#good gravy i write a lot

[queen-scribbles]

Writing Patterns Tag

tagged by @snowfolly @greyias and @dingoat

Rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern! Since there's so many of you (lol), I did more than ten.😉

tagging hm, @haledamage @undyingembers @starlightcleric (no pressure, obviously <3)

Long Burning Torch ch 9 (ShoH)

Gutter water seeped into Xaeryn’s shoes as she misstepped, but she hardly noticed.

2. gut feeling (SWtOR)

Jorgan was wrapping up an op when Aygo commed.

3. Brykar prompt fill (SWtOR)

The wind cutting across the ridge made conversation difficult, but Briyoni had never been one easily dissuaded from sharing her opinion.

4. Indi/Vector handholding fill (SWtOR)

Parties like this were dreadfully boring, salvaged only from complete indignity by the company she was allowed to keep

5. OC Kiss: Dare (TOW)

“You ever feel like your life could do with some excitement?’

6. OC Kiss: Reach (PoE)

Kei growled softly as her shoulder pressed the baseboard and the small piece of steel remained just beyond her fingertips.

7. OC Kiss: Darkness (Wayhaven)

The movie ended, the room plunging into darkness when Kira clicked off the rolling credits.

8. OC Kiss: Lost (SWtOR)

He had just sunk into the sack chair, eyes drifting closed and every inch of him sore beyond words, when a quiet, whimpering cry came from across the room.

9. Unmasked (SWtOR)

Endrali was starting to wonder if the galaxy had it out for her.

10. OC Kiss: Sunrise (Dragon Age)

The sky was still dark when Trinne woke

11. Slow Dancing Prompt (Wayhaven)

Janine was singing.

12. OC Kiss: Rain (PF:WotR)

There was nothing to see here.

13. OC Kiss: Almost (PoE)

Tavi groaned and swore as the back of her hand met the table’s weathered surface.

14. It's Cold Outside (PoE)

The snow had reached Brighthollow’s first floor windows and was still coming.

[headspace-hotel]

I will write this thought about Veganism and Classism in the USA in another post so as to not derail the other thread:

There are comments in the notes that say meat is only cheaper than plant based foods because of subsidies artificially lowering the price of meat in the United States. This is...part of the story but not all of it.

For my animal agriculture lab we went to a butcher shop and watched the butcher cut up a pig into various cuts of meat. I have had to study quite a bit about the meat industry in that class. This has been the first time I fully realized how strongly the meat on a single animal is divided up by socioeconomic class.

Like yes, meat cumulatively takes more natural resources to create and thus should be more expensive, but once that animal is cut apart, it is divided up between rich and poor based on how good to eat the parts are. I was really shocked at watching this process and seeing just how clean and crisp an indicator of class this is.

Specifically, the types of meat I'm most familiar with are traditionally "waste" parts left over once the desirable parts are gone. For example, beef brisket is the dangly, floppy bit on the front of a cow's neck. Pork spareribs are the part of the ribcage that's barely got anything on it.

And that stuff is a tier above the "meat" that is most of what poor people eat: sausage, hot dogs, bologna, other heavily processed meat products that are essentially made up of all the scraps from the carcass that can't go into the "cuts" of meat. Where my mom comes from in North Carolina, you can buy "livermush" which is a processed meat product made up of a mixture of liver and a bunch of random body parts ground up and congealed together. There's also "head cheese" (made of parts of the pig's head) and pickled pigs' feet and chitlin's (that's made of intestines iirc) and cracklin's (basically crispy fried pig skin) and probably a bunch of stuff i'm forgetting. A lot of traditional Southern cooking uses basically scraps of animal ingredients to stretch across multiple meals, like putting pork fat in beans or saving bacon grease for gravy or the like.

So another dysfunctional thing about our food system, is that instead of people of each socioeconomic class eating a certain number of animals, every individual animal is basically divided up along class lines, with the poorest people eating the scraps no one else will eat (oftentimes heavily processed in a way that makes it incredibly unhealthy).

Even the 70% lean ground beef is made by injecting extra leftover fat back into the ground-up meat because the extra fat is undesirable on the "better" cuts. (Gross!)

I've made, or eaten, many a recipe where the only thing that makes it non-vegan is the chicken broth. Chicken broth, just leftover chicken bones and cartilage rendered and boiled down in water? How much is that "driving demand" for meat, when it's basically a byproduct?

That class really made me twist my brain around about the idea of abstaining from animal products as a way to deprive the industry of profits. Nobody eats "X number of cows, pigs, chickens in a lifetime" because depending on the socioeconomic class, they're eating different parts of the animal, splitting it with someone richer or poorer than they are. If a bunch of people who only ate processed meats anyway abstained, that wouldn't equal "saving" X number of animals, it would just mean the scraps and byproducts from a bunch of people's steaks or pork chops would have something different happen to them.

The other major relevant conclusion I got from that class, was that animal agriculture is so dominant because of monoculture. People think it's animal agriculture vs. plant agriculture (or plants used for human consumption vs. using them to feed livestock), but from capitalism's point of view, feeding animals corn is just another way to use corn to generate profits.

People think we could feed the world by using the grain fed to animals to feed humans, but...the grain fed to animals, is not actually a viable diet for the human population, because it's literally just corn and soybean. Like animal agriculture is used to give some semblance of variety to the consumer's diet in a system that is almost totally dominated by like 3 monocrops.

Do y'all have any idea how much of the American diet is just corn?!?! Corn starch, corn syrup, corn this, corn that, processed into the appearance of variety. And chickens and pigs are just another way to process corn. That's basically why we have them, because they can eat our corn. It's a total disaster.

And it's even worse because almost all the USA's plant foods that aren't the giant industrial monocrops maintained by pesticides and machines, are harvested and cared for by undocumented migrant workers that get abused and mistreated and can't say anything because their boss will tattle on them to ICE.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Today I rewatched all of season 2 with a friend who hadn't had the chance to see it, and it's really true that if the pacing seemed off to you as it aired, try watching it altogether. It flows so well when you're not spending a week in between episodes hyping up theories and over-analyzing throwaway lines.

The rewatch hammered home how lucky I feel to have this show! It's so good, friends. I'm so incredibly grateful we got this show.

Some of the little things that I didn't appreciate on first watch that I just adored on a rewatch:

How well Archie and Zheng Yi Sao are immediately integrated into our cast. They had limited time and their writing is really cleverly done to endear us to them immediately.

Every Buttons and Auntie interaction, absolute gold

Surprisingly (for me), Ed and Izzy's interactions in the first two eps. It's just so terminally unhinged. The way Izzy says he "has love" for Ed like he's ashamed of it, like how you have a sickness. "Do you think I wouldn't know the smell of my own rotting former first mate?" The way Ed handed Izzy a gun to try to get him to shoot Ed, but Izzy tried to shoot himself instead and was symbolically reborn. It's good shit.

The Gravy Basket scenes really rewards a rewatch. Try to pick up on clues something's up before Ed realizes, it's great fun.

The way Stede's devotion to Ed is immediately palpable.

Ed and Stede are so soft and cute for each other dear lord. just gets better and better.

The musical choices are top notch, especially in those first three episodes. The sound design in general is exceptional.

The way this show is shot, dear lord. There is so much care in every shot, it doesn't look like a basic TV show.

Every actor in this show is giving it their all. Rhys and Taika are phenomenal, of course, but Con is amazing, Matt Maher makes me love Black Pete more with every rewatch, David Fane is perfect, and Samba Schutte is so incredible. Roach doesn't have a lot this season but Samba gives every line 110%.

Such! A! Good! Show!! If you didn't like the pacing on first watch, take my word for it, try a rewatch.

[plumipal]

AAAAAOMG UR TWST OC IS SO ADORABLE?? i'm absolutely in love with eden sm (+ his design?? the star eyes and the wings are my favorite,, i wanna smooch all his tattoos!) and i hope it's okay to ask a few questions about him... (I KNOW U SAID IT WAS OKAY BUT I JUST WANTED TO MAKE SURE 😭 i'm genuinely interested in knowing more!)

1) does he have anyone in the twst cast that he tolerates/likes? i know he's part of the whole harem thing but is there anyone he doesn't necessarily mind being around (or even sharing with the prefect?)

2) do grim and eden have a good relationship? i would assume so since they're living both with one another but do they just get along with each other for the prefect's sake or are they actually best buds? (๑ > ᴗ < ๑)

(little dumb idea but i think it would be so cute if the prefect treated the two as if they were all like a little family! eden and prefect being the two parents and grim their rambunctious kid lmao,, i would imagine the others not being so happy about it (っ‘ω`c))

3) is he okay with physical affection/pda? is he totally chill about it or would he rather shy about the whole thing? is he open to having the prefect touch his wings or his tattoos?

4) oooo any funfacts that you have about the new ramshackle resident?? just in general really if that's okay with u ofc!! ☆

aa okay that's it!! i hope my questions weren't annoying or anything! (っ‘ω`c)

Had to get one of those wheels ive seen going around where you put the oc and how they feel about the character and how the characters feel back about them, but with a twist lol (most of them are haters).

The ones he are most tolerant with are grim, ace, deuce, jack and kalim. Only one he could possible share with would either be kalim, jack or deuce, because of how he sorta is annoyed by ace.

Of course cant forget how he feels about you :) he thinks you are very very very special and he loves you a lot <3

He likes grim a lot, seeing as grim isn't one of the students that is oh so annoying. He warms up to the monster, seeing how gently you take care of grim, wanting to do the same. It feels, domestic, in his opinion.

Grim likes Eden a lot too, he has never belittled him, he has always made sure to feed grim along with Eden being very warm (and therefore very nice to sleep on). In grims opinion, he thinks you should go with Eden, cuz he is a good candidate for marriage (grim has been bribed with love, affection, and tuna).

He takes good care of the cat son, making sure he is healthy and happy.

Now onto pda. Eden are only okay with you touching the wings, the tattoo and the core, being as they are quite sensitive. The scar is still off limits, but maybe if you make him warm up to you even more you might be able to-

He loves when you help him with his wings, it's one of the best feelings out there. Fo mind that only you (and grim) can touch the wings, anyone else is off limits, ESPECIALLY ROOK HE IS FORBIDDEN TO TOUCH THEM.

Eden facts!! He has lil "ear-holes" like birds, just behind the feathers. Be careful around that part when you help him with his feathers, otherwise you might have a pouty and angry Eden on tour hands.

His eyes also glow in the dark! It's the scariest during the nightly snack runs down to the kitchen, seeing him suddenly stare at you, but you slowly get used to it!

You don't know where the extra eyes sometimes come from tho...

Also some general facts about Eden!

Dorm: Ramshackle

Birthday: 1/1

Age: ???

Height: 185cm

Fav subject: alchemy

Hobby: cleaning in ramshackle, birdwatching

Likes: you

Dislikes: Loud noises, blond 3rd year hunters named rook hunt, people trying to grab onto his wings that aren't you

Fav food: he don't need to eat to gain sustenance, bur he likes mashed potatoes with gravy

Least fav food: soup, any soup, he hates it

Btw if anyone were to write for Eden I would explode it would mean the world to me

[whatitshouldvebeen]

(no idea if these even go through, first time pls be patient with me) i’ve been going through your blog for a few days and i am loooving it omg i love the way you write so much! i was wondering what you would think would go down when,

a victim using reader as bait to let the victim go

a victim hurting reader (mistook as a family member) or

A victim dragging reader out an exit to escape also (thinking she’s another person trapped there) please don’t feel like you have to answer all, (or even answer at all) you have your own life and you can make your own decisions in life :) 👋

A Dog's Loyalty

I wrote this as a combo of all three requests of yours!

Description: Ana tries to escape with you, but you don't want to leave

Warnings: blood, injury

"Oh my god, Leland, there's someone else in here!"

You looked up at her, your eyes wide. You were huddled in the corner of Johnny's shack, frozen in place. It had been months since you saw another person; you'd almost forgotten anyone but Johnny truly existed.

"Don't worry, hun, we'll get you out. My name is Ana, what's yours?" the young woman asked, working to untie the rope from around your ankle. She had the most beautiful tan skin, her dark hair matted with sweat but still cascading in pretty waves down to her shoulders. The guy she'd called Leland kept watch, peeking out of the cracked front door anxiously.

You hesitantly told her your name, and she smiled as she helped you up from the floor. "I think our friend Julie already unlocked the front gate. We just have to get there without getting caught."

Leland signaled that the coast was clear, sliding through the crack in the door. Ana waited for you to go, and you marveled at how easy it was to get through now. You'd been here so long you'd lost a lot of weight since the first time you'd been sneaking around trying to escape.

You're almost blinded by the light as you emerge on the other side. How long had it been since you'd been outside? You couldn't even remember. Months? A year? Longer?

Ana came out after you, and not long after the three of you heard a chainsaw revving. Ana pulled you into some tall grass while Leland ran away from the exit, drawing the attention of the man you'd heard Johnny refer to as "big boy," who yelled in outrage as he chased after him.

"Come on, now's our chance!" Ana said, grabbing your hand. You stumbled after her, not used to running after so long locked away.

"Where do you think you're going, sweetheart?"

The voice stopped you in your tracks, only a few feet from the gate. Ana looked at you incredulously and tried to pull you toward the gate.

"Come on! He's coming!!" She screamed, tugging at you. You stayed rooted in place, your ears burning.

"Be a good girl and stay right where you are." Johnny rounded the corner of the white picket fence, walking so slowly you probably could get away if you started running. But you didn't.

"Oh my god, you're one of them, aren't you?!" Ana accused, pulling your back against her chest. She took out a bone scrap and held it to your neck, her breathing erratic.

