13 Works by PerpendicularPotato
Listing Works
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Tarred Rope and Spoiled Queen Anne's Lace by PerpendicularPotato
Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)
03 Dec 2025
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Somebody had been lurking in the hallway.
And not just anybody—an alpha.
Edward hadn’t noticed right away. Food and water were still delivered and left with a knock, maybe a quick ‘Here you go, captain’ and no attempt to engage or linger. When Edward hurriedly retrieved them after letting the footfalls fade away, there was never a sign of anybody.
But in between…
Ironically, he hadn’t been alerted by the smell because his scent barrier was holding. But that didn’t stop the air from getting through—and having effects.
When he finally got suspicious and everything clicked into place, he got furious—mostly at himself.
— • ◇ • —
Stuck without any other options, Edward tries to ride out the worst heat of his life alone, barricaded in his cabin behind a barrier held together with vinegar rags and misdirection.
If he can keep his tactical mind and if his scent containment holds, maybe he can still walk out as Blackbeard by the end of it.
Originally intended for Kinktober 2025 Day 25: Omega Verse + Praise Kink
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Illustration for "Useful" by Bigbluebuttfeathers by PerpendicularPotato
Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)
30 Nov 2025
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Frenchie and Ed do a bit of Rhino Horn in the captain's cabin on Frenchie's first night as Blackbeard's First Mate.
Ed gives himself one more chance to feel something before one of his suicide-by-proxy schemes finally pans out.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 49
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 6
- Hits:
- 79
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Summary
Wee John lifted the center panel and held it up to Edward’s chest while making thoughtful humming noises. As he carefully adjusted the position and ran his hands across the fabric to flatten it against the skin, Edward felt himself break out into gooseflesh.
There was something about the combination of delicate silk and lace brushed against his skin by Wee John’s huge rough hands—calloused from shipboard labour and needlework alike—that still got to Edward every time. He had to fight the impulse to look down and keep still instead.
A raided trunk full of finery clearly not intended for a body like his sparks something in Edward.
As it turns out, sometimes it can be a lot less scary to ask for what you want if you can turn it into a bit.Written for Kinktober Day 19: Size Difference + Feminization
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Stede has been switching up storytime by reading the crew some ancient Greek myths—they might be a little risqué at times, but, if he dares to say so himself, it has been a rousing success!
There are, as it turns out, some rather unexpected consequences.
Stede used his other hand to gently but ruthlessly pull the pillow away, revealing Ed’s lovely face—so very flushed with embarrassment and arousal, brows stormy with wounded dignity and lips bitten red and pushed out in a clear pout.
Stede easily lobbed the pillow to the foot end of the bed, far out of reach.
“Hey!”
He ignored Ed’s protest and instead leaned in closer, pushing his own body flush with Ed’s, lips almost brushing his ear when he continued speaking: “They were chasing you, Edward, weren’t they?”
Combining Kinktober prompts from
- Day 3: Gangbang, Yiffing, Cock/Prostate milking (sorta)
- Day 5: Ravishment Fantasy
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There was probably something to be said about how many of Ed’s most prominent tattoos were of things he was absolutely terrified of. The giant snake on his arm, for example. Or the not one, not two, but three enormous spiders on both feet and his left hand, that instead of desensitizing him, had just led to him religiously wearing his black leather glove...
So he couldn’t even really blame the choice of a kraken on drunk stupidity alone. Though that night’s events were all a bit of a blur and he wasn’t even entirely certain that he had even been the one to make the call.For years, Edward Teach had been hiding safely in Blackbeard’s shadow. But the only thing scarier than being seen clearly might be not being seen at all.
He’d long ago written off being recognized and held unconditionally and without judgment as a childish dream—until he discovered that some dreams might be far more real than they should be.
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Whatever Happened to Blackbeard? by PerpendicularPotato
Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)
25 Jun 2025
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Summary
Edward blinked at the piece of paper in his hands.
It was one of his old wanted posters. The one with the big nose and the crazy eyes and the writing on the back.
They had all had crazy eyes though, hadn’t they?
This specific one however had been re-titled in bright red paint ‘The Gentleman Pirate’s Bitch’. And underneath—presumably in thoughtful consideration for the wide-spread illiteracy amongst pirates—there was a crude drawing (in both senses of the word) helpfully illustrating that very statement.
It's been a few years—post-piracy, post-myth, post-Blackbeard—and despite all odds, Edward has done the work and found peace.
But the world never got to witness the legend’s grand downfall, so now they just won't stop poking the corpse and drawing dicks on its face.
And for some reason, this time... Edward just can’t look away.
The celebration of a life post-public gaze, the reclamation of narrative and the most meta revenge-hatefuck fantasy imaginable—staged by two soft fucking lunatics in love.
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It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Eighty-nine raids! So much that could go wrong there, so many stray bullets, so many opponents—their sheer number meant one might get lucky after all. And if all else failed, well, there was still the deranged sadist that had set the original record…
“You know, uh, we've never met.” Low was slowly pacing around Edward. “But there's a reason for that.”
