ? 0 indication of self reflection on his part ? & thus no resolution for the primary conflict of the show's central relationship ? they didn't even talk about their future, it just cut to them standing there & stede saying "so i guess we're innkeepers now" as if that's all he would have had to say about that ? i know that this show handwaves away a lot of things, like travel times & the realities of sailing, but i thought the story was literally about this relationship, & we don't get to see them decide on what their future together will look like. it's framed as stede just kinda going along with ed's latest whim ( since you know, they've always worked out soooo well for him in the past ) even though it's the exact opposite of what he's been moving towards personally lately, all without even saying a word about it ? i'm not even saying that i don't like this ending, but it just again felt so unearned.

very little actual resolution for ed's arc. his whole deal this season was about deciding who he wants to be, but he flip flops every time something doesn't go his way & the episode gave us no reason to think that would be different now with their inn. also he just killed a bunch of soldiers after having serious trauma surrounding the act of killing throughout the entire series, but i guess we're just supposed to believe that's ok, he's totally fine, he's an innkeeper now ! (will say more on this topic in the final section.)

poly things not being handled well or outright forgotten about. like olu / jim / archie / zheng has all the potential in the world for a beautiful poly love story & we barely got to see them interact together at all. & to think i was all :eyes: when izzy was dubbed the unicorn because i actually thought for a few episodes there that they might be doing the same thing for polyamory in s2 that they had done for queerness in s1, showing the audience that it's ok to see ourselves in stories & not just on the fringes, we're not stupid or freaks reading into something that isn't there. but turns out, it wasn't there, & i was the freak & the clown all along. live & learn.

the elephant in the room ( rip izzy you beautiful freak ) :

here's the thing. obviously i was never going to be happy that they killed my most favoritest old man. the fact that he's dead just when he found something real to live for is literally heartbreaking to me. but i could have swallowed it as a natural & important part of the narrative if one small thing was done differently: izzy could have had an actual sacrifice. & not for ed, but for the crew. after his speech about living for the crew, him choosing to act in a way that compromised his safety but earned their freedom would have felt like a completion of his arc. but instead it was a stray bullet to the left side which he earned in stede's so-called suicide mission ( don't even get me started on that line given where izzy started this season ), an injury which the show has told us previously is 100% survivable.

in the crew sacrifice scenario izzy could have acted as the symbol of piracy itself, a way of life that is dying. he is, after all, The Pirate (aside from blackbeard himself) on the show. & he has a history of letting shit slide that kinda doesn't align with the way of life they're trying to build on the revenge, not just in s1 but also in the scene with lucius in s2 ("& you? are you happy with all this?" "well, this is a pirate ship, & i'm a pirate so... yeah, i'm good with it.") ricky says they are at "the end of piracy" & izzy is the last REAL pirate (including ed because at this point as he is moving away from that life). & as izzy himself says in s1, "the only retirement we get is death." izzy also shows pretty intense self-preservation, & most of his shitty actions in s1 are motivated by often misplaced survival instincts, ("i'm not dying. not for you & not for that ponce,") so having him go against this longstanding character trait to protect the crew would have felt earned after his dramatic growth. it could have worked. it still would have hurt, but it could have worked.

instead, the way it is actually framed, the narrative actively robs izzy of this symbolism & instead makes his death entirely about ed & ed's relationship to piracy. having him die in a random incident & then having his death scene be followed up by ed finally "officially" (for the third time) giving up piracy honestly flattens everything i find interesting about them as characters & their dynamic to each other.

ed & izzy have very clearly been in clearly a mutually toxic codependent relationship (platonic or otherwise) for decades, but the framing of izzy's death being the only thing that can free ed from piracy (& blackbeard) turns izzy from a complex character of his own into a 2-dimensional plot device. & if izzy truly couldn't exist without blackbeard, then it would make sense — but we've just seen that he can, actually ! that he is a person outside of that relationship, despite what he himself thought for most of his life ! that they can both exist outside of them, & there is a very real possibility that neither of them actually need blackbeard anymore. so instead his death feels cruel to me. & because we know this is the show where injuries simply don't matter unless we need them to, we know that this was a conscious choice, that the writers genuinely felt he had to die for the story (ed's story) to continue.

& you know, that's fair on some level. he's the lead after all. but i also think this framing is actually kind of reductive to ed's character ! i don't write ed, but part of what makes him so compelling to me is that he is... kinda a "bad person," but he wants to be better. he's extremely complex. he has trauma & big feelings & he doesn't always act on them in the right way. & he feels guilt & remorse — he knows he has done wrong in the past & wants to be better, even if he doesn't always know how. & izzy has admittedly been an obstacle to him reaching that end in the past, but to frame it as if ed's actions were because of izzy, & actually izzy was making ed be blackbeard & manipulating him into doing bad things that he didn't really want to do, then i guess now that izzy is dead ed is free to skip off into the sunset happily ever after with his man ! the bad influence in his life finally gone, so he is all healed ! never mind that his most recent return to piracy & killing spree as blackbeard had literally nothing to do with izzy & everything to do with thinking he'd lost stede again. never mind that ed's trauma has its roots in things that happened to him before izzy (his father) & things that also happened to izzy (hornigold). nope, izzy was the real shackle all along. he has to die so ed can be free, & he only ever existed solely to develop ed's pain. that's what this narrative feels like. & i just... don't like the taste of it on any level. izzy says himself that blackbeard was both of them. so why does izzy have to die while ed gets to move on, given they both have shown the capacity to do so ?

the bit that i think i like least about how it's executed is izzy saying "i want to go," especially considering how he & ed are both shown to be actively suicidal in the opening of the season, & he has since started to regain his self confidence from that lowest point. & maybe that line could be read as him just trying to soothe ed in the moment, but idk, it rubbed me the wrong way for him to say he still wanted to die when in fact he had just found something he actually wanted to live for.

so ! i think that's all i have to say about that ! if you've made it this far, thanks for reading ! i'll be working today on writing up a basic canon divergence for both stede & izzy, since i don't like how either of them ended the season out. sorry, but stede's simply not ready to give up pirating just yet, even for ed. & in my head, izzy is fine because he was shot on the left side & "science" tells us there's nothing important in that half of the body anyway. : )

[avelera]

If you're looking for my commentary on this post, go here instead! It was moved so as to not pester OP further ^_^

this y’all’s hard dom??