"Let me and Leland go, or I'll kill her!" Ana said, pressing the scrap against your neck and backing up toward the gate. You winced, but it wasn't anything new to have a sharp edge threaten your life.

Johnny stopped, his eyes narrowing.

"'Fraid I can't do that. Your friend is already in the basement being chopped up as we speak."

Ana swallowed harshly. "You piece of shit! You're lying!"

Johnny grinned. "Stick around fer dinner and I'll let you see him again, all dressed in some nice gravy ‘n chitlins."

Ana's tears fell on your shoulder as her back ran into the gate. Johnny stayed where he was, his fingers twitching at his side.

"Johnny," you whispered, trying not to move.

"Obviously, she wants to stay. Keep her," Ana said, shoving the gate open. She then took the bone scrap and jabbed it into your thigh, throwing you to the side.

You screamed as you fell to the ground, blood welling around the bone scrap. Johnny let out a feral growl before lunging, moving faster than you'd ever seen him move.

"Help me!" Ana screamed, running out onto the road. Johnny moved twice as fast, fueled by rage as he grabbed her around her midsection. He didn't hesitate before dragging his blade across her throat, her blood fanning out through the air and splattering on the road. He let her drop to the road, discarded, and you heard him run back through the gate.

He collected you in his arms, sitting on the dusty ground and holding you close.

"Are you okay baby?" He asked, gently stroking your hair from your face. He looked down at your leg and winced, the first time you've ever seen him queasy at the sight of an injury.

You nodded, though your face was pallid and your fingertips felt cold.

"I… need a bandaid…"

Johnny laughed and nodded. "I'll get ya one. Come on." He picked you up easily, cradling you against his chest. Instead of taking you to his shack, he brought you into Nancy's house for the first time. Once inside he laid you out on the dining room table, much like the meals they'd served over the years.

He rushed to the bathroom and brought back gauze.

"This is gonna hurt sugar. Here." He unbuckled his belt and put it between your teeth. "Bite down on this, alright?"

You nodded, and he smiled. "Good girl. One… two…" He then yanked the bone scrap from your thigh.

You wailed, more thick blood oozing out onto the table. Johnny poured alcohol over the wound, making the pain almost unbearable. He then, as quickly as he could, wrapped your leg in gauze. You felt your vision getting fuzzy as you began to fade. But then, Johnny leaned over the table, took his belt back, and kissed you.

Your heart instantly picked up, and your eyes focused on him as he pulled back, his cocked grin on his handsome face.

"You showed your loyalty today, sugar. I knew you were special." He kissed you again, and even though your arms were weak you still wrapped them around his neck. When he pulled back, he looked happier than you'd ever seen him.

"Welcome to the family."

[blazehedgehog]

After watching SAGE's 2024 trailer, you ever get the feeling that most people want to be making indie games instead of fan games nowadays,? Every year there's been less and less fan works there.

This is the first year I've really felt it in any meaningful way.

There have been attempts for more than a decade to rename SAGE to drop the "Sonic" part. I've always pushed back against that and at this point the branding is too strong to give up, I think. People know about and come to SAGE because the brand is strong. Renaming it would be a death sentence.

Taking off my business hat, it's a bummer to see fangames in the minority here. Everybody wants to hop on that indie game gravy train and chase the success of Pizza Tower (seriously, count how many Pizza Tower clones are in the trailer this year) or Freedom Planet or Spark the Electric Jester or whatever.

And it's easy to congratulate people for striking out on their own and making original games. I was one of the many voices urging Sabrina to divorce Freedom Planet from the Sonic franchise and make it into an original game she could sell. So she ran a crowdfunding campaign (multiple, actually), was successful, and now we have two Freedom Planet games. And that's great!

But... does that mean all fangames should go away forever?

The example I lean on the hardest is comic books.

A lot of the guys who created the biggest super heroes aren't around anymore. They gave up control long ago or are straight up dead now. These books are effectively officialized fanfiction now, as are the $300,000,000 movies based on them. An ever-increasing number of people writing, drawing and directing these characters today were not alive when they were originally created.

But people still keep writing Batman stories, officially or otherwise. Because there are some stories you can only tell with Batman. Now, you could break off and make your own character that's similar to Batman, build up this history for him, and then finally tell your original story with that character. And maybe that's satisfying, to have built something of your own like that.

But for one: that's a lot of work. Batman is interesting because he has decades (almost a century now) of history behind him to play off of and work with. There are people out there who will tell you to just start writing your dream story and forget about building up to it first, but that's more about motivation and confidence than the idea that stories don't need historical context.

And two: that's already been done.

There's a good chance you know who Rob Liefeld is from his, uh, "distinctive" art style. He also created Deadpool, a katana-wielding mercenary assassin that dresses in red and black, whose real name is Wade Wilson. But before Deadpool, he created Deathstroke, a katana-wielding mercenary assassin that dresses in orange and black, whose real name is Slade Wilson.

Here is a guy who has built a career on copying his own work (and the work of others) over and over and over again.

Did it make Rob Liefeld rich and famous? Technically yes, but he kind of got rich because other people made better work using his characters, and he's famous for being kind of a hack.

So which is better?

Creative output you can do right here, right now, today, but is considered "fanfiction" or "fanart" or a "fangame", which may or may not lead to you being the person handling the official thing at some point down the road...

Or spending years of your life toiling to bring an original concept to life, and even if you struggle through all of the boredom and hardship of getting your original product out the door, it gets lost in the noise of now-million other creators trying to do the exact same thing. And then, at the end of your launch, after 2, 3, even 5 years of working and working and working, you've only made enough money to cover rent on your apartment for a month and a half.

Or, to put it another way:

Are you ditching fangame development because you have a legitimately great story you want to tell, or are you just doing it because you can't make money on a fangame?

Are you just creating another Bloodstrike?

As someone who has struggled to justify putting lots of hard work into a fangame myself, and have both made very popular fangames and some not-so-great original games, I don't know if I have a definitive answer for you. But I do wish there were more fangames at the fangaming event, and I will say, as always, if I could get paid a livable wage for making fangames, I would drop everything and do it in a heartbeat.

[prettyboykatsuki]

Hey, I've been trying to make butter chicken for a really long time and no matter what I do the food cart in my city makes it better. I was wondering if you have a recipe that you would like to share since you said you're really good at making butter chicken. Totally okay if you want to keep it private or just not respond to this ask. Also, I love your writing. Long time fan.

HI!!

i was supposed to answer this last night but i took my melatonin super early and fell asleep on accident. i do have a recipe to share and i saw a few people were interested. im not very good with writing down like... formal recipes i cook by heart so to speak so i hope thats alright

but also thank u!! i see u in my notifs a lot so i was happy to see your ask

FANGS BUTTER CHICKEN RECIPE:

a couple of things to know prior, making a really good curry usually takes a long time. im not one to be super picky on authenticity but if you're wanting to eat something super delicious it will take you upwards of an hour ++ some, start to finish.

ingredients for chicken

chicken breast / chicken thighs (i normally use a little less than two pounds of chicken thighs, boneless and cubed)

yogurt for marinade, about a half to three quarters cup

a tablespoon of premade ginger-garlic paste or equal parts of fresh ginger and garlic

about two teaspoons of garam masala, and one teaspoon of cumin, coriander, chili powder, tumeric and salt

FOR THE CHICKEN: it's up to preference what cut of meat you want to use for butter chicken, but i personally used cubed chicken thighs that i manually clean the fat off of.

in my opinion, the biggest difference this will make is in the marinading process. if you are using chicken breast, i would recommend marinating for up to twenty four hours. if you're using chicken thighs, you can get away with less time. but you need to marinade your chicken up to at 30 minutes.

mix everything together and set aside until ready.

ingredients for the sauce:

one large onion, medium diced (about a cup and a half)

half a head or garlic, finely chopped (i use a lot but you can use less)

some freshly chopped ginger or a tablespoon of garlic-ginger paste. about a tablepoon.

tomatoes (roughly two cups)

for the tomatoes, there are various substitutions you're welcome to make. most restaurants used crushed, canned tomatoes but if you're wanting the smooth texture without blending - used jarred tomato sauce as your base.

with whatever type of tomato you use, you will have to adjust for acidity and sweetness. i use a mix of fresh tomatos and tomato paste for depth and adjust for acid with sugar.

if you are using jarred tomato sauce or canned tomatos, you will need about a cup and 3 quarters or 14ozs of liquid over all.

if you are using a fresh tomato and paste combo like me - i recommend about a cup and a half of diced tomatoes and a 3 tablespoons of tomato paste.

spices including, 2 teaspoons of garam masala, 2 teaspoons of cumin, 1 teaspoon of coriander, chili powder to taste and a table spoon of pre-packaged butter chicken spice mix.

you will also need kasoor methi powder or fenugreek powder which imo is not optional

NO MORE than a half-teaspoon of fenugreek

salt to taste

sugar to taste (i use about a tablespoon)

for seasoning: while i use the teaspoon measurement here - it's more important you understand the ratios. im much more heavy handed with my spice mixture because i make it according to my own tastes and i like strong flavors.

i used pre-packaged spice mixes to add flavor but if i dont have it i wont use it and use about a teaspoon more each of the plain spices.

the one thing you shouldn't skip imo is the kasoor methi aka fenugreek powder. this is probably the thing most people are missing butter chicken at home. it's savory and mildly bitter, a bit like fennel and its what gives it a very classic indian flavor

3/4 cup of cream + 1/2 cup of milk (you are welcome to use one cup of cream if you like a thicker gravy, but i prefer a thinner one. you can also replace the milk with half and half)

a little oil to coat the bottom of my pan (a teaspoon or two)

3 tablespoons of ghee (or 2 tbps of butter + 1 tbsp oil)

cilantro to taste (optional)

if you can find ghee or make it at home, i would highly reccomend using it over butter and oil. ghee makes a huge difference to the flavor profile.

while i say 3tbsps, i would say be heavy handed and use enough to cover the pan. this is a fat heavy dish as is.

ONTO THE COOKING PROCESS:

first: you will want to grill / char your chicken. you can pick what method you use for this. i use a searing hot pan (i use a dutch oven for this entire recipe) and little oil to get the best cook.

fry the chicken on high heat until charred and take it off once all sides are cooked. DO NOT OVERCROWD YOUR PAN. it will released too much water.

set aside the charred pieces. the chicken will finish cooking in the sauce.

NEXT, THE SAUCE

after you've cooked off the chicken, turn your heat down to medium, drop your ghee and your onions and cook until totally soft

this will take roughly 15 minutes of stirring and watching.

once the onions are translucent and halved in size, drop in your garlic and ginger

cook until fragrant. i like to go a little under ten minutes

add in your spices here (EXCEPT THE KASOORI METHI). this step is crucial

the key to good desi curry is understanding the process of bhuna, which is essentially frying your spices together for optimum flavor. you will want enough oil in your pan to fry / cook the seasoning which is why i say you might want to be heavy handed.

stir your spice mix with your onions, garlic and ginger - making sure it doesn't stick and burn in the process. let it cook until very fragant.

i let it go for a few minutes but if you don't cook often, a minute or less will be okay. too long and the spices will burn.

(i also like to add a pre-emptive amount of salt at this stage but you can salt afterwards)

next, add your tomatoes. if you are using tomato paste, add it before you add your other tomatoes and let it fry for about a minute to soften and cook down the taste

if you are are using jarred sauce or canned tomatoes feel free to toss it all in at once.

THIS IS IMPORTANT BUT LET THE LIQUID COOK OFF YOUR TOMATOES AS MUCH AS YOU CAN

i would recommend up to twenty minutes if possible, being careful it doesn't burn on the sides. the sauce will change color as a result, turning a deep brown / red and that's when you know it's ready. the pan should feel almost dry.

if you like a blended sauce - now is the time for you to take out from the pan and blend with a little water *

i do not like a completely blended sauce, so i will instead use the back of my spoon to crush up my tomato and onion mixture as much as possible once cooked soft enough.

THIS IS NOT TRADITIONAL OR COMMON. but i prefer a bit of texture in my sauce and once soft enough i find the sauce still turns out silky smooth.

after you sauce is blended / smooth, add in your cream mixture, your sugar, and fenugreek powder, and cook your chicken for another few minutes

usually a little under 10 minutes for thighs and around 8 minutes for breasts if you're picky about timing.

turn your heat off and wait for the curry to stop boiling before adding in chopped cilantro

AND YOU'RE DONE YIPEEEEEE. serve with white basmati rice or naan/paratha of course 🫡

OTHER GENERAL TIPS:

the seasonings i list are intentionally light handed but i honestly use about double of everything above, so if you find that the taste is too light for you after cooking - fry more seasoning in oil in a separate pan and add it afterwards.

depending on your preference, you might like a thicker or thinner gravy. if you prefer it thinner, add more liquid (preferably water or milk) and if you prefer it thicker, feel free to just use one or the other.

be careful during the spice frying process and watch like a hawk if you dont anywhere else, because the burning will make it bitter.

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SEND ME ASKS IF YOU WANT TO TROUBLE SHOOT!!!

[italoniponic]

Burger (Short) King | Epel Felmier

Synopsis: It’s date night and the place you selected to go with Epel was this humble fast food restaurant that serves the best hamburger in the north part of the island. Well, even if you weren’t that curious about the truth in those rumors, you just wanted Epel to have fun at dinner for once. 

Epel Felmier x gender neutral reader / fluff / appleboy's accent / established relationship / use of “you” pronouns / word count: 900 words / Masterlist

Notes: This idea came from one of my talks with @pandoa about Epel’s SR Cerimonial groovy and I just idealized this dinner night with Epel. What can I do? I love bacon and the smile of happiness shining on Epel's face. And, like always, I tried my best to write him with a southern accent... I really tried ;w;

Burger (Short) King

The burger had barely been brought to your table and you just sat there in wonder on how Epel got so quick to devour the meal. It was just a dinner date in the Sage Island village at a decent Saturday night time.