Oh fuck me. Low had barely said two sentences and Edward was already getting tired. He was too hung-over for this…—◆—
What happens if someone tries to violently strip away what you have desperately tried and failed to shed for years?
And what does it mean if after the mask shatters, still all they can see are their own projections?—◆—
This fic deconstructs dub-con captivity tropes to explore the tragic futility of just trying to be Edward—while the world just won't stop projecting all their fucked up shit onto you.
More consensual and horny than you'd expect—but no Stockholm Syndrome, no “oh no, what if I like it?!” nonsense. [optional consent breakdown in chapter descriptions] -
History's Most Brilliant Tactician Brought to Ruin by PerpendicularPotato
Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)
26 Apr 2025
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Summary
Stede had reached the door to the storeroom now and held it open with an exaggerated little flourish. “After you, my good sir!”
Edward’s mouth twitched as he suppressed a giggle. Instead he gave Stede a solemn nod. “Why thank you, old chap.” He stepped through the door and dropped back to his normal voice. “So what exactly is it that you need my help—”
—●◆●—
Comfortable in their semi-retirement/prospective innkeeper life, a visit on the Revenge might just be the perfect time for Stede to deliver on a fantasy Ed had been having.
It goes well—maybe a little too well and Stede is faced with some ghosts he thought long exorcised.
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For Now It Is Actually September 2nd, and Tonight Is A Full Moon by PerpendicularPotato for petrichorca
Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)
02 Mar 2025
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Renamed from For It Is September 3rd, and Tonight Is Actually a Full Moon because—like Edward—I'm apparently also shit with dates...
He was torn from his musings by… what the hell, was that a flute?
Edward surveyed the deck but nothing stirred among the sleeping crew. Curious he stood up and followed the tones towards the forecastle.
It was Bird Guy!
Stark naked, bird on his head and alternating between playing a few notes on a recorder and throwing his arms open wide as if he was trying to pull the full moon itself into a passionate embrace. Edward stood there in silent awe, mouth slightly agape.
This ship was fucking amazing! Where had Stede found these people?! He couldn't wait to find out what brilliantly mental thing Bird Guy was up to here.
— or —
Edward learns quite a bit about the intricacies of basking in moon glow and the proper way to worship Her Majesty.
Might help him keep his lunar calendar straight in the future.
Written in response to a challenge for the OFMD Craft Fair for Trans Kids
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It was a horribly, disgustingly, viciously, downright pervertedly beautiful Caribbean night.
As soon as Ed stepped out on deck he was greeted by the giant middle finger of an otherworldly large, unbearably romantic full moon—shamelessly flaunting itself in an inky black cloudless sky, framed by a countless number of stars twinkling at him mockingly.
— or —
For Edward, a shit night turns quite memorable.
For Archie...eh, in her experience, that's kind of how stuff goes.
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What were the odds of running into acquaintances while you’re just trying to pull off eighty-nine consecutive raids so either some actually competent opponent, the deranged sadist that set the original record or your own over-worked crew would finally do you the favour of killing you?
Kinda high actually, he supposed begrudgingly.— or —
Spanish Jackie and the Swede's honeymoon trip gets interrupted when they have a run-in with the Kraken Era Revenge. Situations evolve.
----The Top!Swede/Bottom!Ed fic literally no one asked for!
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It took Ed a moment before he caught on and started to take off his weapons himself. He put the gun aside but lingered on the knife.
He wanted this, wanted to be pressed against the broad chest, wanted to be held down by the strong arms, wanted the large hands to crack him wide open, leaving him completely vulnerable, before just—He shuddered and couldn’t say if it was from desire or from fear of the precarious position meeting those desires would require of him.
“I want to make myself very clear, mate,” he said slowly. He could feel the smoky tendrils of Blackbeard creep into his voice. He hated it. It was necessary. “I’m here because I just wanna get fucking railed and everybody out there’s being real fuckin’ weird about it.”
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An illustrated exploration of why one would get a "Trust No One" tramp stamp (that tattoo did not look fresh!), since that feels less like a reminder to yourself and more like a message to the people topping you...
Told through seven sexual encounters spanning from Hornigold's ship to Post-Canon Era.Series
- Part 1 of The Marks Left On Your Skin
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Maybe Day Number Eight Was When He Had Finally Lost It by PerpendicularPotato
Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)
29 Sep 2024
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Summary
Eventually, but still too soon, he ended up on his back on one of the lowest decks, somewhere deep in the bowels of the ship with Jack straddling his chest and pinning his wrists to the deck above his head. The scuffle had left both of them panting, aching and straining against their now too tight breeches.
Ed had gotten the momentary relief he had been searching for, but he could tell that it wasn’t enough, wouldn’t last beyond Jack letting go and getting off of him. It was only a drop on a hot stone – evaporating in front of his eyes before he could get any moisture from it.
— or —
A becalming robs Edward of all his usual coping strategies to deal with his brain when it becomes unbearable.
With Jack's somewhat accidental help, he discovers a new one and learns some things about himself along the way.
[The art is SFW and can also be found here]
EDIT: absolutely shook that Ed/Jack is rare enough to be part of the Rare Ships collection. otp count is 77...