[lady-divine-writes]

Our Flag Means Death - “Doing Something He Loves” (Rated M)

Summary: When Ed tells Izzy that he will take care of dispatching Stede while doing something he loves, he doesn't take into account all of the possible meanings of that phrase. (2740 words)

Notes: Takes place during S1 E6 The Art of F**kery

Read on AO3.

“Stede! Stede, wait up! I need to talk to you!”

Stede hears Edward following him to his quarters, closing in behind him, but he doesn't stop until he reaches the bank of windows at the far end. There he stands, arms crossed, peering out at the horizon like a maudlin widow, mourning her husband lost to the sea. 

"I know you don’t think I’m up for this," he says, confident that Edward has stopped behind him. "But even Izzy says I’m capable! That has to count for something!"

Edward opens his mouth to object but decides last minute not to burst his bubble. “I do think you're capable. Don’t get the wrong idea.”

"Wrong idea?" Stede lets out a drawn-out, dramatic sigh. He turns, brushing past Ed, and retreats to his library. He rifles through his books, searching for a few odd horror stories to help summon his muse. "You literally said it's too advanced for me! I will have you know that I am a better thespian than you give me credit for!"

Edward's brow scrunches. "Thespi-who now?"

"Give me a chance!"

"This isn't about chances."

"What is it about then?"

"Not dying!"

Stede gasps, clutching a red, leather-bound tome to his chest, utterly mortified. Edward thinks he may finally have gotten it. He understands the root of the issue. If this doesn't go off without a hitch, they're all going to die.

Stede especially.

But, sadly, no. Stede doesn't catch on. He hugs his book as if it's his only friend. "You have no faith in me at all, do you?" 

"I have all the faith in the world in you, Stede!"

"Then let me show you how much..."

"Gagh!" Edward throws up his hands in frustration, but Stede rails on. If Stede only knew what Izzy had planned for him, he'd shut his yap and heed what Edward had to say. But Stede won't let Ed get a word in edgewise. And Edward doesn't know how to make him listen. 

He could overpower and hogtie him. With a gag in his mouth, Stede would be forced to shut up for five seconds.

Or perhaps not. 

Stede is too damned stubborn to submit. He'd probably chew through the gag before Edward got a complete sentence out. 

Along that vein, Edward comes up with a better idea.

He rushes forward and, mid-rant, kisses him.

Edward needs to make Stede hear him. That's his aim. But he also can’t bear listening to him, can't bear his excitement, especially when he has no idea what’s about to happen.

Or that Ed will be the one to do it.

And it works. Stede yelps, but otherwise, he goes silent. 

Edward wraps his arms around him, and Stede stiffens in surprise. When he doesn't kiss Edward back, Edward pulls away.

Stede blinks his eyes open slowly. “Wha---what was that for?”

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now," Edward admits, words barely a whisper, forcing Stede to pay attention. "In case, you know, things don’t turn out right tonight. I want to have done it at least once.”

"There it is again." Stede deflates, but he doesn't move too far from Edward's arms. He can't make himself, even if he thinks a little distance could be a good thing for his muddied brain.

Edward raises a hand to Stede's face, ratcheting up the seduction by millimeters, hoping to maintain his focus now that he seems to be listening. "I trust you to the moon and back, Stede.”

“But you said you’re afraid things won’t turn out. That means you think I’m going to get us killed.”

"No, I don't. I..." Edward sighs. It's no use. He could talk till he's blue, but they're running around in circles. He needs to change tactics. He dials down the urgency and turns up the charm. “Maybe I was looking for an excuse to kiss you. Maybe this whole situation made me realize how badly I wanted to.”

Stede has a retort at the ready, but not for that comment. “You…you could have asked.”

“You might have said no.”

“You won’t know till you try.”

"You're right." Edward steps closer, gaze fixed on Stede's mouth, his voice a ghost against Stede's cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

Stede swallows hard. This was going fast. Too fast. Is this normal? First they're arguing about whether or not Stede would get them killed, and next, Edward wants to kiss him. He should say no, let cooler heads prevail. Instead, he says, “Ye---”

Edward captures the rest of that word, along with Stede’s lips, before Stede thinks to object.

Stede feels himself floating, moving across the room an inch above the ground, ushered effortlessly towards his bed. He stumbles once, but Edward catches him without removing his lips from his mouth - a feat that makes Stede swoon. 

Edward gets Stede where he wants him: pinned against the edge of the mattress with a knee between his legs, ensuring he can't get up and walk away. He removes Stede's coat, sets it gingerly aside, then starts on the buttons to his waistcoat.

“I don’t mean to be indelicate," Edward says, shedding his own jacket, then lifting his shirt over his head, "but have you ever done this before?”

“Edward...” Stede gazes up at the man with a befuddled expression, eyes dipping to catch a glimpse of his tattooed chest, not a foot from his nose “...I have two children.”

Edward chuckles. “That’s...not what I mean.”

Stede stares at Ed in doe-eyed confusion, but Edward doesn't elaborate. Stede finally understands, and his cheeks flame.

“Ah. You mean with another…no. No, I haven’t," Stede says. "You’ll be my first.”

Those words lodge in Edward's throat. 'First and last,’ he thinks, mouth becoming so dry his tongue hurts. 

He moves his kisses away from Stede's mouth to his jawline, then down his neck. He reaches Stede's pulse, beating savagely against his lips, and his entire body, his entire being, comes to life.

“You’re trembling,” Edward points out, even though his own voice shakes.

“I can’t help it. No one has ever touched me like this before.”

Edward reaches for the hem of Stede's shirt to tug it up, but Stede puts a hand over his and stays it. Edward pulls back, brows arching over questioning eyes. 

“Why so self-conscious? We’ve changed in front of each other. We have no secrets.”

Stede's mouth drops open. “I didn’t think you were paying attention.”