But there he was — your little lilac gremlin of a boyfriend — stuffing his mouth full of meat, bacon and lettuce with gravy as if it were the first and last meal of his life after centuries of starvation. Manners at the dinner table aside, the promotional burger was really that delicious. 

When you saw the announcement promo on Magicam, you immediately remembered Epel. 

It was a double steak burger, with bacon and thin onions fried in shoyu sauce, keeping company with lettuce and fresh tomatoes, tasty pickles and a special sauce “ala Chef’s mode”. Everything a delicious fast food meal could offer in carbs and a few extra nutrients.

Or it was what Epel tried to justify on the way there, which made you both ask for apple juice. But the juice alone wouldn’t nullify the bacon or the steak, you assumed with good humor.

It was then that the real reason for Epel’s enthusiasm occurred to you: most, if not all, of Pomefiore would not take your dinner so good-naturedly.

You knew that clogging up with fast-food wasn’t beneficial in many ways, but it was only for one day. Epel wouldn’t die if he ate enough meat for one night. In fact, with the addition of the potatoes and the pie he planned to buy for you both as a dessert at a nearby bakery, you wondered how much Epel usually ate for dinner.

You knew that before Epel met you, he sat alone in the cafeteria most of the time at the beginning of the year. Sometimes he was accompanied by Jack because they were the same class, other times his dorm leader and vice would personally supervise him — if there was time on their lunch schedule.

Epel even had a bag of onions in his blazer pocket to put for lunch if he needed it, which usually drove Jack’s sense of smell crazy. But he didn’t have to bring anything like that to your date, fortunately.

“Is it good?,” you asked after taking your first bite of the burger.

Epel had his mouth full of bacon and chips when you asked him for his opinion. He swallowed it all before answering you.

“Delicious, I tell ya what!,” he replied with a big smile.

It took a few minutes but Epel’s mouth was freer to talk — and let slip a little of the accent you loved so much.

“You know that no one is going to steal your sandwich, right? You can eat more calmly. You know, like really chew and enjoy the food,” you giggled, trying to reassure him.

“Have ya forgot who my dorm leader is? Well, I s’wanee I’ll be damned if not admit that, without Rook, I wouldn’t even be here. 'To thank lil’ someone don’t kill nor take a bite out of ya', meemaw say.” 

You didn’t remember hearing anything similar before, but if it was advice from Marja Felmier, there was nothing to question.

Not to mention that it was a big truth — it took a lot of bribery and dramatizations of your wish to have dinner alone with your boyfriend to convince Rook to be your accomplice in this far from nutritional crime.

Just in case, you two were in the corner closest to the back exit of the diner, with no windows in sight and with a lot of things around to keep people from recognizing you. 

You never know when you’re picking a poisoned apple from a seemingly well-meaning old lady, or even an extremely romantic hunter. Can’t never risk enough, you could only suppose. You would do anything to ensure the success of that date.

Epel took advantage of your thoughtful moment to eat some more. His eyes, when not closed with satisfaction, had a delightful shimmer to them that put the night stars to shame.

It was the best gift you could have given him. In fact, the boy could only think that apple carvings wouldn’t be enough to reward you.

He was actually going to try to plan something truly worthy of your kindness to him — and his countryside stomach that wouldn’t deny good meat in front of him.

But you didn’t feel like you needed any reward. Watching his joy was enough to make your heart happy. You took a sip of the apple juice, amazed at the way Epel smiled even while chewing. You held back a laughter as you watched him lick a sauce mustache that was forming above his lips.

Epel’s joy was your greatest and most precious treasure. It was enough.

“I’d do anything for you.”

“What didja say?,” the boy asked, distracted.

“C-can you pass me a napkin?,” you tried to disguise your words, not wanting to scare him with the intensity of your emotions.

Although confused, Epel shrugged and held out the small box of napkins to you.

While you were bothering to wipe non-existent crumbs from your mouth, the look of your boyfriend and his smile went unnoticed by you. Even if it took a long time before you could repeat that kind of date night, nothing would change within his heart.

Epel would still love you tons.

| Special notes: I wanted to make it a little longer but maybe another time. And I stand that I would fight all Pomefiore just to deliver the most crazy stuffed burger from McDonalds to Epel. They can't hold the power of sertanejo in my veins!! |

[thewaitisogre]

we are almost at the end and greg hasn’t seen any real consequences for anything he’s done and he’s done a lot of things. at first i thought it was a defect in the writing, but i think it’s jesse armstrong’s way of saying some people get by on privilege alone. we like to think everyone in high positions deserve to be there because it makes us feel like our lives are in good hands, but the truth is very few people deserve to be up there. they’re just bullshitting their way through it and they will ride that gravy train until someone stops them.

[fangirltothefullest]

Thoughts on the welcome home update because YES. Spoilers below the cut.

That sleep aid pill is called remderem which is almost "remember" but the d would be backwards, and its also almost "murder me" while missing the u. Is this anything? I don't know. Im always looking for names of things in args.

We have seen through two puppets eyes. First it was Wally and his discomfort and/or dissociation, and now it's Eddie's discomfort and/or dissociation. Which is fun because we've heard that Eddie would do crafts for the show and you'd just see his hands so that was a fun touch.

First iteration of the website we had mail letters (Eddie) giving us clues. Second iteration had bugs (Frank?) and active drawings (Wally?) giving us clues. Now we have symbols giving us clues and they remind me of stickers a little bit so possibly a connection to Sally? Who else would give the tiny pictures? Questions questions.

At the end of that commercial before his existential crisis, they say Eddie has been invited and they did his job for him so he could rest. Eddie does not seem happy about them doing his job for him instead of letting him do it himself. I am reminded of how clumsy with the mail he seems to be sometimes and how much work they make him do in the other audio clips. I wonder if he is feeling extremely overwhelmed but also unappreciated and that they can do all this work to help and choose not to most days? Sally insists it was easy to do and Eddie does not sound pleased.

One thing i can't stop thinking about and i have to go back and really re-watch the commercials closely, is Poppy. When they invite Eddie to the party they say everyone is there but there's no Poppy in the picture? And earlier they poured gravy on an ornament that, to me, looked very oddly shaped and almost like meat, and we hear Poppy, but we don't see her. So... a pea on a plate..... "P" on a plate? My brain could be misconstruing but did they eat Poppy and is that what he's actually seeing and is that why it's all red? I'd he seeing the reality beyond the mask? Is it more than a pea?

Eddie says "where?" In his crisis as a response to Frank calling his name. People are talking about this as if he doesn't know where he is. I agree this is a likely idea but what if he's asking where Poppy is? Do we ever actually see her in any of the videos or do we just hear her?

Wally has feelings a lot which is good to confirm he has feelings! Eddie also said he would be happy with an apple every single day and my he is an innocentbautism creature wally agenda is flourishing.

The amount if commercials has me fascinated because people used to do that for TV shows (still do but those earlier type ones welcome home is referencing is spot on) commercials for basically everything is accurate and what is funny is the accuracy of what each person is selling. Howdy with the cigarette commercial- he takes every opportunity to sell you something no matter what even if it's not good for you. Sleepy looking Wally selling you sleeping pills happy with the thought of the dream.

Wally being nervous about getting the holiday correct. Is it because he's never done it or ia Home going to hurt him?

Did home hurt Eddie because he was upset during the party? It sure fucking looks like it with home watching him so intensely. Does the chair have something to do with it?

Eddie's scribbled writing reminds me of the people trying to decipher the code on the safe.

On the secret pages it's signed "-W." But it talks as if it's a human person who watched the show and is working either the WHRP team. It also talks too grown up to be wally. Who is this?? Is it the same person from the terrified scribbles of the hidden page previously? It seems maybe so because of referencing needing the cleanup.

[rickfucker]

can u please just infodump about ricks autism?like his stims,his “icky sensations” etc?thank you! <3

Please forgive the informal nature of this; I obviously have not been writing a lot lately, but I'm back on my Adderall and thinking about Rick as much as I think about Astarion from Baldur’s Gate.

First of all, Rick’s love of Birdperson is because he’s so unlike anyone Rick’s ever met. He’s totally straight forward, no guessing games on his intentions. Given a theory that I just reblogged a day ago, he’s probably got familial trauma similar enough to Rick, in their distrust of love, and possibly marriage. Birdperson is serious and goal-oriented, but lets loose around Rick’s influence BECAUSE they’re both autistic as fuck LMAO.

Rick is hella stimmy. He’s big on echolalia. Always whistling, humming or singing, repeating brand new alien phrases (wubba lubba dub dub, duhh) that have a good mouth feel. Writing songs with his favorite words. Also totally makes fun of people who can’t whistle.

I’ve talked before about his food & texture sensitivities. He’s totally fine eating spaghetti made out of people, but lo mein noodles? Absolutely not; too slimy. He can rip the head off a snake with his bare teeth, yes. He's just so specific with the things he dislikes. Take a chicken breast for example - that's fine. Breaded? Fine. Gravy on chicken breast? Fine. Gravy on breaded chicken breast? Bin it. Anything attached to a bone? No, thank you. Anything that still looks like the animal (whole fish filet, for example), no, thank you. Soup? Better be vegetable and no solids except croutons only. That way, nothing gets too soggy.

He inspects every chip/crisp/french fry before eating for black or green parts. If they have any blemishes like that, they’re getting chucked. He tried once to eat one once, just to challenge himself, and nearly got sick. The texture was simply ungodly.

Some one-off thoughts:

He hates a lot of different clothing textures, which is why he’s always wearing the same outfits. He cut off those clothing tags and cloned the result so he doesn’t have to deal anymore. 

Usually wears shoes around the house. Doesn’t like walking around the house without socks on.

Clumsy when he’s not on high-alert, like on adventures. Got hella bruises on his legs from running into the living room furniture & his work areas in the garage.

Definitely particular about temperature. He keeps his room a toasty 71 degrees, but never 72.

that's all I got for now. Hope you enjoy, anon.

[literaticat]

Since I’m hearing that most author marketing doesn’t significantly move the needle on book sales - is it ok then for an author to not market their book?

I don’t mean not talk about it; I mean skipping out on doing book tours, launches, interviews, presentations, cringe videos with one’s pet to try to game the algo…

Authors "not significantly moving the needle on book sales" all on their own is probably true in most cases. However, authors WITH PUBLISHER SUPPORT can for sure move the needle.

I would suggest that you do everything the publisher wants you to do in terms of marketing, etc. That IS them trying to move the needle, and you need to help as much as you can.

Beyond that, on your own, it's nice for you to do what is in your power to boost your own work without sinking a ton of money or all your energy into it. Your being game and positive may well inspire the publisher to give you more support, and look, there goes that needle again.

Appearances: If your publisher is sending you to a conference, book festival, on a book tour or similar (ie, paying for the travel, setting it up, etc) - DO IT! This is marketing that not every book automatically gets, your publisher WANTS you to do this, they are PAYING for you to do this, yes, you should absolutely do this.

If you're talking about setting up your OWN book tour, or paying to travel out of state to some conference on your OWN dime -- well, if you really want to do that and can afford to do that, sure, but I wouldn't go out of my way to pay for that kind of thing.

School Visits - if it is something where the publisher is setting it up and they are considering it part of a tour or a marketing opportunity - DO IT! IF you want to do your own as a money-making venture (where you charge the schools) -- by all means! It's a good source of income for a lot of kid's authors! But if that's just not something you enjoy or have the bandwidth for, you can skip it.

Interviews and whatnot -- again, if it is something that the publisher is setting up, with a well-regarded magazine, review outlet, blogger with big reach, online influencer, fancy TV show or big podcast or something like that where it's not easy to get that kind of coverage -- DO IT! Do you need to hustle all over NYC to try and set up your own Vanity Fair article or Good Morning America appearance or whatever? Absolutely not.

Social Media -- THIS IS IN YOUR POWER, and is free. Yes, please. You don't have to GO OFF or anything - but some social media presence, ONE platform at least, would be helpful. I have written extensively about how to start social media stuff if you don't feel adept at it, look at the FAQ. No, you don't have to make "cringe videos with your pet" -- but yeah, you should do *something* if at all possible, if only so that librarians and whatnot can write to you and you can post starred reviews of your books or whatever.

Website -- This is in your power, and costs little, and is important. YES PLEASE. Keep it updated. Have a press kit on there. PLEASE.

Other things you can and should absolutely do: Have a local launch party to celebrate with your friends and family -- introduce yourself to local booksellers and offer to sign stock -- direct people to that bookstore to buy autographed books via your social media, website and/or newsletter. Be nice to people. ETC.

Anything beyond that is gravy -- fine if you want gravy, but if you don't like it, and it costs $$ -- it is not necessary.

[heartthrobin]

and let our hands make art (3)

mechanic!eddie munson x farmgirl!reader

wc: 7.5k

warnings: reader is a going thru a lot, swearing, half-assed space terminology (writer is not an astronomer), cheesy ending (everyone cheered)

an: ahhhhh !!! it's the last part. i'm so proud of this fic and i hope you loved reading it as much as i loved writing it :)))

summary: for what it's worth. you'd tried. tried hard not to let him in, but he was slick and greasy and the hot sun had melted you all over. and maybe sometimes you're allowed to want things.

part one & part two

Eddie stepped into the muggy kitchen. Your eyes flickered behind him where daddy was shaking Carl’s hand out on the porch, he handed Daddy a pocket-size bottle of rich brown whiskey.

Your gaze returned to the man in your kitchen.

For what was definitely the first time since you’d met him, Eddie was dressed like he didn’t live elbow deep in engine grease.

His hair was fluffier than usual, not matted down with sweat as it was most afternoons. He wore a black buttoned shirt, it was cuffed at the elbow.

“You— uh,” your gulp was embarrassingly loud: “you look … nice.”

To be fair, “nice” wasn’t nearly an accurate enough description to describe how the sight of him all crisp and dapper standing just close enough to smell the aftershave had turned your stomach into a high-power washing machine.

“Hmm, a compliment?” His eyebrow pinched against his forehead, his smirk was unavoidable. “Better park the truck in the barn, it’s gonna hail pigs tonight.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head. You hoped he didn’t notice where you felt your cheeks warming. “You know what, I take it back—“

He laughed loudly, “Wait, wait! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Thank you for the compliment.”

His eyes glittered even in the dim room.

He surprised you by speaking again. “And you look … beautiful. You always look beautiful.”

Fiery streaks raged up your cheeks. Of course you don’t look beautiful, he’s just teasing.

The thought didn’t console your thumping heart, however.

“There’s the little miss!” Carl’s voice was booming in the limited vicinity of the kitchen.

His wide warm hand found purchase against your shoulder, shaking you jovially.

You wobbled slightly, “Good evening, Mr A.”

“I hear you been working my boy real hard out here in the dust, hey sweetheart?”

Your eyes flickered between Eddie, who was harbouring a curled lip, and Carl where his grip tightened around the edge of the back of a chair at the table.

“Hmph,” you guffawed lightly. “I’m sure he thinks so.”

Carl’s stomach vibrated with laughter, he fell down into his seat across from where you stood. Eddie hesitantly pulled out the chair beside him.

Your eyes clung desperately to the buttons struggling against his chest.

Fuck. 

“Cherry, won’t you grab the salad from the fridge there.”

You felt the heat of Eddie’s gaze against your face: your eyes shifted quickly from where they’d been practically rubbing up his torso to meet the deep brown stare. 

His brow was cocked, amusement alight in his face.

“Cherry?” He mouthed.

Your eyes rolled back. 

“Shut up.” You mouthed back just quietly enough to evade a scolding from Daddy where he was carefully pulling the hot dish from the oven. 

Carl and Daddy did most of the talking that night. 

Forks scraped loudly against the plates between conversation of car engines and peaches and gas prices and incapable senators. 

Keeping your eyes on your plate proved difficult, just as it did most of all those afternoons in the barn, when Eddie was chewing animatedly around his mouthfuls of food. 

He crunched his salad loudly between his teeth and would sigh softly around particularly sweet pieces of chicken. A faint smudge of orange gravy lingered just below his bottom lip and the thought of licking it off was driving you to point of insanity. 

Somewhere around when Carl had dished up his third serving of cornbread, the chatter steered over to the tattooed mechanic at your end of the table. 

“So tell me son,” Daddy sipped at his glass of iced-tea, “How’d you end up in lil ol’ countryside Tennessee? Carl says you’re out from Indiana side?” 

Eddie nodded, swallowing a mouthful. Your gaze greedily watched his Adam’s apple bob at the action. 

“Yes sir, that’s right.”

He shifted in his seat, clearly searching for his next words. If you didn't watch him as much as you did, allow his words and actions to haunt you most nights, you might not have noticed how his hands curled into nervous fists. 

“I-- uh, I graduated late from high school and felt like I needed a new start. So I left and started working, nearby states and the like.”

Daddy surveyed him, clearly interested, “Oh yeah? Whereabouts?” 

Eddie shrugged, he caught your eye for a fraction of a moment before pulling it back to the man at the head of the table. 

“Over the last two years, Kentucky, Arkansas ... Virginia for a while.” He spooned another heaping of mash into his mouth, “Never stay in one place too long.”

His last sentence struck you harder in the gut than you’d anticipated.

So you were right. 

He isn't staying. 

You hadn't even noticed that the conversation had steered to you before Carl rapped his knuckles loudly against the table -- 

“Caught in her own world this one, huh?” He was chuckling again, a laugh that sounded like dragging a bag of fertiliser over tar. 

“Beg your pardon, Mr A?” 

The old man stuck a persistent hand in your direction, swallowing roughly around a mouthful. “Was just asking what you get up to ‘round here, when your toes ain’t between the soil. Surely you got somethin’ keeping you busy.”

“Oh, there’s nothing really--”

“All I mean is I don’t see any young farm boys hangin’ round in the evenings, sure ya old man’s glad for that.” He was jostling Daddy in the arm. The look on Daddy’s face was blurry, like you couldn’t read him, but you swore his eye flickered over to where you could feel Eddie’s gaze on your cheek from across the table. 

“Nope, none a’ that.” He said. 

Carl turned back to you, face twisted in anticipation. 

You shifted the mash on your plate. “Nothing really, Mr A. Lots of work to do, I stay busy with my toes between the soil.” 

“Now that’s not true, Cherry.” Daddy piped up from his end of the table, he waved his fork in the air. “Tell him about all your space things.”

“Space things?” Carl’s brow tightened. “Oh yeah?” 

“Space things?” 

Eddie. 

He was looking at you through those thick lashes, waterline dark with black liner. 

The racing blush heating your face was impossible to miss, you were sure.

“Well, it’s not really--” 

“Yeah, Cherry loves all that stuff. The stars, and the planets and the atmosphere: all that Star Track and Star Worlds--”

“Daddy.”

The unfolding interaction was only brightening the amusement in Eddie’s eyes. He set his cutlery down. 

“Star Trek, hey?” 

“No. It’s not that stuff,” you fought to defend your quickly deteriorating reputation. “The real science, not that crap on television. Real constellations, milky ways, foreign galaxies. Distant stars. Stuff like that.” 

Eddie’s head was tilted against his shoulder, he was watching you unabashedly. 

“I’d say. With all the textbook and posters I’ve bought over the years. Her room is covered in ‘em. Stars everywhere.”

“That’s ... that’s cool.” Eddie sounded out of breath when he spoke. 

“I ain’t smart enough to understand all that.” Carl shrugged, forking more food down his gullet. 

“Sure is cool, ‘least she thinks so.” Daddy pressed. “She’ll show you all her books and that after dinner, Eddie. Won’t you, Cherry?” 

Somehow the mash had hardened upon his words, it lodged like a stone in your throat. 

You coughed loudly. “Daddy, I don’t think Eddie’s interested in my--”

But between the food and the incessant pester of three men who love the sound of their own voices, not for the first time since you sat for dinner, you were unable to finish your sentence. 

“I would actually love to see your posters and your books.”

The edge of that grin could slice a fat, ripe peach all the way across in one go.

Carl overtook table talk again. Something about a memory from when him and Daddy were in high school, something about an old football player with a bad knee. 

It stretched beyond plates scraped clean. 

“How about a bit of that Daniels out on the porch, huh old boy?” Carl asked finally. 

Daddy sighed, hand rubbing over his stomach protruding over the belt on his jeans. “A’ course.” 

He turned to you, he referenced over the plates with his hand. “Cherry would you mind, dear?”   

You nodded enthusiastically, desperate for relief from avoiding looking up to Eddie’s figure across from you. 

The chairs scraped loudly. 

“You’re welcome for a drink, Munson.” Carl pressed. 

A wide hand chased back loose hairs, “No, no, I’m alright. Thanks boss.” 

The plates clattered against each other where you stacked them. A warm grasp made you jump when it closed over yours. 

“Let me take that.” 

He was much closer now when you met his face. 

“It’s-- don’t worry I got it.” 

Warm familiarity lapped at your brain, the memory of that first hot afternoon between the peaches. A crate of fruit against your hip. 

His voice softened, just as it did that day. “Come on. Let me help you, love.” 

The word settled deep into a cove in the pit of your stomach. Love. 

“Okay.” 

Cool water rushed noisily into the depths of the sink, soap frothed happily on the surface. The plates swum below the surface. 

“You washing or drying?” Eddie asked at you where you were searching the cupboard for a sponge. 

He fidgeted with the end of his shirt that was tucked into his jeans, not for the first time that evening. 

God, this shirt is itchy. 

But it was his best one. The one he’d dug out from the back of his cupboard a couple minutes before Carl pulled up and whistled at him from the driver’s seat.

“All dressed up to see ya’ princess, ay Munson?” 

He’d washed his hair, opened up a bottle of shower gel that had been hidden in one of the many boxes scattered around his place and even had a second to struggle against black eyeliner in his bathroom mirror. 

But he hadn’t seen her all week. Seen you all week. 

Like a siren song you haunted him in his dreams, on his drive to the shop and when his fingers fumbled between filthy engine parts he thought of you then too. 

“Uhm, whatever you want.” 

“I’ll wash then.” 

The sight of you in the kitchen with the muddy ends of your jeans and your hair shining with the afternoon sun through the window was enough to convince him that all the dress up hadn't been in vain. That you actually did exist and you weren’t some mirage he'd dreamt up in a haze of Tennessee soil and engine grease fumes. 

His hands sunk into the warm water, you tossed the sponge where he caught it: wetting the side of his shirt. 

The yellow sponge squeaked over the plates. 

You hummed quietly. Oh, thunder only happens when it's raining. Players only love you when they're playing. Say, women, they will come and they will go. 

He was taken back to the drive home from Madison’s. Fleetwood Mac again. 

Eddie could listen to the soft hum of your voice forever, he only wish you’d sing.

Instead you stopped, stopped Dreams to lean over and pick up a dry towel. 

“Nice dinner.” He commented into the silence, head down towards the water. His hair tickled at his nose. 

You smiled only briefly, from what he caught from the side of his eye and between the tendrils of his hair. 

“Yeah. Yeah. Carl’s got a real mouth on him.” 

Eddie chuckled, “Yeah. He likes your old man.” 

You laughed, soft like a butterfly’s fluttering wings. “Clearly. He talks like everything was just yesterday. When they ran track, when they got drunk at Mr Alistair’s house--”

Eddie blew at the piece of hair against his lip. 

He could feel you turn to him, trepidation lingering at your fingertips that had slowed to a stop. 

“You ... you need a hand there with that mane?”  

The question surprised him, but he nodded nonetheless. A little bit of a chuckle preceding his response. 

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” 

From around your wrist, you produced a yellow hair tie. 

You laughed in return, “Kind of scared to get my hands into this jungle on top of your head.” 

“Come on: you love it, doll.”

You huffed, “Shut up, Greenie. Lean your head back.” 

He brought his head to rest back against his shoulders, where with absolutely no warning your warm hands reached between the tendrils. 

A sigh escaped him, one he prayed you never heard. Fingertips climbed from the base of his head to just above his forehead, his eyes fluttered shut. 

“Looks clean for once.” Your voice was soft. 

He barely heard your jab. 

“Mhm.” 

Eddie felt the hair lift off his shoulders. 

Your fingers chased longer than they should have. It was quiet. 

He was plagued with the wonder of what those hands would feel like against his own palm. Against his chest or behind his neck. Maybe in the space at the bottom of his back. 

“It’s soft.” You whispered. He speculated on whether you intended on him hearing it at all. 

A plate slipped from his grip. It banged against the floor of the sink. 

Your hands were gone.

His eyes flew open, in the reflection of the window he noticed how you’d tied the hair up into a bun like how he wore it most days. 

You coughed quietly. 

“Looks--looks good.” He clarified, a wobble to the edge of his voice. “Thanks.”

Your hands sunk into the water, you shrugged. “That’s how you wear it most of the time.” 

“So you noticed, hm?” He tried to steady his voice again, falling back into playful banter.

“Yeah.” But your voice missed it’s usual teasing lilt, “I like it like that. Can see your face better.” 

Eddie’s eyes flickered up from the soapy plate. You were wiping away like you hadn’t just made all the hair on his body stand straight up. 

He forwent acknowledging your words.

  “So ... Cherry, huh?” 

You laughed again, it melded with the clink of the plate against the others where you sat it down. “Yep. Cherry. He’s always called me that.” 

Eddie’s brow tugged, motioning over his shoulder back towards where the barn sat behind the house. “Something to do with that Cobra stuck up in the barn, does it?”

“Indeed.” You nodded, “You couldn’t get me out of that thing growing up. Daddy would come fetch me in the driver’s seat long past sunset fiddling with the steering wheel.” 

He smiled at the notion. The image of a younger you sitting, humming Fleetwood Mac behind the wheel of a stationary, cherry red Cobra. 

“That barn is fucking hot.”

That made Eddie laugh harder. “You’re fucking telling me.”

The laughter filled every crevice in the kitchen, enough that he spotted your daddy and Carl looking back over their shoulders from their rocking chairs out on the deck. 

It took a minute before his chest rumbled to a slow, low chuckle. 

You shook your head, the huffs of a last laugh escaping you. “It was my mother’s.”

Eddie’s hands stilled. His brow creased, “What?”

The air had grown stiller. Your smile was weaker. “You asked me that first day, how does a car like this end up on a farm in the middle of nowhere?” 

His chest tightened, his words sounded worse coming from your mouth now than when he’d said them first. 

He nodded slowly. “Oh.” 

“Yeah. The only thing left of her ‘round here.”

The plate squeaked beneath his fingertips, the last one. 

“She ... is she--?” 

“Is she dead?” Your words slipped out with a strange-sounding chuckle, “No, not at all. Just a deadbeat. Walked out. Left the car though, thank God.” 

“Shit.” Eddie didn’t know what to do with his hands anymore. “I’m ... I’m sorry.” 