Edward grins. Now, as they're undressing, comes the time for reveals - the kind that will make Stede's pale skin redder and in more places than his cheeks. “Oh, I was, mate. I saw everything.”

“Oh, God," Stede whines, but in good humor. "Kill me now.”

A nauseating stab of deja vu wallops Edward like a pistol butt to the back of the skull. ‘Be careful what you ask your God for...’

“What do you want, Stede? Tell me.”

“I want to make you happy.”

“You do make me happy. God, do you make me happy.” Edward says it, and he means it, but what good is it now? What good is any of this now? He's lying to Stede in a sense. Making promises he can't keep. He hadn't meant for things to spiral out of control like this. The kiss was spontaneous, fueled by adrenaline. It had a purpose, and that purpose was saving Stede's life. But this...this is indulgence, plain and simple.

And it's unforgivable.

Edward is a selfish bastard. 

He wants Stede. 

But he wants Stede to live. 

When Ed set out after him, it was to convince him to leave the ship. Tonight. Stow away on the Dutch merchant vessel and be gone before anyone realizes. But Stede would never leave his crew. Edward knows that. Stede is nothing if not ridiculously loyal to them.

And they're loyal back. 

If Edward slaughters Stede, they might mutiny. Then Edward would need to decide whether he takes what he deserves or if he slaughters them, too.

Edward's cowardly heart already knows the answer to that.

Things will go according to Izzy's plan. Edward doesn't have it in him to be the man Stede thinks he is - a man with the strength to stand up for Stede and his crew.

Stede will die. But Ed will have this moment in Stede's arms to hold on to when he's gone. 

Fan-fucking-tastic. 

Ed is giving himself the gift of pain, eroding pieces of his heart every time Stede crosses his mind. 

 "Stede..." Ed decides to give reason one more shot "...I have a confession to make."

Stede's eyes brighten as if he'd been thinking the same thing. "Me, too."

"You go first," Ed stalls. Stede looks so blissful trapped by his body, half-naked and flushed with longing. Ed doesn't want to take that away from him before he absolutely has to.

"Oh. Well...I don't know how." He stammers, and Edward thinks it's endearing. "I think...maybe I won't ever know how to tell you..."

"Tell me what, Stede?" Ed whispers around the bow of his upper lip, coaxing the words out of him. "Tell me what?"

"I think...over these past few weeks..."

"Yes?"

"...that I may have...fallen in love with you."

Edward's kisses still as joy washes through him - a wave rushing the sun-parched shore. Stede loves him. He loves him. Edward is not sure how or when that happened, but Stede loves him. But the wave quickly recedes, abandoning new words on the sand. Ed's words.

"It's my mess. I'll do it. Maybe while he's doing something he loves..."

Joy evaporates, and reality leaves him cold.

No! Not now. THIS ISN'T WHAT I MEANT!! 

Edward doesn't recall reaching for his dagger, nor wrapping his fingers around the handle. But he comes to his senses with the blade resting underneath Stede's neck, the word love from Stede's lips having conjured it. Stede stares at Ed, but he doesn't look afraid. He looks sad.

Betrayed.

"Edward..." 

Here it comes, Edward thinks, hating himself, hating that he'd ever been born. Stede is going to beg for his life. He’ll cry, he'll negotiate, he may even pray.

"Edward..."

Tears roll down Stede's cheeks, but bizarrely, they collect underneath Edward's chin. After a blink, Edward realizes they don't belong to Stede.

They belong to him.

His head rings with Izzy saying, "It's time, Edward...it's time...This is the only way. You can't keep him. You know that. Think of your reputation. Think of your crew. Your men depend on you...

“Close your eyes, love,” Edward whimpers.

"No," Stede says, voice thick. "You need me here with you. You need a friend.”

Edward's face pinches, grief curling him in on himself. “No!"

"Edward, please! Let me help you!"

"No. There's no helping me now! I have to do this!"

But Edward can't. In order to kill Stede, one of two things would need to be true: he would either have to hate Stede or have no regard for him at all.

And he cares about Stede. Very much so. There is literally nothing about the man that he hates.

However...Stede is an aristocrat. Like the people they met on that fancy ship. Or that captain who called him a donkey. Those people laughed at him. Mocked him. Made him feel stupid and inferior. He hated feeling like that. He'd wanted to load his gun and wipe them off the face of the earth, skin them with their damned snail forks and toss them to the sharks.

That's a hate he can tap into.

He shouldn't punish Stede for the sins of others, but if he's going to get this done, he has no other choice.

Something must change in Edward's face because Stede's eyes widen with fear. "Promise me something?"

Edward sniffs. "What?" 

"Whatever happens...t-take care of my crew."

A sob rips from Edward's throat, and tears pour down his face. They soak his skin and drench the sheets, oily and thick. He raises a hand to wipe his brow when he feels them travel toward his eyes, and his heart stops.

It's not tears.

It's blood.

Stede's blood.

Edward doesn't know how it happened. His blade hand is steadier than a mountain, always has been. He hadn't moved an inch. But Stede is bleeding out, and Edward doesn't know how to stop it.

"Stede!" He yanks Stede's cravat from around his own neck and wraps it around Stede's, trying to form a tourniquet. It's a tricky business. If he doesn't do it right, he could stop the bleeding but strangle Stede. Regardless of right or wrong, it's not working. "Stede, no! I'm sorry! This isn't the way things were supposed to turn out! I'm so sorry..."

"Edward?" Stede shifts unfocused eyes from side to side, searching even though Edward is only a few inches from him. "Edward, I..." He inhales, desperate to find breath enough to say what he needs to say, but it's not enough. His eyes roll. His head sinks into his pillow. His mouth drops open. He goes still.

"Stede?" Ed's voice doesn't sound like his own as he wails, "Stede, don't! Don't do this! I'm sorry! Stede!...STEDE!"

"Edward?" Izzy summons him from a distance. "Are you down there? Edward? It's time to go. Edward? Edward...Edward..."

"Edward?" 