The stark reality of your trooping around the farm washed over him warmer than the already stifling kitchen. Why you patrolled and frowned and worked and shrugged off every grease-head that came traipsing up on the farm. 

It was just you. There was nobody else to do it. 

His thoughts were cut in half when you bumped your shoulder against his arm, wiping down your hands with a cloth before offering it to him. “Don’t be. It’s better without her.”  

You were looking right up at him for the first time since reaching the sink. Your eyes brought him comfort. “Right ... you wanna go join the men outside for a drink--”

He caught you by your wrist before you’d even moved to turn, “Uh, uh, uh.”

Your eyes rolled, already knowing where this was going but still not pulling your arm from his grip. 

“You thought I was gonna forget?” He grinned, “I wanna see your space stuff.”

 “You’re not serious.”

“Serious as a heart attack.” 

His touch moved from your wrist to your hand, shifting it gently against his palm. Still, you didn’t take it back. Instead your lashes rested annoyed up against your eyebrows.

“Fine.” 

Eddie’s heart thrummed against his ribs as you lead him through the kitchen, attached by the hand towards a darkened staircase and pounded harder when you moved slowly up with heavy steps. 

This wasn’t how he’d imagined being lead to your room the first time, but somehow it felt more fitting. 

“I can practically hear you forming a bad joke about going to my room.” 

He scoffed, wondering momentarily if you could really tell what he was thinking.

“No, I wasn’t.”

A narrow corridor, two doors. The tall one at the end. 

“Yes you were.”

The brass knob whined beneath your hand. 

“Nuh-uh.”

“Just admit it, I know you were cooking up some perverted comment under that big head of hair, Munson.”

The door creaked open.

“Perverted? I wouldn’t dare dream of such--”

Eddie stopped. Talking and walking. 

Your hand broke from his. 

He’d fallen into a technicolour acid trip. 

The sky lunged at him, an expanse of stars and red and blue fog as far as he could see. 

Clippings, posters, little squares of text cut from what he was sure was magazines and newspapers. They covered every square inch of the room, the colour of the wall a discarded mystery. 

A single bed leaned against the wall closest to the window, a side attraction to the universe engulfing it. There was a blonde wooden desk in the corner, barely discernible from beneath the stacks of newspapers and textbooks leaning precariously upon it. 

“Well, this is it I guess." you wrung your hands, shoulders pulled up against your reddening ears. "I told you it’s not much ...”

Eddie’s eyes found you again. The most beautiful thing between the galaxies, he’d decided. 

He was reminded by your short nervous breaths that he still hadn’t said anything. 

“It’s ... this is amazing.” 

Your shoulders slumped slightly, letting him know that he’d spoken appropriately. You took a small relieving sigh, it was followed tentatively by a smile. 

“Thanks. It took a long time to collect everything, magazines and books and ... posters from yard sales.” 

Eddie took a slow step towards the nearest wall, watching how the stars climbed to the ceiling. “Do you know what they’re all called?”

His finger pressed against what looked like a pink and orange cloud. 

You stepped quickly from where you’d been standing hesitantly by the door, a warm richness to your tone when you spoke: 

“I mean, not all of them, but that one is Orion’s Nebula.” You pressed your finger against his and goosebumps ran up his arm. “It’s in our Milky Way and on some clear nights you can even see it in the sky without a telescope! It’s thirteen hundred lightyears away--”

You were so close against the side of Eddie’s face. His heart was swelling like a parade balloon in his chest, he thought he might collapse at the sound of your voice. 

His finger moved quickly to the next, “And this one?” 

“That’s the Crab Nebula, the reason it’s called that is because--” your words were punctuated with your giggles, “--the guy who first discovered it drew a rough sketch and people thought it looked like a crab.”

His finger moved to the next, “This one?” 

“This one’s a star. Betelgeuse. It’s also called Alpha Orionis--”

But Eddie couldn’t stop. Couldn’t get enough. His finger shifted to the next and the next and the next until you’d been speaking for nearly twenty minutes and Eddie could see every single constellation behind your eyes as you did, quickly losing grasp on his sense of sanity. 

“-- and they’re building this telescope, it’s called Hubble, that they’re gonna launch in the next ten years and it’s gonna be able to take much better photos than these that I’ve got.”

Maybe you’d finally caught him staring, but you stopped suddenly. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been talking too long.” He watched how your shoulder came back up close to your ears in embarrassment. 

“It’s amazing.”

You’re amazing.

“You’re making me fall in love with space.”

You’re making me fall in love with you.

You nodded slowly, “I’m glad. I’m surprised that not everyone is.” 

“Why didn’t you go study space or something after high school?” He waved over the lengths of stars and galaxies and planets around the room. “You’re the smartest woman in this whole town, if not the state.”

Your mouth opened to respond, then closed again. You chewed around your words for a long moment before eventually spitting them out. 

“I did.” You sounded ashamed. “I applied to astronomy in Arizona and California and a couple other states.” 

“And?” 

Suddenly your hands felt hot. You pressed them down the sides of your filthy jeans. Eddie’s confused eyes held you in place against the wood floor.

“I got in.” 

He took a step towards you, shortening the distance you’d allowed yourself to breathe. “Why didn’t you go?”

The laugh you let off was short and humourless, cold and sensitive to the touch. You motioned your hand over your shoulder at the window. 

“I can’t leave here. My daddy wouldn’t survive all alone.”

Eddie took another step, shorter this time but enough to bring him where his breath tickled your cheeks. A sweaty hand reached to find yours.

“Did he ever tell you that?”

It pressed against your own warm palm. 

“He doesn’t have to.”

There was a couple strands of black hair peeking out around his face and his eyes crinkled at the edges. He was too close, far too close. 

“There’s a planetarium in Chicago, I saw it on TV once. A big one.” His voice was soft like Sunday wind blowing against linen on the line. “We could go. I could take you.”

Your heart leapt up to your throat, your lips open in a silenced gasp. “The Adler Planetarium?” You asked softly. Breathlessly. 

Eddie inched forward and somewhere within yourself you found the courage to allow him to. He chuckled softly, his furry top lip reached out to yours if only for a brush. “I’m sure that’s the one. I’m not as smart as you, doll.”

For a hot fleeting second, the vision crossed your mind: you and Eddie in his white pick-up, driving hours across the country. Seeing a real planetarium like how you’ve dreamed for so long, seeing another state, seeing Chicago. 

Maybe it would be cold like how you never saw in Tennessee. Maybe you’d have to wear snow boots and maybe Eddie would hold your gloved hand the whole time. 

Suddenly, you found his thumb at your jaw. You couldn’t recall how it found it’s way, but it stayed. He twisted his face so as to press his hot lips against your cheek. He kissed there once, then again. 

Your eyes rolled closed, imagining for a moment to be beneath the starry Illinois sky with Eddie pressed against you the way he was just then. 

He moved slowly down, catching your breath at the top of your throat with each peck down over your jaw, to the column of your neck and at the junction of your collar bone.

“Will you come with me?” He whispered. His hand was still tight between your fingers, the other stroking against your jaw. 

“I--”

Somewhere in the distance, Cowboy barked. 

“Cherry!”

Your eyes flew open as if ripped from a dream in the dead of night. The icy cold hand of circumstance tightened over your throat. Visions of Chicago dissolved quickly from behind your eyes. 

You stepped back out of Eddie’s grip.

He straightened up, confusion deep-set in his thick brow. “Uh, I think your old man is calling.”

“I heard.” You were avoiding his eye, wiping a hand over your neck where you could still feel his lips. “We should go.” 

Despite your best effort of trying to pass him towards the door uninterrupted, Eddie caught your wrist. His face dripped in sincerity.

“So, Chicago?”

You shook your head, waiting for the lump in your throat to allow you to speak. 

“T-That’s two states away. I can’t afford to leave, Eddie.” You pulled your hand from his grasp. 

“Cherry, Carl’s heading out!”

The way his cheeks sunk at the fall of his smile made you nauseous. 

“It’s not that far, just a couple hours. We could go for a weekend, or just a night. Or even just a day--”

The rolling waves of embarrassment you’d become achingly familiar with washed over you again. The same ones that drowned you when your friends would visit from college or send pictures of their new lives at the coast or on the road. The waves that reminded you of the decisions your mother made, the same ones you can’t repeat. 

You didn’t want to leave, you couldn’t. 

“Eddie, I just can’t, alright?” You pressed, a sharp edge to your voice. “Not all of us can just jump state to state, I have a family. I have responsibilities--”

“I have a family.” 

It shut you up. Quickly.

It was a thought that hadn’t crossed your mind, you realised selfishly. A thought that paused you in your tracks. 

Eddie’s face was pulled tightly, in a way you’d never seen it. 

“I have people who care about me back home too. I have responsibilities.”

“Eddie, I--”

“Cherry!”

“Doll, if you didn’t want to go you could have just said so. I can take a hint.” 

He moved faster past you than you had opportunity to blink away the tears prickling at the edge of your eyes. 

By the time you’d given up on swallowing around the lump in your throat and reached the landing in the kitchen, Eddie and Mr Abernathy were nothing but a cloud of dust over the driveway. 

- 

He returned the next day. 

You didn’t go down to greet and he didn’t come near the house. 

Around midday the white pick-up pulled into the driveway. You watched down on the yard from the window of your room, the Orion Nebula glaring a hole into the side of your head from the wall. Eddie emerged with a red toolbox and disappeared around the house. 

You didn’t make him lunch and he never came to ask. You hoped he might. 

But the hours passed and the sun sunk while bitterness and guilt tugged at either end of the same rope across your chest. 

I shouldn’t have snapped at him. 

He should learn to mind his own business, he knows nothing about me.

It would be nice to go with him to Chicago, he’s sweet for asking. 

He’s just gonna play with your heart and then jump over to the next state to do the same thing with some other poor broad. And who’s gonna have to pick up the pieces when he leaves? Me!

Your head rung until you were sick in the stomach. 

Past sunset the truck still lingered in the driveway. The air was muggy with the promise of a storm. 

You were packing pesticides in the shed around the back of the house with Cowboy’s tail thumping against the wood when you heard footsteps passing. 

The dog leapt clumsily to his feet, keen to chase after his most favourite person. 

You heard Eddie’s soft coo at the dog, “hey big boy”, and his foot falls up the three porch steps. Then the knock at the door. 

Daddy answered, you tried to listen but the conversation disappeared between the wind and the swaying peach leaves. 

He called for you, Daddy, but you pretended not to hear.

Embarrassment and shame and guilt and anger bubbled too close to the surface. You didn’t want to see Eddie. Maybe not ever again. 

You knew it to be a lie. A temporary comfort to your troubled mind. 

Thunder rumbled grumpily far out above your head. 

His lips still hadn’t left your neck and when your eyes shut you still heard his laugh against your cheek. You thought he may just have driven you insane. 

Only once you’d heard the jostle of the car disappearing down the road did you slip out from the shed under a sheath of lightning strike into the yellow lit kitchen. 

A set of keys was watching you from the counter. Daddy was scrubbing a pair of dirty jeans in the sink. He glanced over his shoulder at you. 

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You nodded as if he could see you, but your eyes never left the counter. “Those the Cobra keys?” 

Daddy gave a triumphant huff, flicking his hands off by the sink and reaching for a dish cloth. “Indeed it is. Eddie came by just a couple minutes ago, said she’s all fixed up. We can give her a go in the morning.” 

Your heart dropped like a hot stone into your stomach. 

It was done. 

The car was done-- he was done. 

“Oh.” 

Daddy’s barely dry hands pulled the keys off the wood, he cradled your hand and let them fall into your palm. He smiled and you worked hard to smile back. 

“These are yours, Cherry.” He spoke softly, tightening his hand over your own. “She’ll take you anywhere you wanna go. You just need the courage to get behind the wheel.” 

Against the pinching in your chest, you managed a mostly genuine chuckle. “Don’t be so cliché, daddy.” 

He watched your face with an earnest you hadn’t seen from him in a long time. It unsettled you. 

“Daddy?” 

“I called you when he handed in the keys. You didn’t come.” 

Your hand grew hot between his palms. “I didn’t hear you.” 

He knew you were lying, you could tell. A pause hung between you.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter, Cherry.” 

He sucked in a breath, reaching a damp hand to pat against the side of your face. 

“But you’re allowed to want things, sweetheart. To want something more, or want someone to share it all with.” 

“Daddy ...” your thoughts swirled like whisky in a dancer’s cup, “I-- thank you for the car, I’m happy. I don’t know what you’re--”

“You’re not your mother, Cherry.” 

His words stung like steaming coffee tossed over your face. 

You blinked. The pain eased. 

The edges of your eyes prickled and suddenly your throat burned. “I know. I don’t want to be.” 

“Well, you’re not. And the world deserves some of you, too.” 

Daddy had never spoken so candidly, maybe from a shared well of fear you’d both drank far too long from. 

“Where is this coming from?” 

He shrugged. Rubbing a thumb down your cheek, then back up again. 

“Maybe the pathetic look on that mech’s face when you didn’t come say goodbye after I called.” 

“That’s--”

“And maybe something about a planetarium in Chicago.” 

Your stomach jumped violently. “How did you--”

Daddy laughed, head tossed back and old age hanging off his face. “Carl’s a big talker, you know that.”

Reeling from the tug of a conversation twenty years in the making, you nodded slowly. “Right.” 

He leaned forward to kiss you on the forehead before turning to pick his hat off the counter. “And you’re welcome, Cherry. For the car. It was always yours.” 

A smile found your face. “Uh, you wouldn’t mind if I took her for a quick spin?” 

He stalled at the base of the steps where he’d slowly been creeping to bed. Daddy took a glance out the window. “There’s a storm lingering. Don’t be long.” 