A hand on his shoulder jolts him awake. His eyes shoot open. He sits up and looks frantically around, getting his bearings. "Wh-what? What's going on?"

"I think you're having a nightmare."

"Nightmare?" The thought clears Edward's head enough to give him an idea of where he is.

He's in Stede's room, on Stede's bed. 

With Stede.

A very alive, breathing, and not bleeding to death Stede.

They're both dressed, and his sheets are clean. Spotless, as a matter of fact. 

What the hell happened?

"Where am I?"

"You're in my room. On board the Revenge," Stede adds, concerned that Ed may have sustained a bump to his head during the fuckery earlier that could have messed with his memory. 

"What's going on? Wha---what happened to me?"

"I don't know." Stede puts a hand to Ed's forehead, checking for fever. Edward seemed fine before, but fevers do come on suddenly. "One minute, we were talking about the fuckery, and the next, you fell asleep. So, I left you to it. We did have a long night."

Edward holds Stede's hand to his head and doesn't let go. As long as he holds on, Stede can't go anywhere. "Yeah. I guess we did."

"Are you alright?"

"Fine. Had a nightmare, like you said. That's all."

"Was it about your father?" Stede asks cautiously. "And the Kraken?"

"Yeah," Ed lies. "It was. That's all. I'm sorry if I scared you."

"No." Stede moves the hand on Ed's forehead to his shoulder with Ed holding on. "It's okay. Would you like to get up? Go above deck for some air? Or have a bite to eat?"

"I...I don't know, to be honest."

Stede nods, gathering clues in his head, trying to come up with an answer. Ed isn't being very forthcoming, but he looks like he's been through the wringer - sweat around his hairline and mewling right before he woke, like an injured dog. "I'm going to go check in with the crew. See if they're ready. Why don't you stay here till you figure things out?"

"I just might do that."

"Good. Get some rest. You need it." 

Stede sets provisions for Ed on his bedside table before he leaves: a cup of tea, an orange sliced in half, some bread and jam. Ed watches Stede arrange them gratefully.

Grateful that Stede cares.

Grateful that he's alive.

Grateful that he didn't actually slit his throat.

It was a nightmare, and everything is all right.

For now. 

A gull cry outside brings Edward's gaze to the window. He assumes it's Karl searching for Buttons. Instead of the bird, he spots the sun creeping towards the water. It won't be long before it reaches the horizon, and they come upon that merchant vessel. Edward grabs the sheet beneath him with both hands, balls it in his fists until his knuckles turn white. 

The question remains - does he go through with the plan and kill Stede? Keep his word to Izzy? Or does he let Stede live and risk losing face with his crew? He'd better start thinking quick.

He only has a few hours left to decide.

[kayluh1915]

Beautiful People

Paring(s): Pedro Pascal/Female Reader

Words: 5,378

Warnings: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Disorder, Medication Discussions, Insecurities, and Panic Attacks.

You and Pedro have been secretly dating for a few months now after a chance meeting. You both agreed that it was time to reveal your relationship to the public and chose to do so by accompanying him at The Oscars, but your anxiety does a great job of making you think that you don't deserve it.

DISCLAIMER!

This story is based on the song Beautiful People by Ed Sheeran & Khalid, but this IS NOT a songfic. It just gave me this vibe of Pedro walking down the red carpet with someone who doesn't quite feel like they belong and he comforts her by saying he doesn't really belong either and proceeds to list why they're better off because of it. I dunno, It just sounded sweet.

As always, comments are welcomed and encouraged.

You can also follow me on Twitter if you'd like. My life is boring, but I might be able to make you laugh if I’m lucky.

Enjoy!

(PS: Pepe is a real person. He was my Spanish teacher my first semester of college... and yes, he really went to Cincinnati every Friday to gamble)

Read on AO3

My Masterlist

The frigid February air was like icicles on your skin, sending a full-blown shiver down your spine as you hurried out of the Science building and towards the dining hall. It was nearly noon and you’ve had only had a banana and a bottle of water this morning, so lunch sounded pretty great right about now… maybe a cup of hot cocoa as well.

The dining hall was about a three-minute walk from the Science building, more than enough time for the cold to seep through the layers of your coat and deep into your bones. The possibility of a cup of cocoa turned into an inevitability, you running for the hot beverage machine as soon as your student ID was swiped.

You sat at your usual spot, hanging your backpack on the back of the chair before taking a greedy sip of the hot drink. The warmth was a godsend, the sugary beverage warming your icy hands with a pleasant hum tumbling from your lips.

“You make noises like that in bed?” Someone asked, snapping you out of your warming daze. It was your roommate and closest friend, Lauren. You snorted at her remark, almost spitting out a sip of your drink.

“I thought you had Spanish class at noon?”

“Nah. It’s Friday, remember?”

“Oh yeah, gambling day.” Like you, Lauren was a music student. It was how you had met nearly four years ago. Like most music students, you both used the extra humanities credits you had earned in high school to bail you out of the required foreign language credit until university. You were doing fairly well so far, but it was because you had a decent teacher. She wasn’t the best, but she was alright.

Lauren’s was just… something else.

On the first day of class, he told his students to call him “Pepe” because he didn’t do the “formal shit.” He also said that there would never be a class on Friday’s because he goes up to Cincinnati to gamble with his buddies. Why he didn’t just put down that his classes were only on Monday and Wednesday were beyond you.

“Yeah. Whatever, though right?” Lauren continued. “I’m not complaining about one less day of class.” You smirked mischievously.

“No, but your Spanish is…” Lauren scoffed, only causing you to laugh harder into your cup.

“Bitch, you shut the fuck up. You can’t speak the damn language either.” You shrugged.

“You’re not wrong, but at least I’m learning more than you are with Pepe.” Lauren groaned.

“Fuck you. Come on, let’s grab some grub.” You stood up and grabbed your backpack, throwing away your empty drink cup to grab something to eat. You settled on your usual favorite and sat back down with Lauren who had somehow already made it halfway through her plate.

“God, slow down.” You teased as you hung your backpack back on the chair.