- 

The wind was whipping wildly when you met the doors of the barn. 

Night was stronger than the back porch light and Cowboy’s soft upper lip flickered from the force of the gale. He was watching you in concern. 

As the doors opened, the dust from within swirled into a cloud of brown up through your hair and over your face. The keys jingled in your hand. 

You noticed that Eddie had moved the crates out the way, stacking them neatly in a corner behind the car. The same crates you’d leaned against on hot afternoons. 

The door clicked open in the dim air, making the car look a blackened red in the dark barn, and Cowboy was the first to leap in: desperate for an escape from the biting conditions. 

Following him, you collapsed into the seat. 

Stiff knuckles wrapped around the smooth leather wheel and you weren’t sure if you could cry or throw up or even start the car. Alas, the key was slotted with shaking hands into the ignition and she purred to life. 

You didn’t bother with the sentimentality of enjoying the sound - because then maybe you’d really be sick out the window - instead you pressed a hard foot down on the accelerator and let the car fly against gravel out and around the farmhouse. 

The path was dark, following the only road that went anywhere. The first pats of rain were smearing the window before where the headlights reached into the collapse of darkness ahead. 

So I begin not to love you.  Turn around to see me runnin’, I say I loved you years ago. 

Against the thrumming of your brain behind your forehead, you barely noticed that the radio had been playing since you’d left the safety of the barn. The sound of Silver Springs grew softer as the rain began to collapse brutally and unceremoniously against the windscreen. Lightning cracked over Tennessee and town teased you in the distance. 

Beyond the rumbling above, within and below, the warmth streaking down your face had gone amiss until Cowboy leaned his wet nose against your jaw from the passenger seat. You sniffled, wiping your cheeks against the back of your sleeve and with your vision progressively blurring, patted his wide head dismissively. 

The ground passing beneath you plagued little on your mind. Will you come with me?

The car was the only thing your mother hadn’t been able to pack fast enough on her way out. 

You’re not your mother, Cherry. 

The ghost of Eddie’s hand closed over yours on the wheel. You thought for a moment that maybe the car could take you all the way to Chicago without stopping and he’d be there waiting for you. Or maybe San Francisco, he’d be there as well. Or Pheonix or New York or Miami. He’d be there every time. 

You couldn’t say how far you’d driven out by then: surely not as far as Chicago, but not yet close enough to town. The storm roared around you and the streetlights were few and far between when the car gave a long whine and a jerk. 

Eyes flying wider open, your grip tightened around the wheel. 

Was I such a fool? I'll follow you down til' the sound of my voice will haunt you. Give me just a c-chance--

Stevie Nicks stuttered at you before stalling to silence. 

The dial behind the wheel was slowing, winding closer to zero and the car fumbled beneath you. 

“Fuck ... fuck--” your eyes chased wildly over the dashboard, you slapped the wheel. “No, please not now, please--”

But she did. The car dragged to a roll before a steady stop. Cowboy pawed the dash. 

“Fucking idiot, that son of a bitch--!” 

Behind the fizzled car headlights, you could make out the cloud of smoke rising from the bonnet. 

A scream like a shot bird rang from your lungs through the depths of the car, you slammed reddened palms against the wheel, again, again. Cowboy whined loudly, barking softly and clearly confused. 

You threw the door open with as much force as throwing an axe over a log, tearing out into the pouring rain. The dog leapt after you, barking loudly now at your heels.

Pain chased up your ankle through your foot from where your boot connected with the tire of the car. Your voice ripped again, out into the space between the raindrops and into the flat plains of land.

By then, you hacked and swore against the sobs tearing at your chest. The tears mingled against the rain that weighed your clothes down and stuck your hair to the sides of your face. 

You kicked the tire again. You tugged on the bonnet and it flew up. 

Equipped with limited knowledge of cars, the inky darkness of night and pouring rain: you simply stared into the depths of the car wishing to melt into the tar.

A freckle of light in the distance made you turn. 

The freckle grew to a speck as it neared. A speck to two headlights. 

Cowboy stood firmly beside you, barking hysterically in it’s direction. 

Maybe someone heading to another farm further down the road?

There was a limited range of individuals who would be out at this hour so far from town, but as the car neared it was impossible for the driver to go amiss. 

The white pick-up slowed as it neared you, pulling to a stop just a few metres off. 

You threw your hands up, “Just my fucking luck!”

The door opened, Eddie held his arm up against the rain. Cowboy ran up to and then past him, leaping into the driver’s seat he’d just abandoned. His headlights shone on you.

“What are you doing out here!” He yelled against the sky, “You’re gonna get struck by--”

“I wouldn’t be out here if you had actually fixed this fucking car, Munson!”

You turned against him, back to the bonnet. 

It was in his character to sigh dramatically, you could practically feel it against your back. 

“Let me have a look at it.” He stepped closer, but you raised a hand at him, meeting his eyes across the steps of tar and rain dividing you. 

“I don’t want your help.”

His hands met his hips, hands curling into tight fists there. Eddie was a vision in the mingling headlights of his truck and your Cobra: hair soaked through and framing his face, he was in the same muddy pants and stained shirt he’d left the farm in less than an hour ago.

“So what?” His voice was tight, annoyed and laced in exhaustion. “You gonna fix it yourself? Leave it here and walk home, then?” 

“Maybe I will!”

Eddie took a controlled step forward again, finger raised at you where you’d afforded him just half a glance up from the bonnet. 

“You’re stubborn as a mule, you know that?” 

Your throat still burned. You turned to the Cobra again. Everything was blurry beyond your lash-line. 

“You knew that a long time ago, Eddie.” 

Lightning split the sky and thunder cracked. 

“When are you just going to admit that you like me, too, Y/n?” 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything!”

Your eyes found him again, blinking away your tears against the rain. The vision reminded you of the warm afternoon he’d first appeared: from a haze of dust and bonnet fog to rescue you. Tonight again.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Your head shook, your chest rumbled with sobs. “You only think you like me now, Eddie--” 

His black eyeliner ran, he stepped closer. The cold was seeping into his bones, his brain rattled with the sound of the crying sky but mostly he shook at the sight of you so weary. A reflection of the girl he was coming to love, a ghost of the one he’d been privileged enough to unravel. 

“That’s not true.”

“But it is true. You’re gonna grow bored of me, of what I can offer, of who I am. Then you’re gonna leave to Phoenix, or Dallas or wherever else and find someone else to love and I’m gonna have to piece myself back togeth--”

The sight of your shaking shoulders and shivering hands was making Eddie’s stomach ache. He took the last step into the stretch of road diving you and him, taking your freezing frame into his hands. 

Eddie’s head shook, he couldn’t seem to get it to stop. “Never, my love ... never ever. I’ll go where you go, I’ll stay where you stay. I’ll sleep on the floor of that fucking barn every day for the rest of my days if you’ll allow me.” 

Your forehead fell into the space between his neck and shoulder, you were crying still. “Eddie ...” 

“I want to listen to you talk about stars or galaxies and I want you to make us sandwiches and talk like you know better about everything, because you mostly do. I just want you, I’ll never leave this town if you never want me to.”

He took your face into his trembling hand, lifting you from his shoulder so your gaze sunk into his. Your lashes were tear-stained and still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. You swallowed hard.

“What do you want, doll? Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

Your hand found the side of his face, your head shook. 

“If you want me to leave,” he whispered to you, “I’ll go, my love.”

There was a long moment where Eddie thought you might not even speak again. You blinked against the rain.

“I want to go to Chicago.”

Your hand sunk further past his ear and into the depths of his hair, curling your nails against the root. “I want to see the planetarium, I want to go to Indiana ... I want to meet your family.”

You hiccuped, then laughed, then kept talking:

“I want to see San Francisco and NASA with you, and I want to wake up next to you. I promise I won’t make you sleep in the barn--” He laughed and pressed his forehead to yours, “--And I want to do grocery shopping with you and tell everyone in the store that you’re mine. Tell them that I’m so sick on loving you.”

Eddie nodded. “We can do that. I can do that.”

You watched him wearily. “Do you promise?”

“I promise.” His nose bumped yours, “Can I please kiss you now, farm-girl?”

Your body melted against him in response, surging forward so that your lips found his. Eddie’s body slumped against yours, like his body had found rest. 

The taste of rainwater and peach jam swirled against his lips and Eddie was sure it was the sweetest thing he’d ever taste in all his days gone and to come. He grasped deliriously for your hips, his head spinning from your kiss, and nudged you until he fell over you in through the open door into the front seat of the Cobra: a shelter from the rain. 

You laughed beneath him, against him, and his hair dripped over your face. 

Eddie’s knee pressed against the red leather in the space between your legs, he leaned over your sopping frame. 

He gasped for breath, you did the same. 

“You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of, doll.” 

You captured his face between your hands, flushing red in your cheeks despite the cold. “Don’t be cheesy, Greenie. I like it too much.”

Silence fell for a moment. Eddie watched your brow crease. He kissed you again, he was drunk on it.

You tugged him off by the root of his hair.

“Why were you driving this way?” You asked, shifting to lean up on your elbows: suspicion heavy in your gaze.

Eddie chuckled sheepishly, eyes falling to your waist. 

“I ... well, I was coming to apologise.”

“What for?”

He shrugged bashfully. “For last night, and ... and for this.”

From the depths of his pocket, Eddie pulled out a piece of something that definitely looked like it belonged somewhere under the bonnet of the car that had so readily given up on you. 

You gasped. “You bastard.” 

Eddie laughed, “I needed you to have a reason to come talk to me again.”

Sighing softly, you moved some hair out of his face. “I’ll always find a reason to talk to you again.”

“Well, well. Who’s being cheesy now?”

You rolled your eyes, catching him by his silver chain and tugging him against your lips again. 

“Shut up.” You mumbled.

-

taglist:

@corrodedcoffincumslut @akiratoro420 @pricelessemotion @chloe-6123 @tiny-bird-of-sunshine @allthefandomstogetheratlast @wyverntatty @munsster @jokersgrf @anicosa-ironlung @sleepy-bunnie @pricelessemotion @sweetgladiatorfesival @eggo-segual @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @introvertedmouse @ctrlaltdel3te @multifandom-l0ver @inarinine @sillysteveharharhar @buckystwilight @hey-lucille @akiratoro420

[ladylooch]

Nico smut where you finally get intimate after having a baby? maybe reader is insecure about her body so Nico just worships her

A/N: Mmmm intimacy and sex. We love to see it ❤️ Thank you so much for this request. My heart was literally exploding and aching and bouncing with joy writing this. I love these type of requests that make you feel as a reader and a writer. Hope you enjoy it and thanks for being patient while waiting for this one!

Part of What My World Spins Around AU.

Reminder: although I am posting requests right now, they are closed. I am just getting caught up.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Content, Body image issues, swearing, drinking, babies/pregnancy talk.

Across the table, my husband is absolutely salivating. 

And it has little to do with the sushi rolls we are currently stuffing in our faces. After 9 looooooong months without my favorite cuisine, it was a relief when Nico suggested this restaurant for the second visit this week.

But, again, the look on his face is not because of food. It’s because of me.

“Nico.” I snort after taking a sip of my mango martini.

“Hm?” He asks, thumb stroking across the top of my hand that he holds in the center of the table.

“Tone it down a bit.” 

“I can’t.” He shrugs. “I finally get to have you. And you’re just eating sushi over there like you’re not dying at the thought of feeling me between your thighs again.” 

“I’m still thinking about the other thing that was between my thighs 6 weeks ago.” I gesture with my other hand. “Ya know, our daughter.” His shoulders deflate a bit and I can tell I’ve bruised his ego. I bite my lip. I didn’t mean to do that, but it’s the truth. Birth is traumatic. A lot happens to your body before, during, and after. It’s a wild ride.

“I understand.” He nods, giving my hand a squeeze. “Sorry, I just assumed when they told you everything was okay today that you would… Yeah, that’s on me. I’m sorry. I should have-“

“Neeks, you’re absolutely fucking me tonight.” I cut him off. He visibly relaxes, happy grin stretching his lips.

“Okay.” We share a soft laugh, my cheeks tinting red at the obvious excitement returning to his face. He glances between me and my last piece of sushi.

“Patience.” 

“It’s been 8 weeks and 4 days since I’ve had you.” He blurts out. “And since you texted me the green flag earlier, I have been painfully hard.”

“It has not been that long since I helped you out.” He blinks at me, waiting for an elaboration. “I sucked you off in the kitchen the other day.”

“Oh I remember. Vividly. I just wanted you to say it out loud.”

“You’re such a slut, Hischier.”

“Only for you, Hischier.” He murmurs, gnawing on his bottom lip as the waitress comes to ask if we want anything else. “The check would be great.” Nico says without taking his eyes from me. I roll my eyes, hiding my smile with another sip of my drink.

When we get home, we both cross our fingers that our baby is asleep. Ryan Graves and his girlfriend, Clare, offered to watch Lucie so we could enjoy a night out. All three humans are passed out in the living room when we enter. 

“Gravy.” Nico snickers, poking the defenseman’s shoulder. He startles awake.

“Holy shit.” He mutters. “Sorry. This baby stuff is hard. I’m exhausted.”

“Welcome to the club.” I laugh, walking to Lucie and seeing her perfectly swaddled, on her back in her bassinet. 

“We just did the round of eating and changing, so she should be good for a bit.”

“Great.” I grin. “So you guys gonna have one?”

“Not yet.” Clare laughs honestly, but the look she gives to Ryan makes me think it isn’t too far off.

“When you’re ready, it’s literally the best thing.” Nico murmurs, coming to slide a hand around my waist. He presses his finger tips into my stomach, pulling me back to where he is rock hard against my butt.

“Well, we will get out of your hair. Gotta get my baby to bed.” Clare jokes, nudging Ryan towards the door.

“Why am I so tired? All I did was hold her?” Ryan mutters as they work towards the entry way. I follow, leaving my horny husband in the living room to cover his situation.

“Bye! Thanks again!” I wave to them, then shut the front door. The air in the house instantly changes when we are alone… with our sleeping baby.

I come back into the living room to find Nico staring at her. His brown eyes are absolute mush, taking in the center of his world. He brings his gaze to me. I lick my bottom lip then tuck it between my teeth. Nico begins to move towards me. I feel my breathing accelerate as he reaches for my hips. I toss my arms around his shoulders. Our mouths crash together, lips and tongues caressing each other shamelessly.

“I can’t wait anymore.” He whispers harshly against my mouth. “If you touch me, I’ll come in my pants.” I pull my head back to let out a loud laugh at his eagerness. Our baby startles in her crib. Both Nico and I hold our breath, clutching each other desperately, praying she settles herself back down. She stays asleep.

“We should leave this room.” I tell him. He nods, grabbing the portable baby monitor from the counter and hooking it to her bassinet. We both run up the hall as quietly and fast as possible.

When we get to the bedroom, all of my confidence begins to shatter. It starts when he brushes his hands innocently over my leftover baby pooch. I shiver, thinking of what that’s going to look like fully exposed. Then, his fingers run lovingly over my back, stroking a few bulges of pudge left there too. My eyes close, trying to enjoy his strokes on my ass, but I think of just a few inches forward, wondering if it’s all going to be the same for him. He’s been counting the days down; what if he’s disappointed in me now?

Nico kisses his way along my jaw. I squeeze my eyes shut as he works on the button on my jeans. I feel like every part of me is jiggling with his movement. HIs fingers brush against the baby pooch again. I react, gripping his wrist to halt his movements.

“What?” He asks, pulling back to look at me. My eyes are still shut.

“Can we turn the lights off?”

“Ah…” He chuckles. “I kinda wanna see you, babe. It’s been awhile.”

“Yeah I know. Um, and I’m different.” I say quietly. My eyes open to look at him. He wears an inquisitive look that stretches the corners of his lips into a deep frown. A wrinkle appears between his eyebrows. “I look different.” My voice is small as I reiterate what I know.

Nico steps away to take me in. I reach down to cover what is exposed of my abdomen.

“Put those hands down.” 

“Nico.”

“Baby.” I feel my bottom lip wobble as I drop my hands. “Beautiful. I wish you could see what I do when I look at you. You’re stunning. I want to worship you. I want to kiss every single part of pregnancy left on your body.” He reaches for my hand. I weave our fingers together, looking at our feet. He steps closer, nudging my chin up to look at him. “You have given us the greatest gift. And I love every single reminder of that on you now.” His hand, linked with mine, comes up and runs along the stretch marks fanning across my lower abdomen. “I’m going to praise every bit of it on you for the rest of our lives, starting with tonight.”

“Ugh, you are so sweet.” I mumble, stepping forward to kiss him hard. His hands go around my hips, into my jeans, then to my bare ass cheeks. He squeezes them heftily, grinding me against his front. 

Together, we undress each other. Nico’s shirt get tossed. My jeans are pushed down. He kicks off his pants around his ankles and we are both left in our underwear. He nudges me back towards our bed, sitting me down on it. I work my way back, without letting our kiss break. When I’m flat, Nico arranges one of my legs around his waist so he can rub against my folds. I moan into his mouth. While still giving kisses, his hand works it’s way between our bodies, feeling at my entrance. I hold my breath, listening to the sound of me slick against him. Nico pulls roughly away, pausing. 

“I need a minute.” He laughs, looking up at the ceiling. I reach for him, seeing the wetness puddling on his gray, boxer briefs. I stroke at the wet spot, feeling his slit as Nico hisses. “No. Stop.” He says horsely, gripping my wrist. “I was serious about cumming in my pants.”

I sigh happily as I stare up at his chin from my back. A smile stretches my lips, thinking that there isn’t much sexier than an NHL captain needing to wait so he isn’t a two pump chump. I trail my finger nails along the ridges of his abdomen, admiring my red nails complimenting his muscles. It looks sexy with light, pink trails popping up after they pass over an area. Nico tilts his head down to watch too as the goosebumps dot his skin.

“Ready?” He asks me, sweet eyes watching every flicker on my face.

“Yes.” I stare as he pulls his underwear down, kicking it off to the floor. My heart begins to beat fast in my body as I lift my hips for him to do the same to me. He gently spreads my knees so he can drink in the view. He moans, immediately leaning down and placing his lips on my folds. He kisses all along them as my breath quivers. My eyebrows crinkle in need when his tongue snakes out. 

“Fuck.” I moan, whimpering at the end as he digs in deeper. He circles my entrance with his finger, working it in, sliding it in and out. “Nicooo.” It’s been so long since I’ve had any sort of an orgasm. Nico pulls it from me with a few more strokes. He kisses up my abdomen as I recover. He comes to my lips, hovering there to look into my eyes.

“Ive missed this side of you, babe.” He nuzzles my cheek with his nose, kissing along to my jaw, then to my throat. “Your sweet noises. The way you whisper my name before you come.” I feel him place himself against my entrance, slowly rolling in a circle to get me ready for him.

When he pushes in, he is affectionate, mindful of his size and my sensitivity. I bite my lip, trying not to wince as his head inches in. This is much more than a finger. I can’t help but tense in anticipation with each slow push forward.

“Relax, baby. I’m gonna take care of you.” He feathers kisses along my breasts. My nipples are a no-go right now, but his mouth on my swells are enough to make pleasure seep from between my lips. Once he feels me relax, he slides in the rest of the way. He stays right there, filling me, pulling back to watch my face. “I love you so much.” He nuzzles our noses together then presses his lips over mine. “You are perfect. So incredible.” I bring my hands to his back, stroking his skin.

“I love you.” I repeat to him, leaning up to connect our lips again. “I trust you.”

“Tell me when.” He pulls out again, then slowly eases in once more. This time feels better, a flicker of fire dashing up my body, making a noise spurt from my throat.

“I’m ready.” I whisper in his ear as he places his head down by mine to focus.

He begins to move in and out, tenderly, then builds to a tempo that has me wiggling beneath him. He props himself up on his arms, biceps flexing from his weight as he pumps his hips- all the way in then almost all the way out. My mouth falls into an “O” heavy breathing falling from my lips as my fingers grip him tighter. Nico groans in appreciation.

“That’s it, baby. Dig your finger nails into me… just… like.. that.” He murmurs as he hits that spot inside of me. “Fuck. I’m obsessed with how you feel.” He is moaning with me now, barely able to speak his words.

I run my fingers in opposite directions on his back. One goes to his ass, pushing his bare cheeks into me harder with each thrust. The other goes to his hair, gripping his long strands as he fucks me deeper. Everything else has disappeared except for the points we are connecting with each other. Nico’s hand comes to my clit, rubbing me in large, dainty circles, just enough to get me to shake against him. He turns down to watch my face. “You look so beautiful when I’m fucking you, baby.” He is grinning, teeth shinning as he watches my breathing shorten more, cheeks flush, eyes close.

“Holy… fucking.. fuck.” I sob to Nico as I come. He unleashes into me immediately after my first wave grips him. Swiss German spews from his lips aggressively as pulse after pulse passes through us. I cling to him, muscles spasming, hovering off the bed before collapsing back onto the mattress, breathing heavy, sporadic puffs. His hands go around me and he rolls us, so I collapse on top of his chest. He pants beneath my body weight, stroking his hand from my hair to my butt cheeks. 

We lay there there for several minutes, neither of us able to speak.

Nico’s fingers run through my hair, gripping the strands in his fist to list my face up towards his. It’s gentle, but the act has me imagining the nastier nights we’ve had. I push out a silent breath, lips forming a tight O. He registers the depth of my gaze, lost in our old memories, then grins devilishly at me.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fantastic.” I tell him, chuckling. “Can’t believe you lasted that long.”

“I was pulling out all the stops in my mind.” He shakes his head, eyes widening. “Almost didn’t make it to stroke four.” I press my mouth to the underside of his chin. “Mmm.” He grunts in appreciation.

“Thank you.” I whisper. “You always know what I need to feel loved. I… was so worried earlier and you made everything okay. You always do.”

“You know you’re all I need, babe. And if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“I’m pretty content right now, but a bath with you would really seal the deal.” I admit to him. “Maybe rub some bubbles on some dirty places…” I trail off, meeting his gaze.

“Yes, please. Once wasn’t enough.” He maneuvers me off of him and onto my side after a slap on the ass.

He gives me a smooch before disappearing into our bathroom to set the stage for round 2.

[pengychan]

[Our Flag Means Death] Izzy's Gravy Basket

Summary: Nothing is life is certain but death and taxes - but pirates do not, as a general rule, pay taxes. And when a sea witch is involved, death is not always all that certain either. Characters: Izzy Hands, Calico Jack, Ed Teach, Stede Bonnet. Rating: T  

A/N: Did I hate how Izzy's story ended? Not necessarily. Did I still start writing this from the second I got off work and didn't stop until it was done? You bet.

***

Perched on the makeshift cross marking a freshly-dug grave, a seagull screams and screams and screams.  

It’s been chased away a couple of times, but it keeps coming back to call out. It knows patience, and it knows what needs to be done. The sunset turns to darkness, and then back to morning light; shadows grow longer, heading back to sunset, and yet it remains. Yet it screams and it calls, it calls, it calls.

And usually, when you call out enough times, something will eventually answer.

***

The first thing on Izzy’s mind as it swims in the dark is something along the lines of ‘fucking seagulls’. The second thought is something slightly more complex, but ‘Buttons, shut the fuck up’ makes no sense, because Buttons is not there and he’s just listening to a screaming fucking gull. The third realization is that he has no idea where here is. 

With a groan and far more effort than is reasonable, he opens his eyes. He sees boards above him, sunlight filtering through, and hears the groans of the rolling ship, the soft sound of the waves. And the fucking seagull, of course. He hears nothing else, though. It’s as though the ship is empty.

The fuck are those twats at, and why is he in the damn hidden room again?

With a groan, Izzy sits up from the bed and reaches to press a hand over his side, where the wound… isn’t. He looks down to see undamaged clothing, over undamaged flesh. 

“What the fuck,” he says, but then his gaze falls on his left leg, and it’s the only answer he needs. He stares a few moments before he stands on two feet, his own two feet, and heads out on deck to find out what his own gravy basket looks like.

***

“... And we need to set some money aside for the knives.”

“The knives?”

“For the kids.”

“What kids?”

“There are always kids around inns. They could use knives.”

“We should probably not be giving children knives, Ed.”

“They’re small. How else do they protect themselves?”

“Well, I suppose we could step in for them, don’t you think?”

“Small knives.”

“... We can discuss it further once the inn is up and running, surely.”

To be honest, it’s probably going to be a while before anything is up and running: they have been here just over a day. Enough time to get a good idea of the amount of work needed to fix the shack - it is a lot - and get themselves some dinner in the form of a wild pig they found wandering nearby. They also caught a rabbit, but as Ed has promptly named it Stede Bunnet, Stede - the human one - has reason to suspect it’s not going to turn into food anytime soon. 

Ah, well. The dinner at Mary and Anne’s rather put him off rabbit meat for a while, anyway.

“Right, yes. I’ll just make a note of it so we don’t forget--” Ed trails off when yet more squawking reaches their ears. Sure enough, it’s that seagull again. It seems to have taken a liking to the cross marking Izzy’s grave, and it’s been making enough ruckus to wake the dead.

Well… unfortunately, not really enough to raise the dead. But it is an awful lot of noise, and Ed hates it. He refused to shoot it - “any seagull could be Buttons now,” he said - but he still very much wants it off the grave. He resorts to firing a shot in the air and yell at the bird to have some fucking respect, and that gets it to fly off, at least. 

For a short time.

***

The thirty-gun sloop is empty, sailing without wind beneath a gray sky, cutting a wound through senselessly choppy water with no effort. It’s been a long time since Izzy laid eyes on this ship, but he recognizes it all the same. It is not the Revenge. It’s--

“Welcome back on the Ranger, Izzy. Betcha didn’t miss it.”

Ah. Him. 

“... I sure fucking didn’t.”

“Missed me, though, didya?”

“No. You’re still a cunt, Rackham.”

“Rude thing to say to the guy you got killed. Brits got you too, huh? Shoulda moved out of the way, both of us.”

Izzy looks up, and Calico Jack grins down at him, leaning on the wheel. He would do that long ago, too, when they were much younger and still sailed under Hornigold. Little more than kids, him and Edward, and himself barely any older. 

“But admit it, better me than old Ben, who’s gotta be roasting in Hell somewhere for turning pirate hunter.” Jack grins, and holds up his burnt arm. The punishment for grabbing more rations than he should have once, and it had taken forever to heal. It never did, not entirely, because the skin pulled like a too tight sleeve and Jack could never quite use that arm the way he once did. 

“That’s a fucking low bar to step over,” Izzy comments, and Jack shrugs. 

“Yeah, it is. Old bastard. You took the brunt of it a lot, too. Never complained. Word was you were into it.”

“Fuck off.”

“Yeah, I can’t. This ain’t my gravy basket, mate. It’s yours.”

“Then why are you here, Rackham?”

“Hell do I know? It’s your gravy basket. I’m as confused as you are. Didn’t think ya liked me that much.”

Izzy chooses to ignore that last statement. “So, I’m dead.”

“Oh, fuck off, right back at ya. You know what the gravy basket is.”