“I didn’t eat breakfast this morning. Cut a bitch a break.” You shook your head, digging into your own plate, but at a much slower pace. You both sat in comfortable silence, enjoying your meals as the indecent chatter of the surrounding students and meme music playing from the jukebox continued on.

“So,” Lauren said, breaking the silence as she sat down her drink. “What are you doing this weekend?” You froze at her question but played it off the best you could. Any hint of hesitation would send her into a frenzy of questions that you weren’t prepared to answer.

“I’m going in to see Mom. Maybe stop by my Mamaw’s too.” Lauren’s shoulders slumped.

“Damn, that’s too bad. Devon invited us over to his Oscar watch party tomorrow night. Figured you might want to come along since you’re into that sort of thing.” 

You swallowed hard at the mention of The Oscars. Just play it cool… don’t. fucking. panic.

“Normally I would, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen Mom. You know how she gets when I don’t come to visit for a while.” Lauren nodded her head in understanding, knowing full well of how your Mom was after living with you for two years.

Little did she know that you had just seen your mother last weekend.

“I understand, boo. I’ll let him know you can’t make it. When are you leaving?”

“As soon as I’m done here. I packed my stuff this morning so I could just go. Trying to beat the traffic as much as possible.” She nodded in understanding.

“Well, I hope you have a good time with your Mom. Say hi to her for me, will you?” You internally sighed a breath in relief. How your big mouth managed to keep him a secret all this time let alone this was beyond you, but you managed to pull it off somehow.

“Yeah, sure.”

After you finished eating, you hugged Lauren goodbye and went back to your dorm long enough to drop off the books you didn’t need and pick up your suitcase. You went through your mental checklist one last time and locked your door behind you as you left.

You unlocked your car and threw your stuff into the backseat, making your way towards the interstate as soon as you left the college.

Home was about a two or three-hour drive down south, but where you were really going was about a 40-minute drive north. You put on some music as you cruise down the interstate, your nervousness slowly increasing the closer you got to your destination.

Your hands shook on the steering wheel, you bounced your left knee furiously, and you were biting your lip… pretty hard. You thought about reaching into your purse for the “take as needed” anxiety medication your psychiatrist prescribed you but decided to hold off on it a little longer. Maybe it’d taper off when you got to the airport.

It didn’t.

You had flown before, but that had been years ago when your micro home town had some kind of festival thing and gave free airplane rides. This commercial airline stuff was something entirely new to you which was already nerve wreaking, but the unexpected bustle of such a smaller airport made it worse.

Weeks before when you first booked the flight to Los Angles, you did as much research as possible to make sure that you knew the “norms” and guidelines of all the airports you were going to since there were no direct flights available. You were as prepared as anyone could be, but you were still extremely nervous and all the foot traffic only made it worse.

You went through security without any qualms and took a seat to wait for your flight to begin boarding. You pulled out your phone and texted your Mom and Lauren before someone walked up to you in your peripheral.

“Excuse, miss?” You looked up from your phone to come face to face with an older gentleman. He looked to be in his early 50’s with salt and peppered hair and a kind smile. He asked you your name and you confirmed with a nod.

“Sorry to disturb you, but your private flight is prepared to depart whenever you’re ready, Miss.”

...Excuse you, what?

“P-Private flight? But I-... I paid for an American Airlines flight.” The man nodded.

“Yes, but Mr. Pascal has sent a private jet to retrieve you. He was fairly insistent to make sure that you boarded.” You sighed heavily. You told him that a two-stop economy flight that you paid for was more than fine, but the thought of you doing anything like a normal person seemed to bother him for some reason.

“Okay. I-I guess I’m ready to go then.” The man smiled.

“Of course, Miss. May I take your bags for you?” You hesitated.

You had never been waited on like this before and you weren’t quite sure how to feel or respond to it. You were perfectly capable of carrying your own stuff and this guy probably wasn’t getting paid enough to carry some lucky college student’s stuff, but was it rude to say no even if you did so in a polite manner? So, you just agreed and handed him over your suitcase and backpack.

You followed him outside and over to a small commercial jet, a woman who looked to be around her mid 30’s standing right by the entrance of the aircraft.

“Welcome aboard, Miss. I’m Kendall Bishop and I’m your captain for today. If you’ll go ahead and take a seat and buckle your seat belt, we’ll depart shortly. I do ask, however, that you remain seated and keep your seat belt fastened until Mr. Clements informs you that it is safe to move about the cabin. Do you have any questions for me before we begin our descent?”

You smiled politely at her and shook your head.

Upon entering the cabin, you were at a complete loss for words. It was easily the fanciest thing you’d ever seen. Leather seats, stocked alcohol shelves, an endless assortment of snacks, a TV, even a fucking bed of all things. The man, Mr. Clements you assumed, gestured towards the seat closest to you. You sat down and buckled your seat belt like you were told to do.

Mr. Clements then reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, gesturing for you to take it.

“Mr. Pascal requested I hand this to you as soon as you board.” You took the envelope out of his hands, looking down at it with a curious gaze. On the back of it had your name scribbled onto it in familiar handwriting. You’d know it anywhere after reading so many letters from him.

“Please enjoy your flight and let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.” You thanked him with another nod, turning the envelope around and tearing it open. The plane prepared to take off as you read.

Mi Abeja,

I know you wanted and paid for a normal flight, but the academy offered to fly you to me privately last second. I was going to ask you if you were okay with it, but you were in class and your phone was off and I had to let them know something before my table read this morning. You work and study so hard and deserve to be pampered so I told them yes. They reimbursed what you paid for your ticket and I’ll give that to you once you get here.

I hope the unexpected change didn’t spike your anxiety too much. I know you’re nervous about this whole thing to begin with and I probably just made it worse. I’m sorry if I did.

 I’ll be there to pick you up as soon as you land at LAX.

Love you,

Pedro. <3 <3 

Your heart soared at his words, leaning back in your seat and looking out of the nearby window just in time to watch the plane lift up from the runway.

________________________

Four hours later, Mr. Clements informed you that you would be landing shortly. Your heart leaped up in your chest as you put your phone back into your backpack and fastened your seat belt.