“Old wives’ tales,” Izzy mutters. He leans against the railing, looking down at the sea. Somewhere, a seagull is still screaming. “... Always did hate this fucking ship.”

“Oh? I liked it well enough.” There was no time for Rackham to come down the steps to stand next to him, nor any noise to indicate he did, but now he’s standing next to him, leaning on the same railing. “Taught me all I know,” he adds, and Izzy’s gaze falls on the scarred arm. “I named my own brigantine after it, ya know? After swiping it from Charlie Vane. Man was a coward, anyway.”

“Not rushing to fight a fully armed man-of-war is common sense.”

“Aw, what a wet blanket you are. We’d have won, there were just a bunch of frog eaters on board,” Rackham says, and shrugs. “And what the hell do we need common sense for? Good old Bart had it right. A merry life, and a short one. Though I’m not sure yours was all that merry, Izzy.”

Above, all around, the seagull screams. Not a single bird to be seen anywhere, yet the cries keep coming and coming and coming. Izzy ceases his useless search of the sky, and turns to Rackham. “Was yours?”

“Short, or merry?”

“You’re too stupid to play coy. Just fucking answer.”

A pause, and the ever-present grin fades beneath the mustache. For a moment Izzy sees it again, a boy struggling to keep his lips locked in a smile as he dipped a red and raw arm into saltwater to try disinfecting it. 

“A man’s got to lie to himself sometimes. Ya know.”

“... Yeah. I know.”

“Speakin’ of lies. You really wanna go, or were you tryin’ to make Eddie feel better?”

“What does it matter?”

“In the gravy basket? Fucking everything.” A pause, then Rackham shrugs. “Well, maybe going is the right call, and you dodged a bullet.”

“Oh, fuck of--”

“Hah!” A pat on his back, far too powerful to be really friendly, and then a vise-like grip around his shoulders. “Not the literal one, dumbass. I mean, you can avoid turnin’ into one of… whatever kind of sissies Eddie runs with these days.”

Since opening his eyes again from the darkness, Izzy has felt somewhat numb; now, suddenly, something is awake again, gnashing teeth and sharpened knives. “It’s a good crew.”

“Good for what, target practice? Oh, I betcha the British are not done with them. Won’t last a week without you or Eddie.”

“Fuck off,” Izzy snarls, and breaks away. “You don’t know them.”

“Whoa, whoa, little guy!” Rackham laughs, holding up his hands. “Holy shit, don’t tell me they already rubbed off ya!”

Izzy opens his mouth, but before the perhaps not incredibly original ‘fuck off’ leaves his mouth, Calico Jack has grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close. He grins again, wide, with clenched teeth. 

“Ooh shit, they did. I can smell perfume on you. Got all dolled up, didn’t you?”

“I--” Izzy tries to answer, but insults die in his throat and his tongue is heavy as lead. Something squirms in his stomach, shame black as coal. Rackham’s finger flicks at the ring tied around his neck. 

“Turned ya into their songbird, huh? Little Izzy, listenin’ in to his momma’s songs but never daring to join in. Cozy up to them to listen to bedtime stories, too, didya?”

A flash of anger, burning away some of the coal, and he slaps Rackham’s hand off the ring. “You don’t know a thing, you fucking cunt.”

“I know you’re better off dead than-- that. Lettin’ the whiny brat kill you was the best call. You know that. Said so yourself, no? You wanna go.”

“Shut up.”

“Not that they’ll outlive you by much. Maybe they’ll ask you to sing some more while you feed the fish all togeth--”

Izzy’s sword is out the next moment, cutting through the air with swift, deadly ease. But Calico Jack is fast, too - you don’t become a feared captain by just fucking around with a whip - and his own sword rises up to meet it. They clang, and the seagull screams again. 

The man before him laughs, and looks him in the eye. Izzy meets his gaze, and it’s both very familiar and very, very wrong. He clenches his jaw, staring into his own eyes. 

“You’re not John Rackham.”

Not-John-Rackham’s grin widens. “Of course I’m not fucking Calico Jack, dumbass. It’s your gravy basket. He’s feedin’ the crabs at the bottom of the ocean and so will you. ”

He moves fast, disengaging and then feinting to the left, before swinging his sword the other way. But it’s a move Izzy knows well because he fucking practiced it and used it time and time again. The way he holds his sword, the way he moves, down to the fucking footwork, it’s all his. He’s always been really damn good - and this version of him fights like he used to in his fucking prime.

The swords clang, he’s pushed further and further to the end of the deck towards the railing, and the seagull screams. His opponent laughs.

“You scared, Izzy? Didn’t ya say you wanna go? It’s for the best. You know it, so just let go.”

“Fuck off!”

He brings up the sword to strike, he sees a good chance, but something is suddenly opening up in his side and it’s bleeding agony. He screams, the sword falling from his hand, and he stumbles back. He tries to regain his footing and he cannot, because his leg is gone and there’s nothing beneath his left knee. His back hits the railing, and he almost goes over; a hand catches his collar before he can, and the part of him behind Calico Jack’s face sneers. 

“You’re outta time, Izzy boy. So answer me a simple question, will ya?”

“F-fuck o--”

“If they were so great, wouldn't they be worth stayin’ alive for?”

Israel Hands opens his mouth, but he has no time to say a thing. A push and he’s falling through the air, into the water, and it’s so so cold. Suddenly there is nothing but that, cold and silence, the sun above and sharks below, his blood tinging the water red.

No. No. Not like this. 

He swims up, or tries to. His left side is unending pain, he’s missing a leg and air is running out, but still he swims. He hears it again, distorted by water but unmistakable - the insistent screaming of a seagull. 

Izzy screams, too, and his hand breaks through the surface just one moment before he blacks out.

***

Stede truly, honestly, did not mean to scare Ed out of his wits. Nor he planned to almost die from a heart attack. All he wanted to do, when he spotted the seagull screaming frantically atop Izzy’s grave again, was to shoo it away. He worried that it might grab the ring and fly off with it, and Ed was having a hard enough time dealing with what happened without losing that keepsake, too. 

Maybe leaving it there, nice and sentimental as it was, was a bad idea. Maybe he should bring it inside, and then they could decide what to do. It was not a bad idea, he would insist later.

Only that right now, absolutely nothing goes as planned. He doesn’t even get to shoo away the seagull, who gives one last squawk before flying off on its own accord. Stede looks up at it, hands on his hips. 

“And don’t come back!” he yells, before looking down to see if the ring is still where they left it.

It is.

And beneath it there is also a gloved hand, emerging from the dirt, fingers clenching on air. This time the scream that rings out isn’t a seagull’s, and it’s loud enough to make Edward Teach, all the way down the beach, nearly jump out of his skin.

Stede Bonnet didn't mean to faint, either, but he does anyway.

***

“Really glad-- you twats-- don’t know how to dig six whole feet down.”

“Easy now, Izzy, don’t talk. No, come to think of it, keep talking. I like it. Say something else.”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear. Stede, help me…”

“Oh my God, we buried a man alive!”

“... Yeah, I think at least someone here should learn how to check for a pulse. I don’t think Roach has even been to medical school.”

That’s not what happened, I was dead, Izzy thinks, but he finds that’s not a conversation he wants to start right now. He’s taken inside a shack of some kind, laid on surprisingly clean bedding. When clothing is peeled off carefully to expose the wound, he doesn’t struggle. 

“We’ll give it a good clean, yes?” Stede Bonnet is saying, somewhere on his left. “Oh! And I’ll go fetch your leg. And the ring. But first the wound. I got some alcohol, it’s probably going to sting, but…”

He keeps fretting, with more concern than Izzy ever thought could possibly be warranted for his life, but his attention is taken quickly enough by Ed. He’s wiping his face with a cloth, looking more than a little choked up. “Indestructible little fucker,” he mutters. “There you are. What kind of fuckery was that?”

“The fuckery-- to end all fuckeries. How long…?”

“We buried you almost two days ago.”

“... Heh. Beat Jesus fucking Christ,” Izzy manages, and it takes the last of his strength. He closes his eyes and lets himself fall into unconsciousness, with the utmost certainty that he won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. This time, everything is quiet. 

The seagull who’s not a seagull at all has taken its screaming elsewhere.

***

It takes five more days for the Revenge to appear at the horizon.

It’s a complete surprise, because they were supposed to be gone a lot longer; Stede was hoping they would find the inn all nice and done by the time they did, but he figures the surprise they have for them now was a lot better than just the brand new inn. They don’t tell them right away, as they meet them at the beach.

As it turns out, they have a pretty strange tale of their own. 

“So, we were sailing, right? Smooth sailing, mostly. And then this seagull shows up, perches on the ship, and refuses to leave.”

“Yeah, it just squawked, flew off in the opposite direction, turned back, caught up again, yelled some more…”

“Auntie kept saying it was a sea witch.”

“She insisted we followed it.”

“And you don’t say no to Auntie.”

“Oh fuck, no, you really don’t.”

“So, it took us right back here and then went off somewhere over land. We figured we’d--”

“... What happened to the grave?”

Jim’s voice rings out suddenly, incredulous, and causes everyone to stop on their tracks. Ed and Stede didn’t really have the time to tidy it up, so it looks pretty bad, the earth dug up and the cross gone. The crew turns to look at them, eyes wide and horrified, but the answer doesn’t come from either Ed or Stede. They let someone else do the honors.

“What didn’t happen, you mean. Next time you want me to stay down, put a fucking stone slab on top.”

They turn as one, several jaws drop, and then it’s absolute chaos of the best possible kind. Fang and Frenchie get to Izzy first and Fang physically lifts him, pulling him into a bear hug that is probably not great for his still healing wound, and bursts crying. Not the only one, but probably the loudest.

How, everyone asks, and Lucius is the only one to get some kind of answer. 

“I’m not done teaching you to be decent fucking pirates, Twatty,” he says, explaining absolutely nothing, but it ends the line of questioning. When something good happens, something really good, there’s no reason to ask too many questions.

You take it, and you’re happy for it, and you keep moving.

***

“Captain Hands. It has a nice ring to it.”

Standing at the beach as the crew finishes loading extra supplies before rowing back to the Revenge, Izzy hums. “Stupid sentimental of Frenchie, just giving away the job like that.”

“He put it up to vote.”

“And then voted for me.”

“True, a smashing victory. I wasn’t that popular when I came back from the dead,” Ed says, and shrugs. “He’ll make a great first mate. And don’t act like you’re surprised, I know you’re not. I saw you wiping your eye, too.”

“Fuck off,” Izzy huffs, but he’s smiling and Ed smiles back. 

“When you come back with some British heads, you’ll find a proper inn. We’ll give you all a discount. Do you think you can get us some knives, by the way?”

“Knives?”

“Small. For the children.”

Izzy looks at Ed, considers asking, and decides he probably shouldn’t. “... Yeah, I guess we can find some knives for children.”

“Thanks, mate. Take care.”

“You too. And Bonnet.”

Ed turns to look at Bonnet, who’s apparently saying something hilarious if Olu’s reaction is anything to go by, and smiles. 

“We will,” he says. “I reckon we’re gonna be just fine.”

***

When the Revenge sets sail again it’s on calm waters, with the crew working as a well-oiled machine. As a seagull flies over it, calling out just once, the captain looks up from the waves. 

“Fuck off,” he mutters, but he doesn’t mind, not really. He watches the bird turn into a small white dot and disappear, then he breathes in the morning air, and hums quietly in the wind.

Les ennuis, les chagrins, s'effacent  Heureux, heureux à mourir…

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

PCCP's monthly fic roundup - March 2024

I write a lot of fics. This is my way of reflecting on what I've done this month. Check 'em out if you want!

Multi-chapter fics:

If I Get Lost Along the Way - Ed and Stede hit it off when they both go to key Ed's ex-boyfriend's car at the same time, and they have to put in the hard work of healing themselves and supporting each other after finding love long after they'd both given up on it. Lots of healing from trauma and past abuse, but loving and hopeful overall. Modern AU, rated E, 75k words.

One shots:

A Timeless Thing - maybe my favorite fic I've ever written. Ed and Stede are hanged for piracy in 1733, and they find each other again almost 300 years later. Tragedy followed by hope, real soulmates vibes. E, 5k.

Down in the Ol' Gravy Basket - when Ed gets sick, it brings up bad memories for both him and Stede. In which Ed gets scared of soup, Stede yells at g-d, and they have a talk about the Gravy Basket. Canon-compliant, M, 3.5k.

Fallin' for You - Stede and Ed are best friends, and Stede's terrified of ruining their friendship by asking Ed out. When disaster strikes, he struggles to know if Ed likes him back or if he'll never want to see him again. Modern AU, T, 4k.

Just a Little Fall of Rain - Ed has a rough morning, and Stede helps him sort through some complicated feelings. My answer to "it was a little fucked up to chain Ed to the railing after he woke up fresh out of his suicide attempt, right?" Canon-compliant, M, 3k.

A Moment as Sharp and Delicate as a Sword - canon divergence where Ed accidentally admits he's in love with Ed while delirious after Stede stabs him. Sweet and cute! M, 5k.

PWPs:

Poetic Justice - Ed and Stede explore Ed's desire to be submissive in the bedroom, and take on one of his biggest fantasies. Canon-compliant, E, 4.5k.

Sweet Little Kitten - Ed gets to wear his collar during sex and Stede calls him his good little kitten. Canon-compliant, E, 3k.

Show Offs - Stede and Ed go to a kink club, because of course their kink is "see how much we love and treasure each other and feel hopelessly jealous." Modern AU, E, 3.5k.

Here Comes the Bride - Stede and Ed get horny about going to a wedding and fuck about it. Modern AU, E, 5k.