It had been a few weeks since you’d last seen him and you were nearly vibrating with excitement by the time the wheels touched down on the runway. Mr. Clements offered to take your things again. You still weren’t sure if it was rude to turn him down or not and you didn’t want to ask and risk looking like a moron, so you agreed and handed over your backpack.

The captain opened up the door and exchanged pleasantries with you as you stepped off the plane, but you barely heard her over the pounding of your own heart. As soon as you looked up from the ramp, you saw him. He was there just like he promised he’d be, standing by his car and wearing his favorite pair of sunglasses all while smiling at you with that blinding smile.

Your sneakers barely touched the tarmac before you were sprinting for him. He held out his arms for you and made a small sound when you collided with him, wrapping your arms around his neck and laying your head on his chest. One of his hands caressed the back of your head, holding you to him tightly as the other one held on to your waist.

“I’ve missed you so much, Abeja.” He muttered against the crown of your head. You let go of him long enough to reach up and kiss him, tangling your hand into his dark curls. “Did you have a good flight?” He asked after you pulled away.

“I did. I was a little nervous at first, but I’m okay now.” Pedro gave you a saddened look.

“I’m sorry. I know it was unexpected and didn’t mean to hike you up, I just figured yo-” You put your hand over his mouth.

“It wasn’t your fault, Pedro. I’m just… not used to this… any of it.” He placed a gentle kiss to your fingers, taking your wrist into his hand and gently taking it off of his mouth.

“Please tell me you at least ate something.“ You nodded.

“I ate with Lauren before I left for the airport. She actually invited me to an Oscar watch party this guy named Devon is hosting. I played it cool just like we practiced, but it took everything in me not to freak out.” Pedro giggled, pressing a kiss to your nose.

“Isn’t she in for a surprise?” You barely smiled, nodding gently. You’ve been trying not to think about it, but the idea of you being on display to the entire world made your stomach churn and your knees weak. You were just a first-generation college student from the middle of nowhere, yet here you are in the arms of Pedro Pascal about to walk down the runway of the most prestigious award show in less than 24 hours.

“... Yeah.” You eventually answered. Pedro noticed the change in your demeanor and frowned, placing a kiss on the wrist he was still holding and caressing it gently with his thumb.

“We don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to, you know? We can always go with plan B.” You shook your head vigorously.

“No, no, no! I-I want people to know… I just… all so new.” Pedro smiled at you sympathetically, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face.

“Just promise you’ll let me know if it ever becomes too much for you. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.” You look up into his mocha gaze, the butterflies in your stomach making you forget about your self-doubt if only for a few seconds.

“I promise.”

________________________

That evening you were curled up with Pedro in the hotel bed, empty take-out containers discarded onto the nearby nightstand as you watched The Shining together. He was fully engrossed in the movie, his fingers idly playing with your hair. You had tried to focus on the movie. You really did, but you’ve seen the damn thing a million times. Laughing at memes on Reddit sounded more appealing so that’s what you were doing.

“You know, I really miss you when you’re not with me.” Pedro said after a while. You looked up from your phone and up at his face.

“I miss you too. Music school sucks and I can’t cuddle Lauren… well, I can but it would be awkward.” Pedro laughed, caressing your cheek with his knuckle.

“Tomorrow, our stylists will be here around noon. I know you’re going to be nervous all day and will probably avoid eating, so I’m going to make sure you get up with me and eat a proper breakfast.” You groaned quietly.

“You won’t let me sleep in? Even on a Saturday?” You fake-pouted. Pedro tapped your nose gently with his finger.

“Not when tomorrow is such an important day. I don’t want you nervous on an empty stomach.” You both went back to what you were doing for a minute.

“You did bring your medication, didn’t you?” You hesitated before nodding.

“Yes.”

“Good. You’ll have something in case it gets too intense. Getting you to take it will be another story, though.” You didn’t say anything, favoring instead to raise up from your reclined position to swing your leg over his waist to straddle him. His hands instantly went to your hips, gently caressing them with his large hands.

“You’re so beautiful, Abeja.” He said after a while of looking you over and running his hands over your body. You smiled at him and leaned down to give him a kiss. It was pretty standard as far as kisses go, but when you pulled away you were both looking at one another with a fiery intent and slowly went back in for another. This one searing and far more passionate.

Pedro groaned deep in his throat as your tongues collide, the kiss deepening far beyond your original intent.

You weren’t complaining.

________________________

Pedro’s alarm going off scared the living hell out of you. You had been awake since 4 am, trying your best to go back to sleep, but it just never happened. When you finally gave up around 6:30, you grabbed your backpack and sat at the desk the hotel provided and did your weekend homework. You hadn’t realized that you were that engrossed in it until his alarm buzzed you out of it.

He groaned quietly and reached over to silence it, rolling back over and reaching out to the other side of the bed looking for you. When he noticed that you were gone, he raised up from the sheets and looked around the room. His hair was an absolute nightmare, sticking up in various directions as he stretched out his back and yawned loudly.

“Thought you wanted to sleep in.” He teased after he found you at the desk.

“You said you were going to wake me up early. Figured I might get some work done.” Concern then donned on his brow.

“Honey, how long have you been up?”

“Not long,” you lie. “I wanted to get some work done so I just got up at my usual time.” Pedro got out of bed and padded over to you, rubbing your shoulders and placing a kiss atop your head.

“You work too hard. You should take a break while you can.” You lolled your head back, Pedro’s hands rubbing your shoulders feeling absolutely amazing.

“I’ll do whatever you say as long as you keep doing that.” He laughed, kissing your cheek and heading to the bathroom.

________________________

You didn’t want to question the professional, you really didn’t. But after the third layer of concealer, you just had to.

“That’s a lot of concealer.” The makeup artist laughed.

“I know, I’m sorry. Use some cream for those bags next time and I promise you won’t need as much.”

You didn’t speak after that, allowing the hair and makeup artist to finish you up while they gossiped back and forth with each other. They made other side comments like that to you here and there. They weren’t necessarily rude so you couldn’t really say anything, but they did little for your already rock-bottom self-esteem.

The artist put a dark shade of lipstick on your lips, making a triumphant noise when she finished.

“Didn’t have the best canvas, but you look fabulous sweetheart! Smile with your mouth closed and you’ll be a knockout!” The makeup artist and hairstylist gathered up their things, leaving you sitting there in your robe staring at the floor and hoping they leave fast.

When they finally left, you got up from the bed and walked over to the full-bodied mirror. You showed your teeth and started looking over them. You never thought they looked too bad. Sure, they were crooked and had some spacing, but they were okay. Braces were expensive and playing a brass instrument with braces is a death sentence for lips.

What if you were wrong about them looking okay all this time? Maybe you should have taken out that loan and a semester off to fix your teeth…

Your stylist came in shortly after. He was quieter than the others had been and much nicer which you were thankful for as you changed into the white dress they had picked for you. When you came out, the stylist smiled and hooped.

“You look gorgeous!” You finished off your look with matching jewelry and a clutch purse, sitting down on the bed to put on your heels.

“It took me forever to find a pair of acceptable wedges for you, sweetheart. I don’t know why you didn’t just tough it out for one night, but hey. I get it. Country girls don’t like heels and that’s okay! It worked out.”

Again, not necessarily rude… but damn.

________________________

You were waiting in the lobby for Pedro to come out, bouncing your leg nervously and trying to remember not to touch your eyes or bite your lip because of the makeup. When you saw him step off the elevator, your breath caught in your throat. His hair was slicked back and his facial hair neatly trimmed, the black velvet suit hugging his broad shoulders perfectly.

“Wow…” He muttered, looking you up and down. “You look absolutely stunning, Abeja.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” You replied, playing with his bow tie.

“Hey, hey, no. Don’t touch it. I don’t know how to tie it back if it comes loose.” You laughed and shook your head.

“Fine… I’ll unwrap my present later.” Pedro’s own breath caught as you winked up at him. He cleared his throat and composed himself, offering you his arm.

“Ready?” You swallowed and nodded, taking his arm for him to escort you.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

________________________

You were in line for the red carpet, the flashing cameras of the paparazzi already blinding and you were still pretty far back. Your stomach churned, a wave of nausea rising up but nothing happening. Pedro took your shaking hand into his and squeezed it gently.

“You okay?” He asked, noticing how tense you were and only grew worse the closer you got.

“... fine.”

“Plan B’s still an option if you need it, Abeja. You have your medicine you can take too.” You shook your head, looking back at him to flash him a smile.

“I’m good.” You could tell that he didn’t buy your bullshit. Not even for a moment. He didn’t say anything, though, opting only to lift your hand and press a kiss to the back of it.

“I’ll be right there beside you the entire time, honey. If at any point you feel uncomfortable or need to leave, you let me know.” You nodded at him, accepting a kiss from him before looking back out the window of the limo.

Your turn came up way sooner than you would have liked, the greeter opening up the limo door as soon as the car stopped and allowing Pedro to step out into the public eye. The photographers went nuts, the flashing lights and screams from fans intimidating you more than you thought they would.

What the fuck were you thinking? You’re just some tired ass music student. You don’t belong here with all these people.

You almost chickened out and stayed in the car but when Pedro turned towards you and offered his hand you took it anyway even though your mind was screaming for you not to. Just the gentle touch of his calloused hand on yours grounded you enough to carefully step out of the limo, making sure that nothing happens to your dress.

You could hear the sounds of the crowd die down for a moment as they all started muttering to themselves. Your hand was shaking in Pedro’s larger one, the photographers gasping as soon as they saw your face. They started taking pictures faster than they ever had. The bombardment of flashing lights blinded you for a moment, but you adjusted to them quickly.

Pedro let go of your hand and put it on your back, gently leading you where you’re supposed to go.

“Okay?” He asked as he wrapped his arm around you and brought you close. You nodded. You weren’t comfortable in the slightest, but it wasn’t the worst thing ever. While both of you posed for pictures, people from the group of photographers said a lot of things to both of you. Some were kind, others were funny and got a good laugh out of you. There were also a few who were very rude, but they had been pushed aside by the others.

Overall, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you were expecting… but you were glad it was over.

________________________

You were standing aside checking your phone while Pedro did an interview with some of the press. He had offered you to be with him, but the red carpet had been more than enough fame for you. Your phone was on “do not disturb” mode, but you could still see all the notifications coming in. Your Mom, Dad, Lauren, and other friends bombarding you with messages basically asking what the fuck. You didn’t have the time to reply, so you didn’t open any of them.

Once Pedro was done with his interviews, he escorted you into the main hall where he introduced you to some of his friends and colleagues along the way. You considered it an honor to meet the people most only ever dreamed of, but you knew you didn’t deserve it. Someone else should be here, not you.

When you found your seats, Pedro offered you his hand. You took it and allowed him to seat you before he took his next to you and wrapped his arm around the back of the seat. The show started shortly after.

________________________

“And the Oscar goes to…” You held onto Pedro’s hand tightly as they opened up the envelope, your shaking hands encased in his. He had told you when he had been nominated that he didn’t expect to win it, but you could tell he had some hope as he tensely watched them read the card.

“Pedro Pascal.” You jumped up with Pedro, hugging him tightly as the audience broke out in cheers.

“You deserve it!” You told him, breaking away to give him a quick kiss. You watched him run up stage and accept the golden statue, walking up to the microphone with a few chuckles as he looked over the award.

“Wow, this is uhhh… this is incredible. Truly amazing.” He started. “I’d like to thank the Academy for this honor, my Mom and Dad who worked hard to raise me right and who supported me. My brother and two sisters for being there for me, mi Abeja for loving me unconditionally, and just… so many others. There are so many people in my life who have helped me get to this milestone and if I were to thank all of you, we’d be here all night. I love you all so very much and this truly… a dream come true. Thank you.

The crowd stands up and cheers loudly. You wanted to, but you were too busy trying to make sure your makeup doesn’t run down your face with a tissue from your clutch. Eventually, you give up trying and decide to go to the bathroom just to make sure everything still looks fine.

Your makeup looked just as flawless as it had before. You wish you would have known that the artist had used waterproof makeup so you could’ve properly celebrated Pedro’s achievement, but oh well. While you were there, you decided to use the bathroom. You didn’t have to go that bad, but might as well take care of it while you’re here.

While you were relieving yourself, you heard two other women come in.

“-ld for her. He needs to settle down with someone like us and around his age. Not some college student.” You froze solid when they realized that they were talking about you.

“I know. She isn’t even that pretty. Did you see her teeth? Do they not have braces where she comes from?”

“For real. Her body’s not that great either. Looks like she comes straight from the shack or something.”

“Wonder if that’s where he found her?” They both giggle.

“Either way, she doesn’t belong here.” You knew they were right, but you just couldn’t bare to listen anymore, pulling your underwear back up and fixing your dress after you flush the toilet.

You then run out of the bathroom, not even looking to see who the women were. It didn’t matter, though. They were right. You should have never came here and you couldn’t stay any longer.

You walked back to your seat and gently tugged on Pedro’s sleeve.

“C-Can we go… Please?” You ask, your voice shaking just as much as your hands. Pedro got up instantly when he saw the look on your face, grabbing his trophy, coat and your clutch. He didn’t ask questions as he placed his hand to the small of your back and began to escort you out of the theater.

By the time you got back into the limo you felt like you couldn’t breathe. The voices around you sounding like water as your vision became black around the edges. Oh God, is this what feels lie to die? You couldn’t die. Not now! You had so much to do, so much t-

Something extremely cold suddenly touched your face, the blackness around your vision fading slightly as you looked up to whoever had put something so damn cold on you.

You were instantly met with the warm eyes of your boyfriend, concern laced on his brow as he gently dabbed a cold washcloth over your face. You could see his mouth moving, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying over the pounding of your heart, but it eventually calmed down enough to where you could begin to hear him.

“There we go, bee… that’s it sweetheart. Nice and easy.” Your breathing slowly calmed down, Pedro cradling you in his arms as your panic attack faded.

“I should have never come here…” You muttered. “I don’t belong here. All these fancy dresses, the flashing cameras, nice cars… I don’t deserve any of this.” Pedro placed a kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t say things like that, Abeja. You deserve this just as much as anyone. And as far as not belonging, trust me when I say I don’t either. And, frankly, I’m fine with that. All of these designer clothes, the mindless gossip, the broken homes, being surrounded by so many but still alone? That’s not really a life worth living. The world of Beautiful People is a lonely life, one that I would rather not live.”

You wasn’t sure what to say, so you just didn’t say anything, curling up as close as you could to him.

He made you take a dose of your anxiety medication when you got back to the hotel, taking it with a swig of water before laying down and curling up close to him. You laid your head on his shoulder, the sounds of his breathing and the gentle feeling of his hand caressing your own shoulder lulling you.

Right before you doze off, you heard him say:

“No matter what any of them has said, you’re perfect the way you are and deserve everything.”

________________________

You wake up the next morning still wrapped up in his arms. You lay there for a while just talking and enjoying one another’s company before he finally got up to use the bathroom.

You reach for your phone on the nightstand, turning off “do not disturb” mode for the first time since yesterday afternoon.

Your phone was overloaded. Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, everywhere was flooded. You didn’t even know where to begin.

Eventually, you just give up trying to put a dent into anything and returned Lauren’s list of missed calls. She answered on the second ring.

“You tell me every little detail, you sneaky bitch. And I mean everything!”

[breeyn]

I don't think there is any specific scene or piece of dialogue in which this is meant to be explicit. I think it's like the rest of us, the rest of the crew - we infer it by events.

Ed tries to kill himself and everyone else because he is so f*cking miserable. Then Stede turns up and within 24 hours has Ed in a f*cking kitty bell doing canon balls off the ship and ineptly apologizing to people for the first time ever.

Izzy watches everything - this is canon. He watches literally every single thing Ed does, even when he is very not supposed to be there (interrupting morning cuddles). So it would not be all that difficult by that point to put two and two together and realize not only is Stede good for Ed, but also, not being Blackbeard is a massive f*cking relief and Ed wants rid of it. Izzy watched him throw his leathers away when Ed didn't even know he was watching. It wasn't performative, Ed was happy and excited and wearing a goddamn velvet robe and skipping down the stairs to give his boyfriend breakfast.

Izzy is many things, obtuse being one of them but he's not stupid.

ok re: 116 and all the responses to it (sorry, haven't been keeping track of them)

i think people have some good points but none of them are really answering the question #116 brought up.

like, it's possible to come up a general explanation for "when did izzy realize he had harmed ed?" if you think what he realized was that he'd hurt ed BY GETTING IN THE WAY OF HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH STEDE, because what he realized was that ed needs stede around to truly be happy. (this seems to be what con is suggesting in his interviews, and it does make sense as far as it goes.)

but that doesn't explain how izzy gets to where he is in his final scene.

because listen again to what he's apologizing for. he doesn't say anything about getting in the way of ed and stede's relationship. he doesn't apologize for anything to do with stede at all. in fact he sounds like he's mostly talking about stuff that was going for years before ed even met stede. what he apologizes for - rightly - is all the time he spent manipulating ed into clinging to blackbeard, even though he knew the blackbeard persona was making ed miserable. he apologizes for the "there he is" scene, which is something he did after stede was out of the picture and they both expected him to never come back.

so how and when does izzy get THERE? at what point does he realize that he was hurting ed not by opposing his relationship with stede, but by trying to force him to define himself as blackbeard? it can't be before he gets shot, because he gets shot still saying the problem is ed's feelings for stede. and i guess the shooting could have made him realize it, but honestly that seems kind of uncharacteristic of izzy to put it together like that - especially considering he talks about why ed shot him twice and neither time does he really express that he's come to understand it. there's not any dialogue after that really suggesting to me how he came to understand that he hurt ed by making ed stick to blackbeard, up till in ep 7 he suddenly abruptly tells him it's fine to quit being blackbeard if he wants to. that's the part that needs explaining for me.

#141.

related posts: #116